*Another day living the dream*. At least, that’s what I tell myself stepping out of my door every morning. My name is Rebecca Stark, and I have a problem.
I’m the girl of your dreams. No, literally. That’s not me being some stuck-up brat. I have some kind of weird superpower or alien DNA or witch’s curse. Who really knows? But I experience other people’s thoughts.
Most of the time it’s not too bad. I get teary eyed when I’m too close to a mother holding a young baby. I may get a little giddy around 4-year olds laughing. One time, I broke my hand punching a wall because a belligerent drunk on the other side of the bar was fuming about being cut off.
Most of the time, people’s thoughts are fleeting and simple. There’s not enough power behind them to really influence me one way or the other. Except…people’s fantasies.
Something about the reptilian part of the human brain broadcasts sex fantasies like a loudspeaker. And for a lot of people, those thoughts come at me with the power and strength of a freight train. When that happens, I don’t just experience what they’re feeling, I’m literally pulled out of my body and live through whatever is going through their mind.
When that happens, I’m completely out of control, just along for the ride. I have to confess, there’s a certain amount of liberation that comes with that. Thankfully, there are no consequences to my participation in those daydreams, otherwise I’d be dead, pregnant or gaping at every orifice 100 times over. When the fantasy ends, I simply pop back into my body, and hopefully, not too much time has passed. My body stands around slack jawed while I’m away, which has attracted the concern of more than a few passers-by.
But the real consequence is the mental exhaustion. Imagine being an attractive women in a big city. Already, you’re dealing with cat calls and aggressive onlookers all day. Now imagine that instead of a pat on the behind or a lewd remark, you’re literally being used by every person you meet. That sweet old man at the bus stop? You’d never know that he wants to bend you over and roger you good, except I do because he always does. The sweet girl checking you out at the grocery or the new Parish priest? They may keep their dirtiest thoughts cooped up in their heads, but I’m still in there right along with them living out the things they’d never share with anyone.
This morning begins as all mornings begin, carefully contemplating my best path to work. You see, with my condition, being alone is a great thing. But in a city of millions, you’re never really alone. I’ve literally been standing in my empty apartment and suddenly I’m whisked away to the minds cape of the 17 year old boy who lives on the ground floor. He must have seen me taking out my trash that morning and stored the image in his spank bank because I spent 15 minutes kneeling on the front steps while pizza face McGee plowed me from behind. My mind was mostly on the episode of Survivor that I was missing.
With that reality, every human interaction has to be planned as carefully as possible. For instance, do I take the bus to work? It’s faster than walking, but the old driver that works this route also has a giant cock and a penchant for anal. Or should I walk down 6th St where the high schoolers might be gathering outside before the first bell rings. Crowds like that can actually split my consciousness, which is even more disorienting, and oddly, several of the boys usually feature other members of the group in their fantasies. The end result is something like 6 simultaneous gang bangs (a pretty rough way to start the day).
Instead, I cut across the alley behind my building and make my way to 7th Ave. Seventh is quiet at this time of the morning. Later today, the street will be throbbing with the lunch crowds, but early in the day, only the coffee shop has its door open.
I quickly duck inside looking behind the counter. I’m excited to see Mr. Giuseppe, the elderly owner. He’s in his 70s, but looks at least 200.
“Rebecca! Why you no come see me?”
I smile at this fake indignation and make my way to counter. “Hi Mr. Giuseppe. Just busy, you know.”
“Oh, I know I know.” He nods slowly. “But I make it ok. I give you your favorite, no charge.” He hurries away to start on my special drink, a secret concoction that he invented for me. I love coming here early in the morning. Mr. Giuseppe and his wife have owned this coffee shop for 30 years, and believe it or not, he’s never pulled me into a fantasy. I’m convinced it’s because he only has eyes for his wife. You should see them together. Even in their 70, they’re adorable.
“Becca, what’s up?”
I turn to see Mr. Giuseppe’s grand nephew, Enzo, sweeping the floor near the back of the shop. He’s in his early 20s and clearly concerned with his body. His muscles bulge inside his too tight t-shirt.
I feel my mind leaving just in time to brace my body against the counter where it can wait for my return.
Strangely, I’m still standing at the counter. Looking down, I realize I’m completely naked (well, except for heels. That sounds about right). My hand is reaching for something, and I have to turn to look at what I’m holding. It’s a banana. One of the fruits from the basket by the register is gripped in my small hand.
My chest drops to the counter and my ass sticks out into the air. I feel the banana slipping through my vaginal lips, already wet (as they always are in these day dreams). Impossibly, my body swallows the banana halfway. I’m moaning as it moves in and out, deeper now. I’m thrusting the whole soft fruit into myself rapidly when I feel Mr. Giuseppe’s nephew behind me. He swats my hand away and presses himself against me instead.
Turning my head to look behind me, I see his dream form. He’s at least a foot taller, and even more muscly than before. Also naked, he’s sporting what can only be described as a Minotaur cock between his legs. If he wasn’t so tall, it would be dragging the floor. As it is, it’s dangling somewhere south of his knees.
At least, it was for a moment. Now it’s impossibly hard and pushing into me. I can feel my dream body stretching to receive the colossal intrusion. Mr. Giuseppe is singing behind the counter, something in Italian.
The cock inside me is pummeling in and out, forcing its entire length into places that were never meant to be reached. I can practically feel it coming out of my mouth, which i know is impossible, but it doesn’t stop the thought form from feeling real.
At the command of my dreamer, I start to orgasm on cue. My body convulses as he unleashes inside of me, draining his softball size testicles of gallons of cream. It fills me with warmth, distending my stomach like a beach ball, until he pulls back and rains several more hot ropes across my entire back.
“Rebecca? You take nap?”
I blink my eyes, back in my body. Mr. Giuseppe is pushing my to-go cup across the counter and smiling. I thank him and take it, never turning to look at Enzo.
I make it to work with no further incident. I’m just booting up my computer when my boss comes in.
“Rebecca, got a minute?”
“Of course, Mrs. Prescott.”
Mrs. Prescott comes into my tiny office and sits in the only chair across from my desk. She’s an older woman, consummate professional. In a lot of ways, I’ve stayed in this job for so long because of Mrs. Prescott.
We have a short conversation about an ongoing project and then she excuses herself back to her office. Knowing what’s coming, I quickly shut my door and relax my body into my chair.
As if on cue, I’m pulled away and find myself sitting naked on a familiar couch. This couch is actually inside Mrs. Prescott’s office just down the hall. It’s a beautiful brown leather love seat. And Mrs. Prescott is crawling across the carpeted floor towards it as I splay my knees wide and beckon her forward.
Oh, I probably forgot to mention. Mrs. Prescott is a very closeted lesbian and spends at least an hour a day dreaming about pleasing me. It’s honestly the best part of my day. I don’t know how she’d do in real life (and don’t plan to find out) but in her mind, she’s an amazing lover.
She starts by gently kissing the inside of my thighs. I can feel the heat of her breath as her lips pass lightly over the tender skin. She moves ever higher, but never goes directly for the prize. One reason that it takes as long as it does is that Mrs. Prescott likes to tease.
I can feel her breathing against my most intimate parts. In her dreams, I always have a slight bush, and she delights in passing slowly over my entire slit before finally granting release. My hips are bucking up towards her and my hands are in hair. When her tongue finally slips between my lips, I’m moaning with delight.
With almost painful slowness, she savors my taste and trails her probing tongue over my delicate bud. As the tension builds, so does her pacing. I’m practically screaming by the time her lips and tongue are sucking at me. My clit is throbbing and she doesn’t release me even as I crest the wave, screaming out.
“Fuck!”
I love that her dreams don’t end there. Instead, Mrs. Prescott starts to kiss me softly again, slowly bringing me down. It’s not until I’m nearly nodding off with peaceful delight that I pop back into my body.
With a yawn and a stretch, I pull back up to my computer and get back to work. The rest of the day passes with only a few minor incidents. One of the guys from marketing calls me for updates on a project, followed up immediately with me kneeling beneath his desk and draining him dry. At least he made his cum taste good in the dream.
At lunch, I’m eating a sandwich and gazing idly out of the window in the break room, when suddenly I’m straddling a middle aged dad in a minivan while he idles in the drive through across the street at Taco Bell.
In the middle of the afternoon, Brandon, our resident IT guy, ducks his head into my office and asks if I have time for some computer updates. I turn over control and head down the hall for a soda. I’m in the middle of dropping quarters into the coin slot when I’m suddenly yanked back to my office.
Apparently, Brandon has a some interesting sexual tastes. I spend the next 20 minutes with a cock, at least a foot long, cumming waves of spunk as Brandon fucks all of my holes. I’m only speaking in Japanese for some reason, and the entire room is a mess of jizm by the time I’m back in my body. I drop the last quarter and decide I definitely need caffeine after that.
On the walk home, I try to be as inconspicuous as possible. Because of my condition, people watching takes on a whole new level. I see couples passing in the street and wonder which of them has the weirdest fantasies. It’s easy to wonder who would be gentle and who would be rough.
I’m rounding the last corner when I feel the familiar pull. Not knowing who pulled me in, I have too look around for my dreamer. The world fractures as I’m pulled again and again. My vision multiplies, and my still very human brain struggles to put together coherent views of my surroundings. It’s hard to describe squinting with your brain, but that’s the best way I can explain how I put together what’s happening.
A series of varied people, men and women, different ages and races, spread out around me. Before long, they’re falling onto me. They each use me in their own way. Some are gentle and giving, others are aggressive and rough. Roughly 5 minutes pass in a blur of genitals, grunting and juices. Then suddenly, I’m back, leaning breathless against a brick wall.
My head whips around and I nearly faint from stupidity. Across the street, a sandwich board sits on the street corner outside the local YMCA: *Sex Addicts Anonymous 6:30pm.* I recognize the man in the polo shirt as he stubs out his cigarette and follows the others back inside.
When I’m finally home, I drop my bag, bolt the door and flop down onto the couch. Here’s the other secret that no one knows. My mind may be satisfied ten times a day, but my body is incredibly frustrated. I may be completely mentally exhausted by the end of the day, but if I don’t have a real physical orgasm, I won’t be able to sleep that night.
I drag myself back to the bedroom, shedding my clothing as I do. By the time i pull back the sheets, I’m completely naked. In the bedside table, I keep a few important tools. One is a vibrator, small and pink. The other is a dildo, 9-inches, thick and black as coal. I take both, along with my bottle of lube, and fall into the bed.
One thing I never lack for is fantasy material of my own. I flash back to a few choice occasions from the past week as I slowly start rubbing myself. Around the memory of drinking down a helpful police officer’s load, I start the vibrator, tapping it lightly against my clit.
It’s a taxi driver, bending me over the hood of his car in the middle of a busy intersection that inspires me to go further, coating the long, black rod with a generous coating of lube and getting to my knees. I’m pushing down against it, feeling the thick head fill me. It’s so big. Not as big as I’ve felt in fantasy but as much as my body can actually handle.
Feeling it go deeper, it’s time for my favorite memory of all. Years ago, I’d uploaded a naked photo to Reddit. I’d gotten thousands of up votes in only a few hours, but it was days before my brain returned to my body. I was split across hundreds of fantasies at any moment. My brain had no chance of keeping up. I was completely lost in a sea of sex. I was being used in every way imaginable across the globe over and over.
My muscles clench as the orgasm races through me, and I call out into my empty apartment. My tunnel tightens around the monstrous shaft and it makes the pleasure so much more intense. I have to stop moving for a few minutes, eyes clenched tight in pleasure.
“Whew…” I breathe out heavily, letting my toy slip out and fall to the sheets.
Naked and on shaky knees, I pad down the hall to find something for dinner.
I catch my reflection in the hall mirror and smile, *Another day living the dream.*
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/9kvren/living_the_dream_mf_ff_dream_scapeday_in_the_life