tagErotic HorrorRedheads Have No Souls

Redheads Have No Souls


A soul sucking redhead visits Boston. Sex & death follow.


Boston, MA Wednesday, November 1st

"Captain! Captain!" a young, aggressive reporter shouted trying to get the attention of the policeman as he ended his news conference concerning a new community police program.

The blond women with the pixie haircut shouted her question, "Any comment on the allegation that your officers are having sex parties while they are on the clock and inviting fellow officers to come and watch?"


The police captain was stunned by the question. "What evidence do you have to make that wild accusation?"

The journalist wiggled her way through the crowd of reporters until she was directly in front of him. She held up her tablet and said, "This evidence."

She pressed play and a video ran. The captain saw two nude people engaging in mutual oral sex. The camera panned around and focused on the kneeling woman's slim ass. Her pussy was being tongued by a dark-haired man underneath her. She had a mass of red pubic hair.

"Do you deny the woman is Sergeant Colleen O'Hara?"

The camera zoomed in on her bearded pussy and pink asshole. The captain gulped and nervously said, "Ah. Ah. I don't recognize that. Err... her."

The camera panned to the woman's head. A redhead was bobbing up and down on a firm cock. The woman paused, released the dick and sat up. The video showed her petite, well-formed breasts and her face. The captain gasped and said, "That's Colleen O'Hara!"

The angle of the camera changed and now it showed two uniform officers in the room watching Colleen and some man doing an enthusiastic "69" on a hotel bed.

"Oh my God!" the captain cried out. "How did you get that video?"

"It was recently uploaded to the internet," the blond responded smugly.

"This news conference is over," he shouted. He rushed from the stage. He hissed to a subordinate, "Bring me Colleen O'Hara!"


Doolin in County Clare, Ireland 1838


The high-pitch, bloodcurdling scream came from a frightened twelve-year-old ginger. A mob with torches was outside her ramshackle cottage. They were shouting, cursing and making threats against her mother, Catriona.

"Burn the witch! Burn the devil's handmaiden!"

"No!" Brianna, the scared redheaded girl, shouted. She ran to her mother who stood in the open doorway facing the mob. She hid behind her and clutched at her skirt.

"Don't take my mother!"

Her mother tried to stare down the mob. "Friends, why are you here? Aiden, are you seeking my help again for your cows? Last year, you begged me to cure them. Are they producing sour milk again?"

She looked to another man and said, " Liam, how's your cock working? Better? Stiff enough to pleasure and impregnate that new, young wife of yours?"

Both men averted their eyes. They were ashamed to have been identified as having sought out the help of the wise woman who they now accused of being a witch.

"Neighbors, we have lived in peace for years. I've helped many of you when the crops were bad or you and your family were ill. Why turn on me now?"

A man wearing a black robe and holding a large silver crucifix stepped to the fore. The new village priest shouted, "Don't listen to her. She is the devil's tool and has used his unholy power to blind you to her real intention. The witch is corrupting your souls and wants to rob you of your rightful place in heaven.

"She's done things no mortal can. Look at her! The bright red hair. It is the color of the fire of Hell!"

He succeeded in stirring up the passion of the mob. They rushed forward and grabbed Catriona. The rabble screamed and cheered as they carried her away.

Fiona, a destitute widow who'd recently been taken in by Brianna's mother managed to sneak the child away while the throng stripped the healer and so-called witch. They tied the naked woman to a stake as Fiona and the child ran through the woods.

Brianna and Fiona escaped from the mob, but they couldn't get far enough away not to hear Catriona's screams as the fire consumed her. The screams of her mother still echoed in her ears nearly two hundred years after the horrific event.


Boston, MA Monday, October 30th

"Ahh. No," Brianna murmured. She woke from a sound sleep having re-lived the traumatic day when her mother was taken and burnt alive. She sat up, feeling queasy and covered in sweat.

Even though that event had happened many years ago, the pain and anger she felt were as vivid as the day it occurred. She took a deep breath and gathered her wits. She looked around and saw that she was in a hotel room.

"Boston," she said out loud. She said, "I'm in Boston and I'm performing at The Black Rose. I have the early set starting at 6:30 p.m."

The Irish lass had come to America in 1850 as part of the large wave of immigrants fleeing the Emerald Isle due to the Great Irish Famine. She made a living as a traveling folk singer. She sang mainly Irish songs in pubs and small venues in Canada and the United States.

The vagabond lifestyle worked her. She'd seen what happened to her mother when she tried to settle down and be part of the community. She also learned that if you stay around too long, people ask questions, like 'How come you never seem to age?'.

Brianna was a beautiful, vivacious redhead who appeared to be in her late twenties. She'd looked like that for 163 years. Ever since she accepted that she was a soulless, redheaded witch who killed mortals and consumed their souls.

She yawned and smacked her lips. She was hungry and not for breakfast. There was a reason she'd had the awful nightmare. It was a sign that if she wanted to stay strong and young, she needed to take another soul.

This was her first day in Boston. She preferred stealing souls at the end of her engagements. That way, she was out of town when the body was discovered. It wasn't a hard-and-fast rule. She'd been doing this a long time and no one had yet caught on.

She would satisfy her need, her hunger. She would feed tonight.


"Captain, you have to be fucking kidding me!" Colleen complained.

Her superior officer in the Boston police department pretended to be surprised at her foul language.

"Colleen Bridget O'Hara! What would your mother think, God rest her soul, if she her you speak like that? Surely, she'd turn over in her grave!"

"Why me?" she repeated.

"You should consider hosting a police officer from one of Boston's official sister cities an honor, Sergeant O'Hara," he said facetiously.

"Look," he said seriously, "I'm stuck. The mayor came up with this asinine idea of having Boston and our sister cities exchange police officers. It's part of his cultural exchange program.

"Some detective from Padua, Italy is here for a week. You're my only sergeant not involved in any serious investigations so you get him. Take him out dinner or for a drink. Let him shadow you at work. Then, get him to the airport on time to catch his flight home. Got it?"

Colleen understood. Someone in the PD was going to get stuck with this bullshit assignment and she was the unlucky person. She recognized it was pointless to argue more. She saluted and said, "Yes, sir."

Her captain commiserated with her. He said, "I'll owe you one. The guy's name is Giovanni Saladino. He'll be up in a few minutes. I had the desk sergeant give him a tour of the station. Ah, here he comes. Be nice!"

The captain smiled broadly and said, "Sergeant Saladino, may I introduce you to your liaison with the Boston PD. This is Detective Sergeant Collen O'Hara. Collen, Sergeant Giovanni Saladino."

The captain bolted from the room as the two sergeants shook hands. They eyed each other. They were about the same age, early thirties. Surprisingly, they were the same height, 5' 6".

Gio was handsome and manly. He had on an elegant, tailored Italian suit. He had dark hair, a thick, dark mustache, and piercing eyes He was a powerfully built man. He carried himself in such a confident manner that Colleen forgot that he was short.

Giovanna saw a typical Boston Irish cop. Colleen had bright red hair, intense green eyes, and tons of freckles on her pale skin. She was a slender woman with a small bust and a tight, firm ass. She wore a cheap, green pantsuit. The suit did nothing to flatter her fit body. However, the color matched her eyes and made them seem large and luminous.

"Ciao," he said in a gracious manner. His handshake was firm, but not overpowering. He sensed she was annoyed. He said, "Sergeant, I know you didn't get into this profession to babysit foreign visitors.

"It's 18:30. Point me in the direction of one of Boston's famous bars and you can go home to your husband and children."

Colleen blushed and said, "I'm not married and I don't have any kids. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to bow out, but that wouldn't be right and you and I are in the business of doing what is right.

"There's a great Irish bar, The Black Rose, within a ten-minute walk. Can I buy you a drink?"

"I never say no to a beautiful woman."

She blushed again. Colleen was not a beautiful woman, but she was attractive. When she was a child, the other kids teased her saying she looked like the unfortunate offspring of Bozo the Clown and Raggedy Ann. She grew into a pretty woman with a shock of red hair, large eyes and an athletic build.

She paused, smiled and said, "I see it isn't only the Irish who have the gift of gab. Sir, you are too kind."

The two detectives discussed cases and policing during their walk and after they were seated and drinking Guinness. Colleen relaxed. Gio, as he insisted she call him, was not a burden. He was a smart, dedicated detective and an elegant, attractive man.

It had been a long time since Colleen was with a man who was so attentive. She accepted his invitation to stay for dinner. They watched a beautiful, talented Irish folk singer perform.


"Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen, and down the mountain side. The summer's gone, and all the roses falling, It's you, it's you must go and I must bide."

Brianna sang the whole song in a clear, strong voice. The crowd in the pub applauded loudly. She took a deep bow. Her long, red hair spilled forward and obscured her face. She stood, smiled, and left the small stage. She put her guitar away and headed to the bar.

"A Guinness draught," she said to the bartender as she eased into an empty stool at the bar.

A young man on the next seat said, "You're too good to be singing here. Barry, put her drink on my tab."

She turned and evaluated the speaker. He was in his twenties. Tanned, rugged and intoxicated. Definitely, a man who made his living by the sweat of his brow.

She gave him a smile and said, "Thanks for the beer and the compliment."

"You're welcome. So, Red, how is it that you can sing with some much emotion when you have no soul." He laughed thinking he was funny repeating the line from South Park, the television show, concerning redheads.

She shook her head and smiled. She raised her hand and waved her fingers in a "bring it on" motion. She said, "Good one. Get them all out of your system. I'll start with the easy redhead stereotypes.

"I smell like copper and I'm so pale, I can get a sunburn indoors. My favorite soft drink is Ginger Ale. I have a fiery temper and I'm a hellcat in bed."

He raised his glass saluting her for playing along.

She continued, "Yes, it's true I have no soul. I must steal them to stay alive or at least to stay young."

She loved this new skeptical century. No one believed in God or accepted the wisdom of the ages. Those things were old wives' tales that no one took seriously. It made it so easy for Brianna. She didn't have to hide or deny her true self. She could announce she was a soul-sucking witch from the rooftops and no one cared or believed her.

She leaned into potential victim until her face was inches from his. She said, "See all my freckles." She opened another button on her blouse and showed him the freckles on her chest and boobs.

His eyes widen as he saw her ample breasts nestled in a pretty, push up bra.

She sat back and left the button undone. She said, "I have 601 freckles on my body. One for every soul I've stolen. That sounds like a lot, but I'm nearly two hundred-years-old."

He played along with her joke. "You don't look a day over thirty."

"That's on account of the souls I take. I don't age and I don't die."

He snickered and said, "Tell me more about the hellcat."

"My red hair is a sign that I'm an apostle of the Devil." She fluffed her hair and said, "I'm marked by his color because my ancestors stole fire from Hell."

He slurred as he asked, "Is it true what they say? 'Red on the head, fire in the bed'?"

She took a long pull on her beer, stood and said, "There's one way to find out." She extended her hand.

He was surprised by her invitation. He wasn't usually this lucky at picking up attractive women at a bar. He jumped off the barstool and took her hand. She was hot and he was horny. He thought, "This is my lucky day".

It wasn't. It was his last day.

She said, "Take me to your place."

He pulled her towards the door. In his excitement get her home, he rushed forward and bumped into and bounced off of a short, sturdy man also heading for the door.

"Sorry," he said.

The well-dressed man said with an Italian accent, "Pardon me."

Two couples exited the bar. Brianna and her guy walked away.

The other couple, Colleen and Gio, stood in front of the bar. Collen had enjoyed Gio's company. She was flustered. She didn't want the evening to end, but was too shy to invite him home. She stuck out her hand and said, "I guess I'll see you in the morning."

He took her hand in his hands. He stepped in close, looked deep into her green eyes and said, "Beautiful lady, it is not often that I am impressed. You have impressed me. You are good, kind, and intelligent. Truly a beautiful lady.

"I am drawn to you and I believe, you feel a connection too. Come with me to my hotel. I want to make love to you."

Colleen was happily surprised by his speech. She knew it was crazy to sleep with this guy who'd be gone in a week. How could she hope to have a relationship with a man who lived 4000 miles away? But his heartfelt words moved her and he was correct. She was enthralled.

She thought about it for a moment. "Who says we have to have a relationship? Why can't I live in the moment?".

She'd been fucked by many men, usually when she was horny and desperately in need of an orgasm. No one had made love to her in years. Boyfriends were hard to keep when you work at an all-consuming job, like being a police officer.

The idea of hot sex with a handsome man was appealing. She answered honestly and said, "I'd like that."


The guy from the bar took Brianna to his apartment. Once inside, he was all over her. He kissed her and pawed her clothes off. She giggled at his enthusiasm and let him strip her. He quickly shucked off his clothes.

"You have great tits. So pale."

"Thank you," she said sarcastically. He was too drunk to realize she was messing with him. What women would have found that comment appealing?

His lips latched onto a big, pink nipple and he sucked it like hundreds of guys before him. A hand groped and squeezed her other boob.

"Gently," she reminded him to no avail.

She turned away from him to give her sensitive breasts a break. He didn't seem to care. He kissed the back of her neck and pressed her chest against the wall. His dick poked her ass. He was searching for her pussy.

"Easy tiger," she said soothingly. "You can have your way with me." She added in a knowing manner, "And I with you."

She flipped around. She was stronger than she looked. She grabbed his shoulders, turned him around and said, "Let's go to your bedroom. I'm too old to do it standing up in the foyer."

"All right. All right. All right," he called out as she frogmarched him into his bedroom.

She had him sit on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of him. While his intoxicated mind reeled, she said, "Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive. Lucifer, may your will always be done. Amen."

"What the fuck was that mumbo-jumbo?" he asked. His mind was hazy from the alcohol he'd imbibed.

"You and I are about to engage in a very spiritual activity. It never hurts to say thanks to the big guy," she said with a smile.

"You mean you're going to suck my dick?"

"Yes, that and other things," she responded patiently.

She grasped his dick. She licked it up and down and plunged it into her mouth. She gave him a hell of a blowjob. She thought it was the right thing to do. Good sex was the least she could do considering he was going to die tonight.

"Holy shit! You're good," he howled.

She pulled off and said, "Being holy has nothing to do with giving a great blowjob. I thought you wanted to be with a bad girl tonight. A hellcat." She stared him in the eye demanding an answer.

"Hellcat. Yeah. More sucking and more hellcat, Red," he begged.

She smiled and said, "I thought that's what you'd say."

She returned to his dick. She bobbed up and down and took him deep a few times.

"OhMyGod!" he cried when his dick slid past her tonsils. He almost lost it. She slowed down and changed her technique. She pulled back so only the tip was in her mouth. She used her tongue and languidly focused on massaging the head of his penis.

"Oh Fuck!" he cried out. "I love what you're doing."


Gio flagged down a cab. They got in and were taken to the hotel. Neither spoke as they rode the elevator up to his room. When they went inside, Colleen felt the need to explain. She said, "I don't normally do this."

He turned to her, looked into her frightened, embarrassed eyes and said, "I know."

He placed his fingertips on the top portion of her left boob, at the slight swelling about her nipple. He didn't grope her. He tapped her chest and said, "In your heart, it feels right, doesn't it?"

She nodded and looked searchingly into his dark eyes. She saw that he respected her and that his motives were pure. This man wasn't playing games. He was guileless.

He said, "In our job, we've learned to trust our gut. We can tell the good guys from the bad. I want you. Do you trust me?"

She did. In her gut, in her heart, in her soul. She said, "Yes."

They kissed. It was everything a kiss should be. It made her swoon. She was giddy and light headed. She felt the same level of excitement that she felt the first time she kissed a boy. It was awesome. He held her tight. She felt safe in his strong arms.

His tongue brushed against her lips. She opened her mouth and let it in. It was wonderful. She felt weak in the knees and staggered. He caught her and swept her off her feet. He carried her to the bed and gently put her down.

He undressed removing everything but his underwear. He was powerfully built with a hairy barrel chest, thick, muscular thighs, and impressive calves. She quivered looking at him and imagining that bull of a man taking her.

He leaned over and began undressing her. He started at her feet. He removed her sensible shoes and knee-high stockings. He was in no rush. He sat on the edge of the bed and spent five, unhurried minutes massaging her feet.

He rubbed away her tension and apprehension. As he worked on her feet, he learned her sweet spots, the location of the nerve endings that brought her pleasure. Once she was relaxed, he concentrated on those and soon had her cooing.

"Oh God! That feels wonderful. Ohhh," she groaned loving his touch. She lay there luxuriating and accepting the pampering.

He let her enjoy the treatment. When she was completely limp. He said, "Sit up."

She did and he removed her jacket. Then he unbuttoned her shirt and took it. Underneath she had on a seamless, white camisole. He pulled it over her head and discovered a plain, white bra.

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