Lucid dreamer

Peter had gathered enough information by now.

Even though he still didn’t understand how it worked—the reports matched up too perfectly to be a coincidence. Several men, independently of one another, described hyper-realistic sexual dreams featuring the same blonde student. In these dreams, they acted out their fantasies with her. And he now knew her name.

Lena.

For him, the phenomenon of lucid, controllable dreams was nothing new. He’d been having lucid dreams since he was a child. Over time, he’d learned to consciously take control: making people appear, shaping scenarios, directing the action. For years, he’d continued to develop this talent. He’d long since been crafting his own erotic dreams—detailed, intense, exactly the way he wanted them.

What was new here was something else.

Apparently, everyone was dreaming about the same woman. As if Lena were a key that suddenly made other people’s erotic dreams hyperreal. That explained the frequency, the intensity, the matching descriptions. What he still couldn’t explain was the thing with the photos—that they were visible only to those involved and simply didn’t exist for everyone else. But that was secondary.

Tonight he would find out.

He’d found her Instagram account. The pictures matched the descriptions: blonde, photogenic, self-assured—the typical influencer aesthetic with just the right amount of revealing attire. He mentally stored a few of the photos, committing her face, body, and posture to memory.

Then he lay down, went through his usual reality checks and relaxation techniques, and deliberately drifted off to sleep with a clear intention:

He would bring Lena into his lucid dream.

And then he would see what happened when a skilled lucid dreamer encountered Lena.

Lena knew right away: Something was different here.

By now, she could tell more quickly when something was real and when it was a dream. The room she was in now was definitely a dream. She was floating inside a large, tinted sphere. She couldn’t see out through the milky-dark shell, but she sensed that someone was behind it. A presence. Watching. Waiting.

She looked around. Naked. Completely. No clothes, nothing. Her body floated weightlessly in the center of the sphere, her hair drifting slowly around her face. The air was warm and still.

Clearly a dream.

And yet different. More detailed. More realistic. The temperature on her skin, the slight tugging in her muscles, even the smell—sterile and yet somehow electric—felt more solid than anything before.

She asked fearfully, “Who’s there?”

That, too, was new. In this dream, she was conscious. Her body didn’t simply switch to the autopilot of a sex doll. She could speak. Think. Feel fear.

Then, for the first time, she heard his voice. Calm, clear, unhurried.

“Are you Lena?”

She nodded and immediately fired off more questions. “Who are you? What’s going on? Are you doing this to me? Why am I naked? Let me out!”

Peter didn’t answer.

He stood outside the sphere, watching her. He couldn’t answer the question that troubled him most: Was this the real Lena—or just a figment of his imagination, shaped by his own mind from the Instagram photos and reports? There was no way to find out at that moment. Damn.

So he put it aside. Without answering any of her questions, he asked his own.

“Why do you appear in so many people’s dreams? How do you do that? And what’s the deal with the photos—why can only the people involved see them?”

Lena just whimpered. “I don’t know! I don’t want this! Please, let me…”

Peter changed the situation.

The sphere dissolved. Suddenly, Lena was no longer weightless. She was lying on her back, strapped down to a Sybian. Wide cushions supported her back; leather straps secured her wrists and ankles, her legs spread wide apart. Between her thighs sat the machine’s thick, ribbed attachment, already pressed tightly against her labia. A soft hum filled the room.

Peter stood in front of her, still out of her reach, holding a small control knob in his hand.

He slowly turned it up.

The vibration began—deep, rumbling, directly against her clitoris and the entrance. Lena flinched, a sharp sound escaping her throat. The machine worked steadily, relentlessly. The straps held her fast, no matter how much she writhed.

“Why do you appear in so many dreams?” Peter repeated calmly.

“I… don’t know… ah!” The vibration grew a tad stronger. Her labia swelled; moisture was already gathering around the attachment. “Please… too strong…”

He briefly lowered the intensity until she gasped for air, then turned it back up. Denser, faster pulses. Lena’s hips tried to pull away from the stimulation while simultaneously pressing against it. The orgasm built quickly—too quickly.

Just before she came, he throttled the machine down to an unbearable, low hum. Just enough to keep the arousal from fading, but not enough for the climax.

“How do you do that?” he asked.

Lena shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “I… made a wish… with a fortune-teller… two wishes… I wanted to be everyone’s dream… and for my dreams to come true… and ever since… ah! … ever since then, this has been happening…”

Peter turned up the vibration again. This time for longer. Lena moaned; her body tensed, the muscles in her thighs trembling. Just before she reached orgasm, he turned it down again. The attachment vibrated only faintly, while her clitoris throbbed and wetness trickled down the plastic.

“And the photos?” he pressed. “Why can only the people involved see them?”

“I… don’t know… they’re just there… on my phone… and I can’t delete them… and others can’t see them… please… let me come… or stop…”

He kept playing with the dial. Up. Down. Up. Each time, he pushed her to the absolute limit, letting the contractions begin, then denying her the climax at the very last moment. Sweat glistened on her skin; her nipples were rock-hard, her labia dark and swollen. Her breath came in gasping, helpless sounds.

Only when she had finished speaking did Peter turn the dial all the way up and let her come.