BY MY THIRD WEEK IN the house, I began to have recurring dreams of walking down a long
narrow hallway lit by old-fashioned torches. Like a dungeon in a medieval castle. I
usually felt like someone outside myself was leading me along to a room at the end of the
hallway, from which an eerily inviting orange glow filled the opened doorway. As I
approached, I observed that the room was illuminated by dozens of fat white candles.
The first time I found myself there, I saw a woman attired in arm length shiny black
leather gloves, a matching corset, that pushed up her full pale breasts which were
exposed; a dominatrix whipping a kneeling, pale blonde haired man whose hands were
handcuffed behind him. The handcuffs were in turn attached to a chain extending down his
back, from the studded collar he wore around his neck.
He wore only tight black leather trousers with the back cut out to reveal his bare
buttocks. I could hear him draw a hissing breath and groan every time the whip whistled
in the air and landed on his already welted and reddened cheeks. I couldn`t see either of
their faces, but I imagined him to be quite tall. He sort of reminded me of Michael.
She had long black hair, and was also quite tall. With the high-heeled boots she was
wearing, she appeared even more indomitably so; about six feet, two inches. They didn`t
seem to realize that I was there watching.
By the fourth time I had the dream, the sequence changed. The woman was now the one in
restraints and blindfolded, lying strapped to a black leather upholstered bench, her head
falling over the top part of the bench, her hair in long glossy straight curtain sweeping
the floor. Still I couldn`t see her facial features, because of where I was standing and
the way she was positioned. He was standing over her dripping hot candle wax onto her
voluptuous pale breasts, while she moaned in ecstasy. I stood there as though transfixed,
feeling my whole body tingle with a need that had been denied for too long. Then,
suddenly the man turned and looked my way with a hint of a smile on his face, half
shrouded in shadow. Even so I could make him out. It was Michael!
"Would you like to join us luv`? There`s always room for one more. Especially one
such as you, so eager and willing to learn." His accent was Cambridge. So he had
been from the U.K. too!
Paradoxically fascinated and frightened at the same time, I turned to run away. But as
it happens only in dreams, my feet became leaden, seemingly riveted to the ground beneath
me. When next I looked up he was beside me; impressively tall, blonde and criminally
handsome, with his chiselled features just waiting to be immortalized in bronze or stone
under the capable hands of a master sculptor.
He held out one hand to me and I put mine in it, mentally commanded by him to do so.
He waved his other hand and the vision of the naked woman strapped to the bench
disappeared, but the rest of the room remained. The next thing I knew, I was now the one
in bondage as he suspended my arms above me and secured them to old-fashioned iron fetters
attached to the wall. He then spread my legs and secured my ankles to leg irons set into
the wooden floor. I held my breath as he ripped my nightgown open down the front and
completely tore it off me, exposing my body to his appreciative appraisal. Then his lips
started to travel all over me, while he tweaked my nipples with skilful fingers,
increasing the degree of pain which was arousing as opposed to being actually painful,
before one hand moved down to skilfully work my now wet vagina. Instinctively I thrust my
chest out towards him as far as my restraints would allow me......
Then somewhere far away in my consciousness I heard a demanding meow, which kept growing
more insistent as I felt whiskers brush my nose. I sneezed, waking up as I did so.
Bustopher Jones was in right my face demanding his breakfast, giving me no time to
contemplate my dream. Some dream! My imagination was so vivid I could still feel the
cold iron fetters on my wrists, and I automatically glanced at them. There was no
evidence of them having been in restraints of any sort. However, my nipples were hard,
sticking out under the thin fabric of my nightie, and my panties were wet. Meanwhile,
Bustopher kept up a steady one-cat chorus of persistent meowing.
"All right! Have some patience will you? You`re worse than a bloody man!" I
scowled at the cat only to be rewarded with a; `get with the program woman, and just feed
me` look, as I sleepily trudged downstairs towards the kitchen. I looked at the clock on
the kitchen wall. It was six thirty. Glancing out the window, I could see the sun
already rising over the city, reflecting fiery rose glints off its glass towers and the CN
Tower standing majestically along the lakefront, near the Sky Dome; two wonders of modern
architecture.
I had two hours before I had to report for work. Luckily this assignment was close by,
within a ten-minute walk, really. It gave me extra time for my brisk one-mile morning
walk, before returning home to shower and eat a quick breakfast, before leaving for work.
I fed Bustopher, who actually looked up at me and meowed as if to say `thanks`. One thing
I had to say about this oversized house cat, he certainly had a personality.
After feeding the cat, I went back upstairs, to the bathroom and splashed some cold
water on my face to wake me up completely, then slipped on my blue and white jogging suit,
grabbed my Walkman and keys and headed out for my walk.
It was during this time that ideas for writing came to me. However, today, writing was
the last thing on my mind. The dream I`d had, continued to dominate my thoughts,
producing a feeling a rush of heat in my whole body at the thought of what Michael had
been about to do with me. It was then, I started to wonder about Michael. Who or what
was he, really? Why would an entity I had thought of as a guardian angel or spirit guide,
appear to me in such a dream? It made no sense, at least not in the religious sense in
which one tended to view these things. I suppose I should also mention that I had always
been fascinated with the supernatural. Therefore, while someone one else might have been
disturbed and afraid, and I should have, but I wasn`t. Michael didn`t feel at all evil to
me.
I resolved to have a talk with Geri later this evening when I returned from work.
She was a woman who befriended me when we worked at an assignment together. She also, was
an artist, and was into what she called the `alternative lifestyle`, favouring mostly
black leather Goth attire outside of work. Standing nearly six feet tall, she had
shoulder length curly black hair and ice blue eyes, in a rather sharp-featured face. Her
skin was almost vampire pale, and her voluptuous body was reminiscent of a fertility
goddess`. At thirty-eight she was three years older than I, and we had so much in common,
it almost seemed like we were almost sister soul mates. Her parents had emigrated from
Belfast when she was fifteen, and she still spoke with a hint of an Irish brogue.
Since I also mostly favoured black attire, and had dyed my reddish blonde hair black, we
tended to look a bit like sisters. I had found that once I`d made the choice to go
brunette, and even don a pair of glasses to give me a more intellectual look, I was being
taken more seriously as a woman. Being big breasted and blonde with a `cute` face just
didn`t work for me.
I didn`t get a chance to connect with Geri that evening, however, we had a date for
Friday evening. We were going to get together with a few friends of hers at her place. I
wasn`t overly concerned about my erotic dream, and figured I could wait until after her
friends left to discuss what was happening.
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