Vampires of Cairo: Vampires of the World

by Geoffrey Knight

  This thought, those memories, went through his head as Nash followed the beautiful, naked, faintly visible outline of Ryan in front of him.

  He ran one hand along the rough wall to keep himself oriented as they walked, while his other hand rested on Ryan’s shoulder. He felt that well-toned shoulder muscle shift slightly from side to side with the motion of Ryan’s steady, always confident gait. He felt his own erect cock give as much swing as it could from side to side, although it was so turgid and taut, so high and hard, any wayward sway was kept on a very short, tight leash. He felt his own heart slamming against his chest and he was certain the others could hear the anxious, aroused drumming.

  He glanced behind him and saw nothing but black.

  He wondered what the hell they were doing there, what were they thinking. Then he felt Ryan’s warm muscle and shifting flesh beneath his fingers once more, and in that moment he knew that this was either going to be a night he would forever remember—or one he would forever regret.

  When he turned to again face front, the hint of a golden light began to dawn at the end of the narrow passage. It outlined the shape of Ryan’s handsome face as he turned to look at Nash. “I think someone’s expecting us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But he knew exactly what Ryan meant. If there was light up ahead—light inside this deep, dark, secret place—it seemed logical that Saabir had made arrangements. Exactly what kind of arrangements was yet to be revealed.

  The yellow light became brighter, and Nash noticed it threw a flickering glow on the walls. As they walked closer and closer to the light, the luminous shape of a large doorway appeared, and beyond it, past the heads of Saabir and Ryan, Nash could make out what looked like a large stone chamber with golden light reflecting off of every surface.

  Saabir stepped through the doorway into that light, as did Ryan.

  And all Nash could do when he set foot inside the chamber was gasp in astonishment, and stare.

  The chamber was circular. Flaming torches burned brightly on the walls, illuminating six tall, black sarcophagi which stood at equal intervals around the chamber, all facing inward toward one large, gold sarcophagus lying flat in the center of the room. The shape of a man with his arms crossed over his chest lay along the length of its lid, half-submerged as though he had melted into the gold and become one with the coffin, his feet, arms, chest, face and a long erect penis protruding upward. It looked something like an altar in the middle of the room. A tomb worshipped by the other coffins standing along the walls. Its side panels, etched with countless hieroglyphs and depictions of ancient Egypt, shone and glittered brightly in the dancing torchlight. But the sarcophagus centerpiece wasn’t the only thing glittering and shining—all about the chamber, strewn almost recklessly, were treasures of all descriptions.

  Scepters forged from precious metals.

  Large ornamental plates made of gold.

  Statues of silver, encrusted with sapphires, crowned with emeralds and diamonds.

  Open coffers overflowing with necklaces and jewels, spilling with abandon across the sandy stone floor.

  And sitting upright and attentive among the treasures—still and silent with the exception of their expectant, swishing tails—were the cats. Dozens upon dozens of them. All staring in anticipation at the gold sarcophagus in the middle of the room, like an audience waiting for a theatre curtain to rise.

  “What the hell is this place?” Ryan breathed. He and Nash were still standing wide-eyed near the entrance, naked and perspiring from the stifling air in the chamber, the light shimmering on the men’s handsome, muscled bodies, glittering in the trickles of sweat that raced down their sculpted torsos and erect cocks.

  Saabir did not answer Ryan’s question. Instead he began to walk slowly, reverently, to the center of the chamber. As he did so, all the cats turned their heads, eagerly watching his progress toward the large gold sarcophagus. Unable to help themselves, they began to meow and purr and wail, as though they were hungry, as though they knew food was coming.

  “Ryan?” Nash whispered warily.

  But Ryan simply reached out and touched his fingers to Nash’s chest, as though the connection, his mere touch, was enough to keep Nash quiet, enough to keep him from running away.

  It was.

  With his cock still rock-hard and Ryan’s fingertips lightly brushing his chest, rubbing his nipple, painting invisible swirls on his warm, tanned muscles, Nash watched transfixed as Saabir walked to the strains of the cat choir and stepped up to the head of the gold sarcophagus.

  Then, he watched in amazement—and in horror, his cock now finally beginning to lose its hardness, though not its girth or length—as Saabir put the ball of his right palm in his mouth and tore a gash in the flesh.

  His teeth must have been sharper than Nash could imagine, the bite savage, because the amount of blood that poured from the wound was significant. Nash shouted out, unable to hold back his concern. “What the fuck—?”

  But Ryan held Nash back, spreading his hand flat against his chest. “Leave him be. I get the feeling things are about to get real kinky.”

  Cats sprang from their places amid the treasures as Saabir balled his bleeding hand into a fist, held it over the face on the sarcophagus, and squeezed a river of blood over the golden mouth. Some of the bigger felines leapt onto the lid of the coffin and began thirstily drinking from the red pool that quickly formed. Others begged and howled at the foot of the sarcophagus, white fangs shining in the flickering light, noses and whiskers twitching frantically.

  At that moment the lid of the sarcophagus moved. Only a fraction of an inch, but enough to make a jolt.

  The cats drinking Saabir’s blood sprang so far and high, it was as though they’d been thrown by some invisible force. The other cats scurried to find hiding places among the scattered treasures.

  Even Saabir jumped back with a start, although there was not a hint of fear on his face. Only excitement.

  The lid of the sarcophagus moved again, this time several inches, and one side of it began to lift like a coffin lid. As it began to rise, the pool of blood covering the gold face began to run down to one side, slowly at first, then in faster and faster streaks as the raised side ascended, painting bloody, nightmarish slashes of red across the coffin’s face.

  “What the hell is lifting that?” Nash asked, but nobody answered—at least not at first—for indeed it looked as though there was no answer to his question. The lid seemed to be rising of its own accord, like a hokey Halloween trick or a cheap séance stunt. Only there was nothing hokey or cheap about it, given the fact that an ancient sarcophagus lid made of gold must have weighed several tons.

  Once the lid was completely open, Saabir answered Nash’s question. “Behold,” he breathed, his eyes beaming. “The master, Ramseth.”

  Swiftly from within the deep bed of the sarcophagus, a man emerged, standing upright inside the gold coffin. He was large, his massive, brown muscles bulging. His eyelashes were bold and black, as though adorned in makeup to frame his hypnotically hazel, almost yellow eyes. His hair was black, his powerful jaw bearded. As for the rest of his body, he had a strong yet perfectly proportioned build, his torso and limbs hairless, his body completely naked with the exception of a wide neckpiece similar to the one Ryan had worn for the photo shoot only it wasn’t gold. It was blacker than the night.

  “Holy shit,” Ryan muttered, his own eyes dazzled and fixed on the handsome, impressive figure before them.

  Nash too was riveted, his apprehension once again gone, replaced by shock and awe, and his hard-on returned, spurred on by the sight of this manly master before him, his thick, vein-roped cock demanding every bit of Ryan’s and Nash’s attention.

  As Ramseth stepped effortlessly from the sarcophagus and stood before the two Americans, eyeing them both with unmistakeable approval, he smiled and said in a soft, melodic baritone, “Holy in name, yes, at least in part. I am Ramseth, Prince of the Nile, lost son of Ramses. I
was named after my father, until he discovered what I was and cast me out into the desert. But not before he took back his own name, and renamed me Ramseth. Seth, you see, is the dark god of chaos. Which is what he saw in me.”

  Without another word he stepped up to Ryan, took his hand and raised it to his nose. Ryan’s hand went limp in the mighty Ramseth’s gentle grasp, and Ryan allowed him to smell the back of his hand. “Darkness,” Ramseth whispered, breathing deeply and drenching his lungs with the intoxicating aroma of Ryan’s flesh.

  Without letting go of Ryan, Ramseth then took Nash’s hand in his, lifted it to his lips and sighed, “Chaos,” before kissing the tips of Nash’s fingers one at a time, his eyelids fluttering at the taste of Nash’s skin.

  He then turned to Saabir, still standing by the sarcophagus, and his face filled with gratitude. “Thank you, my servant. You have gathered well.”

  “Servant?” Ryan asked, even more fascinated, now. “Are you some famous, rich guy? Is that it? Is this your secret sex dungeon that you don’t want the media to find out about?”

  Ramseth looked at Ryan quizzically, and somewhat amused. “Famous? Rich? I have no need for such mortal trappings.”

  Ryan looked around him at the gold and treasures, piled and draped throughout the chamber. “No offence, but you look kinda rich to me.”

  Ramseth only shook his head. “I am a hunter. Saabir, here is my gatherer. He brings me lovers. It is what we do. What we will always do.”

  Ryan grinned confidently, like he was right all along, “So this is your sex dungeon.” Unconsciously, his free hand went to his beautiful, hard dick and began plucking and tugging at it, twanging at the stiff shaft like a guitar string just to watch it flick back in place. He cast a cocksure, sideways glance at Nash, then threw his self-assured gaze back at Ramseth. “You want love? We’re your boys. Trust me, we’ll keep your secret safe.”

  Ramseth seemed pleased. “I am always on the hunt for new lovers. New blood.” He smiled broadly, and that’s when Nash caught sight of what looked like—fangs?

  Nash quickly stepped backward, grabbing Ryan’s hand and also yanking him backward, out of Ramseth’s grip.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Ryan whispered harshly at him through clenched teeth. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

  “Something’s not right,” Nash shook his head. “I saw—”

  “Your friend is timid,” Ramseth cut in, his eyes falling almost mockingly to Nash’s erection, which was once again waning. “He’s free to leave if he likes.”

  The mysterious, muscular Egyptian reached out and stroked Nash’s jawline from ear to chin. He did it slowly, tenderly, almost lovingly. “Would you like to go?” Ramseth asked him directly, his voice deep yet soothing. “I may be a hunter, but I let my prey choose me. The choice to stay is yours. The freedom to go is yours. These are the laws we live by.”

  “We?” The question rushed from Nash’s lips moments before Ramseth’s thumb made its way up his chin, parting his lips and slipping inside Nash’s mouth. The young model willingly, yearningly, took the larger man’s thumb in his mouth. He kissed, sucked, tongued it greedily, feeling his willpower drain away.

  “Yes, we,” Ramseth answered as he watched his thumb being devoured, his cock growing harder still, thumping and slapping against his rigid stomach. “Nobody is born like this. We are taken, sexually, physically, spiritually. We are taken and transformed into something greater, something stronger, something wonderful.”

  “Taken?” Nash mumbled, his tongue twisted around Ramseth’s thumb.

  “That is what hunters do. Healers give. Hunters take. Gatherers—well, they gather. So that they can share in the love.”

  Nash hadn’t even noticed that Saabir had joined them, but the young Egyptian stagehand’s fingers were knotting themselves through Nash’s hair. His lips were kissing the lobe of Nash’s left ear. His hands were making their way down Nash’s chest, his sides, tracing the deep-cut outline of his obliques that led down to his thatch of blond, gold-spun pubic hair.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Nash noticed the cats stepping soundlessly and stealthily from their hiding places amid the scattered treasures. Some began purring, others simply watched with that dreamy, content, yet somehow domineering gaze that only cats possess.

  “The cats. What are they doing?” Nash hushed, too taken by desire to be disturbed by their bizarre voyeurism.

  Saabir’s teeth were nibbling on Nash’s lobe, now. He answered quietly, close to his ear, “They’re giving us their blessing.”

  Ramseth added, “Cats are not just of this world. Nor are they simply creatures of the world beyond. They transcend both. They belong everywhere. They see everything.”

  With the almost symphonic lilt of Ramseth’s voice, Nash closed his eyes and saw nothing but blissful blackness as he sucked in a gasp of hot, still air. “Take me,” he said in a tone so soft it was barely audible, immersed in the blackness behind his eyelids.

  Floating in the dark.

  No, sinking slowly.

  Melting, like the figure on the lid of the sarcophagus.

  He had never felt such desire in his entire life. Not during his first nervous encounters growing up in the orphanage. Not with Mrs. Beauchamp and her expert, guiding hands. Not with the clients he had made happy in Nashville, the ones who so lovingly told him how young he made them feel.

  No, this was different. This was true desire. This was a lust to last forever.

  He wanted to feel Ramseth’s large, powerful hands join Saabir’s on his naked body. He wanted to taste the warmth of Ramseth’s tongue in his mouth, just as he had tasted his thumb, thick and probing and intrusive. He wanted to feel the large man’s hot breath on his neck, in his ear, on his eyelids. He wanted him to mess up his hair with his reaching fingers. He wanted him to pinch his flesh, bruise his skin, bite his—

  “Take me first,” Ryan said.

  Nash opened his eyes, and saw that Ramseth already had Ryan’s irresistible, impossibly beautiful face in his hands. Their lips locked, and at the sight of the two men kissing, Nash had to tense his entire body in order to stop himself from coming then and there. Even so, he felt the first eager surge of pre-cum slip from the eye of his cock.

  It was Saabir who stopped it from falling to the stone floor—with the delicate tip of his silky, moist tongue.

  The first ripples of pleasure shot through Nash’s body as Saabir’s tongue made contact with the tender head of his cock. Nash prayed those ripples of ecstasy would be the first of many, but he didn’t have to pray for long. Saabir’s tongue acted as a nest for the swollen head of Nash’s cock, as his lips enveloped the crown of his shaft, then slowly swallowed him whole.

  That melting sensation overcame Nash once more, his head tilting back on his neck, his eyes sliding shut again as he gently moved his hips forward, slowly pushing himself all the way inside Saabir’s warm, welcoming mouth. The only thing that made him open his eyes again was the desire to watch Ryan and Ramseth while Saabir licked and sucked his aching cock.

  Ramseth had already taken Ryan in his embrace, his huge biceps round and bursting as he cradled his beautiful new lover—his first lover of the night—in his strong arms. They were kissing deeply, passionately, their tongues entwined and appearing briefly for Nash to see as their lips parted, then pressed together tightly again and again. He watched them drink each other, while Saabir feasted on his cock. Before long, Nash was rocking back and forth with the motion of the young stagehand’s sucking.

  His eyelids were heavy, as though he’d been drugged. Drugged by lust, yet he couldn’t pull his gaze from Ryan and Ramseth. Their perfect, brown bellies were almost touching now, held apart only by the wedge created by their pulsating, nearly purple cocks, pressed hard against each other. Ramseth’s shaft was twice the size of Ryan’s in girth and length, and yet its head was only now making an appearance, sliding out from the velvety hood of foreskin covering it. The cock’s meaty, dominant form bullied
Ryan’s slender dick, forcing it to stand upright and pinning it vertically against his panting, anxious stomach.

  With his heart leaping in his chest, Nash watched through lust-drugged eyes as the slit of Ryan’s upstanding cock opened, and a pool of pre-cum, clear and dewy, formed at the tip of the head before snaking down his shaft, wetting Ramseth’s cock along the way.

  “Oh God,” Nash mumbled. His hands tugged Saabir’s hair, and he did not—could not—take his eyes from Ramseth and Ryan.

  So fixed was Nash’s gaze, he didn’t notice the others. He hadn’t even seen the lids of the six standing sarcophagi slowly swing open.

  And now, with barely a sound, six men—equally beautiful, equally built, all naked—stepped out from their coffins, looked at one another, then paired up and began touching, kissing, stroking, licking. They tasted each other’s tongues and lips and flesh before turning to Ramseth. Moving as one with near feline fluidity, they stepped slowly through the treasures, past the purring cats, and approached Ramseth, Ryan, Nash, and Saabir.

  Nash finally saw them as the four of them were being surrounded. He was almost at a climax, his groans louder now, his testicles rising blissfully inside his ball sack ready to trigger their load, his hands now firmly grasping Saabir’s skull. His eyes flared warily, momentarily, at the first sight of the others. But then for some reason, with the same sort of open-mindedness that pulls one through a dream—piecing together the absurd and navigating weird, random landscapes with a willingness and acceptance that defies all rationale—Nash let the strangers approach.