======================================================== The following piece of fiction contains strong sexual content and is meant to be read only by adults. If you are not at least 18 years old, or if you are offended by this type of material, please do not read any further. ========================================================
"Don't Panic"
by DG
The small island of Trikinos, just off the coast of Greece, has been inhabited for many thousands of years, but humans have left very little mark on it. The soil is too rocky and sterile to support large-scale agriculture, and separation from the mainland has encouraged the use of the local gray stone for building, so that from a distance the island's single village, Skirna, blends seamlessly into the harsh, unchanging landscape.
The people of Skirna have always made their living from the sea; the leave early every morning in shallow, wooden boats, and return in the middle of the afternoon with their catch of anchovies and sardines. The ways have been very slow to die on Trikinos, and at the dawn of the twentieth century, while the rest of Greece was undergoing the sometimes-painful transformation into a modern industrial state, there remained on this isolated island a sense of continuity, a blissful feeling that life was much the same as it always had been and always would be.
It was midsummer, and the intense Mediterranean sun was high overhead as a ran through Skirna's empty cobblestone streets, ducking through alleys and cutting through courtyards, two identical square packages tucked carefully under his arm. Fifteen drachmas extra if he made his delivery before the church struck noon, enough money to buy himself a pastry with real meat in it for his dinner: lamb, or maybe even beef. His stomach growled at the thought.
He came out of a narrow dirt alley onto a wider street and slowed to a rapid walk, looking up at the numbers carved into the stone arches above the gaily-painted wooden doors. Number thirty- seven, there it was. He stepped up to the green door and rapped firmly three times. He heard a scraping sound from inside, and what sounded like the rustling of skirts and whispering female voices, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot impatiently. Finally the door opened, and he saw two beautiful - women, really - looking at him with barely-disguised disappointment.
"I have deliveries for Miss Likatos and for Miss Nash," said the politely, in Greek. Then he finally remembered to take off his cap.
The with the light freckles and wide blue eyes looked helplessly at her dark-haired companion, who was now smiling broadly.
"He's delivering packages for us!" said the brunette, who was even more beautiful than her cousin. "We must have been invited to the Festival after all! These will be our dresses."
The let out a little shriek of excitement, and then managed to compose herself. "Should we pay him, Tasha?"
The dark-haired exchanged a few words in Greek with the delivery boy, looked at the clock over the mantel, and then wrote something on a scrap of paper.
"He says he's already been paid, and that he hopes we enjoy the Festival," she said, as the ran off cheerfully down the street. "Come on, let's go upstairs and see what we've got!"
The blonde, whose name was Lizzie and who was an American, from Ohio to be precise, eagerly opened the package with "Miss Elizabeth Nash" handwritten on it. After carefully removing several layers of tissue paper, she held up a diaphanous white dress with gentle pleats.
"It's beautiful," she said, letting the cloth flow through her fingers. "The fabric, it's so smooth."
"Hold it up," said her cousin impatiently. "Oh yes, it's gorgeous. Why, you could wear that anywhere."
"Isn't it awfully short, though? And it leaves one shoulder bare."
"Not at all, especially for a costume," said Natasha. "People wear the most daring things to the Festival. I've seen women going in dresses that make that one look positively dowdy."
"Is that so," said Lizzie, brightening. "In that case I love it."
"There's more," said Natasha, looking into the open box. She reached in and pulled out a pair of elegant leather sandals. "Here's your shoes, and..." Now she pulled out a green headband made of woven vines. Lizzie took it from her and slipped it over her head, where it rested gently on her thick, golden hair.
"You look like a vestal virgin," giggled Natasha.
"Hmph. I guess they have me pegged, then." Lizzie held the dress up again and looked at herself in the large dressing mirror. "Very fetching," she said, adjusting the headband. "Some looks never go out of fashion, eh?" In the mirror, she suddenly noticed a pale woman standing in the doorway behind her, staring at her in an odd, expressionless way, and she felt a chill.
Natasha squeezed her mother's hand and kissed her on the cheek. "Hello, Mama," she said, simply. Lizzie said nothing, feeling somewhat uncomfortable, as she always did in the presence of her aunt. Anastasia had been the victim of some sort of strange illness when Natasha was a baby; although she survived, her mind had never recovered, and she hadn't spoken a word or shown any real awareness of her surroundings ever since, spending most of her time wandering the house or sitting in her room looking out the window. Now she turned and left as quietly as she had appeared.
"All right, it's my turn," said Natasha, after a short silence. She quickly opened her package and pulled out a blood- red dress.
"What a beautiful color," said Lizzie, a bit jealously. was her best color.
"It is, isn't it? But look, it's longer than yours. I won't be able to show off my legs as much."
Natasha held the dress up to her chest, and the two cousins noticed the plunging vee of the neckline at the same time.
"My goodness!" said Lizzie. "No one will be looking at your legs when you have that sort of neckline! I guess they noticed who had the figure for it."
"What sort of a tramp do they think I am?" protested Natasha, but her heart wasn't in it. She moved in front of the mirror and tried to determine just how much of her chest would be revealed.
"It's going to be daring, but for the Festival I think it will do very well," she decided.
Lizzie was rummaging around in her cousin's box. "Here's your shoes - you've got heels on yours. And there's a headband too - or a tiara, really."
She handed Natasha a pair of leather shoes and a shiny band of silver metal, inscribed with odd symbols.
"Wait, I'm going to try it on," said Natasha impulsively. She stepped out of her shoes and took off her blouse and her skirt, leaving them in puddles on the floor. Then she shed her thin cotton and stood unselfconsciously topless in front of Lizzie.
"What are *you* staring at?" asked Natasha playfully. She arched her back, causing her full to thrust out proudly from her chest - two pale globes of flesh tipped with small pink circles.
"You certainly have sprouted," said Lizzie, blushing slightly. She held up the dress, and Natasha put her arms and head through. "When I was here three years ago we were both as flat as baking stones."
Natasha freed her hair from the neckhole and let the long dress fall down past her waist. "You've sprouted too, Lizzie. No one could mistake either one of us for little anymore." She put the metal headband over her head and slipped into the shoes, which made her almost as tall as her American cousin.
"Everything fits perfectly," she said, doing a little twirl. "Oh, I can't wait! I've been watching everyone else go to the Festival for years...I think we're both going to meet dashing young tonight - I can feel it. Can't you?"
Lizzie didn't reply. The sight of her cousin in the stunning red dress brought back a flood of unwelcome memories. She was in her room back home, and her was helping her put on a dress (much less daring, but pretty just the same), and they were as happy as could be, chattering away like a couple of songbirds, planning for the future. She and James were practically engaged, and he was coming over to have supper with her and her family, and then they would take one of their long walks around the park, just the two of them...
"Lizzie? Are you all right?" Natasha saw that her cousin's eyes were glistening. "Oh, Lizzie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said -"
"No!" said Lizzie, blinking rapidly. "Don't be silly, I'm fine." She smiled through her tears. "Don't mind me. I'm looking forward to tonight, and I wouldn't mind meeting a nice young man. I wouldn't mind it a bit."
Natasha reached out and took her cousin's hand. "He didn't deserve you," she said fiercely. "Do you understand that? You're going to do a lot better."
Lizzie nodded silently.
There was a creak on the stair, and an woman in a traditional black dress appeared at the doorway. Her eyes widened and her brow creased in anger. "What's going on here?"
Natasha turned pale. "Nana! We were just...aren't these dresses pretty?"
"Those are Festival dresses! You're not enough to go to the Festival, neither of you."
Natasha steeled herself, standing up straight. "But Nana, we've been invited! They sent us our costumes, so of course we can-"
"No! I forbid it, do you hear me?" The woman's voice was trembling with emotion. "No good can come of it, none at all. The Festival is just an excuse for-"
"For having a good time," finished Natasha, her dark eyes flashing. "For people to enjoy themselves, to dance, to forget their boring, useless lives for one night. Is that what you mean?"
Lizzie looked back and forth helplessly at Natasha and her grandmother, unable to follow the flood of angry Greek.
"You insolent little hussy! Don't you presume to lecture me about -"
"What's going on here? What's all this yelling?" A handsome dark-haired came up the stairs. When he saw his in her new dress, his face suddenly seemed older. "Already, it begins?" he asked quietly.
"Papa, we've been invited to the Festival," said Natasha. "Nana says we can't go, but I know you'll let us, won't you? Oh Papa, please..."
"It's out of the question," said her grandmother. "You're not old enough, not for a few more years." But there was already a note of defeat in her voice.
The put a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. "I know how you feel, Madrone, but one must not refuse an invitation to the Festival, it would be very...rude."
"Oh, thank you, Papa!" Natasha threw her arms around her father and gave him a kiss.
Dinner was a very quiet affair that evening. Madrone served the food with a stern look on her face, her disapproval evident in her eyes and in her posture. Andres sat at the head of the table with downcast eyes and toyed with his food, lost in his own thoughts. And Anastasia, of Andres, of Madrone, mother and namesake of Natasha, was, as always, a silent presence at the foot of the table, like a ghost.
The two girls, although excited by the upcoming evening, were chastened by the grim atmosphere at the table, and they ate quietly and with perfect manners. Lizzie in particular was nervous, not knowing what to expect. She wished she could be as carefree and bold as her younger cousin, as comfortable talking to young men, as experienced in the ways of the world.
She recalled with a twinge of guilty pleasure the long, intimate discussions she and her cousin had been having about and sex. More like lectures than discussions, really - Lizzie had known shamefully little about sex for someone who had been hoping to get at the end of the summer.
She recalled one lazy afternoon a few weeks ago, the two of them sunbathing on a little wooden dock with the desolate, rocky coast on one side and the quiet, blue Mediterranean on the other, and not another living soul in sight. She was listening, fascinated, as Natasha told her how craved sex, how they thought about it all the time, how you could hold a man's prick in your hand and stroke it until it exploded all over...
"Really, Tasha, I think you're exaggerating," she had said, not knowing what else to say. "I'm sure nice don't want to -
"There's no such thing as a nice man!" laughed Natasha. "Not the way you think, anyway. Even the polite ones with good manners want to touch you all over, and have you touch them. And most of all, they want to stick it inside you."
"I know all about how babies are made," said Lizzie, not wanting to seem completely naive. "My told me last year."
"I bet she didn't tell you how much fun it was," said Natasha with a wicked grin.
"No...no, she didn't." Lizzie felt a peculiar sort of warmth inside her, that had nothing to do with the sun. "One thing I don't understand..."
"Just one thing?" teased Natasha.
"How does it fit? If a man's...if it's as big as you say, there isn't enough room." She blushed, knowing that she was admitting to exploring how much room there was.
"I wondered about that too. You have to break something inside, and then there's plenty of room."
"Break something?"
"I'll show you," said Natasha. She was also feeling the peculiar warmth inside her, but she knew exactly what it was. She sat up, turning to face her cousin, and pulled aside the crotch of her loose cotton bathing costume.
"Tasha!" Lizzie stared at her with horrified fascination. Her cousin's sex was covered by a thatch of shiny blue-black hair, in contrast to her own light brown, but she could see the dark pink lips underneath. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Do you want me to show you, or not?"
Lizzie swallowed, and said. "All right."
Natasha lifted her knees up and leaned back a little, moistened her fingers in her mouth, and put her hand between her legs. One finger parted her secret folds and slipped an inch or so into her hole. Then she took it out and pushed in two fingers, side by side. They disappeared slowly, like they were sinking into quicksand, until they were completely inside, and her private area was spread open in a way that Lizzie found both exciting and slightly repulsive.
"I...guess you're right," said Lizzie. "Doesn't it hurt?"
Her cousin looked at her dreamily through half-open lids and shook her head. "It feels wonderful. When a is inside you, everything gets all slippery and smooth, and there's this wonderful feeling of being filled up...it feels so good you can't help moaning."
"Oh, it all seems so strange," said Lizzie. She ran her tongue over her dry lips and shifted on her towel. The odd feeling of urgency and longing inside her, which came over her more and more often these days, had never been so strong. Then she thought about what Tasha had just said. "You mean you've actually done it?" Her cousin was leaning over the edge of the dock, rinsing her hand in the sea. She looked over at Lizzie and said "You must think I'm a terrible slut."
"No. No, of course not... I wish I had done it." And at that moment Lizzie truly meant it.
As evening fell and the summer heat began to dissipate, carriages and oxcarts filled with cheerful and women began to creak along the bumpy road toward the uninhabited southern end of the island. Boats also started arrived from the mainland, as the Trikinos midsummer festival was one of the largest and most anticipated events in the region.
The festival site was the grounds surrounding a rambling, long- deserted monastery. The land had been cleared of rocks and flattened over the years, and the grass had been closely-cropped, making it quite a suitable site for an outdoor event.
By the time Lizzie and Natasha arrived, having withstood a barrage of last-minute warnings and several changes in hairstyles, night had fallen, and the grounds, lit by hundreds of colored lanterns mounted on wooden stakes, were already filled with revelers.
Lizzie stepped down carefully from the cart and instinctively took her cousin's hand. The atmosphere, although festive, was slightly intimidating: a mass of people dressed in colorful, flowing garments, laughing madly and shouting at each other in Greek to be heard over the music of a large orchestra, all lit by the dim, flickering light of the lanterns.
"We're just in time," said Natasha, her face glowing with excitement. "They're about to light the bonfire." She led Lizzie into the crowd, pulling her toward an open area near the crumbling wall of the monastery. Neither of them was fully aware of the many admiring eyes that followed their progress.
Suddenly there was a roar from the crowd, and a pyramid of orange flames reached up into the night sky, hissing and crackling like some primitive beast. The crowd moved back, forming a wide circle as a wall of hot air and reflected heat moved outward from the bonfire, and there were a few moments of relative quiet as everyone stared into the flames.
"Why such a big fire?" asked Lizzie.
"Don't know," answered Natasha. "It's an tradition. It's probably supposed to drive away evil spirits or something."
"Actually, the bonfire was originally a way to request a special favor from the gods," said a standing behind them. They turned and saw a tall, in a flowing cloak and black leather boots. He smiled at them, giving them each a long look.
"Is that so?" said Natasha, who thought the was terribly handsome. "What kind of favor?"
"In the days, everyone who came to the festival would bring a log with a personal request carved into it for the bonfire. Successful fishing, health for their families, things of that nature. By burning the logs together in a huge fire, they thought they could attract the attention of their gods."
Lizzie couldn't follow what the was saying, but she noticed that he and Natasha were staring into each other's eyes, and she had to stifle a giggle. It certainly didn't take her cousin long to attract a suitor. And this was certainly handsome: tall and thin, with an angular, masculine face, although there was something about the way he was looking at Tasha that Lizzie didn't like - an air of superiority, a hint of a sneer in the curl of his thin lips.
"You look familiar," the said, moving closer to Natasha. "Perhaps we have met before?"
"I really don't think so. I mean, I'm sure I would have remembered meeting you," she answered with a coquettish smile.
At that moment the orchestra launched into an upbeat melody, and the crowd came back to life.
"I think the dancing is starting," said Natasha.
"Indeed," said the man, raising one eyebrow. "Perhaps you would care to dance?"
Natasha turned to her cousin and saw that two grinning men were vying for her attention, each one gesturing towards the orchestra and trying to elbow the other out of the way.
"I'd love to," said Natasha, and the took her outstretched hand in his.
As a spirited dance came to an end, Lizzie congratulated herself on having managed most of the steps and looked around to find her cousin. Instead, her gaze fell on a broad, well-built man with wide blue eyes and a cap of dark curly hair who was staring at her with an admiring smile. She smiled back at him in spite of her shyness, and he came towards her, gliding smoothly through the crowd with a sort of athletic grace.
Lizzie swallowed and looked around again for Natasha, but she was nowhere to be seen. When she turned back the was right in front of her.
"May I be so bold as to request the next dance?" His voice was deep and masculine, and his tone, although formal, was unaffected and friendly.
"You speak English!" said Lizzie, astonished.
"Indeed I do. A skill that has served me well in the past, but perhaps never more than right now, seeing that it allows me to converse with the most beautiful on the entire island."
Lizzie blushed prettily, and allowed him to take her hand. He kissed it gallantly, and then led her back to the dancing area. The orchestra struck into a lilting tune, and she found herself in the man's arms, moving in perfect time with the music.
"You're a wonderful dancer," she said, truthfully. She felt like she was floating.
He smiled and looked into her eyes, but said nothing, and Lizzie felt an odd sense of well-being creep into her chest, and she wondered if maybe there really was such a thing as love at first sight.
The next few hours were a blur of dancing and laughter. The festival became increasingly loud and gay, making conversation virtually impossible, but Lizzie nonetheless felt herself falling under the spell of her new suitor. He seemed to have an aura of vitality about him, a sort of electrical charge, and when he touched her she felt a strange sense of excitement and her thoughts became muddled. When he suggested that they find a place to talk and catch their breath, she assented eagerly, and he led her toward an arched doorway leading into the ruined monastery. As they approached, Lizzie caught a flash of movement from a cloistered walkway along the top of the wall of eroded stone, and she stopped, peering upward into the darkness.
"What is it?"
"I just saw someone up there on the wall...for some reason I thought it might be my cousin. Someone asked her to dance hours ago, and I haven't seen her since. I hope she's not getting herself in too much trouble, she's kind of...outgoing."
The stared thoughtfully up at the top of the wall. "I don't see anyone up there. The person she was dancing with - was it a tall man, with a dark cloak?"
"Why yes, do you know him?"
"I've seen him here at the festival in the past," he replied after a moment. Then he put his hand around her narrow waist, resting it on the swell of her hip, and urged her toward the doorway. "Come on, I want to show you something interesting."
As they descended a dusty set of steps to the lower level, the thick stone walls quickly reduced the joyous clamor of the festival to a faint murmur. They walked along a dim corridor which led into a small room with a domed ceiling.
"This wasn't always a monastery, you know," said the with a wistful smile. "It was originally a temple. There isn't much left of the structure, though. Just these lower rooms." He gazed reflectively around the dark, musty chamber, and Lizzie got the impression he could penetrate the darkness better than she could.
"A temple? What sort of temple?"
"To the gods. The ones people believed in for thousands of years before converting to Christianity. Religion was a very different matter in those days - people worshipped out of fear and respect rather than love." He pointed to a stone slab built into a niche in the wall. "That's where people would leave sacrifices - gifts for their god of choice. Food, usually: fresh fish, or a chicken. Sometimes a fine clay pot, or even jewelry."
"How do you know all this?" asked Lizzie curiously. "Are you a historian?"
"Yes. I suppose, in a way, I am." He stepped over to her quickly and put his face close to hers. His blue eyes smoldered with an inner light, and Lizzie felt something tangible radiating from him, an aura that made her feel giddy and weak.
"I want you, Lizzie Nash." The words echoed flatly against the stone walls, and for a moment she thought she was going to faint, but then his arms were around her, holding her up, pulling her toward him.
"Right here..." His voice was low and throaty, filled with indescribable desire and need. His body seemed and muscular and solid beneath his tunic, and Lizzie's nostrils were suddenly filled with the sweet scent of freshly-cut grass.
"Right now..." She couldn't answer, couldn't move a muscle. He picked her up easily, as if she was a doll, and gently sat her on the recessed stone shelf, which was really an altar, so that he was standing between her spread legs. He leaned forward and kissed her, and she noticed that his movements and his manner were different now - rougher and less refined. But she kissed him back, enjoying the feel of his thick, hot lips covering hers, and she knew she was powerless to deny him anything.
Then she felt his hand under her dress, sliding up her thigh, and she stiffened slightly, an automatic reaction.
"Relax...spread your legs and relax."
A tearing sound as her underwear was removed, and a thick, rough finger was between her legs, touching her sex, pushing against the delicate membrane covering her vagina, fondling it with a gentleness that was somehow obscene.
"Yessss...I'm going to be the first, Lizzie Nash. You should be honored."
His voice was muffled and odd, and she noticed with a faraway twinge of horror that his teeth were much bigger than they were before. Bigger than anyone's teeth should be. In fact, maybe it was just the dim light, but wasn't his whole face different?
He slid her hips forward over the cool stone, and she gasped as she felt something round and smooth pressing at her opening, stretching the membrane.
"Close your eyes...and receive me." His breath was hot against her neck, and she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as the pressure increased. Just as it started to hurt, something let go, and his phallus began to slide up inside her, slowly filling her up, just like Tasha had said. She whimpered with confused pleasure, filled with strange emotions. Why hadn't Tasha told her that a prick was so smooth and slick and cool, like polished wood?
The sliding and filling seemed to go on forever, the pressure building up in her loins, until her legs were around his waist and she was cleaved onto him like a tender piece of meat on a spit. He stood up with terrible ease, pulling her against his broad, flat chest, and began to pump in and out of her with long strokes that filled her insides with a fiery turmoil. She uttered a strangled cry and reached her arms blindly around his thick, corded neck, sinking her hands into the dense mat of curly hair. A strange explosion of pure pleasure coursed through her body, and then another, and her head filled with a hollow rushing sound, like a waterfall.
Her hands wandered upward across his skull, seeking something to grip, and they found two...handles? She opened her eyes and saw that she was holding onto a pair of horns, and that his eyes were round and flat and orange, and that he wasn't a at all. She closed her eyes and fainted away and began to dream that she was lying in a newly-mown meadow.
When Lizzie awoke she was lying on the ground outside, and people were walking all around her, stepping over her arms and legs. The orchestra was still playing, a slower tune now, full of sadness, and it took her a few moments to realize where she was. With an effort, she sat up and looked around. The bonfire had burned down to embers, the crowd had thinned out considerably, and with a start she realized it must be very late.
A in a tunic stopped and offered his hand, and she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He said something to her in Greek, and she shook her head in frustration. The shrugged and turned away, and she saw that everyone was walking toward the road that led back to Skirna.
"Natasha!" she shouted, looking around. A few people looked over at her, but no one replied. She stumbled around the grounds, calling her cousin's name, trying to remember when she had last seen her. Had they agreed to meet somewhere? Could she have left without her? She remembered dancing with a good-looking with curly hair and blue eyes, but nothing after that.
Finally she joined the stragglers as they stumbled towards the road, and managed to find a seat on one of the last carts, wedging herself between two of the twenty or so occupants. Then, to her delight, she saw her cousin sitting in the front of the cart.
"Tasha! It's me! I've been looking all over, where have you been? Tasha?"
When she heard the tentative knock, Madrone closed her bible, made the sign of the cross, and went to open the front door. To her relief, Natasha and Lizzie were both there.
"You're late!" she said angrily. There was no response, and she stepped forward, squinting at them in the dim light. Her blond grandniece was as white as a sheet and her eyes were wide with fear; she opened her mouth but said nothing. Then the woman noticed that Natasha's dress was torn and soiled, and that her face was blank and expressionless.
"Natasha? My God - what's the matter? Say something...oh God, please say something...anything..." There was no response, and she fell to her knees and started to weep. Behind her, Andres appeared in the doorway, his face a rigid mask of fear. When he saw his daughter, he let out an unearthly scream. "Not again!....Oh God, why?...Not again..." The End, "Don't Panic"
©1998 by DG. All rights reserved.
Author's notes
1) Sort of a downer, I know - sorry about that :). I don't usually do unhappy endings, but the idea for this has been kicking around in my head for a long time now, and I figured I'd go ahead and write it. 2) As always, I'd enjoy hearing what you thought of the story - my email is dionysian1@hotmail.com.
3) Thanks to Baird Allen, I have a nice web page with all my stories on it. Please drop by and check it out some time: http://baird.pair.com/dg.htm
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