Forever Young

The two tried to be circumspect, as the others turned occasionally to see what they could see back in the shadows. Rondo sat against a low wall, the roof inclining over his head and covered Franz's body stretched out before him with a blanket, Franz embracing the black stud's waist with his arms, Rondo's fly open, his jeans flared, and Franz's mouth covering the black man's thick jet-black cock with his mouth, sucking his shaft. When Rondo was engorged, Franz went down on his back under the black stud and shucked his jeans and briefs off. Rondo entered him with his erection and gasped and opened his eyes wide when he realized that Franz had talented channel wall muscles that grasped and rippled over the shaft, spreading for it and pulling it deeper into the youth's core.

Rondo covered them both with the blanket, which moved in an undulating rustling wave rhythm, as men stole furtive glances at it from across the room, many of them with the hope they would be next and the anticipation that it eventually would be their turn, as the black man and blond youth fucked, setting up a steady rhythm of rise and fall of the rustling blanket. There was no difficulty in discerning with the thick shaft was withdrawing from when it was plunging deep. Franz's facial expressions of dominated pleasure, even in the shadows, were clear as were the cause of his groans and deep moans. Rondo was fucking him well. Each and every other man in the room was fantasizing that it was he who was fucking the young man—believing that it soon would be him in reality.

Franz hugged Rondo's hips with his knees, held the man in close embrace, with his arms around the black man's chest, and nestled his face into the hollow of the man's neck. He licked and kissed the man's throat, coaxing Rondo to turn his head and expose his throbbing carotid artery to the youth's lips and teeth. So sensual was the working of Franz's channel muscles on the thrusting cock that Rondo barely felt or noticed the slicing of Franz's fangs into his artery, the slight sucking noise Franz was making at his throat, or the ears-ringing weakness coming from the steady loss of blood. With a little cry, the black stud tensed and jerked and came, tensed and jerked and came, tensed and jerked and came again.

Holding him close, Franz, did not let the man withdraw. He coaxed another rising out of him, and virile and needy, the black man was able to go hard and vigorous in the stroke yet again. The cock stroked with an ever slower and more languid movement. Franz held on tight to the chest of the slight panting and gasping of the black stud, moving his hips with the renewed fuck and feeding on the throat, as the man ebbed away, a look of pleasure and satisfaction on his face.

Franz lay under the dead weight of the black man, gliding his hands over the bulging muscles of the once-vital and -magnificent body, concentrating on the thick jet-black cock inside him going flaccid for the last time. The youth's own body was rejuvenated—it was the best feeding he'd had in weeks—but he was sad in his mind. He was sad that he had to continue taking life like this—although the men always went out happier and more sexually fulfilled than they ever had been before. It was sad to have to take life to maintain a life he would gladly give up if he could.

Neither Franz nor Rondo stirred when the cry of "Fire! Fire!" rang out from the story below—because neither one of them cared anymore. When the other homeless men in the attic jumped up and headed for the hall and the stairs down to safety, though, Franz dragged himself out from underneath Rondo's body and headed for the stairs himself. On the landing of the story below, he paused. Down was a stairway to the outside and safety. To the left was a doorway into what had become an inferno of flames, rising to the ceiling, licking at the walls.

Franz hesitated for only a moment before turning and walking into the flames. Nothing else he'd tried over the past century had worked. Maybe fire would give him cleansing release.