Читать книгу Midnight Thirsts: Erotic Tales Of The Vampire - Michael Thomas Ford - Страница 10

Gunther unlocked a door and pulled Philip inside. A massive chandelier hung over a staircase. Gunther kicked the door shut and pushed Philip up against the wall, their lips coming together again. Gunther lifted Philip up, and Philip wrapped his legs around Gunther’s waist. Oh, yes, fuck me; fuck me right here and now; fuck me on the floor; fuck me on the stairs; just fuck me…

Gunther pulled back and smiled at him. “Not yet, mein Liebe.” He set Philip down, then pulled him up the staircase. There was another door at the top, and Gunther unlocked it and held it open for Philip.

Philip gasped.

The hallway beyond the door was lit only by candles, flickering and glowing through the darkness.

His mind swam.

He closed his eyes.

He remembered…

A room lit by candles; velvet draperies hanging over the windows, the sun shining, the scent of roses drifting through the windows, the sounds of people working in the garden, and—

It was gone.

He shook his head and opened his eyes.

“You still don’t remember?” Gunther smiled at him, pulling Philip to him and pressing his mouth on Philip’s.

Philip’s head swam, his heart thumping in his chest, his stomach lurching. He tried to gather his thoughts, to get his head together. Something didn’t seem right; something was wrong…. He felt Gunther tearing at his button fly, his jeans being pulled down, sliding down his legs. Gunther kissed each of his inner thighs softly, tracing a finger along the back of his legs. He shivered. Gently, Gunther lifted each of his feet and removed the pants. Then his mouth was on Philip’s abdomen, licking and kissing, the tongue darting out and making circles on his skin, sliding into his navel, one hand grasping Philip’s balls and squeezing lightly, and Philip’s entire body stiffened again, his breaths coming in gasps. Oh, it’s so good; don’t stop, Gunther,mein Herr, please, don’t stop; love me; make love to me; fuck me hard; fuck me now; I want that cock inside of me, please, mein Herr, please…

Philip moaned.

Then Gunther was tearing at his underwear like some kind of feral animal, pulling at it so the waistband was digging into his lower back, and then finally the elastic gave way, snapping apart, and the underwear lost its hold; but Gunther didn’t wait for it to fall away. Instead, he tore at the cloth, tearing and shredding it, until Philip’s aching cock sprang free, and then Gunther’s mouth was on his cock, licking and kissing and moving his tongue up and down its shaft.

“Oh, God,” Philip breathed as Gunther worked on his cock. He brought his hands down to the beautiful blond head, holding it as it moved. No one had ever sucked his cock like this before; he hadn’t ever thought a blow job could feel like this, the warm, moist mouth lapping and licking and suckling with a sense of urgency and need and desire.

Philip wanted to be naked. He shrugged, dropping his shoulders so the leather jacket began sliding down his arms. He let go of Gunther’s head, slipping his hands out of the sleeves and tossing the jacket over into a darkened corner. His T-shirt hung in tatters over his torso. He tore at the neck until it ripped, letting it fall off behind him, and then he was finally naked, offering his body to Gunther. He reached up and touched the nipple that had bled. He gasped, closing his eyes, pulling on it and pinching it, twisting it. It was incredibly sensitive, more so than ever before; just his fingers touching it sent a bolt of lightning through his body, making his cock ache and strain inside Gunther’s mouth.

What the fuck? he wondered as Gunther began licking his balls. He touched it again.

Gunther’s hands cupped his ass, squeezing and kneading, pulling the cheeks apart, and a probing finger went between them. Philip’s body stiffened as the finger began tapping at his asshole.

Guttural noises escaped his throat.

The finger went in.

He cried out against the sudden invasion; then his body relaxed and welcomed the intrusion as it moved inside him in a small circle, slowly, gently, relentlessly. He leaned back against the wall, locking his knees, putting all his weight on his shoulders, and his pelvis moving forward, his cock aching to be touched, sucked, fondled. His eyes closed, and the finger probed inward, moving, stroking, finding his prostate and applying pressure to it. Heat seemed to radiate from the finger, warming him, his armpits getting damp, beads of sweat forming at his hairline, one running slowly down and along his jawline.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god…

Then Gunther spun him around, slamming him face-first against the wall, and then Gunther’s tongue was there, between his cheeks, licking, probing, making circles, nibbling. He arched his back, pushing his ass back against Gunther’s face. The warm, moist tongue went deeper inside him, moving in circles, lapping at him. Gunther began to nibble a bit on his portal, his teeth lightly touching the skin. Philip’s whole body began to tremble, the pleasure sweeping over him in waves, his brain becoming lost in a single-minded ecstasy, an urgent need, the need to be filled up with Gunther, the need to give himself, to surrender to him completely, to give in to the pleasure…

Oh, God, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me; make me yours; make me your slave; just hold me down and make me your bitch, your pig, your slave; take me, Gunther, take me and fuck me and use me; ride me with that big cock; make me beg for it; make me beg for your love, for your cock; make me yours; mark me as yours; shoot a load all over me and make me lick the sweat from your armpits; make me taste your manhood; make me worship your body; anything you want, just fuck me fuck me fuck me; I’ll do anything you want, anything you ask, anything you order; just take me and make me yours; fuck me, please; just fuck me senseless until I can’t breathe, until I can’t feel anything but your cock pounding away at me; make me sweat, make me tremble; fuck me fuck me, just fuck me, please, just make me yours and you won’t be sorry; I’ll do anything, just fuck me…

“You created him?” Rachel stared at Nigel. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Yes, I created him.” Nigel looked down at his hands. He flicked the cigar out into the street. “It was one of my biggest mistakes; much as I would like to think otherwise, I am not infallible.”

Rachel pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. A cab went by, lighting the mist. “Why did you create him? Make him a vampire?” Make him a monster?

“A monster?” He smiled at her, delighted. “Inhuman?” He laughed, pulling another cigar from his inner jacket pocket. He sliced the end off and lit it, drawing on it till the end glowed red.

“How—h-h-how did you know what I was thinking?” This is too much; go inside, you stupid fool; get away from this crazy man; this can’t be happening; this kind of thing doesn’t happen, damn it; this isn’t possible.

“As you thought, I’m not human.” He bowed his head mockingly to her. “I can read your thoughts, pick them out of clear air.” He snapped his fingers before her face. She started to stand, her face pale, but he grabbed her and held her down, without force. She wanted to resist but somehow didn’t. “It’s not magic, my dear young woman. You have the same capabilities as I, but you don’t know how to make use of them.” He laughed. “I can see by your face you don’t believe me.” He leaned his head closer to hers. “Have you ever heard that humans don’t use more than one-tenth of their brain?”

“Yes.” He was crazy, she told herself, yet was still somehow unable—no, unwilling—to get up and go inside. She’d heard it before, some college professor droning on and on outside her consciousness as she sat there in the lecture hall, bored out of her skull as all her courses had bored her, had failed to hold her attention.

“There’s a lot of power inside your head, Rachel, if you only knew how to harness it.” He tapped the side of her head. “But to harness and be able to use the power, you have to rid yourself of your humanity—or rather, what makes you human.” He drew back, smiling and nodding at a young black man walking by. He was wearing a do-rag, pants hanging shapeless around the bottom of his ass, his plaid boxer shorts plainly visible, a loose-fitting army jacket. Once he’d disappeared back into the mist, footsteps fading into the distance, Nigel turned back to her. “And I need your help. I need you to find them for me.”

Philip’s body trembled.

Never had he felt such pleasure, such ecstasy.

His entire body was aflame. His skin felt everything; normal sensations were amplified to levels he’d never dreamed of. His lower back was arched, the muscles straining as he lifted his ass up, aching for Gunther’s tongue and fingers to plunge deeper inside him. He was unaware of being up on his toes, all of his weight resting on his forearms and hands as they pressed against the wall. His head rested against the coolness of the plaster wall, and even that touch was erotic, exotic, pleasurable. Pleasure was sweeping over him in waves, faster and faster, the waves coming so quickly that he couldn’t differentiate between one and the next; it was all so intense, almost too intense; it had never been like this before, his mind racing, unable to process and handle it all. His scalp was tingling, as though every hair on his head were an independent entity, sentient, alive, breathing.

Fuck me, fuck me, please, God, fuck me; I want that cock inside me; I want you inside me, please, please, please…

He shuddered as Gunther traced a light path with a finger up his spine.

His aching cock was filled with blood, almost as though it would explode. His balls felt as if they weighed ten pounds each, hanging between his legs, overly sensitive—the slightest touch would send him into paroxysms and spasms. His breath was coming in groaning gasps, panting as one wave of pleasure receded and another began building. He couldn’t form conscious thought. Pleasure filled his brain, dominating it, reducing him to an almost animallike state, a state where all he cared about was the tongue and fingers playing with him like an instrument, rising into crescendos and falling away only to build again.

And then it stopped.

His mind swam back into reality, into awareness. His heart was thumping, pounding in his ears. His balls and cock ached. His feet lowered back down to the floor, but he wasn’t able to do anything more than lean limply against the wall. He tried to catch his breath, but his racing heart couldn’t slow down; he couldn’t take deep enough breaths to stop the gasping. His body trembled, shaking.

Breath on his neck sent another delicious shiver through him.

“My sweet darling,” Gunther whispered into his ear, the timbre of his voice sending a thrill through Philip, his jaw trembling as he gulped in air. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

Philip tried to speak, his mouth trying to form words, but nothing could come out—his mind still reeling from riding the waves, still anticipating the next to come rising from the swell of the last.

Gunther turned him around, and he gazed into those amazing eyes, their deep blue like pools of light beckoning him onward, and—

He smelled roses, and lilac, the soft breeze of a warm spring morning, the lazy buzzing of flies, and sounds outside, sounds he could barely make out; and he was looking up into those blue eyes, those oh-so-beautiful eyes, losing himself in them, wanting, needing to lose himself in them forever; for this was love, a love he’d never dreamed possible, a love he’d yearned for all his waking life, a love that would last for all eternity, until the sun burned out and time ceased; for love could never die, not a love like this, the kind of love others only dreamed of, couldn’t in their wildest dreams fathom or comprehend, stronger than death, stronger than life…

And Gunther was gathering him up, lifting Philip into his arms as though he were no heavier than a small child, and he felt the strength in Gunther’s arms, the coiled power in his muscles; yet he was gentle, caring, loving. His head tilted back, exposing his neck, and Gunther pressed his lips to the base of Philip’s throat. Philip’s body tensed as another wave crashed over him, all his breath rushing out of him in a guttural moan beginning deep in his diaphragm; and then they were moving, Gunther’s tongue flicking out, licking and tracing small circles in the hollow where Philip’s neck met his torso, pressing with an urgency, a need, a hunger, against his skin. Philip’s heartbeat came faster and louder, and then Gunther was placing him gently down on a soft bed, a mattress filled with down and feathers, the velvet and satin of the coverlet feeling like a soft caress against his naked body. He opened his eyes. Long white tapers burned in sconces on the wall, casting flickering shadows into darkened corners.

It all looked familiar to him somehow, but his mind couldn’t wrap itself around the thought, couldn’t focus as another wave crashed over him. His body trembled and shook as Gunther’s mouth moved down from the throat to the nipples again, licking and flicking and suckling on them.

Why did it all seem so familiar?

The thought nagged at his mind, even as Gunther’s mouth moved farther downward, as his tongue wrapped itself around the head of his cock.

“Mein Liebe…” he muttered hoarsely as he began gasping again.

No one had ever made him feel like this.

No one.

He felt his orgasm rise in his balls, his body beginning to go rigid with the coming explosion, his back arching upward.

“Not yet, mein Liebe,” Gunther whispered, gripping Philip’s cock with his hand, holding it tightly, tighter still as it tried desperately for release, pumping against the restraining hand, Philip’s mouth open and moaning; and then the pressure lessened, the orgasm dying away, his body starting to relax again. He began trembling, trying to catch his breath.

My God, my God, this is too much…

Gunther stood up, smiling down at him, unbuckling his belt and the button of his jeans. Philip reached out and touched the hard-muscled abdomen, tracing his index finger around the navel, then tracing a path up to Gunther’s right nipple, tugging on it. Gunther’s eyes closed for just a moment; then he reached down and began sliding the black denim down legs carved from marble, each muscle visible beneath the skin, a light dusting of golden down on them. Black cotton underwear covered his huge, straining cock, which he grabbed and held for just a moment so Philip could get a good look at its size, and then he was sliding the underwear down, setting it free. It slapped up against his lower abdomen. Philip stared at the massive pink cock, longer and thicker than any he had ever seen before, and he wanted it; he wanted it inside him, wanted to feel it piercing him, feel it plunging deep inside to his very core. He wanted Gunther to ride him, to fuck him senseless, to make him his slave, his bitch, his pig, his slut. He wanted to run his tongue over the heavy pink balls, to take them into his mouth and suckle on them.

Philip reached a trembling hand up to it and touched it. It quivered in response, and a clear drop oozed out of the end.

Gunther stood over Philip, his legs spread, his hands on his hips. “You want my cock, mein Liebchen?”

Philip nodded. “Yes, please, may I have it?” He looked up into Gunther’s eyes, those oh-so-blue eyes, and—

The scent of lilacs and roses swam up his nostrils, and he looked over to his left, seeing heavy tapestries moving in the soft, warm breeze. Daylight streamed in through the open doors leading out to a balcony. He could hear the sound of people talking, the sound of shovels and scythes as the fields were being worked. He heard a horse whinny, a dog barking. He was lying naked on a bed, a bed covered in smooth silk and satin and velvet. A mirror on the far wall reflected back light from candles on the opposite wall; there were candles everywhere, lighting the darkened corners of the room, where the gentle sunlight didn’t seem to reach. The long white tapers flickered on the mantel, and just above the mantel hung a huge oil painting, framed in gilt wood. The painting was of a man with long, curling blond hair cascading down onto his shoulders. His clothes were from another time, another place: a miltary-looking uniform—he’d seen something like that before, once before, in a textbook in a history class, and the face belonged to—

“Gunther,” he breathed.

What the hell…?

He struggled to sit up, but Gunther pushed him back down against the mattress. Gunther was smiling, his oh-so-blue eyes—he looked into them again and felt himself lost in their blueness, as though he were being sucked into them, surrounded by blue and by magic and desire.

What the hell?

“You need ME to find them?” Rachel laughed. “Yeah, right. You’re crazy.”

“I trained him, you see.” Nigel looked at her, reaching out a hand to brush a lock of damp hair from her forehead. “I taught Gunther how to use his mind, to develop the dormant powers everyone has locked inside their brain.”

“By making him not human.” She shook her head. What is wrong with me, she wondered, sitting out here in the cold with a crazy old man? Get up and go inside, girl, and forget this ever happened; forget the old man with his crazy stories about nightwatchers and vampires, about Philip being in danger. She should go inside to the warmth and back to her poetry; surely that would be a more productive way to spend the evening than sitting on her steps in the damp and the cold, listening to a crazy old man spinning ridiculous stories.

“Human’ is a relative term,” Nigel went on. “I was a human like you once, many years ago. Now I am a different kind of human, an immortal, one with powers unimaginable to most. But one needn’t be an immortal to unlock the power within the mind; it merely helps because it affords the luxury of time. Time, as measured by those who die, means nothing to those like me. I trained Gunther for decades, trying to make him understand the meaning of power, the great responsibility that comes with it. But alas, for me and for many others, Gunther was unable to leave his humanity behind.”

“His humanity.” Rachel shook her head. “Look, Nigel, you seem like a nice enough old guy, you know? But I’ve really wasted enough of my night sitting out here with you, you know?” She started to rise again, and this time he didn’t stop her.

She took a step up, turning her back to him. As she reached for the doorknob—

Music exploded in her head, intense, more intense than she had ever heard. It was as though a stereo had kicked on inside her mind, and the notes, the mix of the different instruments, each sound digitally remas-tered to perfection; and she recognized the lyrics; it was the poem she’d been working on, being sung by a woman who understood where the poem had come from; the poem turned into a song, as it would sound recorded and mixed with the best production values money could buy; and the sheer beauty of it took her breath away.

And then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Her heart was thumping.

What the fuck?

She tried to catch her breath as her mind tried to recapture the ghost of the sounds, seeking them through the recesses and dark corners of her mind. It had sounded so beautiful, her poetry and the notes mixing together as though it had always been meant to be a song, meant to be sung and felt and experienced.

“It’s a beautiful song,” Nigel said pleasantly, his voice echoing distantly.

“How—how—” She stared at him. This didn’t make any sense—none—and her brain was rebelling against it; he couldn’t be telling her the truth; he couldn’t be.

He tapped his right temple. “The brain, Rachel, the brain. Its potential is limitless.”

Trembling, she sat back down, her hand on the railing for balance.

“To be able to use the true power of your mind you have to cut off what makes you human.” He went on. “Rage, anger, jealousy, the darker emotions—those are what tether you to your primitive nature. It is those you have to divorce yourself from, train yourself not to feel, in order for your mind to be free. You don’t have to be an immortal to be able to use your power—although it helps…. Immortality gives you the freedom to understand how little these things matter. But it also exacts a price—one that Gunther was unwilling to pay.”

“What…?” She struggled to form words. Her skin was tingling.

“We don’t have much time.” Nigel took her hand. “Gunther has blocked me—I cannot see into his mind. But he won’t be guarded against you, Rachel.”

“But—” She stared at him. “Why me?”

“Because you are connected to Philip. You can find Philip.” Nigel sighed. “It is through you that I was able to find him. I know Gunther is here in New Orleans—that much I can sense. I sensed his exultation at finding Philip—the same exultation he felt when he first found him so long ago. I cast my mind out over the city, and it was through you that I found Philip…which is why I came to your little coffee shop.”

“I can’t—” She shook her head. “I—”

“But you can.” He took a deep breath. “There is a way.”

Somehow, she knew she wasn’t going to like this.

“I have to drink from you.” He gave her a sad look. “And while I drink, you draw on my power with your mind.”

“No!”

“You have to trust me, Rachel. It’s the only way to save Philip.”

She stared at him, her mind racing, random thoughts coming and going.

This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy; the words went through her mind over and over again as another cab drove by, but the sound of its engine didn’t break the spell or whatever it was she was feeling; none of this made sense, but somehow, in spite of herself, she found herself believing the old man; it all made a weird kind of sense somehow, something she couldn’t define; it was almost too much for her mind to process, and yet she could sense the truth in his words.

If Philip is in danger…

Vampires? Nightwatchers?

No, none of this was real. It had to be a dream.

She closed her eyes and made her decision.

Trembling, she held out her wrist to him.