The young, drunk construction worker staggered out of the Bourbon Street pool hall at three in the morning, assured that the resilience of his strong body would permit him to be walking the high beam at the construction site by seven, with only a couple of hours of sleep. He headed east on Bourbon and used Urselines to drop down to Chartres, where strong hands drug him into an alley and threw him up against a brick wall in the dark.
He felt the sensation of being enveloped in a black cape and a bare breast pushing him into the wall. More alarmingly, a huge cock was pushing at his belly. The young man started to cry out, but his mouth was covered in a deep, slobbery kiss. He immediately started to grow weak and to calm down as his mouth was invaded by an intoxicating injection of saliva. Within a minute he was under control and numb.
He felt long, slender hands go under his waistband at his butt cheeks and force his pants and briefs down onto his thighs. Sharp nails slashed at and dug into his buttocks, drawing blood, and causing pain, but pain that the young man unaccountably felt detached from.
He was flipped around, and the strange man in the cape was crouched behind him, licking and sucking at the wounds in his buttocks. He lay his cheek and the palms of his hand against the wall and searched his brain, trying to connect the threads through the effect of the drunkenness and saliva sedative that would allow him to respond to this assault.
The man pulled the construction worker's long, slender cock back between his legs and started to suck him. The construction worker certainly had feeling there, and this one was very pleasurable. The man expertly and quickly sucked him off, inhaling all of the young semen he could find. Then the man's lips and tongue searched up into the fold between the construction worker's balls and where his left leg joined his groin. He pushed the construction worker's left knee up the wall to broaden the access, and the young man dumbly raised his leg in compliance. The tongue found the throbbing vein, rushing young, healthy blood around the construction worker's body, and the man gently sank his teeth into the vein and began to suck.
The construction worker felt the prick of the teeth, but there was no pain. He did feel himself draining at a rate that should have alarmed him, but it didn't.
A flash of headlights from a passing car played across the wall and sent the caped man careening off to the side, seeking darkness and covering himself with his cloak.
Thinking the ordeal was over—or perhaps had never happened at all—the drunk and drugged construction worker pulled up his pants, wandered out onto Chartres Street, and continued his staggering journey to his little shotgun tumbling down house with the peeling blue paint in the nearby Faubourg Marigny district.
When he reached home, he wandered back through the rooms to the room at the back, his bedroom, where he just shucked his clothes and fell onto his back on the bed, immediately falling into a deep sleep.
In his sleep, he had a very pleasant wet dream of receiving a deep-throated blow job in which he came in profusion and in several explosions. He also had a stranger dream of suckling a grown man at both breasts, and the face of this man turned from middle age back to youth before his eyes. He also dreamt of his own vitality slowly draining away from him.
He awoke, still in somewhat of a stupor, but his facilities and control returning and quite agitated. He was on his stomach now, and he felt pain in his right leg. Teeth were dug into the vein running near the surface in the crook of his leg, behind the knee, and his blood was being sucked there, accompanied by soft moans and mewing sounds.
The construction worker came up on his elbows, turned his head, muttered an explicative, and started to jerk his leg away. A youngish, vaguely familiar man, with a strong, well-cut torso, naked to the waist, his huge cock exposed through an opening his black leather pants, flew up the construction worker's body, a black cape billowing out above him.
The man's face flew to the construction worker's head, and he turned the young man's face to him and covered the young man's mouth with his. The young man tried to resist, but the other man was much stronger now and forced his prey's lips apart and swabbed his mouth with a strong, searching tongue, transferring the toxic, sedating saliva. The young man stopped resisting the kiss and calmed down. His body relaxed and he collapsed down off his elbows. To ensure the venom had done its work, the man snaked his hands under the construction worker's chest and dug his nails into already ravished nipples. The young man did not jerk or lurch.
The now even-stronger and younger man lay there, stretched down the body of his prey, his chest heaving and expanding. His cock was expanding too. The man lay on top of the construction worker with his mammoth tool poised at the young man's hole. With a little push, the huge pile driver entered. The young man tried valiantly to adjust to accommodate, but that wasn't going to be possible. The man nestled his pelvis into the young man's ass.
With an attitude of class superiority that had survived the centuries, Emile did not tarry with this mere construction worker. He also was more than a little irritated that the young man had gotten away from him in the French Quarter. No pleasure to receive—or to give—here. This was just a necessary feeding. But the young man had what Emile needed. Vitality and healthy blood and other fluids.
Holding the comatose construction worker down on his dingy, rocking cot with once-again strong fists pressed into shoulder blades. Emile positioned his cock barely inside the pulsating hole, and he slowly and relentlessly sheathed his tool, sending it on its path of destruction up the construction worker's anal channel, drilling up, stretching beyond capability, plunging past all possible accommodation, splitting, ripping, shredding.
At nine inches in, the man's tongue started to probe the side of the construction worker's neck, probing for the throb of the carotid artery. The young man tilted his head, stretching his neck to help make the artery pop out.
ten inches in, and the young man felt the other man's chest muscles harden to steel and expand. He could clearly feel the man's taut nipples digging into his back.
The man's tongue found the carotid, and he sank his teeth into it and started to suck with a contented sigh. His fingernails were shredding the young man's nipples and chest.
The unrelenting pile-driving cock jumped to eleven inches as the blood squirted into the man's mouth from the artery, and it ballooned another inch and a half, causing blood to flow from inside the construction worker and to mix with his vital body fluids and to wash over the caped predator's cock.
The cock was in to the hilt at fourteen inches, but it was still growing, exploring ever deeper, soaking up and gorging on the young man's waning life.
The artery on that side collapsed, and the man quickly changed to the other side of the neck, with the young man stretching his neck there as he had done before. He did feel a pulse there, but it was weak. He sank his teeth in anyway and was rewarded with a small trickle of blood.
The cock jumped to fifteen inches. All the construction worker could feel was a weak pleasure, a oneness with his new lover and with that magnificent tool between his butt cheeks. He could feel himself melting away, but that's what he wanted now. He knew he was finished. He wanted to melt down entirely into the blood and body fluids his lover needed and to just swish down into that large slit at the end of that monster dick head. To become one with his lover; to give his lover exactly what he needed: renewed youth and vitality. And this was exactly what he was giving.
The other artery collapsed, and the man started a long, strong ejaculation at seventeen inches into the construction worker's ravished body, mingling their body fluids, becoming one. The rejuvenated man threw back his head and howled a victory yell of a young, vigorous, virile man once more, while the construction worker melted into . . . nothingness.
"Do you have any idea how foolish that was?" Lamont Breaux was blustering "You've never driven a car before. You have no documentation. You could have been stopped at any time. What then?"
"I understand New Orleans policeman are strong and viral and quite tasty," Emile answered, not the least bit concerned about Breaux's blustering. "You were putting off my feeding. If I could not go out, it was either the driver or . . . you. And I found going out by far the most appetizing choice."
Breaux shuddered involuntarily, the message not lost on him in the least. But he was trying to force LaCour to reveal where the rest of the treasure was. He was working without what leverage he could. He had thought that if Emile had panicked about not being fed on schedule, he'd be more pliable.
"I do not understand why you have denied me, anyway," Emile was saying. "Why did you not send the driver with me two nights ago when you knew I needed to go out again?"
"We need more money," Breaux responded. He tried to make it sound like he was changing the subject, but Emile wasn't dumb. "I need to know if there is more treasure and, if so, we need it. You are simply too expensive."
"We need more money?" Emile was trying to be bland, but all of his anger was rising up inside him. Why in the hell would they need more money this soon? Breaux was fleecing him. And he wasn't the least bit surprised. He knew it would come to this. Just not this soon. But he had already decided what he would do when it came to this.
"Well, why did you not just say this sooner, Lamont?" Emile said smoothly. It was taking every fiber of his control to keep his temper from boiling over yet. It was a very good thing that he had been well fed just before this discussion surfaced.
"You're . . . you're not upset?" Breaux was flabbergasted. He had just blurted out the next phase in his plan to quickly drain this monster dry. This whole operation was scaring him now. He was very much afraid he wasn't going to be able to contain what he had unleashed here.
"No, no, of course not, Lamont. In fact, just a bit ago as I was, ah, enjoying the peak of my enlightenment, it came to me that I knew where a bit more of the Fontnet bullion had been buried and that I must rush right back here and tell you about it." For a moment Emile was afraid that he'd gone over the top with this, but, as he had suspected some time ago, Lamont Breaux was as dumb as he looked. Cunning, but not nearly imaginative enough.
"This is the rest of it, then? Where is it?"
"On no, I do not think so," Emile said, showing Breaux and innocent little smile and creasing the lines over his now-smooth eyebrows. "I do think there is more, much more. I just cannot think where they put it. It has been two centuries, you must understand. And it was quite intellectually draining just to be lying in that cold stone tomb that long. But if you will come to the window and take a look down toward the pond, perhaps you will see where you might look. No, over there. Yes, and what is it that you see? Yes, yes, it is an oak tree, a might oak tree."
"It's buried near the oak?" Breaux asked suspiciously.
"No, I think not. I think it must be right under the oak."
"They dug right under a massive oak tree like that? But that's not possible."
"It was not such a big oak in 1799, you know."
Lamont Breaux was a humorless man. He didn't even bother to try to laugh.
But then Emile continued. "However, we seem to have spent a lot quickly. I would be much comforted if whatever was found here was stacked under the bed in my chamber so that I can see the rate of its use."
"Oh, I don't know . . ." Breaux said.
"Oh, I do," Emile responded it turn. "Otherwise, I think it might be very, very difficult for me to remember where the bulk of the fortune was hidden."
The two stood there at the window, Lamont Breaux making plans for the felling of a huge tree on the morrow and some work with digging equipment—that part to be managed by just he and the chauffeur, alas, as no one else should know what there was to uncover. At the same time, Emile LaCour was making radically different plans of his own. Alas, he thought it best to risk another solo ride in the limousine, though. No reason not to wait a week, though, and take care of two needs at one time.
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