Tahar and Marshall

It’s Saturday night in one of the seediest neighborhoods of Olde Paris. Tahar, an infamous dom around these parts, is hanging out at his crib. He’s bored, and horny as hell. Lucky for Tahar, he already has with him two of his sub-slave minions to boss around. He doesn’t even remember the names of some of the men he has sprawled around his home. But, blindfolded by a taut-pulled beanie and laying on the couch, is a sub whose name he does remember: sneaker-sniffing Marshall.

Tahar flips a coin and the sex gods choose Marshall to be the deviant master’s object of domination. Other anonymous bottoms watch from the corners of stairwells as Tahar commands Marshall to the floor. The pliant slave drops to his belly and licks Tahar’s filthy, dirty sneakers.

Tahar can sense the eyes of the other subs in the loft. He loves to be watched while he plots and enacts depraved, carnal acts on the men that throw themselves at his feet. One shirtless, ripped man watches from above a stairwell and can only gape with envy, his painfully hard cock in hand. He silently wishes it was his face being rubbed into Master Tahar’s feet.

Marshall moans as he licks every inch of Tahar’s shoes and feet clean. But Master’s demands are ever changing; now he wants his knob drooled on and sucked. And when Marshall’s beanie hat starts to creep up over his eyes, Tahar feels obligated to smack his slave’s face with an open hand before yanking the cap back down. Each smack across the face rattles the sub a little bit deeper into his trance of servitude, and of lust.

Now, Marshall is a pretty good cock-sucker, but suddenly Tahar starts to get a little impatient and riled up with the slower-than-normal rate of pace. So, Master ramps up the action to the next level by grabbing his slave’s head and ramming his erection in and out of Marshall’s happy little mouth. The bottom submits obediently like a ragdoll as his face is rabidly fucked.

However, it’s not Marshall’s juicy, wet mouth that Tahar ultimately wants to destroy. The slave boy’s round, beefy ass seems to always be open for business and the Master is ready to get to work. And while one might expect the willing and eager bottom-stud to be a little worn in, the reality is that Marshall’s ass is delightfully, extraordinarily tight, almost shockingly so given how much abuse it tends to receive.

Tahar pounds Marshall’s quivering, pink hole with ruthless abandon. He fucks the brains out of his whimpering slave in the only position that a whimpering dog should take, and Marshall howls with am appropriate mix of pain and pleasure. After the brutal attack of carnality, Tahar pulls out with a crude popping sound. He lewdly sprawls out in front of his well-fucked, gasping slave, then orders Marshall to blast a load all over his body. Master and slave gasp together in pleasure as they shoot on each other—and echoing in the halls of Mastar Tahar’s loft, other unknown orgasms sound off, too.