Story by: Adam West

I woke up in the morning with the thought that just twenty-four hours earlier, I had been untouched by another man: a virgin. My body ached and my ass was sore but there was a psychological change too. I could describe it as an itch that had to be scratched. I wanted more of what I had been given the night before and so the decision was made: I had to go back for more before I left this place that had changed me forever.

It was the longest day of my life. Sitting by the pool with my parents, strolling along the beach, having lunch and trying to make conversation was like wading through mud. All I could think about was how I had felt being taken by Muslim men who had planted their seed inside me. After dinner, I was waiting for my parents to go to bed so I could leave without their knowing, but they wanted to stay and watch the entertainment at the hotel on our last night. I told them I wanted to pack and go to sleep. For more than an hour I lay in the dark; I wanted my parents to see no light under my door when they got back, so they would think I was asleep. I was counting the minutes and trying not to sleep or I would miss my second chance to receive whatever it was those virile Moroccans would give me. The truth is that I could not have slept anyway with the amount of adrenaline pumping around my body. Eventually, I heard their door open in the adjoining room, then the shower, and I knew it was safe for me to escape.

Making my way out of the hotel, I went off to the old town once more. It was cooler and I was wearing jeans this evening, not my skimpy, tight shorts, but that didn’t stop men, young and old, from smiling and looking at me with lust. I was going to miss this when I got home: no one would give me a second glance. One or two called out words in Arabic and I had no idea what they were saying.

As I entered the old town, I felt a tap on my arm. It was the young man from last night, grinning widely.

‘Encore?’ he asked and fondled my right ass cheek.

‘Oui,’ I replied

He grabbed my arm and took me towards the shop where I had been initiated last night. As we approached, I saw that the shutters were almost down and there was a little light coming from inside.

‘Hassan! Hassan!’ called out the young man. Then he said something excitedly in Arabic. The shutters moved up enough for us to duck underneath and I was then back in the shop and face to face with the shopkeeper, still in his djellaba, smiling at me, the familiar gold tooth prominent.

‘Ah, bonsoir, petit,’ he said whilst placing his left hand on my right buttock and fingering my anus through my jeans.

The two men had an animated conversation to which I was oblivious, then the young man lowered himself back under the shutters and disappeared.

Hassan asked me to sit on one of the tiny stools and, holding up his palm, said, ‘Attends, attends…’

I didn’t know what we were waiting for. I was waiting for him to touch me, or undress, but nothing happened for what seemed like ages, then the young man came back, whom I now knew was called Ismail. He said something in an animated manner to Hassan and they beckoned me to follow them. Out we went onto the street, Hassan stopping to close and lock the shutters.

We walked along the street for about a hundred metres. As we walked, an old, fat man in an off-white djellaba came towards us. Looking at me like he would take me there and then, he grabbed his crotch and said something to Hassan, who got angry and shooed him away. As he walked away, the old man turned back, pointed at me and rubbed his fingers together, the way people do to indicate money and he simply said, ‘pute.’ He pointed at a café and called out to me, ‘Ici. Ici,’ then rubbed his fingers again, stepping inside.

We came to a door between shops and Ismail gave me a little push to go inside. There was a set of steep, stone steps. We climbed them. At the top of the staircase sat an old man on a dirty wooden chair. He was thin, almost bald, and was grubby; he was smoking and drinking tea. When he saw me, he grinned and I saw he had crooked, discoloured teeth. He hadn’t shaved for some time. He spoke to Hassan and the only word I understood, said several times, was ‘Menani’. The dishevelled man left and we entered a room, square with a small window up high with coloured, woven rugs thrown over the floor that overlapped and around a dozen leather pouffes. It looked like the kind of place people met to talk. There was small table with a tea pot and small cups on top.

I was feeling rather nervous by now, wanting to know what was going on. Ismail sensed this and gestured me to sit on a pouffe, then he took one and sat next to me. He lit up a cigarette and held it in his right hand. With his left, he reached across and slid his hand into my T-shirt.

‘Beau, mon pute,’ he said.

He broke into a sort of pidgin English to say, ‘You…sex….Musulman….encore..’

Hassan handed me a bottle of water, which I drank in one gulp, since I was so nervous and thirsty. He then sat on a pouffe facing me across the room and, just as he had the night before, he pulled his djellaba up so I could see his solid, large cock. He started touching himself but this time he didn’t gesture for me to go to him.

Footsteps on the stairs and some chatter, and into the room came another man. This was Menani. He was very tall and broad, maybe about Hassan’s age (forties), with a clipped beard and very dark skin. On his shaven head he wore a small embroidered hat, like a half-size fez, and on his body a loose djellaba in pale blue. With him was the grubby man with the bad teeth. He pointed at me and leered at my body, saying something to Menani. Both Hassan and Ismail laughed then Menani flicked his hand as if to say ‘leave’. He went out but I knew he was still at the top of the stairs because I heard no footsteps.

Menani was clearly a man of influence whom the others respected, though I didn’t know anything more about him. He stared at me and gestured for me to stand. As he stood there in front of me, I could see clearly a bulge appear in the middle of his djellaba. What a bulge it was too! As Hassan and Ismail watched from their pouffes, smiling and touching themselves, Menani moved towards me. He touched my young face and pushed his thumb into my mouth, pushing my head back at the same time, as if inspecting an animal he was about to buy. He smiled at me and he had beautiful teeth. He was a fine-looking man. He didn’t have to push the top of my head very firmly to get me to drop to my knees: I knew what to do. He grabbed the back of my head and pushed my face into his bulge, still concealed behind his djellaba. I could feel it was long and solid, as he rubbed it again and again against my cheeks. I looked up at his face and he grinned, enjoying having this young white boy under his control. He said something to Ismail and then he went and sat on one of the pouffes, leaving me on my knees on the rug. Ismail took me by the arm, stood me up and pulled off my T-shirt. Then he tugged at my jeans. I undid the buttons and he yanked them to the floor, then indicated for me to take them off. I slid out of my training shoes and was left only in my white socks. Throwing my clothes into a corner, Ismail left me standing there naked, my slim and pale, almost hairless body exposed, being watched by three men. Hassan continued to fondle his hard cock as he smoked a cigarette.

They were talking to each other and looking at me. I wanted to know what they were saying. Suddenly, Menani stood up, came over to me and grabbed my arm. He took me to the side of the room and forced me to bend, hands spread on the wall as he stood behind me. Still dressed, he rubbed his penis against my ass in a circular motion. This he did for a few minutes and as he did so, his breathing deepened. Then he stopped and said a few words to Ismail who left the room and spoke to the old man. Now Menani gestured for me to lie on the rug in front of him as he sat down. Hassan moved next to him. They waved their hands to get me lie face up, stretched out on the rug with my face close to their feet. Menani slipped his feet out of the leather sandals he wore and placed his feet onto my face, clad in black socks. His feet were sweaty, the smell intense. He rubbed them across me, forced his big toes into my mouth and sat back, enjoying the moment. Now Hassan joined in, so that I had four feet wiping my face; Hassan’s feet were bare and smelt musky. This went on for quite some time and they laughed and breathed heavily.

I was wondering what would happen next, then Ismail came back, the greasy man with him, carrying a small table. Menani pointed to the middle of the room and Ismail then placed a rug on top of it. The old man leered at me, stroked his crotch and spoke to Menani who, yet again, waved his hand to tell him to get out, yet this time the man looked back at me as I lay on the floor and rotated his forefinger at me as if to say ‘later’.

No sooner had he placed the table than Ismail pulled down his dyed jeans, knelt beside me and, while Menani and Hassan rubbed their feet clean on my face, he held his hard-on close to my face and jerked it while he gave me the full toothy grin that said, ‘I’m having you soon.’

A conversation started that I didn’t understand but I am pretty sure the gist of it was what order the proceedings would take: It was like a sort of hierarchy. Menani snapped something at Ismail, who grabbed my arm, put me on my knees and held my arms behind my back. Menani now stood up, the bulge even more visible and I noticed a small wet patch on his djellaba. With one swoop, he took it off and he stood there only in socks. His penis really was enormous. Hassan had taken a while to penetrate me last night but this was bigger – and thicker: almost black in colour with a lighter head. He didn’t have a single hair around his cock. My heart was breaking out of my chest by now. He turned briefly to say something to Hassan and they both laughed and I saw his buttocks were round, firm and his thighs solid, like those of a horse. He pushed his manhood at me and, as he was so tall, I had to rise up off my knees and prop myself with one leg bent, foot on the ground. I licked the head of this monster as Ismail came to stand next to Menani, his cock as stiff as it could be too. No sooner had I began to lick Menani’s beautiful penis, than Hassan appeared, his djellaba having been discarded too. I had three Muslim cocks standing proud before me, yet I knew I had to please Menani first. Pursing my lips, I took the head into my mouth and moved slowly to take some of his shaft. It wasn’t enough for him: he jabbed at my mouth and this thick, long, dark cock hit the back of my throat. I retched and tried to pull back but he held my head still until I could take it no more, then he let me breathe. In he went again and again. Several times he pinched my nose to create extra suction. There was no way I was going to get it all into my small mouth. When he finally gave me a short rest, Hassan came in and forced me onto his rigid tool, while Ismail held my hair and pushed and pulled me onto Hassan. When he too gave me a break, Ismail thrust into me with rapid strokes. My jaw ached and I thought I couldn’t take any more. They sensed this and, next thing I knew, Ismail slapped me on the ass hard, then across the face, and pointed to the table. He positioned me so that I was standing facing the table, hands down on the top of it and bent over. I could now clearly see the hierarchy that had been agreed as Hassan handed Menani the bottle of oil I’d seen him use himself the night before, as he took my virginity. He then poured some onto Ismail’s palm. I looked back and saw Menani oiling his standing weapon, soaking it so well that oil dripped onto the rug. I felt Ismail lubricate my anus with the oil, pushing it inside and massaging it into my ring which wasn’t very tight after last night’s events. There was some chatter and laughter then I felt Menani at my back door. He rubbed his penis head against my hole. As I looked behind me, I could see him bend his knees to get the right angle. He played again with my anus with his fingers then the cock head and then there was silence. The others stood and watched as he slid into me. Last night I had been in pain when Hassan took me for the first time. This time it was even more intense. He was just too big for my hole. I yelled out and moaned and he pulled out quickly. The pain subsided and he went in for a second attempt. He was probably halfway in and there he settled for moment until I stopped grimacing and called out, ‘oh….aaaahhhhh……ahhhhhh….no….’

They spoke and perhaps worked out a plan. Menani stood back and Hassan got into position. He grabbed my slim thighs and got into place then he thrust his cock into me with one movement. I felt him enter me and it was fine. It was he after all who had initiated me. He took long, smooth strokes in and out of me, making breathy sounds as I accommodated him within me. Ismail stood by and waited his turn. Hassan pulled out after Menani said a few words and he was back in place. This time, Menani didn’t hesitate: he simple followed where Hassan had gone and pushed hard and slid into my body. It was still painful. The sheer size of his penis would be a challenge for anyone, let alone my youthful ass. I let out a cry and he let his cock rest inside me so I became used to it. As we stood there, motionless, Menani having mounted me as I bent over the table, Ismail pushed my left arm aside and sat on the table in front of me. He pushed my head into his crotch. Before I could get my lips around his erect tool, he grabbed my chin, made me look at him and, opening my mouth with his fingers, spat on my tongue. Not happy with that, he did it again and again until he was satisfied that I had enough saliva to work his cock. He slapped me with the back of his hand across my left cheek, clenched his teeth, looked me in the eyes and said, ‘Pute. Petit pute.’ My tongue played with the head of his penis. I licked it as if it were an ice cream then he pushed me down onto his long manhood. Just as I began to suck at his head and run my tongue along his shaft, my ass caught fire as Menani started to move inside me. His thrusts were deep, his cock so big that I felt every single centimetre. Ismail’s cock was emitting pre-cum already; I could taste the saltiness of it and he let out a low moan so I knew I was giving him pleasure. Menani picked up speed and starting slamming my ass. I couldn’t believe I was taking all of him: I was tiny compared with him and I felt him so deep within me. I heard Hassan say something and repeat the phrase, as if for emphasis. Suddenly, Menani drew out of me and I felt a void in me. It was only temporary relief, though, because just when my anus had time to relax, in came Hassan, pumping at my hole with vigour. Ismail’s cock got wetter inside my mouth and I expected him to explode all over my tongue and down my throat. He had other ideas, though, and pulled out. He and Menani exchanged words and Hassan withdrew from me. Where was this going?

I soon found out as Hassan, strong and masculine, took my waist and, as Ismail moved aside, he planted me on the table, on my back. Ismail took my right leg, Hassan my right, and then lifted them into the air so my hole was exposed to Menani. He looked like a man on a mission now. He bit his lip with determination, pushed his gigantic, smooth organ at my ass and came in. It was easier for him to take me like this. Now I could see him as he banged me: his smooth body, defined chest and strong arms. He looked me in the eyes as he drove home his cock deep inside my ass and, it felt, beyond. Each thrust made it feel he owned me completely. Hassan and Ismail let go of my legs so they were kept in place by Menani’s chest, my white socked feet being pushed back and forth by his shoulders. I could see Hassan and Ismail getting into position. Hassan was touching his cock with anticipation and watching closely the way Menani pumped me non-stop. Menani rolled his hips and created a circular motion so his penis became like a drill, mining every little bit of my insides. Menani began to sweat profusely and he leant forward as he thrust harder so that it dropped onto my face. Ismail spotted it and ran his fingers through the drops and then into my mouth. I licked his fingers clean of Menani’s perspiration. Hassan looked excited as he said something to Menani. Menani now rammed me with passion, the thrusts relentless. My body was on fire as he penetrated my very being and I moaned loudly from my core. Then there was that familiar feeling: I felt his cock tighten inside me and it became rock hard. He stared into my eyes, his breathing was rapid; Ismail grinned at me as I lay there. Menani’s breathing was now so fast it sounded like he was hyperventilating, the thrusts so fast they were like bullets. Then, he started to moan.

‘Aaaayyyyy. Aaaayyyyy…’. There was one last, deep blow to my ass and his eyes closed as he let out a cry, ‘Aaaaoooooorrrghh’ and he released his Muslim cream into me. I have often heard it said that you cannot feel sperm being ejected into the ass but I swear that time I did: it seemed soothing, an antidote to the soreness I felt at taking such a big cock. He filled me with his glorious juice then collapsed over me. His breathing began to stabilise after a minute or so as Hassan and Ismail waited beside, desperate to let go of the contents of their balls too. Menani pushed himself up from me with his muscular arms, pulled back his body so his penis fell out of me then he simply backed away as Hassan got into position. As Hassan entered me again, I saw Menani about to leave the room, now dressed again. The old man came into the room and looked excitedly at what was happening. Menani waved his hand in my direction and the man grinned. Menani simply walked out.

Hassan fucked more slowly than Menani – it would have been impossible not to – and he looked down at his cock as it slid in and out of me. He was reclaiming property that he had first owned. Ismail looked impatient, touching his cock that was erect at an angle of about 70 degrees. My guess is that he was afraid he might burst before he got into me but he needn’t have worried. Hassan plunged deeper into my ass and I could tell he was on the point of depositing his load. Just a few more strokes and he too stiffened inside me then, for no reason other than I think he wanted me to know he was close, muttered in French, ‘Oui…..oui…..ah oui….’. His body shook as he released his precious semen into me. Ismail couldn’t wait any longer. He gestured to Hassan to get out of me. The young are far more eager to finish and, no sooner had Hassan vacated, Ismail entered. Just as he did last night, he ploughed away with fury, all the time saying under his breath, ‘Pute. Pute.’ Calling to Hassan, who was replacing his djellaba, he got him to hold my arms up above my head as I lay on the table. Ismail now absolutely hammered my anus. It was relentless and he seemed to take out some frustration in the act. Although smaller than Menani, this was harder for me because it was violent, although at no time did I want him to stop. He spat at my face and he slapped me several times, still calling me ‘pute’. Finally, he was ready to blow his sperm out into me to join the two loads I had already received. With one final, long exclamation of ‘puuuuuuttttttte’, he exploded into me. He rested his head on my chest. I ran my fingers through his hair but that annoyed him. He pushed my hand back and spat at my face. Then, dismounting me, he cleaned himself with a rag and left me on the table.

Hassan and Ismail were dressed to leave as I still lay there, exhausted. Hassan asked me in broken French, so I could understand,

‘Angleterre….quand?’

‘Demain,’ I replied

‘Ah bon. Au revoir, mon petit.’

They moved towards the door and I swung my legs down to pull myself off the table when Hassan held out his palm,

‘Non. Non. Attends ici.’

‘Mais porquoi?’ I asked

‘Ahmed!’ called Hassan and the dirty old man rushed into the room with a lusty look on his face. What would I do? He began to remove his stained djellaba and I didn’t know what to do. It passed through my mind that Hassan had taken me first and I must do as he said. His Muslim brother wanted to use me and I couldn’t refuse.

Ismail had left but Hassan stayed, probably to ensure I accepted Ahmed. He was at the bottom of the hierarchy and he would have what others had taken before him – like leftovers from a dinner, but he was keen. Undressed, his cock was thick and stiff. He had a lot of body hair, most of it grey. He knew he didn’t need any oil to get into me. I lifted my legs for him and he very quickly entered me. Hassan departed. My rectum was sore from the continuous action of the last hour but as he moved in and out, the combination of oil and semen I had within me served to ease the soreness and his thrusts were relatively comfortable. He held me down with his right arm when I tried to sit up as he fucked me. I suspected it had been some time since had had any sort of sexual encounter and I thought he wouldn’t last long but I was wrong. He wanted to string it out and enjoy it. Just when I thought he might come, he pulled out and tugged at my feet to get down. On my knees in front of him, he drove his moist tool into my mouth and began to pound me. I could taste sweat and semen on his penis as he forced his dark brown cock to the back of my throat. He was really going at it with energy I thought no old man would have. This went on for a while. Now both my ass and my mouth were sore and aching. I could taste his precum as it spilled out onto my tongue. He must have felt himself about to come so he quickly withdrew and pulled me into position, bending in front of him, hands on the table. In one move, his pole plunged deep inside my ass and he shoved it to and fro as he gasped for air. It wasn’t long before he let out the sign of what was to come now. He moaned several times until one final push and I had my fourth load of the night deep within my ass.

He held onto me for a few moments from behind, then simply flicked out his now flacid cock, put back on the greasy djellaba and went back to his stool at the top of the stairs.

I was now alone in the room. Wiping myself on a rag, I left. As I passed the old man, he grinned in a self-satisfied way, flicking up his eyebrows and nodding once as if to say ‘look what I did’.

As soon as I returned to my hotel room, I played the evening’s events over and over in my mind. I pleasured myself three times in the knowledge that I had taken six loads of Muslim sperm in the last two days, four of which were still swimming around inside me. After soiling the bed with semen last night, I had to be more careful, so I wore underwear when I finally slept. Sure enough, there was sticky sperm in my ass crack when I woke up, but not much. I was sure that Menani must have shot his hot semen really deep.

We had a very early morning flight home. We had been onboard for around 30 minutes when I felt it coming. Locking myself in the bathroom, I watched as a stream of Muslim manjuice left my body. In a way, I felt disappointed. I wanted to keep their seed inside me to remind me I belonged to them. My mission now would be to find their brothers, wherever they were, and be a receptacle for their superior sperm.

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