Copyright(C) 2003 by Felix Lance Falkon; you may save or make paper copies for your own use; do not post, repost, publish, or archive elsewhere without the author's express permission.
Chip scowled at the sign that insisted,
IT IS DANGEROUS TO FISH HERE AFTER SUNSET,then turned back to the lake. Darkness came slowly in Maine, so that although the sun had slipped below the horizon, the sky was still aglow. And with no mosquitoes, even in mid-summer -- Chip felt a sudden, irrational urge to shed his clothes. He knew he looked well, stripped; but even here, deep in the woods, well away from anyone who might --
He shook away the thought and strode to the end of the weathered pier, put down his box of fishing tackle, and assembled his fishing rod. Within minutes, he made a few short casts into the lake -- just making sure everything's working, he told himself -- and then a long, long one toward the middle of the lake. He reeled his line in slowly, cast again. Then, as he was reeling in from a long third cast, a sudden pull on the line almost yanked his rod from his hands.
Seconds later, an enormous fish -- easily six feet long -- broke the surface from below, lept into the air, and fell back with a splash. I'll never land this monster, Chip knew -- but instead of fighting the line, the fish swam straight for the pier faster than Chip could reel it in. It paused, and Chip saw a pair of hands reach up grasp the edge of the pier. Suddenly, a man lunged up from the water. For an instant, Chip thought he saw that the naked torso ended in a flailing fish-tail -- but no, one foot, then the other caught the edge of the pier. Then Chip's catch -- a well-muscled man, his naked body glistening from the water -- stood glaring on the pier.
Chip backed a couple of paces, still reeling in the line. The naked man took a step towards Chip, paused, put one hand to his cheek, and growled, "You got any damn wire-cutters in your damn tackle box?"
"Ooops -- sorry about that," Chip stammered. "I've got something." He knelt by his box, fumbled in it, and found a set of cutting pliers. "Can I --"
"I'll do it," growled the naked man. He took the pliers, fumbled with the outside of his cheek for a second, and snipped off the barbed end of the hook. Then he spat out the lure itself. As Chip stared, the wound stopped bleeding and closed. A second or so later, the man's cheek was unblemished.
"I'm sorry -- I don't know how I hooked your cheek that way, but --" Chip said.
"The damn lure looked too damn lifelike," the man growled.
"You mean you took it?"
"Sure did. But when I bit down on the damn thing -- by the way, my name's Vilmos."
"I'm -- just call me Chip. You -- you -- I mean --"
"When I'm in the water, I tend to think like a fish. On land . . ."
"Uh -- yeah."
Vilmos, Chip noticed, was not only naked, but his long, thick cock was fully erect now, curving up from his narrow hips to quiver stiffly in front of a lean six-pack of abs. His chest was wide, his shoulders broader, his arms and legs . . .
Chip suddenly realized that his own prong was stiffening, then realized that he was shedding his clothes while Vilmos watched with a smile -- a somehow hungry smile -- on his face. "Uh -- if there's anything I can do to -- you know --"
"There is, there is. The pier is a bit splintery, but --"
"No problem; I've got some stuff in the car." Chip, naked but for his hiking boots, scooped up his clothes, fishing rod, and tackle box, then scampered back to his car, his rigid prong jiggling. He returned a moment later with two blankets and a sleeping bag.
Together, Vilmos and Chip arranged the bedding on the pier. Finished, Chip asked, "Okay?"
"Okay. But first . . ." Vilmos gestured at his outthrust shaft.
Chip swallowed hard, but dropped to his knees at Vilmos's feet, opened his mouth wide, and closed his lips on the waiting shaft.
"This won't take long -- I've got a damn short fuze."
Chip sucked, sucked harder. Vilmos's shaft felt cold, but was warming fast. Chip steadied himself with a hand on Vilmos's thigh; that was cold too, and warming more slowly. He sucked, sucked harder; Vilmos responded with a thrust, another one -- and a dozen strokes later, he pumped Chip's mouth full of cream. Chip swallowed, sucked, swallowed again; somehow he managed to get Vilmos's load all down, then sat back, panting for air. "I don't usually -- you know -- swallow, but somehow --"
"I know, I know. But now . . ." Vilmos's hands gripped Chip's shoulders and eased the young fisherman back onto the bedding. Vilmos settled his broad chest on Chip's thighs, his hands steadying Chip's upstanding cock. "Ready?"
Chip nodded, said, "Yeah, I guess so. Go -- go ahead and -- and take me." He realized Vilmos's chest was no longer cold and wet against his thighs, but warm and dry.
Vilmos met Chip's worried gaze, licked his lips, smiled reassuringly, and went down onto Chip's shaft.
Chip gasped aloud as suction gripped his shaft. He felt the suction increase, felt a strange prickling from tip to hilt, then suction again while Vilmos's tongue somehow rippled against the bottom of Chip's prong. He reached back, tucked more of the bedding behind his shoulders so he could watch his prong slide deeper into Vilmos's mouth. Chip thrust upwards, pulled back, thrust again while Vilmos worked on his mouthful of Chip's virility. A few strokes more, and Chip shot his load up into that hungry suction; Vilmos sucked and swallowed and sucked for more.
And instead of relaxing after that climax, Chip was being sucked towards another, his prong even harder than before. A wave of prickling gripped his prong again -- again -- and then the suction -- hungry suction -- took over. This time, Vilmos sucked on and on, while Chip squirmed and wiggled, right on the brink -- on the brink, muscles straining, his shaft rock hard -- and then he found himself pumping an even bigger load into that insatiable suction.
"Wow," Chip gasped. "I have never, ever, come so hard in my fucking life!" He caught his breath for a moment. "And -- and I'm just about to -- to do it again." He fell back onto the bedding while Vilmos kept on sucking.
Voices -- laughing voices -- broke the silence. Chip looked up and saw four -- no, six sturdy young men striding from the road toard the pier. Some shed clothing as they neared; others were already naked -- and stiff-pronged.
"Who the fuck are you?" demanded the curly-haired young body-builder leading the pack. "And can't you read?" He waved a hand at the warning sign, then hung a hissing Coleman lantern from the pole that supported the sign.
"Uh -- I'm Chip, and this is --"
"Okay, okay. We know Vilmos -- we were coming to bring him supper. Hey -- how long have you been feeding him?"
"I -- I'm not sure, but it was just after sunset that I -- I caught him."
"You caught him?" demanded another young man, a tall blond.
Vilmos raised his head. "Hi, guys. Yeah -- he was using one of those damn three-piece lures, and --" He shrugged his broad shoulders and went down onto Chip's shaft again.
"How many times have you shot your load so far?" asked the muscular young man who had spoken first. "By the way, I'm Hugo. This is Tiger," he added, pointing at the second speaker, "And that's Leander, and . . ." but the rest of the names were just a blur to Chip as the hungry suction brought him to another orgasm.
"This -- this is my -- my third," panted Chip as he fed Vilmos another long squirt of ball-juice. "Third so far, anyway. He's -- he's really turning me on."
"We know, we know," Hugo said. "Really feeding on you while he's at it. If we hadn't come along . . ."
"Feeding on me?" asked Chip. "All he's doing is --"
"Sucking you off?" Tiger shook his blond head. "Remember that prickling feeling when he went to work on your spike?"
"Yeah, but --"
Tiger knelt by Chip's head. "That was him opening you up. 'Stead of working on your throat, like vampires are supposed to do, he's working on your spike. He's got fangs on his tongue -- little ones, so you don't realize . . ."
Vilmos raised his head; Chip saw a trickle of blood start to escape from the side of Vilmos's mouth, then get licked away.
"Studs' cocks are an easier target to work on," Vilmos explained, "especially for those of us who appreciate a well- hung muscle-hunk. And you are --" He paused, clamped his mouth onto Chip's glans for a quick suck, then raised his head again. "-- damn well-hung indeed." He rose to a kneeling position and sat back on his heels. "If you guys hadn't come along for your regular feeding -- it's been so damn long since you've let me take a fresh young stud all the way." He sighed, licked his lips again. "Okay, damn it all; who's next?"
Chip reluctantly eased himself off the bedding. Tiger pounced on Vilmos's still-erect shaft, sucked him off, then stretched out on his back. Vilmos lay down atop Tiger's thighs, went down on the tall blond's prong, and started sucking.
Chip stood up. The world seemed to tilt sideways. Hugo put an arm around Chip's shoulders, saying, "Sit down for a bit. Vilmos really drains you if you try to feed him all by yourself."
Chip settled down on a corner of the blankets and studied his still-rigid cock; Vilmos had indeed punctured the skin with dozens of pin-pricks, but they seemed to be healing over as he watched. He looked up at Hugo and asked, "Then -- then he really is a vampire?"
"Yup." Hugo nodded. "Didn't you see him change when he came out of the water?"
"I -- I did, but I thought -- you know --"
"That you were seeing things?" asked Tiger, looking over at Chip and away from Vilmos, who was now sucking hard on Tiger's prong.
"Well, yeah. I should have realized there was something funny -- funny strange, that is, not funny ha-ha -- when he got dry and warm so quick."
"Anyway, we've got an understanding," said the tall blond. "Vilmos keeps the air around here clear of mosquitos -- amazing what he can do in an evening when he turns into a hundred and eighty pounds of hungry bats -- and he keeps the lake clear of trash fish too. We -- there's eight of us, including a couple of dudes who didn't get here tonight -- we feed him -- twice a week -- all during -- the fucking -- summer!"
Chip saw Tiger's muscles tighten, saw his hips thrust, thrust again.
"You shooting already?" asked Hugo.
"Yeah." Tiger relaxed with a long sigh.
"My turn, then."
"And during the winter?" asked Chip, as Vilmos rolled off Tiger's thighs.
Vilmos said, "They cut back to twice a month." He paused to watch Hugo begin sucking Vilmos's cock. "And when the damn lake freezes over, I hibernate at the bottom and these damn studs suck each other off till spring."
Hugo lifted his head. "Gotta keep in practice." He went down onto Vilmos's prong again.
"Uh -- sucking Vilnos off before he starts to -- to feed," Chip asked, "is that -- you know -- just for fun, or . . ."
Vilnos explained: "Just being around me gets studs up hard and ready to strip. But there's stuff in my ball-juice that gets studs to stay hard and shoot more often when I suck them off, which makes it easier for me to work on them. Not only that, I happen to like having a muscle-stud like Hugo suck me off." Vilmos stiffened, then relaxed with a satisfied sigh. "But he always gets mad if I tell him what a damn good cocksucker he is."
"That's an old game between those two," said another thick- pronged young man. Chip remembered a name: Leander. "Anyway, by the time Vilmos finishes sucking us off for the first round, with six of us here -- seven, counting you -- we'll have fed him enough blood to keep him going till next time we come here. After that, he'll just be sucking us off for the fun of it.''
"You mean -- we get sucked off again tonight?"
"Sure thing. And we'll be sucking each other off too. If you're into fucking, just imagine what that's like when you don't have to worry about staying hard. Hey, look -- Chip, is it? You want to do this regular? Since Alan got that job in Bangor, we can sure use some help keeping our pet vampire fed. We meet at the coffee shop in the village and then come up here together. You're safe as long as you're with us, but not if you're alone -- you already found that out for yourself."
"Did I ever," said Chip. "Still -- if I get too fucking bored with life, or I start feeling too sorry for poor Vilmos here. . . ." He let his voice trail off.
"Don't be that sorry." Leander chuckled. "Every hunting season, he drains one or two idiots all the way."
"You make it sound like that's a bad thing," said Hugo as he watched his shaft disappear into Vilmos's mouth. "If it wasn't for him, these woods'd be overrun all year long with moose-hunters from Boston and New York."
Chip said, "I can't tell if you're kidding or not when you
say things like that."
"The rest of us can't tell either," said Tiger. "Chip, you're gonna fit into our little pack of vampire-feeders just fine."