In Dreams, Dominance Pt. 03

All characters are over eighteen.

***

Isha was pretty. That was the best word for her. Pretty and nice.

We had a couple of classes together. She and I hit it off easily enough, swapping jokes like old friends after she sat next to me once. By mid-way through the semester we were good, if not great friends, meeting up over lunch and arguing about our common tastes in computer games and music. She was a small girl; the sort that made you think of birds, thin boned and slight-figured. But she had a sweet smile about her that drew me in. She had dusky brown skin and deep dark brown eyes and long black hair that only occasionally peaked from underneath her headscarf.

Isha was a Pakistani Muslim and, no matter how close we got, she had made it clear that her own wishes followed those of her family and culture; virginity before marriage to a nice boy back home.

She would have gotten her wish too, if not for my dreaming.

I reached out for her about a week after D and I broke up. At the time it was an idle curiosity mixed with a touch of lewdness. Isha was genuinely pure- kind and sweet and caring. And I wanted to sample that purity. Just a taste. A small little peek, to assuage my curiosity; just that, and then I'd leave her alone.

God, the lies we tell ourselves.

She wasn't hard to find. Two nights of searching; one day in between of telling myself that I should have gone looking for her, that this was a massive invasion of her privacy- not that it had stopped me before but there was a touch of the Madonna/whore complex in my thoughts where Isha was involved- and that I would call off the entire thing the next night.

Like I said: the lies that we tell.

I found her the third night. She was in a bedroom, brushing her hair. Isha's hair was long and dark and- outside of her headscarf- spilled down in a silken black waterfall. She wore pink pyjamas. She peered into the mirror with a sweet, gentle expression on her face. She looked pure and gentle and innocent.

There was no way I was going to leave her alone.

***

Isha brushed her hair with long, luxurious strokes. She peered into the mirror and the plain girl peered back at her. Too small, she thought. Too skinny. I look like a kid. She sighed as the brush made another long stroke down through her mass of jet-black hair.

"Isha?"

She turned to see Barry there, a strange smile on his face. "Found you," he murmured.

She stood up. "Hi, Barry. Um, should you be in my room?"

"It's okay," he said. "This is perfectly okay for me to be here." He licked his lips. "You look wonderful."

She looked down. She was wearing her pink pyjamas with the penguins- a little childish, she knew, but she liked penguins a lot and it wasn't like anyone else got to see them other than Baba and Mama. She laughed. "I must look so silly. Let me go get-"

"No. It's okay."

She frowned. She wasn't meant to be seen without her headscarf; she definitely wasn't meant to have a man in her room at night. "Um, are you sure?"

"It's okay," he said, and he took her by the hand and led her over to her bed. "You don't mind me seeing you like this."

"Okay," she said, relieved. "Um- hey." His hands had undone to top button of her top, fuzzy soft material pushed aside to show the hollow of her collarbones. "You shouldn't do that."

He frowned as though she'd said the wrong thing- had she said the wrong thing? Then he took her by the hand and said slowly, "It's okay. You want to show me your body."

"Oh." She paused as she considered this piece of information. She wasn't entirely pure, after all- she'd had plenty of lustful thoughts in the past about boys, men- even one or two about Barry. But they were just thoughts and she knew she really shouldn't act on them-

"You want to show off your body to me," he said in that same soft, gentle voice. "You love it." He undid another button on her pyjama top.

Prickling heat flushed across her skin as another button went. His hands were slow and gentle and methodical as he undid button after button. Underneath was bare skin; she never bothered to go to bed with a bra. She felt fear and excitement and something else- something deliciously forbidden and dangerously powerful stirring in the depths of her soul as the cute little buttons came undone one by one. She didn't move, hardly dared to breath as he continued. Eventually he undid the last button and stood back to survey his work. A stripe of brown flesh showed from her neck to the hem of her pyjama pants. She knew he could see the slight swell of her breasts, the flexing of her stomach. He raised one hand, knuckle extended, to touch her and she flinched in anticipation.

He stopped a heartbeat from her body, his eyes burning. "No," he said. "I said I'd just look. Just look. That's all." He wiped obviously sweaty palms on her bed as a mixture of disappointment and relief surged through her.

The relief faded a moment later as he slowly reached up and lightly touched the shoulders of her top. Touched them and then slowly slid them down, baring her to his sight.

Her shoulders first; small and skinny and thin. Then the tops of her modest chest with her faint little cleavage. Her nipples- twinkling with shameful lust- came into view and she couldn't help but bite back a gasp. He stopped, his eyes flickering between her bared breasts and her furiously blushing face. Then with a quick motion he pushed the rest of her top down, tangling it in her arms.

She was half naked in front of a boy with only her pyjama bottoms protecting her modesty. The air seemed to writhe and flicker around them, as though coiled serpents of pure lust pressed invisibly against her skin. Her heart pounded. Her body ached with a sudden and terrible hunger unlike anything she'd ever imagined.

She waited for him to touch her, to caress her, to force her down onto the bed and tear off her bottoms and-

"Stand up."

Swallowing, she rose onto unsteady feet. Her hand instinctively rose to cover her breasts-

"Don't. You don't have to be ashamed of your body with me."

Shaking, she lowered her hands by her side. She blinked. Was he naked? When had he taken off his clothes? But he was naked, pale and thin and with a penis that was already hard. It jutted out between his legs like a weapon and she found that she couldn't take her eyes off it.

"Take off your clothes. The rest of them."

She didn't even consider disobeying. Her hands slowly rose and gripped the hem of her bottoms. She swallowed again, her throat as dry as a desert, and then pushed down.

The bottoms slid over her hips. He reached down and touched his cock, the pale spear seeming to pulse at the sensation. Her hot core pulsed as well, as eager as the rest of her was terrified. Her pyjamas slid to the top of her groin, her black mass of curly hair coming into view. He began to slowly pump up and down on his cock. She slid it down a little further and- and then he could see her most secret place. She was panting with lust, lungs heaving in hot, pulsing air, a strange pressure building between her legs. He was masturbating furiously, the head of his penis going purple.

The bottoms slid down to her ankles and she stepped out of them. Some unknown instinct made her turn, to show off her skinny little ass to him; his eyes seemed to scald her flesh. She was naked in front of him now, the air so thick she could barely breath, and her whole body seemed to writhe the that strange burning pressure; it filled her mind, filled her soul, overflowed from between her legs. She stepped closer to him, closer, until they were all but touching. One of her hands moved to caress her breast and the other moved between her legs and that did something to him, his expression went furious with lust and then his penis spat out at her, his seed splattering her hips right before the world exploded into glorious flame.

***

One night, I had said. One night and I wouldn't touch her. Just see what she looked like, what lay under that headscarf and that clothing. Then I'd leave her be, before the dream's influence began to sink in.

I kept my promise. For one whole night.

Isha walked up to the podium, painfully aware of her nudity. How had this happened? And why when she had to give an oral presentation? She stared down at the crowd. None of them seemed to notice that she was naked- her virgin body on display for them- none except Barry, who smiled at her reassuringly. She smiled back, suddenly relieved; if Barry wanted to look at her, well...

With Isha it wasn't the all-out assault that I'd done with Tanya and D. No, this was a slow-burn thing; I'd dip in every couple of nights, trying to limit the impact that I would have with her.

Isha the slave-girl danced before her sultan. One by one she removed the delicate silken scarves that covered her modesty. The sultan- pale and thin, but regal in her eyes- leant closer, his eyes watching her swaying brown body like a hawk...

I told myself that I was being responsible. That I was limiting the amount of damage that I could do. That I wasn't touching her, wasn't interacting with her every night. The effects would have time to fade, right?

Isha the stripper smiled as she led her customer into the private dance rooms. She carefully eased him down onto his seat. Music started playing and she began to sway in place, her hands running sensually up and down her body. She began to unbutton the tiny vest that she wore as she eyed his growing bulge with pride...

How quickly concerns about consent turned into a fetish. Isha stopped becoming the girl I wouldn't touch out of concern for her wishes and became the girl I was taking my time to corrupt. My secret treasure. The innocent virgin that I defiled nightly.

Isha the prisoner moaned with fear and anticipation as the emperor rose from his throne. Smiling, he reached across and tore the robes from her body. In a heartbeat she was naked, her body exposed before the entire court! She hid her body, cowering and whimpering. The king raised her chin and stared into her eyes. "You need not cry," he said. "Your body belongs to me now. I can look on you all I want."

I ignored all the signs in the real world; the way that she'd blush sometimes, or the way that she'd suddenly excuse herself to run off to the toilets or hesitate during conversations. And even if she was a little affected, well, it wasn't the end of the world, was it?

Isha's muscles trembled with strain while her body trembled with lust. "Hold the position," Barry the trainer said as the air grew hot, "Hold it for me." She posed naked in downward dog as he walked around her. She couldn't hold back the sob of need as he crouched directly behind her; she could feel his breath on the exposed lips of her pussy. "Hold," he said, as she moaned, "Hold..."

I mean, she was a good girl. She could resist temptation, couldn't she?

Rule Ten: The effects of the dreams fade slowly, if at all.

***

A month after I first breached her dreams I woke up in the middle of the night to my phone pinging. I opened the app and stared at the picture that had been sent.

It was bad lighting. Taken quickly and without skill. Her head was out of shot. But I recognised the body- slim bordering on thin, which small, pointed breasts- easily enough. Her pink PJs were unbuttoned, with her chest bared for the camera. One of her hands held her phone; the other cupped one of her breasts.

I had maybe ten seconds to view the picture before it vanished; deleted by the sender. A moment later I got a series of texts:

Isha: Please ignore that.

Isha: That was sent by mistake.

Isha: Shit please don't think it was for you

Isha: My phone took the pic accidentally

Isha: Didn't mean to send to anyone

Isha: Please just pretend you didn't see that

Isha: Please?

I carefully typed my response.

I didn't get time to see it. Was it embarrassing?

Isha: yes sorry

Isha: You really didn't see anything?

Just for a moment.

She gave no response for a long time. Just before I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep, I received a final message.

Isha: Did I look okay?

I lay back on bed and smiled, my cock throbbing with anticipation.

***

Isha avoided me the next day and the next. I kept it cool, offering to take notes for a class that the missed and texting her some gossip about a mutual friend. The first night I left her alone. The second night-

Isha the fashion model blushed to the roots of her hairs. "What?"

Barry the photographer smiled as he raised the camera. "You heard me. Take off the dress and we can do some nice pics, okay?"

She paused. "Um. You aren't going to share these with anyone, are you?"

He laughed. "Of course not. You can always trust me to see you naked."

"Okay." She began to slide her dress off her shoulders...

***

The next day she showed up at the lecture. Things were quiet. We talked like we normally did, our banter easy. She thanked me for getting the notes for her and apologised for the accident.

I nodded and talked to her like I believed her; that I was the nice guy gentleman that I pretended to be; that I wasn't aware of what was going on; that I hadn't been manipulating her from the start.

We went to classes together and then just sort of wandered around for a bit. There was a garden nearby and we decided on an impromptu picnic/study session.

Halfway through the study session she said, "Do you ever- ever look at girls online?"

"You mean porn?"

She paused. "I guess- I mean, yes."

There was little point in being coy. "I guess," I said. "Sometimes."

She was silent for a long time. Then she said, "Why?"

"You don't approve?"

"I don't- I guess it's meant to be offensive. Girls shouldn't..."

I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could. "I know that the industry's really sketchy. And that's a problem. I know that there's plenty of girls who'd like to show their bodies off without, you know, it being creepy."

"Seriously?" I pretended not to notice the gleam in her eye.

I leant forward. "There are plenty of girls who want to show their bodies off. Who like it. Who need it. It's just a matter of them having someone they can trust to show their bodies to."

She turned back to her books. It was a full ten minutes before she said in the most casual tone that she could,

"Hey. You want to study in your room?"

***

Isha nearly bailed three more times.

Once on the way when she suddenly decided that the library would be a better place to study. I nodded as though it wasn't an issue and then turned to walk to the library. About halfway there she suddenly declared that my room would be fine, actually.

The second time was when she realised that she would need to walk through my halls of residence. A girl walking through the boy's dorms wasn't something that drew a lot of notice; a girl with a headscarf was. In the end I had to sneak her in, rushing her down an empty corridor as she quietly panicked.

The third time was when, against all evidence to the contrary, she pretended that we were there to study. It was harder to pretend to go along with her by then; I knew what she was there for and so did she. But pretend I did, giving her the desk while I sat on the bed.

It took all of twenty minutes for her to crack. She turned to me and said, "Hey. Barry."

"What's up?"

She opened her mouth to speak. Then she shut in again. Then she got up from her chair and stood in the centre of the small room. She took a deep breath and screwed her eyes shut.

Then, without another word, she reached up and took of her headscarf. Her river of jet-black hair pooled her back.

It wasn't anything like the dreams. There, Isha was calm and certain. She danced, she smiled, she touched herself with wanton comfort, safe in the erotic haze of the dream. In real life? She had consequences to think of. She had her family's expectations, the demands of her religion, the fear of getting caught or of things spiralling out of control. So she wasn't calm. She wasn't certain. But she did it anyway because I had made the experience too pleasurable not to. Because I had trained her.

And so as she unzipped her dress and pushed it down, revealing her dowdy, boring underwear, as she stood there with her eyes screwed shut and her hands shaking with fear... I was every bit as hard as I was than in the dream.

She stood trembling like a rabbit in the open for so long that I thought that was it. That she would need further training. But then her hands reached back and undid the strap on her bra. A moment later it joined her dress on the floor and her small breasts- the nipples already stiff- lay bare to my gaze. She gave a half-gasp, half-groan and then pushed her panties down in a jerking, unsteady motion. They were pushed halfway down her legs; she unceremoniously wiggled them down further and then kicked them onto her pile of clothes.

And there it was. Isha, the sweet and pure girl- naked in my dorm room. My cock throbbed in my trousers. I wanted to laugh; I wanted to celebrate; I wanted to let her know just how utterly I'd corrupted her. Instead I sat and stared at her until she said in a quiet, unsteady voice, "I- I- what do you...?"

"You look amazing. Beautiful."

Her eyes opened and she smiled as though I'd given her the biggest compliment in her life. "Do- do you want...if you want to..."

"Masturbate?"

She nodded, face burning with the heat of embarrassment and lust. "You- you can."

I stood up off the bed and took of my clothes. She stared at my body, her eyes taking in every detail of me just as avidly as I did hers. Was that something from the dreams that I didn't anticipate? Or was it just a by-product of her horniness? I wasn't sure but I definitely didn't mind the little gasp she gave when my cock sprung free. She swallowed, her eyes fixed on my length.

I smiled at her with the most comforting expression as I managed as I began to stroke myself to her naked body. She shivered at the sight, her pupils dilated as night after night of dream-conditioning flooded her body with pleasure. She gave a little moan and her own hands moved to touch her breasts, trembling fingers pinching her nipples as I pumped my length. One hand drifted to her belly and then, as though of its own volition, lower; tickling the dark hairs of her mons before caressing, ever so gently, her lower lips.

We stood there, our bodies exposed to each other as our hands worked furiously to rub and stroke and touch. I was entranced by her body in the flesh; the wideness of her eyes, the way that she swallowed in sudden, desperate gulps, the way her tits wobbled as she shuddered with lust. She was mumbling something under her breath. Her hand between her legs sped up and her breath started to come out in short, desperate gasps. I stared into those brown eyes of hers and I suddenly thought about all of the things that I could do to her; all of the glorious ways I could twist and corrupt this once- innocent girl into my plaything...

I came, grunting, my cock spitting my seed. It struck her stomach, her thighs and the shock set off her own orgasm. She moaned and stumbled, collapsing to her knees, her hand a blur between her legs.

After that was the expected round of apologies and awkwardness. I did my best to explain to her that she wasn't a slut, I didn't hate her, I wasn't expecting anything else from her and I hoped she had enjoyed herself, would I be seeing her in class tomorrow? She wiped herself down and put on her clothes and left my room, her face burning with shame.