"In your dreams!"
How often she'd used that line.  So many people left speechless as she
walked away, careless of their feelings, discarding them once they'd
served her purposes.

"In your dreams!"
He may have fixed her tyre, but a date?  She screeched as he grabbed her
hair, dragging her away from the road.  She screamed in protest as he
sat on a log, pulling her over his knee.  She howled as he started to
spank her.  She cursed him as he lifted her skirt and lowered her
panties.  She sobbed as she realised that no rescuer was likely to be on
this lonely stretch of road.  He pulled her head upwards and growled in
her ear.  "Maybe you should try pinching me baby!"

"In your dreams!" She muttered as she strained at her bonds.  Her
interrogator chuckled.
"I like a girl with spirit - gives me more time to play."  She gasped as
the birch flashed down again.  "But sooner or later you *will* give us
the information we require."

"In your dreams," said her analyst, "we see evidence of unresolved
conflicts.  I recommend a further six months of weekly sessions."  She
nodded, squirming uncomfortably in the hard chair.
"You can talk to my secretary on the way out."  She didn't bother
pulling  her panties up as she left the office.  The secretary would be
ready with her jar of soothing cream.  She just wished that the other
patients weren't there to watch.

"In your dreams," said her headmaster, "you may be something special,
but that does not excuse your cheating in the test."  The final
agonising stroke of the cane whistled in .  "Now get out of here," he
said menacingly, "and don't let me see you in here again!"
She scuttled out of the office.  With her skirt pinned up and her
knickers confiscated the twelve parallel lines would be on display for
the rest of the day.

"In your dreams," the priest intoned, "you have cavorted with incubi,
and summoned foul demons to wreak your will on this parish.  This
contamination of the spirit can only be purged by mortification of the
flesh.  Take her."  She knew it was useless to protest her innocence;
she allowed the men to strip her and bind her to the whipping post.  She
screamed as the first kiss of the whip drew a gasp from the crowd.

She woke, sweating.  One hand thrust between her thighs, the other
rubbed and scratched at her upthrust, supplicating buttocks, trying to
dispel the itching, crawling absence of the sensation they craved.  She
remembered how she had taunted him, how she had laughed when he had said
she should be punished for the way she used people, how her mantra, "in
your dreams," had faltered as she met his steady gaze, how she had
fallen into those deep, brown, hypnotic eyes.  Once again she heard him
pass sentence on her:

"Oh no, my dear!  In *your* dreams."