by Christian, M
The rough, illicit treatment, the unnatural partner, all fired my excitement, driving me closer to shooting all over the mass of man under me. Taureau, being an old-fashioned kind of rapist – by this point, seducer – had other ideas. My whimpers alerted him to my impending orgasm. He must have felt I had had control too long; he pushed me off, and before I could recover, he tackled me.
I landed face down, the wind knocked out of me by the impact. Before I regained my breath, my legs were yanked apart, and Taureau's thumb that felt as big as an average dick was probing my asshole. I recalled the size of his not-even-close-to-average dick and panic again rose in my chest, gripping my heart. I tried to roll over, but he pushed me against the dirt. That searing, wet tongue shot into my ass. I screamed louder than I had all night; pleasure beyond anything I had ever imagined paralyzing my body. He worked his tongue in and out of me like a fucking cock, while his hand reached under me to grab a hold of my dick.
Excitement raced through my body, passion burned along my synapses and scorched my brain. As excited as I was, under normal circumstances, I would have come twice by now; but the intensity of the sensations was so extreme I couldn't. My nuts were locked, held captive by my demon lover.
Suddenly he stopped, and I felt his huge torso hovering over my back. His cock head, big as a tennis ball, pressed against my dripping asshole. A breath, cold as the grave that should have held Taureau, drifted across my neck. "Laissez les bon temps rouler."
The cock head rammed in to me with one swift stroke. I fainted.
I didn't stay out for long. Something supernatural made that fuck possible, for if an ordinary object that size had been rammed into me, I would have died of internal injuries. As it was, I felt I was going to the height of ecstasy. I came out of my faint in a haze, slowly, as every nerve in my body raged; my skin prickled, like I was in a vat of carbonated water. My ass burned, my hips where Le Taureau gripped them ached with the pressure, and my face scraped against the dirt floor; but that tingling sensation your dick feels right on the verge of orgasm infused my entire being. Taureau's pelvis slammed my ass cheeks, and his howling and grunting communicated his feeling of this all-pervasive fuck rush.
Our sweaty flesh applauded as our bodies made contact; Taureau's fevered pumping and thrusting growing ever faster. His shaft pulled back and pistoned into me, to pull back again; electric friction ran along the length of his cock inside my ass. The thrusts turned to bucks, faster, sharper, more forceful than before. The sensations zeroed in on my ass, my dick, like a white-hot dart. Taureau roared as he slammed hard into me, ground his cock inside me, and an explosion filled me, a detonation of lust that shot into every fiber of my body. Quivering, thrashing, I exploded too, the come shooting out, hot and liquid like spurts of molten lead. My cries strangled in my throat; I lacked sufficient air to make the noise.
Slowly, like the dying of a piano chord, the intensity of my orgasm faded away. I dragged air in to my lungs, so I could pant and gasp with some success. I regained some consciousness and waited for the feel of Taureau's great cock slipping out of me.
It was already gone.
Rising up on my elbows, I looked around for him but saw nothing. The sourceless light had gone and darkness pressed against my eyes. Dragging myself around, I found a patch of gray to my right and crawled toward it. What last night had been a tunnel was now nothing more than a tight crawl space behind a hay crib. I reached the gray patch, which turned out to be the door of the barn revealing the predawn sky.
* * * *
My head was now befuddled by more than just post-coital euphoria. Taureau was gone, and I was alone in the barn – not in a ghost cellar – just the barn. I began to think that Uncle Luc's bourbon was blended with something besides fine whiskeys – like maybe ecstasy or GHB – but my running shorts lay near the door, torn in half, and I was covered with mud from where I had sweated against the dirt floor. There was no denying the feeling that I had sat on a fire hydrant. I limped back to the house.
After a shower and some much-needed sleep, my brain returned to normal function. Still, the day was half gone before something clicked: the old chant that I had remembered on the drive from Houston. Pillage, fuck! Plunder and kill! Le Taureau's out for a thrill. The tool shed had burned the night before I got to Bois Blanc. Pillage. I had been ravished last night. Fuck. I had an idea what was on tonight's agenda. I was glad I hadn't unpacked.
I drove in to Reserve and made arrangements for a crew to go out and pack up the house – lock, stock, and barrel. The property would sell faster if it was empty and packing everything up would give us more time to disperse Uncle Luc's effects sensitively. Sentiment and the market value of Empire furniture would quiet any of the family's questions regarding the advisability of my decision. As for the crew's safety, they would be there in the daytime, and I'd never heard of Taureau striking before nightfall. I hoped he wouldn't decide to repeat himself and burn the place down before the movers got there. Once the arrangements were set, I decided to settle my nerves and headed for New Orleans.
After a burger dinner at the Clover Grill, I made my round of the bars. The clubs were packed, but the crowds lacked much in the looks department. However, round about three in the morning at the Rawhide, I caught sight of a really hot guy. The lighting was dim and he stood across the bar from me, but he had his shirt off, and his torso was fabulous. Shadows hid his face, so I started to stroll around for a better look.
Some drunken Tulane student chose that moment for a full Monty on the pool table, and the crowd, desperate for entertainment, surged forward, blocking my path to Mr. Right Now. By the time I made my way through, he had gone. Disappointed and not interested in watching the twink's alcoholic antics, I'd had enough fun for one night. I headed back to the Sheraton.
As I left the leather bar, I caught sight of a man about two blocks down the street. The night was dark but from the outline of the massive shoulders and a very butch walk, I discerned that it was Mr. Right Now. I changed direction and sped up, moving to within a half block or so of him. He wasn't walking too fast, so I caught up pretty quickly. In fact, I almost swore he was letting me get closer. Suddenly feeling a little shy, I decided not to close the gap and followed him through the Quarter at a safe distance.
Finally near Jackson Square he moved into a side alley. I hesitated a moment. I had spent all my cash and was only wearing an old Fossil watch – so if he was out to mug me, I wouldn't lose much. What the hell! I walked slowly past the end of the alley to see where he had gone. It was very dark – there was only a single gas lantern, illuminating a courtyard gate about halfway down the passage. Before I could even peer into the shadows to see where he was, arms pulled me into the blackness. Rock hard muscles held me and pressed against my back. Instantly his hands rubbed my crotch and chest. I felt that electric charge that only public sex gives. Yet, I wanted the added thrill of seeing this stud, so I squirmed around to face him.
The gaslight flickered and went out. His eyes shone in the darkness. They glowed, changing from red to pale yellow.
"Bon soir, mon beau frère!"
ONLY IN YOUR DREAMSA. LEIGH JONES
Kieran watches Michael wake from the dream they'd shared, his hands fisted in the sheets and his back arched, mouth open, come spurting across his belly and his chest, untouched except by Kieran, and that was only in his dreams. It's been years since he's known a dreamer this responsive, this open to suggestion, decades, maybe, since he's tasted such sweetness.
He's been trapped just beyond the mortal coil for more years than it's possible to count now, damned to live among the demons of this plane, cursed by an old world sorceress to live forever among the vile. Alone, for all eternity.
Old world sorceresses were nothing if not dramatic, and were never to be taken lightly, a lesson Kieran, human-born but Cupid-touched, had learned far too late. He had stolen her own beloved, but her beloved, oh, her beloved had stolen much from Kieran, too. It was a sad, sad story, older tha
n time, far older than Kieran, though time had ceased to have much meaning for him. Kieran had been adrift in this demon realm for what seemed like forever, reaching out from dreamer to dreamer, looking for the impossible, the one among countless millions who could cross him over once again. Or who would, for that matter.
And then he found Michael. And Michael, he thinks, might truly be the one.
And not just because the boy is beautiful, either, although he is most assuredly that. Pale sleep-tousled hair, long limbs, lean muscles, but it's something more that attracted Kiernan in the first place, something he feels as clear as the sky at night, as open as the very air. Even with the dream slipping away from them he still feels Michael, feels him dragging his fingers through his own seed, lifting them to his lips.
Kiernan watches Michael smile sleepily and reach for his alarm clock with his other hand, fingers sliding back down, over his chest, his belly, his balls, lower, slick over his hole and pressing in, moaning to himself and cursing because he can't, he so seriously can't, be late for work again, but he can't seem to stop himself, either.
Kieran takes a moment before he vanishes to sprawl beside Michael on the bed, trail his unseen fingers over Michael's body before he wakes fully and Kieran loses his form all together. Michael moans at his touch, twisting his own fingers deep inside his body, his cock beginning to twitch again, filling, though Kieran thinks surely it must be too soon. The boy seems to lean closer to him, pressing his body along Kieran's outline, though he knows he's nothing more than buzz along his sensitive skin.
Michael couldn't see him there yet, couldn't know. But Michael couldn't hear him, either, and Kieran still whispers in his ear, tells him how beautiful he is, how wanted, how much Kieran needs to be inside him, longs to twist his fingers in beside Michael's right now, his tongue, his cock. He's just getting started on all the things he wants to do when Michael's hips buck into the air, desperate, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Michael's too awake for Kieran to stay with him no matter how much he wants to do exactly that, and he has no choice but to watch his beautiful dreamer fade away.
Soon, he promises himself. Very soon.
If Michael will have him.
* * * *
Michael hardly knows what's going on with him, popping wood in his cubicle at work, his stupid headset too tight and his dick so hard it hurts, pressing up against his fly and leaking through his khakis, dark wet spot he can't really believe is there. It's crazy. He can't concentrate at all, his dick leaking even though it's only been a few hours since he got off last. He actually has to take his break early and jerk off in the men's room, his dick in his hand and his shirt tucked up under his chin, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, images from his dreams floating back to him, his lover biting the soft inside of his thigh, binding his hands, his ankles, his cock.
He's been dreaming like this for weeks now, vivid fantasies that leave him exhausted and strangely awake, dried come on his belly, his chest, his sheets. He wakes up with his dick in his hand, hard and leaking, coming again before he's even really awake. He remembers wet dreams from years ago, back when he was young enough to be embarrassed by his body, by the things he wanted, by the things he wanted to do. Those dreams were nothing like these, of course. These were a million times better. These were better than reality, even, no question about it.
Although presently his reality consists of whacking off in a semi-public restroom with some guy from accounting taking a piss three stalls over. So, whatever. He wishes he were on his knees instead, with accountant-guy's dick shoved through a hole in the wall and his mouth full of come and cock. No, no, not accountant-guy, and not a hole in the wall.
He wants to be on his knees for his dream lover, for Kieran, far too hot to be an angel, but close, close, with his strong thighs and his big hands, his dick so far down Michael's throat Michael can't even taste it when Kieran comes, can only feel the swell of Kieran's thick cock on his tongue, hipbones in his hands and fingers in his hair, a voice he can't quite hear.
* * * *
He'd rather have Kieran, but Kieran only comes to him in his dreams, and he's so far from sleep right now, three lattes deep just to get through the afternoon, itchy, jittery. He needs relief, his jerk-off fantasy coming back to him. He thinks, fuck it, the Shop&Suck is on his way home. More or less. Well, it's hardly out of his way at all.
He's been at least half hard all afternoon, hasn't been able to shake the idea through call after call in his tiny cubicle, is turned on even now, despite thirty minutes on the interstate, crazy crawl of traffic and nothing on the radio. Besides, there's something about the Shop&Suck, so perfectly, spotlessly, clean and still so completely filthy – it's always confused him a little but not today, dick flat against his belly, sliding on his skin as he makes his way through the rows of videos, passes by the whips, the cuffs, the masks, opens the door that leads to the back rooms. He finds an unoccupied one, strips off his shirt, drops his pants as the door clicks closed behind him, cold concrete under his splayed knees, smooth holes in the wall he's trying hard not to look through, mouth open, watering, waiting for a cock to push through.
It's only a minute, maybe two, and then he's inching closer to the wall, slurping at the cock the stranger on the other side of wall presents to him, at the dark vein pulsing along the underside, sucking hard on the blunt head. He keeps his hands on his thighs, his dick jutting out from his body, dripping, working the bodiless cock with his mouth. It's longer than Kieran's, thinner, cut, but Michael wants it anyway, wants it to fill him, wants to taste.
He pretends the bitter spurt on his tongue is Kieran's, keeps the cock in his mouth until it gets taken away.
The next one is small, but Michael sucks it anyway. It's hard as steel, as a bullet, hot and fast, fucking in and out of his mouth. It could never be Kieran, Michael can't even pretend, but since Michael hardly has to pay attention, knows he won't choke on it, won't gag, won't feel it deep in his throat no matter how much he wants to, he just can zone out and take it. He palms his balls, heavy, presses his own dick to his belly, holds it there while his mouth fills with come, sweeter than the last load. He holds it there, wanting to keep the feel of it on his tongue, hot, tingly, the cock it shot from pushing against the inside of his cheek, pushing into its own seed.
Each load feels more like Kieran than the one before it, the buzz of his touch like the current of jizz in his mouth. He takes load after load, dick after dick, the last one the best if only because he finally lets himself come with that fat meat in his mouth, thick, uncut. It makes him drool, makes him moan, his knees aching, his jaw so sore he feels every push, every thrust, his gag reflex opening his jaw wider, his throat opening to take it deeper, as deep as he can. He waits until he feels it swell impossibly thicker in his mouth, waits until it pulls out suddenly and pushes through his lips one last time, pulsing on his tongue, shooting thick bursts he swallows down before bringing himself off with just a few strokes. He comes so hard it makes him dizzy, unable to move for a few minutes, his vision gone hazy, red.
He picks himself up and dresses slowly, shakes the feeling back into his feet, his toes. The next cock that shoves through the hole is tempting, dark pubes curling up its base, red and wet at the tip, but for the first time in days he thinks he might actually be spent. He makes his way out of the store, doesn't notice the other men in the shop, the merchandise, the clerk. He's pretty sure he's never felt this way before. Boneless, loose, alive.
Is it possible to get high on cock? He laughs, steers his car onto the freeway.
Even the traffic on the way back to his place doesn't bother him. He parks his car, waves to a neighbor, brushes his teeth, hops in the shower. He doesn't whack off. His dick doesn't even get hard, really, just full, heavy. He shaves himself carefully, wanting to be bare now, dark gold curls swirling down the drain. After, he touches his balls with slick fingers, his groin, his hole. Smooth skin, pink and new. He climbs into bed and waits for sleep to take him, waits for Kieran, k
nowing he's nearby already, knowing he's close.
* * * *
Kieran's close, indeed. Frustratingly, maddeningly, dangerously close. Michael's newly woken libido has been humming through the astral plane, strong enough to draw the attention of a few of the more loathsome demons littering this sphere, but not strong enough for Kieran to crossover while Michael's still awake. Almost though, almost.
He's been with Michael every night now for months, with Michael becoming more and more aware of him every day, remembering more, wanting more, but now that Michael's drawn attention to himself, Kieran knows he must hurry. There's no telling what madness these spawn will rent, and though Kieran is not without defenses of his own, neither can he take on the entire plane.
But for Kiernan's plan to work, he very much needs Michael to be willing. There aren't many among the cursed who would give Michael's willingness a second thought, but for Kieran, that would be inconceivable. Binding himself to an unwilling human is something he will not do.
He's nearly certain of Michael's feelings, though, and while he would prefer to have the chance to explain, time is no longer on his side. Were he bonded to Michael no other would be able to interfere, and in time, he and Michael might truly be together. He knew it was possible, anyway. Theoretically. And today's adventure bore that theory out, as the more sexual energy Michael released the more he was able to relax and let himself drift, and the more Kieran was able to exert his influence on the physical plane. He was far from being able to fully materialize outside of the dream state, but he knew Michael had been able to feel his presence today, the buzz of him, the buzz they made together.
Michael couldn't know it yet, but that buzz was the key. Kieran was still more spirit than anything, unbound energy, needing another, a dreamer, to make him whole. Without a dreamer, Kieran could do little more than drift, and even with a dreamer, he could do little more than that. Over the years he'd been a lively fantasy for many, and had experienced brief semi-corporeal moments in the dreams of those he'd returned to night after night, year after year, but none of them could hold a candle to Michael.