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I was there for three nights in the basement strip club on Dauphine Street in
the French Quarter, always sitting at the same table. I had picked him out on
the first night—a lithe but well-muscled, dark Greek, displaying a mixture of
danger and sassiness; much more into what he was doing than any of the other
performers. His act was black leather. Studded-leather harness crisscrossing his
chest, studded-leather wrist guards and cock ring, shiny black leather boots,
and a leather captain’s cap pulled down close over his eyes, hiding his
expression until he wanted to reveal it—a beautiful cock and heavy balls. He was
young and virile, vital and full of life.
By the second night, he had noticed me, boring my eyes into him, and by the
third night he was mesmerized. He only had eyes for me; he wiggled his butt and
penis only for me. I sat there, wrapped in my black cape, and he performed only
for me. I had no doubts when I had a note passed to him, that he would be there,
waiting for me, at the stage door at closing.
I was happy to see that he was out of the leather, into clean-cut white Polo
shirt and tight low-rise jeans, as I ushered him into the back of the limousine.
I undressed him as the limo slowly maneuvered through the narrow streets of the
quarter and emerged onto Esplanade and drove north. He just sat there and let me
pull his shirt over his head, expecting me to do exactly what I was doing. He
reached for me, but I pushed him away. He sighed and just leaned back in the
cushions, ready for anything. There wasn’t much he hadn’t seen in this life. And
he knew that he didn’t make the rules.
I took his sensual, full lips in mine, and our eyes locked as my hands slid down
his torso. My lips followed, lingering for a moment on his neck, where I could
feel an artery throbbing, urging me to hurry. My hand went to the front of his
jeans, and I unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans, and ran my hand under the
material and down to his cock. My lips came down to his nipples. He sighed when
I caressed his cock and his balls but gave a little lurch when I bit into his
chest, just below his right nipple, drawing blood. I lifted my head and gave him
an apologetic look with my eyes, taking advantage of the eye contact to draw him
in once more and calm him.
My lips went back to where I had bitten him, and I sucked the shallow wound dry,
being sure to mix my saliva generously into the wound. Moments later, I looked
back up into his eyes, which were already getting drowsy and glazing over.
I stripped his jeans and boots off and lowered my mouth to his hardening cock. I
slowly pumped his cock with my mouth, allowing my hands to flutter over his
body. He opened his legs to give me access, but he lay back in the seat quietly,
his dulled senses centered on the languid blow job I was giving him and on my
hands caressing his body.
Despite his lethargy, the virile young man ejaculated in great profusion, and I
drank his cum dry, making it mine. I could feel my own long-dormant cock coming
to life as I captured his fountains of sperm and made it mine.
I pulled his legs farther apart and kissed his inner thighs. I found another
throbbing artery there, where the inner thigh met the groin, and he didn’t seem
to mind this time as I gently bit into him there and drank—not much, but just a
little—to increase my strength and to further dissipate his.
At the top of Esplanade, the limousine glided silently into the St. Louis
Cemetery. Near the middle of the cemetery, the car stopped, and I gently carried
the naked young man from the car and laid him on top of one of the raised tombs.
As I stood back, my cape opened, and the young man saw me. I only wore black
leather pants under the cape and even these had no crotch in them. The young man
stared at me in shock, his eyes open wide, trying to focus and come back to full
awareness. His eyes went from my smooth, heavily muscled barrel chest down to my
thin waist and flat stomach, and he literally gasped when his scrutiny had
traveled farther down. I was inhumanly huge in both length and girth, even when
only half engorged. He began to murmur in fear and to try to slide away from me
along the top of the tomb. But he was too weak to fight me, too weak already to
escape me. Ironically he was responsible for my current size and was still to
learn how big I could get thanks to his hospitality.
I moved in toward him and pulled him back to me by his legs. I buried my lips
and teeth into his groin, between his inner thigh and his balls on the opposite
side to where I had sucked on him before. And I fed on that still-throbbing
artery to the legs, while I stroked his cock again. When he was ready to cum
once more, I transferred my mouth to his cock and drank him in to the fullest
for a second time.
My cock was hard enough now and he was completely defenseless. Awake enough to
know what was happening, but weak enough not to either care or to be able to do
anything about it. I spread his legs and opened him to me. His hole was as big
and as slack as a New Orleans whore can be. But still, he had never been fucked
by anyone as long and deep as I already was. It took me a few minutes to enter
him six inches, and all the while he was moaning and grunting quietly and
writhing languidly below me.
I wrapped my arms around him and lifted his torso to mine. His arms hung limply
behind him, his head lolled back. I fed on his left nipple for a few minutes,
making quiet, satisfied slurping sounds, the blood dribbling down my chin. And
my cock continued to lengthen and thicken.
I let his torso descend down on my cock, and as I plowed what was virgin
territory even for him, where no man or dildo had gone before, he moaned in
pleasure, all pain now a thing of the past for him. With his last vestiges of
strength, he wrapped his arms around my chest and his legs around my buttocks,
holding me in, and brought his lips to mine.
He was all mine now. He wanted me to take him, to finish, to possess him fully,
to take his virility. I was already fourteen inches into him, tearing him apart,
with him no longer able to feel pain, only pleasure. The blood flowing from the
rents in his intestines was bathing my cock and my balls and trickling down my
thighs. Rejuvenating me. Augmenting my life. Fifteen inches. Sixteen inches.
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I released his mouth, and his head lolled back again. His arms and legs lost
their strength, and he just lay there against me, but arched back, held in my
loving, thankful, worshipping grip. My teeth went to that barely throbbing
artery running up the side of his neck and sank in, and I drank deeply.
Seventeen inches. Eighteen inches.
When I had drunk him nearly dry, I laid him back on the surface of the tomb. I
was at nineteen inches when I gave a little of my own life back to him, flooding
his stomach with my precious semen. But by then he already was dead.
I turned and walked briskly back to the darkness of the limousine interior, the
spring of new-found youth screaming in my muscles and blood. As I clicked the
door shut, the first rays of the dawn found the white marble body stretched out
on the gray marble tomb, its arms flung out in open welcome.
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