I was having trouble sleeping lately and brief images of dreams haunt me when I first wake up, but then faded about an hour later. 'What's wrong with me?' I'm becoming a nervous wreck and today I actually barked at the receptionist. She didn't do anything wrong; I was on edge again.
My boss called me in and told me that maybe I should seek professional help. Maybe I have some kind of sleep disorder or something. The doctors examined me a week later, but told me it wasn't physical and suggested I see someone professional for my emotional stability. They gave me list of five names that took my company's insurance. I looked over the list, but one name drew my attention. For a week I looked at the list and still the one name so I figure why question instinct and gave him a call.
I scheduled an appointment for the next day since they just happened to have a cancellation. I sat nervously in his waiting room; maybe I'm nervous because it's empty or am I nervous because someone will come in. I look at my watch again; nervous habit of mine and the door finally opens. The receptionist comes out and leads me to the doctor's office. She opens the door and ushers me in. I stand there nervous while his face is down reading my file.
I look around his office and it's so masculine and beautiful. I see a picture of a pretty woman and I feel I should know her too.
"That's all today Cindy. You can go home now," his deep commanding voice speaks to the receptionist.
"Thanks doc," she replies, "I can get ready for my date. See ya tomorrow." She closes the door behind me.
"Let's see; Gina Monique Hansen, nineteen, born August 10th, right?" he asks me.
"Yes sir," I said timidly.
"Do you prefer to lie down or to sit Gina?" he asks me.
Indecision clouds my brain and I can't make a choice. 'Why can't I choose? I mean, it's easy; either I want to sit or lie down'. I just stand there having his question keep circling my brain and don't answer.
At my silence, he looks up and stares into my eyes. His eyes, they're compelling and I sense I should know them; know him. No, I'm sure I've never met him before yet I feel I've met him before. I can't tear away from his look and then all goes black.
I open my eyes and slowly become conscious of my surroundings. I'm still in his office and I'm lying on the couch. I try to raise my head, but it feels like it weighs a ton.
"Easy there little one," he says softly.
'Where have I heard that before? Yes, the dream' and just as fast as it comes to me it is gone again.
He hands me a cup of water and encourages me to take a few sips. "Thank you, sir. I'm not use to fainting, it's just ... well, I feel I should know you, but I've never met you. Even the picture of your wife; I feel I know her and yet not; then your question; I just couldn't seem to decide..." and I start to cry after I blurted all of that out. "It's the dream," I sob.
His hand starts to rub my back between my shoulder blades. It feels wonderful and his voice calms me, "It'll be alright little one."
At his words I look up into his eyes. They are only inches from mine. "Do you know me? Should I know you? I feel I do, but I don't understand. I think you're in my dream ... your voice sounds so familiar to me," I tell him. "Your voice is in my dream."
He seems a bit shaken, but recovers quickly and looks at my file that he's holding on his lap. "Monique; that's an unusual name," he smiles. "Did your father or mother give it to you?" he asks.
"Neither," I reply. "My parents named me Gina Hansen so when I was old enough, I had it legally replaced. I don't know why, but I've always liked the name."
He looks at me sharply and intently, "I see."
"Tell me about this dream you mentioned," and he pulls a recorder from his pocket and turns it on.
I lie back down and close my eyes. "It all started when I was eight. I would have these erotic dreams that I would wake up to each morning, in fact I still do, but after a about an hour or so they would fade. I would try to remember them; they seemed important, but couldn't. Now, they compel me. It's like the dream is invading my waking moments and I see snatches of it and then it's gone again no matter how hard I try to recover it. I think if I could just remember it, then everything will be fine; I will be fine."
He is silent, but I feel he is looking at me and then he speaks, "Have you ever considered hypnosis to help your remember the dream?"
"No. Can you do that? You know, I mean hypnotize me to remember?" I ask.
"Yes, but it doesn't always work. It depends on how susceptible you are to it," he replies.
"Please sir, I want to try ... I need to know," I plead.
He stands, "I'll prepare a mild sedative. It won't put you to sleep but will help with the hypnosis."
I lie feeling calmer than I've had in years. Maybe it's because there's hope that I'll know now; maybe Dr. Abrams can truly help me.
He comes back, gives me a shot and after a couple of minutes has me look at his pen. I'm in the dream now, but somewhere I hear myself telling him about it.
I describe a house. I've never been there, but I know every room; every object and he's there, but younger. So handsome that I know my panties are getting wet. He's five eight, raven black hair and beautiful blue eyes; his eyes compel me to come and kneel down to him.
"Did you have a good day little one?" he says as his hand caresses my head.
"Yes, Master," and I lean into his touch. He smiles down at my head with affection and love.
"You are ready to be punished?" Master asks.
"Yes, Master." I had given him all of me, except one thing.
