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Tarek sprawled on his leather couch, his phone glowing in the dim light of his Paris apartment. The air smelled of strong Algerian coffee and musk, the scent of a real Arab gay alpha.
He scrolled through Grindr, his cock already half-hard under his sweatpants. Profile after profile—too many soft Arab boys. He didn’t want that. He wanted a white submissive, desperate to serve a dominant Arab gay.
His thumb hovered over a chat. “Robert, 23, smooth, looking to worship Arab men.”
Tarek smirked, his other hand slipping under his waistband, gripping his thick Arab gay cock.
“You like Arab gay masters, huh?” he typed, stroking himself slowly.
The reply came fast. “Yes, sir. I love Arab men. I want to serve.”
Tarek groaned, tugging harder. He imagined Robert on his knees, staring up at him, lips parted, ready to take in the thick, musky scent of a Kabyle gay top.
“You better be ready, boy.”
His strokes intensified, his breath turning ragged. He pictured it—spreading his legs, making the white submissive bury his face in his crotch, moaning as he inhaled the pure Arab gay dominance.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Tarek muttered, his abs flexing, pleasure building. “Worship your Arab gay master.”
With a deep growl, he came hard, thick ropes shooting across his hairy stomach. His phone buzzed again.
“I’m ready for you, sir.”
Tarek grinned, grabbing his keys. Tonight, this white boy was about to learn what it meant to serve an Algerian Kabyle alpha.
