Date: Sun, 1 Feb 2009 01:33:30 +0000
From: clever wag <cleverwag@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Greek Holday Part 6

A Professor's Greek Holiday -- Part 6

This is the continuation of a story about sex between older men and boys in
a fictitious part of modern Greece. In later stages it will contain some
bisexual content too. It is in every sense a work of the imagination and a
fantasy. It is very graphic and safe sex is not practiced. Some sexual
violence is also involved. If such stuff offends you or you are not of
legal age in your country please do not read it. It is your choice.

I hope those who have read it so far are enjoying it. Thanks for the emails
of appreciation! I always welcome feedback and suggestions so feel free to
email me at cleverwag@hotmail.com.


Dave Snow

6.

Pretty little Ilia emitted a startled `oooooo' of excitement, having
understood at least the relevant words in what the professor had just said
to him. He was fond of saying `ooooooo' quite a lot, as the professor was
about to find out.

There were no windows to the room, so the first thing Ilia had to do was
flick a switch to turn on a number of small spotlights, which gave it a
soft rather brothel-like glow. It was more than just a bedroom; the
professor could see that straightaway. He didn't imagine that sleep was the
main thing that went on in here, if anyone ever slept in it at all.

But there was a bed, and very inviting it looked too. It was massive and
circular -- it could accommodate probably eight people quite comfortably,
and no doubt it had. It was covered with silk and velvet cushions and
throws and a big sheepskin rug. At its head, and tilted downwards so that
it could reflect whatever was happening on the bed, was a huge gilt-framed
mirror. There were four upright posts fixed to bed, and from each post
there hung a shiny silver metal linked chain. Each chain had a leather
banded cuff at its end.

There was a lot of black leather in the room. For a start the walls were
encased with padded leather. There was a leather couch. There were two
leather armchairs. There was also a kind of bench, the sort one might see
in a gym, a workout bench essentially, with a black leather seat, to which
were connected various hoops and clasps and more chains. There was a thick
chain hanging from the ceiling too, with a horizontal metal bar at the
bottom. On this bar were four lockable hoops, of a size that could fit a
pair of wrists and a pair of ankles quite tightly. There were four iron
rings on one wall, carefully spaced. Next to these was a trolley, as you
would see in a hospital, with a fair few implements and instruments on it,
which the professor didn't examine too closely just then, although he
couldn't help noticing what he thought was a whip, the sort that ancient
seamen used to call a cat-o-nine-tails. Next to the trolley there was a
cupboard, probably containing all manner of other items of pleasure and
pain, as yet to be discovered.

On the opposite wall, over a fireplace (thankfully unlit at this hot time
of year) was a giant plasma television screen, covering almost the entire
space. It was switched off for the moment.

There were pictures adorning the walls too, mostly blow-up photographs,
quite artfully shot, of some of the boys the professor had already seen in
the flesh, and some others he had not yet met. None of the pictures was
overtly pornographic, although they were undoubtedly erotic, as the boys
pouted and posed for the camera, in various stages of undress.

To his great delight the professor spotted, among these, a photograph of
Ilia, clothed in, of all things, a leather thong and buckled harness that
sat tight around his lovely smooth still developing muscles. The boy was
also holding a sleek leather whip, sucking on one end of it with his
mouth. So that was what this perpetually horny little shepherd lad was
into. The professor had suspected as much.

He took all this in very quickly, because what he really wanted to do was
to fuck Ilia's brains out.

He needed to do it quickly, he reckoned, or he might pass out, because he
was quite drunk. But somehow the desire in him for the boy, that had been
building and raging ever since he'd seen him on the other side of the
village square this morning, gave him a strength that he didn't until now
realise he was capable of, at his age. He picked Ilia up with one arm
between his legs and the other round his neck and carried the squirming
little bundle of teenage beauty to the bed and threw him onto it.

The bed wobbled. It was a water bed. Ilia squealed. The professor dived on
top of the kid, pulling open the Hawaiian shirt and sucking and chewing on
and biting the boy's hard nipples. Ilia struggled and kicked and giggled
and shrieked. God he tasted good. The professor grunted as he let his
tongue and lips and teeth explore every lovely sculpted bit of the boy's
upper body, moving his hands up to the nipples and pinching them and
twisting them. Ilia bucked and thrashed and groaned. The tip of his thick
uncircumcised cock was sticking out of the top of his tight and already
slightly unbuttoned cutoffs. The professor licked it, tasting little
bubbles of salty precum on the glans, pulling the shorts down further, as
the boycock got harder. Ilia moaned -- `oooooooo'. It was one of the
sweetest sounds Professor Smythe had ever heard.

`Ochi ochi, perimeno...' the exquisite little animal then murmured, pushing
the director away from his swollen cock and sliding speedily off the
bed. The professor was being told to wait. He didn't know if he could.

Ilia quickly opened a drawer in a cabinet by the bed and took out a small
plastic bottle. It contained babyoil. Ilia squeezed the bottle over his
chest so that the oil dripped onto his firm chest and his perky
ever-protruberant nipples. The professor gasped as the crazily flirtatious
kid began to gyrate for him, doing a little dance, rubbing the oil into his
silky skin -- all over, his chest first, his shoulders, his flat ridged
stomach.  Then, with his cutoffs now pushed down his knees and his thick
young member throbbing, he began to oil his cock.

`Come here you fucking slut, you hot young boywhore!' the professor cried,
and made a grab for the cocky little teen. But Ilia jumped away from his
reach. Turning, and still gyrating, he pushed his firm little buttocks out
for the professor's delectation, and proceeded to rub oil into them too,
his heavy balls swaying. `Jesus fucking Christ!' the professor hollered.

The boy swung round to face him again and put a finger to his lips,
tittering. The professor felt affronted. Presumably this wasn't the first
time that someone had shouted such things in this room. Where there other
old men in other rooms around the quadrangle trying to sleep, grumbling
about having their slumbers disturbed? Well fuck them, thought the
professor, I'm not sleeping yet. Not before I've stuffed my old dick into
this tasty buoyant teen slut's tight hole. He lunged at the boy again. Ilia
leapt even further away. The professor struggled to get off the trembling
water bed.

This gave little Ilia time to scuttle to a shelf beneath the vast plasma
screen. He picked up a remote control and pressed a button.

The professor, who'd managed climb off the bed, almost fell over
backwards. On the screen, filling the whole wall really, there was a boy
orgy going on -- an assortment of exceptionally beautiful naked kids
licking and sucking and playing and fucking, perhaps about ten of them, all
on a big circular bed like the one in this room. Maybe it was the bed in
this room. The professor thought he recognised some of the
participants. The camerawork was shaky, but it didn't' matter because the
writhing teens all, without exception, had perfect toned bodies, and were
so obviously enjoying every minute of each other's touch. Sometimes it
would zoom in closer, picking out a chest, or a solid stomach, or a hard
nipple or taut buttock, or a meaty oozing cock. There was sound too, so the
room was filled with a chorus of gasping, groaning, moaning musclelads.

`You like?' Ilia asked.

`I like a lot,' said the old man. Ilia took his hand and led him to the
leather couch in front of the screen and with a gentle push forced him to
sit and gaze up at the screen. Ilia knelt in front of him and hurriedly
unzipped the professor's trousers.

`Ooooooh', observed Ilia, licking his lips. `You hard...'

`Very hard, said the professor.

`I make more hard...'

The professor didn't think he could be any harder. He'd never felt so hard
in his life.  He looked down at his own cock. It was bigger than he'd ever
seen it. He watched Ilia, now on all fours with his perfect little bum in
the air, lick his cock up and down and up and down and then swirl his
tongue around the tip, looking up at him with his pretty eyes. This boy was
an expert, clearly. Yes, his cock was hardening even more.

He looked at the screen again. The camera had gone close in on two boys
fucking -- a black boy and a strikingly Nordic-looking blonde. The
professor recognised both of them, the black boy was the taller of the two
Africans that Harold Liddell had picked up in Sierra Leone, the other was
one of the Swedes whom Harold Liddell thought were twins. The African's
amazing muscles were soaked with sweat. The Swede ran his hands all over
them as he was fucked.

Watching this, the professor felt Ilia's long spidery boyish fingers
unbutton his shirt and pull it open. Then he felt his nipples being
scratched by the amazing slut's fingernails, little flicks up and
down. Then the boy twisted and pulled. Professor Smythe threw his head
back, closed his eyes and let out a great howl. He was going to explode.

`Ochi ochi, no come not now...' Ilia said, taking his mouth away from the
man's cock. He jumped up onto the couch and sidled next to the
professor,who felt the heat of the boy's hot body as he continued to play
with his nipples. The professor instinctively reached for his own cock, but
Ilia slapped his hand away. `No no touch,' said the boy, `no come not
now...come only when fucky...' and he went back to flicking and rubbing the
nipples. `You watch...up there...I play...you no touch cock...'

The professor looked down at his straining cock, jerking upwards, as the
boy wrenched and scratched at the hard buttons on his chest.

`You have good body...' the flirtatious tart lied. The professor couldn't
believe this kid's proficiency, and already very experience teenboy whore.

Then suddenly, on the screen, he saw Paneoti. The orgy had finished, or
been cut away from, and there, alone, was the amazing young muscleboy who'd
led him to all this.

The beautiful boy was performing a slow strip for the camera. He was in a
pair of dirty jeans and a torn checked shirt, sleeveless like the one he'd
been wearing when they'd gone up into the hills. He started to unbutton it,
seductively revealing his flawless torso, bit by bit, licking his fingers
and rubbing his meaty pectorals and his iron abdomen, smiling, rolling his
tongue over his mouth. It was an awe-inspiring and clearly practiced act.

`Paneoti,' the old man groaned. Ilia briefly ceased his ministrations on
the professor's nipples and looked up at the screen too. `Neh, ooooooo,
Paneoti, fucky fucky...you like Paneoti?' He went back to chewing on a
nipple.

`You know I like Paneoti, you little fucker,' said the professor. Paneoti
had pulled his shirt back now over his shoulders and was rubbing his own
nipples to hardness. `Where is Paneoti now?'

With a mouthful of nipple, the naked slut shrugged. `Not here...' Now he
pinched the man's other nipple, sending a surge of electricity through him,
as, on the screen, Paneoti began to unbuckle his belt.

`But he come here yes?' the man asked.

The kid nodded. 'When he come he fucky me good, I like Paneoti fucky
me...'The professor was reaching for his own cock again, he just had to as
he watched Paneoti lower his jeans and that magnificent monster that he'd
worshipped in the derelict church popped out and up in all its inflamed
glory. Little Ilia slapped the old man's hand away again, mumbling as he
bit into a nipple `no come...only when fucky...'

The old man couldn't bear it any more. `So let's fucking fucky...'he
cried. He pulled himself up from the couch and watched Paneoti playing with
himself, rubbing hid wonderful cock up and down and up and down.

He scanned the room, trying to choose the best place to fuck Ilia -- to
fuck him so hard that he screamed for mercy. The bed? No it was too
soft. That bench, while shackled to it? Maybe. Then he saw the metal rings
attached to the wall and the trolley of instruments beside them. He decided
then that he wouldn't fuck Ilia, not just yet. He wanted to hurt him first.

`There! You go there!' he said, pointing to the rings. He wasn't quite sure
how the rings worked, but he was sure that Ilia did.

Ilia smiled, got up and skipped eagerly over to the rings. The professor
heard Paneoti start to moan behind him on the screen, as the naked
oil-soaked little blonde whore speedily and efficiently took four leather
cuffs from the trolley, deftly attaching two to his wrists and two to his
ankles. The professor watched his lithe body as he did so, every young
muscle working perfectly. He professor still heard Paneoti moaning behind
him and looked over his shoulder. Paneoti was continuing to pump his huge
boycock. The camera was closing in on it so that it almost filled the
screen, a vast veiny shiny monster, the foreskin pulled back to reveal a
purple head with small droplets of early cum on the slit.

Ilia, facing the wall, began to connect one of the wrist-cuffs to one of
the rings by means of a small clasp on the cuff. But the professor didn't
want to see the boys back and bum just then, pert and delightful though the
latter was. `No no,' he shouted, `around, turn around!'

The kid didn't understand, so the man walked over to him and grabbed his
arm and whisked him round so that he was facing away from the wall, his
cock sprouting outwards. Roughly, quickly, the man saw how to attach the
cuffs to the rings, and soon had the cocky oiled-up blonde tart
spreadeagled, hanging naked against the leather wall, looking utterly
edible.

`God you fucking beautiful little whore cocksucker!' the professor
shouted. He grabbed both of Ilia's tight pointy nipples and wrenched them,
hard. The boy winced and drew in a sharp breath. His gorgeous young body
writhed. The professor slapped the kid's swollen cock so that it
bounced. Ilia cried out. Briefly the old man looked back at the screen. Now
the camera was on Paneoti's tough face, grinning, running a lip over the
gap in his teeth. It was as if he was looking at them, observing everything
and loving what he saw.

The professor turned back to the squirming struggling boy, his every sinew
straining, his smooth taut muscles gleaming with oil and sweat. Ilia
glanced towards the trolley. The old man followed his gaze. Yes, this boy
wanted to be hurt, there was no question of it.

The professor picked up a thin silvery chain from the trolley. He examined
it. It was a continuous chain, with two tweezer-clamps and a ring. He'd
never seen such a device before but he instinctively knew what to do with
it. He clamped Ilia's nipples with the tweezers, making the boy cry out
again, and then slipped the ring over the boy's cock and under his big
balls. This proved difficult as the balls took a while to be pushed
through, but once there, the ring a perfect fit. The boy's cock juddered
and shook.

The professor stepped back a little to look at Ilia spread out for him,
writhing and struggling. He slapped the kid's stiff cock again. The
movement of the cock made the chains attached to Ilia's nipples rattle and
pull. Ilia groaned. The professor yanked on the part of chain that crossed
from nipple to nipple. Ilia groaned even more, banging his head with its
now sweat-soaked hair against the leather of the wall.

The old man leaned in closer to Ilia's nipples in their clamps. They were
simply wonderful, so erect, so sharp, like little fleshy knife-tips. He
glanced back at the screen. Beautifully and coincidentally the camera had
zoomed in on one of Paneoti's exceptional nipples as Paneoti pinched it
with finger and thumb. He heard Paneoti's deep breathing and his groans.

Almost without looking at the trolley, the Professor reached for the whip,
the cat-o-nine-tails he had spotted there earlier. He saw Ilia's glorious
blue eyes widen.

He stepped back again. `Little fuckboy, little cuntboy, little fuckwhore,
little SLUT!' he cried, and whipped Ilia across the nipples with a loud
crack. Ilia howled, his whole toned body arching outwards in pain. But he
cried `Neh! Neh!' which the professor knew well enough was the Greek for
`yes' and not `no'. He cracked the whip again, and again, and again, across
the boy's flawless chest, then across his silky hard abdomen. Small whelts
began to appear on the slut's sinewy body, sweat was dripping from his
every pore. How much could this boy take? He was howling and thrashing
about but he was also panting with pleasure. Again he whipped. And
again.And again. The boy bucked and yelled.

Behind him he heard a growl of pleasure. He turned. Paneoti was
cumming. The professor just caught the cum flying towards the camera,
flying towards it and splattering it. Then the camera travelled up
Paneoti's wonderful body, and closed in on his cum-covered chest.

He turned back to Ilia and kissed him hard on the mouth. Now it was time to
fuck the kid.

Quickly he unbuckled the cuffs and pulled the boy towards the bench with
all its clasps and chains. Despite his excitement, the accomplished little
whore knew what to do with this contraption. In no time at all he was lying
on it on his back with his arms stretched downwards and his legs bent
upwards. The professor buckled his wrists to the legs of the bench and the
ankles to some cuffs at the end of the bench's leather seat. He then
criss-crossed the boy with the chains, hooking them to the legs of the
bench too. The boy winced as the cold metal touched his still erect nipples
and cock.

Professor Smythe gazed down at his heavenly young trophy. He felt such
power then, with this beautiful leanly muscled teenboy looking up at him
pleadingly and entirely at his mercy. What was he pleading for? More pain
still? To be fucked?

`Fucky fucky?' the professor asked. `you want fucky fucky?'

The boy nodded.

`You want fucky fucky now little cunt cocksucker?'

The boy nodded. `Neh neh,' he panted.

The old man walked around the prone kid, whipping him still occasionally on
his chest, his hard teen sixpack, his perpendicular cock. The boy wriggled
and strained.

Professor Smythe had seen many beautiful things in his life, in his travels
across the world, but at that moment he did not think he had ever seen
anything as beautiful as what he was examining now -- a struggling chained
animal-like boy, naked and glistening, begging with his lovely eyes for his
cock.

The professor crouched down and examined Ilia's bum, and in particular his
little puckered hole. It seemed so very tight, so closed. Could a cock
actually get into that, he wondered.

He had never fucked a boy before, or indeed a man, or indeed a bum. He'd
copulated with a few girls as a youth, and with a fair few women as a man,
but never in the bum. He'd fucked his ex-wife several times, as a result of
which she had produced three children -- Rebecca, his eldest, who worked in
public relations and was now saying to him she was coming to visit him as
the result of another row with her husband, Ben, his second, who was a
married schoolteacher, who now had three teenage children himself and Rose,
who was something of a wild child and was living with a black man in
America. He'd never met or even seen a picture of the black man, and
wondered if he might look like Bobo the muscular gardener -- the lucky
Nubian who fucked all these boys first.

He love and was proud of his offspring. Now he was forced to think of how
they might react to seeing him at this very moment -- there scholarly and
serious father, seventy-one years of age, on his haunches, examining the
lovely inviting hole of a panting, eager teenage boy.

Bobo the big black beauty, he presumed, had been in this tight orifice, and
as Ilia himself had indicated to him, Bobo was big. So if Bobo could do
it...

He touched the opening. He pushed a finger in. It opened quite easily. Ilia
yelped and wriggled. `Oooooooo'. There was the familiar arousing murmur. He
pushed two fingers in. Again they went in with no difficulty. Inside
everything was sticky and warm. There were no smells, no evidence of the
things you'd expect to see up someone's bum, especially a boy's. He pulled
his fingers out and they were clean. Maybe Ilia, obligingly, as the good
and obliging whore he was, had washed himself there.

The professor stood up. He looked down at the amazing boy, his utterly
perfect victim, so exquisitely formed, so astoundingly willing. Slowly he
slipped his cock into the hole. It immediately felt so extraordinarily
right, what he was doing. And after all these years he was doing it, what
he had wished for for so long. He was fucking a beautiful young boy.

He thrust in further. Ilia yelped. He thrust harder. Ilia squealed and
writhed. Harder. Ilia bounced on the bench. Every muscle twitched and
strained. Harder. Ilia cried out. His own hard boycock was slapping against
the professor's stomach as the old man pounded harder and harder and
harder. Ilia bit his lips, his sweet unblemished boy's creased with
pleasure. Harder. Still harder. In and out a bit. In and out a bit. In more
and out a bit less.

Oh my God, thought the professor, this is better than any cunt I've ever
fucked. This is proper cunt, this is real cunt, this is boy-cunt.

He came, in thundering gushes, filling the boy. And Ilia came too,
extraordinarily, without even touching his phenomenal cock, in massive long
bursts, which shot up onto the professor's chest and face.

Professor Smythe thought he had found heaven, before his proper time.

He pulled out. To his surprise, his cock was still spurting. It splattered
all over the ridges of the blonde shepherd boy's immaculate stomach. Ilia
emitted a long final howl of ecstasy.

The professor fell back onto the bed.

Briefly, before falling asleep, he looked at the plasma screen. Paneoti was
no longer there. The film had reverted to the orgy. The boys in the orgy
were cumming all over the place. He also, through his closing eyes, saw the
chain hanging from the ceiling, with the bar attached to it. He had time to
ponder on what Ilia might look like suspended from that, or Paneoti
perhaps...wriggling, his veiny brown muscles bunching and flexing...

When Professor Smythe woke, he did not know how much later, but feeling
mightily refreshed, Ilia had gone. He couldn't fathom how the boy had
unclasped himself from the bench, but somehow he had. He must have had
help.

Lazily but with a delicious sense of satisfaction, he rose from the bed and
put on a dressing gown that someone had thoughtfully placed beside it. On
top of the dressing gown there'd been a carefully laid envelope. He now
opened it, and pulled out an embossed invitation. It read

You are cordially invited to
A ROMAN TOGA PARTY
Villa Bachanale
Friday 24th July
8pm
Carriages 1am
Overnight accommodation provided on request
Companionship guaranteed
Discretion advised
Dress: togas

Well he didn't know where could get a toga at this late stage. Then he saw
a door that he hadn't noticed before, and opened it. Of course, it was his
bathroom. It was quite a bathroom, with two basins, a shower, and a huge
tub. There were also, predictably, several mirrors. Hanging from the
half-open door of a closet, on a hanger, was a toga, or a passable
imitation of one...

to be continued...