Blurb:
What if there was punishment when you didn’t dream the right dreams? That’s the dilemma Leah Kent, and her professor, Al Foster must face—dream right, or take the punishment.
The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a wander into the sexy and dark unconscious as Leah takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required dream journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys. But not all dreams are pleasant ones, and some have far-reaching repercussions in the waking world.
Excerpt:
You look beautiful when you dream.
That was the first sentence; that was how it all started.
Leah thought it might be some sort of lucid dreaming when she saw the words scrawled across the page of her open journal on the nightstand. She’d had every intention of asking her instructor about it, but then she couldn’t really tell him the dream that had brought it on, could she? It sounded like the sort of thing the unconscious of a pathetically shy introvert would write to herself from the dream world because she had no one in the waking world to say it to her and, while that might be true—the pathetic introvert part, she didn’t want to make it more obvious to her instructor than it probably already was—especially when she had half a crush on him.
Besides, it also sounded like the sort of thing a sex-crazed slut might write to herself when her vibe batteries ran down. That made her sound even more pathetic—the vibe and the batteries part, not the slut part.
She had just started a course on the psychology of dreams. She tried to take advantage of adult education classes whenever possible. It got her out of the house and forced her to interact with other people—real flesh and blood people. With her job, online shopping, online banking, direct debit, grocery delivery, she never had to leave the house really, and that suited her just fine, but she knew it shouldn’t. She knew it wasn’t healthy. Sometimes going to the classes was more of an ordeal than a pleasure, but that was not the case for the psychology of dreams class.
She had to admit, she’d taken that course because she’d overheard several women giggling and talking about how hot the instructor was and how their dreams had become very sexy since they’d started his class. A part of the class work was to keep a dream journal. The women had been sitting at the table next to her in the coffee shop poring over their journals together and laughing about how they thought Al—Al Foster was the instructor—would respond when he read their dreams. She’d been taking a photography course then, and it had been one of the few times Leah had actually forced herself to initiate conversation, asking the women about the class. They were only too happy to share, and soon she was laughing and blushing and joking right along with them as they told her all about the psychology of dreams course and how it had truly stimulated their dream life. The next term, she signed right up.
A dream journal—that had sounded simple enough when Al—he’d insisted they all call him Al—had explained what it was. All she had to do was write down her dreams every morning when she woke up. But by the time she sat down at the breakfast table with her bowl of cereal and her coffee, dream journal and pen at the ready, she could remember nothing but bits of broken images—nothing dramatic, nothing with hidden psychological meaning—certainly nothing sexy.
After a week of drawing blanks from the dream world, Al had helpfully suggested that she keep the journal open by her bed, and that she set an alarm for every two hours. When the alarm went off, she was then to write just a few key words of what she remembered, words that would jog her memory in the morning.
The first time the alarm went off, she woke disoriented and confused. By the time she remembered why she’d set the alarm, she also remembered she’d forgotten to set the trash out for pick-up. She remembered that she needed to order some more vitamins online. She remembered that she needed to put the clothes in the dryer, but what she didn’t remember was her dreams.
The second alarm, she must have unconsciously shut off before she got fully awake, but on the third, she managed a little dream snippet about chasing a big dog through the local McDonalds, a dog who had shamelessly stolen her Big Mac right out of her hand. She hated Big Macs, and big dogs made her nervous. Well, that was at least something to analyze, wasn’t it? Though Freud had insisted that sometimes a cigar was just a cigar, surely that didn’t hold true for Big Macs, which she didn’t like, and big dogs, which she didn’t trust. Al would be pleased.
The second night there was a dream about a leather jacket with a huge snake for a collar, a snake that talked—kind of like a parrot. There was a dream in which she’d gone to the supermarket and ended up in a maze, unable to find her way out. There was a dream of planting begonias in front of the convenience store around the corner. For the rest of the week, she was excited to see that the setting of the alarms was working. Her key words helped her to remember details, and the rest was easy.
Adult Excerpt:
“Now then, let’s see if we can’t ease the pain in you lovely little bottom before we get on with the spanking, ” Dr. Clyde said before Leah could ask what he meant by his remark about them never getting out of the dream. He rummaged and rattled through the surprising abundance of the desk drawers until he came up with a tube of something she couldn’t see in her bent-over position, but as he unscrewed the lid, she immediately smelled peaches.
There was the sound of something squirting, and then she felt the doctor’s large palm spreading cool lotion against her burning butt. She sighed and clenched at the pleasure of it.
“There now. That feels better, doesn’t it hon? Just what the doctor ordered. We don’t want that lovely ass of yours too wounded just yet. Your punishment has hardly begun, after all.”
“Peach? Seriously?” Al said, coming closer to observe and sniffing as he did so.
“Yup! And it’s edible too,” Dr. Clyde said. “Taste. Not like that, Dear God, Al, put the tube down, and use your imagination. You’re in a dream for fuck sake! And you,” he turned his attention back to Leah, “you lie still. You’re being punished. You don’t get to see what’s happening. You have to trust the dream, trust that what happens next is all a part of the experience.”
“Enough of the psycho-babble, already, Derrick. We get it,” Al protested.
There was a shuffling of male bodies behind her, and Leah felt a different set of hands, clearly Al’s hands. They were not quite as large as Dr. Clyde’s, but they were slightly calloused. She wondered how someone who taught courses on dream psychology got calloused hands. He gently cupped her hips, careful not to touch her wounded left ass-cheek. Then she felt the humid heat of his breath just before his warm wet tongue pressed against the place where her thigh met her left buttock.
“Oh God!” she managed, as the unexpected, but delightful, sinuous lap of his tongue up the rounded contour of her ass cheek moved inward, closer to the cleft that she knew would taste nothing at all like peaches.
Meanwhile the doctor droned on that though at one point in our evolution, we liked the scents and odors of the body, at present that was less the case, and scented and flavored lubricants and lotions for sex often made the partners more comfortable with their personal smells.
“I like her smell,” came Al’s muffled reply. “It’s her I want to taste, not fucking peaches.”
“Wait a minute, you can smell me? I mean I’m sure you can smell me now, but … before?”
“I ha’ a ‘en’ative nothe,” came the slurped reply against her ass, and she decided right then and there that she was just fine with that.
“I fail to see how eating her out is going to help ease the pain at all,” Dr. Clyde observed as Al licked and slurped and nibbled ever closer to the ache at the center that had nothing to do with the spanking.
“It’s my dream.” Leah protested, wriggling and squirming to open her legs against the restraint of the panties around her knees. “If I want him to do … that, then surely he should do that.”
“It’s hardly a punishment though, is it?” the doctor said, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest observing Al’s efforts from the edge of Leah’s peripheral vision.
“Who the fuck ca -- res?” she managed with a little gasp as Al fingered her open to make room for his very talented tongue.
She was just getting into it, just beginning to think that maybe Al’s tongue was prehensile when she heard a grunt and opened her eyes to discover the good doctor had moved closer, and he was now observing with his trousers open, his gaze locked on what Al was doing to her bottom and his fist locked around his heavy erection, which pointed accusingly at her ass as he shifted his hips to free his balls.
Not that she wanted him to stop or anything, but she was just about to comment that she failed to see what his cock stroking had to do with her punishment when the sudden absence of a warm tongue from her nether region and the sound of a zipper opening told her that, in solidarity with his fellow male, Al had just freed Simba. She pressed her legs tightly together and wriggled just enough for the binding panties to drop to the floor. Then she kicked them aside and she was free too, opening her thighs anticipating more than Al’s tongue when the damn doctor called a halt to all activities.
“Now what?” Both she and Al growled at the same time.
“You’re not supposed to fuck her, Al. You’re supposed to spank her, punish her, make her repentant.”
“Oh I am,” she managed breathlessly. “I’m very repentant. I’ll never write down fake dreams again.”
Dr. Clyde ignored her. “Look, in the dreams, you’re both being punished. No one gets satisfaction until the punishment is complete.”
“Seriously?” Leah said, and Al cursed profusely.
Under different circumstance to hear such foul language from the mouth of her mild-mannered instructor would have shocked her, but at the moment, she was inclined to agree with him completely.
“Well, I suppose I could have some satisfaction,” the doctor added with a little shrug of his broad shoulders, and the movement made his dick look like it shrugged too in its anxious agreement.
“After all it’s not my dream and I’m not being punished.” Cock in hand, he insinuated himself between Al and Leah and with a quiver of anticipation, Leah wriggled against the table as he fingered her open.
“Wait a minute,” Al said. “This is Leah’s dream. What if she doesn’t want you to fuck her? What if she just wants to get on with it?”
“No, no! That’s all right. I’m good with it. I’m fine.” Leah just wanted someone to fuck her and soon! Since it was her dream, why not the good doctor? He was certainly ready.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t put your cock in her mouth if you want,” Dr. Clyde said to Al. “I suppose that could be considered punishment. It could certainly be considered humiliation in most BDSM circles, if done under the right circumstances, or so I’m told,” he added quickly.
“What if I put my cock up your ass instead,” Al said, shocking both Leah and Dr. Clyde as he yanked at the waistband of the man’s expensive trousers.
Before the doctor could protest, Leah added her own bit of profanity to the blue language hanging in the air. “It’s my dream, damn it! So just put your fucking cock in his fucking hole already! I don’t see how that can affect my punishment. And when you do, I want to see, so Doc, if you’ll just hand me the mirror.”
“Wait a minute, Al’s the Dom, not you.”
“Shut up, Doc!” both she and Al said at once.
“It’s my dream,” Leah repeated, “Besides,” she added quickly, “I’ve never seen a man fuck a man before.”
“Come to think of it, neither have I,” Dr. Clyde said. “Do you think you can angle the mirror so I can see too.”
*****
Buy Links:
Amazon (universal link): http://mybook.to/psychofdreams
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About K D Grace/Grace Marshall
Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, and a proud member of The Brit Babes, K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She loves mythology. She enjoys spending time in the gym – right now she’s having a mad affair with a pair of kettle bells. She loves to read, watch birds and do anything that gets her outdoors.
KD has erotica published with Totally Bound, SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall.
Find K D Here:
Websites: http://kdgrace.co.uk/ and http://www.thebritbabes.co.uk
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KD_Grace
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/kdgraceauthor/
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