Dreams That Liberate. Part I.

My partner, Elias, likes telling me his dreams, just after he wakes up, when they are still raw. The reason he does it is because they are so removed from reality that sometimes they disturb him greatly, much more than any kind of reality would. At other times they inspire or exhiliarate, also, having stronger impact on him than any logical reasoning would.

I enjoy an unchained mind at its weirdest – the ability of a dream to seep into your conscious and change an opinion, even a feeling towards somebody. That wild corner of mind that tells you what you really want, what you have missed.

I am at my dreams’ mercy completely. Not only me – nobody has control over their dream’s content – they are too wild, too disconnected from the environment. It is certainly a blessing but also it is a problem: it may be difficult to verbally describe hallucinatory experiences and – more importantly – one may want to censor them because of embarrassing, immoral, sexual content (imagine a traditional mind’s reaction to their partner telling them about sex with a ladyboy – breeding ground for unhealthy jealousy!).

That is what I asked of Elias’ – do not censor your dreams, tell me you were embarrassed, you fell in love with somebody in your dream, tell me you loved fucking her or him. Do not mask the feeling, let me feel it with you.

Through Elias’ hallucinatory images I wander into realms that my structured and habitual brain would never allow me to reach, not even in my own dreams – mine are a reflection of my own experiences, so – in a way – closer to home and still a bit gated.

So, what does Elias dream about that I would not? 

I am in a large hotel room, not completely sure where but this doesn’t seem to bother me. The walls are moving back and forth in a gentle oscillation, and it occurs to me that I am in Budapest. My intuition proves right as a long-, dark-haired, green-eyed woman enters the room and speaks to me in Magyar, telling me I forgot my passport at the airport. How does she know that, I wonder? Her name is Mira. How do I know that? But soon I am lost in thought, trying to devise a plan to get my passport back. I can’t walk – it’s too far, but perhaps I can drive. 

Something is telling me I shouldn’t trust this young woman and instead of going towards the door, in front of which she stands, I look at the window and decide to jump through the glass. The glass makes a soft sound, and I am flying. I am very good at flying, my brains tells me, and I see those in the streets below, envious of my advanced flying skills. 

Soon I am driving along an empty road, and the road starts to climb, more and more up into the sky. I worry the car would topple over, as the slope gets too steep and the breaks lose their friction properties on the road. My heart accelerates and I feel my blood pumping into my veins, readying me for impact when the brakes finally give up.

But this moment never comes – I am at the airport, looking for my passport, when I see Mira again. She tells me (in Japanese this time) that she can help me, but only if I help her first. That sounds like a fair deal. Her half sister, Zsófia, is stuck on the plane I had left before and I need to go and look for her. So I find myself opening the doors to the plane, and see the Zsófia (blond like the sun at noon) playing chess with an imaginary friend on her left. I take her hand, give her a reassuring smile and tell her in Magyar that her half sister is waiting for her. She nods – she knows – and digs her eyes into mine, keeps them there for a long moment that feels like eternity with a look so suggestive I feel my cock hardening. She then digs her tongue in my mouth. The plane, full a moment ago, is now empty. She takes my hand and we go to the back, where a large and inviting sofa covered in silk is waiting.

The sofa in not the only one waiting – Mira is in its middle, dressed in a garter and black hold-ups, legs open with anticipation. 

The two women undress me, caressing my skin with their soft touch, touching my hair, kissing me. For a moment my brain goes into overdrive, trying to decide who is more beautiful. Zsófia decides to take me into her mouth whilst Mira offers the most exciting striptease I can recall: her perfect breasts bounce up and down as she moves and when she removes her underwear, the beauty of her protuberant pubic bone and impeccably shaped pubic hair makes her vagina dizzyingly inviting.

Zsófia nods at me, signalling she wants me to take Mira from behind, and I don’t need another push – my cock, impossibly hard, finds its way to Mira’s vagina while she strokes Zsofia’s hair. I’m getting in, slowly first, then with great thrusts, I find inside her is the most delicious place to be. In and out, until she starts moaning so loudly I know she’s on the verge of coming. I stop for a moment, and decide to penetrate her bum – anal penetration is always something I’ve enjoyed. She arches and with a great final moan gives me a beautiful orgasm, her nipples hard with pleasure. 

Zsófia looks at me with great anticipation, and as Mira goes behind her and starts massaging her nipples, I remove her panties – my gosh, these two are truly beautiful! I kiss her like it was my very last kiss ever, and I place her in front of me, legs wide apart. When my cock gets inside Zsófia’s pussy, I can see tears of pleasure in her eyes, and my thrust into her seems to have the desired effect. I stroke her clit together with my invasion, and she now seems to lose all control, placing her two hands on my buttocks to make me get deeper into her. Her orgasm takes us both by surprise, a long and deep series of pleasure waves that make her vagina contract around my cock – sending me to heaven, and making me cum so violently and so deeply in her I almost feel I lose part of myself. I am not finished cuming when I remove my cock from her, and my juice gets all over the sofa, her breasts, and Mira behind her. The intensity of this orgasm makes me wake up.


A threesome has been on Elias’ mind and in his dreams a lot lately. I guess we need to now find a “Zsófia” or a “Mira” for us to play with – I would like to recreate his dream.


On the same night I have a different kind of dream. A dream that opens an unexpected door and gives me an urge to act.

I lie in my double bed, in my dark bedroom. Around me snowflakes are falling down creating a white curtain on all four sides of the bed, a tall, tall curtain attached to the posters that are so high up, I cannot see where they end. I don’t feel cold, although I am naked. My legs are crossed, my arms wide open to both sides. I feel hot.

I turn sideways to lick the snowflake curtain. As I am sticking my tongue out, the curtain separates and my boss steps in through it, nude, except for a pair of white boxers. He’s around my age, good looking, never before a subject of my erotic fantasies.

I look down at his crotch – his bulge looks big and inviting. He starts edging closer until his knees touch the bedframe. He then climbs onto my bed and moves towards me on all fours. The closer he gets, the bigger his bulge grows. He makes another step and the bulge is now too big to be normal. It keeps growing, it’s unnerving.

His lips curl into a smile, he opens his mouth and a forked snake-like tongue slides out. He vibrates it up and down, indicating sexual advances. I move backwards into a snow curtain. Now I can feel its coldness – it is freezing. I want him to stop as his genitals are now enormous, but he keeps moving with his tongue licking the air. If I refuse him, would he retaliate at work?

I am at the edge of the bed, one more move and I fall through the freezing curtain and into something resembling King Arthur’s round table. Even though the round table was made so that none of the nobles, when seated, could claim precedence over the others, at this table I am the one on a trial for a crime that I do not know, but feel immense remorse for – I must have sinned pretty badly. My boss is wearing a white robe, he is making his case loudly to the ghost-like participants whilst walking around the table clock- and then anti-clockwise.

Finally, he stops behind me, puts his hands on my shoulders, patronisingly pats me. His robe opens, his now normal (but big) cock rubs on my back. My blood runs hot. He makes a loud announcement to finalise his speech and deliver the verdict. I cannot understand what it is. The ghosts rise from their seats and approach me. I am lifted off my chair and put on the table, my back feels cold again. They hold my arms and legs. My boss strokes his crotch onto mine and slides inside me. Somebody squeezes my throat. I feel very thirsty.

He moves in and out, in and out. I cannot speak but I do not want him to stop. “Move quicker!” I mouth with my chapped lips, words locked inside my throat. He does.

I get my hands out of their grip, sit up and touch his chest. “Don’t stop” I whisper sliding my hand over at the back of his neck. His cock gets bigger, I can feel my walls expanding. He can no longer move inside me, he just expands. It does not matter – I explode with a strong orgasm. 

I wake up moaning, sweaty, with my hands on my crotch, my duvet on the floor.

Well, that was unexpected! My unconscious gave me an option I may have overlooked or was too worried to overstep social boundaries. I now see my boss as a possible sexual partner. He just does not know it yet.


Strangely, the next day I receive two emails. One is a confirmation of my promotion which is a joint decision of several superiors; the other is from my boss, congratulating me personally (but virtually) and hoping that soon he can congratulate me in person.

Yes, go on, congratulate me.

I now have two projects on my hands. I will keep you updated on the progress of my hunt.

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