Content warning: this story contains some non-con and dub-con
Bridget writhed in bed, face buried in her pillow, hips humping against the fingers inside her, that trio standing in for the raring cock of the passionate lover unfortunately residing entirely in her fantasy. Her free hand groped at her breasts, standing in for said lover's assertive hands. Shivers fired over her from the building pleasure. The fantasy lover fucked her harder, with a lust bordering on violence. She sped her fingers up, thrusting them roughly into her channel, juices slicking towards her wrist. Her breathless moans were muffled by the pillow, ensuring that her father in the next room over would continue to be unaware of her nightly ritual.
The pleasure approached ecstasy. She did not stop, pushing herself into the soothing embrace of release. The fantasy lover followed, his cock erupting inside her. Imagination only went so far, as Bridget had yet to experience such a sensation, but she was sure it would be a wonderful reward for offering up her body so readily.
The moans calmed into sighs. She unwound, slumping into the mattress. The ecstasy emptied her mind of all thoughts. Her fingers slipped out and flopped onto the bed, the juices glazing her hand adding to the dampness already on the sheet.
She turned over, basking in the glow of satisfaction. The fantasy continued in her imagination, her lover eyeing her nakedness, raking an amorous gaze from her thighs to her sex and up over her belly to her breasts. She spread her legs, blushing at her reaction to this fantasy lover's attention.
If anyone knew what I think about when I masturbate...or that I masturbate at all and don't just sit on my hands waiting for a husband...
She eased onto her side away from the wetness on the sheet, closing her eyes, hoping sleep would come before more thoughts.
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Bridget walked up to her father's workspace, laden basket hanging from her elbow. He was at the forge, stooped over as always, his back to her. Lucas, his apprentice, was thankfully nowhere to be seen, likely out on a delivery.
"Papa!" she called over to him, staying a certain distance away, unwilling to brave the heat of the air around the forge.
He turned, his brow shining with sweat. A bright smile broke out over his face.
"Hello, Bridget!"
"I'm leaving to go visit Grandma Joanna. I'll be back tomorrow."
The smile grew wider.
"Oh, what a granddaughter you are! Tell my mother how much I love her, will you?"
"Of course, Papa!"
"And be careful on the road. Don't talk to strange men."
"I'll be careful," she assured him. "After all, who would take care of you if not me?"
He chuckled, a slight sadness underneath the mirth.
"Godspeed, daughter. I'll see you tomorrow!"
She smiled and turned to leave.
Lucas was trudging up the hill to the house. His tired expression gave way to a hopeful one.
"Bridget! How are you?"
"Fine, thank you," she said politely.
"Where are you headed off to?" he asked next, noticing her basket.
"I'm off to visit Grandma Joanna."
"Ah, do you want me to come with you to the convent?"
She shook her head, forcing a grateful smile.
"No, but thank you."
"Are you sure? You never how what sorts you'll run into on the road."
"I appreciate it, but I'm sure my father needs you here."
"Well, you're more important than his work, so I'm sure he won't mind if I escort you."
Give it up already.
"It's very sweet of you to offer, but I won't be that long on the road. The convent is just the next village over."
"Alright," he said with barely hidden disappointment. "Safe trip then."
"Thank you."
She slunk past him, heading down the hill, acutely aware of his gaze settling on her backside.
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The last houses at the edge of the village gave way to the road. Bridget walked along, basket swaying to her steps.
At least the inane chatter I might have on the road is likelier to be with folks I don't know.
The conversation with Laurel took the longest to escape from. The nosy older sister of the constable spent the majority of her day in the square, waiting to talk to whoever presented any sort of interesting topic. And when it came to Bridget, the topic was always Fulton, Laurel's youngest son, currently wifeless despite being a spectacular example of stalwart loyalty and gentlemanly charm.
According to his mother, at least.
Bridget knew full well that she was a tempting target for mothers who wanted their sons married.
Damn my childbearing hips and ample breasts. Perfect for bearing and nursing strong babes, apparently.
The road opened up away from the village. Blacktangle Forest waited ahead on either side, the dark, gnarled trees clawing towards the sky, shadow-winged birds wheeling above them cawing and crowing. Even just strolling through the areas of the forest closest to the road instilled a sense of danger. Venturing deeper, encroaching on the animals teeming in the sinister woods, courted actual danger, with stories abounding in the surrounding villages of intrepid, stupid, or unlucky travelers encountering vicious creatures.
Willem certainly never shuts up about the humongous wolf he saw last year. Said it walked on two legs.
The road was less populated in the late afternoon, with the sun about to set, but she still passed fellow travelers, sharing with each one the traditional cheery wave and friendly smile.
Her thoughts went ahead to her grandmother.
I wonder what sort of state she'll be in today.
While her grandmother was more or less physically healthy, her mind was muddled. Some days, she was her usual affectionate self, even if she had forgotten much of her life, on occasion mistaking Bridget for a long-deceased cousin. Other, more difficult days, she warred with the nuns who took care of her, convinced she was being held against her will or that the nuns were concocting some plot.
Nevertheless, Bridget did her best to visit frequently, often also on her father's behalf, since he was busy with work. The convent that had taken her in was easy enough to visit, at the far fringe of the next village over, and the nuns were happy to let Bridget stay overnight if necessary.
Further down the road, three monks in gray habits huddled around a wagon stuck in the mud.
She glanced up at the sky. Although the rain from earlier in the day had ceased, the gray clouds augured the possibility of more.
"Sister!" one of the monks called to her when she neared them. "Might you be able to help us?"
"How would she help us, Brother Martin?" one of the others asked crossly.
"All God's children can be helpful, Brother Leo," the first monk said, smiling at Bridget.
She readjusted the basket.
Brother Leo is probably right.
"I suppose so," she said, stepping carefully around towards the other side of the wagon.
The back left wheel was squelched into a patch of mud, the wagon slightly tipped over, a burlap blanket thrown over the contents.
"What can I do?" she asked, crouching to get a closer look. "I'm afraid I'll be of no help lifting the wheel out."
A hand clapped over her mouth and she was hauled roughly back. Her feet found no purchase in the mud, sinking in like the wheel, leaving her helpless. The basket fell to the ground, the contents bursting out.
"The fuck are you doing?" Leo hissed sharply. "Does it look like there's anything valuable in that basket?"
"She's got something valuable between her legs," Martin shot back, ignoring her feeble slaps on his forearm.
Leo eyed her, and then grumbled in annoyance.
"Fine, but do it in the woods, not here."
A fearful shiver ran down her spine. She squirmed, screaming into his palm.
Martin started to drag her away from the wagon, but the third monk threw up a hand to stop him.
"Someone's coming," he told them, nodding down the road in the direction Bridget had come from.
Leo grumbled again.
"Get down. If they see her, we're done for."
Martin dragged her closer to the wagon, stooping to hide against the far corner.
"Make a sound and I'll cut your throat," he whispered.
A sharp, cold blade teased at her neck, drawing a whimper from her.
Leo and the other monk moved around in front of the wagon.
"Afternoon!" came a loud voice. "Might we offer any help to you godly brothers?"
"Afternoon, friend!" Leo spoke. "And thank you, but we're waiting on a few of our number down the road."
"Ah, good! Where do you hail from?"
"St. Christopher's over in Brace."
"That's quite a ways away! I hope your destination is not too far."
"It never is when God is at your back."
"Quite so, quite so!"
Another, quieter voice spoke up then to the loud voice.
"Yes, very good, Marion, capital idea! Brothers, might we make a prayer request of you?"
"Why, of course! Name those in need and we shall send their need to God."
"Our niece Thea disappeared some months ago. We've sent out many a party but have yet to turn up anything."
"God is with her wherever she is, brother, do not doubt that."
"Thank you kindly. Your prayers will mean so much to us."
"She's probably long dead," Martin muttered, his palm firm on Bridget's mouth.
Please...help me...I know you can't see me but maybe if you insist on helping them...
Instead of anything constructive, the idle conversation continued. Bridget did not move, did not make noise. The blade left her neck but its absence offered little comfort.
"Move along already," Martin grumbled at one point.
Cold sweat built on her. She stared up at the sky, the full moon faint but visible, heralding the encroaching evening.
The voices finally bade farewell after some time and continued down the road.
"Not yet," Leo told Martin.
"Anyone coming from the other way?" Martin asked the other fellow.
"No."
"And you were complaining about no one being around."
"I'd rather gold or valuables than cunt."
"Well, I'm not as saintly as you, Desmond," Martin shot back.
"Alright, go on," Leo told him, waving towards the woods. "Just get her off the road."
Martin spun her around and heaved her over his shoulder, two sudden movements that left her head spinning. Now upside down, she clawed at his habit, but could not stop him from setting off on a brisk run towards the woods. A frantic glance at the road showed no one within view.
