By justoneguy

I am Lilith. Since the dawn of creation I have hunted the sons of Adam, my husband. His offspring now fill the earth from corner to corner, and my journeys never end. All of his sons are my prey, but unmarried males are my preferred meat. I am atop one such male now. He lies underneath me as I straddle his powerful male body. I am bouncing over him, allowing his masculinity to pass in and out of my physical form. His eyes are closed; his primal grunts explode into the darkened room with each downward thrust. He is to be married tomorrow. His bride is being prepared by her family’s women. She is a virgin. I know this through my second sight. She has never been with a man, and she both fears and desires her first night with her husband.

Her husband has been with a woman—3 as a matter of fact. This is not a bad record for a young man of 20. His skills are not yet complete, as I know from the rough, hasty technique he is currently employing on my person. But he is a competent lover and would doubtless grow in his skills given time. I rub the powerful muscles of his chest—so strong and powerful. I remember the muscles of Adam.

I have destroyed the manhood of so many of his sons. But even I have my limits. I may only destroy 10 males between moons. At first I found this limitation enraging, but I have come to see the wisdom of it. Such a constraint causes me to be more discriminating in my choice of victims. In addition, the tools of my victims stay with me, in the velvet lined box of my home. Only 10 may remain with me at a time. When an eleventh victim is achieved, the first of the tools vanishes. So my set is ever changing.

Before going to hunt in the evening, I always take stock of the tools in my box. They are lined up on the velvet of course—in the order in which they were stolen. I always pay special attention to the first tool—the one taken many days before—because I know that after tonight’s activities, this member with vanish into the ether of time, lost to me forever—and be replaced with my new addition.

As this young male continues to hump me, I think back to the time only hours before when I had fondled the tool in the box—the tool that will shortly be replaced by the member throbbing inside of me even now. I had picked up this male member from the soft velvet of the box and appraised it. I remember the lad it had belonged to well—as I remember all the lads well. He had been a young male, only just having turned 18. I usually do now hunt such young prey—preferring men who have had more time to experience their sexuality. But something about this lad had interested me. My second site told me that his masculinity was a powerful force within his essence, but that his skills were ill defined. As I looked at him I sensed what a caring and pleasing lover he would become. Perhaps that was the reason I chose him. He might have been inexperienced for the present, but some day, he would make his wife orgasm with every sexual act.

I had approached him, disguised as a female of his own age. It was not difficult to arouse him and tempt him to my bed. He was so eager; the masculinity pulsed form his essence in waves of heat that washed over my being. I allowed him to lie on top of me, our naked chests pressing against each other—my breasts to his muscled body. Then I removed his pants and eyed my prize. His organ was uncircumcised. The girth of his member was adequate but by no means impressive. The length of his manhood was slightly below average. I pealed the protective skin back from his male mushroom and kissed the sensitive bulb that emerged. The helmet of his prick was slightly smaller than the girth of his shaft, but it was so sensitive that his entire body shuddered as I suckled it. The fact that this lad’s physical masculinity was, by most standards, below average only enhanced my desire to have it. My second sight told me what an amazing and caring lover he would one day become. The fact that his prowess as a man would come mainly from his caring, giving, and loving attitude towards his mate rather than from the immensity of male organ only made me desire his demise even more.

I rolled over and allowed him to mount me. My submissiveness accentuated his immature skills as a lover as he struggled to enter my sex. I reached to help and guided his organ to the inners of a woman for only the second time in his life. He entered me easily—not surprising given the dimensions of his tool—and he humped me with abandon. He supported his upper body with his elbows, his hands caressing my long black hair. His head hung limply beside my head. His entire body was stiff over me and his pelvis pistoned his organ in and out of my moist hole. It didn’t take long for him to climax. He pumped his sweaty butt faster and faster until his small pink head exploded in pleasure deep within me. Then, he rolled over—his manhood ended.

That was three weeks ago tonight. I spent several hours this afternoon caressing his tool. Like the nine organs I had taken since his, it spent most of its time lying in my velvet box. I usually take one out a day to play with. Since this would be my last day with his, I made sure to take notice of it. Of the ten penises in my box, only one was smaller than this lad’s was. The smaller organ had come from a young Mexican lad who, even at age 19, still looked like a 15-year-old. He was very nervous with me, as it was his first time with a woman. I caressed his organ gently as it lay against the velvet. It was a light tan color and the only other penis in the box that possessed a foreskin. The brown flesh hood still covered the cherry red bulb of his organ. I remembered the boy fondly, but I knew it wasn’t yet time to revisit his member.

Instead, I lifted the other young man’s organ from the box—the other uncircumcised tool that I had taken this month. I caressed his organ, pulling back the skin that covered his smallish head. I licked it again, as I had when it had risen like a spear from between his legs. I had rested on my bed, and inserted it inside of my being one last time. I drove it in and out, remembering the faded masculinity of its former owner. As I climaxed, I knew that somewhere in the world, the young male from whose body this organ had once hung was experiencing his last waking climax. The modern doctors call it “phantom penis” or “phantom orgasm.” But it was in fact me pleasuring myself with his organ that made him shudder with the pleasure of his now lost masculinity. Then I placed his organ back in the box and went out for my hunt. I know that when I returned, his organ would be gone—replaced with tonight’s victim.

The college boy under me is that victim. He is to be married tomorrow, but he is spending his last night as a bachelor in his dorm room. His roommate is gone, so I found it easy to slip inside through the glass of the window. Once inside, I allowed the sweat smell of my femininity to fill the room as I assumed my physical form. The lad was asleep on his bed, dreaming of the pleasures that were to be his the next night. I come to him, caressing the bulge of his manhood through his boxer briefs. His manhood is impressive. The length of his circumcised tool is well above average, although the average girth gives his manhood a spear-like appearance. The head of his manhood is plump and flared, like a mighty mushroom atop his powerful male stalk. He awoke as I mounted him.

My second sight knew that he was confused. Was he dreaming? No, his awareness was too strong. He knew that he was awake. Was this a gift from his friends, the males who tomorrow would stand by his side as he takes possession of his bride? Soon all these questions dissolved from his mind as the pleasure radiating from his rigid manhood washed over his mind. His organ brought my physical being to orgasm rapidly. The lad’s nature prowess far surpassed the abilities of the organ I had used for the last time earlier in the day—although my second sight told me that this lad would never have been as tender and caring a lover as the other boy would have been.

I have orgasmed twice already since our act of love began—only seven minutes ago by my count. The young groom underneath me is moaning and grunting each time I push my femininity down over his male tool. He is close; I can feel it. His eyes are closed, and I caress his male form with my hands as he continues to grunt and squirm beneath me. His body stiffens and I feel the waves of pleasure radiating like a pulsing sun between his legs. His seed rushes into me as his organ pulses and pumps. The lad’s mouth hangs open, his eyes tightly shut. Ten seconds of earthly bliss pass like a summer breeze through his being. And then the tension is released. His lean muscular body is breathing beneath me. My body rests on his, his organ still thrust deep within my being. I rested there for a moment, my young lover laying relaxed under me and mumbling in his after-bliss. Then I rolled off my lover as I would if I were dismounting a horse. My feet hit the carpet of the dorm room, and I admired my lover’s body. So like Adam’s it was. His muscles were firm and strong; his stomach tight and muscled, his face calm and content, the hair of his sex bushy and curly. His balls had already started to relax from their tight position during intercourse, and they were now hanging limply from his crotch, spilling out between his outstretched legs. And above them—nothing but the soft curls of his sex hair.

My lover opened his eyes and looked at me, his eyes struggling to focus on my physical form. And between me and his eyes, not male organ of sex could be seen. His eyes widened, and his hand jerked to his crotch, but it felt nothing but the coarse curly hairs of his maturity and his ripe hanging testicles. “OH GOD, OH GOD, my DICK,” he screamed, his eyes looking between his legs in disbelieving terror.

“My name is Lilith. I am no god. Just a servant,” I said. And with that, I reached between the legs of my physical form and into the hole of my femininity. In a swift motion, I withdrew the masculine organ that was still filling my insides. It slipped quickly from my warm wet hole and into my palm. I held it up for my lover to see.

The college boy’s eyes focused on the organ I presented to him. No doubt it looked much different to him, being the first time he had seen it from this perspective. It was still rigid, the soft skin stretched tight over the hard pole as firm as bone. His circumcision scar was prominent, a soft pink ring of skin stretching up to the bulbous pink helmet head of his male spear. His organ had broken off inside of me and swiftly and painlessly as a stinger leaves a bee. And now I held it in my hand, a new dildo for my velvet box and my pleasure. The young groom’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he slumped on his bed. He was not conscious to see my physical form dissolve into mist and blow from his room like wind off of winter snow.