3) The Wife.

Rachel:

A wiry, masculine hand extends towards me, appearing suddenly from the darkness. I can feel fear rising, threatening to spill over into panic. I try to turn, but my movements feel sluggish, as if my body is submerged. The hand moves fast... so incredibly fast... I know that my only prayer is to keep it from my neck. 

My throat is so vulnerable. It feels so exposed... I wish there was something... anything... to keep that hand from strangling me. 

The darkness seems to grow as the hand moves; I can never see the form that the hand belongs to. Only the hand itself is visible, and this is both a relief and a horror. I cannot see, but I am seen. This realization terrifies me... and yet somehow it is thrilling. Why? 

The darkness thankfully hides the glaring eyes of my attacker, but I know that I am fully illuminated. I am exposed. I can feel invisible eyes leering at me through the pitch black; they pierce through me with overwhelming judgment. Somehow I am sure that they can see every flaw and insecurity within my being, of which there are so many. 

My physical female shape suddenly seems so drab and unappealing. Every ounce of fat on my frame adds to my shamefulness. I know that I have gained weight recently, but my body has never before seemed so ugly. So embarrassing.

Voices fill my ears, informing me of how gross and disgusting I am. I look down at my torso. The pudge that I have developed over the past few years is there... but suddenly I can see it as the men in my life must truly see it... repulsive, vile mounds of cellulite hanging from my frame like leeches. It is sucking away at my youthful beauty.

"My husband says he loves me no matter what!" I try to scream, but the words are captured and dragged back into my lungs. 

"Lies." The voices growl, merging into a single, deafening shout. It is the sound of every male authority figure throughout my entire life. "No man would ever desire you. Fat. Haughty. Disgusting. Unsubmissive. Worthless. Garbage." Tears stream from my face. "Weak. Pathetic. Unworthy."

The masculine claw has almost reached me now; it clenches repeatedly, aiming for my neck. I turn away, laborious and slow, but I barely manage to hide my vulnerable jugular from the hand's overwhelming power. Turning my back on the hand causes terror to grip my intestines, but I know what will happen if it grasps my windpipe.

I feel a sudden, violent snatch at my scalp, as the hand weaves itself into my messy brown hair, cinching tightly. I can feel a splash of pain as the grip tightens, snatching my head backwards. The words continue to resonate in my ears. "Irrelevant. Vile. Meaningless. Loud. Irreverent. Scum."

This is a dream. I know that this is a dream, but in dreams you aren't supposed to feel pain... but I do. I can feel the fingers ripping at my hair. I want to pinch myself to wake up, but my hands won't obey.

Pinching... a thousand hands suddenly coalesce from nothing, and begin pawing at me. My clothes are shredded, and the hands all descend upon my body. Gripping, pulling, pinching... The pain emerges, but it is twinged with a euphoric edge that my mind cannot fathom. 

I gaze down upon my body, but now it is bloated, a gelatinous mess... I try to shut out the sight, but my eyes cannot close.

My breasts are bare, and my legs are pulled apart. The unkempt hair of my sex seems so shameful when exposed like this. I writhe and shake, but the hands grip me with unyielding force. 

"Look at your filthy, grotesque body, Rachel!" The voice is screaming, demanding with the utmost authority. My head is shoved forward, and I am forced to see. "This is what men see when they look upon your repulsive form."

The body below me is not mine... yet it undeniably is, my mind insists. This repellent form is my true self. It must be. The voices insist it is so. 

"We will make you better! We will make you worthy! Your value comes from us, so we will shape you into something worthy of being seen!"

A hand grips the hair of my sex and prepares to pull. I expect pain, and I receive it... but in the moment I can feel my cunt gushing with sexual arousal. The other hands grip at every inch of fat on my body. They pull and push. I can feel the fingers digging deep into my flesh. The fat is removed in an instant with only the slightest sting following its departure. 

When the hands return, they begin caressing and massaging my breasts, my waist, my thighs, my feet, my face... I can feel every inch of my body being stimulated by the countless digits.

Fingers dance across my outer labia. I am silently begging them to drive into my pussy, but they merely tease. Hands grab each of my feet and begin rubbing the most delicate areas across the soles. Their motions are perfect, sensual movements, and I splay my toes apart, yearning for them to dig deeper.  

The combined touch of all these phantasms sends heavenly sensations across the surface of my skin. The independent woman within me wants to reject their unrequested advances, but the pleasure rippling through my body is too great. I love this. I know I shouldn't, but I do. 

"Look at your body now!" Unseen voices suddenly command. 

Gazing down, I gasp at my incredible, flawless beauty. My breasts are perky, my waistline is slim and sublime, and my pussy is perfectly smooth. I have never been this beautiful, since the day I was born. The voices yet again insist that this is true. 

"This is what we want!" The voices all chant in unison. "This is what you could be! This is what we WILL make you!"

The first hand grips my windpipe, and it squeezes. I can feel an orgasmic pleasure rising from below. The hand now has an arm, a shoulder, a torso, and a face. My husband stares down at me. He seems larger than life, and I cannot meet his powerful, authoritative gaze.

Thomas is naked as well. He exudes raw masculinity; he is perfect. Even with my flawless, feminine beauty, I am not his equal. What I see is not a form manufactured by a dream. This is his true, flawless self... only now, for the first time, I am seeing it clearly. How could I have been so blind? 

I look at his turgid phallus, and arousal floods my womanhood. I have never been so attracted to him. His cock is so perfect in every way. I long to shower it with humble, demure kisses. Never before in my life have I wanted him to violate me with his divine rod so badly. It is like a king's scepter; his symbol of absolute command. 

"Thomas!" I keen. I want his grip to tighten, so I can know that he truly wants me. That he truly desires to own me. If he squeezes only a tiny bit tighter, I know that I will climax, and the desire is driving me mad. 

"I would want you..." He mutters, dolefully. "...if you weren't so disgusting." His grip loosens, and looking back at my body once more, I see the bloated, repulsive form again. My true form. The one men must see.

I can feel myself plummeting into darkness. Thomas' face watches me as I fall, but then he turns away scornfully. I try to scream his name, before silence engulfs me.

I jerk awake, struggling to grasp my location. Beside me, Thomas grunts and rolls over, fluffing his pillow. My breath is ragged, and I am drenched in sweat. I feel more tired than ever. My cunt is aching with unfulfilled sensations... I was so close. So damn close. 

Glancing at the clock, I see 12:31 displayed in glowing red letters. I must have gone to bed at 8 o'clock, but my vivid dreams have prevented any real rest. I rub my eyes and huff in frustration.

I feel Thomas' hand drowsily caress my thigh; he's still half asleep. I don't remember him coming to bed. He must have stayed up late with work again. 

Looking down, I see my body. It is not thin, but it is a far cry from the monstrosity which I became in my dream. Even still, I can hear my mind insisting that I am indeed the monster from my visions, and what I see now is only an illusion I've created to cope with the horror.

"Bullshit!" I snarl. "It's just the payload's bullshit!" The room feels stuffy and humid, but the moisture in my panties has a more embarrassing point of origin.

Again Thomas stirs. "You had another nightmare, sweetheart? Shhh... go back to sleep." He wraps his arm around me, and dozes off again. Still I cannot shake the feeling that his words are lies... polite lies, to hide the truth from me. I am the monster. 

Pulling away from him, I climb out of bed. I walk downstairs to the kitchen. Snatching the refrigerator open, I grab a leftover cupcake. "Fuck the payload. Fuck the patriarchy. And fuck Thomas and his lies. They want me to have a perfect body? I'll fucking show them." I bite into the sweet cupcake aggressively, but it tastes unappealing in my mouth. I stand motionless for a long time, before I notice the tears that are spilling from my eyes.

I force myself to finish the food, just the same. As I walk back towards the bedroom, I suddenly notice how cold my neck is. My hands move up reflexively and touch my throat, as something in my mind reminds me how much warmer it would be with a collar.