Tarek
Tarek slouched on a weathered bench in Bay Park, sun blasting his face with heat, his red and white soccer jersey clinging to his broad shoulders.
The afternoon had been a grind, peddling €30 worth of hash for 50 to clueless tourists and students. He was sober and sharp, but the day had soured. He’d tried his luck with girls, flashing polite smiles, tossing out soft hellos and casual questions about their plans. Most brushed him off, giggling as they scurried away, their eyes dismissing his tight shorts and immaculate Nike TNs. One, a blonde with a sharp nose, had spat, “Go back to your fucking country,” before flipping a finger and vanishing into the crowd.
He fished a joint from his pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag as his anger simmered. The park buzzed around him, couples strolling, kids shouting, but Tarek’s mind drifted to Adel, that skinny kid curled on Nasser’s bed that morning, cum dried across his boxers, belly, thighs, staring at Tarek like a kicked dog. Tarek snorted, a mocking laugh escaping. Little virgin, jerking off to him, too weak to even hide it.
He pulled out his phone, went into the camera and angled it low. His hairy legs were spread wide, the small running shorts riding up, his bulge so big it was obscene under the thin fabric. He snapped the shot, taunting, his fat cock outlined like a challenge. No caption needed. He sent it to Adel, imagining the kid’s face, that mix of shame and hunger when he’d see it. Tarek leaned back, his own cock twitching at the thought.
Adel needed teaching, needed to learn what a real man was. He’d show him, one way or another.
Nasser
Nasser paced the living room of Sami’s apartment, his fresh shower scent fading under a restless sweat, his phone gripped tight. An hour of checking for Alexis’s reply had left him antsy, his cock half-hard in his loose joggers, mind replaying the video he’d sent that morning. Finally, his phone buzzed. Alexis’s text lit the screen:
Come over if you want, but Idriss is here, staying a while.
Nasser froze. He wanted Alexis, but was it the same with Idriss there? His fantasies of sharing Alexis with Idriss felt hot in his head, but real life was messier. Would he cross that line?
Karim sprawled on the mattress under the windows, high as hell, FIFA paused on the TV, his eyes squinting at Nasser. “Who you texting, bro?” Karim slurred. “You hard as fuck, man.”
Nasser laughed, deflecting, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Fuck off,” he said, grin wide, gold tooth glinting. “Just some girl, got me worked up.”
Karim chuckled, too stoned to push, and waved him off. “Go smash, then. Don’t wake Sami.”
Nasser’s cock stiffened some more at the thought of Alexis’s mouth, Idriss watching, maybe more. He grabbed his keys, heart pounding, and headed for the door.
“Gonna go fuck my girl,” he called back, voice cocky to mask the nerves.
He stepped into the hall, the door clicking shut, his joggers tenting as he crossed to Alexis’s apartment, ready to face whatever waited.
Karim
Karim stirred from a hazy nap on the mattress under the living room windows, a clatter of door and sneakers and bags snapping him awake. Reda bustled in, his arms loaded with plastic sacks and a small, shiny hookah tucked under one elbow. The kid moved differently, somehow, with shoulders squared, steps firm, like he’d aged two years since slipping out that morning. Karim rubbed his eyes and squinted at Reda, who was already unloading his haul on the counter with a purpose Karim hadn’t seen before.
“Been out all day,” Reda said, voice steady, not looking up. “Got some stuff for us.”
Karim propped himself up, watching Reda sort groceries with quick hands. It was sensible stuff, onions, tomatoes, ground beef, fresh pasta and garlic, with some fun additions: a box of flaky pastries, a tin of fancy mint tea, hookah tobacco smelling of apple and spice, and lumps of coal for the new hookah. Reda grinned, holding up the hookah, its brass gleaming under the dim bulb.
“Used some savings,” Reda said, setting it on the table. “Thought we deserved something nice.”
Reda grabbed a rag and started wiping down the counter, scrubbing at old coffee stains and crumbs, his movements sure, almost cheerful. The living room was a mess, with empty cans, ashtrays overflowing, socks strewn across the floor, and Reda tackled it next, scooping trash into a bag, folding blankets, stacking dishes by the sink. The kid’s confidence caught Karim off guard. Reda wasn’t asking permission, wasn’t shrinking like he used to under Sami’s glare. He was deciding and doing, and it made Karim feel like a slacker just lying there.
“Gonna cook,” Reda said, a new ease in his voice. “Big batch of pasta, meat sauce. You eating?”
Karim’s stomach growled, guilt nudging him. Reda hadn’t asked for help, but the kid’s hustle was contagious. Karim dragged himself up, joints creaking, and shuffled to the kitchen.
“Fuck it, I’ll help,” he mumbled, grabbing a sponge to scrub the sticky table.
Reda nodded, not surprised, like he’d expected it. He filled a pot with water, set it to boil, and started chopping onions. The kid was directing now, telling Karim what to do with ease.
“Dice those after,” Reda said, tossing garlic into a sizzling pan, the air filling with sharp, warm smells.
Karim obeyed, half-amused, half-curious. Reda was different, standing taller, his skinny body carrying a quiet swagger, like he’d cracked some secret. Karim’s mind wandered. Maybe the kid had a girl as well, someone giving him this new spine. He smirked, slicing tomatoes, while Reda stirred beef into the pan, adding spices with a flick of his wrist, humming softly. The kitchen felt alive, cleaner, the chaos of Sami’s dump fading under Reda’s hands.
“Got a chick or what?” Karim asked, half-joking, watching Reda’s face.
Reda laughed, shaking his head, eyes on the sauce. “Just felt like doing something,” he said, dodging, but his smile was sharp, knowing.
Karim let it go, stirring the pasta as Reda set up the hookah, packing the bowl with tobacco, lighting coals with a steady hand. The kid was running the show, and Karim, for once, didn’t mind following.
Nasser
Nasser sat at Alexis’s kitchen table. Music pulsed from a speaker, masking their voices, the air thick with hash smoke and the minty steam of tea. Alexis leaned back in a loose tank top, one shoulder bare, rolling a joint with deft fingers, while Idriss, in his loud Adidas tracksuit, poured tea, his gold tooth flashing as he grinned. Their ease was effortless, domestic, like they’d done this a thousand times.
Nasser clutched his tea, the warmth grounding him, but his stomach churned, his cock half-hard in his joggers.
“So, Nasser, still slinging at the docks?” Idriss asked, voice jovial, leaning forward.
“Yeah, clientele was good this summer,” Nasser said, forcing a smirk, his eyes flicking to Alexis. “Kept me busy.”
Alexis lit the joint, took a drag, and passed it to Idriss, their fingers brushing like it was nothing. “You study too, right? Like, business or something?” Alexis said, blue nail polish glinting, his tone light but curious.
Nasser shifted, the chair creaking. “Dropped out, but yeah, it was business.” He exhaled, the questions making him feel like an outsider in their cozy rhythm.
Idriss chuckled, passing the joint to Nasser. “Smart move, school’s a scam half the time.”
They were trying to make him comfortable, he could tell, but it only made him more awkward.
Alexis stood, stretching, his tank top riding up to show a sliver of smooth skin. “Gonna shower, get fresh for you,” he said, winking at Nasser, then sauntered off, leaving a trail of hash and mint in the air.
Nasser’s cock twitched, his eyes following Alexis’s ass. Idriss leaned back, joint to his lips, watching Nasser with a knowing look, like he could see the war in his head. Nasser’s fingers tapped his empty teacup, his cock still half-hard, the rimjob he craved a pulsing need he couldn’t voice. The silence stretched, heavy, until Idriss broke it.
“I’m glad you’re here, Nasser,” Idriss said with careful warmth. “You having fun with Alexis, yeah?”
Nasser’s throat tightened, his gaze dropping to the table. “Yeah, man, it’s cool,” he mumbled, forcing a smirk. “He’s wild, you know?”
Idriss chuckled, but his eyes stayed sharp, searching. “I’m happy you’re enjoying him. He is special, right? I’ve been obsessed with him since we met, like, three years ago.”
Nasser nodded, shifting in his seat, the memory of Alexis’s mouth on his cock flashing hot. “He’s something else,” he said.
Idriss’ tone turned tentative. “I’ve always loved sharing Alexis. He’s the kind of guy who should be shared, you know? Like, he’s made for it.”
Nasser’s pulse quickened, his mind snapping to his fantasy… Alexis as a “wife,” serving him and Idriss, cum dripping down his thighs. He forced a laugh, testing the waters. “Yeah, bro, he would make a good collective wife, like I said before.”
Idriss’s grin widened, but his fingers fidgeted with the lighter, betraying a hint of nerves. “Exactly, man. A wife for the crew.” He paused, then leaned closer, voice dropping. “Would you mind if I was in the bedroom with you and Alexis? Like, together?”
Nasser froze, his cock twitching at the thought. Idriss was Alexis’s main guy, the one who’d been there first, and that made Nasser hesitate, a pang of inferiority cutting through his lust. He rubbed his neck, eyes flicking to the hallway where the shower still ran. “You serious?” he asked, buying time.
“Very serious,” Idriss said, his usual swagger softened, almost shy. “It would be hot, yeah? All of us having fun.”
Nasser’s mind raced, weighing fantasy against reality. He wanted that rimjob, wanted Alexis’s tongue deep, and Idriss watching, maybe joining, didn’t feel as wrong as it should. He swallowed, his voice steadying. “It’s cool, man. I’m down.”
Idriss’s face lit up, the unease fading. “Thank you, bro,” he said, clapping Nasser’s shoulder, his grip firm but warm. He grabbed his stash from the table, standing. “Let’s wait for Alexis in the bedroom. Come on.”
Nasser rose, his joggers tenting slightly, heart pounding as he followed Idriss. Idriss’s enthusiasm was infectious, but that hidden unease Nasser had glimpsed lingered in his mind. Still, the pull of Alexis, of crossing this new line with Idriss, was stronger. He stepped into the bedroom, ready to let the fantasy take over.
Idriss flopped onto the bed, reclining against the pillows, and shed his Adidas tracksuit to reveal tight black boxers and socks, his 9-inch cock already hard, tenting the fabric. He smiled and nodded at Nasser. “Get comfortable, bro.”
Nasser hesitated, then tugged off his shirt and kicked off his joggers, leaving him in grey boxers and white socks, his cock stiffening. He settled beside Idriss, their shoulders inches apart.
Idriss’s eyes roamed Nasser’s body, lazy and approving, and Nasser returned the gaze, taking in Idriss’s muscled arms, the sheen of sweat on his dark skin, the bulge straining his boxers. Their eyes met, a slow smile spreading on both faces, a quiet thrill in the comparison. Nasser’s chest warmed. The vibe different, pleasant, like they were sharing a secret.
Then Nasser realized they were, actually, sharing a secret.
Soon the shower stopped, and Alexis stepped out, a towel slung low on his hips. He paused, eyes widening at his two men sprawled on the bed, nearly naked. With a playful smirk, he dropped the towel, revealing his naked body. He was smooth, lean, with his hard cock bobbing free. For the first time, there was no jockstrap to hide it. Nasser’s breath caught, his gaze tracing Alexis’s slim thighs, the curve of his ass, as he felt the unexpected jolt of seeing his dick, hard and unashamed.
Alexis climbed onto the bed, straddling the space between them, his skin still damp, blue nail polish glinting as he rested a hand on Idriss’s thigh. Nasser stared, his cock throbbing, and a truth settled in his gut: he was attracted to Alexis, not just his holes, but his bold, submissive spark… and to Idriss, too, the jovial strength, the shared hunger in his grin. It didn’t bother him, not now, not with Alexis’s nakedness filling the room, Idriss’s hard-on mirroring his own.
“You two look good,” Alexis said, voice teasing, leaning closer, his cock brushing Idriss’s leg.
Idriss chuckled, hand grazing Alexis’s back. “You look better, princess.”
Nasser’s smile widened, his nerves easing. He wanted them both, the fantasy no longer just Alexis’s tongue but this: three bodies, no boundaries. He leaned back, boxers tight, letting the moment sink in.
Alexis leaned toward Idriss, straddling his thighs, and pressed his lips to Idriss’s in a slow kiss, tongues curling. Idriss’s hands slid to Alexis’s ass, squeezing, pulling him closer, and Alexis moaned into the kiss. Nasser’s cock twitched, but the usual knot of shame didn’t come. He wanted to be part of this, not just a bystander. Emboldened, he shifted closer, his knee brushing Alexis’s hip, and Alexis broke the kiss, turning to him with a playful grin.
“You want in, Nass?” Alexis said, voice teasing, his damp hair falling over one eye.
Nasser’s throat tightened, but his smile held firm. “Yeah…, I wanna kiss you, princess,” he said, voice low, borrowing Idriss’s swagger.
Alexis slid toward him, straddling Nasser’s thighs now, and leaned in. Their lips met, soft at first, then hungry, Alexis’s tongue tracing his, tasting of mint and hash. Nasser’s hands found Alexis’s waist, gripping the smooth skin, pulling him closer, their hard cocks brushing through Nasser’s boxers. The kiss stretched, minutes blurring, Alexis’s lips relentless, wet, Nasser losing himself in the heat. Idriss watched, chuckling low, his hand resting on Alexis’s back, encouraging without interrupting. It was Nasser’s first kiss with Alexis, and he couldn’t recall a better one with someone else.
Nasser pulled back, panting, his eyes locked on Alexis’s, then flicking to Idriss, who nodded, smiling. The room felt like a cocoon, the three of them bound by something unspoken, simply lived through. Nasser’s nerves dissolved, replaced by a certainty he hadn’t felt before. He wasn’t just some guy sneaking around Sami’s rules; he was here, wanted, with his “little wife” and her boyfriend, both of whom made his blood sing. He laughed, the sound startling himself, and shook his head.
“I am being stupid,” he said, glancing between them. “This is good, yeah? Us, here.”
“Real good, bro,” Idriss said, hand squeezing Nasser’s shoulder.
Alexis’s smile widened, his hand sliding up Nasser’s chest, fingers tangling in the dark hair. “What are you thinking, Nass?” he asked, soft and inviting.
Nasser’s heart pounded, the rimjob he’d craved since that first night with Alexis burning in his mind. He’d held back, scared of what it meant, but now, with Alexis’s lips still tingling on his, Idriss’s warmth beside him, the words came easily.
“I want that rimjob you promised and I never asked for,” he said, eyes on Alexis. “Been wanting it since we started, princess.”
Alexis’s eyes lit up, elated, and he pushed Nasser back into the pillows, hands already tugging at his boxers. “Oh, you are getting it,” he said, voice thick with promise. Alexis’s hands slid under Nasser’s thighs, pushing them up slow, spreading him wider. “Relax, Nass,” he said, his breath hot against Nasser’s skin. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good.”
Nasser exhaled and nodded, his eyes flicking to Idriss, who gave a subtle nod, like a coach urging him on. Alexis started with Nasser’s cock, lips brushing the tip, kissing the precum-slick head, then sucking soft, just the head, his tongue swirling. Nasser groaned, his fingers twitching against the sheets, the sensation sharp, wet, pulling him deeper into the moment. Alexis’s mouth worked lower, lips grazing the thick shaft, kissing down to Nasser’s balls, heavy and tight. He sucked one gently, then the other, his tongue lapping in lazy circles, the warmth spreading through Nasser’s core.
“Fuck, princess,” Nasser muttered, his voice hoarse, legs trembling as Alexis’s hands pushed them higher, exposing his taint.
Alexis’s tongue flicked there, a slow, deliberate stroke along the sensitive strip, and Nasser’s breath hitched, his cock pulsing without a touch. The sensation was new, raw, a jolt that made his toes curl in his socks. Alexis lingered, licking broader, wetter, his lips brushing the skin, teasing closer to Nasser’s hairy hole. Nasser’s mind blanked, the world narrowing to that point of contact, his body opening under Alexis’s care. Idriss shifted closer, his hand resting on Nasser’s chest, fingers tracing the dark hair, a steady caress that anchored Nasser through the intensity.
“You’re doing good, bro,” Idriss said, voice warm, his eyes on Alexis’s work, “let him make you feel like a king.”
Alexis’s tongue reached Nasser’s hole in a soft, probing lick, circling the tight ring, and Nasser’s groan tore free, loud, unfiltered. It was better than he’d imagined, a slick, warm invasion that melted his spine. Alexis’s lips pressed closer, kissing the hole, then licking deeper, his tongue pushing past the resistance, the tip swirling inside. Nasser’s legs shook, his hands gripping the sheets, the pleasure overwhelming, like nothing he’d ever felt. Alexis’s rhythm was relentless, tongue thrusting, curling, lips sucking gently, the wet sounds mingling with Nasser’s ragged breaths.
“Shit, Alexis,” Nasser gasped, his head tipping back, sweat beading on his brow. “Don’t stop.”
Idriss’s hand moved lower, fingers brushing Nasser’s nipple, then sliding to his cock, wrapping around the base, stroking slow. Nasser tensed, the touch unexpected, but Idriss’s grip was firm, confident, and Nasser let it happen, the dual sensations of Alexis’s tongue deep in his ass and Idriss’s hand on his cock pushing him to a new edge. Idriss’s voice was low, encouraging. “He is good, yeah? Let him take care of you.”
Nasser nodded, words lost, his body a live wire. Alexis’s tongue worked faster, deeper, his hands spreading Nasser’s cheeks wider, lips sealing around the hole, sucking as he thrust. Nasser’s balls tightened, the pressure building, his cock throbbing in Idriss’s hand. Idriss stroked faster, matching Alexis’s rhythm, his other hand caressing Nasser’s chest, a steady loop of touch that felt like worship. Nasser’s moans grew louder, the room a furnace, his mind spinning with the realization that this, the three of them, together, was what he’d been chasing all along.
“I’m gonna cum,” Nasser warned, voice breaking, his hips bucking slightly to grind his hole against Alexis’ tongue.
Idriss moved quick, his hand leaving Nasser’s cock to grab Alexis’s hair, pulling him up from Nasser’s hole. “Take him, princess,” Idriss said, voice thick, guiding Alexis’s mouth to Nasser’s cock. Alexis obeyed, lips stretching wide, taking Nasser balls-deep in one smooth motion, his throat flexing around the thick shaft. Idriss pushed Alexis’s head down, holding him there, and Nasser’s vision blurred, the deepthroat’s tight, wet grip shattering him.
“Fuck!” Nasser roared, his cock pulsing, cum surging into Alexis’s throat, thick ropes flooding as Alexis gagged softly but held firm, swallowing every drop. Idriss kept his hand on Alexis’s head, murmuring, “Good, princess, take it all,” his eyes locked on Nasser’s face, sharing the moment. Nasser’s body shook, the orgasm ripping through him, leaving him panting, spent, his legs collapsing to the bed.
Alexis pulled off slowly, his lips red and slick, a string of cum trailing from his mouth as he grinned, wiping his chin. He crawled up, nestling against Nasser’s side, while Idriss leaned in, his hand still on Nasser’s chest, the three of them tangled, breathless. Nasser’s heart slowed, a strange calm settling over him. He’d crossed a line. Two lines, with Alexis’s tongue in his ass and Idriss’s hand on his cock… and it didn’t scare him. It felt right, like they’d built something together, something he didn’t want to lose.
“You okay, Nass?” Alexis asked, voice soft, his head resting on Nasser’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Nasser said, voice rough but sure, his arm curling around Alexis, his other hand brushing Idriss’s knee. “Real good.”
Idriss chuckled, his grin back in full force. “Told you, bro. He is the best.”
Nasser laughed, his body heavy and light at the same time. He looked at Alexis, then Idriss, their faces close, and felt a pull, not just for the sex, but for them, for this messy, open connection.
Tarek
Tarek pushed through the apartment door and the savory aroma of Reda’s pasta and meat sauce hit him like a wave, a stark change from usual stale smoke of Sami’s place. The living room gleamed, counters were wiped clean, the trash was gone, and the new hookah Reda had brought sat proudly on the table, its brass catching the light. Sami, Karim, Reda, and Adel sat around the table, plates piled with steaming pasta, the mood lighter than Tarek had felt in weeks. He dropped onto a chair, his red and white soccer jersey still damp from Bay Park, his stomach growling as Reda slid a plate his way.
“This is good, kid,” Tarek said, forking a bite, the sauce rich with garlic and spice.
Reda grinned, leaning back, his skinny frame carrying a new ease, like he owned the room. “Cost a bit, but worth it,” he said, voice steady, no trace of his usual shy mumble.
Tarek’s eyes flicked to Adel, who sat across with his head down, twirling his fork, avoiding Tarek’s gaze. The image of Adel that morning flashed in Tarek’s mind, but he pushed it aside, letting the rare calm of the evening hold. Sami, usually a storm of piety and rage, ate quietly, his weathered face softened, no venom tonight. Karim, half-high already, laughed at something Reda said, the sound loose, easy.
After plates were cleared, Reda passed out flaky pastries and set up the hookah. Karim exhaled a cloud, nodding toward the wall. “Music’s loud next door,” he said. “Think Alexis and Idriss are trying to keep the sex noises down?”
Tarek’s brows lifted, surprised at the casual mention, but Sami, puffing on a small joint, as he only ever rarely did, just nodded. “It is a good thing,” he said, exhaling slow. “Less disturbance.”
The lack of Sami’s usual slurs was jarring. Tonight, he was mellow, maybe from Reda’s food or the weed, and it made the room feel strange, like a truce no one had signed was suddenly enforced. Reda, still commanding the vibe, refilled the hookah bowl, his movements sure, while Karim grinned, too high to care. Adel stayed quiet, eyes on his pastry crumbs, and Tarek’s thoughts darkened, the high pulling his mind back to Adel’s cum-stained boxers, his doe-eyed stare, the power Tarek held over him.
Around 1 a.m., Sami stood, stretching, and shuffled to his room, muttering about sleep. Karim and Reda, buzzing from the evening of smoking, grabbed controllers, FIFA roaring to life on the TV. Tarek, calculating, felt the high stoking his need to push Adel further. “I’m beat,” he said, standing. “Adel, you should take Nasser’s bed if you want quiet.”
Adel’s eyes flicked up, then away, and Tarek headed to the big bedroom, stripping to his boxers, tossing his sweaty socks between the beds, his mind already on what came next. He’d seen Adel’s shame at dinner, the kid’s eyes dodging his, and the thought of pushing him further, bending that fragile will, sent a thrill through Tarek’s core. He wanted Adel to break, to obey, and he knew the kid was close.
Twenty minutes after he’d left the living room, the door clicked, and Adel slipped in, his skinny frame a shadow in the dim light. Tarek kept smoking with his eyes on his phone, feigning boredom, as Adel undressed to his boxers. Adel slid into Nasser’s bed, the mattress creaking, and Tarek let the silence hang, his cock twitching at the game unfolding. He took a drag, exhaling slow, and spoke softly. “I’m so fucking tired, man,” he said, setting his phone down. “Could not sleep, though. Feet and legs are killing me, been walking all day.”
Adel shifted, his voice small, hesitant. “Joint helping at all?”
Tarek smirked, savoring the kid’s nervous tone. “Yeah, a bit,” he said, stretching his legs, toes flexing near the socks on the floor. “But a foot massage would be better, you know?” He paused, then added, calm, like it was nothing, “Can you help, Adel?”
The silence stretched, Adel’s breath audible, and Tarek’s anticipation spiked, his cock hardening fully in his boxers. He knew Adel wouldn’t say no, not outright, not after staring at him, not after the bulge pic. The kid was already cracking. Finally, the mattress squeaked, and Adel rose, crossing to sit at the foot of Tarek’s bed, near his feet.
“Thanks, man,” Tarek said, voice smooth, hiding the rush of power flooding him.
Adel’s hands, tentative at first, pressed into Tarek’s soles, fingers kneading the arches, and Tarek bit back a groan, the sensation sharp, electric. He leaned back, joint to his lips, watching Adel’s silhouette, the kid’s head bowed, hands working harder now, thumbs digging into the balls of his feet. Tarek’s cock throbbed, the sight of Adel obeying, humiliated, fueling his high. He noticed Adel’s boxers tenting, a small bulge, and his own hard-on strained, the power of Adel’s submission sweeter than the massage itself.
“You can stop when I’m asleep,” Tarek said, voice lazy, taking a final drag, the joint’s glow fading as he stubbed it out.
He wondered, briefly, if he was pushing too far, if this would snap Adel’s fragile mind out of his obsession, but the thought dissolved in the pleasure of Adel’s relentless hands, the kid’s hard-on a silent confession. After ten more minutes, Tarek faked a slow exhale, closing his eyes, body still, mimicking sleep. Adel’s hands paused, and Tarek’s pulse raced, sensing the kid’s gaze on his feet.
Then, a rustle. Adel knelt, and Tarek felt it, the soft press of lips on each sole, a quick, reverent kiss, the act so raw, so broken, it nearly made Tarek groan. Adel retreated to Nasser’s bed, the mattress creaking, and Tarek lay still, his cock aching, the victory of Adel’s surrender sweeter than any high.
Next : we take one last look at everyone as we close up The Season of Nasser and set up The Season of Reda
