Bellapais Villa Henson Possession

He walked around to the bottom of the bed and pulled my butt down to the edge, which stretched my bound arms out above my head. He had his bulbous mushroom cap resting at my entrance when he made his only half-angry flare of a statement. It was in broken Turkish and English, but I got the gist of it. He said something about his village and American whores and of my walking by the entrance of the inner courtyard despite his warning and wanting what I was getting. And then he thrust inside me and fucked me in long slidings that went on for some time before he was finished.

Spent, Sami pulled out of me, wiped himself off with a handkerchief. He then walked over to the open French doors and muttered something to someone outside.

For the next hour, a succession of the older men who had been in the café’s outer courtyard the night before filed in, singly, all without trousers, and fucked me to their completions. I think there were five in all. I would not have made a fuss when they were done with me even if I had wanted to—the last one who assaulted me was the village police chief.

They simply let me go then. Still incongruously apologizing, Sami supplied me with a cotton shirt and trousers that fit reasonably well, and I gingerly hobbled my way up the winding cobblestoned street to my rented villa in a bowlegged gait.