girl from finding out how much fun lying with a man can be, I think!”
“You really think so?” A soft-spoken brunette with huge eyes looked heartened by the other girl's comment. “I'd – I'd like to believe it's not going to be a horrible experience at all. I don't know that I could endure it if it was torturous or very frightening. I've always heard -”
And so the chatter went, with girl after girl giving vent to her deepest fears or impudent glee according to her nature and what she believed in regard to the act of sexual intercourse which none of them had yet actually experienced. And I was wont to believe that the experience would indeed vary with each girl's basic attitude toward it, although I hadn't the slightest notion what Bullpole might bring to the performance in the way of skill or gentleness, patience or brutality.
Staying only long enough to snack upon one of the stouter built girls – whose blood was sweet beyond belief for such a sour-faced individual – and deftly avoiding the half-hearted scratching she accorded her cleanly shaven armpit following my impromptu refreshment, I departed from the suite and returned to my host who was just rising from his wine and conversation, bidding the Greek a genial adios for the moment.
“It's agreed, then,” belched Bullpole loudly. “We each sleep a full ten hours and following a light meal, commence the contest to see which of us can indeed fuck the most girls – the loser being whomever can no longer complete the act by unloading his manly juice into still another virginal cunt!”
“Splendid!” The Greek's sly eyes glittered. “But – and I ask you to forgive me for suggesting it – shouldn't there be stakes of some kind or other? If for no other purpose than to lend the contest added zest?”
“Aren't our egos stake aplenty?” Bullpole locked mildly surprised.
“True. But – and again I ask you to excuse my native fondness for gambling – wouldn't the entire competition be lent a most exhilarating mood of excitement, over and above our mere personal ideas of our own virilities, if something truly valuable in an… ah… materialistic sense were involved, old friend? Or do I press the point ungraciously?”
“I'm not afraid to wager,” burped Bullpole a trifle brashly, being somewhat tipsy. “I'm as much if not more of a reckless gambler than you, you goaty old Greek!”
Something dangerously akin to hatred glinted in the Greek's eyes for a fraction of a second but was lost in the oily smirk of chagrin that overpowered his devilish features. “I know you are, and I'm probably courting disaster – but I shall make so bold as to inquire whether you are gambler enough for worthwhile stakes.”
“Such as?” Bullpole was obviously nettled.
The Greek shrugged indifferently. “Oh, such as, say, my entire establishment near Athens against, say, this entire site.”
Bullpole grinned drunkenly. You mean my palace wagered against your palatial, highly famed fortress known to be easily twice the size and value of this comparatively modest headquarters?” Incredulity broadened the grin.
The Greek nodded, looking as though he might be suffering regret at having spelled out such stakes, but biting his lip in the knowledge that he was committed, having uttered them.
“Done!” shouted Bullpole, laughing thunderously. “Until later, old friend, when I shall literally screw you out of the most impressive castle any man ever possessed – I bid you good rest!”
The same mysterious instinct that has so often stood my existence in such beneficial stead began clamoring strongly and I questioned not the deep intuitive throbbing – transferring myself from Bullpole to the Greek in a twinkling. And when the somber-faced Greek left the room, I was securely hidden within the thick forest of dark hairs that grew entangled upon his muscular chest.
He began smiling faintly once he was alone.
Following a long period of sleep that I could but assume was the allotted ten hours, the Greek was awakened by one of his personal servants, a tender young girl of merely thirteen or fourteen years who had come from Greece as part of his entourage, and he then bathed – during which I temporarily abandoned his person while he indulged himself in that most obnoxious activity – in a vulgarly thorough fashion, after which he summoned another of his own servants, an elderly man whose serene features, snowy beard, bald pate and general bearing bespoke a learned and magical sage.
“You will concoct a potion,” the Greek instructed the old wizard, “that shall enable me to fuck almost unendingly – or at very least for several hours. And your concoction must be totally reliable or you and all your relatives will face a most slow and nightmarish death, should your chemistry fail to provide me with the sexual endurance I will be expecting from it.”
“The future of my family and myself is assured, my lord,” the ancient seer murmured evenly, a placid smile wreathing his weathered face. “I know exactly the potion you desire. I guarantee that it will safely see you through several hundred orgasms, if necessary.”
“Successive orgasms within a few hours?”
The bone-thin old sage nodded.
“Poison me, and you know the consequences?” The Greek smiled evilly at his magician.
“I know, my lord. I was present when you had the foresight to give the orders in advance as insurance against my ever betraying you with a deadly potion. I have no wish to see my lovely great-grandchildren fed alive to cannibalistic men.”
“Then, prepare the potion.”
“One thing, my lord.”
“Yes?”
“You must imbibe a full pint of the potion and you must drink it ah hour before beginning any carnal indulgences.”
“Agreed. I have that much time if you don't tarry with the preparation.”
“May I further suggest a certain ointment that applied to your manhood externally will increase your control without inhibiting your natural ability to climax, whenever you so desire the pleasure of giving full orgasm?”
“You have just earned your family their freedom to live in wealth – if your ointment gives that result.” The Greek beamed at the venerable sorcerer.
“It will produce that result, my lord.”
“Then proceed without delay!”
After the old one had shuffled from the room, the Greek ate sparingly. As he munched a light salad and a few fistfuls of roasted lamb, he chuckled delightedly and maundered aloud to himself.
“By Olympus!” he chortled happily, “I've as good as deprived that fatassed ox of his wallow! What hasn't dawned in his soddened brain as yet is the cold fact that once I've won these headquarters, I automatically own all his holdings across that dry and inhospitable mainland – taking possession of every whorehouse in every Spanish city that the hoggish cretin controls! Oh, what a marvelous bit of sheer brilliant and profitable malice – and I think the best part is, the swinish brute has forgotten how he cheated me in past years, delaying my present fortunes considerably!” He thumped the table in merriment, his satanic features contorted with mirth. “Oh, this will be a sweet and tasty revenge indeed! And one that was well worth planning and waiting for, lo, these long years!”
Strangely enough, his innate malice lent the Greek additional charm, and I couldn't help admiring him for it – possibly because I had found nothing especially sympathetic or deviously admirable in the stolid and overbearing Bullpole to date. I gave my protective intuition a silent vote of gratitude, knowing that I had been led to the winner of the forthcoming contest, surely in advance of the final outcome. To celebrate, I treated myself to a sample of blood from each and every one of his immediate household – discovering, to my relish, that they all offered the same pleasing flavor of mingled cheese and olives that their lord and master's blood carried so deliriously.
Sated and feeling a mild degree of ennui, I wandered through the Greek's suites in search of something worth observing to while away the time until the contest between him and Bullpole might begin; and I hadn't traveled more than a trice of rooms before I encountered such a sight.
One of the Greek's bodyguards – a hideously muscular fellow with a bestial look to his bearded face – sat beside a downy-cheek youth who seemed uncertain as he allowed the bodyguard to stroke his firm young penis with a familiar hand that shook lustfully as it fondled the lad's organ.
“That's a handsome stave you have!” muttered the bodyguard thickly. “I'll wager you've yet to know the feel of a mouth upon its tender plum, eh?”
“S-Sir?” quavered the boy.
“Well, you're in luck, young man! I happen to prefer your kind to those noisy, chittering females that can give
