The guy from Iran (Patreon)

My slut’s passport already has plenty of stamps from different and exotic places. One of the ones I still think about the most — and the most unexpected — was a guy from Iran.

I was home, half-bored, when my phone lit up with a message. Someone had been reading my posts and said he related to a lot of them. He told me he was straight, but he hadn’t had sex in a while and wanted to try something new. We texted for about an hour. Something about the way he wrote kept me interested. 

He lived far from me, but that didn’t stop him. He sent me an Uber. I got in the car with clean ass and the quiet certainty that I was going to suck him and take him raw.

He was beautiful… I mean, stunning.

Tall — close to 6’3” — with a lean, hard body that was built from calisthenics like he told me: strong shoulders, defined arms, a tight waist, and long, powerful legs. Olive skin, thick black hair, heavy eyebrows, and a full beard that framed a sharp, almost regal face. He wasn’t even thirty yet. 

When he opened the door he was wearing a dark robe, silky, the kind you see in movies, loosely tied. The second I stepped inside I caught his scent — expensive cologne mixed with clean skin and something warmer underneath.

We sat on the couch. He put an arm along the back of the cushions, next to me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. We talked for a while. His Portuguese was almost perfect, only a faint accent giving him away. When he finally told me he was born in Iran and had moved here as a teenager, it suddenly made sense. He had that quiet, princely presence, like someone who knew exactly how he looked and didn’t need to prove it. After he told where he was from I could only see the Prince of Persian from the Games I used to play on PlayStation when I was a kid.

He said his girlfriend had been out of the country for a while. He didn’t want to cheat on her with another woman. I just nodded. His choice.

I was so into him… there was some chemistry between us. I started with his legs. They were smooth, hard with muscle. I let my hand travel higher until I reached the thick shape of him under the robe. He leaned back, eyes dark, and opened the robe. Underneath he was wearing black boxers and nothing else. His body was even better than I’d imagined — tight abs, a dark trail of trimmed hair, the kind of physique you only get from years of push-ups, pull-ups, and control.

I pulled his boxers down. His cock was already heavy, thick, the head flushed. I took him into my mouth slowly. He let out a low breath and warned me, voice rough, to go easy or he wouldn’t last. I didn’t rush. I needed to make love with that beautiful guy. I licked his balls, dragged my tongue up the shaft, kissed the head, then took him deeper in long, wet strokes. I spent time on his stomach, his nipples, the sensitive skin at the base of his cock, learning what made his breathing change.

After a while he told me to get on all fours on the couch. I did. I pushed my pants down and reached back, spreading myself, spitting on my fingers and working them slowly into my hole so he could watch. He stared.

“Fuck… this is so much better than I expected.”

He moved behind me. I felt the thick head of his cock press against me — bare, hot, no condom. He pushed in with one long, steady thrust. It made me bite down on the cushion and moan into it. He filled me completely. For a few seconds he just stayed there, deep, breathing hard against my back, like he was adjusting to how tight I was.

Then he started moving.

At first it was controlled — deep, rolling thrusts that made me feel every inch of him. There was something almost gentle in the way he held my hips, but the strength behind each stroke was unmistakable. I reached back and grabbed his thigh, feeling the hard muscle flex under my hand. I caress his chest and arms too.

“Harder,” I said, voice already wrecked. “Fuck me harder. Don’t hold back.”

“If I go harder I wouldn’t last a minute, dude.”

“Try it.” I asked him.

He gave me what I asked for. His hips started snapping faster, the wet sound of him driving into me filling the quiet apartment. I could hear how turned on he was in every low, rough noise he made. He fucked me with a kind of focused intensity, like he was trying to memorize the feeling and not cum fast. Sweat started to gather on his chest and drip onto my back. I pushed back to meet every thrust, moaning into the couch, telling him not to stop.

He didn’t last as long as either of us wanted. His rhythm broke, his grip on my hips tightened, and he came with a deep, animal sound, burying himself to the root and pulsing inside me. I felt every thick spurt of his cum flooding my ass, hot and heavy. He stayed deep for a long moment, breathing hard, still twitching inside me, before he finally pulled out. I could feel his load inside me.

He sat back on the couch, chest rising and falling, a light sheen of sweat on his skin. I stayed where I was for a few seconds, ass still open, feeling his load inside my body. When I finally looked at him he was watching me with a dark, satisfied expression.

“Did you like that?” I asked.

“Fuck,” he said, almost laughing under his breath. “That was incredible. The adrenaline is insane.”

He pulled on a pair of shorts and told me to sit next to him. 

“Come here.”

I did. He put his arm around me and pulled my head down against his chest. We stayed like that for a while, talking about movies, games, places we’d been, things we’d done. His heartbeat was still a little fast under my ear. Every so often his fingers moved absently through my hair. He was warm and nice to be next to.

About twenty minutes later I felt him getting hard again against my hip. He looked down at me and asked, almost carefully, if he could fuck my mouth until he came. I got on my knees between his legs without a word. He was already fully hard, still slick from being inside me. I opened my mouth and let him take over.

This time he was less restrained. He held my head and fucked my throat with deep, steady strokes, watching the way I took him. Spit ran down my chin and onto his balls. He kept murmuring under his breath how good it felt, how he couldn’t believe how well I was taking it. 

I looked up at him while I sucked, my lips stretched around the thick base of his cock. From below, he was almost unreal. Those dark eyes half-lidded with pleasure, the sharp lines of his face, the heavy black beard, the way the soft light caught the sweat on his chest, he looked like something out of an old exotic film. A Persian prince who’d stepped straight out of a fantasy, too beautiful and too masculine at the same time. I kept my eyes on his while I took him deeper, wanting him to see exactly how much I was enjoying the view. His stare catch mine and he knew that if he wasn’t “straight” he would be with me for life. We both felt that and that was crazy, scary and hot at the same time.

When he got close he pushed deep and came hard, flooding my throat with a second thick load. I swallowed everything, looking up at him while he finished.

Afterward we sat together a little longer. He made coffee. We talked until I had to leave. Then he ordered me another Uber.

I never saw him again.

But I still think about the way he looked at me when I had is cock in my mouth, and the way his voice sounded when he came in my ass. I hope he still thinks about it too. My prince of Persia.

Author’s note: All characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the characters.