Dr. Thomas Pincher had everything a man could ever want. Independently wealthy, his family had made millions in the stock market back in the 80s, and it was upon this considerable trust fund that he lived quite comfortably. With no interest in the family business, he had pursued academics as a career as that was truly his passion. His father had the business sense, but he was always the bookish type. Thriving in the atmosphere of dusty old libraries, the slight whiff of mildew from ancient undiscovered books almost made his dick as hard as the sights of gloriously uncovered freshmen girls sunbathing on the quad. Normally such bookish pursuits do not lead to wealth, so Thomas was very fortunate to have the resources to pursue his passion and he thrived in his academic career. When his father died he came into a considerable fortune, and after wisely investing it, and setting up a cushy trust fund for himself, he was set for life.
His specialty was European History, with Dark Ages Europe being his particular concentration, and he was world renown as an expert in the time period. Entering his quite large home just off campus, you would think that you had stepped back in time once you entered. All of his walls were covered in maces, swords and original tapestries from the Middle Ages and his bookshelves were crammed with hundreds of original documents from the period. Fluent in Latin, Greek, French and German, and knowing a smattering of many other languages, Dr. Pincher could read all of these documents in their original script. Nothing excited him more than finding some original undiscovered book or scroll and reading straight from the actual source before anyone could translate it.
His tremendous wealth allowed for his indulgence of this passion, as history professors are not as a rule well compensated, and it also allowed him more earthy pursuits as well. Devastatingly handsome and incredibly rich, Dr. Pincher had the pick of almost any woman he could want and many a coed beauty's panties landed on the original 9th century carpet in his bedroom.
To make most of the male readers of this story even greener with envy, the handsome and rich academic found himself, at the young age of thirty-five, the head of the History Department at a small All female college in Vermont. It was a plum position and his connections and money gave him a direct line to the President of that college who had invested wisely with his Dad's firm. Once hired, he rose quickly and became the youngest department head in the Saint Bridget's history.
St. Bridget's College, apart from being highly honored for academics, was well known for being just brimming with hotties from all over New England. These dual reputations assured that there were always lots of anxious male professors looking to apply for a position that was not only a good career move but as a substantial unstated benefit a place dripping in beautiful, curvy and very open minded distractions. As a young, attractive professor swimming in a sea of such impressionable silken wonders, he was living the life most men could never dream was possible.
The nubile coeds of Saint Bridget's all had responded quite well to handsome Dr. Pincher's presence in their midst and had long made a tradition of making the bedding the Doctor part of their unofficial curriculum. The good doctor, with a stronger libido than most, was more than happy to oblige such ball jingling extracurricular studies and rarely did a week go by without some beautiful young ass being planted onto Thomas's willing open mouth.
As is the case with most things in life, to those whom much has been given much is required, and despite such bounty falling so effortlessly into his lap, Thomas was still amazingly unsatisfied. Despite literally drowning in a non-stop supply of fresh young pussy, he craved something more. These beautiful, young and quite adventuresome co-eds were obviously very PHYSICALLY attractive to him, but none really excited him in his core being. Even the more mature women he interacted with bored Dr. Pincher as few shared his intellectual curiosity and most, if not all, were completely bored by his manic and all consuming passion for the study of the past.
His burning passion was Medieval history and every summer, while his less financially secure colleagues scrambled for extra cash by taking on teaching additional courses or doing odd jobs, he flew to Europe for a three-month sabbatical, half research and half vacation. It was on just such an excursion that Thomas accidentally made a discovery that would change his life forever.
This summer he had decided to travel extensively through Eastern Europe, an area that had long fascinated him and a part of the continent still unspoiled by the relentless modernizing west. With Communism a distant memory, and the dollar still strong against the local currencies, Dr. Pincher found he could live like a King (especially with his wealth) and therefore hired a personal driver and guide for his travels. All through the Winter and Spring he dreamed of a long hot summer studying original manuscripts in dusty monasteries while soaking up the local culture and food. As May ended and the term was over, his hands literally quivered in excitement as he packed his bags. Tomorrow he would drive first to Boston and then fly on to Bucharest for the beginning of three long glorious uninterrupted months of study, completely cut off from the rest of the world.
The drive from Vermont to Logan Airport was uneventful and as his flight out was not until late that afternoon, Dr. Pincher was able to leisurely take his time on the drive, enjoying the feel of the late spring sun on his skin as he drove his silver Porsche convertible down route 95. Oh how much tail this car had gotten him he giggled as he patted the dashboard feeling almost guilty about having it cooped up until September in a garage. Getting through security, and lounging in the Club Lounge with a nice Pinot Noir, he grinned as he looked over the travel books he had purchased for the long flight. His trip would begin in Bucharest, but would primarily consist of thoroughly exploring the vast countryside of Romania for months.
Romania is now, as it has been for years, one of the most backward and underdeveloped countries in Europe. Years of communist mismanagement and corruption had completely degraded the infrastructure, and there were very few roads that would pass muster in the west outside the immediate area around Bucharest. Travel here was a challenge and was one of the factors that had Thomas decide to hire a driver and guide. He may be an expert in Medieval History but he certainly was not so knowledgeable of the local traffic laws or routes to take to avoid destroying the rental car.
Hundreds of small villages dot the largely rural landscape, some still without electricity or even running water as modernity seemed to not have been able to penetrate the snowcapped mountains and fog shrouded forests of the southern Carpathians. The land is wild and the people are hearty, hard-working and very suspicious, living in a state almost as if the Middle Ages never ended. It was these very qualities that attracted Dr. Pincher to this trip, and with each flip of page after glorious page of the scenic pictures of rural Romania, he literally vibrated with excitement. His mouth salivated as this seemed to be exactly what he was looking for, a true journey back in time. Hearing the boarding call for his flight over the loudspeaker, he tipped the bartender and strolled to the gate, looking forward to a nice relaxing overnight transatlantic flight in first class.
Continuing to read up on this area of the world as he flew from Boston to Bucharest, Thomas could feel his mouth continue to salivate as he looked at pictures of the rural backward world he was about to enter. This was EXACTLY what he was looking for and he was almost giddy with excitement at exploring a part of Europe that most people avoid. Flying in first class, the stewardess could not help notice the dark, handsome young man flying alone, and peaked over his shoulder at his book as she poured him another glass of Pinot.
Being a first class stewardess on these overseas flights had not turned out to be the boon she had hoped and seeing an attractive man traveling alone, she smoothed her uniform out and pushed her breasts up to spruce herself up. At only twenty-five and quite stunning in her almost model-like beauty, her imagination had created all kinds of hopelessly romantic scenarios in her mind. So many dreams of hers had ended where rich young heirs would swoop her off her feet and whisk her away to a life of luxury; her cocktail fetching, blanket tucking days behind her. Sadly, for her, life is rarely like the Harlequin Romance Novels she loved, and most of the passengers she had encountered over the years were either ancient, married or hedge-fund assholes that only were interested in possibly joining the mile-high club in the first class bathroom.
Seeing Dr. Pincher as he boarded she was instantly attracted to him and grew increasingly flirty during the trip. He was just her type. Tall, dark wavy hair, tweed jacket, adorable glasses and obviously well sculpted body, he had her panties instantly moist when he flashed his coed melting smile and asked for another Pinot.
In the dark night over the Atlantic, with all of the other passengers asleep, Thomas smiled as they chatted, lazily running his eyes up and down her gorgeous body. The first class cabin was quiet and he was enjoying the attentions of the beautiful stewardess as they talked through the night. She was just his type as well; top heavy, long lickable legs, long dark hair and matching dark eyes. Throughout the night the two playfully chatted and flirted as he wished she could join him on his tour, wanting so much to have those full womanly thighs wrapped tightly around his ears. As morning broke and they began their descent into Bucharest, he playfully gave his female diversion a nice peck on the cheek as he prepared to begin his journey. Hopefully, he thought, he would be able to enjoy the attentions of some big breasted peasant girls on this trip as he prepared to brave the clusterfuck that was immigration control in Romania.
Landing in the rickety rundown airport of Bucharest, he practically ran through customs, his whole body tingling with excitement to get started on his sabbatical. As he cleared the final customs officer, there waiting for him past the barrier was a character straight out of Bram Stoker, holding a sign that completely massacred his name "Dz Pnytchter".
