Back for more

Everyone’s is familiar with the concept of the recurring nightmare, but if my mind is anything like normal (whatever that is) I think it’s fair to say that most dreams are unique, even if they cover similar territory. And that’s just as true of sex dreams as any other genre. So I was a little surprised this morning to wake from a dream which I’ve visited before. Or rather wake from a dream about a sex shop I’ve visited before. To be precise, a dream about a sex shop I’ve dreamed about visiting before. A fetish sex shop. I first visited it months ago. Maybe a year or more.

Step inside my dream world, and I could lead you down the back streets – I recognised them from the vivid memory I have of the first dream – tall, narrow, old, dark. The road in question is little more than an alley for pedestrians, but it’s well populated with Victorian style shop windows, neatly carved frames of big picture windows populated by finely crafted displays. As the path curves to the left, there’s an entrance on the right. The walls inside are paneled, mahogany dark, and have steps leading down, carpeted in red. It leads to a fetish club, and last time I was here it hosted a market of fetish stalls, including one where I tried on a rubber corset.

Back at street level, just after the bend in the road, there’s a shop on the right. The glass of the windows is curved – the sort of windows no one has made in decades – and they funnel visitors in towards the door. Inside there are wooden mannequins, not the plastic creatures of modern chain stores, bedecked in exquisite rubber-wear. The counter echoes the windows – a large, glass expanse, edged with dark, delicately carved wood. It contains all the accoutrements of kinky sex: handcuffs, chastity cock-cages, paddles, gas masks, all presented on satin cushions trimmed with gold brocade. Everything is refined and elegant.

There was no one to be seen in the shop when I walked in this morning, dressed in a skin-tight, long sleeved, red rubber shirt with matching hood, and a black latex hakama. As I looked over the wares in front of me, I took out my dick and stroked it. [Back in reality, my waking erection was the sort of hard that is so intense that it almost aches.] The door opened, heralded by the tinkle of a brass bell, and the female proprietor walked in. Neither was she perturbed to find me masturbating in her shop, nor was I embarrassed to be interrupted. As I tucked my member back into the pleats of my skirt, she greeted me.
Shop Keeper: Nice to see you again.
Me: Thanks.
Shop Keeper: Hmmm … Something’s up? Have you just split up from your wife?
Me: Errr … Not quite …
She raised a questioning eyebrow, but before I could rationalise my answer someone else walked into the shop, and our mutual attention was divided.

9 Responses to “Back for more”

  1. Wow! Talk about a dream! And what about the ending? You’re getting me curious!

  2. Why do i get the feeling this store is somewhere in Diagon Alley? I am curious why shopkeeper would ask such a question or make that assumption. I wonder, What was it about you that was different? 😉

    • Not quite and gnarly as Diagon Alley, but just as magical in its own perverted way.
      I could only guess the reason for her question. Perhaps because I was out in public wearing lovely latex.

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