Anonymous: The Autobiography of a Flea, Book4

They fell asleep, still entangled in each others' arms and legs, in the position of copulation.

Three days later, the first light of morning was fading the night sky when Ignacio was rudely awakened by a husky young man his own age who wore the trappings and insignia of the Greek's personal guards. Harshly shaking Ignacio's bare shoulder, the fellow grinned down as Ignacio groggily opened his eyes and peered sleepily up at the stranger.

“Arise!” said the man. “I'm sent to awaken you! It's time to leave for the sea-caves!”

Ignacio sat up, yawning and rubbing his face. During the past three days and nights, while waiting for the Greek to announce their departure to the sea-caves, he had glutted himself unstintingly with rich foods, wines and a number of passionate young wenches – all of whom, like the newest girl still gently snoring beside him, had helped considerably to pass the time.

“Who – who are you?” Ignacio asked thickly.

“Socrates Uthimus – most trusted of my master's personal guards. I'm to accompany you gentlemen on the trek to the sea-caves by order of my master.” He nodded at the naked girl whose tempting curves of flawless flesh graced the couch in unconscious wantonry. “By the blazing eyes of the gods, I hate to pull you from the comforting side of that little slut, but I'm ordered to collect you! I don't envy you having to interrupt dalliance with the pretty thing. Don't bear a grudge against me for being the one to summon you!”

“I won't,” mumbled Ignacio putting on his clothing. “Anyway, I'm getting weary of this room! It'll be good to travel and see someplace else.”

“You jest!” The cheerful grin on Socrates' face broadened. “How can anybody tire of such stimulating company? I cannot even imagine such -” He stopped talking, eyeing the sleeping girl hungrily.

“Go ahead – if we have the time,” offered Ignacio smiling at him. “You look as though you could use a quick tumble!”

“I – I could! I haven't had a woman in more than a week of heavy duty!” Socrates' face went dreamy with lust as he studied the vulnerable nudity of the girl. She stirred, turning onto her back and raising one leg, exposing the intimate beauty of her slitted mound nestled in the curly dark thatch of hair between her thighs. “If I thought you were serious and there would be no trouble, I'd -”

“I'm serious, friend.” Ignacio sat down at the table, began munching hungrily at the remains of meat, cheese and bread – washing the food down with wine from a tall, slender bottle. “Go ahead and have her! But don't take all morning unless you want to be caught in the delightful act by our superiors!”

With a last glance at Ignacio, Socrates swiftly divested himself of the lower garments of his attire, exposing a most ready and respectably large penis standing rigidly out from his hairy loins. Climbing onto the couch, he crept between the sleeping girl's thighs, lowering his body to her crotch and roughly probing for her cunt-hole as he guided his stiffened organ with one hand.

She opened her eyes just as the tip of his organ found the yielding entrance and went plunging into her moist warmth – vainly squirming in an effort to prevent what had already happened. Grunting angry protests, she struggled beneath him as he thrust the male member in and out with vigorous strokes and mumbling sounds of enjoyment – firmly holding her wrists with his hands while his undulating body ravished her private parts in a steady performance of sexual activity.

“You surely did need that attention,” observed Ignacio affably between mouthfuls of food and drink. “I can tell from the manner in which you energetically fuck the pretty thing that your need is considerable. Well, she's a tight little baggage and you should find her most satisfying – unless you're a great deal harder to please than myself!”

Now the girl had stopped struggling and lay still, her legs lifted high on either side of the thrusting, panting Socrates. She glared up at him with rage and contempt on her face. Once, she spat directly in his face but he was too intent upon his increasing pleasure to pay attention to the insult, simply driving faster and harder with savage enjoyment – and then groaning hoarsely as his juices burst into her with spasms that shook his muscular body until they subsided, leaving him slumped upon the girl with a blissful expression of complete satisfaction on his face.

“By the cornucopian cunt of Venus!” Socrates declared, rising from the couch and wiping his greasy, glistening prick on the covers. “That was a most gratifying fuck indeed! I shan't forget this kindness, friend. I owe you for it – perhaps more than you realize. It's particularly difficult for a fellow of my heat to find daily life bearable sans a decent fucking! I can do without food and drink easily enough for long periods of time, but I damn near perish when I must do without the necessity of a woman! Raping my fist has never eased the tensions worth a boar's fart, either!”

“I know the feeling.” Ignacio stood up and picked at his teeth with a finger. “We better join the others quickly now, friend Socrates. They'll be getting impatient. Especially Bullpole who has been raging with impatience these past three days.”

“I'm ready.” Fastening his garments into place, Socrates led the way out of the chamber with Ignacio following, the muttered curses of the girl fading behind them as they departed.

Bullpole and the Greek were already mounted upon small sturdy horses. Two more such beasts awaited Ignacio and Socrates who silently and swiftly put themselves into the empty saddles.

“What took so long?” demanded Bullpole in a surly tone, glaring at Ignacio. “We've been waiting for hours, you miserable rabble!”

“I was difficult to awaken,” Ignacio lied.

Bullpole swung his fist, the impact of the smashing blow unseating Ignacio and sending him hurtling from the horse to the ground where he sprawled in stunned disorder.

“Enough, enough, old friend!” intoned the Greek calmly. “Let us be on our way!”

Ignacio remounted without a word or a glance at the others, and soon they were riding out of the still sleeping city – the only sound being that of the horses' hooves clattering upon the paved streets. A short while later they reached open country and the pace was increased from a steady trotting to an easy, distance-consuming canter. Bullpole rode abreast of the Greek. Ignacio beside Socrates to the rear of their masters. From time to time, Socrates grinned appreciatively and Ignacio replied to each grin with a roguish wink.

Thusly, they followed a winding road that led to the edge of the sea and down many twisting turns toward the rocky ledges where the fabled sea-cave awaited their invasion of its interior.

Now dismounted, they stood a few yards from the narrow entrance that gaped in the nearby stone cliff, Socrates holding the reins of all four horses and facing the Greek with stiff attentiveness.

“You will await us, here,” ordered the Greek quietly. “You know what to do upon our return?”

Socrates nodded, his eyes troubled.

“Meanwhile, keep a lookout for any travelers that may approach. It's unlikely that any will-this place being so feared by our people-but you stay on the alert, anyway.” Turning to Bullpole and Ignacio, the latter holding the coiled rope-ladder over his shoulder, the Greek put his finger warningly to his lips.

“From this point,” he said in a low voice, “it would be wise to keep our voices as quiet as possible! And do as little talking as necessary. She has sharp ears, that immortal one! The success of this brave experience will hang entirely upon our making an almost silent approach.”