I am reading Ovid's Heroides, translated by Harold Isbell (Penguin Books, 1990), The premise of Heroides is that we are reading a collection of letters written by lovers from classical mythology. One of the letters is from Acontius to his beloved Cydippe whom he has trapped into a promise of marriage.
A note informs the reader of the story of Acontius and Cydippe: "Cydippe had gone to the temple of Diana at Delos when a young man Acontius rolled an apple across the pavement before her with an inscription scratched on its surface. Unable to resist her curiousity, Cydippe stooped to pick up the apple and noticing the inscription read the words aloud, 'I swear by this place that is sacred to Diana to marry Acontius.' By making the statement, she had in fact sworn an oath [Duh! Harold Isbell]."
At one point in Acontius's epistle, he expresses this hetero masochistic sentiment: Call me before you, be an angry mistress tear my hair, and with fingers bruise my cheeks. I will submit to anything and my only fear is that your delicate hand will be injured in striking at me. (page 206)
The Perv's Version
Cydippe strolled into the temple of Diana with her younger brother Calypigus. Since many a poet has recited at wearisome length the charms of Cydippe's (to my mind rather grotesquely large) boobs and gaping cunt (the cunt that had the power to launch a thousand ships if Helen's twat hadn't gotten there first), let me focus on her lesser known kid brother, Calypigus.
Calypigus rather strikingly resembled a cute babyish bartender called Eric in Dallas for whom the perv would unsuccesfully lust many thousands of years later on. But I digress. Small and slender and olive skinned, with large dark eyes, a yummily kissable mouth, and a deliciously rounded, articulated arse with a deep plunging cleft and the pinkiest and winkiest and most virginal of holes. A hole that was wasted straining and expelling the rich chocolatey turds, while the healthy Greek boy stroked and pleasured his moderate sized penis. (For the Greeks, large dicks were despised. Satyrs had large dicks; beautiful boys had small, elegant penises, [shouldn't there be a word like peni? penix? Rising like a penix from the ashes. But I digress.]
Hiding behind a pillar was a tall, balding very hairy Greek called Acontius. Acontius had his eye on Cydippe because he knew her father had a considerable fortune. For a good enough dowry, he was willing to close his eyes, lie back, and think of drachmas while plunging his moderately hard dick into the rather repulsive fishy, pinky heart of darkness, Cydippe's celebrated twat. To win Cydippe, he had prepared an elaborate ruse, an apple with a message on it.
When Acontius spotted Cydippe's gorgeous sibling, though, he forgot all about his ruse. As his _c_o_c_k_ rose, the apple slipped from his fingers and rolled across the floor. Cydippe didn't even notice it; she was too busy waggling those celebrated tits at every passing soldier.
But Cydippe's gorgeous if not very bright kid brother did. Turning with his arse facing Acontius, he bent over and laboriously attempted to read the inscription on the apple. Acontius couldn't resist. He darted forward. With one hand, he grabbed the boy's delicate short black hair and wrenched it almost from off its roots. With his right hand, he first plunged his second finger deep into Callypigus's arse crack and pulled it in and out once or twice, making a satisfying squishy sound. He then pulled it far back and began with great relish swatting the boy's adorable arsehold.
"Oh let me join in," pealed Cydippe in girlish tones.
"Leave them alone, you silly bint," declared Diana. "If you want some action, come here. I've got a _d_i_l_d_o_ that needs breaking in."
Callypigus's eyes filled with tears at the burning, stinging swats. His face was red as blood rushed down and his ears were buzzing, as he kept his eyes down fixed steadily on the apple.
But good little slave boy that he was, he remembered his duty to Acontius and declared humbly:
tear my hear, and fingers bruise my cheeks [and what gorgeous cheeks they were] I will submit to anything and my only fear is that your delicate hand Will be injured in striking at me.
No fear that Acontius's hairy, virile hand will be injured striking at Callypigus's golden arse. Far far more fear that the perv's little stubby hand will suffer injury as it furiously jerks his stubby little _c_o_c_k_ back and forth, turned on by Ovid and his own wit.