Rob is desperate for dirty, oily Turkish manmeat, and he’s about to get his fill! That’s because he’s in Turkey taking lessons… and a lot more — from the legendary wrestler Mustafa Mounsir, who’s gonna give Rob the ride of his life!
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Rob nervously waited for his Turkish instructor to arrive. Rob was dressed like a tourist — which he technically was — and sat there nervously watching the lessons going on in front of him. He was at a grassy field in a small, rural town in Turkey, where the locals practiced for an upcoming oil wrestling tournament.
Turkish oil wrestling was a popular sport here. It was a form of wrestling in which the men — the biggest, hairiest, most macho men in all of Turkey — greased each other up with olive oil from head to toe while wearing these loose leather trousers called a kisbet. Then the goal was to gain control of your oil-slippened opponent by holding onto his kisbet. It inevitably required sticking one’s hands down into one’s opponent’s kisbet, feeling their crotch, ass and every other olive oil-stained muscle. As a keen lover of the male form, Rob considered it the ideal sport.
Rob had done a lot of work to find Mustafa, a professional Turkish oil wrestler who didn’t normally teach lessons. Rob didn’t want to take lessons from a normal class, because he greatly desired spending time with Mustafa Mounsir and his msucled chest. Rob’s ideal physique was a large, handsome and hairy man.
A few tourists and a couple locals were practicing their moves with a lean, handsome Turk in the center of the field. He spoke English well and was encouraging, coach-like. He obviously shaved his chest, for one thing, and probably didn’t have any hair on his back by nature. Rob had suspected as much when he learned there was a tourist-oriented oil-wrestling coaching service — he didn’t want a polished Turk shaved and dolled up for Westerners.
He wanted Mustafa Oğuz Mounsir.
His heart started pounding when he saw Mustafa, a big, hulking brute of a man. He was in the heaviest weight class in Turkish oil wrestling, and it showed in his heavy gait, giant barrel-shaped body, his strapping chest and belly, and his broad shoulders. Most importantly for Rob, however, Mustafa also had powerful muscles and endless curls of body hair stretching up from his chest and over his shoulders. Like all Turks, the hair was dense, kinky and broad, and his sweat clung to it. There was little division between his chest hair, armpit hair, leg and arm hairs, back hair, beard hair and head hair.
“Hello, my name is Rob,” he said, followed by a carefully rehearsed Turkish translation.
Mustafa nodded. “You are here for lesson, yes? I am Mustafa Mounsir.” Mustafa’s English was only a little better than Rob’s Turkish, but he managed to introduce himself and begin a lesson. His accent was thick, as spatchcocking as a dressed chicken, while Rob could think of little more than the closeness of his body hair and the heat emanating from his overworked muscles.
After a few minutes of stretching, Mustafa began showing him some moves. It was obvious that Mustafa was not a teacher; he was gruff; he failed to explain what he was doing; he got frustrated when Rob didn’t do everything exactly right. For his part, Rob did not do well — every time he was instructed to place his hands on Mustafa, a shudder of desire and lust coursed through him.
And all they were doing so far was practicing a few simple holds. About halfway through the first lesson, Mustafa said it was time for a scrimmage, and that meant the best part of Turkish oil wrestling was about to happen. Rob had to force his stiffening dick to quiet down as Mustafa brought him to the side of the field where a pitcher of olive oil waited.
“You will rub it on me. Rub it on ev-er-y part,” Mustafa said, over-enunciating his words. “I will do first.”
Rob nodded. He was pretending to have little idea what Turkish oil wrestling was, so he looked surprised when Mustafa’s callused hands spread oil over Rob’s body, extending down into his loose kisbet.
Praying that he wouldn’t get hard yet, Rob didn’t show how arousing he found Mustafa’s hands running up and down his body, even rubbing olive oil inside Rob’s kisbet, on his ass, his cock and balls, all of it, Mustafa didn’t seem bothered by it. That was a core part of Turkish oil wrestling. Mustafa’s rough-fingered hands had probably rubbed oil into a thousand men’s skin.
Then it was Rob’s turn. Mustafa sneered at him — it seemed he didn’t love the idea of giving lessons to a non-Turk. Rob’s hands dripped with olive oil as he touched Mustafa’s back, which was covered in the thick, kinky black hair that extended over most of his torso. He was like a Turkish sasquatch. Rob’s heart pounded as he forced his fingers through a tangled forest of hair on Mustafa’s lower back.
Then he moved around to the chest, where the hair was even thicker, unapologetically dense, and when Rob disturbed it with his fingers, the odor of stale oil and sweat wafted over him. He got the impression Mustafa expected Rob to be disgusted, and Rob decided to play along. He wrinkled his nose, and Mustafa laughed like he was proud of that.
His body wasn’t perfect, which Rob liked. Six-pack abs were nice to look at, but Rob preferred having some meat to grab onto. That described Mustafa perfectly, his powerful chest like a hard slab of iron with a thick layer of padding on top.
Rob’s hands moved back around to his ass, hands slipping under the kisbet. Much to Rob’s delight, Mustafa’s ass was just as hairy as his chest. The hair there was tangled, so Rob moved slowly, caressing olive oil into those big beefy orbs slowly enough that he worked out all the kinks. His fingers crept between the asscheeks, even though he had the feeling actual Turkish oil wrestlers skipped that, and he touched Mustafa’s quivering hot asshole.
Then he reached underneath Mustafa’s ass, hands stretching between his thighs to the hairy taint. He stood still in front of Mustafa, so he had to step even closer until his face was pushed up against Mustafa’s hairy pecs, and the flavor of sweat-scented olive oil hit his tongue.
By the time Rob got back to the front, shivering in delight when he touched Mustafa’s sweaty ballsac, Rob was already rock-hard. He moved both his hands to the front of Mustafa’s body, starting with his thighs, which were slick with sweat from being in the hot kisbet. He rubbed olive oil into first one trunk-like thigh, then the other.
He cradled Mustafa’s ballsack with his olive oil-laden fingers, and gave his dick one quick stroke. It was long and so thick Rob couldn’t wrap his fingers around it, uncircumcised with extra flesh that moved along with Rob’s fingers.
At last they were done, and Mustafa arranged them for their first lesson. “Feet like this,” he said gruffly, and Rob played along. “No, like this.” He pushed Rob into position.
Having no idea how to defend himself, Rob was on his ass as soon as Mustafa started wrestling. The bigger man had both of his hands down Rob’s kisbet, gripping the leather from inside. The top side of his palms touched Rob’s dick, but Mustafa gave no sign of noticing Rob’s growing erection.
Then they did the same again, and again. Rob managed to dodge Mustafa for a few seconds, but he couldn’t defend himself in any way. He hadn’t given the wrestling part of Turkish oil wrestling much thought. All Rob cared about was the “rubbing oil into men’s muscles” part.
Soon enough, the lesson was over. Rob didn’t think he had learned much — Mustafa was a lot of things, but a quality pedagogue was not one of them — but he was so horny he couldn’t think, so he was glad to be done anyway. His hardon throbbed in his kisbet.
“You give respect to superior man,” Mustafa said. He folded his arms over his chest. “Instructor, me. Respect, it is to dem-onstr-ate, yes?”
Rob hesitated. They were still in the middle of the field, so he thought Mustafa was asking for a tip, but Rob didn’t have any cash — or anything at all in his kisbet. He tried to explain that, but Mustafa just growled.
“Must give respect.” Mustafa took Rob hand and shoved it into Mustafa’s kisbet. His hand entered the dense thicket of sweat, oil-lubed pubic hair, and there, he felt Mustafa’s hot cock, which his fingers wrapped around.
Terrified at first as he wondered whether he was in trouble, Rob realized Mustafa wanted to get jacked off. Then Mustafa growled again and repeated himself once more. “Amer-icans must have respect!” He barked.
Rob gripped his shaft tight and gave it a stroke. It was hot and thick in his grip, and Rob watched closely to see how his stroke affected Mustafa — not at all, as it turned out. Mustafa gave no signs he noticed Rob rubbing his cock with first one, then both hands.
It was only after several minutes of standing there that Mustafa settled down with a self-satisfied smile, and Rob nervously began stroking his dick. Rob wondered if Mustafa made lots of men jack him off — he’d implied this was what all men should do to show respect to “superior” men. Maybe he made lots of both tourists and wrestlers do the same thing.
In no time Mustafa’s was rock-hard and pulsating between Rob’s fingers. He thought maybe it had gotten half-hard from the wrestling, which made Rob glad. Maybe Mustafa got hard easily. In any case, Mustafa closed his eyes as his cock throbbed in Rob’s grasp, both hands rubbing up and down that veiny dick, still entrapped in Mustafa’s oil-soaked kisbet.
Precum leaked down the shaft and added to the mix of fluids in Mustafa’s crotch. Rob wished he could kneel to get a better whiff, because he could tell he would adore that musty scent, but he thought Mustafa might object.
All at once, Mustafa reached an orgasm visible through his rippling muscles. His dick spasmed as his shoulders tensed, his toes curled, and the hair on his chest stood on end. Mustafa closed his eyes and groaned. He bit his lip.
“Yes, good respect, American cowboy,” he murmured.
All of Mustafa’s muscles tightened at once, and his balls crawled up in his sweat-slickened sac. Rob kept on stroking it even as the cum shot out and coated the inside of the kisbet, not to mention Rob’s hand and wrist.
Another vast wad of jizz spurted out. That first cumwad made it to the edge of his kisbet and the underside of Mustafa’s belly, while the rest of his load only got to the waistband. It coated every inch of Rob’s hand, and still more kept jetting out. Mustafa groaned and moaned, looking surprised like he thought this wouldn’t happen, and his knees went weak. He stood up straight again though.
When he thought he had drawn out all of that nut, Rob pulled his cum-streaked hand out and looked at it, wishing he could lick it clean. But he just stared at it as though he was disgusted and followed Mustafa into the dugout, hoping Mustafa still believed him to be an ordinary tourist.
“You come tomorrow,” Mustafa said without looking back. “I continue lesson. Keep paying.”
Rob nodded. Mustafa stopped at the entrance to the dugout. He frowned and furrowed his eyebrows, and Rob got the message. He walked away. The dugout, it seemed, was only for real Turkish oil wrestlers, not tourists.
Though he wished he could suck all the jizz off his hand, Rob was intensely attuned to the audience around, watching the other tourists take lessons from the handsome Turk. They would surely notice him licking jizz off his hands, so he simply hurried away without cleaning it off. He waited until he got back to his hotel room, and only then did Rob wash his hands.
After that, Rob was tired and thought he’d go to bed early. He had to get up in the morning tomorrow for his second lesson from Mustafa, but for now, he had nothing else to do. He wasn’t even hungry, but once he laid down in bed, he wasn’t tired anymore either. He thought having something to eat would help, so he went out of his room to find a quick bite.
“Rob! Rob!”
He heard his name being shouted from the hotel parking lot. Rob didn’t know what was happening, but he ran out the door, thinking he was in trouble.
ustafa was on the ground floor near Rob’s car and screaming Rob’s name. “Rob Win-throp! Rob Win-throp!”
“Mustafa?”
Mustafa saw him then and swayed drunkenly on his thick legs. He headed up the stairs towards Rob’s room, which was when Rob noticed the whorish woman following him. Mustafa grinned when he got to Rob’s door.
“I am very poor,” Mustafa said.
“Okay…”
The prostitute hurried in then. She looked bored as she laid down on the bed and spread her legs. Rob nervously watched.
“I do not have enough money for paying for girl sex,” Mustafa said. “But this girl will kiss.”
“Okay…” Rob still didn’t understand what Mustafa wanted.
“So you will do vagina?”
Rob blushed and looked at the whore. “Nothing personal, ma’am. You have a nice one, I’m guessing. It’s just not for me.”
“No, not you. I do not buy sex for you,” Mustafa said, scoffing at the suggestion. He took off his shirt then and shrugged. His big hairy shoulders flexed, which made Rob’s cock jump to attention in his pants.
The whore said something in Turkish. It sounded like a joke, but Mustafa barked something back at her. He was offended by it. Mustafa turned back to Rob and said, “She does not like hairy back. She says she will charge me less money if it is shaved. But I do not want to shave it. It makes itching.”
“Okay…” Rob said. “I think it’s your best quality.” He kissed Mustafa on one meaty shoulder, and the whore squealed in disgust as Rob sucked the sweat off his hairs. The acrid-sweet flavor of stale olive oil hit Rob’s tongue, reminding him of their oil-lubed practice; it seemed to have suffused into Mustafa’s skin.
“You are dis-gus-ting,” Mustafa said. But he didn’t make any effort to move away as Rob licked his back clean. Beneath the thick mat of fur, his back was strapping and firmly corded with muscle. Then Mustafa said, “Okay? We are agreement?”
Rob hesitated. He still didn’t understand what Mustafa wanted. “I’m not sure…”
Mustafa shook his head and pushed Rob to the ground at the foot of the bed. Then Mustafa spoke to the whore and kicked off his pants. He flopped his soft but thick uncut manhood between his fingers, and smiled as he approached the bed.
He fed his dick into Rob’s mouth. He tasted of old olive oil and overwhelmingly of stale sweat. He stank of body odor but it smelled like he had attempted to cover it up with a scent that was not exactly cologne-like, more as though he had bathed in incense.
Rob swallowed it the best he could. Above his head, he heard kissing and finally realized what Mustafa was doing — he didn’t couldn’t pay the prostitute for vaginal sex, so he was paying her to simply make out with him while Rob mouthed his dick. Mustafa sucked on her tits and fingered her pussy, his dick quickly growing rock-hard in his pants.
She suddenly exclaimed something in Turkish. It sounded like she was offended, and Rob looked up to see her getting off the bed. Mustafa pleaded with her in Turkish but he stood there with his dick in Rob’s mouth the whole time. He turned his body and Rob moved with him.
“Bana geri dön.”
“Sizin geri brüt ve tüylü!”
She slammed the door behind herself, and Mustafa sat on the edge of the bed, his dick still throbbing in Rob’s mouth — Rob had to twist his body to remain in position as Marcus sat down. He looked almost ready to cry, Rob thought.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Rob asked, holding onto the thick prick in both hands.
He sighed. “She does not like my back. She say it is gross.”
Rob stood up and kissed him on the shoulder. He played with a few of the hairs in his mouth. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.” He let his lips drop lower on Mustafa’s back, and licked all the way from his shoulder to the small of his back.
Mustafa shuddered, whether from ticklishness or disgust or both, Rob didn’t know. But Mustafa didn’t stop him as Rob bathed his hairy back in spit. His hair was matted to his muscles then, and Rob moved onto his chest.
He sucked on each hairy nipple until it was erect in his mouth, and Mustafa moaned. But Rob got the impression that this was becoming too pervy for Mustafa, too close to making out, so he quickly dropped back down and swallowed his dick again.
It seemed the nippleplay had reawakened his hardon, which throbbed with desire in Rob’s throat. Rob soaked the shaft with his spit and let it spill out of his mouth into his hairy crotch.
He said something in Turkish too fast for Rob to catch, but he got the feeling it was something like get deeper on it, bitch, because Mustafa then began pounding his dick into Rob’s throat. He chuckled when Rob gagged but he didn’t slow down.
It was a violent throating down, though nothing Rob couldn’t handle. He loved it when machos treated his head like a sex toy. He wished he could widen his throat to accommodate the man’s entire hairy cock.
In no time, he felt the man’s balls crawl up in his sac, and the familiar sour flavor of cum hit his tongue. Rob moaned as he swallowed jet after jet of creamy juice, which had a curious aftertaste that Rob couldn’t quite place — it was almost humus-like, he thought, with a delicious spiciness.
Finally it was done, but Mustafa kept his dick in Rob’s mouth as he used one brutish hand to squeeze out the last few drops of cum.
“Ah, your mouth is woman,” Mustafa said with a sigh. “Good.” He then cleaned himself up enough to leave and exited the hotel room without another word aimed at Rob. That did not surprise Rob. Mustafa was the kind of alpha who saw no need to talk to his bitch. That was why Rob liked him and women did not.
The next morning was another lesson, and Rob found that Mustafa changed his attitude towards him. He was outright kind, and he actually treated Rob like a girlfriend — when no one was watching. At the gym, Rob watched him workout and brought him water, acting like a personal trainer or assistant, though he didn’t know how to do anything of the sort.
Whenever they were alone, however, Mustafa felt up Rob’s ass and even kissed him on the cheek a few times. He grabbed Rob’s hand and shoved it into his shorts with a grin, and he often played with Rob by moving closer and closer to him as they talked, until eventually Rob was pinned against a wall and squashed by Mustafa’s massive, hairy chest.
Then if they were interrupted by someone, Mustafa would either scurry away or even slap Rob lightly, then say something insulting in Turkish. In this country, it was considered acceptable for a boss or coach to be cruel and even mildly abusive, so nobody was surprised to see Mustafa bullying Rob.
When Rob told him that his trip was almost done and that Rob would be leaving Turkey soon, Mustafa was sad. He smiled at Rob and said, in broken English, “I will be missing your mouth. It is very nice for me.”
“I’ll be missing your… Well, your everything,” Rob said. He blushed.
Mustafa stood up. “You come to field tonight. Goodbye present.” Then he walked away.
Rob was glad to see he had made a friend of sorts, then went back to his hotel to pack. He never ended up using most of what he brought because he spent all his time worshiping Mustafa’s body.
When the time came, he made his way back to the Turkish oil wrestling field. He was surprised to see a half-dozen wrestlers already there, wearing their kisbets. They weren’t greased up yet, however.
Mustafa held out the oil pourer for him, and Rob took it as he approached. Mustafa grinned and handed him a kisbet. “This for you. Since you are new, you are having to put oil on men. It is rule for rookies. I know you will like.” He gestured towards the other wrestlers, all of whom were big and hairy like Mustafa. “Then we all wrestle. You lose, you lick ass. Yes?”
Rob was already rock-hard and he couldn’t quite concentrate enough to say yes, but Mustafa seemed to understand what he wanted to say. Rob hurriedly put the kisbet on and poured some oil into his hands.
He gripped Mustafa’s hairy body and began massaging the oil in. The other wrestlers milled about, talking and leering at Rob — normally Turkish oil wrestlers greased their opponent up, that was tradition, but it seemed they also made the new guy do it when they had a rookie. So the more experienced wrestlers spoke to Rob in Turkish but in a way that suggested they were being intimidating, no doubt telling Rob how badly he would lose.
Of course Rob was desperate to lose. He had no real chance of winning anyway, but he certainly didn’t want to. slurping all these Turkish studs’s asses? He couldn’t think of a better way to end his trip.
When Mustafa was done, Rob moved onto rubbing oil into the skin of the the next man, Kaan Gözübüyük. He was taller and leaner than Mustafa, but he was just as hairy. The thick black curly hairs extended up from his ass and down from his shoulder, stretching to almost, but not quite, meet in the middle. He had a fat face — he wasn’t fat, but he had a big face with a wide nose, wide mouth, wide chin, his face just went on forever.
The man after him was burly and paunchy, Cenk Dal, who was maybe the strongest there. He had biceps the size of Rob’s torso and a thick scar that ran over his back. The scar was the only part of his back that had no hair growing on it, and indeed, his whole body was just as hairy from head to toe. Rob had to fight back the urge to lick the scar from ass to shoulder.
Then came a young man, Ömer Pamuk, easily the youngest of the seven Turks there. He was handsome and charming, and he seemed distinctly uncomfortable at being touched by a man. He also appeared to shave his chest and back, but his lower neck was untrimmed, so the hair extended well into his back.
Then the wrestling began. This was an informal match, so they simply paired off and began. Mustafa acted as a coach, yelling encouragement (or so Rob assumed) in Turkish. The big men Cenk and Kaan fought; that left the young man, Ömer, who was about Rob’s size, so they were a good match.
Rob was knocked flat-footed when Ömer came at him, and he barely managed to stay upright. He couldn’t quite grip Ömer’s body, which was lean and toned, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. He had no grip due to the greasy olive oil.
Ömer’s hands were in Rob’s pants and holding onto the kisbet, but Rob managed to separate from him. He plunged his own hands down Ömer’s pants and grunted in shock when his hand gripped Ömer’s long, thick cock. Ömer didn’t seem to notice, as his hands clutched Rob’s asscheeks.
Then it was all over. As suddenly as it began, Ömer had Rob pinned. He couldn’t move a muscle, all he could do was submit until Mustafa declared the match over.
That was it. The three winners (Ömer, Kaan and Cenk) congratulated each other as they all hurried to the stone dugout on the edge of the field. They were chanting at Rob, no doubt telling him to perform his loserly duty.
Mustafa spoke in clipped English. “They think you bet ass-slurping. I tell them you thought American cowboy can win any sport.”
As soon as they got into the dugout, they dropped their kisbets to reveal bare asses and densely hairy holes. They catcalled back to Rob, who pretended to be embarrassed and disgusted. He heard a few words that sounded like “American”, so he thought these men liked the idea of humiliating an American. He even heard something that sounded like yank, though he had no idea if that was really what they said.
He had lost to Ömer, so Rob kneeled behind him first. Ömer had the smoothest ass as well, so it would make sense if he were straight to start there. He made a loud sound that he hoped came across as disgusted, but luckily they were all facing away — they seemed to think it was too disgusting to watch.
As soon as his tongue hit Ömer’s asshole, Ömer jerked and exclaimed something that made the others laugh. Rob jabbed his tongue in and felt around. The olive oil was fruity and sweet, mixed with the acrid and bitter flavor of Ömer’s ass-sweat.
His hands reached around to Ömer’s dick, which was already rock-hard. It throbbed between his fingers and instantly leaked precum. Ömer must have really been enjoying the rimjob, Rob thought.
The feeling of submission to alpha male domination flooded Rob — this was precisely what he had been hoping to find in Turkey. He felt like his tongue was plunging straight into a grimy whirlpool of manhood, and he could feel its juices dripping down his throat.
Ömer jumped around without warning and slammed his dick into Rob’s mouth. He only barely made it before shooting a puddle of cum down Rob’s gullet. He laughed as he did so, embarrassed at having cum so soon.
The brothers were next. They were moderately hairy and had nice bubble-butts, and Rob worshiped all four orbs with his tongue before plunging inside. He tasted first one grimy hole, then the other — they were lined up ass-to-ass so Rob could go quickly from one to the other, while he used each hand on one cock.
He was so intent on licking them both that he almost didn’t notice Mustafa getting behind him. He said something in Turkish that Rob suspected meant I’m gonna make you my prison-punk, or something along those lines, and it made the other men say something surprised. They all had a brief conversation about it, but Mustafa didn’t slow down at all.
His dick pushed into Rob’s ass, and he relentlessly kept going — the oil was as effective a lube as he was willing to use, it seemed, and Rob was glad to have a little pain. He always enjoyed that.
The brothers turned around at once and both pushed their dicks into Rob’s mouth. It didn’t seem anyone saw it as weird for them to be jousting like that.
They both came nearly at once, shooting a thick and creamy loud that Rob held in his mouth for a minute. He savored the flavor and the hotness, then let it slide down his throat.
Kaan and Cenk were next, the two biggest guys here, both covered in fur. Rob reached up and caressed their hairy backs as he made love to each asshole in turn with his tongue. They both grunted like pigs every time Rob’s tongue reached their spongy prostates. Meanwhile Mustafa plowed into Rob’s relentlessly, uncaring of how it made Rob feel. Rob exclaimed in pain but it just made Mustafa laugh and gyrate harder with each passing thrust.
That continued for what felt like hours, Rob ripped open from behind by Mustafa’s massive cock, his tongue darting between the sweathair-choked asses of Kaan and Cenk. The handsome young one Ömer backed off when it got serious like that, but he had already cum, so Rob did not miss him. He slathered the other two’s ass cracks in spit, and his hands snaked around their bodies to the body hair jungles of their crotches. He stroked their hardons the best he could with Mustafa ramming him up behind like an elephant.
“Oh god, stick it in me, Mustafa!” Rob cried out. Mustafa seemed too engrossed in his own pleasures to pay attention to Rob’s words., or maybe he had forgotten English, but in any case, he gave no sign of hearing Rob’s demand. He kept at it regardless, and each thrust of his dick caused a ripple of his muscles and a jolt of both pleasure and pain to strike up Rob’s sppine.
“I am to cum,” Kaan murmured, barely audible over Mustafa’s bestial panting. He took Rob’s head out of Cenk’s ass so he could turn around plow his cock down Rob’s throat. Rob gagged uncontrollably, but that only made the others cheer and smack his tender ass. Cenk stroked himself off and reached orgasm along with Kaan.
They both filled up Rob’s mouth with their creamy seed, and sneered down at him with disgust in their eyes. Rob swallowed every drop and showed them his empty mouth. Most of it spilled out over onto his face. He frotted both dicks together as they limpened and he slurped on the cocktips that whole time, his body rocking back and forth with the power of Mustafa’s rams.
At last Mustafa picked Rob up and dragged his body up and down on his shaft, so Mustafa stood still and Rob was forced up and down on his shaft like some cheap fleshlight. Mustafa’s shaft throbbed in his intestines until he finally reached orgasm.
Hot cum sprayed to every inch of Rob’s body, coating his intestines. Some of it dripped down Rob’s thigh, making a hot, stinking mess on the floor. Jet after jet of it filled him up, more than Mustafa had shot up til now. Rob felt it seeping into his flesh, and he moaned out loud, as he finally shot his own wad onto the floor as well.
A great surge of relief wracked his body when Mustafa removed his cock at last. Mustafa snorted. Rob moaned. Rob lay sprawled-out on the floor. When he moved his body, it reawakened his climax and sent a twinge of both pain and ecstasy through his body once more. His ass ached. He cried out, and he lay still there, exulting in the aftershocks of his orgasm.
The men quickly walked away, leaving Rob there on the floor in a puddle of fluids and bliss. Mustafa was last, and as he left, he said, “You hire again. More lessons. Much to learn.”
