The Witch Bridle

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Chapter 46

“A Gruesome Arson,” read the news headlines the next day from Woburn. Otherwise it was just another day in February. The family was fractured; KC and Oona were holed up in a messed up house in a battle of wills with Lucia, whose contact with Gran Liv was profound.


As she lay there and agonized over the day’s events, KC felt someone in bed beside her.

I thought I was alone for a while.

“Is it you?” she asked, though not entirely sure who the “you” was. KC had told Oona many times she would not sleep with her, no matter how unsettled the house was with Lucia. She guarded her privacy, and with her inner strength KC slept alone in her own room.

“Yes, it is I,” a tender voice breathed. She heard the voice from underneath the gently rumbling covers of her bed. The unlit room was splendidly warm.

KC pounced off the bed.

“Oona! What are you doing in my bed? We have talked about this and I cannot and will not sleep next to you. I just can’t.” My hands would be all over you.

“I am here to have you, as I wish and as I command,” the soft, tender voice of Oona’s in the dark room was undeniable. And under the bed covers there slowly danced a totally obscured life form. Then someone…or something appeared in the shadows.

“Oona?” It is you!” KC asked nervously. It’s unmistakably her!

And from the shadows it appeared to be Oona. KC could have dreamed it, and could never help but notice the enticing and thoroughly magnetic atmosphere. Everything seemed right.

The dark figure embraced the standing KC and moved her backwards onto her bed. KC was helpless in her hold. First she saw Oona and then she saw her own Andy.

“You’ve come back,” she said drowsily. Then things grew foggier and KC descended into what seemed like a tingly hypnotic state. If she’d been drugged by Oona – the witch – she would never forgive her. KC struggled to think through the thickening haze. There was something different about her – about Oona. “Where’s Drew?” KC whispered.

KC found herself in Oona’s apartment. But it was Lucia who locked the door behind her and would now have her way with KC. On her back her arms were stretched out with strong invisible hands while she was sternly gagged with a ball cock. She could not resist her seducer in the soft light of their surroundings, even if she wanted. She thought Oona was in the master suite.

With overpowering force the spirit of Lucia added her own character to Oona’s form. The shape shifter did not replace Oona; she only corrupted the image of her body. And under the steady stares of Klimt’s Water Serpents II, KC was raped repeatedly by Lucia who herself was raped repeatedly by her wicked master and his equally wicked “Puritan” wife. She recalled those unspeakable horrors to which she was subjected.

“And they called themselves ‘the godly’,” she said disgustedly, and spit her ghostly spittle. Once, when she was a little girl, Lucia had been free. She had been good and the times had been good for her family. All that changed when she was dragged off her island paradise in chains.

KC could only scream silently into the ball gag. Her wrists were in bondage, tethered to the massive headboard, and her feet bound securely to the posts with a black leather ribbon.

Lucia moved next to Oona’s locked hope chest which, regrettably, still required the physical strength of a witch to unlock the container which once housed the Great Book. While her victim writhed on top of the fine sheets and covers, Lucia glided over to Oona’s dresser, where she removed several suitable objects to effectually violate the witch Oona’s precious “property.”

With KC’s fists hopelessly clenched and powerless to do anything, she was violated repeatedly. Her arms and legs motioned pathetically, and in a punishing way as she struggled against futility to break free. She burned inside when the monster used one of Oona’s most prominent toys to finish the rape.

Lucia stole what she wanted. And in her moments of climax, a great black cloud appeared over her form and the Dark Witch swooned in a profane voice of her own. Then she assumed a death-like trance and fell away.

KC was left bruised and battered, bloodied on the bed with doubt it was Oona who committed the rape. Still she could not be sure it was or, for that matter, whether Oona who was behind the death of her husband. Visions during her assaults were proof of it, she feared, and with several broken bones, KC’s wounded spirit was still not broken.

The rape invigorated Lucia who embraced life, now nearly in a solid, opaque image. She knew her transformation was nearly complete, and she was poised to overpower the witch Oona and to finally take back what was rightfully hers.

“And how that pathetic Oona waited chaste for that fair mother I so easily assailed only a few minutes ago.” And KC’s rapist cursed the traditional Catholic religion now with diabolical parodies. Then, with her own flavoring of African Voodoo Catholicism mixed with the Voodoo magick, both of which made possible her ever-growing strength and shape shifting images, Lucia’s desire to hate and to harm grew ever stronger in her virtual limbs.

She looked down at KC, passed out from her injuries. “This pathetic Goodberry shall be allowed to live for a while longer.” With the scent of KC still fresh on her lips, Lucia turned her attention to her Great Book and its “protector” Oona the witch.

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