The world is nothing but sensation, a symphony of flesh and submission. Master Ansh’ s cock is a branding iron buried deep inside me, stretching me to a perfect, aching fullness that somehow eclipses the three loads already churning within me. His thrusts are not frantic or punishing; they are deliberate, ownership carved into my very core with every slow, devastating withdrawal and plunge.
“You feel that, slave?” he grunts, his voice a low rumble against my sweat-slicked back. “You feel how I own this hole? How I remake it for myself with every fucking thrust?”
“Yes! Master! Yes!” I scream, the words ripped from me. Beneath me, Aryan’s body tenses as Vikram’s pace inside him becomes brutal, final. I feel Vikram’s guttural roar through Aryan’s frame a split second before a fresh, hot wetness joins the mess inside the boy. Aryan sobs, a broken, overwhelmed sound, his body going limp.
Master Ansh doesn’t stop. His rhythm is relentless. “You’re my conduit, Dhruv. My perfect, filthy tool. His pleasure… his pain… it all flows through you and into me.”
He slides a hand around my hip, his fingers finding my caged, tortured dick. He gives it a vicious, mocking squeeze through the plastic. “This stays locked. This useless piece of flesh doesn’t get to feel anything. Your only pleasure is what I allow. Your only purpose is to be used.”
“My purpose is to be used!” I cry out, the affirmation a prayer. “I’m your tool, Master! Your fuck toy!”
Professor Pritam, watching from the side with dark, hungry eyes, laughs softly. “An exquisite tableau. The master, the student, and the instrument.”
Master Ansh’s thrusts begin to deepen, to quicken. A familiar, terrifying pressure builds low in my belly. He is getting close. I can feel it in the way his control fractures, just for a microsecond, with each pound against my ass.
“Please…” I whisper, the beg this time is different. It’s not for more. It’s for everything.
“Please what, whore?” he snarls, his fingers digging into my hips.
“Your creampie, Master! I need it! I’m begging you! Fill me! I want to feel your hot cum shooting inside me! I want to feel it mixing with theirs! I want to be your perfect, filthy dump!”
My words are the final key. With a final, brutal thrust that steals the air from my lungs, he slams home and stays there. I feel him pulse, a deep, throbbing rhythm inside me, and then the first hot jet of his release floods my depths. It’s hotter than the others, more potent, a claiming so absolute it feels like my soul is being branded. I scream, my body convulsing around his cock, milking him for every drop as he empties himself into me with a guttural, possessive groan.
He collapses over me for a moment, his weight a comforting, crushing burden. Then he pulls out, and I feel a torrent of thick, warm cum immediately begin to leak from my ruined hole, dripping onto Aryan’s spent back.
The silence is heavy, broken only by our ragged breathing. Master Ansh stands, his presence still dominating the room. He looks down at the mess we’ve made—Aryan beneath me, soaked in sweat and cum, me trembling and overflowing, Vikram and Rohan watching, their cocks still hard.
“Rohan. Vikram. Get him up,” Master commands, his voice back to its cool, controlled tone. “Tie his wrists to the towel rack. I want his pretty, marked ass on display. He’s going to watch the next lesson.”
They move with obedient speed, pulling me off of Aryan. My legs barely hold me. They manhandle me to the wall, looping a coarse towel around my wrists and securing it tightly to the metal bar. I’m standing, forced upright, my body on full display. I can feel Master’s cum still seeping out of me, a warm, shameful trickle down my thigh.
Aryan is pulled to his knees by Professor Pritam. He looks dazed, used, his eyes glassy.
“The chain of possession continues,” Master Ansh says, circling Aryan like a predator. “You’ve been claimed by Rohan. You’ve been claimed by Vikram. You’ve been filled by them. But you haven’t been properly broken in by the source.” He stops behind Aryan. “You haven’t been fucked by me.”
Aryan’s eyes widen, a fresh wave of fear and arousal flashing across his face.
“Master… please…” Aryan whimpers.
“On your hands and knees. Present that well-stretched ass to me. Let Dhruv see what a truly disciplined fucking looks like.”
Aryan obeys, moving shakily into position. His hole is red, glistening with lube and the remnants of Vikram’s cum. Master Ansh spits into his hand, slicking his own still-hard cock, which is already gleaming with a mixture of his own release and mine.
“Watch closely, Dhruv,” Master says, his eyes locking with mine. “Watch how I ruin him. Watch how I make him forget his own name.”
He positions himself and drives into Aryan in one smooth, merciless thrust. Aryan screams, a raw, torn sound of pain and ecstasy, his back arching violently.
“Fuck! Master!” he sobs, his fingers scrambling against the tile.
“You take my cock so well,” Master growls, setting a punishing, exact rhythm. “Such a tight, greedy little slut. Beg for it. Beg for your Master’s cock.”
“I beg! I beg!” Aryan cries, his voice cracking. “Please, Master! Fuck me! Ruin me! I’m your slut! Your filthy boy!”
I’m transfixed, my own body throbbing with a sympathetic, frantic need. Watching Master fuck him is its own form of torture. Every snap of his hips, every choked sob from Aryan, winds my own desperation tighter. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat and submission.
“Professor,” Master grunts, never breaking his rhy thm. “Your student’s mouth is looking neglected. Remind him of his place.”
Professor Pritam moves in front of Aryan, gripping his hair and forcing his own semi-hard cock past Aryan’s lips. Aryan gags but takes it, his mouth being used as ruthlessly as his ass.
“Rohan. Vikram,” Master commands, his voice starting to strain with his own building pleasure. “Get over here. Don’t just watch. Use his hands. Make him jerk you both off. I want him servicing every single one of us at once.”
They kneel on either side of Aryan, guiding his trembling hands to their cocks. The scene is obscene, beautiful. Aryan is being fucked from behind, his mouth stuffed, and his hands forced to work two other hard dicks.
“You see this, Dhruv?” Master snarls, his eyes burning into me. “You see what you wrought? This is your doing. Your curiosity led him here. You turned this boy into a desperate, multi-tasking fuck pet, just like you.”
The praise is a knife twist of exquisite degradation. “Yes, Master! I did! I made him your slut!”
Master’s thrusts become erratic, brutal. “I’m gonna fill him, Dhruv! I’m gonna breed this virgin ass with my cum! Watch it happen!”
Aryan’s eyes are rolling back in his head, his body shaking uncontrollably as he’s used from every possible angle.
“Now, Aryan,” Master growls, his voice a final, dark command. “Now you take your Master’s cream pie. Now you become mine.”
