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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.
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