Scold's Bridle
Date: 19.11.2007
Keywords: Bridle, Scold's,
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"Why?" She wanted to ask it, but the mutilated gulp of her words left her gagging with horror and choked-back speech. She tore frantically at the cage, staggering against the walls as she fought the thing in sheer blind panic. Then, suddenly, she froze.
She'd felt it.
A moment later she felt it again.
It was moving.
The heavy bit stifled the scream that tore from her lips. Richard watched, unchanging, fisting his cock with tense attention as Bridget beat the iron with her fists and tore hopelessly at the straps. It was moving. The grip about her waist was cinching, getting tighter, and then, with a bloom of utter horror, she felt the bit twitch and writhe in her mouth. Shuddering, crashing against furniture and clawing for purchase, she staggered across the room. There was a mirror over the mantelpiece. She found her own image in it, and what she saw stifled all screams together.
Demon. Imp, homunculus, devilkin – a hideous, reptilian thing with long spidery arms, wicked black bat wings, and a writhing tail that hung and lashed the length of her back. It was crouched and wound about her head, grinning a deep, evil grin that split its jaws open in saw-ridges of bone. Shrunken. Wicked. Eyes gleaming with a rapacity beyond all speech – beyond all that it had torn from her.
Its arms were wrapped around her head, the bars of the cage that had held her. Its legs gripped her waist, the cruel scaly spurs of its heels digging into her flesh. And as she stared, shuddering, it raised its head, grinned to her in the mirror, and then shot its thick, forked tongue back into her mouth, jamming it deep and stabbing its barbs into her tongue.
Her screams were swallowed in the demon's assault. She clawed and beat at it, trying to tear it from her back, but it only sank its talons into her hips and shoulders and jammed its tongue down into her throat, lapping and flickering, barbed and vicious, until she felt the blood flowing over her lips. Its tail curved tight to her body, writhing up between her legs, and in a daze of horror she felt its remorseless intent. The tip of it twitched, darted, then shot up under her skirt and thrust blindly at her hose and panties. Bridget screamed, but her cries were smothered in its burrowing snout as she clawed frantically at her body. She fought for breath, panic rising as she struggled to inhale and the demon's grip dug into her flesh, its obscenely writhing tongue pressing ever deeper until there was no breath, no strength, no help as a cold and coiling length slid supple between her thighs. Bridget's eyes rolled slowly up as the agile tip of it wormed against her, tore through her hose, slithered around her panties, and rammed hungrily into her.
She jolted, stiffening through her body. The cold, hard, writhing length of it shot up into her, sickening beyond all possible expression, fierce and plunging, rampant and cruel. Beyond it, faintly, she heard them talking, Richard's voice coming in hard, panting gasps. He was kneeling now, she saw as she staggered on her feet. She was still fighting for air, but nothing came – nothing but the slick, plunging tongue that twitched obscenely down into her very heart. The loathsome thrust of its tail forced her open as its feasting tongue choked off her sobs of violation. Richard grunted, shuddering and stiffening, and gasped out his words.
"She's good?"
"Gooood." The hiss of the homunculus reached her ears, gradually dimming as her senses faded. The tongue whipped out, then shot into her mouth again, cramming down her throat. Somehow it still seemed to speak: "Sweet feeding."
She shuddered, the cold tail plunging deeper into her body until she shuddered and heaved with retching. Slick. Like the tail of a monstrous serpent. It thrust fiercely into her, twitching and writhing until she trembled and shuddered. At last she fell to her knees, the vicious length of it ramming her cunt as she dug feebly at the carpet. Her vision was starting to gray. Her nails snagged in the filthy pile as she tried to brace herself with her hands, the demon's tail whipping in and out of her in rapacious violation. She whimpered, fighting her last battle for breath in an agony. Her body was stretched obscenely, a foot and more of tail jammed into her and writhing with the tip doubling over and its relentless thrust stuffing more into her with every second. The vicious snake-tongue crammed her throat and her senses. She felt Richard move near her head – her vision was nearly gone now, the blackness rushing in around the blurry edges – and looked up, near blind, reduced to a mute plea. She plucked feebly at the cuff of his pants. A moment later she felt hot rain on her cheeks and her slowly closing eyes. "He just came on my face". Then a strange, heavy gonging sound, and nothing.
***
"Bridget? Bridget, honey, come on."
Bridget moaned. She hurt. Her throat was raw, aching and torn, and her head rang. Her thighs and body burned. She turned her head slowly, feeling gentle hands on either side. With a massive effort, she opened her eyes.
Judy. She sighed and closed her eyes again.
"No, Bridget, wake up. Wake up. I need you up."
Judy's voice was urgent. Bridget forced her eyes open again. With light came the return of memory.
"The bridle," Bridget croaked. Judy shuddered.
"That – thing. It's over there." Judy pointed to the corner where a heap of metal and leather straps lay flung. Bridget lifted her head weakly. Then, with Judy's help, she sat up. She took in the images as best she could. Bridle. Richard, in a heap. Frying pan. Cast iron. She looked up and smiled.
"Judy." Her voice was warm with relief and gratitude. Judy got her to her feet, Bridget clinging to her.
"Yes." Judy's voice was taut, her mouth thin and hard. Bridget looked into her eyes, saw the frightened shadow there, and forced out a whisper.
"You saw it."
"Yes." Judy glanced down, and a dark flush rose on her cheeks. She touched Bridget's skirt, brushing it helplessly back into place, then looked up with tears in her eyes. Bridget forced the answering tears back and gripped Judy's hand.
"God, I'm glad to see you." Judy's eyes lit a moment with a smile. Then she turned to Richard, her expression darkening.
"Him?" Her voice was low, a whisper. Bridget felt a sudden stir of instinct. She glanced toward the phone, then searched Judy's gaze.
No. She hadn't.
She hadn't called the police.
Bridget looked around the room – the scarred walls, the scattered papers and overturned chair. She took in Richard, slumped with an ugly gash across the back of his head and his limp cock still dribbling out the front of his pants. Then she looked down at the heap of rusting metalwork in the corner.
***
"Richard."
It was a low, soft whisper. Richard stirred. His dick felt weird, cold, exposed. But the whisper was tender, coaxing, slithering gently into his ear.
"Ah, Richard. How long I've waited."
Richard groaned. He was lying on the carpet. Why? He pushed himself groggily up to his knees, scrubbing at his face with his hands.
Cold. Hard.
"Our time at last, lovely Richard." A flickering tongue caressed his cheek, and a long, slithering touch slid up his leg. As he felt again at his face, shock giving way to terror like nothing he'd ever felt, a cool, scaly, twitching touch slid down inside his pants. He opened his mouth to scream and a writhing, eager tongue plunged deep into it. His cry was stifled in the devouring thrust, and a moment later that cold, fierce, probing length shot between his thighs and rammed up into him in the last and most intimate violation of his life. The pain blinded him; he could only wheeze as iron-hard claws dug into his scalp and a tongue and limber, ruthless tail plunged into him in fierce and ever-quickening frenzy. Richard strained back, fighting the demon's grip, but it only chuckled and yanked at his hair, forcing him into a harder arc still and opening him to a ramming thrust of its tail that left him stunned and reeling. Further, harder, deeper than should have been possible, it twitched cold and sickening within him. Somewhere, hazily, he felt blood. He tasted blood.
Behind him, a door quietly closed.
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Keywords: Bridle, Scold's,
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