Female Delights
Chapter 8: Holidays

Copyright© 2010 by Charm Brights

BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 8: Holidays - Continuing the story of the Emir, we see his attempts to produce an heir, his first son born, his divorce, and sundry other activities. he is kind to some people and nasty to others, and his bed is never lonely.

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Mult   Consensual   NonConsensual   Reluctant   Rape   Slavery   Heterosexual   Historical   Incest   Mother   Son   BDSM   DomSub   MaleDom   Spanking   Rough   Humiliation   Sadistic   Torture   Gang Bang   Harem   Interracial   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Bestiality   Caution   Violence  

In the summer of that year, two young American girls in a small town in the rural mid-west decided that a package tour to Europe was too tame for their sophisticated taste, so they booked to visit Tunis for two weeks. The temptations were, in increasing order of importance, guaranteed sun, easily available means of getting stoned, and above all, legal access to alcohol. It never ceases to amaze American youth when they learn that the USA has the highest legal age limit on drinking in any country which allows alcohol to be sold. The girls could have been married, at least in theory, at fourteen in some states, but nowhere could they drink until they were twenty-one. When you are nineteen, any age-restricted activity seems infinitely desirable and two years seems an eternity to have to wait, and there was even talk of putting the drinking age up to twenty-four!

"Hey, Laura," said Marylou when they were discussing their forthcoming trip, "It says in the brochure that there's a minibar right there in our bedroom. And three bars in the hotel. Duane said that it was better to use bars in the town than to use the hotel. Prices were much cheaper and nobody once asked for his driver's ID, and he's only just eighteen."

"Yea," replied Laura, "but he was in England and they never ask for nothing there if you're an American. They just need the dollars so much, I guess. You still dating Duane? I thought you gave him the bum's rush."

"We talk, and we sometimes date a little, but we don't make out any more."

"C'n I have him when we get back? I'm fed up with Mr. Wiseass Chuck."

In a parody of the drawl used in Western films, the reply came, "Honey, if'n you want Du-ane, you go git him."

Many people gave them advice on where to go, what to do, and what to expect from their holiday. As is the wont of youngsters everywhere, they believed some of the tales their peers told them but took little heed of the advice of their elders. They left home in high spirits, determined to spend two weeks stoned, or drunk, or naked with handsome Arabs, or better still all three at once.


It was an awful surprise when Tunis turned out to be a completely modern city and the hotel turned out to be a typical American hotel chain product. They had certainly expected to see narrow streets full of men with donkeys and camels; instead they got broad boulevards full of cars. True, the signs were in Arabic script as well as French, but the most of the men they saw were dressed very similarly to those they would see back home. The hotel certainly did have three bars and there was a minibar in their room. Being on a budget they checked the prices and discovered that the drinks from the minibar cost twice what the hotel bar was charging. When they asked the tour guide he told them emphatically that they should not go into a bar in the town as it was not safe.

"I bet he gets commission for keeping his tourists in the hotel bars," remarked Marylou.

"Yeah," her friend said, "Let's go get us a drink."

So the two girls went out on to the boulevard and wandered along looking at the buildings in awe. They had just discovered that the buildings in a foreign city look somehow different from those at home. To a passer-by they looked every inch American tourists, from the clothes they wore, the way they walked, the way they stared at the most everyday things, like a Tuareg passing by riding a bicycle, or children speaking Arabic. They made a pleasantly contrasting pair, Laura was a tall a thin blonde girl, evidently striving as many young Americans did, for the Barbie look. Her breasts did not strain her blouse at all and her 501s hung a little slack, as though she had not quite enough flesh on her arse cheeks. Marylou, by contrast was clearly losing the battle of the calories, a condition made more obvious by the fact that she was shorter by six inches than her friend. Her complexion was pale and freckled, and would undoubtedly go blotchy if she was not very careful about her time in the hot North African sun. The short dark hair and brown eyes contrasted with her skin in a very attractive way, and when she smiled she was really quite pretty.

Their first attempt at enjoying the hospitality of a Tunisian catering establishment was, they thought, a complete success. They sat at a table on the terrace outside a café and ordered two beers from a waiter who spoke passable English and were pleased when he brought Budweiser. Both of them had had the occasional beer back home, surreptitiously passed to them by hopeful boys, so the flavour was no surprise. When they were half way through their second beers and congratulating themselves on their sophistication, two handsome young Arabs came and sat at the next table to them. After a few minutes of mutual evaluation by sly glances when the other party was deep in conversation, one of the young men asked the girls if they had a light, offering a cigarette at the same time. Laura lit the four cigarettes and soon the boys had moved over to their table.

 
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