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The Clandestine Warehouse of Algiers
Ali was a fucking beast mastering the dark, steel-clad depths of a clandestine warehouse on the outskirts of Algiers like a goddamn drill sergeant of cock and control. This Algerian arab gay alpha was a wiry, commanding bastard—six-foot, skin toughened by years of street fights, with a chest matted with coarse black hair and a beard that hung sharp and trimmed like a taskmaster’s whip. At 37, he’d trained and fucked every desperate slut who entered his secret lair, his cock a brutal ten-inch rod of veiny meat that disciplined asses raw and left throats choking. His dark, sweat-slick body reeked of oil, leather, and unyielding dominance, and those cold, calculating eyes promised to break you and mold you into his perfect bitch.
Tonight, his balls were heavy, swinging low in his tight jeans, throbbing with a load built up from hours of barking orders and breaking in new recruits. The air stank of rust, sweat, and his own savage musk as he prowled the back of the warehouse—the kind of hidden shithole where arab gay wannabes came to get their holes trained under his iron rule. Ali didn’t give a fuck about the cops or the pious pricks who’d gut him—he was the master of this underground empire. His black tank top clung to his hairy pecs, soaked with sweat, and his jeans strained under a bulge that pulsed like a fucking machine ready to grind.
The New Recruit in the Cage
That’s when he saw him—Sami, a skinny little arab gay twink, barely 20, locked in a makeshift cage Ali had rigged from steel bars, trembling with anticipation. Lean and smooth, with dark eyes full of nervous submission and lips soft from begging, he was a fresh recruit begging to be trained into a slut. Ali’s cock twitched, leaking a thick wad of precum into his jeans. “Hey, ya little cage-slut,” he growled, voice rough from commanding his stable all day. “You here to get your ass trained, or you just shivering with your tiny dick?”
Sami muttered some bullshit about proving himself, his hands shaking, but Ali wasn’t here for excuses. He stomped over, boots clanging on the concrete, and unlocked the cage, yanking the twink out with one brutal tug. “Don’t fucking lie to me, ya arab gay trainee-bitch—I know a needy hole when I smell one,” he snarled, shoving Sami against a steel table. The twink’s small prick was already stiff, tenting his ragged shorts. Ali grinned—this rookie was his to shape. He dragged Sami to a corner lined with chains, threw him down onto the cold floor, and ripped those shorts off, exposing a tight, quivering asshole that screamed to be fucking disciplined.
Choking on Trainer Meat
“Mouth open, now, you cock-sucking recruit,” Ali barked, unzipping his jeans with a grunt. His cock sprang free—a ten-inch arab gay rod, thick and veiny, dripping with sweaty precum that stank of leather and raw authority. Sami’s jaw dropped, choking as Ali rammed it in deep, spearing his throat with one savage thrust. “Suck it, you worthless cunt,” he roared, grabbing Sami’s hair and skull-fucking him so hard the twink’s head banged against the table, his lips stretching wide around the alpha’s filthy meat.
Spit and sweat mixed, coating Sami’s face as he gagged and retched, but the little slut moaned like a trainee under the lash, slurping and choking on that brutal arab gay dick with desperate need. Ali didn’t let up—he gripped the twink’s head with both hands, fingers digging into greasy hair, and pounded his throat like he was drilling obedience, his balls slapping Sami’s chin with wet, gritty smacks that echoed through the warehouse. “You love choking on this trainer cock, don’t you, ya cage-trash?” he spat, watching Sami’s eyes water and roll back as his throat bulged. The twink’s hands clawed at the floor, but Ali kept ramming, turning that mouth into a sloppy, drooling wreck until he yanked out, leaving Sami gasping and coughing up spit like a broken toy.
Training the Quivering Hole Raw
Ali wasn’t done—he flipped Sami onto his knees on the cold floor, ass up like a bitch in boot camp, and spat a thick, oily glob onto that tight asshole. “Time to get your fucking guts trained, ya arab gay slut-in-waiting,” he sneered, lining up his cock and slamming it in raw with one brutal thrust that sank him balls-deep. Sami screamed like a recruit at drill, his hole tearing open, a trickle of blood mixing with the spit as Ali laughed—a deep, guttural growl—and started pounding like a goddamn machine press, relentless and unforgiving.
The twink’s knees scraped against the concrete, his skinny body jerking with every savage thrust, but Ali didn’t give a shit. He grabbed Sami’s hips, nails gouging into smooth flesh, and drilled so deep the kid’s guts shifted, his belly bulging with every slam. “Beg for it, you quivering slut—scream for my dick to train you,” he roared, smacking Sami’s ass with a rough hand until it was raw and red, the skin welted and bruised. “Please, fuck me, train my hole!” Sami sobbed, his voice cracking as his pathetic dick leaked precum onto the floor. Ali grinned, his teeth bared like a drillmaster, loving the power, knowing he could break this arab gay recruit into a whimpering, cum-soaked slut.
Fucking Like Warehouse Beasts
Sweat poured off Ali’s hairy frame, soaking his tank top and dripping onto Sami’s back as he jackhammered that ass into a gaping, sloppy crater. His balls slapped the twink’s thighs, heavy and wet with warehouse grime, while Sami clawed at the floor, drooling and wailing like a brain-dead fucktoy lost in the grind of pain and pleasure. “You love this arab gay cock training your shithole, huh, ya filthy trainee-bitch?” Ali taunted, yanking Sami’s head back by the hair and slamming in so hard the twink’s insides churned, his prostate pounded to mush. “Yes, fuck, wreck me, mold me!” Sami howled, his ass clenching and farting wetly around the alpha’s dick, oil grinding into the mess.
Ali flipped the slut onto his back on the cold floor, grabbing those skinny legs and spreading them wide like a chained prisoner, exposing that wrecked, bloody hole. “Look at me while I train your fucking soul,” he spat, plunging back in with a nasty, wet squelch, his cock sliding through a mess of sweat, blood, and ass-juice that coated his shaft. Sami’s dark eyes locked on his, wide with submission, as Ali fucked him senseless, the concrete trembling under the brutal force. The warehouse stank of sweat, cum, and raw, animal sex—a perfect training ground for an alpha like Ali to dominate and discipline his prey under the steel roof.
Blowing a Disciplined Load
The pace turned feral—Ali’s wiry frame tensed, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he chased his nut, his muscles flexing with every brutal thrust. Sami was a babbling, cum-drunk wreck, clawing at Ali’s hairy chest with greasy hands, screaming, “Fill my fucking ass, Trainer, flood me, make me your slut!” That snapped it—Ali roared like a goddamn drill command, slamming in so hard Sami’s hips slid across the floor, and unleashed a torrent of thick, stinking cum straight into that wrecked hole. Rope after rope blasted out, hot and endless, overflowing and oozing down the twink’s thighs onto the concrete as he convulsed, his own tiny dick spurting a weak, watery load across his belly, mixing with the grime.
Ali yanked out with a wet, sloppy pop, his cock dripping cum, blood, and ass-juice, a glistening mess swinging between his legs. He spat a fat, oily glob onto Sami’s fucked-out face, coating his lips, and smirked, his chest heaving. “Good little trained bitch. Next time, I’m chaining you to the wall and fucking you ’til you’re a perfect slut.” He stomped off, leaving the twink twitching on the floor, ass leaking like a busted pipe, mind completely shattered from the disciplined, raw training he’d just endured.
The Alpha’s Training Den
Algiers’ underworld buzzed with whispers the next day. Every arab gay slut in the city was jerking off to Ali’s name, trading tales of his savage fucks and that Algerian cock that turned tight holes into dripping, trained wrecks. He didn’t give a fuck—he kept prowling, a arab gay god ruling the warehouses. Sami couldn’t walk for days, limping through the streets with a wrecked ass, beating his meat raw every night to the memory of being trained open by the alpha, oil still smeared on his bruises.
Ali was already scouting again. He’d trained half the recruits in Algiers, leaving a trail of limping, cum-soaked sluts, but his hunger was endless—every cage, every dark corner was a chance to claim another hole, to assert his dominance over the arab gay clandestine underworld. He’d piss on the laws, spit on the weak, and keep ramming his way through, an Algerian slut trainer carving his legend in the flesh of every sub dumb enough to sign up for his lessons.
