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Karim spread out on his bed, his thick Arab gay body dripping in sweat under the heat of Algiers. His hairy chest rose and fell, his fingers tracing through the dense curls covering his pecs. He grinned at himself in the mirror—a true Arab gay alpha, built to dominate, made to be worshipped.
His cock was already hard beneath his boxers, the thick length pressing against the fabric. He growled, imagining what he truly wanted: a soft, obedient white submissive, ready to serve a hairy Arab gay master like him.
“No more weak Arab boys,” he muttered, gripping his shaft. “I want a white bottom who knows his place under a real Arab gay.”
He pulled his boxers down, his hairy Arab gay thighs parting as his cock slapped against his abs. He stroked himself slowly, imagining it—the white submissive, on his knees, staring up at his Arab gay alpha with hunger.
“You like that, huh? The smell of a real Arab gay man?” he whispered, pumping harder. He pictured the boy’s tongue tracing through his sweaty chest hair, moaning, inhaling his deep Arab gay scent.
His abs flexed, his strokes rough and demanding. “Take it all, boy. Worship your Arab gay master.”
With a final growl, his muscles tensed, thick ropes shooting over his hairy stomach. His breath was ragged, but one thought burned in his mind—this was just a fantasy. Tomorrow, he’d make it real.
