tagGay MaleVampire LaCour's 2nd Coming Ch. 09

Vampire LaCour's 2nd Coming Ch. 09

bysr71plt©

Emile had found this one particularly sweet, not only his openness to Emile and his willingness, his welcoming nature, but the wholesome, honest smells of the earth and of lush vegetation that came off of the gardener's robust, young body.

Emile hovered there, his gigantic, peace-bringing cock nearly twelve inches inside the beautiful blond prime cut of a man, with six more inches poised outside the hole, ready to finish, ready for that final mingling of vital body fluids that would rejuvenate Emile for at least another week. But Emile hesitated, savoring the moment, enjoying the sweet smile on the lips of the young man, who was hovering there on the brink of death.

Emile had seen the young man in a gay bar just off of New Orleans' upper Esplanade that evening and knew, immediately, that he would take him. The young man had been at the bar, boisterously sharing drinks with other young men, telling them tales of the ridiculous of his job at the nearby City Park, where he had, earlier in the day, been directed to rip out an almost-new plot of one variety of flowers just to replant the same variety of flower but just in a slightly different shade of colors. The men were exuberantly enjoying the absurdities of life and of the city park system. Emile had been hovering in a corner of the bar, enveloped in his black cape, sizing up the opportunities. The open, inviting eyes of the gardener's passed over the violet, searching eyes of Emile and then came back to them almost immediately to be mesmerized and drawn in. He wasn't the quality that Emile sought, but there was something sweet and vulnerable about him that Emile wanted to capture and possess.

With only a perfunctory leave-taking, the young gardener pushed away from his friends at the bar and walked out of the building, over to Esplanade, and up into the corner of the park. Emile followed him, keeping to the darker shadows of an already-dark night. Emile, in turn, was being followed by one of the friends the gardener had abruptly bid good-bye to at the bar.

The young man walked through the garden, to a small hillock that was topped by a table-sized marble column head from an ancient Greek temple, placed there for visual interest for those strolling along the paths. When he reached the column capitol, he turned, stripped down, placed his clothes in a neat pile at the side, and smiled as Emile—his cape billowing behind him; his mature, but still-comely torso naked; his inhumanely long, thick cock dangling between his legs from the crotch opening in the black leather pants—slowly ascended the hill.

The gardener spread his arms wide as Emile approached, his smile broad and his eyes flashing in amusement and lust, and it was the gardener rather than Emile who initiated that deep, completely open kiss, where lips bruised lips and tongues dueled with tongues, and saliva was freely shared. The venom in Emile's saliva was quick to assert control. The young man's senses heightened, while his strength and response were dulled and he felt drowsy. The young man's hands had gone under the leather at Emile's buttocks and were kneading the older man's butt cheeks when the kiss began, but as the sedative set in, he stopped kneading those and the hands just stayed there, trapped between leather and skin.

Emile's lips disengaged from the gardener's lips and traveled straight down to the side of his neck, searching for and finding that throbbing carotid artery. The young man was in superb physical condition as the strong throbbing there attested, and Emile lingered there a moment, savoring the strength of the life he held, before plunging his teeth into the throbbing artery and beginning to feast. The young man jerked and lurched at the bite, and his hands dislodged from behind Emile and just hung at his side. Emile disengaged and looked into the young man's face. He just smiled beatifically back at his masterful new lover. Emile went back to his quiet feeding, and the young man's back arched back and his head lolled back as well.

Emile was supporting the gardener's weight with his left arm around the small of the young man's back. This gave Emile no problem, because with each ounce he was drinking, he himself was becoming younger and stronger again. A fascinating zest for life and openness to adventure and seeking of total pleasure also was transferring to Emile. And that huge cock of his was growing larger and thicker as well. The long, sharp nails of the slender fingers of Emile's right hand were slowly shredding the young man's belly and chest, opening wounds, freeing rivulets of blood. The young man just lay back on Emile's arm, no longer feeling pain, apparently pleased at being opened like this, feeling his blood come to the surface and flow out of his body.

Emile's nails had dug trenches around the young man's nipples, and when the carotid artery went dry and collapsed, Emile move his mouth down to the nipples dug his teeth in around the rim of each aureole in turn, and sucked the nipples dry. The gardener quietly sighed and moaned, clearly enjoying the suckling. Emile rejoiced that he was giving enjoyment to the young man, happy that he was giving as well as taking.

The gardener had reached down for Emile's cock and was lovingly stroking it. This was an entirely new sensation for Emile—being pursued, being wanted, not causing fright at the size of what his partner was going to have to encase. The gardener was actually trying to coax Emile's already gigantic cock to grow.

He gently laid the young man's back down on the column capitol and lapped and sucked his way down the gardener's bloody chest and belly, all the while stroking the young man's cock, preparing it. When Emile's lips reached the cock, he took it in, preparing for its first milking. The gardener moaned and weakly moved his hips, letting Emile know he was welcome, that he was pleasing the young man, and sending little shivers of excitement through Emile's body. He rarely was given this response. When the gardener came, it was in a flood of semen, enough, Emile was sure, that only one milking was required.

Emile's lips frantically searched the young man's lower torso and quickly found a throbbing vein running below the navel toward the groin, and he sank his teeth here and sucked. As that vein collapsed, Emile noticed that the gardener had managed to get his hands to Emile's hair and he was running his fingers through Emile's now-young and exuberant black mane. Emile looked up and the young man weakly spread his arms in welcome and in search of deeper intimacy.

Thereupon Emile rose and stretched along the young man's body, and placed his lips upon the gardener's lips and locked his violet eyes on the gardener's hazel eyes. The gardener was weakly trying to return the pressure of the kiss. Emile guided the head of his now-fourteen-inch cock to the gardener's asshole with his right hand. The hole was wide and slack; the gardener had had many lovers before Emile. But he had had no lover like Emile. The gardener took Emile's tool in his hands and guided it to his hole, himself lodging the bulging mushroom cap inside his opening.

He was murmuring. "Fuck me. Split me. Ride me into tomorrow." And then he hungrily sought Emile's lips once more with his own.

Emile glided his cock in at least seven inches in the first entry. The young man's lips came off Emile's and he threw his head back, and whispered "Yes, yes," in a small, faraway voice. Nine inches and he was slowly mining the gardener's ass—gently in and out, in and out—and receiving mewings of pleasure from his young lover, whose hips were weakly working in concert with Emile's rhythm, welcoming the fuck, sharing the fuck, giving Emile fuck as well. Emile's mouth went to the carotid artery on the other side of the gardener's neck. He sank his teeth into the weakly pumping artery and sucked. Ten inches, but his cock was growing and thickening, and there was nearly as much waiting for entry as had already journeyed up the wide canal.

The young man murmured his pleasure and moaned and sighed quietly, Emile reached that final, no-returning twelve-inch point of burial. The young man could manage him at this point without permanent damage. He also could recover physically from the blood that had been let to this point, although, as the second carotid collapsed, it was uncertain what was happening in the brain, now starved for nourishment.

And Emile had hovered there, for the first time uncertain, loving this young man who had given himself so freely, openly, and joyously.

But to gain another week of youth and life, Emile would have to complete the ceremony, consummate the union, have his tremendous cock bathed in blood, mix his seed with the last of another young man's vital fluids.

He hovered there, twelve inches in, arguing with himself. The young man accepted him, wanted him. Emile felt so lonely in this never-ending life. He yearned for the opportunity to have a companion, someone he could share his life with, who would not be horrified by him, who would accept him for what he was and what he had to do. But then his cold rationalization took the ascendant. He had no idea what a curtailed ceremony would mean. He needed rejuvenation now, tonight. They were alone in a vast park, no substitute at hand. The gardener wouldn't mind. He had welcomed this.

Emile's mouth sought the young man's mouth once again. Their eyes met and in the young man's eyes were love, basic raw lust, and trust. With one swift stroke, Emile plunged nineteen inches into the gardener, ripping and tearing the last six inches. Blood and fluids bathed his cock, which immediately extended to twenty-one inches, and Emile spilled his seed.

The young man's mouth slacked open, and his eyes blazed momentarily and then glazed over. Emile rose and looked down at the gardener, laying there with the sweetest smile on his face. Emile had the strangest sensation. His eyes were watering. Could it be possible? Could such as he actually cry? Had he made a terrible mistake here? Had he thrown away the possibility of the loving companion he had craved by force of habit, out of animal instinct? Could he even love something other than himself?

Emile screamed in unexpected pain, as the sharp tongs sliced through the silk of his cape and entered his back between the shoulder blades. In one long, slurping motion, he pulled out of the dead gardener and spun around, pulling a pitch fork from his back and throwing it to the side.

There stood one of the young men the gardener had been talking and laughing with at the bar. A studly, hairy brunette, a football-player type, solid, all muscle; probably the eleven or twelve-incher who had been topping the gardener regularly.

The man stood there momentarily, a look of horror and hatred on his face that turned immediately to shock as he saw twenty-one inches of blood-covered cock hanging below the most magnificent torso he'd ever seen. He turned and ran, blindly down the hill and into a copse of trees.

Emile roared in anger and galloped after the interloper. Not only had this man tried to kill him, but, much more important, if Emile had known this second man was nearby, he would not have had to finish the young gardener he had enjoyed so deeply and had considered making into a companion. There was another one he could have fed on and performed the terminal ceremony with.

The dark interloper was strong and fleet, but Emile was now stronger and faster. They collided at the base of a large oak in the center of the copse. Emile caught the younger man by the arm and spun him around, his sharp nails slicing into the man's bicep and upper arm. The man screamed in pain and reached for his arm with his other hand. Emile lowered his mouth to administer his sedating venom, but then jerked back. No, this man, this man who had attacked him and stripped him of the possibility of a companion would not get the relief his saliva could give.

Instead of administering the calming kiss, Emile brought his hands up and deeply slashed the arteries on both sides of the man's neck, continuing the slash down his hairy chest, across his nipples and to his belly, ripping away the man's shirt in the process. The man fought him, trying to punch him with fists, but Emile easily fended him off and lifted each of the man's arms in turn and sliced at the veins under the masses of hair at his arm pits, causing the blood to flow down the man's sides. He was still screaming and trying to defend himself, but he was growing weaker from the shock and the loss of blood.

Emile ripped the man's trousers away and knelt and sucked in his cock. He had been right. He'd be nearly eleven inches engorged. Emile held the man to the tree with his hands on his hips, his nails dug into the soft tissue of the buttocks, and sucked and nibbled and bit the man to hardness and ejaculation. All the time the man was screaming and beating weakly at Emile's head. Just as the man was shooting off, Emile grabbed at his balls and squeezed hard, taking as much of this man's semen into him as he could get.

As the man was cumming, Emile snaked his hands up the young man's thighs, into the soft flesh where the groin met the leg and the major vein ran down into the leg, and he dug for the veins with his nails, releasing a flow of blood down the man's legs.

The man collapsed, his legs now too weak to hold him, his equally drained arms hanging loosely at his side. Emile hauled him up and slammed his belly and chest against the oak and entered him strongly from behind in a single long thrust. The full twenty-one inches, with the man screaming and begging in a ever-smaller voice. Now, only now, did Emile dig his teeth into a carotid artery and start to drink and to share his saliva. The blood and fluids slathering his cock expanded it to twenty-four inches before it stopped growing. He released his seed again, and the anger started draining out of Emile.

He laid the body down beside the tree and licked it clean of blood. Separating the blood from the matting of dark hair that covered the man's body wasn't in the least unpleasant. He rose and flexed his back muscles, assessing the damage the pitchfork had done. There was no pain and there didn't seem to be any damage back there; he had fucked the wound away, allowed the taking of the young man's strength to healed him. As he strolled out of the park, he wondered what the week would bring with this sudden, unexpected double dose of youth and vitality. Maybe it would be almost two weeks before he would have to seek another host.

But he didn't rejoice in this. His eyes were watering again, and he felt strangely sad and empty.

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