Confessions of a Dream w***e

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Dreams of Release …

Morning came too soon. Typically, it was a time of repose, of rest, but there was no rest for Tempest. She could not sleep in as did many of her sisters; for some reason she always awakened with the sun’s dawning, although she could not see it. She stretched, pulling at her aching muscles. Wincing, she stood, then began the required calisthenics. It was important to keep her body supple and beautiful. She was the stuff dreams were made of.

Bitterly, she laughed as she bent over, touching the floor easily. When she was too old for desirability, she would become a Matron like the other bitter women who served Madame. Perhaps someday she could become a Madame, but she didn’t think that would happen. It took an exceptional woman to be the panderer for the young and innocent.

Innocent? No longer. So many things had happened to her in her life, so many fantasies she had taken part of, that there was no innocence to her any longer. She had lost that innocence in her training.

She turned as the door slid open. A tousled, brown-haired girl peeked in.

“Tempest?”

Joyously, Tempest flung herself on the younger girl. “Kitten!”

Kitten pressed her companion against her, only coming up to Tempest’s shoulder. She was a petite, delicate girl – only seventeen, with babyish features and a piquant mouth that appealed to the Seniors who wished to have a little girl to dandle. Tempest did not want to even imagine the kind of dreams that Kitten inspired.

In fact, it was an unwritten rule that no one spoke to each other of the Seniors’ lurid fantasies. There was no need to add to the trauma of their lives, or to compare their lot to another of the dreamers’.

She led Kitten into the room, closing the door behind them. There was truly no privacy, as all of the rooms were monitored, but there was no rule against two being together. In fact, such things were encouraged, as they released tensions caused by their stress filled lives.

They sat upon her bed. No one ever sat on the beds occupied by the Seniors; they had an aura of decadence that they did not want on their bodies. She embraced Kitten, held her against her body. The sensation of gentleness, of sharing warmth, suffused her and eased the ache as no stretching could.

“Was it difficult?” Kitten asked in her soft, sweet voice. Tempest nodded.

“Two in one evening. The first was aborted.”

Kitten shook her head. “Destructive?”

Tempest trembled. “Unbelievably so. But it’s not the first time I’ve pulled out ... maybe I’m just too sensitive to things. Maybe another dreamer would be able to handle what I can’t. Madame seems to think that I’ve been confrontational.”

“Oh.”

They sat silently a moment, holding hands, leaning against each other. Finally, Tempest drew the small girl to her. Kitten was pliable, willing.

She lay her mouth upon her guest’s, exploring the soft lips beneath hers, the gentle, warm tongue that met hers and circled in a dance that grew more passionate. Tempest allowed her hand to trail down, find Kitten’s delicate breast.

The brunette gasped as Tempest caught her flesh and ran gentle fingers over the n****e. They were both nude beneath the requisite shifts. Tempest felt the response beneath her fingers.

Kitten wriggled, lay back against the bed. Tempest lay atop her, kissing her with rising passion. Her hand found Kitten’s soft entrance, damp and dewy. She played with the fragile skin, the heat of the juices flowing around her fingers. She watched Kitten’s expression as she came. She loved the look of tension, of open-mouthed release, the tiny cries of pleasure that came from the child-like mouth.

Sated, Kitten sat up and regarded her. She wore a mischievous expression as she lay Tempest back. Slowly, she removed her own shift, so that her underdeveloped body was nude to the chill air. Her n*****s were hard, and there was a damp slick upon her thighs.

“Ah,” Tempest groaned, as the little girl’s hands were upon her knees, spreading her thighs. She opened them wide. Kitten knelt between her legs. Tempest closed her eyes.

Gentle, flicking motions of tongue ran up and down the inner parts of her legs, causing them to tremble with desire. Now and again the tongue would catch against the lips of her vulva, causing her to arch towards the tormenting mouth. But it would disappear and return to its delicious torment.

Finally, finally Kitten spread Tempest’s lips with two fingers and bent her head. Her mouth captured the c**t, sucking with tenderness, and then moved down, her talented tongue pushing in and out of the hole beneath. Tempest writhed, and Kitten stilled her with a surprisingly strong hand upon her belly.

The mouth returned to the c**t as fingers entered her, moving back and forth. Tempest felt the orgasm building. She grasped the back of Kitten’s head, urging her on. Kitten continued her sucking and licking and movement, until Tempest spasmed, crying out and twisting upon the bed. A gush of fluid rushed from her, soaking the sheets beneath her.

Kitten sat up, wiped her mouth, a proud smile making her look just like her namesake. Tempest lay for a moment, recovering from the explosive orgasm. Nothing in the world felt better than Kitten’s mouth upon her. She had orgasms before, but only Kitten knew how to drive her to a pinnacle never before reached.

Maybe it was because she loved her friend. Kitten slid her shift back on, lay down beside her. The bed was narrow, but Tempest placed an arm around her companion, drawing her back into her belly, two spoons nestled together. They were both experiencing a deep languor.

No matter what the day had to offer later, nothing could take away this moment. They were together, at peace.

Tempest did not think that this kind of peace was capable with a man. The men she knew where brutal, invasive, and cruel. No man was like her Kitten: soft, gentle, loving. No man touched her with the desire to give her pleasure; no man rested against her merely to be in her presence.

She kissed Kitten’s tousled hair. This made her life bearable, knowing that Kitten existed and could come into her room and share herself.

They must have fallen asleep, because when she opened her eyes, Madame was looking down at the pair. There was no disapproval in her expression, but Tempest knew that she would rather not see the two of them together. She nudged Kitten, who rose with almost a comic look of surprise on her face.

“Oh! Madame!” as she slid from the bed.

Madame surveyed them, lips pursed, then shook her head. “Kitten, report to the exercise area. I need to speak to Tempest alone.”

Kitten acquiesced, headed to the door. Before she left, she turned back to look at her lover, concerned. Then she was gone. She knew better than to disobey a direct order.

Tempest rose to stand humbly before her panderer. Although Madame was a tall woman, Tempest topped her by several inches. It didn’t matter. The aura of power that Madame exuded was undeniable, and it gave her height and girth that she didn’t necessarily posses by nature.

Madame was silent, surveying her in the diaphanous, sheer shift. They were designed to show off the attributes of those wearing them, slightly sheer so that the delicacies of their flesh were hinted at beneath the fabric. Tempest shivered under the scrutinizing gaze.

Finally, Madame spoke. “Tempest, your behavior yesterday has outraged Senior Marvus, and he wishes to have you chastised.”

All thoughts of decorum and proper behavior forgotten, Tempest protested, “But Madame, you saw! He used many destructive devices on me ... there is the clause...”

“The misuse of the whores is for me to decide. You are not to exit the dream. I will stop it if I see such abuse.”

Tempest chilled. How could Madame have witnessed that dream and not seen how close it came to damaging her?

“That is neither here nor there. Senior Marvus demands your correction and is waiting in the chamber. Put on a different shift.”

Reluctantly, Tempest went over and pulled out a sheer, black shift that hid nothing of her attributes. Madame nodded her approval, and they left the room together, Madame walking slightly ahead of the barefoot w***e.

The marble of the floor felt cool on her feet. Tempest looked around her. With the austerity of her room, where she spent most of her time, such opulence never failed to awe her. Statues of erotic acts were nestled in every corner, the entire building was marble, with a Greco feel – the columns were Ionic, the building itself spacious and echoing. This would have been a museum in the old days.

Tapestries and artwork surrounded them. Although the austerity of the whores’ rooms belied the luxury of the building, the Dream Centre was created to allow the Seniors a place to meet, to relax before retreating to the simple chambers where their fantasies became realities in their minds.

There were many sitting rooms, filled with overstuffed chairs and books. Most Seniors preferred the vanity of proving that they could read on paper, rather than utilize a computer monitor. The old ways were celebrated and used as if they were a badge of pride and only those with the power and money were allowed them.

The halls echoed with the click of Madame’s heels. Tempest’s soft paddings made no noise. They were approaching one of the larger chambers, a huge room set up as a court, with places for all of the Seniors to sit, if they so wished. It was called the Corrections Chamber, but the whores called it the punishment room.

None of them were strangers to this place; often, if a Senior were frustrated by the turn of events in his dream, and the w***e was unable to gather up the frayed ends, he would take out his frustration on his partner. She would be brought before him to pay the penalty for his dissatisfaction.

They reached the Chamber, and Madame threw wide the double doors in a sweeping, dramatic gesture. Tempest meekly followed in behind her. At the far end of what seemed an endless hall, upon a raised dais, sat Senior Marvus. Beside him, on a pillow, sat his young, exquisite wife.

Despite herself, Tempest looked at the woman with curiosity. Wives were chosen for their beauty and docility, and underwent as much training as the dream whores. All men, but Seniors especially, were allowed to have as many wives as they wished. Most chose to have one at a time, putting them away when they became too old and taking another. The discarded wives became servants and menial laborers. Rarely, a man would grow fond of his wife, and keep her with him indefinitely, despite the ravages of age upon her face. All women dreamed of this, wishing that they would one day become a much loved and vaunted wife, catering to their husband’s every wish and whim.

They stopped in the middle of the hall, beside a marble bench.

The wife examined Tempest. The blonde wondered what the wife thought of her – there was no jealousy in her gaze, for none was allowed. But there was a sense of disdain, and Tempest knew that most thought ill of her kind, found them dirty. I didn’t choose this! she wanted to cry out. This was forced on me! The wife looked back to her husband, her expression reverting to one of sweet adoration.

How could she look at that vile man in such a manner?

Her thoughts were shocking. Tempest willed herself to a quiet obedience, as Madame made an obeisance before the Senior.

“As you have commanded, Sir. Here is Tempest.”

The Senior did not rise; it would be demeaning for him to reveal his physical weakness before women. Only in the dream chambers would he allow his frailty to be witnessed, because his true mental power was evidenced before all. Everyone who saw him stumbling to his cot would also see him in his true state.

And Marvus’ true state was a brutal one. Tempest shivered. Surrounded by marble, by the unwavering glares of the Matrons, the naive interest of the wife, she felt as if a chill wind had blown through her soul.