Gay Erotic Stories

I spend the intervening months fucking everything in pants, making a small fortune in the process. The time drags. I stand by the window at night and look out. Sometimes I see a figure in a white shirt at the edge of the property, but it never approaches. I eat red meat and I exercise daily. I lift, I run. I fill out. I want the best body possible when we finally do it. Then, one night, he is there at my window again.

It is freezing out and he is already naked. I open the sash and he leaps in. He is tanned, fed. Bloody ooze is leaking from his semi hard cock. He says that he has fed on nothing but A positives for the last week. Maybe it won’t do any good, but his crew of scientists tells him it may be just that simple. Am I still willing to risk it? Stupid question.

He snatches me up and carries me out into the night, through back alleys toward the lake. We come to a high-rise building, showing few lights. He makes an incredible leap and snatches the rail of a second story balcony. Floor by floor, balcony by balcony, we move up the side of the building, until we reach the topmost floor. Here, we land on a rooftop patio. He punches a code into keypad by the patio door and we enter. It is a palatial multi-level apartment with two story ceilings in the living room and a spectacular view of the lake. “Where are we?” I ask.

“My home. What were you expecting?” he smiles. “A crypt in the cemetery?”

He carries me into the bedroom and strips me of my clothes. I lie on the bed and spread my legs, knees raised. He approaches and kneels between my up thrust knees. He wets a finger and pushes it against my asshole. My cock has been rising since he first appeared. It snaps to attention with his touch. He massages my rosebud and puts his tongue to the tip of my tool. The velvet muscle traces a long line down the shaft, past the balls along the ridge, ending at my hole. He flicks lightly at the opening. I know I am clean and as empty as I can be. I have been prepared for weeks. The tongue probes with more force, moving flesh aside, but not yet penetrating the inner sanctum. I raise my ass of the bed and push into his face. He responds with new force. His tongue is so long and so powerful. It enters me like a slippery cock. He cups his hands on my ass cheeks and raises my body up. Only my shoulder blades, my heels and his hands support me. He probes me mercilessly. Precum oozes liberally from my weapon. I am in for the fuck of my life.

He pulls himself forward until his face is level with mine. A trail of some earlier victim’s blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. His pulsing cock is pressing against my hole. Its thick oozing juices form a perfect lubricant. My asshole quivers in response to something in the precum. It feels like it is trying to swallow the assertive spear. He stops as though to consider. I reach down and grasp his ass cheeks. My fingertips are wet from the blood draining from his ass. I pull him firmly toward me and he penetrates smoothly. I do not stop until his hips are firmly pressed against my ass. I sigh and he smiles. He can still pull out, he tells me. I can change my mind. I grab the back of his head in response and bend it to my neck.

I erupt as soon as I feel the prick. The blood flowing out of my body roars in my ears. He was already filled to capacity from his earlier feedings, so he responds with a gush of cum blood into my ass. My bowels distend, but I cannot contain it all and it leaks out to cover his groin and my ass. He pumps as he feeds and I continue to come. Gradually, our bursts become smaller, but with no loss of intensity. Eventually, he quiets and simply sucks. His cock continually throbs and emits its fluid into my asshole and my own cock continues to make tiny, intense spurts in response. All sense of time is gone. Eventually, I see a tiny sliver of light squeeze past the tightly drawn curtains. The sliver moves along the wall, then fades to red and eventually disappears. Day 1.

The night reinvigorates him. Periodically he resumes active thrusting leading to full fledged eruptions. I am amazed to find that I still have cum to give. His body, always hot to the eye, becomes hot to the touch. I myself become feverish and I wonder if this is the start of a fatal reaction. Remarkably, I can pick out the colors in the darkened room, dominated by the angry splash of red that marks where our bodies join below. My neck burns and throbs where his teeth remain embedded in my flesh. On top of it all, I have developed a toothache. Hell, all my teeth hurt. The sliver of light again peeks past the curtains. It is brighter than it was yesterday, almost blindingly so. I find that I can rouse him to activity be grinding my ass into his hips. When he resumed active thrusting, I would pull on my own cock to exacerbate the flow. My volume increases with each new episode. His lessens. Despite the fact that I have not slept in a day and a half, I am wide-awake. I have never felt more alert, more alive.

Late in the second day, we are actively humping. The cocked angle of my head allows me to watch as I pull out another amazing load. Does it have a pink tinge? The red mess down there makes it difficult to know. By the time of the second nightfall, five or six active ejaculation episodes later, I am sure. With each successive series of bursts, the ejaculate becomes redder. The ache in my mouth has subsided. His body seems to lay lighter on mine as time progresses. The sliver of light reddens and disappears once again. He lets loose one last orgasm, and then releases me completely. I roll him over and place my body on top of his. He cries out in pain.

I look in astonishment and revulsion at the thing beneath me. Wizened and shriveled beyond anything I have ever experienced. The skin is shriveled and no longer even white. It is nearly transparent, like onion paper. He sees the look in my eyes. “The years have a way of catching up with you, don’t they?” he quips weakly. “I cannot rise,” he tells me. “I cannot feed. You must bring me nourishment. You are ravenous yourself, I know. But you must return soon or I will die. The blood must be in your body less than an hour to do me any good. This building is filled with cameras. Put on my clothes and keep your head down. Take the elevator to the garage level and exit there. White as you are, you’ll be mistaken for me. You should get by anyone watching on the monitors. Come back the same way. Don’t try to get past the doorman. The staff are used to my odd nocturnal comings and goings.”

“What do they make of you?” I ask.

“I’ve heard that I’m a kinky, gay hemophiliac,” he answers. “One who’s very rich and a generous tipper. Hell, it’s nearly the truth!”

I step into the shower to rid myself of the evidence of our coupling. I watch with fascination as the streaks of red circle the drain. I dry quickly and go to the walk-in closet. There, hanging up, I find a dozen identical white silk shirts, the tails with rusty brown stains—dried blood that wouldn’t come out. An equal number of black jeans hang next to them. On close inspection, I could see that the jeans too had stains in the groin. I don the ensemble, find a pair socks in the drawer and squeeze my feet into a pair of his calfskin boots. I regard myself in the mirror. I look good. The jeans are about half an inch too short for me. My newly developed chest strains the fabric of the blouse a little more than his. My healthy package is all too apparent. I am glad that I worked out during the long wait. If this is the final form of my body, I can live with it gladly.

I walk over to the decrepit creature on the bed. I reach down for the crucifix around the neck of the pathetic figure below me. It is the coup de gras of my impersonation. He flinches away and grasps at it with all his strength. There is another, almost identical, he says, in the top drawer of the bureau. What I had thought was an ironic; in-your-face rejection of the Hollywood stereotype is apparently something quite different. I move to the bureau, find the trinket, and fasten it about my neck. There is an electronic key, he says, on top of the bureau. It’ll get you back into the apartment. It also works from the underground garage and the rear entrance. Just swipe it to get in, like a hotel. I nod and tell him that I will be back soon. As I leave, however, I wonder just what would happen if I did not come back. What would they find days or weeks later? Some kind of mummy? A layer of dust?

I take the elevator to the garage level. The card is used to exit as well as enter. I hit my old haunt at the park. It is very late. I have to wait an hour before a John comes by, dumpy, balding, middle-aged. Not exactly my fantasy man. Strangely, though, I find that I am tingling. I feel my upper teeth with my tongue. Two canines are distending. The points are incredibly sharp. He smells different than any john in the past. Through the sweat and the deodorant, he smells like raw meat. I give him a cut rate. All he wants is a blowjob in the woods.

When I have his pants around his ankles, I stand and pull out my own cock. I try to kiss him. He doesn’t want that shit he tells me. “Just blow me,” he says. I survey his neck and begin to panic. Where exactly does one bite? How deep? I calm myself and concentrate. I can hear the thump of his heart, the hiss of the blood in his veins. There. The vein is obvious now. I bend down and clamp onto him. The teeth slide through the skin and the tough cordy material of the vessel. I don’t consciously suck. The blood just flows. It drains upward through some new path my sinus then down my throat. I gulp eagerly. He becomes rigid, then grabs at his cock and begins to stroke it. I move my own cock so that my discharge will be directed away from us. I know what he is feeling. It is the greatest physical feeling that he has ever experienced. I never thought it could be exceeded, but I was wrong. This is better still. The pressure builds in my loins and I begin to discharge huge volumes of hot bloody juice. I let out a small cry. I feel him weaken, but cannot stop. He has little more to give.

With a great effort, I release him. He collapses to the ground. “My god!” he gasps weakly. He is almost dead, but he wants to do this again tomorrow. “Come back when you have five hundred bucks,” I tell him. I decide that I will keep it simple. I will feed on my johns. I already have set of regulars. It will be easy to convert them to acolytes—at triple the going price. Time is of the essence. I shake off as much of the last drops as possible and tuck my cock (Is it longer?) back into my pants. I see now why there are stains on the shirttails and jeans. I leave my victim gasping on the ground.

As I leave the woods, I see a boy in a ratty leather coat loitering near the wall. His legs are spread and his hand is on his crotch. There are no johns in sight. He is practicing, trying to look hot. His name is Alan, but everybody just calls him ‘Nebraska’. He’s been doing this for about two months. Came straight from high school in Lincoln. He won’t last much longer. He’s not very good at it. He has the body, but he’s butt ugly and dresses badly. He scratches out a bare existence on shitty twenty-dollar blowjobs. “Hey!” he says. “Haven’t seen you for a couple of nights. That’s a different look for you. Hot. Aren’t you cold?” I had forgotten to wear a coat. Until this minute, I hadn’t noticed. I would have to be careful about things like that.

He can’t stop blathering. He always does. “Doing much business?” he asks.

“Just one tonight I say. “You?”

“Been pretty good with you gone,” he answers. “I got a couple of your regulars. Where have you been?”

“A long-term gig,” I reply, “with one guy for a few days.”

“God,” he says. “I wish I could get one of those. Was he hot?”

“Very,” I say. (Was!) I turn to leave. “I need to get back and deliver my feeding.” Then a thought crosses my mind. “Have you cum tonight?” I ask.

“Naw,” he says.

“You want to get it on? My client wants a threesome?” I tell him. “Are you up for it? He’ll pay two hundred.”

“ Two hundred? With you and another hot guy? Let’s move!”

He jabbers incessantly while we walk. He is amazed at the neighborhood. “This building? You’re kidding.” As we go through the garage, I finally tell him to shut up. Whenever we talk, it seems that I eventually wind up telling him to shut up. I explain that the client wants discretion. He doesn’t notice the cameras or that I am intently studying my shoes during the elevator ride. When we get into the apartment, I undress him. I have never seen him naked. What a nice little body! Almost hairless. Slim. Ordinary cock. Not too large--uncut and fat. I run my finger along the top and it jumps.

“Is the john here?” he asks. “We could do it together, first--just you and me. I always wanted to do you.” His cock stiffens as he talks about it. The tingle comes over me again. I hear his heart pounding and blood coursing through his veins. I fight the urge to pounce.

“He’s waiting in the bedroom,” I say as I lead him through the door.

Nebraska blanches at the sight of the creature on the bed. The extra hour has not improved its appearance. “I won’t do that thing’” he announces. “Not for two hundred dollars! Not for five hundred!” He spins and tries to get past me. I cup my arm around his chest. He pushes away with all his might. I can feel the force of his struggle, but it has no effect. My arm might as well be made of steel. I bend and lift him over my hip, flinging him onto the bed. The creature has no strength, so I grasp the boy by the back of the head and force the neck to the bared fangs. “Oh, fuck me. I’m a dead man!” he cries just before they penetrate his neck. He stiffens, then grabs the head of the beast and clutches it tightly to his neck.

I have never watched a man bitten like this before. I move to the side of the bed. Their cocks are slightly askew, pointing outward, along their hips. The kid’s cock emits continuous bursts of cum. Like me (or like I was) he has plenty to spare. Nothing yet elutes from the other’s cock. His face however begins to fill out. The skin rises from the bone with every swallow of the Nebraskan’s life fluid, and it develops increasing opacity. The kid grinds his hips into those of the creature that so revolted him less than a minute earlier. I watch his ass as it humps and grinds. My transformation has not diminished my appreciation for a man’s ass. The kid has a particularly nice one. Will I ever stick my cock up one again? Not if it starts a transformation each time. A condom? Not with the volume I ejaculate now. Shit!

I can smell the tiny amounts of blood trickling from the kid’s neck. It drives me crazy. The mass of congealing blood from my own transformation holds no interest for me. Watching the kid’s ass, gives me an idea. I poke my right fuck finger roughly into the opening. With my long fingernail, I tear at the delicate tissue inside. I know it is filled with tiny blood vessels, close to the surface. When I pull my hand out, I am satisfied to see that it is covered in red. I spread the cheeks and bring my face close to the opening. The shit smell is faint but the blood smell is overpowering. I lick the small amount draining toward the balls, then plunge my tongue deep into the orifice. It is so sweet! Not at all like the cholesterol-laden blood I tasted earlier. Will each victim taste different?

Within seconds I have consumed all the pooled liquid inside the pouch of his colon. It drains too slowly to satisfy me. I feel my mentor’s hand pushing my head away. He is fully restored and cumming now. I look up and catch his green eyes peering around the kid neck. His hand traces a line along the inside of the boy’s thigh. I see the vein, pulsing in time with each draw of blood from the neck. I latch onto it and feel the rush of liquid down my throat. I sense the timing of my partner’s feeding. Whoosh. Pause. Whoosh. Pause. The kid’s heart pounds in time with it. I begin to feed in lock step with the two. The sense of unity with both is overwhelming. I cum in counterpoint, gushing with every pause in the draw. The pounding of the kid’s heart grows dimmer. My partner releases his bite. “No!” he says. “Don’t!” I continue to drink anyway. He says, “Stop it. You’ll kill him!”

“I don’t care. It’s too hard.” The heel of a hand hits my head with the force of a pile driver. My mouth is ripped from its purchase.

He rolls the semiconscious boy onto this back and sits up, covered in blood. He pulls me down to him and guides my mouth to his throat. “Not too much,” he says. “I have little to spare.” I clamp down and let the kid’s sweet blood drain idly into my throat. He reaches down and guides my cock to his asshole. I thrust once and I am in. I pound him hard. I have fed twice. I have plenty to spare. I feed him with my excess and his ass takes it in eagerly. My cock burns. I groan with the twin ecstasy in my cock and my mouth. When we are done, I move from his throat to his mouth and kiss him passionately.

We shower together to clean ourselves up, but we get too hot. He fucks me this time, with my legs around his hips and my back pressed against the shower wall. Afterward, we move the boy to the tub and gently clean him up. Looking at him, I wonder why I had thought him so ugly. From the neck down, he was well nigh perfect—and such a beautiful neck. Why did I never notice that neck before? He will have to stay here for a few days, my partner says.

I look down at the figure in the tub. “Maybe we could keep him?” I say “As a houseboy.”

His eyes flash brightly. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “Meanwhile, let’s go out. There’s still enough dark for one more feeding.”