Story by: Adam West
This is a true story.
I recall it was late spring when we arrived in Agadir and, since my birthday is at that time of year, I can’t remember if it was before or after. Growing up in rural England as an only child, my parents and I had had mainly seaside holidays around the UK. Once we had been to Spain, a couple of years before this trip. In reality, I no longer wanted to go on holiday with my parents but, when they said they wanted to try Morocco, I was interested enough to agree to go.
I knew I didn’t fit in as youth. As I looked around the sports changing room at school, I found myself fantasizing about other boys and one stood out from the rest: a boy called Ali. He was of Pakistani descent and he developed well before any of us. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as his black pubic hair sprouted around his penis, circumcised, the only boy in the room not to have a foreskin. The more his penis filled out at puberty, the more excited I became, and I tried desperately to hide it. But nothing would come of it. I was the odd one out and too afraid to make plain what was going on in my head and in my loin. I often wondered, alone in my room, what it would be like to feel Ali enter me. He was the image of my wet dreams and teenage masturbation sessions, several times a day. I wanted to be his property.
I was a slim boy, dark blonde hair and pale skin. In England this was normal: I didn’t stand out and was rather introverted and shy. No one showed interest in me.
Morocco came as a shock to me. The sheer assault on the senses: smells of spices, fruit, and tobacco in the old town of Agadir was like nothing I had ever experienced. We stayed in a modern hotel, facing the sea, and my parents wanted to stay around the pool and beach for most of the time. On an excursion to the old town, I noticed men looking at me. I was wearing white, tight shorts, as was the fashion, and a T-Shirt with some logo or other emblazoned on the front. When my parents would stop to look at things in shops, local men in robes, that I later found out were called djellabas, would smile at me; one even moved his hand over his crotch and cupped it as if grabbing his genitals. This smiling and gesturing always happened when my parents were looking away or were ahead of me – I was usually a few paces behind. I loved this attention, the dark-skinned men with eyes like ebony made my heart race. I had my own room, now that I was not a child, and I lay on my bed and imagined what it would be like to have one of these Moroccan men dominate me, push me down and penetrate me. I had no idea how that would feel but I wanted it. I knew instinctively that I wanted to be owned by them.
A couple of days before we were due to leave, I asked my parents if we could go back to the old town on the pretense of buying a gift for a friend. They wouldn’t let me go out alone, so I had to get them to go with me. We strolled around the bazaar, browsing for teapots, ceramics, small rugs, and all the time I could feel the eyes of men on me. As my parents were engaged in picking up some object or other, a shopkeeper chatting to them, trying to get them involved in haggling, I would be looking around me. Several men smiled at me, looking me up and down. It felt so good to get the attention I never got at home.
We found ourselves in a narrow-fronted shop that was long, a curtain dividing the front section from the back room. There were wooden racks of lentils, rice, spices, and above, on shelves, red ceramic tagines, and dishes. As my parents were pointing to the dishes, a shopkeeper came towards us. He was a large man, though not exactly fat. He had dark skin, typical of this region, though not black, and had a few day’s greyish stubble on his chin. He wore a faint-striped djellaba down to the ground and I could see he had slip-on sandals covering his bare feet as he walked towards us. As he took down a dish and handed it to my father to inspect, the man stared at me, his eyes moving from my head to my toes. To my young eyes, he seemed old but a man of thirty seems old when we are in our teens. Thinking of him now, he was probably around forty years old. When I caught his eye, he grinned broadly, revealing a wide smile and a gold tooth on the left side of his mouth. He talked a little to my father in French then looked back at me. I knew instinctively that he wanted to devour me, to take me and use me. My heart was racing. I didn’t know where to look. I was afraid my parents would notice what was going on.
They bought four dishes and we went to leave. They left ahead of me and I looked back. The man moved towards me and whispered something which I vaguely understood as,
‘….tasse de thé avec moi ce soir…’
I stared at him, not knowing what to say. As I went to leave, a much younger man, slim with short curly back hair, wearing old jeans and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, touched my arm and grinned, staring me in the eyes. He said something to the older man in Arabic and they both watched me leave, several steps behind my parents.
That night, after dinner in the hotel, we went for a walk along the beach. Luckily, when we got back, my parents said they were tired and we all went to our rooms. Once there, I could think of nothing else but the men who had watched me, the looks and smiles that said, ‘I want to take you and make you mine.’ I waited an hour, which seemed like an eternity then I snuck out and went down to the street.
The night seemed more menacing than the day, fewer tourists and shops closing, lights low everywhere. I made my way back to the old town, still in my shorts, though the night air was slightly chilly. A few old men came towards me and made comments in Arabic and one even tried brushed my ass with his palm as I passed.
I walked slowly along the street, heart pounding until I reached the shop. No one was in the front section. The younger man was standing outside the shop opposite and he called out something in Arabic. The curtain parted and there was the man. He grinned and beckoned me into the shop. I looked back and the young man was rubbing his crotch though his dirty jeans, a cigarette in his other hand.
Through the curtain were sacks of produce, two footstools and a small table. He waved his hand for me to sit. The stool was low and I was nervous. As I sat, I kept my legs together.
-‘Non. Anglais’ – I replied.
‘Oui, oui, mais … speak French?’
He asked, breaking into faltering English.
– ‘Un petit peu.’ – I offered in my basic schoolboy French.
He pulled back the curtain and called out to the street whereupon the young man opposite appeared with a silver tray, a little teapot, and two small cups on top. The young man looked me all over then left, grinning, saying something throaty in Arabic at which the older man laughed.
I drank hot, sweet tea and the man tried a little conversation along the lines of how long I was staying and did I like Morocco but we hardly understood each other. On the other hand, we both understood perfectly why I was there.
Tea finished, he stuck his head out of the curtain and called out to the young man again, I guess for him to watch the shop. The man, moved across and sat on a large sack, packed with some foodstuff. I was still on the stool, looking at him. He stared at me as I waited for something to happen. As he fixed his glaze on me, he gently pulled his djellaba up over his knees, lifted himself slightly off the sack so it would free it up to go all the way, and pulled it up to his waist. His stomach was round and hairy, his thighs thick and heavy and in the middle of this was his penis: dark, thick, long and stiff, the head throbbing. He nodded to me to move over. With my heart in my mouth, I slid onto the floor in front of him. He nodded again for me to move between his feet and I did. I sat, legs to my side and looked up at him. It was then he took my hair in his strong left hand, lifted me up by it so I was forced onto my knees and thrust my head onto his proud cock. At first, I licked the head of his hard manhood. I had little idea what to do. He pushed his fore and index fingers into my mouth and forced open my lips. He then pushed his penis into the gap. At first, I couldn’t breathe and tried to pull away but he grabbed my head and forced me back onto him. Slowly, he began to move his thick cock in and out of my salivating mouth. He tasted of sweat and I began to lick his cock head and he moved back and forth. I got a little carried away and he pulled my hair and forced me to stare him in the eye. He slapped my cheek enough for it to burn and said
Back into the mouth, he thrust as I tried to suck without my teeth getting in the way. My mouth ached but he wouldn’t let me stop. He moved forward on the sack to give him more momentum, then he started to really pound my mouth, his now salty penis hitting the back of my throat. I backed off and found my mouth full of saliva. I swallowed it and looked up at him. I could see his cock was glistening now and looked a little sticky. I didn’t know what would happen next. He was in control. I was his servant.
He stood up and pushed me back so my head was directly in front of his protruding penis, now harder than ever. Once again, he grabbed my head and drew my mouth onto him. For what seemed likes ages, he pushed himself between my lips. The taste of sweat had now given way to a clear salty flavor and I could feel a small amount of juice come from him. He slowed down a little now and I was ready for him to burst in my mouth, my first ever taste of sweet semen. As he relaxed the pace, he leaned forward over me and tugged at my shorts. Getting a hold of the back of them, he pulled hard so I had to stand up, bending forward to maintain contact with his proud cock. He dragged down my shorts with a strong tug, pulled out of my mouth then, grabbing my T-shirt, he pushed me head first over the sack. It was quite scratchy and firm. I looked back over my shoulder to see him take a small bottle of oil, which he applied to his penis, rubbing it from balls to head. Then I felt his fingers caressing my anus. I was completely hairless in the back and he oiled me and slipped two fingers inside. A sharp pain shot through my body and I cried out.
He shushed me and stroked my ass cheeks.
I looked back again and saw his thick, dark shaft, shiny with oil, hard as a rock, as he lifted me from the stomach so I was barely resting on the sack. His breathing paused for a moment and I felt him pushing against my virgin ass. It wouldn’t go in. He massaged more oil into my rectum then put his throbbing head against me again. It seemed it wouldn’t go in then, suddenly, it gave way and he slipped all the way in, so quickly and so deep that his thighs slapped against my buttocks. There was a second when I felt nothing, then an incredible pain came over me. It seemed my whole torso was in agony. This large man was inside my body and I cried out. I pushed his thigh with my hand; he grabbed it and pushed it aside.
Shhhhhh. Shhhhhhh. C’est bon. C’est bon
He stayed still for a moment or two, still inside me. The pain subsided as my rectum adjusted to being stretched for the first time. Once I had stopped moaning, he began to move in and out of me. I felt little pain now; instead, a feeling of excitement. He breathed heavily whilst he pushed in and pulled out of me.
As I became lost in the moment, I heard the curtain being pulled back. The man who was so deep into me uttered a sentence in Arabic. I panicked a little that there was someone else here while this man took my virginity and took ownership of me. I turned my head to see the young man with curly hair. As the older man continued to slide in and out, the young man undid his belt and dropped his jeans. He had nothing underneath but a long, slim erection. The older man stopped pushing now. They said a few words to each other, then my man pulled out of me. He took my buttocks and twisted them to make me turn around. He pushed me back onto the sack, this time on my back. Lifting my legs up high so my ass crack was exposed, he bowed and spat on my anus. Now I could see just how large his erection was. I couldn’t believe that this had been inside my small ass, destroying it, and now he was going in again. He leaned over me, looked me in the eye, and, whispering, ‘petit pute’, he slid into me again. The change of position led to more pain. It felt like he was controlling my whole body as he thrust into me.
As this happened, the younger man moved into position. He stood next to my head and then, grabbing my jaw, he spat into my mouth then again onto my face. He wiped his spit all over my mouth then massaged his penis over me until it was solid. With the old man penetrating me rapidly and deeply, the young man aggressively slid his manhood in and out of my mouth. Just like the older man, he hit me hard across the cheek and told me not to use my teeth. I sucked hard on this long, yet slimmer cock. At one point, he pulled out and forced my face into his balls, musky and damp. I licked them clean while he called me once again a whore.
Suddenly, I became aware that the older man was picking up speed and his breathing was getting deeper and faster. I could feel him stiffen even more inside me. He said a word or two to the young man who withdrew from my mouth, though he continued to wipe his cock across my face. The older man was now pumping harder at my devastated anus. The young man grinned from ear to ear as he looked me in the eye as if to say, ‘you are about to be owned by your first Muslim, whore.’
Now, some pain returned as he slammed his rock-hard cock into me. I saw his eyes roll up, he shuddered, the hammering of my anus was relentless and I clung on to the sack so as not to be bumped off. The shopkeeper’s breathing now became rapid, he went for the last battering of my rectum, the young man grinned again and nodded and there was a sudden loud groan from the old man as he slammed against me and shuddered three times. Sweat was pouring from his forehead. He slumped over me and took short, sharp breaths. I felt him soften deep inside my body. After a moment, he gently pulled back and his penis slipped out of me. I was exhausted and my ass was on fire.
Just as I thought it was over, the young man moved into position. The older man held my arms back above my head and without any warning, the young man slipped into me. Although slimmer, his cock was longer and it hit something deep inside me and I yelled out. The youth slapped me hard across my face and called me ‘pute’ again. I couldn’t move as the older man held me down. The truth was that I didn’t want to get away.
This younger man had more energy and was slamming into me at terrifying speed. I watched as he too sweated, as it dripped onto his chest, him having removed his shirt before mounting me.
As he banged me without mercy, I could feel him too start to harden up even more. My hands were still held by my first man and this younger man had the stamina of an ox. He didn’t even pause, just thrust after thrust, not even a second between them. I saw in his eyes what I had seen in the older man’s too: a sudden fixated stare, then a slight rolling up. I knew now what was about to happen: I would be filled with even more Muslim seed. Then it happened. He let out a final ‘pute’ and groaned deeply. After he had deposited his juice in me, he froze for a moment in the standing position, his penis still deep, though growing softer. He then withdrew, turned his back me and wiped his cock with a cloth. Then he simply left. He didn’t look back at me.
The shopkeeper helped me to my feet. He handed the same cloth the other man had used to clean himself. I wiped my ass. There was only oil on the cloth when I looked: every bit of their juice remained inside me. I got dressed as the older man wiped himself and dropped his djellaba back into place.
Nothing more was said, except when I went to leave, he said in a soft voice,
I didn’t know whether I could sneak off the next evening as it was our last in Agadir.
I made it back to my room without my parents ever knowing I had gone out. I went to bed and slept naked, now feeling that my sexuality had awakened. Inside me, I had the seed of two Muslim men who had claimed me. I drifted off to sleep until around three o’clock when I woke to find myself in a pool of warm liquid. Turning on the light, the semen I had held within me had finally left my body, it having taken the nutrients out and deposited what was left on the sheet. I did nothing for while but lay in it. It was a massive amount that formed a slick two feet across.
They had marked the territory for all their bothers who would follow them. Since that night, I have welcomed many Muslim brothers into my body. They are the only men I will allow to penetrate me bare because I know for them it is a matter of pride and it is my duty and privilege to receive their seed.
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Beautiful. After pleasuring the first Muslim you know your place. Same happened to me.
Oh yes. Same. After my first use by a Muslim man I was hooked forever.
awesome brought back many memories
Yes if does. I got one of the longest hardest fuckings of my life from a young apparently straight Moroccan man who picked me up late one evening in a sandwich shop in Agadir.
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