Dreams come tonight

My dreams come heavy and unbidden, pulling me under like a current I don't resist. The apartment dissolves into something familiar yet shifted. A clumsy reflection of the life the app has grafted onto my days. I'm in her bedroom, the one with the wide windows overlooking the park, soft afternoon light slanting through half-drawn blinds. Elena sits cross-legged on the bed, her laptop propped open beside her, but it's the phone in her hand that holds me captive. The screen glows with that holographic interface, threads of light twisting like living vines. She's the one with the power now, her green eyes sharp and knowing as they meet mine.

"Come here," she says simply, her voice a quiet command woven into the air. Not a plea, not a question. Just certainty. I move without hesitation, my body responding as if the weave has already claimed me. It's effortless, a pull deeper than muscle or bone, and strangely, it feels right. No rebellion stirs in my chest; instead, warmth blooms there, spreading through my limbs like sunlight on skin. She sets the phone aside, gesturing for me to kneel at the edge of the bed. I do, my knees sinking into the plush rug, hands resting open on my thighs. Her fingers thread through my hair, not urgent but deliberate, guiding my head to her lap. The hem of her sundress bunches slightly, the fabric cool against my cheek as I nuzzle closer, breathing in the faint citrus of her shampoo mixed with something warmer, uniquely hers.

"Good," she murmurs, and the word sinks into me like approval from an old lover. The app's hum is faint in the dream, a distant echo in her temples rather than mine, but I feel its nudge all the same, amplifying this desire, making my pulse quicken with every stroke of her hand. She doesn't rush. Her leg shifts, pressing lightly against my shoulder, inviting me to trace kisses along the line of her thigh. I do, lips brushing the soft skin there, tasting the salt of her warmth. No commands break the surface. They're implicit in her touch, in the way her breath hitches when my tongue teases higher, grazing the edge of lace beneath her dress.

"Elena," I whisper, but it's not resistance. It's reverence. She tilts my chin up with gentle fingers, her eyes locking onto mine, and weaves something unspoken through them. Desire deepens, not **** but unveiled, stripping away the noise in my head until all that's left is her. The freckles dusting her collarbone, the subtle arch of her back as she leans forward to kiss me. Her lips part mine easily, tongue exploring with a confidence that mirrors the app's certainty. I rise then, pulled by invisible threads, her hands sliding under my shirt to trace the planes of my chest. "Undress for me," she says, and the weave amplifies it, sending a shiver down my spine that pools low in my gut.

Clothes fall away piece by piece. Shirt tugged over my head, jeans pooling at my feet, until I'm bare before her, skin prickling under her gaze. She watches without shame, her expression a mix of admiration and ownership that makes my arousal twitch visibly. "Touch yourself," she commands softly, and my hand obeys, wrapping around the hard length of me with a slow stroke. Pleasure builds immediate and intense, guided by her will, but it's consensual in this dreamscape, a shared rhythm where my moans draw a smile from her lips. She shifts back on the bed, drawing me up with her, positioning me between her legs. "Now me," she breathes, and I slide into her with a shared gasp, the connection electric.

We move together then, her nails grazing my back, legs wrapping around my waist to pull me deeper. Every thrust is hers to direct. The pace quickening when she arches, slowing when she whispers for more tease, the build to release edged by her control. It's intimate and intoxicating, the symbiote's threads binding us in pleasure rather than dominance. She comes first, her body clenching around me with a soft cry, green eyes fluttering shut as waves ripple through her. The sight undoes me, orgasm crashing hot and complete, spilling into her under the **** of her command.

In the afterglow, she holds me close, fingers tracing lazy circles on my shoulder. "Stay," she says, and I do, content in the surrender, the dream wrapping around this reversal like a warm embrace. For once, the power in her hands feels like freedom in mine, a pleasant inversion where submission tastes sweetly of trust.

I wake to the faint gray of predawn, Elena still curled against my chest, her breath a steady rhythm against my skin. The dream lingers, settling into the quiet spaces of my mind. It steadies me as sleep pulls me under again.