The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mariam stood in the half light of early morning looking out over the garden wall of her villa to the buff coloured, dusty track beyond. She had found this villa two years ago and had fallen in love with its tranquillity and seclusion. Following the divorce she had had money and time on her hands and had flown out to Phallos to regroup and rebuild her shattered life. Forty-one, but not really looking it, still trim and shapely, Mariam was not yet ready for another man in her life. It was a time to let go of what had been her old life and return a little to the ways of her younger days and perhaps be more herself. A way forward or a way back? She was not sure it mattered.

Up the track came a runner, she could not yet see if it was male or female—they did so wear the same clothes these days. He or she would not actually be able to see her as the sun had just slipped over the horizon and was shining right down the track into the runner’s eyes. Not that it mattered because she had already put a shirt on; it was not something she often did at this early hour.

The runner was closer—it was male—tall and dressed in trainers, running shorts and tee shirt. To Mariam’s seasoned eyes this was a well built young man evidently keeping himself in trim.

“Kalimera,” she said softly.

He had not seen her, he looked around and then up, “Oh, yes, good morning.” He was English.

“Good to run before it gets really hot.”

“Sorry, I didn’t see you. I haven’t seen anyone for three days at this hour.”

“It is early. Few are about. Where are you staying?”

The runner explained—it was a good place.

“Hot enough running even this early out here. The sweat really pours.”

“I am forgetting my manners; would you take some nero—a glass of water? You should carry a bottle.”

“A question of weight and bother so... but yes please. I drank a lot before I set off”

“You can swim in my pool if you like, that is cooling. Come up here”

By the time Mariam returned with the water he was in the pool but still in his running things, his trainers neatly set together by the pool, socks tucked in. Evidently a tidy young man. She had wrapped a skirt around her. She sat and watched him. He swam well. A lithe young man without much hair other than the neatly cropped fairness of his head. She wondered if he yet shaved. He did seem young.

“Not essential but I would rather not be without a pool.”

The young man agreed with Mariam as he pulled himself dripping from the water. Running shorts are not swimming shorts. Mariam could see the jock strap clearly through the wet material. She handed him the glass.

“Yiamas.”

He drank still dripping.

“Perhaps you should have taken those off first.”

He laughed, “I doubt they are much wetter now than they were. They’ll dry—I’m hardly going to catch a chill! It is so lovely here on the island”

The glass was soon finished and with a wave the runner was on his way.

Mariam stood at her wall watching him go.

She was standing at her wall the next day. Again with a shirt against the sun; and a skirt.

“Kalimera,” she said.

“Kalimera,” he replied.

“Nero and a swim?”

“Please.”

“Don’t stand on ceremony. Let your running things dry in the sun.”

The shirt came off easily but he hesitated at the shorts.

“Come on don’t be shy. You’ve pants underneath surely?”

Not pants but a jock strap. A very male garment, supportive of the reproductive organs but revealing of the buttocks. An odd garment but not really any less covering than you might see on the beach.

His athletic crawl was impressive as were his buttocks clad in just the jock strap. Mariam paused and admired before seating herself. Tight young male buttocks were something she had always admired. There was much about the well built male to be admired. She remembered back to younger days – watching the young men run.

The runner came dripping out of the pool and sat opposite her across the table.

“Your name is?”

“Andreas Koulos.”

“A Greek name?”

“Yes, but born and bred in England. Not really Greek at all.”

“Mariam.”

He sipped the water.

“That’s better. Running is hot work here in August. Good to have that shirt off.”

Mariam spoke again, “Why run with it, why run with the shorts either?”

“I might meet someone.”

“Not at this hour. The Ancient Greeks ran naked of course. The first Olympic games—all the athletes naked.”

“I’d heard that. Why?”

“Oh, the body beautiful I expect. Why not run just like that, no weight, you will feel so free and there is no one who will see you. Go like that. I’ll wash your things for tomorrow when you run by.”

“Could I? Should I?”

“Go on, just do it.”

And he did. Mariam watched his athletic buttocks in the jock strap until they were out of sight. She smiled; she had meant for him to run naked, actually, but he had not taken the hint—or invitation. Mariam slipped off her shirt and skirt before diving into the pool just a little more naked than he—she did not have a thong—what a ridiculous garment!

The sun was just over the horizon the next day and the Cicadas had begun their diurnal electric buzz; the interminable background to the Mediterranean sunshine. Mariam stood leaning on her wall, a white linen shift covering her body to a little below her hips. A small speck in the distance was getting larger. “Kalimera,” she said but he was too far away to hear.

“Kalimera,” he called as he pounded up and waved at Mariam.

Mariam smiled both to him and to see him in just jock strap and running shoes. The jock strap gave modesty but little else. It was not a fashion garment. On her table were two glasses of water. On a chair were a shirt and shorts neatly ironed.

“Perhaps,” said Mariam as a dripping Andreas fresh from the pool seated himself, “You should try running really like the Ancient Greeks. Have you seen anybody?”

“No, nobody. Not yesterday, not today, not... you don’t mean?”

“That jock strap must be terribly hot and a bit uncomfortable. Why don’t you free yourself and run like the ancients?”

To his intense surprise, a few minutes later, Andreas found himself running naked: running without his shirt, shorts or even jock strap through a country that was not his own. Free, unrestrained yet unnerving. What if he met someone? But he had not met a soul any other morning and she had said he would not.

Freed from his jockstrap, freed from its hot confinement his penis and balls moved from one side of his hips to the other as he ran, a steady slap, slap as they swung. Not uncomfortable, not unpleasant, certainly cooler but a little distracting. Andreas thought about Miriam. His penis thickened a little and slapped a little harder but he did not meet anyone.

Setting out the next day felt strange. Just putting on a pair of trainers and walking out the door into the moonlight and setting off. Andreas would never have dreamt of doing this back home but here, well the countryside seemed empty and the villas he passed were silent at that hour. He set off with his penis once more flapping loosely. Free running through the silent countryside.

Mariam lent over her wall. She had already swum in the moonlight, dried herself and slipped on her shirt and wound a thin leather cord around her wrist. It was a cord for men. The sun was just creeping over the horizon. It was a little early for her runner, for Andreas, but, even so, there silhouetted by the sun was a lone runner. Perhaps, she thought, the worry of total nakedness had unnerved him and he had risen a little earlier. She went to fetch the glasses of water and put on a skirt. Beside the table, on a chair were a shirt, a pair of shorts and a white jockstrap all neatly washed and ironed.

“Kalimera.”

Lovely to see such a well built young man walking naked up her steps, the sweat shining on his muscled body, his genitalia swinging gently and his chest rising and falling with the exertion of his running. Miriam was not unmoved by the sight. She smiled in welcome.

“You look in need of a swim.”

Andreas dived effortlessly into the pool.

Mariam waited with the water watching his buttocks flex as he swam up and down her pool. Beneath the water she caught glimpses of his maleness.

“How did you feel running like a Greek?”

“Strange, worrying but wonderfully free. Yes, I liked it but, perhaps... how kind of you to wash and iron... perhaps I had better be dressed in case somebody...”

“Not at this hour. You will see nobody.”

“And whilst it felt free and cool there was one thing...”

“Yes?”

“My, how can I put it, equipment flopped around without the jock strap and I was not sure I liked that. Equally I did get all hot and sweaty in the strap.”

He was being surprisingly open; perhaps it was because he was naked. His eyes were on the jock strap. He wanted to put it on.

“Ah yes, a problem solved by the Ancient Greeks.”

“How?”

“The Kynodesme—the dog leash.”

“The what?”

The Kynodesme. They tied their penises up with a leather cord pulled up around their waist, it both kept it from moving around, kept them cool and avoided impropriety.”

“I don’t get it; how did they tie it up and how on Earth did that avoid impropriety?”

“They looped it around the Posthe or more particularly the Akroposthion, pulled it tight and tied the cord up and around the waist.”

“The what? What did they tie?”

“The prepuce, the foreskin.”

“That’d hurt surely?”

“No, very comfortable I am told. Keeps the penis from swinging around, lifts the testes up and keeps them cool and, from the ancients’ point of view, importantly hides the Balanos.”

“Balanos?”

“The glans, your knob end, if you like in the English vernacular!” Her laughter came easily. “The Ancients regarded that as immodest to reveal, probably because it was associated with sex and erections. You don’t mind me explaining?”

Andreas had certainly reddened. Mariam was being very explicit.

“They favoured a long foreskin which covered the Balanos; so we have the Posthe which is the foreskin over the knob and the Akroposthion which is the foreskin below. It is that which is tied with the kynodesme. Look at the old vases and statues in the museum. It is all there to see.”

“How very odd. I’m not really a museum person.”

“Try it. And do visit the museum. Stand up.”

Andreas stood and almost disbelieving found himself watching as Mariam unwound a thin leather strip like a bootlace from her wrist. She made a loop and took hold of his penis. She just reached and grasped. Andreas jumped, clearly quite taken aback that a strange woman had grasped his penis. With apparent ease she pulled forward the Akroposthion and tied the leather thong tightly around it so it was caught, pulled the ends around his waist and tied the thong ends in a neat bow. His penis was now pointing upwards, pulled sharply vertical by the noose around his prepuce; so the prepuce, the Akroposthion, appeared like a little brown flower above the knot. His scrotum and testes were exposed and sat tightly drawn up below his penis.

Mariam lent back in her chair, “You’ll find it cooler like that and you won’t flop around. I’ll keep your clothes and you can collect them tomorrow—if you need them...”

Andreas moved his body, stretching his torso, moving his hips, presumably seeing if his movement pulled on the leash and hurt him. All seemed to move easily. The tightly drawn up penis and balls held firm.

“It doesn’t hurt.” He seemed surprised. It’s quite OK really. But what if I see someone?”

“What is the problem, your balanos is hidden, this is a Greek island you know, you are running like a Greek.”

“I suppose...”

“See you tomorrow. Just run back a bit so I can see you run and your kynodesme is working.”

Mariam stood by her wall and watched her runner jog past wearing nothing but a thin leather thong looped around and holding up his penis. It and he looked fine as he ran away from her—more than fine to her—and just as fine when he came running along the track the next morning. He had clearly had no trouble tying his own kynodesme. There was no bouncing with his penis held so tight, perhaps just a slight oscillation to the balls but that was not a difficulty nor unattractive. He looked very manly with such prominence given to his fertility. Mariam waved and Andreas came into her garden. This time she had dispensed with the skirt and he noticed—he certainly noticed.

Restrained by the kynodesme the erection could not go up and instead it went forwards. Andrea’s penis thickened considerably and curved sharply forward like a banana—but more so—but the kynodesme held, the knot binding the foreskin strong. It certainly trapped the balanos within but only notionally hid it as the acorn shape became very clearly defined within the prepuce as it expanded—a bulbous virile shape.

“You see how good the kynodesme is? No embarrassment of a stýsi, an erection, poking and swinging around: instead it is all neatly restrained and almost hidden. A Greek could be in any company like that and nothing would be said because what should be hidden is hidden.”

To Andreas it was hardly hidden and he was painfully aware of what he was doing and even more aware that Mariam was looking at and talking about his erection. He had not at all missed her dark triangle under her shirt or the curve of her buttocks.

“Always flattering for a girl, inducing an erection. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Oh, almost too young for women then. I wondered if you were younger.”

“Huh?”

“Young Greek boys only have sex with men. Perhaps next year, though, will be different, perhaps you will grow a beard. You would be expected to be with women then.”

“I’m not gay.”

“What a silly idea. Of course you are. All men are at a certain age – or ages. It is only natural”

“No.”

Andreas had not seen another person at Mariam’s villa before but already at that early hour, whilst it was still cool, a big burly man with dark hair was working with a fork in the garden of the villa. Clearly a powerful man used to hard work, his legs like tree trunks, his arms strong; moreover a hairy man with black beard and moustache and considerable body hair. Not a man to be trifled with.

Mariam saw the direction of Andreas’ eyes, “Thanatos. He gardens and does other things for me.” Mariam left unsaid the other things.

Like Andreas, Thanatos was naked except for a narrow cord around his waist. He turned and Andreas could see the man was, again like him, wearing the kynodesme; the thin leather thong around his waist tightly looped and pulling. It was strange seeing another man with his penis drawn up tightly and his balls exposed rather than hiding behind the drooping penis.

It was as easy swimming in the kynodesme as running. The water cooled Andreas’ tumescence but it was not easy to miss the lush dark curls in Mariam’s lap or the curve of her bottom when he left the pool for his glass of water. Not easy when seated to avoid glancing at the curls, not easy at all when Mariam moved her legs and he almost saw between them. Once again he found he was restrained by the kynodesme as his shaft curved thickly like a banana towards her. He could see she had noticed. The smile said it all.

“You could loosen the knot and release if it is uncomfortable.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Andreas knew to release would see his cock bounding forward like a lion uncaged, the foreskin immediately rolling back to reveal his balanos and all that signified whether to Ancient Greek or modern woman. It really did not matter. The appearance was the same. He glanced towards Andreas, worried another man should see his erection, but the man was busy working, taking no notice of him or Mariam.

Mariam returned to her theme as Andreas drank his water.

“The Ancients looked after their young men; a young man would come under the tutorage of an older more experienced man and it was considered quite proper, indeed expected, for the erômenos, the younger man, to submit to the advances of the erastês. Perfectly normal. Of course once the young man got older, grew a beard and so on—the things you men do—he would take a wife and engage in sexual relations with her—but he might then, as erastês, take a young man under his wing.”

“I wouldn’t want my bottom invaded. I’m not gay.”

“No, no, quite improper. Such an act would be demeaning for the erômenos. No intercrural sex was the thing.”

“What?”

“I shall explain, if I can see you as my protégé, a young man I am encouraging and found attractive with your smooth young skin and fine white thighs then, if I was a man, I would seek to take my pleasure between those thighs, gently easing my phallus, my erection, between them, perhaps thighs already made slippery with oil of olives, perhaps your whole body made slippery with oil, perhaps my erection made shiny and slippery with the oil.”

Her hand eased quietly between his thighs. His erection did not subside but remained straining forward, banana like. Her hand disturbing; especially when it moved, simulating the movement of the erastês.

It was clear Andreas was confused. Mariam was talking of the sexual actions of men whilst her own very feminine hand was on his thigh—between his thighs – and so very close to his tightly restrained penis. The brown wrinkled flower of the foreskin, the tight leather thong and the so clear outline of the balanos or knob.

“The ideal was, strangely, for the erômenos, to be unmoved by the act. Merely the passive participant. I think that is difficult to believe, difficult to believe his young penis would not rise and strain at the kynodesme. You can imagine the erastês untying it, letting it rise freely, balanos exposed and for them both to rub themselves between each other’s thighs.”

“No, I suppose not. But not for me.”

“Oh, come, come. It must have been so very pleasant. Here you are at the junction of boy and manhood. Don’t you feel torn between being the erômenos, with the prospect of women to come, and being the erastês?” Her fingers were lightly stroking his erection now, running lightly over the veins of the shaft. He seemed spell bound under the words she was saying and the touch of her fingers.

“You think not, you think you could contain the excitement, be the passive recipient of the erastês? Tied by the kynodesme could you contain yourself realising that if you couldn’t then your posthe would swell, become bloated by the pumping semen all held back by the tight noose of the leather thong. Would it hurt, the pressure building and still the ejaculation flowing?”

Andreas eyes were wide, “No, I wouldn’t want...”

“We shall see—THANATOS.” Mariam called and the big gardener looked up and came towards them.

Close to, he was even bigger than Andreas had thought.

Mariam’s hand reached and undid the bow around Thanatos’s barrel like waist letting his penis fall. The ends of the leather thong fell free, swinging gently from where they were tied around the end of the gardener’s penis. Andreas stared. The akroposthion was long and tapered beyond the knot – had years of wearing the kynodesme caused it to lengthen?

Mariam reached, caught hold of the two ends of the leather and lifted pulling the penis upwards again as if she did indeed have Thanatos on the end of a leash, a leash tied to his most sensitive part. A slight tug and he came close to her, as if he was used to being tugged by his kynodesme, used to obeying the woman. Her fingers worked, loosening the knot.

“You see, Andreas, what a fine akroposthion Thanatos has, perfect in proportion, only his whole penis would be, to for the Ancients, aesthetically too big. They valued a small penis as can be seen from the vases and statues in the museum. You must visit that. But did they value small penises in bed I wonder? Thanatos’ akroposthion would be admired but his large penis perhaps the butt of jokes. I like it though – very much. Do you?”

“I... well, as penises go, yes very fine, I err... yes, very...” What else could he say?

Mariam smiled. She was unsettling the boy. Her fingers caressed the large penis. It began to grow. Thanatos looked on impassively as his penis was manipulated. But she did not miss Andreas’ eyes widen. Clearly unsettled he stood. Perhaps having a growing penis at his eye level was too much. Thanatos was more than well endowed and he was now truly showing it. Perhaps it was from years of restraint by the kynodesme but it curved banana like, straight at first from the base but then with a pronounced upward curve. It was thick and long. Despite having reached its full height the glans, the balanos, was still covered.

“Shall we upset Thanatos, shall we peel back the akroposthion? Even without the kynodesme Thanatos retains his modesty, his foreskin is long—very Greek.” And, as she said it, she pulled a little and the shiny acorn shaped dome came out into the sunlight. “Oh dear, look what we have done!”

Upon the table the glasses of water and a thin phial of olive oil; Mariam reached and poured a thin stream onto Thanatos’s upstanding penis head, the thick oil running and dripping down and around the shaft and into the thick mass of black curly hair at its base. The organ shone in the sunlight. It was big.

Mariam reached and her hand found Thanato’s bottom, clasping a buttock she pulled him around so he was facing Andreas.

“Of course you are but a boy and your erection does not really bear comparison with Thanatos’s. He is quite a man is he not?”

Andreas’ eyes flicked from Thanatos’ erection to his face. It was still impassive.

Andreas was unsure what to say, “Yes he is very big—in all ways I mean.” He added hurriedly. “Does he speak English?”

“Are you ready Andreas?”

“Ready for what?”

Andreas was tall, his thighs already a little separated by Mariam’s hand, his penis and balls drawn up by the kynodesme; so there was no impediment to the sudden thrust of Thanatos’ rigid penis between his thighs; he had not seen it happen—the sudden push by Mariam on Thanatos’ bottom impelling the big man forward. All of a moment Andreas found himself up close and personal with a man, a strong, powerful man, his own erection pressed into the man’s hairy stomach whilst between his own thighs he could feel the warm, smooth hardness of Thanatos’ big erection. Unbidden the man began to move, thrusting his hips slowly and purposefully, sliding his erection between Andreas now clenched thighs; the oil made it easy; the penis just slid. And there was no escape. The big man held him tightly. He was far too strong for Andreas.

It was not how Andreas had expected gay sex. But there was nothing he could do to prevent his own erection remaining. Not only was it being bounced against Thanatos but he had the sliding of the man’s very large cock right along his perineum to contend with. The last thing he wanted to do was cum. He could feel Mariam’s hand on his bottom and thighs, no doubt feeling for Thantos’ penis when it regularly appeared through his thighs—a strange view from the rear.

“Mariam! I don’t want to do this.”

But he was coming closer to ejaculation, close to ejaculation whilst tightly bound, an ejaculation that would be hidden, trapped within his posthe, swelling his posthe—would there be room enough?

“Don’t be silly. Of course you do.” Her fingers fondled his bottom. A pleasant feeling as the large penis continued its thrusting.

The intercourse like movement did not stop and there was nothing Andreas could do before the inevitable result. Nothing he could do to prevent it. He had felt his own semen on his skin often enough before but to feel another man’s all hot and spurting was not at all what he had expected when he had set out on his run.

He could feel the sudden spurting when it came, the heat of the semen, the rubbing of the cock against his sensitive thighs and perineum. Almost—but not quite—came his own ejaculation. Andreas had come so near. Had Thanatos not ceased his movement, had Mariam’s hand not withdrawn then... he had been on the very edge of coming whilst bound.

The deed done, Thanatos stepped back, still impressive, still impassive. His erection still firm, the result of his ejaculation obvious.

For a moment there was stillness like some strange tableau. It was the woman who broke the silence.

“Off you go then, Andreas, enjoy your run. I shall see you tomorrow.”

Andreas simply went, simply ran off up the track, almost unaware he was running with an erection. Almost in a state of shock. What had just happened? Had it really been... but it had not exactly been a homosexual act, he reasoned: Mariam, a woman, had done all the touching really. It was just that Thanatos had ejaculated between his thighs. A man had actually come, actually released his seminal fluid right between his thighs!

At least he had not been asked to do the same; instead his cock had remained tightly bound; there had been no loosening of the kynodesme; no invitation to have pushed his erection between Thanatos’ hairy thighs or worse...

Had he enjoyed the feel of Thanatos’ rough masculinity and thick erection? It worried him. He ran on; hot stickiness between the thighs, hot stickiness that was not his own—it was not something he had expected. Would he have performed had he been made to push his erection between Thanatos’ thighs? To have pushed his erection between Mariam’s thighs would have been a completely different matter. But he had not been invited to do that either. He ran on. The erection was still to subside.

Mariam had slept well, the whirr of the electric fan in her room so cooling after Thanatos had left for the night leaving her sticky too between the thighs. She was up and about, the stickiness and exertion of the night before washed away in the shower, and there was the slightest hint of a breeze at her wall, enough to move the thin fabric of her open shirt. Her breasts and lower body beneath the shirt indistinct in the half light. She looked out over the landscape waiting for her runner. She did not think the events of yesterday would have scared him off. She thought he was now ready.

It was not often Mariam was disappointed with people: not if she really wanted her way. Along the dusty track came twin running shoes pounding away and bringing a young man to her. A young man shining with sweat, even at that hour of the morning, a young man dressed in not so much as a loin cloth or jock strap but with a thin leather band around his waist, looped of course around his penis. So male and so desirable to Mariam. He had not forgotten how to dress, how to be a Greek; his experience with Thanatos had not put him off. She smiled; she enjoyed her experiences with Thanatos—such a big man in so many ways.

“Kalimera.”

Andres came up her steps, perhaps a little warily, his eyes searching, perhaps seeking Thanatos but he was not there.

Mariam turned, her shirt open revealing both breasts and the dark curls around her sex. She had done it for effect. She was not disappointed. The involuntary erection quickly apparent. Again the look of worry on Andreas’ face. She smiled, the boy was so easily disturbed by his sexuality.

“You look hot this morning from your exercise—and a little bothered. Let me untie that for you. Let it be free—for a while...” Her hands were quick; the bow quickly untied; the penis released; no longer restrained it reared to its full height; with careful fingers the knot was loosened; the cord removed; a gentle tug and the whole balanos or glans exposed to the sun. It was smooth and shining – and erect.

“There! What a fine sight. Not modest, but only me here to see.”

Mariam handed Andreas his glass. He drank. He was thirsty. His penis standing, strong and desirable.

“More?”

“No, I...”

He was staring at her as she sat on her wall, one foot on the ground but the other placed on the wall exposing her sex, dark curls contrasting with the white shirt, revealing the way in; the invitation obvious.

“Come Andreas.”

“I hardly know you.”

He was standing, completely naked but for his running shoes, his whole body shining with sweat and his erection firm.

“It’s so easy to just slip in. You do want to you know.”

He was staring, staring at the place between her legs—the place for men to go.

“I don’t know.”

“It is time for you to leave boyish things behind. Come be a man.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Well show me, silly boy.”

All he needed to do was step forward. No need for fumbling, no struggling with clothing, no getting into a bed, it was all so easy—one step and a quick push; an easy sliding before a so pleasant release.

Andreas wet his lips. Mariam knew he would take the step. It was only a small one.

The softness of the evening brought Mariam once more to her wall; a gin and tonic in hand, the tinkling of the ice contrasting with the quietness and still warmth of the air and soil; the lemon seeming so at one with the island’s harvest. She sipped thinking back to the morning; thinking back to Andreas and his unbound erection sliding easily into her. A lone runner was approaching; the setting sun casting a long shadow behind the runner. Mariam watched, wondering if it was Andreas but it did not look the same, the tallness was not there. It was not Andreas or even a man but a solitary woman.

“Kalispera,” she said from her wall as the runner passed.

The runner paused and looked up, “Kalispera,” her eyes searching.

“A cooler time of the day to run.”

“Yeah, couldn’t do this at midday. No way.”

The runner was in black lycra, tightly hugging the body—shirt and shorts. A headband and pony tail. All rather suggestive of an enthusiast, a frequenter of gyms in the city, someone a little addicted to the exercise rush—the endorphin release of the ‘runner’s high’.

“I’m on vacation and this seemed a good route for a run.”

“Yes, very quiet. You won’t see any one.”

“Except you!” The runner smiled. She was dark and perhaps pretty.

“Ah, yes, except me. You look hot. Nero—that is water—and a quick dip in my pool?”

The girl seemed happy to accept and walked up Mariam’s steps.

“I’m Mariam, Kalos irthate.”

“Sandy, Sandy Krostlis.”

“Do take a dip whilst I get you your water.”

“I haven’t a costume.”

“There are no men here.”

There was a side long glance from her dark pretty eyes as if the words had other meanings.

“OK, fine.”

Removing the lycra was a bit like the peeling of skin. The lycra did not seem comfortable to Mariam. The girl’s panties and sports bra were soaked with perspiration. Her breasts were not small, her pubis completely shaven.

“Bliss,” she said slipping into the pool’s clear water. Mariam watched for a time before seeking the drink.

The girl, rising dripping from the pool, sat completely nude at Mariam’s table, one leg crossed, completely confident in herself. She drank.

“You holiday alone?” Mariam questioned.

“No, there’s me and my partner.”

“And he does not run?”

“She. No she doesn’t. Sits by the pool and reads a lot. Trim as anything but no exercise. We are a bit chalk and cheese!”

Mariam frowned a little. “Swimming is good exercise. I swim a lot.”

“Sure is. So do I at the gym and the pool and down at the beach. Thanks for the water. Perhaps see you tomorrow? Urgh, putting on damp things.”

“Kalibradi.”

Mariam watched the girl, Sandy, run off away from the sunset, brown legs pumping.

Another evening, another hot and beautiful day run, and across the parched land came the runner. Mariam stood at her wall watching. The girl was pleasing on the eye, pretty in a way, her figure trim. How much more pleasing to see her run in more feminine garments or naturally. Mariam was as happy, or almost as happy, to see Sandy run naked as Andreas. The modern running clothes, all manmade fibre, struck a discordant note.

Once more the greeting, the invitation and the swimming. This time Mariam slipped off her own cotton dress and eased herself into the water with Sandy. They swam together—two naked women—under the darkening, evening sky. Later they sat together drying; Mariam amused to see Sandy appraising her body.

“No children?”

“No, my ex husband could not...”

“You left him because...”

“He left me.”

“Men are bastards.”

“Perhaps him.”

The water drunk; the runner on her way.

The world turns, the sun rises and the sun sets. The moon follows a different course. For a time it would be the male of the morning and the female of the evening. It was like the sun and the moon, male and female to the Ancients, Helios and Selene. At the morn, Andreas: at even, Sandy; a pattern for a time. One way or another it would be broken. Mariam knew this would come either by the ending of vacations or otherwise. It was, she felt, more likely to be otherwise. She smiled at the sight of the approaching evening runner. She felt an upsetting of preconceived notions; a changing of regular patterns was approaching.

“Hi.”

“Kalispera.” The word so much softer as a greeting. “Nero?”

The water and ice welcome. Once more the peeling of the lycra, the revealing of the girl; the smooth dive into the pool, the brown limbs working.

“Why not run like that? Are they,” she indicated the discarded lycra, “comfortable to wear?”

“What, naked?”

“Yes.”

“In a word, men. I’d love to but they leer and look. If it was just women... oh, wouldn’t the world be a better place?”

Mariam frowned, “no one will see. Don’t you think these are a little unfeminine, a little masculine?”

“I don’t do so called feminine. Something imposed by men.”

“Really?” Mariam looked across the pool in an unfocused way and thought of girls dancing in flowing dresses, with ribbons and flowers in their hair, gold bracelets tinkling on their wrists and gold rings to their toes. A pretty sight—a feminine sight.

“I wouldn’t be running if it was up to men. Running they would say is for men not women.”

“Not so. The Ancients had women’s games held, like the men, at Olympia. The young girls, like you, ran—ran in short Chitons, free and flowing, cool and easy. It must have been a pretty sight.”

Sandy looked quizzical, “what was that they wore?”

Mariam lifted a single rectangle of thin white linen from a chair. “Let me.” With light, easy fingers Mariam folded the rectangle and draped it over Sandy forming an overfold, an ‘apotygma’ she called it, and fastened it at Sandy’s left shoulder by a broach. The material hung to Sandy’s knees but with practiced ease Mariam tied a wide leather belt under the girl’s breasts and pulled the material up through the belt forming a sort of blouse. Sandy stood looking a little puzzled.

“There, if I pull that up through the Zoster, the belt you see, which gives you plenty of freedom.”

The effect was exquisite, a light easy white dress floating on Sandy’s lithe form, her brown limbs contrasting with the pure whiteness of the thin fabric.

“But my right breast is exposed.” And of course it was, only the left hidden beneath the fabric’s folds but both supported by the zoster below.

“Of course, perhaps in imitation of the Amazon warrior women or perhaps because that is how men wore the chiton. Girls dressed as men to run, an inversion of appearances and role.”

“It’s comfortable but it’s too girly for me and...”

“But it is what men wore—hardly girly to the Ancients.”

“But...”

“No buts, just try it. Go, run.”

And Sandy did, the thin linen flowing easily around her, light and airy—no impediment at all to her movement, the zoster supporting her breasts. She looked a picture of lithe, fit young womanhood and Mariam gazed after her as she glided across the land, not missing the occasional glimpse of bottom cheek as the short chiton fluttered and leapt as she ran.

Mariam picked up the discarded lycra, panties and sports bra—all damp to the touch. More washing for the machine; she could do a load overnight. Sandy would not need them again on the island.

Another evening, another gin and tonic, another tinkling of the ice and the yellow flash of lemon. Mariam watched the sunset silhouette of Sandy running towards her. Even from a distance she could see the flowing outline of the chiton. Mariam nodded to herself, Sandy had taken to the dress, had dressed herself in it to run. Closer, the sight was so pleasing. Sandy’s athletic body, her pretty round breast with its so brown nipple and the occasional glimpse of her bare mons as her legs pumped up and down and the chiton bounced freely.

“Oh, Mariam, I can’t tell you how good running in this feels—so light—the freedom, the movement, the air. No hot stickiness between the thighs, just cool air.”

Mariam smiled, a knowing smile; a hot stickiness between the thighs was, of course, just what a young girl needed but not from running: from another activity—from a man.

“I could swim in the chiton, couldn’t I?”

“Maybe, I don’t see why not. A little drag maybe.”

Lovely to watch the brown girl slip into the cool water, see the white linen floating around her and then she swam with easy long strokes up and down the pool.

The clinging transparency of the linen as Sandy climbed from the pool almost took Mariam’s breath away. She was not attracted to women but it made her come rather closer than she had expected. The bare breast and the almost bare breast seen through the thin, wet material as the linen clung to it, moulding its shape perfectly; and then the way the wet linen clung to her cheeks and even found its way to shape itself round the mound of her mons veneris and slip into the divide—the perfect ‘camel toe.’

Sandy sat, one leg over the other, sipping her water.

“Would you prefer a G&T?”

“No, no, thank you. Oh, this is so lovely. You have a lovely villa, Mariam. I feel so alive, so energised, so happy. I could run forever.”

“Why not run in the early morning too? Rise early and fly.”

“Oh I couldn’t. Josie likes... Josie likes to stay in bed in the morning and... well, things girls do together. You know?”

A smile from Miriam. “No, no I do not. I think you need to run and perhaps you need a man. How old are you?”

“I don’t need men. Twenty.”

“Old enough indeed to be with a man. You should leave behind foolish things.”

“Foolish? I love Josie, she’s my partner.”

“Might you run tomorrow morning, rise before the sun when it is cool and the world renewed?” Mariam had changed the subject.

“Josie won’t like it.”

“Run early, before the sun, it’ll be rising when you reach here. I’ll pour fresh orange juice.”

Sandy looked at Mariam a little sidelong, “OK, then. I can get back—for her.”

Already the linen was drying; it would dry further as Sandy ran. Mariam watched the runner in her half transparent chiton until she was out of sight. She wondered what it would be like to bed Sandy—after all, perhaps even she could be foolish sometimes.

It was what Mariam had wanted, a perfect meeting of her young people. She had hoped but... Standing by her wall in the early morn, Mariam had been surprised to see the perfection. In the glare of the rising sun came her young man out of the west and from the east the silhouette of a young woman. Both were running, the young man gloriously nude, the young woman not quite so but with a short flowing dress. They were converging, each moving steadily closer along the track, the perfection of the convergence a delight, bound for a meeting, a meeting right by her villa on the dusty track. Bound for more than just a meeting. Mariam had a particular idea.

“Kalimera.” Mariam had the orange juice ready, a large jug and three glasses. The ice tinkling. “Come on up.”

The shock of seeing another runner had clearly affected the young people.

“What on Earth are you wearing?” It was Sandy who spoke first.

“Come on up, both of you,” called Mariam encouragingly.

With a puzzled frown Sandy turned and climbed the steps.

It must have been the sight from below, a view up the short chiton, seeing the exposed breast, or else the feminine eroticism of Sandy’s little flowing garment, but by the time Andreas reached the top of the steps it had happened again: the banana like thrusting forward of his restrained penis, the thickening and lengthening into a full blown straining erection—nonetheless the kynodesme held.

Mariam smiled. It was the way of men.

Sandy’s eyes widened. There was no doubting what had happened.

“What are you wearing?” Sandy repeated her question.

“Sandy, Andreas; Andreas, Sandy. That is a kynodesme. It is what the Ancients wore to run. More comfortable for a man than your chiton, it holds a man’s appendages tight, prevents them bounding around and it is cooler, holds the testes and scrotum away from the legs and allows the cooling air to flow; but doesn’t it look fine, the way the balls are held up, moulding the srotum, so manly, so very showing his fecundity?”

“I... I don’t know. It looks uncomfortable.”

“I said that you needed to know a man. Erections look uncomfortable but are not. Are they Andreas, far from it?”

Andreas was taken aback. He could hardly keep his eyes off Sandy, her long legs and exposed breast. “No, not uncomfortable.”

“I meant,” said Sandy, “his strap. Surely having it tied so tightly around his... his thing, it would pinch and hurt.”

Andreas was enthusiastic, “It doesn’t; it’s really comfortable only...”

Mariam completed Andreas’ sentence, “... less so with an erection. But doesn’t it look fine, so manly, so virile, so tempting.”

“I don’t know, I...”

“Shall we, shall we release it? A man unbound—dangerous and strong. Doesn’t it make you wet? Come, let it point, let it stand proud.”

“No, not on my account.”

But Mariam hands were at Andreas and in a moment the knot at the waist was untied releasing the erection, allowing it to straighten but, even so, still it was tied—a simple overhand knot around the foreskin.

“Go on, you do it. Use your hands, untie it—Andreas will like that—peel back, reveal the balanos, make it all ready to perform the rite of initiation.”

“Initiation?”

“Sexual intercourse.”

“Who—no, not me. I have no experience. I mean. It’s not what I do.”

“Even so—it is time.”

“I...”

The chiton would not be an impediment. The penis was long and the semen would flow.

Sandy ran. The hot stickiness between her thighs unexpected. A steady trickling as she ran. She had become a woman, a proper woman, a proper Greek woman but what would Josie say? How had it come about? What would happen tomorrow? The chiton flowed around her, cool and feminine. The semen flowed, warm and masculine.

It had all been so unexpected, so not what she did. Sandy could not understand it: worse could not understand why she had actually found it all so pleasant. She frowned as her legs pumped down the dusty track, her legs at least normal and keeping to their regular rhythm. No, not just pleasant but exciting. She had never reacted to a boy or man like that before. Certainly no male had ever made her come like that—or at all. Never had that happened. She could feel the trickle of semen between her legs. A new experience. Would she see Andreas again tomorrow? What had happened? Was it that woman, Mariam? There was something about Mariam, how she had been so easy to talk to; how she had so easily enticed her up the steps simply by water, nero; Sandy had not felt the slightest unease in joining her swimming—indeed had even thought of more—but the wearing of the chiton had come so easily; she had been so easily persuaded to wear the garment of the Ancient Greeks and then, just a little time ago, the easy way Mariam had encouraged, no, had insisted upon—how had the woman phrased it—the initiation into sexual intercourse. She had not been able to stop herself opening her legs for Andreas. There was something about Mariam: but Sandy also thought of Andreas.

The morning sun was hot on Mariam’s naked skin; she stretched herself by the wall as she gazed out over her countryside. She would miss Andreas and Sandy but there was always Thanatos for pleasure. Over by the villa his strong form was working, naked of course but for the kynodesme. Was it time for her to look for another man proper or should she stay content with her villa and its amusements? Ever since she was a young girl she had known of her power, her ability to influence, to bend minds to her will, towards what she wished. A little touch here, a little touch there and it happened. It was not something she had done with her ex-husband. Perhaps that had been a mistake but she had wanted him to come to her of his own free volition—and he had... for a time. Was it his fault or hers? Mariam shrugged, it was probably both; that was the way of relationships. It had been pleasant playing with young Andreas and Sandy. Little harm done. An opening of minds to choices, to different ways. Perhaps they would run again next year across the island. They had looked so fine running together—pretty athletic bodies. Mariam smiled. They had looked so fine in copulation as well!

Mariam turned towards Thanatos and called. He looked up from his work, strong, masculine and substantial; slowly he set down his fork and moved towards her. Mariam smiled at him and at the increasing curve of his penis. He knew what was required of him. Mariam always enjoyed the untying of the leather cord and the unleashing of the man.