A Devil's Bride
Chapter 10: Devilish Thrills
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 10: Devilish Thrills - Orpheia, a rare, visually tantalizing creature, has ensnared the attention of a tyrant king whose bloodline is responsible for the slaughtering of Orpheia’s people. Forced to choose between marrying the king and losing the lives of her beloved people, Orpheia calls upon the power of Hell to gain the upper hand. Inspired by Frankenstein, Carmilla, and all things Halloween, this gothic novel is sure to satiate those who crave brutal, bloody romance.
Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Hypnosis NonConsensual Romantic Lesbian Shemale Paranormal Ghost Magic Demons Humiliation Light Bond Size Caution Halloween Royalty
Some of the men expressed jovial disappointment as Orpheia was dragged down the steps, pulled by her breasts’ chain. They jested that they were to hang themselves if they could not have Orpheia’s pussy soon. But a few seemed quite disappointed indeed. None more disappointed than General Bronte. Orpheia noticed the pout on his slobbery lips. He forced his slave deeper into his thighs, giving her no room to breathe against his trousers. Meyrick seemed to notice the shift, as well, for he jested with them that once Orpheia was bedded and stuffed with his seed, he would leave her chained to her wedding mattress for the lot of them to have their fill. Orpheia couldn’t tell whether this was a joke or not. She looked to the women around her. Those with their bodies free from the men’s grip cowered in corners of the room, as if praying they had been forgotten by the hungry beasts. They avoided everyone’s gaze but Orpheias. She knew that they must have heard stories of spectres before, even if they had not ever seen one. They looked upon her with wet, pitied eyes. But they were just as helpless as she herself was.
The stage was promptly cleared. Orpheia stood before all. It took all of her might not to tremble beneath the perverted eyes around her. Eyes in the walls. Eyes in the floor. She looked up above at another grand, vaulted ceiling to avoid their stares. It was draped in heavy curtains that surrounded a wreath of crown molding carved into its peak. Between the white marble leaves sat a mosaic of the full moon, made from both clear and smoky quartz to give it picturesque depth and beauty. It had no glow to it, unfortunately. No life. But it was the one spot, sitting directly above Orpheia’s head, that she did not feel was watching her. Her heart sank, for she wished nothing more than the ability to call upon Lu’a for help. Her silver moonlight was just out of Orpheia’s reach.
Most of the men took up seats around the cushions that circled the stage. They sat with their legs spread and their laps open. Riding crops were twisted in their fists. Each of them remarked on Orpheia’s hairlessness, joking with one another regarding the smoothness of her skin. Meyrick explained to the men how Orpheia could be healed with a simple bath, so they were allowed to strike her however hard they saw fit. Orpheia swallowed her fury, forcing her hand into a clenched fist hidden behind her back.
Meyrick took his seat directly in front of his bride, lounging in what appeared to be a large, plush throne. Two Umbranian women sat at his feet. One served him as a naked footrest while the other shined his boots with her tongue. He grinned as Orpheia remained on the stage, barely out of reach, and wrought with hesitance.
“Is something wrong?” Meyrick asked, his voice lighthearted with tease. “I gave you a task, did I not?”
Orpheia held the cold, heavy chain in her palm. She studied its glimmer beneath the pale purple light, then turned to face the same shine in Meyrick’s eyes. His gaze felt sharper on her flesh than the clamps did.
“The chains,” Orpheia answered. “I cannot—AAAH!”
One of the men was quick with his crop, striking her on the calf hard enough to leave behind an instantaneous welt. It swelled with a rosy throb, then quickly blended into a rich lavender color. The men all marveled at the reaction. They begged Orpheia to speak some more so that they, too, could have a chance to mark her.
Meyrick’s grin widened. It was a demonic kind of smirk, such only seen on the lying faces of goblins and imps. “Did you want the chain removed?”
Orpheia glowered at him, locking her jaw until it ached. “Yes.”
There was a short beat of silence before another man, who had snuck up behind her, struck his crop against her ass. Orpheia yelped and jumped forward, nearly teetering off the edge of the stage. The men roared with laughter as she struggled to compose herself. She was keenly aware that every little motion was tugging the chain against her nipples harder and harder. Her loins trembled with uncertainty, for though they had not been touched, they were still slick with pleasure.
“That’s ‘yes, sir,’” Meyrick corrected. He laughed haughtily. “You know ... just for that, I think I might leave the chain on. If your nipples fall off while you dance, then I promise I will kiss them all better, little phantom.”
The men snickered and jeered at Orpheia. They inched even closer to the stage, holding their crops at the ready in hopes of being the next person to catch her slipping up. Orpheia’s face reddened. She couldn’t keep her eyes off their hands, out of fear of what they might do should she drop her guard. Every little movement from the crowd sent a spike through her chest. She grew short of breath and dizzy within moments.
“If you do not dance for my men,” Meyrick began, growing irked, “then we will have to find other ways to amuse ourselves.”
He brandished his flogger and waved another Umbranian slave girl over. She took a knee by his side, presenting her bare breasts to him and lowered her head. Meyrick struck her chest hard enough to make the woman break with tears. Yet she remained perfectly rigid.
“No!” Orpheia cried. The outburst awarded her three simultaneous strikes on her legs as several men jumped at once to be the first to punish her. She seethed in the sharp pain and chewed on the inside of her lip to keep from lashing out.
Meyrick howled with laughter and struck the woman again. “There isn’t enough pussy for all of my men to enjoy at once, so I suppose they might just have to share. After all, Sol granted whores with three holes to be enjoyed.”
“Please,” Orpheia said, her voice trembling. A man raised his crop against him, but another snatched his wrist before he could strike. He whispered something to the man about losing his head.
“Do as you’ve been told, or your people will suffer,” Meyrick growled, darkening his tone. “You asked me how to ensure that the Umbranians will remain alive. This is how. These slave girls are simply here to serve as examples. Motivation, if you will. Now get on with it already. You’ve embarrassed me enough, Selina.”
Orpheia shuddered. She looked to the women, but each of them was trapped beside a hungry Solian man. Some wore chains around their necks. Others were locked beneath their captor’s arms or between their legs. They all stared back at Orpheia in terror, for they knew that should she prove to be defiant, not a single one of them would live to see the next day. Orpheia had heard rumors of these parties before. Most of the girls were lost in bargains; tricksters who belonged neither to Umbra nor to Terrsolis would prey on the weak and vulnerable, asking only for the best bloom in their garden in return for gold or healthy crops. Instead of plucking a fat rose or a healthy pumpkin, they’d steal away the farmers’ eldest daughters in the dead of night. Their raped, mangled bodies would return to their family’s doorsteps within a fortnight. Orpheia was not shocked in the slightest to discover that the Solians would employ such vile, impish tricksters. Demonic magic was only damnable if it wasn’t serving their god or their cocks.
Orpheia began with a pointed toe and a silent tear. She forced her eyes closed, praying Lu’a would keep her from the edge of the stage so that she wouldn’t have to face the prying gazes of the pigs around her. She’d rather fall and make a fool of herself than be forced to watch their manhoods grow hard. Especially Meyrick, for his legs were spread wide enough open that Orpheia wouldn’t be able to look at anything but his erection. It was already beginning to rise. It taunted her. Bedeviled her. There was no music to lead Orpheia’s movements; that was precisely why she needed moonlight. Its rejuvenating energy was all her body required to erupt her legs into motion and guide her arms to float along. Yet somehow, as Orpheia focused, a song came to her. A glorious melody filled her head with birdsong and bone chimes, just like the music of her people. Orpheia’s limbs soon fell victim to the illusory sounds, moving her like a puppet without the need of her eyes. The men all howled together as she began to bob and sway, jutting her hips and fluttering her hands in an act of grace that she had never before accomplished in her garden. Their animal voices flowed together to create the bars in which Orpheia’s subconscious composed the song’s notes.
Given that Orpheia wasn’t properly trained, her dancing was often awkward and would result in her tripping over her own feet from time to time. Yet on that stage, she never once felt unsteady. Her body slipped away from her as she studied the tune inside of her head swell. The floor no longer stood beneath her feet, for she was floating. Her spirit separate from her flesh, she moved to the memory of her parents. To the sound of her father’s laughter and her mother’s praise. She dipped at the recollection of autumn pastries and the sweets her cook would make for the children of All Hallows Eve. Apple orchards, river fishing, and warm stews for supper flooded her nostrils until Orpheia’s body erupted with the joy such scents once offered her a lifetime ago. She could feel breath against her skin—not of the drooling men, but of her mother, holding her close. Promising that she’d still love Orpheia, even if she was to be the next Terrsolis queen. But Selina was not speaking of her own grim fate. She was talking to Orpheia. Her voice was present; the words she spoke were not memories at all.
“You are still my sweet little moon girl,” Selina whispered. Her voice was tainted with a sob. “Nothing those monsters can do to you will change that.”
Orpheia pursed her lips shut tight. She was aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to call out to her mother, but Orpheia bit her tongue to save herself another lashing.
Selina nuzzled hers and Orpheia’s noses together. “I love you, Orpheia. I pray you fight this. I will remain by your side through it all. Can you feel me, moon girl?”
Orpheia whimpered and nodded. When Selina’s touch disappeared, Orpheia’s confidence wavered. But as the tips of her bare toes made contact with the stage’s edge, inciting a surge of excitement and panic from her onlookers, the music swelled heavier inside of Orpheia’s head. It compelled her back to the center, which had grown warm thanks to the constant movement of her feet. The music spread down her neck to her chest, which vibrated her bones until her breasts ached between their silver clamps. Orpheia tried to sway away from the pain, keeping herself from going still so that the chain wouldn’t fall slack and rip at her flesh.
When the music slowly encased Orpheia whole, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, a sudden chill raced up her body, bursting from her aching loins. It fractured her focus, opening her eyes. Orpheia’s head was pointed up, where she forced herself to swallow a scream at the sight facing her from above. The quartz design in the ceiling was no longer aglow with a glorious ivory sheen. Instead, it appeared as a new moon, pitch black and obscured by something terrible. That terrible thing stared back at her with a pair of glowing red eyes.
The distraction shattered her concentration for good, and the song extinguished inside of her head. Once more, Orpheia found herself consciously aware that she was surrounded by bulging eyes and licking lips. The men shouted their approval with hollers and jeers. Some were far too excited to contain themselves and relieved their energy onto the women they held close. Orpheia jumped to protect the girls within reach, but her voice had seemingly vanished as her mouth grew dry. Any attempt she made to escape the stage was met with a harsh beating from several riding crops until her legs were spotted with purple marks. She turned to Meyrick to plead with him to make his men stop, but what she found sitting on the throne was barely a shell of a man. He stared back at her; eyes widened and glazed with wonder. His lips were slightly parted as if he were heaving short, shallow breaths out of his lungs. He studied Orpheia—only Orpheia—in a trance-like state. Like she was the only woman in the world. Orpheia’s heart jerked inside of her chest, for no man had ever stared at her in such a way before. She felt compelled somehow. His eyes held her steadfast. Her legs were welded into the ground.
Meyrick regained himself with a blinking fit, then coaxed his bride over toward him with the conjuring wave of his finger. Orpheia breezed past the other men easily. They had each grown ravenous for flesh, spellbound by the lust the exuded from Orpheia’s dance. To satiate their cravings, they tore the clothes off of their shrieking companions. The men did not care if skin peeled away with the fabric. It was a bloodbath. Carnage beneath the men’s fingernails. Gore dressing the women’s writhing bodies. Even the women servicing Meyrick’s dominant ego had been subdued in the fray. Orpheia’s ears pricked at the sounds of their guttural agony. Tears streamed down her face, staining her neck and breasts where there had been no marks before. But she was trapped, helpless as she brought herself to all fours and crawled to Meyrick’s feet. His lip cracked with a grin, though it was unstable and uncertain, as if nervous. Patting his lap, Meyrick whispered to Orpheia a simple command: “Come.” His voice was so quiet, yet it cut through the rhapsody of noise that raped Orpheia’s ears. Without losing sight of Meyrick’s golden eyes, Orpheia climbed onto his legs, her blood staining his leather trousers. She could feel the bulge beneath his pants growing harder. Meyrick slowly began to twist the chain that connected Orpheia’s nipples until she whimpered and chewed down on her lip to cut through the pain. He chuckled lightly and tugged harder.
“You didn’t answer me earlier, pet,” Meyrick whispered. He tucked a loose strand of Orpheia’s hair behind her ear, then traced the length of her jaw with his knuckle. Entrapping her by the chin, Meyrick held his bride so close that they shared the same breath. “Do you like it when I play with your nipples?”
Still chewing on her lip, Orpheia fought past the tingling in her sex that begged her to ask for more and instead shook her head. Her voice was dry and weak as she pleaded out, “No ... Please, I can’t stand it.”
“Ah-ah,” Meyrick teased. He slapped his palm against her hip, inviting a squeal to escape her. “That’s a naughty girl. Let’s try that one final time.”
Orpheia swallowed, for her nerves had left her unsteady and oddly woozy in the head. It was as if something had possessed her. “No, sir,” she answered.
Once more, Meyrick spanked her. He strung out the sound of her pain just a little longer by taking a fistful of her thigh and squeezing it hard enough to leave a deep, dark bruise. “Your body tells a different tale. So, I will ask again.” Meyrick grabbed hold of the clamps and began twisting them ever so slightly. The pain was just enough to bow Orpheia’s back. A groan rumbled from the depths of her throat. She curled her toes and balled up her hands to keep from crying out. “Do you like it when I play with your nipples, pet?”
Orpheia’s body braced against the throbbing in her chest. With a heavy moan, she finally pushed past her shame, as the tension in her flesh had grown too much to bear. With a wet, weary sob, Orpheia answered, “Yes, sir.”
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