Vampires of Miami: Vampires of the World

by Geoffrey Knight

  Mayfair began to pour the drink from the shaker. A crimson crushed-ice concoction trickled into the glass.

  “No thank you,” Jaxon replied, determinedly walking across the seemingly nonthreatening room toward Mayfair. “I told you, I wanna leave. Now!”

  “Yes, of course. That’s your choice, and we have to respect that.”

  “We?”

  “Let me get the key.” Mayfair searched behind the bar. “I know I set it down here somewhere.”

  “Who’s we?” Jaxon looked around suspiciously. “Is there somebody else here? Is this some kind of brothel? Are you trying to turn me into—”

  “Absolutely not,” Mayfair interjected calmly. “We’re not trying to turn you into anything you don’t want to be. Choice. Freedom. Responsibility for one’s actions. Kindness above all spoken words. Justice above all written laws. Love without discrimination. These are the things we believe in. If you want to go, I’ll happily show you out.”

  “Love and kindness? What are you, some kind of cult?”

  Mayfair chuckled. “Is that what you have to be in these days to practice love and kindness?”

  Jaxon felt caught out. “No, of course not. I believe in everything you said. It’s just that, well, you say it in a creepy kinda voice, and you make it sound like you wanna put me in a robe and strap me to an altar.”

  Mayfair stopped pouring for a moment, and looked at him slyly. “Oh, don’t be silly. We don’t bother with robes.”

  Jaxon eyed him distrustfully.

  Mayfair stabbed the cocktail with an ornate swizzle stick, and slid the glass in front of Jaxon. “One for the road, sir?”

  “What is it?” The suspicion had not left his stare.

  Mayfair smiled. “An elixir. One we hold dear.”

  Jaxon laughed incredulously. “You’re gonna drug me? And you openly admit it? How stupid do you think I am?”

  “It’s not a matter of stupidity. It’s a matter of willingness. Again, this is all up to you. You will never be denied choices when you’re with us.”

  “Us? You keep talking about us! Who the hell is us?”

  Mayfair avoided the question. “Your cocktail, Mr. Cain. Would you like to drink it, or shall I see you out?”

  It was as though Mayfair was daring him to take a chance, daring him to be brave—daring him to change his life. Jaxon grabbed the cocktail and drained the glass. He spilled a bit, and a slippery red trail made its way down his lips, his chin, his neck.

  Mayfair watched it, enchanted.

  Jaxon slammed the empty glass down on the bar.

  “Okay, so I’m willing,” he admitted, the drink going straight to his head.

  “Willing to do what?” Mayfair asked, his gaze steady on Jaxon’s lips, his tone serious, yet intrigued.

  “Willing to change it all. Change the past.”

  “We can’t do that. We can only change who we are today.”

  “That’s what I came here for. To start ag-g-gain.” Jaxon was suddenly aware of his slurring words. His head was starting to swim. He blinked frantically to keep his eyes open.

  “Don’t fight it,” Mayfair said, walking around the bar and guiding Jaxon onto one of the high stools.

  Jaxon plonked down on it like a drunk teenager. “What the hell was in that el-l-lixir of yours? My dad’s a doctor, you know. I was supposed to be a d-d-doctor too.”

  “I know,” Mayfair said.

  “How?”

  “Take off your shirt.”

  Jaxon looked at Mayfair with giddy eyes, trying to stare him down. It was easier just to do as he was told. He swayed precariously on the stool as he tried to peel the T-shirt up and over his head, but Mayfair grabbed his trim, muscular waist, and managed to steady the young man.

  “Here,” the butler said, touching his fingers lightly to Jaxon’s temple, “is the man you know you can be.” Mayfair moved his hand down to Jaxon’s chest, and placed his open palm over the young man’s large left pectoral. “And here is the man you once were. The man you need to become once more.”

  The room was swirling around Jaxon’s head now. He tried his best to focus on Mayfair. “How? Show me how.”

  “Is that the choice you want to make?” Mayfair asked in a slow, steady tone.

  Jaxon nodded. “Yes.”

  Then he slipped from the stool into a deep, endless ocean of darkness.

  Chapter Four

  Even before Jaxon’s eyes fluttered open, he knew he was in a car. He felt the motion of the vehicle, the hum of the engine, the smooth traction of the wheels on road… then on dirt.

  Jaxon forced himself to wake, somewhat groggily. His T-shirt was back on, and he was now sitting in the backseat of a long limousine. There was a man driving; it was Mayfair. Outside, it was dark. There were no lights, no people, no sign of Miami whatsoever. Jaxon could make out the moss-draped branches of bayou trees all around.

  He climbed out of his seat and banged on the glass screen separating him from the driver’s compartment.

  Without taking his eyes off the road, Mayfair lowered the screen.

  Jaxon looked ahead through the windscreen, and watched the headlights shine down a narrow dirt road completely surrounded by the dense forest of the bayou. Occasionally the beams bounced off twisting black channels of water on either side, indicating they were the middle of a swamp.

  “Mayfair, where the fuck are we!” Jaxon demanded aggressively. “Did you just fucking kidnap me?”

  “Oh, not at all,” Mayfair laughed, finding the accusation ludicrous. “If I recall correctly, it was you who chose to enter the red door. It was you who chose to drink the elixir.”

  “I didn’t choose to be put in a car unconscious, and driven out to—” Jaxon suddenly caught sight of a light flickering through the trees. It was quickly joined by another light, then another. As the trees thinned out, the lights became the windows of a house.

  Not just a house, a large stone mansion.

  Flaming torches appeared at the sides of the dirt road, and the road turned into a driveway that veered in a circle around the front of the two-story mansion. Its façade was decorated in strings of tiny sparkling fairy lights, thousands of them. The windows were huge and flung open to let the night air in, and the sound of a party out. Jaxon heard laughter, and moaning, and grunting. He saw the silhouettes of guests strolling on the grounds in front of the house, passing by the windows, mingling on the wide porch, and making their way in and out through the large, open doors at the front of the mansion. They were talking and drinking, laughing and chatting, kissing and caressing.

  “You’re taking me to a party?” Jaxon asked, confused and still angry.

  “Every night is party night at the Xavier mansion.”

  At first, the party guests were simply black shadows. Then, as the limo drew closer, Jaxon saw that they were all young men. All handsome and impeccably groomed. All of them wearing either a tuxedo—

  —or absolutely nothing at all.

  As the car pulled to a halt in front of the house, Jaxon couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful and bizarre scene before him, feeling all at once adventurous and apprehensive, courageous and curious, wary and reckless.

  Mayfair turned to him and smiled. “I hope you did as I said.”

  “What’s that?” Jaxon muttered, unable to take his eyes off the house, the lights, the men.

  “I hope you left your inhibitions at the red door.”

  Chapter Five

  Mayfair opened the car door for him, and in something of a heady trance, Jaxon stepped out of the car. The air was hot and sticky and thick with the sweet, pungent scents of the bayou. There were other smells too: the strong, meaty aroma of a barbecue cooking, the sugary scent of champagne bubbles, uncorked and now popping and fizzing in crystal flutes.

  And cum.

  The air was heavy with the scent of masculinity, of sex, of sweet still-wet cum.

  “Here,” a naked young man said, walking confidently up to Jaxon with a cha
mpagne flute in each hand. He was tall, lean, with dark brown hair, a broad chest and wide shoulders, round biceps, and a long, thick cock swinging between his muscular thighs. “My name is Marcus. Please, come with me. Xavier’s expecting you.” He handed Jaxon one of the glasses of champagne.

  Jaxon took it distractedly, then quickly turned to see where Mayfair had disappeared to, concerned that he was about to be abandoned at this strange, surreal setting. Indeed he was; Mayfair was about to get back into the car.

  “Mayfair? You’re leaving me here?”

  Mayfair smiled, and nodded. “I’m a gatherer. My work here is done, sir.”

  “A gatherer? What the hell does that mean? Mayfair?”

  But Mayfair was already in the car, and a moment later, Jaxon watched the red taillights blink, and vanish through the trees.

  He turned back to the house, to the smell of cum mingling with spicy roasting meat, to the sight of men chatting and drinking on the porch, kissing on the grass, some of them dressed, some of them naked, some of them flaccid, some of them hard, all of them beautiful and young, all of them seemingly watching him, a look of hungry anticipation in their eyes.

  Marcus suddenly slid his arm through Jaxon’s. The young man flinched at the unexpected touch, more startled than uncomfortable at the contact. Marcus’s bicep brushed against Jaxon’s arm. His skin was hot—Jaxon could feel it through his T-shirt, pressing against his torso.

  “Come,” Marcus said.

  “I’m not sure.” Jaxon said hesitantly.

  “You will be.” Marcus winked. “One way or the other, you’ll soon know what you want.” He gestured toward the house with his champagne glass. “Shall we?”

  The scene outside the mansion was a tame image of sexual openness and polite, pleasure-seeking indulgence compared to the opulence, the extravagance, the profligacy, the dizzy hedonism of the world Jaxon Cain encountered when he walked into the mansion:

  Dead flowers curling in glass Venetian vases…

  Candles bleeding molten wax from silver candlesticks and elaborate candelabras…

  Naked men draped on the marble steps of a grand staircase, kissing each other ravenously while stroking one another’s cocks…

  Two men in tuxedoes draped over a naked young man on an eighteenth-century rococo chaise lounge, one man gnawing on the naked subject’s ear, the other gnawing on his anus, rimming him with his tongue and felching the glistening hole…

  A man in a dinner suit thirstily drinking from a fountain in the middle of the mansion vestibule, his shirt and dinner jacket completely drenched with water…

  A colony of tiny bats hanging upside down from the dozens of cracks in the ceiling and the arms of a giant crystal chandelier, chattering and screeching at the sounds and smells of the decadence unfolding below…

  An old film projector clattering away as it played a vintage black-and-white porn film featuring moustached men fucking each other, their larger-than-life images projected not onto a screen, but onto the walls, furniture, and faces and torsos of the men at the far end of the room…

  A gorgeous naked man with a studded collar around his neck and another around his erect cock walked a seven-foot-long alligator on a lead as though it were his pet poodle. The reptile also wore a studded collar, and snapped nonthreateningly at the other guests as it crawled across the red Persian carpet, leaving a slimy, claw-marked trail behind it. Nobody seemed to mind or care.

  “That’s Herodotus, Xavier’s pet,” Marcus informed a wide-eyed Jaxon. “The collar is just for show. He stays here of his own free will, too. We all do.”

  “What is this place? Who are you people? Why am I here?”

  “This is Xavier’s Lair. And I think you already know why you’re here. You just haven’t let your heart accept it yet.”

  Marcus then took the alligator lead from the gorgeous man in the collar, and with Herodotus in one hand and Jaxon in the other, he led man and reptile through the vestibule, and under an archway lined with oozing candles. Wax dripped like rain. Several drops fell on Jaxon’s arms and hair, and he winced at the searing pain. Marcus, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch as the burning wax splattered his bare shoulders, his chest, his back. It was as though he felt nothing.

  Once through the archway, they stepped into a dimly lit den. The walls on either side were lined with shelves filled with books—books packed with maps and drawings, old works of literature, handwritten diaries, hand-stitched manuscripts, and collections of ancient scrolls preserved inside leather-bound albums.

  At the far end of the den was a man sitting in the large chair draped in lambskin. The man was completely naked. His golden-brown flesh flickered and gleamed in the glow of the candles melting on a nearby table. His massive chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His eyes danced blue, then green, then orange in the glow of the flames. A tight silver cock ring, constricting his huge, thumping, erect penis and bulging balls, sparkled and shone in the reflection of the shimmering candlelight.

  When the man saw Jaxon enter, his left hand slid across his chest, and began twisting and tugging the piercing on his left nipple. At the same time, his throbbing cock slapped against his taut stomach as though begging to be fed.

  “Who are you?” Jaxon asked nervously.

  “A friend,” the man said with a powerful, deep voice and a spellbinding smile. “My name is Xavier. Welcome to my Lair. I hope you’re hungry, Mr. Cain. Dinner for two is being served in the dining room.”

  Chapter Six

  The dining room was almost completely consumed by a long, ancient wooden table that could have sat sixty people, and looked like it belonged in an Eastern European castle. The truth was, that was exactly where it had come from. Candelabras burned along the entire length of it, the table enduring rivers of boiling wax pouring onto its surface just as it had done for hundreds of years. There would forever be somebody lighting candles for dinner, and forever there would be somebody to clean the wax off.

  Forever.

  Xavier sat at the head of the table in an ornate, tall-backed chair, with Jaxon sitting to his right and Herodotus lying on the floor to his left, the alligator’s head tilted upward, its snout ready to clamp down on whatever food was thrown to it. Xavier was perhaps in his early thirties, implausibly handsome with thick, black, slightly curled locks, a perfect face, a godlike body, and those eyes. Those eyes that seemed to keep changing color.

  Jaxon’s eyes, on the other hand, were impossible to spot. They kept moving from the candles to the table, to the ceiling and to the cutlery being laid out before them by Xavier’s servants. They darted to the red wine being generously poured, then to the napkin being laid across his own bulging crotch. And then back to the one thing he was trying not to look at: Xavier’s thick, throbbing cock.

  “It makes you uncomfortable,” Xavier said in a deep, soothing tone. “The nakedness around you.”

  Jaxon tried to shrug it off with an awkward, honest laugh. “I’m not against it, believe me. In fact, it gets me kinda hard, too. I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”

  Dishes were laid before them. Quail. Duck. Roasted vegetables. Barbecued lamb. Skewers of sweet honey-glazed pork. More food than two strong men could possibly consume. Xavier broke off a fatty duck’s leg and tossed it to Herodotus, who snapped it up in his jaws and swallowed it whole.

  “You wouldn’t feel as uncomfortable if you were naked, too,” Xavier suggested. “But it’s entirely your choice.”

  “Thanks, but I’m okay,” Jaxon muttered, thinking about his own erection now pressing against his jeans, and how it wasn’t really his gig to turn up to a stranger’s house and pull his rock-hard cock out of his pants. Although the recently discovered stranger in paradise deep inside him wanted to do it so badly, it hurt.

  His balls were aching.

  His cock was pounding.

  The uncertainty and unpredictability of his circumstances made him feel daring and brave and—new!

  “Do it,” Xavier suddenly
said, as though reading Jaxon’s mind. “Despite what you say, I know you want to. There are things we all want. There comes a time in all our lives when you have to start claiming those things. Opportunities. Freedom. Life.”

  It was just what Jaxon needed to hear. Suddenly he stood up, then effortlessly pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it to the floor. He took a deep, courageous breath, unwittingly puffing up his large, strong chest, and showing off his sculpted young torso. His hands traced their way down his chest, his stomach, and settled on the buttons of his jeans. He had unsnapped the top one and started working on the second when Xavier slowly rose from his chair

  “Allow me,” he said, reaching toward Jaxon’s jeans.

  Obediently, Jaxon let his hands drop defenselessly to his sides, and allowed Xavier to take over, his large, strong hands unclasping one button after another after another, watching eagerly as Jaxon’s jeans parted at the crotch to first reveal a trim patch of pubic hair, then a glimpse of the promisingly stout stem of his shaft, and then… Jaxon sighed with relief as his jeans opened fully, and his captive cock was freed. It was long and hard and fat, and it bounced with a youthful, virile spring.

  He kicked off his sneakers and let Xavier finish the job of undressing him by sliding his jeans all the way down his strapping, muscular thighs, and then to his ankles. Jaxon stepped out of them and stood before his host, eager and aroused, handsome and hard, confidently defying every facet of his past, embracing every daring moment of his future.

  Xavier’s eyes drank in Jaxon’s beautiful, manly body. “You are magnificent,” he marveled, his own relentlessly rigid cock pointing to his young guest. He stood close, and the bulbous head of his penis bobbed and throbbed less than an inch from Jaxon’s young, rock-hard shaft.

  With this handsome, dominant stranger before him, Jaxon desperately wanted their cocks to touch. He wanted to feel the fleshy meat of Xavier’s vein-rippled cock pressed against his.

  Instead, Xavier pressed his palm flat against Jaxon’s left breast, feeling beyond the thick muscle of his chest, feeling the thunderous hammering of his heart—feeling his pain.