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 Panty Nightmares

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx 2200)

Most of the time, I find it child’s play to divide my dreams from my nightmares. Like good and evil. Life and death. The lines tend to be bold and thick, marked with red tape and bureaucracy that always overstays its welcome. Or maybe I’m simply holding onto a type of faith my parents instilled back when I was three and the world seemed a whole lot simpler. Though, I think the immediate clue I stumbled upon was one I came to understand in my teen years, long after my parents had given up on trying to argue with me about life.

Just like then, I thought I knew everything.

Headless mannequins with crack-riding, pink-laced panties tend to fall in my I-know-what-kind-of-dream-this-is territory. Like I said, as easy as black and white. Right?

There was a time when a simple browse through a lingerie section of a department store would have me popping wood. Two steps inside a brightly decorated pink-infused secret would have had me embarrassing myself, which was why I merely stole glances as I passed the store windows in the mall.

Nowadays I’m not so trigger happy, so staring at the curve of a headless mannequin’s ass wasn’t exactly hardening anything but my resolve to see said panties on the figure of a flesh and blood woman with slightly more junk in her trunk. So I went milling through the store, dodging happy service women with their measuring tapes and headpieces in search of the fitting rooms. And the fitting rooms seemed to read my mind, their backs turning to one-way mirrors right in front of my eyes so the entire store could get good long looks at the goods while women of differing sizes and shapes twisted so they could see how their ass looked in those panties and their boobs looked in these bras.

Dreams don’t have to make sense, but right then, staring at this curvy blonde wearing a gold-trimmed blue-laced push-up bra, I decided sense was a little overrated. I’d take one-way mirrors and no one caring when your cock got a little thick behind your jeans any day over real life.

The blonde primped as if she knew she was on display. Her smile coy, her lips lush and red when she pursed and blew me a kiss. Her eyes met mine. And down below, my cock gave a very interested twitch. The blonde’s gaze dropped to my groin. Her lips curved before she spun and bent, giving me heart palpitations as that phat ass took up my whole world.

I think at this point the store sort of dissolved. Not completely, because I think I remember bumping into one of those mannequins later. I just can’t remember when that actually happened.

Back with the blonde, she stood up, her hair falling halfway down her back and the smile she tossed over her shoulder bordering on scandalous. As want suffused my entire body, I stepped closer until my nose hit that glass and fogged shit up just as she was shoving those jeans off her delectable ass. I caught a glimpse of green hearts dotting her panties before the fog crawled across the glass and blocked my view.

So I pulled my head back and tried to wipe the fog away, mindlessly focused on getting the blonde back, on finding her so I could watch her finish that striptease. But no matter how much or how quickly I wiped at the glass, the fog encroached, leaving me with nothing but a shadowy figure to watch. And that shadow was still moving, one arms reaching out with the shape of her bra dangling from her fingers before it dropped to the floor.

With a groan, I hit the glass in frustration, my forehead smacking against it a moment later. Then, a wondrous thought occurred to me. Since she’d seen me, I could go find her and join her. Touch her. Fondle that beautifully shaped ass that was far better than any mannequin’s.

So I spun around, unfazed when I noticed that the store had become dark and moist. I felt as if something happened here, but there’s a gap in my memory, or maybe things just realigned as I walked down wet cobblestones searching for the entrance into the fitting room.

My surroundings seemed to have turned into a red-light district, which normally would have had me grinning and enjoying the view. However, these windows didn’t house beauties, or even dolled up normals passing off as beauties.

Instead, I was seeing the lithe shapes of tall cat-like women. Their murmuring calls were whispered meows and their fur had been combed and braided. Their whiskers twitched when men down below called up to them and their claws clicked against the glass, almost as if…as if the glass was there to protect the men rather than the women.

I admit that my cock took a semi-interest until one of them bared her teeth at me. Blood dripped off her fangs and I swear I saw the masticated remains of her last victim in shredded pieces behind her, decorating her box and putting the red in red-light.

I shuddered and turned away, stumbling as the wall opened up into a hallway filled with black doors and maroon carpet. Simple hooks interrupted the small spaces between the doors and on them hung black and nude bras and colorful panties. I sighed in relief as the familiar sounds of changing females exchanging playful banter washed over me, drowning out the strange yowling and shouting I’d left behind.

There.

Six doors down hung a pair of panties dotted with green hearts. I knocked quietly and called out her name.

It’s a dream, so yes, I knew her name. No, I don’t know how and no, I don’t remember it now or else I would write that down too. Regardless, she didn’t answer. The door clicked though, the noise of it resounding up and down the suddenly silent hallway.

With a deep breath and a hard cock, I pushed open the door and let out a low moan at the sight of her. The blonde had her back to me, the roundness of her ass simply begging to be massaged. Her hair parted in the center as she leaned forward, exposing her bare back. Beyond, I could see the street, a light rain now falling as the blonde twisted to see me, her eyes sparkling and her lips shimmering with red gloss.

Her thigh flexed as she twirled around and crooked a single finger at me. As I stepped inside, she put that finger in her mouth and sucked. Then she trailed it down her chest, across her stomach, all the way until she curled it again, but this time in a place I desperately wanted to be myself.

Her voice crooned, low and sweet, the sound of it sending all my blood south. At least, what hadn’t already made that journey. She pressed her back against the window behind her and arched so her neck stretched. Her eyelids drooped and a strange whimper escaped her lips as she cocked out her hips and began a grinding motion against her own hand.

At this point, I was no longer wearing clothes. Maybe another hiccup happened. I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t care then and I don’t care now. The important part was I had her waist under my palms and my dick pressed against her vagina. Her incredibly moist vagina. Her fingers left wet trails when she dragged them over my ass to tuck me closer. Her breath smelled like peppermint and lip gloss. Her ass felt magnificent under my hands. All firm and soft at the same time. Perfection, really, like only a dream can make it.

And like any good dream, I had her up against that window, holding her as if I’d gained muscle and endurance far beyond my capabilities. Of course. It was a dream. I could be as strong and powerful as I wanted. Sort of.

I sunk into her, the folds of her vagina sucking me down greedily, her excitement leaking around my shaft. I rutted, and I assumed my real hips, the ones lying in bed constrained by underwear and bed sheets, were thrusting viciously. She made gasping, grunting sounds every time I shoved her against that pane of glass. Her legs wrapped about my hips; her fingers carded through my hair.

Behind her, I could see a crowd gathering. Men and women. And snarling cats. I shivered, but kept pumping, the public indecency turning me hot, making me want to put on a show despite their glassy eyes and slack jaws turning them from things vaguely human to mere puppets controlled by the strings of my subconscious.

The blonde whispered in my ear. I remember that, but I can’t remember what she said. Something good though. Something that made my cock swell larger than ever, so thick she shouted something about me tearing her apart. I must have laughed because I woke up later to a sore throat. Or maybe that was from the yelling.

Her breasts were soft and supple and easily lifted as I leaned down to suck her nipple into my mouth. She bucked in response, the sound of flesh slapping and the scent of sex wafting up around us, filling my senses. I pulled out and turned her around to shove her face against the window, to truly give our audience what they’d paid for. And when I looked again, it wasn’t a glassy-eyed audience staring back at me from their comfortable cloth seats out there in the auditorium. No, it was cats. Men and women. All of them with claws piercing their seats and jaws hanging open to reveal their fangs.

The blonde reached between our legs and massaged my balls, seemingly completely oblivious to the danger facing us. My cock must not have gotten the memo either because I could feel myself tipping past the point of no return. They came for us as I grabbed her hair and sank deep inside of her to spill everything I had, the awful thought that our audience wouldn’t allow me to finish giving me the easy focus to do just that. And finish I did, dumping a load so huge inside her she’d be dripping for a week. If she’d been real, that was.

Yet, as my balls emptied and my body tightened, claws sunk into my thigh. Then another set caught my side and ripped up over my chest. When I looked down, blood, the same eerily bright color of the blonde’s lip gloss, poured across my skin, getting caught up in the hair on my stomach. Pain replaced the pleasure that had been suffusing my body, stalling my orgasm so that it petered out pathetically rather than pulsing explosively. I cursed my own nervous system, irritated beyond belief that it thought I wanted the pain to override that singular moment.

As I looked up, taking in the whole auditorium filled to the brim with warriors of the cat persuasion, I barely saw the blonde being carried off, her smile still in place as snarling men with whiskers and claws sank their thick penises into her, taking her over as succinctly as they’d taken over my orgasm.

I stepped toward them, though I’m not entirely sure what I meant to do, then stopped short as a fresh round of pain burst across my chest. When I spun to swing a punch, a huge white claw came at my face. It tore across my eyes and sunk into my cheeks. As I fell back, I was aware of another claw coming at me, though don’t ask me how I knew with my eyes clawed out and my ears filled with hissing cat. This claw aimed at my groin, sending irrational fear piercing through my chest. That claw landed hard, sending pulses of warm blood across my shaft. I stood there, horrified to nausea as I watched that claw shred my cock…

And that was when I finally knocked myself out of dream world, my blood soaring high on adrenaline and my groin soaked with semen. The aftermath was like the very best of dreams and nightmares all rolled into one. I even remember my first thought: I am never, ever getting a cat.

If I wanted to psychoanalyze myself I would talk about my sister’s cat trying to attack me the last time I visited her. Or talk about my daydreams of fucking my ex in one of the stalls in Victoria’s Secret while she was working. Or maybe mention I hadn’t actually been to a red-light district, but I eagerly look forward to rectifying that.

Really, I’m only keeping this dream journal because my psych thinks it’s good for me. Though I’m thinking I might tear this page out and pretend it didn’t happen.

Or, better yet, edit out the nightmarish parts so the good pieces can influence my future dreams. Yes, I think that’s what I’ll do.

And maybe convince my next girlfriend to get a pair of those panties, because dayam.

The End

Trademark Acknowledgement:
Victoria’s Secret – L Brands Inc.

Honestly, I have no idea what the hell this is. I’d like to say something profound, but I’ve got nothing. Story started from two different ideas, one about mixing nightmares and dreams together and another about a guy going into Victoria’s Secret. Probably should never have been written.

I thought about adding another layer about the MC’s apparent need for a psych, but I decided I didn’t really care why he’s seeing one. Heartless, I know. I just figured that if I don’t even care, then how can you possibly care. So this story was just another silly piece to get my mind away from the more serious longer WIPs I’m working on.

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