Dreammaster Ch. 02

The next morning, you find a pretext to visit David in the server room. His initial blush and subsequent hesitant conversation tell you clearly that he has remembered his dream from the night before. Pretext out of the way, you dive in with a smile.

"So ... Anything of interest happen lately."

You lose what eye contact you had with him as he busies himself with tidying his workspace then responds, "Umm ... Not really - haven't been out much lately. Maria and I are breaking up, I think, so we haven't been out much lately." His repetition only serves to underscore his un-ease.

With your copyrighted sincere frown, you reply, "Oh, David - I'm sorry. I really like her." ("really like her" you think to yourself) "So - its just been to work, then home to sleep - to sleep, perchance to dream ...?"

He freezes at this, then looks up at you, sheepish grin wrapped in layers around his face. Further silence as his eyes flit about the unoccupied room, then he speaks, “Uhhhh .... I shouldn’t say this, but I had another dream last night. I mean, a dream that you happened to be in, I mean.”

You grin broadly, vastly entertained by his attack of nerves. "I see - was this a hot dream, like the last one?"

"Much hotter. Much, much hotter."

"Just us or were there others? Anyone we know?" you decide to head right for your objective, since he is so flustered.

"It was just us together, I mean. You were looking out the window at some people in another building, but I think they were just talking in their kitchen."

The sharp, quizzical look you shoot at him sets him back, confused. You soften your gaze and wonder if he's lying (but why?), or really did see them just talking in the kitchen and not wildly fucking. You'll have to ask Weisshart about that.

You glance at your watch and realize you have three minutes to get to a meeting. "Damn - got to run." As you turn, one last question, "So - was there anything unusual in the dream?"

The confession of his beet-red face overrules his oral objections. You pause for one knowing qlance, then move on with your day. Outside in the hall, you mutter a soft curse over the information you didn't get from him. "Why don't I recognize her?" you wonder. "I wouldn't forget that red hair."

At lunch you make up nearby errands so you have a ready excuse for wandering about, staring at women in your local haunts. There is no flash of recognition, however, either in your mind or another's eyes.

The day slides by, and the evening follows suit. You consider going to bed early, but know you'll just lay there, too intrigued and curious for sleep to take hold. When you finally start nodding in your chair, you know that sleep will come quick and effortless.

Your head sinks into the pillow; in only a moment you slide into darkness. And, after a time, your eyes begin their dream-stalking motions.

... The cabinet door in your parents' kitchen catches slightly then creaks open. You reach in and deftly remove boxes of crackers and slip them into your backpack alongside the cheese and wine already there. You look around to see if you've awakened anyone, but when your silence is matched by the house, you creep stealthily to the back door where you are met by Kent, the American literature prof your friend Anita poached from you last winter.

"Did you get it?" he asks, peering into the backpack. "Mmmm ... " he confirms your selections, then takes your hand in his.

"Come on - I'm going to take you to the island." He begins running through the woods, and you race along to keep up, feet splashing through puddles of leaves on the way. Suddenly, you see him lunge forward and for a moment he seems airborne, but for you holding tight to his hand, wrenching him back to earth.

He turns to you, astonished, and slips an arm around you, whispering, "You still can't fly ...? "

Without speaking it aloud, you think, "I'm sure Anita the bitch could fly." and in your own head, you hear, "No - she only wanted to fuck. She got bored with me. Come on, we'll fly together."

He leans in, your open mouths meet, and then, instead of his tongue, you feel his moist breath fill your mouth. You press against him for support as you feel an intoxicating flush sweep through the provinces of your body.

He pulls back and jerks his head toward the horizon with a smile. "Come on, she's waiting for you."

With a leap, he takes the two of you into the air, just as an electric thrill runs through you from knees to navel. "Who?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

He draws you up into spooning position, nestling your now naked bodies together. His breath sings in your ear as his hands mold your pelvis to his. There is a pause, then he responds with a certain puzzlement in his voice, "... I don't know ... She's a redhead ... She said to come for you."

The two of you fall into silence as he controls the flight. You feel each thrust of his body and tightening of his hands as he periodically accelerates, his cock sliding familiarly against the lips of your increasingly damp and aromatic pussy. With each acceleration, you clench your thighs and squirm against his cock. Images cascade through your mind: bodies writhing against one another, sweat and shadows, long red hair, deep breathing and sharp panting. Long red hair weaving its way into your mind, seeming so real that you can feel the strands flowing silkily around your body. You drift out of your reverie and realize Kent's cock has slipped from between your thighs, then come to an awareness that your partner has changed completely. Breasts press into your back, and fine, small fingers grip you as strongly as before. Hair cascades over and around your shoulders. Soft lips touch the communication center of your brain, and from within you come the words, "Hello, Regina . . I'm Cassandra." She surprises you by using your full first name – does anyone call you Regina anymore?

As you melt against her, you wonder, "What happened to Kent?"

"We didn't need him anymore. I had him bring you to me, and now I've sent him off to another dream."

"Does that mean you're a DreamMaster . . . like Weisshart?"

She chuckles gently within you and replies, "Yes . . . and no. We're both after different things."

"And Kent?"

"Noooo . . . he's just a dreamer who remembers how to fly."

"So, what do you want from me?"

"For now, just to relax. We're almost there."

With that, silence overtakes your mind, and you become more aware of the body that nestles you. Somehow, the hands that grip you securely also glide along your thighs and stroke gently to the underside of your breasts. Her lips start at the base of your skull, then zig-zag along your neck before starting down your spine, depositing wet, gently sucking kisses at each vertebrae, down to an impossibly low place before retracing the path back up.

This massage, like no other, combined with Cassandra's secure embrace, drains away the last of your uneasiness. Whether by chance or design, Cassandra begins to descend now, spiraling the two of you downward through the treetop to a small clearing.

Landing, you walk with her to a moss-covered rock, where she gently lays you back, firm but soft hands sliding you fully onto the raised platform. She whispers, "We'll be right back . . ." You wonder about the plural pronoun, but are too much at ease to labor over it.

The soft and cool of the rock contrast with the heat from the sun filtering through the leafy canopy above. With closed eyes, you lay and wait, unmindful of the time passing, then she returns. They return. You feel fingers stroking your brow from above your head while at the same time, another hand takes your left hand and turns it slightly, unfolding it. Your hand is cradled as warm, soft lips arrive and land damply on your palm.

You open your eyes as the lips move to your wrist. You look down, then look up questioningly at Cassandra. Her voice reaches into your head and replies, "Look familiar but can't place him? I've sifted him out of your memories. Anyone you might have lusted after might be in there somewhere."

For now, you close your eyes again as he kisses his way up your arm, around your shoulder, then down your chest, one hand resting flat on your stomach. Cassandra thinks to you, ". . . watch my hand . . . "

Your eyes open and you see her hand hovering over your pubes. She circles for a moment, then dips her middle finger slightly and draws her hand back, as though gently plucking a string. Your clit trembles and your labia part in erotic readiness.

With each pluck, the trembling radiate out through your body. To your surprise, when you close your eyes again, the trembling continues with each pluck.

Everyman (what else would you call him?) pauses at each nipple long enough to bathe each with his tongue and to suck gently. When he returns to tracing the curves of your breasts, your nipples and areola cool under the gentle breeze in the clearing.

With both of them caressing you - him directly and Cassandra from above, your legs begin to draw up, parting at the knees in lustful anticipation.

You feel a warm tickle in the valley between your breasts; your eyelids part briefly to tell you what you suspected - Cassandra's hand is hovering over your breasts. In a moment, you feel a slow trickle of energy begin to flow from clit to breasts, swirling at points between your breasts and just below your navel. The stream twists and writhes like electricity and your back begins to arch and undulate under the flow. You feel yourself spiraling in toward your center, drawing Cassandra and Everyman with you in a rush of ecstasy and emotion.

Distracted, you do not notice that Everyman has moved between your legs until you feel the head of his cock gliding silkily against your dewy mound. He draws back, you tilt your pelvis slightly, and he slides in without resistance. Slow, deep strokes caress the inner walls of your vagina – deep kiss at the back and nibbles and sucking on the outstroke. Cassandra begins to move to the side, letting her hands roam more freely, but always bringing them back to where they started. Your skin burns and you feel Cassandra in your mind again, “... open – relax, take the energy, let it flow through, be one ...”

Your hips start to thrust upward, greeting Everyman’s cock as it fills you again and again, your legs locking around him to drive him forward, hands resting on his arms to steady the bounce and counterthrust. With your eyes closed, you see blue arcs cross your eyelids, the electric anticipation of the orgasm about to envelope you, your fingers lock onto Everyman’s upper arms and a rhythmic panting moan starts low in your belly and echoes from your mouth. Like crossing the sound barrier, your entire body trembles for a moment, then is launched into the incredible calm of complete orgasm. Entwined with Cassandra and Everyman, you are adrift in the ether, the energy that was flowing point to point through you now dancing off your skin and bathing the cells of your body. Your cells spin down in unison now, until all is at rest, and you float. No agenda, no vector, just presence and singularity.

You lay still for what seems like hours until you realize the mossy stone is now your bed ... you have floated up from dream to world.

You lay still, holding the memory of the dream until you can will your body to begin the day. You long again for the night, but know you are too depleted, and not yet ready for the next encounter.