The Gree Pimp

This is a seven-chapter GM novella that is completed and will post within about a month from the posting of the first chapter.

*****

They had been told they needed to hurry, but George didn't seem to be in all that much of a hurry. He and Cosmo were alone in the office now. Others had been leaving for a couple of hours before, unsettled by the reports of the unexpected approaching Turkish troops.

No one thought they'd land anywhere close to this international beach resort. The Turks had been threatening to invade Cyprus since months earlier, in late 1973, and the Greek government on the island had insisted that the international community, in the form of the UN peacekeepers on the island, wouldn't permit this to happen—and even barring that, that the Greek troops now on the island would be enough to counter them.

But ever since earlier on this late July 1974 morning, the radio had been blasting reports of an amphibious landing on the island's northern coast, west of the medieval harbor town of Kyrenia. And later, there were claims of parachute landings in the center of the island just north of the capital of Nicosia, in a successful maneuver to get behind Greek army lines.

The travel tour office, owned by eighteen-year-old Cosmo's parents, who themselves were on a skiing trip to Switzerland, wasn't located never the invasion points, however. They were in Famagusta, popular international beach resort to the stars, among them Elizabeth Taylor and Brigitte Bardot. Famagusta was on the southeast coast of the island, not the northwest, where all of the invasion reports were coming from. Surely the Turks wouldn't risk international ire by disturbing the Famagusta riviera.

That assuring reasoning had held up until an hour ago, when Turkish naval vessels were reported off the coast of Famagusta.

All morning George had been dragging his feet on helping Cosmo get the company papers moved into the secret room behind the panel in Cosmo's father's office—papers that would reveal business that went far enough beyond the legal for the family to want anyone else knowing about. George said he thought the reports of imminent invasion were being exaggerated. He was more interested in being alone with Cosmo.

It had been a long seduction, but he knew now that Cosmo was going to let George fuck him. Cosmo was still a beautiful young man of barely eighteen. Like many Greeks, features that were strikingly attractive now would probably turn ugly in later years. It had happened with Cosmo's father. But for now, Cosmo was a beautiful, alluring Greek almost boy.

George had had his sights on Cosmo for months. And now, with the young man's parents out of the country and confusion in the air, the time to make his move had come. If they really were being invaded, who knew when the next opportunity would arise, if ever. He knew Cosmo was willing; they had kissed and groped before, and Cosmo had not discouraged him. He'd even told Cosmo what he do with him in a fuck, and Cosmo hadn't pulled away.

Cosmo came out of the secret compartment only to stumble into George's passionate embrace. They stood there, bumping against each other, hand's groping each other, lips locked, and swaying back and forth. Cosmo broke away, if reluctantly.

"Now's not the time, George. We need to get out of here and on the road away from Famagusta."

"Can't stop now," George growled, as he grabbed for Cosmo, following him out into the outer office. He got the younger man bent over a desk in the outer office and stripped of his shirt, with his trousers down around his knees, and was fucking him from behind when they heard the shooting start. The sounds of the gunfire were near enough at hand that they both looked out of the plate-glass window at the front of the office and saw the blur of the steel-gray uniforms of the Turkish invaders.

More shots and George reeled back and fell to the floor. Almost instantaneously, the steel-gray uniforms no longer were a blur on the street outside the office. They were inside. A Turkish soldier had a choking grip on Cosmo's throat and was pushing him onto his back on the surface of the desk and stripping his trousers the rest of the way off his legs.

There were three of them. Two of them were grabbing Cosmo's arms and legs and holding him down, while the soldier with the grip on his throat has unbuttoning his fly with the other hand, pulling his cock out, and thrusting it inside Cosmo's ass.

The young Greek cried out in surprise and pain, and another soldier came around to his head, pushed Cosmo's head down from the edge of the desk on the opposite side from which the first soldier was crouched between his thighs, and forced his dick in Cosmo's mouth. Cosmo made gagging sounds, but his hips involuntarily settled in with the rhythm of the fuck. He no longer was fighting it; he was going with the fuck.

George hadn't known, but he wasn't the first one to have his cock inside Cosmo. Cosmo wasn't an inexperienced bottom.

They probably weren't at it long, but it seemed an eternity to Cosmo during which the three soldiers each took a turn fucking his ass. The third one hadn't ejaculated, though, when there was another blur of uniforms outside the office. Not steel-gray ones this time. They were the tan camouflage of the Greek army. The shooting started up again and all three Turkish soldiers pulled away from Cosmo, hit the floor, and crawled behind desks, facing the front of the office.

Cosmo rolled off the desk and crawled into his father's office and over to the secret compartment, the door to which was open. It wasn't open for long, however. Cosmo crawled into the space behind the hidden panel, closed it, and crouched in the darkness, trying not to make noise with the sobbing of the confusing violation he had just experienced—confusing because he had melted to cocking of the young, hard-bodied Turkish soldiers.

Shooting continued for some time but stopped eventually, replaced by an eerie emptiness. Cosmo waited for what seemed like hours in the ominous silence. When he had the courage to creep out of his hiding place and to crawl into the outer office, night had fallen. It wasn't totally dark, however, light from the moon filtering in between the high-rise hotels across the street and through the shattered glass of the office window showed that the room was in a shambles.

In the semi dark, he groped around, keeping himself below the level of the desktops. He reeled back in horror as his hand touched the cold body of George. Working his way toward the front of the office, he encountered, in succession, the bullet-riddled bodies of the three Turkish soldiers who had assaulted him, their pants still down around their ankles, before he reached the door to the sidewalk.

More carnage was visible out on the street, but the fighting had moved on, deeper into the city. The tourist office was close to the waterfront, and that's the direction Cosmo moved in, keeping down and in the shadows as much as possible. Coming to the waterfront, he saw a line of amphibious landing craft spread out along the surf line of the beach. Sentries had been left there, but they were doing more lounging and smoking than surveilling.

Looking out to sea, he could see the blinking lights of what must be Turkish naval vessels. They were standing in the sea toward the north, somewhere between the modern resort city of Famagusta and the ancient Greek city ruins of Salamis.

Cosmo was a champion swimmer. He had won swimming races down the peninsula to the southeast and to the town of Protaras, which was on the other side of a UN peacekeeper's base. The chances were better that the Turks would bypass that base, Cosmo thought, than that he could get to safety by going into the water and swimming in the direction of the battle line from where he could hear gunfire.

Hours later a UN soldier pulled the shuddering and gasping naked body of a beautiful young Greek man, not much older or larger than a boy, out of the surf in the UN zone near the town of Paralimini, several miles shorter than what had been Cosmo's goal of Protaras. The chill of both the water and of Cosmo's fear had slowed his swim. But, although the invasion didn't reach Protaras, as an evacuee and, soon, a refugee, Cosmos probably fared better by having reached a UN zone than he would have been anywhere else on the island. And until he managed to get passage to Athens, he probably fared better than most refugees.

The UN soldier who fished him out of the surf was a strapping Norwegian trooper, who instantly fell in lust with Cosmo. A grateful—and willing Cosmo—encouraged the solider to fuck him behind some rocks on the beach when Cosmo had regained consciousness, and the soldier took the young Greek back to his tent on the base and kept him well fed and well fucked for a week as the opposing forces on the island settled down into permanent stand-off positions.

The UN soldier hadn't initiated the sex on the beach, but he hadn't resisted the encounter either. Cosmo's shirt had been torn from him by George as he bent the young man over the desk and the Turkish soldiers had taken care of the trousers. The pounding surf had ripped what was left to shreds as Cosmo swam for his life down the eastern Cypriot coast.

At that time Cosmo was a strapping, handsome young Greek man of eighteen. He must have looked like a gift from the gods to the randy bisexual Norwegian when he dragged Cosmo up onto the beach and lifted him into his arms to carry to behind the shelter rocks at the top of the sand.

Other than the timing, Cosmo hadn't rejected the George's fumbled assault back in the Famagusta tourist tour office. He had fallen under the spell of the seduction. And although crying out at the initial pain of the invasion of George's cock, Cosmo had wanted it. He had even wanted the fucking of the Turkish soldiers once they had gotten into the rhythm of it. Thus, he was as much sexually frustrated as frightened, soaked, and exhausted when he was picked up into the hard-bodied, big-boned Scandinavian soldier.

He was groping the soldier as he was being carried up the sand and whimpering for the man to take care of him. To take care of him in a different way than the rescuer might have originally imagined.

When the Norwegian showed confusion on how Cosmo wanted to be taken care of, the understanding of both hindered because their only shared language was English, and neither was fully proficient in this, Cosmo showed the soldier what he wanted. He had the Norwegian's fly unbuttoned and his hand wrapped around his cock as the soldier laid him on the seaweed behind the rocks. And he drew the quickly hardening big bone of the man inside him as the soldier came down on top of him.

The two were immediately lost in lust, grunts and groans, and thrusts and counterthrusts. Twenty minutes later, the soldier rolled off to the side and murmured his apologies.

"Will you feel the need to apologize every time you fuck me?" Cosmo had asked in a weak, but satisfied voice.

With a laugh, the Norwegian rolled back on top of him.

* * * *

Cosmo held the old man's head, with its mop of gray hair, buried in his pecs and tightened the grip of his legs around the old man's hairy back, his ankles locked above the man's bulbous, but wrinkled, buttocks. Pressing down with his heels, Cosmo helped guide the thrusting of the old man's cock up into his channel. The younger man could hear the old man wheezing and his body tensing. The ejaculation was about to come.

The old man continued to thrust his dick up Cosmo's ass, but no longer rhythmically. The thrusts were off any beat, each one perhaps promising to end in the weak spouting that was all the shipping magnate could manage at this point in his life. With effort from a partner, the old man could still get hard—and his cock had once been a very nice one—but he was losing the carry through in strength of ejaculation. Not that Cosmo or any other partner would complain of this.

The rhythm was necessary for Cosmo's own approaching ejaculation, which would be much stronger and more prolific from the eighteen-year-old than from the old man. He moved the heels of his feet to under the old man's buttocks on either side and fought to regain a rhythm with the pressure of his heels by rhythmically pressing in with each of the man's successively weaker thrusts. It was important to the old man that Cosmo come too—that he exhibit that the old man could make him come with his cock.

The yacht was rocking a bit. Andreas would be at the helm, maneuvering the yacht in wide, lazy circles in the Saronic Gulf off Athens's port of Piraeus. When the old man had rested, it would be Andreas' turn. Cosmo was always taken first, though, and Andreas only if the old man could get it up again. Andreas usually had to do the riding of the cock himself, but the old man still got off on topping Cosmo.

It was just the three of them out in the yacht on a Saturday evening. Alexander Petropopolous had a family, both a third wife and children and grandchildren, and a national reputation back in Athens. He only indulged in his fuck boys at stolen times and in remote places as this.

It had been one body blow after another for Cosmo after the Turkish invasion of Cyprus. The Norwegian UN soldier also was married, and he sheltered and fucked Cosmo for only an increasingly guilt-ridden week during the initial chaos of the invasion. With noticeable regret, but with fortitude, he'd turned Cosmo over to a refugee camp. Cosmo's family being well-known as wealthy guaranteed him a free evacuation sail to Athens.

But the free ride stopped there. Cosmo's family was wealthy in Famagusta, but Famagusta was under Turkish occupation now, and all of the family's wealth was tied up in collapsed businesses and seized properties there. On top of this, when he processed through the consulate in Athens, he was told that the attempt to contact his parents in Switzerland revealed that they had both died in an avalanche there.

When, starving, Cosmo had entered an Athens restaurant and, after a good meal, had confessed that he had no money and was willing to work the debt to the restaurant off, he had little idea—but perhaps subconscious hope, having seen the restaurateur—that the restaurant owner would demand that he work it off on his back on top of flour sacks in the restaurant's storage room. Cosmo had been giving blow jobs and quick fucks in Athens alleys for a few weeks before that, so there was no compulsion not to lie on his back and open his legs to the restaurateur.

Athena was adrift with Greek refugees from Cyprus at the time, and Cosmo's body was his greatest saleable asset. The restaurateur was hard-bodied and big cocked, so Cosmo had enjoyed the fuck. Increasingly, Cosmo was enjoying lying on his back and opening his legs; it no longer was all about the money. When the man was handsome, hard-bodied, and big cocked, as the restaurateur was, Cosmo would give it for free—or for the price of a shared meal, which he saw as no different from normal dating patterns.

The restaurant owner had also enjoyed the fuck and told Cosmo he would take care of him. Taking care of him entailed turning him over to a pimp after the restaurateur's wife discovered what was happening in the storage room. The pimp had beaten and fucked and sent Cosmo back on the street corners and into the alleys. Here he had attracted the attention of a more refined pimp, and Cosmo found out for the first time what white slavery was about—that men could be sold to other men.

The new pimp kept Cosmo off the streets, though, sending him on assignations in good businessmen hotels. This was where Cosmo had met the nineteen-year-old Andreas. It also was how both Cosmo and Andreas had been taken up by Alexander Petropopolous and become his weekend fuck boys.

The old man was pressing into Cosmo's body on the double berth in the yacht cabin. Alexander was wheezing and groaning. Cosmo was moving his hips and causing his channel to constrict on the cock churning inside him. The old Greek shipping magnate had a very nice cock, not long, but thick, and if Cosmo closed his eyes and concentrated on that, he could blot out the thickness of the man's body and the wrinkled, mottled skin.

He fought hard to maintain his own arousal and bring on his own ejaculation by thinking of fucking Andreas, which he was free to do on this boat, tied up in a Piraeus marina, during the week, while both, now free of their uptown pimp, worked tricks in the waterfront taverns. Cosmo had found sailors to be hard-bodied and rough takers, which aroused him.

Feeling the old man on the brink, Cosmo clutched his pelvis to him by raising and digging in his heels in the small of Alexander's back, clinching his channel muscles rhythmically on the thrusting cock, and crying out, "Yes, fuck me just like that. Give it to me. Give me your cum!"

He felt the weak ejaculation, a little cry, and as Cosmo also shot a load up the man's belly, the old man collapsed on top of him.

Cosmo lay there, regaining his breath. The man was old and gone to fat. But he had a good cock. He became conscious that the old man wasn't also breathing hard and slow stroking his cock inside Cosmo as he usually did while he was going flaccid.

"God, you do me good, Daddy," Cosmo murmured. "You always fuck me so good. Did you feel it? You made me come too." It was important to the old man that he still made the younger men come.

Cosmo always praised the man with these or some other words after sex. Alexander was the man who took care of him. Cosmo made pretty good money on the side on the Piraeus waterfront, but it was Alexander who had rescued Cosmo from the control of a pimp who, though he picked a higher class of john than Cosmo's first pimp did, also took more of the profit and knocked Cosmo about a bit. And it was Alexander who fed him and had clothed him in the luxury of this yacht.

No response from Petropopolous, and he was laying heavily on Cosmo between his legs, with his dick now fully flaccid even though still inside Cosmo, like a dead weight.

The thought of the word "dead" brought chills up Cosmo's spine. "Daddy? Alex? Are you OK?"

No response. Cosmo struggled up to a sitting position, and Petropopolous' body rolled off him and onto the deck beside the bed.

The man was dead.

Cosmo sat there for several minutes not understanding what was obvious, not accepting it, waiting for it to be a joke the old man was playing on him or some sort of dream.

"Daddy? Alex?" he murmured, looking over the side of the berth at the body crumpled up on the floor.

No response.

"Andreas," he called out. Then he was on his feet and launched toward the cabin door. "Andreas. Come quick. It's Alex."

The two sat and looked at the body for several minutes. After the first hurried visit to the cabin, Andreas had gone back above and dropped an anchor, turned off the motors, and lashed the wheel. Then he came below again and sat down on the buck beside Cosmo. Cosmo put his arm around Andreas, and they both stared, unbelieving, at the body.

The same response to death crept into them at the same time, aided by the embrace and the patting and petting and a few brief kisses. They were young, virile men, whose lives was dominated by the fuck. It wasn't unusual that their response to death was a need to reaffirm life. Cosmo began pawing at Andreas' shorts, which was all he was wearing—Cosmo was naked already—as Andreas took possession of Cosmo's cock and stroked it hard.

Cosmo wrapped an arm around Andreas' neck and pulled him up onto the berth. Getting behind Andreas, with both young men on their sides, Cosmo lifted Andreas' leg to open access to his buttocks, and thrust his cock up into Andreas' channel. Andreas arched his back, called out a "Yes, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me hard!" and the two were off to the races, both anxious to drift away from real life if only briefly.