Bestiality Dreams – Night 1: The Cat

Modern medicine cannot explain what happened. Many doctors tried, but none could identify the ailment that afflicted me. Their only recourse was to identify my symptoms—extreme fatigue and delirium—and suggest extensive bed rest and a high fluid intake. They were equally dumbfounded by my miraculous recovery. I remain similarly uncertain as to the nature of my peculiar illness, yet I will forever cherish the memories of those ten days I spend in bed. Hopefully you will too.

It had been mere hours since the appearance of the first symptoms and already the family doctor had given orders restricting me to my bed. Under normal circumstances, I would have been thrilled at the thought of missing a few days of school, but, given my extreme fatigue, enjoying my time off was impossible. No matter what I did, be it watch TV or read a book, I kept nodding off. And it was still quite early. In a final attempt at resisting sleep’s inviting embrace, I did something I knew would keep me firmly rooted in reality.

My hand slipped under the covers and slithered across my naked body until it reached my pussy. I began massaging my clit. A moan of delight floated past my lips. Two of my fingers slid into my wet slit. My eyes slowly closed and my breathing quickened. This was my first time masturbating since I had turned eighteen. It was bound to be a memorable experience. And it was, only not in the way I had hoped.

Soft moans toppled from my mouth as my fingers slid in and out of my wet slit. My free hand traveled to my breasts and began teasing my nipples. They were stiff with excitement. Each touch sent a shiver of delight rippling through me. My breathing quickened as I felt the familiar feel of nearing climax. It was only a matter of time before…

That was the last thing I remembered. One second I was pleasuring myself and the next I was asleep. Instantly, I started to dream.

I stood on a wooden porch. The planks creaked beneath me as I turned to study my surroundings. I instantly recognized the neighborhood. It belonged in my memories. Two houses down stood my childhood home. As thrilled as I was to see it, I was even more excited by the house that stood behind me. I whipped around and my suspicions were confirmed. It was my aunt’s house.

Aunt Abby had always been my favorite aunt. She was a little eccentric and owned far more cats than I could count—I had tried once, only to give up after passing the hundred cat mark—but I loved her dearly. Every time I came over, she would offer me home-baked cookies and a tall glass of milk. I visited her at least once a day for most of my childhood. But, mere days after my eleventh birthday, she passed away. No one knew the true cause for her passing, but many believed the cats turned on her and ate her alive. I never believed such a thing.

I had often fantasized about seeing her again, but knew it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Yet there I stood, feeling like an excited little girl visiting her favorite aunt after a long day at school. I feared I had reverted back to that innocent little girl, yet a quick downwards glance told me I was still the beautiful eighteen-year-old I had grown to be.

My excitement quickly became too much to handle.