Page 165 of The Dommes

Kathleen

Sex dreams don’t come often, but when you’ve been denied by someone like Ira Mathison, you’re gonna dream about fucking somebody.

Guess who is in my sex dream. Hilariously enough, it’s not Ira. No, it’s the gender-ambiguous person from Midnight. The one Nova walked away with and got to intimately know against a wall.

Apparently, I thought they were hot.

“Kathleen,” they say with a purring accent. “Let’s go away, you and me. I’ve got a private jet. Anywhere in the world. Brazil, Singapore, Tahiti… what is your poison, my beauty?”

I’m putty in their hands, my giggles piercing my brain and my body begging them to fuck me. I don’t think it has anything to do with the person. I could be dreaming about any hot dominant. All that matters is that my brain has nothing to do with Ira right now.

Ew, Ira.

“That’s right, precious kitten.” They stroke my cheek and brush their hand against my hard nipple. “Don’t think about that person. Think about anyone but them. It’s time you try on a new dominant for size.”

A new dominant.

Hey, sleeping-sex-dream Kathleen is all about getting her a new dominant to try out everything she knows.

They lure me down onto a couch, breath hot against my skin. Fingers roll against my nipples. My legs are parted. Kisses cover my shoulder, my back, my cheek. Their weight is pushing against me...

I see daylight.

My eyes are slowly opening, the beautiful foreigner disappearing from my dream. I’m still awake – sexually, anyway. My body calls to be touched.

And it is.

There are hands on me. That wasn’t a dream. Neither were the kisses as they pepper my skin and roll into my ear.

Ira.

It’s God-fucking-knows-o-clock, and Ira Mathison is rubbing against me in bed, her fingers about to penetrate me

“Shh,” she says, clasping her hand over my mouth. The other cups my breast, rolling my nipple between forefinger and thumb. My unclothed pussy is wet, and I don’t know if it’s from my sex dream or Ira manipulating me in my sleep.

My God.

This was in that letter she sent me. “You will be available to me at all times of day. Even when you’re asleep.” Boy, I guess so. I remember thinking the idea was hot but didn’t think she would do it.

I very rarely make morning love outside of some making out and heavy petting. Actual sex with someone’s fingers or genitals is usually out of the question, because who wants to deal with that waking up?

Apparently I do!

This should be against everything I hold dear. Namely, my bodily autonomy. Did I tell Ira it was okay to awaken me with sex? Inadvertently. Was she going to have sex with me while I was asleep? Well, she said she might. Do I want to know the answers to these questions?

Yes. And no.

I don’t think she would have done something heinous. Not only because nothing about her previous behavior says that but also because she’s only going for it now that I’m awake.

The dream world. Reality. Who knows which one came first? Was I having a sex dream because Ira was stimulating me in bed? Or was I already horny as fucking hell because I thought I was going to have sex last night and then didn’t at all?

Furthermore, who the fuck cares?

Coming out of a dream world means I’m existing on the border between illusion and reality. Everything my body feels is absolutely real. However, it’s amplified by my sleepy mind, a mind that is quickly awakening thanks to the hand silencing my moans and the other squeezing my breasts and rubbing the inside of my bare thigh. My senses are heightened. I can barely believe this is happening, since it still feels like a dream.

Her breath against my skin. Her quiet groans in my ear. The way she presses against me from behind, grabbing everything, keeping me silent. The rest of her getting ready to take me and use me any way she pleases.

“You will be available to me.” I really am her doll.

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