Until the Sun Rises E-Book

• Herausgeber: Bruno Gmünder Verlag
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Seitenzahl: 307

Beschreibung

What's so alluring about the undead? Vampires are sexy, virile, and forever young—frozen in time at their sexual peak. They have a flair for seduction, an eagerness to penetrate with more than their eyes, and an insatiable need to suck things. Their libidos and youth are rejuvenated by your blood—and to get it, they use their charm and massive strength to overpower you. What could be a bigger turn-on? Featuring explicit tales from some of gay erotica's most prolific and acclaimed authors, "Until the Sun Rises" overflows with kinky scenarios of thirsty vampires who are eager for much more than a taste of your blood.

Leseprobe

Contents

Introduction: Good to the Last Drop · Winston Gieseke

In the Casket · Gregory L. Norris

Shade of Night · Brett Lockhard

Birthday · Natty Soltesz

My Vampire Guru · Gerard Wozek

Moon Doggie and the Nightsurfers at Hammerhead Beach · Michael Bracken

Irresistible · David Aprys

Little Sucker · Rob Rosen

Black Snow · Mark Wildyr

The Coming Storm · Vincent Lambert

Swarm · Chip Masterson

Movie Monster Mayhem! · Landon Dixon

Inhuman Ecstasy · P.A. Friday

Sexual Transitioning · Ryan Field

Twice Shy · Pink Rushmore

About the Editor and Authors

About the Book

Impressum

More Books

Introduction:

Good to the last drop

What’s so alluring about the undead? Is it their charm? Their elegance? Or the fact that they know how to use their mouths?

Whatever the reason, vampire fetishes are as timeless and immortal as vampires themselves. And as diverse. From the terrifying Draculas of Bram Stoker and F.W. Murnau to the sexy heartthrobs of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Vampire Diaries, neck nibblers are the archetypal bad boys—powerful, intelligent, beautiful creatures that are arrogant and predatory, live by their own rules, and are immune to mortal fears like death, heights, or blood. They’re also incredibly romantic beings who understand the art of seduction and generally won’t ruin the moment by talking too much.

Plus they love necking.

Featuring explicit tales from some of gay erotica’s most prolific and acclaimed authors, Until the Sun Rises overflows with kinky scenarios of thirsty vampires who are eager for a taste of more than your blood. While any vampirologist will tell you that our nocturnal neighbors can have various cravings—from a victim’s life energy or emotions to the earth’s elements—up front here, of course, are those in search of some serious monster mashing.

Often labeled incubi or pranic vampires, these sex-driven night stalkers with considerable mileage (Come on, who wouldn’t want a guy who’s had hundreds of years of practice?) know how to bring out the best in us. “The irony that fucking a dead man made him feel alive did not escape him,” writes Pink Rushmore of Jack, a lovestruck mortal in “Twice Shy.” A similar resurrection is experienced by Riley, the deeply depressed virtual shut-in in Gregory L. Norris’s “In the Casket,” and Phil, the frustrated screenwriter in Landon Dixon’s “Movie Monster Mayhem!”

Some of the stories in this collection depict the sexy frivolity of a vampiric fling (Rob Rosen’s “Little Sucker” and Michael Bracken’s “Moon Doggie and the Nightsurfers at Hammerhead Beach”) while others warn against the dangers of such an encounter. Whether these jugular junkies are offering us something we desperately want, as evidenced by Tommy in Vincent Lambert’s “The Coming Storm” and Zach in David Aprys’s “Irresistible,” or they’re just so desirable—like Alain in P.A. Friday’s “Inhuman Ecstasy”—that we’re temporarily blind to the risks of involvement, these tantalizing tales often leave us with lingering questions about our own depraved erotic wishes.

For example, when your boyfriend gets off with one of the living dead, should that be considered cheating? It’s not like he’ll bring home any diseases. That is, if he comes home at all. Sometimes a romp with an ancient bloodsucker can even bring people closer together, as is the case in Mark Wildyr’s “Black Snow” and Brett Lockhard’s “Shade of Night.” For others—like the insatiable Leo in Ryan Field’s “Sexual Transitioning”—a carnal binge is actually necessary to ensure a stable eternity. Or survival in the event of a zombie apocalypse, as evidenced in Chip Masterson’s “Swarm.”

The reason we’re so turned on by these crimson tide connoisseurs is simple: Vampires embody all the traits that we find desirable. They’re sexy, virile, and forever young—frozen in time at their sexual peak. They have a flair for seduction, an eagerness to penetrate with more than their eyes, and an insatiable need to suck things. (And they swallow, rather than spit.) Plus, they make us feel wanted. After all, their libidos and youth are rejuvenated by our blood and our spirit—and to get it, they’re not afraid to use their charm and massive strength to overpower us. (So long as we first invite them in.)

And if that’s not enough of an incentive, dating a vampire always leaves your days free.

Enjoy.

Winston Gieseke

Berlin

In the casket

Gregory L. Norris

In the weeks before the new tenant moved in to the big old house next door, shadows gathered around Riley and he fell into a state of deep depression. A spell of brisk rain cut the summer short, conjuring ugly, waxy mushrooms across the lawn. The normally bright colors inside Riley’s New Englander lost their luster even when the lights were on, and sadness crept in through the windows and past the threshold.

Riley locked the front door in a town where few did. He started an odd pattern of going to bed earlier and sleeping in later, and dreamed strange scenarios about the past decades of his twenty-seven years of living and mostly ignored his present, which was steeped in gauzy mist and smothered by a growing sense of melancholy.

And then late one night he noticed a light coming from the back bedroom of his closest neighbor, a light where none should be. The big green house with the cream-colored shutters had sat vacant for the better part of two years. The previous renters were partiers who’d savaged the place and left behind enough trash to fill two dumpsters. Riley blinked; calcified sleep stung at his eyes. He pinched at their corners and sat up. The light from outside endured, no figment from a dream unwilling to end.

That side of the bed, the right, was only a few steps from the window. Months earlier in that time from another life when he still had a sense of humor, Riley often joked to himself—there was nobody else to yuck it up with in his modest home on Maple Street—that one wrong step and he’d spill through the window, roll down the section of metal roof above the sun porch, and keep on tumbling. Down the driveway, the road, and into the river, never to be seen again. During the maudlin weeks at the end of summer, the joke wasn’t as funny as it had been at the beginning. He wondered if all depressed single people thought up ever more terrifying scenarios about death and dying alone.