This edition of M Christian’s Running Dry – The Complete Series contains for the first time ever the original story, the sequel novel, and a new never before published concluding novella. This classic masterful queer thriller/horror novel is back in print with 20,000 additional words.
He’s
immortal. He drinks blood. But he's not a vampire. Doud’s totally unique – a
being no one’s ever seen before – and he’s desperately lonely for a lover: a
special someone who will not just join him in his bed but his strange life as
well. But every time he thinks he's found someone it all goes horrifically
wrong.
Then one day a monster from his past returns: a thing of bitterness and fury he believed was long dead. Doud, with his friend Shelly in tow, begins a terrifying chase that begins in Doud will get what he’s always wanted out of his long, strange life–but it will be nothing that Doud, or you, could ever have imagined!
Running
Dry – The Complete Series
Amazon
Kindle (
ASIN: B00CWNRFYM
Excerpt:
EMPTY
"You want some?" came a voice from the
next-door stall: deep and mature, but not old; faintly lyrical but not
threateningly exotic; alluring and tempting, but not shallow or jaded.
"S-sure," he stammered as he leaned
forward to undo the latch, gently push the door open.
The similar sound of a cheap bolt being drawn back
made his heartbeat race, a stroboscopic cascade of imagination making his
eyes blur.
When he did appear, Vince saw that his voice was ...
and could not be anything but, his: a face with lines of experience,
but not aged; unique features, but without the fear of being too foreign; a
sensually wry smile on delicate lips, but not mockingly lecherous.
Not old, but he immediately put his nearly-elegant
and almost-refined face between thirty and forty; not local, but he dreamed
of Cinzano umbrellas and waiters with thick mustaches ... a land within sight
of an-always-turquoise Mediterranean; and a truly happy grin and an honestly
playful dance of gray eyes. He wore simple but too-clean clothes, to be
working simply: dark jeans, a pair of new-ish tennis shoes, and a black,
well-washed, turtle-neck.
Standing, framed by the battered metal of the narrow
bathroom stall, he looked down at Vince for a moment, as if doing the same
cascade of imagination – and, as he did, Vince felt himself faintly blush:
wondering how this handsome-but-not pretty man, who maybe (maybe-not) came
from a warm land on a side of that southern sea, and who had asked to come
over and suck his cock, saw him.
The floor of the bathroom was tiled, smudged and
streaked here and there with whatever the owner of the Crooked Crow
couldn't, or wouldn't be bothered, to clean, but it didn't stop him from
kneeling down in front of Vince. The blush, at which Vince's face further
warmed, didn't go away as the stranger put one hand, and then the other, on
either side of Vince's thighs and gently – almost lovingly – parted them.
"You're new at this, aren't you?" the man
said, with humor – but not laughter – in his voice. It matched the calmness
in his touch; his playful, but not catty, tone. "There's nothing to be
afraid of."
"O-Okay," Vince said, his own voice coming
out too many stepped-up octaves high.
From his right thigh, the man's hand deftly slipped
further up, between Vince's legs to wrap firmly, but still kindly, around his
hard cock. Vince's blush remained – but then faded quickly: he'd
half-expected (and half-not) that his cock would fail him, that his naïveté
would leave him at half-mast, and less-than-full-steam.
This time the other man did laugh – but with
and not at – and squeezed Vince's cock ever-so tighter. "I think
we'll have a good time," he said.
All Vince could do was nod – and that came as a
basic, deep-down reflex.
Then the other man, the stranger, dipped his head
down and – with a neat, smooth, and Vince suspected well-practiced gesture,
put his lips around the head of his cock. The contact was almost an electric
shock: a bolt of sensuality that made – another basic, deep-down reflex –
Vince hiss, and then softly moan.
Even though he couldn't see it, Vince was somehow
aware that there was a smile there, wrapped around the head of his cock: a
reflecting joy that Vince's pleasure was giving the other man pleasure as
well.
But that was just the tease, the taste, the
beginning movement, the first brush stroke: at first Vince wasn't even aware
of it, but then the knowledge came and with it a new form of shock, a new
level of sensuality: that the other man, this total and complete stranger
kneeling down between his legs was slowly ... so very, very slowly ...
inching his mouth down the shaft of Vince's cock.
He thought it would stop, Vince thought that at any
moment the action would cease ... but it didn't: instead his cock went
further and further down into the man's mouth, and then his throat.
Vince's soft hiss, and almost-inaudible moan,
changed tune and timbre, and there was nothing he could do – or would do – to
stop it. Vince's body tensed, stiffened in body-mirror to the firmness of his
cock. Again, despite his will, he found his hips shoving, and pulling in and
out of the other man's mouth and, again, he felt a smile in those lips and a
second echoing pleasure from giving pleasure.
But it didn't stop there. Vince knew that he was
new, naïve: he knew that – in his mental scorecard – that there were more
empty boxes than ticked-off, completed ones when it came to ... when it came
to having strange men in bathrooms sucking his dick, but what he did know was
that this was different, this was unique, this was beyond anything he'd ever
experienced ... and also suspected he'd feel again.
It was a man's lips, a man's tickle of teeth, roof
of his mouth, the wet and firm tunnel of his throat: there was passion, there
was enthusiasm, but there was also ... more.
A hint, a suggestion, a spine-tickling goose bump
parade of almost-fear: a part of Vince's mind – far removed from that stall
in that bathroom – knew that was he was experiencing was more that simply the
best on his limited scorecard, more than he ever could expect. But he didn't
say or do anything. He didn't want to say or do anything to stop it.
It felt ... it felt like his life and everything
about it – every once of essence, every drop of days, every trickle of
existence, was being pulled through the pool of his balls, into the heat of
his deep belly, through the almost-cramping firmness of his erect shaft, past
the screaming-sensitivity of his head, and out and down the wet and
bottomless throat of the man kneeling in front of him.
He came, and then he came, and he came again – the
first arriving and departing with the knowledge that his come shot down the
other man's throat, but the others that followed were ... not dry, just not
salty and sticky. That part of Vince's consciousness that wasn't there in the
bathroom, might even have suspected that what was coming out of his body was
even more than his essence, drops of days, trickles of existence – that what
was being sucked out of him could have been everything of him, even the stuff
that smelled of hot pennies, that was both slick and sticky at the same time
... as well as deep, rich, red.
But he didn't say or do anything. He didn't want to
say or do anything to stop it. There was sex, there was pleasure, there was
orgasm – and then there what was happening to him in the stall of that
bathroom, and Vince didn't want it ever to end.
But then it did – and, at least, the conclusion
wasn't sudden, a shock of being on the edge of sexual, sensual, joyful bliss,
and then nothing. As with the coming, the going was slow, steady, but when he
was aware of it clear and distinct. The room, his mind, everything that was
then and there contracted down from where it had ballooned ... until Vince
was sitting on the toilet, his legs spread, his pants around his ankles, and
the man – the stranger – was slowing his rhythmic lifting and descending of
his head, easing the sucking of his mouth, loosening the contractions of his
throat, until it simply came to the soft, almost sweet, end of the other man
kissing the overly-sensitive tip of Vince's still-hard cock.
"Good?" the other man said, a wide – a
very, very wide smile – on his face.
Vince couldn't speak: he'd forgotten how and hadn't
returned to earth long enough to even begin to relearn how: all he could do
was nod.
The stranger playfully patted Vince's thigh, the
grin never leaving his lips. "I'm glad."
Standing – another concept that Vince knew was far
beyond his own body at that point – the man ran two fingers across his lips,
as if savoring the lingering sensation of having Vince's cock between them.
Turning to leave, he then looked back over his
shoulder and – his smile still wide but also somehow cooler, reserved, staid
– said, "I'll see you later."
To
purchase, click http://amzn.com/B00CWNRFYM
|
2 comments:
Well, that was not just another blow job in another bathroom. A sexual symphony, I'd say. And most intriguing...
Thanks, so glad you liked it! It gets ... weirder as the story progresses (if I do say so myself)
Post a Comment