There were once, in ancient Thebes, two lovers. They met infrequently and cautiously, because both families were opposed to their love. Hylas’s family were citizens, and they farmed their land and served in the army, but never conducted business. Their land and their service brought them wealth and power.
Phyrne’s family made lanterns, oils and candles, so that those who wanted to stay awake past the natural hours of darkness could do so. The family had become wealthy, and it too was powerful in its way, but to the citizens of Thebes it was a disgrace to be in trade, no matter how successfully.
So Hylas’s parents heartily despised Phyrne’s parents, and in return her parents gave hatred, ridicule and contempt. Hylas and Phyrne met when they could, but they had little pleasure, and no sex. Instead they held each other, unhappy, spoke of their love and bemoaned their fate.
Sometimes he allowed himself to hold one of Phyrne’s plump breasts in his hand, and afterwards, alone in his own bed, pleasured himself with that sensual memory.
Fortunately, there was, in Thebes at that time, a beautiful witch, dark of skin and beautiful, from some far and unknown land. Her name was Ojastara, and she was always followed by a cloud of foxes.
One night Hylas was in his family home. His parents and his sister were in their rooms, asleep, and so had he been. But he got up to get a cup of water. But as he was pouring water from the pitcher the servant girl in the kitchen suddenly froze. She stopped. Still. The house had stopped. Even the wind had suddenly stilled.
That was odd, and a feathertop of apprehension seemed to run down his spine. He shivered. Then he shrugged and turned to go back to his room.
Then he cried out, very lightly, in fear, because a dark corner of the wall had wide, white eyes. Then he saw there was a woman, darker than the night, in the room with him. He stared. She smiled, and she was beautiful beyond anyone he had ever seen, except perhaps Phyrne. But his fear did not diminish. “What … are you?”
“I’m your rescuer. My name is Ojastara, but you will call me Teacher.”
She selected, from an indoor pot that held orchids, a length of bamboo and swished it in the air. “Yes. And I suggest that you pay attention to your lessons. Come here.”
Hylas wasn’t sure why, but he obeyed. The woman took him by his penis, which grew, incredibly fast and hard, in her hand. She whipped the cane, hard enough to hurt and leave a mark, just a micron below the hang of his balls. Hylas found, to his consternation, his cock hardening even more.
She smiled at him, the smile not entirely reassuring, and said, “You need many lessons, Hylas. Before you’re worthy of Phyrne. Now.” She turned her back on him, her hand still firmly holding his cock, and began to walk.
Hylas guessed that she was taking him to his bedroom. But he had eyes only for her rolling bottom and the firm femininity of her thighs.
He had never had a woman. He and Phyrne had never had the opportunity, and perhaps he had not had the courage to make it possible. It seemed, he realised, that a woman was about to have him. But her hand on his cock seemed to drive all other thoughts and considerations out of his mind. He followed, close.