Forever Young

JUNE 1720

Disoriented, head still groggy from whatever had been in what he drank earlier, in the dark, putting his hand out and feeling a curtain, eighteen-year-old Franz drew the drapery aside and put his feet on the floor. The richness of a carpet under his bare feet told him he wasn’t in his parents’ residence above the book binding shop. It wasn’t just his feet that were bare. He was naked. Where was this? Why was he here? What was happening to him? Why was he sore “down there”?

Arms emerged from inside the curtain wall, pulling the Austrian youth back onto the bed in the lord’s canopied bed in his chamber high up in the castle in the Austrian Alps. The curtains were drawn closed, making the world of Franz and the Freiherr—the baron—only what was in the confines of the large canopy bed—and the mattress on which the baron had been taking his pleasure with the drugged Franz for some time. Enfolding the young man in his arms again, fully in command, and putting Franz on his knees, chest to silken sheets, under him, the man’s erect cock slipped inside the eighteen-year-old’s channel again. Always a different position, but always the baron’s hard cock in the young man’s tight passage. The lord was crowding a lot of sport into one night.

Holding Franz totally immobile, vulnerable to his penetration, the Freiherr slowly began to move his buried shaft again: in, out, in deeper, hold, back, in, out. The young man moaned for him. The cock easily slid inside the lubricant of having been there before, more than once, during the night.

Franz groaned from the pain of sheathing his first cock, but there was pleasure in this too, not being the first cocking of the night, being held close, kissed in the hollow of his neck, being wanted, his small body being worshipped by the Freiherr in his mountain castle. Aiding the Freiherr’s conquest was that Franz’s inclination, although not tested until now, was toward lying with men. There had never been a thought, even with the drug, that the lord would be denied his sport. Once the baron had seen the handsome young man in the village and Franz had returned the man’s smile and look of interest, it was preordained that the lord would mount him and take his virginity to men from him.

Franz exclaimed at the pain of the teeth incising into his carotid artery in his throat as the thick shaft stoked him, stretched him, worked him. The pain subsided into a sensation of being one with the lord, a chosen one, a lightheadedness and slight throbbing both in the anal channel and at his throat and the feeling of gliding through waves, as his hips went to a rocking motion, moving with the slow, deep thrusts of the Freiherr’s shaft. “Ja, ja, mein Liege—Yes, yes, my lord,” Franz whispered in surrender as he was transported to higher, mistier realms. The young man reached underneath him, grasping his own cock and stroking to the coordinated rhythm of the cock inside him and the sucking at his throat.

In his own heaven, the Freiherr took his pleasure with his cock and fed on the youth’s rejuvenating blood through the hollowness of his fangs. The two fell into a mutually satisfying rhythm, Franz growing more lightheaded, his imaginings more sensual, sensations he’d never had before, as the lord of the castle and all the surrounded it embraced him close, holding the youth under him, mounted on the young man’s hips, riding him high. As he moved his buried shaft in and out, in deeper, in and out, the cock grew in size and length from its ingestion of new life essences. The youth moaned his surrender to his newly experienced sexual pleasure, the exchange of fluids taking the pain away and allowing the pleasure to flow in, and the stretching, stretching, moving cock as the Freiherr fucked and fed, fed and fucked. Franz slowly lost muscle control, sinking inside the lord’s embrace, surrendering all, as the lord held him close, sucking and fucking, fucking and sucking.

It had been easy for the nobleman of ancient family, a rich, handsome, perpetually looking thirty fine figure of a man. It always had been easy for the Freiherr, for hundreds of years. He had seen Franz when the nobleman was sitting in the outdoor café in the village square, sipping his brandy-laced tea. The eighteen-year-old lad was the son of the bookbinder. He was small, perfectly formed, blond, and all smiles as he scurried around here and there in the village streets, on errands for his father—and he had returned the Freiherr’s smile.

The sunny young man had shown himself to be full of innocence and openly friendly without suspicion or reserve. The second time the Freiherr saw the young man in the square he invited Franz to sit with him at the café, drink a chocolate with the patron of the village, and chat about life of a young man in the town in the castle’s shadow. The nobleman had learned that Franz knew how to bind books as well—that he soon would be out on his own, sent to people’s houses to work on their books while his father and elder brother worked in the shop on the square. The Freiherr talked with him about his own library up at the castle and of how some of his favorite books there needed to be rebound. Did the lad think he could do it? Would his father permit him to work in the castle? If so, he would need to live at the castle while he worked.

It was fine with the father. The father was honored. Yes, he understood that there was a lot of binding to do at the castle and this may mean that Franz would be entering the Freiherr’s service permanently. That was fine with the father too. Franz was his second son. He had come of age and it was time he was out on his own. The first son would inherit the business. The father had been worried about a placement for Franz. At eighteen, even as small of stature as Franz was, it was time for him to create a life of his own. The Freiherr’s proposal was a godsend.

In the castle, that night, the nobleman showed Franz his extensive library and some sense of the task ahead for the young man—not the real task the Freiherr had planned for the small, young beauty, the task the youth had been engaged for. All it took to move to the lord’s deeper plan was a drug in Franz’s chocolate as they talked books and their bindings. The baron stole the youth’s innocence and virginity to the cock of a man there, in the library, on a sofa, not able to restrain himself until he could carry the young man upstairs.

Drugged into complete docility, the lad put up no defense. Franz murmured questions the baron did not respond to as he went about taking his pleasure. The Freiherr almost wished he had mounted some semblance of defense, though.

The young became putty in the lord’s hands, his body completely open and vulnerable. Only his face showed the expression of confusion, slight fear, pain, and passion as the Freiherr petted, fondled, and kissed his naked, vulnerable, beautifully supple body—and ultimately mounted, penetrated, and fucked him mercilessly and totally, fucking him with deep penetration and the vigorous strokes of a virile man in lust even the first time.

The Freiherr quickly had the young man unwrapped and lying on the sofa. His body was perfect, beautiful, alabaster white, without blemish. The nobleman trembled and hummed as he worked, letting his hands glide over the flexible, resilient skin, exploring curves and crevices. The youth grimaced as fingers found and entered his rosebud of an anus and worked at opening him there. But when the Freiherr ran his hands up between the lad’s thighs and coaxed them to part after kissing and petting him, Franz sighed, opened his legs, and arched his back.

“Bezaubernd. Süss—Lovely. Sweet. Ich werde dich fricken—I will have you,” the baron whispered. It wasn’t a question, and Franz did not disagree.

The lord was erect and throbbing and the young man open, vulnerable, and yielding, so little time was spent on foreplay. Stripped, the Freiherr kissed down Franz’s torso and across his belly. The youth yielding to him as he positioned Franz’s legs over his shoulders, placed a pillow under the young man’s back to elevate his pelvis, took the lad’s dick in his mouth briefly, and then moved lower to kiss the youth’s rosebud of an entrance and penetrate it with his tongue. Franz was moaning and rocking his hips gently, as the Freiherr lay on top of him on the sofa, gently raised and moved the youth’s knees to hang on his hips, and slid his own knees to where he lay between Franz’s thighs and his cock head was in position.

Handing his erect cock, the Freiherr held his cock bulb to the young man’s slowly dilating entrance and resolutely penetrated him. The drugged youth writhed a bit, panted, and cried as the lord slowly pushed inside him, stretching the youth’s virginal passage, Franz’s eyes wide with pain, surprise, and confusion. Franz managed to whisper, “Bitte, bitte—Please, please,” but the Freiherr interpreted that to mean what he wished it to mean and proceeded to take his pleasure of the virgin.

There was no resistance. Once saddled, the nobleman started to move his shaft, in and out, in and out, and after initial sobs and heavy panting, Franz settled down to accepting the invasion and getting some pleasure amid the pain of this alien invasion. The exchange of body fluids in the Freiherr’s kisses imbued the lad with an essence particular to what the man was that overcast the pain of the act with the prey’s euphoria and pleasure. Even though he wasn’t totally unconscious and he had a sense of what was happening and certainly experienced much of the pain and a little of the pleasure of it, Franz never once thought to question the Freiherr’s right to take whatever he wanted from him. The nobleman didn’t question this either. He felt his entitlement and took his pleasures as he wished.

The stroking of the cock increased in intensity and depth. The baron held Franz tightly and moved into taking his pleasure with thrusts as powerful and deep as if he was using one of the whores in the village brothel rather than stealing a young man’s virginity from him. The baron lost all control and regard for the youth’s moans and sobs and took him totally, even that first time.

The Freiherr became careful near the end, reining himself back, savoring his first time with the young man. He did not feed this time, this first deflowering of the youth. Feeding engorged him to gigantic proportions and that would be dangerous for this first taking of the youth. He held his appetites in obeyance and just enjoyed Franz with his cock, giving the youth his first anal fuck, while Franz, entering a new world, moved in awe of the experience under him. Arching his head back, digging his heels into the cushion of the sofa as best he could in his drugged state, and sacrificially jutting his pelvis up into the lord’s groin, Franz’s eyes flashed and his mouth opened to a yawning, silent scream, whispering “Ja, ja, ja,” as tensing and jerking, straining, and jerking, the Freiherr released, with the youth experiencing the first flow of warm cum deep in his core. The warm cum flowed and flowed. The Freiherr was ever young, supremely virile, fully loaded, and it would be a sensation of pleasure Franz would be experiencing over and over throughout the night.

Finished with the first taking, the Freiherr gathered the youth up in his arms and took him upstairs to the lord’s chamber near the top of the castle for a night of pleasure—the Freiherr’s pleasure, pleasure that extended beyond cock work to include feeding. Still, he would be careful with this one. The beautiful eighteen-year-old blond youth was a keeper. A keeper into eternity. If the baron could not die, he would not suffer this state alone.

In the canopy bed, curtains drawn, creating a world just for the two of them, the Freiherr achieved his ultimate pleasure. Lying on top of the yielding Franz, the young man’s legs spread, his pelvis elevated, his arms stretched out in a sacrificial pose, totally open to the shaft moving deep inside him, the conquering baron nuzzled his face into the hollow of the young man’s throat, kissed him there, sliced into a throbbing artery with his sharp teeth, and fed.

* * * *

JUNE 1820

“He’s late. Get me a young man! A fresh youth. I must feed on high-quality essence.”

Gerhard Baron’s exclamation was so belabored that Franz knew he couldn’t wait longer for the cabin attendant to arrive. He left the first-class cabin on the SS Olympus passenger liner only hours after it cleared the Strait of Gibraltar, leaving the Mediterranean, on its sail from Rome to New York, and walked the decks, looking for a suitable youth. An eighteen-year-old would be ideal for the purpose. Young, fresh, vital. Franz himself was still an eighteen-year-old youth, his eternal condition thanks to his service to the Freiherr, now going out into the world as Gerhard Baron, who also didn’t age beyond thirty.

Franz figured that Baron’s need could not be met from the first- or second-class passenger list, as hiding what transpired would be difficult. But there was the steerage class, a mass of people below decks who were emigrating to the United States from Italy and other Mediterranean countries. There was always a chance there of a young man being lost and not particularly missed—not enough for anyone in authority to care.

With his first-class badge Franz would be able to go down into the bowels of the ship as he pleased and return without challenge by the ship’s crew. Some of the men, especially the second-class ones, went down there for their sport. The voyage would be long, men’s needs were short term, and those in the hull needed money. The problem would be in getting a young man up into first class and away from first class again, as needed. Franz had already explored the ship extensively and he knew the safest routes around where the ship’s officers roamed, looking for passengers out of class. He took a shirt and pair of trousers of his that were of expensive cut and Baron’s first-class badge and went on the hunt.

He got down to steerage without trouble and went shopping, checking out all of the likely young men, looking for ones not firmly within their family’s bosom, and concentrating on youths eighteen or not much older—small, fair of face, and perfect of body. Only the best would do for Baron. As he appeared to be eighteen himself, no one was meeting him with suspicion. He was such a handsome, blond youth himself, with a sunny, open disposition, that he had no trouble engaging and talking with people and learning of their connections and their possible interests and independence. He was looking for a young man such as himself, who attracted others easily and brought smiles to their faces.

It was not long before he came to a beautiful, dark-haired, olive-skinned youth sitting in a crowded corridor beside a closed door and looking despondent. He could hear a clamor of women’s voices from beyond the closed door, and the youth seemed to be tuned to them as well. The young man brightened a bit, though, when he saw Franz approaching. Franz recognized a look that was more than friendly at the base and instantly discerned an interest from the youth that matched the need Franz was hunting for. He crouched down beside the young man.

“What’s the concern?” he asked. “What’s going on this cabin that seems to have you concerned? My name is Franz, by the way.”

“I’m Angelo,” the young man answered. Ah, an angel, Franz thought. Just the thing. The Freiherr loved debauching angels. With luck, this one was a virgin to men, which was what pleasured Baron the most.

“I think my aunt may be dying in there,” he said, responding to Franz’s question, misconstruing—purposely from Franz’s perspective—what the nature of Franz’s concern was.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. What is the problem?”

“She is very ill. They don’t know if she can survive or not.”

“Are your parents in there with her?”

“My parents are in Italy. They are sending me to America with her. Her husband is already there. My parents want me to have a new life in America.”

“So, you are alone on the ship with your aunt?”

“Yes.”

“Your parents must think your life will be much better in America than here.” He put a hand on Angelo’s knee and he felt the youth trembling, but he made no move to pull away from the touch by another man.

“You are such a handsome young man. Did they have a special reason to send you away?” His master’s need was acute, Franz didn’t have much time to find him a youth. He had a notion what the issue here and the young man’s proclivities were. He would check that out quickly and, if wrong, move on in his search. “Was it a man? If so, don’t be embarrassed. I know the problem well.”

“One of my uncles in Naples, yes,” Angelo admitted, lowering his eyes, his long, dark eyelashes fluttering. “He is very powerful and takes what he wants.”

“And he wanted you?” Angelo didn’t respond immediately. “And you find him attractive? It isn’t just that he wants you?”

“You understand,” Angelo said. “My parents did not. My uncle is a very handsome and rich man.”

“And did this man, this uncle—?”

“No. My parents intervened and sent me to my aunt.”

“Why don’t you come take a walk with me? You can’t be of any help here. Come with me and I will take you where you can have a beer and calm your nerves.”

“They don’t serve beer here.”

“They do where I come from on the ship, and if you put these clothes on and take this badge to show if anyone stops us—but don’t give them a close look at it, please—we’ll be fine. Come up to the top decks with me. There is fresh air, and space, and beer there. The diversion will give you new perspective on your problems.”

They got back in the first-class area without trouble. Franz stopped at a bar on the way up and got two steins of beer, having Angelo wait on the deck outside. Before going back to him, Franz drugged the young man’s beer.

By the time they made it back to Baron’s cabin, Angelo was a bit groggy. By the time he was on Baron’s bed, and the man was undressing and petting him, he was totally manageable and open and vulnerable to everything Baron did with him. It wasn’t that the young man had ever done this before or that he would be so easily handled if he wasn’t drugged, but Franz could discern that the young man had thought favorable fantasies of being in this position, and his defenses were all down. Franz went back on deck and sat in one of the lounge chairs outside the door of Baron’s cabin, while, inside the cabin, the man fucked and fed on the eighteen-year-old Italian youth.

After a bit of fondling and petting of the perfectly formed and sexy small Italian, Baron moved on top of him with the young man on his back and his arms going straight from his body and clutching the edges of the bunk. Baron had coaxed the youth’s legs open and bent, Angelo’s feet flat on the bed. Baron’s need was great, so he took little time getting inside the young man. He put an arm under the youth’s back, raising his pelvis to Baron’s need. The young man was a virgin and would have cried out in pain and violation, if Baron didn’t have Angelo’s underpants stuffed in his mouth, so it took some time and much groaning and panting from Angelo for the man to be fully saddled. But the enjoyment to Baron in doing that, enjoying the yielding suffering of the youth, paused his need to feed.

Angelo sobbed, panted hard, and groaned as Baron penetrated him, but the Italian youth offered no resistance other than muffled objections that soon subsided into moans and groans, and, ultimately, to Angelo moving his hips into the rhythm of the taking.

“Entspannen und offen—Relax and open to it,” Baron murmured and when German seemed to have no effect, he tried it in Italian. “Rilassati e apriti ad esso.” This got through to Angelo, and slowly, panting, the young man let the tension drain out of him. And slowly Baron’s cock sank into him and stretched the youth’s channel walls. Once he was buried inside the young man and was slow pumping him, the sounds from the youth turned into moans and whispers of “Per favore, per favore. Sì, sì.—Please, please . . . yes, yes.” When he dug his hands into Baron’s buttocks, holding him close, and began rowing his hips in rhythm with the man’s thrusts, it was evident that he was content to give his anal virginity up to this magnificently muscular and virile man on top of him.

Once he knew he had the young Italian fully under his control and responding to his cocking, Baron leaned down to him, licked the young man’s throat, and sank his teeth into the throbbing artery he found there. Angelo gave an exclamation of surprise and pain as the teeth sliced into his carotid artery and he thrashed around momentarily, but he was completely under Baron’s control. He settled down to the rhythm of the fuck and the feeding quickly and without further resistance. His eyes opened wide, and his mouth was in a yawn, though, as he felt Baron’s shaft inside him expanding in length and thickness, stretching the youth’s channel to the limit as the infusion of blood rejuvenated the man. To compensate the special essence that the man returned to Angelo helped passion and pleasure overcome fear and pain in the young man. The two moved as one, Angelo responding to the rhythm of the taking as if he’d done this many times before, which he hadn’t, the younger part of the body transferring the elixir of life to the older.

Outside the cabin, Franz watched the approach of the cabin attendant, a young, fine-looking, dusky-skinned Moroccan, who was shuffling along as in a trance but with a sloppy grin on his face. He was carrying the change in bedding and bath towels that he would have delivered hours earlier if his life had not become zombie like. He smiled languidly at Franz and entered the cabin. Franz, who had been sitting on deck outside the cabin, could have stopped the attendant from entering, but he did not. He regretted having brought Angelo to Gerhard Baron, but the attendant was beyond his help. Franz had instantly liked Angelo. He would have liked to have time to be with him himself. His greatest concern was that he didn’t know how far Baron would go with the young Italian.

Franz let the Moroccan attendant enter the cabin and waited fifteen minutes before going in to check what was happening in there. The attendant hadn’t come back out.

Inside the cabin, the attendant had encountered Baron and Angelo in a changed position. Baron was sitting at the foot of the bed. Angelo was in his lap, facing the cabin door. He was on Baron’s cock, the youth’s legs streaming back behind the man’s hips and both sides. The young man’s torso was arched back, with Baron embracing his chest with one arm and stroking the young man’s cock with the hand of the other. He had his face buried in the youth’s throat and was feeding on him while moving his hips in fucking the Italian. Angelo was moaning, a sloppy grin on his face that nearly matched that on the attendant’s countenance. The attendant padded around the room, putting the linens he’d brought down here and there, his eyes concentrating on the taking of the Italian youth.

When Franz entered the cabin, another change had taken place.

Baron was on his back on the bed. The Moroccan was stretched out on top of him, naked, facing the ceiling. Baron had one arm embracing the Moroccan’s chest and the hand of the other one stroking the youth’s cock. The Moroccan youth was skewered on Baron’s cock and his feet were pressing into the bed on either side of Baron’s thighs and he was using them for leverage to rise and fall on Baron’s cock. Baron’s face was buried in the hollow of the Moroccan’s throat and he was feeding on the young man’s blood—as he had been doing for days as the ship plowed its way west through the Mediterranean.

Franz found the Italian youth, Angelo, in a puddle at the foot of the door, whimpering and panting. He was weak, but he was alive. He also was still quite groggy, unsure of where he was and what had been done to him. When he became more conscious—if he became more conscious—the soreness in his channel would tell him he no longer was a virgin to men. Franz suspected that he would be grateful for that and would build on it, but he might always wonder why the first time had come with weakness and incisions in his throat. Ever after he would have the wildest, most sensual and energy-draining dreams. He very likely would wonder if, like Franz and Gerhard Baron, he never aged, the effect on him was the same as on the other two. It wasn’t clear to Franz, however, whether the effects were the same for a youth used once and one, like Franz, who Baron used almost daily. Franz hoped the effects would be temporary on the Italian youth. Otherwise, Angelo may never know what circumstance had imprisoned him to the never-ending life of torment that Franz suffered. He regretted now having brought him into this.

Franz dressed the young man and helped him out of the cabin and onto deck. The railing was just steps away, from which it was a long, straight drop into the sea. Once on deck, Franz realized Angelo was dressed in Franz’s expensive clothes and still had Baron’s first-class badge. Franz sat the confused Angelo in a lounge chair and took Baron’s badge from him.

“Here. Wait here a moment. I’ll get your clothes,” he said. He went back into the cabin and retrieved Angelo’s own clothes. Baron was still fucking and sucking on the Moroccan room attendant.

When he went back on deck, Angelo was gone. Franz ran to the passage doors in both directions and back without seeing the other youth. He went to ship’s rail, in panic, and looked down, but there was nothing there either. In succeeding days he roamed the steerage decks as he was able, but he never came across any evidence of Angelo. He forever worried and regretted what happened to the innocent young man. Had he been challenged and returned to steerage or, in his drugged state, had he gone over the rails and into the sea? Franz never knew and he never became content in not knowing.

Just one more worry to plague Franz for eternity.

* * * *

JUNE 1920

Gerald Baron engaged one of the largest cabanas on the Cape May, New Jersey, beach. It was there for the season, in a long line of cabanas. The walls were folding wooden panels with footing posts that anchored it in the sand. The line of cabanas was located at the top of the beach before the oat-grass covered dune in front of the Promenade boardwalk that bordered Beach Avenue and the summer resort town of Victorian hotels beyond. The ceiling and walls covering the wooden panels were orange and yellow canvas. The other cabanas were of varying colors, making for a festive beach area. The flooring was the sand. The furnishings were a couple of wicker chairs, a small table between them, a cot covered with colorful pillows, and a large copper basin, filled with straw and dry ice and cooling a dozen or more bottles of beer.

Baron was stretched out on the cot, naked, and playing with his half-erect cock. Franz was wearing swim trunks and an athletic T top, as risqué as the respectable bathing costume of the day got, as he was the one who had to do the fetching.

He’d brought his master a hunky lifeguard going off morning duty who had watched Baron and Franz setting up shop in the cabana and who seemed interested in both the sexy thirty-year-old man and the beautiful eighteen-year-old youth accompanying him. The lifeguard himself was sex on a stick. His swimming trunks were tighter than normal, showing the curve of a big cock, and his athletic T was looser than most, giving glancing peeks at a finely muscled chest. Those seeing the two beautiful males together, Baron and Franz, no doubt speculated on their relationship and no doubt were correct. It helped winnow out the men interacting with them, though. If they revealed they were attracted to Baron and Franz, they were approachable. The lifeguard had interacted easily with Franz. The swell in his trunks when he talked with Franz screamed of his interest.

A bit of flirting by Franz and the offer of a cold beer as the lifeguard was gathering up his gear and turning his chair over to a replacement resulted in Franz and the lifeguard sitting on the sand at the cabana entrance, teasing each other with an interest both knew they shared, and drinking beer. Fingers surreptitiously touched the flesh of the other without rejection and thus set the stage. The lifeguard’s beer was drugged, which moved the play along. After the two had disappeared into the shadows between the orange and yellow cabana and the blue and green one beside it and Franz had given the lifeguard a blow job, the lifeguard was affected by the drug enough that he could barely stand, let alone organize a fuck of the perpetually eighteen-year-old youth.

Franz helped the lifeguard into the cabana and turned him over to Baron, who put the handsome, muscular, deeply tanned young man, naked, on his belly, on the cot, strapped his wrists to the rung at the head of the cot, mounted the young man’s ass, and fucked him. While Baron was getting his cock buried, the lifeguard writhed as best he could under the influence of the drug, indicating that he hadn’t bottomed for anyone before. Virgins to the anal fuck came in all ages. He bottomed for Gerald Baron now, and when he settled down into the rhythm of the fuck, Baron leaned over and kissed and licked the lifeguard’s artery in his neck, bring it to the surface. His teeth sliced into the carotid and he fed and fucked, fucked and fed.

Franz went down on his haunches in the doorway to the cabana, watching his master at work, wishing that he was him with the lifeguard—and with Baron, for that matter.

When Baron fired off an ejaculation, he rolled off the lifeguard and pulled the young man’s defenseless body onto the sand.

“I need a fresh young man, is what I need,” Baron said, wiping the blood off his lips with the back of his hand. “Take this one away and bring me a young man—preferable one who is just eighteen.” Franz helped the lifeguard up and out of the cabana, laying him down on a towel on his back as if he were taking the sun. Then he went off on the hunt.

While he had been developing the interest of the lifeguard, Franz had also been engaging and flirting with some of the youths on the beach, considering who he would go after if Baron called for an eighteen-year-old, as he, in fact, now had. He’d looked for young men who not only registered a sexual interest in him, which he had honed that ability to see even before the other youth or man did, but also who could easily be isolated from others—who didn’t appear to be on the beach in the company of others. Baron would require his prey quickly, but he would want to spend some time with him, and he wouldn’t want to worry about detection. Not that any harm could come to such as hundreds-of-years-old Gerald Baron.

Franz had just the young man in mind. The youth Franz had in mind had come down from the street unaccompanied. And he was an arrogant, having-to-be-in-charge and the focus of attention youth. He had been very direct with Franz while they were both engaging in a pickup game of beach volleyball. They had flirted and the young man wanted to take Franz somewhere and have his way with him. He was quick to identify as a top and to assume that Franz would be a willing submissive.

The young man, named Jock, was easily found now and Franz had no trouble convincing him he wanted to share a couple of beers with Franz, “Over by that orange and yellow tent cabana,” and then go inside the cabana for a while.

They did that, but Jock’s beer was laced with a nearly incapacitating drug, and when they entered the cabana, Baron, saying, “What a beautiful, nasty youth,” took over, putting the young man under him, fucking him and feeding on him.

Franz went back out on the beach and walked around. He’d been doing this for nearly two hundred years, acquiring youths for Baron to fuck and feed on. When Baron was pleased with what Franz brought to him, he would lay Franz too. He would feed on Franz, but under very controlled circumstances. He never drained Franz dry, although Franz sometimes wished he would, if that would release Franz from this life that had become so monotonous for him, hours of routine relieved with only moments of sexual and feeding passion and satisfaction. The lord wouldn’t let Franz go and he’d given the perpetual youth both attributes and appetizes that made the young man totally his and in enslaved service to him. Franz had gotten to the point of wanting it to stop. But he had no idea of how to do this if the master wouldn’t do it for him—couldn’t do it for him. And he didn’t have these feelings when the Freiherr was fucking him and feeding on him.

Franz walked the beach for a few hours, oblivious to the world about him, just ignoring a series of propositions from those who wanted his perfect body.

When he returned to the cabana, it was empty. Both Baron and the cocky youth he had been cocking and draining were gone. The lifeguard was still lying on the towel outside the cabana, though. The sun was starting to sink and the beach was almost deserted. Franz helped the still-groggy lifeguard into the cabana and settled him on his back on the cot.

The lifeguard moaned and held the youth’s head in his hands as Franz sucked him to a massive erection. Then Franz came up on the cot on his knees, positioned himself over the lifeguard’s hips, facing him, and descended on the cock. When the two were well fused and moving together in the fuck, Franz leaned over the handsome, muscular lifeguard’s torso, nudged his face into the hollow of the lifeguard’s neck, bit into his throbbing carotid artery there, and fed on the virile young man while fucking himself on the lifeguard’s cock.

The lifeguard didn’t fight Franz. He wasn’t so doped up that he didn’t know what was happening. He was having sex with a good-looking eighteen-year-old who knew how to give good head and who rode the cock well. He slitted his eyes, moaned deeply, and put his hands on Franz’s sides, drumming the pads of his fingers against the soft, resilient flesh of the supposed young man, knowing what was happening. Enjoying the fuck. Enjoying the sucking of his blood at the same time just as much.

As prime a specimen as the lifeguard was, he wasn’t able to be drained by two such as Baron and Franz and walk away from the experience. The next morning when the cleaners went through the cabanas to prepare them for another day’s rental, the handsome lifeguard still lay on the cot in the orange and yellow tented cabana, arms and legs dangling off the side of the cot, staring at the tent ceiling with unlooking eyes, but with a beatific smile on his face. The cleaners agreed that he looked unnaturally pale for a beach lifeguard near the end of the summer session.

* * * *

JUNE 2020

The men in the attic room of the Detroit flophouse were circling Franz for position as they all sat around an open fire set in a metal drum head in the center of the room, radiating a bit of warmth and light out toward the corners of the low-angle-ceiling room. There were other homeless men in other rooms using the same tactic for light and warmth. Yes, they sometimes burned down the derelict building they were in, but then the survivors just moved into another building. There were many of them abandoned in this section of Detroit. The owners of these buildings didn’t mind the free clearance of their city lots that might be worth something someday in some future resurgence of the Detroit economy.

Those who were attracted to men among those who had come into the abandoned building to escape the cold gravitated toward the attic room, drawn there by the looks of and response to attention from Franz. All of them in this room had hopes of hooking up with the young man, younger than any of them. There wasn’t a single man in the room who didn’t lust after the eighteen-year-old.

It wasn’t all that cold in the attic, but still Franz had further piqued the interest of the bundled-up homeless guys around him by stripping off his shirt and showing his perfectly formed, lightly muscled, perpetually eighteen-year-old torso. He was blond and blue eyed, more beautiful than handsome. He exuded a sense of purity and innocence while flashing sensual flirty “come hither” looks to the men around him that attracted and aroused them.

He wanted it. Every man in the room knew the young guy wanted it. Each of them wanted to be the one who gave him what he wanted—what it would take from them. He was showing as the perfect submissive.

In the century since Franz had last seen his master, the Freiherr, in the Cape May beach cabana, Franz had skidded across the surface of life, managing to stay alive because he could not die. Not only couldn’t he die; he also couldn’t lose his eighteen-year-old beauty and allure to a certain kind of man. He existed through getting support and substance here and there by being an eternal desirable eighteen. There always were men who would pay for the use of his beautiful body. He’d steadily gone down in life emotionally, though, and was near bottom in this abandoned Detroit tenement.

Little did the homeless men surrounding him in the abandon building’s attic know, but it was not they who were hunting him for a few minutes of sexual bliss in the shadows of an empty room. Franz was the one hunting them, looking for the best of possibilities. He required no less now than the Freiherr required to be healthy and rise above pain. There was no greater agony than to be in pain and know the only relief from it was, not death, but the stealing of life. The quality of the essence that kept Franz ticking along at an efficient level was fitness, youth, and vitality—his, yes, but that of the men he lay under and fed on as well. Shopping among the homeless was a daunting task. It was less risky than shopping among the rich young men of the city.

No one missed a homeless man who suddenly just gave up, drained. Literally.

The best of the men Franz saw in the attic room was a muscular black man in his mid or late twenties named Rondo. The men around the fire had talked of their lives. They wanted to talk; they all wanted to tell of when they were “somebody” and would be “somebody” again “someday.” Franz was sketchy about his background, as the men would not have believed what he could tell them about going on to four hundred years of living and feeding. The man Franz was zeroing in on, the muscular black Rondo, had tried out for a professional football team, had not made the cut, and had fallen fast into homelessness. He was still in pristine shape, though, and worked out however and whenever he could. He was determined to make a comeback, his spirit not yet having been defeated.

It was the man’s resilient spirit that Franz needed most to tap. His physical vitality also made him a target.

Franz turned his flirty eyes onto the black stud. The others in the room got the message—it was fairly obvious to all that Rondo was the only stallion present—and nothing was said when Rondo and Franz pulled away from the group circling the fire and retreated to the shadows under the eaves across the room. Franz had carefully left the impression that Rondo was just the first of the men Franz would take, and, who knows, if the night had turned out otherwise, perhaps this would have been the case.

The other men could only wish that they would have their own chance after Rondo had taken what he wanted. It was clear that the sexy young blond loved taking cock, so chances were good he’d take each of theirs in turn after Rondo had used him. As they had sat around the fire, most of the men had undone their flies and brought out their shafts, and Franz had stroked them with his hand, offering the promise of more as the night progressed, but, in fact, shopping for the most suitable examples. Homeless boys like him would give it up for a half-smoked cigarette. This one had agreed to go with the black stud for no more than the last couple of swallows from a bottle of cheap liquor. Possibly the only barrier to the men going into a frenzy and taking the boy right there and then, together, by force, was the belief he had instilled in them that they all could have him personally and privately, in succession, as the night unfolded.

The two tried to be circumspect, as the others turned occasionally to see what they could see back in the shadows. Rondo sat against a low wall, the roof inclining over his head and covered Franz’s body stretched out before him with a blanket, Franz embracing the black stud’s waist with his arms, Rondo’s fly open, his jeans flared, and Franz’s mouth covering the black man’s thick jet-black cock with his mouth, sucking his shaft. When Rondo was engorged, Franz went down on his back under the black stud and shucked his jeans and briefs off. Rondo entered him with his erection and gasped and opened his eyes wide when he realized that Franz had talented channel wall muscles that grasped and rippled over the shaft, spreading for it and pulling it deeper into the youth’s core.

Rondo covered them both with the blanket, which moved in an undulating rustling wave rhythm, as men stole furtive glances at it from across the room, many of them with the hope they would be next and the anticipation that it eventually would be their turn, as the black man and blond youth fucked, setting up a steady rhythm of rise and fall of the rustling blanket. There was no difficulty in discerning with the thick shaft was withdrawing from when it was plunging deep. Franz’s facial expressions of dominated pleasure, even in the shadows, were clear as were the cause of his groans and deep moans. Rondo was fucking him well. Each and every other man in the room was fantasizing that it was he who was fucking the young man—believing that it soon would be him in reality.

Franz hugged Rondo’s hips with his knees, held the man in close embrace, with his arms around the black man’s chest, and nestled his face into the hollow of the man’s neck. He licked and kissed the man’s throat, coaxing Rondo to turn his head and expose his throbbing carotid artery to the youth’s lips and teeth. So sensual was the working of Franz’s channel muscles on the thrusting cock that Rondo barely felt or noticed the slicing of Franz’s fangs into his artery, the slight sucking noise Franz was making at his throat, or the ears-ringing weakness coming from the steady loss of blood. With a little cry, the black stud tensed and jerked and came, tensed and jerked and came, tensed and jerked and came again.

Holding him close, Franz, did not let the man withdraw. He coaxed another rising out of him, and virile and needy, the black man was able to go hard and vigorous in the stroke yet again. The cock stroked with an ever slower and more languid movement. Franz held on tight to the chest of the slight panting and gasping of the black stud, moving his hips with the renewed fuck and feeding on the throat, as the man ebbed away, a look of pleasure and satisfaction on his face.

Franz lay under the dead weight of the black man, gliding his hands over the bulging muscles of the once-vital and -magnificent body, concentrating on the thick jet-black cock inside him going flaccid for the last time. The youth’s own body was rejuvenated—it was the best feeding he’d had in weeks—but he was sad in his mind. He was sad that he had to continue taking life like this—although the men always went out happier and more sexually fulfilled than they ever had been before. It was sad to have to take life to maintain a life he would gladly give up if he could.

Neither Franz nor Rondo stirred when the cry of “Fire! Fire!” rang out from the story below—because neither one of them cared anymore. When the other homeless men in the attic jumped up and headed for the hall and the stairs down to safety, though, Franz dragged himself out from underneath Rondo’s body and headed for the stairs himself. On the landing of the story below, he paused. Down was a stairway to the outside and safety. To the left was a doorway into what had become an inferno of flames, rising to the ceiling, licking at the walls.

Franz hesitated for only a moment before turning and walking into the flames. Nothing else he’d tried over the past century had worked. Maybe fire would give him cleansing release.