Somewhere in the middle of the night, I awoke screaming from my dreams... But it wasn't a scream of fear or a scream of panic; it was the screaming from a wet dream, a dream of body-wracking, mind-blowing orgasm (orgasms?). I lay there panting, at first worried that my parents might have heard, and then I realized that I was all alone in my new place. The radio was still playing, but the ethereal music that had been on earlier had been replaced with something darker, stronger, heavier, something between blues and techno that was verging on being indescribable. I lay back and closed my eyes again, and let my mind wander over the dream I had just had, trying to summon as many details as I could before it faded from my memory, as dreams are prone to do.
In my dream, I had been a princess-bride of the modern era, the only child of an aristocratic family of good breeding in an age when the nouveau rich tend to overwhelm the media. I was ensconced in my bed, a heavenly bed of damsk and down (the real one about me reinforced the dream, drawing it out more), having settled down for a nap in the mid-afternoon, awaiting the arrival of my prince (the still faceless HIM) to arrive home to the country estate that my father had titled to us upon our wedding. I recalled that my father was displeased by the fact that I had chosen to fall for a rogue, a seeming drake at first, and then pleased by that same rogue's intellect and bearing, and had finally been pleased in the prospect of giving me away to this Man who obviously charmed me and loved me and left me always in high spirits.
The sun arched its' way across the sky as I slept, and then He arrived, striding into the house wearing a long coat (a trench coat? a cape? I am unsure, as it was but a dream) and riding boots. Calling the French maids, of which Yvette was one, He had them take His overcoat, and then kneel and pull off his boots, and finally had them draw a bath for Him. I slept fitfully, ever waiting, but able to see all this in the mind's eye of the dream state. He was rough but cultured beyond compare, in a strange combination that is so very rare. His hands were soft, but His arms and thighs strong, and His face was somewhere between pure rogue and intense confidence. He washed His own hair and body, but called in the maids to wash His back and feet, and to dry His skin when He emerged, clean. Shortly, He pulled them close in a manner akin to a conspiracy and nibbled and touched and then whispered something to them that caused them to giggle and bounce as they ran out.
The minutes passed and I stirred uneasily in my dream-sleep. Slowly, I came to wake in the dream, only to find that my hands had been bound behind my head to a rod of rosewood, which in turn was tied to the posts of the bed, and my feet were shackled and being pulled towards my hips and apart by the French maids. I looked up, first forward and saw the clock, then backwards and saw Him standing over me... He was behind the headboard, gazing down upon me as the covers were drawn back and my form was revealed to Him. His smile warmed me and any fear I might have had at my predicament left. The girls both kneeled, one on each side of the bed, as He continued to rove His eyes over my form. I wanted to speak, but knew instinctively not to, just looked at Him, absorbing His presence, happy that He was there.
He stepped around the side of the large bed, so large that it seemed to continue on almost forever, and leaned in to me, slowly bringing His lips near my skin. I could feel His breath on my neck, and the warmth radiating from His body coated me in indescribable ways. His hand pushed my face to the side and I felt Him nuzzling my neck, kissing it softly, at times licking at it very lightly. The way my head fell, my eyes locked with those of Yvette kneeling, seeing both her envy and excitement, which only served to reinforce my own lust. Her arms were folded behind her, hand to elbow, mimicking something I had seen in a lifestyle magazine once, causing her breasts to jut out invitingly, and at least in my mind, a bit obscenely, her nipples precariously thrusting past the top of her outfit. I wished I could see her lower half from my vantage point, but then the feeling of His attentions drew me back to the moment and I moaned my first moan.
His hands softly rubbed across my skin, bringing shivers of anticipation, anticipation of the unknown. His palm slowly dragged across my breast, circling about the aureole but not touching it directly, and my aureole swelled up as the nipple strained. My hips started rotating involuntarily just the slightest bit, and I felt the first feelings of my own growing wetness beginning to be noticeable. Grabbing my hair, He pulled my head back to face Him and kissed me deeply, unexpectedly, drawing my breath away, His tongue deep in my mouth, His eyes staring into mine as He kissed my soul. He knew that pulling on my hair would only serve to intensify my cravings and I moaned into His mouth as His kiss continued.
Then He drew my head back and proceeded to feast on my neck again, and I closed my eyes, taken by the intensity of Him. I could hear myself crying out in pleasure and moaning. I didn't even notice when the girls untied the wooden rod from the headboard and attached it to another set of ropes, ones connected to a ceiling fixture. Suddenly, I found Him gone, stepping back and I drew in a deep breath of cool air from where once He had been. The girls suddenly were on each side of me, placing their hands under my hips and shoulders, as across the room He started to pull me upright. I look confused and lost for the moment, wishing He had never stopped feasting on my skin.
My arms traveled over my head, attached to the wooden bar as they were, until the tension started to lift my shoulders from the bed as well. The girls each pushed upward, helping keep the stress off my wrists, and I quickly found that pulling myself erect helped also. Soon, I was standing in the midst of the bed, my legs still spread by the shackles, with my arms pulled over my head to the point of tautness. He continued, and I lifted free of the bed momentarily, during which the French maids pulled my legs further apart with the ropes attached to the shackles. He lowered me back down, my legs now almost three feet apart, my feet flat on the bed but my arms still taunt. I think He would have left me upon my tip-toes, had I not been standing on the soft material of the bed where such a stance would have been unstable. He smiled wickedly at me, and I knew that whatever He wanted, I would be happy to give it to Him; that smile melted me to my core.
The three of them were standing about me on the bed, one girl to each side on the front, and Him directly behind me. He stepped forward, so that I could feel His warm skin touch mine... a moment ago, He had been fully dressed, but then again, I reminded myself, this was but a dream. He grabbed my hair and twirled it about His hand, drawing my head back against His shoulder as He resumed His attack of my tender neck with His lips, teeth, tongue... Resumed His travels over my skin with His hands. I moaned and knew instantly that the nickname I had given Him was so very appropriate -- the Borg. After all, resistance was, indeed, useless. I pressed back against Him, grinding onto His hips involuntarily, wishing He were deep in me already.
Steadying Himself with His left hand on my hip, He reached forward with His right and pulled each of the naughty frenchmaid-wenches (as I think of them when I am in that state of mind) forward, one at a time. He had reached blindly, and at first had failed to find Yvette's neck, which was what He sought, but instead caught her cleavage. She gasped in a pleasant way and then leaned forward, so that His hand could come up and find her choker. He pulled her into me and I felt her warmth envelope my left side. Then He repeated His reach, pulling Nikki in to me also. I was totally surrounded. The whole time, His lips had never left my neck, and I had only seen what had transpired from that third-person point of view that a dream allows. The girls ran their hands over me, and started kissing my skin as well, and at this point I could feel His manhood swollen against my rear. His hands cupped my breasts, and both Yvette and Nikki took a nipple in their mouths, causing me to moan loudly. For some time, we all seemed frozen in this embrace, me moaning progressively louder, until the freeze was broken by the sensations of the girls' hands traveling up my inner-thighs.
He turned my head to the side and kissed me savagely, as the girls drew their hands to the very top of my thighs. As His kiss continued and I began to feel faint again, each girl bit one of my nipples lightly and simultaneously pulled outward on the very top of my thighs; suddenly I felt His shaft, hard, thick, long, sliding across the outside of my labia... Not into my depths as I might have wished, but directly past, so that it would be sticking out of the front, as if I had a short penis of my very own. By this point, my body's autopilot had taken over from any conscious thought and my hips thrust back and forth, dragging my wantonness across His shaft, back and forth, trying to rub my clit against it hard enough to cum. In the process, I was slowly coating His cock with my wetness, showing Him my desire at a most primitive level. I don't know how long it continued, but it seemed endless, Him hard against me, and I felt Him throb intensely, knowing He was doing it to tease, tempt, torment and torture me.
I pulled back from His kiss and sucked in a deep breath of air. Suddenly I heard myself crying out in a far away voice... "Please Sire, please Master, please!?!?! I am going to cum, please may your slut-slave-princess cum for your pleasure, ppppllllleeeeeaaassseee!???"
He whispered in my ear, albeit a bit loudly (perhaps for the benefit of our French maids), "My darling sweet little slut, you may cum in thirty seconds."
I thought I was going to go insane. Thirty seconds is longer than an eternity at times. I started counting the seconds in my head, a count-down from thirty, although I was doubtful that I would be able to hang onto any semblance of control over my impending orgasm that long.
Each of the wenches took their roaming hand and placed it upon my lower back, at the hip, as He took my head and turned it back to Him. The girls started chanting the count-down out loud, although I never stopped counting in my mind. He resumed kissing me, and then after fifteen seconds, sucked my breath into His lungs and then returned it to me, drew it back again, and again returned it to me. As He did so, the girls forced my hips into a new cadence, a new path, dragging my craving cunt in longer strokes against His wonderfully thick cock. As we reached 2, one our (His?) naughty frenchmaid-wenches, Nikki, moved her hand from my upper-thigh and pushed upwards on His cock, managing to force it deeper into the nestles of my cunt, forcing as much of it into contact with me as possible. With my ever-increasing wetness coating it, it felt like steel coated with cooking oils. I saw it in my mind, steel, chrome, infinitely long and infinitely hard, capable of readily filling me and splitting me apart, were He of mind to.
To say I had an orgasm would be a grossly negligent under-statement. It had been building since I first felt His breath upon me, and I had been at a place where I could easily have cum when His cock at first stroked across my skin. The attentions only drew it out longer, and the sharing of breath made it as intense as it possibly could be. My muscle contractions had already been in progress deep within my slutty little cunt when I started begging to cum; the wait had only intensified the contractions until they took over my entire body. The world dissolved, the universe zoomed though my being, and I reached nirvana. And stayed there. Forever.
