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thetorturerwrites · 3 years

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Succubus at the end of the Street

Just some random spooky thoughts.....about my favorite slut.

* The all-black house at the end of the street was the most bizarre fucking thing Sackler had ever seen. Rich people were fucking crazy, right?

* Was the inside black, too, he wondered. Who lived there? There were stories about little old ladies and lovers who never returned if they went down to the end of the street. He didn’t believe in fairy tales, though, or urban legends. Probably just some eccentric old fart trying to keep meddling kids off his lawn.

* And yet...

* He practically jumped for joy when a package was mis-delivered to his house because he could finally, fucking finally, find out who lived there. If he kept prowling around the perimeter and peeking in the windows, he was going to get arrested.

* The first time he sees you, he’s too dumbstruck to speak a full sentence. You weren’t an old biddy nor an ancient douchebag. No no, you were mesmerizing. Long, dark hair. Smooth, glistening skin. You moved slowly, as though every step ached, but it lent you an air of grace. You were too beautiful to rush. He wondered what manner of curves those flowing charcoal fabrics were hiding.

* When your hand brushed his, Sackler thought he might swoon. He was certain he felt sparks, absolutely positive his skin sizzled.

* For weeks, he thought of nothing but you. His palm itched, right where you touched him, and the only thing that made it stop itching was to fuck himself to completion over and over and over. Relentlessly, he tugged, squeezed, and jerked his cock raw.

* It was never enough.

* Every time tried to catch you, the house was stone still. In the daytime, it seemed like nobody lived there. He waited for hours and hours, certain you’d come home any minute now.

* He started to believe he’d imagined you entirely.

* Your voice in his head, chanting his name until his bones hurt, drove him nearly mad. Frenetic with need, he ran through the midnight rain on bare feet to bang at your door. He meant to just ask your name, something he could moan when he came, but the look of you in the doorway, silhouetted by candlelight, dropped him to his knees.

* You were all curves, shapely and beautiful and otherworldly. You smelled sweet and decadent. He wanted to swallow every morsel of you, to ravage you until he was blind. But he could only stare.

* The first taste of your lips had him saying shameful things. He begged for another kiss, cried into the crook of your neck and pleaded that you not send him away. I’ll be good, he sobbed, so so good.

* He dreamed of you every night. That you would slip into his bed, soft and naked and cool against his flushing skin. How you’d sink down onto the erection he could never get to abate and ride him until he passed out. Every morning, he woke to find he’d shucked his shorts, torn through pillows, or fucked holes in his sheets.

* He started sleeping with the windows open. A fool’s hope.

* His friends held an intervention. They forced him out of his room and into the world to a quaint but busy restaurant on the other end of town. We’re worried about you, they said. You don’t eat. You don’t sleep well. You look like death. But he could only stare at the corner of the room where you dined with another man. When you slipped away to the restroom, he bolted from the table.

* He meant to shout at you, to demand you tell him who that man was, why wouldn’t you just talk to him. Instead, he found his fingers tangled into your silken hair and blubbered about how good your mouth felt around his dick. His skin felt like it was on fire. The heat of him only doubling from the sear of your tongue wiggling into his slit. Far too fast, he spilled into your eager mouth, moaning loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear.

* His friends said they didn’t see you. That man was eating alone. There was nobody. That house had been abandoned for decades.

* He lost his job. He missed auditions and rehearsals. He fucked everyone who came onto him - chasing even a scrap of what he’d felt at the back of your mouth. He found rock bottom in a handle of rum, swaying on his feet and stumbling down the deserted street. In a drunken fit, he raged at your door, throwing the bottle at the window and smashing it to bits.

* He spent that night, and the two following, in jail.

* I’m losing my fucking mind! He shouted at no one. He’d broken into your house with a crowbar and a pawn shop gun only to find it empty. Black furniture sat draped in white sheets. Every bedroom cemetery silent. He didn’t know if he meant to shoot you or himself; but now that he was here, the mark on his hand, the brand on his soul, had his dick out and drooling on the shining floor before he even knew what he was doing.

* He got to fuck you for the first time that night, but it was a blur. One minute, he was hopelessly rutting into his fist; and the next, you were on your hands and knees before him. His thighs bounced against your full ass, and he couldn’t stop shouting. All you had to do was say his name, and his cock would empty into you right on cue.

* He disappeared into your house, moving in without really telling anybody. One day, he stopped showing up at the place he shared with his friends. Having never bothered with a cell phone or a computer, he was just gone. He took nothing but himself.

* He stopped shopping for groceries. Stopped talking to people. Stopped wearing clothes.

* He took to sleeping during the days, draping his massive body over the nearest piece of furniture and dropping unconscious like a rock. You spent night after night turning him inside out. You fucked him on the floor, on the stairs, on the roof. You woke him every night with your wet mouth around his cock and rode him hard until the sun came up.

* They came to look for him.

* First, it was his friends, whispering about how this place was the only thing he talked about but it was so goddamn creepy. Then, it was the cops, grumbling about how it was just another stupid prank and that there wasn’t ever anybody here.

* But each time someone came ‘round, he was buried deep in your narcotic cunt. Curling his fingers to hear you whimper his name, tongue fucking your candied slit deliriously, or pounding into you with all his might so you’d praise him for his good dick.

* The days grew longer, heavier, and he slept more and more. The nights grew frantic, flying by too fast for him to cling to. He didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. His eyes were sunken. His lips were always drawn tight. His fingers tingled, and he felt like he could never catch his breath.

* He didn’t complain when you started fucking him in the graveyard behind the house. The night air felt nice against his skin, and the soft grass and sod cushioned his back.

* Instead, he cupped your face as you leaned over him, ignoring his knobby knuckles and marveling at the slenderness of your black, forked tongue. His hips could no longer rise to meet yours, but your pussy sucked him in so strongly they didn’t need to. He professed his love, his great, great need.

* M’yours, he murmured. Gonna fuck you forever.

* He basked in your smile, humming as you tucked a lock of white hair behind his large ear.

* As the sun came up, he closed his eyes. At last feeling sated.

#adam sackler #adam sackler smut #adam sackler imagine #spooky sackler #adam sackler x reader

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