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A young, straight, guy's account of being fucked by an older Greek guy. And loving it.
The Greek Landlord
By Luke Preston
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The place I had rented for two weeks was private in all respects. It was high up towards the top of an ancient village, surrounded by empty land and ruins and concealed by a walled courtyard. Just right for nude sunbathing and wandering around naked. I was taking a year out from college to explore some of the world and had gotten as far as this remote Greek island before deciding to stop for longer than just one night. As soon as I’d got off the ferry I was approached by an army of locals waving signs advertising rooms to rent and it was easy to find one I wanted. I headed straight for the only girl among the touts. Dark haired, slim and with welcoming eyes she asked me quietly if I needed somewhere to stay. She told me it was high up, away from the tourists and that it was cheap. The remoteness sounded inviting to me and I imagined her visiting to make the beds, maybe staying after to unmake them with me too, if you see what I mean.
I realised something. Through my sleep I knew what was going on and I knew that I should wake up. But I also knew that it was too late. I stood no chance of escape even if I was awake. Asleep I could imagine that this was still a dream and that this was not happening.
But when I felt breath on my arse cheeks I knew it was happening. I kept my eyes closed and I kept still. Allowing him, as it was definitely a him, to do whatever he was going to do. It didn’t matter; I was asleep so this was not happening.
The breath suddenly became warm and moist and I felt the rough hair of a moustache above a pair of soft lips. I was being kissed, first on one side and then the other. The hands had drawn me up to a face, my balls hung free in the air and my cock stuck out into the empty space beneath me. And I felt the kisses turn to licking, a smooth, hot tongue was drooling across the light furriness of my backside, pausing now and then to kiss. And to take a gentle bite. Teeth in a powerful jaw dug into me just enough to tell me that resistance would lead to pain; compliance would result in something more rewarding. I could not resist. I knew who this was and I had seen his strength. I realised that asleep or awake I belonged to the dad now, and that was that.
My thoughts were interrupted. The mouth and the moustache had moved, centred in on my crack, right at the top. And they were now moving downwards. My heart raced, I knew where he was going. My crack was pushed wide by the rough stubbled chin and the heat from its scratching was intensified by the heat from the mouth that licked and bit as it pushed harder against me. Until I felt something press against my hole. It clamped up tight, nothing had touched it before and its reaction was instinctive. I felt something wet and hard jab at it, a tongue, but still it resisted.
Until the tongue stopped jabbing and its action became one slow, gentle, wet push. In a circular motion it nudged cautiously against the tight puckered flesh of my hole, teasing it, tempting it to give in. My heart raced on, knowing that I wanted to give in but not knowing how to make my body obey. And then I stopped worrying. I realised that my body would obey, it had no choice but to give in to the tough, experienced action of the older body that controlled it. And once I realised that I felt my sphincter relax and his tongue slid into me.
