Karim
Karim woke slowly on Alexis’s couch, sober now, wondering where he was until registering the apartment’s only noises: tea brewing and Alexis laying out mugs on the table, whispering, “Morning,” cautiously. Karim tensed, before last night’s stumble up the stairs and the respite of the couch came back to him and this time, stuck.
“Your guys are moving next door,” Alexis whispered, nodding toward the wall while pouring tea.
Karim sat up, joined him around the kitchen island. Alexis slid him a mug, sparked a joint and Karim took both gratefully. He glanced around. It was same floor plan as Sami’s shithole, but remodeled into a clean and sober place: the kitchen room had been opened, walls had been painted in pale grey, furniture was exclusively black, even the couch, leaving every thing else to shine : green mugs, yellow and cream kitchenware, pink and purple vases filled with fresh flowers, and the orange Bluetooth speaker. “You got a nice place,” he observed.
“Parents paid for it, to be honest. For everything, really. You don’t make money as a student, and I sure as shit am not gonna make any money as a linguist, or a teacher, or an interpreter.”
Karim kept looking around, seeing Alexis unbothered by his curiosity. The big bedroom in this apartment was Alexis’, the open door showing an unmade bed, chairs covered in clothes, and a library full to overflowing. The small bedroom was open too, showing an office with yet more books, a desk full of papers and two laptops. “Damn, your parents make some fucking money. You from here?” he asked, still whispering.
“Born and raised. Mom’s an elected official here, Dad’s an admiral. We’ve been here five generations, since arriving from Italy. Both sides of the family arrived in the same wave.”
That felt familiar to Karim. Perhaps in five generations, his descendants would be city councilors and navy officers, too. “What were they fleeing?”
Alexis laughed. “Italian unification. Nothing like what you guys must have been through. My ancestors were well to do people from the North and when Italy become one country, they just fled taxes. They didn’t want to pay for the South. Old, racist stuff.”
“Well, they did as well here. You got nice digs. Thank you,” he added, realizing he wasn’t sure he had said it at all, “for the couch and, well, everything.”
Alexis grinned, “Cramped over there, huh? Couch is yours anytime you need, provided I’m alone,” in Arabic, sipping his own tea, his blue nail polish just another color the walls and furniture allowed to shine.
Karim snorted, “You’re never really alone.”
Alexis laughed, “Today, I am. Idriss is off chasing girls,”, casual, like he didn’t care at all that his man was fucking bitches. Like they didn’t even know the concept of cheating.
“It’s, uh, it’s a nice offer, but I don’t wanna bother,” Karim said, giving the joint back as if it was the offer itself.
Alexis just shrugged, “No bother at all. I love being of service.”
Service? Karim’s mind started flashing back to Idriss barking orders through the wall, Alexis whining for more, always more and harder, like a good wife taking it, pleasing her man. He froze, tea mug warm in his hands. Submissive wife. Alexis’s wiry frame, that tea, this couch, all for him, no fight, no hassle. Idriss’s bitch, sure, but right now he was serving him, doing all the work for him, just how he liked it. Just how he’d always liked it.
“Thanks,” he said again, finishing the tea.
A few minutes later, he slipped out with shoes off and made the effort to silently slide his feet all the way to the staircase and go back down to the second floor on tippy-toes before putting his shoes back on and climbing back up, all the way to Sami’s door, as loud as he could. Just a man returning home after a night out. He could imagine Alexis softly laughing to himself.
Inside, he dodged the living room and hit the shower to clean off the bender and have a think in peace. Faggot’s a wife, was his main preoccupation. But the faggot was nice and, honestly, it kinda felt weird not to call him Alexis in his own mind. Alexis enjoys pleasing men, taking orders, getting fucked hard, but also sharing a joint, a couch, his space.
Alexis’s quiet luxury was a world away from their dump. Sami would kill him if he knew Karim had been comfortable sleeping on a queer’s couch all night. But what Sami couldn’t understand, and would never, was that his reactions were exactly why Karim was now thinking, maybe he should get the queer’s number, make himself a regular guest on that couch. Some sleep, undisturbed by the guys, in a room that didn’t smell like Reda and Adel’s fucking feet, in an apartment that was clean, smelling of hash and fresh flowers.
For fuck’s sake, all it would take would be good headphones and a long playlist, and he’d sleep there while Idriss was fucking the fag right in the bedroom, door open if need be.
A man’s gotta have priorities.
Nasser
The guys had scattered: Sami to the hookah bar, Tarek and Adel to meet friends, Reda to send money home, Karim back out right after his shower. Nasser stayed behind, sprawled alone in the big bedroom as he coughed loud, muttering “I think I’m sick or something, bro,” to each of them every time they offered for him to go out. He wasn’t sick-sick: his cock ached.
He was hard since last night’s FIFA, Alexis’s “I’m out” text a tease that’d left him throbbing. That faggot was a drug Nasser couldn’t quit, that had him hooked, and faking sick. He wouldn’t beg for the pussy, he never had with women and felt he really shouldn’t for the fag, even if that fag was slowly becoming his princess… But he wouldn’t let an opportunity slide either.
He yanked his phone from the mattress as soon as the last roommate was out, fingers made clumsy by sweat that was more stress than heat for once. He scrolled to his conversation with Alexis.
got time free u home?
Alexis buzzed back fast
home alone
“Fuck yeah,” Nasser let out for the benefit of the room. He yanked his boxers and joggers down and grabbed his cock, now fully erect at the thought of Alexis, alone and available. He snapped a picture of his hard on and sent it to Alexis, adding:
you kept me hard all last night i need to nut in you at least twice now
He could be bold and shameless, too.
come now
Nasser put his cock back in, jumped off the bed, grabbed his slides, stash and phone before he slipped out, made the two steps to Alexis’ door. He knocked fast, impatient, whispering, “C’mon, fag,” under his breath as the door swung open.
Alexis stood there, in a cropped tee that said “serving cunt”, high-waisted shorts hugging his wiry hips, brown and pink hair mussed… His little slut, ready, willing.
It made Nasser growl like an animal as he shoved past, already barking, “Put some music on in the living room, and make it loud. We’re gonna fuck in the bedroom, in case anyone comes back. I don’t wanna be bothered.”
Alexis grinned, “Got it,” darting to a speaker on the kitchen island to put on some pop playlist, loud enough to drown grunts, moans, talk, anything Sami’s crew might catch if they rolled in early. It didn’t have to mask screams, only Alexis would let those out.
Nasser didn’t wait. Standing in the middle of the living room, he yanked his tracksuit top off, tossed it on the floor, and just kept going. Joggers, boxers, socks, he took it all off and threw it anywhere. “I need throat, I need hole, fucking anything, and I need it now, rough,” he growled as he approached Alexis, his cock and heavy balls swinging, spreading a stink he knew Alexis craved. “I fucking waited all night and I’m gonna stretch you raw.” The rimjob he’d texted for, sitting on the princess’ face, he still couldn’t bring himself to ask for it, even now. But he could still get and enjoy everything else.
Alexis was fixed on him, detailing every part of Nasser with his eyes. “You’re so, so fucking sexy, man…”
“Bedroom, now,” he ordered.
Alexis nodded, playful, “Yes, sir,” in Arabic, with the light little tone he adopted when he wanted to make Nasser hard and leaking. Alexis led him to the bedroom, and shoved him hard through the door, kicked the door shut, and pushed again on Nasser’s shoulders until hit the bed from behind, sitting on it. The sheets were cool against his hairy back. His cock slapped his abs, precum smearing as he sprawled, legs wide, balls heavy and damp.
Alexis, standing in front of him, peeled off his tee then shucked his shorts, leaving him in a black jockstrap. The next second, he straddled Nasser, knees digging into the mattress, his ass hovering over Nasser’s heavy cock, playing with it with his ass cheeks. Nasser’s hands raised and clasped behind his head as if by reflex, and Alexis leaned in, nose brushing Nasser’s hairy pit, sniffing deep with a low moan. “No shower,” moaned the little princess with delight. Alexis then started lapping sweat with his eager tongue, going from one pit to the other.
“Dirty fucking fag,” Nasser whispered as Alexis’s tongue dragged again, his ass rubbing Nasser’s cock in a slow, excruciating grind. His prick pulsed, precum slicking Alexis’s crack.
“You’re so fucking hot, Nass,” Alexis murmured, lips brushing Nasser’s pit, before he pulled back and looked him in the eyes with intensity. Alexis grabbed Nasser’s cock, fingers tight and possessive, and lined it up with his asshole. “I promise I will suck your cock right after, I’ll clean it, I’ll do anything you want, right after, but…,” Alexis panted, “I need this fat cock inside of me right now, Nass, I need it worse than last time, with just your precum…”
He was just a junkie. All he could do was answer, “Yes, yes, yes…” as the hole started kissing the tip of his cock. Nasser’s hairy thighs tensed as Alexis tried to sink down. The burn hit them both right away. It was dry, raw, a sharp sting, with Alexis moaning and sometimes screaming through it all, pleasure-pain twisting his face, tears welling as he slid lower, inch by inch.
Nasser had no idea of the time but it took long, painful minutes. Several songs worth of pushing down and grinding, both of them letting out pained noises. Alexis took a third of his cock in and started bouncing as best he could, trying to take more inches, making himself cry and whispering, “Please, please, please…” in concert with Nasser saying yes.
Then Alexis took two thirds, a little easier, going up and down more than half his cock while telling him, in broken whispers, “You’re leaking so much inside me, baby…” He leaned into Nasser’s neck and Nasser let him, even bringing him closer with his arms before going back to gripping his hips, hesitantly, Nasser never having decided if he wanted to push the fag down on his cock, or hold his princess back from breaking her hole out of eagerness for him…
And finally, Alexis took it all. By then he was fully crying, full sobs mixed with pleas for more and words Nasser couldn’t deal with yet, like baby and my man, and every time the princess told him he was hot, and sexy, and handsome, Nasser had to hold back from coming.
Alexis shuddered on the cock, his face wet with tears. “Love it, fucking love it balls deep,” he whined, voice cracking,
Nasser was losing it, taking in how much the slut wanted him, wanted his fat cock pulsing inside, hurting him. He thrust up brutally, hips snapping, and Alexis’s moans got louder, a raw sound Nasser fed on with every new thrust. His hands roamed freely now, hairy fingers gripping Alexis’s thighs, his ass, squeezing hard, skin reddening under his touch. Under his touch.
Then he slid up, put his hands in the faggot’s head, kept him in his neck while he stretched that hole, a hole just for him, with thrust after thrust. Sweat beaded on Nasser’s chest, dripping down his hairy abs, the room now a furnace. He shoved deeper, as deep as he could, pushing, pushing still against Alexis’ ass even when he realized he was balls deep already, a growl ripping out, “Fucking mine…” His cock was the battering ram that would conquer Alexis.
Alexis rocked, his ass slamming down, Nasser’s balls smacking wet against him. Nasser’s senses drowned into Alexis: sluttiness, submissiveness, and even more, desire. Alexis craved him, his sweaty pits, his cock that hurt, he wanted it doggy and cowgirl, he wanted it night and day, and he wanted it with him.
Alexis’s eyes kept a lock on Nasser’s as he panted, “I love your horse cock…,” over and over, a mantra that drove Nasser insane. The words, filthy on purpose, hit hard and made his cock pulse and swell thicker. Seized by some instinct, his hand flew up, slapping Alexis’s face.
Alexis moaned, “More,” begging as he did for Idriss, as he did with equal want for him, now, so Nasser’s hand cracked again, harder this time, Alexis’s head jerked, a smile on his face.
“Dirty fucking princess,” Nasser whispered, then spat on that pretty face, hitting Alexis’s cheek, marking a claim.
Alexis shivered, his mouth opened wide, tongue out, and he begged silently, so Nasser spat again, straight in, a thick glob that landed heavy. Alexis swallowed fast, his throat bobbing as he rode, moaning, “Hot, so hot,”
Nasser was drunk on lust, spitting again, again, Alexis swallowing each time and asking for more as his ass was clenching on Nasser’s cock. The rhythm of worship drove Nasser wild and he kept slapping, started spanking, all randomly, hitting cheeks and ass and thighs and back, anything he could.
Alexis’s thighs trembled, his hole stretched to breaking as he gasped, “Love it,” eyes never leaving Nasser’s, looking back at his as fast as he could after each slap that made his head spin. “Love it, love it, love it,” and Nasser lost it and came, long waves of release as Alexis kept riding him.
He didn’t let up. Couldn’t. He fixed his hands onto Alexis’s shoulders, gripping hard, and shoved him down, cock buried to the hilt in the now slick pussy. “Keep it tight, keep me in, keep me hard…,” he found himself begging, using all his strength to keep Alexis on his cock.
And Alexis obeyed, contracting his ass in a slow squeeze around Nasser’s cock. The wet, sharp sensation kept him stiff, ready. Nasser shoved Alexis’s face down, into his left armpit. “Smell it, fag,” he ordered, grinding Alexis’s nose in. “Get drunk on my smell, baby,” he added with a softer voice.
The room spun. Alexis’s ass kept squeezing, tight and hot, cum leaking slow around Nasser’s base, dripping down his balls, a wet mess that fueled his need to go again, and again. His hands pressed harder, one around Alexis’ shoulder to keep him down, one twisting the fag’s face into his pit, sweat smearing as Alexis licked. “Dirty girl…,” Nasser moaned.
The contractions were milking him, a second load building fast. Five minutes into it, his balls tightened again, and the sensation came as a flood. He thrust up again, growling, like an animal, “Fucking take me,” and came again, another heavy spurt that coated Alexis’ asshole and remade it into a pussy. Nasser’s pussy.
Alexis groaned, face buried and tongue still dragging through Nasser’s pit. The second load leaked out slowly, slicking Nasser’s balls, but they didn’t move, didn’t separate until his prick softened.
Adel
Adel had smoked alone ever since they scattered after work, the whole evening and into the early night, not far from the entrance of their building, when he spotted Tarek coming out and walking away in the direction of Bay Park. Adel’s steps fall behind quietly, trailing at a distance, eyes narrowing on Tarek’s broad back. He was wearing a loose tank that showed off his pecs and soccer shorts that were cut too high for Adel’s comfort.
Tarek entered the park and walked all the way to the end of it, the badly lit part where queers came at night. He flopped onto a bench, legs splayed wide, his big hand sliding lazily over his bulge, stroking through the shorts as he sparked a joint.
Adel crouched, hidden in a scraggle of bushes, heart thumping and eyes locked.
Tarek smoked deep, fast, like he wanted to get as high as he could, as quick as he could. His free hand kept rubbing harder, until a beast Adel knew too well from the previous night started tenting the flimsy fabric of the shorts. Fucking Tarek, with his fag bashing, fucking Tarek, with his weapon of a cock Adel couldn’t stop thinking about…
Minutes dragged until an old man shuffled up, grey hair thinning. A fag in a faded jacket, cash flashing in his shaky hand, his voice low, pleading for something. Tarek grinned, joint tossed, and stood, towering over the guy, his tank clinging damp to his athletic frame. They vanished into the bushes and Adel’s breath went shallow as he waited.
Less than a minute, then a snap, a muffled yelp and Tarek burst out, running fast, the mass in his shorts bouncing, that grin wider, hand clutching a wallet. The old fag limped out a few minutes after, clutching his side, face bruised. He stumbled off like a beaten dog.
Adel’s fists clenched, but his cock hardened.
Adel stayed crouched for a long time. He’d followed, wanted to see, needed to, and now he sat, horny, terrified.
Adel stood, eyes darting, saw himself alone with the bench and the bushes. Tarek’s tank clung in his head, those tan arms flexing as he lifted the joint to his mouth, as he rubbed himself shamelessly, that massive 11-inch cock dwarfing Adel’s own thick but disappointing 7. Moved by something he didn’t understand, Adel came out of the bushes and sat on the bench, where Tarek had been.
He rolled up his jogger legs, showing off his skinny calves, flexing them, a weak mimic of Tarek’s thick thighs, hairy and strong, naked with those soccer shorts. Tarek’s chest flashed, his defined pecs and abs, the faint hair he kept trimmed “for the bitches” while still leaving a happy trail run down into his boxers…manly as fuck, while Adel’s ribs poked through, scrawny, boyish. His hand slid down, stroking his bulge, trying to tell himself he wasn’t nothing.
Footsteps crunched, and he raised his eyes to find an old fag, a different one, balding, in a worn coat. “Blowjob? €50?” cash flashing. English accent.
Adel froze. “No sucking,” he snapped in hesitant English, trying to look big, scary. “No touching, you knees, you watching,” his voice not as hard as he’d hoped.
The old fag nodded eagerly, already going into the closest bushes. As soon as they were in there, the fag knelt. “I love young Arabs,” the old fag moaned as soon as Adel got ready to take his cock out.
“Shut up, fag,” he said as a reflex, happy for once that he did sound scary. “Only say my cock is big, got it?” Tarek was a whip in his head, that hammer he’d stared at, humiliated, a constant presence in his mind. He needed to hear it.
The old fag nodded immediately. “Big, your cock is big…”
Adel’s cock twitched as he took it out for that faggot. “Again, say it,” needing it loud, clear.
“Your cock is big, it’s so big, beautiful and big,” the fag obeyed, eyes wide, and Adel’s hand pumped faster.
“More, tell me, fag, is it big?” Adel spat on his cock, missing at first, and then kept spitting, three, four, five times.
The fag loved that. His eyes were wide, his breath was short. “So big, it’s perfect, I love how you spit on your big cock,” the fag whined, his hands nearing his crotch.
Adel wouldn’t let that happen. “Say it again, no fucking touch yourself, faggot.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You… you have a big cock, man, so fucking big…”
His hand blurred, spit slick loud on his skin, his skinny thighs trembling, balls tightening “Again, stupid faggot,” desperate, desperate for it just as the faggot was desperate for cock.
“Your beautiful cock is so fucking big, man, I want your big fucking cock,” the fag chanted, voice breaking, and Adel broke, cum spurting into thick ropes that fell on the dirt.
The old fag was thanking him as he handed over the €50, fingers brushing Adel’s sweaty palm, and Adel snatched it quickly, stuffing it in his joggers, as he bolted, as fast as he could, out of the bush and the park.
