My dream, and what about yours?  

Lovelybt5 42F
75 posts
4/8/2006 12:30 am

Last Read:
5/22/2006 4:04 pm

My dream, and what about yours?

In dream erotic land or wet dreams, how do you see you’re self. Do you dream of how you want to be in real life with your partner? How do you dream of your partner is she or he different?

In real life I’m playful I guess, in sexual sense. In dream land I’m domineering and more wild, doing things I want to do, just too shy to portray in real life. In real life I’m more submission and right now it’s right for me.

I’m constantly in control of everything and it’s tiresome in way. Releasing control to my partner and letting him be in control is relieving. I get so tire of being superior bitch and being so independently in control of everything. I like it when he’s so dominant a take control kind of man.

Then again he can be so playful and boyish in a way, with that cute low key charm.

In my dreams it’s more an Amazon battle of a chase, I’m hunting him down, playing hide ‒ go ‒ seek with a staff and vines as rope. It’s always a fight and a wrestling match of being so domineering to see who control who in bed. I always win and he becomes my sex slave.

It’s always in the woodland forestry type place. All sweaty and once in while in the lake or a muddy place and once in while as I’m sitting on my throne as Amazon Queen, as my sex slave he’s fanning me and feeding me grapes and cherries all sort fruits. Bathing me and rubbing me down with warm oils to moisten my skin.

In my dream also he tries to over throne me and the chase begins over again.


DukeAbbaddon 41M
280 posts
4/8/2006 5:51 am

I dream that women i love carress my while i sleep this is why i feel so so horny before bed as i often get the feeling of a psi prescence !:

hard if its one way thought id like them to be wild ! Wink

dreaming you tonight !


rm_hiridr 41M

4/8/2006 12:47 pm

In my dream, everything is black and white, the scene is a swank LA restaurant, with black vinyl booths and wide tables. The lighting is dark (only candlelight in red glasses), fake palm trees flank my table, a soothing female jazz singer (Ella F. or Billie H.)is mellowing the crowd, their cigarretes in hand, smoke lazily twirling upwards, filling the room. My hair is slicked back and I'm sporting a thin moustache along with a heavily starched grey suit jacket, matching slacks and a narrow black tie. I'm waiting for my date. As I sit entranced with the music, sippng scotch, the hairs on my neck stir, a tingling moves through my body, a surge of electricity, my vision clouds. Here she is, my gorgeous starlet has arrived, the ghost of Audrey Hepburn.

As I sit in a room full of ghosts, sitting against me, her head resting on my shoulder,she wraps her hands around me, her black gloves reaching her elbows. Her cigarette sets in the long black smoking stick, she motions to me to light it. I pull my lighter out of the chrome smoking case, next to a row of bright white cigarettes, snap it open, flick it to flame and light it. She sighs deeply and breathes in the smoke from the cigarette. The smoke flows through her cloudy image, passes over her face, masking it, turning her into a hazy image, blurring her into indistinction, she disappears into the blur of smoke that fills the room. The last sight of her was a twinkle of light from her diamond earrings drooping from her ears, and poof she is gone.

Our encounter was brief, but the rush of energy she pushed through me when she arrived was a lightning bolt. This orgasmic jolt would satisfy me for days to come, constantly remembering her as she came to me in that hazy smoke filled room.


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