A Devil's Bride
Chapter 11: Incarnate
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 11: Incarnate - 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
An ear-splitting scream rang out through the open doorway, shaking the trees below. But it was not Orpheia who screamed, for the shock of what had just occurred had not yet struck her. Orpheia was focused on the moon. Its magnitude was almost gone, no more than a thread of silver in the sky. Orpheia often felt languid during the new moon. She was grateful not to have to experience it again. That was until the source of the screaming obstructed her view: a figure with gargantuan bat-like wings swooping down from the balcony. Was this death? Had he been following Orpheia since the chapel?
No. Death wouldn’t dive down and grab a pre-deceased soul so gently by her waist. Death wouldn’t cradle the poor girl against his breast. Death wouldn’t whisper in a soft voice, beckoning his capture to be calm.
Orpheia’s feet hit the floor of her chambers safely before she had any time to unravel what had happened. Her legs quickly buckled under her own weight, and she collapsed onto the ground, half conscious. Orpheia’s mind was a blur of panic and relief. What had saved her? Not death. Not a guardian spirit, either. Neither had glowing red eyes. The beast in question—the infernal, stalking creature—collapsed onto the ground beside Orpheia, taking cover in the darkness of shadows. It gagged and seethed in pain, clutching its colossal wings. The appendages were wet with carnage; blood and embryonic fluid covered the floor where it crouched. The skin of its backside and hips was missing, exposing black humanoid musculature and a ribcage that plumed with puffs of ivory steam. Each breath the monster took was strenuous, as if it had suffered a heavier fright.
Orpheia curled up onto her knees. She was no longer ashamed of her nakedness, as she had almost forgotten she was unclothed in the first place. Quietly, she asked, “Are you hurt?”
She attempted to reach toward the creature, but it extended a strong, yet feminine hand with long black fingernails sharpened to a polished point. It pushed Orpheia away as it regained its breath. “Wasn’t ... prepared to ... evolve so ... quickly...”
“You’re making sentences,” Orpheia mused. “And your voice ... You sound so human.”
“I’ve fed from ... what I could. Snakes. Bats. Maids. Guards. There was a horse ... in the camp ... but I cannot find another.” The beast raised its head, and Orpheia swallowed a mortified shriek. It had mismatched, beady eyes and a bat-like nose. Its structure was incomplete, like a broken vase with missing shards. As if understanding Orpheia’s panic, the creature explained, “I need ... more. Bodies. Blood. Humans.”
Orpheia had heard of such creatures before, but they were merely legend. Demons who could take the shape of whatever they devoured. But such beings usually only needed a single body, or perhaps two. This thing had eaten plenty, yet it still wasn’t strong enough.
“What will you do with more bodies?” Orpheia asked.
But as the beast’s feminine lips split open to answer, the door to Orpheia’s chambers creaked open. Orpheia stilled, keeping her eyes locked onto the entrance while her savior disappeared into the ceiling. The speed at which it moved was petrifying, but Orpheia feared that she had far more to worry about, as two maids—the same ones that dressed Meyrick—stepped in. They escorted General Bronte at their sides. The three of them wore hungry grins as they greeted the spectre on the ground. Jeth shut the door behind her. It fell into its frame with a heavy thud.
“What business do you have here?” Orpheia asked sternly. She hesitated to stand, suddenly aware once more of her appearance.
“Such a feisty thing,” General Bronte said with a low chuckle. “Yet you bent so easily to the whim of your king.”
“He is no king of mine,” Orpheia snapped back. “I am not decent. I suggest you leave at once.”
All three of them laughed that time, their joy able to be heard from the street below. Orpheia felt her cheeks glow red.
“You’re well past decency, spectre,” Jeth hissed. She neared Orpheia, sending her scrambling back toward the balcony.
The second maid had slipped away without detection and reappeared behind Orpheia. “We watched, you know,” the girl teased. “Who knew Umbrans were such gutless whores?”
“If you were watching, then you saw evidence of your king using witchcraft,” Orpheia pointed out. She stuck an accusatory finger in Jeth’s face. “Where is the outrage? Where is the priest?”
“How dare you speak such blasphemy of our king!” Jeth exclaimed. Orpheia might have thought her fury was real, if not for the knowing grin spread across her plump cheeks.
The second maid snatched Orpheia by the roots of her hair. She ignored Orpheia’s hisses of pain. “I think the spectre is right. We should get Father Grimshaw here. It is clear that this imp has placed a seduction spell over our king.”
Jeth nodded in agreement. “How else could one explain how such a foul, filthy-looking creature being the focus of his fancy?”
“She ought to be burned.”
“Boiled!”
“Skinned!”
“Now, now, girls,” General Bronte interjected. His face was flushed with drunkenness, and his speech was slightly slurred. “Let’s give the girl a fighting chance. Perhaps the spectre might feel so moved as to beg for our silence?”
Orpheia spat at Bronte’s feet. A tear-stained glob slid off of the toe of his boot. He stared at it, then chuckled again.
“I like you,” the general said. “You’re fiery. I want to tame that fire more than anything. I just can’t seem to help myself. You’ve consumed my every thoughts.”
“Her spell of seduction has likely infected the minds of all the men in the palace,” Jeth jeered. “She plans to overthrow us.”
The general licked his lips. Orpheia glanced down to find his trousers were unbuckled and the head of his cock was peeking out to get a good look at its soon-to-be victim. She swallowed a sob.
“He’ll kill you,” Orpheia whispered.
“On the contrary. He’ll kill you instead,” General Bronte repeated, his inflection damning. His hand crept down to his manhood, where he awakened his shaft with long, careful strokes. “If saving my kingdom from an Umbranian overthrow means taking your virginity kicking and screaming, then I am happy to make that sacrifice.”
Orpheia shrieked, no longer bothered by such silly things as pride. She jumped toward the door, ripping her hair from the young maid’s hands, but Jeth wrestled Orpheia’s frail arms into her grip. The two maids held onto her wrists and shoulders, pinning her from either side. Their blister-covered grips left heavy bruises on Orpheia’s skin as she flailed. Orpheia screamed again, pulling up mere scraps of a broken voice.
“Silence her,” Jeth snapped at the other maid while they struggled to drag Orpheia to her bed.
“No,” General Bronte interjected. “No one will come. I want to hear the whore’s shrieking.”
“Damn you!” Orpheia shrieked. “Death to you all! Death to your offspring! Death to your land! May every seed planted in your earth rot and wither! May your children and your children’s children suffer plagues and famines tenfold!”
The general let out a bellowing laugh. He ignored the threats entirely as he began peeling off his trousers. For a heavy-set, somewhat muscular man, the beast he was so proud to use as his judge and jury for Orpheia’s trial was oddly pathetic. It was barely the size of his hand, yet had a severe girth to it that made Orpheia’s loins shrivel up dry.
General Bronte gleefully jumped onto the mattress, straddling Orpheia’s bucking legs. He suffered a couple hits to the face without budging before he grew tired of her struggle. Orpheia was awarded with a heavy punch to her belly, which knocked the wind out of her and erupted her aching insides with a bloom of pure agony. Blood poured out of her untouched petals, soaking the sheets. Yet the general hardly seemed to notice, nor did he care. He was being controlled by lust and lust alone. No longer a man lived beneath his skin, but a wild animal with a cock and a grudge.
“Death!” Orpheia screamed. She fought to clench her muscles tight, hoping to deny the animal entry, but the general seemed fond of the challenge. “Death to you! Death to all of you! May Terrsolis crumble by my hand! I hear the call of my ancestors, General! They are coming for you!”
The maids burst into cackles. Their noses crinkled up with joy as they repeated Orpheia’s threat to one another. But the general wasn’t laughing. He simply sat there, resting on Orpheia’s lap. His shaft was erect, and his eyes were glued open wide. Orpheia slowly stilled, watching him; wondering what he was staring at. But he wasn’t staring at anything at all. His eyes were glazed over. It wasn’t until a downpour of blood fell out of his gaping mouth that Orpheia realized this. And when his neck crumpled and his head collapsed, revealing the shadowed beast behind him, Orpheia understood what she had summoned.
The maids both shrieked in terror as the creature pulled the general’s ribcage out of his skinless back. Its jaw unhinged like a snake, opening wider and wider to reveal a pitch-black throat and rows of uneven, sharpened teeth. A long, forked tongue spilled out to lap up the blood inside of Bronte’s still-beating heart. The maids flew into a fit, racing toward the door. They pushed and shoved one another, fighting to be the first to escape. Jeth, being the heavier of the two, managed to shove the girl to the ground. She trembled on all fours, unable to bring herself to stand.
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