Sex stories

Karim is the kind of man you notice without him saying a word.

Kabyle Algerian, living in a housing project on the northern outskirts of Paris.
25 years old. 6 feet of raw masculinity. Solid arms, broad shoulders, a thick neck. A body carved over the years through boxing, street workouts, and fights.

His style is simple but unmistakable: tight tees, clean tracksuits, spotless Nikes.
Short, sharp hair. A perfectly trimmed beard.
And those eyes — dark, calm, burning with control.
Eyes that cut through you, judge you, dominate you without a sound.

He speaks little. But when he looks at you, you shut the fuck up.
Everything about him is clean. Sharp. Precise.
He has that kind of presence where even in silence, everyone knows: he’s the boss.

He never raises his voice.
He doesn’t need to.
Respect just follows him. Naturally.

Karim doesn’t have friends — he has followers.
Guys who look up to him.
Women who want him, watching him like a dangerous thrill.
And even some guys who lower their gaze the second he locks eyes with them.
He doesn’t care. He knows he’s above them. And he likes that.

He lives how he wants. No boss. No schedule.
No official job — but always cash.
Some say he deals. Others say he protects shop owners. Doesn’t matter.
He always has what he needs, and then some.

He spends hours at the gym.
Punching bags, pull-ups, raw strength.
His body’s a .
He follows no rules but his own.
He doesn’t talk about himself. No need.
Everyone thinks they know his story.

When he was 17, he vanished for a few months.
Rumors say prison. Vengeance? Silence? No one knows.
But when he came back — he was different. Harder. Colder.
Since then, no one dares test him.

Karim doesn’t need anyone. He watches. He acts. Quietly. Hard.

He doesn’t explode — he controls. That’s his real strength.
He rules the night the way he owns the day.
He knows every alley, every stairwell, every basement in the block.

By day, he takes what he wants.
Women — fast, no strings.
He’s too powerful to hold back. Too demanding to commit.
People respect him like a wild raw you admire but never provoke.

At night?
It’s a whole other world.
He moves through shadows. He senses. He chooses.

He gets anything he wants — women, respect, power.
No one blocks his path. Not the guys, not the ladies, not the elders, not the .

He doesn’t need to prove a thing.
He embodies it.
A pure DZ.
A born alpha.

Everyone in the neighborhood knows:
Karim’s not like anyone else.

Every woman imagines what it would be like to be in his bed — even the ones already married or taken.
Some have been there.
They don’t talk.

Even some of the guys feel something.
A mix of desire, admiration… and something they don’t dare name.

And Karim?
He knows.
He accepts it.
Sometimes, he even plays with it.

By 18, he was already a raider.
He knew how to provoke.
How to dominate without saying a word.

He’d slept with more women than most guys twice his age.
Started fucking at 13 — but never had to chase.
They were the ones falling.

Younger. Older. Didn’t matter.
He had nothing to prove.
He knows the looks.
He invites them.
He owns them.

For Karim, it’s about one thing:
Power. Possession. The moment.

He never chases.
They come to him.

He could settle down if he wanted. Get a lady. Do the whole “normal” thing.
But that’s not him.
He doesn’t get attached.
Not because he’s cold — but because no one is on his level.

He takes.
He gives.
He commands.

His body, his scent, his deep voice — everything about him breathes quiet domination.
No yelling. No begging.
You feel it. You just know.

His sex life is intense. Physical. Constant.
But afterward, he’s alone.
There’s a wall no one’s broken through.
No one’s ever touched him emotionally.

Karim hides nothing. He fucks who he wants, when he wants, where he wants.

No girlfriend.
No boss.
No rules.

Women come to him.
He chooses.
He fucks.
And once he’s done, he moves on.

What he wants is simple:
Freedom. Control. Power.
He’s instinct.
He’s flesh.
He’s now.

He doesn’t talk about the past.
He promises nothing for tomorrow.
He imposes himself — here. Now.

He’s never had to explain anything.
Not his choices.
Not his pleasure.

He lives how he is. Raw. Whole.

People whisper when he walks by.
Others fantasize in silence.
But no one laughs.
No one judges.

Because Karim is Karim.

He’s turned the basements of the block into his territory.
Not trashy — raw, like him.

That’s where he rules.
That’s where he lets go.
That’s where he claims.

He doesn’t seduce. He pulls.
He doesn’t ask. He makes it known.

Everyone in the hood knows one thing:

Karim belongs to no one.
But he can have anything —
And anyone —
He wants.