Souchard

By: Will B
(© 2009-2010 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 8

Bruce and Chad’s Apartment in the Residence; 6:00 pm

“Boy, am I bushed!” said Chad. “Teaching’s over for the day, lessons for tomorrow are almost planned! A whole evening to relax! What’s for dinner, love?”

“I thought we’d have sausage, fried potatoes, and a salad, with ice cream and strawberries for dessert,” replied Bruce as he came out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a towel.

“Hmm! Sounds good,” said Chad, but he got ‘that look’ in his eyes and he pulled Bruce into a hug, and nibbled on his ear. “You know I like your sausage best of all. It’s so firm and succulent, and it produces the best ‘gravy’ I’ve ever tasted!”

‘You dirty old man, you.”

“And you know you love it.”

“Well, I like my sausage on your buns, or—maybe in between them,” Bruce said, and he also had ‘that look’ on his face.

‘All in good time, my pretty; all in good time,” Chad said. “And the first to finish can watch the other one blow his load! Heh heh!”

“You’ve been watching that movie too much, lover!” Bruce said. “Listen, after we eat, I want to show you the story I’m getting ready to send to tickiestories”

“Oh, good! What’s it about?”

“It’s about an episode in Greek mythology. Just wait. You’ll see!”

After dinner the guys put the dishes in the dishwasher, and settled down in the living room to read and discuss the story

Telemachus in Arcadia

By Bruce and Chad

In ancient times, Ithaca was the home of Odysseus the King, his wife Penelope, and their son Telemachus. Homer described Ithaca:

‘They dwelt in shining Ithaca. There is a mountain there, high Neriton, covered in forests. Many islands lie around it, very close to each other, Doulichion, Same, and wooded Zacynthos-- but low-lying Ithaca is farthest out to sea, towards the sunset, and the others are apart, towards the dawn and sun. It is rough, but it raises good men.’

Odysseus had sailed away almost ten years ago, to take part in the war against Troy. His wife Penelope and son Telemachus missed him dreadfully.

Many men paid court to Penelope, telling her that Odysseus was probably dead, and she should remarry so she would have a man to protect her, and look out for her son, Telemachus.

Penelope was wise as well as beautiful. Her hair was black and curly. Her eyes were sea-green, and her body was beautiful to behold. She listened to her suitors courteously, but thought to herself ‘Why should I marry any of these men? If they were real men they would be away with my husband, fighting those perfidious Trojans!’

Archelaus, one of the most persistent suitors, pleaded his case. “Lady, if you will bestow your hand on me, I swear by all the gods on Olympus, I will guard you, your life, your kingdom, and your son with my life.”

“Archelaus, you are handsome and nobly born, but…,” Penelope answered, though she thought to herself, ‘Once I marry him, he will take over the kingdom and probably see that Telemachus meets with some sort of accident!’

Telemachus was growing up a most handsome lad. He was tall and slender, and his body was of such pleasing appearance that even Great Zeus looked down and thought, ‘By my crown, if I hadn’t taken Ganymede as my cup-bearer and bed-companion, I’d be tempted to…, but no! Hera would never let me bring the lad here.’

The nights on Ithaca can be cool, but when Eos, the goddess of dawn rose, she quickly warmed the air. One morning, Eos was preparing the way for Apollo to drive his chariot across the sky; her rays reached into the palace of Ithaca and slowly moved across the floor of Telemachus’ bed chamber. Up the side of the bed they sunbeam rose, and reached the surface of the bed where seventeen-year-old Telemachus lay sleeping, his body covered by a light blanket. His hair was black, and his skin was bronzed from all the time he spent in the sun. As he moved he pushed the blanket partway down his body and one could see that his shoulders were broad and his chest was showing quite a bit of muscular definition.

He moved again and the blanket was pushed even farther down revealing a flat stomach with the beginning of what in later times would be called a six-pack. Telemachus stretched and Eos’ rays touched his armpit which was covered with a fine dark hair.

Telemachus was finally awake and he threw the blanket off and stood in all his young glory, revealing the features that had attracted Zeus. Below his navel, a path of dark hair led to a thicker patch of hair in which nestled his manhood and his orbs that gave promise of manufacturing delicious nectar.

Turning away from the sun, Telemachus walked over to a water-filled basin on a shelf, and washed his face and hands. As he walked toward the shelf, his firm butt-cheeks moved as he strode in a seductive manner.

His body—oh his body! Young and supple, his body glistened and it was smooth! No hair grew on his back; neither on his nether regions, nor on his legs. They were smooth as silk!  Many people—men and women—admired his body as he made his way through the palace or through the town.

‘What would it be like to have those strong muscular legs, so smooth, wrapped around one’s body, to have that maleness pounding into one’s own body?’ Such were the thoughts that many people entertained!

Telemachus put on a short linen chiton, which was fastened on the left shoulder while the other remained bare. The left side could be tied, but that morning Telemachus was anxious to go down to the beach so he couldn’t be bothered. Ah! The sight of his left torso, flank, and leg open to the sun was a vision of masculine beauty.

Telemachus went down to the Great Hall of the Palace where his mother was eating some bread and fruit and drinking some wine.

“Good morning, Son. What are your plans for the day?” Penelope asked him.

“Good morning, Mother. I thought I would go down to the beach and swim.”

“Do be careful of the tide. When it is on the ebb the undertow is quite strong, and I don’t want anything…”

“Oh, Mother! (Just like all young men when faced by a mother’s concern!) I can take care of myself!”

“Oh, I know, dear, but with your father away for so long, I worry. <pause> Telemachus, I wish you would find a young man your own age to keep you company.  I have my ladies to keep me company, but you have no one.”

“Oh, we’ll see, Mother; and speaking of taking care of yourself, what are you going to do about all of these suitors?”

“Ahh! I have a plan, Telemachus. I’m going to announce that I will choose a new husband as soon as I finish weaving a tapestry for the Hall, one showing the bravery of your father. I will work on this tapestry every day.”

“But what about when it’s finished, Mother?”

“Ahh! That’s the other part of my plan! When night comes however, my ladies and I will unravel most of what I have woven that day!”

Telemachus chuckled. “Mother, that plan is devious, sneaky, and mean! I am proud of you!  Well, I’m off to the beach.” Telemachus gathered some bread, cheese, a handful of olives and fruit, put them in a bag, and picked up a wine skin from the palace kitchen and went down through the town, and then cut through a grove of trees, taking a path that led to a little used section of the beach.

It was a beautiful day: the sun was shining; there was a gentle breeze that slightly lifted the edge of the lad’s chiton, allowing an even broader glimpse of his handsome body and an occasional glimpse of his manly organs.

‘Mother was right,’ Telemachus thought to himself. “I am lonely, I wish I had a companion—someone to be with me; someone I could….’ Telemachus could not determine exactly what he wanted.

As Telemachus walked down the hill towards the beach, he heard a stream babbling and gurgling on his left. The stream tumbled over some rocks, and when it reached the level of the beach it broadened into a fresh-water pool before it finally joined the sea. This was Telemachus’ favorite spot. He usually had it to himself. Here he could swim in the sea, or just lie in the sun.

As he turned the last bend in the shoreline to reach ‘his spot,’ he was surprised to sea another figure there. It was a youth, but unlike anyone he had ever seen. As he drew nearer, the stranger stood and revealed himself to be a well-built male about Telemachus’ own age.

He was wearing only a loin cloth, but the rest of his body was a pleasure to behold. Where Telemachus had black hair, this man had blond hair. Telemachus’ eyes were green, but the lad had blue eyes.

Telemachus admired the muscular shoulders and torso and legs. His chest was covered with fine golden hairs, and there were two swirls of darker hair around the young man’s nipples.

“Hello, friend. I am Telemachus, son of Odysseus, King of Ithaca.”

“I am Eric Gunnarson, son of Gunnar, King of the North land.” Eric spoke in Greek, even if his speech was a bit guttural.

“Welcome to Ithaca, Eric Gunnarson. How did you come to be here, so far from home?”

“My father gave me a small ship and allowed me to sail on a voyage of exploration, partly to prove myself a man, and partly to see other parts of the word, so I would be a wise ruler, when I succeeded to the throne of the Northlands.”

“I hope you have seen something of our country.”

“Oh, I have, and I must say, this is a beautiful land, and I like so much what I have seen, but I’m afraid I will not be able to go home again for a long time.”

“Why not, Eric?”

“Look out to the sea at those rocks. My ship lies out there, broken on the rocks.” Telemachus could see the hulk of a small vessel.

Remembering the sacred duties of hospitality, Telemachus asked, “Eric, are you hungry? I have some bread and fruit, and cheese and wine, and there’s plenty for both of us.”

“Thank you, Telemachus. I am hungry.”

The two sat on the grass, and shared the food and talked about … oh, about many things. As they talked, Telemachus found himself liking Eric more and more. When they finished, he said “Eric, I usually like to swim in the pool. Would you care to join me?”

“That would be most agreeable.” As he said this, Eric put his hand on Telemachus’ arm, and both men felt a frisson of … attraction.

Eric was about to step out of his loin cloth when he stopped. “What is that music I hear, Telemachus?”

“I don’t hear any…. Oh yes, it must be the god Pan, playing his pipes.”

Now when Pan played his pipes it sometimes caused people to become extremely frightened. They developed such signs of great fear that their actions were described as ‘acting in a panic.’

Sometimes, however, when the conditions were just so, it caused the listeners to act on their inner impulses, and to do things that they wanted to do, but had been afraid to act on. So it was in this case.

Suddenly, Eric grabbed Telemachus and pulled him into a close embrace, grinding his lower waist into Telemachus’ lower waist. Telemachus was not shocked or angry! He had had the same impulse, and he pushed his body right back.

The two men broke apart and looked at each other, panting heavily. “Eric, I’m going to push that loin cloth down over your legs.”

“And I’m going to unfasten your cloak, Telemachus.”

The two men stood in their respective glories, their manhoods rising to the occasion. They went back to their embrace, and Telemachus put his hands around the two rigid poles and massaged them so that each rubbed against the other.

Eric looked at Telemachus and said, “Friend, I want you to penetrate me. I want your organ in my body—in my mouth, between my thighs, or in my hole—anywhere you want to put it, but I want you in me. I want to be your slave!”

“No, Eric, you’ll never be my slave. I want you for my friend, for my lover, if you will! I will penetrate you, but whatever I do to you, I want you to do to me!”

Pan’s pipes were louder than ever before, and the sound was heard in the town of Ithaca. People who heard it began to act out their hidden desires. In the palace stable, one stable hand was riding the other doggy style, inserting his prod into the other one’s anal opening.

In the kitchen the thirteen-year-old kitchen boy was stuffing his organ into the mouth of the forty-year-old cook who was on his knees, pulling the lad’s sausage into his maw. In between thrusts, the cook said “Give me a good load of your boy cream, lad, and then I’ll eat your ass out and let my tongue pleasure your body!”

The steward of the palace was licking the naked writhing body of the gardener. Both men were in their fifties, but they were copulating like eighteen-year-olds.

“Bite me, Nestorus,” said the gardener. Nestorus licked and nipped at Eurocholus’ body, as the steward continued to writhe and moan.

Back at the beach, Telemachus pulled Eric toward him and gave him a kiss. His tongue penetrated Eric’s mouth, and then Telemachus moved down on Eric’s body, licking, kissing, liking every inch of Eric’s muscular body. Eric was moaning in delight.

Telemachus got on his knees to take Eric’s shaft into his mouth. Eric’s organ was throbbing as it got ready to deliver its man-seed into Telemachus’ mouth. There were already pearly drops clustered at the slit of the helmet.

Telemachus took the beautiful shaft into his mouth and licked around the helmet. He pumped Eric’s pole as far into his mouth as far as it would go.

Eric’s breathing was getting harder and harder. “Uh-Huh, Uh-Huh, Uh-Huh, Uh-Huh,” Eric panted—and then: Uh-Huh-Aaaahhh—Eeeeeh-Iiiiiiii! Agghhhh!”

Eric shot his man-seed into Telemachus’ mouth.

“Turn around,  Eric,” Telemachus said, with cum running down his mouth and chin. “I want to taste all of you!”

Eric turned around and Telemachus licked Eric’s lower back, and then his butt cheeks, and then he moved the cheeks apart and put his hands on Eric’s butt cheeks, and began to insert one finger in his anal opening. Eric groaned and writhed. Telemachus inserted a second finger, and he could feel Eric’s muscles open and contract. Telemachus shoved his tongue into the opening that led to the inner treasure that Eric had waiting for him.

Eric could feel that slippery velvet tongue as it moistened his opening. He could feel some of his own ejaculate being used to prepare him for Telemachus’ penetration.

Slowly Telemachus aimed his throbbing shaft toward its target. He reached what we call the rosebud and pushed gently, then he was through the sphincter muscle, and Eric cried out.

“Are you in pain, Eric?”

“Yes…. No! Go on…. Keep on!”

Telemachus waited a few seconds and then resumed his entry into Eric’s inmost being: into that tunnel of mystery and pleasure.

“Aiiiiieeee!” Eric screamed. “By Oden! Keep on Telemachus. Drive your love-shaft into my body. Pound me into the ground, but don’t stop!”

Telemachus had touched Eric’s sweet spot and as he moved in and out, he reached that spot over and over again Eric continued to moan. In a very short while, Telemachus felt his own balls contract, and he could feel his semen coursing through his penis until…… blast after blast coated Eric’s insides.

At the same time Eric released his own hot, creamy love juice erupting and shooting its lava out onto his chest.

As Eric and Telemachus recovered, Telemachus lay beside Eric and covered him with kisses. 

In the town a group of school lads ran into the main square and tore off their clothes and began to kiss and fondle each other.

“Zorba, if you let me suck your penis, you can suck mine,” twelve-year-old Nicklos said to his friend who at 13 was already sporting a fine boner.

“Take it, my friend. I’ve wanted to lick your penis and testicles for some time” replied Zorba.

The other twelve and thirteen-year-old boys, some of whose bodies were beginning to show hair in the pubic area while other bodies were still smooth and hairless broke into couples. They lay on the ground and assumed the sixty-nine position and began to suck each other off. As they pulled their bodies closer and closer, they ran their free hands all over their partner’s bodies, finally each one running his fingers up and down the butt crack of his partner.

Pan’s pipes continued to play, louder and faster, rhythms that awoke a panic of sexual frenzy.

In the Great Hall of the Palace, another group of men, suitors of Penelope, each man completely nude, completely ready for what was to come, formed a circle around their leader, Archelaus, who lay on the floor, his erect shaft pointing to the sky. The others, all muscular studs, formed a circle around him, and he pleaded, “Pleasure yourselves, my friends. Shoot your man-milk into my mouth. I want to taste all of your sweet wine!”

Archelaus lay there, masturbating himself, while the others also stroked their own penises (and sometimes ‘gave a hand’ to their neighbor), and one by one they discharged their creamy semen into Archelaus’ mouth. He swallowed as much as he could, but soon his chin, his throat and chest were covered with the discharges of his friends.

Two men, Alexandros and Petronius, however, did not shoot their cream into Archelaus’ mouth. They looked at his writhing body, his erect organ, surrounded by its nest of dark hair, and decided to give their friend something he hadn’t expected—a warm golden shower that poured down on to his body, which writhed and bucked even more.

On the shore, Eric was preparing to enter Telemachus’ willing and ready body. He used his own ejaculate to coat Telemachus’ butt and anus, and as he worked the fluid into his partner’s body, something came over him and he began to move as if in a trance.

Men of the North land told stories about men who went into battle and fought so violently they were called berserkers. Something like this feeling of single-minded harshness was coming over Eric.

He looked at Telemachus, lying on his back, looking at him with love and tenderness, but all Eric could feel was a driving passion of lust. He wanted to do nothing but take the young  man and take his pleasure as hard and as violently as he could. He was Eric of the North land, and he had his own ‘hammer’ and by Odin he would hammer this body until it screamed out in pain or pleasure; Eric didn’t know or care which it would be.

He positioned himself and then, without waiting to see if Telemachus was ready, he drove his ‘hammer’ into that hole. Again and again he thrust forward. He wasn't aware of Telemachus’ cries of pain, cries that suddenly turned into cries of pleasure.

Thrust… and thrust again… and again, until once more Eric shot his hot creamy load into Telemachus’ anus which was clenching and unclenching.

From the town came cries of “Evoi! Evoi!” as various men came to their climaxes of sex and lust.

Suddenly Eric realized what he had done, and he looked down to see Telemachus with tears in his eyes. “Oh, Telemachus, what have I done? I have raped you; I didn’t make love to you. Please forgive me.” Eric burst into sobs of his own.

Telemachus reached for Eric’s head and pulled it down to his. “It’s all right, Eric. I’m not hurt. Really. I enjoyed it, only… next time if you took it a little more slowly, we both would enjoy it more.”

As the two lay in each other’s arms, they heard the pipes of Pan growing softer and softer, until the music died away altogether.

Telemachus and Eric drifted off to sleep, and when they awoke, the sun was beginning to set.

“Eric, would you come to live with me in the palace, as my friend and companion? I would be so happy if you would.”

“Telemachus, I would live with you in a palace, or a shed in the village, or a cave in the woods.”

The two men kissed, got up, put on their clothes, and climbed the hill to begin their life together.

The End of the story of “Telemachus in Arcadia.”

The story of the Souchard and its inhabitants and friends will be continued.

Author’s Notes:

Greek mythology tells us that anyone hearing the Pipes of the god Pan might be moved to acting hysterically, reacting to unknown fears; hence the derivation of the term ‘panic.’ The sound of these pipes were also to bring about extreme sexuality.

Norse mythology relates that fighting men often became affected with a kind of ‘blood lust,’ causing them to act as if in a trance. The men so affected were called ‘berserkers,’ and gave rise to the modern term of ‘berserk.’

‘Evoi’ was a cry uttered by the followers of Bacchus (or Dionysus) as they whipped themselves into an orgiastic frenzy which sometimes resulted in the worshipers of the god of wine inflicting types of self-mutilation.

Posted: 06/18/10