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Tryptophan Dreams

I was exhausted after Thanksgiving. I’d cooked all morning making 21 pound bird, to trays of stuffing, and the Jell-O salad. Granted, I didn’t do all the work but it was a hectic morning and after an afternoon of playing with the kids, answering to a covey of women in the kitchen, and setting up and taking down for 21 hungry adults, I was beat.

I let her drive home. She gets nervous at night even though I feel fine driving in the dark, so I gave up fighting her and now I let her drive home. I don’t mind at all, sitting in the passenger seat, controlling the radio, reviewing the day, and occasionally, like last night, sleeping.

I was alert and awake until we hit the freeway, and after I saw that the traffic was flowing and the map showed green, I leaned the seat back a touch closed my eyes. She saw me drifting and asked for help in getting the CD player to an album she liked and then she squeezed my hand, said thank you, and told me to go to sleep.

I woke up briefly as she swerved to avoid a truck that had stalled in the fast lane and the next thing I heard was the sound of the garage door opening in front of us.  We pulled in, unloaded, and tucked in the kids. I barely had the energy to brush my teeth, change my clothes and fall into bed. I turned off my alarm knowing that I would not be running the next day. I should run, I should always run, but I controlled myself pretty well at dinner and did not even feel guilty. I enjoyed the turkey and the mashed potatoes and the corn and the homemade giblet gravy, and the second plate of the same which tasted just as good as the first. I did my best at dessert, having just a little taste of ice cream and a small slice of chocolate cake. I skipped the apple and the pumpkin pie and whatever strange fruit salad my cousin brought. I didn’t need anything sweet.

I slept. I woke up when my wife came to bed, rolled over and gave her a kiss on the back of the neck.  Since she was having the beginnings of a cold, she wouldn’t kiss me, I was too tired to notice and I slept. And then I had the dream.

I am not an angry man. Even in my role as a Dom, anger never enters in to my instructions. On occasion I must enforce discipline, but it is not out of anger, it is out of affection for the sub who must learn to obey.

They say that dreams are just a flash in your mind, a snippet of time, a few seconds in reality even if the dream feels like it lasts forever. I wonder how long this lasted on the clock next to my bed. It was short, even as streams go, so it must’ve just been a fleeting second, a fraction of my night, but it infected me the entire day.

You are wearing red. Your nails were done to match, your shoes were high, shiny, beautiful, your hair was dark. Your breasts were full, lifted by the dress, help up and on display, and your lips, your beautiful lips were crimson and flecked with gold. Gold to match the brocade of the fabric that hid your flesh away from me.

I don’t know where the anger came from, I don’t know what rule you had disobeyed. I don’t know what you had said, done, or thought, that earned my wrath, my passion, and my hand.

My stepped toward you as I removed my tie and you began begging for mercy before the knot was even undone.  You came toward me with your hands held up in supplication and when our bodies crashed together you cupped my face in your hands, kissing me frantically on the face, the cheeks, my forehead, my lips, al the while begging for forgiveness. All I did was wrap the tie around your neck, cutting off your voice that begged so delightfully. The silk re-knotted around your throat and I dragged you through the oversized room that spoke of opulence beyond my pay scale. Your high-heeled shoes clicked against the wood and echoed off the bare white walls. “I’ll do anything,” you repeated again and again as we crossed the large room that in the dream seemed to be miles long and at the same time intimately small.

I jerked on the silken tie around your neck can you fell to your knees and took my throbbing cock into your slobbering, begging, mouth, bathing my shaft with saliva and tears.  You looked at me with smeared mascara and large eyes and humility and I almost cracked. I pulled you tighter onto my body and my free hand came to the back of your head to impale you on my shaft.  I almost cracked, but I did not, and I thrust angrily down your throat.

You coughed and choked and gagged and pulled away but I did not relent giving you just a moment to catch your breath through your nose. I pulled you tight again and held you held your nose deep in my short curly hair. I pulled you off with a jerk on the tie and you gasped and fell backwards onto the floor, your dress moved up your silky thighs and your knees splayed open in a wanton display of deep red panties soaked and shiny thighs that betrayed your protests.

I bent over you and reached between your legs and took the small fabric in a fist and ripped it off your beautiful hips,. The expensive fabric dug into your skin before it snapped in my hand, leaving you bare.

“Spread.” And you did.

Your soft pink was swollen and was as red as your dress.

I took my tie in my hand again and wrapped it around my fist to drag you to your feet. You coughed, choked, and put your hands on mine to relieve the tension but I gave you no quarter as I pushed you through the bedroom door. Pushing you forward and releasing my grip I shoved your head forward into the soft duvet and roughly lifted your skirt up around your waist with my other hand unzipping the material that held you covered. I spin you around grab you by the throat and with one hand stripped the dress from your fragile body.
You begin to whimper but comply immediately

“Open.” Your strong thighs and your beautiful skin move outward revealing all that you are to me. Lips, swollen, red, dripping wet, I slap. And again. And again. And again and again.
And you cry my name. 

And thank me.

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