It's Saturday.

As you wake up you remember that tomorrow, on Sunday, you will have several friends over for a small party, starting around lunch and lasting until late at night, a long time planned occasion, and there is no time to dwell at what happened yesterday evening or, in fact, during the last days. Despite having Jana as a helper in the house, there are still quite a few things to prepare and to organize the whole Saturday, so you find yourself way to busy to slip away into daydreams.

Or, let's say, almost.

Between writing a shopping list for Jana and driving to the city center to get a haircut, you still have flashes of daydreams in your head, and all of those center around you being a dumb bimbo, or a trophy wife, or a stupid but well endowed schoolgirl. In fact, recieving a haircut suddenly feels almost sexual. As the hairdresser fusses with your strands, you close your eyes and imagine yourself as some kind of trophy wife, obsessed with looks and make-up and hair and clothes, and only thinking about how to look as sexy as possible for your husband.

You sigh and smile, somehow happy about this daydream. Of course your husband would treat you as his stupid trophy wife as well. He would show off with you, trying to demonstrate everybody else what beautiful, beautiful girl he has, often alluding to the fact that you are also very, very convincing in bed. People would talk about you as "the stupid slut", and you would take it as a compliment, because that's what you are.

Not. You are not like this, you remind yourself, snapping out of your dream. You are quite the opposite. A wife pursuing a career, more successful than your husband even. And proud of that. Of course. Why shouldn't you be? Well, for example because a stupid little bimbo wife's life is much less troublesome, a tiny voice whispers inside your head. All she ever has to care about is how to look gorgeous and how to satisfy her husband in bed. Or on the table. Or under the table.

As you continue your afternoon, flashes of this fantasy keep coming back and continue into the next morning. You yourself to concentrate on the tasks ahead. Luckily, once your friends arrive on Sunday, those irritating erotic fantasies stop.

It turns out to be a pleasant afternoon and evening. All of you eat what Jana has prepared, and once more you applaud yourself silently for hiring her, because her cooking is really perfect, and everybody compliments you for being such excellent hosts. There are a few friends who don't have a "Happy Maid" yet, and most of them soon announce that they will hire a maid on Monday, because... well because what's there to say against a clean house, great food and more time for yourself?

The evening carries on, there is music and laughter and happy faces everywhere, and as you sit in one of the sofas, taking a break from chatting and "being a good host", suddenly your mind drifts off into that strange daydream mode again.

You imagine yourself as the being introduced by Dave as his new wife. The new, attractive, young girl with big boobs and very revealing clothing style. "And she also sucks dick like a goddess!", he exclaims to everybody, laughing. You stare at him, embarrassed, but the only reaction from the guests are laughters and cheers. So you smile and decide to take it as a compliment. Dave slaps your ass and tells you to "amuse yourself". In your dream, all the guests are ogling you. The men clearly with hidden - or not so hidden - interest and desire, most of the women with jealousy and caution. Both makes you smile triumphantly. You are constantly fondled by other people, here a slap on the butt, there a pinch into your breasts, and you enjoy all of the attention. Then, suddenly, one of Dave's friends pulls you aside and gives you a long, hard look, before asking: "How about the two of us walking out in the garden and you show me how good a cocksucker you are?" You lick your lips and place a hand at his crotch, and...

"What... what are you doing?", asks somebody.

You blink, try to remember where you are, and also who you are, and find yourself kneeling on the floor of the living room, one hand carressing your left breast, the other fumbling under your skirt between your legs. Your eyes go wide and you feel your cheeks burning. As quick as you can, you rise and straighten your clothes.

"Sorry", you stammer, and hurry out of the room. You don't even know who it was that was just talking to you. You run upstairs, into the bedroom, close the door, and lean yourself against it, breathing heavily. Your mind is racing, your head is spinning.

What is going on? Are you losing your mind?