The Telepath, James Porter

Story Info
He FEEDS on her PASSION. Her ORGASMS give him STRENGTH.
2.9k words
3.48
9.3k
2
0
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

James moves across the dance floor and toward the bar. The angular features of his face are marked with a firm resolve. Those blue-grey eyes locked in a hardline gaze; tiny, hypnotic moonstones whose colors glint and shift in the flashing strobe overhead. He slips in and out of young, sweaty bodies with the enigmatic power of a Greek god, his muscular physique hidden beneath a black hooded sweatshirt and dark stonewashed blue jeans.

The crowd happily flirts with death, unaware of the beast hunting in their midst. They press against him on all sides, warm flesh against warm flesh, a massive throng of party people doing what party people do best, dancing and drinking and fucking.

The music is loud. Rhythmic vibrations swallow him whole. A hard drum-line keeps pace with gyring green glow sticks that eagerly twirl at the end of thick, leather lanyards. It's a dizzying orchestra of sharp staccato tangled in whistling streaks of neon light. James invites the noise. The throbbing tempo is therapeutic, a kind of quiet chaos amidst the storm of thoughts that pound against the walls of his preternatural mind. On nights like tonight, when the hunger is strongest, he must keep his ability in check. One misstep could mean disaster.

The smell of liquor and lust and women's perfume hang heavy in the air, growing more and more deliciously pungent the deeper he drives into the pulsing mosh. He continues toward the bar, the beating heart of crowd, hedged in by an orgy of limbs and lips and lovers.

This is the busiest nightclub in Medellin, a brothel furnishing the finest stock. He had chosen this place specifically. Of all the places in all the world he had hunted" cities built by sex and drugs and music; infamously depraved and infamously revered; cities where good people go to do bad things" this is his very favorite. The scent of lust is so deliciously thick he can smell it for miles. A score of pretty young women wait to satisfy his hunger. All he must do now is choose.

James is not the only lonely soul here tonight. That's what makes this place and places like it so dangerous, the expectation of it all. They had all come with expectations. They had all come with neediness and desire and passions and emptiness. They had all come looking to be filled.

Johns came to be with girls who, otherwise, wouldn't touch them. Fresh-faced woo girls, their fresh tan lines and fresher hands, came to find love. They grind their scantly clad bodies against overzealous party boys who came to get laid. They each have their own expectations. They each have their own baggage.

"Jack and Coke... make it a double," James instructs the bartender, hoping against hope to numb his conscience.

He takes a stiff swig of the carbonated whisky, expanding his consciousness into the space around him. As the fizzy heat spills down the back of his throat the invisible tendrils of his mind spill into the crowd. They tease past glitter laden asses and arms, brilliantly fleeting pins of light plastered to naked flesh. The silver flecks blaze beneath the flashing strobe, resembling tiny galaxies as they swirl amidst nimbus splashes of neon paint. It's an aptly colored smear of cotton candy veneer that accents a sweet sea of pink, bulbous lollipops.

Never looking away from the drink in his hand, James searches the crowd. He slips from one mind to the next, fighting past the emotional baggage of the masses" guilt, fear, excitement, drunkenness. He finds the perfect specimen.

"She'll do. She's strong," he whispers, the liquor still hot on his breath. He peers into the mind of a young, local call girl. He notes strength hidden beneath her delicate features.

Like him, she's also hunting, chatting up a frisky John at the end of the bar. She hides disgust behind eager eyes as the frisky John slips his hand under her miniskirt and pulls her panties to one side, groping and pinching and fingering with complete disregard. She's a thing to be used and not loved. But she does what she must.

James looks into her thoughts, sifting through the brokenness of her mind, willing her to stand and walk away. She does. An intuitive pull washes over her, an irresistible urge to approach him. There's nothing intuitive about it, however. He's luring her in, manipulating her mind in the most excitingly nefarious way imaginable, forcing himself upon her as so many men before him had.

That sexy saunter, the way her hips sway as she moves through the crowd, fills him with an unruly lust. It had been so long. He was so hungry. The space around them falls silent as she approaches. The music, the lights, the woo girls, the strobe, fade into the background. He struggles to maintain control. His humanity, fighting tooth and nail, pleads for the girl's life. It's too late. He's no longer in control. The beast is awoken.

"You wanna go somewhere quiet, papi?" she asks, her broken English sounding forced and trancelike.

She takes his hand and leads him across the dance floor and up the stairs, anticipation swelling between them as they slip past the red velvet rope and V.I.P sign. Her pulse flutters as serotonin races through her bloodstream at an unnatural rate. He can sense it, the heavy thudding of her heart, each beat ticking away time, bringing them closer and closer to that final moment of connectedness. He's keenly aware of the inferno of passion now raging inside her. The sweet smell of her lust consumes him. It subdues all reason. He feeds on her lust. He feeds on her passion. Her orgasms will give him strength.

She locks the door and pushes him to the bed. The low drone of the music vibrates the walls. There's an inexplicable yearning between them, the need for intimacy, the need for his skin against hers and hers against his. They both sense it, a shared consciousness. The desire is so painfully palpable she feels as though she may cum that very moment.

She hurriedly slips out of her miniskirt, wiggling that perfect ass, forcing the tiny tube-shaped denim down and over her hips. She pauses, dropping her tank top to the floor and kicking out of her high stilettos. She allows him to study her body, blushing as a wide-eyed look of approval forms across his face. He feels completely aroused. She feels completely safe.

Clothed in nothing but knee high socks, she climbs on top of him, the inside of her naked thighs pressing tightly against his waist and stomach, soft and warm and inviting through his white t-shirt. Running her fingers over the growing bulge in his faded blue jeans, she bites his neck and whispers in his ear:

"You wanna fuck me, papi?" she says, her words sounding too adult to have come from such tender lips, the innocence of her visage a carefully crafted façade" a siren's call to broken men and their broken hearts.

Eagerly unbuttoning his jeans, she works her way down his body, kissing and bitting and sucking until she's on her knees in front of him. With his jeans unzipped, his erection pulls the fabric of his briefs into a tight, tent-like shape. She leisurely kneels at his feet, settling in and tossing her wavy dark hair to one side, working those petite, perfectly manicured hands up the inside of his thighs. His blood boils. Her heart pounds. The beast lies in wait longing for the blood of the beauty.

Pulling his jeans down and around his waist she firmly grasps his entire length in her hand, her dainty fingers barely closing around his sizable girth. She strokes him, kissing the tender areas of his stomach and thighs, teasing him with her lips. He must focus now more than ever. He must keep the beast at bay.

Curling her lips around him she takes his entire length into her mouth, lightly swirling her tongue around the engorged head of his cock. It reminders her of those pink, bulbous lollipops she sometimes sneaks between Johns. She's surprised at how much it turns her on. The taste, the texture, the unmistakeable sound of satisfaction in his breathing. It makes her wet. Wetter than she's ever been, in fact.

She doesn't usually enjoy this part of the job, it's strictly business, but something about him is utterly disarming, an inexplicable closeness, a comfort neither of them had felt in a very long time. She lets go, falling into the warmth of his companionship, completely surrendered, his cock in the back of her throat. She feels a primal, visceral connection, a pleasure deeper and infinitely more satisfying than any sex could ever be.

She sucks harder and harder, a carnal, subservient act of devotion, worshiping a graven image made of veiny flesh and blood and cartilage, prostrate she gives penance for her sins against love. Squeezing and rolling his balls with one hand and stroking him with the other, looking into his eyes through tousled bangs, her head now vigorously bobbing up and down as she takes him to the back of her throat and out again. Like a doe in the headlights her dark eyes widen. Her legs tremble, weak under the weight of her tiny frame. Her body quakes as the heat of a thousand suns rises from the pit of her belly up through the top of her head, warm and bubbly as it surges past her cheekbones and down her spine. In that moment she experiences the most intense pleasure she had ever known.

"How did you do that?" she pants, visibly distressed, sensing an unnatural force at work. The pink hue of her cheekbones flush a paled white, leaving only the faintest purple tarnish of matte blush as the soft features of her face elongate and stiffen. Her already large eyes widen, a curiously seductive fear in their circumference.

"Hmm... you are strong," James says, impressed at her ability to resist the absurd reality of what just occurred.

"Don't be afraid," he whispers, taking her hands in his own. "Look at me," he commands, staring into her beautiful, fear stricken eyes, unearthing hidden parts that lingers beneath the surface of that tender veneer, comforting her in a way that no man ever had or ever could. "We lie to hide the truth, Maria," he says, gently kissing her forehead and wiping away a lonely tear. "It's just a story. We hope against hope they won't see what we are, broken. All of us, broken."

"How... How do you know my name?," she asks. "This isn't real. It doesn't make sense," she says, visibly shaken, fighting against the fantasy he's weaved in her mind. "What are you?"

"Let go, Maria," he says, digging deeper into her consciousness, regaining control.

"What are you? What are you? What..." she rambles, kissing his face and neck and chest, a helpless victim of pleasure.

He draws his consciousness into himself. A calm washes over her as James relinquishes control of her mental faculties. Her legs quake. Her clit throbs.

"I'll tell you what I am, Maria,' he resigns. "But you can't scream."

"Okay," she agrees, hesitant, still trembling, terrified and turned on all at the same time.

"Every decision you've ever made, Maria. Every thought you've ever had, every emotion you've ever felt, every man you've ever..." he pauses, flashing that handsome grin, his eyes fixed on hers "loved," he continues, smiling as though amused by some private joke. "It all begins and ends and exists as a complex chemical reaction in your brain. Nothing more. Nothing less," he says, an inept assurance, as though offering some feeble consolation to a great and unknowable tragedy meant just for her. "I can see those reactions. I can feel them. I can taste them. I can smell them. To describe the sensation would be like describing color to a man born without sight. Dopamine, serotonin, acetylcholine, norepinephrine. More combinations of more biochemicals than you can possibly imagine, some yet undiscovered by science. I can see them all. I can control them all. I can make you feel incredible joy... immense fear... indescribable pain. I can command your mind and body to do and feel anything I wish. My imagination is the only limit to the pleasure I can make you feel."

"Are you going to hurt me," she asks, taking a deep breath and wiping her tear sodden eyes with the back of her hand.

"I'll try not to," he replies.

"What if I stand up and walk away? Will this end?" she asks. "Can I leave? Will you let me? Will you let me... go."

"No," James replies, his answer laden with grief. "I'm afraid you can't, Maria."

Maria screams. It's too late. No one can hear her over the music. Even if they could, James is inside the mind of the bouncers and pimps and bartender. They aren't coming to anyone's rescue tonight.

James forces himself back into her mind, taking control once again, silencing her screams. All she can do now is cry and scream silently from somewhere inside her subconscious, locked in her own mind, hoping against hope he'll leave her alive.

Like an automaton, tears streaming down her expressionless face, she leaps onto him, her naked body blanketing his broad, powerful physique. Like a puppeteer he pulls the strings of her mind, willing her neurons to fire as he sees fit. Biting his neck and digging her nails into his angular, chiseled chest she grinds her pelvic bone against his, wishing that she could resist, overtaken by fear and pleasure. He slides inside her. Placing her hands on his knees she leans back, shimmying her hips back and forth in wide, rhythmic semi-circles. She can feel his length deep inside her as she rides him like a mechanical bull. She climaxes again" this time more powerful than the first.

"Fuck me harder, papi," she screams, rich ecstasy coloring her tone. She's not sure why she said it. She's not sure why she can't resist him. She's not sure why the fear feels so damn good, electrifying.

He grabs her waist, flipping her onto her back and pinning her legs behind her head. She likes to be manhandled. Even if it's only a manufactured emotion he's foisted upon her, she relishes in the joy of being his conquest. She holds her legs back and over her head, preparing to receive his hard, throbbing cock once more.

"Your flexible," James smiles, pushing himself deep inside her.

Ay dios mio. Sí, papi," she moans, tightly clutching the bed sheets.

She wraps her legs around his waist, rolling her pelvic bone up and down, his manhood still deep inside her, stretching her. Her arms draped over his muscular neck, dainty hands hanging limp from dainty wrists, he lifts her off the bed. Rising to his knees, her body fastened to his, he continues to thrust and pound. She moans, pleasure coalescing with pain. A half whimper escapes her quivering lips. She throws her head back as a third wave of euphoric rapture rolls over her. The terrible bliss is more than she can bear.

She screams another silent scream, helpless and incapacitated, overcome by ecstasy and anguish. The tiny whimpers morph into a hollow, bloody gurgle. The white of her eyes run red as her brain hemorrhages inside her skull, filling her sinus cavities with thick crimson blood. He can feel it. He can feel it all. Like an open book he reads the chemistry of her body, painful, inaudible utterances, a haze of black and purple stained with fear, the amalgamation of hundreds of thousands of neurotransmitters dancing in his perception, forming a cognitive pattern only he can decode. Her thoughts. Her life. All her fears and anxieties and anguish, all her love and hatred and envy, her family, her friends, her pimp, all splayed out before him in one big cascade of muddled happenings and events. He soaks it in. He delights in it. It gives him power and strength. The beast devours her soul as she slips into darkness. The pleasure he feels in moments like this is abated only by the deep remorse of realizing what he is, a monster. A killer!

He was wrong. She couldn't handle it after all. Her body goes limp as he lowers her to the bed, blood cascading from the inside corner of her eyes. Her heartbeat slows to a low, imperceptible thud. He had been here more times than he cared to remember. She's dying. In a few short seconds her heart will stop, her neurons will cease to fire, and she will give up her final breath. She will be gone; her consciousness reduced to a faint whisper before vanishing into that deep, lonely void of nothingness, death.

Looking away from her lifeless face, dark, glassy eyes staring at the ceiling forever, a bulging expression of perpetually fear, James is overcome with grief.

"You really are a monster, James," he mutters, feeling sick as he pulls himself from inside her and stands to leave. A thought occurs to him as he brings his jeans up around his waist. I should clean her up, he thinks. It's the least I can do. Yes, I'll clean her up and make her pretty.

"I can't just leave you like this, my darling," he says.

After dressing the corpse of his latest victim, dark hair brushed and parted down the center, a fresh coat of purple matte blush on porcelain cheeks, a sheen of glossy red over gaping lips, he returns to the bar for another drink.

He would need to be stone drunk if he hoped to sleep tonight.

Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
Share this Story

Similar Stories

New Assistant A sexy new assistant will do anything for him!!in Erotic Couplings
God App Ch. 01 A young man is visited by a beautiful goddess.in Mind Control
Shy Boy Harem Pt. 01 Nerd gets powers to cause pleasure and starts his harem.in Sci-Fi & Fantasy
My Personal Demon Ch. 01 A demon wants me; now I have to decide if I want her.in Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Harmless Wishes Between Friends Blake wakes up with the power to change people with wishes.in Mind Control
More Stories