by Lou Cameron
A sultry-looking girl came in in response to Gemal’s clammy claps. Gemal said something to her in Arabic, and she told them in Spanish to follow her. It didn’t cause Captain Gringo any pain. She was built like an hour glass and dressed in what looked like pajama pants made of cobwebbing. She’d worn nothing at all above the waist but he sort of forgot just what her tits had looked like as he watched her nicely shaped behind jiggle under the thin gauze. He wondered idly why a woman’s behind, you could almost see, looked yummier than totally nude tail.
She led them up a flight of stairs to a dimly lit hallway reeking of hashish and frankincense. There was a little myrrh burning somewhere, too. But somehow Captain Gringo doubted she was leading them to the Manger, and he was right. She dropped Gaston off by one door and told Captain Gringo, “Just walk this way a little farther, señor.”
He’d have felt silly walking that way any distance at all. She seemed to move her hips at least a foot sideways for every six inches forward. She led him through another doorway into a pitch-black room, struck a match to light a lamp left over from that story about Aladdin, and asked him how he liked it so far.
He stared around at an interior lifted from the same Arabian fairy tales as the lamp as he tried to figure out how the furniture worked. The floor and walls were covered with lush oriental carpeting. There was a low rosewood table with a bottle and a tray of candied fruit by a big pile of loose silk pillows that had to be the only seating, the only bedding, or both. He said, “I’ve always wanted to spend a night in a harem. Didn’t expect it to be quite this, ah, empty, thought.”
She got it. She smiled softly and asked, “Would you prefer a boy, a girl, or perhaps both to serve you, effendi, I mean señor?”
He laughed and said, “Hell, I’m just an old-fashioned boy. Two or three beautiful dames would probably do it for me.
He’d been half-kidding. But she told him to just have a seat and she’d serve his order in a minute. She added, rather coyly, considering, “I am called Fatima, if you do not find me too old and fat.”
“How old and fat are you, Fatima?”
“Alas, though Allah be more merciful, I am almost twenty and few men desire me these days.”
He laughed incredulously and said, “You must meet few real men on this job, then. I think you’re pretty neat, Fatima. Why don’t we lie down and talk about it?”
But she darted outside, sobbing something about what a nice guy he was. So he shrugged, moved over to the pile of pillows, and took off his jacket to sit down cross-legged. He tried a candied date. It was too cloying. He took a sip from the bottle. It wasn’t bad, if only he could figure out what in the hell it was It tasted of anise, allspice, and something that needed to wash under its arms more. But it was at least as strong as wine, so what the hell.
He lit a claro as he wondered how one got some cross ventilation in here. The room was a bit warm as well as over perfumed. He put his gun rig between the pillows and the wall and took off his shirt to see if he was sweating. He was. He wondered where the hell Fatima had gone, if she was coming back, and if she knew where the windows were hiding under all this Persian ruggery.
Fatima did come back, stark naked now, as were the two younger girls who followed her in, giggling. One was sort of shy looking as well as darker than even Fatima and almost boyishly slender. The other was more roundly built than Fatima and stared boldly at him, as if she wondered if he was man enough. He sort of wondered, too. She, alone, looked like a man-eater. She was pale skinned and had reddish hair, all over. He’d heard there were redheaded Bedouin tribes left over from the Vandal Empire of North Africa, unless, of course, she was descended from some Irish lady the Barbary pirates had picked up in their travels. Fatima said her name, or nickname, was Zigazig. The little shy one answered to Sharah. She was the one who dropped to her knees on the carpet in front of him and proceeded to haul off his boots as the red-haired Zigazig got between him and the wall to start trying to stuff him with candied dates. He told her no thanks, and when it was obvious her understanding of anything but Arabic was limited, asked Fatima to tell her to knock it off.
Fatima did so, sinking down beside him across from Zigazig to blush demurely and ask, “Would you like to get right down to sex? Who do you wish to do what to, first?”
He gulped and said, “Hold on, girls, you’re going a little fast for me. I must be nuts. This is the daydream every man has at least once a day, but now that it seems to be coming true—.”
Fatima nodded understandingly and said, “I’d better take charge.”
Then she did, muttering in Arabic to her nude companions as she wrapped her arms around Captain Gringo, pressed her naked breasts against his bare chest, and shoved him over backwards under her as someone else proceeded to pull his pants down.
Sharah gasped and Zigazig clapped her hands in approval as they both saw what they were getting into, or what was getting into them. For despite his feelings of awkwardness Captain Gringo was naturally starting to rise to the occasion. Fatima asked if he minded being kissed on the mouth, which seemed an odd question, considering, and when he told her to be his guest, she was all over him, kissing like one of those new patent vacuum cleaners, only better. He’d never heard of a vacuum cleaner that tongued so skillfully. He wrapped his arms around her and proceeded to return the compliments with enthusiasm, now that the ice had been broken. He knew she expected to be laid first, and that seemed only fair. But then someone was sucking hell out of what he’d been about to put in Fatima, and since she was kissing his lips it couldn’t be her, but what the hell, it sure felt great. For the lips working on his more private parts were skilled as hell, too!
He and Fatima came up for air in each other’s arms. She said, “Oh, you kiss so nice. Do you like what we are doing?”
He said, “I sure do. But, uh, let’s see, yeah, Zigazig, seems to be sucking me off while I’m kissing you! Is that what she’s supposed to be doing?”
“Of course. I told her to. I thought you might enjoy romantic foreplay, darling. Do you mind if I call you darling? I am feeling most romantic, too!”
“I noticed. This sure beats working at it, Fatima. But what are you, ah, getting out of it?”
She giggled and snuggled closer to chew softly on his collar bone as she rubbed against him sensuously. He looked down, saw the part in Sharah’s black hair between Fatima’s open thighs and said, “Right, silly question.” Then Fatima was kissing him on the mouth with shuddering passion as she moved his free hand to play with one of her naked nipples. So he couldn’t say anything more as they made hot Arabesque love, if that was what one called this weird business.
He had nothing to complain about as he lay across the pillows making lazy love to a beautiful woman while another one did all the work for him as Sharah, in turn, drove Fatima up the wall to a long shuddering orgasm in his arms. He ejaculated almost at the same time in one woman’s hot wet skill while making love to another. But then he said, “Okay, enough of this foreplay, Fatima. I told you I was an old-fashioned boy!”
“You still want me?” She gasped with delight as he rolled her on her back and mounted her properly. He growled, “What do you mean, still? I haven’t had you yet, doll!”
And then he did. Fatima hissed in pleased surprise as he entered her for the first time, despite all the slap and tickle they’d just gone through together. Fatima hadn’t gotten a look at his shaft as her fellow love-slave or whatever, Zigazig, had nearly swallowed it alive. So Fatima made very complimentary remarks indeed as Captain Gringo, fully aroused by the weirdly nice surroundings, proceeded to screw her silly.
Fatima made love that way as well as any other and, in truth, she would have been enough for a guy stuck overnight with nothing to read in bed. But as he humped Fatima on the pile of pillows he was curious enough to turn his head to see what Sharah and Zigazig had to say about all this. He saw they were screwing, too. It was hard to see how, since he was sure they were both girls. But the wiry little Shara
h was atop Zigazig like a man, moving her smaller tail between the redhead’s wide-spread fleshier thighs as if she had a dong inside her and, from the way Zigazig was moving her big hips, the redhead seemed to think there was, too. He was still trying to figure out what they were getting out of all that effort when Fatima clamped down on his own questing shaft with her internal muscles and begged him to go faster. So he did, and it was worth it when they came together, hard.
As he lay in Fatima’s arms, sated for the moment, he looked again and, damn it, this time the big redhead was on top and seemed to be trying to screw skinny little Sharah to death, but with what? He asked Fatima if she knew what was going on. She giggled and said something in Arabic. So the redhead giggled, too, and rose from the saddle of Sharah’s thighs to show him.
He blinked and said, “I see it, but I don’t believe it! How in the fuck did Zigazig grow a cock and balls all of a sudden?” For that was what it looked like as the redhead lewdly stroked the heroic moist male member sticking out from her red pubic hair. Fatima told her in Arabic to let him have a better look. So Zigazig gave a tug, a grunt, and held the impossible-looking object up to the light.
It was obviously made of flesh-colored rubber, on closer inspection. Not one but two amazingly realistic eight inchers sprouted in a Y from the base made to look like a pair of human balls. He laughed and said, “I see how it works, now. You girls sure must have a lot of spare time to kill in each other’s company.”
Fatima sighed and said, “You Infidels have no idea. Aside from our own men being unable to sleep with us all at once, thanks to the Prophet’s teachings that four wives and as many harem girls as a man can afford is only right and proper, when they do summon us to bed, they are seldom interested in, ah, old-fashioned loving.”
“You mean it’s hard for a healthy Arab girl to get a good old-fashioned screwing?”
“Not as often as a healthy woman would like, señor. You see, when a man has all the sex he could ever want at his beck and call—”
“Yeah, guys who eat too much develop jaded appetites for unusual food, too,” he cut in, adding, “Jesus, I wonder how many dames I’d have to screw before I really got to wondering what a rosy-cheeked boy might be like.”
“Shall we find out?” asked Fatima, adding, “Why do you not have sex with Zigazig, now, while I finish screwing Sharah?”
That sounded fair, since he’d already come in old Zigazig, albeit not the old-fashioned way. So the redhead climbed up beside him and welcomed him with open arms and wide-spread thighs as Fatima calmly squatted between Sharah’s legs to insert the mock maleness, or one shaft of it, up her own freshly fornicated snatch.
Captain Gringo lost track of the rest of the gang for a while as he discovered to his surprised delight that the redhead screwed even better than she blew the French horn.
Yet despite the renewed inspiration of his new surroundings and the inspired way Zigazig moved them, it was starting to drift from pleasure into honest toil now. A man as virile as Captain Gringo was usually good for thrice in a row, even with the same woman. But thanks, or no-thanks, to his orgy with Anita earlier that same day in the deserted house, he was having a hard time getting there.
Zigazig, fortunately, took it as a gallant compliment when she came ahead of him and he just kept going. She sobbed up at him in Arabic and started writhing all over the pillows under him. That helped. He was getting there when, suddenly, little Sharah pounced on him from behind and seemed to be trying to shove something up his ass for some reason. He told her to cut it out and when that didn’t work, twisted his head around to ask Fatima what in the hell was wrong with the crazy dame.
Fatima was reclining casually off to one side, just watching as she fingered herself. She explained, “Some Spanish gentlemen seem to enjoy that particular vice. They say it gives them an enormous erection to be sodomised by a man while they make love to a woman.”
He said, “Glugh. Tell her I’m neither a Spaniard nor a gentleman and if I was, I still wouldn’t want a rubber dong up my bung, God damn it. Jesus, you girls act like you haven’t had a man at your mercy for at least a month!”
Fatima sighed and said, “It’s been longer than that. We are not allowed to service the trade with the regular whores working here. You see, Abdul feels it proper to keep the usual four wives of a rich Bedu, even though he prefers boys.”
“Oh, shit, I just laid two of Gemal’s wives?”
“Yes, I think it’s Sharah’s turn now. You’ve already been nice to Zigazig and poor little Sharah is terribly excited!”
“That’s for sure,” he muttered as the nutty little Sharah tried to shove her rubber dong up his ass again. He decided anything else they did together had to have that notion beat. So he kissed Zigazig a fond farewell, rolled off her, and grabbed Sharah to toss her across the pile of pillows on her giggling back. The synthetic male organs he hauled out of her felt silly as hell, too. He grimaced, tossed them aside, and mounted the hot little North African.
She screamed aloud as he entered her. Fatima laughed and said, “She says you are too much for her, that way. She wants to get on top so she can have something to say about how deep it goes in her.”
That sounded not only fair but restful. So he rolled, off Sharah and onto his own back to let her mount him, giggling at first, then grunting in apparent agony as she eased down his shaft, which for some reason seemed to be coming to life again. The fact she was tight as hell probably had something to do with that. He liked it even better when Sharah began to bounce up and down, taking it, as best he could tell, as far as it would go.
He had a better view of the others from this position. So he watched with interest as Zigazig picked up the flesh-colored double dildo to turn herself into a sort of soft-looking boy again. He was expecting her to mount Fatima, of course. But the big redhead got behind Sharah with her lush thighs forked across Captain Gringo’s legs, and what happened next was just plain silly.
Sharah leaned forward, pressing her little cupcake breasts down against his chest as she arched her spine and Zigazig mounted her from the rear, dog style, or rather, since Captain Gringo was in her usual love box, Greek style. He could feel the other shaft moving inside Sharah. It felt more weird and wild than sexy, at first, but it seemed to do wonders for Sharah, and as she clamped down on his real male shaft in a series of delicious pulsations, he sighed and said, “Oh, well, when in Rome, or maybe a fucking tent …”
Since Zigazig’s mock male movements were of course moving the other end of the crazy device in her own she-male insides as well, they party got wild indeed by the time all three of them came in one big gasping mass of quivering flesh. As he lay quietly with little Sharah’s pulsing interior milking any drops left over out, Captain Gringo sighed and said, “Why thank you, God. You’ve been a real pal, this evening. So forget what I called you earlier in those sewers.”
The door popped open and yet another naked lady dashed in. He looked her over, nodded, and said, “I guess so. If only I can ever get it up again.”
But the newcomer hadn’t come to join the party. She burbled at the first three in Arabic, and the next thing he knew all four of them were up and out, leaving him spread-eagled on the pillows with a limp dick, a dish of candied fruit, and a bottle of booze. So he just laughed, said, “Okay, enough is enough,” and closed his eyes. He’d had a hard as well as hard-on day and he was asleep in no time.
It was too good to last. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but he sure wanted more when someone woke him up, rather rudely, by pulling on his cock as if it was a bell cord.
Captain Gringo groaned, rubbed his face, and muttered, “If you don’t cut that out I’ll kill you.” Then he opened his eyes and added, “What the hell …?”
The woman seated on the pillows, jerking him off or awake, was as naked as he was and almost as big. The face wasn’t bad and she had a fantastic pair of knockers, if one didn’t mind a little hair on a lady’s chest. She had a slight moustache, too. But
she was for sure all she-male. She forked a massive thigh across him and attempted, without much luck, to shove his wrung-out love sausage up inside her. He yawned and said, “Jesus, let a guy wake up at least. I can see you want to fuck, but who the fuck are you?”
She chuckled down at him and asked, “Don’t you recognize me without my clothes on, Deek?”
“Does anybody? The face is familiar, but I just can’t place the snatch.”
“So I notice, alas. You’ve been eating that damned opium candy they left for you, eh?”
He glanced over at the bowl of sickly sweet candied fruit and asked, “They put opium in candy apples, figs, or whatever?”
“Abdul’s idea,” she replied, adding, “He likes to keep his guests semiconscious. It makes them easier to get along with and keeps them from fooling with his wives. You haven’t been doing anything that dumb, have you?”
“Perish the thought. I didn’t even know he was married. Last time I saw him he was kissing a colored boy.”
She laughed and said, “That’s probably why he’s so possessive. The poor girls are lesbians as well. They haven’t much choice. They know Abdul would kill them if he caught them even flirting with a real man and … Hmm, speaking of real men, I do believe I detect the first signs of life down here. You like?”
He grinned up at the big broad as he said, “I must have been asleep longer than I thought. What time is it?”
“Almost dawn. If we’re going to screw, we’d better get started, don’t you think?”
She had the head inside her now, and despite her size, it had no complaints about feeling lonely in wide-open spaces. He thrust with his hips and she hissed in pleasure as she felt another few inches go into her. She said, “Oh, nice. I can’t wait until it grows up. Would you like me to go down on you, pal?”