“Follow me,” the guide said. “I will take you to the best one.”
He led the two Europeans a few doors farther. He stopped in front of a house which was indeed somewhat larger than the others, with a façade more suggestive of prosperity.
“Here we are,” Tarik announced. “This is the house of the ladies Amirah and Faridah. They are sisters. They are young and beautiful. They are fair. They are as white as the full moon when it rises above the horizon on a cloudless, starlit night. They are as plump as a pair of pigeons which are hand-fed on fine grain. And they are experts in all of the arts of love.”
“I hope you don’t exaggerate, Tarik,” Nigel said, somewhat cynically.
“May I be struck dead if I speak less than the truth.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to be struck dead. Nonetheless, Mornay and I will have to see and judge for ourselves.”
“Of course, messieurs. Enter. Treat this house as though it is your own. Enter, and prepare to be beguiled!”
Tarik walked boldly through the house’s archway and into its courtyard—indeed, as though he owned the place, Nigel couldn’t help thinking, as he and Mornay followed their guide.
They found themselves in a courtyard paved with blue and white tiles, on which were set orange trees planted in tubs. Water trickled from a tiny fountain. Although the three men had entered in silence, their arrival apparently did not go unnoticed. At once, a veiled woman appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, carrying a flickering oil lamp. She approached Tarik, with whom she exchanged a few words in Arabic. Then she led the three men inside the house, and upstairs.
With graceful gestures, she showed them into a room on the third floor.
The space appeared to be a strange combination of a bedroom and a sitting room. It was so densely furnished and decorated that it resembled a cocoon, isolated from the outside world. Thick, soft carpets, intricately patterned, covered the entire floor underfoot. The walls, too, were hung with tapestries and draperies, everywhere, shutting out any moonlight which might otherwise have penetrated through the closed shutters of the windows.
In the center of the room, much of the floor space was taken up by an enormous divan, set upon an elaborately carved wooden platform. The divan was made up as a bed, heaped with embroidered bed throws and cushions, all placed upon yet another large carpet.
The other furniture was an eclectic mixture of European and African styles. Armchairs with carved fruitwood frames, upholstered in yellow silk, and provided with matching ottomans, rubbed shoulders with the ubiquitous small, brightly painted and inlaid, Moroccan tables which could be seen everywhere in Algiers. An intricately worked brass lamp, suspended by a chain from the ceiling, was the only light in the room. The flame inside its pierced body cast a warm, but faint and unsteady, golden-yellow illumination down onto the divan.
Nigel became aware of a heavy, pungent scent, a blend of tobacco, perfume, and incense, which pervaded the air inside the room.
At the veiled woman’s mute invitation, the three men seated themselves. She left the room, only to return a few moments later with a coffee service on a tray. She served the coffee, and then, once again, she left the room.
“I take it this lady is not one of the sisters?” Nigel asked Tarik, in a whisper.
“Oh, no. She is only their maidservant.”
They sipped their coffee, which was dark, strong, and flavorful.
“This is all very pleasant,” Nigel remarked. “But when do we meet our hostesses?”
“In a moment,” Tarik promised. “Here, such things are not done in a hurry. We will be expected to take our time—and to enjoy ourselves, without any need for haste.”
“I see.”
“You might place the money there, on that table, in plain sight,” Tarik suggested. “And leave it there—where we will all, including the sisters, pretend not to notice it. That is considered to be a discreet way of conducting business, in such establishments as this.”
After conferring in a low voice with Tarik about the exact price, and what the three men might expect to receive in return for it, Nigel stacked the coins neatly on the table.
No sooner had they finished their coffee, than two women slipped into the room. The men rose to greet them.
We might be in a drawing room, back home in London, Nigel told himself, with amusement.
The women were short, with voluptuous figures. They wore similar costumes—square headdresses of colored handkerchiefs tucked into folds and adorned with feathers, pink and silver shawls, blue skirts of some thin material sewn with silver flowers, and broad silver belts set with squares of red coral. Their necks, wrists, and ankles were loaded with jewelry, which jangled and tinkled at their every movement. Earrings dangled from their earlobes, their wrists were weighed down by bracelets, and their fingers sparkled with rings.
They were unveiled. Their plump, pretty faces were powdered. Their lips were rouged, and their eyes were surrounded by thick applications of kohl, which to Nigel let them a somewhat bizarre, raccoon-like look. The sisters gazed at the three men, and smiled at them, with an open boldness which no native woman of Algiers would have dared to display on the city’s streets.
“That is Faridah, on the left,” Tarik said. “And Amirah, on the right.”
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, ladies,” Nigel murmured.
Tarik smiled. “They speak no English, and only a little French. However, it will not be necessary to engage them in conversation. They know what is expected of them. And I am here to interpret, if necessary. I can tell them what you want them to do, should that not be obvious.”
“I’d like the usual,” Mornay said, bluntly. “Straight up, as we say back in London. I’m not particularly interested in anything in the way of fancy fucking. Not tonight, anyway. A quick dip for my wick—that’s all.”
“Really, Mornay!” Nigel admonished him. “There’s no need to be vulgar.”
“I am sorry, sir.”
“Oh, never mind. Since the ladies cannot understand us when we speak in English, I suppose there is no need for us to mince words among ourselves. But mind your manners.”
“Let us begin, gentlemen. We must undress,” Tarik said.
Nigel was taken by surprise. “What—right here? In this room?”
“Where else?”
“With the light on? And—do you mean—we are to undress completely?”
“Certainly. We may as well be comfortable. Let us be nude,” Tarik specified.
“In front of the ladies?”
Tarik smiled. “Trust me. Do you think this is the first time either of them has seen a naked man? If you are so modest, monsieur, we can always blow out the lamp, first. But then you must take care not to stumble over one of the ottomans, or overturn one of the tables, in the dark.”
“No, I suppose we should leave the lamp burning, if that is the customary thing.”
“It enhances one’s pleasure, to see as well as to feel. And to see others enjoying themselves. Come now, strip,” Tarik urged both Nigel and Mornay. “We will be much more comfortable. Pretend that you are at home in England, in the privacy of your bedroom, if that helps.”
He proceeded to set the example by divesting himself of his own clothes, garment by garment.
“All right,” Nigel agreed. “We will undress, too.”
“Let me help you, sir,” Mornay murmured. In his capacity as valet, of course, he routinely assisted his master in getting undressed.
“Thank you, Mornay.”
Soon all three young men were nude.
“Now, isn’t this better?” Tarik asked.
“It is a sultry night,” Nigel admitted.
The sisters had undressed, too, assisting each other, while darting glances at their three customers and exchanging occasional discreet giggles. They kept on only their jewelry, which glittered against their pale, creamy flesh.
Faridah now assumed a position on her hands and knees on the bed. Gazing e
agerly at the three naked men, she extended her bejeweled hand toward them, gesticulating energetically, while she said something in Arabic.
“She finds you especially pleasing, Mornay,” Tarik interpreted. “She would like you to join her on the bed.”
The Swiss hesitated, and he actually blushed. “I don’t know about that. About doing it here—in front of the rest of you, I mean. Can’t the two of us go somewhere more private? Into another room, perhaps?”
“Faridah wishes not only to please you, but to demonstrate her skill at pleasuring a man, in which she takes great pride. She wants to put on a performance. Surely it would be impolite to deny her?” Tarik suggested.
“What do you say, sir?” Mornay asked his employer.
“I think you had better take advantage of the young lady’s willingness and her lack of modesty, Mornay, and amuse yourself—and yes, in our presence,” Nigel decreed. “Why not? After all, we are visitors here in this country. We don’t want to seem standoffish.”
“And in the meanwhile, Amirah will entertain you,” Tarik told Nigel, as Mornay went toward the bed.
“What about you, Tarik?” Nigel asked.
“I will watch—with your permission, of course.”
“You may, but that doesn’t sound like much fun, for you. Won’t you participate?”
“If you wish. Later.”
“I do wish. In fact, Tarik, I insist on it. As they say—there is safety in numbers. I may need you to show me how to proceed.”
“You exaggerate, monsieur,” Tarik purred, in his most silken, insinuating tones. “You are too modest. I am sure that you are a stallion.”
“Well, we’ll see how I do, once I get out of the starting gate,” Nigel said.
Mornay was now standing beside the divan. Faridah leaned over its edge, and her brightly rouged lips parted in a wide, eager oval. She closed them firmly around the valet’s cock. Drawing the glans of his penis and most of the shaft into her mouth, she began to suck.
“Ah, mon Dieu,” the Swiss gasped.
“See how she sucks him, monsieur,” Tarik said, addressing Nigel.
“It is an extraordinary sight,” Nigel admitted. “The young lady appears to be quite skilled.”
“Imagine what your servant must be feeling. Observe, how every muscle in his body seems tense, and to stand out in relief. Behold, how he clenches his buttocks together. How he thrusts his pelvis forward to push his penis back and forth within the warm, wet clasp of her lips. See how he bites his lower lip, and how he perspires and groans. He is at the mercy of his desire.”
“He’s not the only one,” Nigel muttered. “His lust would appear to be contagious.”
“Are you excited, monsieur?”
“Very.”
“Satisfy yourself, then. Do not deny yourself. The other sister will suck you, just as well.”
“I’m not sure how one invites a lady to perform fellatio on him—?”
“There is nothing simpler.” Tarik turned to Amirah, with whom he exchanged a volley of rapid-fire Arabic. “She hungers for your cock, monsieur,” Tarik then assured Nigel. “She wishes you to lie on the bed, at your ease. She will make love to you with her mouth.”
“By Jove,” the young Englishman muttered. “This does seem rather depraved.”
He stretched out on the divan, on his back, next to the kneeling Faridah, who continued to lavish her oral attentions upon Mornay’s cock.
Amirah climbed onto the bed and positioned herself on her knees between Nigel’s widespread thighs. Smiling, she lowered her head to his groin—and she began to suck his cock.
“Ah!” Nigel exclaimed.
“Does her mouth please you, monsieur?” Tarik asked.
“It feels incredible,” Nigel admitted.
“Do not hold back,” Tarik urged him, excitedly. “Do not spare her. Fuck her face! Drive your manhood deep into her mouth and throat. Take your pleasure. She is a whore. She is here to service you. Satisfy yourself. Don’t hesitate. See, she is enjoying herself, too. It gives her pleasure to be with such a handsome young foreigner. Her delight is unfeigned. She likes the way your stiff prick feels in her mouth. She is playing with her pussy, with her clitoris, as she sucks you. She is a very hot woman … she is shameless.”
“I cannot disagree with you,” Nigel said.
He observed that Faridah had interrupted the spirited act of fellatio which she had been performing upon Mornay. Still on her hands and knees, with her well-cushioned posterior raised alluringly high, the girl gesticulated as she spoke to Tarik. She wriggled her bottom, and she pointed to her vagina.
“Faridah wishes you to possess her,” Tarik explained, for Mornay’s benefit—a bit redundantly, perhaps, given the fact that the woman’s body language spoke as eloquently as any words. “In the usual way in which a man enjoys a woman. Fuck her, my friend,” Tarik added, with audible relish.
“Ah—in such circumstances—I customarily make use of some lubricant or other,” Mornay said.
“There on the table beside the bed,” Tarik said, “you will find a jar of cold cream. You can use that to grease your manhood, and facilitate your entry.”
While Amirah’s lush mouth continued to caress his penis, Nigel watched his valet slather his erection with the cold cream, until his phallus gleamed in the flickering lamplight.
Then, demonstrating an agility which suggested to Nigel a bullfrog leaping from one lily pad to another, Mornay jumped onto the bed behind Faridah. Squatting, he thrust himself into her from behind.
“She has a hot cunt,” he reported.
“Don’t hesitate,” Tarik coached the other young man. “There is no need to go slowly, or to hold yourself back. Thrust into her, and plow her furrow. Spare neither her nor yourself.”
Flexing his knees, Mornay did indeed begin a steady, vigorous plowing motion.
His cock was thick and powerful, a phallic battering ram, parting the portals of Faridah’s cunt with no effort at all. He penetrated her deeply, and then he began to thrust, in and out, like a machine. He looked down and watched how the smooth inner lips of her pussy rubbed firmly against the cylindrical bulk of his prickshaft, maintaining their greedy grip around the pole as it plunged in and out of her. He pulled himself almost all the way out, until only the head of his cock was still lodged between her labia. Then he drove his glistening rod up into her cunt again, burying himself to the balls.
Faridah squirmed under him.
His tool drilled in and out of her, as he became even more excited by the woman’s gyrations.
Suddenly, Faridah broke her long silence.
“Ah, foutre-moi, foutre-moi!” she squealed. Evidently, she knew at least that much French. She then added something in Arabic.
“She likes the way your big cock feels inside her,” Tarik translated.
Mornay forgot everything except his own need, as hot pleasure swept through his powerful young body and he prepared himself to empty his warm, wet semen deep into the whore’s body. He forgot even the presence of the other two men, and the second woman, in the room. Thus he was startled when he heard his master’s voice.
“Is she pleasing you, Mornay?” Nigel asked.
“Her pussy is like a poacher’s trap, snapping open and shut around my prick!” the valet reported.
“Don’t be so vulgar, Mornay,” Nigel said. “There are ladies present.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But her cunt is so tight. It’s like a warm, slippery fist, gripping and stroking my cock!”
“Do you find the sensation pleasant?” his employer wanted to know.
Mornay groaned. “Extremely!”
Tarik laughed. “These women have trained the muscles of their cunts to satisfy a man and to bring him off as rapidly as possible.”
“And how, exactly, do they do that?” Nigel asked.
“By practicing with inanimate objects.”
“How extraordinary. I shall have to record that in my notebooks.”
Now Amirah s
topped her impassioned sucking of Nigel’s dick.
“Thank you,” Nigel told her, politely.
“But you are not finished, monsieur,” Tarik pointed out. “You have not been satisfied. Take her, in the same way your man is taking her sister,” he advised, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “She is waiting to receive you. Plunge your manhood into her womanhood and thrust away. Take her! Make good use of her soft, slippery slit.”
“I suppose that is what we are here for,” Nigel agreed.
He assumed much the same position that Mornay was in, and, after making use of the cold cream, he probed between Amirah’s plump, soft thighs. He found her vaginal lips and he gently eased his cockhead in between them.
“I trust she will tell me, Tarik, if I cause her any discomfort,” Nigel told the guide.
But to Nigel’s surprise, the first touch of his penis against the young woman’s labia seemed to inflame her. With a shrill cry of delight, Amirah pushed her behind back into Nigel’s groin. The sudden movement facilitated the penetration, and Nigel found himself buried in her cunt.
“Ah! Oh, master, young master!” the girl exclaimed, in French. “Take me! Thrust your sword into my sheath. Deep! Pierce me, yes, pierce me. Ah!”
“As you wish, mademoiselle,” Nigel replied.
His excitement quickly mounted.
His cock slithered in and out of her cuntal canal with remarkable speed, until he thought he might lose consciousness as a result of the violent exertions he was making. His naked body, like that of the woman, was bathed in hot sweat. He could feel her vagina tightening up to grip his cock, as she began to climax all around the hard, tingling core of his potency. She was spilling her love oils, which wetted his dick as it rammed into her. Her liquid pleasure melted into a warm, sensuous bath around his prick, which he pumped into her with a frantic urgency now. He was eager to reach his own climax, before hers had the chance completely to die away.
The walls of her vaginal tunnel were like liquid fire, caressing him, and licking, flame-like, at his cockshaft with hot, wet tongues of sensation. From deep in her pelvis some strong force was tugging at his cock, trying to suck it still further into her body. He grunted as he concentrated on his own rapidly approaching orgasm.
Sin in Algiers Page 8
