Author's note:
Dreamers Come Play is an alternate universe. Stories set in it may incorporate touches of magical realism, blurred dreams, and other unexplained phenomenon.
This story could have been in Bondage or Exhibitionist.
Alcohol and cannabis use.
These are fictitious events, by fictitious characters, in a very fictitious universe.
All events depicted are by characters of legal age.
Please consider that fair warning.
This is intended to function as a standalone story. It is also the first posted story in a planned, longer series.
***
Amber found herself lowering down from the hay bale hoist, spread naked and exposed, when the power went out. At first she just thought the timer had switched off. But the motor had stopped for about five seconds, and then it came on for only a second or so. About thirty seconds later, it came on again for a second or so before going off again. And it stayed off.
Oh shit!
Amber cried to herself.
This is fucked up
. And Amber rarely cursed, even in her private thoughts. But this could be...
trouble
.
And then she was just hanging there, for a long, long time. Long enough to think about what she had done, and why she had done it. Lowering down from outside the barn - she had done it a few times before - had given her such a sexualized, adrenaline rush. She was afraid she was becoming a closet exhibitionist.
However, Amber was certain she was not an actual exhibitionist - even the idea was terrifying. Watching videos of blindfolded women being led naked around the public streets of Europe were the sort of thing that made her squirm. She would wince, in abject shame and disgust, for the woman being ogled by strange passersby. Rationally, she knew most were paid porn actors. But that didn't matter emotionally. There were also the ones that looked like amateurs. Or at least, they sure looked abashed and chagrined like they were amateurs. And even professionals had to have had a first time. Amber was embarrassed on behalf of all of them.
Nevertheless, Amber was familiar with the heavy rush it could produce - the naked, self bondage suspension made her nipples hard and her pussy dripping wet. Her desire would become an intense aching for relief. And then there was the explosive masturbatory session afterwards.
She had decided she didn't have to actually flash anybody. Just the smallest fear of being caught naked had been more than enough. The front of the barn was a hundred feet or more from the old road that had turned into an overgrown path. It cut through private property owned by her grandmother, although her grandparents had never complained about anyone using it. So somebody could wander by, but it saw only rare traffic. More importantly, somebody just passing through wouldn't have any reason to look over at the old, rotting barn.
Would they?
She had been hanging long enough to watch the shadows move. Long enough to wonder if the power had come back on, but the hoist motor had burned out. She had left the lights on in the barn attic, but she had lowered down too far - she was only about eight feet off the ground - to be able to see back into the attic to check if they were on or off. If she had left the door to the main part of the barn open, she might have been able to tell if the ground level lights were on, but she hadn't.
The timer was battery operated. Had it somehow failed? Her mind wandered off to fantasies of masturbating in science class.
When Amber noticed the shadows getting longer, it crept into her mind it would be dark in a few hours. She had been hanging there for hours.
Could I really have been here for hours?
She debated with herself.
Am I going to wake up and find out I'm in science class frigging my hairbrush again?
Maybe it had been hours. She no longer felt stoned. Even after careful preparations, Amber found it so hard to actually commit to self bondage. She had vaped some hits from her cannabis pen, consumed an edible, and washed it down with some coffee spiked with Irish whiskey.
The sacrifices I have to make in pursuit of my love of self bondage
. Amber laughed at herself. She didn't actually drink or vape that often, but it made her horny when she did. So lowering her inhibitions wasn't the only reason she did it, but she could tell it
did
lower her inhibitions. It was certainly easier to click the last lock shut when she had a good buzz going. It also made everything a lot more fun. She loved how her mind would race and the types of sexual fantasies that would keep springing unbidden into her mind.
However, it had been long enough that the cannabis-alcohol high had worn off. As her mind had cleared, she had gotten mentally more worried and gotten physically more uncomfortable.
She felt stiff. Hanging from her padded wrist and knee cuffs was reasonably comfortable, for the first hour or so. But what would it be like overnight? The overnight lows weren't that low. She wouldn't freeze to death, would she? But it would be chilly just hanging there with no clothes. Well, no clothes that provided any warmth or cover. And she wouldn't be able to walk around to warm up or even wrap her arms around herself.
Amber had had dreams about hanging naked even before she was worldly enough to search out porn. She watched bondage videos with the same horrified fascination that she watched most of her porn - something to do furtively with a big helping of guilt and shame.
Even the stiffness, fear, and a little bit of self-pity, though, were not enough to douse her arousal. She wanted to tease her lubrication all around her puffy lips, and then rub her clit until she got relief. But her arousal couldn't keep her mind off her predicament.
If she survived hanging through the night, then what? Eventually somebody would have to come by, right? Since she had moved into the professor's cottage, her mom wouldn't immediately find her absence strange. Sure her mom would eventually be puzzled why her daughter wasn't returning her text messages. But in a fit of independence, Amber had changed her phone so her mom could no longer automatically track her. Maybe that hadn't been the best decision. Her mom would probably ascribe her delay in responding as nothing more than the actions of a mildly rebellious teenager. Cindy or James would eventually text her and find her silence odd. If she missed school on Monday, would they text her mom, and the three of them figure out she was missing? If she was reported missing, would the cops immediately track down the location of her phone?
Maybe the power was still out, and it would come on soon?
Wake up, wake up
. Amber commanded herself. Or should she go back to classroom fantasies? At least they had passed the time.
She had gone back to fantasizing and almost didn't notice the bicyclist. "Hey Billy!" She yelled in desperation as he was disappearing out of sight.
She cringed with shame immediately after calling out.
What have I done?
She had had plenty of time to think about it. If it was a dream, it wouldn't make any difference if somebody saw her or not. If it wasn't a dream, being discovered by someone would have to be better than hanging all night, and who knows how much longer after that, and having to be rescued by somebody at sometime, anyway. Or so she had tried to convince herself. Until it happened, she wasn't sure if she would follow through with it or not. But panic at the thought of spending the night had made her cry out.
Now she was absolutely petrified. This wasn't just a dream of suddenly finding yourself naked in class. Her ears were ringing. The pounding in her chest was making the blood rush to her head. If she had been standing, she would have sat down and put her hands on the ground to try and stop the spinning - but she wasn't standing.
This was the moment, if she was reading a story, she would squirm and look away from the text.
To let the humiliation pass by? To draw out the exquisitely painful but beautiful moment? To contemplate what it would be like to switch places with the heroine of the story?
Outside of James, Cindy, or one of her other close friends like Sally, she didn't know who she would want to be discovered by. Billy, however, was not at the top of the list. In fact, he was not even on the list. He was obnoxious. His popularity had made him arrogant. He was a good looking star on the lacrosse team. He could be witty and charming, when he wanted to be. He made a point of getting parents to like him and could wrap people around his finger. Amber wondered how many times she had heard a parent say something like 'what a polite young man'. She shuddered. He was not a polite young man when he was walking over those lower on the social ladder.
Did he even realize anymore, when he was doing it?
She wondered.
On the one hand, he had always liked her, or at least wanted to sleep with her. On the other, he was pretty sour she kept rejecting him. Although, he hit on everyone that was half-way pretty, so maybe he wasn't too mad about it. But..., it sure seemed like he had worked on her longer and harder than most.
She was starting to wonder if he had even heard her - and secretly hoping he hadn't - when he finally came back into view in the clearing and biked toward her. She flinched when she saw his shock, as he did a double take looking at her. He slowed down as he got closer.
Oh my god. Oh my god
. For a moment, Amber couldn't think of anything else.
He... is... looking... at... me!
Reality was starting to intrude in a very painful way.
