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The Rugged Peaks of Kabylie
Tarek was a fucking savage reigning over the jagged, wind-swept peaks of Kabylie like a goddamn mountain king of cock and chaos. This Kabyle arab gay alpha was a wiry, chiseled beast—six-foot-two, skin toughened by the mountain sun, with a chest dusted with coarse black hair and a beard that hung wild and tangled like the scrub on the slopes. At 36, he’d fucked his way through every shepherd and villager in these remote heights, his cock a brutal ten-inch spear of veiny meat that stabbed asses raw and left throats gasping. His sharp, hawk-like eyes burned with feral hunger, and his sweat-soaked body reeked of pine, dust, and untamed lust.
Tonight, his balls were tight, throbbing with a load he’d been saving from days of herding goats and hauling wood. The air stank of cedar, goat shit, and his own primal musk as he prowled a rocky outcrop near a shepherd’s hut—the kind of isolated shithole where arab gay mountain boys came to get their holes pounded under the starry sky. Tarek didn’t give a fuck about the village gossip or the imams’ curses—he was the law in these peaks. His faded wool jacket hung open, exposing his lean abs, and his trousers sagged under a bulge that pulsed like a fucking beast ready to strike.
The Shepherd’s Nephew in the Rocks
That’s when he spotted him—Rami, a lean little arab gay twink, barely 18, perched on a boulder sharpening a stick with a knife. Skinny and sun-burnt, with dark eyes full of restless fire and lips cracked from the dry wind, he was a shepherd’s nephew begging for a different kind of staff. Tarek’s cock twitched, leaking a slick wad of precum into his pants. “Hey, ya little rock-slut,” he rasped, voice rough from shouting over the wind all day. “You out here to get your ass speared, or you just whittling your tiny dick?”
Rami muttered some bullshit about keeping watch, his hands shaking, but Tarek wasn’t here for lies. He strode over, boots crunching on the gravel, and grabbed the twink’s wrist, yanking the knife away with one brutal tug. “Don’t fucking play with me, ya arab gay goat-bitch—I know a needy hole when I smell one,” he snarled, pinning Rami against the boulder. The twink’s small prick was already stiff, tenting his dusty trousers. Tarek grinned—this mountain boy was his prey now. He dragged Rami behind the hut, threw him down onto the rocky ground, and ripped those trousers off, exposing a tight, dusty asshole that screamed to be fucking gutted.
Choking on Mountain Meat
“Mouth open, now, you cock-sucking lamb,” Tarek growled, dropping his trousers with a grunt. His cock sprang free—a ten-inch arab gay spear, thick and veiny, dripping with sweaty precum that stank of the pines and raw dominance. Rami’s jaw dropped, choking as Tarek rammed it in deep, spearing his throat with one savage thrust. “Suck it, you worthless cunt,” he roared, grabbing Rami’s hair and skull-fucking him so hard the twink’s head scraped against the rock, his lips stretching wide around the alpha’s filthy meat.
Spit and dust mixed, coating Rami’s face as he gagged and retched, but the little slut moaned like a goat kid under the blade, slurping and choking on that dirty arab gay dick with desperate need. Tarek didn’t let up—he gripped the twink’s head with both hands, fingers tangled in matted hair, and pounded his throat like he was breaking stone, his balls slapping Rami’s chin with dry, gritty smacks that echoed off the cliffs. “You love choking on this mountain cock, don’t you, ya rock-trash?” he spat, watching Rami’s eyes water and roll back as his throat bulged. The twink’s hands clawed at the dirt, but Tarek kept ramming, turning that mouth into a sloppy, drooling wreck until he yanked out, leaving Rami gasping and coughing up spit like a lost kid in the wind.
Spearing the Dusty Hole Raw
Tarek wasn’t done—he flipped Rami onto his knees on the rocky ground, ass up like a bitch in heat, and spat a thick, dusty glob onto that tight asshole. “Time to get your fucking guts speared, ya arab gay hill-slut,” he sneered, lining up his cock and slamming it in raw with one brutal thrust that sank him balls-deep. Rami screamed like a hawk caught in a snare, his hole tearing open, a trickle of blood mixing with the spit as Tarek laughed—a harsh, guttural bark—and started pounding like a goddamn landslide, relentless and wild.
The twink’s knees scraped against the rocks, his lean body jerking with every savage thrust, but Tarek didn’t give a shit. He grabbed Rami’s hips, nails gouging into sunburnt flesh, and drilled so deep the kid’s guts shifted, his belly bulging with every slam. “Beg for it, you dusty slut—scream for my dick to gut you,” he roared, smacking Rami’s ass with a rough hand until it was raw and streaked with dirt, the skin welted and bruised. “Please, fuck me, spear my hole!” Rami sobbed, his voice cracking as his pathetic dick leaked precum onto the gravel. Tarek grinned, his teeth flashing, loving the power, knowing he could break this arab gay shepherd’s nephew into a whimpering, cum-soaked wreck.
Fucking Like Mountain Beasts
Sweat poured off Tarek’s wiry frame, soaking his jacket and dripping onto Rami’s back as he jackhammered that ass into a gaping, sloppy crater. His balls slapped the twink’s thighs, heavy and dry with mountain dust, while Rami clawed at the rocks, drooling and wailing like a brain-dead fucktoy lost in the storm of pain and pleasure. “You love this arab gay cock gutting your shithole, huh, ya filthy hill-bitch?” Tarek taunted, yanking Rami’s head back by the hair and slamming in so hard the twink’s insides churned, his prostate stabbed to mush. “Yes, fuck, wreck me, own me!” Rami howled, his ass clenching and farting dryly around the alpha’s dick, dust grinding into the mess.
Tarek flipped the slut onto his back on the rocky ground, grabbing those skinny legs and spreading them wide like a felled goat, exposing that wrecked, bloody hole. “Look at me while I spear your fucking soul,” he spat, plunging back in with a nasty, dry crunch, his cock sliding through a mess of spit, blood, and ass-juice that coated his shaft. Rami’s dark eyes locked on his, wide with desperation, as Tarek fucked him senseless, the rocks shifting under the brutal force. The mountain stank of sweat, cum, and raw, animal sex—a perfect lair for an alpha like Tarek to dominate and destroy his prey under the Kabyle sky.
Blowing a Savage Load
The pace turned feral—Tarek’s lean frame tensed, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he chased his nut, his muscles flexing with every brutal thrust. Rami was a babbling, cum-drunk wreck, clawing at Tarek’s chest with dusty hands, screaming, “Fill my fucking ass, Master, flood me, make me your bitch!” That snapped it—Tarek roared like a goddamn mountain lion, slamming in so hard Rami’s hips sank into the gravel, and unleashed a torrent of thick, stinking cum straight into that wrecked hole. Rope after rope blasted out, hot and endless, overflowing and oozing down the twink’s thighs onto the rocks as he convulsed, his own tiny dick spurting a weak, watery load across his belly, mixing with the dust.
Tarek yanked out with a dry, sloppy pop, his cock dripping cum, blood, and ass-juice, a glistening mess swinging between his legs. He spat a fat, dusty glob onto Rami’s fucked-out face, coating his lips, and smirked, his chest heaving. “Good little hill-bitch. Next time, I’m tying you to the goats and fucking you ’til you’re a carcass.” He strode off, leaving the twink twitching on the rocks, ass leaking like a cracked cistern, mind completely shattered from the savage, raw spearing he’d just endured.
The Alpha’s Mountain Realm
Kabylie’s peaks buzzed with whispers the next day. Every arab gay slut in the villages was jerking off to Tarek’s name, trading tales of his savage fucks and that mountain cock that turned tight holes into dripping, ruined wrecks. He didn’t give a fuck—he kept prowling, a arab gay god ruling the heights. Rami couldn’t walk for days, hobbling through the slopes with a wrecked ass, beating his meat raw every night to the memory of being speared open by the alpha, dust still caked in his bruises.
Tarek was already hunting again. He’d fucked half the mountain boys in the region, leaving a trail of limping, cum-soaked wrecks, but his hunger was endless—every ridge, every dark hollow was a chance to claim another hole, to assert his dominance over the arab gay Kabyle underworld. He’d piss on the traditions, spit on the wind, and keep ramming his way through, a Kabyle alpha carving his legend in the flesh of every slut dumb enough to wander into his peaks.
