You groan as you slowly come to. You feel sick. You throat is dry. It hurts to move, to shift your arms and legs and turn your head. How long have you been asleep? It feels like days.

You want to get up, busting to urinate, but you can't move, your body heavy. You try to open your eyes but your eyelids are heavier still. You seem to sink into the bed beneath you.

Bed? Your bed? Your bed hasn't been soft for years. This bed's so comfortable you almost slip back into your dreams before jerking back to consciousness again.

Something's not right. Something's happening to you. As though from a distance, you feel something touching you, something wet and slippery and warm. There's a strange, almost earthy smell that makes your mouth water. Your body tingles. Your heart beats a little harder.

You groan again, trying to speak, but you can't form the words, your tongue lying limp in your mouth. It takes so much effort to do anything. Whatever those 'men' poisoned you with, it's powerful. You need to wake up! You need to get free!

What are they doing to you?

Again, you feel that ... lotion? Hands. Hands are spreading it all over you. Around your arms, around your legs.

Across your breasts.

Finally, with the greatest of efforts, you manage to turn your head. Yes! Your fingers curl, then claw into the mattress. Open your eyes. Open your eyes!

They snap open and suddenly you see. First it's all a blur as you're forced to squint against the flickering light. Against your will, tears leak out of your eyes.

You're in a room, the vaulted ceiling high above. It's gloomy. There's a large candelabra hanging from a chain above your bed, the candles lit and flickering. The bed you're lying on is large, maybe even bigger than king-sized, with large timber posts at each corner.

Those three men—they're with you still. Two lean over you on your right, their hair hanging around their faces as they kneel on the bed beside you. The other is on your left. You suck in a breath. They're touching you! More than touching you, they're massaging you.

You try to move but it's still impossibly hard. More tears trickle down your cheeks. 'Stop. Stop.'

Where are your clothes?!

That smell. What is that smell? Again, you manage to turn your head and you gaze at the man on your left. A man you call him, though he's not quite a man. There's something not quite right about his face. It's too angular, his cheekbones too high. And his ears—they're pointed. Like an elf's.

And you don't even want to think about those wings. You can see the tops of them up by the back of his head, black like a bat's wings.

What kind of dream is this?

Slowly, you turn your head to look at the other two men. They're similar to the first, though one has dark skin and the other has blonde hair. All three have their chests bare, and all three are hairless except for the hair on their heads.

They're both dipping their fingers into a crystal jar filled with a sticky substance that squelches beneath their fingertips, and which they then massage into your skin.

'What-what is that?' Finally you're making sense. You reach up to grab one of their wrists. He stares at you and you stare back into his dark eyes. 'What are you doing? Where have you taken me?'

He pulls free easily and continues with his massaging. You swat away the hands of the man to your left as he tries to touch your breast. 'Stop it!'

But while you're focused on him, the man with the blonde hair pushes apart your legs. You lift your head with a shout. 'What are you doing?!'

You try to kick him away but all he does is push your legs down as his companion massages more of that lotion up your thighs and into your pubic hair. You thrash your head from side to side, screaming, while the man at your breasts pins your arms to the bed.

The lotion tingles hotly against you. They push open your legs further and slather the oil over your opening. 'Stop! Stop! Stop touching me, you disgusting pig!'

Then he's inside you. You gasp and try to sit up but you're trapped. Not only is he inside you, but he's deep inside you, swirling around his fingers in a clockwise motion. You can feel it. The lotion seems to burn your insides.

He pulls away and you think it's over only to be penetrated again with more of that warm, sticky, stinky lotion. 'Stop it!' You continue to struggle as he coats your insides over and over again.

Finally, you give up the struggle and let him do what he needs to do. What's the point in fighting if you can't win? Instead, you look away, towards a cabinet sitting in the corner of the room. It's something harmless, painless, non-violating. It looks red against the candlelight.

'I want to go home,' you croak.

They continue with their disgusting ministrations a little while longer before turning you over and doing the same to the back of your head, your hair, back and buttocks. One of them spreads your cheeks open to smear in more of the lotion along your crack. At least, this time, they don't go too deep.

Small victory.

Finally, they're done and they all pull away. Scrambling off the bed, you drop to the floor. They don't stop you, watching you from the end of the bed. One is holding the jar of cream. Their hands and arms are covered in it. Wrapping your arms around your breasts, you drop into a crouch, doing your best to conceal your nakedness.

You twitch your nose at the queer smell. 'What is this? What have you done to me?' You can't explain it: it's repellent and yet you can't help smell your arm, then smell it again. What are you doing?

You're tingling all over, like tiny worms are crawling all over your skin. And inside you ...

You squeeze your legs together in an attempt to make it stop, but it does nothing. It's like a tickle. An itch you can't scratch. Is the lotion some kind of poison too? The thought twists your stomach into a knot.

The three men turn to leave. You watch as they push open the enormous floor-to-ceiling doors and march through. You race after them, catching one of the doors before it closes, but it's so heavy that it snaps shut anyway. You thrust your shoulder against it, but it won't budge.

You stagger back, still weak from what they drugged you with, still overcome with your impossible situation. Slumping to your knees, you drop your head into your hands.