Chapter 1

 

The lifting fog slowly revealed her nightmare. She was naked, on her knees, her back against a wooden post. Disoriented and confused, she pulled on her arms only to discover the shackles locking her wrists over her head. She tried to stand then looked down and found her ankles shackled as well.

It all felt frighteningly real for a dream, but she resisted the fear growing in her chest. This was just another incredibly realistic dream. She had them often: always bound, always naked, always waiting for..., for what, she wondered? The villain who subjugated her in her dreams never showed himself. He just watched from the shadows, watched and waited for her to submit.

She never did. The only way to defend against a dream was to resist, to push back as if it was real, to fight until it shattered or dissolved. The danger in feeding it was that the dream became more vivid and terrible.

Resigned, she took a deep breath and felt something around her waist. A belt...? Now that was new. She pulled hard on the metal at her wrists again testing the dream's strength; there was no give, her thin arms were held fast.

Angry, she shook her head tossing her hair in all directions. This was some bloody dream, she thought. It was so vivid, so real...too real. It felt as if she was awake somehow. She laughed at the idea. That was the whole point of a nightmare, to trick her mind into thinking this was really happening.

She pulled again until her wrists screamed with pain.

Pain...? That was also new. Fear, yes; terror, yes; but real pain, well, that was something else, something entirely different.

"What the fuck...!" she screamed in protest, suddenly frightened by the sound. The voice sounded like her real voice not a dream voice. Not only did it sound real, it was full of fear and anger. Now that was scary, scarier than the dream bondage. Her voice was not a part of her dreams. Dreams were silent and eerie, conducted in noiseless chambers where she was never able to call for help.

"What the fuck...," she said aloud, softly. It wasn't a dream sound; it was the kind of sound she would make when she was awake. Too real, this dream was altogether too real. She could feel the panic rising and forced it down. It wouldn't help to give in to the fantasy, as real as it seemed. She would wake soon and laugh about this.

She might even remember the feelings with longing. Bondage dreams often came with a kind of sexual excitement.

Going to sleep angry, that was the problem. She should never argue with Michael before going to bed. It wasn't healthy. He was just so, so fucking selfish. Why shouldn't she spend his money? She let him fuck her; let him parade her around like a prize dog; let him introduce her as his girlfriend. What more did he want?

Anyway, what was the point of having money if she...he couldn't flaunt it? She enjoyed the envious stares of the other girls, the smoldering jealousy of those pampered bitches on rich arms. She had nailed the real prize, the top dog, the richest of the lot. Her looks, her sex appeal had won him; why shouldn't she enjoy the rewards that went with such a prize?

She twisted her long slender body straining against the leather. It was kind of cool being tied like this. There was something exciting about being helpless. This was a real damsel-in-distress fantasy. She thought about those kinds of things a lot, about what it would be like to be dominated by a real man, forced to submit. Lots of girls did.

It wasn't for her of course; she needed to maintain control in real life. Michael was a strong man, physically and mentally, it took constant vigilance on her part to keep him in line, to manipulate him the way she wanted. She was constantly switching from bitch to kitten and back, constantly hiding her claws until they were needed then sinking them deep when he was most vulnerable.

Her shoulders began to hurt from the strain. I wonder what happens next, she thought. It was an intriguing question. Sometimes her dreams had a threatening whip in them; sometimes the shadowy figure moved closer and brushed his fingers over her nipples. Her dream-abs tightened and her dream-pussy clenched. She felt wetness between her dream-cunt lips; a few seconds later she felt something drip on her dream-leg.

A wet dream, she thought? She wet her dream-lips as sexual excitement began to overcome her fear. There was no doubt dream-bondage was exciting. Perhaps she would try it for real with Michael. She just needed to find a way to make it seem realistic without actually giving him control. Sometimes in the dream she climaxed. It was delicious: the erotic shudders, the final release.

Michael and she didn't have that kind of sex in real life. She wouldn't allow it. It was enough that he had someone as beautiful as her on his arm. She was the kind of woman men dreamed about and other women despised. Allowing him to show her off, to fuck her vaginally was as far as she was willing to go, with Michael at least.

She had experimented with other men. She had let them use her ass, even her mouth, but she didn't like it; it was too submissive. She was beautiful, that's what men got when they were with her, exclusive use of her beauty. The other stuff, well, no one was going to force her to her knees. The idea of sucking a man's cock, of licking his balls, taking them into her mouth was, unthinkable, impossible. That kind of thing was for lesser women, for desperate women.

She twisted her long body again like a cat stretching; she wanted to feel the dream-bondage again. This was a safe way to experience submission. In a dream, men could do whatever they wanted, they could make her do things she...

Suddenly she closed her eyes shielding them from the harsh brightness of the light. She opened them slowly and looked around. As she had suspected, she was shackled to a post, a thick wooden post, and she was naked. She could feel the grain of the rough wood on her skin, feel its unyielding power. Feel...this was much too real and again a wave of fear washed over her. A vivid nightmare was one thing; this was beyond that, this was downright intense, way too intense for an ordinary dream.

Was she going crazy? Had she allowed that weak bastard, Michael, to drive her insane? She caught a fleeting glance of something coming out of the blackness then her breast exploded in pain. She screamed and jerked wildly on the straps.

This was no fucking dream!

"What the fuck, Michael!" she yelled, assuming he was responsible.

The stick leaped out of the dark again and struck her tit again then again and again. She twisted her body as each wave of pain rebounded in her mind. She moved as if possessed. There was nothing but raw pain and blinding rage in her mind now. All she could think about was getting loose and stopping him, striking back, hurting him the way he was hurting her.

"STOP!" she screamed.

The stick hit her again full on her nipple, once. The sound of leather on bare skin stuck in her mind. The sound itself was painful.

"You fucking bastard...!"

Three more burning strokes on her tits...

"Fuck!"

...Another agonizing blow. She forced herself to stop talking and think. He was striking her once for each word. The fucking coward was manipulating her, controlling her!

She conceded to the pain and stopped talking, concentrating on her breathing. Breathe through the pain, she remembered, that's what one of her girlfriends had confided about her experience being whipped. "Breath slow and deep; focus on the breathing, try to ignore the pain."

What stupid advice, she thought. Her tits and nipples were on fire. How could she ignore that kind of pain? All she wanted to do was stop it, to bring her hands down and stop the pain, to shield herself from the leather, but that was impossible, her hands were held firm. Fiercely, she shook the tears out of her eyes and strained to see into the darkness.

He would pay for this. Somehow the bastard had managed to strap her to this fucking post while she was asleep. How? How had he...?