The Book of Dreams

Last night, I dreamed of a black horse. Upon waking, I looked in the dictionary of dreams I keep in my bedside table, to see if there is any significance to this particular night time vision. It seems a dream of a black horse is a dream of passion. Considering all that has happened in the past weeks, I am not surprised.

Chapter 1: The Marriage

It started a few weeks ago – at least it was a few weeks for me. History itself has stretched itself thin in that time so that I must commence my tale hundreds of years ago. I had just turned 17. My father was the Earl of the Dairmaid Clan and thought it propitious to seek greater political security via my marriage. I did not resent my father, whom I loved and trusted implicitly, since the husband he had chosen for me was a fine young man, most striking in appearance, and highly agreeable in nature.

We were married a week after my birthday. As was the custom, I moved to his castle on the night of my marriage. In those days a wife was little more than her husband's property. If she refuses, he is quite within his rights to force himself upon her with all the righteous violence he deems appropriate. I was warned of my duty by my mother that morning and knew what that night's fate would be. In the bedchamber, with hands shaking, I fumbled with my laces and slowly undressed in front of him. Finally, so tentatively, I stepped out of the last of my undergarments. For a fleeting moment I looked up at his eyes. There was a strange glinting desire within them as his gaze soaked up the smooth soft skin around my breasts, my flat stomach, the space between my thighs. I waited, breathing heavily, terrified. Nothing happened. I thought I must be doing something wrong. Remembering myself, and the advice of the morning, I lay on the bed, my hands above me holding the wood of the headboard, my legs crudely apart. I closed my eyes, hoping the pain would be bearable. A minute went by in silence. Eventually it was broken by his words, spoken meekly, almost in shame. He knelt next to me on the bed and softly said,

“Mary, God has melted our two souls divinely together. And as my wife I honour and respect you above all others. I can see the fear in your eyes and feel saddened that you should assume I can be that cruel, so routed in ways rejected many years past. I swear on this clan, on everything I hold sacred, that I will never willingly hurt you. You must believe me. Do you believe me?”

I nodded with a wide, grateful smile, and kissed him on the cheek. He began ever so tenderly to stroke my naked body from head to foot. On one level the sensations were pleasing to a mild degree. However, the core of my being felt somehow neutral, detached. He noticed this too, suggested patience. But 15 minutes later there was little progress and I was still a maiden. Kindly, he told me we would try again the next night. I insisted he take me how he liked, that I was not a real wife otherwise, but he would not hear of it. He told me it would be as if he were violating the virgin Mary herself!

Seven nights in a row he tried to please me, but each time I felt the merest hint of pleasure from my body, but my mind was dead to his touch. Always, there was the kind acceptance of my lack of readiness, the gentle request for patience, and the hint of resentment. I felt deeply angry with myself for letting my dear husband down. I began to wonder if there was anything amiss inside me. Was I defective in some way?

Chapter 2: The Book

As time went on, a gnawing emptiness grew within me – a feeling I couldn't explain. I needed to escape for a while, to think about all that had happened. I exclaimed to dear William that I missed my family and he let me ride alone to their estate.

A few days into my stay I happened to frequent the library. The library's collection was far too numerous for me to read in a lifetime. In fact, I suspected that there was more than a thousand ancient texts in there that my father had not even perused. Filled with a tired melancholy I took to browsing a dusty shelf in the corner. As if it somehow called to me, my fingers found a strange tomb without a title on the spine. It was caked in dust, but when I wiped this off, still there was no title. When I opened it, the first page simply read, “The book of desires and dreams.” Beside this on the right was a cunningly thin binding, entitled, “The book of desires” while in the middle of the book, almost deceitfully hidden, was a further cover, called “The book of dreams”. I turned to the very front of the tomb again. There were indeed no words, but a faint picture was there. I could have sworn it was blank before. I looked more closely at the picture, wiping away the last of the dust. I almost dropped the book in fright. It was – I couldn't believe it! In my father's castle? It was obscene, blasphemous, hideous. And yet, I couldn't take my eyes off it. There was a beautiful woman on the cover in remarkable detail. Her clothes were hanging in tatters so that not one inch of her modesty remained. She was bound tightly in chains, her arms painfully locked behind her. She was standing, but forced forwards. Behind her was… was… I could hardly bear to look. Behind her was this monstrous figure. It was black and red, some creature obviously from the depths of hell. It looked like a black horse, but had three heads, each with the devil's horns. One head had large fangs that were biting and twisting at the maiden's shoulder. The second was laughing insanely at her embarrassing lack of cover. And the last head seemed to be revelling in power and control, as it grasped in its teeth the chains around her wrist, pulling her mightily towards it, pulling her inward. She was impaled on his massive member. But despite the strangely perfect detail of her face, I couldn't quite ascertain whether she was in absolute torment or within the throws of ecstacy. There were tears of dejection, but there was also a smile of delight.

That night, I examined the book more closely. All the pages of The Book of Desires were blank – except the first. It read, “Through the exploration of desires comes self-knowledge. Explore your desires inside me, set forth the greatest of fires inside your soul, and learn.” Beside these words, was a picture of a quill beginning to write. The message was clear, but I was afraid even to think of a desire. Surely I had stumbled across a trinket of Satan. I turned to the start of the second book, the book of dreams, which had these words: “Once you've explored your deepest desires, they will strip away artifice from your being. Your dreams will be pure and their meaning in here will liberate you from ignorance of your nature.” Within the book at regular intervals and in order, were the letters of the alphabet, but between them nothing.

I slept that night in a state of near panic, and at dawn the following day I rode back to my husband. Although my first inclination was to destroy this strange book, something compelled me to stow it with me as I travelled. A single thought saved the book: I had no idea who I really was.

As I rode, my mind drifted. For the first time in my life, I began to question certain details. There was a spark of desire, a hint of life that was my own, not my parents or my heritage or my culture. When I had expected my husband to take me by force, there was a ripple of excitement amidst the fear. But it dissipated with his gentility and had not returned until… until I saw the shocking cover of that book. What was happening to me? How could I even think such disgusting thoughts? I put them out of my mind.

A few days later, William tried again with me. I didn't know quite how to broach the subject, but asked him to try to be forceful, manly, brutal - for me not for him. I couldn't explain why, and he didn't understand. Instead he appeared shocked, and told me that he was a true Christian and could never, not even for a moment, contemplate such barbarity. He left quickly, and I felt horribly embarrassed, as I lay there alone.

Tentatively, I picked up the tomb that I had stashed under my pillow and opened to the first fresh page. Everyone around me was so devout, so pure, so full of warmth and care, but it caused me to feel stifled. I daren't write such things though. It was so un-Christian of me that I felt my cheeks burn with guilt. But no one was in my room and if I kept the book very secret… I picked up the quill ever so carefully, thought for a moment, and with a reticent pleasure that I used to feel when performing mischief as a young child, I wrote: “I wish to live in less innocent times.”

Chapter3: The Release of the Marquis

Before the ink had a chance to dry, I felt ever so dizzy and the room became blurred and mis-shapen. A moment later I found myself bound to the ceiling by my wrists in a dungeon. My feet, tied wide, were stretching me to the floor. All my limbs were about to dislocate – or at least that was how it felt. What dark magic was this? Was I dreaming? What had happened to me? Had the devil via that horrid book stolen me to Hell? Indeed, I blurted out automatically, “Am I in Hell?” to which a middle-aged man beside me replied,

“Bien sur, mademoiselle.”

It was a foreign tongue, but strangely I understood the words as if they were my own. He continued, eyeing me up and down with a leer that made me uncomfortable,

“Why else would they have let me out the Bastille!”

“Who are you? What am I doing – “

“Ah yes, in my haste to bind you to my quaint lair, I have been most rude. Let me formally introduce myself: I am the Marquis de Sade, recently liberated by the revolution.”

Somehow, without any experience, knowledge of these times came to me. The year was 1789. A powerful and bloody revolution had overturned France and rattled the whole of the civilised world. A new, liberal animal was being born. Prostitutes of every description covered the streets like a carpet, bearing their breasts, enticing men into their beds, allowing their customers to take them in every hole, even whip them, as long as they paid. And I was one particularly young, new member of this popular profession. Such revelations calmed me slightly, but the knowledge of who exactly the Marquis was more than countered this, making me quiver against the ropes.

“You really do have a fabulous bosom, my dear - not at all the weathered, sagging tits of the usual whores around here. And your believable look of innocence causes the blood to surge into my cock. Now, as is my chief pleasure, I am going to hurt you repeatedly, intensely for hours. Then, when I can bear the pleasure on my cock no longer, I will give you a special treat by cutting you down and fucking you in the arse till the blood gushes from that sweet hole.”

“Please sir, please let me go” I begged him as I continued to shudder with abject terror. He laughed at this.

“Don't you realise your pleas will only make my cock harder? But I'm in a generous mood today, and besides, there is something about you that intrigues me. So I will offer you this gem of advice. Pleasure can be mined from many raw sources, even intense torture. If you open your soul to the experience, perhaps you will enjoy tonight more than I. To me, it matters not.” At this, he picked up the cruellest device I'd ever seen. It was a long single whip, but across the surface was peppered round, sharp metal studs. Surely this would tear me to death!

He soaked the whip in vinegar for a moment as I stared transfixed at this studded snake. Slowly, almost lazily, he moved behind me. After what seemed like a century, I heard a sharp crack, found my whole body jolt forwards against the ropes, let out an ear piercing scream and then a split second later absolute agony filled every corner of my mind. I felt my behind dripping with what must have been blood. The pain only slightly subsided after nearly a minute of inactivity. I was shaking uncontrollably, wimpering.

“I think 20 lashes should be a good round number, don't you think? But don't worry, I won't neglect you after that. The burning irons will be next. You are going to know pain more intimately in the next hour than most embrace in a lifetime, my innocent whore.” I could hear the faint swish of the lash behind me, then another thwack as it hit the middle of my back. I almost passed out at the shearing, tearing feeling screaming from my new wound. The Marquis paused once more, stroking himself manically as he came to view my face. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to block the pain from my mind. It was no use. Instead, I concentrated deeply on my experience, trying to dissolve it by force of will. And it was at this precise moment that I detected something else, something that had been brewing within me from the start, but which only now was creeping into my consciousness. There was a tingling, exciting feeling of pleasure running through my body. And it was steadily growing. What was causing it? Was it the pain itself, the humiliation of my open nudity, or the understanding that I was dominated absolutely? I did not know, and was indeed rather sickened that I could have such thoughts, but amidst this cave of torments, this hopeless situation, it was the only positive experience to attach myself to. So I did.

The third stroke hit the tops of my thighs. The next few returned to my bottom, as the Marquis began to put his utmost strength into the evil endeavour. The pain was maddening, as was the horror that my flesh was being ripped, destroyed by this madman. But the pleasure was starting to do battle with the pain. I found I could centre on this instead, and was thrilled amidst my fear. Could it subsume the rest? For the sake of my sanity I had to find out. The Marquis held out the whip, tickled my tender breasts with it for minutes on end, making it very clear what was coming next. Then the studded whip descended with full force upon my right breast. It hit above the nipple, splitting the flesh, causing it to ooze blood. But to the surprise of both the Marquis and myself, I let out a loud sigh of delight. The pain was spreading ecstacy throughout me. When I looked down now at my ravaged bosom, it excited me, it made my vagina ache with a longing for contact.

“Lash it again,” I whispered breathlessly, feeling suddenly liberated, empowered that I could be giving him orders.

“You truly are a wondrous sight, my girl. A kindred spirit, if I may be so bold.” He duly obeyed me, forcing the whip on my right breast again, this time splitting the hard, erect nipple. The pain and fear had completely disappeared by now. I didn't understand it, hardly understood anything of my situation. All I knew, all I experienced was the raw, sexual pleasure washing over me in waves.

“Again!” I screamed. He turned his attentions to the other breast, attempting a symmetry of destruction. I was rising higher and higher now, my body shaking for different reasons.

“Between my legs! Between my legs,” I ordered with a fanatical impatience. The single contact of the vinegar-soaked leather, and those gorgeous metal studs caused a violent climax. It was as if my body were in a seizure. I shook all over, screaming in pleasure, for what was nearly a minute, but the minute seemed to hang in the air for eternity. And then I passed out.

I was running down a hill near my childhood castle, and as I bolted over the grass, my clothes slowly dissolved. In front of me was a glorious Highlands scene – full of mist and lochs and ragged mountains tipped in snow. But as I descended and as I gradually shed my garments, the lakes, hills and valleys became buildings. The buildings began as small, simple abodes. But they mutated, steadily stretching to the sky – great monuments of glass and bricks. As I ran closer to the foot of the valley, the buildings thrust through the clouds, their shape growing more and more elaborate. Eventually, they became a bizarre double helical structure. I stopped, surrounded by them, and found these fantastic, powerful constructions twisted and curled their way towards me. Each was tipped by the head of a penis. The encircled me, roughly, yet affectionately embracing me, causing me equal quantities of pain and pleasure. The tips of all these gargantuan buildings converged on my vagina. I no longer felt empty. I then woke up with a start.

A faint blue dawn light was streaming through the open door at the top of the dungeon. It took me a while to remember where I was. But the sensation of cold metal of a chain around my neck jolted me back to reality. Although my whole body ached from my wounds, and I was a prisoner of a sadist, his paintoy, I was actually happy, excited, relaxed. As I looked around the dank, dirty dungeon, I noticed a book lying beside me. It was THE book. Immediately, impatiently, I opened the second half. What would it be under? I tried “B” for “building” and found a perfect description of my dream. There followed an interpretation: “You have chosen time as your means of knowledge. You are learning fast. Pain and pleasure are indeed the mirror foundations for all human actions. But wisdom is far from your grasp. These times cannot adequately teach you the rest.”

I contemplated these words, and understand the implicit suggestion. A quill was lying beside the book. Without hesitating, I turned to the first half of the book. I found an empty page, and wrote: “I wish to be dominated.”

Chapter4: Nazi Treatment

“ Hergekommen, jüdisches Schwein!” I was surrounded by men in uniform.

I was completely naked except for a set of numbers branded onto my arm, and a collar that read “Jewish Whore”. This time, though, no ropes or chains held me. They weren't needed. I was crawling on the ground towards the officer in charge.

“Faster, you stupid Jew-cow!” He bellowed. I sped up. Once I was in reach, he grabbed my left nipple (the hair on my head had been completely removed for “hygiene” reasons). He spoke quietly, though menacingly to me, “You rotten fucking Jew animal. You have a chance for a whole loaf of bread if you behave this evening. I happen to know that you haven't had a bite to eat in three days. Too busy being fucked 24 hours a day in the Auschwitz brothel, haven't you? How does it feel to be so very popular to the very soldiers that killed your family?” He laughed, twisting my nipple around as he did so. I winced in pain and grief. “And if you disobey, whore,” he smiled at me with mock sweetness, “then you will die tonight along with ten girls of my choosing.” He turned to the main group of officers, suddenly completely ignoring me.

“Listen here, men,” he continued, though more loudly now, “We've had a productive day in the chambers, and you deserve a bit of a show for a reward.” He lifted me up by pinching my nipple fiercely between finger and thumb and raising his arm. I stood there passively, staring at the ground. “I have here the prettiest Jew-whore in the camp – which isn't saying much of course. And she's going to show us just what Jews are good for. God I hate Jews! All a bunch of scientists, artists and bankers! I tell you now – civilisation is not built on such things – they are pointless, dragging us insidiously away from greatness. No, military might, the power of the gun – that is all that matters. Survival of the fittest, am I right? And our Motherland is therefore truly great!” Cheers erupted around me. “Now to demonstrate what a particularly low animal Jews are, this stupid gob of spittle will obey you gentleman in every regard. Remember, for those of you who are married, fucking a Jew doesn't count. You can still remain faithful while spewing your semen as deep up her crack as you can go. I'll start, shall I? Now, putrid Jew-animal: I'm an Arian and I'm in charge here, so as I walk down this room you will kiss and lick the floor at each place I've put my foot. Then you will lick my boots as if I'm a God.” The floor was filthy, it even stank, but what choice did I have? I obeyed him as some soldiers around me laughed, others kicked my arse as I crawled past, and still more chatted away, completely uninterested in what was happening to me. I felt nauseous, not just for the smell, but because my whole sense of self was being destroyed, it seemed. I was a nothing, a worthless animal to these men.

The next soldier, more out of curiosity than anything else, ordered me to hold his sweaty, rank erect penis in my throat until I passed out. As I was slapped awake, I felt his ejaculate surge onto my face. I was ordered to keep it there for the whole night and beyond. Another soldier, with an evil glint in his eye, handed me a cigarette and ordered me to extinguish it in my vagina. I winced, but nevertheless used one hand to open up my labia while the other pushed the burning stick deep into me. I screamed in pain, but somehow the first sound of my own voice, along with the agony, awoke something in me. Memories of the Marquis came back to me – as did his advice. Perhaps I could preserve myself in the same way again. Could I feed off this submission, learn to soak up the sensation of being worthless as if it were foreplay? Again, I was desperate, and again I was intrigued to discover new territory. The soldier relit the cigarette and simply said, “Now your arse.” With a glint in my eye, I inserting the cigarette and as it burned my rectum; I smiled in pleasure at him.

Another soldier ordered me to kneel so that he could have a convenient footrest. He dug his muddy boots into my back and reclined. At the same time, I was to lower my breasts into a bed of nails he'd had another girl bring. I had to produce blood or he would be angry. Other soldiers grew excited by this view, and took to forming a queue by my face and cunt. If I didn't manically use my tongue, or take the penis as far down my throat as possible while grinding my pussy against their cocks, that would count as disobedience. I was blindfolded, so that I couldn't see who or what was being forced into my holes. I could only smell the filthy dicks, and feel them thrust into my mouth, pussy and arse. The knowledge that a group of hateful, ignorant, racist strangers was taking me in any way they saw fit, while I was forced to aid them, began to send a heat through my mind again. There was something horribly delicious about how I was being treated, how low I had fallen. I was the Jew plaything of these brutish soldiers, worse than a slave. Such thoughts made my pussy drip with desire. As dicks caused me to gag, as they battered my cervix, that hot desire turned to orgasm after orgasm. I don't know if the soldiers recognised this, but I felt saved, liberated, invulnerable. Whatever they did to me now I would enjoy –they could rape every hole I had for hours, days, but I would feed off every moment, would want more. My consent would ebb and flow with their cruel demands as if I were a leaf on a babbling brook. While a stone might drown, the leaf will float forever.

True to the colonel's word, four hours and nearly a hundred rapes later he provided me with a loaf of bread, sprinkled as crumbs on the soil all the way from the officers' comfortable barracks to my brothel's shed. I was only to use my tongue to fetch the specks of food. However, he didn't stop me from touching my cunt as I ate my muddy line of a meal, and I came four more times before I reached my bed. I felt satisfied and sane. He had not won. I and MY race were stronger than this Nazi scum could ever be.

This time the dream came almost as soon as I lay on my bed. All manner of creatures surrounded me. They fought each other. Almost every time, the larger, stronger ones vanquished those smaller. Then they came to take their prize, with massive penises at the ready. I had no choice but to submit, though the power of their strength and victory aroused me greatly. After the sex, the next generation of blindly fighting animals would emerge from my vagina, fighting even before they were free from me. This continued for many generations, creating larger and larger monsters. Eventually, I grew tired of this cycle, but I didn't know how to stop the ever stronger monsters ravaging me. And soon they would be too big for me, destroying me completely. I was afraid it would somehow be my fault if the last generation perished with me.

As soon as I woke up, I looked for the book. It was dutifully by my side. I knew to look up “A” for “animal”. The dream, as I knew it would be, was there, followed by the usual enigmatic interpretation: “You have now learnt evolution, which favours the strong. You're drawn to the mightiest, those that dominate their peers and force you to submit, to cower under their superiority. These are the fittest to help transfer your essence across the generations. But the strongest are no better in value than the weakest. Both are blind products of a blind process. What value do you really possess?”

Again, the book seemed to tap the deepest questions in my mind, anticipating my next request. Wishing desperately to escape from this time, I wrote, “I wish to be humiliated.”

Chapter5: The Value of Sex

It was a well lit, wide alleyway. I was wearing a mini-skirt and cum-stained tank-top. I was also bare foot, standing in a stale puddle. I knew the year to be 2014, and I was on a two year contract with a large, muscular pimp who was possessively squeezing my right arm. In just those two years, I would make more than enough money to get me through medical school. But if I disobeyed my pimp in a situation that wasn't life-threatening to me, then the contract could end and I'd lose all my money. I had just one month to go, and he was trying his best to make sure I didn't get a cent.

“Well, skank, you're on your 3 rd warning now, after refusing to suck off that old man who had that interesting dick with all those worts and sores. So tonight is punishment night, baby, and it's gonna be great – well great for me ‘coz I'm gonna make a shit load a' money. And our members at NYFuckmeat79.com are gonna love this. Millions online are gonna watch you be a slave to 50 o' the dirtiest, roughest down-and-out bums around. And look up there.” He pointed to a balcony above the alleyway, populated by a large group of people. “They are your whole high school class, here to enjoy the show, and laugh at just what you are prepared to do for a few bucks. Why don't you wave at them.” I obeyed, already feeling a thrill at the sense of shame, and being defined as simply a cheap whore.

I was given some music and had to strip sexily in front of all those tramps, as if they were 1000-dollar clients. When I was naked, one ordered me to keep very still, kneeling down on a dirty mat. My lips and eyes were to remain wide open at all times, although I was allowed occasionally to swallow, as long as I swallowed everything that was in my mouth. The 50 bums took turns spitting at me and cumming over me. At regular intervals, I was prompted to ask for more spit and sperm. After just 10 minutes, my whole face, hair and tits were covered in a wall of putrid slime. It felt wonderful. I was getting so turned on by the mixture of rank tastes, by the bitter sting in my eyes. When they all urinated on me to wash it off, I had my first orgasm as I tasted a combination of 10 different vile salty piss-drinks at the same time.

“Well, if you like piss so much, cumbucket-whore, we have a special treat for you.” At this, he dragged me by the hair to a corner of the alley, where there was a bucket that was obviously a makeshift toilet for these bums. “This has a month's shit and piss, just for you. Why don't you dunk your head in it.” I looked at the revolting mixture, smelled the rancid odour, gazed up at the high-school crowd and the cameras and instinctively craved to show them how disgusting, how worthless I actually was. With my fingers automatically rubbing my nipples and clit, I dunked my head completely below the water and held it there for nearly a minute. One of the bums pulled me out with a twisted look of digust on his face. He handed me a filthy glass, with some cigarette stumps encased on the bottom. I knew what to do. Furiously sticking my fingers up my cunt now, I grabbed a generous glass-full of the mixture and drank it down. My stomach rebelled at taking such a horrid mixture, though, and I vomited it onto the ground. I was told to lick it up. I started to do this, then found a surprise behind me. A large Alsatian with a coat matted with bits of rubbish was being positioned so that he could mount me. I felt his paws on my back, and didn't object. In fact, I was amazed to find myself in heaven at this pistoning dog-cock inside my cunt. I found licking up my own vomit with even more vigour hastened and enhanced my climax. I screamed and screamed in ecstasy as the jeers of my high school peers drifted down to my ears.

After the toilet bucket was kicked to the floor and I was given far more to lick up, ten more tramp's dogs turned up to fuck me – sometimes in the arse and sometimes in the cunt, always with their paws scraping at my back. Then the bums took their turn. A money box was put next to me and each bum paid a dime to fuck me. I was only double arse-fucked, and then the pair would take it in turns to choke me with their shit-cum covered filthy dicks. They wouldn't stop until the dicks were completely clean again. All 50 took me this way, each for a dime, though some complained that I wasn't worth that much. I lost count of the times I climaxed that night.

Eventually, they left me in a heap in the corner and went to get some food. Exhausted, yet perversely satisfied, I drifted to sleep. The dream this time was simpler. I had erected the most beautiful nude statue of myself in gold and diamonds. It had taken years, and eventually it was up for auction to the highest bidder. I felt brave to show every detail, every blemish on my body to the world and thought that would elevate the price further. However, not a single bid was made.

As soon as I woke, I flicked in the dictionary to “S” for Statue and read the interpretation: “Value, whether monetary, or in terms of self-worth is illusory. Within you is the essence of this truth. Sexual humiliation is revelling in a valueless perception. There is only one sense of worth imposed on nature that has any truth – and you are its supreme proponent. You need to find a world that agrees with this fact.”

But how could I ever fit in, how could such desires as my own create companionship, respect? Feeling melancholy and tired of these vicious lessons, I wrote, “I want to feel at home.”

Chapter6: The Virtual Queen

I was in a penthouse apartment, looking down on a vast city. In the distance, I could see a gigantic poster of some woman, advertising the Dream Game. It took me a while to realise it was me. Then the new world hit my consciousness in a rush. I had fallen much further into the future. BDSM-ers were now revered, placed above other members of society. They were found to be high-iq, cultured, deeply creative – and every genius that ever had been was found to be a member of this special sexual club. It was a lifestyle that vanillas envied for its status and sexual variety. Sex itself was now the most respected pastime in a world that embraced this as the most honest expression of our nature. It was concluded we have no other fundamental purpose - and submissives epitomise that universal truth. I was a Polymorphic Submissive – a rare and special woman. For my sexual tastes I was made famous and wealthy. Men paid millions simply for an afternoon with me in the Dream Game, and came away satisfied.

Had I arrived? Was this my ultimate home, my final lesson? I had to check. It was already night. I lay on my enormous bed, feeling more comfortable and safe under the soft sheets than I'd done in weeks. I dreamt I was a white mare, galloping through time, chased by a large black stud. I couldn't outrun him, and eventually succumbed to being mounted.

My dictionary of dreams simply says a black horse signifies passion. But I don't need any further explanations now.

I have time for a quick session before breakfast. With quiet glee, I slip a metal cap over my scalp, and enter the Dream Game. I find myself naked, my skin shimmering silver, as I'm tightly tethered in the middle of a vast, glittering sphere. Four creatures approach me, each with a pair of biting, salivating 3 foot long snakes for penises. They have enormous clawed hands with sandpaper for skin. Their faces are the faces of real men, though, and I detect respect - even love - excitement, and sadistic lust. With the first violent touch, my vagina becomes a fluorescent blue river. I have found my home…