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The Steamy Hammams of Marrakech
Rakim was a fucking beast dominating the steamy, tile-crusted depths of a Marrakech hammam like a goddamn sultan of cock and steam. This Moroccan arab gay alpha was a towering brute—six-foot-three, skin slick with sweat and oil, with a chest thick with matted black hair and a beard that dripped wet like a warrior’s trophy. At 35, he’d fucked his way through every hidden slut in the city’s bathhouses, his cock a ruthless eleven-inch slab of veiny meat that steamed asses raw and left throats choking. His dark, glistening body shimmered in the humid glow, and those piercing, predatory eyes promised to drown you in heat and make you beg for it.
Tonight, his balls were heavy, swinging low and throbbing with a load built up from hours of scrubbing rich pricks and dodging their wives. The air stank of eucalyptus, soap, and his own savage musk as he prowled the back chambers of the hammam—the kind of shadowy, slick shithole where arab gay steam-sluts came to get their holes pounded under the guise of a wash. Rakim didn’t give a fuck about the attendants’ rules or the religious nuts who’d flay him—he ruled this wet hell. His soaked towel hung low, barely covering his hairy gut, and his bulge pulsed beneath it like a fucking beast ready to burst free.
The Bathhouse Boy in the Steam
That’s when he saw him—Zayd, a wiry little arab gay twink, barely 19, scrubbing tiles in a corner, his skin glistening with sweat and water. Lean and smooth, with dark eyes full of quiet lust and lips wet from the steam, he was a bathhouse worker begging for a different kind of cleaning. Rakim’s cock twitched, leaking a thick wad of precum into his towel. “Hey, ya little steam-slut,” he growled, voice rough from barking at clients all day. “You here to get your ass steamed open, or you just polishing tiles with your tiny dick?”
Zayd muttered some bullshit about finishing his shift, his hands trembling, but Rakim wasn’t here for excuses. He stormed over, boots slapping the wet tiles, and grabbed the twink’s wrist, yanking him up with one brutal pull. “Don’t fucking lie to me, ya arab gay bath-bitch—I know a needy hole when I smell one,” he snarled, shoving Zayd against the slick wall. The twink’s small prick was already stiff, tenting his soaked shorts. Rakim grinned—this wet boy was his now. He dragged Zayd into a dark, steamy alcove, threw him down onto the hot tiles, and ripped those shorts off, exposing a tight, sweaty asshole that screamed to be fucking ravaged.
Choking on Steamy Meat
“Mouth open, now, you cock-sucking scrubber,” Rakim barked, tossing his towel aside with a grunt. His cock sprang free—an eleven-inch arab gay slab, thick and veiny, dripping with sweaty precum that stank of steam and raw power. Zayd’s jaw dropped, choking as Rakim rammed it in deep, spearing his throat with one savage thrust. “Suck it, you worthless cunt,” he roared, grabbing Zayd’s hair and skull-fucking him so hard the twink’s head banged against the tiles, his lips stretching wide around the alpha’s filthy meat.
Spit and steam mixed, coating Zayd’s face as he gagged and retched, but the little slut moaned like a bitch in a furnace, slurping and choking on that sweaty arab gay dick with desperate hunger. Rakim didn’t let up—he gripped the twink’s head with both hands, fingers digging into wet hair, and pounded his throat like he was scrubbing a stain, his balls slapping Zayd’s chin with wet, sticky smacks that echoed through the haze. “You love choking on this alpha cock, don’t you, ya steam-trash?” he spat, watching Zayd’s eyes water and roll back as his throat bulged. The twink’s hands clawed at the tiles, but Rakim kept ramming, turning that mouth into a sloppy, drooling wreck until he yanked out, leaving Zayd gasping and coughing up spit like a drowned rat in the heat.
Steaming the Sweaty Hole Raw
Rakim wasn’t done—he flipped Zayd onto his knees on the hot tiles, ass up like a bitch in a sauna, and spat a thick, steamy glob onto that tight asshole. “Time to get your fucking guts steamed, ya arab gay bath-rat,” he sneered, lining up his cock and slamming it in raw with one brutal thrust that sank him balls-deep. Zayd screamed like a kettle boiling over, his hole tearing open, a mix of sweat and blood trickling down his thighs as Rakim laughed—a deep, guttural growl—and started pounding like a goddamn steam engine, relentless and scorching.
The twink’s knees burned against the tiles, his lean body jerking with every savage thrust, but Rakim didn’t give a shit. He grabbed Zayd’s hips, nails gouging into slick flesh, and drilled so deep the kid’s guts shifted, his belly bulging with every slam. “Beg for it, you sweaty slut—scream for my dick to steam you,” he roared, smacking Zayd’s ass with a wet hand until it was raw and red, the skin welted and dripping. “Please, fuck me, steam my hole!” Zayd sobbed, his voice cracking as his pathetic dick leaked precum onto the tiles. Rakim grinned, his teeth bared like a wolf, loving the power, knowing he could break this arab gay bathhouse boy into a whimpering, cum-soaked wreck.
Fucking Like Hammam Beasts
Sweat poured off Rakim’s hairy frame, soaking the tiles and dripping onto Zayd’s back as he jackhammered that ass into a gaping, sloppy crater. His balls slapped the twink’s thighs, heavy and wet with hammam steam, while Zayd clawed at the slick floor, drooling and wailing like a brain-dead fucktoy lost in the haze of heat and pain. “You love this arab gay cock steaming your shithole, huh, ya filthy bath-bitch?” Rakim taunted, yanking Zayd’s head back by the hair and slamming in so hard the twink’s insides churned, his prostate melted to mush. “Yes, fuck, wreck me, own me!” Zayd howled, his ass clenching and farting wetly around the alpha’s dick, steam rising from the mess.
Rakim flipped the slut onto his back on the hot tiles, grabbing those skinny legs and spreading them wide like a scrubbed towel, exposing that wrecked, bloody hole. “Look at me while I steam your fucking soul,” he spat, plunging back in with a nasty, wet squelch, his cock sliding through a mess of sweat, blood, and ass-juice that coated his shaft. Zayd’s dark eyes locked on his, wide with desperation, as Rakim fucked him senseless, the tiles sizzling under the brutal force. The hammam stank of sweat, cum, and raw, animal sex—a perfect steam pit for an alpha like Rakim to dominate and destroy his prey under the misty glow.
Blowing a Scalding Load
The pace turned feral—Rakim’s hulking frame tensed, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he chased his nut, his muscles flexing with every brutal thrust. Zayd was a babbling, cum-drunk wreck, clawing at Rakim’s chest with sweaty hands, screaming, “Fill my fucking ass, Master, scald me, make me your bitch!” That snapped it—Rakim roared like a goddamn steam geyser, slamming in so hard Zayd’s hips slid across the tiles, 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 sizzling floor as he convulsed, his own tiny dick spurting a weak, watery load across his belly, mixing with the steam.
Rakim 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, steamy glob onto Zayd’s fucked-out face, coating his eyes, and smirked, his chest heaving. “Good little bath-bitch. Next time, I’m locking you in the steam room and fucking you ’til you’re a puddle.” He strode off, leaving the twink twitching on the tiles, ass leaking like a burst pipe, mind completely shattered from the scalding, raw steaming he’d just endured.
The Alpha’s Steamy Empire
Marrakech’s hammams buzzed with whispers the next day. Every arab gay slut in the city was jerking off to Rakim’s name, trading tales of his savage fucks and that Moroccan cock that turned tight holes into dripping, ruined wrecks. He didn’t give a fuck—he kept prowling, a arab gay god ruling the bathhouses. Zayd couldn’t sit for days, hobbling through the hammam with a wrecked ass, beating his meat raw every night to the memory of being steamed open by the alpha, steam burns still stinging his skin.
Rakim was already hunting again. He’d fucked half the bathhouse boys in Marrakech, leaving a trail of limping, cum-soaked wrecks, but his hunger was endless—every steam room, every dark alcove was a chance to claim another hole, to assert his dominance over the arab gay steamy underworld. He’d piss on the rules, spit on the heat, and keep ramming his way through, a Moroccan alpha carving his legend in the flesh of every slut dumb enough to step into his domain.
