Chapter 4: The Pool and the Stare
The afternoon sun was a white-hot coin in a bleached sky, pressing down on the cracked tiles surrounding the pool. The water, a murky turquoise, lapped lazily against the stained edges. Ilyes sat on a wicker chair that groaned under the slightest shift, trying to focus on a book he wasn’t reading. The words swam before his eyes, meaningless. All his senses were tuned to the deck chair three feet away.
Nassim lay sprawled like a sunbathing lion, a king on his throne. He wore only a pair of tight, black swimming shorts, damp and clinging. His body was a geography of muscle and sun-kissed skin. Every pec, every ab, every vein that snaked over his biceps and forearms was rendered in sharp relief under a sheen of cheap coconut sunscreen. His legs, thick and powerfully hairy, were spread. His chest rose and fell in a slow, confident rhythm.
His eyes, hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, were not on the sky. They were fixed, unblinking, on Yasmina.
She moved through the water with a gentle grace, her modest black bikini dark against the pale blue. She dove under, surfaced, pushing wet strands of hair from her face. She was laughing at something their mother said from the shaded patio. The sound was clear, bright, completely unaware.
Nassim’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips beneath his goatee. He leaned his head slightly toward Ilyes, his voice a low, gravelly murmur meant for no one else.
“Regarde la façon dont l’eau coule entre ses seins, frérot,” he said, the words thick with hunger. “Putain. C’est une invitation, ça. Je la prendrais là, contre le bord, les mains sur les carreaux. Elle glisserait, je la tiendrais par les hanches. Elle gueulerait tellement fort que les voisins appelleraient la police.”
Ilyes’s own shorts felt suddenly tight. He couldn’t look at Nassim’s face. Instead, his gaze was drawn to the front of those black trunks. A substantial, thick outline was clearly visible, resting against the man’s thigh, already half-awake just from watching. Ilyes remembered the sounds from the night before—the wet slap, the grunts, the smell—and a hot wave of nausea and desire twisted in his gut.
“Elle n’est pas intéressée, Nassim,” Ilyes muttered, the protest weak even to his own ears.
“Pas encore,” Nassim corrected, as if stating a simple fact. He adjusted himself casually, his large hand palming his crotch for a moment before returning to rest on his stomach. “Il faut que tu m’aides, mon frère. Dis-moi comment lui parler. À vingt ans, je suis un bon parti, non? J’ai un travail. Un corps.” He gestured down at himself with a proud, grim smile. “Et au lit… je suis un cadeau.Une catastrophe. Je la déboîterais de plaisir. Je la démonterais pièce par pièce, et le matin, je la reconstruirais avec ma langue.”
The crude, mechanical verbs—déboîter, démonter—were like physical blows. Ilyes’s face burned. He glanced toward Yasmina, praying she couldn’t hear. She was toweling off, her back to them.
“C’est ma sœur,” Ilyes whispered, the defence crumbling.
“Ici, les cousins, c’est normal,” Nassim scoffed, finally turning his head toward Ilyes. The sunglasses reflected Ilyes’s own shrunken, anxious face. “C’est dans le sang. C’est plus fort. Et imagine, hein.” He leaned closer, his scent cutting through the chlorine—that same musky, sun-warmed sweat, now mixed with coconut and the faint, metallic hint of the pool. “Si j’étais ton beau-frère. Ta sœur, heureuse. Restant dans la famille. Moi, je la traiterais comme une reine. Le jour, je bosse à l’atelier, je rentre, je suis doux, je rigole. Je rapporte l’argent. Et la nuit…”
He paused, letting the hum of cicadas fill the space. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial, vicious whisper.
“La nuit, je deviens un animal. Je la défonce jusqu’à l’aube. Je la casse en deux sur mon matelas. Elle deviendrait accro, frérot. Accro à cette viande.” He tapped his chest with a thick finger. “À cette bête. Elle aurait les yeux cernés et le sourire aux anges tous les matins. C’est ça, une femme heureuse.”
Ilyes couldn’t breathe. The image was horrifying. It was electrifying. He saw it: Yasmina, married, living here. Nassim returning, grease under his nails, his mechanic’s trousers stained. Gentle by day. And at night… the monster from the dark bedroom, unleashed. The contradiction was dizzying. He found himself nodding, a tiny, almost imperceptible motion.
Nassim saw it. A slow, triumphant smile spread under his mustache. “Tu vois? Toi, tu comprends. Tu es un homme, tu sais ce dont une femme a besoin. Une vraie bite. De la passion. De la sueur.”
He fell silent for a while, his attention returning to Yasmina, who was now sipping a cold drink, her throat arched. The bulge in his shorts had grown more pronounced.
“J’espère que toi aussi, tu trouveras une bonne Algérienne,” Nassim said after a while, the comment bizarrely pastoral. “Une qui aime la sueur d’un homme. L’odeur du travail. Une qui n’a pas peur d’une grosse queue bien algérienne.” He chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. “Mais ça, c’est pour plus tard. Pour l’instant, aide-moi avec ta sœur. Soit mon frère.”
He stood up suddenly, a massive shadow blocking the sun. His physique was overwhelming from this angle—the broad shoulders, the tapered waist, the heavy fur on his legs. The black shorts were strained, obscenely full. He stretched, his arms reaching for the sky, his abs clenching into a hard board, a deep groan of pleasure escaping his lips. He scratched his densely hairy armpit, a long, slow, unconcerned scratch, then sniffed his fingers casually.
“Je vais pisser,” he announced. “Trop de citronnade.”
He strode off toward the house, his bare feet slapping on the hot tiles. Every muscle in his back and shoulders moved with a fluid, predatory power. He didn’t look back.
Ilyes was left alone in the silent, heavy heat. The words echoed in his skull.Be my brother. My brother-in-law. He looked at Yasmina, now laughing with their mother, innocent of the plans being carved out for her in the sun. He looked at the empty deck chair, still holding the ghost of Nassim’s formidable shape, the fabric darkened by sweat and oil and the imprint of his body.
A terrible, thrilling complicity sealed itself around his heart. He had not agreed aloud. But he had not refused. In the language of this new, suffocating world, his silence was a signature. The line from the night before was now a road, and he was being led down it, step by sweaty step.
For next chapter: that night, in their room, Nassim starts talking again about Yasmina, using filthy words and telling to Ilyes how he would be a good boyfriend at day, and an Algerian beast at night, breaking her for hours until morning, putting babies in her every night. He says he needs a good girlfriend to take care of him, of the house, the laundry, the cook, and also take care of his body, massaging him after work and of course take care of his gigantic Algerian cock and the two monstrous balls. In exchange he promises to be the perfect fucker, always hard for hours, very « endurant » due to his young age (démonter, déboîter, détruire, casser en deux, etc). Hé apologies to Ilyes talking like that about his sister but says she is so sexy. Nassim says he is so aroused now, and needs to relieve himself. He takes out of his shorts his massive cock, the smell fills the room, and starts stroking it. Ilyes crazingly asks if he wants a massage. Nassim is surprised but accepts. Ilyes goes next to him, starts massaging his torso, pecs, abs, biceps, neck, face, Nassim very pleased, cock rock hard like never he has been (he confesses to Ilyes about it ‘j’ai jamais eu mon zeb aussi dur’), and Nassim says that’s the kind of massages he wants from a girlfriend or Yasmina. Nassim talks to Ilyes about his muscular body—showing off his physique—and asks him to trace the outline of every muscle and vein; then, he says to Ilyes he is so skinny, telling him he ought to work out to look like him, because a real man who wants to break a woman in two needs to have a heavily muscled body. Ilyes can't take it anymore and finally snaps, pressing his lips against the huge head of Nassim's cock. Nassim is very surprised and in shock, asking what he is doing, saying this cock is only for little addicted girls, but Ilyes decides to go further down and deepthroat the 24 cm, and he even manages to swallow the entire cock and both huge balls at the same time, from head to balls. Ilyes is completely choking balls deep in his throat, and Nassim completely loses his mind—genuinely stunned—and his head snaps back. Overcome by the pleasure, he admits he’s never experienced anything like it and that no one has ever managed to take his huge Algerian cock and his balls at the same time, all the way down from the head to the balls. Ilyes keeps sucking that big cock over and over; Nassim is insatiable, cumming at least five times that night—again and again—until the early hours of the morning. Ilyes and Nassim speaks French. They only talk in French. Nassim calls Ilyes ‘mon frère’ or ‘frérot’.