Tartura: Destroyer of Innocent Souls

Halloween is a lovely time of year for me. Warm days and cool nights. Cuddling by the fire. And candy. It's special mostly because of the candy.

😃

Anyway, I figured that I definitely had to submit a story for the Literotica Halloween Contest during my first year on Literotica! As per usual, I am eschewing convention and writing a pretty wacked out story. In other words... just another day in Freya-ville!! I hope that you like this short detour into one of the darker corners of my imagination!

And, of course, a HUGE "thank you" to

Figjamkiss

who is always there with moral support and to dot the i's and cross the t's and

AlexFourways

who is just always there supporting me.

Enjoy the horror and I wish you the happiest of Halloweens!

Love, Frey

My Stories

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He looks at me, with no hint of fear in his dark eyes. But he has no reason to fear me. If only he knew. But he thinks I'm only joking. You know, with it being October and Halloween-y and all. Humoring me only because he wants to get into my pants, he asks, "So, Debbie, you're a vampire, huh? How did you become a vampire?"

It's rare that I divulge what I am to anyone. This is not the first man that I've told, but it is the first man in over fifty years. I mean, I can't very well have a bunch of men running around babbling about a "cum vampire" that sucks guys' dicks to sustain her everlasting life -- there's absolutely no possibility of me telling

that

story and having it end up with a happy ending. Anyway, I'm just too tired to move to another city again. I've moved enough for dozens of lifetimes.

This guy doesn't even know what I look like. My name's not even Debbie.

Curious as to what he does see, I pop into his thoughts, look through his eyes, and see me.

Through his eyes, I'm cute. Blonde. Blue eyes. Huge tits. Boy are they big! I look a lot like his wife. Not in the boob department, though. That's the one thing he would change about her. The only thing he would change about her, in fact. He thinks she's "darn near perfect" -- those are the exact words in his head -- and I'm jealous of the love they share.

Something that I'll never have.

This is how he

wants

to see me, so this is what he sees.

Women, on the other hand, see the real me. The real physical me, at least. But they have nothing that I want, so I don't care if they know what I look like. I'm plain-looking. Far beyond average. Easily forgettable. So forgettable, in fact, that most people look at me and then don't even realize they saw me. People just gaze right through me.

I'm a phantom.

A lonely phantom.

For some reason, I needed to tell this guy. Maybe I'm looking for some sort of human connection today. I don't know. I've stopped asking why I do some of the random things that I do centuries ago.

I know his name -- hell, I know everything about him -- I know all of his thoughts -- but by not saying, or even thinking, his actual name helps me. It makes what's about to happen seem less personal.

He's just a guy to me. Just another guy in a long, steady stream of guys.

Even though I may be able to delude myself into believing that this somehow makes it less personal, it's still very personal. And painful. For both of us.

Probably worse for him.

"How did I get this way? How did I become...

this

?" It's impossible to disguise the disgust in my voice. I sigh. "I don't know." Although it's not a lie, the truth is that I simply don't really remember. I have an idea. I sometimes get flashes, usually in dreams, but what is a dream anyway? Hope for a better life? If it is, then I have no dreams. I have no hope.

No hope at all.

For the millionth time, I tell myself that this needs to end.

But so far, I've been unable to end it.

I'm scared of death.

No. I don't think that I am. What I really am is terrified of what might be there for me

after

death.

But I'm beginning to think -- hoping against hope -- that my fear of ending it all is finally becoming eclipsed by my revulsion at what I've done to countless men. How I've destroyed countless families. Hurt countless children.

My existence needs to end.

Existence.

Ha! I can't even bring myself to think of it as a life.

It isn't.

I merely exist.

It's hell.

What's beyond it, though? Could there possibly be an even worse hell than this one that I'm existing in?

Yes, that's my real fear.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, kindly.

I could end this tonight. I could tell him to go back to his loving wife and children. Then I could just creep home and die and it would all be over. But I need his cock.

No. Not even that. I just need his seed.

I should let him go. Go back to his family. Back to his happy life.

Fuck it. I have to do this. I have no choice.

Well, of course I have a choice. Everyone has a choice. I'm just too weak to make the right choice.

Fuck it. I decide to take what I need and send this poor soul back to his loving and trusting wife as a shattered man. Of course, I know what will happen. It's always the same. He's so in love with her that he will become riddled with guilt. He won't know why he cheated on her. How would he ever know that a random woman walked up to him, entranced him, and had her way with him?

Ridiculous, right?

Even if I told him that was what happened, he wouldn't believe it.

So, he will go home, his love for his wife eroded by his infidelity. He'll remember it all, but will have no idea that he was viciously manipulated, completely against his will. He'll think that he has some horrible previously unknown flaw in his personality that made him go outside of his monogamous relationship. Whether he tells her or not, he'll feel that his wife would be better off without him. Blah, blah, blah. And it will probably end in divorce. Their trust forever destroyed.

Divorce or worse.

Some of my... not to mince words,

victims

... choose an easier, faster way out.

Gunshot to the head.

Jumping off a bridge.

Hanging.

Pills seem to be a popular one. Especially lately. No muss, no fuss, I guess.

Once I go into their thoughts, a tiny bit of my ability to read them remains in there. Until they die, of course. Then that ends. Who knows what happens after you die? My connection to their mind, however tenuous, ends. I know that.

I usually don't

see

what happens, but when it finally does, a tiny foggy image pops into my mind. Almost like a faintly overheard snippet of conversation drifting by in a crowd. And I just know it's over for them.

So, yeah. I'll trick this guy into letting me suck his dick and he'll sheepishly slink away as another life that I've destroyed.

Why can't they just keep it to themselves and carry on?

That's easy. Because they love too powerfully. I need the cum of a man who's love is pure. A man who would rather die than hurt their partner -- wife, girlfriend, whatever -- boyfriend, for that matter.

Just a man who's love is pure and powerful.

A man who would never, ever, ever cheat on their partner.

That's what I need. And taking what I do from a man that is so in love and so devoted, comes with consequences.

Oh, fuck it.

Fuck me and my shitty existence.

Here goes another one.

"Sorry, sweetie," I begin my loosely-scripted monologue. "I was just thinking about how lucky I was to have met you tonight." I run my hand up his thigh, feeling the bulge in his pants beneath my fingers.

"Oh,

I'm

the lucky one," he tells me. "I've never met a woman as beautiful as you, Debbie."

If only he could see the real me. But part of my charm is that he cannot. He doesn't even remember he's married. He probably can't even remember his own name, right now. He just needs me to get him off.

I'm a real charmer in that regard.

"You're amazing," he mumbles as he clumsily reaches under my shirt to paw at my massive tits.

"Uh-uh. No, no, no," I chide him. "My turn, first."

I deftly unzip his pants and free his straining erection as he pushes the button to recline the car seat back a little, making room for me, then lets out a soft moan as my lips engulf the head of his cock.

And, no, I don't bite his dick off. I don't suck his blood or any of that fairytale bullshit. I do something far worse.

I ruin his life.

As I suck his entire cock into my mouth, he groans. He's loving it. I can feel

that

sharply in my mind. Sadly, it's not love for me. It's love for the feeling of having his dick sucked.

It's cloaked -- even manufactured -- love for "Debbie."

But deep down, it's really the love he has for his temporarily forgotten wife back home.

Out of morbid curiosity, I search his mind a little and quickly find where he lives. I'm sucking a married man's cock in his car parked in a back lot less than two blocks from his loving and completely oblivious wife. They have two young children -- no, three -- a newborn. Well, that's just fuckin' lovely. I'm destroying the family of a tiny baby before it even knows what's happening.

Great.

But at this point, I don't care. I just need his cum. I can feel my heart beating faster as I anticipate his seed. His heartbeat pounds a counter rhythm in my head. It feels like someone threw endless drums down an eternal staircase. The competing banging of our two hearts becomes an arrhythmic drone, drowning out everything but my lust.

If only something could drown out that ceaseless need that I have.

But nothing has been able to so far. And I have tried.

It's too strong.

His dick is small and he knows it. He was teased mercilessly in school gym class. They called him "Little Dick." His first name is Richard. He hates being called Dick. I need to get out of his head. I don't want to know about him. It's difficult to get out. Much easier to get

into

someone's thoughts. But if I really concentrate, I can shut his thoughts out and then extricate myself. Mostly, at least. That spider web connection will remain. But once I'm mostly out, then I simply focus on getting what I need. And then I can toss him aside like all the others.

He smells clean. Like soap. I found him in the supermarket buying flowers. He probably had a date night with his wife planned. The flowers are lying, forgotten on the dashboard of his car.

They will become apology flowers, I'm sure. Guilt flowers. He may not come clean to his wife at first -- or ever -- but the guilt will surely consume him.

Why can't it be just any cum? Why does it have to be the cum of a man deeply in love?

Questions with no answers.

I gently suck on his cock, slowly caressing it with my tongue. I reach out and drag one of my fingernails lightly across his balls and he groans. I can feel him pulsing inside my mouth. My heart is racing with anticipation as I taste some precum on my tongue. Faintly sweet and ever-so-slightly acerbic, but rich with promise. Behind closed eyelids, my eyes cross as a little more precum enters me.

That tiny sample triggers a switch in my head.

Now, my desire is a haunting ache inside of me. I need it now!

Why did I wait so long today? I should have gone right out in the morning. Then I'd have been all set for the day. I could have been lounging in front of my TV right now bathed in the comforting warm glow as a man's stolen love languidly rippled through my veins.

I thought I was fine. I thought I could make it through the entire day without my "fix" -- using the current street parlance -- but here I am blowing a guy in the front seat of his car, in a damned parking lot, at 5:30 in the evening. But he'll give me what I need after I provide my service.

He's close.

His thigh feels damp under my hand.

I know what he wants.

I take all of him into my mouth then, pursing my lips around his base, slowly draw my head up. He moans as my lips reach just under his small cockhead. Come on, "Little Dick," cum in my fucking mouth!

Now! My brain screams silently as I cradle his balls and lick circles around the head of his prick.

Come on, come on, come on...

It's coming. I can feel it. I can feel

him

.

He hunches up towards my face and I squeeze two fingers and a thumb between my lips and his hips, grasping his undersized penis.

And then he cums.

I don't know if it was that I waited so long or if he came so much or if it was just

really

potent stuff, but if I hadn't been practically lying across the front seat, I would have collapsed as the initial rush hit me.

The triphammer in my chest instantly freezes mid-beat as he cums in my mouth. I can feel it sliding down my throat. Coating my esophagus with a cool, numbing ooze. And then, as it hits my belly, I float along with the first welcoming wave as it billows through my body. I feel my heart slowly start up again, pushing the warm haze out to each individual cell of my body, washing away all of the agony and torment that dwells in every turn of my meager existence.

My world is perfect again.

I feel alive again.

Then, as if I've drifted out of my own body, as if I'm experiencing someone else's movements and thoughts, I feel myself methodically suck all I can out of this man, basking in this brief moment of shared love. I know that it's temporary, but I don't care. I don't even care that it's not love for me. Fabricated lust disguised as pretend love. But that's more than good enough for me.

For now.

For today.

I rested my head on his lap as I let his cock slip from my slackened lips, my eyes glazed over in rapture.

Nearly comatose, I gaze up at him. He looks down at me with sudden horrified realization and profound regret in his eyes, as I carefully lick the last of his cum from my lips and smile drunkenly at him. It's the look that I've seen a million times from a million men. The harrowing eyes that haunt my dreams every single night.

But I got what I needed.

It's so easy to rationalize the pain I'm causing others. It's just who I am, I tell myself. It's just something that I need. No one else would understand what it's like.

Unfortunately, I understand exactly what it's like for my victims. In a twisted attempt at atonement -- a form of sick self-flagellation -- I sometimes stay in their minds when they go home. I feel the regret that rips them apart.

I see the tears.

The broken trust.

The broken love.

I see the destroyed families. But I cannot stop myself.

I need this.

Sometimes, I just need to punish myself.

I know that I need to stop. I don't know how. I've tried, but it's beyond my control. This is just who I am. Forever.

Neither of us say a word as I sit up, open the car door, and get out. I may see him again somewhere, but I doubt I'll recognize the shattered husk that I've just created. I don't care enough to. Or maybe I'm so ashamed that I'll just block him out. But he won't recognize me. I'll be someone else the next time. I always am.

Satiated, I float across the darkening parking lot on the wings of angels, leaving him in my past. From this moment on, though,

his

future will revolve around "Debbie," the busty blonde that destroyed his marriage. He will curse me every single day for the rest of his life.

He can hop in line for that. It's a long one.

But I don't care anymore. I'm alive. I'm vivacious. For a short time, I'm invincible. A day? Three days? It's hard to tell, but the way I'm feeling right now, I'm leaning towards the longer end of the spectrum. What's-his-name -- "Little Dick" -- was brimming with love.

Not for me, but who cares? It's mine now.

I drift home, have some dinner and turn on the TV. What an amazing invention. There are some decent shows on, nowadays. They're entertaining. They help to kill the time until I need my next "fix."

It's almost four entire days until I feel the urge again. I turn off the TV and pull on a pair of old sneakers. I walk to the bank and grab some cash. I haven't needed to work in decades -- maybe even longer. When you're eternal, it's easy to save money. I just need to switch out names and banks every so often, reinvest every now and then, and sometimes dip into the collection of gold coins that I have in my safe at home as a hedge against inflation.

Also, some men give me things. You know, besides everlasting life.

I decide to mosey on down to the mall. I like to mix it up. I was in no rush. The urge was still quite low. That guy with the little pecker was amazing!

I swing by a pretzel stand and grab a drink and notice a young man sitting by himself reading a book, nibbling on the last bit of a pretzel.

"What are you reading?" I ask him and he tells me, but I'm not really listening. I can sense that he has a lot of love and this really piques my interest in him. "Do you mind if I join you?" Of course, he says that I may. He's already entranced. Sometimes I wish it wasn't so easy. There's really no sport in it.

Within moments, I'm nearly blinded myself by the need raging inside me.

I shouldn't have waited four entire days.

I thought that I was doing fine.

So foolhardy of me.

I don't know why I do this to myself.

He's so innocent. I can see his girlfriend in his mind. She's everywhere. He's saving himself for marriage. I should get up and walk away. I should find someone else.

But the love he has...

I take his hand and invite him to a motel.

In a blur of desire, he drives us just off the interstate. I pay in cash and we're in the room in minutes.

Curious as to what he sees, I look through his eyes.

I'm his girlfriend.

This is just too easy.

He calls me "Celeste." That's his girlfriend's name. He can call me whatever he wants. I just need one thing from him.

I lay him on the bed and pull his pants down. His cock is huge. If he wasn't so dedicated to his girlfriend, he could be plowing girls left and right with this thing. But then again, if he wasn't so dedicated to his girlfriend, he wouldn't be here with me. I look at his dick in my hand and briefly contemplate just fucking him, but I know that I need to swallow his cum.

First, at least.

I'll fuck him after.

The fingers of one hand can't reach around his cock, so I hold him with both hands as I guide my lips down onto him. I can't fit much more than the head of it into my mouth. I can't wait to fuck him. I tingle with the thought that this giant cock is going to be inside my pussy. While my hands stroke him up and down, I suck heartilly on the end of his dick.

There's a sudden flash in my brain. He's been saving himself for marriage. He's never had any type of sex in his life. He's never even masturbated before. This is gonna be good!

And fast!

I can feel his cock stiffen even further, then he explodes into my mouth and with a soft whimper, he empties years' worth of cum into me. Pump after pump after pump. I can barely swallow fast enough. And then he's finally done.

I'm dizzy.

I look up at him.

I think he's crying?

The motel room swirls all around me.

Everything's a blur.

I'm on top of him.

His massive cock is pushing inside me.

I'm riding him with wild abandon and he's holding onto my hips for dear life.

We both scream as he cums inside of me.

I've never had an orgasm, but never needed one.

The feeling of a man's cum -- his love -- inside me is more than enough.

I get no joy out of the sexual acts that I am endlessly engaging in. The cum going into my belly is all that I'm after. I guess

that

is almost orgasmic. The feeling of life inside me. The feeling of it coursing through my veins. Combined ice and fire flowing into every nerve of my body.