A promise? Or a threat?

"At this moment, I want to brutalize you."

He dreamed about me last night.
The first time he's done that.
Or at least, the first time that he now remembers.

It was a very explicit dream. I doesn't seem appropriate to reveal the details, but I will tell you that he was fucking me.

And my pussy was tight.
Very.
Tight.
Almost blocking him.
Almost.

The sadist is not easily stopped.

It was a curious thing, really. He had been speaking about dreaming the night before. But he was not the expected dreamer. He has set me up with someone he knows. A musician. A guitarist. One of Daddy's complicated scenarios that will actually be enacted before we qualify for Medicare. Whether it will play out exactly as he wants, I can't say. But I will meet the man, who has been given some sort of sales pitch for me. Without being shown pictures of me crawling naked across the floor.

Or any photos at all.

The man is supposedly very eager to meet me, as is the bartender at the place where the man performs. The sadist anticipates some sort of playful rivalry for me. The idea of which amuses me enormously. I mean, look. The sadist may be (correct that - obviously is) really taken with me, for reasons of his own. But I am not the sort of woman who was normally thought of as unbearably sexy. Some men have thought me cute. But normally, no one gushed over my looks. My hair, yes. But my general appearance? It just didn't happen.

I fear the sadist was very effusive in his praise. But he also told them the truth on one important point - he said I'm around 60. He also said I have red hair, and I know that for some guys that's a real turn-on. But still. Think of it. They are all excited about meeting (and, they hope, fucking) a woman in her early 60s.

Amazing.

Anyway, last night Daddy declared "Tonight he will dream of you." In fact, he expected that I, salivating at the thought of our meeting, would simultaneously dream of the musician.

Actually, I wasn't in a very sexy mood. I have a cold, and Marko is still in the hospital, purring but refusing to eat and still fighting an infection. My general reaction was "Boys will have their fun." So I didn't dream of the musician. No telling whether he dreamed of me.

The sadist, however, did.
Dream of me.
Something approaching a rape dream.
A dream that haunted him all day.

Until he wrote:

"At this moment, I want to brutalize you."

And ordered me to get better.
Fast.