Sin in Algiers

by Roland Graeme

  “What a strange room!” Nigel exclaimed.

  “Is it so strange?” Tarik replied, with a smile. “To me it is a typical bachelor’s dwelling—no more or less. But of course it is typical of a bachelor’s dwelling here. Far away, in your London—are your rooms so very different?”

  “I suppose you are right. They are much the same, au fond. Only the details differ. Of course, our homes in England tend to be stuffier.”

  “Stuffier?” Tarik arched his dark eyebrows in an inquisitive manner. “I don’t understand that word.”

  “Stuffier, meaning literally closer, with less fresh air. Because of our need to close up everything during the wintertime, to keep out the cold. Even in the summer, the weather in England can be cool and damp. And stuffier in a figurative sense, by which I mean more formal. Less free and open and spontaneous.”

  “Yes, you Englishmen are great ones for discipline. Imposing discipline upon others, and also when it comes to self-discipline.”

  “Is that necessarily a bad thing, Tarik?”

  “It is a peculiar thing,” the Algerian said, evasively. “But come. You are my guest. Enter. Sit down. Think of this as your own home.”

  Nigel had lingered on the threshold. Now he walked boldly forward into the interior of the room, followed by his host, until he had passed the sliding doors and had reached the foot of the dais. There he turned round, with his back to the faint light that came in through the shutters and the curtains

  Tarik had shut the door by which they had come in, and he had pulled over it another heavy orange-colored curtain, which Nigel now saw for the first time. He also noticed, set out on a broad low table in front of the dais, various items which he recognized as needed for the preparation of coffee.

  “Ah, I see that Saim has brought in the things—sooner than I anticipated. Will you take coffee?” Tarik asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Do you enjoy strong Turkish coffee?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “I will show you one way in which we make it here. For special occasions—and to serve to special guests.”

  Nigel smiled. “Am I special?”

  “You are far from ordinary. Won’t you be seated? Now, pay attention. This is a ritual, of a sort.”

  “I am watching you,” Nigel replied.

  Tarik busied himself beside a brazier with iron legs, which rested on the floor. On the polished wood tabletop nearby there were a shining saucepan containing water, a brass bowl of freshly roasted and pounded coffee, two small open coffee-pots with handles that stuck straight out, two coffee cups, a tiny bowl of powdered sugar, and some paper parcels which held sticks of mastic, ambergris, and seed of cardamom.

  While Nigel watched, Tarik proceeded with his task, with a slow and almost delicate precision. Squatting down upon his haunches, with his muscular legs tucked under his lithe body, he poured the water from the saucepan into one of the copper pots, set the pot on the brazier—and then he seemed to sink into a reverie, with his enigmatic black eyes, which took in all but gave away nothing, fixed on the burning coals. Nigel too remained motionless, watching Tarik, but his host never looked at him. There was something contagious in his self-absorption.

  Presently there came from the pot a bubbling sound. Instantly, Tarik stretched out his hand and took the pot from the brazier and the bowl of coffee from the table. He let some of the coffee fall into the water, stirred it with a silver spoon which he produced from a carefully folded square of linen, and set the pot once more on the brazier. Then he unfolded the paper which held the ambergris, put a tiny piece of it into the second pot, and set that, too, on the brazier. The coffee began to simmer. He lit a stick of mastic, fumigated with its smoke the two little coffee cups, took the coffee pot, and gently poured the fragrant coffee into the pot containing the melted ambergris. He let it simmer for a moment there, and then poured it out into the coffee cups. The brew frothed and sent forth along with its own distinctive scent the enticing perfume of ambergris. Tarik added a dash of the cardamom seed—and then, at last, he looked toward Nigel.

  “It’s ready? Then shall I put the sugar in?” Nigel said.

  “Yes,” Tarik replied, looking steadily at him.

  Nigel stretched out his hand to the sugar bowl. He sweetened both cups. Seated side by side on the divan, the two men sipped the dark, pungent brew.

  “Why, this is extraordinary,” Nigel declared. “It is delicious.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “And I can see why you have set aside this room, as your private domain. It’s very comfortable. I feel quite relaxed.”

  Tarik smiled. “I hope you do not feel too relaxed, though.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because the addition of the ambergris to the coffee—it is supposed not only to enhance the flavor, but to have an aphrodisiac effect.”

  Nigel laughed. “No offense, but the notion that adding certain ingredients to food or drink in order to arouse the passions—well, that is nothing but a myth.”

  “You know so, for a fact?”

  “I suspect so. I’ll continue to do so, until experience teaches me otherwise.”

  “Sometimes I sleep in this room. A nap during the heat of the day, or even at night.”

  “Oh, do you?” Nigel was caught off guard by the way his host had suddenly seemed to have changed the subject.

  “Yes. Come and join me on the bed,” Tarik urged.

  “You want us to sit on the bed?”

  “I want us to lie on the bed. Together.”

  “Oh. To rest?” Nigel asked, more than a little naïvely.

  “To make love.”

  “Men don’t make love,” Nigel protested.

  Tarik smiled. “No? Then what do they do, when they take their pleasure together—as you and I have already done? For example, while we were in the company of Faridah and Amirah. I seem to recall certain intimacies taking place between us.”

  “We kissed,” Nigel protested.

  “Monsieur’s memory is selective. We did more than kiss, before we left the sisters’ house that night.”

  “As I recall, Tarik, the abandonment was general. With no fewer than five bodies, on the same bed, three men and two women—it could scarcely have been otherwise. Even Mornay allowed certain liberties to be taken with his person, in the heat of passion.”

  Tarik smiled. “And the other day, at the Moorish baths?”

  “We men—we enjoyed ourselves,” Nigel stammered. “We gave in to our animal instincts. To our base desires.”

  “Whether my desires are base or not—I desire you,” Tarik said.

  “Oh? Do you?” Nigel responded—automatically, without thinking, and stupidly.

  “Yes. Take off your clothes.”

  “You presume a great deal.”

  “But—do I presume too much?”

  “Probably not.”

  “You want me,” Tarik suggested, in a voice thickened by passion. “Ah, you do want me—as much as I want you.”

  “Perhaps. It just seems—so indecent—to speak about it, so openly.”

  “You prefer silence and hypocrisy?”

  “Well, no. Not necessarily. I prefer—to be perfectly honest, Tarik, I don’t know what I prefer.”

  “While you are thinking about it—while you are deciding—strip naked, in the meanwhile, and lie down beside me,” Tarik urged.

  Nigel shivered. “You tempt me.”

  “I invite you.”

  “You beguile me. You entice me.”

  “Am I doing a good job of it, oh, my fine, respectable Englishman?”

  “You aren’t bad at it,” Nigel admitted. “But the servants?”

  “I have told them we are not to be disturbed, for any reason.”

  “You planned this, then.”

  “With the utmost care and discretion.”

  Tarik spoke with an almost professional pride, which put a thought into Nigel’s head.

&n
bsp; “Tarik, are you in the habit of seducing the men who hire you as a guide?”

  “I am in the habit of doing my best to provide satisfaction. But I, too, like to enjoy myself, whenever that is possible. Let’s not discuss business affairs, shall we? This is an hour for pleasure. Let us enjoy it without distractions.”

  They undressed.

  “If what you put in our coffee is really supposed to be an aphrodisiac—” Nigel said.

  “Yes?”

  “Then it does seems to be having that effect. My pego is very hard,” Nigel reported.

  “So I see.”

  “It aches.”

  “I know how to soothe it.”

  “How?”

  “Like this.”

  Tarik forced Nigel to lie flat on his back on the mattress, and then he slithered between Nigel’s legs and stroked the outsides of his thighs. Nigel felt his cock quivering, jerking fitfully up and down from his belly as though it was loaded on a spring, in response to the caresses it received from the Algerian’s warm, sure hands. After a moment, Tarik’s equally warm, sensuous, and skilled mouth began to kiss its way up along the insides of Nigel’s thighs.

  Nigel’s body tensed involuntarily when Tarik’s tongue touched his balls and began to lick around them with long, wet strokes. His breath grew more ragged as the other young man’s mouth worked its way steadily higher, until he was licking the base of Nigel’s cock.

  “Ah, how sweet you taste,” Tarik moaned. His mouth moved higher up the length of Nigel’s erection, his tongue rubbing restless from side to side against the shaft. His lips reached the tip of the penis, which he began to tease with the end of his tongue, tickling it and making it jump higher away from Nigel’s belly, until it stood up far enough to allow Tarik to capture it with his lips.

  “Oh,” Nigel groaned, as the Algerian’s wet mouth went down on his cock. “Oh, God!”

  He felt a purely erotic joy surging through his entire body. Those warm, moist lips were moving slowly up and down on him, taking his manhood right to its base. Each stroke which that teasing, tormenting mouth made on him seemed to make his aroused penis swell larger and harder, until it felt like a rigid bar of hot iron sliding it in and out Tarik’s passionately suctioning mouth.

  Nigel’s hips began to move in synchronization with the steady downward thrusts of Tarik’s mouth, driving his erection far into the depths of the other man’s hot, tight throat. Nigel had never dreamed that being sucked could feel this good. He arched his head up from the soft bedding and he looked down at the bobbing head which rose and fell over his groin. He saw the disheveled mane of glossy black hair, the handsome dark face, the well-muscled naked body.

  “Yes, please, Tarik,” he pleaded, reaching down to grasp and squeeze the Algerian’s shoulders. “Yes, go on doing it like that. Please don’t stop. Not now. I can feel myself getting close. Oh, so close!”

  He could indeed feel the sperm pressure building up deep inside him. His hips drove up more rapidly, with greater urgency. But Tarik must have felt the telltale swelling and throbbing of the rigid penis trapped inside his mouth. Suddenly, his oral strokes became frantic, and his tongue lashed about, licking every accessible inch of Nigel’s dick to coax it toward orgasm.

  Nigel fell back on the bed, moaning incoherently. He was torn. He never wanted this lewd sexual act to end. But at the same time, he was helpless to prevent himself from ejaculating, and he longed for the relief which his discharge would give. He emitted a stifled cry as his cock went off inside the other man’s mouth. The violence of Nigel’s ejaculation made Tarik grunt and he pulled back, but only for a moment. Then he held his ground, continuing to suck as passionately as ever, greedily gathering every drop of the hot fluid which Nigel squirted into his mouth and throat.

  When Nigel’s prick had stopped shooting, only then did Tarik slowly and reluctantly pull his mouth away. He swallowed the semen, and then he lay down beside Nigel and gathered him in his arms.

  Nigel hugged Tarik’s head down to his and kissed him hard on the mouth. His hands rubbed restlessly up and down Tarik’s strong, naked shoulders, feeling the muscles in them ripple. The two men’s bodies ground hotly together. Once again, they were enjoying frottage together. Tarik had not climaxed, and his cock was extremely hard.

  After a moment, Nigel broke the kiss, rolled Tarik onto his back, and began to explore his body with his hands. But soon he wished to use his mouth as well. He kissed Tarik again on the lips, and then he applied his mouth to his face and throat and chest. He detected a faint taste of salt sweat on the other man’s skin.

  Stimulated by the taste, Nigel continued to lap away with his tongue. Wriggling his knees into position between Tarik’s widespread legs, he moved his mouth sill lower on his torso. His lips fastened themselves in turn upon each of the big brown nipples, sucking on them until they pushed out from their surrounding pectoral mounds and thrust themselves inside his mouth, solid cones of flesh.

  He felt Tarik’s huge hard cock bobbing up forcefully against his belly as he drew himself down, moving his tongue in a straight line from Tarik’s chest to his navel. Nigel pressed his mouth over the little deep pit and darted his tongue into it. Then he followed the light growth of silken black hair down Tarik’s rock-hard lower belly until it flared into a thicker growth above his cock.

  Nigel ran his tongue through the pubic hair, licking deep into it, until he tasted the flesh underneath. When he lifted his head, he grinned at Tarik, who returned his broad smile.

  “I feel quite dissipated,” Nigel confessed. “What we are doing—it seems to me to be very wicked.”

  “Oh, very wicked indeed,” Tarik agreed. “But I will teach you to find pleasure in wickedness.”

  “Then let us resume our lessons—”

  Nigel’s head dropped again and he smothered his flushed, feverish face between Tarik’s brown thighs, pressing his nose right into the heavy sac of the testicles and licking his tongue in under them, pushing it toward Tarik’s ass.

  Nigel’s hands tightened on Tarik’s buttocks and lifted them up from the mattress. Then, raising the other man’s strong legs, he flung them over his own shoulders and lifted Tarik until the Algerian’s ass was high in the air. Nigel ground his mouth down on the warm, sweaty butt cheeks, his tongue swabbing back and forth over the lightly haired cleft which separated them—until the tip of his tongue was ticking and wetting the dark little puckered hole at the center of the valley.

  He had never done anything like this before, but he knew from his readings of pornographic literature that men did it to each other sometimes. And now, suddenly, with the handsome young Algerian naked in bed with him, he wanted to try everything—to experience everything—to do all of the things which he should have indulged in long ago, but which he had never had the courage to attempt.

  Pulling apart the buttocks with his hands, Nigel began to work his tongue into the tight, flexing asshole. He closed his eyes and tried to picture what Tarik’s face must look like, as he heard him groan with erotic delight. Nigel pushed his tongue more forcefully—and suddenly it was inside Tarik’s ass.

  “Ah!” Tarik cried. “Yes—lick me there, suck me. Suck my ass!” His hands pressed hard on the back of Nigel’s head, keeping his tongue trapped firmly inside his ass. “I like the way that feels. It is making me hot. And you’re so good at it. You’re even better than Saim!”

  As though the other man’s encouragement was a spur applied this flank, Nigel licked even more furiously. He felt the smooth warm anal muscles squeezing against his tongue, seeming to suck it in even deeper. He ground his mouth from side to side, up and down, within the anal cleft, plunging and drilling his tongue as deeply as it would go.

  But then, abruptly, Tarik pulled Nigel’s head away from his ass and he dropped his legs back onto the bed. Tarik gripped his dick at the base and pushed Nigel’s hungry mouth down on it. A raw gasp of pleasure rippled from Tarik’s throat when Nigel’s lips seized his turgid flesh and swallowed more
than half of it on the first downward stroke.

  Nigel’s heart hammered wildly within his chest and his own cock was once more fully erect as he drew his mouth slowly down around Tarik’s throbbing hardness. He took the penis all the way to its root, grinding his mouth into the bush of pubic hair surrounding it. The cock was so thick and stiff that he felt an ache in the back of his throat from the glans pushing so insistently against it. But Nigel refused to retreat an inch. He wanted this man’s cock in his mouth, and now that he had it, he was not about to relinquish it. Not until it erupted, and flooded his mouth with its seed!

  He held his lips firmly closed around the base of the shaft, rubbing his tongue slowly across the bulk of the penis.

  Tarik’s buttocks began to hump up and down on the bed. His hands gripped Nigel’s head and pressed down on it, silently urging him to begin the actual sucking. Nigel delayed for a moment longer, enjoying the feeling of simply holding the hard penis inside his mouth. But then he back his lips off until they held no more than the cockhead. His mouth started to slide slowly down again—but Tarik had grown impatient. The Algerian drove his pelvis up hard and at the same time his hands pushed down on Nigel’s head. Tarik buried his cock to the hilt inside the Englishman’s mouth.