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Daisy dreams she is still in plum. Plum dress, plum veil. Plum shoes, soft and stupid and meant for a girl who is supposed to look harmless.
But she is not a girl, maybe she never was.
In the dream, she is walking through Ardua Hall with her hands folded and her mouth full of secrets. The walls are too tall. The corridors are too clean. Every Aunt has Lydia’s eyes, even the ones without her face.
Then Garth is there in his black uniform, stillness.
A door opening where there was no door before.
He does not say her name.
He only looks at her once, and the dream understands before she does.
He vanishes into thin air and then Daisy is looking for him. This should feel humiliating, but it doesn’t.
Plum dress brushing her ankles, veil half-slipped, hands clenched under the sleeves like she can pretend they are folded in obedience and not shaking with want. She moves through Ardua Hall and the corridors keep changing.
A chapel, or nursery, or storage room. A hallway lined with doors that all have Garth’s shadow behind them.
She knows this is a dream because she knows what she wants and does not turn away from it.
She wants him. She wants the version of Garth that waking life buries under restraint and black cloth and the unbearable mercy of asking.
She finds the room by sound. A low breath. A chair creaking once.
A muffled, ruined sound that should not make her body go hot before she has even opened the door.
Daisy stops with her hand on the knob. A man trying to keep quiet and failing.
Then, he is waiting for her.
He is in the carved chair in the center of the room, the ugly Commander’s chair, the one made for judgment and orders and men who believe sitting down is a form of power.
His uniform is open, belt loose, head tipped back.
One hand gripping the armrest, while the other wrapped around his cock. Touching himself and watching her.
Daisy freezes in the doorway and her heart pounds like crazy.
Plum girl, guardian in black uniform.
Shabby room with no God, no witness and no clean words left in her mouth.
His hand does not stop and screams obscenely to her. He keeps stroking himself while looking at her, slow and deliberate and already too far gone, like he has been waiting long enough that shame has burned off him completely.
Daisy’s mouth goes dry, fer thighs clench under the plum dress and she knows he sees it. His eyes darken, when he whispers, “You found me.”
She laughs once, shaken, and spats, “You’re disgusting.”
His mouth almost curves.
“Yes.”
That yes does something to her, because it’s one of the most honest words he ever said to her. No apology, no correction.
No I’m sorry, Daisy, no this is wrong.
No impossible tenderness trying to clean the filth from the room.
Just yes.
Yes, I want.//Yes, I am looking.//Yes, I am touching myself because of you.//Yes, you came here to see it.
Daisy crosses the room, while Garth’s hand slows, playing now, making her watch.
That bastard.
He strokes himself lazily, though nothing about his face is lazy. His jaw is tight. His breathing rough. His eyes fixed on her plum dress as if he wants to ruin the color forever.
Daisy walks toward him.
Because she likes the way his hand moves differently when she comes closer.
“You started without me.”
“You were late.”
“I didn’t know I was invited.”
His mouth barely curves, “You knew.”
She did – dream-Daisy knows everything waking-Daisy refuses to say.
She stops between his knees and looks down. His cock is hard in his hand, wet at the head, obscene against the black of his uniform.There is no holy way to look at it.
She reaches for him and hiis hand stills at once. It gives her the ugly little power she came for. The careful man undone under her fingers.
She closes her hand around him, and he makes a sound so rough it goes straight between her legs.
“There,” she utters. “That’s better.”
His eyes lift to hers, while she strokes him slowly just to watch his face break a little more.Then she stops and his hips shift involuntarily. His hand shoots to her hip enough to make the plum fabric twist under his fingers.
“Daisy.”
She leans close., her mouth near his, “I like making you suffer, Garth.”
His other hand comes up and tears the veil from her hair. A pin scatters across the floor,then his mouth is on hers.The kiss tastes like every time he stopped himself while awake. Rough, hungry, like every glance he swallowed, every door he held, every last inch he left for her to cross.
She climbs onto him.
The plum dress hikes up around her thighs, and then it is gone. Plum cloth on the floor like shed obedience.
Her breasts naked above him, her knees braced on either side of his hips.
Garth looks at her body and loses the last of whatever he thought he was keeping. His greedy hands go to her breasts first. Reverent only in the way hunger can be reverent.
His thumbs drag over her nipples and Daisy’s hips jerk against him. His cock brushes slick heat.
Both of them inhale.
“You’re wet,” he murmurs.
“You made yourself hard thinking of me in plum,” she blurts. “Don’t act surprised.”
His fingers tighten on her nipples, a sharp little tease making Daisy gasps.
He watches her gasps, learns it and uses it. Again, a pinch, a roll, then his mouth following, sucking one nipple hard enough that her hand flies into his hair and pulls.
The room tiles, pleasure shoots low.
She laughs because if she does not laugh, she might beg already, “Is this what you thought about?”
His mouth stays against her breast, “Yes.”
“Touching yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Thinking of my dress up?”
“Yes.”
“My legs open?”
His hand slides between them, finds her and feels the answer. His eyes go black, “Yes.”
Daisy lowers herself onto his cock before either of them can say anything worse.
The stretch is slow only because she makes it slow, because she wants to see him suffer every inch, because she wants to feel herself take him.
Because the dream is filthy enough to give her the whole truth without consequence yet.
He fills her hard, blunt, she feels how hot his cock is. She pauses at the bottom, breathing against his mouth, feeling him fully inside her while his hands tremble at her hips.
“You’re not so careful now,” she whispers.
His voice is almost gone, “No.”
Then she moves, riding him in the judgment chair.
The whole thing obscene enough to make the walls sweat.
Her bare body over black uniform, her plum dress on the floor.
His hands on her breasts, her hips, her throat, never settling because he wants all of her at once and cannot decide where need lives most.
Daisy decides for him.
She takes one of his hands and puts it back on her breast.
“Here.”
His thumb moves over her nipple, her body clenches around him, hiis head falls back.
“Fuck,” The word out of his mouth almost makes her come.
She rides him harder.
The chair creaks, once, twice, then begins to strike the wall with the rhythm.
She rises and drops, rises and drops.
His cock dragging deep, her nipples aching from his teasing, her thighs burning, her body wet enough that every movement sounds indecent.
Garth hears it too, hiis hands grip her hips and help her down harder.
No pretending now, no delicate distance.
He thrusts up into her and Daisy’s laugh breaks into a cry.
“There,” she gasps.
His mouth returns to her breast, sucking, biting lightly, soothing with his tongue.
His fingers roll the other nipple until the pleasure becomes too layered to track.
Nipples. Cunt. Cock. Hands.
Chair. Heat.
His mouth, her body riding him like rebellion could be fucked into existence.
She comes first, and her orgasm is sharp and mean.
Her body locks around him, hips stuttering, hands fisted in his hair and shoulder, mouth open on a sound that would get her dragged from any chapel in Gilead.
Garth watches her through it like he has been given and condemned at once. Then his face changes - he tries to hold back.
Even in the dream, some part of him tries to be fucking good.
Daisy hates that, as Daisy loves ruining it.
She leans down and bites his lower lip. She lifts herself off him and the loss makes both of them gasp. His cock slips out wet and hard and desperate, and Daisy feels empty in a way that makes her angry.
She climbs down from his lap and turns away from him, getting onto the floor first. Then the carpet is there.
Dream room changing around need.
She puts herself on her hands and knees, bare, while her pllum dress beneath her palms now, crushed under them.
Behind her, Garth goes absolutely still. She looks over her shoulder.
He is standing now, in uniform half-open, with hard and we cock from her. Mouth red from kissing and being bitten, eyes fixed on her body with a look so unhinged it should scare her.
It does, tt makes her push her hips back.
“Don’t just look.” Her voice is a traitor.
“You want me like that?”
Daisy lowers her face toward the plum cloth and smiles where he cannot see, “I want you to stop talking like you have choices.”
He comes behind her, his hands landing on her hips hard enough to make her gasp.
He drags her back to him and enters her in one deep, rough thrust.
Daisy cries out, the sound tears from her. Not pain, rather shock of fullness thanks to this angle.
Almost animal simplicity of it.
His cock back inside her from behind, harder than before, deeper somehow, his body no longer waiting for permission because the permission is the shape she has put herself in.
He stops for a second, checking, and she pushed back, moaning, “Move.”
He does. The first rhythm is brutal in its honesty. His hips hitting hers, his breath rough behind her.
His hands gripping, pulling, guiding.Her breasts hanging heavy beneath her, nipples still aching from his mouth and fingers, every thrust making them sway and ache and send another filthy line of pleasure through her.
Daisy’s face presses into plum fabric, she bites it.
The dress tastes like dust and dream.
Garth fucks her harder, she hears the wet slap of him inside her. Then her own voice getting rougher, less human, less Daisy and more some creature built from hunger and anger and need.
Let her be animal.
Animals do not kneel for doctrine.
Animals know cages by smell.
Animals bite.
His hand slides up her spine, then into her hair, not pulling hard, just enough to lift her face from the ruined plum cloth.
“Say it.”
Daisy’s breath tears, “What?”
“What you want.”
She laughs, breathless and half-broken.
“I want you to fuck me like I’m in trouble.” The words come out raw and Garth’s control goes dark.
His thrusts turn harder, deeper, the rhythm less polished, less careful, exactly what the dream has been leading toward.
He bends over her and his mouth at her shoulder. His hand leaves her hair and slides under her, finding her breast again, teasing the nipple while he fucks her from behind.
The layered pleasure makes her arms tremble. The second climax builds meaner than the first. A pressure gathering where he drives into her again and again, while his fingers keep worrying her nipple and his mouth speaks broken filth against her skin. She comes around him so hard her body almost collapses. He catches her by the hips and holds her up, keeps fucking her through it, rough enough that the pleasure stretches into something close to pain and then back again.
Her mind goes white, then Garth drives deep and comes inside her. No warning, no ask.
Dream-Garth has lost the last polite thing.
His release pulses hot and deep, filling her while his hands lock on her hips and his body shakes behind hers.
Inside.
The word lands like a verdict.
Inside.
Inside.
Inside.
Daisy is still on all fours when it happens.
The plum cloth under her hands turns white, then blue, then a nursery blanket.
Her belly drops heavy beneath her. She is pregnant, huge, her breasts are fuller, aching, nipples still tight from his teasing.
Her body is no longer plum-girl.
Garth is still behind her, still inside her, one hand frozen on her hip, the other moving slowly, horrified, to the heavy curve beneath her.
The child moves under his palm. A brutal, living answer.
Daisy looks down and screams without sound.
The bed becomes a mirror and she sees herself from the side. On all fours, pregnant, bare.Garth behind her, face wrecked with guilt and wonder and possessive terror.
June stands in the reflection, watching.
Daisy tries to move away, but Garth’s hand is on her belly and the child moves again.
She wakes gasping.