LeCroix 1: New Orleans Rejuvenation

I was there for three nights in the basement strip club on Dauphine Street in the French Quarter, always sitting at the same table. I had picked him out on the first night—a lithe but well-muscled, dark Greek, displaying a mixture of danger and sassiness; much more into what he was doing than any of the other performers. His act was black leather. Studded-leather harness crisscrossing his chest, studded-leather wrist guards and cock ring, shiny black leather boots, and a leather captain’s cap pulled down close over his eyes, hiding his expression until he wanted to reveal it—a beautiful cock and heavy balls. He was young and virile, vital and full of life.

By the second night, he had noticed me, boring my eyes into him, and by the third night he was mesmerized. He only had eyes for me; he wiggled his butt and penis only for me. I sat there, wrapped in my black cape, and he performed only for me. I had no doubts when I had a note passed to him, that he would be there, waiting for me, at the stage door at closing.

I was happy to see that he was out of the leather, into clean-cut white Polo shirt and tight low-rise jeans, as I ushered him into the back of the limousine.

I undressed him as the limo slowly maneuvered through the narrow streets of the quarter and emerged onto Esplanade and drove north. He just sat there and let me pull his shirt over his head, expecting me to do exactly what I was doing. He reached for me, but I pushed him away. He sighed and just leaned back in the cushions, ready for anything. There wasn’t much he hadn’t seen in this life. And he knew that he didn’t make the rules.

I took his sensual, full lips in mine, and our eyes locked as my hands slid down his torso. My lips followed, lingering for a moment on his neck, where I could feel an artery throbbing, urging me to hurry. My hand went to the front of his jeans, and I unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans, and ran my hand under the material and down to his cock. My lips came down to his nipples. He sighed when I caressed his cock and his balls but gave a little lurch when I bit into his chest, just below his right nipple, drawing blood. I lifted my head and gave him an apologetic look with my eyes, taking advantage of the eye contact to draw him in once more and calm him.

My lips went back to where I had bitten him, and I sucked the shallow wound dry, being sure to mix my saliva generously into the wound. Moments later, I looked back up into his eyes, which were already getting drowsy and glazing over.

I stripped his jeans and boots off and lowered my mouth to his hardening cock. I slowly pumped his cock with my mouth, allowing my hands to flutter over his body. He opened his legs to give me access, but he lay back in the seat quietly, his dulled senses centered on the languid blow job I was giving him and on my hands caressing his body.

Despite his lethargy, the virile young man ejaculated in great profusion, and I drank his cum dry, making it mine. I could feel my own long-dormant cock coming to life as I captured his fountains of sperm and made it mine.

I pulled his legs farther apart and kissed his inner thighs. I found another throbbing artery there, where the inner thigh met the groin, and he didn’t seem to mind this time as I gently bit into him there and drank—not much, but just a little—to increase my strength and to further dissipate his.

At the top of Esplanade, the limousine glided silently into the St. Louis Cemetery. Near the middle of the cemetery, the car stopped, and I gently carried the naked young man from the car and laid him on top of one of the raised tombs.

As I stood back, my cape opened, and the young man saw me. I only wore black leather pants under the cape and even these had no crotch in them. The young man stared at me in shock, his eyes open wide, trying to focus and come back to full awareness. His eyes went from my smooth, heavily muscled barrel chest down to my thin waist and flat stomach, and he literally gasped when his scrutiny had traveled farther down. I was inhumanly huge in both length and girth, even when only half engorged. He began to murmur in fear and to try to slide away from me along the top of the tomb. But he was too weak to fight me, too weak already to escape me. Ironically he was responsible for my current size and was still to learn how big I could get thanks to his hospitality.

I moved in toward him and pulled him back to me by his legs. I buried my lips and teeth into his groin, between his inner thigh and his balls on the opposite side to where I had sucked on him before. And I fed on that still-throbbing artery to the legs, while I stroked his cock again. When he was ready to cum once more, I transferred my mouth to his cock and drank him in to the fullest for a second time.

My cock was hard enough now and he was completely defenseless. Awake enough to know what was happening, but weak enough not to either care or to be able to do anything about it. I spread his legs and opened him to me. His hole was as big and as slack as a New Orleans whore can be. But still, he had never been fucked by anyone as long and deep as I already was. It took me a few minutes to enter him six inches, and all the while he was moaning and grunting quietly and writhing languidly below me.

I wrapped my arms around him and lifted his torso to mine. His arms hung limply behind him, his head lolled back. I fed on his left nipple for a few minutes, making quiet, satisfied slurping sounds, the blood dribbling down my chin. And my cock continued to lengthen and thicken.

I let his torso descend down on my cock, and as I plowed what was virgin territory even for him, where no man or dildo had gone before, he moaned in pleasure, all pain now a thing of the past for him. With his last vestiges of strength, he wrapped his arms around my chest and his legs around my buttocks, holding me in, and brought his lips to mine.

He was all mine now. He wanted me to take him, to finish, to possess him fully, to take his virility. I was already fourteen inches into him, tearing him apart, with him no longer able to feel pain, only pleasure. The blood flowing from the rents in his intestines was bathing my cock and my balls and trickling down my thighs. Rejuvenating me. Augmenting my life. Fifteen inches. Sixteen inches.

I released his mouth, and his head lolled back again. His arms and legs lost their strength, and he just lay there against me, but arched back, held in my loving, thankful, worshipping grip. My teeth went to that barely throbbing artery running up the side of his neck and sank in, and I drank deeply. Seventeen inches. Eighteen inches.

When I had drunk him nearly dry, I laid him back on the surface of the tomb. I was at nineteen inches when I gave a little of my own life back to him, flooding his stomach with my precious semen. But by then he already was dead.

I turned and walked briskly back to the darkness of the limousine interior, the spring of new-found youth screaming in my muscles and blood. As I clicked the door shut, the first rays of the dawn found the white marble body stretched out on the gray marble tomb, its arms flung out in open welcome.