Bloody Shore Leave
by Habu
14 Oct 2022 1879 readers Score 8.5 (44 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt
But why would I even need to do that, I was asked by the more experienced sailors on board, when I was as young and fit and as randy for cock as I was? Just stay on board during my shore leave and my buddies would take care of me just like they did with the Carl Vinson was at sea.
Variety and adventure, I answered, and not having to work hard to hold steady for someone covering me when the deck under me was rolling with the waves.
There they were, the hopeful men, some old, some not so old, standing by their rides in the Alameda Boulevard parking lot, ogling the young sailors coming off the Carl Vinson—the young sailors who knew where to come to hook up with what they wanted and to give these men a good time for their money. I was told that the guys coming to this lot for a hookup were prime material in one or more ways—lookers, rich, and/or hung—or they wouldn’t bother to compete. The same with the sailors. Don’t both to come here if you aren’t prime male pussy, we were told. I was assured by my mates that this was the place for me, though.
It was no contest for me on what male pussy shopper to go with here. There was one guy, maybe in his mid-thirties, handsome and as trim but muscular as an action movie star, leaning against a 2002 cherry red Cadillac Eldorado, still wearing dark sunglasses in the gathering twilight. The ride was in pristine condition, and so, as far as I could determine, decked out in expensive casual clothes, was the man. I was a pushover for both.
This was a pairing made in either hell or heaven. The day was young. Whichever it was, it was different from the boredom of life at sea and the same group of aggressive sailor tops.
There were seven of us arriving on foot, in our naval whites, from the Carl Vinson at the same time. They weren’t the modern naval whites—we’d all been clued into what these guys wanted. These were the naval whites of yore, the tight, sexy uniform of history and the movies.
The eyes of four of us went to this dude leaning on the Eldorado at the same time. The other three knew they were no competition against the rest for a guy like him and were pairing off with other men parked on the lot. That left four of us, but the guy’s attention went to me and stayed there—as well it should. I knew I was the best-looking, sexiest of the sailors on display and to be had, and the other three quickly melted away to secondary johns.
I walked up to the guy, who stood up straight, looked me in the eye, and placed a hand on my hip, just like he already owned me. He was a cocky bastard. That’s probably what attracted me to him. That’s how it went on the Carl Vinson—the cockiest bastard had me. And once the choice was made, I was easy and compliant.
“I’m Stefan, he said, in a deep baritone voice with some foreign, sexy accent to it. You are looking for a shore leave hook up,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He’d taken off his sunglasses to capture my eyes already, and captured was the word for it. His pupils were cat-eye shaped and a green hazel color. He kept them in shadows. I immediately was mesmerized and felt the control of him.
“Yes,” I answered. “I’m Chip.” It wasn’t my real name and he knew it wasn’t—he probably wasn’t really named Stefan either—but it was the name I was choosing to have on this shore leave. It was a name I had fake ID in.
“At least eighteen?” he asked, putting his sunglasses back on.
“I’m nineteen,” I answered, knowing why he asked and knowing my fake ID would bear that out.
“Perfect. A thousand dollars for two days. I cover all expenses. You give me anything I want as often as I want it.” Again, it wasn’t a question. And he was being very direct. I liked that. I only had a two-day leave. I wanted to spend as much time of it on my back with a big cock inside me as I could. I still liked how this was shaping up. His attention slid away from me to what I knew to be the next-best prospect among the sailors who had walked here from the Carl Vinson. He was telling me that it didn’t have to be me and he didn’t want to hear coy or negotiating.
“Yes, whatever you want,” I answered, coming in closer to him to let him know that having his hand on my hip was OK with me—a signal that having his dick in me would be OK too. I had come out the ship on shore leave to have the best of times.
Once more the sunglasses came off and his eyes returned to capturing mine. His hand moved around to cupping one of my buttocks through the tight, white vintage naval trousers, with the buttoned fly. I and the others who knew to come to this lot off a long sail knew the men here wanted us in the tight, vintage sailor costumes, and that’s what most of us wore—a white sailor’s jumper and tight, white, low-rise trousers, tight in the pelvis and thighs, but flaring at the calves to the ankles, with the buttoned fly that men seemed to like to fiddle with in the undoing of them.
“You have an accent and what sort of name is Stefan?” I asked. It was an involuntary slipup, probably because I was a bit nervous selling myself this way. He zeroed in on the mistake.
“It’s an ancient name and there will be no questions if . . .” and his eyes went to a sailor just arriving at the lot, to emphasize what a mistake I had made. His hand dropped from my butt.
“I understand,” I said quickly. “Sorry. No more questions.” That must have assuaged him, as the hand went back to my butt, he squeezed the orb, and his index finger moved into the crack, touching me where my hole was. He was being very direct and moving fast. I melted to that, going over and over in my mind the fact that after all this time at sea I only had a two-day shore leave. I was as much on a fast track as he was. I brushed his basket with the fingers of one of my hands, letting him know I totally surrendered.
“My, you’re a big boy, aren’t you?” I said. I knew the line was corny, but it also had always worked for me . . . every . . . damn time.
“Get in the car,” he said, and I did so, wanting to comment on liking the vintage Cadillac, but not daring to saying anything about anything but sex when he wanted to hear me tell him what a master he was at that. I had an inkling that he, in fact, was a master at that. What I had so briefly felt when I brushed his basket was, in fact, thick and hard. His hardness controlled. He wanted me.
He was in the driver’s seat and had his wallet out before I’d made it around the long hood of the Cadillac, tossed my small weekend duffel bag over into the backseat, and slid into the passenger seat. He had a wad of hundred-dollar bills out and slapped them down on top of the dashboard in front of me. The hand went immediately to cupping my head from there, with his thumb pressed into my carotid artery, causing me to moan.
“I can feel the beat of your young blood in your veins,” he whispered. “You are ripe for me.” I shuddered at this exotic experience after so many bored weeks at sea. He was twisted toward me and moved his face to mine, taking my mouth with his, pressing his tongue between my lips, and making me open to him. His hand slid down to my lap and he undid the buttons of the flap of the vintage sailor’s trousers, freeing me and stroking my already half-engorged cock.
Is he going to fuck me right here in the parking lot off Alameda Boulevard with all of the other men watching—the wanting men and the arriving sailors, coming to meet the needs of those men and of themselves, I wondered. Men were noticing us and staring into the car.
“No,” he said in a low, seductive voice with that hint of an accent, something Eastern European, I thought, “Not here. I just want to know how pliant you are going to be for me.”
As pliant as you want, I thought.
“Good,” he said, and he released me, returned to sitting in the driver’s position, and started up the manly rumble of the V-8 engine.
It was only then that I realized he had answered my unspoken thoughts twice and I worried that perhaps he could, through some magic, discern everything I thought.
“Yes, I can,” he said, as he pulled the car out onto Alameda Boulevard. “And that’s the way I want it. I want to know everything you’re thinking—your honest thoughts—and everything you’re feeling. I want you to be thinking how you feel when I enter you and while I’m working you. I can also hear the beating of your heart and the blood coursing through your veins. It’s exciting. We are going to be lovely together.”
Shit, I thought, and he laughed. Once on the street, I heard the locks of the car doors engage. I realized I was a captive now.
He laughed again. “Yes, you are mine now. Stroke yourself as we drive.”
I was still hanging out, fully erect now. I grasped my cock as he directed and slow stroked it. I reached over and unzipped and released him with my free hand. He was as hung as I had thought he might be. He was in full erection, and he just hummed and drove as I stroked us both.
* * * *
“Băiatul tău este unul drăguţ, Vlad. Vrei să te împărtăşeşti?” The hulking, but attracting dark-haired man, with the same cat eyes as Stefan had undressed me with his eyes as Stefan and I opened the door at the back of Café Romania and brushed aside the beaded curtain to enter what proved to be a small, dimly lighted, smoke-filled club room, with a lit stage at the far end.
Stefan answered him with “Poate mâine, Ionuț. Încă îl pregătesc pe băiat” as we moved past the man and another man within the room gestured us toward a favored table, indicating that Stefan was honored here.
A bit hazy and weak, with Stefan holding me up as we were directed to a banquette table facing the stage, I made the mistake of asking, “What did you two say?” Not only didn’t I understand what they’d said to each other, but I also had no idea what language they had spoken in.
In response, Stefan thumped me on the back of my head with his knuckle and said, “I said no questions. You agreed.”
Yes, yes, I had, but it had all gotten so strange and draining.
A young man was on the stage, moving in a desultory, slow striptease to soft bump and grind music piped in from somewhere that had somewhat foreign tones to it, and a few couples were on the dance floor in front of him—men dancing in the clutch with men. No women were in sight.
It had all been strange getting here. Stefan hadn’t driven us more than three blocks from where he’d picked me up to a three-story garage on 3rd Street—and, in fact, I never got off Coronado Island or far from in sight of the USS Carl Vinson my entire shore leave. He drove into the back corner of the garage’s second level, where it was quite dark. He parked in a remote space in the midst of company vans that appeared to be stored there for the night. He knew the code to lift the gate into the garage, so I figured he had regular access to the garage.
“Don’t think about it. You are not to try to remember any of this,” he admonished me, reminding me that somehow he could read my thoughts. I tried to blank out my thoughts.
When parked, he turned, cupped the back of my head, and pulled my face down into his crotch. Understanding what he wanted, I slid my lips over his exposed cock and gave him head. I purposely set my thoughts to how big he was built and how much pleasure it was to pleasure him in this way. With a sigh, he lay back in his seat, evidently pleased with both my actions and my thoughts.
Not much later, my white trousers and jock were off my legs and, just in my naval white sailor’s jumper I was sitting on his lap, his cock inside me, in the passenger seat, facing the windshield, and rising and falling off his shaft with the leverage of my bare feet pressed into the top edge of the dashboard. He had one hand under my jumper, at first palming my flat belly and later moving up to tweak my nipples as he jacked me off with his other hand. We had easily and naturally moved into the fuck, me yielding to his guidance of what he wanted and how he wanted it. There were no preliminary games or coy jockeying. We were both there for sex, him dominating and me submissive, and we went right to it.
When I had come from his stroking, that hand moved up to cup my jaw and turn my head to the side, exposing my throat, and it started to become quite weird. A glance was enough to reveal that he had fanged incisors I hadn’t notice before—or that hadn’t been projected before.
“Oh, shit. Fuck,” I exclaimed as he sank his fangs into my carotid. It surprised me more than hurt. I begin to squirm, but he was too strong and I was fully under his control, his arms still around me, his thick cock impaling my channel deep.
No, no, not this, my mind was screaming.
“Calm yourself. Don’t fight me. I will fully possess you. Just a taste now. We will become one. Your pleasure will be such as you’ve never felt before.” He hadn’t actually said this; it had conveyed somehow through the ether. I was fully aware of the sucking sound and of blood flowing from me into him as this was being conveyed. I whimpered but that had no effect on what he was doing.
Strangely, increasingly, as he sucked and fucked, taking over my rise and fall on his cock, I found he was right—the combination of his feeding and fucking brought more pleasure than pain, and as he said would happen, I felt totally one with him, the two of us working together to reach the heights of pleasure and release.
Oh, fuck, this is so incredible, I thought, calming down, becoming a bit hazy, but folding into a cloud of contentment and pleasure. Fuck me, suck me, ran through my mind over and over.
Humming, Stefan conveyed, “I told you so.”
You are so beautiful and masterful. Your cock is so big. I’ve never been fucked this well, ran through my mind.
“And you are a sweet lay. We are having such a great weekend,” Stefan answered out loud, pulling his mouth away from my throat. The concentration now was on the rise and fall of my channel on his cock.
We came together in a rolling release that was more a time of peace and incredible pleasure than an explosion.
We held for several moments afterward. He had a can of handy wipes under the passenger seat, which we used to clean ourselves up and got redressed. He licked the blood off my throat before wiping the area with the tissue. Leaving the Eldorado, we walked down the garage ramp to the first floor and then over to a side wall, where a door led into the side of a restaurant, the Café Romania, where Stefan took me for dinner. He had to help me stay upright as we walked, but I liked the intimacy of his embrace. I couldn’t explain why I didn’t register horror at discovering he was a vampire and I his prey of the moment, but I didn’t. It was all so exotica and erotic. Of course he was a vampire. That seemed to natural in the circumstances. I inexplicably looked forward to the next such encounter with him. I presume that already at this point, I was his slave.
They knew him here at the restaurant, and he chatted with them in some foreign language, while I kept my head up in some form of consciousness and a bit of difficulty to focus in looking over the menu. I was confused and living in a haze. It was a pleasant haze, though. I felt contentment and satiation. I also felt that Stefan owned me and that this was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I had been bled, which had my ears buzzing a bit and I was slow to react, but it had only served to keep me calm and hanging onto Stefan as my master.
It was after the late-night dinner that I found, when he took me through the doorway covered by the beaded curtain at the rear of the restaurant, that the next couple of hours would be spent in an intimate men’s club.
We sat there, in the banquette, watching men, most—at least the dominant men—with cat eyes and as beautiful, dark, and hirsute as Stefan was, swirling around. Many of them stopped at our table to talk with Stefan in some foreign language and to ogle and smile at me. Some of them touched me, a few opened their mouths to show fangs and hiss, only to be called off by Stefan. Inexplicably I didn’t register their baring of their fangs at me as hostile. I took it as a compliment. They wanted me.
There were a few other young men, like me, in the club, all of them being fondled and kissed by the older men. A few were collapsed into chairs, their heads lolling to the side at what looked like must be a painful angle, as if they had already been bled into unconsciousness.
And there was the young man on the stage, who finally had stripped down to just a sock jock. Then one of the men came up onto the stage, covered him from behind, and stripped even that off. The man then obviously had unzipped himself, taken an erection out, and had mounted the young stripper from behind. With one hand he was stroking off the young man and, with the other hand, he cupped the young man’s chin, turning his head and exposing his throat. Opening his mouth to show everyone that he had fangs, the man sank his teeth into the young man’s throat, and drank his blood.
This should have shocked and frightened me. But it was just what Stefan had done to me in the car and that had brought me contentment and pleasure. As we watched the young stripper being fucked and bled on the stage—not just by one man, but by a succession of men climbing up on the stage and replacing the one before them, Stefan held me in his arms, the two of us sitting close beside each other in the banquette, and ran his hands over me, under the material of my jumper and white trousers, and kissed me, occasionally sinking his teeth into my throat or the inner surfaces of my elbows, and taking short drinks of me.
Men swirled around us as well as around those on the stage, baring their fangs and smiling and giving us longing looks, but Stefan kept them at bay—with hisses if words in a foreign language weren’t working. Again, there was no sign of hostility from these men. They had no trouble backing off when Stefan signaled for them to do so. It was as if they were just complimenting me.
None of this shocked or frightened me. Occasionally, I had a twinge in my mind of it all being strange and foreign and that perhaps . . .
But at those points, Stefan would whisper or transmit mentally, “Calm yourself. Take pleasure from the moment. You will have no more pleasure than this in your life—giving me pleasure is giving it to yourself,” and, as he bid, I would settle down and live in the moment.
As we were leaving the club behind the Café Romania, the young stripper on the stage had been permitted to sink to the ground, ashen white, and another of the young men from the audience was being brought up to the stage and undressed.
The apartment Stefan took me to, again only a few blocks away from the garage, was on the water on 1st Street, near the Coronado ferry landing, facing mainland San Diego across the inner channel. We were never far away from the where the USS Carl Vinson was docked. I stood at the window, still a little hazy but mellow, surprisingly so considering what I’d been through that night, while Stefan went around the living room lighting candles. The other lights were off. Stefan obviously needed the lighting to be dim. I could see the aircraft carrier, its runway lights on, hovering up the island coast from the window.
When the candles were lit, Stefan stood next to a futon that was rolled out on the floor in the center of the room and disrobed. It was the first time I’d seen him fully naked. He had the body of a god—muscular, perfectly proportioned, hirsute, and powerful. He was hugely hung and in full erection. He motioned me to come to him and I did, going down on my knees before him and taking his shaft in my mouth, giving him deepthroating head. He pulled my jumper over my head and then, when he wished, he put his hands under my armpits and raised me up. We kissed as he unbuttoned my trousers fly and pushed the pants and jock strap down to my ankles. He frotted our cocks together briefly as we kissed.
He pulled away from me and lay down on his back on the futon. It was well after midnight. When he beckoned to me, I came down on top of him, straddling his hips, and descended my channel on his cock, only able to take the thickness of him slowly and with much panting. I rode him for an hour or more through three mutual ejaculations. He seemed to have no problem keep an erection or producing ejaculations, and he was able to bring an outstanding performance out of me, as well, edging me off just as I was approaching the point of no return. Half way through the ride, he raised his chest to mine, embraced me, his fingers pressing into my shoulder blades, and, while I continued to ride his cock, his face muzzled into the hollow of my neck. I obediently turned my head, exposing my carotid artery, and he fed on me.
As we fucked and he fed, our bodies fused into one, my blood coursing through both of our veins, his cock growing in girth and length from the augmentation of his essence, and we moved as one unit in a rhythmic dance, rising ever higher into the stratosphere of union and pleasure and satisfaction. It wasn’t only the internal possession by the strengthening, ever thrusting, shaft. It would not have been the same without the taking of my blood. And it wasn’t just the increase in the girth and reach of his cock I experienced. As he stretched me, the muscles of my channel came alive, rippling over the cock, grasping and undulating over it, making love to the pumping shaft that created a passion and rhythm of the two sex organs all their own.
At the same time that I was sighing and moaning the fulfillment of my pleasure and of my completion as a slave to the master, I grew weaker and more confused and hazy and yet more contented and satiated. I know not when I lost consciousness, sinking into a deep sleep, but I was aware that I still lived, although so weakened for a while that I knew my heart barely beat and that I had no control over my body.
When he’d begun to feed during the fuck, the concern that I would be drained and die went through my mind, but he assured me—although it was an assertion to his complete ownership of me as well. “Calm yourself,” he murmured. “I have centuries of experience in this. I know where the edges are. You are young, virile, and fit, with admirable recuperative powers. I will not destroy you unless or until I wish to.”
Stefan must have left me close to dawn, moving into the apartment’s bedroom and shutting and locking the door from the inside. He’d told me already that he slept through the day and would not be with me then. I spent the day stretched out on the futon, slowly regaining my facilities and recovering my stamina.
In the twilight, he reappeared from the bedroom, dressed now all in black, with a black cape. There was no more pretending from me that he was something other than he was. He was still a beautiful, commanding master and god to me.
We drove back to the Café Romania for dinner and then to the men’s club behind it.
At the door to the club and in answer to the host’s repeated question from the night before, Stefan now said, “Da, Ionut, în seara asta îl împărtășesc pe tânăr.” I still did not know what they had said, and now I was too well indoctrinated to ask, but I could tell by the way the man—introducing himself to me as Ionut—touched me possessively that tonight, the last night of my shore leave, that Stefan would not be the only man using me. Stefan’s demeanor indicated he would give this man license to use me as well.
He wants to . . . must I let him . . . will I die at his hands . . . ? he isn’t . . . he isn’t you, ran through my thoughts. I wasn’t that the man wasn’t desirable. He was very sexy—as sexy as Stefan was, as impossible as that seemed. But I was here with Stefan. Stefan was my master—now completely so.
“Yes, you must,” Stefan answered my thought. “Ionut is our host here. I must pay my dues here. You will pay them for me. We cannot insult him by refusing him. Give Ionut what you would give me. He has centuries of experience just as I have. He will savor you. He recognizes you are my slave. He will make love to you as he uses you and you will rejuvenate him. But you are my slave. If anyone is to take you beyond the pale now, it will be me.”
That settled it. I didn’t question. I let Ionut place a hand on my buttocks and squeeze as we entered the dimly lit, smoke-filled club room.
And that was the case. Ionut guided us to the same banquette we’d occupied the evening before, but he didn’t leave. As I sat beside Stefan, Ionut leaned over me and kissed me. His hands went to the buttons on my sailor’s trousers and he unbuttoned and flared the fly. When I looked into his face, he smiled, opened his mouth, and showed his fangs.
He stripped the trousers and my jock strap off my legs, hooked my knees on his hips, unzipped and released himself, mounted me from in front, hovering over the banquette, and fucked me. Stefan didn’t stop him. He merely turned toward me, grasped my cock, and stroked me while Ionut fucked me. The club host took my mouth briefly with his but quickly had moved to nuzzling into my throat, slicing into my carotid and feeding on me.
While he was positioning me and mounting me, going through my mind was that no matter how sexy Ionut was, this wasn’t what I wanted.
But Stefan muttered, “It is what I and Ionut want, and I am your master. You will willingly give to Ionut what you willingly now give to me.”
And so I did.
Once Ionut was inside me and his fangs had sliced into my throat and he was feeding of me, the experience became the same as it had been with Stefan the previous night, and I settled down to merging into the beautiful body crouched over me. The shaft inside me thickened and lengthened and gained strength and power over me as my blood mingled with his. We moved as one, the pleasure and sensuality and satisfaction of the coordinated-movement fuck lifting me in a stratosphere of contentment and fulfillment. We came together, as I assumed that masters like Ionut and Stefan were able to accomplish at will, with Ionut fucking me in my inner, vulnerable core and Stefan stroking my cock off.
The flow inside me went on at great length, during which I rocked against his loins in waves of pleasure from the breeding and moaned my surrender. His cum gurgled up his shaft, dribbling out of my whole and down my inner thighs.
As Ionut pulled away from me, standing, and readjusting his clothing, I heard myself whisper, “Yes, yes, don’t leave me. Do me again,” which was just what I had whispered to Stefan the previous night as dawn approached and he left me, needing to dance on the clouds again, continuously, even though he had ravished me for hours and drained me to dangerous levels.
Both Ionut and Stefan laughed, Stefan not showing a bit of jealousy, and Ionut disappeared into the smokey darkness. Stefan gathered me to him, as I slowly began to be aware of my surroundings again. I expected him to put me on the cock and nuzzle his face into the hollow of my neck again, but he didn’t. He directed my attention to the stage and murmured, “Soon that will be you up there. I have agreed to share you with the room.”
I, of course, knew what he was saying, but I was too mellow in the moment for it to alarm me. I did let creep into my thoughts whether I would survive this evening—whether I had enough blood yet to give to be alive when Stefan’s plans for and use of me was done for the night and dawn was approaching. I should have been concerned about his verbal answer to my thoughts—but I wasn’t. I was totally his—and anyone like him—now.
“I haven’t decided yet,” was Stefan’s answer to my thoughts. “Do you want to ascend into the universe or do you want to be one of us?”
I didn’t answer that either way, either aloud or in my thoughts. It was too disturbing a choice for me to consider, let alone decide. I just thought, I am yours. It is your decision.
Stefan laughed. “Yes,” he said. “Now you understand. You have no choice in the matter anymore.”
“I’m afraid,” I murmured.
“Don’t be. You will cross over tonight, but not into the land of the dead.”
The performance on stage once again was that of the previous night. A young man stripping and then men mounting the stage and mounting the young man and fucking and sucking him. The change this night was that, when the young man sank to the floor, drained, and the husk of what he’d been was hauled away, it was I who was escorted up on the stage and, pulling my jumper off, danced for the men until I was mounted by a succession of sexy and hirsute men with cat eyes and was fucked and sucked. I went to somewhere on the upper scales of pleasure and fulfillment with each of the men, all of whom were fit and hung, with increasing enhancement as they fucked and sucked. All were accomplished in this new world of being master over me that I was discovering.
At some point, I being so far gone that I had neither the energy, consciousness, or the will to resist, I became so weak that I wasn’t able even to open my legs for the man without help. There were men there to help, though, standing on either side of me, holding my legs raised and spread and tipping my pelvis up, for another man to nestle in between my thighs and penetrate and fuck me while nuzzling his face into my throat and taking suck.
I was so deep into pleasure and mellowness that I no longer cared. But Stefan must have cared on some level and to some extent. After the fifth or sixth vampire, Stefan leaped onto the stage, hissed the other men away, and carried me off.
He didn’t take me back to the channel-side apartment, though. He drove me, me stretched across the backseat of the Eldorado, back to the McCain Boulevard gates of the naval air station, pulling me out of the car deep in the night and letting me sink to the ground by the guard house, and driving off without a word. I couldn’t help but cry out for him in my thoughts, asking him if he was just going to abandon me there, but no answer came back. The thought that it was all for the best, although life would be entirely changed for me from here on out—and nonending—floating into my brain, I had no reason to think that was Stefan’s thought any more than it was mine.
I was taken as having drunk myself into a stupor for the duration of my shore leave. I was carried back to the USS Carl Vinson and was permitted to sleep myself back to health in my berth as the aircraft carrier prepared for a sail to Hawaii.
I knew I was on the mend when my supervisor on the catapult maintenance crew now that I had switched to the night crew, an ugly-as-sin but monster hung black muscle guy, Chief Petty Officer Second Class, Dewain Tremble, turned me on my back in my bunk in the hours of the morning. I now was gravitating to be more active at night than in the day. He climbed on top of me, put my ankles on his shoulders, mounted me, and fucked the shit out of me. He was thick going in, as there had been little preparation, and I initially thought this would be fully satisfying, but as I opened to him and he thrust, he didn’t enlarge and stretch me as Stefan and Ionut had, and, although we moved together well enough, the fuck didn’t grow, moving up the scale in satiation. My channel walls weren’t activated to ripple over his shaft. We didn’t reach the nirvana that both Stefan and Ionut had taken me to. It was a good “come-back-to-life” fuck, but he didn’t latch onto my throat with his teeth and suck as he fucked, so it didn’t take me into the higher realms of sensuality where Stefan and Ionut had taken me, and where I now longed to go.
Over time I began to forget the details of that shore leave, but I didn’t forget the strangeness of the experience or the pleasure and contentment achieved within the fear, draining, and pain. And, under the tutelage of Stefan—or whoever he actually was—I was changed forever. I no longer achieved the satisfaction fuck that I had before I had been taken and indoctrinated by a vampire, as a sign of things to come, the voice of Stefan came to me in the night, saying, “You are in control now. You can make it happen for yourself. Just be careful; pace yourself. Don’t get caught.”
* * * *
We were all mustered out on the vast deck of the USS Carl Vinson, steaming between Hawaii and Guam, when the ship’s brass finally realized sailors were missing. I had tried to follow Stefan’s advice—that maintaining renewable sources was more important than terminal satisfaction—but I was a neophyte at this. There were a whole lot of sailors on an aircraft carrier like this, roaming around, doing a lot of things, on a 24/7 shifts basis. We were a very impressive number when we had all come up on deck and been assembled in formation by our separate crews. Petty Officer Tremble had been fucking me in his berth, he having a more private cubicle than I did, when we got the call. This was a rarity. I’d never known of such an all-hands-on-deck assembly being done before. We were there for a one-time-everyone-in-place head count.
Tremble treated me just as all of the rest on the night catapult maintenance crew—that is surly—as we stood in formation and took the count. We were all accounted for in our own crew. I had been more careful than that. At the end of the count, there were three men missing from the ship’s roster. We weren’t formally told of that, of course, but the information got around. I didn’t need to hear it; I already knew there were three missing—two en route to Hawaii from San Diego, and one the second night out of Hawaii on the sail to Guam. Well, there were four, but the fourth hadn’t been detected yet.
During formation, Tremble had given me the evil eye, had been gruff to me, and had called me a fag in front of the other men. There were men in the crew who knew I’d lay down for another man, of course, because I had lain down for them on the previous cruise. I don’t know if they knew I laid down for the black bull, Tremble, too, but he acted that day, as we roasted on deck in formation, and they took the count, like he was homo antagonistic. And maybe he was. That didn’t stop him from fucking me, though. I didn’t appreciate his attitude.
He pulled me aside afterward. “I’m sorry,” he said. “There has been talk of you and me and I had to put a stop to that.”
Of course there had been talk, I thought. He had been fucking me—not that he had been the only one who had been fucking me. He was the only one I wasn’t doing more with, however. I enjoyed his muscularity, the blackness of him, the size and power of his cock. He didn’t do it all for me—not like Stefan and Ionut had done—but he had been pleasant to couple with. And I realized I was having trouble finding the edge. Until now I hadn’t even gotten into the deeper use of him.
“That’s all right,” I answered, although of course it was not all right. “You can make it up to me. There are no planes scheduled to lift off for a couple of more days. You could give the other lads half the night off tonight and we could meet with more privacy than either of our berths allow.”
He thought this was a wonderful idea, as I knew he would. We met in a rope locker room set in the conning tower in the hour after midnight, and we both stripped, not usually being able to do so fully when we fucked. Tremble wedged himself behind a pile of coiled ropes between us and the locker door, and I descended onto his lap, facing him, lowering myself on that thick, long, jet-black erection of his. He was fit, vigorous, and virile. I rode him for nearly a half hour, building up the intensity and the mutual pleasure, becoming one as a copulating unit, moving into the frenetic dance of the deep fuck. He was so much into the ride that he had no hesitation in going with the movement as I kissed and nipped my way up his barrel chest and nestled my face into the hollow of his neck.
It took him longer than it would have taken for him to save himself to realize that my nipping had turned into slicing my fangs into his carotid and feeding on him while I raised and lowered my channel on his cock and he neared an ejaculation. He was concentrating on the building liftoff. He was also having incredible sex, such as he’d never had before, and didn’t see the danger coming. He, in fact, did not in his wildest dreams understand what the danger was and where it was coming from. He just knew that, as the fuck intensified and I both rose and fell on his cock and fed at his throat, he felt the muscles of my channel kick in and ripple of his cock and make love to it as he never had experienced before. He couldn’t get enough of it—or so he believed.
He concentrated on shooting off and I concentrated on sucking him into weakness. I fed and we fucked. He made some effort to resist when he began to have some realization of what I was doing, but he hadn’t come yet and had to worry about that as well. His ejaculation, which I matched, marked his collapse under me and the acceptance that the feeding, added to the flow, was raising him—us—up into the realm of sexual nirvana that I had experienced before and that Tremble now was experiencing—for one last time.
As I fed and worked him with my hands, he sighed and moaned and let me move him up into the higher levels of pleasure and sensuality to accomplish a second coming—and then a third, all the time he was draining of resistance, power, energy—and blood. An hour and a half of feeding, fucking, and draining, and I was satiated—for the fourth time on this cruise—and Tremble was a mere husk of his former self. But I continued to feed—down to the last drop.
The locker was mere steps from the side of the ship. It was three in the morning, pitch dark outside, and no one was stirring on deck as the aircraft carrier cut through the waves on its way to Guam. After checking for anyone else who might be about and not finding any activity, it was mere seconds needed for me to pull what was left of the petty officer to the side of the ship and heave him out into the void. The deck was far enough above the choppy water that not even I heard the splice.
I supposed that, since Tremble was a crew chief, it would not take that long to discover that he was missing. But what care did I have? I doubted they’d ever find out what was happening on the Carl Vinson—or why—or would believe it even if it were staring them in the face. And Stefan, when he had whispered to me what I’d become—what he’d made me—had assured me that I would live forever.