From suki@fish.com Wed Apr 02 17:46:00 1997
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From: Suki <suki@fish.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: STORY:   Within the Shadows Of Dreams (femdom, nc)
Date: Wed, 02 Apr 1997 14:46:00 -0800
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Within the Shadows Of Dreams

					by Suki
					      

	The more I heard, the more I hated him.  He represented everything I 
fought against, and I had seen too many victims of people like him. 
Scarred, 
mutilated, broken... some on the outside, but most of the damage
within....

	He married her when she was young.  Fourteen, still a child herself.  
By fifteen she had a nine month old baby, a girl, their first child.

	By the time his daughter was eight years old, he was already taking 
out his anger and frustrations on her.  His daughter.  His flesh and
blood.  
Beating her, kicking her, yelling.....  

	His wife became pregnant again and the beating on his child became 
worse.  He never hit is wife, his daughter saw to that.  Because by
eight 
years old she was smart enough to see if her father was beginning to
focus 
his anger on his wife, and refocus it on her.    She took the beatings
on 
herself.  And the older she grew, the worse they became.   

	He cracked her ribs.  He kicked her down flights of stairs.  He beat he
until he was exhausted.  This continued while three more children were
born.

	By age fourteen his first born daughter was reacting like many 
victims of abuse.  She was out of control.  Drugs, alcohol, pulling
dangerous 
stunts.... a hell-raiser.  Having trouble with her self-esteem, being
raised by
an abusive father and molested for several years by various uncles, she
got 
her anger out in the only way she had learned...  on herself.

	By age sixteen she had gotten her life together.  Partially because she 
wanted too, and partially because she had no choice.  Her mother was an 
alcoholic, and the burden of raising her three siblings fell on her
shoulders.
She took up power lifting, dropped the drugs and confronted her father. 
On 
his birthday, no less.  They sat down together and she made it clear to
him 
in a deadly serious tone of voice, that if he ever so much as touched
her 
siblings she would kill him.  And she meant it.

	He switched to emotional abuse.  She quietly took it.  

	He refused to see his wife's blatant alcoholism or his daughters 
troubles.  On one of the many nights he allowed his wife to drive his 
children home while she was drunk, despite the frantic protests of his 
eldest, his wife wrecked the car.  The eldest hung on to the youngest
for 
dear life, trying to shield the youngest with her body.

	Even after wrapping the car around a tree, her mother still tried to 
pull out.  The eldest convinced her mother to go to the bathroom in the 
woods by the side of the car, and then grabbed the car keys and threw
them 
under the car.  She could not stop her mother from driving any other
way.  
And if her mother came back and the keys were around the eldest would
have 
been beaten until the keys were handed over.  

	He still refused to see his wife's problem.

	As the eldest grew older she became the pivotal force of the family.  
Her father gave her a job at the company he owned and paid her less than
she 
would make anywhere else for a fourty hour work week that was actually 
sixty to seventy hours a week.  And if she missed a day he docked her
pay.  

	At night when her parents went out they left her in charge of her 
siblings, who had been raised more by her than by their mother and
treated 
her as such.  In turn, she felt as if she were their mother, and loved
them as 
"her kids".

	They were what kept her trapped.  A simple threat of being thrown out 
and never allowed to see them again silenced her protests.

	Then the final straw.  He maneuvered his eldest daughter into a trap 
situation in which she was damned if she did, damned if she didn't.  One 
option left her in as much of a dilemma as the other.  There were no
options, 
and no outs.  The _perfect_ emotional abuse.  And it began to take it's
toll.

	She tried not to let it show, tried to "be strong" and pretend she was 
fine, but I could see her slipping.... loosing her grip....  hurting. 
And I
hurt for 
her.

	At the same time I was furious.  Angry to such a high degree that it 
allowed for my wishes to come true.  To visit his dreams.  And I chose
to 
conjure up his worst nightmares.

	I came to him that first night dressed in simple black, looking exactly 
like myself.  I wanted him to recognize me.

	"I know what you've done."  I told him, walking in the shadows of his 
dreams.  I changed the color to misty blue, the darkness of the color 
enhancing the mood I was trying to create.

	He confronted me, belligerent.  "You know nothing!" he snapped, trying 
to intimidate me.  He moved into my space.  But I knew better.  
	
	I reached up with a leather gloved hand and shoved him, giving myself 
the strength to push him over.  As if he weighed nothing.  He was
nothing.  He 
looked up at me from the floor, his mouth agape in shocked surprise.  I 
changed the colors to blood red, matching the fury of my feelings.

	"Your own daughter!" I ground out in slow, cutting syllables.  "Your 
own flesh and blood!  You hurt her, deliberately, time and time again. 
You!  
You caused the pain in your family.  You failed to protect her fragile 
sexuality.  You!  Because you felt powerless you took it out on her. 
You are 
nothing!  Powerless.  Pitiful."

	He shrank back away from me, remaining low down to the floor.  
Deliberately, I escalated his fear, letting it feed off of its' self,
and 
intensify.  It made me feel good to see him cower.  The color of his
dreams 
changed to murky black, and I faded slowly out of his sight, never
breaking 
eye contact or the accusations in my eyes.  I hope he woke up screaming.

	Night after night I re-visited him, each time bringing the terror and 
accusations with me.  I heard reports that he was having trouble
sleeping, 
taking pills and loosing weight.  I continued the nightmares.

	Then one day I walked into his company.  Dressed in my usual black, 
calling greetings to those I knew, I headed straight for his office. 
When I 
reached the glass walls of his office I did not enter.  He was inside
doing 
paperwork.  I stared at him, my face impassive.  

	Feeling my stare he looked up, and then turned deathly white.  The 
shadows under his eyes looked black against the pallor of his skin. 
Without 
a word I stared directly into his eyes.  A long moment passed.  Then I
turned 
my back on him, and walked away.

	He had felt his power by taking it from others, now he truly knew how 
it felt to have it taken away.

						
Copyright April, 1993