Wet Dreams…

I’m really enjoying getting my playthings to submit stories. When I heard about the following dream I insisted that the boy in question write it up. If the writing style is familiar, it is because it is written by the same young boy who wrote up what it was like to be encased in plastic….the hot young guy from the Gold Coast….. Even though he is young, I know that he will always be, for the rest of his life, a young boy trapped inside someone who appears older….who wants, or rather needs, to be controlled…at least every now and then. 😉
He has been instructed to write up some of the thing that happened while he was at boarding school – I’m looking forward to posting more of his work. He has also agreed to let me post the video of him encased in plastic – provided no face is visible….I hope you are all looking forward to that. If you like boys sobbing in fear – you will absolutely love it. 😉
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Let’s be clear on one thing. I have fucked up dreams… Truly, mind-expandingly fucked up dreams. Once I was a penguin evading milk-carton shaped Orcas… Once a school class degenerated into Planet of the Apes-esque hand-to-hand combat with chimpanzees… And once I and the Scooby-Doo/Mystery Inc. Team battled shark-wielding evil villains… Not to mention all the zombie dreams.
So already you can see, my wet dreams, even at 20 years old, must be something to behold… Though one stands above the rest… And I still feel shame at the results.
Dreams are patchy things, rarely having accurate measures of time, distance, geography in sequencing of events, but this I recall most clearly.
It began in an art gallery, much like the one I had to visit during High School. Cheap, fluorescent lighting, patchwork-floorboards and chipped paint. Suffice it to say, however, my local art gallery never had exhibits of skinny-but-toned twinks stretched out on racks for the perusal of patrons, nor an intimidating strip search by a leather-clad security agent.
In the dream I was a newbie, totally inexperienced in the darker side of fetishism. It started almost like a nightmare; pushed past obviously in pain (but oddly enticing) slave boys, exposed to the whims of passers-by. In hindsight, I can see all the dirty little fantasies I’m still unravelling for myself, those dark little corners within me that make my cock tent through my jeans even as I type this.
It wasn’t until I had seen the kinds of degradations that would make a vanilla-twink run screaming for the nearest drag-queen bar, that I was seized. The two men were featureless, or at least, I cannot remember their features. They were in form-fitting rubber, and muscled, but their faces may as well have been blank. They dragged me toward the centre of the room, where a huge black-latex sheet was hung vertically. Despite my protests, I was hoisted above the eager crowd, and my struggling feet were slipped in between the two sheets. I suspected it was some bizarre vac-rack, gargantuan and suspended. But with just a touch of my skin to the material all strength left me, and I became pliable, easily pushed down and down into the tight blackness.
Even now, I can still imagine how it felt, the poor, naive boy pushed inside and sealed in… The tightness increasing more and more, trapping me. There was no way for me to even breath, and my struggles returned, but I suppose that was always the intention of these dream sadists… To see me panic and try to break free.
By nature of the dream, of course I didn’t suffocate. I was constantly on that tantalizing edge, losing strength and will, but never quite succumbing to unconsciousness like I would if I should ever try it for real. The two who imprisoned me whispered through the latex, rubbing my crotch through it. Their hushed voices said the filthiest things… That I was nothing but a display to be gawked at, a toy trapped forever… And it was then that I came, at least in the dream.
To be clear… I lucid dream. I know I am in a dream-state, and more often than not I can affect the outcome. Nightmares are easily defeated and sexual fantasies enhanced… And in my wet dreams, there is always that moment when I know that I am cumming into my sheets. The first time I ever did so, I woke up positive I had soiled the bed… But I hadn’t. I was 13 at the time.
As it turns out, I didn’t soil the bed for seven more years.
Like normal, I felt the rushing and pumping from my cock, even in the dream. The images faded and I struggled awake. I reached down like always to have a taste of my cum (Why waste it?)… But this wasn’t like any cum I’d felt before. There was so much of it, and it was everywhere…. and warm too.
Fuck.
Throwing back the covers I could see what I’d done. Like a little child I’d wet the bed. To this day I don’t know why. Perhaps the tubes inside got confused and crossed, or perhaps my brain was sending a warning that my depravities were going too far (ha)…
Either way, I was nothing more than a little boy staring with worry at the big mess he had made in his bed. Terrifying thoughts like “ Oh well, time for diapers already” fled through my head, and shameful blushing reached my face.
Naturally, my cock was hardening in my briefs… As it is as I write this. The emotions in me are so conflicted. My dick is raging hard, but I can still feel that shame, like I was a 4 year old again. I can’t wet the bed. I’m a big boy now! There’s tears coming, a tantrum even…
Maybe I’m not as grown up as I thought?