He pulled the glass toy from my chut with a slick, hollow sound. I shuddered, feeling emptier than ever.
“On the bed. Now,” Ansh said, his voice a low thrum of command.
I crawled onto the mattress, my body aching, my face still sticky with his drying spend. He followed, his weight dipping the mattress. He didn’t lie down. He sat back against the headboard, his legs spread, his lund already thick and ready against his stomach. He patted his thigh.
“You know the position. Straddle me. I want to watch your face while you fuck yourself on my cock.”
My throat tightened, but the heat in my gut coiled, eager and shameful. I moved over him, swinging one taang over his hips, kneeling over his lap. His hands settled on my waist, his grip firm.
“Guide me in,” he ordered, his eyes dark pits. “I want to feel your hands on my lund, you behenchod.”
I reached between us, my fingers wrapping around his hot, hard shaft. I positioned the slick head against my sore, stretched entrance. I took a breath, looking into his eyes as I began to sink down.
“Slow,” he growled, his fingers digging in. “Make it last.”
The stretch was a familiar, burning ache. I moaned, lowering myself inch by agonizing inch until I was fully impaled, his pelvis snug against my ass. I was so full, so completely occupied.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, his head falling back for a second. “Your chut is still so tight. Like it’s trying to milk me already.” His eyes snapped back to mine. “Now move. Ride me. And don’t you dare go fast.”
I started to rock my hips, a slow, grinding motion. The friction was exquisite, deep. His hands stayed on my waist, guiding the pace, keeping it languid and torturous.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Work for it, randi. Earn my come.”
I leaned forward, bracing my hands on his broad shoulders, and increased the rhythm just a fraction. The new angle made his lund rub directly over that perfect, sensitive spot inside me. A gasp punched out of me.
“Feels good?” he asked, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
“Yes,” I panted.
“Tell me.”
“It feels… fuck… it feels so good, Ansh. Your lund is so deep.”
“Whose is it?”
“Yours. It’s your lund. My chut is yours.”
“Good boy.” One of his hands left my waist. I had a second to wonder before his palm connected with the curve of my ass in a sharp, stinging slap.
The sound cracked through the room. The pain was bright, shocking, and it melted instantly into a wave of heat that made my own cock jump. I cried out, my hips stuttering.
“Did I say you could stop?” he said, his voice calm. He spanked me again, on the other cheek. The twin burns bloomed under my skin. “Keep riding. And beg for it.”
“Please,” I moaned, resuming the slow, grinding bounce. “Please, Ansh.”
“Please what?”
“Please… spank me again. Please, I need it.”
His hand came down harder, three rapid strikes in succession. Smack. Smack. Smack. Each impact jolted me, sent pleasure zinging up my spine, made me clench around his invading length.
“You love this, don’t you?” he grunted, spanking me in time with my downward thrusts now. “You love being my bruised, fucked-out little cousin. Beg for more.”
“More! Please, give me more! Spank your randi’s gaand, please, Ansh!” I was babbling, my movements becoming less controlled, driven by the sharp sting and the deep, building pleasure.
He obliged, his hand raining down on my ass cheeks, turning the skin hot and tender. The degradation was absolute. The praise was in his eyes, in the way he watched me fall apart.
“Look at you,” he breathed, his own rhythm faltering as he thrust up to meet me. “Taking my cock, taking my hand. You’re perfect. A filthy, perfect chudai machine. Made for me.”
He grabbed my hips then, stilling me, holding me down on his shaft as he looked up at me. His expression was fierce, possessive. “You want my seed? Really want it?”
“Yes! Please, I need it!”
“You want me to breed this tight chut? To pump you so full of my bachha that it takes root?”
The words, the terrifying, thrilling promise, pushed me to the edge. “Yes! Breed me, Ansh! Knock me up, you madharchod! I want your maal inside me, I want to feel it for days!”
His control snapped. With a roar, he flipped us, tearing his lund from my body and manhandling me onto my hands and knees in one violent motion. He shoved my shoulders down, arching my back, exposing my throbbing, well-spanked ass.
He didn’t enter me. Not yet.
His hand came down on my sore flesh again, a final, punishing blow. “Beg for my cock. Now.”
“Fuck me! Please, Ansh, fuck me raw! I need your lund in my chut, I need you to come inside me, please!”
He drove into me with a single, brutal thrust, sheathing himself to the balls. The force knocked the air from my lungs. He didn’t wait, didn’t build a rhythm. He just fucked me, hard and fast and deep, his hips slamming against my tender ass with every piston stroke.
The bed shuddered. The sound of skin on sweaty skin filled the air, mixed with my choked sobs and his guttural curses.
“This… is… my… chut!” he grunted with each thrust. “You… take… my… lund… you… take… my… bachha!”
I was screaming, my fingers clawing at the sheets, my body hurtling toward another climax. The overstimulation was immense, the pleasure-pain a dizzying cocktail.
“I’m coming!” I shrieked. “Ansh, I’m gonna—”
“Come!” he shouted. “Come all over yourself, you behenchod! But you stay open for me! You take my load!”
His permission was all I needed. My orgasm tore through me, violent and dry, my spent cock jerking helplessly as my body seized around his pounding length. The convulsions milked him, and with a final, ground-out groan, he buried himself and let go.
It was another massive, glue-like flood.
A hot, thick, seemingly endless gush of his cum erupted deep inside my gut. I felt every pulse, a heavy, wet rush that filled me beyond capacity. It was so much, so fucking much, it had nowhere to go but deeper. He ground his hips, pushing it in, his body shuddering against mine as he emptied what felt like a week’s worth of pent-up seed into my willing hole.
“Yes… take it all… every drop… let it take…” he chanted, his voice ragged.
Finally, the torrent subsided to a trickle. He stayed buried, his body heavy on my back, his breath hot on my neck. We were both slick, breathing in ragged gasps.
Slowly, he pulled out.
A warm, sticky gush of his thick, white spend followed immediately, spilling out of my used hole and down my tangein in a messy, continuous flow. The sound was obscenely wet.
He didn’t let me collapse. He rolled me onto my back, his hands rough, his eyes blazing. He shoved my legs up and apart, kneeling between them, looking down at the mess he’d made.
His cum was still leaking out of me, a white, creamy trickle against my skin.
“Look at that,” he whispered, raw awe in his voice. He pushed two fingers back inside me, easily, through the slick, liquid proof of his ownership. He scooped out a glob of his own thick spend and brought it to my lips. “Taste it. Taste what I put in you.”
I opened my mouth, and he smeared the warm, salty fluid over my tongue. I swallowed, my eyes never leaving his.
“You’re full of me,” he said, his voice dropping to a possessive murmur. He leaned down, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was shockingly tender after the violence. “My seed is swimming in your pet right now. You feel it?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“It’s gonna stay there,” he promised, his lips trailing to my ear. “I’m not letting you push it out. You’re gonna walk around tomorrow, sore and full of me, and every time you move, you’ll feel it. You’ll remember who you belong to.”
He kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue claiming my mouth. When he broke away, his eyes held a dark, unspoken challenge.
“Now,” he said, his hand stroking his lund, which was already hardening again against my thigh.
