He Rides at Midnight
You stumble back "home", a little shack you'd only just inherited, with shaking hands. As you rush in, you're slamming the barely hanging wood door shut behind you. Like it could save you.
The ghostly chill of the set in fog follows you inside, though the haze of it is dispelled by your lantern. You can't stay long, just enough to grab a sack, and enough supplies to take you to town and nothing more. You'll never return again; in fact, you should have never come back to begin with, but it's too late now to think such things. You were lured here, no one would say it was really your fault what happened, but now you were living with the consequences.
You're frantic, fluttering about the creaking cabin quickly as you can. Things crash to the floor and knock over, but you can't care to fix it. The noise means nothing, there's no way it doesn't know where you are already. Hiding has always been fruitless.
"Where do you think you can run?" The wind whispers. "He owns you."
You can't help but hiss back, "He can't own me. No one owns anyone!"
But it, having found something which finally drags your attention, repeats those words over and over. You want to scream and shout, fit against the voice and who it belongs to, but such an outburst will only slow you down. It wants you to slow down, so that it has time to catch you again.
You've gone to it once, when it seemed to be just a voice on the wind, but now you know better. Only through devious means have you escaped once, and if it actually catches you this time, you'll surely never be able to escape again. It will make certain of it.
The heavy pounding of hooves getting louder signals that you've lingered too long. You will survive with what you've managed to grab, it will simply have to be enough. You're bolting out the door, heart thundering in your head, down to your feet. Fear makes you flush, and the running has left your skin clammy and sensitive.
If you can just make it across the river, it will be banished back from the purgatory it's sprung from, and you will be free. You'd have no money, no home, and hardly a sense of direction to get you to town, but at least your life would be yours.
You heard him coming on the wind, and in the shake of the earth, but you did not dare look behind you. The bridge which would grant you freedom from a fate crueler than death was a dim image in the darkness of night, broken only by the flickering flood lamp you held up desperately. For a moment, hope makes the sweet feeling of relief cool your blood. You will make it.
Then, because of course there was a then, you tripped.
Hard too, feeling something important twist in your ankle as you did. It didn't matter how close the bridge was, you couldn't even struggle up to your knees, let alone run the rest of the way. The sound of hooves comes closer, and the wind sounds like laughter. Some part of you that you hate grows excited though, as your hunter approaches.
You turn on your back, and scramble--you've come too far just to lay down and take whatever it is going to do to you.
Though when you see it lit by your fallen lantern makes your heart stutter.
He--
No.
It--it--it.
You try not to consider the man shaped ghost a man at all, though he had the stature of a living being you might call a man. All the stature, save one important part.
The globe of his head.
A headless horseman, that's what it was. And it was after you and you alone, the moment you crossed the threshold of that river bank eyes were on you. You'd plucked the river flower, listened to the wind, and smiled its way when you hadn't realized what it was. Little did you know, you were now promised to it, and it would not be denied you.
It is tall and strong, dressed in strict uniform, whose colors have long since faded with time. With a confident gait, it looks quite skilled as it demounts its horse.
Damn it all, even without a head, you can't help but know that this is a man, and he has a very specific intention as he approaches you. Your eyes wet, tears springing forth as this impossible shambling should-be corpse looms over you.
"Fuck off!" You curse him, but not even the wind bothers to laugh anymore. "Leave me alone, I mean it! I'll--I'll--I'll--" but no reasonable threat comes to mind.
You'll kill him? He'd love to see you try.
You're still trying to scramble back, but you're stopped even from that when he springs forward. One hand is all it takes to pin you down, as he strikes forth with surprising quickness and grabs you by the neck. Your back is forced to the ground and you let out a pained sound.
He doesn't release you, but his free hand strokes the side of your face twice, and you're too scared to try and kick or fight. Then he moves, faster than he should again, with a strong hand that rips the front of your top off in one piece. You've got the right idea to scream now, but at this time of night, in this place, it's not like anyone but wolves are sure to hear your wailing.
He doesn't shush you, doesn't bother. Instead, his attention trails to your chest, his free hand tracing down your body, fingers roughly pinching your nipples before quickly moving on. Lower, lower, his touch is firm and persistent. His fingers move quick, defter than you'd thought he'd be, dragging your skirt up around your waist in a moment.
"W-wait!" Your voice warbles. "Not like this!"
But his hand, which tore your dress already with no effort, is quick to rip away the cloth of your undergarments. Shame makes a heat flush you, and your chest heaves with heavy, gasping breaths. You think he's to spring on you, but he slows, the icy touch of his palm on your inner thigh attempting to soothe you, as one may an ornery horse.
You whine, and a strange haunting sound emanates from his chest. The rhythm is hypnotizing, and you're so tired from running it's almost easy to feel lulled by soft touch, and a sudden silent promise that he would not hurt you. Still...
Why do you soften? Why do your legs slide open just a bit wider as he slots himself between them?
It's so strange to see his shoulders twist and move, like they were still operating a head, as he leaned back slightly as if to look at the view while his hand lifted your leg up to split your thighs in a way he preferred.
And you let him, the fight just bleeds out of you into the softness of the soil you're laid on. The brightness of the full moon doesn't allow you to miss a detail of what happens to you. He seems to sense this, and the hand that kept you pinned by your neck moves, so that he can hold your leg and free his stiffening member from under the restraint of his belt and pants.
He grabs it and smears the tip of his half-hard length across the wetness of your slit, and the terror slips back into the corner of your mind as you think about him forcing something so huge into you. He notices, but is quick to recenter you with a single move of his hips.
Leg bent over your chest, your knee over his shoulder, he presses deep, deep into you. Deeper as he folds over your form, he reaches under your thigh to grab your throat and keep your attention on him. You're forced to stare down the dark hole where his head should be.
That is, until he begins thrusting.
He ruts against you, with tight fast thrusts that ensure you're never free of his penetration. The hand around your neck tightens, keeping you tight to him instead of squirming. Their closeness is so intimate, you feel reshaped from the inside out as he continues to stamp his presence into your deepest parts.
Your lip's part, and you're desperate to feel the mouth of the entity that fucks you so. It's not the man, but the wind, which has been still all this while, which wraps around your tongue like a man might consume your mouth. It takes your final breath, which stutters from your lungs in a low keening moan. The sweet feeling of your core clenching around his hardness makes you convulse and another satisfied sound emanates from the Headless Horseman.
He's not quite done with you yet, and you tighten more and more until the coil makes you convulse around his insistent pounding thrusts again. He reaches his end as you reach your second, and he floods your walls with a cold, thick, plasma that feels more like loose jello than cum.
You must have lost your mind, but you cum again, eyes rolling back as your lost in the over-stimulation of his attention. His hands give a final, tight squeeze to your hips as he thrusts the final spurts of a heavy load into your pliant body. You moan, hardly a protest anymore. The wind was right all along.
He owns you.
And maybe, he always did.
Now We Ride At Midnight
He took you.
It could have been worse. It could have been better.
He could have left you there in the dirt, panting and slick, unknown goop pooling out you as a gross sludge which betrayed not only his acts, but yours. Left with the haunting possibility that it could have left something deeper inside you, turning into spawn which would be nothing but unholy.
At worst, you imagined he'd use you, and behead you, leaving you another victim of the Headless Horsemen.
Neither fate befell, however.
When he's done with you the first time, you'd been rendered a shaking, shivering mess. Cold and terrified. He'd risen, unnatural movements no less unnerving now that he'd been inside you, and left you on the ground to catch your breath.
This was the moment you thought he'd made a mistake, when really you would be the one to make your first. Twisted ankle or not, you decided quickly that he was dangerous and you would be making a run for it.
You scramble up to your feet just as he begins to shove his member back into his pants, his back half-turned to you, and run approximately ten horribly painful steps before you're caught again.
Since obviously you haven't had enough yet, he fucks you from behind, holding your hips up so he can land punishing, harsh, near militant thrusts that kiss your cervix with the force of a sludge hammer.
When he's done, he stands and brings you to your feet too, pulling out his sword and letting the glow of the blade in the moonlight intimidate you into the space between him and his horse, if his presence alone isn't enough to make you behave.
And that was the start of your life as the bride of the Headless Horsemen.
Of course, the horsemen cannot speak to you, though the wind will rise to tease you in his stead from time to time. But that doesn't mean he doesn't learn how to command you, or you don't learn to listen.
He's been a lonely ghost for a long time, a lost soul who's suffered through an unfair afterlife. Over the course of his timeless undeath, the monotony has worn down the good, loyal parts which had already been so deeply betrayed. With his hands finally on a warmth promised just for him, he took and took and took and took.
Whenever he wanted, however he wanted.
Sometimes he stopped his endless circling precession of doom calling to take his pleasure from you for... hours? Weeks? Just days? Time slipped by you the longer you were with him, as your humanity had been stripped from you the moment he claimed your soul as his, which you were slow to realize.
You're a different sort of ghost than him, which was why it was so hard to realize that you too had become one of the undead. He's a ghast of betrayal--haunted by the last stab of his most trusted associates as they unjustly looped his head off. You became a ghost of struggle, still clinging to the hope of the future which no longer existed for you.
Perhaps this is why once or twice more you tried to run, but the attempts were so useless. It became very clear that you could never leave him, unless one day he decided to set you free. Which, as long as he marched, he would never allow.
After the third time, if you decided to pretend as if you could escape, it was only to earn your favorite of his punishments.
You bolt off the horse at an inconvenient time, sometimes while he's already inside you, and attempt to disappear into the wilds. He's quick to follow, always, not keen on losing his one taste of heavenly reward no matter how much he must force it out of you.
The most thrilling kind of chase is when he rides his ghostly horse. Its hooves pounding the earth, emulating what was once the pounding of your heart in your ears.
Then he'd grab you, with rough harsh gloved hands. Sometimes picking you up by the waist and carrying you like that for a while, as he might've a saddle bag with a broken strap in life. Then he'd hop off his horse, and put you between him and the nearest tree, rutting you into the rough bark until you remember your place beneath him.
But sometimes, sometimes, he would instead be pulled to the roads, unable to resist the call of his curse to wander.
Those times he would deliver onto you an endless high as his torment, keeping the front of your body pressed close to his by a strong arm, his cock deep in your wanting hole where he fiends for the remnants of your warmth. But the only movement would not from his hips, but the trotting of the horse, riding furiously fast across the countryside as you clung desperately to him to keep balance.
Sometimes he would make you face the road, and keep a knife to your throat, so he need not worry about you testing his patience again. At least for a little while.
Now though, after so long in his world, you can't quite remember your life before, or why you ever dreamed of a life after him. The years pass by with a warbly sense. Surely the world changes. The roads you knew as a child change path, and turn from dirt, to brick, to asphalt. Horses drawn carriages are replaced by roaring machines your eyes can hardly understand.
But in the dark places of the forest not much has changed, nor have you or your long-time lover whose back you lean against night-in and night-out.
You're roaming over the dead and forgotten places which have always been his home, and are now also yours. You see the ghosts of villages and their people, who lived long before you did. Then into the future where the seemingly impossible towering structures rose and rotted, as the people slugged in and out of a more mechanical life, than up into the stars, leaving the husks of their once busy metropolis behind.
There is no home for you now, no place to settle. There is no time, only the sense of longing which has become your heartbeat. It is his fate to forever haunt the roads between, so now it is yours.
That is the fate of the Headless Horsemen's bride.
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