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The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.
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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental. The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure fantasies.
© obohobo 2012
Zzokk! I saw the girl's fist coming but my already downward descent could do nothing to avert it crashing into my face. At her surprise entry into my room, I'd leapt from the bed, my pyjamas around my ankles and the erection I'd been playing with, leading the way, I sort to push her out but my toes temporarily caught under the edge of the bedside rug and with my hands trying to pull up my pyjama trousers, I couldn't avoid falling and my face taking the full force of the impact as it hit the hard, wooden floor. When I came to, a few students and hotel staff stood by my side and the girl who'd hit me had a handful of toilet paper trying to staunch the flow of blood from my nose and repeating, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't intend to hit you." They told me I'd been unconscious for several minutes and still not fully aware of my surroundings, I knelt but felt too shaky to stand.
"Clean him up a bit girl and wipe the blood from the floor, you can both then spend the night in the cells and sort your differences out there. We don't tolerate unruly British students fighting in the hotel rooms." Glancing up I saw the officious Greek hotel manager who'd introduced us to the rules when we arrived, looking at me with distaste; he turned and spoke in his language to the two, uniformed security personal waiting behind him and then left, ignoring the ineffectual protests from fellow students.
By then my right eye had started to close, my face had swollen and blood poured from my nose but the security people had no sympathy for my plight or the fact that I could hardly stand, let alone walk unaided to the cells in the basement. With sharp orders in Greek interspersed with a smattering of English, the girl, Janice Price had to support me and several times when I almost collapsed on the worn, stone steps, the guards chivvied her along. The blood flowing from my nose soaked through her blouse and on to her breasts and stomach until we looked like survivors from a major war. I could do nothing to save her clothing because I needed her support and the guards wouldn't let us sit and rest.
Both cells already contained a drunken British student but they put them in one cell and us in the other, to the security guards we were another example of the rowdy students that stayed at the hotel. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Crying, Janice sat me on the one bed, and apologised over and over again but even then I realised it wasn't her fault. I tried to tell her that I understood but found it too difficult and painful to talk and just sat as still as I could, afraid that moving my head might make me sick. All the while Janice continued to support me with an arm around my shoulders and my head resting on her neck, but I could sense that she too, felt extremely nervous and afraid of what might happen to us. In other circumstances I would have enjoyed being this close to a girl of my own age, but at the time, it was a nightmare.
With one eye half open I slowly looked around our abode for the night; a typical prison cell with a bunk having a thin mattress without any covering or a pillow, a washbasin and a toilet without a seat. Obscene graffiti decorated the painted grey walls. The entry 'wall' consisted of iron bars with what appeared to be a massively oversized lock reminiscent of western movies and probably dated from the 19th century and this allowed us to see into the corridor but not into our neighbouring cell. My head throbbed unmercifully, the room spun round and once when she'd released me to wet a paper towel, I toppled over and lay on the bunk. Fortunately the nose bleeding had eased to a trickle but from the pain, I rightfully guessed the impact with the floor had broken it. For a while I zoned out and only vaguely felt Janice lay alongside me.
"What are you going to do when the end of term exams are over, Kevin?" Colin Redman, my roommate asked.
"I don't know, visit my parents I suppose, look for some work to bring in a little money over the holiday."
"Did you see that advert on the notice board for Greek Student Tours. It's for students in the eighteen to twenty-two age group and the price seems reasonable. You might find yourself a girlfriend or lose your virginity to some dusky Greek maiden ... or boy!"
I hadn't seen the advert but looked at it later and got a copy of the brochure. It offered a two-week holiday on a Greek island staying in a small, three star hotel converted from its previous use as the local police station and providing half board accommodation with others in a similar age group. A boy at the college organised the trip and at the last minute I booked. What a disaster it turned out to be.
Nineteen from college decided to go and I always seemed to be the odd one out, largely I'm sure due to my shyness and the fact that most of the others were from English and Geography type courses; no one I knew from my engineering studies and Colin didn't go because he already had a job lined up. I sat by myself on the bus to the airport, had a seat next to a fat old man on the plane and stayed alone on the trip across mainland Greece and on the ferry to the island. Amidst a crowd of people, I felt very much alone.
At the reception meeting the Greek hotel manager explained the rules, "We know young boys and girls of your ages will want to have sex and the hotel acknowledges that and will turn a blind eye to who sleeps with whom but it must all be consensual and no forcing or rape. We also know that with the cheap booze available on the island, some of you will drink more than you should but provided you behave yourselves and don't mess your beds or rooms, we won't worry, but, as you should have read in the brochure, we have a couple of the original police cells in the basement, the locks are in full working order, and the cells are equipped and ready for occupation, and we'll use them, as we have done on many previous occasions, to house drunken and abusive students until they are sober enough to return to their rooms. The accommodation in the cells is primitive to say the least and it is rare for students to return to the cells later in their holiday." Being a quiet student who rarely drinks alcohol, I never suspected I'd end up in one.
I'd seen Janice on the journey, always in the company of her bossy, outgoing, older sister, Carol, and two other girls and their boyfriends; a group in which she seemed out of place. They tended to be extroverted and fashion conscious and flirted outrageously with the boys and I assumed they went further when alone together; Janice's rather dumpy figure, her plain hairdo and 'ordinary' clothes, set her apart from them and I suspected they kept her as a servant to fetch and carry for them. While I secretly watched her and noticed that she didn't have a boyfriend, I did wonder if we had any chance getting together, but never plucked up the courage to go and speak to her and only fucked her in my imagination when I wanked myself before going to sleep. Lying almost naked on the hotel bed with my eyes shut, I was doing just that when the bedroom door burst open and her sister pushed her into the room, "You can stay here for the night, Jan, keep him company and then Peter and I can do what we want without you looking on."
Carol ran back down the corridor and, as I heard the footsteps fading in the distance, I swung my legs off the bed and started to pull my pyjama trousers up. Looking very frightened, Janice stood still only a few feet away, her fists clenched ready to ward off any attack and screamed for help at the top of her voice. My moving off the bed and the sight of my erection, sparked her reaction, although she afterwards insisted that she only intended pushing me away, my unanticipated tripping over the mat, caused her fist to forcibly hit my face. I believe her. The noise and Jan's crying, brought others into the room, including the manager and his security guards.
The hard mattress didn't allow me to put my face on it even on the less swollen side, without further pain and if I laid on my back, blood ran into my throat and I started choking, but when I sat up the cell span round and round. Eventually I vomited but managed to crawl to the toilet in time and afterwards Jan sat me back on the bed and although I tried to apologise, the words were difficult to form because of my swollen face and mouth. A guard came by and Jan pleaded to get some help but he either didn't understand or didn't want to know. Another hour went by before a different guard checked on us. "Help, he needs a doctor, medicine. Help, help, doctor, medicine. He's sick, ill." Her tearful pleading went on in this manner for a minute or two while the guard peered through the bars muttering a few words we didn't understand. Five or ten minutes later he returned with a woman dressed in her nightgown.
.... There is more of this story ...