The Cost Ch. 03

I follow him into the room, walking slowly behind him, and casually toss my bag and keys over his head into one of the chairs in the corner. The sound they make as they hit the chair startles him and he jumps slightly before turning frantically in my direction. I smile again and nod my head in the direction of the bed, "Take off your clothes and sit, " I speak quietly, pushing his buttons mentally, and his eyes widen in surprise. A slow smile appears on his face as mistaken understanding dawns in his eyes, and he looks me up and down hungrily before backing away towards the bed. So, it's like that, eh?

"Leave your underwear on," I toss in as an aside, turning my head slightly so he does not see me stifling a laugh. It will go easier for him, and me, if I do not disrupt his train of thought, no matter that his train is chugging down the wrong set of tracks. Or up, as would be more accurate in this case, judging from the growing bulge in his pants.

He has already kicked off his shoes and socks and is in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. He's actually a decent looking guy. He looks to be my apparent age with sandy blonde hair, light brown eyes, and he is tall, a few inches over my height, with a nicely toned body from what I can see in the opening of his shirt. Finishing the buttons on his shirt, he slowly takes it off and tosses it on the floor by his shoes before moving his hands to his belt. A trail of hair, a bit darker than that on his head, thickens slightly as it travels down the center of his chest and over his tight stomach with light patches around his nipples as well. The tent in his pants is painfully obvious, and quite large, as he slowly strips his belt from the loops.

He cuts a sly look in my direction, his pupils like those of an owl's, "I'm not wearing any underwear," he says. His dripping hard cock slaps wetly against his stomach, leaving a string of precum from his happy trail to his piss slit, as he slides his pants off his hips and down to the floor. His penis isn't as long as the bulge would lead one to believe, maybe five and a half to six inches, but it is insanely thick. I shake my head slightly as I arch an eyebrow at him and my own cock twitches in response to the sight before me. Too late now for me to tell him to leave his pants on.

I do not intend to give him everything he wants. I have already stated my views on sex while controlling someone's mind, even if the control I am exerting now isn't absolute and he is, for all intents and purposes, acting of his own accord. But I will let him have some pleasure from this. Some, but not all. Some is always better than nothing.

A consolation prize, so to speak, for what I am about to do to him. For what he is about to give me.

"Lie back on the bed," I say, removing my own long sleeved grey shirt and chucking it onto the chair by my bag. He sits obediently and reaches behind him for a pillow, propping it under his head before he settles back onto the large mattress. His hand slowly creeps down his stomach to his cock, wrapping his long digits around the massive head and smearing the juices from his slit around the wide shaft as he leisurely pumps his hand up and down. I just stand for a minute watching him pleasure himself, and my dick fills itself as my own pants begin to tent.

He continues to jerk himself off, looking up at me expectantly as he drinks in the sight of my taut chest and stomach, and, I swear, I can almost see my reflection in the large black centers of his eyes. He lets out a soft moan as his hand continues to work his cock, wet noises filling the air from his natural lubrication. Seriously, I do not think I have ever seen so much precum in my life, and that's saying something. His dick is downright glistening with the stuff.

"Ugh." Another light grunt escapes his slightly parted lips and he looks up at me as he speaks, still stroking his wet cock, "I've never done anything like this before." His hand picks up in speed as he pumps his incredibly thick dick furiously and his voice is a bit breathless when he speaks next, "Oh God, I wanna stick my hard cock up your-!"

I cut him off with a sharp look and drop my black pants to the floor. He sees he is not the only one going commando as I free my hard cock with its own dribbles of precum. Not near the amount of his wet juice, but a good deal nonetheless. Heat is still sparking from my eyes in the same measured doses I have been using as I stare him down. I move myself onto the bed, straddling myself over his hips while keeping myself raised up on my knees, and he keeps up his work on his crotch beneath me with one hand as he grabs my tight ass with his other, kneading my muscular flesh.

I almost let out a moan, but I keep myself focused on my purpose. I pull his hand away from his cock and the moan of disappointment he lets out is quickly replaced by a gasp of pleasure as I lower myself onto him. I have not let his dick enter me, but I am allowing him to rub its slick hardness up and down my hole and perineum as I grind my body against his. I run my lips and tongue along his neck while he continues to slide his cock along my ass, with his hand massaging my glutes.

"Goddamn! You've got to let me fuck that tight- Uh. Ahh!" he says, as he tries to move one of his fingers into my hole. I move my head up to his ear and nip the lobe rather hard with my teeth, causing him to cry out in pain.

My voice is pitched low and filled with command as I whisper in his ear, "No," I raise myself up again and catch his eye, pressing my will onto his while grinding my ass onto his cock.

"Hands to your sides," I order him, and his hands immediately comply.

"Now. Don't. Move. A. Single. Muscle..." I growl slowly, driving each word into his brain with repeated twists of my hips onto his achingly hard dick, almost getting his head into my hole without intending it. I wasn't using my voice or eyes to control him with the last command, but he obeys anyway, low moans of frustration sounding in his throat as he struggles to keep his arms to his sides and his hips from pumping up towards my ass.

I lower my head back to his neck and resume my tongue bath as I run my right hand up his happy trail towards his chest. His moans sound loudly in my ear as I tweak his left nipple, pinching it softly, still moving my increasingly slick crack against his wet prick. I slowly begin lowering my head, kissing and licking all the way down until my mouth connects with the nipple I have been playing with. I run my tongue in slow circles around it as I reach my left hand down to finally touch his dick, raising myself off of him to lay down by his side with my chest on his stomach and my mouth still attached to his nipple.

He lets out an even louder moan when I thumb the tip of his piss slit and rub more of his seemingly endless supply of precum up and down his prick. I continue fisting his cock as I begin running my right thumbnail across his chest, right under my mouth. His skin breaks and blood oozes out of his flesh. I run my thumbnail back across the cut, digging a little deeper to make the blood flow a little more heavily, and his head snaps up with a loud moan expressing his hurt.

I turn my face towards his and pound my gaze into his eyes, keeping the blood hidden from his vision with my head. I do not want to increase my efforts to control him and the sight of his blood may freak him out to the point that I have no choice.

"Remain calm," I order him, continuing to press my fiery will onto his. His will bends easily and his head lowers back on the pillow as he sighs contentedly from my ministrations to his prick. I move my head down to the gash in his chest and begin to take what I can. It is not very deep, and it will not yield much blood for me, but it will be enough until I can find a more permanent solution to my hunger. This was my intent all along and why I initially told him to remove his clothes. I did not want him to be covered in blood when I sent him on his way. If I were to take all that I needed, it would kill him and probably draw unwanted attention to me. Unwanted only because I am not sure how long I will have to remain at this hotel.

No, I would not care if he died. As I have already said, I am what I am, and letting him live now is only a matter of convenience for me. I make no apologies for doing the things I do, as I am sure is becoming readily apparent. Regret is one of the most useless emotions in existence, and if I were to spend time regretting all of the "not so good" things I have done, I would have time for nothing else. And the time would have been wasted, because I cannot change what is done. I think I have already made clear what I would change if I could, but I can't, so why dwell on it? All I can do is go on as I have. And I intend to.

Yes, I have definitely changed a great deal from the way I was. This fact is not lost on me.

His moans and cursing become steadily louder as I feed, continually stroking his dick. Fast, slow, fast, fast, slow. He definitely took my order to remain calm to heart. And yes, a pun was intended. It is not beating fast at all and his breathing is very regular, which is odd. You would never think he could be this calm with all the sounds and curses coming from his mouth.

I know the majority of his pleasure is not coming from what I am doing to his cock. Feeding, for my victims, can be an intensely pleasurable and sensual experience if I want it to be. Or it can be an incredibly painful one, as the man who is probably still tied to a chair in my tub found out, much to his detriment. It all depends on my intent when feeding. This guy probably feels like every nerve ending in his body is being caressed by thousands of fingertips. I do have to be careful when going the "pleasure" route, though, because too much can kill just as easily as too much pain. Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I have seen it happen several times, personally. For everyone else, look at Anna Nicole Smith's dead husband. Prime example of pleasure killing someone, right there. Sure, he was old, but he may have lived a few more years if some hot, young thing had not fucked his poor brains out. Of course, that is assuming he could get it up at his age. He did look exceedingly old in his photos with her. I will assume that he could, for the purposes of my argument. This is not a danger with me, however. I have endless experience and know when enough is enough, so no one has died from too much pleasure under my care in almost five thousand years.

I have taken as much blood as I can from the shallow cut on his chest, half a pint maybe, and I can take no more because the flow is beginning to slow. I am still incredibly hungry, but this will be enough for now. It will have to be. I can go hunting later tonight. In any case, it is almost a quarter to six and I would like to take a power nap before Shane calls. I am so weary, I hope a power nap will be enough. I have never required one before, so I don't know. God knows I have made some fool decisions in order to spend this day with him, so nothing short of the world ending will stop me from doing so. Hell, if I pass out on him, he can put me to bed. Now, there's a thought.

Speaking of Shane, I do not feel any sense of guilt for doing what I have done just now with this young man for several reasons. Having slept with thousands of men, give or take, over the centuries, I do not share the illusions of monogamy that most humans do. If this "thing", if it can be called that at this point, with Shane develops into anything and he wants my fidelity, then I will respect his wishes and give it to him. I would not want to hurt him for something as trivial as sex. But we have not developed into anything, yet, so why should I feel like I have done something wrong? Exactly. And that is why I don't.

My young man, whose name I have regrettably neglected to ask, is almost writhing on the bed while trying to hold to my command to keep still. He is past moaning and cursing now. The noises coming from his mouth are simply incomprehensible and guttural. His eyes clench shut as my hand flies up and down his cock, lightly squeezing the head on each pass, and his breathing finally gets heavier. I wait expectantly for his release to come.

This goes on for a few more minutes and I begin to get bored. I know I wanted to do this as a gift, of sorts, for what he has given me, but come on. This is getting ridiculous and I need to get some sleep.

Since his eyes are closed, I do not even bother looking in his direction. I only speak, command thick in my voice, and continue jacking him off, "You may cum now."

"Urrgghhh, aaarrghh, aaaahhhh, ooooooohhhhooohhhhhh...." is my response as thick ropes of cum hurtle from his cock in my direction. I turn my face slightly to avoid getting hit in the eyes, but several splatters hit the side of my face anyway. And my chest, his stomach, up over me onto his chest, and all up and down my left arm. Yes, I used my left hand to jack him off the entire time. I am normally right handed, but practice over the many years has made me just as comfortable with my left hand, when doing anything, as I am with my right.

My eyes widen in amazement as I count the volleys that are still erupting from his hard prick. He gets to thirteen before it finally slows to a slight trickle. My hand, which is still holding his thick cock for reasons I cannot fathom, is covered, and I mean covered, in his jizz. His balls are larger than average, but this cannot be normal. First all that precum, then all this actual cum: the poor man will likely die of dehydration. Well, maybe not that. That would be ridiculous. But I wonder when was the last time he got his rocks off. He had to have been saving this load for months, if not years. Even if he doesn't have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, though I doubt he would have a boyfriend since he said he'd never done this before, surely he must masturbate?

"Wow," he says, breathing hard with his eyes closed and his head laid back on the pillow. His arms are still lying at his sides, unmoving, and I remember my command for him not to move them.

"That was great!" he laughs. I move my hand from his still rock hard cock and pat him on the stomach, wiping some of his cum off my hand while making a sound I hope he takes for agreement.

I get off the bed and walk to the bathroom to grab a towel. After putting it under some warm water, I wipe myself off completely and wet another towel for him, throwing the one I just used in a corner of the bathroom.

"Here," I say, having walked back to the bed and tossing him the towel, which he didn't move to catch. It lands on his belly as I bend down to grab my sweat pants. I put them on as I speak, control, once again, the goal of my tone, "You may move now. Wipe yourself off and get dressed, please." He begins to move quickly and I move to the corner of the room to retrieve my shirt from the chair. After putting it on, I fish my hand into one of the pockets of my bag and pull out my cell phone and charger.

He has put on his pants, belt and shoes already by the time I turn to plug my charger into the wall. As he begins to put on his shirt, he notices the cut under his left nipple, which has already quit bleeding and will need nothing more than a bandage, if that. Of course, I lapped up all the blood on his chest, so aside from the area just around the cut, there is no other blood.

"Huh? Now how the hell did that happen?" he asks, still calm, but curious as to how he got a gash on his chest.

"Hmm. I don't know. Maybe you ran into something sharp while working earlier?" I answer, planting the suggestion deep into his head. I will have to plant a few more suggestions in his head before he leaves. This entire experience will no doubt leave him with many questions if I do not.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he says, content with my explanation as he finishes buttoning his shirt and tucking it in.

"What time is your shift over?" I ask as I plug my phone into the charger and set my alarm for seven o clock. An hour for a power nap should be plenty.

"I should be done by eight," he says and a slight grin comes over his face. "Why? Do you want me to come back up when I'm off?"

I hold my hand up to stop him from following that train of thought and let the heat enter my eyes again, slightly more than I have been using, while pitching my voice in a convincing, yet commanding, way. "No. That won't be necessary. When you leave here, speak to no one of me, save only that you were assisting a hotel guest and that he was very generous with his gratuity. You understand?"

I wait for his nod of assention before I continue, burning my will into his psyche, "Good. When your shift is over, go home and sleep. When you wake up, you will remember nothing about me. Nothing." I repeat for emphasis and pull a few more Benjamins from my wallet, pushing them into his back pocket as I turn him in the direction of the door. He walks slowly as my "suggestions" settle into his mind, and I have to all but push him in the direction of the door.

As I open the door, the nausea and dizziness return, just as bad as before, and I clutch the handle of the door to keep myself from falling to the ground.

What is this?

He turns one final time with a smile on his face, his eyes slightly glazed over, and opens his mouth to speak.

"Thanks again, Mr. Chamberla-"

I slam the door in his face and rush to the bathroom, trying to outrace the vomit rising up in my throat. I barely make it to the toilet before all the blood I just took hurtles from my throat into the commode. I splutter a few more drops of bloody saliva into the toilet before I flush it and stand, my head clearing and the queasiness passing just as quickly as they came.

I stop at the mirror on my way out of the bathroom, gazing at my reflection and looking for a sign of illness.

But I look perfectly fine. Business as usual. Except for the gnawing hunger in the pit of my stomach. And the look of horror that I cannot wipe from my eyes.

"Well, this is no good," I say to my reflection.

It doesn't answer back, but I suppose I never expected an answer to begin with.

*

Chapter four should be out fairly soon. In the meantime, let me know what you guys thought of this one. Thanks for reading!

Buck