The sun beat down mercilessly on the sand-coloured walls of the resort. Patrick wiped the sweat from his forehead as he plonked himself down on a wobbly plastic chair. Next to him was Sanne, his wife, who was looking around in her short dress and big sunglasses. There was something about the way she was acting that made Patrick feel a bit uneasy.
Then he spotted him. Mousa. The hotel’s bartender, waiter, entertainer — all rolled into one. He was a tall, dark, hunk with broad shoulders, a clean-shaven head and a confidence Patrick could only dream of. Susan laughed a little too long at a joke he hadn’t even heard. She brushed his arm with her hand as she got her drink. Something just didn’t compute for Patrick, but he laughed along with the rest of the group. As always.
The sun beat down mercilessly on the sand-coloured walls of the resort. Patrick wiped the sweat from his forehead as he plonked himself down on a wobbly plastic chair. Next to him was Sanne, his wife, who was looking around in her short dress and big sunglasses. There was something about the way she was acting that made Patrick feel a bit uneasy.
Then he spotted him. Mousa. The hotel’s bartender, waiter, entertainer — all rolled into one. He was a tall, dark, hunk with broad shoulders, a clean-shaven head and a confidence Patrick could only dream of. Susan laughed a little too long at a joke he hadn’t even heard. She brushed his arm with her hand as she got her drink. Something just didn’t compute for Patrick, but he laughed along with the rest of the group. As always.
That evening in their room, Patrick noticed it right away. Susan was different though. I’m distracted, hungry, restless. When he tried to kiss her, she turned her head away. ‘Tired,’ she said. But when she thought Patrick was asleep, her hand slipped under her panties, and she moaned softly, whispering Mousa’s name between her lips. The next few days got worse. Mousa was seeing her more and more often. At first, it was a secret, behind a corner, with a hand on her lower back. Then there were the more obvious signs, like the way they laughed together at the bar, and how his hand held hers for a bit too long when he was getting her a drink. Patrick just stood there and watched. What could he do?
Mousa was a beast compared to him. Two heads taller, a body carved from stone. Patrick — with his beer belly and pale skin — felt smaller than ever. One evening, it happened. Patrick went back to their room to get his sunglasses, which he’d forgotten. He could hear it in the hallway: the bed making a rhythmical noise, and Susan’s voice — loud, raw, eager. ‘Oh, Mousa… yes, yes…’ He felt his heart beating faster as he pushed the door open a bit. There she was. Susan, his Susan, legs spread wide beneath Mousa. Her nails scratched his dark skin. Mousa moved like a machine, deep and powerful. Susan let herself go completely, screaming with pleasure like Patrick had never heard her before. They looked at each other for a second — no shame.
It’s all about surrender. Mousa looked up, saw Patrick standing there, and smiled broadly. “I stole your woman,” he said calmly. ‘What are you going to do, little man?’ Patrick didn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything. He watched as Mousa had a bit of a rough time with his wife. Susan let out a loud moan, her hands clawing at the sheets. She came in with a cry, her whole body was shaking. Mousa laughed, pulled her back towards him and started again, tireless. That night, Patrick crawled into the empty bed in the second room. Susan showed up a bit later, sweaty and confused, her body still shaking from what Mousa had given her. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to say anything.
Then, a few days later, everything changed. Susan was no longer trying to hide her new passion for Patrick. In the morning, she was sat in her bikini waiting at the bar, her legs spread provocatively while Mousa undressed her with his eyes. Sometimes they’d just vanish together. For a while, at least. An hour. Sometimes it’s longer. And what about Patrick? He sat next to her. With his tepid beer. It was like he was invisible. Every time Susan came back, her skin was red with excitement, her hair was tousled, and she had this satisfied smile. Patrick felt smaller and smaller. Less of a man. Less of a human being. One afternoon, while the sun was beating down mercilessly, the unthinkable happened. Mousa strolled over to Patrick, put his arm around Susan and pulled her towards him. “Just tell your man,” he said with a grin. Susan looked Patrick straight in the eye. Her eyes were all lit up with excitement and embarrassment. But she did it. ‘I belong to Mousa now,’ she said softly.
‘He gives me what you could never give me.’ Patrick swallowed. He was keen to get something off his chest. To shout something. To hit something. But he didn’t do anything. What could he do against that giant? He knew the answer. Mousa shoved Susan against a cock at the beach bar, pressed her against it, his hands roughly on her bottom. Patrick was there, surrounded by tourists who were pretending not to see anything. It’s almost as if it’s normal. Mousa kissed her there, like he owned her, his hands all over her body, making it clear he wanted her. Susan let out a soft moan, her hands holding on to his muscular chest. Patrick felt like people were staring at him. The humiliation felt like a burn on his skin.
And it got worse. That evening, Patrick was in their room, lying on the small guest bed by himself. He could hear Susan laughing and whispering. The sound of Mousa’s heavy footsteps. The bedroom door shut with a bang. What followed was a pretty hellish torture. The bed creaked. Susan’s cries filled the room, raw and unadulterated. She screamed Mousa’s name, begging for more, her voice hoarse with lust. Patrick turned away, his eyes wet. Every cry, every thrust, every orgasm Susan experienced — which could be heard throughout the entire hallway — cut into his soul. After hours, he heard the door open. Mousa’s laugh is heavy and dominant. “She’s mine, little man,” he said, walking past Patrick and patting him on the head like he was a child. ‘Thank me.’ Patrick didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Susan came to the guest bed later, quietly. She kissed him on the forehead. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. But her voice didn’t shake with regret. It’s only because they’re exhausted. It’s all about satisfaction. Patrick stayed lying down. He felt empty inside. He had lost his wife — to a man who didn’t even have to try.
Everything changed after that night. Susan had finally got over feeling ashamed. Patrick was no longer her husband. He was an extra in her new life – the life in which Mousa was firmly in control. During the day, Susan and Mousa strolled around the resort hand in hand. Sometimes she’d sit on his lap at the bar, his hands on her thighs, his mouth on her neck. She was laughing like a girl in love while Patrick sat there with his tepid cola, feeling humiliated. Everyone saw it. The other guests looked away. The staff laughed behind their backs. Patrick knew it. They were laughing at him. It got even more distressing in the evening. Mousa decided when Susan was allowed to come to their room — and when she wasn’t. Sometimes Patrick had to eat by himself, knowing that Susan was upstairs in the bedroom, being whipped by Mousa’s hard, ruthless body. The sounds were unmistakable. Susan’s moans. Her cries, unadulterated and raw, as she came for the umpteenth time.
The dull thumping of the bed against the wall. At some point, Patrick stopped hiding. He just sat there. Listening. Sometimes he could hear Mousa laughing during the act. ‘Look how your woman is enjoying it, little man. This is real sex.’ And what about Susan? She confirmed it. ‘Harder, Mousa… yes… Patrick could never fill me like that!’ Patrick cringed, feeling like he was being stabbed in the heart. At one point, it went even further. Mousa started getting Patrick more involved. Not as a man. As a spectator. ‘Come in!’ Mousa shouted one evening when Patrick was standing hesitantly in front of the closed door. ‘You can see what you’re missing.’ Patrick went along. What did he have to lose? He opened the door and saw the scene: Susan is completely naked, on her hands and knees on the bed. Her face was red, her breasts were sagging and her body was trembling with pleasure. Mousa was standing right behind her, his big hands holding her hips as he pulled her close with every deep thrust.
Susan looked at Patrick. Not with sadness. Not with shame. It’s a real high. She screamed as Mousa thrust deep into her, filling her like Patrick never could. She begged Mousa to take her harder, to break her, to make her completely his. Patrick was just standing there. It’s smaller than ever. It’s a bit of a bummer. It was embarrassing. And yet… He couldn’t tear his eyes away. When Mousa was done, he slowly took a step back and slapped Susan’s bottom one more time. ‘Good girl,’ he said, grinning. Patrick was still standing there, not moving. Mousa strolled up to him, his massive frame glistening with sweat, his dick still half hard. He bent over, his face close to Patrick’s. ‘She’s mine,’ he whispered. ‘And you… you can watch. Like a real loser.’ Patrick nodded a bit, but didn’t say much. He’d lost. Everything. He knew in the end that it was what he deserved. The weeks went by in a flash. What had started as a holiday had turned into a nightmare from which Patrick couldn’t wake up. Susan was head over heels for Mousa. Not just her body, but also her heart.
She listened to him, obeyed him, and enjoyed every humiliation Patrick had to endure. Then, on a warm evening under the African starry sky, the final blow came. Susan and Mousa were sat together at a table on the beach. Susan looked like she was in a world of her own. Mousa was just chillin’, his arm casually around her shoulders. Patrick was standing there, as usual, feeling a bit awkward. He could hear them whispering and Susan giggling. Then she said it. Out loud. I’m not embarrassed to say it. ‘Patrick… I’m pregnant.’ The words hit him like a bomb. Patrick felt like the ground was giving way under his feet. ‘Pregnant?’ he said, a bit of a stammer to his speech. His voice broke. Susan nodded. Her eyes were moist, but not with sadness. It’s got a lot of feeling behind it. I’m really excited about this. ‘By me, of course,’ Mousa laughed, his white teeth showing in the moonlight. ‘My strong seed works fast, huh?’ Patrick took a step back, mouth open, totally gobsmacked. ‘No… no… Susan, please… stop,’ he begged. He got down on one knee in front of her and took her hands.
‘Please, stop… come back… I love you…’ Susan bit her lip. She looked regretful. A little bit. ‘I’m sorry, Patrick,’ she whispered. But she pulled her hands away. She sat down on Mousa’s lap, her belly – still flat, but with a baby on the way – against him. Mousa stroked her belly lovingly, as if to say she was his. ‘You lost, mate,’ he said, grinning. “Your woman is full of my black seed. And you? You get to watch.” Patrick started crying. Not quietly, though. Not like a man. He cried uncontrollably, like a broken child. He begged again. “Susan, seriously… can you just… stop this, please?” Susan looked away. She couldn’t stand the way he looked at her. But she didn’t get up either. She didn’t choose him. She stayed seated with her hand protectively over her stomach while Mousa held her tightly. ‘I’m sorry, Patrick,’ she said again, her voice still fragile.
But it was too late. Mousa leaned in and kissed her, full on the mouth – deep, long, dominant. Patrick collapsed on the sand, crying and feeling humiliated, because the life he had had was now someone else’s. And what about Susan? She let it all happen. She’d made her choice. This one’s for Mousa. For their unborn child. For the new life in which Patrick was nothing more than a shadow from her past. Patrick was still alive, but only just. His heart was giving him a hard time, but he was hanging on. He saw Susan and Mousa together every day — happier than he’d ever seen her with anyone else. Susan was glowing. Her skin was glowing and her eyes were laughing like they never had before. And her belly, small but visible, was starting to grow. The child they’d made together — proof of Patrick’s failure as a man — was growing, while he sank deeper into a swamp of loneliness and self-loathing. And Mousa? She was having a great time. Openly. Boldly. One evening, Patrick was sat on his own on the beach. His face was grey and his body was totally still. Then Susan and Mousa turned up.
They were standing in the doorway, their silhouettes black against the setting sun. ‘Why are you still here?’ Mousa said, his voice mocking. “You’ve got nothing left, mate. Even your child isn’t yours.’ Susan stepped forward. Her eyes were all lit up. She seemed to feel sorry for him, but she also accepted his fate. ‘Maybe it’s better if you just disappear,’ she whispered. ‘For everyone.’ Patrick looked at them, empty. I’m not angry anymore. No tears. Only resignation. Mousa threw something at him – it was a thin, weathered rope. “You know what you have to do,” he said coldly. ‘Prove one last time that you’re worth something.’ Patrick picked up the rope and felt the rough material in his shaky hands. He nodded. Take your time. I get it. Susan turned around, her hand protectively over her belly, and walked away with Mousa. She didn’t look back again. Patrick stayed behind as dusk fell. He threw the rope over a sturdy wooden beam with a simple gesture.
His hands worked mechanically, numb, as if his body had already made up its mind. He got up on the wobbly wooden chair, the rope tight around his neck. He took a quick look outside, where he could just see Susan and Mousa: hand in hand, totally in sync, ready for a future where he wasn’t part of it. ‘Sorry,’ Patrick whispered. To himself. Not to anyone. Then he kicked the chair out from under him. The silence that followed was brutal. When Susan and Mousa got back later, they found him hanging out by the hut. Mousa just grinned, his arm firmly around Susan. ‘That’s how it should be,’ he said softly. Susan nodded. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn’t turn her face away. She watched. Then she turned around, put her hand back on her stomach, and walked into the night with Mousa. They’re on their way to a whole new life. Patrick was now truly… nothing anymore.
