tagGay MaleVampire LaCour's 2nd Coming Ch. 13

Vampire LaCour's 2nd Coming Ch. 13

bysr71plt©

Years and then more than a decade went by with nothing much happening in Emile LaCour's rotting plantation house on the Mississippi beyond the dust accumulating and the oaken walls drying out and spitting. Gage Angle still held his mentor and tormentor in his bed chamber on the second floor of the mansion, shackled to his bed, and rejuvenating himself only when Gage brought him young men to feed on. And Gage did this as rarely as possible.

Gage wasn't Emile. He grew tired of the kill and the transferring of the essences of life. He didn't want to believe that the feeding, the transference of blood and other vital fluids, and the act of fucking a young man to death was necessary to keep him young and virile himself. He was sure that he could sustain himself now that Emile had made him one of his own vicariously by fucking and feeding on Emile after he himself had indulged—by extracting a percentage of the essences that were keeping Emile alive and fit.

Emile had just laughed at this idea, though, and had told Gage he would learn otherwise—that he'd have centuries to become accustomed to who and what he was. And slowly, as Gage felt himself getting older despite his parasitic leeching on the shackled Emile, he came to realize that Emile was right. He would only be able to live and maintain himself as Emile had by killing and feeding periodically as Emile had done.

But Gage continued to fight this reality. He exercised harder and became more healthy in his eating habits. But still, slowly, bit by bit, he was aging—not as fast as he normally would have, certainly, but still he was aging. He could not maintain the perpetual balance. He started hiking to fight the aging. And each day he hiked out farther from the plantation house, and each day he came back a bit more fatigued, a bit more aware of what he had to do to sustain himself.

He knew he had to make a hard decision, and one day while out hiking, he bowed to the inevitable. He was walking in the woods on a farm well away from the waterfront when he heard moaning and groaning coming from a nearby field having been left fallow for this growing season. He came to the edge of the wood and peered out from around a tree and saw two young studs going at it in the bed of a truck with its tailgate down. A blond beauty who reminded Gage of himself at the height of his biking days before he was enthralled to Emile was laying on his back in the bed of the truck, facing away from the truck cab and his head lolling off the end of the tailgate. He seemed to be staring right at where Gage was hidden behind the fringe of trees. The young man's well-muscled arms were stretched out straight from his body and his hands were gripping the sides of the lowered tailgate. His legs were open wide and his heels were laying on top of the opposite sides of the truck sides.

Gage watched the young man's handsome, square-featured face from where he was concealed and it was as if he could see the effect of each thrust he was taking. The blond youth was laughing and howling his pleasure from what a beefy black youth who was kneeling in the bed of the truck and crouched between his widespread thighs was feeding into his asshole. The two were obviously having a ball.

Both youths were easy on the eyes, and despite all of his efforts, those cravings that having been transformed by Emile rose within him and gripped him by the throat so that he felt raw animal instincts taking over. He wouldn't fight it this time, Gage told himself. To survive he needed to become completely like Emile. He needed to kill and feed without remorse, indeed with joy.

And here were two ripe for the taking. One to take home to Emile and one for himself. The decision was hard, but it was one of survival.

A loud cry of passion from the blond marked the black youth's successful filling of him, and Gage's blood boiled as he watched them take their postcoital time. And he was to find it wasn't postcoital at all. The black lowered his heaving chest onto the blond's torso, and they made a complete trip around each other's bodies with lips and searching hands and the black youth turned the blond on his belly and pulled his hips up, entered him once more from the rear, and slowly pumped the blond amidst a harmony of groans and moans and cries of desire.

This time, apparently satiated when he was done, the black youth rose out of the bed of the truck after they were finished, adjusted his jeans and plaid shirt, and sauntered off in the direction of the woods, toward the very trail that Gage had stepped off of to watch the lust taking.

The black youth made it no farther than ten steps into the tree line, when Gage was upon him, pushing his belly up against a large tree trunk and clapping his hand over the youth's mouth to stifle his surprised scream. Gage buried his teeth into a vein at the hollow of his prey's neck and filled him with numbing venom while taking a feeding of his blood.

The black youth fought him feebly and whimpered as Gage jerked down his jeans and entered him slowly with his monster cock, which had already grown to over twelve inches just from the anticipation of a full feeding. The young man's head arched back to Gage's shoulder from the tension of being so hugely invaded and his mouth opened in a silent scream, his breath and vocal capability having been taken away by the working of the venom in Gage's saliva on his body, when Gage's cock plowed him at great depth. Thirteen inches and then fourteen.

In a full feeding, Gage would have milked the black youth's cock at least twice before finishing him with a deep fuck, but his intent was only to immobilize this one. This one was for Emile to milk of his essences. So, as soon as Gage felt all of the tension go out of his victim and the youth just flop to one side, held up only by being sandwiched between the tree and Gage's body and being held up only by Gage's deep-skewering cock, Gage just let the young man's body fall off his tool and onto the ground beneath the tree.

He wouldn't be recovering for some time. Gage had plenty of time to feed himself and be back to take this one to Emile.

Gage stripped off his hiking shorts and T and strode out into the field, just in his boots and socks, his magnificent monster cock swinging like the clapper of a bell between his legs.

The young blond had only now come out of the bed of the truck and was pulling on his jeans. He turned and saw the now rejuvenated and monster-membered Gage striding toward him in all his glory.

And the young man just laughed. He gave Gage a big grin of welcome as if he had seen a superendowed naked man coming out of the forest toward him every day of the week. He just stood there and opened his arms as Gage reached him, and the two melted into a deep, searching kiss—a kiss in which Gage lost no time in transferring the intoxicating and drugging toxins in his saliva.

Drugged, the young blond let his beautifully proportioned torso just fall back onto the bed of the truck. He already had his hands wrapped around Gage's huge cock and was making astonished clucking sounds at what he found there. Gage brought his chest down on that of the young man and buried his teeth into the side of the stud's neck and fed quietly while the blond moaned and sighed his misty pleasure and welcome.

When that vein collapsed, Gage moved his lips and teeth to the young blond's nipples and pierced and fed on the large, dark aureoles surrounding those, making soft slurping sounds as he sucked there.

With feeble movements, the young man guided Gage's cock to his hole and helped Gage slowly enter him. The young man was groaning and weakly encouraging Gage to fuck him deeply. And he was laughing in quiet tones and murmuring to himself about the ultimate fuck he was receiving and how deep Gage was mining as Gage pushed into his channel. Fourteen, fifteen inches. And still the youth was staying with him.

Gage looked into his eyes. This was he himself, just as he was when he was being taken by Emile that first time. The horror of what Gage was doing—the process of taking another life to rejuvenate himself—was starting to push its way to the surface, fighting with the primeval feeding and taking urges that Emile's choice for him had forced on him. He couldn't help it. He wasn't Emile. This wasn't the decision he could make.

Gage felt himself going soft and he sensed the confusion and rising of disappointment in the blond youth writhing under him—wanting the ultimate fuck but having no appreciation of the cost of receiving that.

With all the strength he could muster, Gage flung himself from the embrace of the blond youth and from the bed of the trunk and ran back to the edge of the forest. He swept up his clothes with nary a look at the semiconscious black youth who had been meant for Emile's feeding and ran for more than a mile into the woods before being able to trust himself to stop and put his shorts and T back on.

There would be no feeding for Emile that night. And Emile was, as Gage knew he would be, beside himself with hunger and frustration that Gage had not brought him a young man to feed on. But what Emile didn't know was that there would be no further feeding, not unless Gage could overcome this sense of fair play and remorse at what he had been transformed into.

Three days later, consumed by a grief that surprised and concerned him, Gage found himself lingering a few steps away from the assembled group of mourners at a burial at dusk in New Orlean's St. Louis #3 cemetery of a lover of his from his earlier life. Jake had been his bike mate in the biker's club Gage had ridden with before Emile possessed him. They had been inseparable and had been enthusiastic lovers. After Gage had disappeared into Emile's world, Jake had left the biker club, had married, and had developed a highly successful automobile dealership from an initial startup of a bike repair shop. Then, old, fat, and overindulged, he had died of a hardened-arteries-induced heart attack.

Gage recognized many of the men who attended the funeral; he had ridden with them alongside Jake in that earlier life, so many worlds ago. But they didn't recognize him and would not have even if he had stepped into the grouping around the grave site. They were all well into their fifties, and Gage had aged, certainly, but not farther then into his early thirties yet. He was still basically the same young, beefy blond stud he'd been back then. They were all well into their middle ages now.

Gage ached in his mourning for his lost lover and his loins took a lurch when the mourners began to disperse and pulled away from a young man persistent in remaining standing at the grave. Jake's son. There was no doubt that it was Jake's son. A handsome, olive-skinned, dark-haired, lithe youth of delicate facial features and almost a dancing quality of movement.

Gage stood, transfixed. And the buzzing in his ears from the long delay in his necessary feeding began to turn into voices inside his head telling him that this wasn't Jake's son at all—it was Jake himself. Here to reunite with his long-lost lover. Waiting on Gage; wanting to be taken by Gage as he had been so many times before. Open to his lover.

Everyone but the two of them were gone now. It was growing dark and mist was coming in from the river and filtering through the silent cemetery. The voices were winning. Gage approached the young Jake and turned him around so that they were facing each other. The voices were right. This was the face of the youthful Jake, and his expression was one of surprise, certainly, but Gage could see the unmistakable signs of recognition and welcome. The voices buzzing in his head were assuring Gage that Jake knew who he was and what he had come for—and that Jake wanted this as much as Gage did.

Gage lowered his lips to Jake's and took him with a deep kiss, swabbing his mouth cavity with that intoxicating and numbing toxin of his. Jake seemed to be struggling with him, trying to push him away, but that had always been Jake's game. They had liked to play games of captivity and overpowering in their love making. This was just like old times. This truly was Jake.

Gage sank his teeth into Jake's neck and fed, and Jake increasingly accepted Gage's love making, letting Gage take him to the ground and cover his body closely.

Gage frantically adjusted both his and Jake's clothing and took familiar possession of his lover's ass passage with his searching cock. Deeper and deeper he went into his lover, who was moaning and groaning his passion and love for what was happening to him. Jake was weakly bucking against Gage, as always writhing in that sexy reluctance of being taken way he had to inflame his insistent lover and to urge him to fuck him more vigorously and deeper. Gage followed the old game. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen thick inches, drawing out with a sucking sound and then ramming home inside his lover, going deeper with each stroke, each stroke met with a groan of passion and desire from his lover.

And Gage—Gage the convert of Emile—was also feeding on his Jake. He left off fucking him twice to lower his lips to his lover's cock and to milk his essences. And he also took time out from stroking his cock in and out of his lover to seek out and feed on veins.

When Gage came at last some two feet up into his lover's gut, he lowered his lips to Jake's for a kiss of ultimate merger, but Jake didn't return the pressure. His lips were slack, and when Gage looked into his lover's eyes, all he saw were the whites—the pupils had rolled back into his head as he had breathed his last, sometime earlier in Gage's frenzied love making.

With a flood of recognition, Gage realized what he had done. He no longer was possessed by the buzzing in his ears. He had fed his full now—just as he was supposed to—and thus he once more was totally rejuvenated. But the clearing of his mind only helped the reality of where he was and what he had done flow into him.

This wasn't Jake broken and drained lying in his embrace. This was Jake's son. Dead. What had Gage done? His affliction had caused him to take the life of his own lover's son.

The horror of what he had done, of what he would have to do to lead the life that Emile had forced on him was overwhelming. With a cry of anguish, Gage rose and ran into the mists swirling around the grounds of the cemetery, leaving the broken and drained body of a complete innocent lying across the newly dug grave of the young man's father.

Gage found his bike and raced back to the plantation house. He ran up the stairs, full of hatred and self-loathing, prepared to vent all of his anger on the man who had brought him to this point.

But all he found was a whimpering old man, a Emile who had not fed in many days and who was slowly decaying back into nothingness.

Emile held out his shackled arms in despair and entreaty to his protégé, begging him for relief and affection. And Gage took Emile into his arms and made tender love to him, bringing a spark of life into the ancient one by transferring some of the vitality and youthful essences that he had just stolen from Jake's son.

But in those tender moments of merging their body into a deep fuck with magnificent cocks, revived by the essence of stolen youth, Gage came to another hard decision. When he had filled Emile with the flow of his manhood, he left him there, sighing and growing younger and stronger, and moved down the stairs for the last time.

He would leave the imprisoning plantation house now and the possessive arms and influence of Emile and prove to Emile and to himself that he could reject Emile's way. He would gladly become fully human again and age naturally and grow old and die at a natural rate. He would fight the urges of perpetual youth and the taking of life and its essences that this demanded. And he would just walk away from this house and let Emile die naturally too, shackled in his bedroom, no one to hear his cries or to save him.

Gage stopped briefly at a window in the music room and lit up a cigarette, trying to gain courage to follow up his hard decision with action. A gust of wind caught the curtain at the window and the flaring match touched on the dry, rotting, silk. In an instant, flames were running up the wooden paneling of the wall.

There was a brief moment when Gage could have done something about the fire, but in the same instant it dawned on him that this was a much more humane death for Emile than slowly rotting away from lack of feeding.

And, so, Gage just walked out of the house to where the grand oaks started at the base of the driveway and turned. The house was fully engulfed in flames. Who would have known that it would flare up so quickly? Despite the roaring of the fire, Gage could hear the plaintive cries of Emile. His mentor was calling for him; begging him to come.

Who knows whether Emile was working his magic on Gage one last time, if Gage had last-second thoughts of saving Emile, or if Gage realized that he was much too weak to will himself to grow old and die when eternal youth was within his power? But something made him make that last hard decision, the hardest decision of all.

After the idiotic gesture of dropping his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out with the heel of his boot, Gage strode back into the house and mounted the flaming staircase. He entered Emile's bedroom, and the two clung to each other as their world was consumed and evaporated in purifying flames.

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