women in the window

Imagine you've found work in the country

You never thought that desperation would lead you to such a situation.

With a new era of peace welcoming the kingdom, there was no longer high demand for a blacksmith in the city. Your father, who had been employed by even the royal family, had lost his job. Your family had lived a comfortable life in one of the richer districts. Now, you had been forced to sell nearly everything in an effort to make ends meet. Your father took whatever odd jobs he could find. Your mother became a servant at the castle. Your siblings, older and more talented, found jobs easily. You couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy the merits of their hard work. You were young, but you were sure that you could be hired somewhere. You couldn’t lift much, given your easy life, but there was bound to be an opportunity lurking just around the corner.

That opportunity, you quickly learned, was in a brothel. After moving to the slums, there was one at the end of your street. You passed by it every day and night as you searched for jobs. The workers, both men and women, were clad in revealing clothes. Through the windows, you could see that those layers were quickly shed. You knew that they made good money, especially since you had seen some of the richest men coming and going, sometimes even bringing gifts. If a wealthy individual liked someone well enough, they could simply buy them for indefinite use. They would be showered in jewels and gold, but they would never be truly free. The consequences were too great. You worried what your family would think.

You eventually came across an advertisement for a position on a farm. The owner was looking for more help. The contract would last one year, give or take circumstances. The pay was better than any other job you could have taken, given your small list of skills. You would finally be able to help your family. The owner would give you a room in the homestead, so your family wouldn’t have to spend money to feed you. You would send them money every moon or so to help them cover rent.

“Hey,” A voice rumbled behind you, “When’s breakfast? I’m starving.”

You pulled yourself from your thoughts, glancing to the window. The sun hadn’t risen yet. Meals were always at dawn, noon, and dusk. The night was dangerous outside of city walls, so field work was only done during the daylight hours. When you first arrived at the homestead five days prior, you had been assigned as the cook. You did your job well enough, save for a few small mishaps. The work wasn’t very challenging. The hard part was dealing with the field workers. They were all more beasts than men. Even the smallest towered above you, strong enough to lift you with one hand. In the mornings, they smelled of booze. At night, of sweat and dirt. But that wasn’t the issue.

You didn’t turn to look at him, instead focusing on the eggs you were making. If you burnt them, you wouldn’t hear the end of it, “It won’t be for another hour, at the very least. You should get some more sleep. There’s still ale left in the-“

The floorboards creaked, the man moving closer. Your grip tightened on the frying pan as you watched his right hand reach around and grab your breast. He squeezed, then slipped his hand between your apron and your dress. His fingertips found your nipple, pinching. Your breath hitched. You swallowed the desire the hit him in the face with the hot pan, instead moving the scrambled eggs away from the stove. His other hand found purchase beneath your skirt, tugging your smallclothes to the side so he could thrust a finger inside of you.

You tried to push him away, but his grip was too tight. He was used to chopping firewood and steering cattle. Manhandling you was easy for him.

Besides, even if you did manage to land a hit on him, you would be the one punished. You had learned that lesson on your first day. After signing your contract, preparing dinner, then heading to bed, one of the men had gone into your room. You fought back, hitting him across the face with a broom. When you went to the owner to report the worker, he berated you for harming one of his workers. He was only in it for the money. If one of the field workers was injured, they wouldn’t be able to work as well. He told you that, also you were primarily the cook, you were also considered a morale booster. Apparently, the homestead made more money when the men had something to sink their cocks into. From what you heard in your few days there, you were beginning to suspect that the owner also partook in a morale boost from time to time.

The man pulled you away from the stove. You wrenched away from him, glaring. For a brief moment, you saw the scar that the broom had left beneath his eye. He had told you afterwards, a hand in your hair as he pushed you into the mattress, that he liked your fire. He kept talking, even as he gripped your waist and fucked you harder. He had been working at the homestead for years, but they had only recently started employing women.

The first, Jenn, quickly became a favourite of the owner and got pregnant. Still, you had seen her with the workers. She had been serving drinks as you cleaned dishes when one of them pulled her into his lap. Her dress was tight over her swollen belly as he tugged her back to meet each of his thrusts. She made no effort in being quiet, though she asked him to be gentler for the baby’s sake. Her contract was technically up a month before her pregnancy was discovered, but the owner kept her on the grounds that she couldn’t work as well in her current condition. The very thought made you shudder. With the way things were going, you wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up pregnant again shortly after giving birth.

The second and third, Trish and Corina, were a bit younger than you and rather mousy. They were intimidated by the men, which made them easy targets. Trish, who was slender, was being to show. Her dress rounded out just a bit when she stood up straight. The men had laughed about it, one of them saying that it was obvious when her dress was off. Corina, who was curvier and had a bit of pudge on her stomach, hadn’t shown any signs. Still, you figured that it was only a matter of time.

You, on the other hand, had only been working there for five days. You had bled just before leaving for the homestead, so you had a little while to think of a way to escape. At the very least, you could devise a plan that would keep you from becoming a permanent employee. You had quickly discovered that most of the workers preferred a certain girl, though they would often take advantage of any opportunity if in the mood. The one currently trying to undress you, however, only had eyes for you. After you fought back against him, it seemed that he reveled in the idea of forcing you to submit.

He bent you over the counter, his stiff cock pressing against you. Only his trousers and your skirt were in the way, but he would remedy that easily. A large hand pinned you onto the countertop. Even as you squirmed and tried to kick him, he merely laughed as he pulled your smallclothes to your knees. He lifted your skirt, the cold air causing you to hiss. Fingers stroked and prodded, rubbing your walls. You reached back, trying to claw at him. The sound of rustling clothes made you tense, only for him to brush against your entrance. You didn’t have the chance to retaliate. He buried himself to the hilt. You couldn’t help but cry out, unbearably full. When he shifted, you could feel the tip move over your cervix. It made you shudder, blinking back hot tears. It was painful, but exactly what he wanted.

He withdrew, setting up a lazy pace. There was still time before the others would wake and come downstairs. He could take as long as he wanted. Even if they found you both in the kitchen, no one would do anything about it. If anything, one of the workers would probably insist that he was next in line.

The hand on your back lifted, instead tangling in your hair. A swift pull made your back arch. You straightened, ready to slap him, but his other arm kept your elbows at your sides. You had no way to fight against him. Your jaw tightened. You swore that you could feel your stomach distended by his cock, a small bump moving upwards and outwards each time he filled you.

“Come here,” He grabbed your face, his fingers prying your jaw open. He forced you to look at him, his smirk only widening as you glared. His cock twitched, your breath caught in your chest, “Give me a kiss,” His mouth covered yours, leaving no room for refusal. His grip kept you from biting him, your teeth digging into your own skin as his tongue entered your mouth. He still tasted of booze.

He withdrew slowly, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. You pulled your head away in disgust, wanting to clean your mouth out with soap as soon as he let you go. His pace had quickened, each thrust deep and rough. You winced, hoping that he was close. The sooner he was done, the sooner you would be able to clean up and forget it ever happened.

His arm left your sides, only to hook around your neck. Your nails dug into his skin, trying to pry him off. He wasn’t choking you, but just a little more pressure would close your airway. His other hand slipped up your dress, toying with your breasts. You choked back every whimper. Hearing you cry out only spurred him on. He would only taunt you, wondering aloud if your body wanted this, wanted to be taken and filled and bearing his child.

His touch wandered lower, settling just below your navel. With every movement of his hips, a small portion of your stomach shifted against his hand. You forced yourself to stay quiet as the end of his thrusts became rough. He was doing it on purpose, trying to get a reaction out of you.

His mouth moved to your ear, “I can’t wait to see you stuffed full with my brat in your belly. You’ll be trying to do your job like a good little cook but they’ll be kicking up a storm. A big, strong troublemaker, just like their daddy. I’ll fuck you through your labor pains and get to see the look on your pretty face when you realize that you can’t fight what’s happening, you can’t stop yourself from having my kid. The boss will be livid. You’ll owe him another year of work for giving him another mouth to feed. I just have to keep you full until my last two years are up. Then I can take you with me and make you my darling little housewife. It sounds like the perfect retirement, doesn’t it?”

“I’d rather die,” You growled. He pulled you in for another sloppy kiss, his grip and pace unforgiving. You’d undoubtedly have bruises within the day and a bit of a stumble in your gait. You pulled away from him, breathing ragged. His fingers slipped between your legs, rubbing in quick, harsh circles. Your knees quivered, then buckled. A yelp of pain escaped you as he hit your cervix, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You turned just enough to put a hand to his chest, trying to push him away. You couldn’t let him finish inside of you. You weren’t going to have his children.

But a sudden pinch to the sweet spot between your legs sent sparks up your spine. Your entire body tensed, more out of pain than forced pleasure. You tightened around him like a vice. He twitched inside of you, barely able to withdraw an inch before filling you again. He grinded against you, each movement causing you to shudder. It was overstimulation on your part. You were dizzy, even as he returned to tracing small circles.

He stilled, panting and sheathed within you. A familiar warmth pooled. Your grip loosened on his arm, exhausted. You could feel some of his seed dripping down your thighs. You would have to bathe when you had the chance. He let you go. You leaned against the counter, trying not to fall. He removed himself, adjusting his trousers. You refused to look at him, silently hoping that he would leave.

He smacked your rear, “I’m going back to bed. See you at breakfast.”

You looked to the pan of eggs you had been making before he had intervened, seeing that they were cold. You would have to start from scratch.


Author’s Note: Hello! Keira Metz here! It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, so I decided to start a new tale. Depending on the response from all of you lovely readers, I’ll continue this. Otherwise, I can whip up something new. Also, there may or may not have been some foreshadowing in this one, ehehe~