Sami
The apartment hummed with restless energy. Inside Sami’s cramped domain, the thin walls shuddered with the now-routine soundtrack from across the hall Idriss’s guttural growls and Alexis’s sharp whimpers cut through the plaster, a regular ritual of rough fucking that had become familiar and even a bit boring to all, save one. Sami paced the living room, his prayer beads clicking in his fist, his voice a low rasp in Arabic. “Fucking diseased animals next door,” kicking a stray takeout box across the linoleum, his dark eyes flashing with disgust, immediately angry with himself for making a mess. He hadn’t spoken to Nasser since the party, having decided to punish the traitor sprawled in the big bedroom for jumping ship even for one party. And especially for saying that degenerate nigger was “Cool,” and “a Muslim too!” like that made him any better.
Karim lolled on his mattress by the window, utterly stoned, his glazed eyes tracking Sami’s path. “Turn it off, man,” he slurred in French, waving a limp hand at the wall, though the noise wasn’t a switch to flip.
Reda
The afternoon dragged on, Idriss and Alexis’ time together ending, giving way to a sluggish quiet as the guys scattered. Sami barked more complaints and orders before storming off to sulk in his small bedroom, Karim dozed on his mattress, Tarek and Adel went out chasing trouble, Nasser lingered in the big bedroom rolling a joint.
Left virtually to himself, Reda slipped out, his bare feet padding across the linoleum to the hallway. He needed a break for all of them being together. Sami’s rants about the faggot next door buzzing in his head like flies, the noises through the wall a constant itch he couldn’t scratch. The dim corridor stretched before him, flickering light overhead casting shadows, when Alexis stepped out from his apartment, dressed to go out.
Reda froze, his gut twisting as Alexis turned. “Oh, hey! You’re with Nasser, right ? What’s your name?” Alexis said in Arabic, no accent, his voice soft but sure, with a polite tone.
Reda blinked, thrown. Fucking faggot speaking his language again. He stammered, “Reda,” his cheeks flushing under his tan.
Alexis nodded. “Alexis, but you might already know that,” he said, then tilted his head. “Where you from, Reda? What’s your story?”
The question hit like a hook, pulling Reda in despite the whisper of sin in his mind. No one had cared, for a while. “Tunisia,” eyes on the floor, then up at Alexis’s patient stare. “Came last year, smuggler boat, rough shit. I work construction now, with the guys.” His words came slow, halting, but Alexis listened, nodding like it mattered.
“Sami’s helping you with a place to live?” Alexis asked.
“Yeah. He’s almost ten years older, so he’s been here a while, he’s legal. Knows what he’s doing.”
“I have to say, you’re the quiet one over there,” Alexis said in Arabic, jerking his chin toward Sami’s door. “Not like the others, yelling, fighting. I’ve never heard your voice until now.”
Reda shifted, uneasy but caught. “They’re loud,” he mumbled, then added, “You hear us too, huh?”
Alexis laughed, a light sound. “Oh yeah, old city, thin walls. You hear me, I hear you.”
Reda’s face burned, but he nodded, stuck on how easy this felt, speaking in Arabic to this queer. How he knew Arabic, how he could adapt to a Tunisian dialect of it, that was a mystery.
“Your French, how’s it going? Not the easiest to learn,” he asked in Arabic.
Reda grimaced, “Bad, real bad. Boss yells, I don’t get it.”
Alexis’s eyes lit up. “I can help you, if you need. I’m in my fifth year studying languages, so a bit of teaching could help me too,” he said. “Easy stuff, words, phrases, I gotta know how to teach people at any level anyway. Whenever you want, just knock.”
Reda’s mouth opened, then shut. Offering help? Sami had said the faggot would try to corrupt him with Western ways, first with liquor, then obviously sex, but the kindness landed hard, a lifeline in the mess of his life. French wasn’t just for the boss, it was for the authorities, social workers and cops. “Thanks,” he said, soft, meaning it.
Alexis grinned wider, “Anytime,” then turned, leaving Reda in the hall, saying “I’m sorry, I’m late for something, but feel free to knock!”
Tarek
Tarek dragged Adel to a grimy kebab joint/tea salon/hookah bar on the commercial side of the harbor, the neon sign buzzing faintly above the door. Inside, the air reeked of grease and stake smoke, the linoleum sticky under Tarek’s sneakers as he swaggered in, his tight Tunisian football jersey straining over his lean chest, soccer shorts riding high on his hairy legs. Adel trailed behind, slower.
The €230 he stole burned in Tarek’s pocket. Fifty from the fag’s hand, the rest snatched from the bastard’s wallet, and he was hellbent on blowing half tonight or more tonight, flexing his cash like a king. His head buzzed from the hash he’d smoked all day, and now, with Adel as his audience, he’d drown it in food, drinks, and a little coke.
Tarek barked an order for the both of them to the counter guy and slapped €50 on the counter, the bills crumpled from his shorts, his grin wide and cocky.
Adel hovered, eyes darting to the cash. “Where’d you get all that?”
Tarek shrugged, brushing him off, “Shut up, eat.”
They slumped into a booth, Tarek tearing into the shawarma, sauce dripping down his chin, his hairy legs sprawled wide. He fished out €50 more, waving it at a guy he knew, lurking by the jukebox. “Gimme a baggie, bro,” low enough the counter kid wouldn’t hear. The guy nodded, slipping him a tiny bag, and Tarek smirked, pocketing it for later.
Adel chugged his beer, giggling, “You’re loaded, man!”
“Coke’s next,” Tarek as he leaned back, hairy legs brushing Adel’s under the booth. “Gonna get fucked up tonight,” he muttered in English, his mind looping, fags bending over, Alexis’s gasps, his own fists smashing faces, kicking fags in the ribs... Adel laughed, clueless, eating, while Tarek’s obsession kept him looking out at nothing.
“Let’s move,” said Tarek. He wanted a bar, a real one with liquor, and time in the bathroom with the baggie.
Adel scrambled after him, wiping his mouth, his tracksuit swishing as he giggled, “Where now?”
They hit a spot closer to the marina, a sleek, neon-lit bar packed with white folks, a far cry from the kebab dive. Tarek swaggered in, football jersey clinging to his sweaty chest, hairy legs flexing under the shorts, Adel trailing like a smaller shadow. He dropped €20 on four vodka shots, slamming them back fast, the burn hitting his hash-soaked brain like a fist.
“Coke time.”
He ducked into the bathroom with Adel, the baggie opened on the sink. They snorted quick lines shakily made on Tarek’s phone and his thoughts turned darker, violent, the coke amplifying the itch from Alexis’s noises. Fuck, that fag’s whimpers, “Harder!” rang in his head, and he craved it again: smashing a queer’s face, feeling bones crack under his knuckles, cash in hand.
Back at the bar, Tarek leaned against the counter, now whiskey, sipping slow as the liquor stoked his fire.
Adel nursed a gin and tonic, swaying, his big ears red from the buzz. “You’re spending big, man,” Adel slurred, fishing again, “Where’s the cash from?”
Tarek’s grin twisted, the coke and booze loosening his guard. He leaned in, voice a drunken growl, “Tricking fags, bro, the faggots from Battery Park… old queer gave me fifty to suck me off.” He laughed, harsh and loud, slamming the glass down. “Kicked his face in, took his wallet. Two thirty made in twenty minutes of waiting and two minutes of kicking, easy. Come with me next time, beat ourselves some fag ass, get paid. Fifty fifty, bro.”
Adel’s jaw dropped, the gin sloshing in his hand as he tried to lean back on the bar and didn’t find purchase as soon as he thought. Beating up fags? Fuck yeah, he thought, picturing it: smashing a queer’s nose, blood spraying, cash falling out like a prize. Easy money.
But then it hit: wrinkly old white perverts, saggy skin, leering at him, wanting his dick. His stomach lurched like he was gonna vomit. Fucking disgusting, those crusty bastards drooling for it, not hot bitches but nasty old men. “No way,” he snapped, voice shrill, shoving Tarek’s shoulder. “That’s sick, old fags? Gross as hell!”
Tarek’s face darkened, his buzz souring fast. “You’re always suck a fucking pussy,” he snarled, slamming his empty glass on the bar, his hairy hand flexing. “Easy money and you’re too soft for it.” His dick strained his shorts, already expecting the rush of beating on some old man.
Adel glared back, swaying, “I’m not soft. I just won’t touch those freaks!”
They stood there, angry, bristling, the bar’s hum fading as their eyes drifted to the women around them.
A blonde in a tight dress laughed by the jukebox, and Tarek’s mind snapped. Fuck her raw, he thought, pinning her down, ripping that dress, slamming his cock in her ass till she screamed, his fists bruising her thighs. No fag shit, just a bitch breaking under him. That’s why you get the money, so you can treat these fancy white bitches to a fancy place, then bring them back, split them apart on cock.
Tarek growled low, “These bitches need it,” his hand brushing his bulge, the whiskey glass sweaty in his grip.
Nasser
Nasser had holed up in the big bedroom all day, sprawled shirtless on his narrow bed, the hairy expanse of his chest slick with sweat, a joint smoldering between his fingers. He’d been spying on Sami since dawn, tracking every bark, every shuffle, waiting for the prick to clear out so he could bolt. The others were gone: Tarek and Adel off in the city, Karim crashed somewhere, Reda vanished after lunch. Sami was the hurdle, pacing the living room, muttering in Arabic about the faggot next door, his prayer beads clicking like a countdown Nasser couldn’t rush.
Nasser sucked deep on the joint, the hashish curling thick in his lungs, trying to drown the itch that’d plagued him since the party. Alexis’s tight throat swallowing his ten inches, spit dripping, kept looping in his head, a fucking obsession he couldn’t shake. He’d spent days fighting it, hand twitching toward his bulge, stopping short. He couldn’t jack it to a fag. But the image burned hotter: a tight, white asshole, hairless and puckered, stretching wide around the fat head of his cock, taking him raw. His dick stiffened under his tracksuit pants, precum dotting the fabric, and he cursed in Arabic, “Fucking fag,” under his breath, half-hating how good it felt to want it.
Sami’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and loud from the living room. “Going to pray, then hookah and tea with the guys.”
Nasser’s ears perked. Fucking finally. No mosque in this shithole city, just a network of shitty converted rooms where Sami and his pious pals knelt on stained rugs. He’d be gone hours, preaching and puffing smoke, leaving the apartment empty. Nasser rolled off the bed and crept to the window, peering through the grimy blinds. Sami stomped out, his wiry frame cutting across the street below. Nasser held his breath, watching until Sami turned the corner and disappeared into the harbor’s maze.
He grabbed his stash, just in case, shoved it in his pocket, and yanked on his sneakers, laces loose. Grabbed his satchel to make it look like he was gone-gone. The apartment sat empty, silent but for the faint creak of the floor under his weight. He paused at the door, heart hammering. Fuck it, he thought, stepping into the hall, the dim light flickering overhead, his steps quick and heavy toward Alexis’s door.
He knocked, sharp and fast, nervous again like the first time, despite the blowjob’s proof he could own this. The door swung open. “Back already?” Alexis said, voice light, a smirk playing on his lips like he’d been expecting it.
Nasser shifted, his tracksuit pants tenting, trying to play it cool but failing, horny as fuck, the hash making his tongue thick. “Can I come in?”
Alexis’s smirk widened, stepping aside with a little flourish. “Yeah, man—come on,” his gaze dropping to Nasser’s bulge for a split second. The door clicked shut behind them, the apartment warm and cluttered. Nasser stood and Alexis waited, inviting, ready to deliver.
Alexis leaned against the couch, cropped tee riding up, his grin sly and knowing. “So, you here to fuck my hole, or you want me to eat yours?”
Nasser failed to respond, his ten-inch dick twitching at both choices. His mind spun fast, a serious fantasy crashing in: Alexis on his knees, head buried between his hairy cheeks, tongue lapping at his sweaty, hairy hole, begging for Nasser to sit on his face, and Nasser crushing him, sitting full-weight as a fucked up reward, grinding down till the little bitch gasped for air. He’d seen it in porn, chicks rimming guys, submissive and sloppy, but never had it, and fuck, the idea of Alexis doing it, licking him clean, sent a shiver up his spine. His cock leaked, precum soaking through, the thought of that wet tongue on his hole a kinky pull he hadn’t expected.
But then the years kicked in. Hours, days, fucking decades of anal porn looping in his head, tight asses split open, white girls squealing as fat cocks stretched them raw. He’d jacked off to it endlessly, every rejection from a bitch fueling the need. The apartment was empty. No Sami, no guys, no one to hear, and Nasser wanted it loud, wanted Alexis screaming under him, the wall shaking with it, his fantasy finally real.
“Anal,” he growled, the rimming shoved aside for later. Fucking that tight ass won out, hands down.
Alexis nodded, smirking, and peeled off his shorts, revealing a black jockstrap, straps hugging his skinny hips, pouch bulging, ass bare and pale. Nasser’s gut twisted. Fucking fag gear, he thought, a queer little slut in his pervert uniform. But something else hit harder. Shit, this faggot ways always ready, hole out, begging for cock like a porn bitch, keeping his own dick hidden like it should be. Nasser’s dick throbbed, fully hard now, the jockstrap triggering both disgust and a savage need. Alexis was built for this, a walking fucktoy, and Nasser’s balls ached to prove it.
“Show me,” Nasser said in Arabic, stepping closer, his sneakers scuffing the floor.
Alexis climbed onto the couch, kneeling, ass up. His pale cheeks spread as he arched, the jockstrap framing that hairless, puckered hole. Nasser stared, breath caught in his throat. Fuck, it was tight, a pink wink staring back, not a hair on it, perfect like the porn he’d burned into his brain.
“Are you tight?” he asked, lost in arousal, before slipping and saying, “Or did all that nigger cock stretch you loose?” His hand twitched, wanting to touch. To spank.
Alexis glanced back, smiling innocently. “It always tightens back up, baby, no matter how much fat cocks try to stretch it.” He wiggled his ass a little, inviting him closer.
Nasser’s cock moved him forward, leaking steady now. He lowered his joggers and boxers in one movement, freeing himself. “I want it rough,” spitting into his palm, slicking his thick shaft. “Spit only, no lube, just like I always wanted.”
“Just spit, baby,” confirmed Alexis, “just like you want it.”
Nasser’s breath came in harsh pants as he loomed over Alexis, that pale, hairless ass thrust up like a fucking offering. His cock, thick and veined, glistened with the little spit he would allow the faggot.
He pressed the fat head against Alexis’s hole, and fuck, it was tight, too tight at first, a stubborn little ring that wouldn’t give, resisting him like a locked door. Alexis hissed through gritted teeth, a sharp “Shit!” slipping out, followed by an immediate, “Keep going, Nass, just do what you want,” his skinny body tensing.
Nasser’s jaw clenched, a growl rumbling deep in his throat. “Take it, fag,” a rough command before he shoved in harder, his hairy hands flexing around Alexis’ hips as he fought the urge to just ram it in.
The spit barely helped, a thin sheen against the brutal push, but Nasser’s patience held. Hours of porn flashing in his head, tight asses splitting open, without any mercy, and finally he was there. Empty apartment next door, comfortable apartment here, cock against hole, he could take his time. He would take all the time in the world if it meant ending up balls deep in there. And if the entry was tight, the whole thing was gonna be tight.
He gripped Alexis’s hips even harder, thick fingers sinking into soft flesh, hairy knuckles whitening as he steadied himself, the couch groaning under the pressure. He thrust again, slow, muscles bulging under his sweaty skin, working at it slowly. Once, twice, spitting on the head and hole, once again, twice, spit, like that for a minute, two, and then, pop.
The head breached, forcing that white ring wide, stretching it around his girth just like he’d fucking dreamed, and he pushed the whole tip in and stopped.
Alexis gasped, voice cracking, “Fuck yes!” his head jerking back, a tremor running through him.
Nasser’s dick pulsed, the heat and grip insane, and he started pushing deeper, inch by brutal inch. “Gonna fucking open you up, little princess,” he promised, as a slow grind began.
The room turned into a haze of grunts and moans, a filthy mess of sounds freely bouncing off the walls. Alexis babbled like a slut, words spilling out in a wrecked mess. “Wreck me, please, fuck my hole, fuck, so fat!” he gasped, his voice high and desperate, the jockstrap pouch swinging between his thighs as Nasser started sliding his dick ever deeper, first and inch, then two, always a bit more. “Please, Nass, please, I want you balls fucking deep.”
Nasser’s head spun, his cock splitting that tight ass methodically. Finally. Now it was him, ten inches deep, no whining, just Alexis’s wrecked cries egging him on. “Louder, slut,” he barked, hips snapping harder..
It wasn’t easy fuck at all but an hour-long grind, brutal and raw, Nasser’s cock fighting the vice of Alexis’s hole, spit drying as precum was leaking with every thrust. The fag’s ass clenched around him, tight, sucking him in even as it resisted, and Nasser’s balls finally slapped against Alexis’s pale cheeks, a wet, rhythmic smack filling the air.
His hairy thighs flexed, sweat dripping down his back, soaking the waistband of his half-down tracksuit pants, every move a porn clip unspooling in real time. He was grunting, thrusting, owning that ass like he’d always wanted.
Alexis’s moans turned jagged, raw cries ripping out, “Harder, fuck, tear me up, fucking rape me, love it,” his dirty talk a flood now, hands clawing the couch cushions.
The minutes dragged, sweat and spit mingling, precum starting to froth out of the fag’s asshole. He’d never have to imagine anal again. His balls tightened, slapping harder, his thrusts a machine now, the couch creaking like it might snap.
Alexis broke into sobs of “Yes, fuck, huge!”
It was worth it, he thought, fucking a fag was worth it.
Nasser growled, “Scream, you fag bitch,” slammed deep, before he paused mid-thrust, panting, staring down at that asshole. Tight as fuck, white and flawless, stretched wide around his dark, veined shaft, gripping him like a vice even after an hour of pounding. How’s this faggot still tight? he wondered, mind reeling, taking that nigger’s dick hard every night and yet still this perfect, clamping down on him like it was made for it. Nasser’s hands tightened on Alexis’s hips, hairy fingers bruising, and his cock pulsed inside that stretched ring, now, claimed.
The heat built, unbearable, his cock throbbing. The tight grip of Alexis’s ass milked him and Nasser let go. He let out a guttural scream as he creampied that hole, thick ropes of cum pumping deep, fulfilling the last frame of his fantasy. His hips jerked, unloading everything, as deep as he could, the wet heat of his cum flooding Alexis’s ass, a porn-star finish he’d jerked off to a hundred times.
He slowed, panting, then pulled out slow, his cock slipping free with difficulty as if the hole refused to let go. It came out glistening with spit and cum, leaving Alexis’s hole gaping, red, and dripping. Nasser stared, the sight hitting him hard. Fuck, that was his cum, his mark, and realized he was hooked. No chick could match this, no pussy this tight, this willing. There would not be any waiting to find one anymore, either. He’d be back, again and again, ke knew, as much as Idriss would let him, as much as Alexis wanted, because one time wasn’t enough, wouldn’t ever be enough.
“Don’t move,” Nasser ordered, stepping back, his tracksuit pants still tangled around his ankles. Alexis froze, ass up, cum trickling out, a white bead sliding down his thigh. Nasser fumbled in his pocket, pulled out the joint he’d brought, and lit it, took a deep drag, smoke curling up as his eyes locked on that wrecked hole. “Look at you, white fag,” he said with a tenderness he didn’t expect for the rough dirty talk he was planning. “Letting men you don’t know fuck you raw, niggers raping you all over your place… Filthy faggot. Bet you want it from all of us, every guy in Sami’s place, lining up to rape your slut ass, stretching you till you break.”
“Yeah, fuck me up,” Alexis replied with a moan, voice hoarse from screaming. “Rape me again, Nass, I want you to leave me wrecked.” His dirty talk fired back, coaxing, begging, his ass wiggling a little, cum still leaking, trying to pull Nasser back in.
Nasser’s dick twitched, never having gone really soft, but he smirked, leaning forward, joint dangling. “Greedy queer,” he laughed before he brought his hairy hand down, spanking that pale ass hard. “Take it,” spanking again, and again and again, the sharp slap echoing, the ass slowly reddening.
Alexis gasped, “Thank you!” with each hit, “Fuck, thank you!” his voice a mix of pain and need, ass jiggling under Nasser’s palm.
Nasser kept going, five minutes of hard smacks, his hand stinging. Alexis’s cheeks glowed red, cum still dripping from that tight hole. “Fucking slut,” Nasser growled around the joint in his mouth, “thanking me for beating your fag ass, you’re pathetic,” while thinking no one but this fag could take all this and still ask for me, and thank him. His cock stiffened more, the power surging through him.
Finally, he stopped playing around and pushed the dick back in again, pushing out the rest of the cum to leak on Alexis’ thighs the further his dick went, until he was balls deep again, and the fag was reaching back and holding his balls.
Reda
The apartment sat dark and still when Reda slipped back in, the others still out. He slumped onto the pull-out couch, restless after wandering, Alexis’s words from earlier stuck in his head, speaking Arabic like it was nothing, offering help. Then it hit. Thuds, grunts, a sharp “Harder!” in Arabic through the wall, and a voice he knew…Nasser’s, snarled in Arabic, “Take it, slut!”
Reda’s gut flipped but he froze, listening, the couch creaking as he shifted. Nasser’s savage rhythm, Alexis’s wrecked moans Reda couldn’t unhear. His dick stirred, guilt stopping him from touching it, but he swore silence, the secret locked tigh at the simple idea of Sami’s reaction. It obsessed him—Nasser fucking the faggot, rough and loud—looping in his skull, a thought he couldn’t shake, even as he cursed it.
Next : someone makes love to someone else, someone strikes out, someone's a good student, someone experiments and someone has secrets of his own
