Silk Black Jester

I didn't know the first thing about Dreaming.

Sure, we all dream. Twisted in sweaty linens or clutching a pillow around our ears, usually. That's the bad dreams. But Dreaming, so I found out, is a little different. That was the best name they had for it, I guess. Other names were too tedious or weren't elegant enough. I didn't make the rules.

My name isn't Tracy, either. But it helps me to tell my tales if I'm just a wee bit annonymous. It doesn't make them any less fetching. Most of the time, I'm not even Tracy in my dreams.

This one, though... I was.

It started some time ago. My dorm room bed called out to me after a late night of working on a project. I was always in the lab doing some bit of design work. Layouts, wordmarks, and the occasional poster. Nothing that any design major wasn't used to. And, like all design majors (that actually do work occasionally) I was worn out. I crashed.

I didn't even have the energy to get into any PJ's. I just slipped off my pants and bra, sleeping in whatever wasn't too confining.

You take it with you. Into the dream, I mean. Something inside you makes moral lessons out of everything you do. The subconcious Jester, trying to poke fun at any ideosynchracies you have. It's not really important to discuss, but when I ended up in my dream, I was wearing what I went to bed in.

I really wished I would have worn something more conservative.

There was a low glow in the room I sat down in. It was the throbbing hum of the computer screens that dotted the Engineering Lab. Actually, it was just in the engineering building -- the Graphic Designers had pretty much staked it out.

I digress. There I was, sitting there in my panties and a sweaty tshirt (apparently this wasn't the first dream I'd had that night) and I noticed a tall man near the front of the lab, wrapped up in shadows like they were a blanket. He stepped forward slowly. He was indeed tall, a foot or more taller than me (who I should point out is very short. Maybe five foot two, tops) and had on a black tuxedo. Well, not really black, more of a midnight blue -- but I'd rather not split hairs.

I guess it's best to describe him as being a quintesential magician: The tuxedo, white gloves, top hat, and long cane. The oddest thing, though, was he had on a kind of hood. Like an executioner's mask, but softer, less intimidating. Blue black silk, that glittered like a starlit sky. I was waxing poetic even in my dream, not realizing that he was the one in control of it.

He spoke cooly, calmly, and had the most handsome voice I'd ever heard.

It was a deep bass that rumbled out, "Tracy." The pause at him knowing my name was shocking. It shouldn't surprise me that people in -my- dreams know -my- name. But already I knew this wasn't a normal dream.

That was the advantage I had.

"Tracy," he rumbled sweetly, again, "Could you please sit down on the counter?" It wasn't really a counter. More of a table in the back people set projects on during critiques. But, it was stuck to the wall, and I suppose that counts as a counter. At any rate, I'm digressing. Don't take it too personally, most of this is pretty embarrasing.

Anyway, I found myself sitting down. As long as he asked nicely, I thought, why not? My panties were cotton, but didn't quite cover me up down there. The ledge was smooth and cold, but I could feel the eraser crumbs of someone's edited project rolling along the back of my thigh as I sat. Smoothing out my shirt as if it were a formal affair, I smiled back up at him.

Really dopey like, too. I can't believe I remember all this.

"Tracy," he said, almost like he was 'testing me'. "Tracy, would you be so kind as to lift your hand for me?" He noticed my pause at not knowing which one. "Oh, the right, please."

I did it. He was charming. It isn't in a way you can describe. Dreams aren't real. His voice was better than anything that was real, because my mind is trained to create the best voice I can imagine. And it's better than that because it knows there's nothing better.

It's a hard concept to explain, so I won't. But he turned around to hide his pleased posture at my willingness to do what he wanted. I wasn't worried. Not until his next request. But first he introduced himself.

"Tracy," he said... and I could hear anticipation in his voice. His charming voice, "Tracy, my name is Somnus." Clever, I thought. Like sleep. "That's all you need to call me, Tracy. Will that be alright?"

I nodded and smiled. No, I actually giggled lightly. Me. Giggling. He was still so charming. As long as I knew it was a dream, and nothing he asked was too weird, I'd be happy. But then... then Somnus started getting wierd. I caught on pretty quickly to it, too.

"Tracy," He asked again... always starting with my name. And as if asking me politely to pass the butter, he said, "Tracy, could you please change your clothes? I'd like you to wear silk."

I was a little taken back. Silk? Well, it still wasn't all that odd, but when he tapped that long black cane on the floor, I had this chilly prickles run through my skin like gooseflesh. It was exhilerating, but a little disconcerting. A wild wind brushed up and over my feet, between my legs and under my tshirt. The cold turned frigid as I felt my panties and shirt icey. They weren't icy, though, they were changing.

I say this with a lot of embarassment, but the Jester won't let me leave anything out. But like a spiderweb drifting on a slow breeze, the remains of my shirt drifted back down. The sheer slip of my panties carressed my bottom (and front for those of you that can't think about anything else.) It was cold, it was sheer. And slippery. Like Silk.

It -was- silk.

NOW, I was scared. Just asking me to change was enough to have my clothing alter to what he wanted. I saw the same crappy design on the shirt, the same little hole in my panties, but they were very thin and very -silk-. Not cotton. Naturally, I was still cold, so my nipples stuck out, poking at the thin slip of a shirt announcing just how small they were.

He laugh as I sat there bewildered. It had worked. He'd done it. What it was he'd accomplished I still don't know, but I think he was a new Dreamer... just like I was about to be. As new as he was, though, he was powerful.

And very, very, ambitious.

"This is all well and good. Would you like to have some fun?"

I wasn't sure what fun meant. Most of the stuff he was doing was pretty benign. I suppose fun could mean a game of some kind. He sheepishly nodded, wondering what was going to happen next.

"Tracy," he said looking me over. "A silk tshirt and panties aren't especially 'fun' clothes. What say we change them?" It was like he was getting his dialog from some cheesey dimestore novel. Tshirt and panties not fun? Duh. Whatever. I just kept that smile on my face and waited.

"Tracy... when I think of clothes depicting fun, I think of a circus. Maybe clowns." He's thinking aloud. I didn't like the sound of this. I tensed as he said, "No... a Jester." Feeling the material of my Tshirt, it was clear he liked the silkyness of it. "Tracy... could you please be a Silk... Black... Jester."

He came up with it off the top of his head. This guy was egotistical. And I was feeling the brunt of his ego.

First, my clothing disolved into skyclad nakedness. Then, the tingling started at the nape of my neck... the right side. Black silky... lycra I guess, slithered from this weird glow down my right arm and my breast, tickling as it went. When it reached my midriff, it turned into a checkered pattern that continued down my right leg, sealing off. The, the silk started up my left leg, starting off black, snaking until the same midriff point until it too became chekered.

What costume is complete without accessories, his imagination must have thought? A pair of gloves popped onto my hands, White right, and black left, made of a slippery black leathery rubber. My feet stepped into black and white shoes. Clunky, really, and patent leather.

Around my waist snaked this wide, soft, silk ribbon. Tying like I was some sort of present. I didn't want to know what -that- meant. But I just stood there, dumbstruck as the Jester's cap was the 'crowning' touch to his little construction. That, and the white pancake and black lipstick. I was like a psycho mime. All he could do was smile.

"Tracy," he said, his tone a bit more sinister. I was starting to -not- like that deep voice anymore. I didn't want to wait around for him to decide what to ask me next.

Trying to get up proved to be a problem. Silk is pretty slippery, especially on a formica tabletop. So when I pushed off, I flopped off onto the floor, ending up on my duff. I didn't stop, though, and broke into a pretty frantic crawl toward the door.

"Tracy," he continued, sounding sweet. Like drinking a bottle of Corn Syrup. The sound made me want to puke. "Tracy, would you please be bouyant?"

I didn't even know for sure what he meant. But he had learned that asking nicely got him what he wanted. I continued to crawl, but one jarring knee to the carpet sent me spinning out of control into the air. I howled in surprise as I bounced off the ceiling, the crashed into a computer sending it to the floor.

By the time I came to a gentle (and pretty much immobile) pause in the middle of the lab -- in the middle of the air, mind you -- he'd crossed the room and caught up to me. He tapped my leg lightly, watching me bop from his fingertips like I was a party balloon.

I wasn't enjoying this. It was demeaning, a bit frightening, and extremely drafty. He'd turned me to face him after having some fun batting me around the room. Time to wet his creative whistle. And unfortunately for me, that bouyancy trick had given him an idea.

"Tracy..." he said with a smile. "Please, if you would... could you be inflatable?"

My eyes went very wide at this. I wasn't relishing the idea of becoming some fat bloated thing for this guy. Charming or not, this was getting scary.

"Tracy, please enjoy yourself." He said as he grabbed me by my ankle and tugged at this weird nozzle at my belly.

I struggled somewhat until he took his first breath. Shrrroooooooohhhhm, it slid into me, and my body made this odd sound, like those big 'punch' balloons made when you blew them up. It made me shudder like no feeling I've ever felt. But for some reason, it wasn't getting to my mind. I felt it physically, but I was -not- enjoying it mentally.

Fooooooooommmmmmmmmppph. The second breath came in. The air was creeping down to my thighs, spreading my apendages out widely from my body. I could feel my eyes bulge and my cheeks puff. The suit seemed to hold it all in, extending the girth of my rounding body out in front of me. An orgasmic wave swpet through me making me moan in spite of myself. As if he were licking my belly button, I could feel his tongue and lips on the nozzle. It was me.

And "me" was getting huge.

Shoooooooooooohhhhhhffffffff. Another big breath. I was gigantic, my head popping out the top of the Silk Black Jester, the deely-bobs bouncing comically back and forth. I could feel my fingers wiggling at the ends of my distended gloves, and could see my cheeks pufing out around my nose and bloated lips. Looking at him as he tied off my belly button (Which really hurt. I can give you an idea of what that felt like... stick your finger into your belly button, and dig around a bit. You feel like it's attached ... well, anyway, I digress again.)

I kinda floated around the room aimlessly as he said, "Tracy, are you enjoying this?"

I didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to tell him that the feeling of my skin stretched tight like a drum was like the best sex I'd ever had. I didn't want to admit that the thrill of being so huge and different was exhillerating. I didn't want to admit that this prick was actually starting to become attractive.

So I didn't. I just floated there.

He smiled and said as he walked out the door. "Tracy, one last thing. Could you please deflate for me?"

The door shut. And as if getting kicked in the ribs, air thrust itself out my nose and mouth. I flew around the room like som edamned cartoon parody, my lips flappling against each other as cubic yard after cubic yard of that bastard's breath burblrd out of my lips.

I could feel it all over: my skin and face, and body and EVERYthing all beginning to sag. Stretched beyond human endurance was ever meant to be, I ened up a pile of spent latex-girl, draped over the powerMac in the corner. As I felt the speaker of the monitor digging into what was my hip, back, and flopped left arm, I wondered just what it was that let him do what he did.

When I woke up the next morning, I knew I'd found the answer. When next we met... I'd be ready for Somnus. Revenge would be sweet. Or so I thought.

Turns out, the Silk Black Jester had other plans.