The cold tile is a shocking contrast to the heat of my spent body. My skin is tacky with sweat, my insides are a warm, liquid mess of their combined release. I am empty. I am full. I am nothing but a used vessel.
Master Ansh’s voice, emanating from Rohan’s phone, is a silken caress and a brutal command all at once. “Aryan. Get your mouth on him. I want you to lick him clean. I want you to taste every last drop of what they put inside him. That’s your final task. And Dhruv… you will thank him for it.”
Aryan’s eyes are wide, pupils blown with a mix of residual lust and nervous awe. He looks at me, a ruined mess on the floor, then at the others. Vikram gives him a nod, a slight grin playing on his lips. Professor Pritam observes with detached, academic curiosity, stroking his softening cock.
“Go on, boy,” Rohan says, his voice hoarse. “Master said to clean your mess.”
Aryan hesitates for only a second before sinking to his knees beside me. His hands are trembling slightly as he reaches for my hips, gently rolling me onto my stomach to better access the evidence of my defilement. The movement makes a fresh trickle of warm cum seep from my stretched hole and run down my inner thigh.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the word full of reverence and shock.
He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over my sensitive skin a second before his tongue makes contact. It’s a hesitant, flat lick from my perineum all the way up the cleft of my ass. The sensation is electric, a sharp, wet sting of overstimulation that makes me jolt.
“Oh god…” I moan into the floor.
“Tell me what he’s doing, Dhruv,” Master’s voice purrs from the phone. “Narrate your cleaning for me.”
“H-He’s licking me, Master,” I gasp, as Aryan’s tongue swipes over my entrance, collecting a thick, salty-sweet mixture of cum. “His tongue is so soft… it’s… it’s tickling my filthy hole.”
Aryan gains confidence, his licks becoming more purposeful, more hungry. He works his tongue in small, tight circles, probing at my loosened rim, dipping inside to gather more. The sound is obscenely wet. The taste must be overwhelming—Professor Pritam’s bitter seed, Rohan’s sharper tang, Vikram’s potent musk.
“Thank you, Aryan,” I whimper, obeying Master’s last command. “Thank you for cleaning your cum from my used ass. Thank you for tasting what they left in me.”
My words seem to unlock something in him. He groans against my skin, the vibration shooting straight to my caged, throbbing dick. He eats me out with a new desperation, his hands spreading my cheeks apart, his nose buried against me as his tongue delves deeper, fucking me with it, cleaning me from the inside out. He’s not just obeying an order anymore; he’s savoring it. He’s consuming the proof of my submission.
“He’s… he’s lapping it all up, Master,” I cry out, my fists clenching against the cold floor. “He’s moaning while he does it. He’s loving the taste of your pets’ mixed loads on his tongue!”
Suddenly, the bathroom door, which had been left ajar, swings open completely.
A new figure stands in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, silhouetted against the brighter light of the office. He steps inside, and the atmosphere in the room shifts instantly, crackling with a new, terrifying energy. The others stiffen. Professor Pritam stands up straighter. Rohan’s eyes go wide with a mixture of fear and awe. Vikram actually smirks, as if he’d been expecting this all along.
It’s him. Master Ansh.
He’s here. In the flesh.
He’s even more commanding in person. His sharp features are set in a mask of cool appraisal, his intense eyes scanning the scene: Aryan on his knees, his face buried in my ass, me trembling on the floor, the other three men standing around us, naked and spent.
He doesn’t say a word. He just watches for a long, heart-stopping moment. Aryan, sensing the shift, pulls his mouth away from me with a wet pop, looking up in panic.
Master Ansh finally moves. He walks toward me, his steps slow and deliberate on the tile. He crouches down, his presence overwhelming. He doesn’t touch me. He just looks at the mess Aryan has been diligently cleaning—the shiny, wet trails of saliva and the faint, pearly evidence he missed.
“You were eager, weren’t you, Dhruv?” he says, his voice a low, resonant rumble that is infinitely more powerful without the filter of a phone speaker. “You begged so prettily for their cum. You couldn’t wait to be their shared fucktoy.”
“Y-Yes, Master,” I whisper, my entire body shaking.
“That eagerness needs to be tempered with discipline,” he states, his tone leaving no room for argument. He stands up, his gaze sweeping over the others. “Rohan. The hairbrush. Now.”
Rohan moves with a speed I didn’t know he possessed, scrambling to where his discarded jeans lay and pulling out the heavy, wooden hairbrush. He hands it to Master Ansh with a reverence usually reserved for a religious artifact.
My heart hammers against my ribs. No. Not that. Not from him.
“On your knees. Over the edge of the tub. Now,” Master Ansh commands, his voice ice-cold.
I scramble to obey, my limbs feeling like jelly. I position myself over the cold, porcelain lip of the bathtub, presenting my ass, which is still wet from Aryan’s mouth, to him. The humiliation is absolute.
I hear him step closer. I feel the weight of his presence behind me. Then I feel the cool, smooth wood of the hairbrush tap against my right ass cheek. It’s a gentle, almost teasing touch that makes me flinch in anticipation.
The first crack of the brush is a gunshot in the quiet room. A sharp, bright pain blossoms across my flesh, so much more intense than when Rohan did it. This is personal. This is from him.
I gasp, my fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick tub.
“Count,” he demands, his voice flat.
“O-One, Master,” I choke out.
The second blow lands on the same spot, a perfect, overlapping strike that makes me see stars. The pain is immediate and searing. “T-Two!”
He begins a brutal, methodical rhythm. The brush falls again and again, painting my skin with fire. He doesn’t alternate cheeks randomly; he works one side until it’s a throbbing, hot mess, then moves to the other, ensuring the pain has nowhere to go, no respite.
“Three! Four! Fuck! Five!”
My tears are free-flowing now, dripping onto the tub floor. Each impact is a jolt of pure, agonizing sensation that vibrates through my entire body. My caged cock, trapped and neglected, aches with a perverse need. The pain is a sharp, clarifying focus, wiping away everything else—the fear, the overstimulation, the lingering numbness. There is only this. His punishment. His attention.
“Six! Please! Seven!”
“You are mine to spoil and mine to punish,” he growls, his voice laced with a dark arousal. The brush cracks down again, this time lower, on the tender crease where my ass meets my thigh. I scream, my body jerking violently.
“E-Eight!”
He pauses. The only sound is my ragged sobbing. I feel his hand, not the brush, glide over the scorching skin of my ass. The touch is surprisingly gentle, almost a caress on the heated flesh. It’s a mockery of comfort.
“Such pretty, marked skin,” he murmurs. “It deserves to be ruined.”
The brush lifts again. I tense, waiting for the next explosion of pain.
“Beg for it, Dhruv,” he whispers, the wood resting lightly on my throbbing flesh. “Beg for your Master to ruin you.”
