Forever Young

Once he knew he had the young Italian fully under his control and responding to his cocking, Baron leaned down to him, licked the young man's throat, and sank his teeth into the throbbing artery he found there. Angelo gave an exclamation of surprise and pain as the teeth sliced into his carotid artery and he thrashed around momentarily, but he was completely under Baron's control. He settled down to the rhythm of the fuck and the feeding quickly and without further resistance. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth was in a yawn, though, as he felt Baron's shaft inside him expanding in length and thickness, stretching the youth's channel to the limit as the infusion of blood rejuvenated the man. To compensate the special essence that the man returned to Angelo helped passion and pleasure overcome fear and pain in the young man. The two moved as one, Angelo responding to the rhythm of the taking as if he'd done this many times before, which he hadn't, the younger part of the body transferring the elixir of life to the older.

Outside the cabin, Franz watched the approach of the cabin attendant, a young, fine-looking, dusky-skinned Moroccan, who was shuffling along as in a trance but with a sloppy grin on his face. He was carrying the change in bedding and bath towels that he would have delivered hours earlier if his life had not become zombie like. He smiled languidly at Franz and entered the cabin. Franz, who had been sitting on deck outside the cabin, could have stopped the attendant from entering, but he did not. He regretted having brought Angelo to Gerhard Baron, but the attendant was beyond his help. Franz had instantly liked Angelo. He would have liked to have time to be with him himself. His greatest concern was that he didn't know how far Baron would go with the young Italian.

Franz let the Moroccan attendant enter the cabin and waited fifteen minutes before going in to check what was happening in there. The attendant hadn't come back out.

Inside the cabin, the attendant had encountered Baron and Angelo in a changed position. Baron was sitting at the foot of the bed. Angelo was in his lap, facing the cabin door. He was on Baron's cock, the youth's legs streaming back behind the man's hips and both sides. The young man's torso was arched back, with Baron embracing his chest with one arm and stroking the young man's cock with the hand of the other. He had his face buried in the youth's throat and was feeding on him while moving his hips in fucking the Italian. Angelo was moaning, a sloppy grin on his face that nearly matched that on the attendant's countenance. The attendant padded around the room, putting the linens he'd brought down here and there, his eyes concentrating on the taking of the Italian youth.

When Franz entered the cabin, another change had taken place.

Baron was on his back on the bed. The Moroccan was stretched out on top of him, naked, facing the ceiling. Baron had one arm embracing the Moroccan's chest and the hand of the other one stroking the youth's cock. The Moroccan youth was skewered on Baron's cock and his feet were pressing into the bed on either side of Baron's thighs and he was using them for leverage to rise and fall on Baron's cock. Baron's face was buried in the hollow of the Moroccan's throat and he was feeding on the young man's blood—as he had been doing for days as the ship plowed its way west through the Mediterranean.

Franz found the Italian youth, Angelo, in a puddle at the foot of the door, whimpering and panting. He was weak, but he was alive. He also was still quite groggy, unsure of where he was and what had been done to him. When he became more conscious—if he became more conscious—the soreness in his channel would tell him he no longer was a virgin to men. Franz suspected that he would be grateful for that and would build on it, but he might always wonder why the first time had come with weakness and incisions in his throat. Ever after he would have the wildest, most sensual and energy-draining dreams. He very likely would wonder if, like Franz and Gerhard Baron, he never aged, the effect on him was the same as on the other two. It wasn't clear to Franz, however, whether the effects were the same for a youth used once and one, like Franz, who Baron used almost daily. Franz hoped the effects would be temporary on the Italian youth. Otherwise, Angelo may never know what circumstance had imprisoned him to the never-ending life of torment that Franz suffered. He regretted now having brought him into this.

Franz dressed the young man and helped him out of the cabin and onto deck. The railing was just steps away, from which it was a long, straight drop into the sea. Once on deck, Franz realized Angelo was dressed in Franz's expensive clothes and still had Baron's first-class badge. Franz sat the confused Angelo in a lounge chair and took Baron's badge from him.

"Here. Wait here a moment. I'll get your clothes," he said. He went back into the cabin and retrieved Angelo's own clothes. Baron was still fucking and sucking on the Moroccan room attendant.

When he went back on deck, Angelo was gone. Franz ran to the passage doors in both directions and back without seeing the other youth. He went to ship's rail, in panic, and looked down, but there was nothing there either. In succeeding days he roamed the steerage decks as he was able, but he never came across any evidence of Angelo. He forever worried and regretted what happened to the innocent young man. Had he been challenged and returned to steerage or, in his drugged state, had he gone over the rails and into the sea? Franz never knew and he never became content in not knowing.

Just one more worry to plague Franz for eternity.

* * * *

JUNE 1920

Gerald Baron engaged one of the largest cabanas on the Cape May, New Jersey, beach. It was there for the season, in a long line of cabanas. The walls were folding wooden panels with footing posts that anchored it in the sand. The line of cabanas was located at the top of the beach before the oat-grass covered dune in front of the Promenade boardwalk that bordered Beach Avenue and the summer resort town of Victorian hotels beyond. The ceiling and walls covering the wooden panels were orange and yellow canvas. The other cabanas were of varying colors, making for a festive beach area. The flooring was the sand. The furnishings were a couple of wicker chairs, a small table between them, a cot covered with colorful pillows, and a large copper basin, filled with straw and dry ice and cooling a dozen or more bottles of beer.

Baron was stretched out on the cot, naked, and playing with his half-erect cock. Franz was wearing swim trunks and an athletic T top, as risqué as the respectable bathing costume of the day got, as he was the one who had to do the fetching.

He'd brought his master a hunky lifeguard going off morning duty who had watched Baron and Franz setting up shop in the cabana and who seemed interested in both the sexy thirty-year-old man and the beautiful eighteen-year-old youth accompanying him. The lifeguard himself was sex on a stick. His swimming trunks were tighter than normal, showing the curve of a big cock, and his athletic T was looser than most, giving glancing peeks at a finely muscled chest. Those seeing the two beautiful males together, Baron and Franz, no doubt speculated on their relationship and no doubt were correct. It helped winnow out the men interacting with them, though. If they revealed they were attracted to Baron and Franz, they were approachable. The lifeguard had interacted easily with Franz. The swell in his trunks when he talked with Franz screamed of his interest.

A bit of flirting by Franz and the offer of a cold beer as the lifeguard was gathering up his gear and turning his chair over to a replacement resulted in Franz and the lifeguard sitting on the sand at the cabana entrance, teasing each other with an interest both knew they shared, and drinking beer. Fingers surreptitiously touched the flesh of the other without rejection and thus set the stage. The lifeguard's beer was drugged, which moved the play along. After the two had disappeared into the shadows between the orange and yellow cabana and the blue and green one beside it and Franz had given the lifeguard a blow job, the lifeguard was affected by the drug enough that he could barely stand, let alone organize a fuck of the perpetually eighteen-year-old youth.

Franz helped the lifeguard into the cabana and turned him over to Baron, who put the handsome, muscular, deeply tanned young man, naked, on his belly, on the cot, strapped his wrists to the rung at the head of the cot, mounted the young man's ass, and fucked him. While Baron was getting his cock buried, the lifeguard writhed as best he could under the influence of the drug, indicating that he hadn't bottomed for anyone before. Virgins to the anal fuck came in all ages. He bottomed for Gerald Baron now, and when he settled down into the rhythm of the fuck, Baron leaned over and kissed and licked the lifeguard's artery in his neck, bring it to the surface. His teeth sliced into the carotid and he fed and fucked, fucked and fed.

Franz went down on his haunches in the doorway to the cabana, watching his master at work, wishing that he was him with the lifeguard—and with Baron, for that matter.

When Baron fired off an ejaculation, he rolled off the lifeguard and pulled the young man's defenseless body onto the sand.

"I need a fresh young man, is what I need," Baron said, wiping the blood off his lips with the back of his hand. "Take this one away and bring me a young man—preferable one who is just eighteen." Franz helped the lifeguard up and out of the cabana, laying him down on a towel on his back as if he were taking the sun. Then he went off on the hunt.

While he had been developing the interest of the lifeguard, Franz had also been engaging and flirting with some of the youths on the beach, considering who he would go after if Baron called for an eighteen-year-old, as he, in fact, now had. He'd looked for young men who not only registered a sexual interest in him, which he had honed that ability to see even before the other youth or man did, but also who could easily be isolated from others—who didn't appear to be on the beach in the company of others. Baron would require his prey quickly, but he would want to spend some time with him, and he wouldn't want to worry about detection. Not that any harm could come to such as hundreds-of-years-old Gerald Baron.

Franz had just the young man in mind. The youth Franz had in mind had come down from the street unaccompanied. And he was an arrogant, having-to-be-in-charge and the focus of attention youth. He had been very direct with Franz while they were both engaging in a pickup game of beach volleyball. They had flirted and the young man wanted to take Franz somewhere and have his way with him. He was quick to identify as a top and to assume that Franz would be a willing submissive.

The young man, named Jock, was easily found now and Franz had no trouble convincing him he wanted to share a couple of beers with Franz, "Over by that orange and yellow tent cabana," and then go inside the cabana for a while.

They did that, but Jock's beer was laced with a nearly incapacitating drug, and when they entered the cabana, Baron, saying, "What a beautiful, nasty youth," took over, putting the young man under him, fucking him and feeding on him.

Franz went back out on the beach and walked around. He'd been doing this for nearly two hundred years, acquiring youths for Baron to fuck and feed on. When Baron was pleased with what Franz brought to him, he would lay Franz too. He would feed on Franz, but under very controlled circumstances. He never drained Franz dry, although Franz sometimes wished he would, if that would release Franz from this life that had become so monotonous for him, hours of routine relieved with only moments of sexual and feeding passion and satisfaction. The lord wouldn't let Franz go and he'd given the perpetual youth both attributes and appetizes that made the young man totally his and in enslaved service to him. Franz had gotten to the point of wanting it to stop. But he had no idea of how to do this if the master wouldn't do it for him—couldn't do it for him. And he didn't have these feelings when the Freiherr was fucking him and feeding on him.

Franz walked the beach for a few hours, oblivious to the world about him, just ignoring a series of propositions from those who wanted his perfect body.

When he returned to the cabana, it was empty. Both Baron and the cocky youth he had been cocking and draining were gone. The lifeguard was still lying on the towel outside the cabana, though. The sun was starting to sink and the beach was almost deserted. Franz helped the still-groggy lifeguard into the cabana and settled him on his back on the cot.

The lifeguard moaned and held the youth's head in his hands as Franz sucked him to a massive erection. Then Franz came up on the cot on his knees, positioned himself over the lifeguard's hips, facing him, and descended on the cock. When the two were well fused and moving together in the fuck, Franz leaned over the handsome, muscular lifeguard's torso, nudged his face into the hollow of the lifeguard's neck, bit into his throbbing carotid artery there, and fed on the virile young man while fucking himself on the lifeguard's cock.

The lifeguard didn't fight Franz. He wasn't so doped up that he didn't know what was happening. He was having sex with a good-looking eighteen-year-old who knew how to give good head and who rode the cock well. He slitted his eyes, moaned deeply, and put his hands on Franz's sides, drumming the pads of his fingers against the soft, resilient flesh of the supposed young man, knowing what was happening. Enjoying the fuck. Enjoying the sucking of his blood at the same time just as much.

As prime a specimen as the lifeguard was, he wasn't able to be drained by two such as Baron and Franz and walk away from the experience. The next morning when the cleaners went through the cabanas to prepare them for another day's rental, the handsome lifeguard still lay on the cot in the orange and yellow tented cabana, arms and legs dangling off the side of the cot, staring at the tent ceiling with unlooking eyes, but with a beatific smile on his face. The cleaners agreed that he looked unnaturally pale for a beach lifeguard near the end of the summer session.

* * * *

JUNE 2020

The men in the attic room of the Detroit flophouse were circling Franz for position as they all sat around an open fire set in a metal drum head in the center of the room, radiating a bit of warmth and light out toward the corners of the low-angle-ceiling room. There were other homeless men in other rooms using the same tactic for light and warmth. Yes, they sometimes burned down the derelict building they were in, but then the survivors just moved into another building. There were many of them abandoned in this section of Detroit. The owners of these buildings didn't mind the free clearance of their city lots that might be worth something someday in some future resurgence of the Detroit economy.

Those who were attracted to men among those who had come into the abandoned building to escape the cold gravitated toward the attic room, drawn there by the looks of and response to attention from Franz. All of them in this room had hopes of hooking up with the young man, younger than any of them. There wasn't a single man in the room who didn't lust after the eighteen-year-old.

It wasn't all that cold in the attic, but still Franz had further piqued the interest of the bundled-up homeless guys around him by stripping off his shirt and showing his perfectly formed, lightly muscled, perpetually eighteen-year-old torso. He was blond and blue eyed, more beautiful than handsome. He exuded a sense of purity and innocence while flashing sensual flirty "come hither" looks to the men around him that attracted and aroused them.

He wanted it. Every man in the room knew the young guy wanted it. Each of them wanted to be the one who gave him what he wanted—what it would take from them. He was showing as the perfect submissive.

In the century since Franz had last seen his master, the Freiherr, in the Cape May beach cabana, Franz had skidded across the surface of life, managing to stay alive because he could not die. Not only couldn't he die; he also couldn't lose his eighteen-year-old beauty and allure to a certain kind of man. He existed through getting support and substance here and there by being an eternal desirable eighteen. There always were men who would pay for the use of his beautiful body. He'd steadily gone down in life emotionally, though, and was near bottom in this abandoned Detroit tenement.

Little did the homeless men surrounding him in the abandon building's attic know, but it was not they who were hunting him for a few minutes of sexual bliss in the shadows of an empty room. Franz was the one hunting them, looking for the best of possibilities. He required no less now than the Freiherr required to be healthy and rise above pain. There was no greater agony than to be in pain and know the only relief from it was, not death, but the stealing of life. The quality of the essence that kept Franz ticking along at an efficient level was fitness, youth, and vitality—his, yes, but that of the men he lay under and fed on as well. Shopping among the homeless was a daunting task. It was less risky than shopping among the rich young men of the city.

No one missed a homeless man who suddenly just gave up, drained. Literally.

The best of the men Franz saw in the attic room was a muscular black man in his mid or late twenties named Rondo. The men around the fire had talked of their lives. They wanted to talk; they all wanted to tell of when they were "somebody" and would be "somebody" again "someday." Franz was sketchy about his background, as the men would not have believed what he could tell them about going on to four hundred years of living and feeding. The man Franz was zeroing in on, the muscular black Rondo, had tried out for a professional football team, had not made the cut, and had fallen fast into homelessness. He was still in pristine shape, though, and worked out however and whenever he could. He was determined to make a comeback, his spirit not yet having been defeated.

It was the man's resilient spirit that Franz needed most to tap. His physical vitality also made him a target.

Franz turned his flirty eyes onto the black stud. The others in the room got the message—it was fairly obvious to all that Rondo was the only stallion present—and nothing was said when Rondo and Franz pulled away from the group circling the fire and retreated to the shadows under the eaves across the room. Franz had carefully left the impression that Rondo was just the first of the men Franz would take, and, who knows, if the night had turned out otherwise, perhaps this would have been the case.

The other men could only wish that they would have their own chance after Rondo had taken what he wanted. It was clear that the sexy young blond loved taking cock, so chances were good he'd take each of theirs in turn after Rondo had used him. As they had sat around the fire, most of the men had undone their flies and brought out their shafts, and Franz had stroked them with his hand, offering the promise of more as the night progressed, but, in fact, shopping for the most suitable examples. Homeless boys like him would give it up for a half-smoked cigarette. This one had agreed to go with the black stud for no more than the last couple of swallows from a bottle of cheap liquor. Possibly the only barrier to the men going into a frenzy and taking the boy right there and then, together, by force, was the belief he had instilled in them that they all could have him personally and privately, in succession, as the night unfolded.