The silence after Master’s final command was a physical thing, thick and heavy with anticipation. Rohan’s eyes, dark and possessive, never left mine as he moved behind me. His hands landed on my hips, his grip firm, claiming.
“Truth or dare, you said, Master,” Rohan began, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through my body. “So here’s the truth of how I’d fuck Dhruv. I wouldn’t be gentle. I wouldn’t be sweet.” He leaned in, his breath hot on my ear. “I’d flip you over onto your stomach, pinning you down so all you could do is take it. I’d spit on my cock and shove it into your tight, untouched ass without any more warning.”
A violent shiver wracked my body. My own caged dick gave a painful, hopeless throb.
“I’d start slow, just to feel you clench around me,” he continued, one hand sliding around to roughly stroke my caged length, making me whimper. “Just to feel your fucking virgin hole struggle to adjust to my size. And then I’d ruin you. I’d pound into you like an animal, fucking the resistance right out of you. I’d make you scream my name until you forget Master’s. I’d make you my fucking creampie dump.”
His words were a violation in themselves, painting a picture so vivid I could almost feel it. Master’s low chuckle echoed from the phone. “A vivid imagination, Rohan. But it seems a shame to keep it a fantasy. Aryan. Get over there. Now.”
Aryan, his expression a mix of shock and raw hunger, scrambled off the bed and knelt behind me, next to Rohan.
“You heard his description,” Master purred. “Now, you will both try to make it a reality. You will both take turns fucking his ass with your caged cocks. You will try to ruin him together.”
Rohan spat onto his plastic cage, slicking it. Aryan, following his lead, did the same. The dual pressure against my entrance was overwhelming—two blunt, hard, unyielding points vying for entry.
“You want this, you filthy slut?” Rohan growled, grinding his cage against me.
“Yes! Fuck yes!” I cried, pushing back against them.
“Then beg for it. Beg for both of us.”
“Please! Please, Rohan, fuck my ass with your cage! Please, Aryan, fuck me too! I need it! I need to feel you both trying to wreck my hole! I need to be your shared fucking toy!”
Rohan pushed first, the smooth plastic pressing, stretching my rim with a dull, persistent ache. It was a fraction more than before, the prolonged torment making my body more pliant, more desperate. Just as the pressure peaked, he pulled back.
Aryan immediately took his place, thrusting his own cage forward. The sensation was the same, yet different—a new angle, a new presence. The rhythm began: Rohan’s push, a stretch, a retreat. Aryan’s push, a different stretch, a retreat. Over and over. It was a torment of almost-ness, a brutal simulation of being passed between them, used and worthless.
“Look at him,” Rohan grunted, his voice strained with effort. “His hole is sucking at the air, trying to find a real cock to milk. It’s so fucking empty.”
“It’s beautiful,” Aryan breathed, his thrusts becoming more confident, more aggressive. “It’s gaping for us, Master. It wants to be filled so badly.”
The dual rhythm was driving me insane. The constant pressure, the shame of being so openly presented and so utterly failed by both of them, the frustrated ache in my own trapped cock—it all coalesced into a peak of pure degradation.
“Stop,” Master commanded.
They stilled instantly.
“Dhruv. I have a new task for you. Since their cocks are too useless to truly fuck you, you will fuck yourself. Turn around. On your hands and knees. And lower your mouth to your own ass. I want you to try to eat yourself out while they watch. I want you to taste the hole they’ve been trying to claim.”
The command was so depraved, so impossibly filthy, that a fresh wave of heat flooded my face. But my body was already moving, obeying without question. I curled myself into a tight, humiliating ball, bringing my face down towards my own exposed rear. Rohan and Aryan shifted to get a better view, their breathing harsh.
I strained, my back protesting, my neck craning. The tip of my tongue touched skin—my own skin. Salty. Musky. The intimate scent of my own arousal and sweat filled my nostrils. I licked a stripe over my own rim, the act so bizarre and debased that a broken sob escaped me.
“Oh my god,” Aryan whispered, mesmerized.
“He’s actually doing it,” Rohan said, his voice full of awe. “The filthy fucking pig is eating his own ass for us.”
I did it again, lapping at myself, my tongue circling the tight ring of muscle that had just been abused by their plastic cocks. The taste was me, but it was also them. It was submission. It was everything.
“Enough,” Master said, his voice thick with lust. “That’s enough. Now, back to your work. Both of you. Fuck him. Now. And Dhruv… you will beg. Not for their pathetic plastic. You will beg for my creampie. You will beg for my cum while they pretend to fuck you. Do not stop until I am satisfied.”
Rohan and Aryan resumed their rhythm with renewed vigor, their caged cocks slamming against me in alternating strokes. The bed shook with their efforts.
And I broke. The words poured out of me, a filthy river of need directed at the phone, at the man who held our very souls in his hand.
“Please, Master Ansh! I need your creampie! I need your real, fat, uncaged cock splitting me open! I need to feel your hot fucking load painting my insides! I want to be your perfect, dripping little boy, Master! Please, gift it to me! I’m begging you! I’ll be so good for it! This useless hole needs to be owned by you! It needs to be fertilized by you! Please, fuck me and fill me, Master! I’m nothing without your cum!”
Rohan’s thrusts became punishing. “You hear that, you whore? You beg for him while we’re the ones fucking you!”
“You belong to him even when we’re inside you!” Aryan grunted, slamming his cage against me.
The contradiction was exquisite—their physical presence, his psychological dominance. I was being fucked by two men yet owned completely by a third.
“You beg so prettily, Dhruv,” Master moaned. I could hear the wet, frantic sounds of him stroking himself. “You were born to be my creampie dump. But a dump can only serve one purpose. So now, you will choose.”
The words sliced through the fog of my need. Choose?
“Rohan and Aryan will not stop,” he continued, his voice hardening. “They will continue to fuck you with their caged cocks. And while they are fucking you, you will decide. Which one of them will be the recipient of my gift? Which one of them will I order to kneel beneath you, to catch my load as it drips from your well-used hole? You will choose your creampie dump’s dump. Decide now, Dhruv. Who wants my cum more? Who deserves to taste you and me mixed together? Tell me.”
The demand was cruel, impossible. Rohan’s rhythm became more possessive, more demanding. Aryan’s thrusts turned pleading, almost desperate. Both were vying for the honor, fucking me as if their performance could sway my decision.
I opened my mouth, the choice lodged in my throat, as two plastic cocks vied for a dominance they could never truly achieve.
