Chapter 6: The Morning After
The first thing Ilyes felt was the crushing weight, a solid furnace of muscle pinning him to the mattress. He was on his side, facing the cracked plaster wall, and Nassim’s entire body was molded against his back—the broad, hairless chest, the hard swell of his abdomen, one massively thick, hairy thigh thrown over Ilyes’s hips. Heat radiated from him in waves. The smell was profound: dried sweat, the stale, salty musk of spent semen, and that underlying, animal tang of Nassim’s skin that was now etched into Ilyes’s senses.
He shifted, a tiny movement, and the arm draped over his waist tightened, pulling him deeper into the vise. Nassim’s face was buried in the nape of his neck, his breath hot and even against his skin.
Ilyes turned, slowly, wriggling within the imprisoning embrace until he was facing his cousin. In the grey dawn light seeping through the shutters, Nassim looked like a carved monument, his features softened by sleep. Ilyes pressed closer, his own slender frame dwarfed. He nuzzled into the hot hollow of Nassim’s throat, then lower, rubbing his cheek against the smooth, rounded slope of a colossal pectoral. The scent here was strongest. He inhaled deeply, his lips parting against the warm skin.
Nassim stirred. A low, sleepy grunt vibrated through his chest and into Ilyes’s face. The arm around him shifted, and a huge hand landed on the back of his head, fingers splaying in his curls, not pushing him away, but holding him there.
“Mmh. Frérot.” Nassim’s voice was a sleep-roughened rumble. “Qu’est-ce que tu fais? T’es déjà accro à mon corps, hein?” He chuckled, the sound lazy and deeply amused. He shifted his hips, and Ilyes felt it immediately: the thick, semi-hard length of Nassim’s cock, already nudging against his belly, naked and radiating a heat of its own. Even soft, it was a formidable weight. “Tu vas pas pouvoir retourner en France. Tu vas rêver de cette odeur. De cette grosse bite.”
He pulled Ilyes even tighter, engulfing him completely. Ilyes felt smothered, consumed, and a sharp thrill shot through his groin. His own cock hardened instantly, trapped between their bodies.
“Ça peut plus arriver, tu comprends?” Nassim said, his tone shifting, trying to carve authority into the sleepy air. “Ce qui s’est passé cette nuit… c’est entre nous. Point final. Et puis, pour commencer… je voulais baiser Yasmina, pas mon frère. T’es mon cousin, putain, Ilyes!”
Ilyes didn’t answer with words. He let his hands begin to move, sliding over the incredible geography of Nassim’s torso. His fingertips traced the perfect, deep grooves between his abdominals, like valleys between hills of tightly-packed stone. He followed the ropes of veins that snaked up the biceps, feeling them pulse under his touch. He cupped the heavy, rounded curve of a pectoral, his thumb brushing over a small, stiff nipple.
“Je… j’ai jamais vu un corps comme ça,” Ilyes whispered, his voice muffled against Nassim’s skin. “Si musclé. Si veineux. C’est parfait.”
Nassim exhaled, a long, shaky breath. A smirk touched his lips, his eyes still closed. “Arrête,” he murmured, but his body arched subtly into the touch. He didn’t stop him.
He drifted then, his voice taking on a dreamy, narrative quality as Ilyes’s hands worshipped his physique. “Elle viendrait vivre ici, avec moi. Je rentrerais du garage, pompé à bloc. En sueur. La chemise collée. Je serais gentil, tu sais. Attentionné. Drôle. Je lui offrirais des cadeaux. Je lui dirais qu’elle est belle.” His cock began to swell, thickening rapidly against Ilyes’s stomach, a live cable of flesh. “Mais la nuit… la nuit, je redeviendrais une bête algérienne. Un vrai fauve. Insatiable. À mon âge, frérot, je peux baiser toute la nuit. Je la rendrais folle de ma queue. Je la démonterais. Je la casserais en deux sur le lit. Je la détruirais.”
He paused, his hand stroking Ilyes’s hair almost absently. “Désolé. Désolé de parler de ta sœur comme ça. Mais je la veux tellement.”
“T’inquiète pas,” Ilyes said softly, his lips moving against Nassim’s pec. He kissed the skin there, a dry, warm press. “Un homme comme toi… il a besoin d’une petite femme obéissante pour se vider. Pour se défouler. Yasmina, elle aurait de la chance. Je comprends pas pourquoi elle te veut pas.”
Nassim laughed, a proud, bright sound in the dim room. His cock was now fully, outrageously hard, a dark, veined pillar jammed between them. “Tu penses? Vraiment?”
“Oui.”
“Alors aide-moi. Aide-moi à l’avoir. Explique-lui. Dis-lui ce que je lui ferais, jour et nuit, si elle disait oui.” His eyes opened, gleaming in the low light. He winked, a crude, conspiratorial gesture. “Tu seras bien récompensé, frérot.”
Ilyes held his gaze. “Tu as déjà baisé d’autres cousines? Dans la famille?”
Nassim’s pride swelled, his chest expanding under Ilyes’s hands. “Bien sûr. Deux. Les filles de mon oncle, ici. Je les ai défoncées pour de vrai, hein. Mais pour la vie, pour en faire une femme, c’est Yasmina que je veux.”
As he spoke, Ilyes began to move downward, sliding his body down the length of the bed, his mouth leaving a damp trail on Nassim’s skin—over the abs, through the coarse trail of hair below his navel.
“Ilyes. Arrête,” Nassim said, but it was a whisper, devoid of force.
Ilyes didn’t stop. He nuzzled into the dense thicket of pubic hair, the smell so potent it made his head swim. He took the base of Nassim’s cock in his hand, feeling the throbbing heat of it, the sheer girth that stretched his fingers to their limit.
“Je te fais ton traitement spécial,” Ilyes murmured, his breath washing over the wet head.
He opened his mouth and took him in, not slowly, but with a determined, hungry engulfment. He forced his jaw wide, suppressing the immediate gag as the thick crown breached his lips. He pushed himself down, his nose burying in coarse hair, his throat convulsing as he took inch after monstrous inch. He didn’t stop until his lips were sealed around the root, his throat stretched taut around the invading bulk. Then, he sucked his cheeks in, creating a fierce vacuum, and swallowed rhythmically, the muscles of his throat milking the shaft.
Nassim shouted, his hips bucking off the bed. “OH PUTAIN! Cette bouche! Cette gorge de pute!”
Ilyes pulled off with a wet, tearing sound, gasping for air, saliva stringing from his lips. He didn’t hesitate. He dove back down, this time taking the entire heavy sac into his mouth along with the shaft, his cheeks bulging obscenely around the two large, tight balls. He suckled them, his tongue lapping at the wrinkled skin, while his nose was again crushed against Nassim’s pubic bone.
The roar that tore from Nassim was inhuman. His hands fisted in the sheets, his whole body bowing off the mattress. “OUI! COMME ÇA! PRENDS TOUT! BOUFFE MA GROSSE BITTE ALGÉRIENNE ET MES DEUX GROSSES COUILLES!”
Ilyes lost himself in the rhythm. A punishing, relentless rhythm. He would deep-throat the entire length until he gagged and saw stars, then release just enough to suck and lick the swollen, purple head, tasting the bitter pre-come that leaked in a constant stream. Then he’d swallow the balls again, nursing on them like they were his source of air. He used his hands to stroke and squeeze what his mouth couldn’t contain, his fingers sliding through the mess of spit and pre-come that coated Nassim’s groin and his own chin.
Time dissolved into the sounds of slobbering, gagging, and Nassim’s continuous, filthy litany. He praised Ilyes’s throat, cursed his own weakness, described again in broken phrases how he would fuck Yasmina, his words becoming the rhythm for Ilyes’s bobbing head.
“Une dernière… une dernière alors, mon frère,” Nassim panted, his body slick with a fresh sheen of sweat. “Mais après… après c’est terminé. Elle est pour Yasmina, cette queue. Promis.”
It was a lie they both accepted. Ilyes increased his pace, hollowing his cheeks, using his tongue to press and probe the sensitive spot beneath the head. Nassim’s control shattered.
The first orgasm came with a choked cry. Hot, bitter jets flooded Ilyes’s throat. He swallowed convulsively, not missing a drop, his mouth sealed tight as the thick shaft pulsed and jumped against his tongue.
And Nassim stayed hard. He softened for perhaps thirty seconds, lying there panting, before Ilyes, running his tongue along the veined underside, felt it beginning to swell and iron again under his ministrations.
“Incroyable…,” Nassim slurred. “T’es un magicien.”
The second climax was slower, a deep, grinding release that Ilyes milked with slow, sucking pulls, swallowing every salty spurt.
The sun climbed higher, painting bright bars of light across the floor. The room grew stifling. Still, Ilyes worked. A third time. A fourth. The volume was staggering each time, and Nassim announced it with pride. “Tu vois ce que je donne? C’est comme ça tous les matins. Ma future meuf, elle aura le ventre plein de foutre tous les jours.”
By the fifth, Nassim’s releases were thinner, but his cock remained a stubborn, rigid club. Ilyes’s jaw was a solid ache, his throat raw, his lips bruised and swollen. He finally pulled off, collapsing onto his side, breathing in ragged gasps. He was drenched in sweat and spit.
Nassim lay utterly spent, a colossal ruin of a man, his stomach glistening with a mix of their sweat and stray drops of his own semen. The smell in the room was almost solid now—a hazy, erotic fog of sex and male exhaustion.
After a long silence, Nassim groaned and swung his legs off the bed. His body, even depleted, was a masterpiece of power. The muscles in his back and shoulders shifted like living geology as he stood. He stretched, his arms reaching for the ceiling, his spine cracking. The morning light gilded the sweat on his skin, highlighting every vein, every cut of muscle.
“Bon,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Je vais m’entraîner. Faut garder ce corps.” He turned and looked down at Ilyes, a complex expression on his face—gratitude, confusion, a flicker of shame, and beneath it all, a dark, possessive pleasure. He sniffed at his own armpit and grinned, a flash of his old, crude self. “L’odeur de la victoire, frérot.”
He pulled on a pair of shorts and a stained tank top, not bothering with underwear. As he opened the door, the comparative cool of the hallway washed in, a brief relief. He paused on the threshold, looking back.
“N’oublie pas. Parle-lui de moi. Dis-lui tout.”
Then he was gone, his heavy footsteps receding down the tiled hallway.
Ilyes lay still in the wreckage of the bed, in the profound, suffocating silence. He brought his own fingers to his mouth, tasting the complex, brutal cocktail of Nassim. He stared at the ceiling, a slow, calculated calm settling over him. The bird in his chest was still, its wings folded. It was no longer trapped. It was waiting.
For next chapter: In the afternoon, by the pool, Ilyes and Yasmina are sunbathing. Nassim is in the water, watching them out of the corner of his eye, massive, sometimes involuntary flexing his muscles. Yasmina and Ilyes’s parents, along with Nassim’s, have gone for a walk. She starts criticizing him and seems annoyed. Ilyes continues talking to Yasmina about Nassim—mentioning his stable situation and his job, maybe his own garage on day, noting how he’s constantly looking at her and seems genuinely interested. She replies that she isn’t interested at all; she dismisses him as a macho who think he is superior to women, a guy fresh off the boat (‘un bledard’) who only thinks about sex day and night and is looking for a girl to be his maid, and a perpetually pregnant broodmare, adding that she has no interest in a guy from Algeria—especially a cousin. Hugo keeps trying, bringing up Nassim’s physique, his muscular body, describing his pecs, abs, biceps, and saying the bulge in his boxers "looks huge." ‘Il est beau gosse quand même non? Petit dégradé, cheveux bouclés, visage carré, bouc moustache’. She insists she doesn't want him. Nassim watches them from the pool but can’t hear the conversation. An hour later, Yasmina goes to take a shower, and Nassim comes over to the sunbed next to Ilyes. Ilyes tells him about the conversation with Yasmina. Nassim asks Ilyes if he mentioned the sleepless nights of sex she would have with him, and the Algerian beast between his thighs, the 24 cm of zeb, the ways he can ‘la déboîter, la casser en deux. Ilyes replies that he can’t talk about such things with his sister. Nassim is disappointed and wonders how she could turn down a guy like him. Ilyes tells him he’ll eventually find an obedient little woman, but Nassim retorts that it’s Yasmina he wants; he says he’ll keep pursuing her until she gives in and ends up impaling by herself on his monstrous member. Grinning mischievously, Nassim then tells Ilyes he needs to reward him as planned and winks at him, saying to bring his throat, before heading back to the basement to train. Yasmina, Ilyes and Nassim speaks French. They only talk in French. Nassim calls Ilyes ‘mon frère’ or ‘frérot’.