Tunisian Brothel Stories Part 1 by Bryon

Tunisia.



From a busy market crammed with colours and noises she steps into a dark alley


Through a maze of thin passages, she floats like a ghost, seeming to flit from shade to shadowed side street. She walks with determination, a figure cloaked from feet to head in a billowing black burqa which almost appears to draw light in and extinguish it.


A final striding turn, and she is alone in an empty alley. The cloudless azure sky is reduced to a cruel thin line high above between the ramshackle leaning houses. After a final check over her shoulders, she walks to the unmarked door


A black gloved hand grasps then pulls on a discrete bell cord. The chime is inaudible to her, but almost instantly the barred eyeslit slides back silently. The glint of a returned gaze regards her for a few seconds. Internal bolts thud home, and the door whispers open, ushering her into the cool confines of the brothel.


Salah’s business had been operating for almost two hundred years, and catered exclusively to the 'Sharim al Zef', the kept wives of wealthy merchants. They and their many sister wives had been kept entertained by the boys in the brothel as long as it had existed. They had money, time - and a natural inclination to exercise their scant freedom in perpetrating acts of denial and humiliation upon the pleasure boys of the brothel.


Abdul Kareem ‘Slave of the Light’ was 16, and the prize whore of Salah’s establishment. His face was smooth, any errant hairs plucked by Salah himself, long dark hair hanging to his shoulders. His skin was a uniform deep tea tone, torso without hair, upper body muscles showing a natural bulge from honest labour. He wore a simple slave skirt of red and gold tucked around his waist, that covered his legs down to his shapely ankles. He wore nothing else, and his body radiated cleanliness and vigour.


Abdul sat with his brothers as the still black clad woman was escorted into the audience chamber, and offered a comfortable armchair while hot mint tea was offered to her from a silver tray. She shooed away the tray and Abdul heard hear quiet voice, husky and whispered. Determined.


Abdul sat with his brothers, not standing out deliberately, whispering some jokes as the boys giggled and chatted nervously, all too aware of the silent surveillance occurring, not making eye contact. They wanted to be chosen, to serve, but tradition and manners demanded they not preen or otherwise try to stand above their slave brothers.


She beckoned the silent Salah over, and he leaned over to hear her whispered tones, smiling and nodding as if she'd chosen a fine wine from a menu.


Salah clapped twice, deafening in the small room, calling the name of the chosen boy and commanding the rest of the boys back to their chores. The room exploded in activity, boys scampering everywhere as fast as they could. Abdul's heart skipped as his name was called, and he worked carefully to appear unmoved for the sake of his departing brothers.


Abdul departed through the facing door, to a cool, round chamber simply decorated with an angular running border of classical Arabian design, and white walls. A comfortable wooden chair sat against the wall, and a simple bed, and coiled in a wicker basket, rough hempen ropes like so many snakes.


She entered the room a moment or two after him, moving directly to the raised platform. The chair thereupon was an antique framed with the rare cedars of Lebanon, imposing with thick armrests. Betraying the alternate uses were a variety of chunky, dulled metal rings secured at various points around it.


Facing the chair, and once she had settled, Abdul shuffled forward on his knees, carefully, with an earthenware decorated bowl in front of him. In in floated petals of desert flowers, and atop it swam rare oils, peppermint and lavender.


Her feet rested on the base of the platform, wearing simple black plimsolls, which he removed easily and carefully. Her feet were perfectly appointed, a decorative tan, rather than of necessity, and nails pedicured with a rich, deep red polish, flawlessly.


She extended a foot, which he took without glancing upwards, and ran a clean sea sponge full of the fragrantly warm water over the underside, then across her firm instep.


A low noise of pleasure emanated from the woman, and Abdul failed in his training by looking up, seeing her black gloved right hand stretch across her featureless covered face, and an almost inaudible 'clik' as she released the catch of her mask, and let it fall away.


Revealed was a woman of some 35 years, Abdul guessed. Her oval eyes were defined with thick black eyeliner, both decorative and practical in the desert. Just a little makeup adorned the rest of her face, the skin naturally tight and only defined by a few laughter lines. The faintest of smiles formed on the deep plum glossed lips as Abdul quickly ducked his head and concentrated on the ritual foot cleaning.


The steps of ths process were like breathing to Abdul, his thin fingers working with rote observance of a now instinctual behaviour. As he moved to begin drying her with a soft cloth, she stopped him with


"No, leave them be, look at me"


Her voice was soft and strong, used to commanding, and firmly in her element.


His hazelgreen eyes locked on hers, as she indicated the catch of her burqa hood. Nodding, Abdul stood and leaned forward, fingertips brushing the fabric, and finding the practical clasp. As he uncovered her head, she leaned forward a little, smelling his small warm hands. He drew away with her hood, folding it carefully and placing it in an underbed locker designated solely for this purpose.


She reached behind her head, unlatched a hidden hair pin, and shook luxuriously, auburn curls bobbing down and framing her handsome face.


She pushed him back down to his knees abruptly, removing her long back gloves after he was settled again. She draped them over his shoulders chuckling to herself, before reaching down and stroking his impossibly smooth face with the back of a hand.


Slowly, she pointed her bare toes and dipped them into the still warm, fragrantly oiled water. Inclining her head, she motioned for him to open his mouth.


No sooner had he, than she pushed her bunched toes hard into the warmness of his surprised mouth. She scowled as teeth scraped along her foot, "watch the teeth, boy" and she kicked him hard in the head with the other, sending his hair fanning into the air briefly. She sat up a little. "Open up! You boys all had big mouths out in the foyer, take all of my toes in there" Her adult toes were tickled by his tongue, which was lapping spastically under the filling invasion of his little mouth.


Spreading her toes, using muscles she rarely used, she was able to stretch his lips and cheeks into a humiliating parody of how the pretty boy normally appeared. Chuckling, she retrieved an expensive phone from a hidden pocket, and started to take pictures of him in this state.


After a while, she grew tired of pulling his head around, and began dipping her toes rhythmically deep into the tight confines of his maw, grunting with satisfaction once she was able to push all the way in and feel him gag as her toes hit the back of his young throat. "Good boy!" A few more maliciously violent thrusts caused his body to wrack and heave a little before she pulled her foot out entirely and returned it to the water bowl, swishing it and watching the sputum lift and detach from her toes.


She sat back, a little flushed by the excitement of reigniting her power over the young man "it's really been too long", she thought to herself.


Her toes dipped between his taught stomach, with its smooth curves, and the simple garment which wrapped him. A few tugs, and he assisted with its removal, casting the cheap cloth aside, now utterly naked before her.


He was hairless, thanks to the attentions of his brothers and occasionally Salah brandishing a pair of tweezers. His cock stood proudly, pulsing a little in the discrete light of the room. Slightly paler than the rest of his skin, and with veins still swelling in response to her attentions. He was uncircumcised, and the light purple glans were evident as the foreskin was increasingly forced back by his hardening. A smear of precum glistened.


She slipped the toes of her right foot around his cock, which was almost hot to the touch. It seemed to glow with excited blood rushing to plump the remaining erectile tissue to the rock hardness the young man was capable of.


He inhaled, swallowing as she gave him a slow, extravagantly languorous foot job. Her eyes remained on his, sometimes flitting downwards to oversee the action. The other foot snuck under his now low hanging balls, wrapped in the loose flesh of his scrotum. She ran the softly concealed plums to and fro over the back of her foot.


After a few minutes of increasingly active exercise, she unclenched her toes that had his cock trapped, returning them briefly to the bowl before tucking that leg under her.


"make love to yourself for me, boy"


Abdul nodded, hands flashing to his cock in a practiced move, and jerking hurriedly at the tumescent skin which slid up and down the solid core.


"haha! Look at my little monkey pleasure himself!"


He nodded again, smiling, with his eyes starting to half close as his brow furrowed with concentration. She watched carefully, noting the numerous betraying spasms of his body which told her how far off his creeping climax was. She couldn't be too careful with these young ones, they could often erupt without warning, and she'd hate to miss the denouement...


Suddenly his body jerked, accompanied with a gasp, and she struck.


As his senses were rocketed skyward by an all encompassing orgasm, she drew back the foot which had been idly toying with his balls. Smiling, she kicked out as hard as her well maintained muscles allowed, straight into his pumping testes. He jerked again, torn between heaven and hell as his orgasm continued, sperm now shooting freely, and she kicked him hard, over and over, until his pleasure subsided, and only the staggering pain from the abuse she had unleashed on his balls remained.


He rolled meekly, almost apologetically, to his side, drawing his legs to his chest in a futile attempt to retroactively protect his sensitive package. A low groan of pained sadness emanated from his mouth.


She smiled again.


"good boy"