Thomas felt Sir Alfred jerk and then roll off to the side onto his back and almost immediately go back to sleep, the deed assured by the sound of his snores. The schedule was promising to be the same today as it had been on the first day sailing out of Southampton toward Alexandria. It wasn't much different from the previous several days that Thomas had been taken into the professor's rooms at Oxford.
Thomas was pushed onto his belly not long after dawn, and Sir Alfred covering him from above with his considerable bulk, worked his cock inside Thomas' ass and then plowed him languidly with a great deal of groaning and wheezing. When the old man had come, he rolled off Thomas' back onto his own and went immediately to sleep for two more hours. They breakfasted together in the main dining room, and Thomas had the afternoon to himself while Sir Alfred studied his archaeology tomes in the cabin, where he wanted total isolation.
They both showered before dinner in the main dining room, with Thomas giving Sir Alfred a blow job in the shower—or the other way around, if Sir Alfred was feeling frisky. The evening was spent in the smoking bar—smoking still being permitted on British cruise ships in the late 1980s—with cognac and Sir Alfred lecturing Thomas on Egyptian archaeology. This was part of the agreed regimen, where the old archaeologist was preparing the young man for the dig Sir Alfred was delivering him to just south of Luxor on the banks of the Nile. Another fuck when they went to bed, Sir Alfred on his back this time, with Thomas saddled over him and riding the cock more vigorously than the morning fuck. When Sir Alfred had come, Thomas lowered his body on the old man's until he heard the snoring again. Then he could roll off to the side and sleep until the professor woke just before dawn and wanted to fuck again.
Back at Oxford, Thomas would study archaeology in the afternoon as well. He had won the position in Egypt—through Sir Alfred, his professor—now, though. So, other than listening to the old man lecture him in the evening, Thomas had no particular reason to push the books in the afternoon. He had found the on-board casino instead.
Sir Alfred was so much the man of routine that he had been doing this for several years. Those young research fellows in archaeology, like Thomas, who wanted to make it to field digs as soon as possible, knew that, if they could stomach the professor's attentions, were presentable enough, and were willing to have sex with another man to get ahead—which most of them at Oxford, were, having come up through a public school education that championed buggery—they could compete for his annual delivery of a "promising" student to the dig expeditions in Egypt. Each year, Sir Alfred selected a research fellow, tried him out in his rooms at Oxford, and, if the young man pleased him, paid for the young man to accompany him on a paid-for cruise from Southampton, down the coast of France, through the Strait of Gibraltar, and to the Egyptian port of Alexandria. From there the professor would go to Cairo to consult and the young man would go up the Nile to some dig on a year's field assignment.
It was an eight-day cruise. When someone pointed out to the professor that the world was in the 1980s now and the plane would get him to Egypt in a matter of hours, he puffed up and said that ships had been good enough for the British for centuries—that the empire had been won on the decks of ships—and that ships were the only civilized way to travel. What he didn't say was that, by going by ship, he was able to fuck a willing young man for eight days.
Often in the evenings Sir Alfred preferred to broaden his circle of conversation. At any other time of day, he preferred his own company exclusively or that of Thomas only. Whereas many of the passengers ate at tables of eight, Sir Alfred preferred to eat only with Thomas. He made the journey on this ship every year, so the cruise line bowed and scraped to his preferences.
And knowing that he liked the company of other interesting men—never women—in the smoking bar at night, the crew made clear to provide him with company. On the first night, he was paired with a distinguished-looking Greek who also regularly took this particular sailing annually. Cosmo Eracules was barely older than forty. He was still in good physical condition, muscular and with a trim waist. He had, as was typical of many Greek men, probably been unusually handsome as a younger man. But as was also typical of many Greek men, he was losing his beauty quickly. He still had wavy hair, but the gray was fighting with the black now. And the facial features that once denoted patrician perfection were becoming coarse and rugged. He would not be called a handsome man for very much longer. He would still be called elegant for some time, no doubt. He looked particularly elegant in his well-tailored evening tux in contrast to the heavy professor's devil-may-care tweeds.
The two men must have met on earlier cruises, though, because when they came together on the first night of the cruise, they settled into comfortable discussion, only occasionally bothering to include Thomas in any remarks. Knowing his place, though, and the "good deal" he didn't want to queer, Thomas just sat between them and politely listened to their conversation, which centered mostly on political affairs in the Mediterranean and the Arab world.
From time to time Thomas sensed the Greek casting speculative eyes on him—looks that Thomas had been accustomed to from his earlier public school days. Looks that had often led to Thomas on his back and the "looker" crouched between his thighs. In this circumstance, Thomas didn't mind. He could use some relief from the attentions of the old man. The professor's cock still worked fine, but there was little virility behind it, and the professor otherwise as a lover was well past his best-use date.
The Greek looked like he would be a forceful lover in bed. Thomas had fantasized about hot Mediterranean lovers. And this man was a real mystery. He obviously was wealthy and he must of a lot to protect. He traveled with two beefy dark-skin Arab bodyguards, who stood near the doorway of the smoking bar like statues and who had been just a few paces behind the Greek when Thomas had seen him in the casino earlier that afternoon.
* * * *
"Do you find the professor's cocking satisfying enough?"
"Excuse me?" Thomas said, his head snapping up to see the Greek's eyes boring into him.
They were sitting in a remote corner of one of the bars on the ship, closely facing each other, with a small, waist-high, glass-topped cocktail table between them. A beer sat on the table in front of Thomas. The Greek was drinking whiskey.
Thomas had turned and run into the Greek, Cosmo Eracules, in the casino the second afternoon of the voyage. He had been at the blackjack table, not doing very well, and had decided to take a break even though it was early in the afternoon. Sir Alfred wouldn't want him back in the cabin for three hours or more.
As usual, the two Arab bodyguards were standing, like statutes, just inside the entrance into the casino.
"You look like you're not having a lucky day at blackjack," the Greek had said. "Perhaps you would indulge me and join me for a drink. I'm feeling bored."
Thirst won out over the frustration of gambling and Thomas followed the Greek to the bar. The bodyguards took up positions several paces behind him, but they stopped at the entrance to the bar and took up positions there.
"I know the professor's routine well," the Greek said after he'd gotten Thomas' attention in the bar. "I know that part of the price of taking young men down to Egypt and getting them signed on for field experience is that they let him fuck them en route. Are you saying that you are different from the rest? I think you are much too attractive looking for the professor to resist his routine with you."
Thomas didn't answer. Instead, he let his gaze drop to the glass surface of the table, which only served to make him gasp. The Greek's fly was open below the surface of the glass and an overlong and thick cock was hanging out. For the briefest moment, Thomas had the nonsensical thought that the glass somehow magnified objects seen below it.
"Yes, take a good look. Compare it to the professor's cock. And I ask you again if he is satisfying you? You are a gambling man. You enjoy the blackjack table. What are you willing to wager that you don't like to be fucked—but that you want more of a man than the professor is now? I can help you at the blackjack table. I will pay."
He then named a price that nearly had Thomas falling out of his chair.
"I am going to take your cock out now and stroke it with mine until you come for me. If that's not what you want, you can get up and leave now. Otherwise, drink your beer, look like nothing special is happening, and think of my cock inside you."
Thomas heard himself give a little moan as Eracules reached under the table, unzipped him, and wrapped a hand around his cock. Other than a half-hearted whimper of objection, he made no other sound while the Greek encased both cocks in his hand and began to stroke them against each other. More than offering any objection, Thomas involuntarily moved his buttocks forward on the chair and lifted his thighs over the Greek's to bring their pelvises closer together.
He tried to lift his beer glass with one hand, but was trembling so hard that he had to use two.
Eracules kept Thomas' eyes trapped with his, and he was murmuring, "To have come with the professor, I'm sure you have been fucked before. And probably by younger and more virile men than him. But probably mostly by men as young as you, men without the experience that I have. I don't know how big the largest cock you've taken, but I assure you that mine is bigger. I can tell that you want a big cock inside you. After you come for me here, we will go back to my cabin, and you will be fucked by an expert. Repeatedly. I'll bet it's been a long time since you were fucked right."
With a jerk and a gasp, Thomas came.
As promised, the Greek fucked Thomas on the bed in his cabin deeper, harder, more vigorously—and in more positions—and with more abandon than Thomas had ever been fucked before.
Pushing Thomas down on the foot of the bed after they had stripped and moving between his thighs, Eracules grabbed the young man by the ears, forced his cock in Thomas' mouth, and made him gag from a deep, vigorous face fuck. Thomas was already fatigued and gasping for air when the Greek pushed his back onto the bed, grabbed and spread his legs, thrust his cock inside Thomas' channel, and rode him hard.
Thomas writhed under him, periodically reaching a hand out to palm the hard belly of the Greek as if pushing him away or trying to regulate the thrusts of the pelvis, but finding the musculature so arousing after the weeks of lying under the flab of the professor, that his hands involuntarily traced their way up the sternum to the hard pecs and bulging nipples. Thomas came again fairly quickly, but the Greek pumped on, hard and deep. Thomas had never been fucked this roughly or gloriously before. Eracules lowered his lips to Thomas' and they kissed, with the Greek forcing his tongue inside Thomas' mouth cavity until Thomas felt he couldn't hold his breath any longer. The Greek pulled his lips away at that moment, though, and moved them down to Thomas' nipples, where he nipped at the orbs as Thomas gasped.
And came again.
The Greek laughed. "Ah, the joy of youth. Shall we count how many times I can make you come for me this afternoon? That's three. Doesn't the professor make you come this often?"
"No," Thomas gasped. "No one. No one has made me come as much as you have."
"And you want the cock, don't you? You want to be fucked hard and rough."
