A Fertility Tale

Two days later, almost everything felt better except his balls; they felt heavy and pendulous and still hurt like hell; his penis throbbed, too, though not painfully. Walking was out of the question, so he stayed in his room or sat by the pool. Whenever Yia-yia asked about his eggs he would say he was fine. Eleni suspected he was not, and felt guilty. After lunch she again motioned him to a seat at the bar. "Yia-yia says to stay out of the sun," she said, and proceeded to entertain him with tidbits about the guests. "That woman with the bling? She's from the Emirates. She could buy this place for what she spends on sunglasses and manicures, but Yia-yia doesn't like her and says she won't help her." Next, she nodded towards a svelte blonde sunbathing topless next to a chubby man reading beneath an umbrella. "They're Danish. She seems nice but hasn't figured out she needs Yia-yia. Nice boobs, though, right? And those three over there..." she glanced towards the other side of the pool, "are regulars from Milan. This is their third season. At first, it was just two of them, sisters, who came with their husbands. Yia-yia likes them, so she told them to come back without the men and she'd be sure to help them. So this time they brought their cousin from Naples. I'm not sure if the cousin wants to get pregnant." There also were rich Russians, Brits, Spaniards, Swedes... the guests were mostly European but very few were Greek. Eleni knew something about everyone.

The following day, Richard could finally walk again and did so after breakfast; by then his week was nearly over. Eleni approached him at lunch with a proposal. "Hey, I'm off later tonight and going dancing. Want to come? It's all locals."

By now, Richard liked her, but hesitated. "Why aren't you going with a girlfriend?"

She responded simply. "If I go my myself, the men won't leave me alone -- they're Greek, you know? And if I go with a girlfriend, it's actually worse -- they'll hit on both of us all night. If I'm with you, they'll leave me alone." She told him to meet her in the lobby at 9:00; she would skip the late seating.

She was dressed in a colorful skirt and blousy white top that struck Richard as cartoonishly peasant-style but attractive nonetheless. He raised an eyebrow at the outfit and she twirled for him, saying, "Believe me -- you're the one who's going to stick out, not me." The dance was at a crossroads in the hills and Eleni drove them up winding paths in one of the resort's golf carts. There was an eight-gallon cooler in back with Pandemos's logo on the side; it was full of fruit punch sloshing in ice. Eleni was excited as she drove. "I'm popular because I bring booze," she laughed. "Everyone chips in a euro." Commenting on the cart, she teased Richard, "If you had known what you were doing, you could have taken our van from the airport and a cart would have brought you up from the village. You need to read your email."

"I'll remember that next time," Richard said.

Eleni was indeed popular, and not just because of the punch -- she could dance. The evening started inside a dim pavilion, with thirty or so people dancing, then more, but moved to a clearing outside when the pavilion got too hot. It was very dark, but the stars shone and the mosquitos had mostly retired. Someone lit a fire off to one side and brought the coolers out. The band kept changing identities as instruments were passed from one group to a succeeding one, but the music never stopped. Eleni -- everyone called her Leni -- hardly ever stopped dancing. She made it clear she was with the clueless American and pulled Richard out to dance with her. He tried gamely two or three times but couldn't keep up. Once in a while she would take a break to get a drink -- water more often than punch -- and laughingly watch the dance, describing it to Richard, leaning in to his ear to be heard over the music. Sometime after midnight she pulled him once again into the thinning group of dancers and tried to get him moving with her. As soon as he joined her, the music slowed, and the couples fell into swaying clinches. Leni shrugged and led him by the hand to the sideline. Then the music quickened, and she pulled him back out. When the music slowed once again, she scowled, gestured at the laughing musicians, then sat down beside him. "What was that about?" Richard asked.

"They think I'm your woman and want to watch you grope me in a slow dance," she replied.

"I could do that," Richard offered.

"As if. I gave them the Cyprus finger. Come on. We should get back."

Even as she said it the music died, and people began calling goodnights to one another. They found the empty cooler and dragged it to where Leni had left the golf cart. "Aw, shit!!" she complained. "They took the cart."

Richard was alarmed. "Who? Are you sure? Let's look for it."

"Forget it. It's gone. A bunch of them came up from the resort, like us. They beat us to it, that's all. Come on, we'll have to walk." They left the cooler by the pavilion and started downhill. Richard was tipsy and his balls were still a little tender. Leni was in high spirits talking about the dance, and Richard enjoyed listening to her. After a bit, he said, "You're good. You dance better than the locals."

She chuckled. "Thanks, but it's just that I've spent more time in Miami clubs than they have." Even in sandals, Leni was more sure-footed than Richard on the rutted dirt path. "This way," she said, turning. "This is a shortcut."

"Are you sure?" She didn't answer but lit her phone's flashlight for him. He asked her what was in the punch.

"Hah! Albanian vodka. It's horrible, but it's cheap."

"What happened to everyone else?" It had suddenly come to him that they were alone. He stumbled along behind her, mostly silent, but occasionally asking a question. "Do you do this a lot?" She mumbled something unintelligible. "Every week, or what?" They continued, with Leni giggling now and then at his haplessness as she aimed the light in front of his feet. "Are you sure you're a lesbian?" he asked. He had watched her dance with a lot of men, but no women. It was then she announced, "We're here." Richard suddenly recognized the back service entrance of Pandemos. Their golf cart was parked in the drive.

He slept late the next morning, his last full day. He had expected to be hung over but felt pretty good. As he shaved, there was knock on the door. By the time he opened it, Leni had her key out, preparing to let herself in. She blushed. "Oops, sorry. I just wondered if you were okay." Stepping into the small room she pretended to admire it, "Love what you've done with the place!" Richard waved a hand; the room was hardly tidy. "How do you feel?" she asked.

He spread his arms in a hearty gesture, "Great! Never better."

Eleni grew serious. "Yia-yia says you're ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Well..." She hadn't thought about how to say it. "Yia-yia sort of told a couple of guests you could get them pregnant." Richard's eyes widened. "Well, not exactly pregnant. Not by you. She told them if they had sex with you first, then their husbands could get them pregnant."

Richard stared. "You're kidding." Was Yia-yia making some bizarre apology? Getting him laid before he left?

Eleni turned to avoid his eyes. "I know, I know -- it's crazy."

"But I leave tomorrow..."

Eleni bit her lip. "Yeah, well, apparently that's okay. They said they can all do tonight."

"What 'all'?! Who?"

"The Italians. Yia-yia already talked to them." Richard sank to the bed. Leni wrung her hands. "Listen, let me talk to Yia-yia. You don't have to do this."

At lunch the three Italian women ogled him from across the room. One of them cocked her pinkie to wave and blew a kiss. Richard didn't see Leni again until late in the afternoon when he found her at the bar. She signaled for him to sit; she would be with him in a moment. Eventually, she came to his table and said, "Okay, here's the thing, you don't have to do this -- obviously -- but Yia-yia told me to stay out of it. She said to just give you their cottage number." Richard didn't know what to say. Leni continued, "So, um, twenty-nine. Eight o'clock. She said no condoms...not that we have any. She said you can't get them pregnant, but you'll make them fertile." Not knowing what else to say, she left.

Richard was exceedingly nervous before dinner. He had fantasized about a vacation with casual, carefree sex but had not truly expected it to happen. He shaved again, showered again, and laid out his best clothes on the bed. They weren't much and needed pressing, but of course there was no iron in the room. At supper, he hardly noticed what he was eating. Could this be happening? What was 'this', anyway? Sex with multiple women? -- yes! -- but women he hadn't met, hadn't chosen, whose names he didn't even know? Arranged by Yia-yia, who, he suddenly recalled, was Leni's grandmother! Studying himself in the mirror before leaving his room, he wondered nervously if this was how prostitutes felt. Was he a gigolo? He reassured himself that he was not, since he wasn't getting paid, then immediately thought, 'Hey, wait a second, how come I'm not getting paid? Is Yia-yia getting paid?'

The Italian women were excited, not at all nervous. After meeting with Yia-yia, they had gone straight to lunch to check out the young American and their excitement swelled. Yia-yia told them he was a virgin, which wasn't strictly correct but pretty close, and very enticing to the more experienced women about to enjoy him. Yia-yia was a professional, after all -- practically a doctor -- and she had prescribed sex with this boy, effectively ordering them to do it. Of course they would do it, of course. Why would they not? It was like being told your new diet required you to eat chocolate cake. And their husbands were gone!

Their names were Michela and Sofia (the sisters) and Beatrice (the cousin). After lunch they had their hair and nails done while they talked about what to wear (they decided on swimsuits and wraps -- sexy and easy to shed); about who would go first (undetermined); and whether to take turns in the lone bedroom or simply have a party in the living room (they agreed an orgy would be fun). They ordered in cocktails and a light supper while they primped and prepped, doing each other's makeup and sampling perfumes. There also was wine, with champagne and chocolate for later -- to share with the American if he wanted some, or to celebrate after their exertions.

When Richard knocked a little after eight, Sofia eagerly answered the door with the others right behind her. Richard blushed as they surrounded him in flowing, diaphanous beach wraps. They steered him into the room excitedly, with sensual touches and gestures. He started to say something, but Michela placed an elegant finger on his lips, leaned in to kiss his cheek and shushed him. No one sat. Six open palms roved his body as the women murmured to one another in Italian. First, they stroked his back and chest, like sculptors giving him shape; then hands explored his hips and legs, caressing his quads and knees and mischievously cupping his butt. Finally, one hand, then another searched out his crotch, playfully poking and squeezing his stiffening penis. The women cooed as they felt him up, mmming and ahhhing, happy with their discoveries. He felt a tongue on his neck and lips tugging his opposite earlobe as hands unbuckled his belt, and fingers slid his zipper down.

Richard was inexperienced but knew enough to forsake control and let the perfumed women have their way. They knew what they wanted (the same thing he wanted) and obviously knew what they were doing. When his trousers fell, he stepped out of them. Michela picked them up and folded them neatly before returning her attention to his body. Soon his shirt was open and lips brushed his nipples while hands fluttered about his tented boxers. Sofia whispered, "Do you have something for mia fica? -- for my pussy?" -- she pronounced it seductively, 'poosey,' as she snuck a hand inside his shorts.

As Richard's clothes disappeared, the women slipped out of their wraps to reveal shiny one-piece, high-cut swimsuits: one Brazilian, one Japanese, one Italian. The bright, stretchy material shaped and clung to their curvy bodies. Richard was in some kind of heaven, transfixed by female forms. Tentatively, he felt for a pillowy breast. It was Michela's and she responded happily by pulling his hand to it. Then she bared it by slipping her hand through the arm hole to shrug off half of the suit top. She did the same with the other side and cooed as she pressed her chest to his.

Beatrice was the first to shed her suit entirely, dropping it seductively on the floor and rubbing herself against him. She'd been waxed recently, and her bare pussy was damp. At least two hands were fondling him, tickling his balls, as someone licked his ear. His penis had become unbearably hard; manicured fingers teased it and tapped his oozing slit. Though Beatrice was already naked, Sofia abruptly stripped and claimed him. "Me first!" she called and straddled him on the sofa, aiming his cock at her wet box. She slid down his shaft and shimmied playfully, jiggling her breasts and raising her arms in triumph.

Ever passive, Richard let Sofia do the work -- she ground her vulva rhythmically on his pelvis causing his cock to piston in and out of her pussy. She fucked with delight, grunting as the other two watched; Bea was touching herself. Sofia teased his nipples as she rocked on his body. Everything felt hot -- his cock, her vagina, his balls. "Oh God, oh my God, it's sooo good," Sofia reported to the others. Very soon, Richard felt his balls boiling and the urge to thrust -- to fuck this woman -- overcame him. With an urgent cry, he rammed his cock home, bucking until he came. He spurted only three times but very powerfully, and to his surprise, it hurt. The tip of his penis burned as a large volume of semen shot from it. Sofia's eyes widened. "Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed and dismounted quickly. Her hand flew to her pussy and covered it. "It's fucking boiling!" She peeked at herself then covered up again. "Ohmygod, ohmygod. Shit!" She stared at him and clamped her legs closed. Richard was oblivious; his eyes were squeezed shut, his cock burned, and his balls hurt again but somehow it felt good, amazing. What had just happened?

The other two women were intrigued but wary. What did this mean? They talked excitedly, trying to get Sofia to describe what happened. She kept repeating 'it's hot, oh Jesus, it's hot' and stared at Richard, still clutching her pussy in disbelief. Michela went to fetch a washcloth as Bea declared, "Bene...now me."

They understood they would have to get him hard again. Normally, this would not have been a problem -- they had all night, he was young, they were sexy and willing -- but Richard's testicles really hurt and he wasn't sure he could go again. Michela and Bea were more confident now, and determined. They let him rest briefly, then finished stripping, sexily; they whispered naughty English words in his ears; they rubbed his hands over their bodies, their breasts especially -- and purred; they dragged moist fragrant pussies over his legs. Eventually, very effectively, Michela began licking and sucking his cock. It took half an hour, but they succeeded. Michela resented her cousin a little for claiming the next ride on the American pene -- after all, she was the one who had sucked it back to life -- but she let Bea go next. Michela and Sofia watched with interest as Bea impaled herself on Richard's cock and started bouncing.

It felt wonderful to both, and both moaned. Michela did her part by caressing Richard's chest as she watched her cousin ride. Bea bounced, and her tits bounced, and her bottom slapped his thighs. She was wet and the exercise grew audibly sloppy before they reached their climaxes. Sofia hadn't come on his cock, but Bea did, with a loud cry just as Richard spurted. Once again, the semen surged forcefully from his cock and both felt its heat. He grimaced, gratified by the orgasm but in pain from its aftermath: aching balls and stinging penis. "Santo cazzo! FUCK!" shouted naked Bea, so loudly that Michela worried about the neighbors. "Christo mio! It's fucking boiling!" Like Sofia before her, Bea scrambled off Richard's cock and stared at it, disbelieving. Richard was oblivious to the wonder that overcame the women. Bea, like Sofia, pulled the bottom half of her swimsuit on, lest the hot, mystical semen escape.

Michela needed an hour to get him ready for one last go. She was experienced and patient; the job required more than titillation -- she needed to make love to him. She stroked his hair, smiling with affection, and gazed into his eyes. She asked him what he liked and, coyly, whether he thought she was pretty. How pretty? Very pretty? She whispered that he was bello, so handsome; how could a boy be so handsome? She nibbled and licked and encouraged him to kiss her chest, sighing gratefully when he sucked an engorged nipple. She petted his cock while dipping her fingers in her vagina, then touched his lips with her wet fingertips. He hardened gradually, steadily, and she finally climbed aboard.

All three women had taken him the same way, on top, astride him. Once Michela knew she had him she took her time, teasing him with Kegels in between gentle strokes and using her pussy to squeeze his swollen penis. She thought she felt his cock getting harder and hotter, just as the others had said, or maybe it was just her; she had aroused them both. She lowered her chest to his and began kissing his mouth while pumping her hips, slowly at first, then faster as they got warmer and wetter. Richard's eventual ejaculation -- his last of the night -- was less violent than before, but still impressive. He groaned and clenched as his aching balls delivered a final steaming load. Michela sucked in her breath as she felt his discharge -- my God, it really was hot -- and then caressed him like a child, her arms about his head and neck, his face in her motherly breast. Richard was completely spent, and his balls were so sore, so fucking sore, as sore as they had been two days ago. As everyone rested, the women exchanged silent wondering glances. Finally, Richard stood and managed to get himself dressed. After accepting their thanks and tendering his own, he limped back to his room and fell into bed.

He left after breakfast the next morning. Leni and Yia-yia both bade him farewell at checkout. Yia-yia was happy and friendly; Leni was less so but bussed his cheek and suggested he leave an email address, one that he would actually read, in case they needed to get in touch. He was taken by a golf cart to the village, then by a van to the airport.

This is part one of three.