Midnight Thirsts: Erotic Tales Of The Vampire. Michael Thomas Ford

take you places you never dreamed of going, give you pleasures you’ve never imagined, not even in your wildest dreams.

      Philip’s cock hardened inside his pants, the crotch suddenly becoming tight and constrictive.

      He reached the side of the stage.

      The blond came over to him, kneeling down with Philip in between his legs. He grabbed Philip’s head and pulled him forward. Philip reached up and touched the blond’s legs. They were hard as steel, a thick dusting of golden blond down covering their whiteness.

      His eyes, Philip thought as their lips came together.

      He closed his eyes as the blond’s tongue came into his mouth.

      Time stopped.

      The bar faded away.

      He was on a large bed with satin sheets against his skin. Candles flickered, casting shadows.

      Pleasure.

      Gunther was between his legs, his long cock probing to find the entrance into his body.

      Oh, yes, please fuck me.

      Roses—he smelled roses, and yes, the lilacs too, their scent drifting over him, carried by a warm breeze.

      He cried out as the huge cock found his entrance and pushed inward.

      The blond was sucking on his lip, then bit into it. He tasted blood.

      He opened his eyes as the blond began pulling him onto the stage. He didn’t resist; he couldn’t. He wasn’t even aware of the cheering crowd, the sea of faces on the dance floor, wanting to see something different, something more exciting than the usual amateur-night strippers. It was like they weren’t even there—there was nobody there, nobody around; it was just him and Gunther, the two of them alone. All he could hear was his heart beating as the blond turned him around and undid his pants, yanking them down, and then he was grinding his crotch against Philip’s ass.

      Oh, yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me right here; I don’t care who’s watching; fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…

      He felt Gunther’s mouth on the base of his neck, nibbling, quick little bites followed by flicks of his tongue.

      Gunther’s cock was huge as it pressed into the crack of his ass.

      His body shuddered and trembled.

      His balls ached.

      I’m going to come, he thought.

      No, you aren’t.

      He opened his eyes, looking back over his shoulder.

      Gunther smiled.

      He can see into my soul.

      Gunther nodded. You’re mine, Philip.

      Philip nodded.

      The music stopped, and Gunther let him go. He stumbled just a bit, aware suddenly that he was onstage.

      The noise cascaded over him. The crowd was cheering, applauding, stomping their feet as Jambalaya teetered back onto the stage in her stilettos. “What’d you think of THAT, boys? YEAH.” She grinned at Philip, her nicotine-yellowed teeth crooked underneath the garish red lipstick, the thick powder on her face barely hiding the blondish hairs along her jawline.

      Philip brought his hands up to his head. Everything was so loud, the lights over the bar across the room so bright. A wave of nausea passed over him, but he fought it.

      He reached down and pulled his pants back up. Gotta get out of here, he thought, gotta get down from this stage; what the fuck am I doing up here…?

      “What’s your name?” Jambalaya shoved her microphone into his face, leering at him with bloodshot eyes beneath lashes coated with globs of mascara. Her breath smelled of stale liquor, and Philip staggered back a few steps; she looked almost demonic and frightening; why had he never noticed that before about her…?

      “His name is Maxi,” Gunther said.

      Philip stared at him, into those so-blue eyes. Maxi? What the hell?

      I’ve been looking for you for so long, my darling Maxi, and now that I’ve found you at last, again, no one will ever separate us again.

      “Let’s hear it for Gunther and Maxi!” Jambalaya shrieked, her voice piercing his brain like a sharpened pencil going through his eyes. He winced as the crowd roared its approval.

      The phone rang.

      “Goddamn it!” Rachel threw her pencil across the room, cursing herself for not unplugging it. The poem was finally coming to her, and now her concentration was broken; maybe the poem was gone for good. Must be the pot, she thought. She always unplugged the fucking phone when she was writing. Shaking her head, she picked it up. “Hello?”

      “Your friend is in danger, Rachel.” The voice was low, heavily accented.

      “Who is this?”

      “Nigel Witherspoon.”

      “How did you get my phone number?”

      “Does that really matter?”

      “Look, you old freak—”

      “Your friend is in mortal danger, Rachel. Philip?”

      The hair at the nape of her neck stood up. “What do you know about Philip?”

      “I know many things, Rachel.” He coughed. “We need to talk.”

      “So, talk.” Hang up, a voice inside her head screamed. Just hang up the fucking phone!

      But somehow, she couldn’t.

      “I have many things to tell you. Come downstairs. I’m on the sidewalk in front of your building.”

      “Are you nuts?” she shouted. How did you find out where I live?

      “No harm will come to you. If you care for your friend, you must come down.”

      “Okay, okay.” She hung up the phone and grabbed for her coat. I must be nuts, she thought as she grabbed for her keys. This creepy old guy is stalking me, and I’m going to go talk to him? That’s crazy, just crazy; this is how you wind up on the front page of the paper and on the ten o’clock news, Rachel, this is the kind of thing you always get pissed off at in scary movies, the heroine doing something so unfucking-believably stupid…

      Then she noticed the cord curled up on the floor next to the nightstand.

      She reached down.

      She had unplugged the phone.

      She felt the scream rising in her throat but fought it down.

      She walked out her front door and headed for the staircase.

      Chapter Three

      Royal Street was deserted.

      The mist swirled around them as they walked past parked cars covered with round beads of condensation, the windows fogged up on the inside. The street was silent except for the clicking of their heels against the cracked and tilted sidewalk. The trees they walked beneath dripped, the leaves rustling and swaying in a breeze Philip felt as a cold wet hand on the back of his neck. He shivered.

      “Cold?” Gunther asked, squeezing Philip’s hand tighter with his own, which felt cold and almost a little clammy. “Don’t be nervous,” Gunther said to him, smiling, his red lips parting. “You’ve done this before.” He pushed Philip against a streetlamp, pressing himself between Philip’s legs. Philip felt Gunther’s hard cock through his jeans as Gunther moved his hips, pressing his lips against Philip’s neck, his tongue darting out, twirling circles against the base of his neck. It tickled a bit, and Philip’s own cock began to thicken and harden.

      Philip’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, his eyes closing and a growl beginning deep in his diaphragm. Oh, yes, take me; fuck me right here