The knowing glint in Masi’s eyes felt like a laser sight on his forehead. Rishav shoved a spoonful of curry into his mouth, the spices doing nothing to mask the phantom taste of Ansh on his tongue or the heavy, warm fullness in his ass. Every shift in his chair sent a subtle, slick reminder of what they’d just done against the door.
“It’s, uh… a lot of isometric holds,” Rishav stammered, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You know. For core stability.” He dared a glance at Ansh, who was chewing his food with a look of supreme, smug satisfaction.
“Is that so?” Masi said, her tone light but her gaze far too sharp. “It must be very… strenuous. You both look utterly drained.”
Ansh finally spoke, his voice a low, easy rumble that vibrated through the tense air. “He’s a quick learner. Just needs more… repetition to build his endurance.” He held Rishav’s gaze, and the double meaning in his words was a brand against Rishav’s skin. Repetition. Endurance. The words were filthy promises.
They finished the meal in a silence thick with unspoken things. Rishav’s every nerve was on fire, hyper-aware of Ansh’s presence, of the cooling seed still nestled deep inside him, of Masi’s suspicious curiosity. The moment the last bite was eaten, Ansh stood, collecting the plates with a clatter.
“I’ll get these,” he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument. He looked directly at Rishav. “You. Stay put.”
Masi raised an eyebrow but said nothing, retreating to the living room with a murmured comment about her show. The kitchen felt cavernous and intimate the moment she was gone. Ansh dumped the plates in the sink and turned, leaning back against the counter. The casual posture was a lie. His eyes were dark, hungry coals.
“Get over here.” The command was a low, gritty whisper.
Rishav’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood, his legs feeling like jelly. He crossed the few feet to the sink, his heart beginning its familiar, frantic hammering.
Ansh didn’t touch him. Not at first. He just looked him up and down, a predator assessing its next move. “You handled that well,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “For a fucking liar.”
Before Rishav could respond, Ansh’s hands were on his waist, spinning him around to face the dining table. He pushed him forward, bending him at the waist until his palms were flat on the cool wood surface. The leftover scent of curry and rice filled his nostrils.
“What are you doing?” Rishav breathed, a fresh thrill of panic and want shooting through him.
“Continuing your lesson,” Ansh growled, his hands going to the button of Rishav’s jeans. The denim was rough against his oversensitive skin. “You think one set is enough? You need more repetition.” He popped the button, yanked the zipper down, and dragged the jeans and his briefs down to his knees in one brutal, efficient motion.
The cool kitchen air hit his exposed ass, a shocking contrast to the heat flooding his cheeks. He was completely exposed, bent over the family dinner table, his cousin’s cum doubtless still visible on his skin.
“Ansh, she’s right in the other room,” Rishav whimpered, the protest weak even to his own ears. He was already pushing his ass back, a silent, wanton plea.
“I know,” Ansh whispered, his voice dripping with dark pleasure. He slapped Rishav’s ass cheek, a sharp, stinging crack that echoed in the tiled room. “Makes it better, doesn’t it? Knowing my mother could walk in and see her nephew bent over, ready for my dick. Now spread your legs wider.”
Rishav obeyed, shifting his feet apart, the denim of his jeans tightening around his thighs. The position was even more vulnerable, his hole offered up. He heard the slick sound of Ansh spitting into his palm, then the warm, wet press of two fingers against his entrance, smearing the lingering cum, working him open just enough.
“This angle is different,” Ansh murmured, his fingers pushing in shallowly, making Rishav gasp. “Deeper. I’m gonna fuck up into you. I’m gonna hit places I haven’t touched yet.” He removed his fingers, and Rishav felt the broad, unmistakable head of Ansh’s cock nudge against him. It was already rock-hard. How? How was he always so ready?
“Please,” Rishav begged, the word a broken whisper against the wood grain.
Ansh didn’t answer with words. He answered with a single, devastating thrust. He drove forward, not with the brutal, slamming force of before, but with a deep, relentless pressure that sank every impossible inch of his cock into Rishav’s body in one smooth, continuous motion.
Rishav’s eyes rolled back. The angle was utterly transformative. Ansh was right—it was deeper, a searing, full feeling that speared through his core, a pressure against his very insides. It wasn’t just his prostate being nailed; it felt like Ansh was fucking into his fucking soul.
“Fuuuuck,” Rishav moaned, the sound choked and desperate.
“Quiet,” Ansh breathed, his hands gripping Rishav’s hips, his thumbs digging into the flesh. He began to move, a slow, deep, piston-like rhythm that was somehow more intense than any frantic pounding. Each withdrawal was an agonizing emptiness, each thrust a perfect, overwhelming fullness that stole his breath. The sound was a wet, rhythmic slide, a filthy secret in the quiet kitchen.
“You feel that?” Ansh grunted, his voice strained with the effort of his controlled, deep strokes. “You feel how deep my dick is? I’m in your fucking stomach, Rishav. I can feel your guts wrapping around my cock.”
Rishav could only nod, his forehead pressed against the cool table, his fingers curling against the wood. Pleasure, white-hot and all-consuming, was building in a steady, terrifying wave. Each deep stroke rubbed his prostate with relentless, exquisite pressure.
“This is the breeding angle,” Ansh whispered, leaning over him, his chest pressing against Rishav’s back, his lips close to his ear. His pace didn’t change, each deep thrust a deliberate, claiming act. “This is how you get a fucking baby in you. This is how I plant my seed so deep it’ll never come out. You want that? You want me to breed you right here on the dinner table?”
“Yes! God, yes, Ansh! Breed me! Fill me up!” The words were a sobbing plea, lost in the rhythm of their bodies.
“Gonna do it,” Ansh promised, his own control starting to fray, his deep thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. “Gonna fucking flood you. I want it to drip out of you for days. I want you to feel me every time you move. I want you to remember my cock in your ass when you’re sitting in your fucking office.”
The crude, possessive words were the final key. Rishav felt his orgasm detonate without a single touch to his own dick. It was a silent, convulsive eruption, his body seizing around the incredible, deep intrusion of Ansh’s cock. His vision whited out, his ass clamping down in vicious, rhythmic pulses, milking his cousin frantically.
The intense, sudden constriction broke Ansh completely. With a guttural, choked sound, he buried himself to the hilt and held, his body shuddering violently as he came. Rishav felt it, a scalding, seemingly endless flood that pulsed deep into his core, a hot rush that felt like it was branding him from the inside out. The warmth spread through him, a profound, possessive heat.
They collapsed together over the table, a sweating, trembling heap. Ansh’s weight pressed him into the wood, his softening cock still buried deep, a thick plug holding his immense load inside. From the living room, the sound of a television laugh track played.
Ansh was the first to stir, slowly pulling out. The resulting gush was a heavy, warm spill down Rishav’s thighs. Ansh chuckled darkly, his hand smoothing over Rishav’s back.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Dripping all over the floor. My cum is just pouring out of that well-fucked ass.” He paused, his hand stilling. “We’re not done. Not even close.”
He pulled Rishav upright, turning him around. Rishav’s legs were so weak he could barely stand. Ansh’s eyes were blazing, his expression one of insatiable hunger. He grabbed a clean dish towel from the counter and shoved it into Rishav’s hands.
“Here,” Ansh said, his voice a low, commanding whisper as the sound of Masi’ show continued from the next room. “Clean yourself up. I want you presentable.” A wicked smile touched his lips.
The dish towel felt rough and absurdly domestic in his hands. Rishav’s entire body was trembling, his ass still clenching around the massive, warm load Ansh had just dumped inside him. The sound of Masi’s television was a taunt from the living room.
Ansh’s gaze was a physical weight, hotter than the cum leaking down his thighs. “I said clean yourself up.” His voice was a low, impatient growl. “I want to see you do it. Wipe my fucking seed off your skin.”
Rishav’s hands shook as he brought the towel to his stomach, dabbing at the sticky mess there. The coarse cotton scraped over his oversensitive skin.
“Not like that,” Ansh snapped, stepping closer. He snatched the towel from Rishav’s hand and threw it on the table. “Use your fucking mouth. You made the mess on my dick before, now clean the mess on your own body. Get on your knees and lick my cum off your stomach.”
The command was so debasing it sent a fresh jolt of electric arousal straight to Rishav’s spent cock. He dropped to his knees without hesitation, the cool tile a shock against his skin. He bent his head, his tongue snaking out to lap at the trails of white streaking his abdomen.
The taste was immediate and potent—musk, salt, and the undeniable, primal flavor of his cousin. It was the most obscene thing he’d ever done, worshiping his own defiled body, tasting the physical proof of Ansh’s ownership. He moaned, the vibration humming through him, as he cleaned his own skin with a devotion that felt feral.
“That’s it,” Ansh breathed, watching with dark, hungry eyes. He gripped his own cock, which was already, impossibly, thickening again. “You love the taste of me, don't you? You fucking addict.”
Rishav nodded, his tongue working over a slick patch near his navel. “I love it,” he mumbled against his own skin, the words slurred and filthy.
“Good.” Ansh’s voice dropped, taking on a gravelly, possessive tone that made Rishav’s insides clench. “Now come here. There’s more. Get this dick clean again. I want your fucking mouth on me.”
Rishav shuffled forward on his knees, his jeans still tangled around his ankles. Ansh’s cock stood hard and proud, glistening with a fresh drop of pre-cum and the remnants of their previous encounter. Rishav didn’t hesitate. He opened his mouth and took the head inside, swirling his tongue around the crown, lapping up the familiar, addictive taste.
Ansh’s hand fisted in his hair, not guiding, just holding. “Yeah, suck it. Clean your cousin’s fucking dick. Taste yourself on me. That’s your ass, Rishav. That’s my cum from your fucking hole.”
The vulgar narration sent shivers down Rishav’s spine. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder, taking more of Ansh’s length into his throat. He gagged slightly, tears springing to his eyes, but he pushed through, wanting to please, to consume.
“Fuck, that mouth,” Ansh groaned, his hips giving a shallow thrust. “So fucking good. But it’s not your best feature.” He pulled his cock from Rishav’s lips with a wet pop. “Get up. Turn around. Bend over the table again. I need to be inside you. Now.”
Rishav scrambled to obey, his body thrumming with a renewed, desperate need. He got to his feet and turned, bracing his hands on the table where they’d just eaten dinner. He pushed his ass out, presenting himself, feeling the cool air on his wet, open hole.
He felt Ansh’s spit-soaked fingers press against him, smearing the leaking cum, pushing some back inside. The crude preparation was all he got. Ansh positioned himself and slammed home in one brutal, perfect thrust.
Rishav cried out, the sound stifled by his own arm. The fullness was staggering, a searing stretch that felt even more intense than before, his sensitive tissues singing with a mix of pleasure and overstimulation.
Ansh didn’t pause. He set a ruthless, pounding rhythm from the start, his hips slapping against Rishav’s ass. “This is it,” he grunted, his voice strained with the effort of his thrusts. “This is how I fucking breed you. You feel that? You feel how deep my cock is?”
“Yes! God, Ansh, yes!” Rishav gasped, pushing back to meet every drive.
“I’m gonna fill you so full,” Ansh promised, his pace becoming frantic, his fingers digging bruises into Rishav’s hips. “I’m gonna pump another fucking load into that dirty little cunt. I want you to walk out of here tonight with so much of me inside you, you’ll feel me for a week.”
The words, the relentless fucking, the risk—it was a vortex pulling him under. His own cock was hard again, slapping against his stomach with each powerful thrust.
“I got it,” Rishav blurted out, the words torn from him by the physical force of Ansh’s fucking. “The job… the transfer… I got it, Ansh.”
Ansh’s rhythm hitched for a fraction of a second. “What?”
“The job… in your city,” Rishav panted, clutching the edge of the table. “I start next month.”
Ansh froze, buried to the hilt. The sudden stillness was more shocking than the pounding. Rishav could feel the thick, hard length of him pulsing inside. “You’re fucking serious?”
“Yes,” Rishav breathed, clenching around him involuntarily.
A low, dark laugh rumbled from Ansh’s chest. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated victory. He leaned over, his chest pressing against Rishav’s sweaty back, his lips brushing his ear.
“You’re mine, then,” he whispered, the words a hot, possessive promise. “You’re moving here. To my city.” His hand snaked around, not to grip Rishav’s cock, but to splay possessively over his lower stomach, pressing down. “This changes everything. I’m not just fucking you tonight, Rishav. I’m gonna fuck you every night. I’m gonna keep this ass full of my cum permanently. You understand me? I’m gonna breed you until it takes.”
The filthy, impossible promise ignited something nuclear inside Rishav. The idea of this—of Ansh, of this relentless claiming, of this deep, primal connection—being his everyday reality was the most arousing thing he’d ever conceived.
“Yes,” he sobbed, pushing back against Ansh’s still body. “Please. Do it. Breed me. Every night. I want it. I want you to own me.”
The confession shattered Ansh’s control. With a guttural roar that was far too loud, he began fucking again, this time with a wild, unrestrained fury. It was a claiming, a celebration, a punctuation mark on a future they’d just unlocked.
“Gonna fill you!” Ansh chanted, his thrusts becoming hard, deep, and erratic. “Mark my territory! This cunt is mine! Say it!”
“It’s yours! It’s all yours, Ansh!” Rishav cried out, his own orgasm building at a terrifying speed, fueled by the psychological shock of the news and the physical brutality of the fuck.
“Mine!” Ansh shouted, and with one final, ground-shaking thrust, he buried himself and held. Rishav felt the hot, sudden flood, another scalding jet pulsing deep into his core, mixing with the previous loads, a seemingly endless deposit. The intense, claiming heat triggered his own climax. He came untouched, his cock jerking, spilling his release onto the floor beneath the table in silent, convulsive waves, his ass milking Ansh through every pulse.
They collapsed over the table, a heap of sweating, trembling limbs. Ansh’s weight was a comfort, a prison, a promise. His softened cock slipped out, followed by a heavy, warm gush of cum.
From the living room, the television volume suddenly dipped. Masi’s voice, laced with a new, sharper curiosity, cut through the door. “Ansh? Rishav? Is everything alright in there? It got very quiet.”
