His mouth was on mine before I could protest, before I could think. Ansh’s lips were hot, insistent, and tasted like stolen whiskey and desperation. My back hit the wall, the breath knocked out of me, but his tongue was already pushing past my lips, claiming the space.
God, he kissed like he fought. All possession and no patience.
I tried to turn my head, a weak, token gesture. His hand fisted in my hair, holding me still. “Open,” he growled against my mouth, and I did. I always did for him. My lips parted wider, letting him deepen the kiss, letting his tongue explore every fucking corner of my mouth. The tenderness from years of stolen glances was gone, burned away by this raw, ugly need. My hands came up, not to push him away, but to clutch at his shoulders, the cotton of his shirt straining under my grip.
We broke for air, foreheads pressed together, breaths sawing in the dark room.
“Ansh—” I started, my voice a ragged whisper.
“Shut up, Rohit.” His eyes were black, pupils blown. “You’ve been asking for this. With every look, every time you ‘accidentally’ brushed against me. Your tight little jeans. Your fucking eyes.”
He kissed me again, softer this time, a brutal contrast. His lips moved over mine, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, biting it gently before soothing it with his tongue. I melted into it, a pathetic groan escaping me. My lund was already hard, straining against my pants, pressing into his thigh.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his mouth trailing down my jaw to my throat. He sucked hard, and I knew he was marking me. “My fucking randi cousin. You want this. Tell me you want it.”
I couldn’t form the words. My head fell back against the wall with a dull thud. His hands were everywhere, pulling my shirt over my head, then his own. The heat of his skin against mine was a shock. His chest was broad, hard, and I ran my palms over it, feeling the crisp hair, the hammering of his heart.
“I want it,” I finally choked out. “Fuck, Ansh, I want it.”
He made a sound, something between a laugh and a snarl. He shoved me backward, and I stumbled onto the bed, landing on my back. He was on me in a second, his weight pinning me down, his knees forcing my tangein apart. He looked down at me, his expression fierce.
“You were born for this,” he said, his voice low and rough. “To take my lund. To be my dirty little secret.”
His words should have shamed me. Instead, fire licked up my spine. “Yes,” I hissed.
He undid my jeans, yanking them and my underwear down my hips in one rough motion. The cool air hit my bare skin, then his hot hand wrapped around my cock, stroking me once, twice, making me arch off the bed.
“Look at you,” he breathed. “So fucking hard for me. Your chut is waiting for me, isn’t it?”
I flinched at the crude word, but the heat in my gut coiled tighter. He spat into his palm, slicking himself, and then I felt the blunt, insistent pressure of his cockhead against me. He wasn’t going to be gentle. He leaned down, capturing my mouth again in a searing kiss as he pushed forward.
The burn was sharp, intense. I cried out into his mouth, my nails digging into his back. He swallowed the sound, his tongue plundering my mouth as his lund slowly, relentlessly, filled me up.
“Tight,” he grunted, breaking the kiss, his forehead beaded with sweat. “So fucking tight, Rohit. Like a virgin chut.”
“Fuck you,” I gasped, the stretch overwhelming.
“No,” he said, pulling back almost all the way before slamming back in, making me see stars. “Fuck you. I’m fucking you. I’m going to breed this tight gaand until you can’t walk straight.”
He set a brutal pace from the start. Each thrust punched the air from my lungs. The bed slammed against the wall with a rhythmic, obscene thud. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust.
“Whose chut is this?” he demanded, his hips pistoning.
“Yours!” I shouted, the pleasure building into something unbearable.
“Whose seed are you going to take?”
“Yours! Ansh, please!”
“You want me to fill you up? You want me to put a bachha in you, you behenchod?”
The vulgarity, the terrifying promise, tipped me over the edge. “Yes! Fuck, yes! Do it! Breed me, you madharchod!”
My orgasm ripped through me, blinding white and violent. My cock jerked between us, spilling wet heat onto my stomach and chest. I clamped down around him, milking his lund as I shuddered through it.
He groaned, a deep, guttural sound. “Taking it… taking my come like a good randi…”
His thrusts became erratic, harder, deeper. I was oversensitive, wrung out, but I held on, clutching him as he chased his finish.
“I’m gonna fill you… gonna pump this chut so full…”
With a final, savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came.
It wasn’t a trickle. It was a flood. A hot, thick, massive rush of it, painting my insides. I felt the pulses, one after another, a seemingly endless spill of his seed deep inside me. He ground his hips, pushing it deeper, making sure not a drop was wasted. A low, continuous moan tore from his throat as he emptied himself.
He collapsed on top of me, his weight a sweet, crushing anchor. We were both slick with sweat and come, breathing in ragged unison. He was still inside me, still hard, still twitching.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of our breathing and the sticky, wet sound of his cum inside me.
Then he shifted, just a little, and I felt more of that hot, gluey spend leak out around where we were joined, a messy, intimate proof.
“Fuck,” he whispered into my neck, his voice wrecked.
He didn’t pull out. He just lay there, keeping me pinned, keeping me filled. His lips found my shoulder, kissing it softly, a shocking contrast to the filth he’d been spitting seconds before.
“You feel that?” he murmured, his hips giving a tiny, possessive roll. “All that maal I put in you? It’s gonna take. You know that, right?”
He didn’t pull out. He just lay there, his weight heavy and perfect on top of me, his lund still buried deep, still pulsing softly inside my used chut. I could feel his cum, hot and thick, a gluey pool in my gut.
His lips brushed my shoulder, then my neck. Then they found mine again.
This kiss was different. Slower. Softer. It wasn’t a claim; it was a question. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened for him with a sigh. Fuck. It was tender, almost sweet, and it made my chest ache. I kissed him back, my hands coming up to cradle his rough jaw. We kissed like that for a long time, just our mouths moving, our breaths mingling, the mess between us forgotten.
He broke the kiss, his dark eyes searching mine. “You’re mine now,” he said again, but his voice was low, a rumble I felt in my bones.
“I know,” I whispered.
He shifted then, rolling us. The movement made his softening cock slip from my body with a wet, lewd sound, and a gush of his spend followed, warm on my thigh. I gasped at the sudden emptiness, the loss.
“On your knees,” he ordered, his voice already hardening back to that dominant growl.
“Ansh—”
“Now, Rohit.”
I moved, my body sore and pliant. I got up on my knees on the mattress, facing him. He sat back against the headboard, his lund already thickening again, jutting up from the dark thatch of hair, slick with our mixed fluids.
“Come here,” he said, patting his thigh. “Ride me. Show me how much you want it.”
My heart hammered. I crawled over him, straddling his hips. I looked down at his cock, at the flushed head beading with fresh moisture. I reached between my legs to guide him, my hand trembling.
“Look at me,” Ansh commanded.
I raised my eyes to his. He gripped my hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Now, take it. All of it. Slow.”
I sank down. The stretch was intense, familiar now, a burn that melted into a deep, filling ache. I moaned, my head falling back as I took him inch by inch until I was seated fully, his pelvis grinding against my ass.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes locked on where we were joined. “Look at that. Your chut swallowing my lund whole. You’re a natural randi.”
His words sent a jolt through me. I began to move, rocking my hips tentatively.
“No,” he snapped, his grip tightening like vices. “I control this. You just take it.” He lifted me effortlessly, almost pulling me off him, then slammed me back down onto his shaft.
A sharp cry tore from my throat. Pleasure, raw and electric, shot up my spine.
“Again,” he grunted, and he did it again, lifting and dropping me, setting a punishing rhythm that was entirely his. My hands flailed, landing on his broad shoulders for purchase. I was just a doll, a warm, tight hole for him to use. The degradation of it, the complete surrender, made my own cock jerk between us, leaking pre-come onto his stomach.
“You like that, don’t you?” he rasped, his thrusts upward meeting his hands yanking me down. “You love being my little fucktoy. Tell me.”
“I love it,” I choked out, the bedsprings squeaking beneath us. “I love your lund, Ansh. Fuck, it’s so deep.”
“Whose is it?”
“Yours! It’s your lund, your chut!”
“Damn right.” He shifted his angle, and on the next downward plunge, he hit a spot inside me that made my vision whiten. A broken sob escaped me. “There it is,” he snarled, a cruel smile on his lips. “Found your spot, you behenchod. Beg for it. Beg me to fuck it.”
“Please! Ansh, please, fuck that spot, please!” I was babbling, my body shaking. “Use me, fuck your randi cousin’s chut, please!”
He rewarded me, his hips pistoning up, drilling into that perfect, mind-numbing place with relentless precision. The slapping sound of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with my ragged pleas and his guttural grunts.
“You were born for this,” he panted, his own control fraying. “Born to take my cock, to take my seed. I’m gonna knock you up, Rohit. I’m gonna put a bachha so deep in your pet that you’ll never forget who owns you.”
The filthy promise coiled in my belly, a heat hotter than the friction. I was close, so close.
He must have seen it on my face. “Not yet,” he ordered. Suddenly, he wrapped an arm around my waist and flipped us. I landed on my back with a whump, and before I could process it, he’d rolled me over, shoved me up onto my hands and knees, and dragged me to the edge of the bed.
His body covered mine, his chest hot against my sweaty back. One hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back. The other clamped back on my hip.
“This is how I really want you,” he hissed in my ear. “Bent over. Presenting your gaand like the fucking whore you are.”
He didn’t wait. He drove into me in one brutal, reaming thrust. I screamed, my knuckles turning white on the sheets.
He set a pace that was pure punishment, each snap of his hips slamming me forward. The bed rocked violently. His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips, sure to leave dark purple marks.
“So fucking good,” he grunted, his breath hot on my neck. “This chut was made for my cock. Look how you take it. You’re a masterpiece, Rohit. A filthy, perfect masterpiece.”
The praise amidst the degradation broke me. Tears streaked my face, but I was pushing back against him, meeting every thrust, my own cock hanging heavy and neglected, slapping against my stomach.
“I’m gonna come,” I sobbed. “Ansh, I’m gonna—”
“You’ll come when I tell you to,” he growled, his pace becoming erratic, harder, faster. “You’ll come when you feel my maal flooding this chut. You understand? You take my load first.”
He was losing it. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming deep, grinding lunges. “Gonna fill you… gonna pump this chut so full it leaks for days…”
His words tipped me over. My orgasm crashed into me without permission, a silent, seizing wave that locked my muscles and tore a soundless scream from my throat. My cock jerked, spilling onto the sheets beneath me in helpless pulses.
Feeling me clamp down around him, Ansh roared. He buried himself to the root and held there.
His release was massive.
A hot, thick, glue-like flood erupted inside me. It wasn’t a few spurts; it was a continuous, heavy gush, filling me beyond what I thought possible. I felt it, pulse after relentless pulse, a seemingly endless stream of his seed pumping deep into my gut. It was so much, so fucking much, it began to leak out almost immediately around the stretch of his cock, a hot trickle down my tangein.
“Yes… take it all, you madharchod… take every fucking drop…” he chanted, his body shuddering against mine as he emptied himself completely.
Finally, the torrent slowed. He stayed buried, his grip on my hip and hair loosening to a trembling caress. We were both panting, dripping, a mess of sweat and cum.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing my ear. “Feel that?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and triumph. He gave one last, shallow grind, and more of that thick, white spend oozed out of me. “That’s my mark. That’s what happens when I breed my cousin raw.”
He slowly, slowly pulled out.
A gush of his cum followed, a warm, sticky flood that spilled down my thighs and onto the floor. The sound was obscenely wet. I stayed on my knees, trembling, feeling the profound, liquid emptiness.
His hand, surprisingly gentle, smoothed over the curve of my ass. “Look at that,” he murmured. “Look at all that maal I put in you. Wasted on the sheets. Should have kept it plugged in you.”
He pushed two fingers back into my slippery, used hole. I gasped, clenching around them.
“Still hungry for it?” he said, his voice dark with a promise.
