is mouth was hotter than I expected. Wet and greedy and making these desperate little gulping sounds as I pushed deeper, the head of my lund dragging across his tongue like he'd been starving for it. Josh's hands came up instinctively—maybe to brace against my thighs, maybe to guide the angle—and I swatted them away.
"No hands, randi. You worship with your mouth. Nothing else."
He whimpered around my length. The vibration buzzed straight down to my balls, already tight and heavy and aching to empty. But I wasn't going to rush this. Two years. Two fucking years the kid had been fantasizing about this exact moment, and I was going to make it count.
"You've been practicing on those silicone toys," I said, fisting his hair and pulling his head back just enough to watch my cock slide out, glistening with his spit. A string of drool connected his bottom lip to my tip. "Show me what you learned. Worship it properly."
His eyes—those huge, liquid eyes—rolled up to meet mine. "Rahul..."
"That's not worship. That's stalling."
"I don't—I don't know if I'm doing it right—"
I yanked his hair harder. "You downloaded three fucking cock worship guides, behenchod. Don't pretend you don't know exactly what to do." I leaned down, bringing my face close to his. "Start with the balls. Work your way up. And if I don't hear some filthy begging while you do it, I'm going to collar you and leave you here with nothing but a plug and your own desperation."
The threat landed. His whole body shuddered.
Then he dove in.
His tongue found the base of my shaft first—not where I'd told him to start, but I let it slide because the way he licked was art. Slow, broad strokes from root to tip, like he was memorizing every vein. When he finally reached my balls, he didn't just lick. He worshipped. Opened his mouth wide and sucked one into his mouth, rolling it gently against his palate while his hand—fuck, he'd disobeyed already—his hand crept up to massage the other one.
"I said no hands."
He released immediately. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm sorry, Rahul, I just—your lund is so fucking perfect, I couldn't—the weight of them, they're so full, I can't stop thinking about how much chud you've got stored up for me—"
"Better." I stroked his cheek, almost gentle. "Keep talking."
"I want to be your cum-dump," he breathed against my sac. His tongue traced a circle around each testicle, slow and reverent. "I want you to empty every drop inside me. Use my chut like a—like a storage tank for your seed. I've got a plug that'll keep it all in, I'll wear it for hours, for days, whatever you want—"
"Days?"
"Days." His voice cracked. "A week. Longer. However long you want to keep me full of your chud, I'll do it, I'll be so good, I promise I'll—"
I grabbed his jaw and tilted his face up. "You'll be good? You've already broken one rule, Josh. Hands off means hands off."
"I know. I know, I'm sorry, let me make it up to you—"
"You'll make it up by wearing the collar."
The word landed like a slap. His pupils blew wide. "The—the collar?"
"The one I ordered. The leather one with the ring on the front. It's in the package behind you."
He twisted around, scrambling on his knees, and his fingers trembled so hard he could barely work the tab on the matte-black envelope. When he pulled the collar free, the buckle clinked against the floorboards. Soft sound. Heavy weight.
"Put it on."
Josh held it in both hands like it was made of glass. "Rahul, I—"
"Put. It. On."
He buckled it around his throat. The leather was black, wide enough to force his chin up slightly, and the silver ring on the front caught the workshop's fluorescent light. He looked—fuck. He looked owned. The collar transformed him. His shoulders dropped. His breathing slowed. Something behind his eyes clicked into place like a lock finding its key.
"How does it feel?"
"Right." The word barely made it past his lips. "It feels right. Like I was supposed to have this on the whole time. Like my throat was made for your collar."
"Good randi." I reached down and hooked a finger through the ring, tugging him toward me. "Now finish what you started. And this time, no hands. Just that mouth. Show me how a cheap little randi worships her owner's lund."
He attacked my cock like a starving animal.
No more hesitation. No more tentative licks. He swallowed me to the root in one desperate plunge, and his throat constricted around my head in a way that made my vision white out for half a second. Then he pulled back, gasping, spit everywhere, and did it again. And again. Each time a little deeper, a little longer, a little more obscene with the wet choking sounds and the way his eyes watered and the collar's ring clinked against my balls.
"Fuck, Josh—"
"Your lund tastes so good." He was panting between strokes, his voice wrecked. "I've been imagining this for so long, I used to suck my dildo and pretend it was you, pretend I could taste your pre-cum, pretend you were calling me a madharchod while I gagged on it—"
"You practiced on a fake cock thinking about me?"
"Every night. Every single night for two years. I'd fuck my throat with the purple one until I puked and then I'd do it again because I wanted to be ready for you—"
The confession hit my spine like liquid fire. My cock throbbed against his tongue. "You're going to make me cum before I even get inside your hole if you keep talking like that."
He pulled off. Sat back on his heels. His face was a mess—tears and spit and pre-cum smeared across his lips, the collar dark against his pale throat. "Don't you want to?" His voice dropped to something almost sly. "Don't you want to shoot your first load down my throat and then make me take another one in my chut? I can do it. I can take two. I can take three. I'll swallow every drop and beg for more."
"Madharchod."
The word came out reverent. I grabbed him by the collar ring and hauled him to his feet. "Bend over the workbench."
"Yes—fuck, yes—"
"Pants off first. I want to see that hole you've been training for me."
He shucked his jeans like they were on fire. Kicked them into a corner. His t-shirt followed, then his boxers, and then he was naked except for the collar, bent over the scarred wooden workbench with his chut exposed and already glistening.
He'd prepped himself. Of course he had. The kid had probably been stretching himself open every night since I'd found the drawer, hoping, praying, getting his hole ready for the moment I finally snapped.
"You're already wet," I said, running my thumb over his entrance. It twitched. Puckered. Tried to suck me in. "Did you finger yourself before I came upstairs?"
"Yes." The word was muffled against the bench. "I used two fingers. Then three. Then the plug—the medium one—I wore it for an hour while I waited for you—"
"You've had a plug in your chut for an hour just hoping I'd show up and fuck you?"
"I've had a plug in my chut for two years hoping you'd show up and fuck me, Rahul."
I reached for the second package. The tail plug. Faux fur, black, attached to a silicone base that was thicker than the medium toy he'd been using. I held it up so he could see.
"This is going to stretch you more than you're used to."
His hole clenched at the sight of it. "Good."
"Good? That's all you've got? Good?"
"I want it to hurt." His voice went low and rough. "I want to feel you for days. I want to sit down tomorrow and remember that my stepbrother owned my chut so thoroughly I can barely walk."
I slicked the plug with lube—the heating kind, because I wanted him to feel the burn—and pressed the tip against his entrance. "Beg for it."
"Please. Please, Rahul, shove that thing in my greedy little hole. I want to be your pet. I want to crawl around on all fours while you call me names. I want you to pull my tail while you fuck me from behind. Please, please—"
I pushed.
The plug went in smooth. Too smooth—his hole swallowed it like it had been waiting for exactly this shape, exactly this size. The fur tail hung down between his legs, brushing against his balls, and when he straightened up slightly, the base settled deep and snug.
"Look at you." I grabbed his hip with one hand and the tail with the other, giving it a gentle tug. He gasped. "My little randi with her tail plugged in. You're not even human anymore, are you? You're just a hole with a collar and a tail."
"No." He was shaking. "No, I'm not human. I'm your pet. I'm your breeding bitch. I'm whatever you want me to be, Rahul, just please—please fuck me—"
"One more thing first."
I pulled the tail out. Slow. Watched his hole gape for a second before clenching shut around nothing. Then I lined up my lund—thick and veiny and leaking all over his lower back—and pressed the head against his entrance.
"This is going to be a lot bigger than the plug."
"I know." His hands gripped the edge of the workbench hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "I know, I want it, please don't make me wait anymore—"
I pushed.
The head popped in and Josh screamed. Not a bad scream—a holy-fuck-I've-been-waiting-for-this-my-whole-life scream, high and broken and dissolving into a sob as I kept going, inch by inch, his chut stretching around me so tight I thought I might pass out.
"You feel that?" I was barely breathing. "You feel your stepbrother's lund splitting you open?"
"Y-yes—"
"Say it. Say what's inside you."
"Your lund." He was crying now, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto the workbench. "Your thick fucking lund is inside my chut and it's so big, Rahul, it's so big I can feel it in my stomach—"
"That's where it's going to stay." I bottomed out. Held there. Let him feel every centimeter. "That's where my chud is going to end up. Deep in your belly. Bred like the cheap little randi you are."
