Mr. Sandman, Bring Me a Dream

Skye

Skye regains consciousness, confused. Part of it has to do with her new circumstances. Elves don’t sleep, they undergo reverie. They re-connect themselves to the Feywilds in order to meditate and recuperate. The last thing she truly remembers was lying in her too-cold dorm room to try it for the first time. Now, she finds herself in the woods. Woods she has never seen before, not that she ever visited any. Too much work to do on the farm.

Not for the first time since being **** on the show, Skye worries that she is too sheltered. It takes her mind off of the creeping fear that’s bound to overtake her if she dwells on it. Having no idea where to go or what to do, she picks a direction at random and starts to slowly walk that way. Her newly acquired darkvision comes in handy here; the woods seem almost lit up even though she knows the sky is black as pitch. She surely would have tripped and fell if her eyes weren’t as they are. She almost did anyways, as tree roots and the like are strange to walk around.

A song, sung by a singular voice of singular talent, bursts through. Skye is drawn to the singer like moths to a flame. She does trip in her efforts to get to the voice. It’s so bright, so pure, so perfect. She stands up, dusts herself off, then starts to run. She trips several more times. Surely she is an absolute mess of mud and leaves and other forest floor detritus, but she doesn’t care. After every trip, every stumble, she starts running faster. She has to get to that voice, no matter what.

Suddenly, she is on the edge of a small glade, lit up in blinding silver moonlight. It’s almost as bad as staring into the sun. She winces in pain, taking shelter in the shadow of a large tree.

The song stops. Skye’s heart sinks. Did my presence scare off the voice?

The voice, loud and bright and clear, beckons, “No, my sister, you could not scare me off if you tried. I’ve turned down the brightness. Come. Join me.”

Skye pokes her head from behind the tree and her eyes widen.

There she is, Skye thinks, my Lady. Surely, the figure that looms over the glade is her Lady. Standing, the Lady of the Dance is more than twice as tall as Skye. Her eyes shine with moonstone and silver. Her lips, full and almost pouty, is set in a slight smile. Her hair, growing down to her ankles, shimmer with silver moonlight and, no matter how she moves, always seem to cover her more intimate parts. She is completely nude, as is right and proper, only decorated by her hair and motes of moonlight floating about her. She stands, balanced on one foot, her sword, also larger than Skye, held behind her back. Skye is in awe. A warm, tingly feeling encompasses the pit of her belly as she stand agape looking at the goddess.

“Now, sister, I invited you to join my dance. Surely you are not so rude as to just gawk at me instead,” the goddess... teases.

A stream of words flows from Skye’s mouth, “I’msorrymyLadyIamjustsostruckbyyourbeautyandIdon’tknowwhatsgoingonandandand”

Suddenly, she is standing before the Lady, her protective tree well behind her. My Lady even smells divine.

The Lady takes up a squatting position. Her eyes staring directly into Skye’s.

“Well, aren’t you a nervous one? It’s okay, sister. I won’t bite. Would a song help?” The Lady starts to sing. A hymn of praise for a safe return home. The song is performed so perfectly that Skye actually cums from it. She shrinks herself into a ball and starts to cry, completely mortified by her body’s blasphemous action.

“Hey, little sister, it’s not your fault,” the Goddess speaks, lifting Skye’s head to look back into the Lady’s eyes, “The show has warped your body in ways unnatural. You are still beautiful.”

“You know about the show?”

“Of course I do. It’s how we are able to meet. It saddens me that I could not hear your voice until this evening, Skye Kimura. How your people, completely beyond the reach of my influence, worship the little scraps of me passed down through game manuals and supposition. But I can hear you now, sister. And I will never abandon you again.”

“You can free us, right?”

“I’ll do what I can, sister. I’ve already started.”

With that, the Goddess stands and returns to her dance. Her voice, loud and pure and clear, provide the rhythm. A sword materializes for Skye. She picks it up, already aroused beyond what she’s ever felt, and tries her best. Her legs are drenched with her love juices by the time her reverie ends.

Francis

The first tip-off that Francis is dreaming is that the world is in black and white. His outfit also tips him off; it is an exact recreation of Ingrid Bergman’s costume from the airport scene in Casablanca, even down to the black and white heels. He feels absolutely ridiculous in it. He is standing at the end of a hallway out of a film noir movie. A singular door with a tempered glass window sits at the other end, words too far away to read. Not wanting to fall flat on his face, he carefully squats down to slip off the shoes. Getting that done, he takes a step forward, only for everything to glitch out for a second, like a television signal going out.

He finds himself back in his original position, with the heels back on. Annoyed, he takes a gingerly step forward, only to land too hard on the too thin heel and snapping it. He twists his ankle, falls, and the world glitches again.

Again back to the original position. At least his ankle doesn’t hurt. This is going to be irritating, isn’t it?

Tina

Didn’t I go to sleep in Josie’s big, strong arms? How’d I get here?

Tina finds herself on a cheap vinyl couch in what looks to be a sleezy office in the back of a strip club (and, since her first magician’s assistant gig was at a strip club, she’s at least somewhat familiar with ‘em). Piles of panties are shattered around the room, which has the slight smell of sweat and sex. Hanging on the walls is some frankly weird nudes, most of which are people she doesn’t recognize, but a couple stand out. Meghan Markle grinding on the edge of a Deal or No Deal briefcase with the title “Meggie Briefcases” in some of the white space. Kim Kardashian twerking with a similarly embarrassing title (“Kimmy Keister”). There is a small hot tub (with a super gross pair of granny panties floating in it). A cheap wood desk is set up to face the door; the chair in front of it has a double dildoed sybian attached to the seat.

At least it could be worse. She’s at least in her bunny jammies.

“Yo, Toots,” a heavily New Jersey accent shouts, “Yoo like my photos?”

Tina hits her head on the ceiling as she hops, startled. Not quite finding where the voice came from, she says, “Ouchie, where am I? Who are you?”

“Vinny. I’m yer new agent. Take a seat at my desk and we can get started.”

Tina stares at that chair again. “Um, no thanks, can I just sit here instead?”

“Wow, Toots, I thought yoo’d be more resistant to some couch time. What with yer chronic dick aversion.”

Suddenly, this Vinny character appears, sitting right beside her. He’s a little devil guy, Tina guesses. About 3 foot tall, red skin, tiny bat wings, a pot belly covered in a cheap mobster’s getup, little hoofed feet. The most unexpected, disturbing thing about him is the 5 foot long dick, thicker than his arm, fully erect, and throbbing. Vinny apparently doesn’t believe in pants. He waggles his eyebrows as he notices her staring.

“Maybe yer just a size queen, Toots, and just hadn’t found one big enuff ‘til me.”

Tina shudders. “Eww. No. Not that.”

Vinny laughs. “Since yoo took interest in my photos, I’d like to start by lettin’ yoo know that my photos are successful clients. Yoo may not recognize all of ‘em. But all make bank, all thanks to me. Most even hit the 100 VP minimum on deir season. A couple, like Meggie and Kimmy dere, even won. Oooh boy, were those snooty Brits mad when Meggie won the Prince Harry season. Especially considering how she used her wish. So, in conclusion, I’m one of the best in the biz. Work with me and I’ll make yoo famous yet.”

Vinny flaps off the couch and floats in the air such that his cock is mere inches away from Tina’s face. A drop of pre-cum drips off of the edge, sizzling on the floor. It smells like something died. “Well, Toots, I’ve been busy working on yer first contract. As we work together, I’ll be able to tailor it to yoo better, but, fer now, I only really was able to market yer looks. Familiar with breastaurants, Toots?”

“We had several in town back home. Half of the girls back in high school worked for one of them or another at one point. They kinda skeeve me out.”

“Well, one of the Hotel’s sponsors is an inter-dimensional breastaurant chain and dey like yer look. Dey want yoo to be the face of dere new product.”

Vinny slaps a thick manila filing cabinet folder down on Tina’s lap. She opens it up, seeing a contract on one side of the folder and a number of supporting materials on the other. Her eyes seem to drift away from the words of the contract, focusing on where she is to sign or on the supporting files. Vinny continues talking as she thumbs through the material, being mildly disgusted as she goes.

“So, there are 3 aspects to dis contract, Toots, but the base level one is easy to fulfill. Just sign on the dotted line dere and we can get yoo set up by mornin’. All yoo have to do to meet the client’s basic expectation for dis first contract is to wear their logo on yer chest for the rest of the round. Do dat, get 10 BP and avoid the penalty fee fer dis round. Not the most lucrative contract, but yoo’s got to start somewhere. The mock-up turned out very well, if I do say do meself.”

Tina stares at a picture of her chest, emblazoned with a revolting “Cum Guzzlers” logo sitting just above her tits. Keep it together, maybe the next one won’t be so bad.

“So, the new product are dese lollipops. Yoo like lollipops, Toots? Dese lollipops are fun, tasty, and magic; or so I have been told. Now, yoo got to sign the contract, but yoo will be given a free sample box of these lollipops. For the round, yoo will be paid 5 BP every time yoo or one of yoor slut sisters eat a lollie on camera. If yoo can get through the entire sample box on camera, that is a cool 500 BP. More than enuff for a level or two, if dat’s what yoo want.”

Magic lollipops? For the first time, an offer of magic causes her to pause. “What do they do?”

“It’s in the contract dat you can only find out by samplin’ one. Try using yer magic to figure it out on yer own and the contract is null and void. But, hey, 5 BP to try a lollipop? Sounds like a good deal to me.”

After a pause, Vinny finishes his pitch, “Finally, dey want yoo to live up to the Cum Guzzler family tradition of, yoo guessed it, guzzlin’ cum. Every time you give yer Master a good proper go at yer mouth cunt, yoo get 10 BP, with an extra 10 BP if yoo are samplin’ a lollie as yoo blow ‘im. Of course, to get dat payout, yoo gotta swallow and say ‘Even lesbos love lickin’ lollies at Cum Guzzlers!’. Easy money. Now sign on da dotted line and make ol’ Vinny proud. Stick with me, Toots, and yoo’ll be rollin’ in that fame and fortune yoo so desperately want.”

“And if I don’t like this sponsor’s product?”

“Well, Toots, dat would be a shame, as dey are a big sponsor for the network. Alienatin’ a big client like dat is a recipe to make yoo toxic to the advertisers. I might not be able to get yoo another contract in time. Yoo do have to fulfill a contract every round or face a penalty. My usual fee for in-game contestants dat don’t finish a contract is, fer yer season’s economy, about 1000 BP a week. Since dis is yer first week, we do have an introductory rate of 500 BP, I think? Check with my secretary Shirley, assumin’ yoo can find ‘er. I misplaced ‘er somewhere.”

“That rate is insane.”

“The best of the best, dat’s what we are here at Hotel Concierge, Inc. Yoo want the best, yoo gotta pay fer it. Either by fulfillin’ the work we give yoo or with yer pocketbook. So, are we signin’ dis or what?”

Tina learned by now not to sign anything until she reads it. So, she focuses hard and tries to read the contract. It takes a considerable amount of effort to look at the words intently enough to notice that it’s in another language.

“What’s the deal with this weird, scratchy text? This isn’t English. Why would I sign something I can’t even read.”

“It’s Infernal, Toots. Language of my people. And yoo’ll sign ‘cause yoo don’t have a real choice. Either yoo sign and wear deir logo fer a week, or yoo don’t sign and hope I would rather dig yoo up a new contract instead of just bankruptin’ yoo. I explained what yoo need to know. Now, be a good li’l slut and sign.”

I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But I am going to string this little devil bastard up for this. She snatches the offered pen from Vinny’s hand, signs the contract, then shoves the pen, nub first, straight up the devil’s urethra.

“Oooh, feisty. Well, Toots, I’ll see yoo tomorrow night. We’ll see if yer performance gins up some more work fer yoo.”

As Tina starts to fade, she vaguely feels Vinny reach down into her pajama bottom. She mistily hears, “Oh, and Toots, I’m keepin’ dese.” before the room goes black.

Francis

It’s been hours, days, weeks? Time is hard to tell in this dreamscape. Every slightest mistake is punished by a reset and, whoever is making him walk down this hallway, is extremely picky. And it wasn’t just about not falling over in them. He got reasonably well at walking in heels after the first several hundred attempts. It was about confidence. Francis was the kind of man that spent more time looking at the ground while walking than straight ahead. Every time he looked towards the ground? Reset. Every time a stray thought that he looked stupid pops up? Reset. Every insufficient roll of the hip betraying his lack of self-assurance? Reset.

After what felt like the millionth time, the frustration inside him explodes. He kicks the heels off down the hall, rips a slit up the skirt, and dashes towards the door. He touches it, only for the text to shift from dreamscape gibberish to “Great. You touched the door. Got it out of your system? Try again. Do it right this time.” The text shifts to a winky-face emoji and then... Reset.

Breathe. In. Hold it. Out. Repeat.

A few hundred times later, still making no real progress, he has an epiphany. This is a dream. While I don’t have control of the situation, shouldn’t I have control of myself? How can I make myself confident in this situation?

While he hasn’t had to live with the identity punishment for too long (and it isn’t too strong yet), he closes his eyes to embrace the alternate self. For just a moment. He feels something click. She feels herself fill out the suit. Her hair and make-up shift, the goal to accentuate beauty that is now there. She looks at her reflection, giving herself a little smirk. It is a simple thing to catwalk her way to the door without those repulsive man-bits holding her back. She touches the door. The text shifts from gibberish to “Cheater. ;-P But you did do the task. Eventually. Way to beat the system. Come on in.”

The door opens to reveal an endless nightmare void. Then she jumps in.