📘 Ten Days in Tunisia: Part Three – Monastir

Nov 11, 2021 | 9 comments

STORY BY: ADAM WEST
Based on true events.

The coach dropped me off at the hotel from my trip to Douz at around five o’clock in the afternoon. As I went to collect my key from reception it was the same man who had flirted with me and he gave me a broad smile and a lingering look. When he handed me the key he held onto my hand and tickled my palm with his fingertip. Dear reader, any one of you aficionados of Muslim cock, knows what that means.

“I hope your trip was good,“ he said and grinned, flicking his eyes from my face to my crotch. “What are you going to do this evening?“ he asked.

“Well, I’m going to eat soon and then I’m going to bed because I didn’t get much sleep last night. “

“Why? There isn’t anything to do in Douz at night. “

“I found things to do,“ I replied and gave him a long look. In truth I was being quite naughty. I know that he wanted to take me and I was playing hard to get. I had every intention of giving myself to him by the end of the holiday. I guessed that, by the time I let him use me, his energy would be at full throttle. 

I dropped off my bag in the room, went to the restaurant and had a light meal and then went up to bed. It wasn’t long before I was sleeping. Sometime later I woke with a start when the telephone next to the bed rang loudly. As I came to, I noticed it was dark outside and my watch next to the phone showed it was already ten-thirty.

“Hello?“

“Sir, this is reception.“ It was the receptionist. “Do you need anything?“

“No, thank you,“ I spluttered.

“I finish my shift,“ he said softly. There was silence for a moment while I considered asking him to come up but I wanted to keep him waiting and I said, “I am sleeping and I’m very tired.“

“But maybe you want something,“ he ventured.

“Not tonight. Sorry.“ I put down the receiver and then laid on the bed for some time, wondering whether I should have allowed him to come and use me. In any case, it was too late now – he would have left.

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The next day, I was having breakfast alone in the restaurant when my phone pinged and I received a message from the taxi driver. 

“I am Karim. You can see me tonight? I will come to the hotel at 9 p.m.“ 

He had written the message in English. Tonight, I would be ready to see him. I spent the day reading, walking a little, and resting by the pool and, once I had had dinner, I began to get a little apprehensive. Maybe it was excitement and, when nine o’clock came and his taxi stopped outside reception, I felt my heart beating quickly with anticipation. I jumped into his cab and he proceeded to drive along the main road out of Sousse. I asked him where we were going and he said “Monastir”. This was by the airport. He said we’d go for some tea.

Along the way we chatted in English and he told me he was in fact from Libya and had lived in Tunisia for some ten years. English was widely-spoken in his country, he said. As we drove along a busy road, he took his right hand from the steering wheel and put it between my legs. I didn’t resist, instead opening my legs so he could fondle me even more and he pushed his full finger down towards my hole, which I felt was twitching, and he grinned at me. 

”Tonight, you will be mine – belong to me, no?“

I nodded and, turning, I looked him in the eyes which I now saw were green, which seemed unusual for an Arab to me, his long lashes framing them beautifully. 

“Yes. I am yours.“

“You are my saloppe tonight. How do you say that in English?“

“Your slut,“ I replied

“Yes, you are my slut,“ and he smiled broadly.

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We arrived in Monastir and went to a rundown district and into a café that had one of those multicolored strip flyscreens over the door. Inside, it was smoky and full of men – working men. I was the only European-looking person and they said things to Karim in Arabic and laughed, looking at me, nodding. I can only imagine what they were saying but I think it was obvious why I was there. I found it curious in a country where homosexuality is illegal that Karim was happy to flaunt his queer slut in front of other men. I felt very self-conscious and drank my mint tea as quickly as I could. We left and got back into the taxi. He told me we would drive somewhere quiet and, after just a few minutes’ journey, we arrived at some wasteland that seem to be at the back of the town. I could see and hear planes taking off from the nearby airport but where we were was dark. He asked me to get in the back of the car he also got in with me. He pulled my leg so I was stretched along the backseat with him between my legs and he jerked at my jeans, which I unfastened. He took off my training shoes and, in the limited space, struggled to remove my jeans and my underpants and I lay on the backseat, naked from the waist down, with just my T-shirt covering my chest. He seemed in a hurry to penetrate me, pulling down his trousers to reveal a beautiful cock, both thick and long, very dark in colour, below a hairy stomach.

Even in the limited light, I could see the head of his penis was already wet, pre-cum present. He lent forward on his knees, lifted my legs and lubricated my ring with the pre-cum. With a deep sigh he pushed and came inside. I felt his good length of cock explore my insides. He started to push and pull whilst breathing rapidly and looking up over my head. I thought he was about to ejaculate but he hesitated as a light flashed through the window and the sound of a motor. It was another car and it was being parked by the taxi. He stopped moving inside me for a moment and looked through the window above my head. I tilted my head up and saw the face of a man, old and thin, looking through the window, using his mobile phone to see what was going on inside. I recognised him: he had been in the café and, no doubt, knew where Karim would take me. Karim shouted at him something that sounded like, “Shouf!“

The man just yelled even more and said something back in Arabic, muffled because of the closed window. Karim told him again to go and gestured with his hand, but the man stayed. I don’t know for sure, but I think the man was asking to use me too. I heard the word ‘zeb’ used several times, which I knew was ‘cock’. The man wasn’t going anywhere, and so Karim now continued to plunge his long tool into me. As he did so, I kept looking at the man outside who now had moved closer to the car, had taken out his hard penis and was masturbating whilst watching Karim fuck me. Once again, I was taking Muslim cock – my obsession – and I groaned loudly from within as he used my body. Karim was also noisy now, saying, “Yes. Yes,” through deep breaths and I knew that I was about to receive another deposit of Islamic semen.

The thin man tapped loudly on the window and, for a moment, Karim stopped fucking, leant over my shoulder and pressed the button on the car door. The window moved down and, as I looked up above my head as I lay flat, the man was as stiff as a rock and pulling frantically at his cock. Karim jolted back to life and battered my anus several times rapidly, cried out something in Arabic, and I felt him spill into me. Immediately afterwards, I tilted my head back and saw the man about to blow. Before I had the chance to move my head, he ejaculated his cream all over my face and hair, blinding me in one eye as a large drop of cum settled over it. Without hesitation, he was now zipping himself up to leave and Karim and I laid together in the car for a few minutes until he said,

“My saloppe. You will be mine all night. I fuck you for maybe four times more.“

“Do you want to come to my hotel?“ I asked. 

“No, it is impossible. The hotel will not allow it. They do not like locals going into tourists’ rooms. They will be suspicious and we will have problems – understand? I have a room here in Monastir and you will stay with me until tomorrow and you will be mine and you will give me much pleasure. Okay?“ 

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I understood completely that I would be under his command for the whole night and I wanted it. Was he really capable of fucking me four more times? I had never yet met a man capable of it, but I was excited to find out. 

He pulled out of me and I reached into my pocket for a tissue to clean my face. I had only the remnants of one and it hardly soaked up a drop. Karim didn’t have anything in the car so I had to mop up the semen from my eye with my T-shirt but the rest, for now, I had to leave.

We drove the short way to a grimy apartment block. He told me he shared his flat with another taxi driver called Mohammed who was working all night at the airport. Given the state of my face – the sperm had dried on my skin and my eyelashes, leaving them crusty, and was sticky in my hair, I went to take a shower straight away. The bathroom was very basic and the water tepid, but at least I could clean myself – not just my face either: I wanted to douche my ass to prepare for a night of pleasure for Karim. As I sprayed water on my face with the hand-held shower, Karim came in to the bathroom. He stood next to the shower, fully clothed and watched me. Then he reached out for the showerhead, took it from me and stretched into the cubicle and switched off the water. I stood there, wondering what this was about, He told me to sit on the shower tray and look up at him. As I did as he ordered, he unzipped his fly, took out his cock and proceeded to piss over me. 

"Open,” he told me, and mimicked opening his mouth.

As I did so, he aimed his flow at my mouth and his urine filled my throat and spilt out over my chin. This was new to me and, although I knew right then I didn’t like the taste, I took a gulp and his piss ran down into me. I didn’t enjoy it at all and closed my mouth. He finished relieving himself over me, zipped up and left me to continue cleaning myself. What was it about pissing on other men that men here liked? This was the second time in a few days that I had been treated as a toilet. Curiously, there was no sign that he, or the two men I had met in Sousse, derived any pleasure from it; I think it was more like they were marking their territory, like wild cats – great, masculine lions.

He offered me strong coffee then we went to his room which was small and tiled, an old double bed taking up most of the space, the light of a streetlamp illuminating it through a thin white sheet draped over the window in place of a blind. He undressed and was aroused again. I removed the towel I had around my waist since taking a shower, and he asked me to kneel on the floor. Sitting on his bed, he lifted his right leg and gestured for me to take his foot, still clad in a white training sock. I knew what to do. I rubbed his foot over my face, sniffing it, caressing it then resting it, took the other one and did the same. I removed his socks and licked and kissed his feet from the soles to the toes.

He watched me seriously and, when he was satisfied, he pulled me up onto the bed. I took his cock into my mouth and sucked and licked without using any hands. It was obvious he enjoyed this because he threw back his head and moaned and held my head in his hands and forced me on and off his tasty tool. It wasn’t long before he pulled away, put me on all fours on the bed, and fucked me again, this time taking a long while. He moved me onto my side, then onto my back, then on top of him was he laid flat and he was penetrating me for at least an hour. He never touched my genitals but rubbed the hard flesh beside them, smooth and fair. My ass was already feeling sore since he had used no lubrication. Eventually, he was ready to explode in me again, put me back on my knees, behind me, thrust heavily and deeply into me and then let out a cry of joy as a fresh shot of his testicle juice splattered me inside. During this, I had also ejaculated – the sheer pleasure of serving a Muslim master overcame me. He completely ignored my orgasm, just as a man in his position should. This was all for him. 

His promise to take me four times turned out to be right. He liked to stroke the inside of my upper thighs: I had removed all pubic hair before my trip to please any men I might meet Each time I would drift into sleep, he would give me new orders, each time a new way to stimulate him before penetration. Once, he had me rim him for what seemed like ages. He hovered over me, his anus right over my mouth. As he squatted, he sprang himself up and down, using his heels and toes, I saw his sphincter dilating and pulsating. I was worried for a moment that he wanted to defecate down my throat but, thankfully he didn’t – well, at least he didn’t see it through: I’m sure he was clenching his ring to gain maximum satisfaction as I went to town on his purple anus. I was feeling ecstatic that I could give such pleasure to a son of Islam. Soon he was sighing with rapture. Another time I worked on his nipples, then on his feet again and finally, at about 6 o’clock in the morning, he slapped my face on each side whilst I knelt in front of him and he spat over me. He then bent me over the end of the bed and spanked me with his palms until I was red raw, ending up with another dose of his Muslim semen, fresh and hot – this time over my tongue. I was exhausted by breakfast time but he still had stamina. He told me he had to go to work and he would drop me first at Sousse. 

I went to take a quick shower, and I heard voices out in the hallway. As the cool water relieved the soreness on my buttocks and my ass ring, the bathroom door opened and a fat bearded, middle-aged man with a bald head came in. I froze as he came towards the shower, his body covered in black hair, wearing only a towel around his waist. He threw it off to reveal his stiff cock, dark brown and head almost purple; came to enter the shower and I said, 

“No, no.“

Karim came into the bathroom too, wearing just boxer shorts and said to me, 

“You take Mohammed. He needs to fuck. He fuck you quickly. OK?”

“Yes, Karim. If you say so. “

Without saying anything, the fat man got into the shower, pushed my hands onto the tiled wall, turned off the shower and pushed his thick, dark cock into my rectum. My arms were taut against the wall as he banged me, all the time he was breathing rapidly, as I felt him occupy me. He lasted only a couple of minutes before he said in French, “pute”, and shot his load right into me. Without a further word, he withdrew from me, smacked my buttock, and left the bathroom. My ass had been hammered so much that night that I couldn’t hold his seed in me and it ran down my legs and was then washed away as I turned back on the flow of water.

On the way back to Sousse, Karim asked if I could see him again. 

“I’m not sure,“ I replied,  “because I’m now going to Tunis for three days.”

 He said he would text me when I returned and by then his balls will be full again.

When I passed the hotel reception, my mustachioed receptionist handed me my key and noted that I had been out all night without a bag. I’m sure he knew what I had been doing and, once again, asked me what I was doing in the evening as he finished at ten. I told him I needed to rest because I had an early train to Tunis the next day. His parting words to me as I went to my room were, “Soon. Soon, I will come to you.“

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9 Comments

  1. Yoshiii

    I am in love with this story! Magnificent!!!!!

    Reply
  2. Çilim

    mustachioed receptionist is the main character in this story 😮‍💨😮‍💨
    gimme moreeeee

    Reply
    • Adam West

      Hey Çilim, he will feature in the fourth and final part. I hope you enjoy what happens when he finally gets to come to my room.

      Reply
  3. Johantchou

    When will
    The next part he released?

    Reply
    • Anonymous

      Next part (last part of this story) coming out next Thursday (November 18th)

      Reply
  4. Lunnchooss

    I think I need to go to Tunisia

    Reply
  5. Anonymous

    What are the odds of this happening to an average guy like me? Can I pick up guys there just as easily?

    Reply
    • Adam West

      I am an average guy and the men I met in Tunisia were average too (and some less so). This story features highlights of my trip. In tourist areas, single young foreign men are often approached (I have friends who had similar experiences) BUT it also carries risks. I’m going to write about this in a future article. I have been asked for money and I have been threatened, which was scary, but I’ve also had lots of thrilling encounters, described in my stories. My objective in these stories is to thrill the reader. The article I’ll write after this story will tell of my efforts to gain this type of experience and the truth is that on the whole I have not found it easy. My advice would be to tread carefully, be sensible and you can have the time of your life. This is only my advice, though. Perhaps other readers can tell us about their own experience.

      Reply
      • icckcom

        Thank you for writing this!
        I think it is crucial to “get real” when it comes to the stories so that people don’t get the wrong impression. It is certainly one of the reasons why people love your stories so much – because they are real. And I know many will be interested to also read about your, well, not so ideal experiences.

        Reply

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