LeCroix 6: Sailing Back into Life

Alphonse waved happily to the captain on shore as he tossed the ropes over onto the dock and pushed the sailboat off into the water, out onto Lake Pontchartrain. The captain had the oddest expression on his face, as if he regretted something. And perhaps he did. Perhaps he was worried about the welfare of his boat. Alphonse never thought the captain had liked him, and this was the first time he’d allowed the young man to take out a charter on his own. A night cruise on Lake Pontchartrain. Very unusual. Also very unusual that the charter party had stayed below for the launching. The captain had just said to take the boat out nearly to the center of the lake and to bring it back in three hours. Alphonse bet he knew what the charter was about. Probably some rich married CEO fucking some rich married bitch and each wanting to avoid getting caught at it. The people chartering this cruise probably would never come out of the cabin; he’d just be down there plowing her and rocking the boat for the full three hours. They’d probably pay Alphonse no heed at all. That was fine with Alphonse. The one he wanted to make love to was this sailboat.

But the young man was wrong on both counts. Below was Philippe LeCroix, a recluse old-world planter, with plantations in two states to prove it. And Philippe was very much aware of Alphonse. He had specified to the captain of the boat exactly who he had wanted to take him out on this cruise, and he’d paid the captain a huge amount of money to forget he’d ever let this particular charter or had every known the quadroon Alphonse. Or was that the right term, Philippe wondered. It certainly was the right term here in New Orleans when Philippe was growing up. A quadroon had been someone who was one-quarter black and three quarters white. This was almost always a heavenly mix back in the early days of the city, accounting for most of the city’s mistresses, and Alphonse was no exception to that. Philippe had first seen him playing with a blues band near the French Market in the Quarter one dark night around the time of Mardi Gras. The young man, with that creamy chocolate body, had been full of life and had a smile that lit up the world. And he was beautiful. He was achingly beautiful, well-muscled, but lithe, a handsome face, and a free spirited dancing quality about him.

Philippe was watching the young man now, through a window out onto the deck from a darkened cabin. Alphonse wore nothing but frayed cut-offs as he put his dancing muscles into unfurling the sail all by himself, drawing the sailboat out into the broad lake. He was poetry in motion. Philippe was already looking forward to his next week, to being a free, dancing spirit himself, if only for the week.

The young man was at the wheel, staring intensely out to the open water when Philippe glided out onto the deck, wrapped in a black cape that Alphonse wouldn’t notice until Philippe was near to him. The young man must have sensed his presence—or the presence of something, at least—because he turned when Philippe was still a good eight feet behind him. Their eyes locked, Alphonse’s a light blue that gave interest to his light-chocolate-colored skin; Philippe’s a penetrating violet that had the power to mesmerize. And Alphonse was mesmerized by those eyes, held by them, as Philippe unfurled his cape and stood there, an aging, but still well-preserved man appearing to be approaching fifty. He was naked to the waist, and showed a barrel chest and a solid, not fat, torso and a belly that was nearly flat. But his most distinguishing feature was what was swinging between his legs. He was wearing tight black leather pants, but they were open at the crotch, and he was swinging a good ten inches of only slightly hardened, very thick cock and two very heavy balls.

Alphonse only had time to take in a large gulp of breath and open his mouth to scream, when Philippe was upon him, enveloping him in the black cape and stopping the scream by forcing his lips between Alphonse’s open lips, and pushing his tongue into the young man’s mouth, swabbing the inside of his mouth with his saliva, transferring his own special venom that immobilized its victims.

As Alphonse quieted down and slumped back against the wheel, Philippe produced some heavy leather straps and tied the young man’s arms to the wheel, pinning him there in a standing position. Alphonse watched Philippe do this with long slender fingers capped off by long, sharp nails, and the young man’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and he screamed in pain, as Philippe slashed him up across the chest with the nails of one hand and then back down across his abs and belly, causing blood to start flowing. Philippe seemed a little surprised and chagrined that Alphonse had cried out pain as he had, and the older man’s mouth went straight to the chest wounds. He was heavily mixing his saliva in with the blood and tonguing it into the wound, allowing the toxin to race through Alphonse’s veins. Alphonse’s eyes went cloudy, and he started to go numb. The additional saliva was deadening the young man’s sense of pain.

Philippe busily sucked and tongued the blood off of Alphonse’s chest, as he undid the buttons on the young man’s cut-offs and tore them off his body. As he had suspected, Alphonse had quite a nice, long cock and a good set of balls. He had no pubic hair, and Philippe was excited to note a slight throbbing there, promising a good vein near the surface running down Alphonse’s groin.

Philippe knelt in front of the young man, burying his face in his belly and sucking up the blood that the slashing had produced. With his hands, he worked Alphonse’s cock and balls, hardening the cock and coaxing the balls to produce as much semen as possible. When the young man was hard, Philippe took his cock in his mouth and worked him to ejaculation, rolling and squeezing the young man’s balls, getting as much ejaculate to emit as possible. Alphonse watched this procedure from above, somewhat disengaged with what was happening to his body, feeling and getting pleasure from the blow job, but not quite feeling like he was a participant. He couldn’t figure out why this man was sucking him off. The man didn’t seem to be enjoying it all that much; it was just as if he was only milking him.

Alphonse was aware enough to observe that, as he got weaker from the loss of blood and the milking, the man was getting stronger. When the man stood back up now, Alphonse thought he looked a little younger, a little leaner, his leg muscles filling out the pants more, a little beefier in the arms and chest—and his cock seemed even longer and thicker than it had seemed before.

Alphonse was still ruminating over this in a scattered sort of way when the man unlashed him from the wheel, picked him up, and took him over the lifeboat that was swinging back and forth off the stern of the boat. Philippe placed the younger man in the boat on his back, his head propped up on the bow and his arms and legs splayed out in either direction over the sides. His back and buttocks were supported by two plank seats that spanned the width of the boat. The rowboat rocked back and forth as Philippe climbed into it as well and sat, cross-legged below Alphonse’s pelvis.

Putting his long slender hands, under Alphonse’s butt cheeks, Philippe raised the young man’s pelvis and brought his mouth down to meet it. His mouth and tongue moved over the surface of the hairless groin until they sensed the throbbing of a vein running down from Alphonse’s belly to the root of the cock. Philippe flashed his sharp incisors out, but just as he was about to slice into the tender flesh of the groin, he stopped, realizing that he needed to milk Alphonse again and not wanting that particular vein, which undoubtedly fed the cock, to collapse before he did. So, he turned his tongue and teeth to the side, to the vein running down into the right leg. He located the tender spot where it ran down along the edge of the groin down to the inner thigh. He rolled his lips and tongue on the surface of Alphonse's skin until he could feel the gushing of the vein, and he sank his teeth deeply and sucked until he had a good stream going. And then he just drank it in. He held the leg up to provide opening for his mouth with the left hand and his right hand went back to working Alphonse’s cock, preparing him for that second extraction.

Alphonse watched what Philippe was doing to him with only passing interest. The gentle rocking of the boat, in rhythm with Philippe’s sucking action, was lulling Alphonse toward sleep, and he might have dozed off it hadn’t been for two things. First, Philippe was doing interesting things to his cock again, tantalizing the cock and balls to reload. And, even more fascinating, Philippe was slowly changing before his eyes. He continued to appear ever younger, and his body started to tighten up and get the well-cut features of a much younger man. Also, his cock was getting impossibly big. But, most fascinating of all, his skin was tanning. He was turning slightly darker.

When the leg vein collapsed, Alphonse’s cock was only beginning to harden again. Philippe examined the ball sac to determine how the next harvest of semen was coming along. Philippe sucked the cock for a few minutes and then returned to hand pumping Alphonse and moved his mouth to below the balls. He lifted Alphonse’s hips, and the young man felt Philippe actually chewing at the rim of his ass, bloodying him up down there and slurping up the blood with big smacks of his lips.

Alphonse finally hardened up and his sacs seemed heavy with semen again. Philippe came up off the bottom of the rowboat, lifted Alphonse’s butt and ass and slid under him and sat on the seat facing Alphonse’s head. Alphonse was resting his butt cheeks in Philippe’s lap and the older man’s long, long, heavy cock ran up the small of the back of the younger man and reached for his shoulder blades. The cock had grown considerably while Philippe had fed on the vein into Alphonse’s leg. Philippe raised Alphonse’s pelvis to his face, slid the young man’s long, hard cock into his mouth, and sucked him off again, not releasing him until all of the semen in the ball sacs had been delivered.

As Philippe was sucking Alphonse off, he could feel a large, full vein running the underside of the cock, bringing the engorging blood to the cock, the blood that made sex possible. The vein was still throbbing and engorged when Philippe was finished, so he lifted the cock with one hand, and, with an added little thrill of intimacy, sank his teeth into that vein and drank the thick sex blood until the vein collapsed. Then Philippe’s tongue and lips went directly in search of that vein running across the groin to the root of Alphonse’s cock again, and when he’d found it, he buried his teeth there and drank richly of that blood, which had been backing up in its inability to flow down the collapsed vein in the cock.

Alphonse began to drift off, murmuring to himself at first and then quietly singing the blues, songs his subconscious remembered from his stint with the band, while he felt Philippe’s dick rise up his back and watched the man who was feeding on him grow younger and more handsome and more perfect of body and more deeply tanned.

When the vein in the groin played out, Philippe went to the hollow of the inner thigh of the left leg and feasted on that vein. Alphonse’s legs were useless to him now, the major veins running down into them having collapsed.

Philippe stood and swung out of the boat. Then he hauled Alphonse out of the boat, with his arms under Alphonse’s arms and locked across his chest. Philippe was quite strong now—again—and he made dancing movements as he brought Alphonse back beyond the wheel and pushed him up on the nearly flat roof of the cabin.

Philippe had a monster cock now, a good thirteen inches long. He seemed to be in somewhat of a hurry. He stretched Alphonse down on top of the cabin roof on his side, and lay down behind him. He pounded on the roof of the cabin, and another man, his driver, appeared and took the wheel of the sailboat and headed farther out from land.

The two men now on their sides, Philippe positioned his pelvis below Alphonse’s ass, his dick head near Alphonse’s hole. He lifted Alphonse’s right arm in the air with his left hand and nuzzled his mouth and lips into Alphonse’s arm pit. When they had found the slight throbbing there of the vein, he sank his teeth in and began to feed again. His right hand went to Alphonse’s asshole and, with those long, sharp fingernails, he dug in and shredded the rim and the anal walls as far up into the canal as his slender fingers could reach, working up the blood at the entrance, bringing his fingers back out and smearing it on the head of his own dick. He was moaning and groaning and buried his teeth even further into the vein at Alphonse’s armpit.

Alphonse was singing quietly to himself, watching the sails flap back and forth in the wind above them, slowly losing focus on what they were and where he was. But not caring. All feelings of his ravishment now were slightly pleasurable. The toxin in the salvia was covering the pain.

Philippe’s cock was loving the bath of blood at Alphonse’s ass and had gone to fifteen inches already. He brought the cock to the bloodied hole with his right hand and rubbed the head around inside the hole when he was able to stuff the head in there. The head was being smeared in Alphonse’s life’s blood, and Philippe was panting and heaving. He lifted Alphonse’s right leg up in full extension, and in one mighty effort, he thrust up, driving his cock in, letting it rip and tear as it ascended in one long journey to the center. What blood was left in that area poured down out of the hole and into Philippe’s pubic hair. Philippe went up on his knees, gathering the young quadroon in to him with a strong arm wrapped around his belly. And at seventeen inches in, Philippe spilled his seed, letting it mingle with Alphonse’s blood and accepting the gift of the life and strength and beauty from Alphonse, if only for another week. Alphonse’s tune had been cut off in mid note somewhere between fourteen and fifteen inches in, but Philippe sat there for some time rocking back and forth, Alphonse’s body folded into his, his cock still buried deep, and, although he never could carry a tune before, Philippe had taken up Alphonse’s blues song where the young man had left off and was quietly singing it back to Alphonse.

Philippe and his driver sailed back to the dock, and after they had disembarked from the now-empty sailboat, a heavily tanned Philippe was virtually dancing across the stones on the way to the limousine, singing the blues to himself.