Sex had never been this good with any of the men I’d been with. I couldn’t see who was fucking me but there was no question he was a man.
The grip on the back of my neck vanished and I felt two large hands on my bare hips, the fingertips pressing into my round flesh. Since I couldn’t see either man, this had to be a dream. And I didn’t want it to end. I needed to come so badly I was ready to beg for release.
I’d never had a sex dream before. I’d never dreamt anything like this, where the dream seemed so real, felt so good. I didn’t care, didn’t want to think anything more about it because the vibrations against my clit sped up.
“Yes!” I cried, trying to push my hips back to take the incredible cock even deeper. “Don’t stop, please, oh, God!”
He didn’t. Like the delectable dream that it was, I came. The vibrations on my clit pushed me over the edge, but it was the cock filling me that kept the pleasure going and going until I couldn’t take it anymore.
The man fucking me tensed, his fingers dug into my hips as he roared his own release. I felt his hot seed deep inside of me. As he continued to fuck me through his orgasm, the warm, sticky liquid seeped out of my pussy and down my thighs. I slumped over the stand, sated and replete. The last thing I heard before I slipped back into the darkness of dreams was, “She will do. Take her to the harem.”
* * *
I fought my way back to awareness and wished I hadn’t. A stern young woman sat opposite me in the small examination room. She appeared to be close to my age, and would have been pretty, if not for the thin-lipped, unsympathetic look on her face. She wore a crisp brown suit and high heels and held a computer processing tablet on her lap. With her long hair pulled back into a strict bun, she looked like a businesswoman, not a medical specialist. The room I was in looked like a hospital room, with medical equipment hooked up to my body to monitor my heart rate, brain activity, and enzyme levels. My body still hummed from the strength of my release and I was ashamed to notice that the examination chair I was strapped to was soaked beneath my bare ass and thighs, the wetness caused by arousal. The plain, short gray gown I wore was covered in the logo for the Interstellar Bride Program, and just like all standard medical garb was open in the back. As expected, I was naked beneath for processing.
The woman had the sour expression of someone who was used to dealing with prisoners who were truly guilty of their soulless crimes. Her dark brown uniform had the bright red insignia and three words in shimmering letters on her chest that made me break out in a cold sweat.
Interstellar Bride Program.
God help me. I was going off-world, leaving Earth behind as a mail-order bride. While the concept had been useful many centuries before, it was revitalized to meet current interplanetary needs. As one of these mail-order brides, I would be forced to fuck and make babies with some alien leader from a planet deemed worthy by the interstellar coalition that now protected Earth. An alien male who had earned the rank and the right to claim a bride from one of the protected member worlds. As Earth was the newest planet added to the coalition, it now offered the required thousand brides per year. There were very few volunteers, despite the generous compensation granted to a woman who was courageous—or desperate—enough to volunteer to be a bride. No, most of the thousand brides sent off-world were women convicted of a crime, or like me, forced to run. To hide.
“…you should be able to breed her without delay.” That rough, hard-edged voice drifted through my mind. That had been just a dream, right? But why would I dream that?
“Miss Day, I am Warden Egara. Are you aware of your placement options? As a convicted murderer, you forfeit all rights but the right of naming. You may name a world, if you wish, and we will choose your mate from that world based on your assessment results. Or you may waive the right of naming and accept the results of the psychological assessment process. If you choose this option, you will be sent to the world, and the mate, that best matches your psychological profile. If you wish to meet your true mate, I highly recommend you choose the second option and follow the recommendations of the matching processors. We have been matching brides and their mates for hundreds of years. Which is it to be?”
The woman’s voice barely registered and I pulled against the cuffs that locked my wrists at my sides. While I’d heard mention of other planets, I didn’t know anyone from another world, especially not a mate. On Earth a woman could choose her own boyfriends, lovers, husbands. But an alien mate? I had no idea where to start. And even if I chose a world, my actual match would be decided solely through the Interstellar Bride Program’s psychological analysis. Should I pick a world? I was only going to be gone for a few months, not the rest of my life. What difference did it make? I wasn’t even really Evelyn Day.