Self-Fisting Slave Obeys: 2 Eggplants and Full Fist on Command

The Arab Master’s Fisting Dungeon

In the scorching heat of a hidden villa on the outskirts of Dubai, a secret dungeon pulsed with the raw energy of depravity. The walls, stained with years of sweat and lust, echoed with the whimpers of two gay slaves, Ali and Omar, who knelt on the cold stone floor. Their master, a towering Arab man named Hassan, stood before them, his muscular frame glistening with sweat, his dark eyes burning with sadistic intent. Hassan was a master of pain and pleasure, a man who lived to dominate his gay slaves in the most brutal, very X ways. Tonight, he had one goal: to fist his slaves until they were nothing but gaping, broken toys, begging for more of their master’s cruel touch.

The Slaves’ Submission Begins

Ali, the smaller of the two gay slaves, had been with Hassan for over a year. His body bore the marks of countless sessions—red welts, bruises, and scars that told the story of his devotion to his master. He was a gay slut for pain, and nothing made him harder than the thought of Hassan’s fist stretching him to his limits. Omar, on the other hand, was newer, a muscular sub who had only recently fallen into the master’s clutches. He was still learning the depths of his own gay desires, but the fear in his eyes was matched by a hunger that Hassan could smell from a mile away. “You gay whores think you’re ready for me?” Hassan growled, his voice a deep rumble that sent shivers down the slaves’ spines. “You’ll be screaming for your master before the night is over.”

The Master’s Preparation

Hassan walked over to a rusted metal table in the corner of the dungeon, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. On the table sat a large bottle of lube, a pair of black latex gloves, and a few other tools that made the gay slaves tremble with anticipation. The master picked up the lube, pouring a generous amount into his massive hand, the slick liquid dripping between his fingers. He turned back to his slaves, his cock already straining against his tight leather pants, and smirked. “Strip, slaves,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. Ali and Omar scrambled to obey, shedding their clothes until they were naked, their cocks hard and leaking as they awaited their master’s next move.

The First Slave’s Torment

Hassan pointed at Ali, motioning for the gay slave to crawl forward. “On your knees, ass up, slave,” the master barked, and Ali obeyed instantly, his body trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. He positioned himself on all fours, his hole exposed, already twitching at the thought of what was coming. Hassan knelt behind him, his lubed hand hovering over Ali’s ass, teasing him with the promise of pain. “Beg for it, gay bitch,” the master snarled, slapping Ali’s ass hard enough to leave a red mark. Ali whimpered, his voice breaking as he pleaded, “Please, master, fist me. I need it.” Hassan laughed, a cruel, guttural sound, and pressed his fingers against Ali’s tight hole, pushing in two at once.

The gay slave gasped, his body tensing as the master’s fingers stretched him open. Hassan didn’t go slow—he never did. He added a third finger, then a fourth, working Ali’s hole with a brutal rhythm that made the slave moan and sob at the same time. “You’re nothing but a gay hole for your master,” Hassan spat, his hand moving faster, the wet sounds of lube and flesh filling the dungeon. Ali’s cock dripped pre-cum onto the floor, his mind lost in the haze of submission as the master prepared him for the real torment: a full fist.

The Master’s Brutal Fisting

With a final twist of his fingers, Hassan pulled back, slathering more lube on his hand until it glistened. “Time to take it all, slave,” he growled, tucking his thumb in and pressing his entire fist against Ali’s hole. The gay slave screamed as the master pushed forward, his knuckles breaching the tight ring of muscle with a sickening pop. Hassan didn’t stop, forcing his fist deeper, stretching Ali wider than he’d ever been before. The slave’s body shook, his cries echoing off the walls, but his cock betrayed him, throbbing harder with every inch the master claimed.

Hassan worked his fist in and out, a slow, deliberate rhythm at first, watching as Ali’s hole gaped around him. “Look at that, gay slut,” the master taunted, spitting on Ali’s back as he picked up the pace. “Your hole is mine.” Ali could barely speak, his voice reduced to broken moans as the master fisted him mercilessly, punching his fist deeper with every thrust. The pain was excruciating, but the pleasure was overwhelming, a very X mix that only a gay slave like Ali could crave. He felt like he was being split open, but he loved every second of it, his devotion to his master growing with every brutal thrust.

The Second Slave’s Fearful Turn

Omar watched in horror and arousal as Hassan destroyed Ali’s hole, knowing his turn was next. The gay slave’s cock was rock-hard, but his heart pounded with fear—he’d never been fisted before, and the sight of Ali’s gaping ass made him question if he could handle it. Hassan noticed Omar’s hesitation and yanked his fist from Ali, leaving the slave a sobbing, trembling mess on the floor. “Your turn, slave,” the master barked, grabbing Omar by the hair and dragging him forward. “Don’t you dare fucking resist your master.”

Omar whimpered as Hassan forced him into the same position Ali had been in, his ass up, his hole exposed. The master didn’t waste time—he slathered more lube on his hand, still slick with Ali’s juices, and pressed his fingers against Omar’s tight hole. “Relax, gay bitch, or this’ll hurt more,” Hassan warned, but there was no kindness in his voice. He pushed in three fingers at once, making Omar scream, his body tensing as the master stretched him open. The gay slave’s cries filled the dungeon, but Hassan didn’t care—he added a fourth finger, then his thumb, preparing Omar for the full fist.

The Double Fisting Challenge

With a sadistic grin, Hassan decided to up the ante. He pulled Ali back into position next to Omar, both gay slaves now side by side, their asses up, their holes ready for more. “You slaves are gonna take both my fists,” the master declared, his cock throbbing at the thought. He slathered more lube on both hands, the slick liquid dripping onto the floor, and positioned himself between the two. With one hand, he pressed his fist against Ali’s already gaping hole, sliding in easily, while the other hand breached Omar’s tighter ass, forcing its way in with a brutal thrust.

The gay slaves screamed in unison, their voices a symphony of pain and pleasure as Hassan fisted them both at the same time. Ali, more experienced, took it better, his hole swallowing the master’s fist with ease, but Omar was a mess, his body shaking as he struggled to handle the intrusion. “Shut the fuck up, slave,” Hassan snarled at Omar, slapping his ass hard as he worked his fist deeper. The master’s arms moved in a rhythm, one fist punching into Ali while the other stretched Omar, the wet, obscene sounds of fisting filling the dungeon in a very X display of dominance.

The Slaves’ Breaking Point

Hours passed, and Hassan showed no mercy, fisting his gay slaves until they were both gaping, their holes raw and ruined. Ali was a moaning, drooling mess, his cock leaking a steady stream of pre-cum as the master worked him over. Omar, despite his initial fear, had surrendered completely, his screams turning to moans as he embraced the pain, his gay desire to please his master overriding everything else. “You’re both mine,” Hassan growled, his voice thick with lust as he watched his slaves break under his touch.

The master pulled his fists out, leaving both slaves gaping and trembling, their holes twitching in the aftermath. He stood up, his cock rock-hard, and unzipped his pants, pulling out his massive erection. “On your knees, slaves,” he ordered, and Ali and Omar obeyed, their bodies aching but their minds consumed by the need to serve their master. Hassan jerked himself off, his hand slick with lube, and aimed at the gay slaves’ faces. With a primal roar, he came, spraying his load across their mouths and cheeks, marking them as his property.

The Aftermath of Submission

Ali and Omar collapsed onto the floor, their bodies wrecked, their faces smeared with their master’s cum. Hassan towered over them, wiping his hands on a rag, a satisfied smirk on his face. “You did well, gay slaves,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “But next time, I’ll go deeper.” The slaves nodded weakly, their holes throbbing, their minds consumed by the very X ritual they’d endured. They were Hassan’s, body and soul, forever bound to their Arab master’s brutal fists.

The dungeon fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the gay slaves and the distant drip of water from a leaky pipe. Hassan sat on a chair in the corner, lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling around him as he watched his slaves recover. Ali, still trembling, crawled to the master’s feet, kissing his boots in a final act of submission. Omar, too broken to move, simply lay there, his hole still gaping, his mind replaying the feeling of the master’s fist inside him. They were gay slaves in every sense, their lives revolving around their master’s desires, their bodies molded to his will.

Hassan exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes glinting with dark promise. “Tomorrow, slaves, we’ll add more lube, more pain,” he said, his voice a low growl. “You’ll take two fists each, or I’ll chain you up and leave you here to rot.” The gay slaves nodded, their fear and arousal mixing into a heady cocktail that only a master like Hassan could brew. They were his, completely and utterly, their holes and hearts belonging to the Arab master who had fisted them into submission.