Outcalls: Dubai

Bruna sat in front of you. You pursed your lips as she applied a vibrant layer of red lipstick.

"So what are your instructions again?" she said, firmly. It reminded you of your facetime with Amanda.

"Stay in my room. Room service for my needs," you mumbled.

"Exactly right. Here, we're the biggest taboo in the world. We're the biggest sin in the world," she reminded you for the umpteenth time. "If they knew what you or I were, we'd be strung up. So we let the men, the heretics come to us, and sin with us. Then we get out of here," Carla said.

"Who's your client?" you asked, curious.

"A bottom boy I've been seeing for years. If his parents knew that their proper boy was being hollowed out quarterly ..." she chuckled, her voice dropping an octave. "Enjoy your top."

***

Your top was named Mohammad, as many were in this part of the world. You were on your knees, looking up at him with your big fake blue eyes, brimming with tears. Damn, he was hung. Was this what Amanda was getting? No one she'd chosen a man with this blood running through him. You bobbed up and down, struggling with it, your throat trying to adjust, getting sloppy on his cock. God, he was enormous.

You'd lubricated and cleaned, but not enough. When he thrust inside you, it felt like all the air had left you at once. And then it was a cascade of thick Arab cock filling your hole, making you cum like a bitch ... like his bitch. Until he cried out in Arabic, thick, guttural sounds as he filled you with his seed and all went dark.