Date: Mon, 2 Feb 2009 12:58:07 +0000
From: clever wag <cleverwag@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Professor's Greek Holiday -- Part 7

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. If such stuff
offends you or you are not of legal age in your country please do not read
it. It is your choice.

There's no sex in this part, but a lot of anticipated sex of course. I
thought that the readers of Part 6 might need a little break!

Thanks for the emails of appreciation! I always welcome feedback so feel
free to email me at cleverwag@hotmail.com.

Suggestions as to how I might develop this tale, which I'm still composing,
or for other stories, are also welcomed.


Dave Snow

7.

The guests had gathered on the terrace of the first floor of the villa.
There must have been about thirty of them. The only boys on the terrace
were three or four walking around with trays of drinks, dressed in those
cute little slave costumes that Harold Liddell had had made for them. The
American had picked the youngest boys for this task, which the professor
thought rather sweet -- although it did mean they kept dropping their trays
or spilling the drinks, for which they'd earn a little cuff across the head
from Harold Liddell, or a playful slap from one of the guests. It was all
very harmless and joyful. The little African kid received the most
chastisement, not only because he kept dropping and spilling things, but
because he was quite the prettiest. He was clearly enjoying all the
attention, grinning from ear to ear.

All the other boys were down at the pool, lounging and sitting and
swimming, within full view of the terrace above. None of them were
naked. So they were wearing what they thought to be their sexiest clothes
-- Harold Liddell had given them that option. He had bought them these
clothes, so they looked pretty good -- in low jeans or shorts, or open
shirts and sweatshirts and tight T-shirts. A lot of them had of course
decided to wear very little. The boys, or those who had participated in one
of these parties before, knew that the better they looked, the better were
their chances of being chosen to be a particular favourite of a particular
guest, and the richer the guest, the greater their reward. So a lot of them
were preening rather, making sure that the best bits of their bodies (aside
from their cocks) were on show. Harold Liddell had also given them strict
instructions not to play with each other or even touch each other. Those
who did, he'd said, would not be allowed to attend the banquet.

They certainly made a tantalising sight, in the glow of a balmy Greek
evening. Beyond them, parked along the driveway leading up to the villa,
were several cars. Some of these cars were sleek and black and shiny and
looked very official indeed. Chauffeurs sat in them, or leaned against
them, smoking. The professor didn't doubt that some of these fellows were
eyeing the boys too, from behind their dark glasses.

`Now which one to choose tonight?' said a particularly corpulent looking
individual dressed in a toga that was a bit too small for him, gazing down
at the collection of unutterable loveliness below him.

`You have first pick, commissioner,' said Harold Liddell, `the deputy
commissioner of police always gets first pick.'

He winked at the professor, who was standing next to him. The professor was
also wearing his toga, and thought he looked rather fetching in it. Harold
Liddell himself was wearing a more opulent toga than the rest -- a great
colourful sash wrapped around his stocky body. He looked like a Roman
Emperor.

The deputy commissioner of police (the professor wondered if he'd heard it
right, but surely that was what Harold Liddell had said) spoke excellent
English. `As usual you have collected together many fine examples of young
beauty, Harold...'

`Why thank you commissioner...'

`Any new ones since I was last here?'

`Quite a few. There's an Italian kid I think you'd really like, name of
Pietro, I found him Naples. Over there, do you see him?'

The professor also looked in the direction to which Harold Liddell was now
pointing. Pietro was standing at the edge of the pool, one leg in front of
the other, with a hand on his hip, looking into the water. He was wearing
speedos and a very tight-fitting striped T-shirt which accentuated his
broad shoulders and beautiful beefy chest. It was cut short so that his
rippling abdomen was exposed.

`I don't fuck Italians,' said the deputy commissioner, disapprovingly.

`Oh I'm sorry to hear that, because he fucks like a dog and he works out
four times a day as you can see.'

`Yes I like a boy with good muscle,' said the policeman, `but no
Italians...'

`How about a black boy, Kiko over there, picked him up in Sierra Leone, he
was a child soldier once, real tough boy, look at that definition, pretty
good for a boy just turned fifteen...' Kiko was looking superb too, in
jeans and an open white shirt.

`I do not fuck blacks,' said the deputy commissioner.

Harold Liddell raised his eyes in despair at the professor.

`I want a Greek, a good Greek boy, I want someone from my own country...'
And then he asked, making the professor's ears prick up, `where is Paneoti,
I want to fuck Paneoti...'

Harold Liddell sighed. `Paneoti's disappeared for the moment, commissioner,
he's having a bit of a problem deciding if he's gay or not...' Once again
he winked at the professor.

`Why does he have this problem? I don't have this problem. I am not gay, as
you call it...'

`Of course not commissioner...'

`Because I like to be with a boy sometimes does not mean I am gay...'

`Oh absolutely...'

'Perhaps I will send out a search party for Paneoti, get some of my men to
look for him, bring him back to you...'

Harold Liddell looked mildly concerned for a moment or two. 'Oh I'm sure
he'll come back of his own accord, commissioner.'

The deputy commissioner continued to survey the boys. `That boy, I like
him, he looks Greek, a good Greek boy, what's his name?'

`That's Giorgos, commissioner...'

`Good Greek boy...very good muscles...yes...'

Giorgos was the lovely toned boy the professor had seen sleeping on the
couch this morning, the boy Harold Liddell had been fucking when he
arrived. He looked a little nervous down there, being a new boy, having
only arrived today, although the professor now remembered that the American
had told him the boy had enjoyed being fucked, showing off his oiled
body. That same fantastic body was on almost full display now. Giorgos was
only wearing a pair of black leather shorts. The professor gazed again at
his lean shapely muscles.

`Where's he from...' asked the policeman.

`He's from Crete...'

`From a town or from the country?'

`He's a country boy, from the mountains.'

`Good. I like Cretan mountain boys. They are rough, good fighters. I'll
have him.'

`I'm afraid that won't be possible, commissioner,' said Harold Liddell,
still looking at the professor.

`Why not?' asked the policeman, irritably.

`Because he is reserved for a special guest.'

`Oh and I am not a special guest...'

`You are a very special guest, commissioner, of course, but there was
someone who put in a request for him earlier, and I cannot disappoint him.'
He smiled at the professor.

He was bored with the policeman now, but put an arm around his
shoulders. `It's only for the banquet, you can have any boy you want and as
many as you want when things really start to hot up...'

The deputy commissioner grunted with annoyance.

`Look there, that's Stelios, take him.' Stelios was he broad-shouldered boy
who'd served them at lunch. He was wearing a tanktop that was cut so low
that it showed off his almost too well developed pectorals and hard
nipples.

`Where is he from?'

`Halki...'

`Where's that?'

`It's an island off Rhodes...'

`Good, I like island boys.'

`And he isn't gay. He's fucked hundreds of women, or so he says...'

`Good, I'll take him.'

Harold now felt he could leave the Deputy Commissioner of Police and he and
the professor moved away.

`So everybody gets to pick a boy?' the professor asked.

`Yes, to be their companion at the banquet, except you that is. You don't
get to pick...'

`Oh?

`I've already chosen a boy for you...'

`Who?'

`Giorgos of course. Hey come now, Robert, I saw the way you were gloating
over him when I met you this morning...'

`Well I suppose I was rather...'

`So he's yours. I think that fucking policeman would only want to rape him
straightaway, and maybe beat him about a bit. Giorgos is kinda sensitive
and shy, being a Cretan mountain kid. So I think you could handle him
better, whaddya say?

`Well I hope so...'

`He speaks pretty good English too, says he learnt it from an Englishwoman
who likes to fuck him in Crete...'

`Really?'

`Yep, a teacher, he said, she lives in his home village, and every
afternoon she takes him to her place and fucks him...then teaches him
English. Ain't that cute?'

`On that subject I couldn't help noticing...' the professor began.

`What's that?'

`That there are women here too...'

`Yes two or three, does that surprise you?'

`A little, yes...'

`So it surprises you that there are women who like beautiful young boys?'

`No of course not, it's just that here...'

`Well here,' said the American, surveying his guests as they mingled and
chatted politely and occasionally looked over the balcony to make their
choice of boy-companion for the meal, `there are two or three ladies that
like to watch boys having fun, or like to watch their husbands having fun
with them, if you know what I'm saying...'

`Their husbands, really...'

`Yeah, take a look at that bitch...' They were far enough away from the
`bitch' in question for her not to hear. She was a tall blonde woman of
maybe about fifty, with leathery overtanned skin and a lot of make-up. She
was wearing a kind of Roman tunic with a scoop front that revealed quite a
lot of a pair of large and fairly buoyant breasts, which didn't look
real. In many of the places in the world that he'd been to, the professor
had seen women like this one, sitting alone in bars or restaurants or on
beaches. They all wore the expression that this woman was demonstrating now
-- it was a kind of hunger. She looked hungry. The American went on: `She's
married to a shipping billionaire, that's him, the man next to her. He's
Greek, she's German. I guess she married him when he was a handsome young
guy himself, or maybe for the money, I dunno. Anyway now she likes to watch
him fuck boys...'

`I see,' said the professor. He saw the shipping billionaire, an imposing
oily-skinned gentleman who seemed to be sweating, even on this relatively
temperate evening. The little African boy was collecting a folded piece of
paper from him. He ruffled the kid's hair as he handed it over. His wife
gave him a playful look of admonishment, but her eyes followed the boy as
he moved away.

`She's been drooling over little Bamako ever since she set eyes on him,'
Harold Liddell said with a chuckle.

`She's going to drool even more when she sees the size of his cock,'
observed the professor. He didn't think he could ever have said such a
thing until today.

Harold Liddell seemed surprised too, giving the professor a brief quizzical
look. But then he laughed and threw an arm around his neck. `Hey I like
you, Professor Robert Smythe, you're my kinda guy!'

`What's that that Bamako is collecting?'

`Names of the boys of their choice for the banquet.'

`Where's Ilia by the way?' the professor asked. `I didn't see him down
there...'

`Ilia's had to go work in the restaurant tonight, he might come by
later. How was the little cocksucker? Did ya have fun...'

`A lot of fun, he was extraordinary...'

`Yeah, he's the best. Can't seem to get enough cock. I saw the marks on him
by the way, nice little welts all over his tits and abs. He's gona have to
wear his shirt to work tonight!'

`Yes sorry about that...'

`Hey they're not permanent, don't worry. They'll be gone in a couple of
days. Besides the kid loves it...'

`Yes I noticed...'

`You left the poor boy manacled though...'

`I'm afraid I fell asleep.'

`Hey no problem I sent one of my San Diego jockboys up to see if you were
okay. Hunky Brad. He saw the little tart all tied up there, had to fuck him
himself before releasing him. You slept all the way through.'

`Oh I'm sorry I missed the show...'

Now Harold Liddell clapped his hands and made an announcement to the
assembled guests. `Gentlemen, and ladies, I hope you've all made your
choices, so if you'd all like to make your way downstairs. The boys will
join us shortly...'

A little ripple of excited anticipation passed through the throng. The
guests began to move through the terrace-doors into the villa.

The little African boy, Bamako, ran up to Harold Liddell with the pieces of
paper he had been collecting. His ebony skin was shining after all the
running about. He looked like an eager puppy, keen to please a
master. `Well done, kid, now run down to the others...' He gave the boy a
little smack on the bottom as he skipped away.

`Okay,' said the American professor, `I'll have to leave you for a bit, I
gotta get the boys ready...'

`How do you do that?'

`I make sure they're all well-oiled and that they're wearing their little
gold thongs,' announced Harold Liddell with a big grin.

`My God,' Professor Smythe muttered to himself.

As he was making his own way into the villa, following the animated crowd
of guests, a frail-looking fellow next to him, whose toga kept falling off
his bony shoulders, rubbed his hands together and said: `I hope there's
going to be an initiation...' From his accent the professor could tell he
was an Englishman too.

`Initiation?' asked the professor, `what kind of initiation is that...'

`Haha,' said the Englishman, `you haven't been to one of these before?'

`No I haven't...'

`Well you'll see, you'll see, let's just say that some of the new boys are
initiated, in front of us...' A small drool of dribble dropped from the old
chap's lips...

The courtyard in which Harold Liddell and the professor had had lunch had
been laid out for a Roman banquet. Some rather shaky-looking garlanded
pillars had been erected, and velvet curtains had been hung around the
sides. The centre of the courtyard had been cleared for whatever
entertainment was going to be provided. Lots of candles and braziers
spluttered and flickered, giving the place a suitably orgiastic glow.

In a circle, facing inwards, were about thirty very comfortable looking
couches, with a bolster at one end, upon which the guests, some of them
giggling with amusement, proceeded to lie down. Each couch was wide enough
to accommodate two people. Tables were placed next to the couches. On each
table were a jug of wine and two glasses, and a selection of
starter-courses, a meze, which many of the guests began to nibble at,
hungrily.

All the couches had placecards, and the professor found his. The couch to
his right, he was delighted to discover, had been assigned to his host. On
his left the German woman was already lounging, on her front, her enhanced
breasts pressing into the soft velvet of the couch.

She smiled at him. `Goodevening, I am Inge,' she said.

`Robert.'

`You are English?'

`Yes.'

`I am from Bavaria, although I live here...'

`I see.'

`Which boy have you chosen?'

`His name is Giorgos I believe.'

`A Greek boy. Is he handsome?'

`Aren't they all?'

`Yes. Harold picks them well. He likes all his boys to have fine bodies, I
think.'

`So do I,' said the professor.

`And I also...' He could see that look of longing hunger again. She was
visibly flushed, even under her burnt skin and her make-up.

`And who have you chosen, if I may ask...'

She looked slightly embarrassed. `The little African boy, I don't remember
his name...'

`Bamako?'

`Is that his name? Is he too little, do you think?' she asked, with a
slight hint of nervousness, but he felt he could hear an excitement there
too, as if she was anticipating some terrible but exhilerating crime.

`Not where it counts I can assure you, I've seen it,' said the professor.

The German woman didn't appear to understand him. He didn't have time to
explain, because then Harold Liddell entered the courtyard through an
opening in one of the curtains.

With a great flourish the American announced: `Gentlemen, and ladies,
please give a round of applause for...my boys!' He held the curtain aside.

And the boys trooped in, in line. They were wearing, as Harold Liddell had
said they would be, sparkling gold thongs and gold chains around their
necks and nothing else. Their exceptional smooth toned bodies glistened
with oil.

There was a loud gasp from the assembled throng. Then a burst of applause.

Little Bamako was at the head of the procession, beaming proudly, his
developing muscles gleaming. His thong could barely contain, already, his
oversized cock. He ran up to the German woman and kissed her quickly on the
lips, just a boyish peck, before jumping up onto the couch beside her.
Everybody laughed. Inge looked both mildly embarrassed and utterly
thrilled.

As each breathtaking catamite ran to the guest who'd picked him, the
professor inadvertently caught the flick of a curtain in his eyeline,
across the other side of the courtyard. A boy was looking directly at
him. The professor only saw the face, because that was all the boy was
revealing, but he recognised it instantly. It was the ugly kitchen-boy with
the amazing muscled body whom he'd seen in Fotis's taverna last night, and
whom he'd fantasized about fucking with Ilia and Fotis. The boy gave him a
little twisted grin.

As his own chosen boy, Giorgos, nervously lay down beside him, looking
absolutely remarkable, his every fine sinew moving perfectly, his dark skin
glinting in the candle-light, the curtain fell back and the kitchen-boy was
gone.

Harold Liddell moved towards his couch beside the professor. He'd picked
Pietro, the Italian boy, as his companion. As he and his delicious partner
slid onto their couch, Harold Liddell cried: `Anything and everything is
allowed, gentlemen and ladies, so please do enjoy yourselves, and let the
feasting begin!'


to be continued...