Temptations of the Gods

The beach at Kos had no name, yet this did not distinguish it particularly from any other beach that lined the 45-kilometer stretch along the brilliant Aegean Sea. Melanie emerged from the Theodoropoulos Hotel at 9:00 that morning, armed with dark glasses and a plush white towel (her own; the Greek spirit of hedonism did not extend to creature comforts). She passed one of the twin brothers who owned the resort as he spoke with a guest on the sidewalk.

“Kalimera, Miss Melanie!” he called to her, interrupting his conversation.

Damn, which twin was he: Aris or Ilias? She returned his greeting with a smile and a wave. Some intangible pull in the area of her bottom made her glance back at him. There was Aris or Ilias, staring at her rear as if it were a finely cooked steak and he was most definitely carnivorous. One side of his handsome mouth turned upwards once she had acknowledged his leer. Melanie involuntarily placed a hand on her left ass cheek, as if to block the intrusion, faced forward again and continued walking toward the beach. She heard him laugh affectionately at her embarrassment.

The beach was already half filled with sun worshippers. Both tourists and Greeks occupied the chaises scattered about. Melanie stood by the cozy little bar on the beach, assessing the sandy adult playground for a quiet, sunny spot.

Glasses tinkled and a breeze delivered an appealing combination of orange juice and after-shave to her nostrils. She turned to its source to find the other Aris or Ilias smiling fondly at her breasts as he prepared to make a drink for her.

“A drink, Miss Melanie?”

The bar’s canopy cast him in calm shade, but the bronzed skin on his arms, at his neck, his smooth face lit him from the inside. He simmered there in the shade and she decided she was, in fact, quite thirsty.

“I’d love one.” Remembering how the Greeks appreciated visitors’ attempts to speak Greek, she added parakalo for “please.”

“Very nice!” He smiled and swept his eyes again over her upper body. Such dark, thick eye-lashes for a man. She imagined their feathery touch on her shoulders, maybe at the spot where neck melded into shoulder. She felt wobbly and sat on the barstool gratefully.

He chatted in heavily accented English about the weather, the beaches, Greek food she ought to try. She watched him reach up for a glass over her head and caught her breath as his clean, masculine scent enveloped her. He turned to retrieve the orange juice under the bar’s center island. She distractedly ran her index finger in slow, stroking motions over her bottom lip as she observed the back of his dark, tight thighs. So golden, so strong…

What am I doing? she chastised herself silently. Leonard would be joining her tomorrow once his business meetings concluded. Certainly, she could control her animal urges for one more day.

The Aris/Ilias at the main hotel building shouted something to his brother at the bar. The bartender excused himself to Melanie and sprinted up the walk. The sun infused him with a deep copper light that caused her to forget to breathe. She finished her juice quickly so she could escape before he returned.

She located a spot not far from where a small group of German women sunbathed topless. No one paid any attention to them. Melanie secured a chaise and settled in for a peaceful day at the beach.

She smoothed some oil over her legs with long, slow strokes, vaguely aware of herself as she took in the astounding sight of the glistening sea. How many thousands of years had people come to this Greek paradise to receive the boundless generosity of the sun and immerse themselves in the gorgeous blue of the Aegean?

Melanie rubbed oil into her chest, swooping low enough to coat the top halves of her breasts, but careful not to leave stains on her favorite hunter green swimsuit. She lay back and absorbed the sun’s offerings, growing lazy and warm. After a time, she grew overheated and decided a brief swim would help reduce her body temperature.

She stood in the tepid water to her waist. She could almost feel her skin sizzle as it adjusted to the welcome temperature change. She closed her eyes, letting the waves lap at her mid-section, swirling between her legs before they could pass through. A light touch at her calf jarred her and she yelped, lurching from the spot.

A man emerged from the spot underwater, gasping for breath. Once he’d tossed the heavy water from his thick black hair and wiped the ocean from his eyes, he focused on her, revealing a devastatingly white set of teeth. His sparkling, blue eyes were miniature re-creations of the Mediterranean. When his bare chest burst from the water, she wondered briefly if she was witnessing the birth of a hertofore unrevealed Greek god. He said something apologetic (she surmised) in Greek and she answered (smiling) in English that she did not speak Greek.

“I speak a little English! I am sorry that I touch you. I look for fish!”

“You look for fish with your bare hands?”

“Of course! Some kind of fish, you know? I don’t know how to say in English. Like little alligator.”


He laughed at her anxiety. “No, no, not so big. Little!” He gestured with his hands to show a length of four inches or so. She stared at him, thinking for the most fleeting moment that she’d like to catch the streaming water droplets on his chest with her tongue.

“I can show you! You swim, yes?”


“Can you touch the bottom?”

She was certain he referred to the ocean’s bottom. “I don’t know. I guess so.”

“First, we practice. The fish are on the bottom.”

He took her hand and his gaze told her to follow him. Soon, muffled sea sounds surrounded her and she reached toward the muddy floor. They were in just deep enough to require their feet to float above in order for their hands to touch bottom. They arose at the same time, giggling.

“Yes! You are good diver! Did you see the fish?”


“You must go back! Pick it up in your hand, like this!” His swarthy arm reached in front of him in an exaggerated motion, then his big, outstretched hand quickly closed, like he had captured something. His zeal was so enchanting that Melanie could not stop smiling.

She found herself enjoying his enthusiasm and wanting to discover one of the little alligators herself. Maybe she could teach Leonard how to catch one when he arrived tomorrow.

Melanie dove into the water like a happy seal, barely skimming her companion’s erection in the process. His penis, although sheathed in loose yellow swim trunks, tented out a good eight inches. Her palms haphazardly slapped the ocean floor while her eyes never left those swim trunks. She ventured as close as she could, feeling her own pubic area grow hot and full. When she was nearly blue, she shot out of the water.

“Did you find a big one?” he asked expectantly.

“I didn’t see any fish,” she answered truthfully. One more dive and she’d come up with a handful, all right, but it wouldn’t be fish.

She slicked a nervous hand over her wet hair. “I should really be going now. Hope you find your fish!” She heard his protests behind her as she jogged away but she didn’t stop.

Her heart was still beating wildly when she returned to her chaise. She sat on the edge of it, breathing deeply. What an absolutely glorious erection! When was the last time Leonard greeted her with such gargantuan eagerness?

Enough, Melanie, she thought. Relax. The water was supposed to cool you down, remember? She raised the chaise back to allow her to sit. It was important for her to keep her legs spread slightly or she would never completely cool off. She leaned back, eyes closed, legs demurely apart, allowing the sun to gently burn the water from her tingling skin. Soft Aegean winds eventually restored her overheated crotch back to normal. Within minutes, her breathing regulated itself and a languid peace descended on her.

A few minutes later, she rose from the chaise to lower the back and placed herself stomach-down on it. The wind danced a cool waltz over her bottom, and the backs of her thighs and knees sighed in response to the relentless sunshine. She stretched her arms overhead and held the iron bar of the chaise, moaning in rapturous calm.

She slept for a time but was unexpectedly awakened. Massive, slightly rough hands massaged her back with what smelled vaguely like olive oil. The scent did not offend her, indigenous as it was to so much of the olfactory delights of this country.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but you have been here a long time and your skin will burn without oil.” A Greek accent in a baritone package. She had become soft clay under his commanding hands.

“Is that olive oil?”

“Yes.” The hands continued their slow circular motions up and down her back, working the olive oil into pores that now ravenously consumed it. “We Greeks use olive oil for everything!” he added with a knowing chuckle.

Before she allowed herself to emit any groans of gratitude, she thought it wise to learn the identity of her masseur.

“I’m sorry, but are you Aris or Ilias?”

“My name is Giorgos. What is yours?”

If she weren’t in Greece, if her body didn’t feel like seaweed wafting through undulating waters, and if his hands weren’t conveying electric pulses of sexual energy, she would’ve scrambled to her feet in indignation. Maybe she would have rendered an outraged slap to Giorgos’ unsuspecting face.

“My name is Melanie,” she purred under his hands, which had now begun gently kneading her thighs.

“Hello, Melanie. You are staying at this hotel?” His thumbs lurked close to her now steaming crotch. She resisted the urge to slide toward them.


“I help at the hotel. Whatever people need.”

It was excruciatingly clear that this man could fill needs. She uttered more sounds from some deep and hungry place in her throat. The slightest fraction of his fingertips intermittently found their way under the elastic edge of her swimsuit. She was moister between her legs now and he was bound to find that out soon if she didn’t escape. She grasped the hot iron edges of her chaise, and Giorgos slipped his middle finger down along her backside, burying it briefly between her legs. She sprang from the chaise, rattled and dizzy.

Naturally, he was beautiful. Another in a line of gods presented to her that day. This one, though, had hair kissed by a feverish sun, leaving streaks of blond recklessly tossed among wavy brown curls. His skin, covered with less dark hair than his predecessors’ that day, was more golden than cinnamon. He remained by the chaise, kneeling, but now appraising her upright body. She suddenly felt certain that he’d caught the scent of her arousal.

“I think I need to go inside. I’ve probably stayed out here much too long. I don’t want to be sunburned when my husband comes tomorrow.” She stood there, staring at him as if there was something he could add.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, eyes penetrating her face.

“Yes, he’ll be here tomorrow, so I need to go inside now.”

Giogos rubbed his hands over his own torso, smoothing the residual oil over his shapely pectorals, down over his nipples then across his hard stomach. He was no longer looking at her, so fully engaged was he in attending to his own flesh.

Melanie’s mouth hung open in wordless awe. Her hands grabbed the damp white towel from the chaise and clutched it as she watched him caress himself with the oil. His movements were unself-conscious yet it was clear he enjoyed being watched. And she did want to watch.

“So, I really need to go,” she said, rooted in the sand.

“There is no sun at night,” he replied, looking at her mischievously.

Puzzled, she drew her eyebrows together. “No, of course not. It’s here now, in the day.”

“But not tonight.” Another smile to weaken her knees.

Giogos stood and Melanie saw that he was roughly six foot two, maybe six foot three. The aroma of olive oil, subtle now, teased her nostrils. Would she ever eat a Caesar salad again without wanting his big hands on her? He stood only a few inches away from her, the magnetic pull between them palpable.

“Tonight you could be here and you will not burn for your husband.”

She was so aroused, she barely noticed his pun.

“I can give more massage tonight, yes?”

“I really must go. Thank you for the oil job, I mean the hands, oh, you know!”

He laughed affectionately.

“Thank you for the massage,” she said quietly, unable to keep the delight off her face. She turned and walked toward the hotel.

As she entered the breezy lobby, the clerk at the desk was on the phone, but waved her over to him. Melanie approached and he held the receiver out toward her.

“It is your husband!”

She took the phone excitedly. “Leonard? Is that you?”

“Mel, honey, I’m so glad I caught you! I didn’t want to leave a message about this.”

Giorgos walked through the lobby and around behind the reception desk. He winked at her fondly. She turned her back to him but feared he was still close enough to overhear her conversation.

“I missed the flight, Mel. I thought I could get those damn purchase orders done before I left for the airport, but I lost track of time, and before I knew it, it was too late!”

“Oh, Leonard!”

“But I’ve got reservations on the next flight, which should get me there the day after next. I’ll make this up to you, I promise!”

She saw Giorgos in her peripheral vision, sorting through mail, loitering in her vicinity. Both Aris and Ilias stood in the lobby, schmoozing with some tall Swedish women. Either Aris or Ilias absent-mindedly rubbed his palm over his fly in a steady rhythm that Melanie didn’t want to find alluring. The movement was intended for one of the Swedes, anyway.

“That only leaves us three days together, Leonard! Maybe I should just come home.”

“No! Don’t be silly! You love Greece! Aren’t you having a good time?”

I don’t know how much longer I can avoid having a good time, she thought. “Well, sure, but it’s not the same without you.”

“Sit tight. I’ll be there before you know it. Go out and enjoy yourself!”

“All right. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

She passed the receiver back to the clerk but discovered Giorgos had replaced him.

“Dial 33 if you need anything,” he said, clasping one reassuring hand over hers as he took the receiver back. He wore a white polo shirt now and reminded her of a cool drink she longed to feel sliding down her throat.

“I think I’d like a sunburn, after all,” she whispered softly. “Tonight.”

©1998 by Custom Erotica Source