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The Psychology of Dreams 101 Episode 16

Psychology of Dreams cover12985576_1537272663241009_8777292825525497968_nWelcome to the next instalment of The Psychology of Dreams 101, in which there are rewards for punishments and a return to the dream. I thought this would be the last episode, but as it turns out there is one more, so hang on for the ride.

 

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, and her psychology of dreams teacher, Al. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

 

If you missed episode 15, find it here.

Chapter 16 Taking a Risk

In a spastic tango, Al walked her back against the wall, kissing her as he went – really kissing her as he went, and all the while he nudged and pressed and undulated up close and personal, coaxing and enticing her one step at a time until the wall pressed up tight against her shoulders. He tugged and worried her sweats down over her hips. With a little shake and wriggle of her bottom, they dropped to pool around her feet and she stepped free and gave them a hard kick. With one hand, he dug in his pocket for a condom while with the other he struggled with his fly. Clearly this sort of multi-tasking wasn’t his forte. She uttered an impatient curse, slapped his hands away and made quick work of the snap and zipper, grabbing a double handful of his clenching ass-cheeks as she shoved jeans and boxers down. His cock gave her a stiff salute, and she closed her hand around the shaft and began to squeeze and stroke.

“O God! Oh Christ,” he hissed between gritted teeth, closing his fist around her wrist. “Don’t to that. Jesus, Leah, don’t do that – not yet. I won’t last two minutes if you don’t stop.” He nearly dropped the condom before he managed to roll it on with in between some seriously colorful language, then Leah grabbed him again, reaching between her legs to open herself. She was already slick and swollen. Hell, hadn’t she been horny for him from the beginning? And as much as she wanted to linger, she also wanted to hurry, just in case they got interrupted, just in case this time was no different than the others, just in case this time was no more real.

She gave a little yelp of surprise as he cupped her bare bottom in his hands and lifted her onto him. “I wanted our first time to be long and lingering, Leah.” His voice was breathless and, as he thrust home, he spoke almost as though he’d read her thoughts. “I wanted to make it last. Not gonna happen. We’ve both waited too long for that.” He bit her ear, and she bucked against him, sheathing him still deeper. “We’ll have to save the lingering for the second time.”

“I’m okay with that.” Her words came out in hard little grunts, and then she went back to eating his mouth. She didn’t need it to last. Right now she just needed it to happen, right now she all she wanted was to come with Al inside her. She needed that in the worst sort of way. She’d needed that for what seemed like an eternity. She wrapped her legs around his waist and began to thrust, and he thrust back, groaning as though the very act might have caused him as much pain as it did pleasure. He gave up trying to unbutton her shirt, and she raised her arms so he could drag it off over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples were heavy and aching for his attention, which he gave happily – first with his thumbs, and then with his mouth. He’d barely managed a good hard lick and suck of each in turn, before his whole body tensed and he held his breath, shivering and convulsing as he came, and the tremors of him inside her sent her into her own release with a little cry of surprise, as though she hadn’t actually believed that this time it would really happen.

Their coming was not a graceful act. She bumped her head on the wall. He nearly tripped over his jeans, fallen around his knees, a move that would have taken them both over backward onto the floor if he hadn’t caught his balance at the last minute and, with her still wrapped around him, carried her to the bedroom where he deposited her in the middle of the bed in spite of said jeans around said knees, which turned his efforts into a mincing-stepped shuffle. The man was coordinated. She’d give him that.

“Not on the bed,” she managed weakly. “Don’t put me on the bed. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to dream.”

“No sleeping happening here,” he said, as he slid out of the rest of his clothing then deposited the used condom in the trash while she grumbled at his sudden, if very brief, absence. That done, he all but fell onto the mattress and wriggled in between her spread legs face first. As he slid his tongue wide and flat all the way from her perineum, in between her swollen labia and right on up to her clit, she wondered, for the briefest of moments, just where the man got his oral skills. From what he’d told her, she’d guess it wasn’t Diana and, if it had been Dr. Clyde, well, that possibility somehow made her all the wetter. That was the last coherent thought she managed about much of anything as he began to circle and suck, circle and nip, cupping her ass cheeks in his hands, pulling her closer to him, as though he wanted to climb up inside her face first – a thought that made her tremble all over.

They came again – several times. In fact she wasn’t sure how many times because her last memory before she lost consciousness was of him fucking her from a spoon position slow and lazy-like — though it was probably less laziness and more exhaustion, but her brain had been too muddled from so much fabulous sex to realize their mistake until she found herself on the roof of the high rise from which Dianna had jumped, from which she had pushed Al and Dr. Clyde. Al sat next to her, and they were both naked.

“I should have known. I should have forced the issue when you took me into the bed,” she said looking out over the lights of the city far below. “And now here we are again, back in the dream.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference if we’d been in the bed or on the floor or out at the campground. You’re exhausted. No matter how hard you tried to stay awake, sooner or later you were bound to sleep, and when you sleep, you dream.”

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, figuring she would be terrified of the way they both sat unclothed with their feet dangling off the edge of the roof into nothingness if she hadn’t known that it was a dream.

“I didn’t bring you here,” he replied, “but it’s not too much of a surprise that this is where we ended up, is it? Under the circumstances.”

“Not really, I guess. “Is Doctor Clyde here,” she asked with a quick glance around.

“Nope. Just us this time. No interruptions.”

“No interruptions,” she repeated. “I still don’t understand what’s going on. I told you I wouldn’t dream with you.”

I didn’t plan it if that’s what you think. I wouldn’t lie to you.” He scratched his stubbled chin and shifted just right for her to get a view of his cock at half-mast. “The thing about dreams, Leah, is that we can’t really control them. Derrick and I couldn’t and neither can you and I.”

“But maybe you didn’t tell me the whole truth. Is that possible?”

He shifted and ground his ass against the concrete, laying a protective hand against his growing erection. “I suppose it is. Maybe my unconscious took things out of my hands. You know how the unconscious is.”

“And what are we going to do if we can’t get back?” She surprised herself at how matter of fact she asked the question.

“You can leave whenever you want. All you have to do is wake up. That’s all you ever had to do. You stayed because there was something you wanted from the dream, something your unconscious needed. You know you didn’t sleep, or even dream, any longer than you normally would on any given night. It was just a nightmare, that’s all, a nightmare that seemed unusually real.”

f7c97536836dc44ea7a1faaa02ab1a6a“But what if I can’t? What if I’m stuck? Then what, Al? I know you say it was just a part of the nightmare, but humor me.”

He dropped a gentle kiss on her lips and held her gaze. “You won’t be stuck, Leah. I’m here now. For the first time you’ve finally let me in, and I’ll help you find your way back.”

“Finally let you in? Al, what the hell are you talking about?” Her chest tightened and she felt a chill rise up her spine. “We’ve dreamed together before, that’s why I didn’t want to come back here.” The wind had picked up and the benighted city below seemed even darker than usual. She tried to remember if she’d ever seen the city in daylight.

He rested his hands gently on her shoulders and held her gaze. “Leah, we’ve never dreamed together before. You’ve only just now let me in, and I’m encouraged. I’m hopeful that now you’ll let me take you back, back to the waking world.”

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101: Chapter 14

Psychology-of-Dreams-cover12985576_1537272663241009_8777292825525497968_n

 

Welcome to the next instalment of The Psychology of Dreams 101. Leah may be awake at last, but a confrontation with Al proves that things are far from simple and far from finished.

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, and her psychology of dreams teacher, Al. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

 

If you’ve missed Episode 13, find it here. 

 

 

Chapter 14 Reality Bites

“How the hell did you do it?” His voice rose just enough to make her pulse jump and her skin prickle. “How did you invade my dreams?”

Her hands were less than steady as she flipped through the pages of his dream journal. In fact, by the time she realizes what she was looking at, they were shaking so hard that the risk of ripping pages out was very real. There was the dream she’d written with Dr. Clyde sleeping next to her – when she thought she had finally woken up, there was the dream in Eddie’s Diner, there were the dreams of her splayed across the doctor’s desk, there was the dream of her and Al in the darkened campground on Mount Hood. They were all there and all exactly in her words, as far as she could tell — though it was definitely Al’s writing.

She threw her own journal down on his desk. “That — all of that, was in my journal before I woke up. How the fuck did it get in yours?”

He picked up her notebook as though he was afraid it might bite him and opened it very carefully, then flipped through the pages. At last he looked up at her. “Jesus! You didn’t even give me my privacy in the shower?” He stabbed the entry of the masturbation dream with an accusatory finger, and she jerked the journal away from him.

“What about you? What about what you and Dr. Clyde did to me, all the things you did to me, always telling me the only way I could get out of the goddamned dream was to take my punishment, and that punishment always involved you two controlling me, doing something filthy to me? Hmm? What about that? And what about you stealing my dreams, did you ever think of that?”

“You killed us! You fucking killed us!”

His accusation, felt like he’d punched her. She drug in a shaky breath and slumped back in her chair. “You were holding me prisoner,” she replied softly. “Besides it was just a dream. You don’t look any worse for the wear. What about Dr. Clyde, he’s okay, isn’t he? Have you talked to him?”

“He’s dead!” Al dropped into his chair and ran a hand through his already wild hair. “He’s dead.”

The room spun and Leah felt like she might pass out, but before she could ask, Al spoke, avoiding her gaze. ” He died a few months after Diana. I … I haven’t thought about him, about them in a long time.” He glanced up at her and then back down at his desk. “Neither of them came out of the coma.” He nodded to his dream journal. “What you dreamed, what we both dreamed, is true, I mean about Derrick and me being lovers, about our experiments, about us both wanting Diana. I just don’t know how the hell you knew it all, how you dreamed it all.”

“I don’t know either,” she whispered. “All I know is that I was desperate to get out of the dream, and I couldn’t wake up. Every time I thought I was awake, it was only another part of the dream, and I couldn’t get free. You both kept telling I needed to be punished, but I didn’t. I haven’t done anything to deserve punishment.”

“Of course you haven’t, you’ve done nothing. But Derrick and I, on the other hand …” His voice drifter and he rubbed his eyes.

“I can’t see that you have any reason to be punished for what happened. It wasn’t your fault,” Leah said.

“And yet you killed me.” This time he did hold her gaze.

“It was a dream. I was trapped.”

“I know, and that was petty of me to say. Still dream images have meaning to our psyches. Either you believed I deserved to die or I believed it. Maybe we both did.”

“Why the hell would I think that? I knew none of this when I went to bed expecting more dreams about begonias or dogs and Big Macs.”

He didn’t reply. For a long moment they sat in silence lost in their own thoughts. She kept her eyes on her closed dream journal, but she could feel his gaze on her. At last he rolled his shoulders in an effort to release tension, then spoke. “Our experiments, Derrick and mine, they were real, just exactly like I described to you in my … in our dream, but no one else was involved in our dream sharing experiments. They worked with us – Derrick and me. We’d not perfected our technique. We’d not actually tried what we were using on each other until Dianna, and I honestly don’t know how Derrick pulled Diana into the dream. He was the one who knew hypnosis, but still, it shouldn’t have worked. He shouldn’t have been able to get her there.”

“The obvious answer is that she wanted in, that she thought she’d find what she was looking for there.”

“I can see that,” he replied. “That makes sense, but what doesn’t make sense is how you and I shared a dream when you had no idea.”

She ran a finger over the paisley pattern on her journal, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “I wanted to dream. I wanted to … I wanted to please you by having interesting dreams.”

To her surprise, he chuckled softly. “Is that the reason for the masturbation dream?”

She blushed hard. “It was a dream. I can’t help what my unconscious throws at me in the middle of the night.”

“You should read the dreams I’ve had about you.”

Her pulse rate accelerated. “You dream about me, I mean other than … that.” She nodded to his journal.

“Oh yes, I dream about you, and the dreams were very pleasant until that.” He mirrored her nod to his notebook, then tugged at his collar. “Some of that was not too bad either.”

“But Dr. Clyde kept interrupting.”

To her surprise Al smiled and then shook his head.  “He always was a kinky bastard, always wanting to have sex in strange places or invite someone he found attractive to join us. He would have found you attractive, Leah,” he added quickly. “He would have done exactly as he did in the dream, wormed his way right in and wanted a filthy threesome, the filthier the better.”

“Then he would have approved of the dream?”

“Except for the part where you pushed him off the rooftop.”

There was nothing she could say to that, and once again the two sat in uncomfortable silence. At last Al spoke.

“I left the dream to get help, like I said, but what was different is that while in your dream he left with me, in reality he didn’t. He wouldn’t leave Diana, and after that first time, he wouldn’t let me back in. I tried everything I knew, but he wouldn’t let me in. Maybe he couldn’t. I don’t know. I just know I couldn’t get back to them.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“It was … unnerving to see him alive again, to see the continuation of his life as though he’d never died.”

“Then none of that part was true, I mean of him interacting with us.”

He shook his head. “It seemed so real though.”

Again the two sat lost in their own thoughts, and it felt like that minute of silence people are always having out of respect for the dead. Maybe it was.

“What do you think it means”? Leah asked.

“I wish I knew. That you and I can dream share without any preliminary prep, without any hypnosis is astounding. It took Derrick and I nearly three years to dream together, and even then it wasn’t without lots of prep, drugs more often than not, and hypnosis, well that was our last bit of experimentation. Even with all that, we were only managing to share anything more than a few images maybe fifty percent of the time.” Al looked down at his journal then back at her. “I never continued our experiments. I’ve never wanted to, never thought I could, but now…”

“Now you think maybe you should.”

He nodded, gaze still locked on her.

“What if it turns real, like it did with Diana? What if you die there?”

“I don’t have a death wish. Do you?” he asked.

“Neither did Dr. Clyde, did he?”

“He wanted Diana.” The muscles around his left cheek tightened and twitched. “It was way more than wanting her. He was obsessed with her and Derrick always got what he wanted.” The man’s jaw looked like it was set in iron.

“That bothered you.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it did. With Diana, well …”

“You wanted her too.”

When he didn’t answer, she asked, “if he would have let you back into the dream, would you have fought him for her?”

He shook his head. “There was no need. I knew that from the beginning.”

She shifted in her seat, an uncomfortable tightness growing in her chest. “Then how did you know about the rooftop, about her jumping if you couldn’t get back into the dream?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “I didn’t know what happened in their dream until this.” He gently stroked his journal.

Suddenly it seemed hot in the room, and it was hard to breathe. “Then you think I saw what really happened then?”

f7c97536836dc44ea7a1faaa02ab1a6a“I’m sure of it.” He pushed back his chair and came to kneel next to her. “It feels like closure I never got. It feels like answers that I never had.”

“I’m glad, that’s good. So then it’s all over, and I can go back to dreaming about begonias and dogs eating my Big Mac, right? I never thought I’d say it, but if I never have another dream more interesting than that, I’ll be a happy camper.”

When he made no effort to move from his position on his knees in front of her, she fought the urge to push her chair back away from him. “What?”

The man was staring at her like she had two heads, and the look alone was enough to clench the nerves in her belly that hadn’t fully relaxed since this whole damn dream sharing started. “Al, I can go back to my boring dreams now can’t I?”

“Leah,” he took her hands in his in a fervent motion that caused her dream journal to slide onto the floor with a loud kathunk. “Leah, I know this is not what you want to hear, and I’ll understand if you tell me no, but I need you to dream with me one last time.”

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101 Ch 6

f7c97536836dc44ea7a1faaa02ab1a6aIn Part 6 of The Psychology of Dreams, Leah and Al are saved by the smoke alarm. But saved from what?

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, and her psychology of dreams teacher, Al. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

No, I didn’t dream it, and I’m seriously hoping I don’t get punished like Leah and Al do if I don’t get it quite right, but The Psychology of Dreams did bubble up from somewhere in my unconscious and I had to share it. Since then,the Muse has been back knocking around in my imagination in some pretty unusual ways, and never taking the path I’d expect, but then dreams are like that, aren’t they? Enjoy episode 6!

 

I have no idea how long this little ditty will be, nor where it will lead, but I’m willing if you are. Please, read and enjoy The Psychology of Dreams 101.

 

If you’ve missed Episode 5, find it here. 

 

WARNING ADULT CONTENT! It occurred to me halfway through writing this episode of The Psychology of Dreams that this little tale might be a bit of a shock for those who just finished reading In The Flesh. While In The Flesh is dark paranormal romance, The Psychology of Dreams is just raunchy, fun erotica, a bit of light relief after Magda and her Consortium. Be warned, light it may be, but filthy it most certainly is. Enjoy!

 

Chapter 6 Now what?

“So what do we do now,” Al said. “We can’t go on like this.” He glanced down at his overworked fly, and Leah nodded her frustrated agreement, standing as she was, with her trousers down over her hips and one blazing ass cheek exposed from her red panties.

“Well,” the good doctor rubbed his chin and glanced around the room. “We could continue here. We’re clearly still all in Leah’s dream,” He nodded to his desk top, “I suppose the location doesn’t matter – at least not unless we’re going to analyze the dream, but I hardly think we can even consider that while we’re in it.”

“I don’t care about analyzing it,” Leah said. “I just want to get it over with. Besides, your office is a lot nicer that Al’s classroom.”

As Doctor Clyde cleared off his desk, Leah noted, as she hurried her trousers and panties down over her hips, that she could see her reflection in the polished glow of the dark wood.

“I want to look at you,” Al said, helping her out of her clothes.

Writing pen and birds 1_xl_20156020            Leah was about to ask the doctor to see if the mirror they’d been using might be in his desk, after all if they were still in her dream, everything they might need should be tucked away nicely. Certainly there was a lot more room for dream paraphernalia in his huge desk. The two men, however, had something else in mind, as they hurried her out of the rest of her clothes and, when she started to bend over the desk, now completely naked, it was Doctor Clyde who stopped her. “Not like that, not yet anyway,” he gave her breasts a grope and then together he and Al turned her until her back was to the desk. Al kneed her legs apart … wide apart, until she had to grab onto his arm to keep from losing her balance.

“Now this may sting just for a moment, but trust me, it’ll be worth a tiny bit of pain,” the doctor said.

Both men reached beneath her legs and lifted her in a seated two-person fireman carry so that they supported her beneath the knees and high on the ass, effectively forcing her to spread herself wide open as they settled her, girlie bits first, onto the cool shiny surface. At first there was a sharply inhaled breath, and then she forgot all about the pain in her bottom and gave a little sigh of surprise as she got it, she totally got it! Making a damp spot on the good doctor’s pristine desk was exactly what they had in mind. She spread her legs a little farther and gave a little wriggle and a moan — a moan which the men echoed as they waited expectantly. Then they lifted her off the desk and they all three turned anxiously to admire the print of her, splayed, swollen, and more than ready for some serious relief, but as the doctor led her to the other end of the desk, not wanting to disturb her artwork, and bent her over, as Al slipped his belt from its loops, still admiring her self-portrait on the desk, she remembered again that the punishment had to be completed before she got any relief.

She groaned. “All right, then, lets get on with it, shall we?” It came as a total surprise when Doctor Clyde fumbled out of his paisley tie and bound her hands behind her back. She was just about to panic, just about to tell him that she didn’t like being tied up when she suddenly realized that … actually she liked it just fine. If anything it made her even more aroused, a thing she would have thought well-on impossible at this stage of the game. A breathless groan from Al clued her in that he liked it too. Then he quickly added. “It’s your dream, Leah. Do you want to be bound?”

“Of course she does,” the doctor answered for her, “Can’t you tell by her breathing, by the way she squirms. If all else fails just give her a little feel.” He wriggled a thick finger up into her wetness, and she struggled not to groan. You’re the Dom, Al, you don’t ask, you pay attention to your sub’s body language. You are the one who gets to choose, besides,” he brought his finger away from her and popped it into his mouth as though it had just been in the cookie dough, “a little restraint can be such a turn on in these situations, and of course the dream symbolism … well I quiver to think. Now then,” he nodded to Al, “Time to tackle the rest of that luscious ass.”

Al took a deep breath, and Leah held hers and closed her eyes, her heart racing in anticipation, her brain doing what it could to mentally prepare her for the sting. The fucking doctor stopped the action again!

“Hold it! Hold it! If you do it like that, Al, you’re going to hurt her other butt cheek just as badly, and we’ll never get this punishment sorted.

“Well fuck, Derrick!” Al exploded. “How the hell am I supposed to know what to do? I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”

Doctor Clyde took the belt from his clenched fist and half whispered in his ear, “not even in your dreams? Come on, Al, admit it, you’re a teacher, haven’t you ever wanted to spank a misbehaving student on her little bare bottom?” As he spoke, his free hand came to rest on Leah’s unmarred buttock, which he began to stroke and knead until she could no longer keep from grinding against the hard wood surface, easing her legs apart with each wriggle and shift as the doctor’s thumb came dangerously close to her back hole. She was just doing her best to raise her bottom, so his fingers would slide home where she really needed them when, with a motion so fast is was over almost before she could do more than give a little cry of shock — one in which Al joined her, the belt came down sharp and crisp, like the strike of a snake and, while the sting was still there, it translated almost immediately into something quite different than pain down deep in between her legs. “Oh … Oh!” came her almost involuntary response.

“Now there, you see, Al?” The doctor said. “Don’t come,” he addressed Leah, then turned his attention back to Al. “She’s close, Al, here feel,” He guided Al’s fingers down to the evidence, and Leah bit back a curse. “See, she’s close, but she’s being punished, remember?” He handed the belt back to Al and added, “don’t you come either. A Dom has to have even more self-control than he expects from his sub if the results are to be satisfactory, or so I’ve heard. Now then,” he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, “I think we’re making progress here, though it is a shame about the sandwich, I mean the one the three of us were about to make back in Al’s classroom, but that’s dreams for you, isn’t it?” Before he could do more than wave Al on, the next sharp thwak came expertly administered to the wounded left butt cheek, but just enough to the outside that the sting was exquisite way down deep where Al had not bothered to withdraw his stroking fingers.

“Oh that’s a nice touch, Al. Well done. Raise the steaks by making her hurt so good all over your fingers. You’re getting the hang of this now.” With that the good doctor unzipped his fly and pulled out his erection just as Al gave her right cheek another smack, then trailed the length of the belt down her spine and teasingly along the cleft of her ass, and she moaned.

Al gathered Leah’s hair into his fist like she was a horse and he was the rider, then he began a rhythmic smack, smack, 7401867966b49d9e25e799def0c09dae
smacking of her upper thighs in turn just enough to sting, just enough to stimulate, while he pulled her hair back just enough to make her arch up off the desk, just enough to lift her nipples off the desk while driving her pubic bone hard and tight against the wood. It was hypnotic, it might have even been meditative if she hadn’t needed to come so badly, if she hadn’t been clenching tight, holding herself right on the very edge, waiting for it … waiting for it … Waiting for what? How the hell would she know when her punishment was over and she could get on with it? Get on with what? Was there something that was supposed to happen after they’d both been punished? Certainly they’d assumed so and so did Dr. Clyde, but how could they know? This was only a dream, wasn’t it?

“And now I’m going to put her mouth to good use,” the doctor said, “Turn her head just a little bit this way, Al. It would be a shame to waste one nice wet hole just because the other one is being punished.”

The relentless ringing of her doorbell brought Leah up from a sound sleep in a startled jerk that landed her on the floor with a breath jarring kathunk and a yelp trailed by several breathless expletives. Who the hell would be ringing her doorbell at this hour? She drug herself to her feet and cinched her robe around her waist, all the while the doorbell kept brrring, brrring, brrringing. From beside her bed, she grabbed the baseball bat she always kept handy just in case and, with heart hammering, made her way on tiptoes through the darkened house to the front door. In her efforts to be quiet, she miscalculated the distance from the coffee table to her little toe, and there was no stifling the resulting yowl of pain well laced in foul language.

The doorbell went silent. “Leah?” Came the hissed voice from the other side.

“…Al? Is that you?”

“It’s me, yes.”

She hobbled to the door slid the deadbolt and opened to her bleary-looking instructor, who stood in complete dishabille. Bed head didn’t begin to describe his wild hair. His shirt was buttoned crooked and untucked from his jeans,
and he wore no socks. “Did I wake you? I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes. I was dreaming.” She nodded him in.Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_b

“I know. So was I. Listen, about that. I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” She looked down at her watch. “It was nearly three in the morning.”

“And thank heaven my smoke detector went off,” he said, then he waved a dismissive hand. “Oh it was nothing, just low battery, but it was enough to get me out of the dream and make me realize what’s happening. As soon as I figured it out, I knew I had to warn you or we’d be stuck in the dream unpunished and unsatisfied.”

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101 Chapter 4

f7c97536836dc44ea7a1faaa02ab1a6aIn Part 4 of The Psychology of Dreams, Dr. Clyde becomes Leah and Al’s dream advisor by default.

What if you got punished when you didn’t get your dreams right? That’s the dilemma our heroin, Leah, and her psychology of dreams teacher, Al, in The Psychology of Dreams 101.

No, I didn’t dream it, and I’m seriously hoping I don’t get punished like Leah and Al do if I don’t get it quite right, but The Psychology of Dreams did bubble up from somewhere in my unconscious and I had to share it. Since then,the Muse has been back knocking around in my imagination in some pretty unusual ways, and never taking the path I’d expect, but then dreams are like that, aren’t they? Enjoy episode 4!

The Psychology of Dreams 101, is a romp into the sexy unconscious as Leah Kent takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required Dream Journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys.

I have no idea how long this little ditty will be, nor where it will lead, but I’m willing if you are. Please, read and enjoy The Psychology of Dreams 101.

 

If you’ve missed Episode 3, Find it here. 

 

 

Chapter 4 In Command of the Dream

“It didn’t work,” Leah said as she sat down next to Al on the cordovan leather sofa in Dr. Clyde’s office.

The good doctor looked up from the legal pad on which he’d been taking notes and gave a wide-eyed blink as though he’d been completely unaware of their presence until just this second. He laid the pen down on the pad and glanced from one of them to the other. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Leah said. “I went to Al’s classroom, but it was locked and empty.”

“Nothing happened for me either,” Al said. “I just knelt naked on the floor of the dungeon, but no one ever came to bind me and … use me.”

“There was no word,” Leah continued, “At least not one I’m aware of. The dream was less satisfying than ever, because this time I knew what was supposed to happen. This time I had expectations, and now I’m even more frustrated than I was before.”

“Nothing happened,” they both protested at the same time, and as they did so, Dr. Clyde picked up the pen on his pad and wrote in big square letters. NOTHING HAPPENED, and suddenly they were all three back in Al’s classroom. Al sat in the chair with his belt in his hand, Leah stood before him in her transparent red underwear, and Dr. Clyde sat cross-legged on top of Al’s desk, pad and pen at the ready.

“Sometimes even recurring dreams take unexpected twists and turns.” He nodded to Al and gave Leah a little shooing motion with his pen. “Well, get on with it.” He glanced down at his watch. “There’s a lot more to get through before dawn if the two of you are serious about finishing the dream before you wake up. Oh, and Al, I would suggest that when Leah begins to squirm and get restless, you finger her snatch a bit, you know, change the game plan, hold her attention in the dream with a little enticement other than pain. Nothing’s quite as enticing as just the right mix of pleasure and pain, I bet you didn’t think about it when you were spanking her before, did you?”

“It’s not my dream,” Al said, as he pulled Leah down across his knees and raised the belt.

“Well in that case you can be forgiven, I suppose, but Leah, when it’s gets all squirmy for you and you don’t know whether to cry or come, tell him. Tell Al how his smacking of your little bare bottom is making you horny; remind him that he doesn’t have to be so single-minded with your punishment. It’s all right for him to be creative. It’s your dream, as he says. You tell him what you want from it.”

whisky-630x383“Can I do that?” she asked. “Is this supposed to happen? Are you even supposed to be here?”

“It’s your dream,” he replied with a little shrug. “If you want me to leave, just say the word.”

“No. No it’s all right. You can stay.” Leah found that the idea of the ever so dapper Dr. Clyde watching her get spanked made her transparent underpants even wetter, but as she bent back over Al’s lap and once again Al raised his belt, Dr. Clyde interrupted again.

“Wait, wait, wait! Al, haven’t you ever done this before? Pull her panties down, at least; or if not, pull them to one side and expose the round little buttock you’re about to smack. Better yet, expose them one at a time as you smack them in turn. Yeah, that’s better still, don’t you think, Leah.”

Leah’s planned comment of agreement came out as a little yelp and a moan as Al wriggled fingers into the leg of her panties and slid the crotch aside.

“Oh he likes that, Leah, doesn’t he like that?” Dr. Clyde said.

When she glanced up at him, confused and red-faced from the blood rushing to her head, he shook his head and made a derisive sound at the back of his throat. “Well, give a little wriggle. Surely you can feel his hard-on. You are hard, aren’t you, Al? Hell, I’m hard as a rock, and I’m just watching.”

Leah did as he said and the resulting gasp from her and groan and squirm from Al made comment unnecessary. Once again Dr. Clyde motioned for them to get on with it.

But as the first blow fell and Leah’s world flashed bright with red hot pain and there was nothing at all sexy about what she was feeling, it was the good doctor’s stopping of the action that gave her blazing ass a temporary reprieve. “No, no, no! Not like that, Al. You’re spanking her, for fuck sake, not tenderizing a steak with a hammer. Christ! Haven’t you ever spanked a woman before?”

“No! I haven’t. Why would I? It’s not my fucking dream.” Al’s voice rose defensively, then he added quickly. “Leah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Leah was all but in tears when the doctor helped her up off Al’s lap, while Al apologized profusely.

“Well it’s certainly no wonder the two of you can’t seem to get through your dream punishments, talk
about a couple of true blue vanilla beans.” Before either could protest, he pulled a bottle of Glenmorangie from the bottom desk drawer along with three finely cut crystal glass and poured a generous tot in each. “What?” he replied to their shocked stares. “It’s a dream, for fuck sake, and sometimes you need a little liquid courage even in a dream.” He handed them each a glass. Once they’d all had a good solid sip, he sat his drink down, rubbed his hands together and gave the two of them a good sizing-up. “Right, first of all, let’s do something about your poor little stinging bottom, Leah, and then we’ll try again.” He moved the bottle and his glass aside and nodded her to bend over the desk. When she balked, he said, “oh don’t worry. I’m not going to spank it, I’m just going to make it feel better.”

She shot Al a glance, but he only shrugged, so she downed her whisky for courage, handed the glass to Al and did as the good doctor said. The red panties had ridden up into her butt crack with the first disastrous smack of the belt and she hadn’t noticed until Dr. Clyde carefully slid fingers into the waistband and peeled them down around her knees, leaving them there, almost as s reminder that at the end of the day this was still a punishment and she was a captive audience in this dream, if Dr. Clyde’s hypnotism had worked as he claimed. For some reason, that made her squirm against the desk with added excitment.

“Now let’s see what we have here.” Leah could feel his warm breath against her bare ass, which made her Sleeping woman reading181340322466666994_IswNAb85_bsquirm even more. He let out a low whistle. “Oh my! You did leave a mark, Al. Would you like to see, Hon?” He addressed Leah ignoring Al’s awkward attempts at an apology as he produced a large square mirror from the desk drawer. It was way too big to fit into the drawer. It reminded Leah of the vanity mirror in her bedroom. Come to think of it, the thing was exactly like her vanity mirror, but then it was her dream, after all. She strained to look over her shoulder as the doctor positioned the mirror to reflect her glowing red left butt cheek, the sight of which had her squirming against the desktop again. Dr. Clyde chuckled knowingly. “Sometimes it’s worth the pain to see the end result,” he said. “However, all things in good time, and Al was a little heavy-handed a little too soon. Oh do shut up, Al! A Dom does not apologize for doling out deserved punishment, and yes, my lad, in this dream, you are a Dom, so get used to it and do it right or we may never get out of this dream.”

 

 

In the Flesh Part 7: Free Story in Progress. Enjoy!

psyche_et_lamour_327x567Happy Friday Everyone! And the plot thickens with part 7 of my dark paranormal story, In The Flesh. Angels and demons, gods and monsters, sex and terror; when the boundaries are not clear, the journey can be deadly. But can the price be worth the paying?

In the Flesh is a dark and sexy story that has had several incarnations in its shorter form, but never quite worked because it needed space to grow. I couldn’t think of a better place for it to grow than on my blog. In the Flesh is a blend of paranormal erotica and almost, but not quite … okay, quite possibly … horror. It’s had seven exciting weeks to unfold now, and it’s as much an adventure for me as I hope it is for my readers.  I know what’s happening only slightly before you do. Episode 7 is both the most chilling and the most sexy to date. That’s the writer’s humble opinion, of course. Read it for yourself and you decide! 

Happy Reading! 

 

 

To read the story in its entirety up to this point, follow these links to  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 & Part 4 Part 5Part 6

 

In The Flesh Part 7

“You’re an angel. The sculpture in the garden at Chapel House, it’s you, isn’t it?” The fact that the question sounded rose imagestotally insane seemed irrelevant considering the way the weekend had gone so far.

He shrugged and I watched as a blush climbed his throat spread across the tightening of his jaw and up his cheeks. “I’m retired,” he replied without looking at me. Then he added quickly, “The sculpture’s old. A friend of mine did it a long time ago, taking the piss really — especially by putting it there in that particular garden.” He ran a large hand through the fall of damp hair. “It’s her way of reminding me that I’m grounded now, tied to the earth just like every other mortal. No matter what I was, at the end of the day, I’m dust, and I’ll return to dust, if I’m lucky.”

“Wait a minute, angels can retire?’

He shot me a quick glance. “Well, it’s all a matter of semantics, isn’t it?”

“Then you’re not a builder?”

“Oh I’m a builder alright, and a damn good one,’ then he added as an afterthought, “Jesus was a carpenter, after all.”

I squinted hard in the fading light studying the lines of his face, the plane and slope of his strong upper body, the slow, deep rise and fall of his chest as he took in and released each breath. But I could find no distinction, nothing that would give away the fact that he was an angel and not an ordinary man. Oh he was nice to look at, he was interesting to look at, but he wasn’t beautiful, as I thought an angel would be. Obviously the nose had been broken since the sculpture was made, and he seemed thicker through the shoulders and chest. Perhaps that was all down to hard physical labor in lieu of playing a harp and mooching his way around the pearly gates. There were several white puckered scars just below his ribs. Two looked to be puncture wounds of some kind. The other was an angry gash that surely must have all but eviscerated him. Without thinking I reached out and traced the long pale arc of scar tissue that followed the shape of his lower left rib and disappeared in the shadow under his arm. He tensed beneath my touch and the skin along the path of my finger goose fleshed. “I had to force the issue of my retirement.” His words were barely more than a whisper, and his gaze was locked on the logs in the fireplace, laid, yet unlit.

“Christ,” I whispered. “Why? I mean why the hell would you give up immortality to be one of us?’

He covered my hand with his and held it against his side. At last he raised his gaze to meet mine. “I would have done anything to get away, and at that point, I didn’t care if I lived or died. It felt like it was all the same.”

“Are you a fallen angel then?”

This time he laughed out loud. “Stupid term, fallen angel. Truth be told, gods are bastards – all of them, any religion, any mythology, they’re all arrogant, megalomaniacal bastards. They want control, and when they don’t get it, well, they’re even worse bastards. The woman who made the sculpture, she knows that at least as well as I do.”

“Is she an angel too?”

He shook his head and looked away again, the smile slipping slightly from his face. “No angel, a pawn really. At least she started out that way.” His eyes flashed bright in the fading light and the smile returned. “But sometimes even the pawns thumb their noses at the gods and get away with it. It cost her. It cost her dearly, but no one controls her now.”

“So what, she was a sculptor, and the gods didn’t like her work, was that it?”Graveyard angel 1

He released my hand and knelt to light the fire. With the sun setting the chill of evening came on fast. “Oh she’s not actually a sculptor. That’s just a part of her cover. She’s a thief, stealing back things the gods have taken that don’t belong to them.”

Every question he answered raised a dozen more. That what we were discussing sounded totally nuts wasn’t lost on me either, and yet neither was the fact that it was all either very real or I was still asleep dreaming in my bed, a cherished possibility diminishing with each passing moment. We both watched as the logs caught fire from the kindling, and flame blossomed turning shadows of ordinary things into ghouls and ghosts that writhed and dance on the walls. Once he was sure of the fire, he stood to close the balcony doors. “I work for her sometimes. When she needs me. She uses me when what I do as a builder dovetails with whatever job she’s on at the moment.”

I shifted in my seat to look up at him as he returned to settle back on the chair arm. “So you’re trying to steal something from Chapel House? What is it, a flaming sword?”

He laughed. “Not anything that obvious. Chapel House and I have a long history, as you might have guessed from the sculpture.”

“Annie really did hire you to do the renovations at Chapel House?”

He nodded. “All a part of the plan.”

“It must have thrown a monkey wrench into your scheming when she fell in love with a demon, or whatever he is, and told you to bugger off.”

He shrugged, raising one well-muscled shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. I seldom let something like that stop me.” He pulled a shirt from a peg next to the door and slipped into it. “I’ve brought your things in, and I would imagine you’d like a shower. Then we’ll see what we can scrounge for dinner. If that’s alright.”

The shower was more of a wet room really, big and luxurious, clearly designed to fit the man who used it. I wondered if he’d built the house himself, planned it all exactly like he wanted it. The bed was big, the rooms I’d seen high ceilinged and spacious, all with views of the fells. The shower was built of large sandstone tiles that made me feel more like I was standing under a waterfall on a wild river in some hidden desert canyon. Ghosted fossils of fern leaves made lacy patterns on the rough dun slabs. He must have selected each slab of sandstone carefully. The shower, with its stoney artwork and it’s multiple heads, even its ledged seat that looked as though it were only a rocky outcropping in a cave, were all well thought out, beautifully designed by someone who loved and appreciated the out of doors. Yes, Jesus was a carpenter. Perhaps building and creating was a part of the psyche of divine beings. Was Michael still a divine being, or had it been necessary for him to learn his craft by practice and training, like ordinary mortals did? He’d said the sculpture of him in the garden was very old. Perhaps he’d had a long, long time to perfect his craft.

I shivered at the thought and reached for the soap. It was slightly rough like the sandstone surface and felt Bernini Hades and Persephone close uptumblr_lg4h59T3z31qe2nvuo1_500
good against my skin, reminding me of the gentle scritch, scritch of a lover’s fingernails over bare flesh. It had that same woody scent I woke up to in his bed, down between his sheets, though it lacked the base notes of clean perspiration and sleeping, dreaming male. I wondered if angels – retired angels, that is – did dream, and were those dreams ever the kind that brought the pungent earth and ozone scent of male lust to the forefront in that masculine olfactory cocktail. I breathed in the smell, fresh and woodsy, and moaned at the soft rough scritching against my naked skin, wondering if Michael’s hands would feel such. He was a builder after all, surely those calloused hands were rough enough to make delicious shivers up my spine, and any place else he touched me. I imagined the feel of Michael against my flesh, the feel of his large hands moving over me, cupping and exploring, the feel of his mouth tasting mine. That he had created such a sensual space, and I was now certain that he had, made my imagination wild with images of the two of us beneath the waterfall, and the smell of my own lust peaked.

At some point in my ruminations about Michael, my fertile imagination sent me seeking pleasure with my own hand, fingers moving of their own volition while I lathered my breasts with the rough scritch, scritch of the soap pebbling my nipples and making my tender heaviness tingle and ache. The realization of just how needy I was came as a surprise after the experiences of the last twenty-four hours, but then it shouldn’t have, should it? I’d practically lived the whole weekend in a state of arousal — at least when I wasn’t terrified out of my mind. And really, almost every horror film I’d ever seen coupled sex and terror, even orgasm and death, so closely that the two bled into each other. One always expected the couple’s sexy encounter in a horror film to end in gruesome bloodshed or worse. In the garden this afternoon, even as terrified as I was, I was just seconds away from orgasm. I shivered in spite of the cloud of steam rising around me. I had researched stories of the gods seducing mortals and taking them as lovers. That was certainly an archetype, but what I had failed to consider was that the monsters also sought out mortal lovers. Hadn’t Frankenstein’s monster wanted a bride? Didn’t King Kong steal away Faye Ray? Didn’t Dracula seek out his Mina? Beauty came to love the Beast. Even Psyche herself was taken to the domain of the monster she was told never to look upon for fear of certain death. The revelation that the monster was the god of love himself cost her dearly. But it was a price she was willing to pay.

At the end of the day, maybe there really wasn’t that much difference between the gods and the monsters. Even Graveyard angel 2da8f31cc622c5a47d15ff0c4f1e114abin the horror films more often than not, terror gave way to a different kind of lust, a much more deeply rooted lust, a lust as closely connected to death as it is to procreation and pleasure, a lust lost in time and well connected to monsters and demons and blood and the fear of childbirth, at the same time, all bound up with the desperate need to form the monster with two backs. Christ! The lust for the monster was as much a part of our psyche as was our terror of him! I wondered, would I have been able to hold off, would I have been able to resist the monster’s advances, if Annie hadn’t chosen that moment to use me for knife practice, if Michael hadn’t shown up when he did and whisked me away? And would I have cared if they hadn’t? Would I have been perfectly happy if I’d been left to rut against the paving stones with such a powerful being, who was maybe both monster and god? He had promised me the mind of god, the ultimate creative force that was the absolute Holy Grail for every writer. He knew exactly who I was, what I needed. I was reminded in a rush of heat that he could take me to places sexually I couldn’t even imagine. Monsters could do that, and their lovers were willing to pay any cost for the experience.

I rinsed off quickly and stepped out of the shower unsteady on my feet and still unsatisfied. As I picked up the towel to dry a wave of anguished lust clawed its way up from my center and spread like fire over my chest all the way to the crown of my head. In an instant it burned everything away but raw aching hunger, leaving an abyss that surly could never be filled. How the hell would I survive this? Surely Annie would not, could not, and I hated her for having him, even as he used her up and tossed her aside. I hated her for having what should be mine, what was mine. No one could appreciate what his affections could offer like I could; no one could translate his lust, his power like I could. He knew it, and I knew it. For a terrifying moment, I pictured myself with the butcher knife. I pictured myself sneaking into Chapel House while Annie was in a post coital stupor. It would be easy to do, and I knew he wouldn’t stop me. In fact, he would welcome me, help me do away with the body, help me escape the suspicions of the police and the investigations that would follow.

I caught my breath in a gasp, only just remembering my need for oxygen, and I relaxed the white-knuckled fist clenched painfully around the hilt of the knife I imagined using. I came back to myself standing in front of the mirror. The towel had fallen to the floor at my feet; water still pearled on my hot skin. My reflection was obscured by the steam. The image on the other side of that thin film of condensation could be anyone. I could be looking at his face, not mine, the face I’d never seen and yet, like Psyche, suddenly, desperately longed to see. I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have questioned when he wanted me. I should have taken his gift. I could have taken the knife from Annie, as weak as she was, and Michael had said himself he was just dust. The scars proved he bled just like anyone else. I could have finished it right there, and if I had, if I’d had the courage, it would be me in his arms now, me lying beneath him, letting him fill me with the wisdom of the ages, with the creative power I hungered for. I ached to know what it felt like. I longed to know who he was. I staggered, and nearly fell against the sink, and then I was myself again. With a curse that felt gut deep and a quick swipe of my hand, I cleared the mist from the mirror and yelped and nearly jumped out of my skin at the reflection of Michael standing behind me.

“You were crying,” he said, “I called out. I pounded on the door, but you didn’t answer.”

“I … I couldn’t hear you.’ The room tilted slightly, then righted itself. “Oh Christ, Michael, he was here, how canSt Teresa BerniniEl-extasis-de-Santa-Teresa4
he be here? I wanted to be with him. I wanted to do things, horrible things.”

“He wasn’t here.” He bent and picked up the towel, swaddled me in it and lifted me into his arms, which was just as well, I’d completely lost the will to move, or even to stand. With me clinging to his neck, sobbing against his shoulder, he carried me to the wing back chair, settling in it himself holding me on his lap like a child. “He wasn’t here, Susan. Trust me, he wasn’t.’ He pushed the damp tendrils of hair away from my cheek and wiped tears with a large, rough thumb. ‘But you were with him, he’s touched you, been inside your head. You’re now connected to him, and you feel the pull of his lust.’

I sat for a long time nestled against Michael’s broad chest listening to his heartbeat, like an anchor keeping me in my body, keeping me in my right mind. I wondered how an angel’s heart differed from my own. I wondered how his struggles and his desires differed from those I lived with. At last I found my voice “I feel … so empty.” I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks again, tears that I’d barely been aware of while I was in the bathroom, as though they were such a small representation of the way I felt His absence that they were barely worth my attention.

“I know. That’s exactly what he wants you to feel.”

“He said that he’d show me the mind of god, that he’d share all he knows, that he’d be my inspiration and help me write it all down.”

“He knows your deepest desire. That’s the first thing he ever finds out about those he seduces. He learns their darkest secrets, their most private longings, and their deepest fears. Anything he promised you, he’ll deliver, Susan, but what he doesn’t tell you is that once he’s has you, once you’ve been with him, everything that mattered to you before will be meaningless. You live for him, and you burn with emptiness when you’re not with him, as though you’ll die if you don’t have him.’

I wiped viciously at my eyes. “Oh god, Michael, what am I going to do? What the hell am I going to do?”

“You’re going to fight him, that’s what you’re going to do, and I’m going to help you.” His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, and involuntarily I squirmed to get closer to him, realizing with a start, that I was still horny as hell. But I couldn’t take advantage this way. I couldn’t. It was lust of such magnitude as I’d never felt before, and it was dark and horrible and terrifying and, fucking hell, I wanted to be consumed by it. But that wasn’t Michael’s problem. To drag him into it was not an option. Besides, I barely knew the man.

“I … I should get dressed,” My voice sounded breathless and distant. I tried to push my way off his lap, but he held me there, hands gentle but firm. It was then that I felt him, hard pressed with his own lust. He sat very still. I held Psyche and Erosmy breath.

At last he spoke, still careful not to move, even his lips barely formed the words. “Susan, I know what you’re feeling right now. I understand it, believe me, I do.” His gaze met mine in the firelight. “I know what you need, and unless you’re completely daft, you have to know my response.” This time he shifted slightly and I caught my breath in a tight little gasp and with it inhaled the scent of his lust, lightning and ozone, dark damp earth. He slid the flat of his palm down to rest on the small of my back and the towel fell away. “If you let me,’ his breath came heavy and quick against my cheek, ‘I can make it easier for you.’ He moved a splayed calloused hand up over my ribs, and we both groaned. ‘If you let me, I can help.’

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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