In Dreams Dominance

I never dreamt of Tanya again.

Too much of a shock; too much messy reality when what I wanted was a fantasy in the flesh. I told myself that what I had done was wrong- had only just been proven to me as wrong- but I had stopped and the harm had been minimised. Tanya never spoke to me again, avoiding me in the classes that we had together. It didn't bother me as much as it should have.

In retrospect I should have realised that what I had felt for her wasn't love or admiration but lust, pure and simple. I had gotten what I wanted from her and it had sated my appetites, leaving me with only a vague sense that I'd gotten out scot-free. So it was easy to leave her be. I was done with her.

Weeks past. I focused afresh on my studies, which had suffered from my obsession. The fire of need I'd felt for Tanya had reduced to a low simmer and a daily regime of masturbation had rendered it manageable. On one level, life had returned to normal for me.

On another level...

They say that absolute power corrupts absolutely. I disagree. Absolute power merely gives the average person the chance to do the things that they couldn't. And when the

couldn't

is gone, all you're left with is

wouldn't.

And it turns out that for a lot of people, there were a lot less wouldn'ts for them than they thought.

Absolute power doesn't corrupt. It

reveals.

What it revealed about me was pretty ugly.

I knew. I knew that I had this power. I lay in bed every night, knowing that I could reach out, that I could invade the dreams of the girl who sat next to me in chemistry; that I could strip down the ones who passed me in the halls; that I could fuck the ones who bored me with stories of their boyfriends. That I didn't need to waste time with dates. That I didn't need to be charming.

That I didn't need their consent.

I was filled with a strange and secret certainty, those weeks. I walked past girls, talked to them in class and out, laughed at their jokes and watched them from afar. And in the back of my mind was the same thought, over and over again.

I could have you. Fuck you. Claim you. Make you mine. You couldn't stop me. You wouldn't even know.

A month later I succumbed.

Her name was Mindy. She was my lab partner a couple of times in my chemistry class. I can barely remember her face but I remember her body- slim- and an accent from somewhere in Eastern Europe. She smiled at me once over a joke that I'd made and that sealed her fate. The next night I stopped masturbating and dreamt of her.

Well, I tried to. Tanya was the product of a sexual obsession and a strange, awful pressure; it was a thing of instinct, blindly groping my way towards her. Mindy? It was the first time that I had tried to seek a girl out on my own initiative.

And so I didn't find her that first night. Instead I had vague, hazy dreams of searching; of stumbling through dark forests, flying through grey clouds, walking through empty cities and endless mazes. I woke up hours later exhausted and with a sense that I had missed something. The next night it was easier; the dreams were a little clearer, and I thought I glimpsed her from afar once or twice.

The next night- well, the next night-

Mindy moaned as she bounced atop Barry, his cock slamming deep into her wet, hot pussy. She barely remembered where she was or what she had been doing; not since her lab partner had appeared, sweeping her up into his arms and claiming her mouth with an eager, rough kiss. Now she rode him, taking his cock as her body burned with a glorious lust. She didn't know how this had happened. She didn't care. All she wanted was to be able to fuck this man; fuck him forever and ever. His cock began to pulse with potent power and then-

And that was that. I left her alone after that one night, turning my attentions on a girl in biology who's name I could barely remember. She took four days to find but I made sure she made it up to me that night.

A week later and on a whim I began to dream stalk a pretty waitress at the local café. Tina was bubbly and cheerful, with a great personality. I didn't care about that. What I cared about was-

"Are- are you sure?"

Tina smiled at the man as he pointed on the menu. "It says that I can order your pussy, right?"

"Sure."

"Come here then." And he reached up and pulled her onto his lap. She groaned at the contact of his hands on her naked ass - wait, why wasn't she wearing pants? Of course, she didn't wear pants- that way it was easier for the patrons to fuck her. He groped her breasts as she squirmed against the bulge between his legs.

She should say something. This wasn't right, was it? But he rubbed his lump against her pussy lips and it felt so good that she suddenly didn't want to stop him. He turned her round and pulled off her shirt before burying his face into her breasts. She was gently pushed back against the café tabletop, her naked body pressed against the wood. He climbed atop her, unzipping his jeans and pushing his pants down. He lined up with her and then thrust-

I sated myself on her and then moved on.

Professor Kerson was married. Professional. Strict and driven and very much a model educator. None of which allowed her to escape my erotic attentions.

Amy looked up at the student who'd walked into her house. She looked down at his erect cock.

She could hear them- hear her husband and kids in the next room. Somehow- by some miracle- they hadn't heard her. They didn't know she was naked in her living room; didn't know the way her pussy ran hot and wet, staining the inside of her thighs with her arousal. Didn't know that this student was gently pressing his hand against the back of her head as he murmured, "Go on. Quickly, before they come in and see you. Suck my cock, professor."

She whimpered quietly, feeling a jolt of arousal lance through her body. She closed her eyes as the sounds of her family preparing dinner washed over her, as she felt his hot, hard length fill her mouth, as the first bitter taste of pre-cum made her shudder with a sudden eager need...

And so on. A dozen women; each one of them sampled and used and then discarded over the course of a night. A one-night fantasy for each of them as they came, impaled on or sucking or bouncing atop my cock. My lust tracked them down; my lust turned their dreams into an erotic nightmare; my lust filled flowed into their minds and bodies until they came alongside me. Guaranteed pleasure for them and me.

Rule Five: Your lust flows into them while dreaming, guaranteeing their pleasure no matter what acts you commit in the dream.

Looking back, what I did to those girls was- at the absolute minimum- a massive breach of privacy. I pretended that since they didn't know what was happening, since they didn't remember, no real harm was done- but a man setting up a hidden camera in a girl's showers would make the same argument and have it immediately shot down as the sad justifications of a pervert. I had seen secret parts of those women, tasted their sexualities, without their knowledge or permission. But insulated by my dreams, free of any consequences, I told myself that it was all okay; that it was all just a fantasy. No-one was getting hurt.

In all fairness, I don't believe that I did any lasting harm to those first dozen or so girls. The power of my dreams seemed to be cumulative; a slow build-up of positive reinforcement was required to alter their subconscious, corrupting it towards whatever I desired.

Rule Six: Training is a slow process, requiring multiple dream-sessions to leave a lasting effect.

With these girls, I touched their unconscious minds only lightly; not enough to really impact them. Not enough to twist and change them.

Then one day I met D.

***

I didn't know her name before I deciding I was going to claim her.

There was a park near campus that I went to from time to time. Students would hang out there to talk, play, eat, study or just lay in the grass and de-stress. I used to go there a lot. Part of the park had a skating rink- just the usual hills and valleys of unpainted concrete, but it was a popular gathering spot for the more athletically minded students to brush up on their skills. That was where D could be found.

I was reading something- a university textbook on metabolic pathways, I don't really remember the details now- and she nearly fell on top of me. A classic meet-cute- the dangerous skater-girl trips over the cute geek and they have a moment- except, of course, with a much darker turn. At any rate my introduction to D was all at once. I was literally blindsided by her presence.

And what a presence it was. She was lean- the sort of leanness that involved physical fitness rather than any sort of fad dieting. She wore torn jeans and a simple black T-shirt with some band or other's name displayed as a logo. She looked tough, tougher than most women; tougher than me by a mile.

I didn't know her name, I didn't know anything about her but as I saw her smile and mutter an apology- with her lean, tall body, her dark eyes and her short dark hair- well.

I had to have her.

It wasn't a decision so much as a rapid-fire series of understandings. I realised I wanted this woman badly; that I needed to claim her; and that I was going to do so. I introduced myself as I picked up my book. She leant against her board and smiled the smile of a woman who had places to be but was not bothered quite enough to be rude and cut off the conversation. I remember that I made a joke; it was enough to get her to laugh, half-faked, and half-real. There was a moment where our eyes met and I sensed the very faintest touch of some connection.

It was enough, then, for me to begin.

I went home and I spend the entire afternoon thinking about her, about that smile, about the way she ran her hand through her short dark hair as she talked. I thought about her, focused my mind on her, pushed my handful of fresh memories to the forefront of my mind. I touched my hard cock, edging myself again and again throughout the night.

Then I went to sleep.

I wandered through the ever-shifting labyrinth of dreams with the certainty of a hunter who was already on the trail of their prey. I woke tired but resolute. The next day I went and studied by the skater park. She didn't show up but by then I was committed to the patience of the hunt.

And it

was

a hunt. There wasn't any thought on my part on how this was invading her privacy, or if she might not want things to be like this; the desire that I felt for this girl had already pushed all moral compunctions aside. But more than that, more than the simple lust, the whole experience felt like a game; one in which I already believed myself assured of victory. I knew- knew absolutely- that this was only ever going to end one way; with her impaled on my cock, moaning and panting my name.

It took a week for me to track her down in the dream maze. I saw her three more times before then; twice more at the skater park and once while walking the halls. I had a quick conversation with her; learned her name (at last) and managed to find out what she was studying (psychology) before we parted ways.

It was enough. Two days later I found her.

Diana lay on the grass. The guy she'd met a couple of times- Barry- sat next to her, grinning. She was dressed in her jeans and her black T shirt and her board lay a few feet away. He smiled up and her and she smiled back, uncertain- what was she doing here? She couldn't remember.

"At last," he said. "You're really hard to track down, you know that?"

"Sure." She smiled and shifted a little. The grass was soft and the sun was warm and despite the strangeness of the situation she didn't really feel the urge to leave.

Barry continued. "Let's try something new. I need you to listen to me, alright? I need you to listen to me. I have an important message to tell you. This is very important that you listen to me, okay?"

"Sure."

"You want to date me."

"I want to date you?" She wrinkled her nose. Barry was nice enough, but she liked the rugged type. Besides he was a bit too shy, a bit too intense-

"You want to date me," he said, and he placed one hand on her stomach. His fingers gently traced a pattern over her abdominals and she felt a swirl of lazy pleasure from the simple touch. "You want to date me."

"Okay." She wasn't really sure if that was true but she guessed she would indulge him. "I want to date you." She smiled as though sharing a joke with him.

He smiled back and his hand moved higher. She gasped he began to lightly scratch the undersides of her breast- when had she taken off her top? He said, "You want to date me. You want to date me. You want to date me."

She closed her eyes as his words became a pleasant rhythm, in tune with the slow movement of his hands as they explored her breasts. "You want to date me. You want to date me."

She lay back, eyes closed, sighing as he caressed her upper body. And all the time he kept whispering in her ear, "You want to date me. You want to date me."

He undid her jeans, pushing them down and off her body. She was, she realised, entirely naked; lying on the grass without a stitch of clothing in the park during the middle of the day. She should be worried; instead she just felt a vague twinge of interest in the oddity of it all. His hands moved to part her legs and find her lower lips, already slick with arousal, and then they began to gently rub against the outer edges. "You want to date me," he murmured into her ear while he rubbed her wet pussy, "You want to date me."

She giggled and sighed and writhed on the grass as he whispered the same message into her ear like it was sweet nothings. All the while his fingers moved back and forth, tracing a path along lower lips that were becoming slicker and slicker. The pleasure was like a calm sea, washing over her in gentle waves as he stroked her pussy. He shifted and kissed her shoulders and the slopes of her breasts as she continued to murmur the same words over and over again. "You want to date me. You want to date me."

"I do," she muttered. "If you can do things like this to me, you can do anything you want to."

Time- minutes, hours? - past. Her lust built up slowly, never quite tipping over into release, but never fading either. In another situation she might have pushing things, might have asked- begged- demanded- that he finish her off. But she felt no such need. Instead she sat back on the soft grass with the wind and the sun on her naked skin while Barry played with her body, using his hands and lips to keep her in a state of constant, drowsy pleasure. And all the time he would whisper, "You want to date me. You want to date me."

When he finally moved to climb atop of her; when he smiled and pressed her down onto the grass while she lay underneath him, her legs spread wide open for his cock, she was nearly half-asleep. She moaned dreamily as he slid into her; long, gentle strokes. There was no hurry, she knew. No reason for him not to take his time. He slid in and out of her hot, wet depths and began to say, his voice thick with lust, "You want to sleep with me. You want to sleep with me."

He fucked her with that same, steady rhythm and she closed her eyes as he kissed her. "You want to sleep with me," he gasped as he began to pick up his pace. "You want to sleep with me."

Her own hips were moving to meet with his, her pleasure- so gloriously long in building- finally beginning to reach its peak. "You want to fuck me," he suddenly growled, his expression twisting into something feral. "You want to fuck me. You want to fuck me."

He was fucking her in earnest, his cock hammering her into the grass, sweat trickling off his body in the steaming hot air and she felt the first spasms of orgasm building. She moaned and dug her fingers into his back as he ground against her. "You want to fuck me," he gasped. "You want to fuck me!"

"Yes!" She screamed into the open air as he began to spurt inside her. She felt the world dissolve into pleasure like sugar in hot water and then she-

See, I had a theory. The girls never remembered what happened to them. But part of them remembered. There's a theory that dreams caused by the brain subconsciously organising its memories of the previous day; all I was doing was hijacking that process, creating new memories that lingered in her mind. But these memories were not sterile things; they were coloured with the pleasure that I brought them, which in turned influenced her subconscious in the waking world.

Would, I wondered, simple phrases repeated over and over- like an erotic version of a primary school lesson- sink in as well? If I kept hammering home the same simple instructions, if I kept tying them to the pleasures I that came with them, would they embed themselves in her mind?

Rule Seven: You can shape their training through the use of repeated phrases.

It was worth finding out. And, more to the point, it was fun finding out.

***

D walked up and started talking to me the next day.

We grabbed coffee between lectures. We talked for a while. I found out that her proper name was Diana ("but don't call me that, my mom named me after the bloody princess- everyone just calls me D"). She was studying art and was, in direct opposition to the usual stereotypes, driven as hell. She talked with a sort of grim passion about the realities of being an artist; about the expectations from everyone that she was taking a useless course for her own amusement. D was brash, she was committed and she had things to do and places to be.

I spent the conversation pretending to listen while I thought about all the things I was going to do to her.

We swapped numbers. That night I visited her again.

Diana moaned as Barry eased the vibrator against her sopping cunt. Her naked body was pressed against his, and he played with her breasts while he murmured into her ear. "You want to fuck me," he said while she sobbed with pleasure, twisting against him. "You want to fuck me."

And then the next night.

Barry slammed into her from behind. The air was hot; so hot that she could hardly breathe. Both their bodies were wet with sweat that dripped off their bodies and made his grip on her slick and uncertain. Their breaths were loud pants as they both took in desperate lungfuls of air. "You want to date me," he gasped. "You want to date me!"

"Fuck yes I do," said Diana as she felt her pussy spasm with the coming orgasm-

I kept it up even while I met her from time to time in the real world.

He didn't touch her with his hands. Only with his lips. On her breasts and her shoulders and her stomach and her hips, stopping from time to time to delve between her legs. Whenever he did, she would feel the pleasure build to near tipping point; right until he backed away.

He looked up, his lips stained with her arousal. "Keep saying it."

She rolled her eyes but kept up the chant. "I want to date you. I want to fuck you."

He smiled and lowered his lips back to her cunt and she squirmed and moaned even through the words. "I want to date you. I want to fuck you. I want-"

Then I made a new discovery.

***

I had to blame computer games for this one. For days I'd been distracted in the real world by a new dark fantasy epic. I spent hours one night before bed losing myself in the game's grim atmosphere and punishing difficulty. Not the first time I'd obsessed over a game- and not the first time it had leaked into my dreams. But it was the first time it had happened when I was linking dreams with a girl.