The Witch Under a Spell
I believe I remember the sixth soul I absorbed.
We were tipsy, not hammered. I desired to imbibe more, to obliterate the agony, but he cut us short prior to making significant advances. In the middle of the night, we ventured to the park featuring the bridge that spanned the expressway.
In some capacity, he was gracious, but also exceptionally fervent. I suspected that he possibly didn't have a clue about his future, but who was I to condemn? Perhaps he merely yearned for a good time. Perhaps, within, he wasn't benevolent and I was executing a favor. Unlikely.
Upon attaining the bridge, I gaped over, my limbs draped over the railing, and regarded the autos scurrying beneath us. If he mentioned anything, I neglected to perceive it. I merely heard the engines humming past. My eyes were out-of-focus, and when all the illuminations were just a blur, I became aware of the summer evening's temperature, balmy, yet my skin still appeared cool. For a flash, there was some sort of tranquility. I could gulp effortlessly. If I pitch forward, I'd plunge into his arms. If I pitched reverse, the dismal reverie would have concluded.
Yet, afterwards, I harbored doubts on that too. I was no longer mortal. I was a sorceress. A plunge would no longer end my existence.
I swiveled around, and we smiled at each other. I recall him, primarily due to his smile seeming remarkably genuine. He appeared to identify the value of the scenario, and his contentment upon perceiving it in my peepers made him pleased. When I gathered this, it was difficult for me to turn my gaze away.
Whenever I ventured out to drink, I rationalized I was doing so to assuage the appetite. It scarcely ever functioned, however. I believe, conversely, it was the hunger advising me to imbibe, so I could discover lads resembling him. Immature fellows, who had no prospect of declining the fondness I luxuriated, because it was incessantly distinct from anything they had experienced before, and routinely what they longed. When I contemplated kissing them, feeling them, appeasing them, whatever sensations of wickedness or self-harm I suffered no longer haunted my recollection, supplanted by a thirst I could not quench for life. It was meant to be a prowess, a dynamic to propel me to become a true enchantress. However, currently, it felt like a complication.
Shortly following midnight, we intruded in his flat. He leased a small cottage with a sole bedroom. There were no adornments, nor were there any slobs, only a functional living space-- albeit freed from tedium thanks to some modernistic adornments: a compact lamp, an electric kettle, and a set of confidently styled knife holders, among others.
He announced something surrounding the flat. He acquired a discount on it. He was shipping out soon, though. He was endeavoring to procure employment someplace in Sacramento. It was burdensome to persuade myself to listen to his discourse. I couldn't care less.
Instead, I focused on him. I caressed him, and he caressed me.
His palm clasped my arm. He drew himself nearer to me, and I consented. Upon my neck, he kissed me.
I sensed that frail vestige of dejection scrape through my blood vessels, because there was no return, but more than that, I detected comfort and delight.
Since there was no return.
An ominous sentiment amplified within my heart, permeating through my veins, discharging me of each and every mistrust, apprehension, and reason. His fingers traveled down my back, intensifying the sentiment, and I encircled him in acknowledgment. My digits crept under his tee shirt and sensed his thermometer, a warmth that was no longer his.
My sight dulled. The milieu was composed exclusively of feelings and cacophony. I detected his howls, and he detected mine. It felt delectable. I craved further.
"Let's."
We stood upright, and I revoked his shirts. His structure was imposing, akin to a figure of muscle and bone. I was shirtless, however, I wouldn't require to remove any further attire. I had him with his back to the wall, while I unfastened his trousers. I could appropriate everything from here.
"Quick move," he chortled.
It wasn't my initial outing anew. My saliva was dripping, also. Such a whore. [Parser formatting not included here.]
In front of me stood a man's erect penis, begging for attention. Gently, I traced my fingers around it, experiencing the contrast between my cold digits and his hot flesh. A tingling sensation spread through me, turning my shackles into desires. I leaned forward and swirled my tongue over the tip, tasting him before the grand finale. His sighs confirmed my suspicions - we were both swept up in a frenzy of primal urges, unable to control our carnal appetites.
As I drew back, he spoke, but not to say anything profound. "Fuck..." he uttered. As if to halt his next words, I shared his anatomy with my mouth, mimicking the rhythm of true intercourse. He gasped, "It's good..."
I ignored that. Savoring the moment, I devoured him whole, my mouth working in sync with my hand. Why? Can't say. Was it to prove something? Was I, a witch, testing her human nature? To betray my kind? Why had I opted for this life? Couldn't decide. Perhaps in that moment, I simply craved the sweet sensation of a man's soul.
Screaming, he found himself paralyzed by the pleasure I roused within him. It startled me; I'd never heard such depth in a man's noises before. Fighting his shivering body, he tried to move away, but what other escape was there? The wall remained our only barrier. As if to regain some control, he lent his back against it. My lips remained wrapped around him, sucking him swiftly.
Thuds echoed, and he landed on the floor in a trembling heap. Nothing could stop me now. Pressing my tongue to his prick, I dipped into him, thrashing it against his skin, and, in a fury, he loudly expressed his joy. The guilt I felt was palpable. Soulless bodies could replenish themselves, but they'd forgotten how to. It was unfair to him, so I was forced to rip his spirit from its body.
"Choke," he cried, and I swallowed, stopping just long enough to taste his soul before abandoning myself to the apathy.
Pausing in sorrow, I slumped onto the floor, surrounded by the warmth of his forgotten presence. My logic was nothing more than a rationalization for my actions - yes, it was for the greater good, but for who? Not him. A few quiet cries later, my subliminal longing for the opposite of my current existence returned. Although nothing concrete could be formed from the water of my tears, the guilt gnawing at me could not be tamed.
"Bet you're feeling pretty low, eh?" a voice softly teased.
Precariously balanced before me, she introduced herself. "You're Sara, I'm Pepper." Dressed in military-style trousers and sneakers, the adolescent before me looked to be a bit younger than I, her hair bearing the signs of a wreaked life. Would I have been the same if the roles were reversed? What would happen to the victim's body?
"Wait," I protested; Pepper treated me to a coy smirk. She outstretched her arm towards him, a modest being heightened by her long fingers. With a flash of soft blue light, his form evaporated into thin air, his clothes remaining. Taking him back, her mouth swept up and he was gone with a slight burp.
Shocking as her power was, her callousness made me sick. But as I observed the spectacle from afar, my long-ago questions began to make sense.
"Take a lesson," Pepper waved. "Next time, swallow faster."
Dazed, I nodded, aware that the hunter in me was already sharpening itself for the next. My emotions couldn't lessen my hunger, but they could own me. I had gone rogue. Pepper's magic stung me, a reminder that my existence would remain entangled in death and anguish. What cost would I pay, and who would die to help me?
"Bodies have some life force, you know. If you don't release it before taking the soul, it'll go to waste... I wonder?" She turned and noticed my downcast expression.
"Are you having problems or something?"
"J-just--" I tried to speak clearly. "They're... they're not even going to find his body anymore... His family... It's so messed up... Why would you do that?"
"Oh, didn't I just tell you?" Her carefree tone vanished.
"Do you think you're better than me because you have morals?" She asked, cutting me off. "Little Miss Dramatic?"
"No, I just--"
"What's the issue again? Why did you want to become a witch?"
"I--"
"You just wanted power! Such a simple-minded slut!" She laughed, unapologetic. "You let your emotions control you, and now it's too late to turn back. At least the guys I kill for pleasure serve a purpose. With you, you only make things worse."
Facing her terrible deeds, she was stunningly beautiful. More beautiful than I could be.
Her finger caressed my throat.
"How many souls have you sent to the afterlife?"
"...Six..."
"And you're upset with me? What was the reason again you wanted to be a witch?"
"I-- I didn't understand..."
"You just wanted to look cool! Aha!" She chuckled, unrepentant. "You're such a stupid slut! You let your lust decide, and now you can't reverse your actions."
With the shame on my face, she returned to her cheerful sadism. I couldn't say anything. I wasn't better, I was worse.
"Maple wanted me to check on you, so that's why I'm here. Maybe I'll go meet someone else and satisfy my desires before the night ends. So, bye!" She said, standing up.
"Oh, and by the way, does it feel good to move up from handjobs?"
As sudden as she had arrived, she disappeared.
I fingered around my lips. Some cum, still clinging to the side.
The tears finally dropped.
Read also:
- Criminally-Tuned Rhythm Chapter 1
- Death's Angel, Part 4:
- Functional Defect 3
- Chapter 3: The Altered Text
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