I was not disappointed. A little more than an hour after I watched him slip away among the warm bodies in the marketplace, my lovely lover surfaced again outside a tavern near the bullfighting ring. The bullfights of the day were at an end, but the crowds from the arena had migrated to other places of public engagement. They filled the pubs and restaurants to the rafters, cheering and roaring over the day’s enthralling sports. He had, as I expected, come to join them.
I saw him on the front porch of the tavern, smiling and exchanging grins, exclamations, and agreements with the other men enjoying their beers. I continued my observance from a distance, appreciating his elegant beauty, letting my mind murmur to me salacious and inventive scenarios for our delight. Though I was most definitely aroused by my new unknowing paramour, my own body gave no indication of it. The patient beast resting beneath my leathers was as yet content, as I myself was, to simply watch and wait. I savored the sight of the boy’s beautiful frame, his handsome grin and beautiful teeth, the soft, jet-black curls that fell rebelliously over his eyes. I am rather curious creature in that, to speak true. I have mastered the art of taming the eager phallus fortune had seen fit to bestow upon me. Strangely enough, I lacked the same discipline when it came to my fangs, the bright, sharp testaments to my unnatural un-life. Even now, while the beast of my sex remained obedient, the blades of my teeth were sharply erect, smoothly vicious, two desirous points hungry to sink into the beating lifeline running beneath my beautiful lover’s slender inner thigh.
My grandsire—the ancient vampire to whom I owed my existence many times over—might have been amused at the dichotomy of it. A man who can bury the evidence of lust betrayed by a throbbing, insubordinate phallus, but is powerless to control the teeth in his head. Might have been amused by it, perhaps. I have never been quite certain how he might react to the knowledge that his “favorite grandson” preferred the attention—the bodies—of other men rather than the soft, sweet folds of women. Of course, such information is inconsequential. The intimacies of my life are my own, and belong to no one else. I need not answer for them. I simply keep them to myself and find them far more satisfying, unsullied by the knowledge or opinions of others.
My beloved belongs to me. I will not share him—his beauty, his lusts—with anyone else.
I watched my darling boy for quite some time, enjoying a fine cask of cantueso liquor as I allowed my mind to wander. I visually recorded each inch of his flesh; flesh that I wished to taste for myself, to kiss and to run my tongue along, to sink my fangs into. I let myself imagine pressing my lips to his wrist, feeling the soft throb of his pulse underneath my mouth as my hand caressed the heated bulge of his scrotum, listening to his heartbeat with my fingertips. But his lips...oh, his wonderful lips, his full and soft, delectable lips...
I have known the flesh of a woman before. I have made love to them, yes, taken them to my bed and spilled my seed for them...for one of my standing, it is expected. Male vampires—especially male vampires of noble birth—are anticipated to have many female lovers, to have tasted the pleasure of a female’s flesh, the perfumes of her sex. It is perhaps even expected that one such as I would have sired a human girl into our world, making her immortal, a willing sexual slave and concubine for eternity. I have had my experiences with such conquests, but they were not for me. I have admired many a beautiful woman and would happily speak volumes to their wit and loveliness, their charm and class. But their bodies, soft and voluptuous, have never truly enticed me.
The narrow, slender hips of a young man, however—the broad planes of his naked chest—the somehow vulnerable shape of his sex organ as he takes pleasure in his lover’s hands, or mouth, or the warm depths of his body, trustingly offered, carefully cherished—
There I find worlds of intimate, gratifying fulfillment.
My beloved spent long hours carousing with his fellows at the tavern across from me, trading tales of the bullfights and recounting grand sporting events of the past. I counted three casks of drink the waitress brought to him. I was pleased to see that her attention to his body, her appreciative gazes that were certainly the twins to my own, went unnoticed by him. That did not, of course, mean that he shared my particular passions for the male sex over the female. It did mean that I did not, as of yet, have any competition on the field of engagement.
He drank his liquor slowly, enjoying it, and he handled it well. By the third drink, however, I took notice at the way his posture softened. He waved off the next glass offered to him by the serving girl, which meant he knew he was becoming inebriated. The gesture was a signal to me as well. Our dance had at last begun, and the time was right now for me to be bold, to cross the floor to him and take his hand, lead him into a place of illicit delights.
I am a patient predator, and I am a dedicated predator. I approached from the flank, sidling quietly up to my beloved’s slender shoulder, delicately tracing my fingers along the back of it, up to his neck. I sensed a shiver down his spine, and he wanted to turn around, to see me for himself. My hand on his cheek stopped him, and I pressed my lips to his jaw just below his ear.
Smooth. Beautiful. He smelled of fresh soap, and that thrilled me. In this province of farmers and ranchers and bullfighters, men were wont to smell like sweat and dirt and animal hide. Nothing at all wrong with that, of course, but this was a surprise. It was a delicious surprise.
“Asi, quehermosaeres,” I breathed against the pretty lobe of his ear. How beautiful you are. My fangs—still stubbornly sharp with my desire—grazed the soft flesh. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation of stirring in my loins.
My voice—the voice of a man—startled him, and he tried again, more violently this time, to turn around and face me. I held him firmly, almost painfully in place, closing my other hand down on his shoulder with an unquestionable grip. We stood just beside the doorway of the pub. My whole presence was shielded by the shadows of the eaves. It was just the two of us now.
I inhaled the invigorating scent of his skin again, nuzzling my face against his throat, finding the pulse of his jugular with my lips, tracing the vein with the tip of my tongue. His rigid surprise melted away beneath my affections. His body eased under my hands, curious, piqued.
“Miamor,” I murmured. “Venconmigo.”
My love...
Come with me.
***
My beloved’s skin tasted wonderfully of salt, warm and exciting, sweetened and complicated by a delicious hint of wine. I abducted him to the clandestine privacy of an old forgotten graveyard, a spacious seclusion I had discovered long ago in the forgotten corners of the city. Somehow it had gone unconsecrated by priests and was therefore open to one of my kind. Serendipitous, indeed. The beautiful creature willingly allowed himself to be taken, enthralled by the sultry dance as much as I. He was now a prisoner to the arts of the supernatural, the seduction of something inhuman and incomprehensible, something forbidden and dangerously divine.
Pushing my darling’s slender body up against the cool, smooth stone of an aging mausoleum, I pressed my lips again and again to him, following the perfect shape of his collarbone with slow adoration, familiarizing myself with the contours of his throat, exploring up and down the charmingly jaunty shape of his Adam’s apple with tender kisses. He offered himself easily now. He was not afraid. He held me closer to him, winding his strong hands around my throat and into my hair. I buried my face in the soft, clean locks of his in turn, breathing in the scent of soap and nubile, beautiful flesh.
He was like a sweet, blushing virgin under my arms. I had seen it in him when I discovered him like a treasure in the marketplace with his two sisters: young, pristine, untouched, perfect. He perhaps met his needs with wistful daydreams of women bathing at the river, palming his own beautiful sex organ while he imagined their naked forms. Perhaps he had a sweet blushing virgin of his own waiting for him in the village, a girl too shy to offer him her body, him too shy to ask. I could taste it as I kissed him, tasting his wonderful,
soft, pliant lips: a young man, an eager young man, a green and untested lover.
His tongue met mine, and he ran it across my teeth. It brushed my fangs, sending a sweet rush of hungry arousal through my body. I no longer pretended to be unaffected by his beauty. Under the rich leather of my leggings, my phallus had finally grown stiff and impatient, straining to be released, to touch his naked, youthful flesh. He surrendered himself willingly and I happily, carefully, unlaced the loose white shirt that covered his flat, subtly muscled chest. With worshipful gentleness I ran my hands over his slim form, lovingly lowering my lips to kiss the planes of his torso.
An art, I tell you. His body was beauty, too wonderful to be delivered by careless hands. I felt his fingers in my hair as I sampled the pleasing little buds of his nipples, stiff and inquisitively alert, perfect little pebbles on my questing tongue. My own body was growing more and more piqued with hunger. My stiffened member gave a throb of eager pleasure. I was not yet ready, though, to set it free.
We changed position. I brought him down to the soft, downy grass, blue in the moonlight, continuing to strip away his shirt as my lips explored his nakedness. The soft cotton of his leggings could not hide his own arousal. I gently slipped my fingers down underneath the fabric, taking the wonderfully sculpted flesh of his member in my hand.
“Como deseoparati,” I whispered at him. How I lust for you.
“Minino hermoso...”
My beautiful boy.
He said nothing to me. I heard every breath, heavy and full, astounded, excited. I leaned over his body, gently releasing his rigid, youthful member from his clothes, and inclined my head to taste it. Sweat, salt, semen—I ran my tongue lovingly over the handsomely mushroomed head, circumcised, shapely, pristine. As I explored the length of it he gasped in quiet surprise. I heard him swear softly under his breath, shyly embarrassed. It made me smile.
His member was every inch as lovely as I had hoped. It was brightly excited by my illicit promises, bouncing against the slight curve of his lower belly when I released it, eagerly standing up from a thatch of sweet-smelling, thick curly hair. I slipped my fingers down to find his testes, taking them in my palm and caressing them, enjoying their lovely shape and weight in my hand.
“Dios mio,” he muttered huskily.
“No,” I said with a grin, more to myself than to him. “God is not watching over you tonight, my beloved creature.”
My own burgeoning phallus was practically in pain from the sight of him, open and vulnerable on the grass, a gorgeous body just asking to be taken. I took his length into my mouth again, let him feel the cool, welcoming wetness of my tongue, my throat. My fangs—they were so sharply erect I thought for certain they would cut his tender flesh and spill blood from his sex organ right onto my tongue—grazed him gently on either side. The slick beads of his first seed dewed upon the tip, and I swallowed them with a happy murmur.
The boy had never felt the pleasures I was offering. It thrilled me to show him the sinful delights of my world. I offered myself, submissive and adoring, to his passion. With slow but deliberate intention, I happily serviced his phallus, lovingly pleasuring him from root to tip, my mouth working like a devoted acolyte at the altar of his flesh.
He offered up throaty, quiet murmurs of joy. I attended the firm, perfect shape of his shaft, my lips rolling up and down the length of it and feeling each sweet vein beneath the thin, quivering skin. My tongue marveled at the round cap of his head, smooth under its warm exploration. I couldn’t stand much more of this. The sweetly bitter hints of his body’s intimate fluid, faint on my tongue, drove me mad with desire.
I wanted the full taste of his climax—every drop.
I increased my rhythm, fellating him with relish, following the hungry caress of my lips with an eager stroke of my hand, dropping my palm to brush gently over the hairs of his pubis, slipping my fingers down, down between his thighs, searching for the beautifully forbidden entrance hidden between his nervous, perfect buttocks. I felt him quiver as I caressed him—I teased him with subtle, playful grazes of my fingertips on his tightly puckered little hole. As I ran the pad of my middle finger lovingly along the ring of it, I hummed a moan around the phallus in my mouth, feeling it jump the littlest bit as I applied pressure against his vulnerable rear.
“No,” he whispered, begging me with endearing charm. I knew he did not mean it—I could hear it in the strain of his voice, the hopeful undertones of a pleasure he was too shy to ask for himself.
I closed my eyes again, taking the full length of him into my mouth and slipping the tip of my finger into his trembling entrance. It was tight, resisting. I cautiously toyed with it, listening to his hitched and quickening breath. I laved his phallus happily, fingering him and fellating him with joy. Joy multiplied by his encouraging moans.
I had very little warning. I felt his flesh tighten suddenly around my invading digit, and his organ quivered and stiffened against my tongue. Then, suddenly, the taste of his hot, copious seed filled my mouth, bursting with ecstasy he couldn’t hold back. It was milky and faintly sweet, sending blissful euphoria through my whole body as I celebrated silently, swallowing him happily, greedily, reveling in the beautiful gift of his sex.
My own phallus could not stand to be restrained any longer. As my lovely boy propped himself up on his elbows, I came to my knees, undoing the heavy belt I wore and releasing my throbbing organ from its prison. My own member was hairless and smooth—like all creatures of the devil’s kingdom, my body was eerily unfamiliar, inhuman, pristine and cold, like a marble statue. I could see the boy admiring its rigid length; a shaft of lithe, subtle power. I favored him a moment by letting him watch me pull back the foreskin and reveal the eager round cap of a head underneath. I will not lie, I enjoy the look on my lovers’ faces when they first behold my naked manhood, when that first hint of wild lust for it lights up in their eyes.
I crawled on top of him, kneeling over his chest, and seized him gently by the hair. He knew what to do.
His mouth was velvet, wet and soft, his tongue thick and lovely. His perfect teeth were obedient and kind, never touching me as his lips worked up and down my length.
“Ah, yes,” I murmured at him as I guided him onto me, directing him gently. “Si, mi niñohermoso...Oh, yes...”
I love a virgin mouth. I love the feel of a young man’s lips, tongue, and throat exploring his lover’s organ for the first time, discovering the contours of it, testing it, tasting it, and enjoying what he finds. Tonight, my beloved was no disappointment—he took me with endearing new delight, amazed at his own arousal. I caught him out of the corner of my eye, already nursing the first stirrings of a new erection in his own phallus as he greedily swallowed mine. His hands moved then, traveling up my thighs and tugging my leathers down to caress along the backs of the lean muscles, to part my own buttocks and explore the valley between them, curious at the intimacy of the action.
“Beautiful boy,” I murmured. One hand held his head against my body, guiding his sweet rhythm as he attended me. My fingers tangled happily in his dark, gorgeous hair. “Oh, my darling, how beautiful you are...it nearly brings me to tears...”
Mellow, gratifying pleasure warmed my rigid organ, stirred deep within my loins, as he licked, kissed, sucked. His tongue caressed my head. I moaned, raising my face to the sky. My climax was not far off, and I wanted him to know it.
He had gone back to palming himself. His erection was back in full force now, as if blissfully unaware of its own recent satisfaction. It bobbed in his hand. His other hand drifted around to my testes, curiously touching them, feeling the impeccable flesh, skin as smooth as stone.
“Oh, yes,” I moaned, tightening my grip on his hair. “Oh, my beautiful boy, yes...”
The floodgates burst; my body went tense, my loins shuddering, pumping my seed down his throat with quick, frantic joy. My second hand joined the first, holding him against me, my whole length deep in his mouth, spurting my semen into warm, wet depths.
He made a small, strangled sound of soft surprise underneath me, the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed, but I was not of a mind to let him go. I shot a full measure of copious hot seed, making him drink it down, loving the startled moans of protest as he had to accept it, all of it, without so much as a warning.
“Tegusta, amante?” I hissed through my teeth. “Do you like it, lover? Oh, I like it very much...”
I finally let him go, and he pulled away from me. I had given up the last of my orgasm, but as he released me from his mouth, my erection was still enthusiastically evident. He turned his beautiful doe eyes up to me, almost apologetic—as if he hadn’t meant to protest my sudden and unexpected climax even as it practically choked him—and I grinned at him, a comfort and an apology all in one. Falling to the side, I lay next to him in the grass and kissed him tenderly, tasting myself in his mouth as I did.
“You are so perfect,” I murmured again, kissing him over and over. I gently reached down to caress his organ, petting it lovingly, thanking him through my fingers and tickling his skin affectionately as I held him. “My beloved...how happy you have made me this night.”
He returned my happy nuzzling. I nudged him over, onto his side, encircling him in my arms and fitting his slender body against the contours of my own. I kissed his neck, his ear, his shoulders, as I tenderly undressed him, then me.
We lay there naked under the moonlight, kissing and caressing, exchanging no words but only sweet, murmured affections in the darkness. My organ—still rampantly aroused, still eager to plumb the secret depths of this young man’s virgin body—pressed eagerly against the valley formed by his buttocks. I had no need to rush, however. Sunrise was hours away still, we were alone under the phenomenally astounding sky, under the pure light of a full moon...and I had my beautiful, wonderful, perfect beloved in my arms.
Crimson, Volume 1 Page 21