Ancient Worlds bash

Mark knocked softly on the door of Fiona's room, in St John's College's Beehive building. Fiona and Mark were both second year Classics students at Oxford. They'd made acquaintances on the course upon matriculation, but it was only since the start of this Michaelmas term that they'd been an item. Mark, a lanky but athletic English student, had come up to Pembroke College, Oxford from an exclusive Surrey school, as had his father before him. In seminars he showed analytical depth, but leavened with a self-deprecating humour. Extra-curricularly he ran track, although perhaps not competitively enough to be likely to win a Blue.

Fiona came up to Oxford from Edinburgh's well-heeled Morningside neighbourhood. Although 'down' the country on a map, one always came 'up' to Oxford, as one came 'up' to Jerusalem in biblical literature. An early interest in the myths, legends and culture of the ancient world had inspired Fiona to take A-levels in Latin and Greek alongside History and English Literature, at which she'd excelled, winning a place at St. John's. A pale, tall brunette, her physical wispiness belied a boldness and self-confidence that saw her excel academically and take the vice-presidency of her college Junior Common Room.

The hexagonal space of Fiona's college room greeted him with its modern wood panelling, warm hued with the glow of a lamp. A few notepads and library books on ancient Crete sat on the floor by the desk, which itself was taken up with a sewing machine, surrounded by fabric scraps.

"Come in, deeyah," said Fiona, as she opened the door. Her dark hair was coiffed up at the front and fastened behind, with two curling tendrils hanging down to frame her face. The room, familiar now to Mark from late-night discussion over Ovid and Aristotle, not to mention youthful pleasures, had something of a different atmosphere, with faint bouzouki music playing from a Bluetooth speaker. A hint of a smell of mastic, citrus and saffron was in the air. "I've been waiting for you... impatiently."

Mark stepped inside. He kissed her cheek, taking care not to smudge the makeup, which she had applied making her already pale Scots skin almost white, with rouged cheeks and lips. "Excited for tonight?" It was the Classics Society Hallowe'en party over at Balliol, with an "Ancient Worlds" dress code. Fiona had taken this seriously, and promised to obtain suitably authentic outfits for them both.

"Aye," she replied, dark blue eyes sparkling. She gestured to the bed. Two outfits lay there, one pile of white and another not quite discernable inside a garment bag. "I made them both on my sewing machine. From adapting a few things I got from charity shops around town. Yours is the Athenian chiton. Simple white linen, short to the thigh. Authentic-ish sandals from Oxfam."

Mark picked it up. "Looks perfect."

"And underneath," Fiona continued, sidling up and holding out a leather shoelace, "this is your kynodesme. Ancient Greek athletes used it to tie things up for modesty during games or bathing. Kept everything in place, and the Greeks seemed to have felt it was only the public display of the glans which was obscene. With everything tied up, there would be no immodesty in the baths even if clad only in the kynodesme. It's well known from vase paintings and texts. Aristophanes mentions it in Lysistrata. Adds that certain... historical thrill, don't you think?"

Mark looked slightly wide-eyed. "How, erm... how does it work?"

Fiona handed him a photocopied page with some illustrations. "Like this. The string is tied tightly with a knot around the prepuce. Then it can either be tied with a loop around the scrotum, or, and I think this is better," she pointed to the illustration, "tied around the waist, leaving the penis pulled upright. Very authentic."

Mark took the shoelace, unsure. It was dark brown leather and slightly flat. "Between us," continued Fiona, "it's for that extra thrill, isn't it? Imagine me untying it later..."

Fiona gave him a brief kiss, then picked up the garment bag. "I'm going to change in the bathroom, down the hall. You can get ready here. Be quick."

Mark undressed quickly, leaving his clothes on the desk chair. Taking off his boxers last, he took a breath before picking up the shoelace. He examined the photocopy, before pinching his tip and tying a knot, as tight as he dared, as recommended on the page. He then looped the lace around his waist and tied in the small of his back, leaving his soft cock pulled upwards towards his navel.

Mark slipped on the chiton, fixing two brooches at the shoulder, and tied the leather belt around to secure the garment, with a mix of nerves and excitement. He put on the sandals and tied the straps around his ankles and calves, conscious the chiton tunic fell only to mid-thigh and his arse was bare. It felt vulnerably authentic.

A knock on the door and Fiona came in. Mark's eyes took in the sight eagerly.

Fiona looked radiant in her creation: a Minoan style outfit comprising a red bodice fringed in blue, boldly open at the front to reveal the graceful curve of her bare breasts. The sleeves were tight around her arms and flared where they ended at the elbow, with a black tassel descending from each elbow. Fiona had adapted a scarlet wrap cardigan to create it, and fringed it with blue and gold in ancient Cretan style. She'd cut up a pair of fishnet tights for the tassels. Her small pink nipples were almost picture-framed by the bodice.

Below, she wore a full length white skirt striped in blue, which flowed to her ankles. A tight wide leather belt and a small blue fabric apron were about her waist. A white headband was now on her forehead.

"Well?" she asked, giving a slow twirl that made the skirt flare. "Does it suit your historical imagination?"

Mark swallowed, stepping forward. "Stunning doesn't cover it. You're a vision. Those frescoes in Knossos have nothing on you. I could worship at your altar right now."

Fiona's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Careful, bold Athenian, or we might not make it to the party." She picked up a black overcoat. "Although it's only around the corner, I can't be walking down St. Giles with my tits out."

Mark nodded agreement and also put on his coat, a waxed Barbour jacket that did not really go with the rest of the outfit, but at least would give a bit of warmth in the late October evening.

A quick jaunt down the road and around the corner saw them into Balliol, where the party was in full swing. The historic venue, with its towering stone columns and dimly lit alcoves, felt like a portal to antiquity. Inside, undergraduates mingled in their costumes. A Roman Centurion here, ancient Grecians in varying lengths and styles of tunic - some fastened on one shoulder, others on both. A goodly amount of sideboob and thigh on display. One third year seemed to be embracing his Brythonic nature, although perhaps not particularly accurately, with brightly coloured trousers and blue woad spirals over his torso and face, a faux wolf pelt over his shoulder.

At the entrance to the wood-panelled main hall, Mark and Fiona shrugged off their coats in the makeshift cloakroom, revealing themselves to the approving murmurs of arriving guests. Mark's chiton draped loosely, hinting at his spare but athletic form beneath, while Fiona's self-made Minoan dress stole the show. They picked up a glass of Prosecco each and began to mingle with their course colleagues, who could not, of course, entirely hide their glances at Fiona's bare breasts.

"It's accurate to the frescoes," Fiona explained to a cluster of wide-eyed classmates in the main hall, her Edinburgh lilt cutting through the chatter. "You know, the locus classici--like the snake goddess figurines from Knossos and the wall paintings at Akrotiri. The openness was a symbol of fertility and power, not scandal." She shimmied her shoulders a little as she spoke, thoroughly enjoying the effect she was having on the male students, not least Mark, whom she knew was tied up.

Mark himself was conscious of a feeling of exposure being bare below mid-thigh and with nothing beneath his tunic save the kynodesme, which he was almost getting used to. A first year student, Maisie, ran her fingers lightly across his thigh just as she passed, wine glass in her other hand. She was dressed in a white halterneck gown, ancient Egyptian style costume jewellery and a Nefertiti-style blue headdress. She gave him a wink from an eye heavy with kohl and silver eyeshadow as she made her way past.

"Careful there, Spartan," she teased over her shoulder, "or you'll end up like one of those helots, bound and begging for mercy."

Mark chuckled, raising his glass. "Helots? Please, I'm pure Athenean stock tonight. And should I fall for the Nile's allure when I have the Aegean?"

"Well met," Maisie mouthed as she moved away.

Fiona's exposed form continued to draw admiring glances, which she met with a confident smile, and growing excitement. Mark stayed close by, putting a possessive arm on her waist whenever a male student would get a little too intense. He leaned in to her ear, whispering compliments that made her cheeks flush.

During a conversation with a few other students about Ovid, Mark even traced his fingernail along the contour of Fiona's breast as she spoke, testing to see if he could interrupt her chain of thought. She continued though admirably, although her patter quickened.

As the conversation continued on, she leaned in. "Feel that draft?" she whispered.

He grinned. "Adds to the thrill."

Another round of drinks followed, with further glances and touches. Finally, Mark could stand it no longer. "Let's find somewhere quiet"

"Lead on, bold Athenian" Fiona agreed.

They slipped out of the hall and down the stone steps, facing the tree lined quadrangle. Stealing away to their left as they dismounted the steps, Mark led Fiona to the great stone buttresses which held up the hall. Pressed against the wall, they kissed urgently.

Fiona's hand slid up Mark's inner thigh and cupped his balls. "Mmmmnfggh" he groaned, breaking the kiss. "I'm still tied up, Fiona."

Squatting on her haunches, Fiona deftly lifted the hem of the chiton and admired Mark's cock, straining against the lace. She reached and untied first the knot holding the shoelace around his waist, and then the knot around his tip. His member sprang forwards, pulsating.

Fiona took him briefly in her mouth, sucking firmly, then stood up, rubbing his shaft a few times, before hoicking up her white and blue skirt in a gesture of anasyrma, twisting to show Mark her bare buttocks. Underneath, nothing. She placed both hands on the stone of the buttress, and looked over her shoulder at Mark. "Now" she commanded. "Take me now, my bold Theseus. Show this Ariadne the strength of your ardour."

Mark positioned himself behind, and, finding her already wet below, guided himself in. He slid in and thrust a few times, adjusting his pose as he did so to gain leverage. He then started to build a gentle rhythm, with Fiona pushing back in counterpoint.

"Don't stop!" Fiona gasped, "oh gods and goddesses, I'm close!"

Mark felt a pressure building in his loins, and tried to hold it back as Fiona's breaths quickened, her hands readjusting for purchase on the stone.

"No," she said abruptly, shifting so that Mark fell out, and turning round, placing her back to the stone buttress. "Like this." She lifted a knee, placing one sandaled foot flat on the stone. Mark shuffled forward, fumbling through her skirts to find his way back in. She placed her arms wrapped around his back. He began to thrust again, bucking his hips slightly, his shaft now brushing against her clit.

Fiona shuddered slightly, then squealed into Mark's shoulder. "Yes, yes, yes, yes!". His own release nearing, Mark took hold of her buttocks and lifted her up slightly, adjusting the angle of entry, before pumping into her. He felt himself spurt, moaning involuntarily as he did.

Letting her gently back down into both her feet, Mark brushed a few loose tendrils of her hair back into place, and kissed her deeply. Fiona and Mark then adjusted their clothes, such as they were. Mark cat a glance to the floor, but in the dim light could not see the leather shoelace. No matter, he thought, as his cock was losing its tumescence swiftly in the chill air. "That was divine," he said simply.

"Back to the mortals?" invited Fiona. Linking her arm through his, she steered Mark back up the steps and into the party again. As far as they knew, their secluded tryst hadn't been seen, although the faint risk of being caught had certainly heightened the excitement for both.

"Ariadne? Theseus?" queried Mark, sotto voce as she poured them both a glass of wine, "where did that come from?"

"I gave you a magic thread, remember?" said Fiona, handing back to him the black shoelace, coiled in her hand.