Dreamers

I can't believe, after all this time, I have returned to this place where all I desire is to make your desires a reality. I am the dream maker, the author and finisher of so many faiths, that sometimes it is hard to keep track of everything. Yes, I created the religion you so called your own. It was my fingers that pressed gently and rapidly. It was my desire that penetrated, sometimes without your awareness, the depths of your existence as I wrote the lines that you would whisper in the night.

Enter me. You had said - and I entered.

Touch me. You had yearned, wriggling like a cat on the ground who hadn't been touched in an long time — and so I touched you.

Whisper to me. You cried when it was finished — and I whispered.

Return to me. Your heart had dreamt — and so here I am, sitting at the table, watching your reflection in the mirror as you undress, lay on the bed, and begin to touch yourself.

Interruption. A knock on the door. A frustrated sigh. An old t-shirt being thrown on, hiding the black panties that you had almost taken off. It was merely a delivery man with a small box — a present for a colleague — that had been ordered that day before. It was an insignificant distraction — and sadly the moment vanished, but I still watched as you moved about your day, quickly forgetting the desires of the morning.

Come back to me. I whispered, but you could not hear, because you did not know it was I who longed for you.

So I waited and watched carefully, knowing that once I typed the words, you would return — they all would return.

I wrote the invitation — a small magical incantation — a month later, but not before teasing and enticing you with thoughts that could never truly be desired in your earthly realm. Yes, it was I who had set-up that man in the bar to look at you with such an innocent look that made you moisten with dark thoughts.

What if I just teased him and made him squirm? What if I just allowed him a small taste of my lips? What would the girl sitting across from him think? Do I even care?

And so you did. You followed him towards the restroom. You smiled back at him when he smiled at you. And in your imagination, you sucked his dick and felt it penetrate your moist lips. In that moment, by the restroom, you didn't think it would become reality. You didn't know that the girl was his sister and he would quickly dismiss her to come join you. You didn't know that he also hadn't been touched, except by his own hands, in a long time. Yet, by the time the clock struck three, you touched him and allowed him to taste you. And you drank up every drop of his intensity before kicking him out, laying yourself down, and still thinking that it wasn't enough.

It was that moment, and the few other occasions that followed with other men and women, that provoked me to write to you once again.

Come to me. I wrote inviting you to my realm.

And as you slept, I stepped through the portal — the mirror that I had gifted you before I died — picked you up and carried you to my new home. At first, you did not stir, but in my realm, sensation is not all what it appears to be.

I sat in my chair and watched as the others surrounding you awake to discover their own naked identities being revealed, fondled, and embraced by other like-minded individuals. The energy in the air vibrated with tension. The moans and panting became louder and mouths salivated and desires were unleashed. No one knew how they had arrived to this place. No one cared. For all they knew, it was just a vivid dream — and they were lost and consumed in the arousal. However, you didn't stir — and those around you began to touch you with no avail.

I stood up and approached your resting body. The calmness quieted the room as everyone waited, with anticipation, for my first touch. Yet, tension without patience never can be released properly. I didn't touch and I heard the muffled groans as lovers wrestled with their own desires without trying to disrespect mine. And trust me, the desire I had to touch you, to hold you, to taste you, to penetrate you, above all, was shaking me at my very core — I was ready to explode.

Then, it was time — and where at first I might have wanted to caress you softly, my will changed — and I slapped your breasts with passion and intensity. You stirred. Oh you stirred. You moaned with pleasure as your eyes opened to your master and his servants all aroused and ready for the ultimate climax. We teased you for hours, tied you up, spanked you, licked you, and entered you — all as you soaked it in quaking internally. You came and we all fell quiet with a respectful delight as you closed your eyes and drifted off to another place and time.

I carried you home. I laid you gently on your bed, kissed your head, and turned to leave but not before whispering in your ears:

Worship me.

Return to me.

Love,

Your husband, creator, and master...

John