In her dream, Dorothy was bound to a gurney.
Leather straps crossed her shoulders and her ribs. They pinned Dorothy’s arms to her sides and pressed her back against the stainless steel beneath her. Squeezed between those bands, her breasts seemed even larger than they were. They strained the buttons of the threadbare grey shirt she wore.
A draft prickled over Dorothy’s legs, and she realized that she wasn’t wearing anything else. Below her thighs, where the shirt’s hem gave out, it was all plump, smooth flesh to the tips of her toes. As the chill crept higher, Dorothy tried to close her legs and was brought up short with a rattling sound. She raised her head.
Dorothy’s ankles had been shackled to the sides of the gurney.She struggled then, but all she could do was shift and raise her hips. The helplessness of that undulation clutched her heart and quickened her pulse. Dorothy had no idea where she was, or who had done this to her. She didn’t know what they wanted with her. All she knew was that she couldn’t get free.
Dorothy fell back against the gurney, breathing heavily. Strands of hair had fallen over her face, into her mouth, but she couldn’t brush them away. The only light in the room was a dull, remote fluorescence that did little more than touch the edges of objects around her. Unable to see well, Dorothy listened instead: to her own breath, and the whisper of conditioned air, and below these, to a hum that she could not identify.
She heard someone approaching.
Before Dorothy could turn her head, a face appeared above her. A face, or perhaps a mask. The eyes were bulbous, glassy, without whites or pupils; the nose hooked like the beak of an ibis. Dangling from the back of the head were greasy black things that might have been feathers, or tarred ropes. There was no mouth.
The thing reached for her. Dorothy tried to scream, but no sound came out.Its fingers narrowed at the tips to fine points. With a delicate motion of these points, the figure slipped the topmost of Dorothy’s buttons from its hole. Then the next, and the next, its fingertips clicking on the plastic of the buttons.
Dorothy shivered. Her shackles clattered against the gurney. With her torso pinned down, Dorothy could only watch as the thing moved its hands over her. Each button unfastened revealed more of her breasts and the deep cleft between them. Carefully, the stranger folded back her shirt between the straps until her bosom rose bare, kissed by the cool air and the fluorescent light.
Those fine fingertips brushed both of her breasts, tracing furrows into their curves. It stung a little, then tingled deep under the surface. The skin around Dorothy’s nipples puckered and the nipples themselves stiffened into prominent buds. She thought that the figure might rake them with its nails, but instead it turned its hands and cupped the sides of her breasts in its palms, pressing them together. Dorothy felt the sweat that had gathered between her breasts despite the chill. Trapped and motionless, she watched the masked stranger make mounds of her soft flesh. Her nipples were pushed close to each other and when they touched, the shock of it crackled down into her belly.
Again Dorothy tried to speak, to ask the figure what it was or beg it to stop, but all she heard was her own ragged breathing. Shadows gathered at the corners of her vision as the stranger’s touch took hold of her consciousness. Her chest rose and fell; her nipples ached to be fondled.Instead, the other put a hand between her legs. Dorothy’s thighs shook. She jerked her shackles in an effort to raise her knees and close them against that touch, but the bands around her ankles kept her legs spread wide.
She was both terrified and aroused, and powerless to prevent what was being done to her…