“You rape one end, I'll ravish the other end!” suggested Socrates brightly. “Now there's an economical method for you! Saves time!”
“Brilliant, my friend!”
“I know, and having been the creator of this problematical matter, you shall have your pick of either end, true friend!”
“I choose the mouth!”
“All right.”
“I've never fucked a mouth that intriguingly abnormal! Kindly see that this moment goes down in Grecian history of man's progress in matters of scientific importance where his sexlife is concerned!”
“You're as good as famous now!”
Ignacio knelt, straddling the girl's head and holding it with both his hands, began thrusting his penis in and out of the slavering thick lips in short, cautious stabs that gave him immediate pleasure. The girl made muted sounds of glee and sucked at the member each time it went into her gaping, drooling orifice and he was finally satisfied that she wouldn't bite it so he began thrusting it further into her maw – withdrawing it only to the head and vigorously, steadily undulating himself so the penis was going in and out between the lips in regular movements that were especially sensual and brought the lust up from his balls.
Meanwhile, Socrates had hoisted the imbecile's behind up and jammed his erected member into it, energetically making rhythmic movements that kept his shaft slipping in and out of the yielding hole until his lust, too, brimmed to the tip of his organ with straining urgency.
“She's no virgin,” Socrates observed pantingly. “Some village lout deflowered this poor idiot long before my manhood reached her cunt!”
“She likes the taste of cock!” commented Ignacio. “See how she savors the feel of it within that horrible mouth! My God, she nurses like an infant at a teat!”
Both of them busily drove and thrust their organs into each orifice at either end of the prone girl until almost simultaneously their self-controls weakened and their lusts boiled forth – spouting thick gushings of juices into her mouth and into her vagina. She drank the torrents of sticky juice thirstily, mumbling as she swallowed each mouthful.
When they were temporarily spent, they arose from the girl and leaving their organs dangling outside their breeches, started for the door. Instantly, the imbecile girl sat up and began crying most demandingly – obviously protesting their departure.
Glancing at one another, they broke into raucous laughter and stumbled out to where the guardsmen waited with the supply of cool wine, hearing the girl's childish tantrum raging behind them.
For the next few hours they alternated between rests in which they imbibed wine and explorations into village huts. Selecting only the younger women and pushing the mature ones aside, they took girl after girl. Some submitted meekly. Others fought fiercely. None escaped the ruthless entry of the stiffened weapons.
“Well, it's almost dawn,” Ignacio remarked, sprawled comfortably upon the steps of a hut that had not yet been visited. “My ship awaits – and the morning tide will be ready soon. I suppose I should call it a night.”
“I shall miss you, friend.” Socrates passed the wine bottle with a genuine smile of fondness. “I've learned much from you. And I've enjoyed your companionship! It won't be quite the same, here, once you've returned to your beloved Spain!”
“You'll visit me.” Ignacio quenched his thirst in a series of avid draughts from the bottle, smacking his lips with gusto and returning the well lowered container to the other. “You'll get restless and come to Spain – and we'll roister there as we have here! You'll see!”
Socrates nodded in agreement.
“What's your pleasure, friend? One more piece of country tail – or shall we go to the waterfront that you may board your ship?”
Ignacio gazed thoughtfully at the hut. Then he rose unsteadily to his feet, his penis dangling limply before him.
“Let's see what hides within!” he decided.
“Lead on, friend!”
Entering the hut, it appeared to be deserted at first glance, until Ignacio suddenly spied a tiny movement behind some curtains across the room. He strode silently to them, yanking the curtains apart. A petite brunette about fifteen years old cowered fearfully in the closet.
“Look what I've found!” Ignacio crowed.
Socrates came over, studying the girl. “By the endless couplings of all mankind, she's a comely little wench! Prettier than usual!”
“Pi-Please, my lords!” whimpered the girl in a husky voice. “Please d-don't harm me!”
“Did you hear that?” exclaimed Ignacio.
Socrates nodded, smiling.
“Yes, my friend. I heard. She speaks your tongue. He peered down at the girl with a kindly expression. “How did you learn to speak the Spanish tongue?”
“My g-granny taught m-me.”
“She was Spanish?” inquired Ignacio.
The girl nodded, averting her eyes and they were suddenly aware that their members dangled flaccidly in full exposure – which was unnerving the wench. Chuckling, they each put their penis away.
“You'll not want her?” Socrates asked.
“Oh, yes,” Ignacio replied, offering the girl his hand and gently pulling her to her feet, “but I want more than her lovely body. She speaks my language and yours. Perhaps she can tutor me, and I can speak your tongue when you visit me!”
“Then I'll no longer have to speak this fluid tongue so familiar to your ears!” Socrates laughed, clapping the other upon the shoulder. “Well and good! Your tutoress should make fine company during your return voyage – although it's my intention to present you with a variety of… ah… delightful cargo to help while away the long hours at sea!”
“Thank you, friend.”
“My pleasure, good friend!”
Taking the unprotesting girl with them, they left the hut and mounted their horses. Riding away from the village, we reached the waterfront by the time the sun had risen over a sparkling sea. There, all went aboard. Following a scene filled with touching farewells, Socrates left the ship which raised its billowing sails and soon drifted slowly away from the dock, moving with the tide that would carry it to sea – and the long voyage back to Spain.
It was an uneventful journey.
Months passed and my ennui once again descended upon me, filling me with its deadly boredom regarding all those about me – and most of all, the now cloying atmosphere of luxury and decadent sensuality. My discomfiting symptoms were familiar enough to make me well aware of my growing need for fresh adventure in other surroundings.
All I needed was the stimulus of some opportunity to intrigue my flagging enthusiasm and I knew I would literally leap – that being the mode of personal travel granted me by a provident Nature – at the chance to leave Spain, the smothering mood of the lascivious castle which Ignacio now managed as brutally as had his predecessor.
My opportunity arrived one afternoon in the towering person of a sea captain seeking audience with a gloomy, suspicious-minded Ignacio whose degeneration had been well advanced for sometime – and would be provoked if not actually hastened by some several familiar treacheries slowly developing – of which I had known practically since their inceptions but which Ignacio was still ignorant. The very sameness of the pattern depressed me exceedingly, and I dreaded having to endure still another change of rule with really no change to it.
Ignacio sullenly agreed to see the captain who was brought before him, cap humbly in hand. He was a most magnificent human – tall and muscular with thick blond-gold hair and a full beard the same texture and tint.
“Captain Thor Gundersen?” muttered Ignacio.
“Aye, my lord,” replied the captain in a voice of muted thunder. “That's who I am, sire.”
