u/heretodayandgonein60

I’m butch (‘tomboy’) in my small victorian-ish village. this is ok for a time— a normal phase of girlhood so many have grown out of. But i’m reaching marriage age, and I still have not shed my unseemly clothing or habits. quietly, my parents begin looking for a husband for me. they tell me nothing, because they know that I’ll refuse.

A day comes that my mother calls me into her room. a white dress lays across the bed. She tells me that it’s time to be a woman, that she’s found a husband who is willing to take me even with my short hair and scraped knees. that i need to grow up, that it’s either this or i’m out on the streets.

when the day comes i am miserable in my scratchy, awkward dress. I look ridiculous. my parents are on either side of me, essentially forcing me down the aisle.

At the end? a man who looks like nothing much in particular. much older. sometimes when i imagine it he’s gleeful with his strange young bride. in others, he’s implacable and hard to read. i can’t focus throughout the ceremony. It’s perfunctory— there are barely any attendees. I stare at my new grooms shoes and try and disassociate. soon, there’s the kiss. He lifts my veil and jaw up, scratches me with his beard. I hate it.

the wedding night arrives and i want to run. I know what’s expected of me. I trail behind my new husband like I’m headed to the gallows. he keeps his big hand on my lower back and it feels like steel shackles.

we stand before the bed. he doesn’t say much, just tells me to sit down, pushes down on my shoulders.

“do you know what I’m going to do to you?” he says, steady. I nod my head, though later i’d realize that I didn’t know, not really. My concept of laying with a husband came from animals in the barnyard and vague analogies to birds and bees. I notice that there is a bulge in the front of his trousers. He grabs my hand, small in his own, and puts it there.

“As my wife, you’re to obey me. You’re to perform your duties here, and I’ll perform mine.”

He unbuttons his trousers. My hand is now on his cock, harder than I would have thought, and so hot to the touch. My stomach turns over. Hand over hand he guides me into loosely pleasuring him.

“This is my cock. I’m going to put it inside of you, and fuck you, until the seed comes out. That’s what will make you with child. You’ll be quiet and still and let me do what I need.”

He pushes me back, gently. There’s no need for force; i’ll comply. I stare at the ceiling. He pushes my thighs apart inside the white dress. He gets on top of me and there is hot breath on my face. He doesn’t make me look but I feel the nudge against my thigh, against the top of my pussy, trying to find the way in.

“Huh. You’re wetter than I would have thought,” he huffs. I don’t respond. The head of his cock catches. I can’t breathe.

He pushes it in. It hurts. I gasp. He groans in my ear. He pushes forwards again. I can’t help the tears that push out down my cheeks. He feels huge over top of me. Hulking, sweating, inescapable. His hips hurt when they collide with my own. The hand that isn’t bracing himself moves to palm my chest. He starts panting and grunting and fucking me in earnest now. It stops hurting, but that’s worse, almost. The pain meant I was defiant, and now? I’m adjusting. I’m someone who can adjust to her husband’s cock inside of her. He gets rougher. Speeds up. Eventually he seizes and jerks forwards in short little bursts. Something searing hot spurts inside of me. I want to retch.

After what feels like a thousand years, my husband rolls off of me. He wipes his sweaty face on his shirt. The goo he shot inside of me leaks out between my legs and stains the back of the stupid dress.

“I’ll be back later,” he says, and shuffles off.

I’m alone again. I curl up into a little ball. I try not to think about what the rest of my life will look like.

finally !!

fantasy since high school [misogyny, nonconsent, all ok]