The Mirror Dream

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2022 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; fpov; dream; straps; machine; bond; strip; susp; sex; mast; cons; X

I had a crazy dream lately that I thought I'd share, I hope that others find it as entertaining as I.

… Drinking to excess is never good, but I was having one of those weeks, and an after work naked step on the digital and infallible scale, accompanied by a very critical self assessment in my bathroom's full length mirror had driven me there; literally to drink. I get like this sometimes, and reading between the lines when talking with my girlfriends I'm surely not the only one. Anyway, it was almost time for another new year's resolution, you know lose twenty pounds, get in shape and actually start making use of the gym that I belong to anyway, that kind of thing. Nobody's perfect after all, or so my husband tells me, his unconditional acceptance of my many faults both refreshing and ever so slightly guilt inspiring.

He's not perfect either, but his imperfections don't seem to bother him like mine do me; something I wish I could emulate, if I only knew how. He tells me all the time that he's the lucky one, that he used up all his luck for a lifetime in just finding me, so maybe he is perfect after all…

Anyway, he's out of town on a remote job and I go to bed alone that night, a little drunk and feeling sorry for myself; chinese takeout, netflix, and far too much alcohol for a thinking adult.. It's self-destructive, but I go to sleep fast when I've been drinking; self-medicating I like to call it. It's soon a fitful sleep though, lots of wild disjointed dreams, nonsense really; things that couldn't possibly really happen, and therefore easily discounted, even in a dream..

 Then I dream about the gym, my gym specifically. This isn't such a stretch of imagination as this was on my mind anyway right before bed; the guilt I've been feeling with not making better use of something already paid for. It's not a lot of money in the big scheme of things, and we kept the membership all through this covid nonsense, more to help the business owner keep his establishment rather than to actually go and work out. Anyway, I can picture the specific piece of equipment that starred in my dream, they actually have one, and even the full wall mirror also in my dream, although the specific room that I dreamt both of them in doesn't exist, at least to the best of my knowledge, but as I've admitted I haven't been there in a while, post covid.

This machine has a blue round cushion about twelve inches wide that you're supposed to bend over at the hips, so it's adjustable height wise, but I'm relatively short and this thing is adjusted for a six foot plus man, not a petite woman with a few extra winter pounds on her frame. My trainer - yes, in this dream I apparently have a trainer - gently nudges me forward with his massive hand covering my entire back, and submitting to him naturally I bend over this cushion with my hips on it anyway, so this leaves me on my toes with him tight up against me from behind. I'm wearing thin black yoga pants in this dream - thin like tights - and I can only imagine the picture I'm presenting from behind. I'm also apparently bra-less, as his massive hand should have been felt directly on the wide four hook band. This is just something a woman endowed as I am just isn't doing in a gym, but hell, it's a dream.

I also feel his massive erection in the cleft of my ass unapologetically, so even though I feel like I'm not looking my best with the weight I don't think I should have, his manly interests are apparently not deterred. I have a signed hall pass that I haven't used in over ten years, but I'm sure that it's still officially valid as my playful husband tells me all the time that I need a boyfriend, a well hung one. I've had a few boyfriends since we've been together, since our teens, but that's a separate story and that one gets just a bit complicated. It's consensual on both ends though, or at least it was, back in the day; and we've only grown closer since. This kind of thing isn't for everybody, so I'm not exactly suggesting everybody give it a whirl, at least until all the other aspects of a healthy relationship are firmly established. That's not the exact way we did it, not really, but it's the way we should have.

So anyway, in my dream I'm bent over at the waist and my hair is in a pinned up bun at the back of my head like I do when I workout, or even run, so it's not hanging down in my new horizontal position, but I feel my braless boobs doing that instead. I see the three quarter length old cut off sweatshirt I'm wearing in the mirror's reflection, something inconsistent with my normal workout wear, or for that matter anything but a washboard flat stomach, which I presently don't have, or so my bathroom mirror reminds me right before bed; right after my takeout house special chow-mai-fun and egg roll, and three bourbons straight up, a heavy pour on each.

I don't feel my stomach hanging down in my dream, but I maybe can't see it past my hanging boobs anyway. I also can't see enough of my trainer to see if he's a known man to me. I don't really see his facial features in my dream, therefore I don't perceive the identity, as odd as that sounds. Not in my dream, but later on in an aha kind of moment I realize that I'm likely not wearing my glasses in that dream, and that may be the reason that I can't identify the man behind me with the great big stiffy. I also have contacts though, so this is curious…

There is a wide leather belt that goes over my hips, and my trainer passes it over them and cinches it snug enough that I'm not going anywhere now. I don't want to in my dream anyway, I'm just passively along for the proverbial ride, which I assumed at this point is still some kind of legitimate physical exercise, as naïve as that now sounds.

With the apparent magic of dream time, where things jump from one scene to another, he is now in front of me, and I'm holding a handle in each hand with a stout cable attached, this machine of the universal kind that does several different things, the stack of steel plates left and right of the direction I'm looking, allowing an unobstructed view of the mirrors for those that actually like their reflection. This Is no judgment on my part, just an observation; some people preen and flex, and others try not to look.

My arms are being pulled down left, and down right respectively, but easily within my abilities, maybe fifteen pounds worth of steel plates moving with my minor adjustments. I'm just holding the handles, not really getting tugged, but they are maintaining my awkward bent-over position, that and the belt across my hips. I see the pin in the plates that adjusts the weights, but in what I now realize is my uncorrected vision I can't read the actual numbers, other than to know they're near the top of the stack; less than ripped girl territory, and way less than ripped guy territory. My trainer then wraps a thick band of black double sided Velcro around one wrist, and then the other, attaching each wrist to its corresponding handle. I could still maybe let go of the actual handle, but the cable and my wrist would still be attached.

I don't say anything to stop him though, but he's not exactly asking permission either; it's just super passive and strange, even for a dream…

His entire manner is that this is "business as usual" like he does this kind of thing all the time. Anyway, I'm pretty much trapped by the time he walks around to stand behind me again, only this time instead of grinding on my ass he kneels behind me and I think to myself that this is just odd. I can't see his reflection in the mirror now, but if this was going to turn into one of "those" dreams, he'd get on his knees and get busy back there, once he got my scant clothes out of the way. I don't usually dream about "sex" in sexy dreams, just the build up, the events that lead up to it. That makes this one really odd for me, if it goes where it looks like it's now going.

Anybody could walk in at any time, and I even notice that the walls of this "room" don't go all the way to the ceiling, so if there was enough lewd noise generated inside, somebody just might come and check. My trainer then does the unexpected, he doesn't just pull down my yoga pants, he lifts my legs one at a time and completely removes them, throwing them across the room! I don't feel any panties either, so between this, my missing bra, and flaunting shirt, one could easily argue that I came into this dream looking for some action.

 Right leg first, then the left, but while still holding the left in his iron grip he applies some more wide velcro straps, manhandling my ankle out wide to the very end of the frame that holds this machine up. There are adjustable ankle straps so that you can keep your balance while properly using this machine to work out, but he's adjusted one of these out obscenely wide for me, attaching my ankle to it with the Velcro. I realize that I'm also barefoot now, my sneakers apparently removed with my yoga pants, and my toes can't even touch the carpeted floor now.

He does my right foot next, and I really feel the tension in my body now, like I'm being pulled in two directions at once. To enhance this feeling, apparently, the man comes around in front again and pulls down on the right cable going into the stack of weights that my right arm is tugging against. He pulls down on the cable effortlessly, readjusting the stack pin all the way to the bottom, probably three hundred pounds or so, if I could somehow pull that much in this awkward position.

He does the same to my left next, my tormentor nothing if not symmetrical in his devious thinking. I feel a little like superwoman taking indoor flying lessons, except she didn't do so while almost totally stripped naked; the chill on my exposed girl parts clearly felt. I have yet to utter a word of complaint though, but the man stands back and looks at the picture I likely present and only rubs his chin thoughtfully. He looks as if he's forgotten something, and a moment later I see what it is as he pulls my half shirt up, freeing my hanging boobs, and then up over my head, masking my view of my very provocative reflection.

My dream captor - who I've yet to resist in the slightest way - then bends over me from in front, with his crotch grinding on my covered head. I again feel his magnificent male weapon erect and vertical, holstered as it apparently is by whatever he's still wearing, and it's grinding on me from forehead to chin; so in other words quite long. With both hands free he sets to manhandling my swinging boobs, which ordinarily drives me just off the charts wild with lust. If the fool didn't cover my face with my shirt and only made himself just a bit more available, he could easily be tickling my willing tonsils instead, assuming that girthy monster would actually fit.

I hear myself groan with his aggressive fondling, and then I self-gag with my shirt, gathering as big a mouthful as I can and bearing down on it to prevent bringing anybody by, at least until my stud-muffin has had his way with me. In a dream flash he's now behind me, I feel not only his legs up between my widely spread ones, but I even feel his body heat. He's apparently nude now, at least below the waist, and with one hand on the small of my back he uses the other to slide his rather impressive feeling weapon up and down my slick entrance, telling him quite clearly that all his efforts on my behalf haven't been for naught.

Mr. Stud-Muffin then pushes into me, and I hear myself squeal, my ad-hoc gag apparently not up to the challenge. My own husband only tops me once in a blue moon, and never like this; not so aggressively. We have a different kind of thing between us, so things like this have to happen outside the marriage, hence the hall pass that I haven't used in like a decade. In comparison this dream stud is filling me wall to wall and stretching his way in at that, and on top of that I have absolutely no choice in the matter. This is dream nirvana for me, at least on a physical level, and as he slowly feeds me that monster I clench my fists and toes in overstimulation.

My dream lover is being just about as rough as he can be, right at the threshold of it not being fun, as in painful. I've had something just as big before, but it's been a very long time, and that man as well was just as aggressive as he could be while still making it good for me too. This of course gets me to wondering, if guys are too rough does it hurt them too? I know there are lots of nerve endings there for them too, and I know how it feels when I get rubbed raw down there myself, so perhaps my dream lover is only exercising some wise self interest.

Well anyway, he's cautiously thrusted his way all the way in, I feel his hot thighs up against my naked ass as confirmation. He then grabs the thick belt over my hips as a convenient handle, using both hands to maintain position as he begins to thrust into me earnestly. He used the belt to pull himself into my trapped and helpless body, somewhat gently at first, but after a few strokes building to long and hard ones filled with aggression. When he slams forward I squeal, our bare legs slap, and the entire machine rattles with the concussion. I feel my hanging boobs swing and the thump of his thrusts all the way to my teeth clenching my now wet sweatshirt. It's a rough and physical copulation about a million miles away from making love, I'm really nothing more than a comfortable warm velvet socket for this man's animal-like thrusting.

Dream or reality, high physical activity like this is measured in seconds and maybe even minutes, before everybody gets where they're going and pops off, in my stud-muffin's case with a big hot squirting mess that I easily felt paint my interior walls. This brought me over the top myself; just what I needed to soothe my self-pity. I feel him deflate while still inside, and he's still somehow squirting; this poor man maybe needed this even more than I did…

…I then hear the knock on the door, "are you okay in here?" I hear asked, and still somewhat in my dream I think some monster sized gym rat wants a go next, hearing the commotion in this special room and allowing natural curiosity to see if what he heard was what he heard.

Except that this is my husband's voice, and our bedroom, getting home early and hearing the commotion from within the darkened room and thinking that I had a friend over to help me pass the time maybe; help scratch that special itch.

"All alone, just me and my dream lovers," I tell him sleepily, although while smelling the aroma of solo sex in a confined space.

"Do you think I'm fat?" I then ask.

"What? Where did that come from?" he asks softly.

"Come here and make love to me…"


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