Sin in Algiers

by Roland Graeme

  “Don’t try to ‘help yourself.’ Give in to your body and its needs. Help yourself to this.”

  Daumier was still toying with himself. Nigel’s eyes were still fixed upon him, as though he had been hypnotized. He stared at the throbbing bulk of Daumier’s fat, dark pink cockhead as it mushroomed into twice the size it had been when limp. He gazed down between their bodies at the heavy veins ruining along the length of the other man’s shaft, and he could almost see them filling with more blood with each second that passed. Up and up the lieutenant’s cock rose, until it was a proud phallic lance pointing straight up from the thick mat of silky hair at its base.

  Daumier’s free hand reached between his legs and cupped his big balls, lifting them like an offering to Nigel’s gaze. He juggled them slowly up and down for a moment, and then he let them drop again. He gripped his dick at its root and bent it down with an effort, until the rigid prong was aimed directly outward from his groin and its tip touched the skin of Nigel’s tensed upper thigh. Daumier’s other hand now rose, slid behind Nigel’s neck, and squeezed gently there, to urge his head forward.

  “Kiss me,” Daumier murmured, opening his mouth and pressing it gently against Nigel’s, his tongue already sliding from between his lips to lick and explore. Nigel moaned as they kissed, their tongues darting deep into each other’s mouths, their bodies crushed tightly together. Daumier’s erection, like Nigel’s, was now trapped between their bellies.

  “Come,” Daumier breathed against Nigel’s mouth as he broke the kiss. “Come to the bed—”

  “But, what if Mornay—?”

  “I doubt that he will interrupt us. No, he will wait until you ring for him. Your man is no fool. Just as you are not quite the innocent you seem.”

  Nude, they thrust the mosquito netting aside and clambered onto the broad bed.

  Nigel reached for Daumier’s hips and gripped them tightly with both hands. He leaned over the Frenchman’s groin. His lips touched the head of the older man’s big cock, and then they parted, in a gasp. His tongue licked out and tasted the spongy hardness.

  “That’s right. Go on. Suck it,” Daumier moaned.

  Nigel’s mouth widened more, and with a faint moan, he repositioned himself on the bed on his knees and, recklessly, he stuffed his mouth with the Frenchman’s hard cock. He gagged at first and tried to pull back, but Daumier’s hands stroked his neck and the back of his head tenderly and urged him down onto the rigid penis again.

  This time Nigel kept just the head inside his mouth while he lapped at it, until he was accustomed to the size, the feel, and the taste of it. His fingers tightened on Daumier’s hips as he moved his head closer, taking more of the cock inside his mouth. It was so thick and stiff that his lips were stretched all the way open around the shaft. Inside his mouth, he could scarcely move his tongue freely about. But he began to rock his head back and forth, working the swollen prick between his lips, forcing himself to take more of it each time he pushed his face forward.

  Daumier’s cock was so big that it was difficult for Nigel to get all of it comfortably into his mouth. He felt the cockhead pushing down his throat, and he gagged again. He backed off an inch or two, and then he began to suck on as much of the length of the tool as he could handle. His tongue fluttered up and down the shaft while his lips continued to ease it in and out of his mouth. His hands moved around Daumier’s body until they clenched the hard cheeks of his ass. He felt the buttocks tensing as Daumier slowly humped his body back and forth, feeding his prick into Nigel’s mouth in counterpoint to the bobbing of his head. Nigel’s senses reeled dizzily as he sucked faster and faster, and Daumier continued to pump his cock at his face.

  “Suck! Suck, boy!” Daumier shouted, in a veritable frenzy of lust. “Ah, is there anything to compare to a beautiful young boy, naked, on his hands and knees, with his mouth wide open, sucking on a man’s cock? What woman can compare to this? Suck that dick of mine. Make love to it with your mouth. Ah, you inflame me—you drive me mad! What pleasure, what delight! Ah!” After a moment, though, the soldier suddenly twisted his body about on the bed. “Yours, too,” he gasped, as Nigel continued to feed greedily upon his meaty prick. “Your cock. Put yours in my mouth, let me suck you while you suck me. Both of us at once, sucking—!”

  Chapter Eleven: A Private Performance

  “When I check out of this hotel … I must remember to give the chambermaid a very large tip.” Nigel murmured, half to himself.

  His bedmate stirred beside him. “Why?” Daumier asked, sleepily.

  “Because what I have been doing on, and to, the hotel’s bed linens is nothing short of disgraceful.”

  The two men were lying naked on the rumpled and stained bed linens in question, clasped in a loose, lazy embrace.

  The Frenchman snickered. “You are delightful, Mr. Cheney.”

  “I think, Lieutenant Daumier, taking into consideration what has just taken place between us—you should call me by my Christian name, Nigel.”

  “I would be honored to do so. And you must address me as Pascal.”

  “Agreed. And we shall tutoyer each other.”

  “Indeed, we must. Excellent! You see how well we agree. You shall be my English younger brother, and I will be your French older brother. It will be my responsibility to protect you from the wickedness which exists all around us in this world.”

  “Well—don’t protect me too much. Not from all of it!”

  Pascal laughed. “I will be selective, in my protectiveness.” He glanced toward the windows. “Ah, I see that the sandstorm has passed. All is calm outside. Now, I have a suggestion. Dine with me this evening. And then, if you are interested in further explorations—dispense with Tarik’s services for one night, and let me be your guide. I have something in mind which I am sure you will find entertaining.”

  “I accept your invitation. I place myself in your hands. I’ll tell Tarik I will not be needing him, and I will also let Mornay have the night off. It’s the least he deserves, in return for his discretion.”

  Pascal laughed again. “Yes, your man has been conspicuous by his absence, while we have diverted ourselves. Perhaps you should ring for him now, so we can get dressed.”

  That evening, they dined in a restaurant, and then Pascal took Nigel to a street in the native quarter.

  “I am beginning to feel at home here in this part of the city,” Nigel joked. “After having already made so many visits.”

  “I hope this one won’t disappoint you. This is the place.” Pascal had stopped at the door of one of the whitewashed houses. He knocked. The door was opened by a pretty young girl, who was not veiled. She seemed to know Pascal, to whom she bowed deeply, before she stood aside and gestured for the two men to enter the house.

  “Whose house is this?” Nigel asked.

  “It belongs to the lovely and popular dancing girl, Maleka.”

  “Wait. I have heard that name before. Not the same Maleka whom I saw dance at a café, high up on the hill of the Kasbah, on the night I arrived here?”

  “No doubt the very same.”

  “You know the young lady, then.”

  “Oh, yes. You will find her to be a charming hostess. Make yourself at home.” Pascal exchanged a few words in Arabic with the girl, whom Nigel assumed was a servant. Bowing again, she went into another room.

  “This way.” Pascal led Nigel down a hallway, and through an open archway. The Englishman found himself in a room which was elegantly furnished and decorated, in purely Algerian style. A thick soft carpet covered the entire floor. A sofa heaped with cushions stood against one wall. Opposite it, an embroidered silk curtain fell from the ceiling to the carpet, dividing off part of the room.

  Two lean, dark-skinned men of indeterminate age, wearing white robes, came into the room. One carried a wooden flute; his companion had in his hands a pair of small drums with goatskin heads, resembling tom-toms. They bowed before Pascal, who gave each of them a few coins.

  “Play,” Pas
cal told them, in French. “Something lively, while we are waiting.”

  The men seated themselves on the floor, to one side, in front of the wall. The drummer pounded his instruments with the palms of his hands, while the flute player produced shrill, warbling sounds, resembling the cries of startled birds.

  “A musicale,” Nigel remarked. “How delightful.”

  “Sit,” Pascal urged Nigel. “We will soon be offered the entertainment I promised you. First, Maleka will dance for us. I know you have seen her dance in the café. But this will be different—a private performance, much more intimate. Did you find Maleka beautiful?”

  “I did.”

  “After the dance, you may enjoy her favors, if you wish.”

  “May I?”

  “But of course. She will be offended if you show no such interest in her.”

  “I certainly have no wish to give offense. Forgive me for asking, but I want to be quite clear, so as not to risk making some faux pas. Is she your mistress?”

  “Not in the sense in which you are probably thinking of the word. She has many lovers. It may surprise you to hear that I am acquainted with some of these men, and we get along well. None of us is foolish enough to think that he has an exclusive claim on the lady’s affections. Ah—we are ready to begin.”

  The maidservant had stepped out from behind the curtain. Gesturing to the two musicians with one hand, she stood aside, holding open the curtain with her other hand.

  The drummer began to beat out a new rhythm, much slower than before, a steady, subtle pulsation. Above this regular beat, the flute player intoned a sensuous, undulating melody.

  Maleka emerged through the gap in the curtain, which her maid released, allowing it to close again behind her mistress. Then the maid withdrew.

  Nigel stared at Maleka, captivated. Barefoot on the carpet, she held a translucent veil in front of her body, in her upraised hands. The fabric of the veil was so sheer that when the dancer moved closer to where Pascal and Nigel sat, the lamplight, striking her from behind, made the veil virtually transparent. Nigel saw that, except for the jewelry which adorned her wrists, neck, and ankles, Maleka was completely nude.

  She danced, slowly, provocatively, still holding the veil before her, although it was ineffective to conceal her charms.

  The musicians, Nigel noticed, directed furtive, appreciative glances toward Maleka. But they were professional enough not to allow their admiration of the dancer to interfere with their playing.

  The woman’s movements became more animated. She shook her body with a startling agility, her jewelry jangling noisily. She lowered and raised the veil in front of her, tantalizing the onlookers. Finally, though, she tossed the flimsy fabric away. With nothing to obscure her charms, she danced more rapidly, more erotically. Her breasts trembled. Her belly quivered.

  “Imagine that voluptuous body of hers,” Pascal whispered to Nigel, “writhing against you in the throes of passion.”

  “I am having trouble trying not to imagine that,” Nigel confessed.

  Pascal chuckled. “There’s no need to conceal your arousal. To Maleka, it is a compliment.”

  Completing her dance, Maleka bowed gracefully to her audience of two, and then she quickly left the room.

  Nigel and Pascal applauded.

  Pascal gave the musicians more money, and dismissed them.

  “Come,” he said to Nigel.

  He led Nigel into a nearby room. It was small and dimly lit, but Nigel realized that it must be the dancer’s bedroom. She lay, waiting for them, upon a divan heaped with rugs and cushions. Sticks of incense smoldered away in their holders, wafting thin tendrils of pungently scented smoke through their air.

  “Will you go first?” Pascal invited Nigel.

  “Ah—”

  “There is no need to be shy.”

  “Bear with me, mon ami. I’m still new to such pleasures.”

  “You will learn quickly,” the Frenchman predicted. “Shall I show you the way?”

  “Please do.”

  “I like to be watched by another man while I perform the act of love. Come close,” Pascal coaxed. “Observe us. Join in, whenever and however you like.”

  He embraced Maleka, fondling her from her throat down to her ankles, while his mouth covered her naked flesh with kisses.

  Submitting to his caresses, she closed her eyes—and then she shrieked with delight when his fingers began to play with her pussy. She relaxed the grip of her thighs, opening herself to him, and her entire body shook wildly as his fingertips penetrated her delicate-looking slit. She seemed to spasm helplessly in response to each probing thrust which his thick middle finger made up into her. He found her clitoris and he toyed with it until the nub of flesh was swollen and quivering against his tickling, rubbing fingertip.

  “You see, my boy,” Pascal told Nigel. “This is the most sensitive and responsive part of a woman’s body. Strum it as you would the strings of a guitar, and she will vibrate. She will melt. She will allow you to work all your will upon her. And—you must give her pleasure not only with your fingers, but with your tongue. Like this—!”

  He broke off, and he buried his face in Maleka’s cunt. He kissed her labia, and then he began to suck on them. His tongue probed between the delicate-looking folds of flesh, and then it began to rub over her clit. Maleka shivered and shrieked under him.

  Nigel watched, fascinated. The woman looked as though she was already on the verge of orgasm!

  Pascal ate Maleka’s pussy with undisguised relish.

  Finally, though, he broke the oral-genital contact. He rose slowly, kissing his way back up her body, and then he covered her mouth with his own lips and he drove his cunt-flavored tongue deep into her throat.

  Interrupting the kiss, he gestured toward Nigel. “Join us,” he urged.

  Nigel got onto the bed.

  “Now, ma belle, you must pay your attentions to mon ami,” Pascal demanded, pushing on Maleka’s shoulders, guiding her toward Nigel. “Suck him.”

  In a somewhat incongruous show of modesty, Maleka demurely shook her head.

  “Do it,” Pascal coaxed. “Come now, there is no need to play the coy virgin with me. Get on your hands and knees and suck his cock.”

  Maleka obeyed. She positioned herself on the mattress between the two men, arranging her body as Pascal had insisted, and from this new vantage point she stared at the large, stiff prick which was sticking up from Nigel’s groin. She opened her mouth, licked her lips—but then she hesitated.

  With brisk efficiency, Pascal took charge of the situation. Grasping Maleka’s hair in one hand, with the other he matter-of-factly seized hold of Nigel’s cock and aimed it at her mouth. She resisted, but he pulled her head forward and forced Nigel’s dick deep into her open mouth.

  “Suck him,” Pascal urged. “I want to watch you suck that fine young English cock.”

  Maleka’s rouged lips relaxed, forming an oval around the circumference of Nigel’s prick.

  Nigel back to rock back and forth on his knees, pumping his cock in and out of her mouth. Her lips opened wider, taking more of him between them. Her tongue licked him, eagerly. Her hands slid up to his hips and clamped down hard around his buttocks, assisting his motions as he drove his prick at her face.

  “She likes it,” Pascal observed. “She is enjoying herself. Yes, she is finding a great deal of pleasure in sucking your big, beautiful English cock! But do not come in her mouth,” Pascal advised. “When you feel yourself approaching the crisis, pull out.”

  When Nigel drew his dick out of her mouth, Maleka gasped with what certainly sounded like disappointment to the two men.

  “What now?” Nigel asked, making no effort to conceal his eagerness.

  “Take her! Make good use of her cunny. You want to, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lie down and spread your legs,” Pascal told Maleka, in a voice that was tense with excitement. “Show him the flower of your womanhood, my beauty. Let
him immerse himself inside your luscious blossom.”

  Maleka lay on her back and opened her thighs, looking up at Nigel with eyes burning with desire. His cock was shining with the saliva which her mouth had left on it, and it was slippery when she seized it in her hand and guided him between her legs. He was breathing hard as he moved closer to her on the bed and positioned himself between her wantonly parted legs. He arched up and took his cock in his hand, bending it down until the head rubbed against the wet, slippery lips of her cunt. The thick blunt cockhead pushed into her, and when he thrust it into her more forcefully, she threw back her head and uttered a shrill cry of mingled pain and pleasure.

  At last their bellies touched, and Nigel was all the way inside her. As he began to fuck her, Maleka began to arch her hips up from the bed to meet his thrusts, shrieking with delight each time his cock rammed into her. She clung tightly to him, her fingernails raking up and down his back, her breasts and belly slapping against him each time his body came down on hers.

  Less than a minute after Nigel began screwing her, the woman convulsed in her first orgasm. But Nigel did not stop. Quickly, he built the lascivious dance of their intertwined bodies back to the peak of excitement, as he continued thrusting into her cunt with strong, sure strokes. She came again, screaming and biting into his shoulder. But still he stayed inside her, hard and throbbing, exciting her all over again.

  His body was dripping with sweat, his skin so slippery that Maleka could scarcely grip him with her hands as he thrust in and out of her. Her legs were too weak to lift themselves up to meet him any longer. She simply lay there flat on her back while he drove his cock in the same relentless rhythm. She tossed her head from side to side on the mattress and moaned out incoherent cries of joy, as she climaxed again and again.

  “What a man! A veritable satyr. Ah, you fuck like a jackrabbit, my young English friend!” Pascal told Nigel.

  The lieutenant was watching with the closest attention the act of intercourse which was taking place beside him on the bed.

  He saw Nigel’s pace begin to quicken. Looking Nigel in the face, the Frenchman knew from the tension of his jaw and the glazed sheen in his eyes that he was getting ready to come in the woman at last. Nigel began to pant for breath through his open mouth, the sweat from his forehead and chest dripping down onto Maleka’s quivering flesh like rain.