The predatory smile on Master Ansh’s face is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. It doesn’t reach his eyes. Those remain dark, bottomless pits of calculation, seeing every ounce of my shame, my fear, the fresh evidence of Silas’s use glistening on my thighs.
He saw. He saw everything.
My heart isn’t just pounding; it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest. I quickly fumble to pull up my jeans, my fingers clumsy and numb with terror. The wet, sticky feel of the stranger’s cum against the denim is a brand of my betrayal.
“Did you…” I stammer, my voice a shattered thing. “How long…?”
“Long enough,” he says, his voice a low, silken threat that wraps around my throat. He pushes off the wall and takes a single step toward me. I flinch. “I saw a desperate, caged whore take a stranger’s cock like it was his purpose in life. I saw him beg for it. I saw him get filled.” He takes another step. The space between us crackles. “Tell me, Dhruv. Did you forget who you belong to?”
“No, Master! Never! I just… he said… he said he’d make sure your night was perfect, I thought it was part of the test, I–”
“It was a test,” he interrupts, now standing directly in front of me. He doesn’t touch me. His proximity is a punishment. “The final one. And you just passed.”
The words don’t compute. I stare at him, my mind reeling. Passed? “I… I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t,” he says, a hint of that dark amusement returning to his voice. He reaches out, and I brace for a strike. Instead, his fingers, shockingly gentle, brush a strand of sweat-damp hair from my forehead. The contrast is dizzying. “Everything. The Professor. The classroom. Rohan and Vikram breaking in Aryan. This club. That silver-haired fuck using you against a wall. All of it was a test. A gauntlet. To see if my curious little Instagram boy had the makings of a true submissive. To see if you could handle the filth, the degradation, the sheer nastiness of being my property.”
His hand slides down to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking my jaw. The kindness is more brutal than any slap.
“You didn’t just handle it, Dhruv. You thrived. You begged for it. You took every single cock, every humiliation, every drop of cum I orchestrated for you, and you fucking blossomed.” He leans in, his lips a breath from mine. “You are perfect.”
A sob I didn’t know I was holding breaks free. It’s a raw, ragged sound of relief, of confusion, of overwhelming devotion. He’s proud of me. The thought is a sun exploding in the darkness of my shame.
“Come,” he commands, his voice shifting back to its familiar, unyielding tone. He takes my hand. “The show is cancelled. You’re coming home.”
He leads me through the club, past the lingering, hungry eyes. I don’t see Silas. I see nothing but Master’s broad back, my hand enveloped in his. The car ride is a silent blur. My body is still humming from the violation, the praise, the terrifying uncertainty.
His apartment is exactly as I imagined it—minimalist, clean, dominated by dark colors and sharp lines. It smells of him. That dark, spicy scent that has haunted my dreams since our first online conversation. He locks the door behind us, the definitive click echoing in the spacious silence.
“Strip,” he says, his back to me as he walks toward the living area. “Now. I want to see the canvas I’ll be working on. I want to see the mess that stranger made of my property.”
My hands tremble as I obey, shedding the jeans, the shirt, until I stand naked in the center of his room, the plastic cage a glaring testament to his control, Silas’s cum still slick between my thighs.
He turns around. He’s holding a small key. He gestures to the luxurious, black leather sofa. “On your knees. Facing the back. Present yourself.”
I move on autopilot, the training of the last few hours, the last few days, ingrained deep. I kneel on the soft carpet, bending over the back of the sofa, my ass in the air, my face pressed into the cool leather. I am completely exposed. Utterly vulnerable.
I hear him kneel behind me. His hands grip my ass cheeks, spreading me open. I feel his hot breath on my sensitized hole.
“So wet,” he murmurs, and I feel the tip of his tongue, so much more intimate and knowing than Silas’s, trace my rim. “So open for him. Did you like it? Did you like being a public piece of meat for a stranger?”
“I… I liked serving your will, Master,” I gasp, the words feeling true as I say them.
“Good answer,” he purrs. His tongue delves inside, not with brutal force, but with a slow, claiming thoroughness. He’s not just tasting Silas’s leavings; he’s reclaiming me. His tongue works deep, licking, cleaning, erasing the stranger’s claim and replacing it with his own. The intimacy of it is overwhelming. My moans are muffled by the leather.
He works me until I’m trembling, until I’m clean, until my hole is fluttering and eager for him alone. Then I hear the jingle of the key.
The click of the lock opening is the most profound sound I’ve ever heard. The pressure vanishes. The cage falls away. My cock, hard and aching and so painfully sensitive, springs free. A broken cry tears from my lips at the sudden, shocking freedom.
“Look at that,” Master Ansh says, his voice thick with lust. He stands, and I feel the heavy, hot weight of his own cock resting between my ass cheeks. “All mine. Finally.” He spits into his hand, a crude, wet sound, and I feel his fingers wrap around my freed dick. Fuck. The sensation is astronomical. After so long in confinement, the direct contact is pure, undiluted pleasure-pain. I buck into his grip, sobbing.
“Is this what you wanted, you filthy slut?” he grunts, jerking my cock with a rough, perfect rhythm. “You wanted to be unlocked? You wanted my hand on your worthless dick?”
“Yes! Master, please! It’s too much, it’s so good, fuck!”
“You were so good tonight,” he whispers, his other hand gripping my hip, his cock nudging at my entrance. “You took it all. You proved yourself. You deserve your reward.”
With that, he pushes forward, sheathing his entire, familiar length inside me in one smooth, glorious thrust. At the exact same moment, his hand on my cock squeezes tight, his thumb rubbing punishingly over my dripping slit.
The dual sensation detonates inside me. It’s too much, too fast, too perfect. The fullness of his cock stretching me open, the brutal, blissful friction on my own dick after days of denial.
“Master! I’m gonna… I can’t…!” I scream, my vision whiting out.
“Cum for me, Dhruv,” he commands, his voice guttural, his thrusts becoming hard and deep, pounding into that spot that makes me see stars. “Cum all over my hand like the good, filthy boy you are. Show me how much you love belonging to me.”
The command unravels me completely. My orgasm erupts with a force that feels violent. Ropes of my cum shoot across the black leather of his sofa, my body seizing, convulsing around his cock as he continues to fuck me through it, milking every last drop from me. The pleasure is so intense it borders on agony, a screaming, mind-shattering release from every cell in my body.
I collapse over the sofa, boneless, spent, my consciousness flickering.
I feel his rhythm stutter, then still. He buries himself to the hilt, and I feel the hot, pulsing flood of his release filling me, claiming me all over again, deeper than ever before. His groan is a promise of forever against my back.
He stays inside me for a long moment, both of us panting, connected. Then, he pulls out slowly. I feel the gush of his cum leaking from my well-used hole, a warm, claiming trickle down my thigh.
He collapses onto the sofa next to my trembling form, pulling me into his arms. He holds me against his chest, his fingers stroking my hair with a tenderness that makes fresh tears well in my eyes.
“You are mine, Dhruv,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice finally soft, devoid of its commanding edge. “All mine. And this is only the beginning.”
He shifts, his hand drifting down my stomach, through the mess I made on my own skin, his fingers sliding back through the wetness between my legs, collecting our mixed release.
He brings his slick fingers to my lips. “Open.”
I open my mouth without hesitation. He pushes his fingers inside, letting me taste us—my own salty spend, the musky, potent flavor of his cum. It’s the most degrading, most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced.
“That’s your new taste, slave,” he whispers, his eyes holding mine captive. “The taste of your Master’s approval.”
