The phone glowed in the dim light of my bedroom, another night spent scrolling through a curated feed of leather, rope, and powerful silhouettes. My thumb paused on a photo. Ansh. The name was simple, the man was not. He was all sharp jawline and dark, piercing eyes that seemed to look right through the screen, through me. A caption read: ‘Discipline is the highest form of care.’ My heart hammered against my ribs. I took a shaky breath and typed a DM before I could lose my nerve.
‘Hi. I saw your profile. I’m… curious.’
I didn’t expect a reply, not from someone who looked like that. But my phone buzzed barely a minute later.
Ansh: Curious is a good starting point. What intrigues you, boy?
The word ‘boy’ sent a jolt straight to my cock. I fumbled typing a response.
Me: Everything. I don’t know anything, not really. Just what I’ve read. I want to know what it feels like.
Ansh: Feels like to be owned? To have your every pleasure and pain controlled by someone who knows exactly what you need?
Yes, I thought, my skin heating. Exactly that.
Me: How do you know what I need?
Ansh: Because you messaged me. You’re a good boy looking for a firm hand. Aren’t you?
I was already hard, my thin pajama pants doing nothing to hide it. I typed back, my fingers trembling.
Me: I think I am.
Ansh: Think? We will need more certainty than that. But we can start with a trial. Online. My rules. Your obedience. Do you agree?
A trial. This was happening. A rush of fear and dizzying excitement flooded me.
Me: I agree.
Ansh: Good. First rule: You will call me Master. Say it.
I licked my lips, my throat dry. I typed the word, feeling its weight.
Me: Master.
Ansh: Very good, boy. Now, I want you to get comfortable. Take your clothes off. All of them. I want you naked for me.
A thrill, sharp and electric, shot through me. I kicked off my pants and pulled my shirt over my head, the cool air hitting my bare skin. I was completely exposed, alone in my room, yet I felt his gaze on me.
Me: I’m naked, Master.
Ansh: Touch yourself. Slowly. I want to know what my new boy feels like. Start with your chest. Tell me.
My hand drifted to my chest, fingers brushing over a nipple. It peaked instantly under my touch.
Me: My nipples are hard, Master. Really sensitive.
Ansh: Pinch one. Harder. Don’t be gentle. You’re not here for gentle. You’re here to feel everything.
I obeyed, gasping as a bright spark of pain-pleasure made me arch my back. Fuck.
Me: It hurts, Master. But it feels good.
Ansh: Of course it does. You were made for this, you filthy little thing. Made to take a little pain for a lot of pleasure. Now move your hand down. Tell me about your cock. Is it hard for me?
My hand slid down my stomach, wrapping around my aching dick. I was leaking already, pre-cum slicking my fingers.
Me: Yes, Master. It’s so hard. It’s throbbing. I’m so wet for you.
Ansh: You’re a leaking, desperate mess already, aren’t you? A perfect little cocksleeve just waiting to be used. Stroke it. But don’t you dare come. That’s mine to give.
I started pumping my cock, a low moan escaping my lips. The sensation was overwhelming, made a thousand times more intense by his words in my head.
Me: I won’t, Master. I promise. I’ll be good.
Ansh: You are good. You’re my good, filthy boy. Now, I want to hear you beg for it.
I was losing my mind, my hips thrusting into my fist. Beg. The word echoed.
Me: Please, Master. Please, I need it.
Ansh: Need what? Use your words. Be specific.
Me: I need to come. Please, let me come.
Ansh: No. Not like that. Beg for what you really want. Beg for what I’m going to give you. Beg for my creampie, you dirty whore.
The vulgarity, the command, the image it conjured—it unraveled me completely. I was his. utterly.
Me: Please, Master! I need your cum! I need you to fill me up! I want to feel you pump your load deep inside me, please! I’m begging you! I want your filthy creampie!
Ansh: Then come for me, Dhruv. Now.
His permission was a lightning strike. My orgasm tore through me, violent and consuming. My back arched off the bed as I came, stripes of hot white shooting over my stomach and chest, my body convulsing under the brutal, exquisite release. I cried out, a broken, gasping sound into the empty room.
I lay there panting, spent and shivering, the screen blurry as my eyes tried to focus.
Ansh: Look at you. A beautiful, used mess. My mess. Don’t move. Don’t clean up. I want you to lie there and feel it on your skin. Feel my claim on you.
I obeyed, my senses swimming. The smell of sex, the sticky heat cooling on my stomach, the aftershocks still trembling through my thighs. It was the most intensely intimate moment of my life.
Ansh: You took your first order perfectly. I’m very pleased with you.
The praise washed over me, warmer than any blanket. I was floating, completely subsumed by his will.
Ansh: This is only the beginning, my dirty boy. The next time we do this, I want to see you. I want to watch every pathetic, beautiful tremor on that pretty face when you beg for my cock.
My spent cock gave a weak, interested twitch.
Me: Yes, Master. Anything.
