The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 4 (9 page)

“Oh, put it in – put it in!” she begged, raising her behind to assist him. “Take me with all your strength, my love!”

“It will hurt a trifle.”

“I welcome the pain – if it means having you within my body, beloved Ignacio!”

He thrust the member into her wet and yielding entry in a steady plunging penetration that drew a sharp gasp of pain from her throat that was almost immediately followed by a moaning of contentment as he began moving the long hard instrument in and out to the head with slow powerful strokes that soon had the girl frantic with passion. She clung to him, her fingers scrabbling madly at his shoulders and her legs scissoring his waist, the heels of her bare feet drumming wildly upon his buttocks as he screwed relentlessly. She grunted urgently, squirming and lifting herself to each driving plunge of his prick as it stabbed deeply into her cunt – her legs quivering with the tension building up as orgasm approached.

Then his self-control dissolved and they launched into a madness of motion, both of them making animalistic sounds of gratification while their climaxes dimmed their senses and sent them into a grindingly brief spasm of savage movements which shortly ended in total exhaustion, leaving them sobbing for air as they limply slumped apart.

The familiarity of the act reminded me of the contest between the scheming Greek and Bullpole still in progress within the building, and my curiosity was revived – wondering just which man would indeed win the contest even though I tended to favor the clever Greek thanks to his insidiously careful plans to insure a superhuman endurance. Leaving the exhausted young lovers still lying wearily in the aftermath of their performance, I returned to the room where the contest was taking place.

It was still in progress.

The contestants definitely showed signs of increasing strain now, despite the grim pace that was still being maintained. I had fully expected to find Bullpole lagging considerably behind a Greek immune to exhaustion but, strangely enough, this was not the case. The Greek was undeniably flagging in his thrusts which now obviously lacked the drive and powerful surging effect of his initial motions; while Bullpole pounded along with an equal degree of determined consistency, albeit also indicating far less freshness and strength than his earlier performances had delivered.

Climaxing again within seconds of each other, Bullpole gestured for another girl – rolling free of the deflowered virgin into whom he had just deposited another charge of his juices, and breathing heavily while a tense-eyed brunette was led to his couch. He rolled between her trembling thighs with undisguised disinterest, his immense penis still erect as he pushed it unenthusiastically into her well-greased pit, ignoring her shrill cry of pain and the involuntary flinching of her impaled body as he resumed a ponderous thrusting calculated to bring him to an orgasm as swiftly and directly as possible, his grunting the result of physical effort rather than lustful enjoyment.

At the same time the Greek signaled for another replacement – having spasmed his juices into the motionless redhead beneath his pumping loins – and narrowly eyed his opponent as he rested, waiting for the pale, sad-eyed blonde who was forcibly led to the couch and positioned in readiness. He went between her plump thighs with an air of resignation, listlessly jamming his still-stiffened member into her lubricated hole and thrusting mechanically while she yipped in pain, threshing about uselessly as his truncheon stabbed in and out of her violated organ with a monotonous tempo.

Two more girls later, Bullpole called for a refreshment halt and both men rolled upon their backs with grateful sighs of relief while attendants hurriedly served wine and biscuits.

“I have always believed that we Spaniards were the most virile men on earth,” rumbled Bullpole yawning fulsomely, “but now I must confess that you Greeks are indeed our equal, judging from the endurance which you are exhibiting.”

“How generous, old friend,” panted the Greek. “Frankly, you have just expressed my own conviction on the subject, but in reverse – and it's rather dismaying to be educated to the fact that you are the living legend of virility that your far-flung reputation lauds you to be!”

But how you press that reputation to a thinness in order for it to survive. Without shame, I must admit I feel just a tinge of weariness beginning to flicker in my balls. This is a new sensation for me.”

“I, too, know the vague awareness of feeling spent – also unknown previously to me.”

Bullpole drank a pitcher of crimson wine without stopping until it was emptied, hurling it to the floor and belching loudly as he wiped his wine-stained mouth with the back of one of his huge hands. “Well, I always finish what I begin – no matter how demanding of myself or others. It's a cardinal rule of my very existence.”

“Greek honor requires precisely the same of me.” The Greek drained his pitcher, dropping it to the couch. “Even though I must fuck until my balls shrink to the size of stunted peas, I shall see this contest to the end of my strength.”

They glanced disgustedly at each other.

“The fanaticism of such honor lends awe to your faithful support of it,” dryly chuckled Bullpole. “But, after all, it's your health that such a code endangers and I can only respect your sincerity in courageously risking your future virility if that's what you needs must do.”

The Greek grinned evilly. “Exactly! And I view your personal philosophy on the subject with sad admiration since it, too, jeopardizes your later years carnally without a doubt; but if you're bold enough to chance the tragic results of brash overindulgence, who am I – being a mere guest in your house – to gainsay your conduct in the matter?”

Hatred flickered briefly in the yellow eyes but Bullpole smiled faintly. The Greek returned the smile with his own that was but a shade removed from being an impudent smirk.

“Ah, well,” sighed Bullpole, stretching his vast bulk. “Had I suggested this contest, I might feel qualified to determine at what point I should concede defeat. But it wasn't my idea and having agreed to participate – I lack the authority to do other than continue as long as I possibly can.”

“True enough,” replied the grinning Greek. “And as the instigator of the competition, I'm honor-bound to fulfill its course to the end of my strength since it would be crass rudeness bordering upon sheer insult were I to do other than extend my sense of honorable respect to your own avowed rule of completing what you have agreed to begin.”

Gesturing impatiently for another pair of girls to be brought to their couches, Bullpole prepared to resume the contest – handling himself gingerly and holding the great penis in readiness as it jutted stiffly out from the mass of tangled hair covering his huge testes.

“Let's get on with it,” he grumbled.

“Any time!” chuckled the Greek, fondling his own estimable organ until it was again hard and long. “I have the definite feeling that now we shall end this competition, one way or another!”

Attendants led a weeping redhead to the Greek's couch, a grim-faced blonde to Bullpole's – and no sooner had the virgins been positioned than each man forced himself between the smooth thighs of each girl, burrowing his organ into the soft cunt hair and past the lubricated lips until his member went lunging into her hole – rupturing the hymen and plunging deeply within the vaginal passageway while she writhed and shrieked in pain.

Fucking intently and ignoring the cacophony of anguished cries, they pumped with steady rhythms until – this time the Greek leading by a few seconds-both men once more reached orgasms and furiously undulated their juices into the squirming bodies pinned beneath them.

And so it went, time after time, with neither man showing the slightest sign of defeating exhaustion or having been bested by his opponent's continued virility. Gradually, however, the Greek began glancing worriedly more frequently at Bullpole who, in turn, glanced at the Greek with a perturbed expression when the other's attention was riveted upon the girl under him.

I sensed that a moment of decision was swiftly approaching. And it came indeed shortly thereafter with most surprising results. Straining simultaneously for yet another orgasm, Bullpole and the Greek slumped forward upon the girls in identical motions of total quits – each wearing an expression of dismay upon his face as he pitched forward with undisguised exhaustion.

“I cannot!” grunted Bullpole thickly.

“I'm spent!” bleated the Greek.

They stared disbelievingly at one another while the girls were removed and the physician closely examined the cunt of each girl, rising to announce with a bland expression: “Neither wench contains male juice, sire! Both wenches have been deflowered.”

“What is the count?” muttered Bullpole.

The scorekeeper cleared his throat. “An even thirty-two virgins apiece, sire. Which amounts to a draw. There is no winner, no loser, sir.”

The Greek regained his poise with magnificent speed and smoothness, grinning at Bullpole as he sat up on the edge of the couch and reached for a pitcher of wine handed him by a flirtatious little attendant wiggling her scantily draped curves at him in open invitation.

“Well, we're both good men, old friend!” laughed the Greek. “It seems that we shall have to face that fact! To your splendid virility, sir!”

Bullpole stared coldly. “Yes, that would indeed seem to be the case. Well, perhaps there will be another way, at another time.”

“For what, old friend?”

“For a final opportunity to determine who is the better man at what activity!” Bullpole rose wearily to his feet, starting out of the room with abrupt rudeness. “I dislike even results where any of my abilities are concerned!”

The Greek's face went thoughtfully hard.

Intuition bade me leap upon Bullpole as he went past the Greek, knowing that only if I accompanied that tyrant would I likely learn anything more about his mysterious ability to last during what had been a most unfair contest against him.

Intuition, as always, was indeed perceptive.

Bullpole sat in a wide chair with his thighs apart, watching his physician carefully remove the material sheathing his organ. His brooding eyes studied the flesh-tinted sheath that had enabled him to maintain a stiffness long after his own organ would have been capable of remaining fully erect, due to sexual exhaustion.

A guard appeared in the doorway, waiting.

“What is it?” demanded Bullpole, glancing up as the physician completed removing the protective device from the huge and reddened member. “Don't just stand there, you dolt! Deliver your message!”

“One of the Greek's group has requested to talk with you, sire.”

“Bring him here.” Bullpole winced, carefully putting his penis under his loose robe. “And be certain that nobody sees him enter this chamber.”

Soon, the guard returned – escorting the aged seer whose magical chemistry had assured his stern master the degree of success he had attained in the orgiastic contest.

Bullpole waved all the others out of the room, turning to the bearded, serene-faced sage as soon as they were alone. “You and your family's safety is assured, thanks to your willingness to warn me of that conniving bastard's trick. A ship is now on the way to Athens. Your relatives will be taken aboard it, a counterfeit pass with the Greek's own seal on it guaranteeing them safe conduct to the ship. So you need have no worry about your loved ones, old man.”

“I thank you, sire.” The ancient magician's voice quavered with gratitude and relief.

“No thanks are necessary. It was part of our… ah… agreement, and you will find that I always keep my end of any bargain I choose to make. Your idea about sheathing my member worked nicely. And you shall be further rewarded for that.”

“Yes, sire.” The old greybeard bowed respectfully.

“I shall require you to endanger only your own life and that merely for a few more days by continuing to masquerade as the Greek's trusted sorcerer, collecting whatever knowledge of his plans that you and your nameless underlings can obtain – and putting that information at my disposal.”

“It shall be done, sire.”

“Needless to say, when I have entirely finished with that deceitful son of a goat and have acquired his palatial holdings in Athens, you and your underlings will join me openly as my privileged employees and enjoy many rewarding advantages that you have not possessed while serving the Greek.”

“You will be kept advised of every detail, each aspect of any plans the man may concoct, sire. All my helpers are as equally dedicated to serving you as am I – and as I've proven my willingness to share knowledge with you at the possible cost of my life.” A faint smile twisted the thin old lips. “After all, sire, you might've consulted the man on the basis of your long friendship with him.”

Bullpole yawned. “You were in no danger at any time, old stick. I have never credited friendship with that much worth in my whole life.”

The sage's smile became more wry.

“You're very practical, sire,” he murmured with a respectful tone. “Very realistic indeed, sire.”

“Survival requires it.” Bullpole gestured airily. “Go now and keep your old eyes and ears open for me. You will never regret loyalty to me.”

“I'm sure I won't, sire.”

Bowing as he backed humbly out of the room, the ancient magician departed – and I departed with him, boarding his elderly carcass in my determination to stay abreast of developments relating to this lively intrigue taking place so shrewdly, so deceptively between Bullpole and the Greek.

Clinging to him, I found myself within the Greek's apartments a few moments later.

Lolling comfortably on a couch, munching upon fruit, the Greek studied the powerfully built young man standing before him. Ignacio waited with an expression of blended nervousness and hope etched upon his handsome face.