The Faceless Stranger

A little story for Hallowe’en

Shall I tell you today about my dream? There are variations of my dream, but always he is behind me, and I never get to see his face. I’ve had this dream for a long time, the Faceless Stranger has haunted me for years. He doesn’t scare me, even though I can’t see his face, even though I don’t know who he is. These are mostly vanilla dreams, there’s no spanking or bondage, no throatfucking or anal sex. There is power but no aggression. He is in control. I am his, to do with as he pleases. And even though I’ve never seen him I know he is tall, not skinny, not fat, not muscular, but I can feel his strength. His mere presence is enough to overwhelm me.

I’m always willing, pliant in his hands. He never speaks but as a dream lover he knows exactly what to do. Perhaps that’s why I can’t settle for anyone in real life. No-one could match up to Him. I know he isn’t real, I know my dream doesn’t bear any resemblance to the real world, and yet…

In my dream I feel…complete.

I don’t need anything or anyone else, he makes me feel whole. And in my dream I feel beautiful, I’m still me, there haven’t been any miraculous inches taken from my waist and added to my height, and yet I feel beautiful, he makes me feel beautiful. Sometimes when I wake up I carry this feeling with me through the day, those are good days, when everything seems so much brighter, when the real world is a good place to be, but some mornings when I wake it’s with a horrible feeling of loss, I’m left yearning, bereft, grieving almost.

So let me tell you about my dream. The one that occurs most frequently is the one where I find myself standing in front of a mirror, the lighting is subdued but focused on me. He is standing behind me, not touching me, but I can feel him there. When I look for him in the mirror all I can see is a shadow. I’m wearing a dress that leaves my shoulders bare, underneath all I wear is stockings and a suspender belt. And high heels, mustn’t forget the heels. None of these are things I ever wear, except in my dreams. My hair is piled on top of my head so when he kisses my neck he still doesn’t have to touch me. His kiss is so cold, and still I see nothing but shadow. He kisses my neck, the tops of my shoulders, the back of my neck, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body which linger in my nipples and in my clitoris. He spends what seems like an eternity just kissing me like this until I feel I can’t take anymore, my body ready to explode. He stops kissing me then and trails a cold finger down the back of my neck, down my spine, stops at the top of my dress, slowly pulls down the zip, my dress falls to the floor. He puts his arms around me, pulls me against him. I feel his clothed body against my bare skin, I feel his hard cock against my bare arse. Kissing my neck he strokes my tits, tweaking my nipples, his other hand moves down between my legs and as he starts to rub my clitoris, sliding his cold fingers inside me, that is when I wake up.

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