*********************************************************
************************ WARNING ************************
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* The following text contains written descriptions of   *
* sexual acts between adults, children and adults with  *
* children.  If it is illegal for you to read acts of   *
* this nature, or if you are under age, please stop     *
* reading right now.                                    *
*                                                       *
* This story is a work of fiction.  Any similarities to *
* actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.*
*                                                       *
* (c) 2003-2005, Kenn Ghannon.  All rights reserved.      *
* Any republication or retransmission of this document, *
* severally or collectively, without the author's       *
* express written permission is prohibited.             *
*********************************************************


Tales of the Immortals
Chapter 1: The Hunt
By Kenn Ghannon

=====================

The Rules

I thought, before we got to the actual reading of this story that we
should set down a couple of ground rules:

1) This story involves frank and explicit descriptions of sex.  If it
is immoral or illegal in your area to read about topics of this
nature, please quit reading here.  If you don't want to read about
topics of this nature, please quit reading here.  (I don't, by the
way, agree with the legal aspects of this.  I believe that the United
States, as a society, has gone too far in putting the onus of maturity
on a rather arbitrary physical age.  I've known 13 year olds who were
far more mature than some 40 year olds.  Of course, this may be the
exception to the rule, but still...)

2) If you are looking for a story where everyone is always happy all
of the time, please find another story.  If you are looking for a
story where everyone is always sad all of the time, please find
another story.  Reality is somewhere in-between these two extremes and
I try to write as near to reality as an erotic fantasy can get.  Do I
succeed?  Only you can tell me.

3) If you are looking for a story that absolutely revolves around sex,
sex, and more sex, please find another story.  I *WON'T* write one of
those.  There is sex here, but only as a function of the story.

4) Everything you read here is fiction.  It never happened, so I am
definitely not writing about YOU.  :)

If you've read this far, I hope you enjoy this...

Author's Note:
This isn't my "normal" story.  But it is one that's been begging me to
write it for some time now.  It deals with a story line that I'm eager
to continue -- but this particular chapter deals with things that are
somewhat foreign and dark -- even for me.  Consider yourself warned.

I labelled this chapter one because I want to write more -- but it may
be some time before I get to it.  I haven't finished 'Nature of Man'
yet...and that is something I need to do.  Maybe in 2004 I'll have
more time.

Thanks for reading,
--Kenn Ghannon

======================================

I tasted the air, gathering her scent to me.  I reveled in it, just a
bit, her heady scent.  It was a fine combination of sweat, perfume,
and that secret aroma that was all her own.  It was wondrous and
singular and familiar.

It ought to be, by now.  I had been with her for nearly two months.

I walked down the dimly lit street, free of any cares or worries.  My
mind was completely focused on my prey, locked in that singularity of
purpose that was in itself a reward for all of my efforts.  Some of my
kind said that the capture meant nothing, that the hunt was reward
enough.  It was in times like these that I could almost believe them.

Almost.  Then the edges of the madness would light upon my mind, and I
would realize what a load of shit all that was.

Her scent headed south on Mascal Street and I followed suit.  She was
dropping into her routine, finding comfort in her daily patterns.  I
smiled inwardly, though I'm sure the mask of my face frightened
several pedestrians I passed.  I didn't care.  The fruits of my labors
would be rewarded this night.

Her scent changed as it passed the alley.  There was a sickness to it
now, an urgency that had not been there before.  I sniffed of it
deeply, easily distinguishing her aroma from all the other flotsam
caught adrift on this midsummer's eve.  I soaked it in, processed it
and catalogued it.

Fear.  She was afraid.

Her scent was 30 minutes old, so she could not be aware of me this
night.  I turned my head this way and that, inhaling drafts of the
breeze that the lesser creatures around me could not begin to fathom. 
I processed them and my eyes narrowed.  My brow furrowed.

There were four of them.  They had been in the alley when she had
passed. Now they followed her.

The feral snarl that escaped my lips caused the humans nearest me to
jump.  Fuck 'em.

I ran then, careful that none should see my face.  It was a
precaution, though probably not necessary with the riff-raff who
roamed the night in their zombie-like shuffle.  Still, hundreds of
years of care could not be undone so simply.

My pace was perhaps a little faster than the humans around me could
manage.  I could not help it, though.  I had to run slow.  To run
faster would at least cause some suspicion, and to run so fast as to
not be seen would cost me too much physically.  I would be winded when
I caught up to them, and that would not do.

Besides, the wind was my compass and without it I would not be able to
find them at all.

I came up short at the entrance to the alley just before Mirriam's
townhouse.  She was here.  They were here.  The darkness closed around
this alley like a cloak, but it was not enough to stop my eyes from
penetrating it.

Three of the four men hovered around a lump in the far corner of a
building.  As I peered closer, my eyes squinting to drown out the
ambient light from the street, I noticed that the lump was moving --
but, though I knew intuitively what that lump was, I could not discern
any features or facts about it.

I started into the alley grimly, ready to do battle, when I heard the
lump whispering.

"Come on fellas, she's still warm!"

That brought me up cold.  I pushed my senses out, drowning out the
presence of the rats and vermin that infest places such as this.  I
pushed out, probing, searching...

My arms slumped in defeat.  She was gone.  There were only the four
heartbeats in this alley.

I'd like to think the madness took me then, but I've felt its presence
long enough to know the difference.  It was a madness of a different
sort that flowed through my veins.  It was the madness of absolute
rage and loss that hooked its talons into my psyche, shutting out
everything and anything.

They had taken my prey.  They had robbed me of my feast.  They had to
be punished.

I was on them before they knew it, moving so quickly that their human
eyes could not see me.  I grabbed the first one by the sallow flesh of
his fat neck and used him as a counterweight as I hefted one of his
companions by the collar of his ratty garments.  Meanwhile, I kicked
the one using the remains of my Mirriam into the last of the four.

As I drew my fingers together around that fatty neck, hearing the
satisfying crunch of bones giving way, I flung the other man as hard
as I could into the far alley wall.  I breathed in the dying heartbeat
of the man whose neck I had broken, but what was gained was little. 
He had not lived in life, how could I live in his death?

I glanced at the man against the far wall, but I had not thrown him
hard enough and he was struggling to his feet.  I should have known
better than to split my concentration, but every little bit of energy
counted and I could not pass up the opportunity to eat what I could
from this one's death, little as that was.

I knew that it would take him some seconds to get up and cross the
alley to me, so I decided to use those seconds on his companions.  The
lump of human flesh that had used my Mirriam was crawling to his
knees, desperately trying to run.  Perhaps he was more intelligent
than I gave him credit for, perhaps he *KNEW* that I was not human,
that I was death come for him, but he struggled to leave.  Struggled
to run.  As he reached his feet, he turned once.

The shot hit me square in the chest and I felt my breastbone shatter. 
I could feel my heart mis-beating, damaged.  I felt the ground embrace
me, the concrete comforting me as I fell.  The pain was severe, and I
wondered again -- as I had so many times in the past -- if this were
it.  If this were to be my final death.

Then I felt my heart correcting itself, broken flesh healing itself,
and I knew that this bullet was no more than the others I had felt. 
This time was nothing but one more story to add to my life's
collection.  I closed my eyes, wallowing in my own self pity for a
moment.  Only a moment.

As I stood, my blood covering the front of my shirt, I watched their
eyes grow wide.  I smelled the fear and horror burst from their very
pores.  The two who had been standing around my Mirriam came at me,
trying to draw weapons.  The lump stumbled backwards, nearly falling.

If that one didn't *KNOW* before, he did now.  Turning, he finally
fell.  Once again he tried to crawl to his feet, his fear putting even
more hurry to his actions.  He stumbled, trying to move his feet
before he was standing, but when he finally rose he fled from me as
quickly as his legs would carry him.  The coward.

He could not run far enough.  I had his scent.  He would be mine.

My distraction cost me.  The nearest rapist stabbed at me with a knife
he pulled from somewhere beneath his ragged clothing.  If I had been
human, it probably would have been enough to cut me -- perhaps even a
mortal wound.  Then again, if I were human I wouldn't be standing now.

I noted clinically, almost in a detached state, the anguish in his
scream as his wrist broke.  I squeezed my hand further around his own
and felt other bones break and grind.  He fell to his knees in pain,
his other hand clutching at the crushed stump that once was his hand. 
I think I even saw tears on his face, though it could have been a
trick of the light.

The remaining combatant stopped short as he saw what became of his
companion.  The hesitation did not help him.  Just the opposite, as a
matter of fact.

I took aim and drove my hand, fingers extended, through the thin flesh
of his skin and the hard surface of his bone straight into the cavity
that contained his heart.  I grabbed it, that most vulnerable of
organs, and pulled it out.  The man stared at my hand in horror, his
eyes transfixed and growing wide as my fingers spread, showing the
still beating flesh in my hand.  It hiccupped once, maybe twice, and
then I feasted on it's last tortured beat.  It didn't fill me any more
than the first.

I turned from him as he dropped, lifeless, to the ground.

The final man kneeled before me and in his eyes I could see that he
knew.  His life had already ended, the how of it was just a formality.

I bereft him of his mortal shroud almost as an after-thought.  I
didn't even bother to suck the energy from his death -- I already knew
it wouldn't be enough.

Still, these three had died an honorable death no matter they had not
lived an honorable life.  That just left the coward.  His end was
going to be a little more structured.

I caught him in his darkened apartment.  He had locked the doors and
windows, but what are those things to me?  I shrugged his apartment
door into his room, the chains and locks giving way easily.

He struck at me with a metal bat, but I dodged it easily and took it
from him.

"Coward," I hissed at him.  "Leaving your friends to die.  Their end
was quick, as suits one who can stare death in the face.  Yours...will
not be..."

I hit him fairly gently with his own bat and he sank unconscious.

====================

I sat reversed in the wooden chair, my arms folded across the top of
it's back, my chin resting on my arms.  I watched.  I waited.  I knew
when he awoke, though I'm not sure he knew the moment himself.  I
simply smiled and let him wake at his own pace.  Time was my coin now,
and I could afford to be generous.

He waited awhile, pretending to be asleep.  Trying to determine what
his situation was.  Trying to determine why his clothes had been
removed.  Trying to figure out why he was chained to an upright table
leaning against the wall.  I just sat, motionless, a smile playing
over my lips. I knew that eventually he would have to tip his hand.

It took maybe a half of an hour for him to finally show woken
movement.  He looked at me blindly, the terror showing clearly in the
dilation of his pupils, and tested the chains that held him suspended
against the upright table.  Then the screams began, shouting for help.

"Scream all you want, there are none to hear you.  Not here," I spoke
calmly, waiting for the harder edge of his abject terror to withdraw.

When he had affirmed the strength of his bonds as well as the
soundproofness of this basement a few times, the blind panic in his
eyes abated somewhat and a shrewd look overshadowed his face.  The
look of a captured animal as the hunter neared the trap.

"Who are you?" he croaked, fear and resignation fighting for dominance
in his voice.

"I'll never get used to it," I replied, trying to hide my wry
amusement.  "The way people can stare their fate in the eye and ask
questions as if that will somehow delay the inevitable."

"I suppose it would be one thing if they even bothered to ask the
right questions," I continued, casting a speculative gaze at my
prisoner.  "It might amuse me enough to drag things out.  But they
don't.  They always seem to ask the wrong ones.  What does it matter
what name I speak to you as my own, Clarence?"  He looked startled
when I used his correct Christian name and not the false one I found
on the papers in his wallet. "Will it comfort you somehow?  Will it
change what is happening this instant in any way?  Will the sound of
my name somehow dispel me?"

He looked at me, worry mixing with the ever-present panic.  To his
credit, he thought for some moments before trying again.  I let him
stew, and waited for the next question.

"What are you?" he whispered shrewdly, curiosity getting the better of
him.  "I shot you square in the chest.  You should be dead."

"Ah.  Still not quite the correct question but you are getting closer,
Clarence.  I'll give you that."

"What am I?" I continued, raising my head from my arms.  I let my gaze
drift to the ceiling, as if contemplating my words.  "What am I? 
There is no simple way to answer that.  There is a story in that
question, a long story and I'm not sure you have the time for it."  I
paused briefly, truly in thought.  Did I really want to go into this
right now?  I looked at my prisoner askance and made up my mind.  What
did it matter after all?

"I am an immortal, Clarence.  But then, that really doesn't tell you
any more than you knew before, does it?  Therein, of course, lies the
story."

"An immortal is not someone who can't die.  That's such a common
misconception amongst mortals that I thought I'd dispel it straight
away.  No, immortals can die, just as humans can.  I even think it's
just as painful for us, though of course I have no basis for
comparison.  The difference, however, between your death and mine is
that mine is not permanent."

"I was 30 the first time I suffered death.  It came at the hands of a
gentleman, and began in a torture chamber not unlike this very room."
I paused for effect, to bring my story and his plight together.  I
waited while he looked around the room, imagining who-knows-what
torturous devices lining the barren walls.  His mind was currently
closed to me and I dare not use the last of my energies to open it
again.  "He had caught me stealing cheese to feed myself, my wife and
our thirteen year old daughter.  I was flogged to within an inch of my
life and then drawn and quartered the rest of the way."

"Draw and quartering is not used any more, so you might not know what
that is.  Let me illuminate.  Drawing and quartering is when they tie
your hands and feet, as yours are now, to the bridle of four separate
horses -- one appendage per horse.  Then, they make a loud noise --
such as the shot of a gun -- that gets all four horses moving in
opposite directions.  It separates your body into at least four pieces
and is very painful, I can assure you."  Again, I paused to let the
visuals take effect.

"I awoke, nearly twelve years later, in some nameless grave that I
imagine the noble threw me in.  You see, the regeneration of the body
takes time.  Sometimes more, sometimes less depending on the nature of
the death and how long the immortal has lived.  The shot you delivered
to my heart earlier this evening...well, I can heal that rather
quickly now.  It has taken longer in the past."

"When I woke up, that first time, I didn't know what was happening. 
The last thought I remembered was the horrid pain I felt and the
dimming light as I watched pieces of my body strewn across the country
side.  I don't know how it is with a mortal, of course, but when I
die, there is usually a short time before I lose consciousness and
after that I can't recollect."

"As I was saying, I didn't know what was going on, that first time. 
I'm not sure I really even knew who I was.  All I knew was panic as I
clawed myself out of my grave.  We are given to enormous strength when
first our regenerated bodies awaken, we immortals.  I needed all of it
that first time.  There was no air, you see, and to one used to
breathing that created something of a panic within me."

"Now, of course, I know that I do not need air as desperately.  In
fact, outside of talking, my body can do without air for hours. 
Eventually, I need to breathe, of course.  But not much."

"There was one waiting for me as I crawled from my grave.  She sat
upon a stump a few feet away.  'You've taken your time,' she said, as
I gasped for air.  'I was beginning to think you were taking a liking
to the dirt.'  And she laughed as if she had said some great joke."

"I looked at her as I regained myself, thoughts and absurdities
dancing through my head.  She was a beautiful woman: raven hair, dark
green eyes, pale skin.  In the moonlight, she seemed almost to be some
goddess out of Greek mythology.  I wondered, then, if I had gone to
heaven for some reason."

"'Nope, my boy,' she countered with a laugh. 'Neither heaven nor hell
hath sway over you just now.  Your life is just a little too
complicated for heaven and hell.'"


"'You, my fulsome lad, are something of a paradox,' she began.  Her
voice was throaty and full and I could almost catch some kind of
amusement in it.  'You are alive when you should not be.  Death, that
most fickle of masters, has decided not to accept your quartered
carcass.'

"She stopped for a moment, looking at me shrewdly.  'No matter what I
say, you aren't going to believe me, are you?  Pity.  However, there
are some things you need to know.  The rest, you'll pick up on your
journey.'

"'First, you are an immortal.  Although you can die, it is not
permanent.  Sometimes a respite, usually a curse, but never permanent.
 You'll still feel pain, you'll still walk among mortals, but you will
not be of them any longer.'

"I looked at her, and some of my disbelief must have shone in my face
because she laughed at me.  'No, my boy.  I can see you'll not be
believing me.  You will, however, remember this night.  We all
remember our first re-birth, and I doubt you'll be any different.'

"'Regardless, you'll find that being an immortal gives you
certain...gifts,' she began again, paying no attention to my
disbelief.  'You are...or will be...enormously strong.  Right now,
your flush from the grave and there's usually a certain amount of
recuperative time necessary before your body gathers its strength --
after the initial burst of energy, of course.  Once you gather that
strength, you will easily be as strong as ten normal men.  As you age,
though not in appearance, you'll get stronger yet.'

"'You'll be fast too, and that is another thing that will grow with
time.  On first rebirth you're probably scarcely faster than the
fastest human.  With age, you'll find you become so fast that humans
will not be able to follow you with their eyes.'

"'Will I...be able to stand sunlight,' I interrupted her, the
matter-of-fact way she talked slowly swinging my views over to at
least partial belief.  I had heard stories, as all of us had, of
creatures who were so evil they could not stand the light of the sun
and drank other's blood to survive.  I was worried that I had become
one of their ilk."

"She laughed at me again.  'Yes, boy.  You'll be able to watch the sun
rise.  You are NOT a vampire.'  Then her tone turned serious.  'Mark
me now, for those kind exist and they hold nothing but hate in their
dead, black hearts for our kind.  They'll try to capture you, for you
represent a never-ending supply of blood for them and you must avoid
that...for that is a kind of half-death that none should suffer.'

"'There are other...things...out there too.  Avoid what you can, kill
what you cannot avoid, and run from that which you cannot kill. 
Luckily, all of the non-humans are few in number and most exist as
nothing more than stories to humans.  That is how things must be.'

"Then, her face turned contemplative and she looked at me from
narrowed eyes.  'You'll be able to do other things as well, like pick
the thoughts from another's mind and move things with your own.  Some,
you'll be able to completely control with the merest of thoughts,
while others you'll be able to at least push to do your will.  You may
be quite good at these things, or quite bad.  The gifts are different
in each of our kind and there's no way of knowing what you will
possess.'

"'As with any great gifts,' she continued.  'There are costs
associated with them.  There is a...hunger...that exists within us.  A
need that will turn us mad if not satiated.  It is always there,
usually held at bay but if you go too long without feeding that hunger
or use too much of your power it will turn you mad until it is fed.'

"'It is not a hunger for blood that fills us,' she said quickly,
noting the sudden fear in my eyes.  'It is a hunger for...life.  That
is how I can best describe it.  You need to feed on the life force of
others.  Not their life, though you can feed on that as well, but
their life force.'

"She saw my confusion and became somewhat agitated.  'I...have
difficulty describing it.  When a person dies, their life ebbs.  It
ebbs until there is nothing left.  At the very end, the last instant,
when they are just about to pass from their mortal shell, a burst of
energy is released...it is enough to feed upon, if you are truly
starving, but you will not get much satisfaction from that little
energy that is left.  You'd need to suckle on hundreds to feed the
madness and keep it at bay.  However, if you feed on a life as it is
in the fullest of blooms, then there is much power to be had.  It is
usually enough to satiate your hunger for days, at least, and
sometimes much longer.  The best part is that the energy does not kill
the mortal and you can feed upon him or her again.'

"She looked at me, looked at my non-understanding face, and an air of
determination came upon her.  'I talk of...of...orgasm.  The time when
you take your partner to the highest of pleasurable heights.  Then you
feed and there is enough energy there for each of you to share. 
Enough for you to remain hunger-free for quite some time.'

"She shrank upon herself, but I could tell she was angry at having to
explain this to me.  Things were different so long ago, and things of
that nature were not spoken of out loud.  I was too stunned to notice
when she stood.  Still trying to comprehend what she had been telling
me, I almost failed to notice when she moved to leave.

"She stopped suddenly and turned back to me.  'I almost forgot.  There
are two things that are expected of you, two laws that you must obey
and there is no negotiation for either.  The first is that when you
come upon a newborn immortal, you must explain to them just what I
have explained to you.  You must pass on these things to them.'

"'The second is both easier and much harder.  You must not reveal your
nature to any human.  Not by your act or any omission of action can
you suffer a human to know what you are.  If they find out, you must
kill them.'

"'These are our two laws,' she said as she turned to leave.  'Our only
two laws and we don't take kindly to having either law broken.  It's
true that we cannot kill you permanently, but we can make your life
miserable for all eternity.'  And then she left."

"I called after her and tried to follow her, but she was a shadow on
the night and I could not find her."

"I sat, maybe for hours, trying to absorb what she had said.  I
couldn't believe it, not really...but then I remembered the pain of
death and I remembered the sight of my body and organs strewn across
the grass and I began to wonder.  What was the reality?  Was it easier
to believe what I remembered was nothing but a dream or that what she
told me was untrue?"

I paused for effect, looking at my prisoner.  I could see that he was
trying to buy time, trying to prolong his life.

"What happened to your wife?  Your daughter?" Clarence asked, grabbing
at straws to give him a little more time.  After all, with time came
hope, right?

I almost laughed, but the question brought such melancholy thoughts to
my head that I could not manage it.  This one knew how to play the
game, at least.  He knew how to prolong the inevitable.

"I went back to find out.  I was careful; I mugged the first human I
came across and exchanged clothes with him.  I walked to my home, but
it had been burned to the ground.  I came upon our neighbor, she had
been quite a gossip in her time and I found that nothing much had
changed except the gold of her hair had faded to silver and her face
had become old and wrinkled.  It was then I found how long my recovery
had taken and it took me a while to process it.  She looked at me in
consternation at my long silence, but I managed to keep my face hid
among the shadows so she would not know me.

"'What happened to the homestead of your neighbors,' I asked, my mind
working on a plausible story for the question.  'They are my cousins
whom I visited as a boy but I have not heard from them in some time.'

"'Ah, young master,' she started, hanging her head and wringing her
hands.  'That is such a sad story.  There was a famine some 12 years
ago, and that land did not produce enough food for both the taxes and
the farmer to eat.  M'Lord took what was there, and the farmer was
left with nothing.'

"'As he watched his wife and daughter -- how beautiful they both were,
with fair skin and red-haired locks -- as he watched them starving,
their skin sallow and their hair fading, he could take no more.  One
night he snuck into m'lord's pantry and stole a hunk of cheese and a
crust of bread to feed to his family...but he was caught.  M'Lord
decided to make an example of him.  He was flogged, fifty lashes. 
Then he was drawn and quartered.'

"She took some time now to compose herself.  'The wife, Alisa was her
name, was given to the guards for their amusement.  She lasted but a
few weeks before they found her, broken and dead.  M'Lord took Mali,
the daughter, to his own bed.  They say he was given to strange
pleasures back then, and Mali did not outlast her mother.  She was
never seen again, though the stories are told of her fate...and
I...I...can't relive them.'

"She broke into sobbing and I joined her.  She was a good woman and I
could not bring the thoughts that were trampling through my mind into
her home.  With broken thanks, I left her.  I never looked back."

"The noble never saw me coming.  I climbed into his open window and
killed his wife outright -- I twisted her neck from her body.  Then I
trussed him quickly and hefted him, kicking and screaming on my
shoulders.  After a bit, I pounded him in the temple to quiet him."

"There was a cavern I knew of where bears used to winter.  The night
air felt warm enough for the bears to be gone, so I took the noble
there.  In truth, I wasn't really thinking -- I suppose I was lucky
the bears were gone.  Still, they weren't there...which is all that
matters.

"The noble took a long time to die.  I made sure of it.  Several years
in fact.  If you go there even today, they talk about that haunted
cavern..."

I rose from my chair, a smile on my face.  "Enough stories," I
grinned.  "I've lived in the past enough this night.  Time to deal
with you."  And I walked towards him slowly, menacingly.

He struggled against his chains, panic and fear rising within him. 
"Wait!  Wait!  Why me?  Why are you doing this?"

I stopped short, but the smile never left my face.  "Why?  Still not a
worthy question, Clarence...but I'll give it to you as a
freebie...sort of a 'last request' type thing.  You stole from me
Clarence.  It is as simple...and as complex...as that."

"I've found, over time, that the mere act of bringing a woman to
orgasm -- while satisfying -- does not produce quite enough energy to
keep the madness at bay for very long; perhaps as little as a few
days.  It is much better to prolong the actual act, to tease the woman
as long as possible before consummating the union.  To bring her to
the height of passion once gives alot of energy, but to bring her to
the brink over and over and over again and never let her get her
release.  To tease her, keeping her on the edge, that is where the
true power can be gleaned.  When she releases at the end of such a
build-up, the power released is extreme and delightful."

"Over time, I've gotten quite good at keeping a woman on the edge for
long periods of time.  Mirriam -- did you know her name when you took
her? I suppose it doesn't matter, but I wondered...  Anyway, Mirriam,
I had kept her on that edge for nearly three weeks.  Not my longest,
I'll admit, but a long time.  You see, it's a razors edge.  Keep a
woman at that peak for too long, and she'll go mad...or worse, go
elsewhere.  If you can keep her there, however...right there, on the
edge of peaking but unable to go any further...then you've found it."

"The masturbatory orgasms she has in between scarcely matter.  They do
nothing to satisfy the urge within her...they just help to keep her
sane..."

"So, when you stole Mirriam's life, you stole so much more.  You stole
from me, and that can not be tolerated."

I had reached him now, and I saw him turn his head in fear.  So he
didn't see as I knelt before him.

His cock was soft, it could be nothing else with the level of his
fear.  Such a soft piece of flesh.  So vulnerable.  I sometimes
wondered how the human race had survived so long.  I took that patch
of flesh into my grasp lightly, and began working it back and forth.

This was not my first choice, but the madness had come for me and I
could not allow myself to be swept up by it.  I had no choice.  A part
of me loathed what I was doing; I took no pleasure in the comfort of
someone of my own sex.  Others of my kind, both male and female,
reveled in this -- but it was not for me.  Still, I took his organ
between my hands and worked on bringing it to life.

I had not told Clarence, but the amount of energy came not only from
the orgasm...but from the love the person orgasming held for me. 
Building that love was part of the pain of it all...to bring another
to love me and hold myself back from loving her in return.  I had
tried an ephemeral love more than once.  They never worked out. 
Eventually, my wives had died and I had been left mourning.  Better to
not love...but the energy was never as sweet.

His flesh remained soft, though I used all my skill on him.  I had
scared Clarence...and at least part of it was a calculated thing.  To
bring him from the depths of his terror to the parapets of pleasure
would allow more energy to build within him.  Not as much as I had
lost in Mirriam, of course, but it should tide me over while I worked
on finding another companion.

I bent my head to his organ, kissing the head of it.  I almost laughed
when I did, the kiss was meant to be a symbol for love...and here, I
just used it as a symbol of my need.  The laugh, however, died in my
throat.  I was disgusted by myself, disgusted by my need.  Here was on
whom I hated and I was performing service for him.  I nearly bit
him...but my need would not be satiated by his pain.  Instead, I
licked the head, my hands working it over trying to coax it to
hardness.  My tongue sought the velvety underside, working against it.

Eventually, in spite of himself, Clarence's breathing grew to become
labored and his tool began to grow turgid.  I continued my
ministrations, my hands flying lightly up and down his member, my lips
pursed around the head and my tongue licking across the head at
regular intervals.  He grew to about 7 inches, maybe a little more. 
Not a bad tool for such a bad person.

I took him fully then, burying my face in his detestable pubic hair. 
I felt his member in my throat, but I nearly gagged.  Not by the feel
of his organ within me, nor by this act that was so foreign to me. 
No, his stench gagged me, and it was all I could do not to spit him
out.

I moved my head, then, up and then down, every now and again swiping
my tongue across the underside of the organ within my lips.  I applied
suction, at times, and released it at others.  Every now and again, I
released him from my lips, and allowed my lips to travel the length of
his member.

Despite his best efforts, Clarence began responding.  Of their own
volition, his hips started pumping his tool into my face.  A moan
escaped his lips as my tongue worked on him and I knew that he was
coming close.  His precum was now a steady drip, and I drank it.  The
taste was not as bad as I had expected, but it was not something I
would grow accustomed to.

I felt him tense, then, his tool buried deep within my throat and I
caught the first spurt deep inside me.  I drank his juice as I drank
his euphoria, and I felt the hunger abate somewhat.  I felt the
madness withdraw.  But before he could fire another, I pulled the
knife from my boot and sliced off the offending organ.

Blood rained down then, as I pulled away and his scream turned from
one of ecstasy to one of pain and horror.  I stood, watching him bleed
and spit his organ into my hands.  With a look that was pure hatred,
pure evil I pushed his cock into his own mouth and shoved it down his
throat.  He tried to spit it out, but he couldn't nor could he scream
any longer.

As his heart beat his life's blood through his groin, I waited,
listening to his heart's rhythm.  As it faltered, as too much blood
lay soaking into the concrete floor and not enough remained in his
body, I seized my opportunity and took the last of his energy as he
died.

