Nancy must have dozed off reading her novel. It was a great book, filled with swordfights and werewolves and vampires and sardonic prose, but it must not have done enough to engage her because here she was, sound asleep on the couch. It was strange--she didn't remember feeling tired at all, not even a little bit. There weren't any moments where her attention wandered or her eyes closed and had trouble opening again or any of the things that usually happened when she nodded off in the middle of a rainy Sunday afternoon. But the evidence was incontrovertible. She was dreaming, ergo she was sleeping. QED.

It was the same dream she always had, practically the only dream she remembered anymore. The details changed here and there, but it always began the same way--she'd hear the doorknob rattle, and she'd suddenly realize that she forgot to lock it. Even if it was a room that didn't have a lock on the door, like her bedroom, or one that she knew for a fact was locked (Nancy had a very clear memory of sliding the deadbolt the second she got home) she always had that moment of terrified awareness that whoever it was, they could walk right in and she couldn't stop them. She would stare in horror at the twisting handle, wondering who was outside and what they would do when they came in.

It wasn't always the same person. Sometimes, it was her landlord. Sometimes, it was her neighbor from two apartments down, the one she always bumped into when she went to get her mail and who kept making awkward attempts to ask her out on a date. Sometimes it was a complete stranger. But they always came in and they always said the same thing. "Nancy, you're dreaming again." And just like that, she realized that it was true. The momentary rush of panicked adrenaline melted into smooth, comfortable relaxation as she remembered that this was just another dream, that she must have fallen asleep without realizing it and had that dream where she thought she was awake again.

It was so comforting, that wonderful flash of insight that swept through her when she heard those words from whichever stranger decided to visit her in her dreams. It was like falling asleep all over again, her muscles suddenly melting like warm butter into loose, liquid relaxation as she sagged onto the couch or the bed or sometimes just slumped to the floor in a drowsy faint. All that fear went away in an instant, replaced by sleepy, warm peace and pleasure that filled her tired brain and felt all the more better for its contrast against the bewildered dread she'd been experiencing just moments ago. Nancy was dreaming again. It was all just a dream. She was sound asleep and she could relax and let events unfold without any worry at all.

Today, it was her landlord sitting down next to her on the couch, gently helping her into an upright position so that she could reach down and languorously pull her shirt up and over her head to reveal her smooth pale skin. Nancy almost wanted to apologize for her pooched belly and pasty complexion, but then she remembered that all this was nothing but a dream. She didn't have to be ashamed of her body in dreams. She could feel wanted, desired, even lusted over. She could enjoy the hunger in her landlord's gaze, the excitement in his warm, trembling fingers as he undid her bra and cupped her heavy breasts in his hands. She could relax into the hot, tingling pleasure of his thumbs flicking her stiff nipples and dream the day away.

"That's it," he murmured softly, his voice a husky growl in her ears. "Deeper and deeper into peaceful sleep for me now." It reminded Nancy of the first time she had this dream, a few years ago when she first moved into the apartment. That was the weirdest one, the one that still came back to her sometimes when she was daydreaming on the bus or distracted at work or simply lost in thought in her own comfortable bed. The dream where he hypnotized her.

She didn't remember the door part in that particular iteration of the dream. Maybe it happened and she was just too sound asleep to remember it. Nancy rarely remembered any of the dreams that didn't involve home intrusions by her neighbors. She only knew that when her eyelids fluttered open, awakened by the sound of a low, breathy voice in her ears murmuring soft, comforting words, she found her landlord standing by her bed with a crystal pendant swaying from the end of a silver chain. And before her drowsy, confused mind could even process what was happening, he said, "Let your eyes follow that pretty, shiny gem for me, Nancy. Watch it as it sways back and forth, lulling that drowsy, sleepy mind right back down into dreamland for me."

Confused, she wound up doing exactly that. Her sleep-fogged eyes simply locked onto the beautiful sparkling crystal and followed its gentle motion with rapt fascination, allowing her thoughts to be captivated by the gleaming facets before they could even emerge from the haze of slumber and connect together the impossibly incongruous events into some kind of a narrative that would explain her landlord's sudden presence in her room in the middle of the night. Nancy didn't know what was happening to her or why; she only knew that she was so tired, and the pendant was absolutely mesmerizing to her mazy, exhausted brain.

It was almost a relief when the landlord whispered to her, "You're still asleep, Nancy. You're still asleep and this is just a warm, wonderful, sexy dream. It doesn't have to make sense, because it's not really happening. It's just a sleepy fantasy that you can sink into, deeper and deeper into peaceful sleep for me now, and let your mind float and drift on a current of peace and pleasure." It made it all so easy to accept. She didn't need to think about his fingers, creeping into the waistband of her pajamas and rubbing her sensitive labia until her pussy was a dripping, sticky mess.

Nancy realized slowly that it was happening again, her mind drifting back and forth between the dream she was having now and the dream she was remembering with drowsy ease as her landlord reached down into her sweatpants and began to rub her pussy through her panties. Time seemed to have a softer consistency in Nancy's dreams, and it always seemed astonishingly easy to let her thoughts fuzz and fog between one dream and another, between her landlord fingering her on the couch and her neighbor tiptoeing naked into her room to fuck her face with his thick, stubby cock. The details always changed, but that warm, sexy lassitude made them all blend together in her mazy head.

Her old dreams were never this vivid. Even the most memorable ones didn't feel as real as the sensation of her landlord's lips pursing around her nipple, his wet mouth suckling hungry at her pillowy breasts while his fingers rubbed away at her pussy until the translucent fabric clung to her labia. It felt like it was actually happening to her, like she was really being teased on the couch until she couldn't help moaning out, "Oh god, please... please fuck my empty cunt, Master...." She wouldn't, of course. Not outside of her sleeping fantasies. But the rules for proper behavior were suspended in dreams, and Nancy could be every kind of kinky slut she wanted here.

That felt so, so very wonderful. It was no surprise at all that Nancy spent so much time thinking about her dreams, not when they felt this good and they made her this incredibly wet. She'd taken to carrying a few extra sets of panties at the bottom of her purse; by the time she finished the bus ride to work, she needed to stop in the restroom and change to keep her coworkers from getting a whiff of her soaking pussy off of her underwear. (Or herself, for that matter--Nancy had to admit that inhaling the scent of her own arousal made it that much harder to keep her mind off her cunt.) She put the damp ones in a plastic bag and washed them when she got home. Sometimes there were as many as four pairs in there.

It was just... it was so sexy, imagining herself as a blank, drowsy, obedient fucktoy with a trigger in her head that made her available for use to anyone who knew her secret. It made her so hot, imagining her boss or her best friend or her landlord in real life walking up to her and whispering, "Nancy, you're dreaming again," and feeling herself slide back down into the sparkling depths of the crystal all over again as she convinced herself she was simply having a silly, sexy dream and she could be used like the horny slut she really was. She couldn't stop herself from slipping away to the restroom two, three times a day, just to jill away the constant arousal she felt.

Maybe that was why she remembered the dreams so vividly. Maybe she wished they were really real, deep down, and she wanted to believe that she really was hypnotized to obey her Master. Maybe she loved the thought of being taken from behind, her sweatpants and panties down around her ankles as she got onto her hands and knees and her landlord growled, "Does my mindless slut want Master's cock in her needy little pussy?" Maybe she got off on his fingers in her short brown hair, tugging just hard enough to get her attention and keep her focused on the feel of his cockhead pressing at the entrance to her cunt. Maybe she wanted to be a fucktoy all the time.

That had to be it. She wanted it all to be real. She wanted to be able to whimper, "Please, Master, please pound my cunt with that big hard cock of yours, please oh fuck me please fuck your toy fuck your brainwashed sex slave please," and know that it was all really happening and she was too deeply hypnotized and programmed to ever resist it. That, that was why she masturbated about it all the time. That was why the dreams kept coming back to her, ever more vivid and relentless with every repetition. It wasn't to undermine her willpower. It wasn't to crumble her determination to struggle with endless pleasure. She wasn't following a post-hypnotic suggestion to fuck herself into surrender. She just wanted to be owned and obedient like a good girl.

Nancy moaned as the long, slender shaft slid up and into her wet pussy, grunting with animal lust until her squeals of pleasure bounced off the thin walls. It didn't matter, she knew. This was just a dream, and her neighbors to either side weren't really hearing her landlord fuck her until her musk dripped down her thighs and she drooled onto the arm of the couch. That was just more proof that she was really asleep; if Nancy was awake, they would come over and complain, not just stand patiently in line behind her landlord for their turn to rail her dripping, messy cunt. None of this was really happening, so she could relax and let go and allow herself to cum.

But what if it really was? That was the thought that always stopped Nancy's busy mind when she was staring out the window on the ride to work, rubbing her thighs together almost without even noticing. What if she was really following her landlord's hypnotic suggestions every time she thought she was just slipping away into a deep, drowsy slumber and all those cocks pumping into her cunt and her ass and her mouth were real? What if it was really her down on her knees, eating out her neighbor's pussy with a sleepy smile on her face and a thick plug in her butt? It didn't make sense, and yet....

That was what he told her, at the end of that very first dream she had all those long months ago. "Whenever you're alone and you hear someone say, 'Nancy, you're dreaming again,' you're going to return to this exact same sleepy state. You're going to find yourself aroused and compliant, happy to go along with everything that they want you to do until they leave and you find yourself alone again. Then you're going to clean yourself and your surroundings and wake up, convinced that it was all just a silly, sexy dream that you enjoyed very much." It was exactly what she believed. Word for word.

She even remembered the later suggestions, the ones he slipped into her ears when she was distracted by orgasmic bliss and could barely even hear them over the sound of her own blood rushing through her veins. "You're going to find yourself fantasizing about these dreams. They'll come back to you, over and over again. You'll find yourself wishing you could come and talk to me about making you a pretty little fucktoy for real, quitting your job and becoming a full-time slut for use. It's going to make you so wet. You won't be able to resist masturbating over the idea." Those were her own daydreams. He was describing them to her right now. That couldn't be coincidence, could it?

If it wasn't... if he could really hypnotize people like this... then it was all real. She was really taking a second cock in her pussy right now, genuinely whimpering and moaning and pleading to be fucked harder and deeper and begging for her owners to shoot their loads deep into her slippery cunt. If her dreams were true, then Nancy was actually being programmed to become more and more obedient, more and more blank and horny and compliant, until the day her last tiny shreds of resistance collapsed and she went to her landlord's office and asked to be turned into a mindless, obedient fucktoy for him to lend out whenever he wanted.

God, that made her so wet. Nancy ground her hips against the thrusting cock behind her, milking the thick, creamy cum out of her neighbor's balls, and waited in drowsy anticipation for the next one to follow. Dreaming of the time when she would never have to dream again.

THE END