Last summer, like every year for four, I flew to Morocco with Hakim. His family villa nestles in sun-baked palm groves. Desert winds caress silk-draped terraces. Total escape. No watches. No alarms. Senses ignite. Mint tea bursts sharp on my tongue. Spices awaken dormant taste buds.
Body unfurls in the heat. Winter layers forgotten. Skin drinks the sun. While Hakim hugs his mother, I claim the private hammam. Selma’s hands, expert, glide over me. Hot marble floors steam underfoot. Argan oil slicks my pale skin. Exfoliation scrubs every inch. Blonde, green-eyed, slim—I stand out amid plump locals. Heavy breasts sway. Wide hips gleam. Rounded bellies shine.
The Privilege
Their eyes linger, kind, curious. Naked bodies everywhere. Epilated smooth. Laughing, chatting. My pulse quickens. Always drawn to women. This vision—ten nude forms tending flesh—fuels fantasies. One girl captivates. Swollen tits. Thick thighs. Plump lips. Sparkling black eyes. Virgin? Or husband’s toy? Her perfection taunts. Our gazes lock. I ache to touch. But I’m the outsider. Language barrier holds. Respect wins. No advances. Not here.
I emerge reborn. Skin silk-soft. But heat pools low. Libido stirs, ravenous.
Night falls. Villa quiets. Shared room chokes privacy. Shaïna sleeps meters away. Hakim’s mother next door. Days of abstinence end. I crave him. Dark room. I stroke his cock. Firm. Thickening. ‘What are you doing?’ he whispers. ‘Can’t sleep. Want you.’ ‘Not here. They’ll hear.’ I ignore. Hand pumps slow. He resists. Then yields. ‘Quiet. Or Mom kills me.’ ‘Promise. Silent.’
The Excess
His fingers plunge my pussy. Wet. Deep. I lift hips. Breath quickens. ‘No noise,’ he warns. ‘Just breathing.’ ‘Stop breathing then.’ I guide his hand back. Danger spikes thrill. Shaïna stirs? Excitement builds. Pussy swells. Ready. ‘Fuck me. Deep. Quiet.’ He smirks. ‘Men control.’ Cock teases clit. Then slams in. I gasp. His palm seals my mouth. Too late.
We grind. Slow. Desperate. Pussy grips his shaft. He thrusts hard. I buck quiet. No position shifts—bed creaks forbidden. ‘Gonna scream,’ I hiss. ‘Bite lips bloody.’ He pulls out. I flip. Ass up. Hands spread cheeks. Pussy gapes, slick. He enters deep. Hand over mouth. Pounds rhythmic. Orgasms crash. I muffle cries. He grunts soft. Cum pulses hot, long.
Panting. Shaïna shifts. ‘You woke her.’ ‘Nah. She tosses.’ Sleep claims us. Desire sated.
Morning. Breakfast terrace overlooks palms. Mother asks Shaïna: ‘Sleep okay in the heat?’ ‘Perfect.’ No wink. Relief floods. Then: ‘I heard cats fighting outside. Loud!’ To Hakim, sly: ‘You sleep sound.’ Secret safe. Villa walls guard our sin. Elite thrill lingers.
