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Slutty Wife visits her Priest and learns more about herself.

There were at least ten men, aroused, staring at her performance. And there were women, stroking these men's cocks. At the realization that her own desperate erotic acts were on display, she went absolutely mad with desire. She saw, in a vision within the dream, these men endlessly using her, fucking her mouth, her cunt, her tits, anointing her with endless jets of cum. In that instant, the two men she was stroking and sucking erupted, their cocks pumping spurt after spurt of warm, translucent jizz all over her face. It ran in rivulets down her cheeks, and dripped from her lips onto her nipples. Though her clit hadn't been touched, her own orgasm tore through her.

Then she found herself drifting away from the house, floating between worlds. Another numeral appeared before her, this time, a "3". What could that possibly mean?

She awoke in her bed. It was nearly dawn. Her body was drenched in sweat, her thighs soaked from her cunt juices. She shook, violently, for a few seconds, and then the spasm subsided. She slipped back into (now dreamless) sleep.

Her alarm clock woke her. She showered, washing away the physical evidence of the "surreality" of the night before. She ate breakfast, and then drove to the realty office. On the road, unbidden erotic images flashed through her mind: Herself, on her knees, stretching her tongue to lick the underside of a proffered, erect and throbbing cock, while a group of men masturbated around her. Pauline pumping cocks in and out of Christine's mouth. And a man presenting his truly enormous cock, rigid and dripping before her eyes, demanding the answer to a question she could not hear.

The images intruded repeatedly throughout the day, until she was exhausted from the effort of remaining focused on her work. The hours seemed interminable, but finally, she was done with her clients, and headed home. After a light dinner and a bit of TV, she gratefully crawled into bed.

Soon, sleep brought her back to her House, to Pauline, and two additional women--Anna and Sophia they were called, perhaps--and the men waiting to use her. The image of the man with the enormous phallus had become real, at least in this dream state. He was tall and athletic, but she could not see his face, so riveted were her eyes on his dripping, shining cock. He demanded, "Christine, describe what you see!" All she could see was his cock, which seemed to grow, as the room and the men and the women, and everything else seemed to fade away. The absurdly large penis towered over her, now. It somehow morphed into something else, entirely: a tall and slender tree. Christine then sank into a deep, dreamless sleep, where she could escape, for a time, from this seemingly impossible riddle.

She awoke the next morning, surprisingly refreshed. She'd arranged to take a few days off from work, so she'd slept in. It restored her energy. She showered, and had breakfast. As she ate, she almost absentmindedly began to think of the series of dreams. She wanted to dismiss the whole thing as the product of a lurid imagination. The images that came at the end of each dream were incongruous, preposterous: A "4," a "3," and a tree. "Four, three, tree." That rhymed, but still made no sense. But the thought struck her: "It wasn't a broad tree like an oak or maple. Surely the phallic shape means something." As a real estate agent, she knew not only houses, but landscaping as well. She knew her trees. This one was a poplar. Thoughts of the images ran through her mind like a mantra: "Four, three, poplar; four, three, poplar, four three..." She stopped, caught up short. In an instant, she knew the answer: "Four, three, Poplar. 43 Poplar Drive." It was an address!

It was an address in the very area in which she'd been showing real estate, two days earlier.

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