Dreams from Poppets Hotel

We did go off into different rooms, but it was a strange night. That voice kept tormenting me, asking me why I didn’t just let dad ride me since I wanted it so much. I couldn’t sleep yet, so I went to the library and tried to read. I found that most of the books were porn. Some of them were fashion magazines-- it seemed like if a dress ever existed for a woman, there was a picture of it. All other women’s clothes were listed in these books in a similar fashion. There were many literary works as well, such as Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl, Left Hand of Darkness, Orlando Furioso, that sort of thing.

Finally, I found a nice safe couch in the library and drifted off to sleep. I dreamt that I was my mother. I dreamt that my father came into the room.

“Baby,” he said, “I know you really aren’t my son, but that’s a fun game to play.” He spread my legs apart: in the dream I didn’t have a cock. I had mom’s hairy cunt, and in the dream dad dove his tongue right into it.

“Ooo daddy, I’ve been a bad little boy,” I moaned, as his tongue worked inside me, “but I’ve been a very good wife.”

“No, you’re the best boy too,” he said, as he stood up. I could see his cock was rock hard-- it looked like it belonged to me. I mean, it looked like it was meant for my hole.

“Do you mind if I call you our sons name when I cum?” he asked, just as he pierced me.

“I am your son,” I said. “I am your wife-- cum inside your son’s womb, your wife’s slit. It’s the same.”

“Ugggggh,” he said. In the dream I felt his semen spurt into me.

When I woke up there was cum on my cock and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t mine

While I was having that dream, Dad was having one of his own. He’d decided to find a room in the furthest away part of the house. He went through the east wing until he found the last door on the left. He opened that door to find a small room meant for single travellers. It was sparse, but just enough.

He told me later that he tried to get the shower to work, but it just wouldn’t. So he flopped down on the bed and began to worry. Why had he done what he’d done? How could he have mistaken his son for his wife? And why couldn’t he stop himself from jacking off while he thought about how far he might have taken it?

And what if, he wondered before he fell asleep, he had been the mom instead?

Then he dreamt. He dreamt of me coming into his room, my cock hard. He dreamt of me pushing him down to the floor.

“Son,” he tried to say,”what are you--”

“I am the man of the house,” my dream-self said. “You might be my dad, but I am your daddy.”

He tried to stay something else, but by that time I had shoved my cock into his mouth.

“You little bitch,” dream me said. “You pretend you like to be in charge, to make family decisions, but really you want to be owned.”

My cock was slamming in and out of his throat at this point.

“You know that you want this. You know that your place is as my wife, even though you pretend that I should be mommy. You need to take my cum and realize that I am your master.”

Dream-me slipped my cock out of his mouth.

“Yes daddy,” he said.

“Now open up,” I demanded-- or at least my dreamself did. Dad did what his new daddy told him, he opened his mouth. “Take it all on your face, you cum queen.”

And dad did, in his dream. The dream me sprayed cum all over dad, and wouldn’t stop until dad was plastered with the stuff.

Then dream me went away and dad woke up. He too woke up with cum on him-- on his face.