The Telemachus Story Archive

Part 2 - Dominic
By Hooder

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I grew up in Venice, doing whatever jobs came along – working on the canals; building; refuse disposal; selling my body (ugly as I was, I did surprisingly well at that - probably because I was cheap) - anything really. My father had run off before my first birthday, and my mother died of a wasting disease when I was thirteen. I was uneducated, but intelligent and articulate, and I was a closet artist. I was embarrassingly shy about my work, and showed my pictures to no-one. No-one, that is, until an indescribably beautiful man, capable of sexual feats I'd never imagined, hired me for an afternoon's romp in my room.

He looked as if he was in his early forties; beautiful body, elegant, and stunningly handsome with startlingly clear blue eyes. The moment I first saw him I went weak. As he walked towards me, I wished to God I were the lucky bastard who’d be sleeping with him tonight. He got closer, and I started to turn to watch him walk past me - but then he stopped. He smiled at me – and then he quietly asked me if I’d take him home with me. I have no idea what I said (if I managed to get any words out at all, that is) but I took him home.

We did the usual things: we kissed, he stripped me and lay me on my bed; he licked me all over, fucked me, kissed me some more – nothing unusual – but every little thing he did was absolutely perfect somehow. When he fucked me he started very slowly and gently and then gradually put more power behind it – exactly the way I loved it done best of all. When he worked on my cock his fingers found just the right position, the right spots, and precisely the right technique. I wasn’t really into my nipples, but he made them the centre of my universe when he licked them, sucked them and squeezed them. Everything he did turned me on like fucking crazy. I’d never met anyone before who was capable of such perfection. More than that: he made me feel like he was worshipping my body – and that was certainly not something I had ever experienced before. But to me, to little Rat-Face, the most stunningly unexpected and beautiful thing was that he made me feel loved. I told myself to enjoy it while it lasted, cos I knew it wouldn’t for long. As I lay there looking up at his beautiful face I could not understand why a guy like him would be interested in an ugly wretch like me.

After dragging myself off the bed to get him a glass of water (I couldn’t afford wine in those days) after God knows how many hours of cross-eyed ecstasy, I returned to find him thumbing through my paintings (which I’d ashamedly turned around and stacked against the wall). He stopped my outburst of self-conscious apologising for them by thrusting some large-denomination bank notes into my hand, smiling, suggesting that he become my patron, and that I consider moving in with him. I don't remember dropping the water, but I do remember his saying that his name was Dominic, and shaking his hand to seal the arrangement while treading on pieces of broken glass.

To this day I don't know why he paid me for sex that afternoon. He was a Vee, of course (a semenivore like I am now), and he could have had anyone he wanted - Venice then was knee-deep in gorgeous boys. He could have had any one of them - or even me - for free, or have got me so turned onto him that I would have begged to be allowed to pay him - but he didn't. He used no mental coercion of any kind to get me into bed and, once there, he gave me the most wonderful hours of my life - and when he fed from me it was all about my pleasure, not his. I often wonder if he felt sorry for me that afternoon, but I think he did it simply because he wanted to. Dominic was probably the most beautiful creature I have ever met - not just physically, although he was angelically handsome - but in every possible way. He was loving, caring, protective, gentle, generous, and amazing fun to be with. And he had a wonderful sense of humour. We both enjoyed tea, and we had many different kinds, but I found it difficult to tell one packet from another. So he bought me what he told me was a tea caddy. It was inlaid mahogany, and had several lift-out compartments ‘so that I could keep track of what tea was where’. Except that I couldn’t get the bloody thing to open. He watched me for ages, laughing at my efforts, until he couldn’t stand it any longer and showed me the secret lever hidden in one of the sides. I hugged him. I’ve still got that box.

I moved into his large house overlooking one of the canals, and we spent idyllic days painting, drinking wine together, walking or punting around the city, and making love. He never once forced himself onto me - but like all eighteen-year olds I was permanently horny, and he was quite simply the best shag I'd ever had or ever could imagine. Every time was different, and every time was better than the last. I thought I would die of happiness. Of course it occurred to me almost immediately to wonder how he was so stunningly good in bed, but in the early days I was just too fucking grateful and in love with him to question it, and later – well, later I found out.

I'd been with him for just over one wonderful year, when he came to me one evening and took me in his arms. We kissed for a while, then he gently separated us and looked deep into my eyes. When I looked into his, I saw they were wet. A fist of ice seemed to clamp around my heart and I knew with a dreadful certainty that all our happiness was about to come to an end. He ran one finger gently down my birthmark, and told me then that he would have to go away in a few days - probably for a long time - and that, although he wanted more than anything to take me with him, he would not be able to.

My world shattering around my ears, I collapsed onto the bed, and he took my hand. Why? I asked. I begged and pleaded with him. Was it me? Was he tired of me? He closed his eyes then and shook his head, smiling gently. “I could never, ever be tired of you, my beautiful boy,” he said. “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my life.” But he couldn't tell me why he had to go away.

We stayed there on the bed - him cradling me in his arms - for a long time. Finally I said softly that if it meant being without him, then I didn't want to live any longer. I remember there was a long silence, and then he pulled my head up gently until we were gazing into each other's eyes again.

"Justin," he whispered, "I have to go. There is nothing I can do about that. But," here he hesitated - and, realising as I do now exactly what it meant to him, I can understand why - "there is a way you can have something of me."

My first thought for some reason was that he was suggesting that he fuck me – but we’d done that quite a bit already. It wasn’t that. He was careful not to use the word 'Vampyre' until the very end, but I knew the legends, and things started clicking into place. I’d more or less guessed what he was saying before he mentioned the 'V' word. I remember he was surprised by my initial lack of reaction, but looking back now I think I had known for a long time - if not that he was a Vee, then at least that there was something very extraordinary about him indeed.

I asked him what he'd meant when he'd said that there was something of him that I could keep - and he told me that he could make me a Vee, like him.

Immediately I began to say, "Yes!", but he smothered my answer with a gentle finger, and then, transferring it to my eyes to wipe my tears away, said that it was something I had to think very carefully about. In the remaining few days, if I wished, he would explain everything to me of what it would mean - both the good and the bad things - and that it would be my decision, and mine alone.

We had three days left together. We spent them in the usual places, doing what we usually did, but this time there was a dreadful hollowness inside me. He told me about things I had never dreamed of - and, at the end of the second day, he showed me his powers.

In all the time we had been together, he had never used his Vee abilities on me until we were actually having sex, and then he would use them only very subtly, simply to enhance my enjoyment. Now, however, he gave me the full works. He told me to sit in the chair by the window, and to close my eyes. He told me not to be afraid, that he would never, ever, do anything to me that I didn't want. Then he kissed me, there was a pause, the sound of his footsteps on the carpet as he moved away from me, and he told me to open my eyes.

I don't know what I was expecting - for him to appear at the window as a bat or something, I suppose, in spite of what he'd told me about that sort of thing - but when I looked up, I was totally unprepared for what I saw. It was Dominic, but it wasn't. There stood this magnificent man, oozing pure sex from every pore of his body. It took every bit of my restraint not to jump up right then and there and fling myself at his feet. That was just the pheromones. Then he used telepathy - and I almost passed out from sheer, animal lust. He was the single most gorgeous man I had ever seen (which he was, even without assistance) but now I found myself walking towards him - I was conscious of my movements, but utterly unable to control them. He embraced me, lifted me off my feet and put me gently down on the bed. I was unable to move a muscle, and I had a raging hard-on that threatened to explode even before he had touched it as I watched him slowly taking off his clothes.

What followed was impossible. He slowly stripped me, tied me to the bed and then released his telepathic grip on my body so that it was only the restraints holding me down - and then he worked on me. It would take a very long time to describe all the things he did to me, but every single part of my body was subjected to pain and excruciating pleasure - usually simultaneously. It became impossible to say where one ended and the other began, until they became one and the same. He knew my body intimately from all the previous times we'd had sex, of course, but now it seemed as if he were inside me - feeling everything I was feeling. He knew how much something hurt, he knew how much something was ecstatically pleasurable. And he used the pain to intensify the ecstasy. He showed me that pain and pleasure were not necessarily opposites of each other, and that they could, in fact, work together. That was a concept that had never occurred to me before.

At times it felt as though there were an army of demons working on me; at times it was as if there was no-one there at all - not him, not me - just a glowing, golden sphere of unadulterated, unimaginable joy.

He worked on my nipples – sometimes gently, with his fingers or mouth, sometimes pinching them between what I could have sworn were claws – or other times working on them without anything touching them at all. Smooth, curved things burrowed slowly and irresistibly up into my arsehole, pulsing and massaging my prostate irresistibly. Countless fingertips – many more than the man possessed – tickled my armpits, my body, my feet. Feathery nothingness teased up and down my cock shaft and over my balls, or enclosed them in cool, sexy folds of rubbery or leathery stuff that just made me desperate to cum. Unseen tongues licked my pecs, my abs, my thighs. He raked my flesh with his white teeth. Perfectly-placed fingers or lips worked on my cock head. Often he was doing things to many different parts of my body at the same time, and I didn’t know how. At times he let me watch him, at other times he made me believe I was blindfolded, or hooded, or gagged, or ear plugged – sometimes all at the same time, which made me feel transcendentally helpless. Occasionally he increased the sensitivity of my skin so that parts of my body that normally weren’t erogenous at all suddenly became centres of intense pleasure. Sometimes he made me need to struggle and try to get away, other times he made me want to just lie there and immerse myself in what he was doing to me. And there were other things – so many other things.

How long it lasted I've no idea. It was something totally outside of my experience, and it was so intense that I could barely cope with it. I’d been horny to start with, but long, long before the end I was screaming, begging, pleading for him to allow me to cum. In my wildest imaginings I had not had the slightest inkling that it was physically possible for a human being to be so horny. In fact the word doesn't begin to convey the idea of how intense it was. Towards the end, my entire body - my whole consciousness - consisted of my cock. It felt enormous. I was one gigantic phallus - a volcano with an ocean of pent-up, boiling spunk trapped inside. The desperate need to cum had been unbearable hours ago, and it had been mounting steadily since. I thought I would go mad.

And then this creature - this angel of sex - was kneeling between my shaking legs. He wasn't even touching me. He smiled gently, lowered his head, took my throbbing cock deep into his mouth, and fed.

Everything that had happened so far paled into insignificance when he started to suck me off. There is absolutely no point in my trying to describe what it felt like - there are no words that would even begin to do justice to that. Suffice it to say that my entire body went as rigid as a girder, and I stopped breathing.

And then I came.

My spunk felt like molten gold as it exploded out of my cock and into his slowly sucking mouth. My body convulsed and shuddered, my eyes rotated upwards until only the whites were showing and I screamed with ecstasy. Never in my life had I experienced pleasure like that.

I have no recollection of how long I lay there afterwards - but I remember Dominic, looking like the usual Dominic again, lying down beside me on the bed, taking me into his arms and holding me like a very, very precious child. I was no longer restrained, and I think I fell asleep in his gentle embrace.

On our last day together I felt physically ill because he was leaving. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. In the morning, to my shame, in desperation I screamed at him and threw things at him. I called him names I would never dream of calling him – but he knew full well it was my sorrow, briefly turned to rage, and not me doing that. He took it all without retaliation of any kind, but with a look of abject suffering on his face, and when it went away and I collapsed on the floor, exhausted, my face wet, he held me and kissed me gently.

I loved him so deeply it hurt, and I could not stop myself crying all the time. But it wasn't the sex-god that I loved (although that was a part of him, and I loved that as well) - the Dominic I loved was the one I'd known for a year, since he'd picked me up by the canal and I'd taken him home with me. He wasn't perfect - no-one is, not even a Vee - but I loved him with every bit of my heart. He was my life, and I couldn't imagine living without him. I had already made my decision - I wanted him to transform me. Apart from memories, it was the only thing he could give me which I could hold inside of me for the rest of my life. I needed that so much.

It was late afternoon when he asked me for my decision. He knelt on the floor beside me and took my hand in his. He couldn't ask the question - he began, but ran out of words.

I smiled at him, pressed a finger to his lips, and nodded. "Please, Dominic," I whispered, "I love you. Please do this for me. Make me a Vampyre like you."

He closed his eyes and tears streamed down his face. "And I love you, beautiful boy," he said. Then, with infinite gentleness, he embraced me. Very slowly he put his mouth to my neck, and bit it.


The biting doesn't do anything immediately - it takes time - but Dominic wanted that to be my last experience of him, so he caused me to go to sleep afterwards.

When I awoke he was gone, and I was lying on the bed, alone. I padded through the large house, my eyes streaming with tears, unable to believe that he wasn't sitting in the next room, or at the desk by the window, writing, or pouring wine in the kitchen. I felt so empty inside it was if my heart had been cut out of me. I didn't go out, I didn't eat, I didn't sleep - and then the pains began.

Up until that point I’d felt the same as always, and I'd begun to be afraid that it wasn't going to work. I’d vowed to commit suicide if it didn't. He'd warned me about the pain which accompanied the physical rearrangements of my body, but I was unprepared for the intensity of it. When it first hit me, I was sitting on the floor in front of the fire - and suddenly it was as if one of the red-hot coals had jumped out of the grate onto my face, and I had somehow inhaled it. My eyes, nose, throat and chest burned in flaming agony. Eventually that eased for a while, but returned before long with renewed intensity. Then a new torment was added: my ears felt as if they were being slowly twisted off…

I could describe each and every torture that I endured - they were numerous and agonising - but I embraced them: I wanted each and every one: they were part of what my beloved Dominic had left me. I was suffering because of him; I was suffering for him. Through all the pain and the torment I did not scream once. For five days and nights I endured this. Sometimes the pains went away almost completely, but they always returned. Until the sixth night.

I had spent most of the time lying on the bed, bathed in sweat, often hallucinating, incoherent, only getting up to stagger to the pump for water. The bed sheets were soiled and stank of shit and piss. On that sixth night, I awoke free of pain, and lucid - although I felt very weak. I lay there, expecting the agonies to return at any moment, but they didn't. It was over. Eventually I realized this, and a new thought occurred to me - I was now a Vampyre. I rolled the word around my mind for a while, but it had no concrete meaning.

I sat up, and slowly got off the bed, pulling away the sheets that were sticking to me. Covered with my own excrement, I tottered on shaky legs to the mirror. Dominic had turned it face to the wall and had asked me not to look in it until everything was over. I closed my eyes and turned it round. Then, taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and looked.

I was so used to seeing my face in a mirror - a ferret-like, spotty, lank-haired boy with a carrot nose and a disfiguring birthmark down the right cheek - that for a few moments it didn't register at all that I was looking at myself. Staring at me from the other side of the glass was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. My skin was clear and almost glowed with health; my eyes were wider apart, big and stunningly blue, with long lashes; my nose - my nose! - it was a perfect shape and size! My lips were full and red ('cock sucking' lips, I called them on the other, good-looking boys in the city); my teeth were straight and white; and my jet-black hair shone with health. I was, in short, fucking gorgeous.

My eyes opened wide as I took in the sight of the amazing boy looking back at me. In the same way that Dominic had still been Dominic, but different, when he had come to me that night using all of his powers, I was still me - but an idealised me: a me that was a hundred times better than how I'd ever fantasised about looking.

It was only then that I noticed the envelope stuck into the corner of the mirror’s frame. I took it to the desk by the window and sat down. With trembling fingers I carefully opened it and removed the single sheet of paper inside. Dominic’s beautiful flowing script was blurred by my tears. I wiped them away and read:

My beloved Justin,

I wish there were some way I could have spared you the pains of the last few days. The thought of your suffering for any reason is anathema to me. But it is over now.

You deserve to know why I had to leave you, and now, at last, I can tell you. It is because I am so in love with you, my beautiful boy. Over the last year we have loved each so much, in all ways – including physically. It took restraint of a degree you cannot imagine for me not to use my powers on you properly throughout that time. Believe me, my love, I wanted to so very much.

The reason we were able to love each other sexually was because you were not like me; because you were a mortal.

I’d known for a long time that, sooner or later, I would not be able to stop myself from asking you if you wanted me to transform you. And I also knew what your reply would be. I dreaded this more than you can imagine, because I knew it would mean the end of what we had together – but I loved you so much that I couldn’t not make the offer to you. I actually prayed that you would refuse, but of course I knew that you wouldn’t.

Now that you are like I am, we can never make love again – and I don’t think that I could live, being near to you but not being able to do that. It would be too much for me, and possibly for you too.

I am in tears as I write this, Justin. To go away from you is the very last thing I want to do. I want to be with you for ever. But I have no choice. I have to leave you. I am so, so sorry, but in time, you will understand.

You are my beautiful boy, Justin. I love you, and I will love you forever.

The way you look now is how you always looked to me.

- Your Dominic.

I read it again, then folded the paper and slowly put it back into the envelope, leaned it against the vase and collapsed onto my arms on the table top. Tears streamed from my eyes as I cried. I cried with emptiness and grief at losing my beloved Dominic; I cried with happiness at the way I looked now - after all those years of being taunted and abused for being plug-ugly, I was beautiful; and I cried with pure joy that now I would always have something of Dominic in me.

Eventually I pulled myself together, bathed, dressed, put the bedsheets in the laundry, and suddenly realised that I was ravenous. I'd been hungry many times before, but never anything like this. I bolted into the kitchen, broke a loaf of bread into pieces and shoved it into my mouth as fast as ever I could. I drank water straight from the pump, and raided every shelf and cupboard, eating everything there was. After that I felt full, but somehow still hungry - no, it wasn't exactly hunger, but rather an ill-defined longing for something.

And it was at that moment that it really hit me: I was a Vampyre! Nobody had told me that that it would be spunk that I’d be hungry for – even Dominic had said he wasn’t certain what type I’d become (although the chances were strong that I’d end up a semenivore, because he was) - but somehow I knew . Without considering for a moment exactly how I was going to do it, I ran out of the house and hit the city, in search of men.


That was a long, long time ago. I never forgot Dominic - not a single day ever passed when I didn't think of him. I searched for him wherever I went in the world, but without any success whatsoever. It was as if he'd vanished from the face of the Earth.

But back in Venice after my transformation, I quickly became skilled at hunting - at using my powers to get what I needed. The first few encounters were clumsy in the extreme (though successful nevertheless) but gradually I learned how to use my special abilities with a bit more finesse. Dominic had never told me anything about how to control them - he'd said that I'd just know - and he was right. I only had to think of what I wanted to do, what I wanted to happen, and it worked. I was like a kid with a brand-new toy - and in those first few days I went after quite a few of the most gorgeous rent-boys in the city, and also some of the thugs who had beaten me up and abused me in earlier years. I have to confess that I wasn’t kind to them - but so what? They each got the most mind-blowing fucking orgasms of their lives out of it - which is more than they ever gave me.

There were too many of these to list, but I remember especially my revenge, in the very first days, on one particular boy.

A boy named Guido...

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