LeCroix 10: Dueling Regeneration

Philippe LeCroix, with his new chauffeur, Chas, in tow was gliding around the nighttime shadows of the docks along the banks of the Mississippi down river from New Orleans. It was in those brief hours between 1 and 4 a.m., when, for the most part, all activity was dead. Weak floodlights fought a losing battle with the morning fog to illuminate the bank-upon-bank of simple sheds providing inadequate cover for the crates and barrels being unloaded from the freighters wallowing back and forth at the dock on the Mississippi tide.

Philippe pricked up his ears and moved with more purposeful direction toward one of the holding sheds. There he found what he was looking for. A older and wizened sailor was leaning back on a wooden crate, providing a younger sailor knelt before him a tutorial in giving good head. The older sailor, a burly red head, topless and his pants down around his ankles and with considerable curly hair all over his robust body, was leaning back on the top of the crate with his elbows. He occasionally was bringing a hand forward to guide the youngster's head or to readjust his cock. The younger sailor, a long and lithe, well-muscled brunette, was stripped to the waist.

"No teeth, Jaime," the older one was saying. "You must learn to get those out of the way. There, that's right. Now suck the head, lad, and run your tongue around the helmet. No, lighter than that. There. Ahhhh, yes, now you have it. Feel my nice cock growing, son? No use deep-throating and pumping until it's at least half hard. There, now, cover as much of it as you can. Tongue under dick. Ahhhh, yes, just like that. Feel the throbbing vein under it? That's what's making it grow, my boy. Now slowly take it in and pull away from it. Slow strokes. Ahhhh, yes. Yes! Now faster. Ahhhhhhh."

Philippe watched with great interest as the younger sailor followed the older sailor's direction, his hands fluttering all over the older man's belly, flanks, and chest, his back muscles and biceps rolling in the weak light from a nearby floodlight. This was the one Philippe was looking for tonight. The young, pure sailor, only now learning to make another man happy. But the older, more experienced one, would give him a boost too. The older one first—as a bit of fun—and then the younger one, as the regeneration he required.

Philippe bided his time, watching the younger man blow the older one and becoming more expert at it under the instruction of the older one, until Philippe could see the older one twitching, ready to explode. He then rushed in, black cape unfurling behind him, naked to the waist, his gigantic tool and balls flopping in front of him, protruding from the crotch hole in his black leather pants. He grabbed the younger man by his shoulders, raised him to his feet, and tossed the shocked youngster back toward Chas.

"Here, hold him for me for later."

And then he quickly stripped off his leather pants and jumped up on the crate, straddled the older sailor's pelvis, and spitted himself on the man's well-endowed and engorged dong.

The sailor was surprised, but he was horny and game. "Hello," he said with a big smile. "Where did you come from, beautiful? And what elephant did you steal this lovely huge cock from?"

Philippe pumped the sailor vigorously, and his cock and balls beat on the man's belly and chest at least briefly, until the older sailor took possession of them. It took a hand each to hold Philippe's balls, and the man was able to arch enough forward to get the glans of Philippe's cock in his mouth, which was a mouthful in its own right.

This didn't last too long, though, because the sailor shot his load, which caused Philippe's cock to harden. He was back off the crate top in a flash and had his mouth to the sailor's asshole, moistening him up there. The sailor was having a jolly old time of it, throwing out directions on his likes and dislikes, as he had for the younger sailor. But Philippe was just ignoring him.

The sailor's cock was hardening again and Philippe turned his attention to that. He grew weary of the sailor's comments on what to do, and he buried his teeth in that throbbing vein running on the underside of the cock and drank his fill, replacing the sailor's blood with toxic saliva, which quickly quieted down his prey. He then took his cock and entered the sailor, churning around in him at the ten- and eleven-inch depth for as long as it suited him. When he'd had enough of this, he forced himself in the remaining nine inches, ripping and shredding and slathering his cock in blood. He held himself in check then. He was saving his load for the younger sailor.

When he had calmed down, he withdrew from the older sailor and turned to retrieve the younger prize from his chauffeur and companion only to be petrified in shock.

What he saw when he turned was a naked Chas, pelvis to pelvis with a naked young sailor, whose long, lithe torso was arched back. His dull, dimming eyes were staring at Philippe, almost as if he was pleading for help. Blood was running around the base of the cock sheathed by the young sailor's asshole and down the thighs of both men. Chas turned his now-violet eyes toward his mentor, a big, sly smile on his face, and he languidly put an arm under the young sailor's back, raised the torso toward him, and, as Philippe stood, frozen in shock, Chas buried his teeth in a carotid artery running up the side the sailor's neck and sucked blood deeply. The youngster's head lolled back, and he was gone.

Chas slowly released his hold on the sailor's body, which drifted toward the ground as it slid off of Chas's twenty-inch cock. Philippe just stood there in disbelief, as Chas pulled belts from both of the dead men's discarded pants, attached one to the other, and neatly bound Philippe's hands behind him, disabling those sharp nails of his mentor and lover. Then Chas pushed Philippe down on top of a crate on his back and went around and tied off the belts so that Philippe was stretched on top of a crate and denied the use of his hands and arms.

Chas then came around and sucked off Philippe's gigantic cock, stealing the magic semen Philippe had intended to mix with the rich blood of the younger sailor himself. Now two magic loads were being combined; two master cocks and two monster ass canals were at play.

After Philippe had cum, Chas had held Philippe's legs out, entered him slowly, plowed his way down to twenty inches, and churned around and pumped at various depths. Philippe was still numb from the sudden change in circumstance, but this was a fuck like no other fuck he'd had in his long, long life, and he was enjoying the ride. His own cock had reengorged and was stroking up Chas's magnificent belly and into his chest cleavage, matching stroke for stroke with the pumping Chas was doing deep inside him. Twenty-one inches, and then at twenty-two inches the two shot off their magic loads once more, almost in unison. Chas pulled out and lowered his mouth and licked up all of the life-giving sperm Philippe had shot up his own belly and chest.

Then, he moved his lips to where Philippe's tender groin met an inner thigh, searching for that throbbing vein. When he found it, he sank his teeth in it and drank.

As Philippe's eyes dimmed, the humming sound increased in his ears, and he began to zone out, he almost embraced what was happening. He'd grown tired of the life he had known. Chasing the shadows for centuries, trapped in the need to hunt and kill to maintain youth, a youth that he nonetheless could not enjoy. He loved Chas now and what he was doing as he had never loved anyone before.