Libyan Lust

By James Orr

James is sent to work in Libya, North Africa. he finds the Libyans are looking for fun, freedom and sex. Erotic content. Adult viewing only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781291047578

Book preview

Libyan Lust

Libyan Lust

James Orr

LEGAL NOTICE

Text by James Orr, Copyright ©2012

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happenings.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers and/or author.

While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibilities for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of information contained herein.

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

Book design by Sabaijai Designs

For Sam

Tripoli

I’ve just been speaking to your airline, my flatmate said as I opened the door to the flat.

What did they want?

They need you to go to Libya on Saturday.

I gave him a puzzled look as I placed the shopping on the floor.

Libya, North Africa?

That’s right.

I had just finished some leave I was entitled to and expected to go back to flying from Gatwick once it was over.

It’s a bit short notice, I said as I looked in my wallet for my telephone card. As the airline was based in Ireland I had to ring Dublin. The card gave me free calls.

The phone answered on the third ring.

Hi, it’s James returning your call.

My airline was going to put two A320s into Libya flying under the Libyan Arab Airlines colours. We were providing the flight deck, ground engineers and some of the crew, supervisors and juniors. My job was to train up some Libyan crew to fly on the aircraft, and then I was to be the Base Manager. That meant I was to be away for Christmas and New Year.  Wasn’t bothered, being Buddhist, Christmas had lost all meaning. The office gave me instructions to go to the Libyan Embassy in London the next day. I was to meet up with one of the pilots who would have all the necessary paperwork. The visas should take only one day to process.

The next day I travelled to London on the train. I met Paddy walking along the road to the Embassy. He looked flustered. He’d caught the first flight out of Dublin that same morning.

We didn’t get to go inside the Embassy. Instead we had to climb down some stairs to the basement and hand over all the passports and forms through an open window. The window was heavily barred.

At four we returned to collect the passports. Inside each one was an unimpressive stamp allowing entry into Tripoli

It was arranged for me to fly out on Saturday morning. I was to meet Anne in the North Terminal and we would fly out together.

This gave me a few days to pack for an undetermined stay, based in Tripoli, setup a base for two of our A320 aircraft, interview cabin crew who already worked for Libyan Arab Airlines and were to be seconded to work on our aircraft, under an Irish License. There would be training courses to conduct before operations could begin. The aircraft had to be painted up in Libyan Arab colours. Catering had to be organised to suit an A320 operation, using two classes, first and economy. So much work to be done. I was used to it though. I had doe similar operations in Crete and Spain.

Libya had just had its restrictions lifted after ten years; the sanctions imposed by America had come to an end. Its own aircraft fleet was quite depleted as they weren’t allowed to order spares from Boeing for their ancient fleet of 727s. The time had come for it to expand.

On Saturday I was up early and got to Gatwick in good time.

I had just sat down in North Terminal when I heard my name over the speakers asking me to go to the information desk.

I saw Anne peaking behind a trolley full of suitcases and equipment. At the same time Geraldine, one of the trainers ran over and hugged me.

Great to see you again, James, she shouted, How you doing?

I’m grand, I replied, trying to sound Irish.

I looked across at Anne, How long are you staying in Tripoli? I asked, surveying the small mountain of bags.

Just the week, she smiled, Then I’ll leave you and Geraldine to get on with it.

We trooped over to the check-in desk for the British Airways flight to Tripoli. They were the only airline to fly to Tripoli at the time. Anne showed me the cost of the tickets, over a thousand pounds each. As there was no competition, they could charge what they wanted.

Once all the bags had been weighed, including mine, the agent aid that there would be excess baggage to pay.

We all looked shocked when she said how much. I explained why we were flying to Tripoli, what was in the bags and demanded to speak with the supervisor.

An efficient young woman turned up after a few minutes and I explained the predicament. She listened carefully to our story.

I’ll take the charge down to two hundred, she said, It’s the best I can do.

We settled on the revised figure and Anne paid using a company credit card.

Very few passengers were sitting in the departure lounge when we got there. I was not surprised.

As we sat down I counted twenty other passengers. The flight was uneventful, the crew were bland and the meal appetising. I sat looking out at the passing clouds trying to remember what I knew about Tripoli.

I read that Tripoli was the capital and largest city in Libya. It was also known as Western Tripoli, to distinguish it from Tripoli in Lebanon. It was affectionately called ‘The Mermaid of the Mediterranean,’ describing its turquoise waters and its whitewashed buildings. The population was about one million.

Libya is where the Arab world meets the West with African influences thrown into the mix, resulting in visitors being blown away by the diversity and energy of the country. With its enviable location, travellers could look forward to experiencing the majesty of the country’s mountain terrains, the oases of the Sahara desert, and the beaches of the Mediterranean Sea, not to mention having easy access to neighbouring countries such as Egypt and Tunisia.

The city was located in the northwest part of the country on the edge of the desert, on a point of rocky land projecting into the Mediterranean and forming a bay.

There was the Port of Tripoli and the country's largest commercial and manufacturing centre. It was also the site of Al Fateh University. It had a large number of barracks, which included the former family compound of Muammar Gaddafi; he had largely ruled the country from his residence in this barracks.

The climate was typical Mediterranean, with hot, dry summers, and cool winters with modest rainfall.

Landing on time at the airport we were immediately body searched, correction, the men were body searched, the women passengers, due to the strict Muslim laws were not searched but were directed to the three immigration desks. Our visas were scrutinised carefully then handed back. Pictures of Gaddafi were everywhere looking down at us.

There were only four trolleys available to use for the baggage, one only had three wheels and no porters.

We were of course stopped at Customs, the officers intrigued by the amount we were accompanying. When the bag containing Re-sus Annie, used in CPR training, was opened the officers stood around looking. It was obviously the first time they had seen one. She lay on the table, half a body, complete with breasts and hard nipples, her mouth fixed open. I was certain they assumed it was a sex toy. I had to dismantle her completely. Each orifice was examined before I was allowed to put the pieces back into the bag, not before I gave several demonstrations as to her main purpose in life.

I loaded the last of the bags onto the rickety trolley helped by one of the young officers. He gave me a discreet wink and grabbed my bottom as we left the small room. Perhaps being in Libya would not be such an ordeal after all.

Outside the building we located the Libyan Arab Airlines representative and we were shown to a waiting minibus. It was dark already as we made our way to the centre of the city. The first landmark we saw was Green Square.

The square was originally constructed by the Italian colonial rulers on the site of the old bread market, and it was expanded on several occasions during the 1930s.

During the Italian colonial period, it was called Piazza Italia. After Libyan independence in 1951, it was known as ‘Independence Square’ during the Libyan monarchy from 1951 to 1969. When the 1969 revolution by Gaddafi took place, the square was renamed again to ‘Green Square’ to mark his political philosophy in his Green Book.

The hotel looked acceptable, perhaps the name, ‘Grand Hotel’, gave us a false hope that we were going to stay in luxury. The reception area was very unimpressive. It was your typical three star North African establishment, tiled floors, dying foliage, uncomfortable seating and a worn and shabby desk area.

We dumped most of the equipment in Anne’s room with the help of the old bell boy.

A quick shower and change of clothes then we ventured outside to look for a restaurant. That was the difficult part. We crossed the main street behind the hotel, avoiding the large pot holes in the road and looked through the window of a pizza shop. It would do. I was conscious of us being watched; in fact I was certain that we had been followed since we left the hotel

First impressions of the place were not too good. Maybe it would look better in the morning. As there was no bar in the hotel, alcohol was banned in Libya; we all decided to have an early night.

When I got back into the room I opened the large drapes and stood on the balcony overlooking a unkempt park that now resembled waste ground, this was followed by a six lane highway then I could make out a promenade dotted with dead palm trees, beyond was the sea wall defending the centre of Tripoli. Large cranes could be seen in the distant port.

I spotted the ferry that ran nightly to Malta about to leave.

I inspected the bed and found it quite comfortable; he pillows tough were a little too soft. At least it was clean. Opening a drawer in the dresser I found a Room Service Menu. It was tatty round the edges with suspicious stains on the front cover. I opened it to see what delights it offered. I was disappointed. Basic food that did nothing to titillate the taste buds. Apple pie or ice cream for dessert?

I looked at my watch and saw that I still had time to order something. Was it to be the apple pie with or without ice cream? Go on slash out, order both, I thought to myself.

The telephone seemed somewhat grubby as I picked up the handset. I got through immediately and someone answered quickly, speaking very good English.

Lathering up, I stared at the mirror with bright eyes, smiling at the defined staring back at me. I was naked, my firm body - which I liked to think of as just plain lean - toned up from daily workouts in the gym. I set to work on the hard stubble with the blade I had been using for a week at home and had brought with me. When I had finished, my face was as clean-shaven as the rest of my body, which I had shaved last week.

While I waited for my order to arrive I continued to unpack. I threw a magazine on the bed; I had hidden in my suitcase between official papers. It was a straight porn one, inside pictures of couple shagging each other in different positions.

I was hanging up some shirts when I heard the gentle tapping against my door. I opened it quickly to find a rather handsome young lad, probably nineteen, tall with a shock of curly hair. In his hand he had a tray and on it a large bowl containing the apple pie and ice cream.

He confidently walked into the room and placed the tray on the dresser as I sat down on the end of the bed. I waited for some kind of bill to sign. He guessed what I was doing.

Free, he said.

I was surprised but accepted what he had said. I reached across the bed for the small note of local currency. It was at that point that he saw the magazine.

Can I look? he asked.

Sure, I replied as I picked it up from the bedspread and handed it over.

He stood very close to where I sat and began to turn the pages. From where I was sitting I was at eye level with his crotch. I waited with halted breath trying to detect any movement in his trousers.

Then it happened there was a sudden jump next to his zipper followed by several more. His cock had started to grow. Within seconds, what appeared to be his large cock was fully erect, causing an obscene bulge in his trousers.

You seem to like the magazine, I said, unsure of his knowledge of English.

He looked down at me and smiled seductively then looked at his crotch.

I had forgotten how good it felt. How addictive it had been. I took a gamble and reached up my hand to trace the outlined shape. He didn’t pull away but moved closer. When my fingers got to the zipper I found that it was already open. My hand dipped inside to feel the heat emanate from his cock wrapped in his underwear.

He stopped looking at the magazine and opened his belt. I slipped the button holding up the waistband allowing his trousers to fall to the ground.

His underwear, although white, were old fashioned. I took hold of the waist and slowly slid them down over his buttocks. His cock, once freed, shot up straight against his belly. His pubes had been shaved making the cock looked bigger than it was. I watched as my trembling hand reached up and wrapped around the rock hard cock, and I began to slowly stroke it.

Licking my lips I leant forward and pulled his cock down towards my mouth. He glanced down, saw what I was trying to achieve so he positioned himself directly in front of me.

His cock was big, it had a thick shaft with an over large flared head. There was spot of precum hanging on the end. I opened up wide and swallowed in the head. I heard a small moan come from his lips as my mouth descended down the shaft. His legs started to shake as I continued to suck with his large balls bouncing off my chin.

I slid my mouth over his cock swallowing his precum and sucking him as deep as I could his cockhead banging the back of my mouth. He was panting hard thrusting his hips into my mouth enjoying the blow job I was giving him.

This continued for some time. I slobbered over his big cock while he continued to look through the magazine. I suddenly noticed our reflection in the large mirror above the dresser. He was standing with his white shirt gathered up under his chin. I could see his firm, round buttocks clenching every time I deep throated him.

I then reached across for my toilet bag and took out a condom. He didn’t even stop reading the magazine when I rolled the rubber down his shaft. I quickly stood up, dropped my jeans and then kneeled on the bed as I grabbed his hot cock and aimed it at my hole.

He held me gently with the head just inside my hole closing around the thick ridge of his knob. I pushed my arse back towards his belly feeling his shaft slide deep inside me. We both let out a loud moan as his slicked dick slid easily into my hole.

Slowly I backed further onto it, forcing it deep inside until it could go no further.

He then began a gentle rocking movement sending his cock in and out. At one point he placed the magazine over my back and grabbed my hips. He then power drove that weapon up my hole.

He started moving his hips back and forth, and then just as I got used to that, I felt him pulling my shoulders back as he plunged his long meat into me over and over. I was grunting as he fucked me harder. Then he slowed down and stopped. He moved his hips in small circles as he kissed and bit my shoulders. I felt his knees moving, and then he had his arm going under my chest.

With my arse in the air, I felt his fingers grip my hips as he began fucking me faster again. He drove it into me so hard that I could hear our bodies slap together. After a few moments he slowed down again. I felt him pulling his cock back and thought he was probably finished, but then he rammed it back in making me groan again. He did this several times before leaning over me again.

His lips were next to my ear, and I heard him say, "I like to fuck.' I simply nodded, and then he went back to fucking me fast and hard. It was some time before I felt it expand and he started emptying his spunk. He collapsed onto my back as he continued to hump sending the magazine crashing to the floor.

After he had cleaned up Atia returned back to his duties. I switched on the television and watched a programme from Dubai. I had tried the local channels but I only ever got pictures about Gaddafi.

I was about ready for bed when I heard a soft knock against the door. When I opened it I was surprised to see Atia again. He came in saying he was about to leave for home. Our lips brushed then locked together as I petted him. He squirmed his groin on my hip, opening his mouth to admit my tongue, stretching and arching his slender body like a cat. The boy was rarely still when we embraced, he shifted constantly, pressing the curves and hollows of his smooth warmth to my own.

My hands slid over him, stroking his back and the delicate rounded points of his shoulders. Then I pushed between our chests to rub a finger on one of his small nipples through his open shirt, massaging the hard little lump beneath it. The boy moaned softly, opening his mouth wider beneath my lips, twisting in pleasure and then rolled onto his back to pull me on top of him.

Clinging tightly he let me break off our kiss, arching his head back so I can nuzzle the delicate hollows of his neck and flick my tongue over the tiny moles that gleamed there on his dark skin. Further down, the points of the boy's nipples were hard little dots and I licked each one before