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The Blazing Sands of Oran
Younes was a fucking titan ruling the scorching, sand-choked outskirts of Oran like a goddamn desert warlord of cock and fury. This Algerian arab gay alpha was a lean, wiry beast—six-foot-one, skin baked dark by the sun, with a chest dusted with coarse black hair and a beard that curled wild like a nomad’s. At 34, he’d fucked his way through every hidden hole in the coastal slums, his cock a brutal ten-inch dagger of veiny meat that stabbed asses raw and left throats choking. His sharp, hawk-like eyes glinted with savage intent, and his sweat-soaked body reeked of salt, sand, and unbridled lust.
Tonight, his balls were tight, throbbing with a load he’d been saving for days, pent up from hauling fish crates at the docks. The air stank of sea rot, diesel, and his own feral musk as he prowled a deserted stretch near the port—the kind of desolate shithole where arab gay outcasts came to get their holes pounded under the cover of night. Younes didn’t give a fuck about the fishermen’s whispers or the religious nuts who’d drown him in the Mediterranean—he was a predator in this wasteland. His faded green jacket hung open, showing off his taut abs, and his cargo pants sagged under a bulge that pulsed like a fucking beast ready to strike.
The Fisherman’s Son in the Nets
That’s when he spotted him—Salim, a wiry little arab gay twink, barely 20, tangled in a pile of old fishing nets near a rusted boat hull. Skinny and sun-burnt, with dark eyes full of hunger and lips cracked from the salt air, he was a fisherman’s son begging for a different kind of catch. Younes’s cock twitched, leaking a slick drop of precum into his pants. “Hey, ya little sea-slut,” he rasped, voice rough from barking orders at the docks. “You stuck there to get your ass speared, or you just playing with your tiny dick?”
Salim muttered some bullshit about fixing the nets, his hands shaking, but Younes wasn’t here for lies. He strode over, boots crunching on the sand, and grabbed the twink’s wrist, yanking him free with one brutal tug. “Don’t fucking play with me, ya arab gay fish-bitch—I know a needy hole when I see one,” he snarled, pinning Salim against the hull. The twink’s small prick was already stiff, tenting his ragged shorts. Younes grinned—this kid was his catch now. He dragged Salim into the shadow of the boat, shoved him down onto the sand, and ripped those shorts off, exposing a tight, salty asshole that screamed to be fucking gutted.
Choking on Desert Meat
“Mouth open, now, you cock-sucking minnow,” Younes growled, dropping his pants with a grunt. His cock sprang free—a ten-inch arab gay dagger, thick and veiny, dripping with sweaty precum that stank of the docks and the desert sun. Salim’s jaw dropped, choking as Younes rammed it in deep, spearing his throat with one savage thrust. “Suck it, you worthless cunt,” he roared, grabbing Salim’s hair and skull-fucking him so hard the twink’s head banged against the hull, his lips stretching wide around the alpha’s meat.
Spit and sand mixed, coating Salim’s face as he gagged and retched, but the little slut moaned like a fish on a hook, slurping and choking on that filthy arab gay dick with desperate need. Younes didn’t let up—he gripped the twink’s head with both hands, fingers tangled in salty hair, and pounded his throat like he was gutting a catch, his balls slapping Salim’s chin with wet, gritty smacks that echoed over the waves. “You love choking on this alpha cock, don’t you, ya sea-trash?” he spat, watching Salim’s eyes water and roll back as his throat bulged. The twink’s hands clawed at the sand, but Younes kept ramming, turning that mouth into a sloppy, drooling wreck until he yanked out, leaving Salim gasping and coughing up spit like a beached fish.
Spearing the Salty Hole Raw
Younes wasn’t done—he flipped Salim onto his knees in the sand, ass up like a bitch in heat, and spat a thick, sandy glob onto that tight asshole. “Time to get your fucking guts speared, ya arab gay dock-rat,” he sneered, lining up his cock and slamming it in raw with one brutal thrust that sank him balls-deep. Salim screamed like a gull caught in a storm, his hole tearing open, a mix of blood and spit trickling down his thighs as Younes laughed—a harsh, guttural bark—and started pounding like a goddamn piston, relentless and wild.
The twink’s knees sank into the sand, his skinny body jerking with every savage thrust, but Younes didn’t give a shit. He grabbed Salim’s hips, nails digging into sunburnt flesh, and drilled so deep the kid’s guts shifted, his belly bulging with every slam. “Beg for it, you salty slut—scream for my dick to gut you,” he roared, smacking Salim’s ass with a rough hand until it was raw and red, sand sticking to the welts. “Please, fuck me, spear my hole!” Salim sobbed, his voice cracking as his pathetic dick leaked precum into the sand. Younes grinned, his teeth flashing, loving the power, knowing he could break this arab gay fisherman’s son into a whimpering, cum-soaked wreck.
Fucking Like Coastal Beasts
Sweat poured off Younes’s lean frame, soaking his jacket and dripping onto Salim’s back as he jackhammered that ass into a gaping, sloppy mess. His balls slapped the twink’s thighs, heavy and wet with sea air, while Salim clawed at the sand, drooling and wailing like a brain-dead fucktoy lost in the tide of pain and pleasure. “You love this arab gay cock gutting your shithole, huh, ya filthy fish-bitch?” Younes taunted, yanking Salim’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!” Salim howled, his ass clenching and farting wetly around the alpha’s dick, sand grinding into the mess.
Younes flipped the slut onto his back in the sand, grabbing those skinny legs and spreading them wide like a netted catch, exposing that wrecked, bloody hole. “Look at me while I spear your fucking soul,” he spat, plunging back in with a nasty, wet squelch, his cock sliding through a mess of spit, blood, and ass-juice that coated his shaft. Salim’s dark eyes locked on his, wide with desperation, as Younes fucked him senseless, the sand shifting under the brutal force. The beach stank of sweat, cum, and raw, animal sex—a perfect hunting ground for an alpha like Younes to dominate and destroy his prey under the stars.
Blowing a Savage Load
The pace turned feral—Younes’s wiry frame tensed, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he chased his nut, his muscles flexing with every brutal thrust. Salim was a babbling, cum-drunk wreck, clawing at Younes’s chest with sandy hands, screaming, “Fill my fucking ass, Master, flood me, make me your bitch!” That snapped it—Younes roared like a goddamn sandstorm, slamming in so hard Salim’s hips sank into the sand, 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 into the sand as he convulsed, his own tiny dick spurting a weak, watery load across his belly, mixing with the grit.
Younes yanked out with a wet, sloppy pop, his cock dripping cum, blood, and ass-juice, a glistening mess swinging between his legs. He spat a fat, sandy glob onto Salim’s fucked-out face, coating his lips, and smirked, his chest heaving. “Good little dock-bitch. Next time, I’m tying you in those nets and fucking you ’til you’re fish food.” He strode off, leaving the twink twitching in the sand, ass leaking like a busted hull, mind completely shattered from the savage, raw spearing he’d just taken.
The Alpha’s Coastal Empire
Oran’s docks buzzed with whispers the next day. Every arab gay slut in town was jerking off to Younes’s name, trading tales of his savage fucks and that desert cock that turned tight holes into dripping, ruined wrecks. He didn’t give a fuck—he kept prowling, a arab gay god ruling the coast. Salim couldn’t walk for days, hobbling along the shore with a wrecked ass, beating his meat raw every night to the memory of being speared open by the alpha, sand still stuck to his bruises.
Younes was already hunting again. He’d fucked half the twinks in Oran, leaving a trail of limping, cum-soaked wrecks, but his hunger was endless—every boat, every dark beach was a chance to claim another hole, to assert his dominance over the arab gay underworld. He’d piss on the rules, spit on the sea, and keep ramming his way through, an Algerian alpha carving his legend in the flesh of every slut dumb enough to wander into his territory.
