Reading In Dreams Novels & Stories

I was enjoying this dream, and I thought that if I should open my eyes, it would disappear, although this particular dream is nothing like the other erotic dreams I have been having most nights. This one feels more like a fantasy come true. In my sleep, I moaned in pleasure. My nipples became erect, and my vagina already wet and filled with my pussy juices. My clitoris ached in hunger, and I almost begged the hot mouth to do something about it. Fortunately for me, this mouth began to trail kisses from my stomach to my navel, and then finally to my vagina! I sighed in grateful relieve. It was as though he had read my thoughts, which isn’t so surprising because in dreams, people could read min

In the midst of her slumber, Liya found herself in a dream. She was walking through a vibrant forest, surrounded by lush trees and the soothing sounds of nature. As she walked, she noticed a single flower rising from the ground, its petals unfurling in the gentle sunlight. Suddenly, Liya's eyes fluttered open. She sat up, rubbing her eyes in confusion. "Whizz" she shouted, "I had the strangest dream. I was in a forest, and there was this flower..."

~Ruby~ I was halfway into the book now. Interesting. Whenever I read, something connects me to the constant nightmare. The transformation process is similar to how the man in my dream does. Could he be a werewolf? What do I have to do with him? How can a werewolf be bugging my fucking dream? I went to the living room, still holding the book. Suddenly, like a hallucination, I saw a wolf in the living room. “Argh…!” I screamed. Mom rushed out of the kitchen.

she stated, encouraging me to share more. “I don’t think so. Sometimes, dreams are just a bunch of trash about our day,” I disagreed, dismissing the idea of reading too much into it. In reality, I didn't want to admit that dreams could be reflections of our fantasies, especially because that would imply I fantasize about her. “Anyway, so tell me about your dream,” she persisted with her questioning. In the end, I rolled my eyes and reluctantly answered, careful not to reveal that she was the one in that wet dream of mine.

"That sounds nice." We went to the cafeteria. Found a quiet table. She seemed to relax a little. "Better?" I asked. "Much. Thanks." "That patient really got to you." Her coffee cup rattled against the table. "Just reminded me of my own nightmares." "Want to talk about them?" "Not really." She looked out the window. "Sometimes I dream about running. Through forests. Being chased." "That's normal after trauma. The mind processes fear in dreams." "Is it normal to dream about things that feel more real than waking up?"

"Kaya, should I really have to explain to you what these dreams are? Every hormonal teenager has had them at least once in there-" "Don’t say it” I cut her short, a disgusted shiver running down my spine, before shaking my head wondering how I was going to get it through to her, “ You don't understand. These dreams are very, VERY real. They feel so real, Every touch, every scent. The visuals are magnificent like it was frickin 8k. Like the first time he came to see me I dreamt I gave him some milk downstairs in the kitchen. The next day, Aunt Lily scolded me for finishing the milk and I saw that there were two empty glasses on the kitchen counter. "I explained,

Telling myself I fell asleep in a park was way better than saying than trying to explain how I got here. “ Yes, that's what it is! It's a dream!” I said aloud, convincing myself.

Cara was still deeply immersed in her thoughts as she sat at her desk, scribbling in her diary. Her pen glided across the pages with a sense of urgency, trying to record every detail of the dream that had been haunting her since her therapy session. Her therapist, Jean, had told her that documenting her dreams was crucial to unlocking their hidden meanings, pushing her to be as thorough as possible. It wasn’t just a casual assignment; it was part of her journey to better understand herself, to untangle the threads of her subconscious mind. The idea of writing fiction about her own life felt strange, almost surreal, but Jean had explained that it was a way to externalize her feelings and memo

I've been searching for the so-called library for three days with no results. Aside from that, another thing occupying my thoughts is… my dreams. I still don't get why I keep dreaming about those strange people. I think it's trying to force me to learn something. I look forward to nighttime the most. I want to see what happens next, to figure out the dreams! To make this happen, I need to fall into a deep sleep, one that I won't wake up for a long time until I grasp the meaning of the dreams. Funny enough, the dream always finishes in the same manner — ends in where the lady dies after childbirth, then the man wallows in grief. I guess understanding my dreams is a priority, something I can d

“No problem.” ………………………………………………. “Good morning everyone, how was your night?” Chris asked a bunch of people sitting in front of a TV. Different set of eyes balanced on him “How are you dear?” The most elderly woman amongst the bunch asked. “I think I would be fine.” He replied Concern creeped into her face “Why is that?” “I had a disturbing dream in the midnight and I don’t remember anything about it” Chris said with his mouth full of toast bread and a cup of coffee on his hand.