LeCroix 7: Harvesting in the Park

Philippe had found this one particularly sweet, not only his openness to Philippe and his willingness, his welcoming nature, but the wholesome, honest smells of the earth and of lush vegetation that came off of the gardener's robust, young body.

Philippe hovered there, his gigantic, peace-bringing cock nearly twelve inches inside the beautiful blond prime cut of a man, with six more inches poised outside the hole, ready to finish, ready for that final mingling of vital body fluids that would rejuvenate Philippe for at least another week. But Philippe hesitated, savoring the moment, enjoying the sweet smile on the lips of the young man, who was hovering there on the brink of death.

Philippe had seen the young man in a gay bar just off of New Orleans' upper Esplanade that evening and knew, immediately, that he would take him. The young man had been at the bar, boisterously sharing drinks with other young men, telling them tales of the ridiculous of his job at the nearby City Park, where he had, earlier in the day, been directed to rip out an almost-new plot of one variety of flowers just to replant the same variety of flower but just in a slightly different shade of colors. The men were exuberantly enjoying the absurdities of life and of the city park system. Philippe had been hovering in a corner of the bar, enveloped in his black cape, sizing up the opportunities. The open, inviting eyes of the gardener's passed over the violet, searching eyes of Philippe and then came back to them almost immediately to be mesmerized and drawn in.

With only a perfunctory leave-taking, the young gardener pushed away from his friends at the bar and walked out of the building, over to Esplanade, and up into the corner of the park. Philippe followed him, keeping to the darker shadows of an already-dark night. Philippe, in turn, was being followed by one of the friends the gardener had abruptly bid good-bye to at the bar.

The young man walked through the garden, to a small hillock that was topped by a table-sized marble column head from an ancient Greek temple, placed there for visual interest for those strolling along the paths. When he reached the column capitol, he turned, stripped down, placed his clothes in a neat pile at the side, and smiled as Philippe—his cape billowing behind him; his mature, but still-comely torso naked; his inhumanely long, thick cock dangling between his legs from the crotch opening in the black leather pants—slowly ascended the hill.

The gardener spread his arms wide as Philippe approached, his smile broad and his eyes flashing in amusement and lust, and it was the gardener rather than Philippe who initiated that deep, completely open kiss, where lips bruised lips and tongues dueled with tongues, and saliva was freely shared. The venom in Philippe's saliva was quick to assert control. The young man's senses heightened, while his strength and response were dulled and he felt drowsy. The young man's hands had gone under the leather at Philippe's buttocks and were kneading the older man's butt cheeks when the kiss began, but as the sedative set in, he stopped kneading those and the hands just stayed there, trapped between leather and skin.

Philippe's lips disengaged from the gardener's lips and traveled straight down to the side of his neck, searching for and finding that throbbing carotid artery. The young man was in superb physical condition as the strong throbbing there attested, and Philippe lingered there a moment, savoring the strength of the life he held, before plunging his teeth into the throbbing artery and beginning to feast. The young man jerked and lurched at the bite, and his hands dislodged from behind Philippe and just hung at his side. Philippe disengaged and looked into the young man's face. He just smiled beatifically back at his masterful new lover. Philippe went back to his quiet feeding, and the young man's back arched back and his head lolled back as well.

Philippe was supporting the gardener's weight with his left arm around the small of the young man's back. This gave Philippe no problem, because with each ounce he was drinking, he himself was becoming younger and stronger again. And that huge cock of his was growing larger and thicker as well. The long, sharp nails of the slender fingers of Philippe's right hand were slowly shredding the young man's belly and chest, opening wounds, freeing rivulets of blood. The young man just lay back on Philippe's arm, no longer feeling pain, apparently pleased at being opened like this, feeling his blood come to the surface and flow out of his body.

Philippe's nails had dug trenches around the young man's nipples, and when the carotid artery went dry and collapsed, Philippe move his mouth down to the nipples dug his teeth in around the rim of each aureole in turn, and sucked the nipples dry. The gardener quietly sighed and moaned, clearly enjoying the suckling. Philippe rejoiced that he was giving enjoyment to the young man, happy that he was giving as well as taking.

He gently laid the young man's back down on the column capitol and lapped and sucked his way down the gardener's bloody chest and belly, all the while stroking the young man's cock, preparing it. When Philippe's lips reached the cock, he took it in, preparing for its first milking. The gardener moaned and weakly moved his hips, letting Philippe know he was welcome, that he was pleasing the young man, and sending little shivers of excitement through Philippe's body. He rarely was given this response. When the gardener came, it was in a flood of semen, enough, Philippe was sure, that only one milking was required.

Philippe's lips frantically searched the young man's lower torso and quickly found a throbbing vein running below the navel toward the groin, and he sank his teeth here and sucked. As that vein collapsed, Philippe noticed that the gardener had managed to get his hands to Philippe's hair and he was running his fingers through Philippe's now-young and exuberant black mane. Philippe looked up and the young man weakly spread his arms in welcome and in search of deeper intimacy.

Thereupon Philippe rose and stretched along the young man's body, and placed his lips upon the gardener's lips and locked his violet eyes on the gardener's hazel eyes. The gardener was weakly trying to return the pressure of the kiss. Philippe guided the head of his now-fourteen-inch cock to the gardener's asshole with his right hand. The hole was wide and slack; the gardener had had many lovers before Philippe. But he had had no lover like Philippe.

Philippe glided his cock in at least seven inches in the first entry. The young man's lips came off Philippe's and he threw his head back, and whispered "Yes, yes," in a small, faraway voice. Nine inches, and Philippe's mouth went to the carotid artery on the other side of the gardener's neck. He sank his teeth into the weakly pumping artery and sucked. Ten inches, but his cock was growing and thickening, and there was nearly as much waiting for entry as had already journeyed up the wide canal.

The young man murmured his pleasure and moaned and sighed quietly, Philippe reached that final, no-returning twelve-inch point of burial. The young man could manage him at this point without permanent damage. He also could recover physically from the blood that had been let to this point, although, as the second carotid collapsed, it was uncertain what was happening in the brain, now starved for nourishment.

And Philippe had hovered there, for the first time uncertain, loving this young man who had given himself so freely, openly, and joyously.

But to gain another week of youth and life, Philippe would have to complete the ceremony, consummate the union, have his tremendous cock bathed in blood, mix his seed with the last of another young man's vital fluids.

He hovered there, twelve inches in, arguing with himself. The young man accepted him, wanted him. Philippe felt so lonely in this never-ending life. He yearned for the opportunity to have a companion, someone he could share his life with, who would not be horrified by him, who would accept him for what he was and what he had to do. But then his cold rationalization took the ascendant. He had no idea what a curtailed ceremony would mean. He needed rejuvenation now, tonight. They were alone in a vast park, no substitute at hand. The gardener wouldn't mind. He had welcomed this.

Philippe's mouth sought the young man's mouth once again. Their eyes met and in the young man's eyes were love, lust, and trust. With one swift stroke, Philippe plunged nineteen inches into the gardener, ripping and tearing the last six inches. Blood and fluids bathed his cock, which immediately extended to twenty-one inches, and Philippe spilled his seed.

The young man's mouth slacked open, and his eyes blazed momentarily and then glazed over. Philippe rose and looked down at the gardener, laying there with the sweetest smile on his face.

Philippe screamed in unexpected pain, as the sharp tongs sliced through the silk of his cape and entered his back between the shoulder blades. In one long, slurping motion, he pulled out of the dead gardener and spun around, pulling a pitch fork from his back and throwing it to the side.

There stood one of the young men the gardener had been talking and laughing with at the bar. A studly, hairy brunette, a football-player type, solid, all muscle; probably the eleven or twelve-incher who had been topping the gardener regularly.

The man stood there momentarily, a look of horror and hatred on his face that turned immediately to shock as he saw twenty-one inches of blood-covered cock hanging below the most magnificent torso he'd ever seen. He turned and ran, blindly down the hill and into a copse of trees.

Philippe roared in anger, and galloped after the interloper. Not only had this man tried to kill him, but, much more important, if Philippe had known this second man was nearby, he would not have had to finish the young gardener he had enjoyed so deeply and had considered making into a companion.

The dark interloper was strong and fleet, but Philippe was now stronger and faster. They collided at the base of a large oak in the center of the copse. Philippe caught the younger man by the arm and spun him around, his sharp nails slicing into the man's bicep and upper arm. The man screamed in pain and reached for his arm with his other hand. Philippe lowered his mouth to administer his sedating venom, but then jerked back. No, this man, this man who had attacked him and stripped him of a companion, would not get the relief his saliva could give.

Instead of administering the calming kiss, Philippe brought his hands up and deeply slashed the arteries on both sides of the man's neck, continuing the slash down his hairy chest, across his nipples and to his belly, ripping away the man's shirt in the process. The man fought him, trying to punch him with fists, but Philippe easily fended him off and lifted each of the man's arms in turn and sliced at the veins under the masses of hair at his arm pits, causing the blood to flow down the man's sides. He was still screaming and trying to defend himself, but he was growing weaker from the shock and the loss of blood.

Philippe ripped the man's trousers away and knelt and sucked in his cock. He had been right. He'd be nearly eleven inches engorged. Philippe held the man to the tree with his hands on his hips, his nails dug into the soft tissue of the buttocks, and sucked and nibbled and bit the man to hardness and ejaculation. All the time the man was screaming and beating weakly at Philippe's head. Just as the man was shooting off, Philippe grabbed at his balls and squeezed hard, taking as much of this man's semen into him as he could get.

As the man was cumming, Philippe snaked his hands up the young man's thighs, into the soft flesh where the groin met the leg and the major vein ran down into the leg, and he dug for the veins with his nails, releasing a flow of blood down the man's legs.

The man collapsed, his legs now too weak to hold him, his equally drained arms hanging loosely at his side. Philippe hauled him up and slammed his belly and chest against the oak and entered him from behind. The full twenty-one inches, with the man screaming and begging in a ever-smaller voice. Now, only now, did Philippe dig his teeth into a carotid artery and start to drink and to share his saliva. The blood and fluids slathering his cock expanded it to twenty-four inches before it stopped growing. He released his seed again, and the anger started draining out of Philippe.

He laid the body down beside the tree and licked it clean of blood. Separating the blood from out of the matting of dark hair that covered the man's body wasn't in the least unpleasant. He rose and flexed his back muscles, assessing the damage the pitchfork had done. There was no pain and didn't seem to be any damage back there; he had fucked the wound away. As he strolled out of the park, he wondered what the week would bring with this sudden, unexpected double dose of youth and vitality. Maybe it would be almost two weeks before he would have to seek another host.