📘 Ten Days in Tunisia: Part Two – Douz

Nov 4, 2021 | 1 comment

STORY BY: ADAM WEST
Based on true events.

Following my exciting first evening in Sousse, I spent the next day resting by the pool and reading, ready for my trip to the edge of the Sahara. The receptionist who checked me in the day before came on duty at four o’clock and each time I passed he would give me a smile and ogle me. Although my rear was no longer sore or loose, I was not ready to receive the taxi driver. He sent me a text whilst I was by the pool at around lunchtime asking to see me that evening but I told him that I needed to rest and that I’d see him in two days’ time when I returned from my trip. He persisted and I resisted. I didn’t tell him the real reason that I couldn’t see him: that, having taken the seed of so many men in one night, I needed to give my body time to heal.

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I had booked a two-day excursion to Douz, known as the ‘gateway to the Sahara’. In the morning, I was collected at the hotel by a coach on which were other tourists of several nationalities. I got a seat on my own at the back and spent several hours looking out the window as the barren Tunisian countryside and small towns passed by. We visited the famous Star Wars film sets on our way to Douz and on arrival, once we had dropped our luggage at the hotel changed, we left for the obligatory camel ride on the edge of the dunes. Each of us had our own boy or man leading the camel for about twenty minutes and to help us on and off.

Dinner was very early for a good reason: we were to get up the next morning at half past four in order to go out and see the famous mirage over the Sahara. This was what many people had taken this excursion to see. By eight o’clock everyone had disappeared and I returned to my room too. I laid on my bed, not wanting to sleep, knowing that there must be possibility for sucking on a Muslim cock out there in this small town. Dropping my key at reception, I set out to wander around.

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The main sight of the town was the Great Dune, which from the top gave views across the sand waves of the Sahara into the distance. Perpendicular to this was a main road of sorts, two parallel streets in fact, with a very dry garden in the middle and buildings and several hotels on each side. Despite the fact that there were hundreds of tourists in the town, it seemed that I was the only one walking in the evening warmth. I strolled on the right side, very slowly past groups of men smoking and chatting in groups, some of them on the benches in the garden between the roads. Unlike in Sousse, most of the men did not wear western style dress; they wore plain or patterned djellabas and scarves around their heads, much like I had seen in southern Morocco. Many of these men looked my way and made comments to each other but no one approached me. As I walked, on my right side there was a gate into the grounds of a hotel, a grand looking building. There was a security hut and I could see a guard inside. He noticed me and came out through a small side gate next to the vehicle entrance. Wearing a white djellaba and headdress, he was a man of around sixty years old – about twice my age – with grey stubble over his face. He grinned widely and approached me, asking me those so familiar questions that I’ve been asked many times in Sousse already, and the answers were the same: no, I wasn’t married and no, I didn’t have a girlfriend.

In French he beckoned me towards his security hut, and asked me to take some tea with him. Well, I thought, why not? He escorted me through the side gate and into a small office with a window on one side looking out on the vehicle entrance. Inside was a seat where he could observe the gate and a small stool behind. He offered me the stool and some tea from a silver pot that stood on a small table. He poured the tea into a small glass and leered at me as I drank it, his eyes flickering up and down my body, while he rubbed his cock through. cotton. As I finished the tea, he grinned, nodded and said,

“My friend, would you like le plaisir?”

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Only twenty-four hours in Tunisia and I knew exactly what this meant. I asked where and he pushed back his chair and pointed to a space below the desk he was sitting at. At first, I didn’t understand, then he lent forward, took my hand and got me to kneel down in the space. He hitched up his djellaba and pushed his chair forward so that I could put my head between his legs. Although it was dark in the space, I immediately saw he had a solid erection. His cock was smooth and he had trimmed his pubic hair. In the dim light I took his penis in my hand and guided it to my mouth. I licked his cock head, gradually taking his length in my mouth and sucked gently on his man tool. As I took more and more, he moved his thighs up and down on the seat so that head of his penis was touching my tonsils. As I did this, someone came to the window and spoke to him in Arabic. The guard stopped moving but I continued sucking. The visitor departed, unaware that a blonde foreigner was pleasuring the guard below by licking his shaft. I savoured his balls and sucked at the base of his cock and it wasn’t long before he was taking short sharp breaths and then he lifted his feet so he was on tiptoe as his nerves tingled and I knew that he was about to burst. He groaned and spurted cum over my tongue and into my throat. I swallowed, then squeezed and licked his penis until no semen was left and pulled his djellaba back over his knees. He left me there for a moment then beckoned me to come out, saying “thank you” and telling me to leave.

I continued my walk, having been nourished by Muslim seed that was now in my body. I craved some more – my addiction showed no signs of abating. I continued my walk and went full circle until I ended almost back at the hotel. It was still too early and I was convinced there was more action to be had in Douz. I looked up and saw a thousand stars and a beautiful moon and decided to climb the Great Dune. Although the sand looked powdery, it was relatively easy to climb to the top and I sat looking out over the desert. It wasn’t long before I heard voices and three men came towards me, each wearing robes and blue scarves that wrapped their heads and covered their mouths. They sat down and asked me questions: the by now standard questions as to why I was alone, why I wasn’t with my wife or girlfriend. I could see that they were not old men by their youthful eyes, but they didn’t unveil themselves. They told me they were of Saharan tribes who worked here tending to the camels for the tourists. One of the young men went off with no explanation and, unexpectedly, came back a few minutes later with a bottle of wine. I was quite surprised as the young men took turns to drink from the bottle and offered me a swig too. That was a first in an Islamic country for me! We talked for maybe an hour about life in Douz, Tunisia in general, and life in Europe. Suddenly two of the men left, with one lying on the dune next to me looking up at the stars. The moonlight caught his black, beautiful eyes with curly lashes, and he quite simply said to me,

“Do you want to please me? “

“Errrrrr……. Y…y…..yes,” I stuttered in reply.

He stood up and lifted his robe I could see in the blue light of the moon he had a beautiful body. His cock was long and he had no hair at all on his body. He had an iron hard-on and he wanted to waste no time. He grabbed at my belt and told me to remove my jeans. As I did this, he undid some of my buttons on my shirt and help me remove it. Once I was totally naked, he lay next to me on the sand, ran his fingers through my hair and told me to turn over. I was lying face down on the dune side that faced the desert, which was at an angle of about forty-five degrees. He spread my legs, spat on his fingers, applied his saliva to his penis then mounted me from behind, pushing his beautiful tool into my anus. Being young, his energy never waned and he ploughed me steadily and rhythmically and once again I felt owned. After maybe ten minutes of him fucking me like this he turned me over and put my legs onto his shoulders while faced me and penetrated me this way. I felt him tighten inside of me and I stared into his hypnotic eyes. As he got close to orgasm, he pulled the scarf from over his face and I could see that he was one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. About twenty years old, his dark skin was soft, his teeth perfect, his lips thick and luscious, bushy eyebrows that met (a real turn-on for me), and I wanted to kiss him. I lifted my head to do just this but he pulled back.

“No. No, my friend. Not that”

He gathered speed, still staring into my eyes then he gasped, then again and collapsed over me as he released his wonderful hot Saharan cream into my ass. He lay on top of me for a few moments then pulled himself up and collapsed on the sand next to me, pulling his djellaba down once more. After a while, we resumed our conversation about life and he told me he dreamt of leaving. It became clear that he had little idea what living in Europe was like. Life here was so different – calm, natural and it seemed to me, appreciative of life’s natural wonders – not iPhones or designer clothes. He told me that I should go back one day and he would take me into the desert by camel and we would camp under the stars and trek. It seemed like a very romantic notion and I lay on the dune dreaming about it, thinking of how we would spend each night under canvas, him penetrating me and staying inside me while we slept. I had lost count of time and started to think about going back to the hotel but he suddenly pulled up his garment again to reveal another thick erection. By this time, I had dressed again and he told me to pull down my jeans and turnover. This time I was on my knees, trying not to sink into the sand while he took me from behind and banged me relentlessly. This time it took him a while to shoot and, by the time he did, I was quite raw. As he released his fresh hot semen into me, he let out a roar. After maybe ten minutes of lying together on the stand, I told him I needed to go back to the hotel. He set out ahead of me saying that it was too risky to be seen walking together in the middle of the night as this would be suspicious to the police: a foreigner and a local boy. He led me to the door of the hotel, where everything was in darkness, except for the light on reception. We didn’t hug or shake hands: he simply smiled from a distance of a few metres and he walked off into the town, but the receptionist had seen me arrive with him. I knocked on the door and the he came to open it. He was a middle-aged man, clean shaven, wearing a standard reception uniform of black trousers, white shirt and black jacket. He let me in and led me to the desk. He knew which number I was in because mine was the only key left.

“You arrive very late sir. It is well past midnight.“

“Yes, I took a walk around the town. “

”A walk, sir? “

“Yes. A walk. “

He looked around as if about to divulge a secret, which was odd because there was no sight nor sound of anyone else around. He leaned towards me, saying sotto voce,

“Sir, may I tell you that you have sand in your hair and on the side of your ears?” 

”Oh, really?“

I went to brush the sand away but he stopped me and said, 

“Not here, sir. It will make a mess. Please come in here and I will help you to remove it.“

He beckoned me behind reception to a small office where there was a chair. In the corner was a sink, used for hand washing presumably, and a towel. He asked me to hold my head over the basin and he brushed the sand from the side of my face and my hair. Handing me the towel, he held his hand under the tap and wiped water over my ear. As I dried myself, I turned around and he was standing right behind me with his hand over his package. He was fondling himself through the trousers and he reached out to grasp my buttock.

“I think you have enjoyed some pleasure this evening, sir,“ he said, while squeezing my ass cheeks.

He stared at me and here we were with the Arab custom of reciprocity once again.

He moved the door between the office and reception and closed it. There was a small window so he could see if anyone approached the reception desk, which I thought was highly unlikely. With no further words, he unbuckled himself and unzipped his trousers, pulling them down to his knees. He sat on the chair and positioned it so he could see through the small window. He fondled my buttocks again through my jeans and told me to remove them, which I did.

He sat on the chair, after removing his boxer shorts, his now hard penis slapping against his stomach as his main vein throbbed. He signalled for me to straddle him, my face towards his. I hovered on tiptoes while he positioned his cock against my ring then he grabbed my waist and lowered me onto him. He entered me quickly, pulled my shirt open and sucked my nipples. He bit and suckled at them until they were raw, whilst I bounced up and down on his wide cock. Occasionally he looked over my shoulder to check the window and then he would push his feet against the ground to create momentum and push his penis as deeply as possible into me. 

Somehow this position excited me greatly and I began to cry out.

“Aaaaahhhhh. Yeah. Aaaaaahhhhh”

He put his hand over my mouth and told me to be quiet. Now he beat into me so much the chair was rattling on the floor in steady rhythm. He bit my right nipple and I wanted to cry out in pain but I also wanted him to ejaculate his sacred Muslim sperm into my body to compliment the other three loads I had taken this evening and to add to the other Islamic DNA I was absorbing. Eventually this reached a crescendo and the legs of the chair were scraping and banging on the floor rapidly. He said something between breaths in Arabic and then I felt it shoot up from the head of his cock into my rectum, that warm feeling of extreme pleasure. I sat on top of him for a few moments until he asked me to stand up, dress and leave. As I stood, his organ was dripping cum – not just his own, of course. I took tissues from a desk and cleaned him. He stood, pulled up his underwear and trousers, then handed me my key, he said, 

“Goodnight sir. Sleep well.”

In reality I had just a couple of hours sleep before we were all woken to go to the Mirage. I can remember little of the Mirage because I was so tired and I slept on the coach until we got to our morning stop, which was a palm tree plantation and ceramics factory. As we arrived, we were told we would have a tour of the factory but I needed the bathroom. In fact, I was desperate to release what was left of the cream that had been left in me during the night. Other tourists used the facilities but left quickly to join the group. I stayed in the cubicle for a few minutes longer, expelling the remnants of Saharan semen. As I came out the attendant, an old grimy man grinned at me and grabbed my thigh through the tight white shorts I had put on for the day, squeezing it and trying to pull me towards him. I hesitated but I could see someone else – another tourist – coming towards the block and I pulled away. I wasn’t interested in seeing ceramics so I decided to take a walk through the palms instead. The plantation had rows and rows of trees, which I think were used for growing dates, but it was quite pleasant in the heat of the day to walk in the shade. Only a few minutes into my walk, I came across a man who was pruning trees. Around forty, I estimated, short dark beard and fat face, once again in the traditional dress including the scarf around the head, he smiled and said to me that perhaps I was lost because the factory was the other way. I told him I wanted to walk instead.

One thing I had learnt in Tunisia in just a few days was that a look into the eyes lasting just a few seconds longer than would be natural between strangers meant that you were fair game. The man looked around, came towards me as I backed away and stood against a palm tree. He reached out and touched the top of my head, pushing me down onto my knees. He lifted his robe and I saw something familiar: another smooth long cock, hard and pulsating – another in the long line of North African cocks I had seen in just a few days, after months in the wilderness that was the Alps. I was making the most of every opportunity to serve Muslim masters. Conscious that I may not have much time, I began to work on him. His pre-cum spilled out straight away and I knew he hadn’t had sex in sometime. It took only two or three minutes for him to spurt his seed and I let it stay in my mouth for a moment or two so I could taste his salty cream on my tongue on my lips and then I consumed it, that lovely silky texture lining my throat as it descended into my body. I stood up quickly and walked off and, by the time I got back to the coach, the group was coming out of the factory. I had once again been nourished by Muslim life-giving seed, which I could still taste on my gums. Soon, I would be back in Sousse and I would see my taxi driver. I pushed back the headrest and tried to sleep: I was going to need all the sleep I could get.

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