Every night, it’s the same thing, but always a little different, but they’re always getting worse, and you can always remember them perfectly. You had two of them last night–you remember waking up from the first just long enough to jack your rock hard cock off before you fell back asleep into the second dream, but you recall them both perfectly.

In the first–you remember the tiled room, but you don’t remember how you’d gotten there–still, you were dressed to serve. The leather gear was well worn and fit you like a glove, revealing every curve of your fat belly, showing off your tribal tattoos. You were on your knees, waiting–for something. For someone. For anyone. You could feel how sticky your body was, from the build up of all the cum splattered across you. In a moment of clarity, you try to stand up, but the cum has adhered to the tile floor, keeping you there, as man after man files in, coating you in their cum, and soon you can barely move at all. The cum encases you entirely–you’re frozen in place, mouth open, ready for the next load, just a permanent cumdump in some filthy, rundown bathhouse.

In the second, you’re more like you–but still different. No tattoos, but maybe a bit bigger? More muscular? A bit rougher? You’re out at the bar, drinking with your pals, when you tell them that you need to go take a leak. In the bathroom, you walk up to the middle urinal, drop your pants, but before you can piss, the urinal surges to life, erupts from the wall, and grabs the upper half of your body, bending you over at the waist, feet splayed apart, ass out, squirming and fighting against the porcelain. Man after man comes into the restroom, and you try to call for help, but your mouth doesn’t work–the urinal has forced some sort of pipe down your throat, and each man shoves his cock up your loose asshole and pisses into your guts. The urinal has done something to you–merged with you–the piss flows through you and out your mouth, into the sewer, and it tastes…better than anything you’d ever tasted. Soon, you’re addicted, desperate for men to piss down you, use you, fill you with their piss and cum–

You’ve cum again–where are these dreams coming from? What are they doing to you? You drank your own piss for the first time yesterday–it gave you the best orgasm of your life. You can’t stop jacking off and eating your own cum. You long to serve every man you pass on the street–you want to be their urinal, their cumdump, their slave, their property…Pushing the thoughts away, you get up and get ready for work, paying no mind to the dreamcatcher your friend gave you a few weeks ago. It was a strange gift, but he was into that strange occult shit–still, that stuff wasn’t real, was it?