Cast the Journey of Morpheus - walk in Mom’s dreams

Giving your mom a long life and protecting her from any disease is way more important than fixing your looks.

You don’t need to rush to get bulked up and attract other girls. You’ve already got a very sexy woman who will do anything you want, any way you want it, no matter what you look like. When you think about it, enchanting another woman seems more likely to work than trying to get one into bed with good looks. You still have no real experience talking to girls. On top of that, you could only trust an enchanted woman to know about you and Abbie, which sounds like it would be much more fun than trying to hide your relationship with your sister from someone you date.

You read over the Blessing of Aegle spell again. The description seems clear that it will only work if you first cast a spell that influences your mother’s mind, dreams, or emotions. Of the spells listed on the website, the only ones that affect the mind or emotions are curses and the enchantment spell. The Journey of Morpheus claims to let you enter a subject’s dreams and alter them. You hope that will be enough of a connection for the blessing to work.

The instructions call for an object that the subject has held. You rush downstairs and grab the mug your mom drinks her tea from every morning. With that in hand, you perform the short ritual. Then head to bed.

You’re too excited about everything that happened today, and the anticipation of entering your mother’s dreams to fall asleep quickly. You toss and turn for a while, but eventually you drift off.

After a chaos of flashing shapes, shifting images, and disjointed scenes, the dreamscape around you settles into something more stable. You find yourself in a palatial hall with tall columns, a mosaic floor, and high-domed ceilings. It looks like something out of the Arabian Nights. Around the edges, your vision is indistinct, and distance and proportion are distorted wherever aren’t directly looking. It makes you feel a little dizzy.

You see the line of ****-girls on their knees. They have sheer scraps of silk hanging off their bodies that accentuate more than they hide the breasts and bushes they barely cover. You look at the group of kneeling women more carefully and feel yourself blushing when you recognize your mother. In her dream, she’s younger, you guess about 19 or 20, and a bit slimmer, but still very curvy. She’s on her knees and dressed as skimpily as the rest of the young women.

You realize that you’re dressed in a vest and baggy pants. You have a large scimitar hanging from your belt. You match a few other guards around the room, who stand silently at attention. You keep quiet, not wanting to draw your dreaming mother’s attention. It’s uncomfortable enough seeing her like that. You don’t want her to see you, even if she would probably think you’re just part of her dream, if she remembered it at all when she woke up.

A large, muscular man strides through the ornate double doors at the end of the hall. He’s bare-chested and bearded, with long black hair. You recognize him. It’s Jason Momoa. You almost laugh out loud. Mom doesn’t dream small.

Jason walks purposefully to the line of kneeling women. He carefully looks over each one as he steps slowly down the line. He stops in front of your mom. “This is the one I choose for tonight,” he says in a deep, imperious voice. He hooks a finger through the ring on the collar around your mother’s neck and tugs her to her feet.

You hadn’t seen collars on the women before. You realize that’s how dreams work though. Everything can shift and things appear when they become relevant to the dreamer.

The massive man bends down to kiss your mom. His big hands grip her at the waist. At the same time, the other ****-girls stand and circle the pair. They untie and remove the silks from your mother’s body. Their hands trace lightly over her skin as they do.

You’re uncomfortably aroused by the sight of your mother being stripped and caressed, while she is obviously enjoying her long, hungry kiss with Jason Momoa. She presses her naked body tightly against the Hollywood hunk’s.

You try to turn your eyes away, but there is no away. This is your mother’s dream, nothing exists outside what she is aware of.

Momoa sweeps your mom up into his arms, then lays her face up on a big marble table or altar that hadn’t been there before. The other women stretch her limbs out spread-eagle and bind her wrists and ankles with silk scarves to iron rings on the corners.

At this point, you are regretting that you decided to test the dreamwalking spell on your mom tonight. You don’t know how to end it, and you can’t look away. Part of you doesn’t want to. You’re perversely curious about your mother’s sexual fantasy.

The other ****-girls step back and dream-Momoa, strokes his large hand over your mother’s naked body. He cups one of her full, round breasts and squeezes. “Your body is mine. You exist to satisfy my desires,” he growls low. He moves from her breasts and slides his palm slowly down her belly, her eyes follow him, bringing you directly into her line of sight.

Your mom’s eyebrows draw together in a confused frown when she recognizes you. “Dave?” she murmurs to herself. “He never showed up in this dream before. What’s the fuck is on my mind?” She looks at you more closely, and her expression goes through a couple of quick changes, becoming shocked, then stern. “David! What are you doing here?” she demands.

You remember that the spell is supposed to allow you to alter the dream with an effort of will. You concentrate as hard as you can and the scene dissolves to you and your mother sitting at the breakfast table in your kitchen, dressed in normal clothes. “I live here, Mom,” you say, chuckling. You hope she’ll just accept the dream logic of the sudden jump of scenes.

Your mother’s face remains stony. “I meant what are you doing in my dream? We need to have a talk, young man.”