One
I know that you’ve come here to read horny descriptions of pervy sex, and the early part of what I want to say doesn’t actually have much of that (although there’s lots in the later chapters...), so before I get started on it - and to stop you from getting bored - let me tell you about an encounter I had recently. It’s nothing special, just a fairly typical example of the sort of thing that happens when I’m around.
His name was Aito, a tourist from Tokyo. About twenty, five feet tall, with a cheeky smile, and jet-black hair that fell in a thick fringe over his hazel eyes. He was wearing a white tee shirt with a red sun on it, leather combat trousers, and white trainers. He had, of course, the obligatory camera on a strap around his neck. The leather combat trousers were actually what I’d noticed first – apart from me, not that many boys wear leather around here and so the few that do, tend to be of interest.
I was sat on my motorbike by the side of the canal watching the tourists when I saw him taking a photo of me. Oh yes, I thought, he’s cute . I lifted my helmet off.
He lowered the camera, blinked, and stared open-mouthed at me. I smiled slowly at him, and his eyes opened wide as I watched him walk towards me. Without a word, and still with that gob-smacked look on his face, he accepted the spare helmet I always carry with me, and got on the pillion. I took him back to the house, and up to the dungeon on the top floor. So far, neither of us had said a word.
He’d had a hard-on since the moment I’d smiled at him back at the canal, and now it was pushing the front of his leather combats out into a horny bulge. I put him on the table, but I didn’t attach any restraints to him.
I knew that his sexuality hadn’t really settled down yet, but that bikers fascinated him. He was young and his fantasies were not very well worked out - he didn’t know exactly what he wanted - but leather, restraint and gang-rape figured prominently in those fantasies. And he very, very badly wanted to kiss me. Ok, I thought, I can do that.
I knelt astride his hips, my jeans creaking against his combats, leaned forward with a hand each side of his head, and slowly lowered myself until our lips met. Hungrily, he raised his head to meet me. We kissed for a long time.
Eventually I got off the table, immobilised him, and stood aside. He tugged for a moment at the heavy straps, and then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped when the door opened and four bikers walked into the dungeon. Their leather jackets were thick black horse hide, with chrome zips and the collars turned up; the shiny black leather of their jeans was stretched tight over their muscular thighs and legs, their bulges prominent and unmissable below studded leather belts that hung low on their hips; their faces were hidden by the the dark visors of their full-face crash helmets; tight leather cop gloves were on their hands; and their big, chunky bike boots thumped heavily on the floor as they walked slowly and purposefully towards the boy.
Aito gasped when he saw them, and tried to sit up - but he couldn’t. He struggled, but he was immobilised on the padded table. “What the fuck…?” His Japanese accent was lovely, I thought.
I gagged him, let him stare at the four leather bikers for a few moments, then rolled him face-down, and pulled his combats down to his ankles. One after the other, the bikers lowered their zips, got their hard cocks out, climbed on top of him and fucked him - some gently, others more violently. The ones who were waiting took turns to go to the head end of the table and ram their hard cocks into his mouth.
Aito was moaning and writhing on the padded table. While this was going on I reached under his hips and held his cock. I teased it very slowly, working with the bikers to make him need to cum more by the second, but I also made sure that he couldn’t – though he got to the edge very quickly.
The bikers took their time, their leathers creaking as they fucked him, each one groaning and gasping as he finally came inside the helpless boy. When they’d all finished with him I got him off the table, into the middle of the room, removed his trainers and combat trousers completely, and we surrounded him. I pulled his tee shirt off and together we all sucked and bit his nipples, ran our leather-gloved hands over his naked body, fingered his arse, kissed him, rammed his face into one bulging leather crotch while his hands were working feverishly on the others. All the time at least one leather-gloved hand was teasing his hard, dripping cock.
I smiled - the poor boy was cross-eyed with lust, and he desperately wanted to cum more than he’d ever done in his young life before; his need for orgasm was so urgent that his hand kept jerking towards his cock - but I stopped it from getting there. Leather-gloved hands were all over his smooth body; leather jackets and jeans slid over every inch of his naked skin; the buckles and straps of bike boots scraped his legs and feet; It was the realisation of everything the boy had ever fantasised about – but I was still making very certain that he couldn’t cum.
Eventually the bikers went away and I laid Aito back on the table, immobilising him again. I took his cock into my mouth and started to suck it very slowly. I knew that if he hadn’t still been gagged he would have been desperately begging me to bring him off. For twenty minutes or so I repeatedly brought him to the very edge of cumming and then let him back off briefly before doing it again. I played with his nipples, his balls, and his arsehole, and gently tickled his bare soles, all at the same time.
And then I made him cum. He screwed up his face and howled as his spunk jetted into my mouth.
Over the next half-hour I got another two loads out of him. Then I stared into his eyes for a moment, took him downstairs, and gave him a pat on his round leather arse as I said goodbye to him.
Like I said, nothing special, but typical.
What’s that? You don’t believe me? Where did the bikers come from? How did I know what he wanted? If he was gagged, how could the bikers ram their cocks into his mouth or kiss him if they had crash helmets on? How could I turn him over if he was strapped down? How did I stop him from cumming? Or work on him in all those different places at once?
Ah, so many questions.
I suppose I’d better explain.
*
But first I should introduce myself, although that's not as easy as it seems: which name would you like? Over the years I've had many names. I was born Justin Cavalleo, in Venice, 3rd May 1773, and Justin is the name I use nowadays. Yes, 1773 - I'm two hundred and forty-eight years old - though I don’t think I look my age. In fact what you'd see if you looked at me now is a nineteen-year old with raven-black hair, a gym-worked body with a very nice six-pack, and - all modesty aside, I have to say it because I know it's true - I am the sexiest and the most beautiful boy you have ever seen - or probably will ever see – in your life.
How can this be? I hear you ask. Well, I’ll tell you how: I am a Vampyre.
Now you can stop that. You’re seeing capes and pointy teeth, aren’t you? I knew it. It’s understandable, though, with all the tosh that’s been written about Vampyres. Most of that’s come out of Hollywood, if you want the truth: they created a ‘legend’ that has fuck-all to do with reality. I’m going to trash a lot of of that – and I know I'm going to get flack from the others, cos many of them get off on that cape-and-teeth crap. Yes, I’m going to become unpopular - but you know what? I don't care: times change, it's the 21st century for fuck’s sake, and a bit of debunking is long overdue.
So put your cock away, get comfy for ten minutes, and learn something about Vampyres.
*
The first thing you must understand is that we’re as natural as you are - we're just another species, that’s all. We've been around for the same length of time as you, and we have to make a living just like you. Having said that, I must admit that we've diverged from your line quite a bit in the last hundred thousand years - and that’s responsible for the differences between us. It's the cause of your persecution of us, the witch-hunting, the attempted extermination of us back in the 19th century, and the hatred and fear most of you have of us. It's a fear born of nothing more than ignorance. But, of course there are compensations - and they more than make up for the bad things. Oh yes.
I’m a stunningly beautiful boy now, but it wasn't always so. I was never good-looking as a kid - in fact to be perfectly honest, I was as ugly as sin. My nose was big and looked like a carrot; my eyes were too close together; my skin was spotty; I had a birthmark on the right-hand side of my face; and my hair was lank and dull. Taking all of this together, I was a pretty unprepossessing sight. The other boys called me 'Rat-Face', and I was the constant target of their abuse.
Also the fact that I was gay didn’t help. Venice in the 1770s was not very open-minded about such things and although I wasn’t in the least bit effeminate, they knew. Somehow they knew. And of course that was more ammunition for them. Often they'd have nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon than beat up Rat-Face, and it became something of a traditional sport. Girls either shunned me completely or baited me mercilessly. I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances: I avoided them - or tried to. I got very good at evading the boy gangs, and I worked out until I was muscular enough to beat the living shit out of all but the strongest ones who had the nerve to challenge me on their own. A bonus of this was that I developed a very sexy (if often bruised) body. However, in those days I was still an ugly bastard.
But now, though, I'm what is commonly referred to as 'drop-dead gorgeous'. I'm responsible for how my body looks, but obviously I can't take credit for my face. No - the way I look now is due to forces entirely beyond my control. I know what you're thinking: Vampyre, in league with the Devil... No, it's not actually not like that at all. You’ll see.
One thing I should say right now: I actually hate the word ‘Vampyre’. It’s too loaded with baggage. I’m a ‘Vee’.
As I write this, it's December. I can see through the window that the winter sun is setting, and the creatures of the night will soon be abroad. I love that phrase: 'the creatures of the night' - it sounds best spoken with a very bad Transylvanian accent. I suppose you're thinking that I should be getting ready to go out for a night of virgin-molesting and blood-sucking. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm sitting here at the computer with a cup of Earl Grey, near a very cosy fire, and I don't intend going out anywhere for anybody. And anyway, it's raining.
There are a load of myths about Vees, and most of them are complete bullshit. To begin with, in spite of what Hollywood would have you believe, we do not - in the main - feed on blood. Well, at least I don't. Vees come in many different varieties. A few of us do need blood - they're actually a very small minority, but they're the ones that have given us all the bad press over the years. That plonker Vlad started it all, taking on an alter-ego like some Captain bloody America - "Count Dracula" for God's sake. He was no more a Count than I am: he was actually born in a back room of a brothel in Paris. All this Transylvania rubbish - the only reason he went there in the first place was to avoid the tax collectors. Oh, Vlad did well for himself all right, but he left us all a legacy that’s been a pain ever since. Selfish git.
No, most Vees don't drink blood. Vees can feed on all kinds of things - we eat the same kind of stuff as you do, but the thing is that each of us is born with a deficiency, and we have to supplement our diet to get it. What this special nutrient is varies from one kind of Vee to another - but if we don't get it, our bodies degenerate rapidly and no matter how much ‘normal’ food we eat, ultimately, we die. Vlad was a haemavore - he needed blood - I, on the other hand, need something rather different. I am semenivorous – I need human spunk.
Although I’ve researched it from time to time, I've never found out exactly what there is in spunk that my body needs so desperately; but the fact is that if I don't get it regularly, I'm dead. You probably think that's just as bad as sucking blood, don't you? Well let me tell you that it's not. If a bloodsucker keeps feeding off the same human, or takes a bit too much, he ends up killing his victim - a bad bit of adaptive evolution if ever I heard one - whereas my feeding gives more pleasure to mortals than you can ever imagine, and does no-one any harm (our use of the word 'mortal' when talking about you lot, by the way, is something of a private joke - but it is a convenient term to distinguish non-Vees from Vees). There are actually a lot of my kind - far more than the bloodsuckers. There are also Vees that need to eat coal, a few that need chlorophyll, goat milk, something in the sap of certain kinds of trees - the list is long.
Nature is usually fair, and in our case this is certainly true. On the one hand we’re born with an untreatable deficiency, and therefore a craving, for something or other, and on the other hand we’re very well adapted to be able to get it. In the case of my own kind, this adaptation is a bit complicated, but it’s also the most interesting. It includes physical beauty, telepathic powers, the ability to generate pheromones, a highly developed sexual technique, an intuitive knowledge of male anatomy, and an unusually mobile tongue. You may think that by definition all semenivorous Vees would be gay, but that’s not so. I happen to be gay, but by no means all of us spunk-suckers are. The straight ones are just as skilled at getting what they need, but they don't get 'turned on' sexually by the act - to them it's simply a matter of feeding. They have sex and mate with females in the usual way. I often think that we gay ones are better fed, as I'm sure we put more effort into getting the best spunk.
But if we need spunk to survive, what happens when we have sex and cum? Don't we produce spunk? And if so, isn't that life-threatening? Good questions. The answer is that we do produce spunk when we cum, and losing it makes us ravenous for more. Thankfully, we're very good at controlling our own orgasms - we can fairly easily stop ourselves from popping - which is just as well, because if we came very often in too short a time, we'd die of our deficiency.
Hollywood (bless their hearts) has female Vees in diaphanous negligees swanning around all over the place. I hate to disillusion you straights, but there are no female Vees. We're all male, down to the last one. Don't ask me why, I didn't design the universe. When a Vee mates with a mortal, the offspring - if it's a girl - will be a perfectly ordinary mortal baby, every time. If it's a boy, then it has a twenty-five percent chance of being a Vee. I suspect the genealogists would have a hard time explaining that, but nevertheless that's the way it is.
There are two ways a Vee can be made: by being the product of a Vee and a mortal woman, or by being intentionally transformed (I hate to admit this, in view of all I've said about the bloodsuckers, but this transformation of a mortal into a Vee is usually carried out by biting. It doesn't have to be – in theory any transfer of body fluids can do it (if we want it to), but the agent responsible for the transformation seems to be particularly concentrated in our saliva, so biting is a very sure way of doing the deed). Spunk-sucking Vees that are born are set up from the start - they will grow into physically beautiful specimens whatever they do - but in transformed ones the change is more spectacular. A mortal male who is not especially good-looking can be changed into a stunner in the space of less than a week. I can tell you from experience that this metamorphosis is very painful (I'm a transformed Vampyre myself) but believe me, it's well worth the agony.
Before I tell you how I became a Vee, let me demolish a few of the sillier myths:
We can change ourselves into bats and fly away. Bullshit.
We have to sleep in coffins with soil from Transylvania in them. Bullshit.
We don’t cast a shadow and we don’t show a reflection in a mirror. Yes we do.
Show us a crucifix and we die. Bullshit.
Sunlight kills us instantly. No it doesn’t. But we do have very acute eyesight, and bright sunlight is uncomfortable, so we tend to avoid it. Or wear sunglasses.
Garlic will keep us away. Large enough quantities of garlic will keep anyone away.
A wooden stake through the heart will kill us. Yes, this one’s true. But it wouldn’t do you much good either.
Vampyres are the undead. Well, we're undead in the same way as you are undead - i.e. we're alive. We are not denizens of a twilight world between life and death; neither are we in league with the Devil. We live just as you do, and in general, we have a good time, and life is good. So there.
From all that, you could be forgiven for thinking that a Vee is nothing more than a long-lived mortal who has a sad vitamin deficiency, photophobia, occasionally unfortunate dental work (our canines are a bit longer , sharper, and more pointy than yours, but on most of us unless you looked closely I doubt you’d notice – and they’re probably a damn sight whiter), and a strong aversion to wooden stakes. Not so. I said earlier that there are compensations to being a Vee - and these are, in fact, quite substantial. At the risk of alienating more of the others, I'm going to tell you what some of these compensations are, for my kind of Vee.
Like you, all Vees die eventually, but we’re usually around for a very long time – four hundred years or more is not uncommon. It really is fascinating to read history books and know that you were actually there during the events they describe. You can chuckle at the inaccuracies, but of course you can't really do anything to correct them. Our ability to heal ourselves is legendary: cuts, bruises and other minor annoyances sort themselves out in minutes, broken legs or bullet wounds (and no, silver bullets are no worse than ordinary ones) a couple of hours usually. More serious damage may take a bit longer and, when it's healed we'll be ravenously hungry for a while, but sooner or later (usually sooner) we're as good as new.
We spunk-suckers are telepathic - although it's not exactly telepathy in the sense that most people think of it. For a start, we can 'call': that is, once we've met someone, we can get him to come to us again by sitting quietly and concentrating on him. Doesn’t always work, and if he's physically unable to get to us, he won't go out of his mind trying - it's a sort of mental 'itch' that will go away after a while. It's exhausting, though, and it often means sitting for hours with our eyes closed, mentally calling some guy or other to us, and not knowing if he's going to turn up at the end of it all. However, it can be useful sometimes.
Apart from that, our telepathy is mostly about manipulating mortals' perceptions. For instance, we can disappear if a situation gets uncomfortable (useful for getting out of jails or for evading torch-wielding hoards bent on extermination) - not by employing work-of-the-devil dark forces, but by the simple and boring act of willing everyone not to notice us. Also, we ‘sense’ or ‘know’ in detail what a victim is into sexually – his fantasies, his fetishes, turn-ons (that’s how I knew what was in the Japanese boy’s mind at the beginning).
Although we’re extremely physically attractive, no one physical type appeals to every mortal male - and our mental powers and pheromones can take over to make a prey see more or less exactly what he wants to see. At least that’s the result, although it's not quite as straightforward as that. We can't physically change our appearance for an individual, but rather we play with his mind so that what he does see temporarily becomes his ideal. Then his own imagination and desires take over and tweak it from there. The bottom line is that we can make any guy fancy the arse off us.
With transformed Vees, what happens to our bodies is that our faces become very symmetrical, eyes enlarge (and sometimes change colour - occasionally to startling effect: I know one guy whose irises are as yellow as a cat's), lashes lengthen, lips become thicker, teeth whiter, skin clear, (in my own case a horrible birthmark disappeared without trace), hair becomes healthier, and the tongue longer and much more flexible. Fingers lengthen, cocks and testicles enlarge, body fat becomes much easier to burn off, and muscles easier to develop. It's down to the individual to make the most of these improvements, and with nothing more than a little regular exercise we end up with a very attractive body. I've always enjoyed working out, and so my own is just about as good as it gets. I'm not over-muscular, but I've got curves and bulges in all the right places. Of course the whole point of all this is to make us semenivores extremely attractive to our prey - mortal males.
So, physical beauty and sexiness are both a large part of our armoury, but there are other, more controllable mechanisms as well which we can use - both to increase our irresistibility and to make sure the spunk we get is of the highest quality and the greatest volume.
One of these is our ability to produce pheromones. These are little-understood chemicals which some insects and animals use to attract mates. There's a moth that can smell a female's pheromones from over a mile away, so while they may not be well understood, they can be very effective. Simply by thinking about it, we can produce pheromones which turn males on (whether they're straight or gay - makes no difference) to whatever degree we like. A small amount increases interest, while a sufficiently large one can create total obsession. The problem with these pheromones, though, is that they're not directional - and releasing too much in a public place can result in being mobbed or fought over by lots of guys. Good for the ego, but not very practical.
With telepathy, we can use our minds to make a prey experience almost anything we want him to. Think about that. We can convince a guy that he's being played with by half a dozen people at once, or that we ourselves have more than two hands; we can make him excruciatingly ticklish; decrease or increase his sensitivity to pain; we can make it completely impossible for him to be able to cum, while at the same time, if we want, increase his need for orgasm; by a single thought we can make him helpless: totally incapable of movement; we can temporarily – or permanently - give him an intense fetish for something; or interfere with his perception of time - need I go on? In short, we can give him the shag of his fucking life. And, by doing that, get exactly what we want out of him.
But the telepathic business doesn't end there. Oh no. Acquiring prey is one thing, getting the most out of him is quite another. What we’re after is quantity and quality - we want as much spunk as he can give us, and we want that spunk to be as high in the nutrients we need as possible. Volume is easy to achieve - by doing the things to him that turn him on most, and by making him cum (repeatedly if necessary), any male can be made to shoot a lot of spunk. One thing I should say here: the spunk has to be straight from the tap. Once it’s been lying around -even for a short time – it’s no good at all. Also it has to be taken by mouth; spunk got by being fucked doesn’t work either. That’s a shame, I always think.
Quality, on the other hand, is not quite so easy to get. The concentration of the nutrient we need increases with both time and the prey's level of sexual arousal, and so the hornier we can get him, and the longer he can be kept at that level without being allowed to cum, the higher the quality of his spunk will be when he eventually ejaculates. This is where gay semenivorous Vees score over straight ones - gays are much more likely to spend a lot of time and effort to get the very highest quality spunk out of a prey as possible, whereas straight ones tend to go for a quick fix. This means they have to feed more often, because the spunk they get doesn't do them as much good as it could. It's significant that a large proportion of gay spunk-suckers are into S&M, and are also experts at edging. These are the best-fed and the most successful of the lot.
What is the life of a Vee like? As with anything else, it's largely down to what you make of it. There are a few down-and-out Vees (not many, and those that there are, are very likely there for kicks rather than out of necessity) and an awful lot of wealthy ones. One of the nice things about a long life is that investments and savings accounts tend to build up very nicely. Also being so popular because of our sexual techniques seems to attract rich, elderly gentlemen - not so good from a feeding point of view, but sometimes a good idea strategically. Over the years I've been left a lot of money from grateful elderly mortals.
Most of us, therefore, if we work at all, do it from choice, rather than because we have to. I personally tend to go through phases. I'll swan around for a few years - travel perhaps - until I get bored, and then work for a while when I get the urge. Many of us are creative, but we avoid positions where we could become famous. Our looks don’t change at all as we age, so the last thing we need is one of those newspaper "Where Are They Now?" columns finding a pop star who looks exactly the same as he did twenty or thirty years ago. For the same reason, we don't enter into long-term relationships with mortals. I’ve managed to avoid that, but I’ve seen it happen depressingly often, and there is nothing sadder than watching someone you love getting old and wrinkled - and nothing more heartbreaking than the expression on his face when he looks at you and sees the same shining youth that he first met all that time ago. Love? Oh yes, we fall in love just the same as you do - except that, unlike you, we're not free to follow it up. At least not in the long-term.
Vees can’t have sex with each other. If we do try, the moment we touch we both get sexually turned off completely. It’s like a switch has been thrown – total failure. But we can usually recognise each other for what we are. Usually. However, this can fail spectacularly on occasion. I remember once falling head over heels for this guy (and he for me). It was lust at first sight. Each assuming the other was a mortal, we both used our abilities to get the other one interested, and then into bed. Each of us was a powerful sexual magnet - and when you put two magnets together they collide with force. That's what we did. We jumped into bed still ripping our clothes off, the most indescribably erotic and horny things going on in our heads (courtesy of each other's mind games) - there was me thinking this guy (his name was Byron) was the most perfect man; and to him I was the most drop-dead gorgeous boy in the entire universe - and we each had plans for the other which would involve extremely prolonged, excruciatingly intense sex. But the second we made physical contact we knew exactly what we both were and it all fell apart in hysterics. Actual sex with another Vee just doesn’t work; all sexual attraction goes out of the window instantly. I don’t know which one of us had the redder face - but we've remained close friends ever since. One of us pops round to the other's now and again and we have a drink and a laugh, talk about men we've been with, things we've done. I got him into S&M last year, and he loves it. Says he's never fed so well. Lovely guy.
*
Right, lesson over. I hope you’ve been paying attention cos there may be a short test next period...
So, I think all that’s given you a bit more of a realistic idea of what Vampyres are, and what we’re about. In the main, my life has been good. Very good. There have been many, many boys and men. Looking back, it seems to me that there are a few that I remember more than all the rest – milestones in my life. These chapters are about them - about boys, leather, and S&M.
S&M. Funny thing. I suppose I've known about it for most of my life - I knew it went on even before I was transformed - but it was Dominic (the Vee who transformed me) who introduced me to it first-hand.
So let me tell you about Dominic...
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