The screen went black, the video call ended, leaving Rohan and me in the heavy, sweat-scented silence of my room. My heart was still thumping, a frantic drum against my ribs. We didn’t speak, just breathed, the air thick with what we’d just done.
My phone chimed. Then his did. Then mine again. A new group. ‘Master’s Pets.’
Ansh: Welcome to your new home, boys. Introductions. Now.
Ansh: Dhruv, you know the drill. Rohan, you’re new. Full name, age, a recent photo of your face, and a full-body one showing your current state. List your hard limits and your dirtiest kinks. Don’t hold back. I’ll know if you do.
Rohan let out a shaky breath beside me, his fingers hovering over his screen. “He doesn’t mess around, does he?”
“No,” I whispered, a thrill shooting down my spine. “He really doesn’t.”
We worked in silence, the only sound the tapping of our thumbs. I took a quick, flushed-face selfie and a wider shot of my naked, spend-smeared body still kneeling on the floor. My list was short. No permanent marks, no scat. My kinks… I typed them out, my face heating. Degradation, orgasm control, servitude, begging.
Rohan’s photo popped into the group. A defiant, handsome smirk, his sharp features looking incredibly sexy. His body shot showed him still hard, his stomach a mess. His list made my eyes widen. No limits. Use me. Humiliation, pain, objectification. I want to be your thing.
Ansh: Good. Rohan, your enthusiasm is noted. And appreciated. Now, rules. For both of you. One: You address me as Sir or Master at all times. Two: You do not cum without explicit permission. Three: You will provide proof of all tasks, without complaint. Four: You are mine, online and, when I decide, offline. Your bodies, your pleasure, your shame… it’s all my property.
Ansh: Rohan. A special rule for you. Since you have no limits, your training will be more… intensive. Your safe word is ‘Red.’ Use it if you must. But I expect you to crave pushing past what you think you can take.
Ansh: Now. How did you feel last night, Rohan? Be precise.
Rohan’s typing was frantic. It was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever done, Master. I’ve never been so hard. I’ve never felt so… owned. Being watched, being commanded… fuck. I’ve been thinking about nothing else.
Ansh: Excellent. Then you understand your fate is now the same as Dhruv’s. You belong to me.
My cock, which had begun to soften, twitched back to life at those words. He owned us. Both of us.
Ansh: Tasks. Rohan, your first set. One: Edge yourself five times. I want a video of the final one, your face and your cock in frame, showing you stopping right at the brink. Two: Find something in Dhruv’s room you find truly degrading. Lick it clean. Send a picture. Three: Spank your ass. Ten times on each cheek, hard enough to leave a clear handprint. Pictures. Four: Write ‘Master’s Property’ on your chest with a marker. Five: After all that, beg me in a voice note. Beg for my cock. Be creative.
Ansh: Dhruv. Your task. You will perform your first day’s assignment again. But I expect better proof. A video of you stripping, slow. A video of you touching yourself, following my commands from memory. I want to see the desperation in your eyes this time. I want to hear you beg for your release like the needy little slut you are.
“He wants a video?” I mumbled, my mouth going dry.
“Yeah,” Rohan said, a dark, excited gleam in his eyes. “Let’s get to work.”
He stood up, his gaze sweeping my room. It landed on my worn-out cricket shoes, still sitting by the door where I’d left them after licking them clean for Master yesterday. A wicked smile spread across his face. “These.”
He picked one up, the grime from the field still caked on the sole. He didn’t hesitate. He brought it to his face, his tongue snaking out, and he lked a long, slow stripe along the rubber sole. A groan rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, deep submission. He held the shoe up, took a picture of his tongue on the filth, and sent it.
My own task forgotten, I watched him, mesmerized. He dropped the shoe and moved to the bed, his hand already stroking his hard length. “Fuck… one…” he grunted, his eyes glued to his phone, probably imagining Master watching. His hips pumped into his fist, his breathing becoming ragged, harsher. He was beautiful in his surrender, a stark contrast to his usual confident smirk.
I finally remembered myself. I fumbled for my phone, switching to video mode. I positioned it, my hands trembling. I took a deep breath and hit record.
“I’m stripping for you, Master,” I whispered to the lens, my voice already breathy. I pulled my t-shirt over my head slowly, letting it drag across my skin. I made a show of popping the button on my jeans, easing the zipper down agonizingly slow. “All for you, Sir. Only for you.”
I let the jeans pool at my feet and stepped out of them, standing naked and exposed. I could feel Rohan’s eyes on me too, and it heightened everything.
In the background, I heard Rohan’s count. “Four… fuck… right there…”
I lay back on the bed, angling the phone down my body. My hand wrapped around my cock, and a jolt of electricity shot through me. “I’m touching myself for you, Master. I’m your good boy, jerking my dick because you allow it.”
I replayed that first night in my head, his voice guiding me. Slower. Tease the tip. Now faster. I obeyed the memory, my body arching off the bed.
Rohan’s voice cut through my focus, strained and raw. “Five! Master, I’m there, I’m right fucking there!”
I chanced a glance over. He was frozen, his entire body taut as a bowstring, his fist gripped tightly at the base of his cock, stopping his orgasm at the very last possible second. A strangled, desperate cry was torn from his throat. The sight was so intensely hot I almost lost my own rhythm.
I turned back to my phone, my own need skyrocketing. “Please, Master, please,” I begged, my hips fucking up into my fist. “I need to cum. I’ve been your good boy, I did everything you asked. Please let me fucking cum. I need it. I need your permission. I’m begging for it.”
Rohan, still shuddering from his denied orgasm, grabbed a marker from my desk. Without a word, he uncapped it and began writing on his chest, the black ink stark against his skin. Master’s Property.
He then held his phone to his mouth, his voice a husky, ruined thing. “Master… please. I need your cock. I need to feel you fucking ruin me. I want to be your filthy little hole, I want to choke on it, I want to taste your load down my throat. Please, use me. I’m begging you.”
The room was filled with our panting, the sound of skin on skin, and the raw, unabashed begging. We were both deep in it, submerged in the filth and the praise and the desperate need for his command.
My phone buzzed on my stomach.
Ansh: Dhruv. Your begging is improving. But you can do filthier. I want to hear you beg for what you truly want. Beg for my creampie. You know the words. Rohan. Send me the video of your edge. Now.
