We hit a bump and my brain rattled in my skull. It was never smooth riding on the potholed road leading out of my village, but at least I could usually avoid them on the two agile wheels of my bicycle. The only small comfort here was the seatbelt securely strapped from right shoulder to left hip, from left hip to right hip. The driver had done it for me, slipping metal into metal with a satisfying click.
I pressed my forehead against the window and watched the last few homes of my village slip away, my breath fogging up the glass until even the countryside disappeared in a haze of white. I sank back into my seat and closed my eyes, letting the jostling of the road rock me to sleep.
I woke up to a kind of quiet I had never heard before. There was nighttime quiet, but that was filled with the relentless buzzing of bugs in the summer, the crackling of the wood stove in the winter, and the constant snores and shufflings of my family all year round. There was church quiet, but that lasted for only seconds at a time before it was interrupted by someone’s cough or the organist beginning a new song.
This was a smooth purring, a slight vibration I could feel better than I could hear. Through the window I could see the road: smooth, shiny, black. Not a bump or crack in sight. Even the trees looked different. Perfectly uniform, they lined the road on either side, arching over us to form an unbroken tunnel of dark green and ash.
“Are we almost there?” I asked the driver, emboldened by the final dregs of my swiftly dissipating dream. I think I had been someone important in it. Regardless, I got no response.
This is just how it goes: one of the lords needs a wife (or sometimes a husband), and they send a team of inspectors out to find it for them. I’ve heard rumors that the lord himself often comes along, disguised in the drab beige and olive of the inspector uniform. They summon all the girls who fit their basic requirements – height, weight, hair color, eye color – to the main hall, and then they conduct a more thorough interview.
I’ve had to line up for them five times since I turned sixteen. At twenty-two, I thought I no longer had a chance, so I was pleasantly surprised to find myself called this final, fateful time. Being selected is bittersweet: most families never see their daughter again, outside of the occasional letter or even rarer photograph, but they get a generous monthly check in their stead. Enough to buy more livestock, new boots for the whole family, maybe even a tractor.
This last interview had left me with a bad taste in my mouth, but I didn’t want to taint my final goodbyes by mentioning anything to my family. Like usual, there was a segment early in the interview where we had to disrobe. Usually the inspectors would circle us for a few minutes before ordering our clothes back on, and the questions would resume. This time, however…
***
One of the inspectors stood directly in front of me. He was young and handsome enough, in the pale way they usually were.
“Open your mouth,” he droned, clearly bored with the whole process. He ran a gloved hand along my teeth, ostensibly checking them for health and strength. But then he unexpectedly shoved his hand deeper inside, causing me to retch and jerk backwards. Instead of apologizing, he coolly wiped his wet glove on my cheek. The rapidly cooling saliva felt like ice on my burning face.
Another inspector joined him. This one was significantly older – in different clothes, he could have been a friend of my father’s. He had a thick, trimmed beard, a shaved head, and cold eyes.
He reached out and pinched my right nipple, expertly rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until it hardened. He gave it a small tug and repeated the process on the left. They exchanged appraising glances. He stepped closer and reached out again, this time heading lower. I swear I couldn’t help it – I reflexively batted his hand out of the way.
There was a sharp crack. Stars danced in front of my eyes. The younger inspector was suddenly behind me, pinning my arms to my sides, pressing something hard and hot into my back. The older inspector gripped my jaw with his left hand. I clenched my teeth involuntarily.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered. At least no boredom this time. I remembered where and who I was and complied. He roughly swiped two fingers inside, coating them thoroughly in spit. “Better. Now close your eyes.”
His fingers made a slow, wet trail down my stomach, then started to slide down the inner crease of my right thigh. I twitched. The fingers stopped.
“Has anyone touched you here before?”
“No, sir.”
“Saving yourself like you should?”
“Yes, sir.” I hesitated. “Please… don’t, sir.” I heard him chuckle.
“I know better than to devalue the lord’s property.”
I heard his boots walk away. The inspector holding me pressed his hips more firmly into my back for one more moment, then he too walked off. I stood there, shivering, not daring to open my eyes until we were ordered to dress again.
***
The car slowed. We had arrived.
(to be continued when I have more time)
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/arwi7v/had_a_long_long_sex_fantasydream_last_night_and
This is obviously just the introduction to the story – I woke up from an unusually detailed sex dream and started writing it down this morning. The details are already fading, so I’ll have to improvise, but I’m hoping to make this into a pretty long, switchy sex epic.
There will be themes of non-con, bdsm, misogyny, revenge, mdom and fdom, reverse roles (I’m a huge switch), and of course fantasy.
Never done this before and would love constructive criticism!