Hello, here is my second story, you can find the first one here : The French Arab of the gym - Mind control
I received many messages about the previous story thematic and I enjoyed a lot talking with men with the same interests as me.
A lot of these messages came from Arabs guys who enjoyed having for the first time a story where they are dominating and not the opposite. Masculinity is complex and only erotic texts can explore it in all its rare and sexual aspects, more so than any porn video Don't hesitate to comment or DM me if you enjoyed this story
As my first language is french I do my best to translate in a good english, but pardon me if there are still some mistakes.
In France we are lucky to have many young French-Arab men, descendants of immigrants. They are often sexually very attractive. The following story features one of them.
-----------------------
Persuading the bank manager to change my bank advisor was very easy.
I went from an old woman in her fifties to a young Arab in his late twenties. All it took was a phone call and a little persuasion that only I know how to do to get unlimited access to Tayeb.
I had immediately crushed on him when I met him in the corridor of the bank: his confident face, his attitude half-thug, half-serious worker, his (too) tight suit molding his slender torso and his muscular buttocks could not leave me indifferent. Not to mention that I have a weakness for Arabs, nothing more enjoyable for me than to control an Oriental, they are the hardest to possess as they are proud and sanguine. I have fond memories of my years of military service in Algeria where I took advantage of my rank to get some locals naked, in the course of a conversation I had learned that Tayeb's family was from Oran in Algeria.
For several months, I used a series of false pretexts to get in touch with the young Maghrebi and thus start to induce phases of hypnosis that became stronger and stronger. This was mainly done through vocal messages that I left him on his professional phone which allowed me to send him videos hosted on a private server. I was excited just imagining him in front of his screen staring at the spiral and repeating my pre-recorded phrases. Hypnosis is a complex art, charlatans on the street can make weak people obey, but in front of a strong character and for orders touching the intimacy of the subject, it is necessary to work the mind for weeks without respite.
This is what I did with Tayeb until the big day arrived.
- -
I have been waiting for a good 5 minutes, when my prey finally arrives. I saw him coming in the long corridor that separates his office from the rest of the agency. He doesn't know it, but this distance is me who induced it by manipulating the mind of his director, I needed to be sure that we wouldn't be disturbed when I proceed to the final phase of my plan. The last meters that separate us allow me to discover him once again.
Tayeb is a magnificent stud, might be between 27 and 30 years old, he wears a white slim shirt, which put forward his muscular arms and his big pectoral muscles, a black tie as well as a grey suit pants. He must be about 1m75 (68 inches), square shoulders, thick thighs framing a big promising bulge.
What to say about his face, the taned skin, the almond eyes of a deep black accentuated by two black eyebrows also, a square jaw with the light and cut beard symbol of a proud virility, two fleshy lips at the limit of the obscene, an undercut haircut that every Muslim boy in France do have.
He had a false self-confidence under which we can perceive the fragility of the little thug who has worked hard to get out of his social condition, but evolving in an environment where he does not master all the codes. His Hermes belt buckle and his too strong perfume confirm to me that the young man confuses vulgarity and class.
- Mr. Dulac? he said with a bright white smile.
- Hello, Mr Bendjira, how are you?
- Very well, thank you, and yourself?
- I'm perfectly well, and I'll only get better today,
- Uh ... good for you ... follow me please.
So here I am, following this beautiful boy, I can't help but stare at his two muscular and bouncy buttocks as he walks.
- Here, please, take a seat.
- I settle down comfortably, he's typing on his computer and I take a wooden metronome out of my bag and start it up.
- So, first of all, I want to talk to you about your main account and...
Tick, tock goes the metronome
Tayeb raises his head at the sound of the device.
- What's that? It's a thing for the piano, isn't it?
- Shh, shh, do you remember?
- Remember? Mr. Dulac, are you all right? Is it a joke ?
Tick, tock goes the metronome.
- Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock Tayeb, follow the sound of the metronome handsome.
- Tick? Tic? answers Tayeb while yawning.
I can see that his eyes are starting to stare into the dark, the hundreds of hours of videos where I have implemented this sound as a trigger for a deep hypnosis phase are working.
- Well now my boy, we are going to count to 10 together. Each number will make you sink a little more into a state of deep relaxation, you will let all your limbs and your whole being embrace this relaxation. Are you ready?
The young Arab tries to furrow his brow in a desperate attempt to regain his concentration.
- But... why are you...?
-Shhh listen to the metronome, tick tock, repeat after me 1
- 1
- That's it. 2
- 2
Tick, tock goes the metronome.
- 3 you have never been so relaxed, you feel like in a hot bath and you feel nothing but good.
- 3, I've never been so relaxed, I feel like I'm in a hot bath and I feel nothing but good.
The North African finished his sentence with a sigh of ease and slumped back in his chair.
- 4 you trust me blindly, you will obey to everything I say.
- 4 I trust you blindly, I will obey to everything you say.
- 5 my orders are only there to make you feel good, you want to feel good, to be more relaxed than ever
Tick, tock goes the metronome.
- 5 your orders are there only to make me feel good, I want to feel good, to be more relaxed than ever ....
The end of his sentence is difficult to understand, he articulates less and less well
- 6 none of my orders will seem strange to you, I will only ask you to do things to increase your well-being. Nod your head if you understand.
- Tick, tock he answers me in a whisper.
This is very satisfying, losing him at 6 is a good sign for the next part, the most difficult subjects sometimes resist until 9. No doubt his strict Muslim education have taught him to obey well.
- 7 you won't have any memory of our meeting, just a fleeting impression of having spent a good time in my presence.
- 8 you relax.
Tayeb's head is resting on his chest and he is nodding gently to the rhythm of the metronome.
- 9 you relax.
- 10 you are mine.
It's my turn to blow. I would have looked pretty silly if it hadn't worked. Fortunately, after years of practice, my technique is perfect. The young Muslim is now fully reclined in his chair and only his desk prevents him from sliding to the floor. He has a peaceful look on his face and is breathing slowly and deeply. Yet he is not asleep, I can see his fleshy lips moving gently and I can guess that he keeps repeating "tick, tock" to the gentle rhythm of the metronome.
- Are you okay now?
He gives a groan of ease as an answer.
- Good boy, now I'm going to ask you to get up and come and sit in front of me in the chair over there.
With weak gestures and a slow step, Tayeb moves to the small lounge in the corner of his office where I join him, taking care to take the metronome and my bag.
- Tayeb, now that you're completely out of it, I have to talk to you about... boy ! Look at me when I talk to you.
He then lifts his head and fixes me with a silly smile with his deep black eyes.
- Since the first time I saw you, I've been obsessed with the desire to possess you. I can't stop thinking about you day and night, the idea that you belong to me entirely, body and soul, and the possibility of dominating you provokes in me an excitement that is almost like torture.
Why you? You must be wondering (a purely rhetorical question given his state of consciousness).
To tell the truth, it is not you specifically, but rather what you are. A young man first, at the best of his reproductive abilities. It's a kink for me to see all those handsome, muscular, virile young men in their mid-twenties or thirties in the street and knowing that they all have this abundantly produced cum inside them that they only dream of being able to spit out.
Secondly, as you might have guessed, your ethnicity played a big part. I have an irresistible attraction for North Africans. Your ardor, your masculinity, your pride, your exotic physique, everything about you attracts me. I could have choosed any young man from the suburbs, a cliché of Arab virility. But nothing actually excites me more than the idea of dominating a young Arab in a suit who believes he has a high enough level of respectability to deny his true nature, that of a sex beast.
He is still smiling at me stupidly without understanding the significance of my words.
- Well, now you're going to get up and undress completely, starting with the shirt.
Like a robot he gets up and undoes his tie which he drops carelessly on the ground then starts to unbutton his shirt. While doing so, his muscular arms stretch the fabric of his white shirt.
Here he is shirtless.
I discover his sculpted tanned torso, with big pecs and drawn abs. Not a ridiculous bodybuilder's musculature, but that of a real man with a body shaped by a rich sports practice. Curly hair runs in a triangle between his two massive pecs and around his small brown nipples. The rubbing of his shirt all day has caused the erection of their two tips. The hair grows denser along his abs and ends up in a disorganized forest below his belly button, forming a triangle that stops at the edge of his pants. After a good day's work, he smells like fresh sweat mixed with his masculine scent.
- I am speechless, it is beautiful, you are beautiful Tayeb. It's better than in my wildest dreams, show me those muscles, contract them.
He starts to take several poses by contracting all the muscles of his body.
In doing so, he lets me see the underside of his armpits, full of curly hair, typical hair of African men.
- Stop, keep your arms behind your head, don't move.
I can't help but get up and approach my nose to his two armpits, white traces of deodorant are present among the abundant hair. Thankfully young men are not shaving those hairs anymore, so much better! A musky smell emanates from under his arms, a smell of a real male, full of pheromone. This immediately causes me to have a raging erection.
I sit back down and order him to switch to his pants.
He complies and struggles to undo his belt then slowly remove his pants while still keeping an expression of silly plenitude on the face.
I see at first only the band of his underpants, then he takes down his pants completely what allows me to admire his grey Calvin Klein boxer, molding what appears to me as a phenomenal genitals. His balls look as big as eggs and the massive relief over them leaves little to the imagination when it comes to the size of the young Arab's penis, the shape of his large circumcised glans is also clearly drawn through the fabric.
Framing the package, two thick matted hairy thighs, then further down, the powerful calves, also covered with a down of curly black hair.
That wedges at the level of the shoes, it does not bother and makes them jump then throws them carelessly in the corner of the room.
- Sit down in front of me and give me that foot.
I'm not a foot fetishist, but I intend to enjoy his whole body.
Tayeb sits carelessly in the chair in front of me, his big package going up between his thighs, and hands me a foot that I take in hand. He must be size 43 (9,5"), a standard size, his nails are a little damaged, I guess by a sports practice, he must be like many Arab boys a soccer fan. A light black hair comes to dress his toes. As for his armpits, a light male odor emanates from his feet, it is not to my displeasure either. Between these brown toes, some pellets remaining from his black socks.
I apply some pressures to precise points of his arch, old remains of a technique of massage that one of my Thai lovers taught me, what has for effect to make moan of ease the young boy. The sound of the metronome still resounds in the background, covered by Tayeb's moans. My pants are soaked by my own excitement.
- Can you hear the metronome Tayeb? Listen to it deeply, listen to it while I massage your feet, do you like massages? Feel how they take you further into relaxation.
For several minutes, I apply pressure on all the relaxation points of his feet while he nods his head and moans softly, completely gone to the limits of his consciousness. Necessary safety for me before passing to a much more intimate stage of my exploration.
- Well enough for the massages, I say by tapping his foot. Rise and shine, big guy.
The handsome Algerian staggers to his feet, completely out of it.
- Now Tayeb, you're going to take off your underwear and get completely naked in front of me, show me your big Arab dick.
I can see that he is frowning, I did well to give him a stronger layer of hypnosis before.
He puts both hands under his underwear, hesitates then in a shyness reflex, last unconscious barrier of self-esteem, turns over.
I can admire his powerful back as well as the shape of his two muscular buttocks.
The young Muslim finally lowers his briefs revealing two globes of tanned flesh, perfectly muscled, round buttocks with a dimple, covered by a down of black hair intensifying at the level of its asshole. Magnificent bulging buttocks as only men from North Africa or sub-Saharan Africa can have. The kind of buttocks you could watch endlessly contracting as it penetrate a man or woman.
- Turn around now boy.
He complies and slowly turns around, keeping one hand on his penis to protect it from my prying eyes. His hand is not big enough for what seems to be a large organ, his brown testicles are overflowing.
- You can remove your hand Tayeb, you don't risk anything here big boy ! Do you trust me ?
He looks at me ashamed, nods and removes his hand.
The discovery of a young man's penis is always for me like the discovery of a piece of art. This piece of flesh, this embodiment of his virility at the heart of his personal construction, this organ hidden with so much care on a daily basis, finally exposed to my sight.
My vision lingers first on his pubic hair.
The triangle of hair below his navel that I mentioned earlier descends, disordered, to his pubic area, a square of curly black hair. A clear demarcation is made before the beginning of the penis where the hair is shaved leaving the dark skin bare, then the hair resumes in short curly hairs around the penis and up to the thighs. I have mixed feelings about this habits of young people to shave their dick, I don't like it, because I think that dick loses its wildness. I also like it, however, because I like to imagine these young men taking care of their penises by shaving them, the falling hairs loaded with their animal smell in the privacy of their bathroom.
I then move on to the Arab's big penis, a thick, brown stick of flesh that I follow with my eyes from the base of the pubic hairs to the tip of the glans. His penis must already be 15 cm (6") long and 5 cm (3") wide while it is entirely flaccid. It is, as in many men, much darker than the rest of his body. The highlight of this discovery is a large dark pink circumcised glans (I was expecting brown as well) well designed with an elegant hem, like a crown for my oriental prince, sticking out from the body of the penis. The skin of the glans is thick, hardened by the rubbing of his exposed organ against his clothes.
His circumcision was obvious to me, as soon as I knew he had a Muslim name, I couldn't imagine his penis in any other way, but I can't help to be a little bit disappointed.
I like, when a young man is available in front of me - you can imagine that Tayeb is not the first one to benefit of my hypnotizing talents - to discover first his penis and then to ask him to retract his foreskin to expose his glans. It is the most intimate part of the man and the foreskin is there to hide it from indiscreet eyes, so even in collective showers the glans of these young men is inaccessible. It is therefore an ultimate pleasure to see these heterosexual men expose themselves in this way by raising this protective hem of skin to offer their intimacy to my inquisitive eyes. Very often it come by a unique sex smell and sometimes we can distinguish some traces of a bad hygiene, which would make my kind subjects blush with shame if they were aware of it.
On the other hand, the exoticism of this practice proper to Tayeb's religion excites me even more. I say specific to his religion, because in no other culture in the world does this act have the same symbolism as in Islam: for Jews, done at birth, it marks an entry into the religion, for Americans and other Westerners an act of hygienic cleanliness.
But among Muslims, performed when the child is already old enough to remember, it marks an entry into the world of men through the pain and violence inflicted on the most precious organ of the man in the making, his penis. This intimacy unveiled forever by force, and appearing as logical for all men of this race, is for me a barbaric rite of another time formidably erogenous. The glans of these boys are ready to fuck. This scar and the memory of this violence constantly reminds them of their duty as a reproductive male. The fact that all these Arab men share this virile mutilation of their dick is an incredible source of fantasy when I meet a young french Arab. Sometimes I love trying to distinguish their head trough their pants, an obscenity like their fleshy lips, a real call to sex.
In Tayeb's case, the scar at the base of the glans is irregular and leaves little room for the skin to move, the poor kid must have had a rough time of it, no doubt held down by his uncles while the village barber made a good Muslim of him.
His dick rests on two large, beautiful, juicy balls in a narrow, tanned skin sack struggling to contain them, each well defined by a brown line in the middle.
Given the size of his balls, his look of daily arrogance is justified, his brain must be drowning in the testosterone they must be producing in high quantities. Poor guy, I guess he thinks it comes from his character when he is almost chemically forced to. Tayeb's balls are clean-shaven, which makes it possible to appreciate their size even more. I would have liked to see his penis even more in its wild state covered by his curly hair though.
- Come towards me Tayeb
It is now time to push the visual examination to the touch.
Tayeb moves up to my height, while I am still sitting on a couch. His big cock now occupies my entire field of vision. I reach a hand almost trembling with excitement towards his penis. He seems to shudder as I cup my hand to collect his two oblong balls. What a supreme pleasure to have the source of this beautiful Arab's virility in my hands! His balls are heavy and soft, I roll them between my fingers. A smell of sex spreads in the room, the intimate smell of Tayeb. I bring my hand to my nose after having rubbed his balls for a long time and I almost faint so much this musky and powerful perfume invades me, it smells the wild beast! It is something to discover a naked man, but to smell his intimate odor is a forbidden fruit even more exquisite.
I received many messages about the previous story thematic and I enjoyed a lot talking with men with the same interests as me.
A lot of these messages came from Arabs guys who enjoyed having for the first time a story where they are dominating and not the opposite. Masculinity is complex and only erotic texts can explore it in all its rare and sexual aspects, more so than any porn video Don't hesitate to comment or DM me if you enjoyed this story
As my first language is french I do my best to translate in a good english, but pardon me if there are still some mistakes.
In France we are lucky to have many young French-Arab men, descendants of immigrants. They are often sexually very attractive. The following story features one of them.
-----------------------
Persuading the bank manager to change my bank advisor was very easy.
I went from an old woman in her fifties to a young Arab in his late twenties. All it took was a phone call and a little persuasion that only I know how to do to get unlimited access to Tayeb.
I had immediately crushed on him when I met him in the corridor of the bank: his confident face, his attitude half-thug, half-serious worker, his (too) tight suit molding his slender torso and his muscular buttocks could not leave me indifferent. Not to mention that I have a weakness for Arabs, nothing more enjoyable for me than to control an Oriental, they are the hardest to possess as they are proud and sanguine. I have fond memories of my years of military service in Algeria where I took advantage of my rank to get some locals naked, in the course of a conversation I had learned that Tayeb's family was from Oran in Algeria.
For several months, I used a series of false pretexts to get in touch with the young Maghrebi and thus start to induce phases of hypnosis that became stronger and stronger. This was mainly done through vocal messages that I left him on his professional phone which allowed me to send him videos hosted on a private server. I was excited just imagining him in front of his screen staring at the spiral and repeating my pre-recorded phrases. Hypnosis is a complex art, charlatans on the street can make weak people obey, but in front of a strong character and for orders touching the intimacy of the subject, it is necessary to work the mind for weeks without respite.
This is what I did with Tayeb until the big day arrived.
- -
I have been waiting for a good 5 minutes, when my prey finally arrives. I saw him coming in the long corridor that separates his office from the rest of the agency. He doesn't know it, but this distance is me who induced it by manipulating the mind of his director, I needed to be sure that we wouldn't be disturbed when I proceed to the final phase of my plan. The last meters that separate us allow me to discover him once again.
Tayeb is a magnificent stud, might be between 27 and 30 years old, he wears a white slim shirt, which put forward his muscular arms and his big pectoral muscles, a black tie as well as a grey suit pants. He must be about 1m75 (68 inches), square shoulders, thick thighs framing a big promising bulge.
What to say about his face, the taned skin, the almond eyes of a deep black accentuated by two black eyebrows also, a square jaw with the light and cut beard symbol of a proud virility, two fleshy lips at the limit of the obscene, an undercut haircut that every Muslim boy in France do have.
He had a false self-confidence under which we can perceive the fragility of the little thug who has worked hard to get out of his social condition, but evolving in an environment where he does not master all the codes. His Hermes belt buckle and his too strong perfume confirm to me that the young man confuses vulgarity and class.
- Mr. Dulac? he said with a bright white smile.
- Hello, Mr Bendjira, how are you?
- Very well, thank you, and yourself?
- I'm perfectly well, and I'll only get better today,
- Uh ... good for you ... follow me please.
So here I am, following this beautiful boy, I can't help but stare at his two muscular and bouncy buttocks as he walks.
- Here, please, take a seat.
- I settle down comfortably, he's typing on his computer and I take a wooden metronome out of my bag and start it up.
- So, first of all, I want to talk to you about your main account and...
Tick, tock goes the metronome
Tayeb raises his head at the sound of the device.
- What's that? It's a thing for the piano, isn't it?
- Shh, shh, do you remember?
- Remember? Mr. Dulac, are you all right? Is it a joke ?
Tick, tock goes the metronome.
- Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock Tayeb, follow the sound of the metronome handsome.
- Tick? Tic? answers Tayeb while yawning.
I can see that his eyes are starting to stare into the dark, the hundreds of hours of videos where I have implemented this sound as a trigger for a deep hypnosis phase are working.
- Well now my boy, we are going to count to 10 together. Each number will make you sink a little more into a state of deep relaxation, you will let all your limbs and your whole being embrace this relaxation. Are you ready?
The young Arab tries to furrow his brow in a desperate attempt to regain his concentration.
- But... why are you...?
-Shhh listen to the metronome, tick tock, repeat after me 1
- 1
- That's it. 2
- 2
Tick, tock goes the metronome.
- 3 you have never been so relaxed, you feel like in a hot bath and you feel nothing but good.
- 3, I've never been so relaxed, I feel like I'm in a hot bath and I feel nothing but good.
The North African finished his sentence with a sigh of ease and slumped back in his chair.
- 4 you trust me blindly, you will obey to everything I say.
- 4 I trust you blindly, I will obey to everything you say.
- 5 my orders are only there to make you feel good, you want to feel good, to be more relaxed than ever
Tick, tock goes the metronome.
- 5 your orders are there only to make me feel good, I want to feel good, to be more relaxed than ever ....
The end of his sentence is difficult to understand, he articulates less and less well
- 6 none of my orders will seem strange to you, I will only ask you to do things to increase your well-being. Nod your head if you understand.
- Tick, tock he answers me in a whisper.
This is very satisfying, losing him at 6 is a good sign for the next part, the most difficult subjects sometimes resist until 9. No doubt his strict Muslim education have taught him to obey well.
- 7 you won't have any memory of our meeting, just a fleeting impression of having spent a good time in my presence.
- 8 you relax.
Tayeb's head is resting on his chest and he is nodding gently to the rhythm of the metronome.
- 9 you relax.
- 10 you are mine.
It's my turn to blow. I would have looked pretty silly if it hadn't worked. Fortunately, after years of practice, my technique is perfect. The young Muslim is now fully reclined in his chair and only his desk prevents him from sliding to the floor. He has a peaceful look on his face and is breathing slowly and deeply. Yet he is not asleep, I can see his fleshy lips moving gently and I can guess that he keeps repeating "tick, tock" to the gentle rhythm of the metronome.
- Are you okay now?
He gives a groan of ease as an answer.
- Good boy, now I'm going to ask you to get up and come and sit in front of me in the chair over there.
With weak gestures and a slow step, Tayeb moves to the small lounge in the corner of his office where I join him, taking care to take the metronome and my bag.
- Tayeb, now that you're completely out of it, I have to talk to you about... boy ! Look at me when I talk to you.
He then lifts his head and fixes me with a silly smile with his deep black eyes.
- Since the first time I saw you, I've been obsessed with the desire to possess you. I can't stop thinking about you day and night, the idea that you belong to me entirely, body and soul, and the possibility of dominating you provokes in me an excitement that is almost like torture.
Why you? You must be wondering (a purely rhetorical question given his state of consciousness).
To tell the truth, it is not you specifically, but rather what you are. A young man first, at the best of his reproductive abilities. It's a kink for me to see all those handsome, muscular, virile young men in their mid-twenties or thirties in the street and knowing that they all have this abundantly produced cum inside them that they only dream of being able to spit out.
Secondly, as you might have guessed, your ethnicity played a big part. I have an irresistible attraction for North Africans. Your ardor, your masculinity, your pride, your exotic physique, everything about you attracts me. I could have choosed any young man from the suburbs, a cliché of Arab virility. But nothing actually excites me more than the idea of dominating a young Arab in a suit who believes he has a high enough level of respectability to deny his true nature, that of a sex beast.
He is still smiling at me stupidly without understanding the significance of my words.
- Well, now you're going to get up and undress completely, starting with the shirt.
Like a robot he gets up and undoes his tie which he drops carelessly on the ground then starts to unbutton his shirt. While doing so, his muscular arms stretch the fabric of his white shirt.
Here he is shirtless.
I discover his sculpted tanned torso, with big pecs and drawn abs. Not a ridiculous bodybuilder's musculature, but that of a real man with a body shaped by a rich sports practice. Curly hair runs in a triangle between his two massive pecs and around his small brown nipples. The rubbing of his shirt all day has caused the erection of their two tips. The hair grows denser along his abs and ends up in a disorganized forest below his belly button, forming a triangle that stops at the edge of his pants. After a good day's work, he smells like fresh sweat mixed with his masculine scent.
- I am speechless, it is beautiful, you are beautiful Tayeb. It's better than in my wildest dreams, show me those muscles, contract them.
He starts to take several poses by contracting all the muscles of his body.
In doing so, he lets me see the underside of his armpits, full of curly hair, typical hair of African men.
- Stop, keep your arms behind your head, don't move.
I can't help but get up and approach my nose to his two armpits, white traces of deodorant are present among the abundant hair. Thankfully young men are not shaving those hairs anymore, so much better! A musky smell emanates from under his arms, a smell of a real male, full of pheromone. This immediately causes me to have a raging erection.
I sit back down and order him to switch to his pants.
He complies and struggles to undo his belt then slowly remove his pants while still keeping an expression of silly plenitude on the face.
I see at first only the band of his underpants, then he takes down his pants completely what allows me to admire his grey Calvin Klein boxer, molding what appears to me as a phenomenal genitals. His balls look as big as eggs and the massive relief over them leaves little to the imagination when it comes to the size of the young Arab's penis, the shape of his large circumcised glans is also clearly drawn through the fabric.
Framing the package, two thick matted hairy thighs, then further down, the powerful calves, also covered with a down of curly black hair.
That wedges at the level of the shoes, it does not bother and makes them jump then throws them carelessly in the corner of the room.
- Sit down in front of me and give me that foot.
I'm not a foot fetishist, but I intend to enjoy his whole body.
Tayeb sits carelessly in the chair in front of me, his big package going up between his thighs, and hands me a foot that I take in hand. He must be size 43 (9,5"), a standard size, his nails are a little damaged, I guess by a sports practice, he must be like many Arab boys a soccer fan. A light black hair comes to dress his toes. As for his armpits, a light male odor emanates from his feet, it is not to my displeasure either. Between these brown toes, some pellets remaining from his black socks.
I apply some pressures to precise points of his arch, old remains of a technique of massage that one of my Thai lovers taught me, what has for effect to make moan of ease the young boy. The sound of the metronome still resounds in the background, covered by Tayeb's moans. My pants are soaked by my own excitement.
- Can you hear the metronome Tayeb? Listen to it deeply, listen to it while I massage your feet, do you like massages? Feel how they take you further into relaxation.
For several minutes, I apply pressure on all the relaxation points of his feet while he nods his head and moans softly, completely gone to the limits of his consciousness. Necessary safety for me before passing to a much more intimate stage of my exploration.
- Well enough for the massages, I say by tapping his foot. Rise and shine, big guy.
The handsome Algerian staggers to his feet, completely out of it.
- Now Tayeb, you're going to take off your underwear and get completely naked in front of me, show me your big Arab dick.
I can see that he is frowning, I did well to give him a stronger layer of hypnosis before.
He puts both hands under his underwear, hesitates then in a shyness reflex, last unconscious barrier of self-esteem, turns over.
I can admire his powerful back as well as the shape of his two muscular buttocks.
The young Muslim finally lowers his briefs revealing two globes of tanned flesh, perfectly muscled, round buttocks with a dimple, covered by a down of black hair intensifying at the level of its asshole. Magnificent bulging buttocks as only men from North Africa or sub-Saharan Africa can have. The kind of buttocks you could watch endlessly contracting as it penetrate a man or woman.
- Turn around now boy.
He complies and slowly turns around, keeping one hand on his penis to protect it from my prying eyes. His hand is not big enough for what seems to be a large organ, his brown testicles are overflowing.
- You can remove your hand Tayeb, you don't risk anything here big boy ! Do you trust me ?
He looks at me ashamed, nods and removes his hand.
The discovery of a young man's penis is always for me like the discovery of a piece of art. This piece of flesh, this embodiment of his virility at the heart of his personal construction, this organ hidden with so much care on a daily basis, finally exposed to my sight.
My vision lingers first on his pubic hair.
The triangle of hair below his navel that I mentioned earlier descends, disordered, to his pubic area, a square of curly black hair. A clear demarcation is made before the beginning of the penis where the hair is shaved leaving the dark skin bare, then the hair resumes in short curly hairs around the penis and up to the thighs. I have mixed feelings about this habits of young people to shave their dick, I don't like it, because I think that dick loses its wildness. I also like it, however, because I like to imagine these young men taking care of their penises by shaving them, the falling hairs loaded with their animal smell in the privacy of their bathroom.
I then move on to the Arab's big penis, a thick, brown stick of flesh that I follow with my eyes from the base of the pubic hairs to the tip of the glans. His penis must already be 15 cm (6") long and 5 cm (3") wide while it is entirely flaccid. It is, as in many men, much darker than the rest of his body. The highlight of this discovery is a large dark pink circumcised glans (I was expecting brown as well) well designed with an elegant hem, like a crown for my oriental prince, sticking out from the body of the penis. The skin of the glans is thick, hardened by the rubbing of his exposed organ against his clothes.
His circumcision was obvious to me, as soon as I knew he had a Muslim name, I couldn't imagine his penis in any other way, but I can't help to be a little bit disappointed.
I like, when a young man is available in front of me - you can imagine that Tayeb is not the first one to benefit of my hypnotizing talents - to discover first his penis and then to ask him to retract his foreskin to expose his glans. It is the most intimate part of the man and the foreskin is there to hide it from indiscreet eyes, so even in collective showers the glans of these young men is inaccessible. It is therefore an ultimate pleasure to see these heterosexual men expose themselves in this way by raising this protective hem of skin to offer their intimacy to my inquisitive eyes. Very often it come by a unique sex smell and sometimes we can distinguish some traces of a bad hygiene, which would make my kind subjects blush with shame if they were aware of it.
On the other hand, the exoticism of this practice proper to Tayeb's religion excites me even more. I say specific to his religion, because in no other culture in the world does this act have the same symbolism as in Islam: for Jews, done at birth, it marks an entry into the religion, for Americans and other Westerners an act of hygienic cleanliness.
But among Muslims, performed when the child is already old enough to remember, it marks an entry into the world of men through the pain and violence inflicted on the most precious organ of the man in the making, his penis. This intimacy unveiled forever by force, and appearing as logical for all men of this race, is for me a barbaric rite of another time formidably erogenous. The glans of these boys are ready to fuck. This scar and the memory of this violence constantly reminds them of their duty as a reproductive male. The fact that all these Arab men share this virile mutilation of their dick is an incredible source of fantasy when I meet a young french Arab. Sometimes I love trying to distinguish their head trough their pants, an obscenity like their fleshy lips, a real call to sex.
In Tayeb's case, the scar at the base of the glans is irregular and leaves little room for the skin to move, the poor kid must have had a rough time of it, no doubt held down by his uncles while the village barber made a good Muslim of him.
His dick rests on two large, beautiful, juicy balls in a narrow, tanned skin sack struggling to contain them, each well defined by a brown line in the middle.
Given the size of his balls, his look of daily arrogance is justified, his brain must be drowning in the testosterone they must be producing in high quantities. Poor guy, I guess he thinks it comes from his character when he is almost chemically forced to. Tayeb's balls are clean-shaven, which makes it possible to appreciate their size even more. I would have liked to see his penis even more in its wild state covered by his curly hair though.
- Come towards me Tayeb
It is now time to push the visual examination to the touch.
Tayeb moves up to my height, while I am still sitting on a couch. His big cock now occupies my entire field of vision. I reach a hand almost trembling with excitement towards his penis. He seems to shudder as I cup my hand to collect his two oblong balls. What a supreme pleasure to have the source of this beautiful Arab's virility in my hands! His balls are heavy and soft, I roll them between my fingers. A smell of sex spreads in the room, the intimate smell of Tayeb. I bring my hand to my nose after having rubbed his balls for a long time and I almost faint so much this musky and powerful perfume invades me, it smells the wild beast! It is something to discover a naked man, but to smell his intimate odor is a forbidden fruit even more exquisite.
