by Greg Herren
“To the bed…. It’s our turn to feed…. Remove his clothes; taste all of his skin…. Take from every vein.”
I lay down on the bed and invited them. I wanted to touch them. I reached out as they bent over me, and I ran my fingers over their bodies. Their skin was smooth and felt as if it were clay that could be sculpted. The tattooed boy undid my pants. The boy with the longer hair moaned as he pulled my pants off from my ankles. I started to feel slightly uncomfortable, recalling bits and pieces of what seemed like distant memories of Rocerres. I could barely see who I was. My heart started to pound as if trying to beat away a fog that had blown over my vision. I tried to sit up. Once again I knew this wasn’t right, and I wanted to fight it.
“He’s going to struggle now…. Clear his mind…. Make him forget…. Make him want us.”
With a snarl, the tattooed boy moved around to my shoulders and roughly flipped me onto my stomach. His hands held me firmly to the bed by my shoulders. He pulled the top of his pants down until his throbbing erection poked my face. He moved it to my lips. I turned my head away. One of the other boys grabbed the back of my head and made me face the huge cock. I couldn’t struggle or move, or maybe I didn’t want to.
I then felt long hair tickling my ass as a third boy climbed onto the bed. I felt a cold tongue force its way to my constricted hole.
“He can please us…. We can give him pleasure, too…. Take us all in.”
My lips parted, and the tattooed monster slid his cock over my tongue. It was hard and smooth and smelled of spices. I groaned as he pushed it to the back of my throat. He allowed me to reach up with my hand. I stroked him slowly as the long-haired boy plunged his tongue far into me, then pulled out and teased me with the flicking end of his tongue. I groaned as the tattooed one put the monstrous cock back into my mouth. I devoured it, licked it until it was drenched in spit.
With movements too quick for me to see, the creature pulled out of my mouth and was behind me. I reached out to the youngest-looking one and ran my hand over his face. He sneered as I clenched the sheets. The tattooed boy rammed inside me. I cried out. I pushed against him. He stretched out over my back, and his hips made rhythmic movements. He pulled my head up and exposed my neck. I felt his breath, then his teeth. Tears welled up; he did not have the sharp fangs that Rocerres had. He bit down again, barely breaking the skin as he continued to pleasure me from behind. The other boys stood in my line of sight. They stroked each other as they watched.
Part of me still struggled, but not physically. My body belonged to them, so great was their power over me. I wanted their bodies on top of me, one after the other. I invited them with beseeching looks. They moved closer until I could touch each one individually. They were all smooth gods—or demons. Their movements were anything but cold as they kissed each other, stroked my head, and reached out to their brother who continued to dive furiously into me. I was incredibly hard and wanted them to jerk me off.
Without warning, the tattooed boy turned me onto my back and continued his assault on my ass. The long-haired boy grabbed my erection. His hand was soft and warm; my back arched as he got me closer. I wanted to scream; he had me so close but would not let me release. I punched his shoulder and begged for him to make me cum. He snarled at me and nipped my hand. The tattooed boy threw my legs back and fell on top of me, once again biting down on my neck; this time his teeth broke the surface. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong. He ripped at my shirt to get more of my skin. When the shirt fell away from my chest, the boys leaped back as if I were the monster. They held their hands over their mouths and looked around at one another. The tattooed creature leaped from the bed, his erection still throbbing. The youngest began to cry. Instead of tears, thin streams of blood flowed down his pallid face from his eyes.
“He wears the stone!…He belongs to Master!…He’s not the one for us!…Master will be furious with us!…We shall be punished!…Master will starve us!…Hide him!…Master will know!”
I was dizzy as they continued their rant. I felt nauseated, as if slightly hungover. I gazed at the four boys, all the illusion gone. They were still beautiful, but they’d lost the sheen and grace they had exuded earlier. They all appeared to be terribly frightened, especially when a familiar voice bellowed from the doorway.
“Have you boys had your fun?” Rocerres demanded, his eyes blazing orange. He looked incredibly angry and larger than he’d ever looked before.
Chapter Seven
Rocerres stormed into the room. He pushed the four boys out of the way as if they were dolls. They stumbled over one another as they tried to regain their footing, then ran out of the room, clinging to one another like one creature with eight legs.
Rocerres approached me. His foul mood evaporated, and he seemed to return to his normal size. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over my forehead, then stroked my head. He smiled at me, yet I had the foreboding sense that all was not completely well. Rocerres then held out his hand, as a gesture to help me up.
“The brothers are a ghastly lot. I don’t know why Favreau keeps them the way he does. I find it to be cruel.”
“They are different from you,” I ventured curiously.
“Oh, yes, they are. We call them vamplings. They are still human, never drained of their mortal souls, yet Favreau feeds them his blood to keep them young and alive. The effect, however, drives the boys mad. I imagine that if they stopped taking Favreau’s blood they would live but would be completely and utterly lost mentally. Most likely, they would kill themselves.
“They cannot drain another human the way I could or Favreau does. They are so obsessed with the idea that they try over and over. For Favreau, it is a malicious game. He often brings men and women here and allows the boys to play with them, as a cat plays with a mouse before he kills it. Ultimately, Favreau will chase off the boys and finish their game for them.”
I winced at the idea that it could have been me. It was no wonder Favreau had chosen them. In the mortal world, they would have been a hit, a feast for the eyes. They were somehow childlike, yet frightening. I wanted nothing more to do with them and was glad that Rocerres had come. I knew it made no sense that a creature who should have seemed much more dangerous than the boys had put my mind at ease.
I looked down at my body again and felt faint when I saw the crimson-stained sheets beneath me. I had lost blood, just enough to make me feel dizzy, but not to the point of losing consciousness. I pulled my bloody shirt back over my skin and slipped into my pants.
“Come, you must bathe before meeting Favreau. If that is why you came here,” Rocerres said.
“I’m not sure why I’m here. I don’t remember getting here.”
“Roland, you know why you are here. It is not only the necklace but also the desire you have to be immortal. I know about your wish to watch the present fade into history. Your overwhelming…” He paused as if looking for the right word: “…ennui with the world.”
As Rocerres spoke, he led me down the hall and into a large bathroom. Torcheres along the wall cast a romantic golden light across the sand-colored walls. By the windows on the far wall, I could see a large bath. It was rectangular and deep and, like a Greek bath, was made of decorated tiles. As we neared it, water began to pour into it. Rocerres reached into a closet and pulled out a towel and a large glass bottle that appeared to be filled with flower petals and leaves in a thick liquid. He upended the bottle over the bath, and the liquid flowed into the water, gathering at the bottom. Immediately I was hit with the sweet, fresh scent of floral essences. Rocerres set the towel on a marble bench next to the bath, then turned to me.
“You are a delight to the eyes. It is no wonder Favreau wanted you the first time he saw you by the river.”
An eerie feeling passed through me. I wondered when Favreau had seen me by the river. I now doubted that I’d ever had the privacy I thought my home offered.
“It was not terribly long ago, Roland. At the beginning of the sum
mer, you sat reading by the river while Favreau was nearby. You read by the light of a simple lantern. You had a sheet wrapped around you, and the soft lantern light made you look like an angel in corporeal form. He sent me every so often to check up on you and find out about you, to discover some way that we could meet you without raising your suspicions about our macabre lot.”
As Rocerres’ words spilled over me like fine oils, his hands gently undressed me. Childlike, I lifted my arms for him to remove my shirt. He was careful not to touch my wounds or allow the shirt to stick to the drying blood. He kissed my forehead and looked into my eyes as he reached down and undid the clasp of my pants. They slid off effortlessly. He slipped his fingers between my skin and the elastic band of my boxers and tugged them down my legs. He leered at my jutting erection. I gasped when he reached out, enclosing it in his cool, hard hand. He began to stroke gently. I looked down at him as he knelt next to me. I wanted this.
I wanted him, above all others—more than the four terrifying boys and definitely more than Kyle. As his hand moved up and down my shaft, I felt the familiar telepathic invasion. My senses were heightened. I grabbed his auburn locks in my hand, they seemed to be alive. His tresses wrapped themselves around my fingers. I felt warmth all over my body. I shuddered, then gasped as his mouth engulfed my cock.
He teased the head of my cock with his fangs, nibbling but not penetrating the skin. I was fearful, but more aroused by the danger. His mouth warmed with the friction of moving over me. He grabbed my buttocks and pushed me farther inside his mouth. Every push brought me closer to letting go. I leaned back against the wall for support.
Rocerres pulled away and covered his hands with sweet-smelling oil. He grabbed my erection again and worked furiously at it. He teased the head with his palm, making circular motions that sent a shock up my spine. I longed for his grip and moaned for him to bring me off swiftly. He complied with a demanding hand, but each time I got close, he slowed his movements. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled forcefully. He responded by grabbing my hip with one hand while continually stroking my cock. My muscles tensed and released, tensed and released, my mouth was dry from panting. I burst, sending streams of white across the marble floor. I collapsed on top of Rocerres.
“I thought that vampires didn’t do that sort of thing.”
“There are many misconceptions,” he replied. “Though we do not generally engage in human pleasure, remember that most of us were human at one time and do remember what it was like to hold hot bodies, to sweat in acts of carnality.”
Rocerres led me to the edge of the bathtub. I slid into the flowery, oily water, soothed by the heat. Rocerres pushed up his sleeves as he moved to the side of the bath. He caressed me with a sponge, running it down the length of my arms and legs. He looked into my eyes and smiled as he ran the sponge over my tight chest. I was ready again, but the release would not come to me in the same manner as before.
I shivered as he moved the sponge down my stomach and then around the base of my erect cock. He plunged his other hand into the water and grabbed my balls. He moved the sponge under me, not caring that his sleeves were now submerged. He circled my hole with the sponge; I jumped. He slowly massaged me; my sphincter loosened. His wet fingers slipped easily inside me. He turned his head impossibly and bit my lower lip. He growled as a drop of blood passed from me to him. I heard singing in my head. His hand that had been around my balls grabbed the sponge and then, with the sponge, began to stroke me while still fingering and kissing me with sharp little bites. I was brought off quickly. Hot, white streams of semen swirled in the water. Rocerres stood up.
He pulled me out of the water and held my hand as I stepped onto the cold marble floor. I stood shivering for a moment while he took the towel from the marble bench and massaged my head, then dried me from head to toe. Rocerres then put a robe over me and wordlessly led me from the bathroom to a grandiose bedroom. I stood in awe of what lay before me. Every inch of the walls was hand-painted fresco. Cherubs teased Boticelli-style women. Naked men stood in gardens overlooking sprawling ancient Roman cities. The sky was so blue—it was my immediate understanding that this was the only blue sky a vampire would ever see. I looked at the ceiling. A vast bronze sun looked down upon Rocerres and me as he waited for my eyes to be satiated by the room’s magnificence. Below the sun was a large round bed covered in layers of differently colored silks. The golden light from the torches played with the silk, making it appear like the ocean at sunset. I moved without thinking toward the bed, desiring the cool softness of the fabric. I lay in wait, watching Rocerres.
Before I knew what was happening, the room darkened. Soft fabric covered my eyes, bound around my head. My arms and legs were free, and I did not panic. I felt the weight of Rocerres’ willful mental intervention. Then, a new sensation altogether. An aroma akin to exotic Eastern spices filled my nose. I felt hands on my skin, gingerly touching my wounds. Hot liquid was poured onto them, one by one. Hands massaged my muscles, massaged the hot liquid into the wounds. Though I could not see, I had visions—or delusions—it was hard to say.
One hundred naked men stood around me. I was in a different time, a far more delightful place. I heard singing in the distance, echoing over a valley. I saw the valley stretched out below a window set in a wall across from me. I was in a dust-colored room, wrapped in the finest of fabrics: velvets, satins, silks, and rich cottons. The men were angelic, smooth, young and golden-skinned. They attended to all my needs.
Two of the youths sat at the foot of the bed and engaged in long, passionate kisses, aware that they drove me to distraction. Another two golden-haired men sat on either side of me, their sun-bronzed skin glistening with powdered silk. They massaged my shoulders with warm hands but paid no attention to my cock as it rose beneath the cool sheets.
I began to fully realize the other activities around the room. It was a scene from a Greek bath. There were men everywhere, in every sexual position imaginable. I could not move from the bed but was meant to be a voyeur to it all. I paid particular attention to two giant young men in the far corner. Their rippling masses working furtively together in a mad rhythm of pleasure. The larger of the two was standing behind while the one in front was doubled over, taking in an enormous cock. I shook my head in disbelief and slowly drifted out of the spell.
“Where…?” was all I could muster.
“Sshh, my precious one.”
I froze. Rocerres had spoken, but his words and inflection reminded me of someone else. Some mental block kept me from getting to the answer. Just as I felt on the edge of discovery, the fabric was pulled from my eyes.
“Look,” said Rocerres.
I gazed at my skin, which had earlier been ripped, nicked, and cut. I was now whole, and my skin seemed to vibrate where the wounds had been. I looked at Rocerres and smiled. I felt tears come to my eyes. He responded in a like manner, except his tears were pink: water mixed with his strange blood. I watched as a cut on his wrist closed within a matter of seconds.
He sat next to me and touched my healed skin. His fingers were cold, but I invited them. He put his face close to mine and licked the tears from my face. I saw two sharp teeth exposed beneath his upper lip. This was too much for me to see, and my heart began to beat madly within my chest. Rocerres caressed me, and I felt him inside my head again, soothing away worry, fear, and, yes, anticipation.
Rocerres removed his shirt, revealing pale skin stretched over muscle and bone. He gracefully stretched out on top of me so I could feel his cool, hard weight. I wrapped my arms around him as if he were a lover instead of a creature who had materialized out of myth and lore. Rocerres looked at me with his strange eyes, they seemed to spark and shimmer. His hands cupped my face while his elbows pinned me down. His lips met my brow, then my nose; finally he rested his chin against my forehead and spoke.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for. This is not life. It is not a game, not something you can play at,
then return to normalcy.”
I want it, I cried internally.
“I cannot let you have it.”
An image flashed through my head. I knew what Rocerres intended to do. I saw him against my neck. I knew he meant to end my life or save it; it came to the same end.
If you kill me, then you are damned.
“I am already damned. For you there is hope.”
Lightning fast, his mouth was against my neck. I gasped as his fangs punctured my skin. Tears streamed down my face. My heart seemed to shiver. A wave of nausea passed through my body. I felt my own ghost seeping into Rocerres’ body. Another shiver. My arms shot out; I clenched Rocerres’ hard shoulders and felt for his skin. I grabbed his neck. The skin was smooth, and I felt it growing warm by degrees. I pushed his fangs deeper into my neck, and the world faded for a split second. He pulled away from me. His face, once pale, now radiated a pink light, as the Virgin Mary is always portrayed with a soft glow. He looked holy. His lips were no longer pale. Not a drop of blood appeared anywhere. Blood tears streamed down his face. He mouthed, “I’m sorry,” then dove into me again. I cried out, never having known any sensation like this. I was dying and living at the same time. It was a heady, high feeling, as if I’d been drugged. The world became cloudy. I could hear my own heart slowing down in my ears. I was not yet dead when I heard a familiar and frightening voice speak.
“He is mine.” Favreau’s voice filled every corner of the world. “At last, he is given to me.”
Chapter Eight
The world flickered like a movie from the 1920s. Flashes of Favreau’s face filled the palette of my sight. His hands roamed my body. He massaged my thighs. Even near death, I was aroused. He seemed to be inspecting every inch of me. I wanted to move, to cry out, but it was as if a hundred silk ropes were holding me to the luxurious bed. Death bed.
