Confessions of a Dream w***e

Chapter One

Chapter One

Dreams of Beginning…

When the war began, no one was truly surprised. It was the results that were unexpected. Weapons that poisoned man and earth were used, and soon the surface of the planet became almost inhabitable, except for a few islands that were uninhabited during the conflict. It was to these islands that the remaining people moved, in order to facilitate living. They brought their technology and knowledge with them. Nothing was lost, except for the ability to live in their home country.

A large island in the Pacific Ocean was the place to which hundreds of former Americans fled. It was tropical, lush, and full of wildlife and beauty. There was a rock quarry.

Man had learned nothing from global warming or polluted water; they longed for the convenience and pleasantries that machines provided them. They built buildings of steel, brought when they came to the island, and concrete, utilitarian rather than beautiful. They saved the beauty for the homes of those who merited them. The rest lived in tenements similar to the walk-ups in New York City. They felled most of the forests, r***d the quarries. They called their island the New Republic, but it was no true republic.

White men took control of this country, remembering the days of the South and slavery. There were no slaves by definition, but there were people who did what they were told, in fear of their lives. They developed a council called the Seniors, most of them in their fifties and sixties. The island became a technological miracle; inventions flourished. Without the necessity of wage earning, mankind had the opportunity to explore his ability as creator. Those who didn’t rule or create supported those who did with their sweat and muscle.

Citizens of the New Republic were commanded to different tasks, determined when they were children depending on their aptitude. Men ran the government, and women supported them in assigned capacities.

Almost a century after the war, Poul Guarson developed the Monitor. It allowed people to control their dreams and to share dreams with others. Almost immediately, its use as an erotic device was utilized.

Seniors had become men in their eighties and nineties; men whose minds were still lucid but whose bodies were betraying them with age. Through the Monitor, they were able to live out their lurid fantasies, recalling the days when they were virile and powerful in body, not just in title.

Women were selected and trained as dream whores. They learned the subtle art of guiding dreams, of bringing exquisite pleasure to those who ruled them. They were given names that evoked fantasies. After the death of several of these women, it was decreed that the dreams must not involve serious physical harm to them. It was a waste of training and human flesh.

Still, most of the Seniors had dreams of violence, of control, dreams that matched the lives they led. The women were theirs to do with as they pleased, and they pleased to own them utterly, to torture and humiliate them as they desired.

Only the most powerful men in the New Republic were allowed to utilize the Monitor, and they had a wealth of women at their disposal. Few of their dreaming partners were willing, but they had no choice but to submit to the will of those who ruled them.

This was life in 2230.