The command is a lash of pure dominance in the cool night air. It’s not a request. It’s a demand that bypasses my brain and goes straight to my core, making my already dripping hole clench around nothing.
“LOUDER!” Master Ansh snarls, the head of his cock a searing brand against my stretched, leaking entrance.
I suck in a ragged breath, my voice hoarse but rising, echoing in the quiet, shadowy park. “Please, Master Ansh! Fuck me! Fuck your filthy whore right here! I need your fucking cock splitting me open! I need to feel your fucking cum painting my insides! I’m your dirty, leaking slut and I’m begging for it! Please, use me! Ruin me! Make me scream!”
My plea hangs in the air, a desperate, vulgar prayer. For a terrifying second, there is only silence. Then, a low, guttural growl from behind me.
“Good boy.”
He doesn’t tease. He doesn’t slowly push. He rams forward, burying his entire, monstrous length inside me in one single, brutal thrust. The force of it drives the air from my lungs in a punched-out scream. My hands fly out, bracing against the cool wood of the park bench, my knuckles turning white. The stretch is immediate and overwhelming, a glorious, burning ache that sings through my entire body. He’s so deep, so fucking deep, I can feel him in my throat, in my soul.
“Is this what you wanted, you screaming little bitch?” he grunts, his hands locking onto my hips like vices, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of my ass, spreading me wider for him. He pulls back almost all the way, the drag of his cock an exquisite torment on my sensitized walls, before slamming home again. “This what you begged for?”
“Yes! Fuck! Yes, Master!” I wail, my voice cracking. Each piston-like thrust jolts my entire body forward. The rough denim of my jeans, still pooled around my knees, scrapes against my skin with every movement, a harsh counterpoint to the slick, hot pleasure-pain of his fucking. My own cock, trapped and ignored, is a hard, leaking ache against the cool air.
He sets a punishing, relentless rhythm, fucking me with a raw, animalistic force that has the bench creaking under our combined weight. The wet, filthy sound of our bodies slapping together seems deafening in the secluded space. I’m so open, so used from before, that there’s no resistance, just a smooth, devastating glide that hits my prostate with every single, brutal drive.
“You feel that, Dhruv?” he snarls, leaning over me, his chest pressed against my back, his breath hot on my neck. “You feel how easily my cock slides into your well-fucked hole? You were made for this. Born to be my filthy little cocksleeve.”
The verbal degradation is a drug, as potent as the physical sensation. It merges with the pleasure, heightening it, twisting it into something darker, more profound. “I was! I was born for your cock, Master! Only for you!” I sob, the words torn from me. My vision is starting to blur at the edges, the world narrowing to the feeling of him owning me, destroying me, praising me with every thrust.
One of his hands leaves my hip and fists tightly in my hair, yanking my head back sharply. The pain is a bright, sharp spark that makes me cry out, arching my back, presenting myself even more shamelessly to him.
“Look at you,” he hisses, his voice dripping with a mix of contempt and awe. “Bent over a public bench, taking my dick like a common whore. You’re not common, though, are you? You’re my whore. My perfect, filthy fucktoy. The best fucking cocksucker I’ve ever owned.”
The praise inside the degradation short-circuits my brain. I am nothing and I am everything. I am his trash and his treasure. A broken, ecstatic moan is ripped from my throat.
His thrusts are becoming more frantic, losing their measured rhythm. He’s getting close. I can feel the tension coiling in the muscles of his thighs against mine, hear the ragged edge in his groans. He’s pounding into me now, a frenzied, desperate pace, chasing his own end.
“You gonna cum for me again, you dirty slut?” he grunts, his fingers tightening in my hair. “You gonna shoot your worthless load all over this bench while I fuck another creampie into your greedy hole?”
The thought is too much. The coil in my own gut, wound so tight from the relentless stimulation, begins to unravel. “I’m gonna cum! Master, I’m gonna—!”
“Then fucking do it!” he roars, and the command is all it takes.
My orgasm detonates without a single touch to my cock. It crashes over me like a wave of pure electricity, seizing every muscle in my body. I scream, a raw, ragged sound that echoes through the trees as my release shoots out onto the grass beneath the bench, my body clenching and spasming around his pounding cock in violent, uncontrollable pulses. The pleasure is so intense it’s borderline painful, a white-hot agony of ecstasy that whites out my vision.
Feeling me convulse around him tips him over the edge. With a final, guttural, animalistic groan that sounds like it’s been torn from the very core of him, he slams into me one last time and holds, buried to the hilt. I feel the first hot, thick jet of his cum erupt deep inside me. It’s scalding, a flood of liquid fire that seems to brand me from the inside out. He pumps into me, once, twice, a third time, each pulse a claiming, a reward, a promise.
“Fuck! Take it! Take every fucking drop!” he grits out, his body shuddering against mine as he empties himself into me, filling me until I feel impossibly, decadently full.
He stays there for a long moment, his weight heavy and comforting on my back, his cock still pulsing weakly inside me as the last of his release spills into me. Our ragged panting is the only sound. Slowly, carefully, he pulls out.
The sensation is devastating. A hot, sudden gush of his cum immediately leaks out of my utterly ruined hole, a thick stream that runs down my thighs, joining the mess already there. I whimper, my body trembling violently, threatening to collapse.
He catches me, his arms strong around my waist, holding me up. His hand slides down, through the fresh wetness, his fingers slick with our mixed release. He brings them to my lips.
“Open.”
I open my mouth without hesitation, my eyes fluttering closed. He pushes his cum-slicked fingers past my lips, and I suck them clean, tasting his musky, potent salt and my own desperate submission.
“That’s my good boy,” he murmurs, his voice rough with spent passion but softer now, almost tender. “You took your reward so well. You’re so fucking perfect when you’re full of me.”
He helps me stand on my weak legs, pulling my ruined clothes back up. The denim is instantly soaked through, a cold, wet patch a blatant announcement of what we’ve done. He turns me to face him, his hands cupping my face. His dark eyes search mine, and for a fleeting second, I see something raw and unguarded there. Pride. Ownership. Something deeper.
He opens his mouth to speak, his thumb stroking my cheekbone.
His thumb strokes my cheekbone, a stark contrast to the filthy words still hanging in the air between us. The tenderness in his gaze is a lie, a beautiful, cruel deception I willingly fall for every time.
“You were so good out here, my screaming little whore,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp that scrapes over my skin. “You took my cock so perfectly. You took my cum like you were made for it.”
“I was, Master,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from screaming. “I was made for you.”
He smiles, a slow, dark curl of his lips that promises more. So much more. “I know. And a good Master always takes care of his property. Cleans up his messes.” His eyes drift down my body, to the wet, dark patch on my jeans. “But not yet. First, you’re going to clean up your own mess.”
The command hangs in the air, incomprehensible for a moment. I just stare at him, my mind still fogged with the aftershocks of my orgasm, my body throbbing from his claiming.
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “The cum leaking out of your used little hole, Dhruv. It’s mine. And you’re going to suck it out. You’re going to get every last drop. With your tongue.”
A jolt, white-hot and shocking, goes straight to my already-stirring cock. The image is so depraved, so impossibly filthy, that a fresh wave of heat flushes my entire body. He wants me to taste myself, taste us, like that? The degradation is absolute. The intimacy is terrifying. My dick twitches painfully against the wet denim.
“Yes, Master,” I breathe, the agreement ripped from me before my brain can even process the shame.
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, his grip firm and guiding. He leads me away from the bench, away from the faint light, deeper into the shadows of the park until we reach a narrow alleyway between two buildings. It’s darker here, the air cooler, smelling of damp concrete and city grime. It’s a perfect, hidden tableau for the nastiness he has planned.
“On your knees,” he commands, his voice echoing softly against the brick walls. “Right here.”
I sink to the rough pavement without hesitation. The gravel bites into my knees through the thin fabric of my jeans, a sharp, grounding pain. He stands over me, a towering figure of authority in the gloom.
“Get your fucking jeans down. I want access.”
My fingers fumble with the button, the zipper. I push the denim and my soaked briefs down to my mid-thighs, exposing myself to the cool, dirty air. The movement makes more of his cum seep out, a fresh, warm trickle against my skin.
“Now,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper that is somehow louder than a shout. “Bend over. Get your mouth on your filthy hole and clean it. I want to watch my slut eat his own mess. I want to see your tongue buried in your own ass, sucking my cum out.”
The explicit command sends a shudder through me. I am completely, utterly debased. And I have never been more aroused in my life. I obey, bending forward from the waist, my face moving toward my own upturned ass. The position is awkward, straining, deeply humiliating. I can smell the musk of our sex, the potent, musky scent of his release mixed with my own sweat.
I stick my tongue out, the first touch of it to my own stretched, sensitive rim making me gasp. The taste is immediate and overwhelming—salty, musky, unequivocally his. It’s the taste of his approval, his ownership, now mingled with the unique flavor of my own submission. I press my face closer, my tongue flattening against my hole, licking through the wetness that’s leaked out.
“That’s it,” he growls from above me, a dark spectator to my defilement. “Lick it clean, you nasty bitch. Get it all.”
I push the tip of my tongue inside, just a little. The sensation is bizarre, electric, and unbearably lewd. I’m fucking my own ass with my tongue, seeking the prize he’s left inside me. I suck gently, and I’m rewarded with a fresh, warmer burst of his cum on my tongue. I moan around the intrusion, the sound muffled by my own body.
“You like that, don’t you?” he taunts, and I hear the sound of his zipper coming down. “You like the taste of your Master’s load dripping from your well-fucked cunt. Tell me you love it.”
I pull back, panting, a string of spit and cum connecting my mouth to my hole. “I love it, Master! I love tasting your cum inside me! I’m your filthy, disgusting whore and I love it!”
“Then get back in there and clean yourself out!” he barks.
I dive back in, my tongue spearing deeper this time, fucking into my own entrance with a desperate fervor. I’m lost in the act, in the taste, in the sheer animalistic need to obey him. I suck and lick and probe, my own moans vibrating through my body, until I’m certain I’ve retrieved every last drop of his sacred offering.
I finally collapse forward, catching myself on my hands, spent and breathing heavily. “It’s… it’s clean, Master,” I gasp, my face flushed with heat and shame.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says. He kneels behind me, his hands spreading my cheeks. I feel the rough pad of his thumb circle my rim, then push inside me, probing. “Good boy,” he murmurs, a hint of awe in his voice. “You got it all. You really are the perfect little cocksucker, aren’t you? Even when it’s your own fucking ass.”
The praise makes me preen even as I’m bent over in a dirty alley. He pulls his thumb out and stands up.
“Now, stay right there. Don’t move a muscle.”
I hear the rustle of his belt being pulled free from its loops. Then, his hands are on me again, but not with his cock. He’s tying my wrists together behind my back with the stiff leather belt, pulling it tight until the buckle bites into my skin. The restraint is immediate and total.
“Master?” I ask, a thread of fear and excitement weaving through my voice.
“Quiet,” he orders. Then, a soft, silken cloth descends over my eyes, plunging me into absolute darkness. He ties the blindfold securely behind my head. My other senses scream to life. I can hear his every breath, smell the city and his cologne and our sex. I can feel every slight movement of the air on my naked skin.
I am completely vulnerable. Bound. Blind. At his mercy.
I feel his hands on my hips, repositioning me, pulling me up from my knees until I’m standing, bent over, my bound wrists forcing my back to arch, presenting my ass to him. The loss of sight is terrifying. I have no warning. No way to anticipate.
I hear the wet sound of him spitting into his palm, then stroking his cock. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the eerie silence of the alley.
“You wanted to get fucked in an alley like the trash you are?” his voice comes from right behind me, making me jump. “Now you get your wish. You’re going to take my cock like this. Blind. Bound. Just a hole for me to use.”
The head of his cock presses against me, a familiar, demanding pressure. I tense for a second, the vulnerability a sharp, thrilling knife-edge.
“Please, Master,” I beg into the darkness, my voice trembling. “Please, fuck your trash. Use my hole. I need it.”
He doesn’t answer with words. He answers with a single, brutal, deep thrust that steals the breath from my lungs and fills the world with nothing but him.
Well the story doesn't end here. It is just the begining lets see how it will go in the future.
Stay tuned for new stories.
