My sheets must have gotten tangled between my legs, which gives me the illusion I’m wearing a diaper and heightens my arousal. I arch my chest as I continue to play with my nipples. Why am I naked? Where is my gown? Maybe I got so hot from the fever I took it off.
Suddenly, large hands wrap around my wrists and tug my fingers free of my nipples. For a moment, I’m suspended in time, imagining a Daddy has stopped me from touching myself. I can even smell him. His scent is potent and indescribable.
I’m instantly more aroused, moaning, desperate. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this horny. Especially not from a dream. I’ve never had an orgasm in my sleep. I might if this dream Daddy keeps holding my arms at my sides.
“Janie… Baby girl… Look at Papi.”
For a moment I sigh, a smile growing on my face. The dream has gotten even better. The deep voice is rumbling through me with all the authority and sexiness I’ve imagined my entire life.
“Janie…”
I don’t want to open my eyes and break the spell. I want to stay right where I am, warm and aroused. I love that even when I tug on my hands, I’m seemingly unable to escape the firm grip of the imaginary Daddy. It’s so very real.
Someone lifts my hips. I think they slide something under me. A moment later, the sound of Velcro causes me to flinch, and I swear I nearly come when the Daddy wraps a soft cuff around my wrist and secures it.
At least I think it’s a cuff. It’s my dream, so even though I refuse to open my eyes, I get to create the narrative. I’m panting with the added need that consumes me from the restraints. Now I’m wondering if I might come without even touching my nipples.
As soon as my other wrist is secured like the first, I arch my hips off the bed. I consider speaking out loud but realize I can’t because my mouth is filled with the imaginary pacifier.
No dream has ever felt this real. I must be hallucinating with fever. I’ve seen it happen to other people. After all, I’m very sick with a mysterious virus, and no one has been able to identify it.
Has my fever gotten worse? Am I dying? If this is what it feels like to die, I’m not going to complain. Death can have me.
A cool cloth lands on my forehead, jarring me, and then the pacifier disappears from my mouth. I want it back. I want my hands back. I want to finish what I was doing.
“Titties,” I moan in a foreign voice that makes me feel like I’m one of the characters in my books. I’m inside the book. No, I’m inside my dream. I’m so very Little and desperate to come.
The masculine scent comes closer, teasing my nose a moment before something wet touches my nipple. A tongue? Yes. God, yes. And then lips. They wrap around my little bud and suckle it, flicking and teasing.
I whimper when the mouth disappears, leaving my nipple wet and even harder when the cool air hits it. I arch, squirming, digging my heals into the bed, lifting my hips. I can’t lift them far because my wrists are attached to my sides.
I shudder at the intensity of my need. All I care about is rubbing my titties, and I can’t.
The nipple is back in my mouth, but when I suck, this time something comes out. I’m so thirsty that I suck harder, swallowing as fast as I can. The substance is so yummy, and I crave it with my entire being.
I can still smell the imaginary Daddy. He’s holding the bottle. He’s cupping one of my titties too. It’s distracting me and making me squirm. He won’t touch my tight little nipple.
I’m drifting deeper into sleep again, fighting it but losing.
Suddenly, the Daddy pinches my nipple hard, twisting it at the same time. I gasp. My eyes are too heavy to open still. Or maybe I don’t want to open them. Even though I’m starting to think this isn’t a dream but reality, I can’t wrap my head around the odd aspects of this reality, so I stay where I am, not lucid enough to blink my eyes open.
“Finish the bottle, Baby girl.” The Daddy jiggles the nipple in my mouth. It’s so real again.
I suckle, partly because he’s still pinching my titty.
“That’s a good girl. Almost done.”
I manage to finish the bottle. Is it real? It can’t be. I can’t possibly be taking a bottle for real. That’s not how they feed me even in the hospital. I have an IV. If I can’t eat anything, the IV gives me fluids.
As soon as the nipple leaves my mouth, I utter the only word that won’t go away, “Titties…” It’s babyish. I hope I’m not really saying it out loud in front of a stranger.
I can’t move my arms though. Surely that part is real. Maybe I was bothering my IV and the nurses had to restrain me. But why is my chest naked?
I’ll be mortified if I really mutteredtittiesin my delirium. So I won’t look.
A large hand lands on my belly and palpates around. It’s unnerving. It makes me think again there must be a nurse in the room. I’m dreaming the Daddy stuff. Really I’m in my hospital room. A nurse is examining me. Or a doctor. Could be a doctor.
I’m so confused and so tired and so aroused. Fingers keep brushing my breasts, making me flinch, driving my need higher.