Ponderings of a Witch
Mnnnnn... mnnn...
I had become quite skilled at this specific act after practicing it for several months. Boy-sucking had become a regular part of my existence. The process was always the same: get them undressed, get them turned on, drop down on your knees, and go. Watching them climax was like receiving a reward for my efforts. It was almost as if a psychological condition was at play.
Though, I was the one in control.
"F*, this feels so fking good..."
I had noticed that regardless of how eloquent a man's speech seemed initially, the language he resorted to while being pleasured by a witch was stripped down to the bare essentials. This particular man had spoken articulately just moments ago, but he now sounded submissive.
"H-holy f**k---!"
One couldn't help but ponder the thought... if he had realized these would be his final words, would he have chosen differently? Or would the hormone-fueled brain have no other words to say?
He was nearing his climax. His hands clasped the bed sheets so fiercely that I could hear it through the dreamy haze of sucking. I was just as tightly gripping his thigh with one hand. Most of my eyes were closed, but I could still make out the faint hue of his life force gathering around the base of his penis.
His cock pulsed my mouth, and he uttered a sound that was half a moan and half a scream. A soft light shone from his member, brightening more and more before ultimately landing at the back of my mouth.
It wasn't just his semen - it was his life essence, his soul. Hot, tasty. Every guy was unique, but you could always sense their overwhelming euphoria. Some had traces of confusion, regret, and despair mixed in. Though they were bitter emotions, I had come to enjoy them every last drop.
Pulling his cock from my mouth, I carefully pushed his body down onto the bed, lest he fall on me. Taking a moment to savor the flavor, I swallowed. With instinctual ease, I glanced toward the mirror on my door. My body was attractive, doubly so after absorbing his spirit.
Reflecting on myself in the mirror, I watched as his energy drifted down my throat, sliding slowly before disappearing completely. My perfect form made it a particularly satisfying experience. The way that he slipped away sealed his fate.
That's the routine of my witch life. While similar to the image you may have in your head, it also differed. Like witch stereotypes, we had weak control over events and were more prone to coincidences. Limited to the use of our own spirits, witches could only call upon relatively weak magic; but one day, a witch managed to claim others' souls. Gathering more spirits means more power; it also led to the development of magic that allowed absorption and/or transfer of souls. The only stipulation was that the soul must be drained during a state of weakness, such as near death or orgasm.
With his body frozen on my bed, I sighed. Miraculously, the spell required to make it disappear was "Poof." I had learned it from Maple, my mentor.
Being a witch, I had gained confidence and a more attractive physique. But my mind was fixated on draining. It felt like consuming a divine, intensely satisfying drug. My craving for this feeling was persistent.
I yawned. It was 10:47 PM, a reasonable hour for bed. The last few nights had been late, dedicated to studying magic, so it was time to readjust.
As I stood up, I contemplated my recent encounter. I had bedded a stranger on a dating app earlier that day. It was bewildering to realize how one simple swipe could bring an end to a human's life.
He wouldn't have put much thought into my profile picture. Confident from my newfound energy, I must've looked attractive to him. After matching, he would have believed himself a lucky catch.
I checked the time. 10:49 PM. Time to end the day and start anew.
When I was cozy in my bed, more ideas popped into my head. It wasn't exactly doubt, maybe it was more like intrigue. What I was doing, what I often did, could be seen as killing. Killing is bad, plain and simple. But it didn't feel bad to me. Why was that?
Perhaps not killing is not always seen as bad. In battles, it occurs frequently, right? I guess the distinction lies in the fact that the men I target are considered innocent civilians. However, I might argue that innocence is ambiguous as well. Personally, I would not call anyone of the male species innocent. And if what we witches do is considered a war against the ones who have oppressed us, then maybe that's the reason I feel remorse-free for them.
Moreover, all the men I drained could've faced a worse fate. I don't know what it feels like to have your awareness confined within somebody else, but I reckon it's not painful. In a world where the afterlife's existence is questionable, I believe they'd concur that it's preferable to just passing away.
Eventually, my ideas became more complex, more unusual, to the extent that I wasn't even sure they were my own, and then I was fast asleep.
Read also:
- Criminally-Tuned Rhythm Chapter 1
- Death's Angel, Part 4:
- Functional Defect 3
- Chapter 3: The Altered Text
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