****** The Souk by Sally & Deirdre ******
===============================================================================

The Souk


This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblence to persons living or currently
in prison awaiting charges are purely coincidental. This story is the property
of the authors and is posted originally at White Shadow's Nasty Stories. Please
contact the authors if you wish to use it at your site: Sally
(sally34@hotmail.com) and Deirdre (deirdre39@hotmail.com).

The Souk

She insisted upon driving herself from the airport, though it was not the local
custom. In Riyadh, they would have put her to death for such feminine defiance.
Here in Oman, the sight of a European woman, sunglasses reflecting the light
that hung like a halo about her blonde topknot, at the wheel of a British Range
Rover on the road from the airport at Seeb caused only a flicker of interest.
Her dark blue dress, speckled with tiny white polka dots, decently covered her
freckled arms and legs. Her flat-heeled shoes engineered no provocative sashay
below the waist to arouse the lusts of the men around her. She even wore white
gloves, as a respectable, 35-year-old English matron might have done twenty
years earlier, but then her employers, the British Council, were not exactly
avant-garde. They were also, in the main, gay; their high-camp humour
entertaining in small doses but sometimes shaded with a sort of malice, not
because she was a woman (they all loved mother), but because she was
heterosexual in a quiet, bread-and-butter, self-confident sort of way. Sue
Hawker-Smith reminded them that she did not need them, biologically or
otherwise.

She had finished her class, teaching nubile Arab princesses the basics of the
British constitution, and was free for the afternoon. She felt restless as she
always did at this time of the month. Tonight would be a full moon and
tomorrow, or the next day, her period was due. She suffered, she frankly
admitted to herself, not from PMT but PMI, Pre-Menstrual Itch. Her body odour
was more pungent, only just overlaid by English Lavender. Her womb contracted
without reason, without warning. Most embarrassing of all, she leaked a little,
staining her sensible white lingerie with a crust of sexual lust that spread
between her thighs like broken egg white.

It was nearly four o'clock. On an impulse she drove past the turning to her
apartments by the Hyatt and instead kept going towards the old port of Muscat.
Mark, her husband, would not be home for hours anyway and the children were no
doubt having a good time at the pool with Paz, their Filipino maid. She drove
along a short, modern, dual carriageway, through Ruwi, between hills on which
were perched white Ibex, their plastic horns gleaming in the sun. The real ones
had been slaughtered long since by the gun happy Arabs.

She parked near the harbour, enjoying the cool onshore breeze that caressed her
and strolled towards the old covered market, the Souk. Near the entrance, a
Land Cruiser full of Arab wives almost blocked the footway. She sensed eyes
upon her and saw the intense, hungry faces of the women, crowded like family
pets inside it. The eyes of the women boldly stared into hers. They were
predatory eyes, like a snake's. In the year that she'd been in Oman Sue had
hardly ever spoken to Arab women. What were they thinking? Were they jealous of
her status, her freedom? Or were they mocking her with some ancient knowledge
they shared? She broke eye contact and walked quickly towards the entrance.

The Souk was old, very old. Sue went there very rarely alone. The place gave
her the creeps. It seemed like it had been there even before Muscat itself, a
testament to one of man's basic social needs, to trade, to barter. Inside, the
dusty heat of the day immediately gave way to a damp coolness. The strong smell
of spices, frankincense and other pungent odours filled her nostrils, almost
making her gag. She had to step over a stream of, what, water? coming from the
Souk as she walked up the slight slope that ran down to the harbour. A broad
path gave way to a myriad of tiny passages. Each trader sat, legs crossed in
his tiny alcove and it was almost impossible to tell where one trader's stall
started and the other ended. Sue passed arrays of gold and gems, ceremonial
daggers, antiques, sweet smelling dates and the ubiquitous bottles of
Frankincense brought up from Dhofar. Traders selling rugs perched uneasily
alongside traders selling cheap plastic toys from China. The men leant forward
offering her, "Best deal... Best deal..." their intense attention made her feel
uneasy. She tried to avoid eye contact. Why was she here? What was she looking
for?

It did not pay to linger long otherwise she would find herself bartering for
something she didn't want. She tried to keep going purposefully but it was busy
and she felt uneasy, distracted. After turning down several passages she found
herself in an unfamiliar alleyway, surrounded by men in their white dishdasha.
Just then a boy ran through the crowd of men, chased by another boy, they
bumped against her, hard, then vanished. Such rude behaviour was uncommon but
recovering Sue realised that during the bump they had snatched her handbag!

"Stop them, stop them!" she cried, but the men in the crowd just looked at her
with hostility.

"They stole my handbag!" she tried to explain. Sue knew that most of the Arabs
spoke English but they appeared to be ignoring her. Sue was on the point of
tears. It wasn't the money, there could only have been a few tens of Rials in
her purse, but it was the violation and isolation she suddenly felt. Sue
suddenly remembered her first day at prep school - the unfamiliar sights and
faces - she had burst in to tears then, much to the embarrassment of her
parents.

A tall, distinguished Arab, gold teeth glinting in a smile, appeared beside her
and held her arm.

"Ah, a terrible thing," he said in a beautifully deep, resonant voice. "Young
men today have no respect. They see what foreigners have and they covet it.
They are turning away from the old ways."

Sue was immediately comforted by his presence, he was old, maybe in his
sixties; it was hard to tell. He had a brown, leathered face but a flattering
beard with distinguished streaks of grey. He could have passed for Saladin. He
exuded an ambience of strength and endurance, like old wood. She resisted the
temptation to touch his forearm with her hand.

"Miss," he said softly. "Please follow me and I will help you locate the
thieves."

His eyes were kindly and despite her reservations, Sue felt she had little
choice; her car keys had also been in the handbag too.

She followed him down steep stone steps worn by centuries of bare feet. He
opened a door in front of her and ushered her into a small circular courtyard.
Like the rest of the Souk, the courtyard was covered, with only shafts of light
illuminating it here and there. A censer filled it with a powerful, sweet
scent, jasmine, perhaps, or ylang-ylang... and something else... musk? Just
above floor level, a viewing gallery that she supposed was used for modelling
the clothes that rich Omani women would wear only in the privacy of their
husbands' walled mansions. The door behind her clicked quietly but shut
emphatically. She heard a key turn in the lock and realised she was quite alone
here. The man told her to wait and disappeared behind a curtain that hung over
a passage leading from the room.

Above her, an antique fan whirled slowly. Sue stood patiently, a bead of sweat
formed on her chest and trickled down between her breasts. It was very calm,
very quiet. Sue began to relax. The incense around her reached into her lungs,
entered her bloodstream, slowing her pulse, infusing her with a languorous,
drowsy sensuality. Very softly, she heard traditional Arab music and responding
to an impulse she did not understand, began to move her hips. It was a slow,
suggestive dance, almost a process of self-seduction. Through her half-opened,
opiated eyes she gradually became aware that the viewing gallery was no longer
empty. At least a dozen men and youths and even small boys had quietly taken up
positions to watch her perform for their pleasure.

Sue was used to being stared at by Arab men, her long blonde hair - demurely
centre-parted - marked her out as a stranger and a foreigner, to say nothing of
her marble-white skin and green eyes.

At first, this didn't seem to be any different except now she was alone,
dancing for them and in their eyes was naked lust. As she swayed seductively,
young boys appeared; they could only have been twelve or thirteen. One reached
behind her and unzipped her dress, two others pulled it down by the sleeves and
suddenly it was around her ankles and being pulled away from her feet. Sue
swayed before the collected men in just her bra and panties, and of course, her
white gloves. It felt much cooler to be out of the dress, much cooler. Her
inhibitions were crushed by the opium in her brain. One of the boys stepped
forward and tried to remove her bra, but he was obviously not expert at it. Sue
grew irritated by the boy' fumblings and pushed him away.

"THIS is how you undo a bra!" she said, undoing the clasp and letting it fall
to the ground. Her swollen, maternal breasts rolled free, inviting hands, the
brown nipples alert with desire.

The boy collected the bra and ran back to the shadows. In the gallery, a youth
whose eyes pointed with the sharp, needle-like stare that comes only from
chewing qat, drummed his fingers on a tribal Bedouin drum; softly at first,
then more insistently. Now with her breasts hanging deliciously free Sue
increased the tempo to rhythm of the drum.

It was difficult for the last boy to remove her panties. Sue's swaying hips did
not make his task easy and Sue hardly noticed as he tried to catch hold of
them. Watched by his peers, the boy knew he must not fail in his task, yet he
too was intoxicated by the musk and the sight of the white woman's nearly naked
body. The rise in his dishdasha betrayed his aroused state. He caught hold of
the panties and was almost pulled with her. Sue pushed him away - he was
interfering with her dancing - all she wanted to do was follow the rhythm.

The boy knew that it was forbidden to talk to the woman but he risked complete
failure in the eyes of the men. He would be humiliated if he could not undress
the woman completely. He faced the woman, turning his back on the watchers.

"Please," he begged, under the sound of the drum.

Sue became aware of the boy in front of her and his desperate urgings. She
looked into his deep brown eyes and felt sorry for him; he was probably the
same age as her eldest son. She stopped swaying and stood still whilst he
gratefully fell to his knees and peeled down the panties over her thighs and
round her ankles. Sue even obligingly stepped out of them to let him take them.
He scurried off with the treasure, saturated with her juices

Now, totally naked apart from the gloves, Sue was enjoying the feeling of being
totally exposed to the shadowy watchers. It was if the situation had been
reversed. They had stripped her of her clothes but now her naked, sensuously
swaying body held dominance over them. Their eyes were glued on her perspiring
skin, especially mound of her swaying belly and the curly blonde mound below.

Sue felt like giggling at their rapt concentration. Putting her hands to her
own vagina she pulled it open, revealing her pink, wet sex to their gaze. Sue
thrust forward her hips as she swayed to expose more of herself to them and at
the same time used two fingers to stimulate her clitoris that was eager for her
ministrations.

Sue had never masturbated standing up before. It was difficult, yet exciting.
More exciting than anything she had ever done in her whole life before. She
suddenly felt liberated to do whatever she wished for her silent viewers. The
need for expert attention became overwhelming though and Sue sank to her knees
with her legs apart, vigorously rubbing her clit for the assembled gathering.

The drumming slowed and became more sonorous. Sue became aware of a dark-
skinned boy who came towards her from the gallery. If she had been able to make
any sort of rational judgement, she would have noted that he was no more than
fourteen years of age.. the killing age in the Third World.. the median age for
male rapists... Sue felt her guts dropping in anticipation as he walked around
her, inspecting her like a satyr from the ancient world. He raised his
dishdasha and pulled it over his head. Sue gasped. He was beautiful, slim and
delicate yet his legs were draped in dark hair and his fully erect penis was
out of proportion to the rest of him. It was, of course, circumcised, but the
circumcision had been a clumsy operation. The end of his penis was twisted like
a face caught in the rictus-smile of a dying man. It was also enormous and dark
of hue. Momentarily she remembered her girlhood in England again... the
stables.. her favourite gelding, Henry, and the lessons in washing the smegma
from his huge, pink and black-spotted cock; the lessons they had described,
with nervous giggles, as "Horse Hygiene XII: Willy-Washing."

The boy circled her a few more times then finally, he stopped and stood over
her, his small, bony body and narrow shoulders above her like the parody of a
real man, his reptilian eyes on her breasts. He pushed his hips forward until
his equestrian dick nuzzled her mouth in a soft, exploratory yet insistent way.
Sue was powerless to prevent her mouth from instinctively opening to accept it.
As it slipped inexorably into her mouth, filling her face, she caught the odour
of the gelding once again. Sue was unable to suppress the uninhibited thoughts
of what she had secretly desired to do with the gelding's cock as she had
washed it. Now she had her own young gelding and she gave the attention to his
penis that she wished she had lavished on her gelding's cock all those years
ago. This gelding, too, had smegma to be tasted and washed clean.

Sue had never been keen on giving her husband oral sex. It seemed to her that
he derived all the pleasure in rather a cruel way and would often cum,
expecting her to swallow, leaving her unsatisfied. Only when he became
insistent, nudging her face with the thing would she grudgingly agree. What
would he think of her now? Sue opened her throat as wide as she could and let
the beautiful boy's powerful cock slip all the way down. Her lips went slack,
allowing him to fuck her face unhindered. She brought up her hands over his
beautiful thighs and buttocks then cupped his balls as if she held a loving
cup. She became aware of his groans as thrust in and out of her face, she felt
his balls beginning to spasm. It would be a shame to waste his cock like this,
Sue's cunt was itching to be filled by him. But even as he gripped the back of
her head, pulled at her blonde hair and emptied the salty, pungent content of
his balls - it was pepper and garlic and fish and oily sex all combined - down
her throat she felt more hands on her breasts.

The boy withdrew as yet another boy began to massage her breasts from behind.
Sue's throat was stinging from his cum, yet she felt satisfied that she had
been able to make him cum so quickly. Sue turned her head slightly, another boy
of fourteen or so was gripping her breasts firmly from behind and massaging
them. Sue reached for her pussy again and rubbed herself to the rhythm of the
slow drumbeat and the stranger's touch. She was sweating profusely now.

The boy pushed her gently forwards until she was on all fours. Her legs were
still apart revealing her wet lips that had peeled apart in anticipation, like
the petals on a rose, to the boy's gaze. Sue looked up and faced her shadowy
watchers. The boy licked his lips and pulled off his dishdasha. He was a virgin
and yet his body told him what to do. Holding the woman's hips he gently at
first and then more insistently pushed his cock all the way inside her cunt. He
was overwhelmed by the sensation of the smooth wetness of her cunt and
surprised by the burning heat. The woman's cunt gripped his shaft and
involuntarily he started to move in and out of her.

Sue was finally being fulfilled, on the floor, on all fours, in front of her
anonymous viewers. She was pathetically grateful to the boy for answering her
needs and pushed hard back against his thrusts to make the most of his boy
cock. The boy didn't last long and spurted his seed inside her. Sue was
disappointed when she felt that and felt him withdraw, she was still
unfulfilled.

She needn't have worried. Following her first two lovers, a succession of boys
of similar age trotted out to lose their virginity to the white woman and fill
her with their seed. In Oman it would have been unthinkable to treat a woman
this way, but the white women were just trash, though attractive trash, despite
their heaviness and white skins. They were easily seduced by the opium-based
incense and, not being true believers, seemed to have no morals, which made
them ideal for their sons to practice on and great sport for the men too. As
they watched their sons in action the men smiled knowingly at their
performances and put their hands under their dishdasha to relieve the strain of
their own erections. One or two caught hold of the more feminine boys and made
them do their bidding; a painful introduction to the world of male sex.

By the time that Sue had entertained her tenth lover she was feeling weary and
sated. Her cunt was sore and the seed of the boys was on her face, in her hair
and dripping down her legs, but still they came, demanding more. She heard,
somewhere out there, an animal moan that combined pain and pleasure; then
realised that the sound came from within herself, punctuating the rasping
breath that told her she could go no further.

Sue was beginning to come round and realising what she was doing. As one eager
youth pounded away behind her and another thrust in and out of her mouth with
the same rhythm, both boys eagerly grinning at each other, Sue suddenly had a
horrible vision of who she was and where she was. Hours must have passed; she
had to be getting home - Mark, the kids. The boy in her mouth came, Sue spat
out the vile seed and got shakily to her feet.

"I have to go!" she said, but most of the men no longer seemed to pay her any
attention. Some of them were masturbating each other, others were buggering the
young boys who had taken her earlier or else being blown by them.

"Listen you queers, I need to go - let me out!"

Once again the elderly Arab, Saladin, came to her aid. In his hand he carried
her clothes and handbag in a neat pile.

"Thank you, thank you, you have entertained us most graciously."

Sue looked at his eyes studiously but could detect no hint of irony or sarcasm.
He was a closed book.

"Before you leave us, however, I should like to have you myself."

It took a while for his comment to register.

"No," said Sue, backing away. "No way. It's late, I have to go."

"It's impolite to refuse your host." He dangled her car keys before her.

" Do you wish to have these back?"

"Yes," whispered Sue, realising she was trapped.

"Good, then please assume a position on all fours again."

Sue could not believe how coolly or matter-of-factly he requested her to do
this. He betrayed no sign of arousal, Sue had been half convinced that she had
misunderstood what he wanted.

"You want me to...?" she didn't finish the sentence but indicated the floor
with her head.

He merely smiled in response.

Sue got down on all fours again, but the man did not go behind her he went in
front of her. Pulling up his purple dishdasha Sue was amazed to see that he was
not even erect.

"Please oblige me," he said.

Sue held the base of the limp cock and then engulfed it with her mouth. Her
mouth was sore from being stretched by the eager boys and her throat stung with
their cum yet she endeavoured to be as gentle as possible to arouse him. After
several minutes passed she realised with a sinking feeling that she was not
succeeding. Maybe his cock had swollen slightly but it was still limp. Sue
looked up at him, pleadingly. Surely if she was not arousing him he would not
want her? He withdrew his cock from her mouth but moved her face until her
mouth was level with his balls. In the heat they hung heavy and low under his
body. The smell she suddenly realised, was turmeric. Gently, oh so gently, Sue
began to lick and mouth them, keeping her teeth well covered. Her fingers felt
his cock stirring and, encouraged, she lathered his balls with her saliva. Her
head was now right under him as she worshipped at his balls.

Finally he was satisfied with his erection. He was not long, but thick and
rigid.

"Please turn," he requested.

Sue obediently followed his request and braced herself for yet another cock in
her sore vagina. He did not fuck her immediately however, first rubbing his
cock on the lips of her vagina, teasingly, lubricating himself in her juices
and the boy cum that stuck to her. When he was satisfied, he pulled apart her
buttocks and placed the tip of his thick rod against the entrance to her anus.

"No way!" screamed Sue, "Not my ass, no!"

She wriggled to dislodge the tip of his cock but he gripped her hips with a
vice-like grip, surprisingly strong for a man of his age. Sue had never ever
desired anything in her ass sexually - she felt it was dirty, the domain of
queers, and now this filthy Arab wanted to fuck her there!

"You have had children, your vagina will be too slack for me," he calmly
stated. "Please relax, if a twelve-year-old boy can take me, so can you."

"No, no, no!" she screamed. "Please don't, I'll do anything else you wish!"

"I wish this," he simply replied and the head of his cock penetrated the tight
ting of her anus.

Sue felt the pressure inside and was gripped with panic. The sensation was
horrible; her anus was being painfully stretched and penetrated. Satisfied, the
Omani pushed deeper inside her, stretching her anus wider and filling her. Sue
sobbed uncontrollably with the pain. She felt that someone was rearranging her
insides. She dared not move. The Omani was pleased and started to thrust in and
out. Sue could not believe the pain, yet he started to thrust faster and
faster. Eventually the pain subsided and became a dull ache. The cock so filled
her insides that when it was withdrawn at the end of a stroke she actually felt
empty. The Omani seemed to keep up his steady rhythm for ages and eventually
Sue began to match his rhythm and even squeeze his cock with her powerful
sphincter muscles.

"Yes, you are learning," he eventually said.

Sue felt proud that not only was accommodating his thick cock, but that she was
pleasuring him too.

"I want your cum inside me," she said through gritted teeth. Sweat poured from
her back and her blonde hair hung lankly over her shoulders.

"Then you shall receive it," he replied and she felt a slight shudder in his
rhythm to indicate that he was pumping his sperm deep inside her colon. She
sensed that he was about to withdraw but some perverse desire took charge of
her mind and body: she was going to be the one who finished this; she would
rape him. She held him inside her anus as the first gush of menstrual blood
spurted from her, painting his balls, making his thighs sticky. When he
realised that she was unclean he muttered something in Arabic that might have
been "Lah..minfadlik.." and grunting, pulled away with a plop. She felt used
and abused like a discarded receptacle for human garbage, a living condom. But
worse than the self-disgust, was the sudden emptiness that raged inside her.
Sue moaned, reached behind her and stuck two fingers inside her ass to try and
negate it.

"Here let me give you something for this," he said.

He pulled a small leather plug from the pile of her clothes. He licked it then
carefully inserted it into her anus to relieve the emptiness.

It was almost seven, time when cruise ship passengers discharged their suburban
Brits and Americans, freshly laundered and showered, to swamp the Souk with
their dollars and chatter. Sue, naked, her torn dress in one hand, pulse
pounding, sweat running off her like the body of a frightened horse, leaned
against a cool stone pillar.

"Must be drugs or something," one of the cool visitors, a small town version of
Princess Grace, said to her companion. "Here, let's get you covered."

The tourists clustered round her in a tight protective ring, pointed her
towards the exit and pushed her gently with an idiotic farewell: "Safely home
now honey..."

The fairy lights at the entrance shone brightly against the purple sky of an
Arabian dusk, an effect overlaid by the strobe light that flashed from the roof
of a police wagon. As she walked towards it, she saw her Saladin, his face
hard; the police inspector, his moustache twitching nervously; her husband
Mark, expressionless like an Easter Island statue. Saladin pointed his long
brown finger and said: "This is the woman, Inspector. She would make the dogs
of the desert ashamed. She should be whipped."

"That," said the inspector, "is for the Shariya Court to determine." Then he
said to Sue, "You will come with us."

A sliding door on the side of the van was thrown open. She stumbled towards it,
turned her eyes back to her husband, who looked upon her as if she were a total
stranger, or a cockroach. As she got into the police van, hands were already
stretching up the back of her dress, touching her behind....

END

Comments to Sally (sally34@hotmail.com) and Deirdre (deirdre39@hotmail.com).
Please mention the story title in any correspondence.


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