It was always something odd to dress in the airy, white, full-body covering clothes his work required. And worst of all was the big white hat that was designed to give him shade no matter the angle he was in, digging and sweeping in the sand and among the rocks. To be wrapped inside a tent, more or less, anonymized and desexualized, was not the good way to be. Still, to endure the work, he was required to dress thus.
It was the morning after the storm, and the island was mostly back to normal. The winds would make the underwater currents and waves stronger, so their isolation, in the physical sense, from the rest of the world was heightened. But the daily toil on the small island in the Aegean Sea could at least resume. Ancient treasures don’t find themselves.
The days began with a walk to the resort restaurant for an early breakfast before any of the three luxury guests woke up from their slumber. Then the proprietor would rush Orest and Samuel to leave. Doctor Xenakis ate alone in his cottage.
That is, most days began like that. Not this one, however.
When Orest, in his baggy tent of clothing, opened the door to his cottage following the gentle knocking on it, he did not come face to face with Samuel, as expected, but rather there stood brown-hair-blue-eye-bubble-butt-boy in nothing more than a minimal loincloth. His blue eyes were fixed on Orest, like two small pools of Mediterranean ocean water teaming with life and death, enticing men to take a plunge into the cleansing element.
For a moment, they stood in silence and looked at each other. Orest had seen this boy at a distance in sexual action many times, and had observed how those two perky and impeccable buttocks wrapped around and hugged whatever men inserted between him. That butt had power. It felt almost as if Orest knew the boy, how he sounded, his urges and the anatomical peculiarities that allowed the boy to arch his lower back so stunningly. But Orest had to pull back from the impulse of familiarity. This was their first true and two-way encounter.
The boy, in turn, just stood there. He was silent, but looked intently at Orest with a curious little smirk. It seemed the boy waited for Orest to speak first.
“Well… good morning. What is going on? What’s up? How is it hanging? Dressed for a swim, but you shouldn't go with these waves, but you know that, you’re Greek, perhaps, Dorian extraction, or… anyways, how can I help you?”
Orest was normally no stranger to chatting confidently with scantily clad young men. As established on Mykonos those years ago, the second most efficient way to have a boy drop his speedos was after all a few suggestive words. But the surprise of the present moment and its mysterious relation to what transpired yesterday night caused Orest to stumble on his words.
“Monsieur Martin would like to meet you. We need your skills,” said the young man. His voice was exactly as smooth and gentle as Orest had imagined. It was the kind of voice that was made for joyful whimpering.
The young man turned around to reveal his completely naked buttocks. They were so perfect and full of energy, they had gravitational pull. They pulled at Orest. In a more honest world, Orest would be the one pulling the boy into the cottage, bending his legs, pressing him down and drilling his butt at full force and depth. Of course, Orest added to his inner monologue, in a more honest world, he would not be here in the first place.
They began walking towards the resort cottages. Samuel came walking as well. He was following cocksucker-rosy-lips-Iberian-guy, who had knocked on his door and, presumably, with words spoken from those beautiful lips, had drawn Samuel out of his cottage in his white baggy working outfit. Orest and Samuel exchanged a quick look, then faced forward to the two bare asses that led the way.
For the first time, Orest realized Samuel might be a man with the hots for men as well. Samuel never spoke about his private life and kept to himself. But here on the path, his face radiated raw sexual desire. Iberian guy and bubble butt boy were stirring things inside the shy and quiet Samuel. A hot and eager bottom boy, perhaps two, might be exactly what the introverts of the world needed to get a bit more open.
“Carry on now, boys. Leave us. Ah, gentlemen, welcome,” said Monsieur Martin, where he stood waiting for the two archaeologists. He was playing his ingratiating game, which was unusual. And ominous. He wanted something.
“I will not require much of your precious time, I promise. But I would need your assistance on a delicate matter. As you know, we here at the resort sponsor your important historical work, and we ask very little in return. We are all private men. You understand, don’t you?”
Orest and Samuel looked at the man in silence. They nodded cautiously. The least surprising fact of the last few minutes was that both men were erect inside their trousers.
“Good that we are on the proverbial same page. Now, please, follow me, gentlemen.”
After navigating the outdoor paths to one of the cottages, the very cottage Orest had spied on last night, the proprietor opened the door and showed the two archaeologists inside. He closed the door quickly. Then they entered the bedroom.
On the bed was the older man Orest had observed enjoying his six perfect boys during the stormy night. The older man was dead. There was no blood, no visible bruises or signs of violence. The man was perfectly still and pale, on his back in the bed, a sheet barely covering his nakedness. He looked at ease.
“As you can see, we sadly had a visit by the Grim Reaper in the night, as the mythologically inclined might say. Unusual, unexpected, but not unnatural. Our guests tend to skew older. Nonetheless, it is always a messy affair.”
Orest looked at the room. He saw the unmistakable signs of cum stains on the bed. The bed sheets were ruffled, and on one side, torn off the mattress. On the floor were at least two butt plugs, three dildos, a whip and four leather handcuffs.
“So, who found him?” Orest asked. “You, or a pleasure boy of the night?”
Monsieur Martin laughed.
“Ah, yes, our guests pay not only for privacy. There is no denying that. It is all within accepted law. But yes, by the time I found our guest, Mr. Dvořić, that is, no boy was with him. It has been known to happen that athletic boys sap their men of the last drop, as it were. You saw them coming here. Though our preferences may point some other way, one can sympathize with why some men might, like a stallion after galloping for too long, explode from exhaustion.”
He lowered his voice a bit and moved closer to Orest and Samuel.
“It is not our task to settle what happened. Perhaps it was innocent fun and all those creamy desserts that caused it. Perhaps not. In two or three days, the currents will be back to normal, and the police will arrive and conduct the necessary investigation. Until then, better leave the boys ignorant of events. Anyways, I like to think ignorant boys make for better fun, as is their task, their money-generating task,” Monsieur Martin said and slapped Orest on the shoulder.
Samuel remained silent, but looked with trepidation at Orest, as if Samuel was expecting something from Orest.
“I feel I don’t need to explain things to you men. We are private, we know the world for what it is, we know transactions keep it moving. Excellent,” said Monsieur Martin and pointed to the dead man.
“I will clean up the room. However, the body must be moved. We have an unused cold storage. But here is the problem. I don’t want to get the boys involved. And the rest of the staff is frankly no more than four people, who all work in the kitchen. I would rather keep them away from dead bodies. Hygiene and taboo and all that.”
“So if you could wrap departed Mr. Dvořić in a blanket and carry him down, it would be an immense help. And do not worry. To show my thanks, I will add a few thousand extra euros to your budget,” said Monsieur Martin and laughed. “See there, a night of boys fucking can benefit us all well,” Monsieur Martin laughed again and slapped both Orest and Samuel on the shoulders.
Neither Orest nor Samuel wanted things to drag out any further. Monsieur Martin was slimy in that metaphorical way. Still, his request to move the body was reasonable. So with the departed man wrapped inside two blankets, the two archaeologists carried the man who last night had enjoyed six naked boys while the storm roared outside.
The two living men then ate their breakfast quickly and were on their way to the site of their careful work.
Samuel remained quiet. Though Orest noticed on several occasions that Samuel looked over at Orest with a curious, even inquisitive gaze. It was as if he was waiting for Orest to say something, declare some truths, point the way forward, make things make sense. Perhaps he was a sensitive man, perhaps he needed reassurance and comfort after observing a dead body, then again, why is he looking at me to give him that, thought Orest to himself. The days when I cared for others are over.
“Look! Come here, Doctor Xenakis. You too, Orest. See. Bronze. Expertly forged bronze,” shouted Samuel suddenly.
The two other archaeologists walked over, and they saw the reason for the excitement. It seemed the storm last night had swept away some sand at the edge of the dig and revealed the precious piece of metal. Though very little was visible, three things were clear from a cursory inspection. The bronze was of superb quality; it stood out from all the other shards and fragments they had dug up over the past months. This was not mere peasant stuff, but expensive artwork. Second, the piece of bronze protruding above the sand was in the shape of a man’s left foot and lower leg. The heel and the lower calf muscles were an anatomically precise representation, probably of a man in motion.
And third, this desolate and inhospitable rock had to be something more. If the rest of the bronze sculpture was as high quality as the foot portended, then what centre of art, wealth and power had resided on this island in the ancient era? These treasured artworks do not simply show up in places without reason.
“So the storm blessed us. Honour him. We work on this now,” said Doctor Xenakis in his slow way, though there was also a slight emotional vibration in his voice.
It was slow and arduous work, but Orest and Samuel hunkered down and began sweeping away the dust, sand and rocks. For a moment, they forgot about the dead body, about the grievances, worries and anger. They were on to something, and as good men, capable in their craft, they worked effectively together and in silence. By the time Doctor Xenakis declared the day over, the other foot had been located and unearthed, and the lower part of a thigh had been freed from the soil.
Both Orest and Samuel could tell from the detail that this was a masterpiece. The muscles were clearly shaped, the great saphenous vein was clearly outlined, proving not only anatomical understanding, but physiological as well, since in young men that vein would only swell this much under physical exertion. They returned to their cottages happier than usual.
When the sun began to set, however, Orest’s mind drifted. He put aside his book as his sexual urges made themselves known. And a strange anger grew inside as well. Monsieur Martin had been simply unpleasant. What had he said, something that ignorant boys make for better fun, and then he somehow intimated that was our shared view, thought Orest.
Sure, Orest reasoned to himself, most boys are not interesting for their intellect or their mental strength and personality. Their tight and fuckable bodies and sweet, delicious asses came first. If a sexy boy is frolicking in the water at a Mykonos beach, his speedos wrapped tight over his perky ass, hugging his dick and balls, with a sexy little six pack and pelvic veins to go with it, and those horny fuck-me-please eyes, then fuck him, fuck him good, even if he is a fool. Orest had done so those years ago. He had lost count of the number of boys like that, who had moaned and squirted all over themselves on account of Orest’s commanding manhood up their butts.
Still, to assume this was all Orest cared about was an insult, he thought. There are boys who are more. They should be made to be more. That was, like, duty, or something, manly duty, thought Orest. He was surprised by his anger at Monsieur Martin, who, in many ways, had expressed what Orest had concluded in the last year. Sometimes hearing someone else speak what you only think is revealing, and not in a pleasant way.
He grabbed the binoculars. He had to take another look. See some more. Watch some ass. Look over the boys. And soon enough, Orest was climbing along precarious hillsides in his camouflaged clothing. He had not had time to repair the torn trousers, but they were the only ones he had of the required colour, so short of running around nude, the skin hue blending into the tanned sandstone backdrop, the best option for a clandestine mission was the torn trousers.
Orest first set out to climb the tree from which he could look into one of the resort bedrooms. An Arab man was living there, a Sheikh or something, with a real ass fetish. Last week, he had lined up his six boys, face down and ass up on the bed, and just eaten, licked, rubbed, slurped on and hugged buttocks, balls and holes for a full hour with such love, dedication and commitment that all six boys had pumped their loads from the ass stimulation alone. Orest would not mind the view of a fellow connoisseur of butt to go wild on a stellar set of boy asses tonight.
But he stopped himself. He should take another look at the bedroom he had watched yesterday night. Just for reference. There was something that irked him, some concern he had to settle.
Three minutes later, he was in position. He settled in, now more comfortably than last night in the storm, and he aimed the binoculars at the window.
There was a hot and steamy lineup of boy asses, served up for his remote inspection. The same six boys from last night, fully nude and on their backs on the bed. They held their own knees up, folded towards their chests, such that their precious little holes between the nice pairs of buttocks were exposed and ready to receive.
With the six boys in their exposed postures was Monsieur Martin, fully clothed and at work. He wielded dildos and butt plugs and moved from one end to the other of the lineup of precious boys. Orest looked on with his heart beating hard as the hole of brown-hair-blue-eye-bubble-butt-boy was roughly invaded by a dildo that Monsieur Martin pressed inside the boy. Through the binoculars, it looked like the boy winced and resisted the invasion of his tender body. Some words were by appearances spoken, then Monsieur Martin slapped brown-hair-blue-eye-bubble-butt-boy’s scrotum without any care or well-aimed discipline, and pressed the dildo all the way inside.
The proprietor moved to the left to the next boy. It was narrow-waist-short-Asian-boy’s worried face that looked up. His handsome features, his high cheekbones and dark eyes were distorted by some concern of what he was about to be subject to. Monsieur Martin aimed a buttplug at the boy’s tight and convulsing hole and pressed forward. Once inside, he pulled it out, and then in again. Along with that motion, he roughly jerked off Asian boy’s penis as if he was handling a mechanical instrument. When the boy came, the proprietor coated the butt plug with the cum.
Presumably for reasons of efficiency, the proprietor grabbed two dildos next and, with the same uncaring and undisciplined way as before, began pushing them inside curly-blond-rosy-cheeks-guy and egyptian-beauty-straight-up-dick-boy, who were side by side on the bed. Orest saw how the two boys held hands as if soothing each other. They needed to be soothed because Monsieur Martin did not attempt to wield the two sizable tools with any precision.
It was not pleasant to watch. A good use of a dildo is possible, as a way for the boy to showcase his ability to submit. These motions were just robotic, not meant to elevate and tease the boys. A slight consolation to Orest was that the two boys together helped each other mentally to endure the invasion of their bodies. Bottom buddies were known to create energy and endurance for each other. They were not going to be defeated this easily.
Next up was cocksucker-rosy-lips-Iberian-guy. Any man who deserved to walk in this world with a penis would have unzipped and given those rosy lips a dick to suck on. Instead, the person in the room picked up another butt plug from the floor and just thrust it inside the boy’s ass. This was no foreplay to deep penetration love-making to come. It was, by all appearances, nothing but a way to coat some boy juices on a piece of latex.
Samuel had given those buttocks such loving looks earlier in the day. If there was any justice in this world, it would be him on top of the Iberian boy, mounting that beautiful, tanned ass with his American cock. Fucking great ass could also cure introversion.
Orest drew a breath of anger and despair when he saw the final stage in Monsieur Martin’s actions. It was must-spank-those-alabaster-buttocks-boy, so beautiful and in such need of loving, yet firm, manly handling and guidance. He was flipped over. Then, after putting on latex gloves, Monsieur Martin, with one hand, swung a leather whip on the boy’s buttocks and with the other hand roughly fingered the boy’s prostate. Orest could see how the boy moved from side to side in an attempt to ease the assault on his tender body. The proprietor did not care and just kept on trying to squeeze some drops from the boy. The only consolation was that cocksucker-rosy-lips-Iberian-guy reached over and stroked the face of the whipped boy.
Fuck that! Orest lowered the binoculars. Being stern with a boy is one thing. The primordial manly force requires that, at times, but always for good. Powerful sex is a path to those truths and wells that are beyond the rational deliberative mind, and to give a boy a ride to those sacred domains is a gift. But to be cruel, that is just wrong. And that shit going on was cruel, concluded Orest.
And to what end? Monsieur Martin showed no sign of caring. There was no sadistic pleasure visible even. This was instrumental, like washing a dirty industrial sink. Orest felt only anger.
He raised the binoculars again. He saw the sex toys thrown on the floor, and the proprietor had left. On the bed, the six naked boys sat huddled together and kissed, petted and stroked each other. They were caring for each other, doing their best as boys to regain their senses.
Orest beat his fist hard into the hillside in rage. If there ever were reasons to take action, here they were. Six sweet boys, maybe another twelve, had to be brought under honourable command and care.
Orest beat his fist against the stone, but this time a sharp edge cut open a wound and when Orest jerked back the hand in pain, he tripped. First, his left foot, then the right one lost their support and over the edge Orest fell. He tried to grab the edge with his hands, but his left hand got tangled in the strap of the binoculars, which he ended up throwing down the cliff. It was only with his right hand that Orest managed to hold on.
The pain was excruciating because his right hand was already bleeding, and he now had to hold his entire weight. Orest began trying to find a hold with his left hand before his right hand lost its grip. He struggled, trying to find anything to secure himself.
“Orest. Give me your hand. Quick.”
Up on the ledge, Samuel appeared. He leaned down, stretched his hand down to Orest, who reached up and felt Samuel’s firm grip lock around the wrist. With raw force, Samuel then pulled Orest back up. By the time Orest was back up, Samuel was panting and sweaty.
They shared a wordless look. Orest nodded, and they both understood it was time to return to the cottages. They moved quickly and quietly. Samuel followed Orest into his cottage.
Orest lit a few candles and turned to look at Samuel. Only when he saw the young American’s facial expression did Orest realize that his pants were now so thoroughly torn that his dick was hanging out. Orest did his best to tuck it back inside.
The young man was sweaty and dirty. But his face shone with determination.
“I think you have things to tell me,” said Orest.
“Likewise,” answered Samuel.
