Page 71 of By the Pint

“Fuck.” Below me, Casey canted his hips. His tanned stomach muscles rippled as though he was restraining himself from launching at me. His silver key hung in the centre of his chest.

His bare flesh was too inviting to ignore. I telekinetically slid his ruined shirt from his arms, leaving it in a heap next to him, and I took my kisses down the Jacob’s ladder of his chest and abdomen. Over the peaks of his muscles and in the valleys and junctures. Pushing my nose into every patch of hair I found.

Casey wriggled and writhed against my touch, like it was all just too much, like he might pass out from the overwhelming pleasure if he didn’t dance along with me.

I hooked my fingers into the belt loops at his hips and tugged hard, shunting his ass forwards, so that his groin almost hit me on the nose. I buried my face in the bulge and sucked in the scent of him. Of washing detergent and his expensive leathery cologne and his warm, soft, buttery skin. I had tosqueeze down on his thighs to stop myself from finishing there and then.

“You smell so fucking delicious. Tell me you want to fuck my mouth. Tell me you want to watch me fucking my hand as I suck out your soul through your cock.”

Casey dragged unfocused eyes to me. “Oh, gods,” he huffed. “I want to watch you stroke yourself as you suck me … Please.”

“Do better.”

“I want you to … I want to fuck that perfect little mouth of yours. I want to see those bowed lips wrapped around my cock. Feel the back of your throat vibrate against my head. I want you to finger fuck me. Hard. I want you to edge me over and over until I’m crying out for release. And I want to watch you come. I need to see your face as you break. Need to hear you make that fucking sound you make. Whine it right into my ear. Come all over me. Mark me as yours.”

Good boy.His buckle jangled as I undid it, and he gasped in a breath when I popped the top button open on his jeans. I could have used my telekinesis to undress him, but this felt so much more personal. More intimate. Though, I did use my powers to drag the sofa cushions forward to meet his back, so that if he pushed against it, he would still see all of me, and what I was doing to him, and myself.

Slowly, I inched his jeans down past his thighs, knees, over his ankles, and tossed them the same way as my shirt.

Casey was perfect. Naturally tanned skin peeked through a light dusting of brown hair. His muscles rippled under my fingertips and wherever I touched him, a trail of goosebumps erupted in their wake. Inside his boxer-briefs, his cock twitched. A wet patch formed at the top of his erection. It made me groan and palm my own.

“You’re beautiful,” I said, placing a kiss under his belly button.

With my fangs sheathed, I scraped my teeth and tongue down his happy trail until they met the waistband of his underwear.

Casey’s hips were already softly bucking, as though he had no agency over them. His fist clenched and flexed on the arm of the sofa. The muscles in his stomach strained and twitched.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since you first walked into my booth in that fucking suit, and you kept picturing me on my knees for you,” I said, peeling his underpants down over his hips.

Casey was unable to answer me with actual words. Instead, garbled noises and half moans left his lips. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, as the full glory of him was unwrapped. His cock, a masterpiece, thick and vein corded, sat almost flush against his stomach. His balls were taut and perfectly symmetrical and begging to be handled. I hadn’t realised balls could be so perfect. They were gods-tier balls. Would have won him gold medals in the Balls Olympics. If I wasn’t in such a hurry to make him forget his own name, I would have penned a love poem about them.

Ode to Casey’s Balls.

If I ever needed to deliver another keynotes speech, I would do it on the subject of Casey’s perfect, perfect balls.

I reached forward and cupped them, because I had to, and wrapped my other hand around his cock, stroking lightly up to his crown. A sticky trail of pre-cum bridged the narrow gap to his belly button. I did the only reasonable thing I could think of, I leant forward and licked it clean. Casey cried out. One of his hands gripped the arm of the couch, the other disappeared behind the backrest.

“Will that … make you … sick?” Casey said, surprised actual words were coming out of his mouth.

“I guess we’ll find out.” I could ingest small amounts of other fluids. Very small. Like another person’s saliva, and water was fine. But more than a teaspoon of anything besides blood would drastically kill the mood. When nothing started gurgling in my stomach, I fisted Casey’s cock and buried it into my mouth. Casey instantly became incoherent.

My fangs were sheathed, and it would take a lot of extra concentration to keep them that way, but I guessed it would distract me from blowing too soon.

“Oh, gees. Oh, fuck. Feel so good. Make me … Wanna do things … Shit!” His words were punctuated with full-bodied groans that vibrated through the leather of the couch.

I pushed the front of my sweatpants down and took my own cock in my hand. I squeezed my crown, and whined against the length of Casey, as I took him deeper into my throat. One good thing about being a vampire was that I didn’t need to worry about cutting off my airways.

“Wait, wait. Oh, no. Dima, stop. I’m gonna come. I’m … not ready.”

I let him go, but still gripped him firmly.

“Sorry,” he said. “It just feels so … You feel …” He scrubbed his hands backwards through his hair, letting his head fall back against the cushion, exposing the indecently delicious column of his throat.

Come on now, what kind of vampire would I be if I wasn’t an expert at sucking?

After his breathing had slowed, and he dragged heavy lidded eyes to mine, I asked him, “Ready?”

Casey sighed. “Okay, Mosquito.”

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