"Landmarks" Ever wonder what other people dream about? I actually get to find out. I don't know what triggers my ability, or why I see a certain person's dreams when I do. Distance doesn't seem to have anything to do with it. Sometimes I'll pass someone in the street and have an epiphany -- "I *know* you! I saw your dream two months ago!" Then we never meet again. Mostly, though, thinking about a person when I'm awake shows me their dreams. I figured everything out when I was nine, because of a serious crush I had. I visited Ally's head for months, at least one night a week. As I get older, I dream alone less and less. It's a nice change to live with someone else's hopes and fears and ordinary, everyday memories for a while. Nowadays, I get one or two dreams a night from other people. I can usually recognize them, too. My downstairs neighbor, for example, dreams about trains and this weird guy mumbling about hurricane season. Until last night, the weirdest one I've ever had came from my aunt, who dreamed she was a mustache, black and bristly, traveling the world on my uncle's top lip. Anyway, the new record holder is my next-door neighbor. I always enjoy Sarah's dreams. In fact, hers were the first I saw when I moved in here. She was dreaming about her dog, and we played in the park for hours. I had never fantasized about her, though. At least, not often. Her dream wasn't odd because it was sexy. No, no need to be embarrassed. We all have them. Sure, maybe I get a little uncomfortable when I'm related to the dreamer, but people dream about sex all the time. They're a fact of life. I guess I wasn't expecting Sarah to have such a rich and varied sex life. I'm pretty much your standard sexually repressed vanilla guy, and Sarah seemed like she was, too (Well, not the guy part). Turns out no. ** My second favorite perversion is bondage. So the thick chain hanging from the center of the ceiling attracted my eyes like a magnet. The instant Mistress Julia dragged me into the room (Literally dragged me; she held my ankles and I slid merrily along on my back), I twisted my body off the floor and followed the links down to heavily padded cuffs. "For me?" I asked, throwing her my best pout for good measure. She didn't answer, but stopped walking backwards and eyeballed a line between the chain and my wrists, then dropped my legs. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stand still and enjoy things." I went limp while she pulled me to my feet and strung me up. The winch felt like it was directly connected to my brain. With every crank of the handle my excitement was raised even further than my body. Once I was mostly standing, the winch stopped and a sharp slap on my naked behind ordered me to support my own weight. This was followed by another when I turned my head curiously to watch whatever she was hooking up. "I said stand still!" "Yes, Mistress," I answered obediently, turning so I looked straight ahead. She didn't trust me, however, and I tried to accept the blindfold with good grace. But I still tried to guess what she was doing from the sounds. She did something above me near the cuffs, then made several connections lower down, by my thighs. "Lift your--" she started, but before she could finish her sentence, I was balanced on one leg, offering her my left foot. "Wench," she said angrily, "you think you're pretty smart, but you must learn to do *only* as I say. Someday you'll push me too far." "I was anticipating your whim, Mistress." "Put your foot down." I did. "Lift your *right* foot." Smirking, I obeyed. I'd guessed correctly; Mistress wrapped a cuff around my ankle. Tugging experimentally, I discovered I was indeed attached to a spreader bar. She waited, but I didn't move. "Better. *Now* give me your other leg." Once I was fully attached, I squirmed a little, testing my suspension. Most of my weight was on my arms, so my shoulders would probably get sore eventually. I had a lot of practice, though, and I knew I could last quite a while before I got into trouble. The spreader bar ended up below my waist, leaving me swinging free with my legs bent beneath me. Mistress Julia stood off to the side, generously allowing me time to adjust. When I'd stopped wriggling, she stepped closer, rubbing her palms across my tight skin, drawing spirals on my tight stomach. "I bet I know what you'd like now, Sarah, hmmm? But since you're having such trouble remembering who's in charge I don't see why I should reward you...." I pushed and pulled against my bonds, arching up and out at her and straightening my knees into a right angle. "Puh-leeese, Mistress? I'm reeeally sorry!" "You've been acting uppity all day. Do you think you should get off that easily?" She sounded like she'd crossed the room. "Noooo...." I admitted. "I didn't think so." Mistress's voice was right next to me again. "Count." The first blow came so quickly I didn't have time to process her instruction. She waited a few seconds, while I hung limp and gasping, then repeated her strike. "Two!" I finally shouted. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," she sighed. "We both know it doesn't work that way!" I whimpered. "Since you still haven't learned you lesson, those didn't count." I got ready, expecting the next hit, but Mistress Julia was better than that. She paused just long enough that when it did come I was caught totally by surprise. "One!" I yelped. Mistress made an approving noise and rapidly swung at my back. "Two!" I listened to myself panting noisily, then her whip cracking like a shot into my sensitive flesh. It drowned me out three times with a quick, strong rhythm. "Three! Four!" I cried triumphantly. "FIVE!" Ten minutes later, my back felt as if she'd stuck me with a thousand burning needles. She had begun to slow down, letting me rest and breath. I wished the pain didn't have to end. "One more," she whispered. I nodded slowly, suddenly bringing my head straight up, screaming. We both knew her previous blows had only been a sensual warmup, but she had put much more force into that one. "Six," I choked out, and moaned low as she dragged her wet tongue up and down my welts. "Thank you, Mistress." I meant it, too. "You are most certainly welcome," she replied. "I just hope all that screaming didn't leave your throat dry." "Uh-huh." I wiggled in place, trying to seem innocent. "Err--Do you have anything I could drink, Mistress?" "Well, no," she said suggestively. Just for a minute, I was in two places at once, watching myself hanging there from the outside. It was a dream, after all. I remember thinking how sexy and helpless I looked, especially those heavy cuffs, so large around my small wrists. Mistress brushed my lips brushed apart. "Maybe you can help, Sarah?" I felt the cool rim of a glass between my legs, barely touching my mound. I wanted very badly to watch what was coming: my most favorite perversion of all! But as my gaze skimmed downward, my body sucked my mind inside the dark where I belonged. "Let go," Mistress instructed. I heard my stream trickle and splash down, flying higher and higher by the second. Peeing myself for someone is always intimate and powerful. Maybe this seems weird, but it's like I withhold the real core of myself from everyone. Sometimes I feel I can only show myself freely when I'm pissing, like it's such an uninhibited act that I can't hide anymore. I open up completely when someone takes water from my body. I wanted it to last forever, and it almost did, until Mistress told me to stop. "*Good* girl! Now," she purred tenderly, "we have something for you to drink." The rim withdrew, replaced by her other hand, stroking all the right spots. "Relax again," she whispered. Foolishly, I complied, bolting upward and making various plaintive noises when she produced a flogger from nowhere and swung it lightly skyward. Thus distracted, I almost missed the glass's approach. "Bottoms up!" I opened wide, wetting two greedy lips with my tongue--the others were wetting themselves. Briefly, I even reclaimed the dream-sense, long enough for a glimpse of Mistress gleefully pouring ambrosia into my eager mouth. I was just aching all over by now, completely turned on and vulnerable, writhing in place as the glass emptied. Mistress finally gave me her hand back and I started grinding against her mindlessly. I burrowed further into that magic place behind my clit, burning and laughing and coming and floating off wonderful-quivery-squirmy toward another dream. ** Yeah, so that's definitely the weirdest dream I've ever seen. I've never done anything that kinky in real life, yet after I woke up, I understood exactly how Sarah feels about watersports. That's the way my dreaming works: I *am* whoever's doing the dreaming. I'd never doubted my ability before. The first time it happened, I was maybe five years old. Didn't phase me. I woke up and just said, "Huh. That dream wasn't mine." I knew exactly what had happened. I also knew I could never tell anyone. Sarah's dream, though, seemed so improbable that I began questioning everything. What proof did I have that these dreams really were other people's? Sure, occasionally I thought I could spot the real-life events in others lives that inspired them, but I'd never asked anyone if they remembered having the same dreams I did. Maybe I'd been making the whole thing up all these years. None of Sarah's other dreams were kinky; the weirdest one she had was featured a party where every guest was her aunt. I couldn't concentrate on anything except The Dream, as I began calling it. Dreaming was such an important part of me; if there were no dreams my whole life was a lie. Everybody I knew asked what was wrong. I couldn't tell them. If I'd had to go on that way I don't know what I'd have done. Luckily, I didn't go on like that. One night, very late, I had my answer. Sarah's door is between mine and the stairs-elevator-mini-lobby-thing (i.e., several poorly-cared-for potted plants). It's only a few seconds' walk down the hall, so it's a pretty fair coincidence when we run into each other there. But such things are bound to happen over time. This was one of those times. The instant I opened my door I heard her voice, coming from the aforementioned mini-lobby-thing. "Someone'll see!" I closed the door hurriedly, thought hard, and pulled it open again, this time just enough to watch. I needed to know, more than I'd needed anything ever before. Sarah was with a short-haired woman. Was she--yes! Her hair color was different, but I was sure she was Julia, from the dream. They were both dressed normally; anybody would have thought them two simply good friends. What wasn't normal was that Sarah was blindfolded and half bent over so Julia could lift the back of her dress. Sarah suddenly choked down a hungry moan-scream, and I almost lost my load in my pants imagining what her mistress was doing back there. "Now, don't you dare take that out before noon tomorrow," Julia admonished, letting the dress fall. Sarah nodded, and her Mistress led her to her apartment, unlocked the door, and kissed her chastely goodnight. Closing the door behind her, Julia turned back toward the potted plant zone, paused, and looked back. She winked at me. ** Of course, I saw Sarah's dreams that night. They were pretty boring, though, one about shopping for her brother and an episode with dying fish. With my crisis of faith resolved, I felt like a new man. The very next morning, I made sure to catch Sarah in the elevator. I would need her advice. "Feeling better, Brian?" she asked casually. Never mind our usual small talk. Today I wanted to change my life, I just couldn't find the words. After a few moments' painful silence, Sarah looked at me sideways. "What's gotten into you?" I took a deep breath. "You have really detailed dreams."