The click of the door was the only warning.
My heart leapt into my throat. The darkness shifted, and his silhouette filled the doorway. He didn’t turn on the light. He just stood there, watching me. I could feel his gaze like a physical touch on my exposed skin, my straining cock, my helplessly spread hole.
“Been thinking about me?” His voice was a low rumble in the dark.
“Yes,” I breathed, pulling against the ropes. “Fuck, Ansh, please.”
He moved then, a shadow detaching itself from the doorframe. I heard the soft rustle of a bag being set down, the click of a small switch. A low, electric buzz filled the room, a promise that made my stomach clench.
He came to the side of the bed, his fingers tracing a slow path up my inner thigh. “You’re still wet. From my mouth. From waiting.” He leaned down, his lips hovering over mine. “Beg for a kiss, randi.”
“Kiss me,” I whispered, arching my neck. “Please, kiss me, Ansh.”
His mouth crashed down on mine. It wasn’t tender. It was a claim. His tongue pushed past my lips, deep and demanding, and I met him with equal hunger, sucking on his tongue, losing myself in the taste of him, the faint, musky hint of myself on his lips. The kiss was all heat and possession, a brutal reminder of who owned this mouth, this body. He kissed me until I was dizzy, until I was moaning into his mouth, my hips twitching uselessly against the bindings.
He broke the kiss, his breath hot on my face. “Good boy.” His hand wrapped around my cock, giving me one slow, firm stroke that made my toes curl. Then the buzzing grew louder.
Something smooth, hard, and vibrating touched the head of my lund. I jerked. It was a vibrator, a sleek black wand, and he pressed it right against my slit. The intense, focused vibrations shot straight up my shaft. I cried out, my back bowing off the bed.
“Ahh! Fuck!”
“That’s it,” he murmured, moving the wand in slow circles. “Just a little taste.” He leaned down and kissed me again, softer this time, a distracting contrast to the electric pleasure buzzing against my cock. His tongue soothed my lips even as the vibrations made my balls draw up tight.
Then his other hand touched me there. Two fingers, slick with something cool—lube—pressed against my open hole. They slid in easily, a smooth, filling stretch. He curled them, searching, and found that spot immediately.
Oh god.
The dual sensation was overwhelming. The frantic buzz on my cockhead, the deep, probing pressure of his fingers inside me. He started a rhythm, fucking me with his fingers, scissoring them, rubbing that perfect place with every thrust, while the vibrator danced over my most sensitive flesh.
“You like that?” he growled, his mouth against my jaw. “My fingers in your chut, my toy on your lund? You’re a fucking playground, Rohit.”
“Yes! Fuck, yes, don’t stop!” I was babbling, my body a live wire. The pleasure coiled, hot and urgent, deep in my gut. It built fast, too fast, a tidal wave ready to break. “Ansh… I’m gonna come… I’m so close…”
“No.” His fingers stilled inside me. The vibrator moved away from the tip of my cock, down to the base, a teasing, maddening hum. The peak receded, leaving me gasping, aching, desperate. “You don’t come until my lund is buried in you. You don’t come until I’m filling you up.”
He started again. Fingers plunging, vibrator buzzing. The build-up was even more intense the second time, a sharp, sweet agony. He kissed me deeply, swallowing my moans, his tongue fucking my mouth in time with his fingers. I was right there, on the edge, my whole body tensing.
“Please,” I sobbed against his lips. “Let me come, Ansh, I need to, I’ll do anything!”
“Not yet.” He pulled his fingers out entirely. The vibrator vanished. The sudden absence was a physical pain. I whimpered, thrashing against the ropes, tears of frustration wetting my temples.
He stood up. I heard the rip of a foil packet, the slick sound of him stroking lube onto his thick lund. The buzz of the vibrator returned, closer to my ear.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I forced my eyes open. He was standing between my splayed legs, his cock gleaming and hard in the dim light. He brought the buzzing wand back to my cock, pressing it right under the head.
“This time,” he said, his voice thick with lust, “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers while this makes you scream. And when you’re begging, when you’re one second from blowing, I’m going to replace my fingers with my lund. And I’m going to pump a massive, sticky load so deep into your pet it’ll drown any chance you ever had. You understand, behenchod?”
“Yes! Fuck, yes, just do it!”
His fingers pushed back inside me, three this time, stretching me wide. The vibrator buzzed relentlessly on my frenulum. The combination was electric, brutal, perfect. He finger-fucked me hard and fast, his knuckles rubbing my prostate with every plunge, while the vibrations melted my spine.
The orgasm gathered, a white-hot supernova in my balls. My breath came in ragged pants. “Ansh… madharchod… I can’t hold it… I’m coming… I’m fucking coming!”
“Now!” he roared.
He ripped his fingers out. In one brutal motion, he shoved my legs up, grabbed my hips, and slammed his lund into my waiting, desperate hole. He buried himself to the root just as my climax detonated.
My world shattered. My cock jerked, pulsing violently, shooting ropes of cum onto my own stomach and chest in hot, wet stripes. But the feeling was distant, secondary to the overwhelming fullness of him pounding into my convulsing channel.
“Take it!” he grunted, his thrusts becoming wild, unhinged. “Take my fucking seed, you bred randi! This is what you’re for! This chut is a fucking cradle for my bachha!”
I could only scream, my body seizing around him, milking him, pulling him deeper. I felt him swell, throb, and then the hot, wet flood began.
It was massive. A thick, gluey gush of cum erupted deep inside my gut, so much it felt like he was inflating me. Pulse after heavy pulse, a seemingly endless torrent of hot, sticky maal filling me beyond capacity. It spilled deep, flooding my insides, a claiming so profound it stole my breath. He ground his hips, pushing it in deeper, groaning as he emptied himself completely.
“Fuck… yes…” he chanted, his body shuddering against mine. “So deep… let it take root… my good, bred cousin…”
He collapsed forward, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his softened cock still lodged inside me, keeping every drop trapped. His lips found mine in a slow, exhausted, possessive kiss. I could taste my own desperation and his triumph.
He broke the kiss, his nose nudging mine. His voice was a rough, satisfied whisper against my lips.
“Feel that? That warmth pooling in your pet? That’s mine. That’s my mark. You’re carrying me now, Rohit. And this is just the first load of many. I’m going to keep filling you, keep breeding you, until this chut accepts every drop and makes it stick.” He kissed me again, slow and deep. “Now, let’s get these ropes off. I want you to feel it leak out of you when you walk. I want you to feel it all night long.”
His weight lifted off me. The ropes were gone from my ankles, my wrists freed. I lay there, sticky and spent, feeling his seed start a slow, warm trickle out of me.
“On your knees,” Ansh said, his voice already thick with renewed command. He stood by the bed, his lund half-hard and glistening with the remnants of his last release. “Clean it. Now.”
I didn’t hesitate. I pushed myself up, my body aching in a hundred delicious ways, and shuffled forward on the mattress. I took him in my mouth, my tongue flattening against the underside of his shaft. The taste was intense, salty and musky, a mix of his cum and my own slick. I licked him clean, base to tip, savoring the filthy cocktail of our fluids.
“That’s it,” he growled, his hand fisting in my hair. “Suck my lund clean, you behenchod. Taste what we made.”
I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, my mouth working over his sensitive head. He hardened fully against my tongue, thick and demanding. He let me suck him for a minute, his hips giving shallow thrusts, before he pulled himself from my lips with a wet pop.
“Enough. Get the toy.”
My stomach flipped. I reached over to the nightstand where the cold, smooth glass dildo lay. The weight of it was familiar, ominous.
“On your back. Legs up,” he ordered.
I obeyed, lying back, pulling my knees to my chest, exposing myself completely. He took the toy from me, slicking it with a squirt of lube from the bottle on the floor. The cold, rounded tip pressed against my overused entrance.
“You’re going to fuck yourself to the edge again,” he said, his eyes locked on mine. “And you’re going to hold it. You’re going to look me in the eye and beg to come while you’re stuffed full of glass. And I’m going to say no.”
He pushed it in. The stretch was immediate, the cold a shocking contrast to the heat of my body. He didn’t give it to me; he made me take it, forcing my hand to wrap around the base and work it in and out. The pressure on my prostate was merciless.
“Fuck,” I moaned, my hips rising to meet the thrusts. The pleasure built fast, a tight coil in my gut. “Ansh…”
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low. He knelt on the bed, watching, his own lund in his fist, stroking slowly. “Tell me what you feel.”
“I feel… your toy… it’s so deep… it’s hitting right there… ahh!” A particularly deep thrust made my vision blur.
“You feel my potential bachha swimming inside you from the last load?” he asked, his tone conversational, cruel. “You feel it mixing with your own maal? Your chut is a fucking soup of us, Rohit.”
The degradation, the graphic truth of it, sent a fresh jolt of arousal through me. I fucked myself faster, the glass sliding in and out with slick, obscene sounds. The edge was rushing toward me, a white-hot cliff.
“I’m close… so close… please…”
“Please what?” He leaned forward, his face inches from mine.
“Please, let me come! I need to shoot my maal, I need it so bad, please, Ansh!”
His hand shot out and squeezed the base of my cock, hard. The orgasm slammed into a wall, receding into a throbbing, agonizing ache. I cried out, tears springing to my eyes.
“No,” he said simply. “Not yet.”
He pulled the toy from me, leaving me empty and trembling. He grabbed another length of rope from the bag. “Hands up. Wrists together.”
I held them up, and he tied them tightly to the wrought-iron headboard. The bite of the rope was secure, final. I was bound again, stretched out, completely vulnerable.
He moved off the bed. I heard him rummage in the bag again. When he returned, he held a short, multi-tailed flogger. The leather straps looked soft, but I knew better.
“On your side. Ass out,” he said, his voice dropping into a darker register.
I rolled onto my side, curling my legs up, presenting my already sore, reddened ass to him. The air felt cool on the heated skin.
The first strike was a surprise. Not a slap, but a swish-thud as the leather tails landed across both cheeks. The sensation was a diffuse sting that bloomed into a deep, radiating heat.
“Ah!”
“Count them,” he ordered.
Swish-thud.
“Two!” I gasped. The sting was sharper this time, lighting up my nerves.
Swish-thud.
“Three!” The pain was merging with the arousal, each strike stoking the fire in my gut. My cock, which had softened, began to fill again.
He laid on a volley—four, five, six, seven—the strikes falling in rapid succession, painting my skin with a hot, delicious pain. I was moaning, pushing my ass back into each blow.
“You love this,” he grunted, pausing to run his hand over the heated flesh. “Your gaand is on fire, and your lund is dripping on my sheets. You’re a fucking pain slut, cousin.”
“Yes!” I sobbed. “More, please, Ansh, give me more!”
Swish-thud. Swish-thud.
“Eight! Nine! Fuck, yes!”
“Beg for my cock,” he demanded, landing another vicious strike. “Beg for it while I mark this ass as mine.”
“Please! Please fuck me! I need your lund in my chut, I need you to fill me up again, please breed your randi cousin right now!”
He dropped the flogger. I heard the tear of another condom wrapper, the slick sound of him rolling it on. His weight dipped the bed behind me. His hand, hot and rough, gripped my hip. The blunt, fat head of his cock pressed against my entrance.
“You’re going to take me deeper than that toy ever could,” he whispered, his lips against my ear. “You’re going to take every inch, and you’re going to come the second I tell you to. And then you’re going to take my seed. Another massive load, Rohit. Another fucking bachha to add to the soup. You ready?”
I was beyond words. I just nodded, frantic, pushing back against him.
He didn’t tease. He shoved forward, burying himself in one long, brutal stroke that stole my breath and filled the world.
“Ansh!” I screamed, my bound hands pulling at the headboard.
“Now,” he growled, his hips already pulling back. “Come for me. Now.”
His command, the overwhelming fullness, the lingering sting on my ass—it all detonated at once. My orgasm ripped through me with no warning, my cock jerking, spilling onto the sheets beneath me in helpless, pulsing stripes. My chut clamped down on his invading length, milking him, pulling him deeper.
He fucked me through it, his thrusts becoming savage, pounding. “Yes! Squeeze my lund, you madharchod! Milk it dry! Take my bachha!”
I felt him swell, throb, and then the hot, wet flood began. Even through the condom, the sensation was immense—a heavy, pulsing gush of liquid heat filling me up, claiming the space he’d carved out. He groaned, grinding his hips deep, pushing it all in as he emptied himself.
He stayed there, buried, his body heavy on mine, his breath hot on my neck. We were both slick with sweat, trembling.
Slowly, he pulled out. He untied my wrists, his hands gentle now. He rolled me onto my back, his eyes scanning my face. He leaned down and kissed me, a deep, slow, claiming kiss that tasted of sweat and salt.
“That’s two loads tonight,” he murmured against my lips, his hand drifting down to press against my lower stomach. “You feel it? Swimming in your pet? I’m not done. I’m going to keep going. All night. Until this chut of yours is so full of my maal it has no choice.
