STORY BY: ADAM WEST
Based on true events.

So far, Tunisia had been a total delight, just as my friend Jean-Pierre had assured me. Being honest with myself, I expected to serve a whole lot more Muslim cock in Tunis, the great metropolis where everything would be possible but I have to say I was mistaken, for I learnt a valuable lesson there.

Bouyed up by my experiences in Sousse and Douz, I was confident in my ability to attract men who wanted to leave their prized Islamic seed in me; in fact, I was too confident. No sooner had I arrived in the capital and checked in at my hotel, I went out to explore, expecting the same ease that I had encountered elsewhere in picking up horny men to service but, like many capital cities around the world, the people of Tunis were harder, more streetwise and suspicious than their more rural counterparts.

After eating in a small restaurant, I went to sit on a fairly busy café terrace, close to the central souk. Sipping on a mint tea, I caught the eye of a lone man facing me from another table. His deep-set eyes, jet black hair and maturity appealed to me. I suppose he was over forty and had rough looking skin that made him look mean but very sexy. I looked at him, looked away, then gave him a long look and eventually smiled. He didn’t smile back but continued to stare. I tried not to look his way but couldn’t help myself. After a while, he pulled a nearby chair towards himself, lifted his left leg and rested it on the edge of the seat. I looked at his foot, clad in a black and white training shoe, black ankle socks inside and got quite excited. I looked long and hard at his foot then at him. I was already visualising myself removing his shoes and feeling his feet on my face. He still stared. I wasn’t sure what was going on but, still feeling positive about my success in other places in this country, I stood up and went over to him. Although very nervous, I thought he was giving me all the right signals. I sat down opposite him.

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“Hello,” I ventured

Nothing. He stared without breaking even the beginnings of a smile.

“Hello,” I repeated and smiled again.

I felt really awkward and decided the best thing to do would be to cut and run, and so I went to stand up. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed my forearm and held it like a vice, the pain stinging. He looked me squarely in the eye and said,
“Pédé.” Faggot. “Shitty faggot.” Other men on the terrace saw this but did nothing. He said something in Arabic to a man on a table beside who hissed at me. He let go of my arm by throwing it to one side against the table. I was humiliated and felt vulnerable all of a sudden. I dropped more than the price of the tea back on my own table and left in a hurry. Feeling very shaken by this experience, I returned to my hotel and spent the rest of the day in my room.

Next day, still shocked, I set out after breakfast for the railway station, to get the train to Carthage and then on to Sidi Bou Said, where I would spend the night. Leaving Tunis, I felt a sense of relief and thought that perhaps Sidi Bou Said would feel more like Sousse or Douz. The train was crowded and I found myself facing a young soldier, beautiful with his cropped black hair, soft skin – clean shaven and dark eyes, framed by curly lashes that seemed to be a feature of many a man here. Once again, I tried to avert my gaze but could not help sneaking glimpses of his muscular thighs, tight inside his dark green uniform. Feeling brave, and trying to be discreet – God knows how – I noticed his bulge and it was magnificent. The more I looked, the more I could see how it extended down his left leg. I was mesmerised. The problem was that he had noticed and was staring back at me, unsmiling, brow furrowed. Looking back, it was not something I should have done anywhere in the world and I was certainly foolish to have even thought he’d be impressed. He leant forward and looked at me directly.

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“Dirty faggot,” he spat out. He cleared his throat and for a moment I thought he was going to spit in my face but he withdrew and moved to a seat on the other side by a window.
Everyone around me stared but said nothing. Now, I get a kick out of being insulted by a master during sex, but the intent here was different: it was malicious and, what’s more, I deserved it. I didn’t look at anyone else; I stared out of the window, face flushed, heart racing, wishing the journey away but I could hear him talking, no doubt telling other passengers what had happened. I thought I would move but saw the time and knew we were about to arrive at Carthage.

Despite its impressive geographical size, I found Carthage underwhelming but, in any case, I wasn’t in the mood. I avoided eye contact with everyone I met that day. I took the train on to Sidi Bou Said and checked in at my small hotel. It was a stunningly beautiful place: white-washed houses, tinged with blue and the crystalline Mediterranean below. I had taken with me to Tunis plans to go to a hammam there, but the events of the last two days had left me dazed and nervous. The town had a very Bohemian feel to it and none of the menace of Tunis; in fact, I noticed foreigners openly walking with young Tunisians – some who looked too young – but I felt annoyed with myself and wanted to be alone, longing to return to Sousse.

I called Jean-Pierre from the hotel and, as we Face-Timed, I told him all about Sousse and Douz and he wasn’t at all surprised,

“You see, I was right. You have all the cock you wanted, eh?”

Then I told him about the café and the train and he told me something I was to remember:

“You crossed the line. You broke the golden rule: many Muslim men like to be in control. He must always make the first move. You reversed the roles and became dominant and predatory. That is an insult to many Muslim men. You engage with him on his terms, not yours. You have no right to try to drive a situation nor have you the right to objectify him.”

It was a good lesson for me.

Had I had more time, I would have learned the right unspoken protocol of the big city, just as in any large urban area elsewhere and, maybe I would have fared better, but I didn’t have time and I left for Sousse, texting Karim from the train to say I was returning.

No sooner had I got back into my room than Karim texted me.

“I see you tonight. My sack is full. I need to fuck you.”

After my experiences in Tunis, it was what I wanted to hear. We agreed he would collect me after dinner.

This time, we went straight back to his apartment. Mohammed was out all night, working, again. Karim was clearly a man with a big sex drive and was desperately in need to unload. He marched me right into his bedroom, ordered me to remove my clothes, throwing them into a pile by the door, dropped his grey jogging bottoms around his ankles to reveal his rock-hard penis. He told me to hold on the window sill, the sheet still pulled across the window, and bend over. Spitting on his penis a few times and rubbing it, he pushed his cock head at my ass and slid into me. I cried out as he slammed into me, without stopping, for around two minutes then he called out,
“Aaaaaahhhhh” and released a three-day load of semen into me. We both stayed in position for a moment while he got his breath back, then he pulled out and told me to go and clean myself. I expected a heavy night like I had had last time, so I douched myself well to give him maximum pleasure.

In the time it took me to clean, he was already ready for more. I couldn’t believe it. Coming back into the bedroom, he pointed to the floor and told me to lie down, naked. He lit up a cigarette and, slipping his feet out of his training shoes, stood on one leg while he rubbed the sole of his foot over my face, still wearing his white ankle socks. Cleaning a Muslim man’s feet is a passion of mine and I got really excited. On and on he went, feeding me his sweaty feet as I sniffed them, sucked at his toes, licked his soles after I had removed his socks. He dropped his jogging bottoms again and pulled at his cock. He leant down and spat in my face, wiping the saliva all over my cheeks and mouth with his feet. Being subjected to this, I couldn’t contain myself and I felt the heat rise within me and shot a long-overdue load over my stomach. Ignoring this, he got me on my knees in front of him and ejaculated over my face with fresh, hot Islamic seed. I licked my lips and swallowed what I could then he wiped his cock over my face and fed me what was left; I cleaned him off with my tongue and myself with a tissue and we then laid on the bed.

I had maybe an hour’s sleep and then woke up to feel him playing with my ass, inserting his finger and moving it around. As I came to, he put me onto my back and moved in between my legs. Yet again, he entered me and pumped at my ring for quite some time, moving to several other positions: me on my back; on all fours on the bed; me face down with him on top, ramming into me; sitting on his cock as he laid on the bed. He could go on for ages. I don’t know how he kept going at me but it was certainly more than an hour. I felt like I couldn’t take any more when, as he had me doggy-style for the second time, he finally moaned and filled me with another deposit of his superior cream.

Probably, he would have used me again if it weren’t for the fact that he had an early start and we had to leave at just after 4 a.m. He dropped me back to Sousse and we parted. Tonight would be my last in Tunisia and I had other plans.

There was still someone who had waited so long to have me and finally, when I passed reception the next morning, he was there, greeting me with a smile. He asked me what I had planned and I told him that I would be relaxing by the pool on this, my last day.
“And tonight?” He grinned.
“After dinner, I’ll be in my room.” He didn’t say another word but smiled widely. I knew what this meant.

Before he finished his shift at ten o’clock, it occurred to me that, by coming to my room, he was taking quite a risk: effectively participating in an illegal act, on his work premises, and with a hotel guest to boot. I concluded that he was putting a lot of trust in me too – I could have reported him to the hotel management. Of course, I had no intention of doing it.

Just after ten, there was a gentle knock at my door. He stepped in with a white envelope and said he was bringing my extras bill. Of course, this was simply a cover as an explanation to his colleague as to why he wasn’t leaving by the staff door – he was going to deliver it to the room then depart via the fire exit.

I had prepared myself to make sure I was clean and I had wrapped a towel around my waist. As he stepped inside the room, lit by a single lamp by the bed, I caught the aroma of sweet scent on him. Yesin was his name and we sat for a moment at the edge of the bed while he asked me why I had kept him waiting all week. I considered that he may have taken it as a lack of respect, but if he did, he didn’t say so. I didn’t even have an answer for him; I simply said that I had agreed on plans with friends and I had been away, as he knew. I looked at him closely and admired his dark, short hair and clipped mustache, his eyes very dark brown and wide, crows’ feet giving away the fact he was somewhat older than me – perhaps fifty. He stood up and removed his uniform jacket, placing it carefully on the chair by the desk. I moved back, removing the towel to leave me naked, and laid on my back on the bed and he sat beside me, stroking my chest and arms, free of hair, and brushing my face, feeding me his fingers through my lips; then he undressed. He took off all but his black socks and came towards me on his knees across the white sheet. He was a big man with a heavy stomach and hairy all over, which I find massively attractive. He moved over me, resting on his knees and supporting some weight on his toes, his feet sprung. Putting two pillows under my head, he straddled my chest and presented me with his cock – not the longest I had seen in Tunisia but certainly the thickest. He had a loose bit of skin under his penis head, left over from his circumcision. I nibbled at it and he stiffened as I played with the tip of his tool with my tongue. Little by little, I was able to take him into my mouth, whereupon I sucked at him as he used his feet to create momentum, in and out. He looked down at me, ran his fingers through my blonde hair, and whispered.

“Beau.” No one had ever said that to me.

I used only my tongue to please him. When he could see I was getting tired (my jaw ached), he pulled himself up, removed the pillows from under my head and raised me, putting them underneath my lower back. Lifting my legs high, to my surprise and delight, he started to caress my anus with his tongue. He licked my ass-pussy and rubbed his finger against it. Spitting onto it, he worked his tongue around and over my ring. I was burning up with excitement – more so as it was unexpected. I writhed around, loving the feeling of his mouth against my hairless hole.

Having worked it, and softened it up, he pushed himself up by his arms to face me, looked down at his cock and placed it at my entrance. He rubbed his bulbous head against my ass, stared me in the eyes and pushed into me. His girth made the entry very tight and I found it hard to accommodate him. I had some small sachets of lubricant on the bedside table and I leant across to take one. He took it from my hand, opened it and gave it back to me, presenting me once more with his cock close to my face. I massaged the lube into his penis and, when he was solid again, he got back into position between my legs and he slid inside.

“Slowly, please,” I pleaded, getting used to the thickness of his cock.

“It’s OK, my beau,” he assured me, “I take care with you.”

As he fucked me gently, I relaxed and he felt it so he picked up speed. I turned my head and saw our reflection in the mirror that covered the wardrobe door, his heavy buttocks tensing and relaxing as he moved in and out of me, my toes pointed in the air either side of him, his socked feet sliding up and down the bed. We went on like this for some time then he stopped, grabbed my waist and rolled us over so one of my legs was underneath his stomach and my other leg was up over his shoulder. He moved in and out of me more gently now, looking into my eyes, caressing my cheeks fondly and pushing his fingers between my lips, which I sucked delicately. He made little sound but I noticed he hardly blinked as I felt him sliding in and out of my body.

Having been in that position for a while, he withdrew from me, moved me onto my back once more, with the pillows underneath, came between my legs and entered me again. He started to penetrate me more rapidly now and, as he went on, he started to talk to me– something I find irresistible and a huge turn-on. He thrust harder now, the full length and width of his manhood slipping in and out of my ass. In his imperfect English, breathlessly, with his thick, sexy Arabic accent, he asked,

“You like?” He still stared into my eyes without blinking, with a look of determination. He began to sweat, his brow wet.

“Yes. I love it,” I replied whilst gasping for air.

“You want this cock, no?“

“Ahhhhh, yes. I want it. Yes.”

“You like Tunisian man? My cock good, no?”

“Aaaahhhhh. Yeahhhh. So good, Yesin. Yes. I want it.” I cried out now with much pleasure. He got up speed now, pounding me as sweat dripped from his forehead onto my face.

“What more you want? What more?”

“I want your sperm, Yesin.”

“You want my sperm?”

“Yes, Yesin. I want your sperm, deep inside me. Fill me.”

“Tell me again. You want my cream, no?” He went even faster. I was more sexually-charged than I had ever been in my life.

“Yesssss. I want your cream.”

“I have many sperm for you ready. I give it to you soon.”

“Aaaaahhhh yeah. I want it. I want your Muslim sperm, Yesin.”

“Muslim sperm so good for you, no? Mine very good.”

“I want it. I am ready to take it, Yesin.”

As he hammered my ass in a frenzy, my cock was stiff and the friction of his ample stomach rubbing against it made me want to come. Before I had the chance, though, he breathed deeply and rapidly and then called out,

“I come now. Take the Muslim sperm inside you. Take the sperm of Yesin! Aaaaahhhhh. Aaaaahhhhhh. Aaaaaahhhhhhhhh!”

“Yesin! Breed me…breed me!”

He let out a roar and his semen filled my void just as I came myself, making me clench my ring around his shaft. He groaned, shuddered, then fell on top of me, taking several short breaths to recover. Most times, I find it impossible to come until after the act, preferring to reflect on it, but he gave me an orgasm as he also came and it was new to me.

Together, we stayed on the bed for maybe ten minutes, until his cock was rigid no more and fell out of me.
Getting up, he showered quickly and told me he had to leave since he couldn’t be seen staying too late at the hotel – if indeed he would be seen at all. He knew I was departing the next morning and, before he left, he sat for a moment on the bed beside me, touching my face and hair.

“What time your flight tomorrow?” he asked

“Ten o’clock,” I replied.

“I collect you, but not from reception. Take your bag end of drive, on main road. I come for you seven-thirty.”

“No, really, it’s fine,” I answered.

“I want, but you say nothing to people here, eh?”

He stood up to go, then leant down and kissed me twice on the forehead. Without another word, he opened the door, closed it quietly and was gone, leaving me just his sperm to nourish me and his sweet scent on my body and on my sheets. I had kept him waiting my whole holiday while I served a multitude of men, expecting him to be just another who wanted to unload in me; in the end, he was someone more special.

I did as he said the next morning and waited on the main road. Sure enough, he came for me. As we drove to the airport, he stretched out his right arm and touched my face, then my thigh.

“You still have my seed inside you, mon Adam?”

“I hope so,” I said, even though I had expelled most of what was left of his semen from my body a couple of hours before.

“I like you so much,” he said softly.

He didn’t give much away about himself, though he wore a wedding ring; I could tell he was taken with me, and I him. I reflected on the last ten days in Tunisia. I had come here with the intention of being a servant to Muslim masters, of taking orders and receiving their seed. The truth is that everyone I had met before Yesin had willingly used me as their bitch, a receptacle for their cum. They didn’t care for me: I was their inferior, and that was part of the excitement for me. Here, though, was a man who was different. I knew very little about him but we had felt a real connection, even with a twenty-year age difference. Being with him last night had been incredible – I felt warmth and affection.
We arrived at the terminal and I knew he couldn’t touch me or even hug me. He asked me for my telephone number, saying he would contact me – we both had WhatsApp. As I left him, he said to me,

“You will return to Sousse and I will look after you. I give you fuck every night and more. I show you nice places and you enjoy.”

‘Thank you. I will. Goodbye, Yesin”

“Goodbye, mon Adam.”

Honestly, at that moment, I really thought I would never come back, but we did stay in touch and then fate stepped in later the same year and I did go back, but that, as the cliché goes, is another story.

THE END OF TEN DAYS IN TUNISIA SERIES

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