Hey everyone this is third part of this story , read previous two parts to understand this. if you like it and your preference match with mine kindly email me: [email protected]
Comment and appreciate to give me energy to write more.... Thank you.
Desclaimer.. story contains violance, rape , brutally revenge so soft hearted person stay away...
The alarm clock screamed its usual tinny protest. Raj Patel groaned, peeling sticky eyelids open. His head throbbed like a war drum. Sunlight stabbed through the blinds, painting stripes on the rumpled sheets. He shifted, and a sharp ache bloomed low in his back, radiating downward. He winced. That wasn't right. Definitely wasn't right.
He tried rolling onto his side. A sudden, searing sting shot through his left ear lobe. He gasped, fingers flying to the tender spot. It felt hot, swfollen, almost raw to the touch. Memories flickered—laughter, clinking glasses, Sourav’s hand clapping his shoulder a little too hard at the bar. Had he caught it on something? A button? He couldn’t place it. The sting pulsed in time with his headache.
Raj swung his legs over the edge of the bed, letting out a sharp hiss as the movement tugged at the deep ache in his lower back. When his feet hit the cool floor, he attempted to stand—only to freeze mid-motion. A white-hot lance of pain tore through him, centered low and deep. It wasn't muscle soreness. This was something raw and invasive, radiating from his core like a branding iron pressed against his insides.
Raj Patel wakes with a severe headache and unusual physical pains: a throbbing ache in his lower back, a sharp sting on his swollen left earlobe, and intense internal pain radiating from his core when he attempts to stand. He vaguely recalls Sourav's overly firm pat on his shoulder from the night before but has no clear memory of the cause.
He slowly lowered himself back onto the mattress, heart pounding against his ribs. With trembling fingers, he reached behind himself, beneath the waistband of his boxers. The skin back there felt tender, almost bruised. Swallowing hard, he hooked a finger into the cleft of his ass—and recoiled instantly. Fire bloomed where he'd touched. Something was torn. Raw. *Wrong*. He withdrew his finger and stared.
Dread pooled cold in Raj's stomach as he tentatively circled the throbbing spot with his fingertip. The skin felt unnaturally tender, swollen tight like a blister about to burst. Gritting his teeth against the ache radiating through his hips, he pressed inward—slowly, carefully. A sharp gasp tore from him. Deep inside, beyond the initial ring of muscle, a raw, searing pain ignited, as if something had been scraped violently raw. He jerked his finger back as if burned.
His hand trembled violently as he brought it into the dim morning light filtering through the blinds. There it was—undeniable proof smeared across his fingertip. Crusty flakes of dark, dried blood mingled grotesquely with a thick, pearlescent residue that glistened with a sickly sheen. Not sweat. Not ointment. Something else entirely. Something sticky and viscous that clung stubbornly to his skin.
Raj investigates the intense pain in his lower back and discovers severe tenderness and swelling near his anus. Upon probing the area, he experiences excruciating internal pain and withdraws his finger to find dried blood mixed with an unfamiliar, thick, pearly residue coating his skin.
Raj’s breath hitched, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat as his gaze snapped downward, desperately scanning his own body. His bare torso twisted instinctively in the weak light. The familiar landscape of his stomach hair shifted, drawing his eye to the deep valley of his navel. It wasn't right. The usually shadowed, unassuming dip was an angry, inflamed red, the skin around it raw and chafed. Tiny scratches, like miniature claw marks, radiated outward. A thick, sticky residue clung stubbornly to the coarse hairs curling inward, drying into a gluey mess against his skin. He could almost smell the phantom scent of sweat mixed with something acrid and strange.
He pressed trembling fingertips against the tender rim. A sharp jolt of pain shot through him, forcing his eyes shut. Behind his lids, fragmented images burst forth: the deafening thump of bass at the party, the sickly-sweet burn of cheap rum sliding down his throat, the blurry faces of Sourav and Sam looming too close, their laughter distorted, echoing. He remembered the clink of ice in his glass, Sam’s hand slapping his shoulder too hard, the room spinning violently. Darkness swallowed the rest. The abrupt emptiness terrified him more than any clear memory. He needed water. He needed the shower’s sting to scourge this sticky, shameful film off his skin. Teeth clenched against the agony radiating from his core, Raj hauled himself upright, each vertebrae screaming protest.
Raj discovers his navel is inflamed, scratched, and coated in a sticky residue, causing intense pain when touched. This triggers fragmented, terrifying memories of the previous night's party involving Sourav, Sam, excessive drinking, and a sudden loss of consciousness. Overwhelmed by pain and revulsion, he forces himself upright, determined to wash away the residue.
The hot shower spray slammed into Raj’s skin like needles, each droplet sharp against the inflamed skin of his navel. He braced himself against the slick tiles, head bowed as steaming water traced paths through the coarse hair on his chest. The sting intensified as rivulets hit the raw scratches encircling his belly button, washing away the clotted, pearly residue. He scrubbed furiously with a rough loofah, gritting his teeth against the burning pain radiating inward – a phantom echo of whatever violation had occurred there. The steam couldn’t mask the lingering, unfamiliar musk clinging to him beneath the soap.
Drying off was a careful agony. The towel rasped over his swollen earlobe, sending jolts down his neck, and pressing it near his lower back ignited a deep, throbbing fire. Dressing felt like a battle. Each movement – pulling up crisp cotton boxers, stepping into tailored trousers – stretched tender muscles and tugged at unseen internal wounds. Buttoning his shirt was torture; the fabric brushed his inflamed navel, making him gasp. The starched collar chafed the sensitive skin of his neck where phantom breaths seemed to linger. He avoided the mirror, unwilling to see the haunted look he knew resided in his own eyes. Quickly he ran to his car and left home as he is running out of time still uncomfortable and pain.
: Raj showers desperately, scrubbing the sticky residue from his inflamed navel despite excruciating pain. Dressing causes agonizing friction against his swollen earlobe, lower back, and belly button wounds. Avoiding his reflection, he flees his house in severe discomfort, barely managing to get into his car as he runs late.
SUMMARY^2: Raj Patel awakens with severe physical discomfort including headaches, swollen earlobe pain, and intense lower back/internal soreness. Discovering dried blood and an unfamiliar residue around his anus and inflamed navel triggers fragmented memories of Sourav, Sam, and losing consciousness at a party. Overcome with pain and revulsion, Raj showers desperately, aggravating his wounds, and flees his house in agony while avoiding his reflection.
Rohan woke tangled in sweat-damp sheets, the Mumbai dawn casting long, accusing fingers across his room. His cock throbbed against the fabric of his pajama pants, thick and insistent, radiating heat that mirrored the furnace in his belly. The memories slammed back with brutal clarity: the slick heat of his father’s hole yielding around him, the choked gasp Raj made when Rohan pushed deep, the obscene slap of skin-on-skin echoing Sourav’s hungry groans. A shudder ran through him, part revulsion, part electric thrill. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the phantom scent of sweat, musk, and Sourav’s swallowed cum flooded his senses, tightening his balls. His hand drifted down, fingers tracing the outline of his erection through the thin cotton, the friction a sharp reminder of the forbidden power he’d tasted. *Inside him. I was inside Dad.* The thought alone sent fresh sparks crackling down his spine.
He threw off the blankets, padding silently down the hallway towards the master bedroom. The house felt unnaturally still, amplifying the frantic drumming of his own heart. Last night’s chaos—Sourav’s triumphant smirk, Sam’s sticky cum painting Dad’s chest, the way Raj’s limp body accepted everything—played behind his eyes like a lurid film reel. He paused outside the heavy wooden door, straining to hear the soft snores that usually greeted him. Nothing but silence. A predatory smile tugged at Rohan’s lips. *Still unconscious. Still mine.* He pushed the door open slowly, anticipation coiling tighter with each inch revealed. The bed lay stripped bare, blankets neatly folded at the footboard. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic soap and emptiness. Raj’s briefcase was gone. The space where his father’s crumpled form had lain was chillingly vacant. A cold wave crashed over Rohan’s fevered arousal. *Gone? Already?*
: Rohan wakes consumed by vivid, conflicted arousal from memories of penetrating his unconscious father and witnessing Sourav and Sam abuse him. Driven by lust and possessiveness, he sneaks into Raj’s bedroom, anticipating finding him still vulnerable, but discovers the bed stripped and Raj already gone, leaving Rohan shocked and frustrated.
His gaze snapped to the wicker laundry basket beside the wardrobe. A crumpled ball of dark blue cotton lay nestled atop a stack of towels—Raj’s briefs from last night. Rohan lunged forward, snatching them before he could think, fingers sinking into the damp fabric. The scent hit him instantly: sharp antiseptic soap layered over something deeper, feral—musky sweat, stale liquor, and *him*. That unmistakable, masculine tang of Raj’s skin, intensified by the bitter residue Sourav’s towel couldn’t erase. Rohan crushed the underwear against his face, inhaling greedily through gritted teeth. The thick weave scratched his cheek, but the smell… it flooded his senses—ozone, spice, and the ghostly metallic tang of dried blood mixed with Sourav’s swallowed load. Every cell in his body screamed recognition. *Dad.*
He stumbled backward against the bathroom doorframe, his free hand already clawing at his jeans. He shoved them down past his hips, his cock springing free, thick and throbbing against his belly. He didn’t need visuals; the smell was enough—the visceral memory of pushing inside Raj’s tight heat, the muffled groan escaping his father’s lips, the primal slap of flesh echoing. He wrapped his fist around his shaft, slick with pre-cum, and squeezed hard. The briefs still pressed to his nose, he pumped violently, hips jerking forward into his own punishing grip. Each drag of his fist felt like breaching Raj all over again, the imagined resistance making him whimper.
: Rohan finds Raj’s discarded underwear and frantically inhales the potent mix of soap, sweat, and semen clinging to them. Overwhelmed by the scent triggering vivid memories of raping his father, he masturbates violently against the bathroom doorframe, pumping his cock while pressing the briefs to his face.
The musk coated his tongue, thick as smoke. He pictured Raj’s hairy thighs trembling beneath him, the helpless arch of his father’s spine as Sourav’s tongue probed that violated hole, Sam’s greedy fingers digging into Raj’s navel. Rohan’s rhythm became frantic, desperate. He saw Sourav’s triumphant smirk, Sam’s glazed eyes, and his own reflection in the dark window—wild, possessive, *needing*. This scent wasn't just sweat and sex; it was conquest. It was Raj reduced to trembling flesh, marked, used. *His* to claim.
He tore the briefs away from his face, gasping. The elastic waistband dug into his knuckles as he wrapped them around his throbbing cock. Cotton rasped against fevered skin, still damp with Raj’s essence. He thrust hard into the bunched fabric, imagining it was his father’s slack mouth yielding around him, gagging on his girth. The fantasy snapped the last thread of control—heat exploded up his shaft. Rohan’s hips jerked forward, teeth gritted, as thick ropes pulsed into the underwear, adding his own sticky release to the mess already staining the cotton. Warmth seeped through, mingling with his dad’s dried cum and sweat. He slumped against the doorframe, breathing ragged, the briefs clutched tight against his softening cock.
***
Consumed by fantasies of Raj’s degradation, Rohan wraps his father’s underwear around his cock and violently thrusts into it, imagining forcing Raj’s mouth open. He climaxes powerfully into the fabric, mixing his semen with Raj’s dried sweat and semen residue.
Sourav paced the sterile corridor outside Raj's office, the polished floor reflecting his agitated silhouette. He checked his watch again—9:47 AM. Raj Patel was never late. Never. Beside him, Sam leaned against the wall, pretending to examine his phone, but his knuckles were white where he gripped it. "You think he remembers?" Sam whispered, voice cracking. "The blood... the state we left him—" Sourav silenced him with a glare, nodding toward a passing intern. The silence thickened like tar.
Inside Raj’s empty chamber, the air conditioner hummed with unnatural precision. Sourav peered through the glass partition. Raj’s leather chair sat undisturbed, the polished mahogany desk bare except for a single framed photo of Rohan’s school cricket team. No coffee cup, no scattered files. Just... void. Sam pressed his forehead to the cool glass, tracing the ghostly outline where Raj’s briefcase should’ve been. "He cleaned it all," Sam breathed. "Like it never fucking happened."
: Sourav and Sam wait anxiously for Raj outside his office, unnerved by his unprecedented lateness. Inside Raj’s unnaturally tidy office, the absence of his usual belongings suggests he deliberately erased all traces of his routine presence.
The elevator chimed softly down the hall. Both men froze mid-breath. Footsteps approached—slow, deliberate, uneven. Sourav’s gaze snapped to the corner where the corridor bent. First came the polished Oxford shoe, then the hem of Raj’s navy suit pants, creased but immaculate. Then Raj himself, leaning heavily against the wall as he rounded the corner. His stride was a grotesque parody of his usual military march: hips stiff, shoulders hunched forward like a man bracing against invisible knives. Every step made his jaw clench, tendons in his neck standing rigid beneath his collar.
Sourav’s rehearsed greeting died in his throat. Raj’s face was a mask of powdered foundation, poorly concealing deep violet bruises beneath his eyes and the swollen ridge of his left earlobe. Yet when his eyes met theirs, he offered a wide, brittle smile. "Sourav! Sam!" he boomed, voice unnaturally bright. He extended a hand—the movement jerky, as if pulled by strings. "Apologies for the delay. Stomach bug." Up close, the lie unraveled: sweat beaded along his hairline despite the office chill, and his knuckles were scraped raw, likely from yesterday’s frantic shower tiles.
SUMMARY^1: Raj arrives at work severely injured and struggles to walk normally. Despite heavy makeup trying to hide bruises and a swollen ear, Raj forces a cheerful greeting, claiming illness while visibly sweating and showing signs of physical distress.
Rohan wakes consumed by arousal from raping his father and searches Raj’s room, hoping to find him vulnerable, but Raj is gone. Enraged, Rohan masturbates violently using Raj’s semen-soiled underwear while fantasizing about further degrading him. Meanwhile, Sourav and Sam grow anxious waiting for Raj outside his office, noting its unnaturally sterile state. Raj arrives severely injured, struggling to walk, and attempts to mask his pain and wounds with forced cheerfulness.
Sam’s shoulders visibly loosened at Raj’s cheerful tone, a ragged exhale escaping him. He shot Sourav a fleeting glance—*See? Nothing’s wrong*—before stepping forward to clasp Raj’s outstretched hand. The grip was weaker than usual, clammy despite the cold office air. "Glad you’re back, boss," Sam managed, forcing his own smile. "We were worried when you didn’t pick up calls." Raj’s laugh was too loud, echoing sharply down the sterile hallway. "Phone died! That bug wiped me out, but I’m right as rain now." Behind the thick layer of concealer, his left earlobe pulsed an angry crimson, a stark contrast to the powdered pallor of his cheeks.
Sourav lingered back, eyes narrowing as Raj shuffled past them toward his office. The unnatural stiffness in Raj’s stride—hips barely shifting, legs rigid—was unmistakable. *Like he’d been saddle-ridden for hours,* Sourav thought, recalling the brutal thrusts into Raj’s ass that night. But Raj hadn’t flinched at their touch. No flicker of recognition in his bloodshot eyes. Only the cloying scent of antiseptic soap clung to him, masking everything else. Relief washed over Sourav like warm oil. The Rohypnol-laced beer had done its job; the memories were buried. "Come on," Sourav murmured to Sam, steering him toward their shared chamber. "Let him settle. We’ve got reports to finish."
Sam relaxes upon Raj’s cheerful return, shaking his weak hand. Raj blames his absence on a stomach bug, dismissing concerns. Sourav observes Raj’s pain-concealed limp and lack of recognition, concluding the drug erased Raj’s memory of their assault.
Raj shut his office door, leaning against it as a shudder ripped through him. The sterile silence mocked him. He’d scrubbed every trace of himself from this room—his steel tumbler, the photo of Priya laughing on Marine Drive, even the worn cricket ball trophy. Only the sharp tang of bleach remained. Ignoring the fiery ache in his lower back, he sank into his ergonomic chair. Files blurred before him. Numbers swam, invoices dissolved into the phantom sensation of hands spreading his cheeks, tongues lapping at his hole. He blinked hard, fingers trembling as he pulled his keyboard closer. *Just get through today,* he told himself. *Survive.*ngine roared to life.
Hours bled into the humid Mumbai twilight. Raj finally pushed his chair back, his crisp white shirt plastered to his skin with sweat. He drove home through thickening traffic, the air-conditioning struggling against the heat radiating from his own body. Each bump jolted his bruised spine. The familiar gate, Priya’s potted marigolds, the porch light flickering – home felt alien, a stage set. He slipped inside, the quiet house amplifying the frantic drumming in his chest. In the drawing room’s dimness, he ripped at the buttons of his shirt, desperate for air. The fabric tore slightly, a small sacrifice. He flung it onto the armchair, collapsing onto the sofa in nothing but his trousers, his bare chest gleaming, the inflamed navel a dark pit against the sweat-slicked skin. He leaned his head back, eyes closed.
Back in his sterilized office, Raj struggles to focus, haunted by flashbacks of the assault. After enduring a painful workday, he drives home exhausted. Inside, he frantically removes his sweat-soaked shirt and collapses shirtless onto the sofa.
Rohan emerges from the kitchen after preparing tea. He freezes mid-step, spotting his father asleep shirtless on the sofa. Raj's muscular torso glistens with sweat, his hairy chest rising rhythmically. Rohan's gaze traces the familiar trail of dark hair from navel to beltline—the same path Sourav and Sam had worshiped last night. A bead of sweat slides down Raj's sternum toward his exposed belly button, still slightly red and swollen from Sam's exploration. Rohan's breath catches.
"
Rohan approached cautiously, his voice thick with concern as he knelt beside the sofa. "Dad... are you okay?" Raj stirred, eyelids fluttering open clouded with confusion and pain. He groaned softly, fingers instinctively brushing his swollen earlobe before drifting down to hover protectively over his navel. "I don't... don't know what happened last night," Raj mumbled hoarsely, each word labored. "My bellybutton burns like fire... ear throbs... and my backside..." He shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at hidden soreness deep inside him. "Feels torn apart."
Rohan's hands trembled as he pulled an orange prescription bottle from his pocket—heavy-duty painkillers Sourav had slipped him earlier "for emergencies." He tapped two pills into his palm, the plastic rattle unnaturally loud in the tense silence. "Take these," Rohan urged, pressing the tablets into Raj's hand alongside the lukewarm tea. "
SUMMARY^1: Rohan sees his shirtless father asleep and notices signs of last night's abuse. He wakes Raj gently. Confused and in pain, Raj admits he doesn't remember the party but suffers from intense burning in his navel, throbbing in his earlobe, and deep internal soreness. Rohan gives him strong painkillers.
Raj's bleary eyes focused on the pills with weary trust. He swallowed them dry, the bitter chalkiness making him grimace before chasing it with a gulp of tea. Almost immediately, the furrow between his brows softened as the drugs hit his bloodstream—a visible slackening of his jaw, the protective arm draped over his belly going limp. Within minutes, his breathing deepened into ragged snores, sweat-damp chest rising in slow, heavy heaves.
Rohan watched, motionless. The raw vulnerability etched across his father’s sleeping face—the slight wince still clinging near his swollen earlobe, the faint tremor in his exposed, abused belly button—hit him like a physical blow. Where moments before there had been a hot coil of possessive lust, now a cold, sickening dread pooled in his stomach. *Look what you did,* whispered a voice inside him, sharper than any knife. The memory of forcing himself inside that helpless body, the slick, violating sounds, Sourav’s approving leer—it flooded back, choking him with shame. He saw not the object of his twisted desire, but his *dad*: the man who taught him cricket.
Raj trustingly takes the pills and quickly falls into a deep, drugged sleep. Rohan observes him and feels overwhelming shame and dread replace his lust, realizing the gravity of assaulting his vulnerable father. He sees Raj not as an object of desire but as his dad.
The guilt was a crushing weight, pinning him to the spot. He traced the faint bruising around Raj’s navel with trembling eyes, remembering Sam’s cruel pinch, Sourav’s hungry tongue on the ear. *He trusted you,* the voice hissed again. *You helped them destroy him.* A wave of nausea rose, sour and acrid. The fierce arousal that had gripped him earlier evaporated, replaced by a profound sorrow that made his chest ache. He couldn’t bear the sight anymore. Turning sharply, Rohan stumbled towards the door, the sound of Raj’s pained sigh echoing in his ears like an accusation.
In his own room, darkness offered no comfort. He threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in the coarse pillowcase. Images flashed relentlessly: his father’s slack, trusting expression before the drugs took hold; the raw vulnerability of his exposed throat; the shocked gasp Rohan had torn from him during the assault. *Never again,* he choked out, digging his fingers into the pillow. *. Lust was a poison, and he’d swallowed it whole, poisoning the one person who mattered most.
: Overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow, Rohan flees the living room after seeing Raj's injuries. In his dark room, he recalls Raj's vulnerability and the assault's brutality, resolving never to repeat such actions. He recognizes his lust poisoned their relationship.
Raj lies to Sam and Sourav about his absence, claiming illness while Sourav observes his concealed pain and concludes the drug erased Raj’s memory. Haunted by flashbacks, Raj endures a painful workday. At home, Rohan finds him asleep and shirtless, notices his wounds, and wakes him. Confused Raj admits he remembers nothing but suffers intense pain. Trustingly taking Rohan’s painkillers, Raj falls into a drugged sleep. Seeing his father’s vulnerability, Rohan feels profound shame and flees, resolving never to repeat the assault.
Raj awakens with severe pain and physical signs of assault, triggering fragmented memories. After a distressing shower, he flees home. Rohan wakes aroused, searches for Raj, masturbates violently using Raj's soiled underwear, and fantasizes about further abuse. Sourav and Sam wait anxiously at Raj's office, noting its sterile state. Raj arrives injured, lies about his condition, and endures a painful workday with flashbacks. At home, Rohan finds Raj asleep, notices his wounds, and wakes him. Confused Raj admits memory loss but extreme pain, then trustingly takes Rohan's painkillers and falls asleep. Rohan, overwhelmed by shame, flees, vowing never to repeat the assault.
--- Rohan jerked awake, disoriented. The room was pitch black, thick with the scent of his own shame-sweat. A rhythmic thumping echoed through the wall—music? No. A familiar cadence. *Dad’s footsteps.* Sharp, purposeful, moving downstairs. Impossible. Four hours ago, Raj had been a broken, drugged mess curled on the sofa, radiating pain. Rohan scrambled out of bed, pressing his ear to the cool plaster. The footsteps paused, then resumed, lighter, almost… buoyant. A prickle of dread crawled up his spine. He slipped into the hallway, peering down the stairs into the dimly lit living room below.
The footsteps halted abruptly at the base of the stairs. Rohan leaned over the banister, his knuckles white against the wood. Moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating Raj Patel standing in the center of the living room. Not hunched. Not broken. Spine straight, shoulders squared—a silhouette of coiled vitality. He wore crisp white linen that clung to the hard planes of his chest, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms still dusted with fading bruises. Navy jeans, impossibly tight, traced every contour of thick thighs and the swell of his ass. Rohan's breath snagged. Four hours. Four hours ago, this man had been whimpering through drug-induced oblivion, his body a map of violation. Now he radiated an electric, predatory stillness, like a panther scenting the wind.
SUMMARY^1: Rohan awakens hours later, startled by Raj's surprisingly strong footsteps downstairs. He spies Raj standing tall in the living room, dressed sharply and radiating unnerving vitality despite his recent drugged vulnerability and injuries. The stark contrast unsettles Rohan deeply.
Raj turned slowly, deliberately. His gaze swept upward, locking onto Rohan’s shadowed form. The moonlight caught his left ear—the lobe Rohan had bitten raw only hours before. It wasn’t swollen or inflamed. It gleamed, pierced now by a small, dark stud—obsidian or onyx—that winked with cold fire. The skin around it was smooth, unblemished, impossibly healed.
"Dad?" Rohan’s voice cracked. "Where are you going?" Raj hesitated—a fractional pause where his knuckles tightened on the banister—before forcing lightness into his tone. "Party," he murmured, already pivoting toward the door, his hips rolling with unfamiliar fluidity beneath the suffocatingly tight jeans. He didn’t glance back. Not once. The front door clicked shut behind him, leaving Rohan alone with the scent of sandalwood cologne and the hollow echo of footsteps fading down the driveway.
Rohan stood frozen until the rumble of Raj’s car vanished entirely. The silence pressed in, thick and unnatural—a stark contrast to the frenzied heartbeat drumming against his ribs. He drifted toward the kitchen, mechanically filling a pot with water for spaghetti. As he stirred tomato sauce, the steam fogged his glasses. He wiped them with the hem of his shirt, catching a whiff of sandalwood lingering on the fabric, and frowned. That wasn’t his scent.
Raj unnervingly displays a healed, pierced earlobe despite Rohan's bite hours earlier. Avoiding eye contact, Raj tells Rohan he's going to a party, leaving abruptly with unsettlingly fluid movements. Alone later, Rohan smells Raj's sandalwood cologne on his own shirt while cooking, deepening his confusion.
Later, curled under thin bedsheets, Rohan tossed restlessly despite exhaustion weighing his limbs. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across a rumpled copy of *Adventure Bike* magazine. He flipped past glossy photos of Himalayan trails, fingers tracing tire tracks etched onto paper, imagine wind—anything to the things he done to his dad because he don't want to do that again he try his best to control his feelings and slept peacefully.
A car door slammed outside, sharp and unexpected in the velvet stillness of the night. Rohan jolted awake, disoriented. The digital clock blazed a stark **2:02 AM**. He hadn't heard Raj return. Throwing off sweat-damp sheets, he padded barefoot onto the landing, the polished wood cool beneath his feet. Peering down the curving staircase into the moon-washed foyer,.
His father's silver Mercedes was parked askew, trunk gaping open. But Raj wasn't alone. Silhouetted against the headlights' dying glow, a woman stood beside him—sleek dark hair cascading over bare shoulders, a sliver dress shimmering faintly. They moved with exaggerated care, Raj guiding her with a hand resting lightly on the small of her back. Her high heels dangled from her other hand, toes barely kissing the dew-slick pavement as they crept toward the front door like thieves returning home. Rohan pressed himself flat against the shadowed wall, heart hammering against his ribs. A girl? After everything?
: Unable to sleep, Rohan tries to distract himself with thoughts unrelated to his father. Awakened at 2 AM by a car door, he finds Raj returning home unexpectedly accompanied by an elegant woman. They move quietly towards the front door, leaving Rohan shocked and hidden on the landing.
The whisper of the heavy oak door opening echoed unnaturally loud in the sleeping house. They slipped inside, a gust of night air carrying the sharp, unfamiliar scent of expensive perfume mixed with whisky before the latch clicked shut. Raj's low murmur drifted up the stairs, velvet-smooth and intimate—words Rohan couldn't decipher but recognized instantly as the tone his father reserved for conquests. The woman's answering giggle was bright, brittle, startlingly young. Sounds shifted deeper into the house, heading toward the rarely used guest lounge: the soft shuffle of feet on carpet, the clink of glasses, the rustle of fabric settling on leather. Rohan edged down two steps, frozen in place. Why bring her *here*? Why tonight? The polished banister felt slick and cold under his sweating palms.
A silence stretched, thick and expectant, followed by a soft, wet sound—a kiss—and Raj’s voice, deeper now, cutting with deliberate clarity: "Rohan?" The name hung in the air like a thunderclap. Panic seized him, ice-cold and immediate. *He knows.* Flight instinct kicked in. Heart slamming against his ribs, Rohan scrambled backwards on silent feet, pivoted, and bolted down the shadowed hallway toward his room. He flung the door shut slowly without making any noice . Fumbling in near darkness, he ripped off his t-shirt, kicked off his shorts, and dove under the thin duvet, arranging himself face-down in a pose of deep sleep, one arm flung out dramatically. He forced his breathing into a slow, deep rhythm, focusing on the scent of his own stale sweat mingling with the lingering ghost of Raj’s sandalwood drifting under his door. *He knows. Oh god, he knows.*
SUMMARY^1: Raj and the woman enter the guest lounge, their intimate sounds distressing Rohan. Raj unexpectedly calls out Rohan's name loudly, panicking him. Convinced Raj knows his secret, Rohan flees silently to his room, frantically pretending to be asleep while terrified Raj will confront him about the assault.
Footsteps approached – deliberate, measured, heavier than Raj’s usual tread. Two pairs. The door handle turned slowly, the mechanism releasing a faint metallic sigh. Light from the hallway spilled across Rohan’s bare shoulder and the rumpled sheets. He held himself perfectly still, muscles screaming with tension beneath his forced calm. He could feel Raj’s gaze scanning him, assessing, lingering a beat too long on the feigned slackness of his face. Then came Raj’s voice, pitched low and intimate, almost conspiratorial, directed toward the woman: "See? Deep sleep. Like a child." The words vibrated with a possessiveness that made Rohan’s skin prickle.
The doorway darkened as Raj leaned in, his silhouette framed by the hallway light. "Rohan," he murmured again, the name curling like smoke in the quiet room. Beneath his eyelids, Rohan fought the instinct to flinch, forcing his breathing to remain deep and even. He felt the weight of Raj’s stare—hot, probing—and the subtle shift of air as the elegant woman stepped closer, her perfume mingling with the sharp tang of Raj’s sandalwood cologne.
: Raj and the woman enter Rohan's room; Raj observes Rohan pretending to sleep and comments possessively to the woman about his deep, childlike state. Raj leans in and whispers Rohan's name again, intensifying Rohan's fear beneath his facade as the woman nears.
SUMMARY^2: Rohan wakes startled by Raj's unnervingly strong recovery, displaying healed injuries and unnerving vitality. Raj avoids eye contact and announces abruptly leaving for a party. Alone later, Rohan smells Raj's cologne, deepening confusion. Unable to sleep, he hears Raj return late with an elegant woman. They enter the guest lounge intimately. Panicked when Raj calls his name loudly, Rohan flees to his room and pretends sleep. Raj and the woman enter; Raj observes Rohan's facade possessively, leaning in and whispering his name, terrifying Rohan.
Raj lingered a moment longer, his shadow stretching across Rohan’s bed like a shroud, before gently pulling the door closed. The latch clicked softly, sealing Rohan in darkness punctuated only by the fading glow beneath the door. Footsteps retreated down the hallway—Raj’s familiar stride alongside lighter, sharper clicks—moving toward the master bedroom at the end of the corridor. A door opened, hinges whispering, then shut with definitive finality. Silence swallowed the house, thick and suffocating, broken only by Rohan’s own thunderous heartbeat drumming against his ribs.
Rohan waited, muscles coiled tight, ears straining for any sign of return. When nothing stirred after minutes that felt like hours, he slipped from bed onto cold wooden floors. He crept toward the door, breath shallow. Reaching out trembling fingers, he felt for the knob’s familiar cool brass curve. Yet as he turned it—anticipating resistance—it spun uselessly, freely. The door didn’t budge. Confusion prickled his skin. He pushed harder, pressing his shoulder against the wood. Still nothing. Locked? But Raj never locked his door. Never. Panic flickered low in his gut. He dropped to his knees, peering through the narrow gap beneath the doorframe. There, gleaming faintly in the hallway’s dimness: a key protruding from the lock’s outer cylinder. Locked *from the outside*. The chilling reality slammed into him: dad had deliberately trapped me inside???.
SUMMARY^1: Raj and the woman leave Rohan's room and retreat to Raj's bedroom. Once they settle, Rohan finds his door locked from the outside with a key, realizing Raj deliberately trapped him inside, intensifying his panic.
Curiosity warring with rising fury, Rohan scrambled onto his bedroom balcony overlooking the moonlit garden below. The cool night air did little to calm the frantic pulse in his throat. Hidden deep within his wardrobe, tucked behind boxes of childhood memorabilia he never touched, lay the coiled nylon rope – thick, surprisingly strong, and purchased weeks ago from that discreet ‘adventure’ store downtown, its true purpose now chillingly relevant. He secured it swiftly to the sturdy iron railing, knotted it with trembling hands, and descended hand-over-hand into the damp grass, landing silently on unsteady feet.
He skirted the house’s perimeter like a phantom drawn toward his father’s bedroom window, the fragrance of blooming night jasmine thick and cloying in the air. Peering cautiously around the corner, his breath caught. There it was – Raj’s bedroom window, usually sealed tight against Mumbai’s heat, now inexplicably raised a mere three inches. A deliberate invitation? A careless oversight? The gap revealed only slivers of the dimly lit room within, shadows shifting like living things. The low murmur of voices drifted out – Raj’s familiar baritone, layered with an unfamiliar female chuckle, dry and sophisticated. Then silence. Heavy. Expectant.
: Desperate to escape his locked room, Rohan uses a hidden rope to climb down from his balcony to the garden. Drawn to his father's bedroom window, he finds it slightly open and hears Raj's voice mingled with the woman's low laughter inside, followed by an unnervingly heavy silence.
Rohan pressed his cheek against the cool stucco wall, angling his eye towards the narrow gap. The dim light inside framed the scene: his father knelt behind a naked woman bent over the edge of the four-poster bed, her face buried in silk pillows. Her moan was muffled, but unmistakable – Priya Sharma, wife of his father's business partner Mohit. Raj’s hands gripped her hips with possessive force, knuckles stark white against her pale skin. The thick, dark hair on Raj’s lower back clung damply to his skin as he drove himself into her with deep, deliberate strokes. Between thrusts, Rohan glimpsed the tight, flexing furl of his father’s exposed asshole, puckering rhythmically before disappearing again into shadow as Raj leaned forward. The visual was shockingly intimate – a glimpse of raw vulnerability beneath the power.
Rohan's nails dug into the crumbling plaster as primal fury warred with a sickening arousal inside him. Seeing his dad—his pious, family-man dad—fucking Priya Sharma raw while Mom is not in home felt like a knife twisting in his gut. Anger burned hot at the betrayal, yet the raw display of Raj’s dominance, the flexing muscles of his back, the deep groans escaping his throat—it all sent forbidden heat pooling low in Rohan’s own belly. He hated Priya’s choked cries, hated the possessive grip Raj had on her hips, yet his traitorous cock throbbed against his jeans, mirroring the desperate rhythm playing out before him.
Through the bedroom window gap, Rohan witnesses Raj brutally penetrating Priya Sharma, Mohit Sharma's wife, a betrayal intensified by Raj's exposed anal vulnerability during the act. Overwhelmed by conflicting rage at his father's deceit and illicit arousal spurred by Raj's raw dominance, Rohan’s physical reaction mirrors the violent scene unfolding inside.
A choked sob escaped Priya as Raj abruptly pulled out, glistening cock slick with her arousal. Before Rohan could process the movement, Raj flipped her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. His other hand slid possessively down her trembling body, fingers spreading across her mound. Rohan’s breath hitched, anticipating invasion, but Raj only pressed his thumb hard against her swollen clit, eliciting a sharp gasp. Then, with deliberate slowness, Raj lowered his head between her thighs, his broad shoulders obscuring Rohan’s view. The sudden deep groan that rumbled from Raj, muffled against Priya’s flesh, vibrated through the wall against Rohan’s cheek. Priya’s cry rose sharply – pure, abandoned pleasure – followed by the unmistakable wet suction sounds of Raj devouring her. Rohan’s fury surged hot alongside the image conjured by those sounds: his father’s mouth buried deep, tasting another woman while his own mother was away.
Priya's cries shifted abruptly as Raj lifted his head, her thighs trembling around his shoulders. "Enough," he growled, his voice thick with exertion and dominance. In one fluid motion, he hauled her up by the hair, forcing her onto her knees before him. That thick, still-wet cock pressed against her lips, the head glistening under the bedroom light. Priya's eyes widened with sudden understanding—and a flicker of terrified compliance—before she opened her mouth obediently, her tongue darting out instinctively. Raj wasted no time, shoving himself deep into her throat with brutal force. Priya gagged violently, tears streaking her cheeks as his hips pistoned, filling her mouth relentlessly until, with a guttural roar, he emptied himself in pulsing bursts down her convulsing throat. She choked but swallowed desperately, the thick spill dripping from her chin as he finally withdrew, leaving her gasping and trembling on the carpet.
After abruptly withdrawing, Raj pins Priya down and orally pleasures her intensely, evoking her cries and Rohan's enraged disgust. Ignoring her climax, Raj violently forces Priya to her knees and brutally face-fucks her, choking her until he ejaculates copiously down her throat, leaving her gasping and degraded on the floor.
Raj locks Rohan's door from the outside, trapping him inside. Panicked, Rohan climbs down from his balcony. Through Raj's bedroom window, he witnesses Raj brutally penetrating Priya Sharma, arousing conflicting rage and arousal in Rohan. Raj's dominance escalates—he pins Priya down for oral pleasure before violently choking and face-fucking her, leaving her degraded post-ejaculation.
Wiping damp grass stains from his knees, Rohan scrambled back toward his balcony, the rope scraping his palms raw as he hauled himself upward. Priya's choked sobs still echoed in his skull, tangled with Raj's triumphant grunts—sounds that twisted his stomach into knots of nausea and rage. How could he have been so weak? The memory of his own arousal, thick and urgent while watching Raj betray his mother, flooded him with scalding shame. He'd vowed never to touch his father again, yet the image of Raj bent over Priya, muscles straining, had made his hands tremble and his blood roar. He slammed his fist against the cold concrete balcony ledge, knuckles stinging. His mother's gentle face flashed behind his eyes—her trusting smile, her quiet strength. She deserved loyalty, devotion, not this ugly secret festering in their home. He'd failed her. Failed himself. He hadn't stopped anything; he'd just watched, trembling and hard.
Inside his locked bedroom, Rohan paced like a caged animal, sweat soaking his shirt as the night stretched on endlessly. The images of Raj’s betrayal—the way he’d gripped Priya’s hair, the way she’d gagged around him—played on a loop behind his eyelids every time he blinked. His fists clenched until his nails bit into his palms; disgust curdled in his gut, but beneath it simmered something darker, hotter: the realization that his father wasn’t just a hypocrite—he was a predator. And predators deserved to be hunted. By dawn, Rohan’s fury had crystallized into cold resolve. He wouldn’t just confront Raj. He’d destroy him.
SUMMARY^1: After fleeing the scene of Raj's violent betrayal with Priya, Rohan grapples with self-loathing over his arousal and inaction, haunted by his mother's unknowing victimization. Through a sleepless night, his disgust curdles into vengeful clarity—Raj is a predator who must be hunted, not confronted.
The next afternoon, Rohan met Kunal at a seedy café near the docks, far from prying eyes. Kunal—sharp-eyed, tousle-haired, and openly gay in a way Rohan envied—sipped chai while Rohan spilled his story in fractured whispers: the voyeurism, the arousal, the shame. Kunal didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “You want revenge?
Rohan said yes.........Well.......There’s a drug,” he said, tapping his phone to show Rohan a listing on the dark web. “Diazepam-laced Rohypnol. Knocks them out cold but leaves them... receptive. And here’s the kicker—next morning?” Kunal smirked. “No memory. Not of faces, not of hands, not of screams.”
Rohan’s pulse spiked as Kunal explained the logistics—how to slip it into Raj’s drink.how to time the dose so the blackout would feel like natural exhaustion. “It’s how the elite party,” Kunal added, rolling his eyes. “Rich uncles pay triple for this shit.” Rohan stared at the screen, his fingers twitching. The drug was expensive, but Kunal knew a dealer who’d take cash. No questions. “Just promise me one thing,” Kunal said, suddenly serious. He gripped Rohan’s wrist. “Don’t get caught. Your dad’s not the kind of man who forgets twice,,.”
SUMMARY^1: Rohan confides in Kunal about Raj’s actions and his own conflicted desires, seeking guidance. Kunal introduces him to a potent amnesia-inducing drug used by elites to erase memories of assault, offering a solution for revenge without consequences—but warns Rohan of Raj’s dangerous capacity for retaliation if discovered.
The chai in Rohan's cup had gone cold, a thin skin forming over the surface as his fingers tightened around it. "Is it—is it safe?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though the café was nearly empty. Kunal leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost sympathetic as he tapped the screen again, pulling up clinical reports. "Safer than whiskey dick and twice as fun," he said, pointing to the chemical breakdown. "Zero liver damage, no hangover—just a blackout so clean, they'll blame fatigue."
Rohan exhaled through his nose, crumpling a napkin in his fist. The numbers in his savings account flashed behind his eyelids—three months of skipped meals, of lying to his mother about tuition fees, all for the Yamaha he'd been sketching on notebooks since college. He drained the bitter dregs of his tea and stood abruptly, chair screeching. "Wait here," he muttered, already calculating how many doses he'd need per encounter.
The ATM screen glowed accusingly as he punched in his PIN. His thumb hovered over the withdrawal button—enough left for bus fare home, nothing more. A security camera whirred above him. Sweat pooled between his shoulder blades as he imagined Raj's hands tightening around Priya's throat again. The machine spat out crisp 2000-rupee notes.
SUMMARY^1: Rohan questions the drug’s safety until Kunal assures him of its clinically harmless effects, then grapples with sacrificing his savings for Raj’s motorcycle to fund the purchase. At the ATM, hesitation gives way to resolve as memories of Raj’s violence solidify his decision to withdraw the money in one decisive motion.
Kunal's fingers drummed the café table when Rohan returned, the envelope fat between them. "Five doses," Kunal said, not bothering to count. He slid a velvet pouch across the table—tiny vials clinking like wind chimes. "One drop in his whiskey. Three if you want him pliant." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "He'll wake up sore with no proof."
Rohan's hands shook as he clutched the velvet pouch in his pocket, the vials pressing against his thigh like guilty secrets. The house was unnervingly silent when he returned—Raj's motorcycle still missing, the absence louder than any accusation. He paced his room, counting the hours until dusk, each tick of the clock a whip to his frayed nerves. His father had moved through the day like a ghost—backs turned, doors half-shut—never once meeting his son's eyes, as if the very air between them had turned to poison. Rohan never looked at his eyes due to the agression and temper which is normal.
The front door slammed with enough force to rattle the picture frames—Raj's laughter booming through the house like a sudden summer storm. "Rohan! Get your scrawny ass down here!" His voice dripped with uncharacteristic cheer, the syllables slightly slurred at the edges. Glass bottles clinked in a grocery bag as he kicked off his shoes. "Promotion, beta! Director of fucking Operations!"
Kunal hands Rohan the drug doses with clinical instructions on dosage and effects, his demeanor betraying unease beneath the transaction. Rohan returns home to find Raj’s absence deepening his tension until his father bursts in drunkenly celebrating a promotion, his forced cheer and aggressive summons heightening Rohan’s anxiety as the planned confrontation looms.
Fleeing Raj's brutal betrayal, Rohan spirals into self-loathing over his arousal until Kunal introduces him to an elite memory-erasing drug for revenge without consequences—though warning of Raj’s retaliation risk. After committing his savings for Raj’s motorcycle to fund it, Rohan receives clinical dosage instructions despite Kunal’s unease. Returning home, he finds Raj drunkenly celebrating a promotion, his aggressive summons heightening Rohan’s dread as their confrontation looms.
Rohan observes Raj's unnervingly rapid recovery and abrupt departure for a party. Later, unable to sleep, he hears Raj return with a woman and witnesses Raj brutally dominating Priya Sharma through his bedroom window, sparking conflicting rage and arousal. Devastated by Raj’s betrayal, Rohan spirals into self-loathing until Kunal introduces him to a memory-erasing drug for revenge—warning of Raj’s retaliation risk. After purchasing it using Raj’s motorcycle funds, Rohan returns home to find Raj drunkenly celebrating a promotion, escalating tension before their inevitable confrontation.
Rohan froze mid-step on the staircase, the velvet pouch burning against his thigh. Raj stood in the foyer haloed by golden evening light, his crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows, tie loose like a noose halfway undone. Two six-packs dangled from his fingers—Kingfisher Ultras, the green labels garish against his calloused hands. His grin was too wide, too bright, the kind that showed all his teeth. "Come on, lazybones!" Raj lunged forward and ruffled Rohan's hair with bruising affection. "Tonight we drink like men, eh?" The scent of his cologne mixed dangerously with something sharper—whiskey sweat and the metallic tang of adrenaline.
Upstairs, Rohan stripped off his sweat-dampened shirt with jerky motions, fingers stumbling over the pouch tucked in his pocket. The bathroom tiles felt slick under his bare feet as he splashed cold water on his face—too cold, sharp enough to make his teeth ache—but nothing could numb the image waiting downstairs. He dried his palms on his thighs, fabric catching on the roughness of his bitten nails. The pouch's drawstring fibers rasped against his fingertips when he pulled it free, confirmation and condemnation in one.
Raj drags Rohan into forced celebration with aggressive cheer, his alcohol-laced breath and bruising physicality heightening Rohan’s unease. Retreating upstairs, Rohan assesses the drug pouch with mounting dread, its tactile presence confirming his irreversible path as Raj’s drunken laughter echoes through the house.
The kitchen lights hit Raj like a stage rig—bronzed shoulders glistening with a fresh sheen of sweat, those stupid gym shorts riding low on his hips where dark hair curled toward the waistband. His collarbone bore the unmistakable half-moons of teeth marks, angry pink against his skin. Rohan's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Raj turned with a beer in each hand, the fridge door swinging shut behind him. "Took you long enough," he laughed, throat working around a swallow as condensation dripped onto his chest. It traced a path through the salt-and-pepper hair, disappearing into the waistband where fabric strained.
Raj's fingers left wet smears on the bottle as he shoved one toward Rohan. "Drink." His pupils were black pits under the fluorescents, too dilated for just alcohol. The scent of him was overwhelming—musky deodorant barely masking the raw animal heat beneath. When Rohan hesitated, Raj's grin twisted. He leaned in, shoulder brushing Rohan's bare arm, and whispered, "Scared?" The word curled like smoke between them, hot and dangerous.
SUMMARY^1: Raj's physical dominance fills the kitchen space, his aggressive hospitality underscored by suspiciously dilated pupils and lingering bite marks. He shoves a beer at Rohan with taunting proximity, his whispered challenge and predatory grin escalating the tension as Rohan hesitates on the precipice of action.
Rohan's fingers closed around the chilled bottle, the condensation slick against his palm like the sweat prickling down his spine. He raised it to his lips mechanically, eyes locked on the pulse hammering in Raj's throat as the man threw back his own drink in one greedy gulp. The beer tasted like betrayal—bitter, metallic—but he forced it down, watching Raj's Adam's apple bob with each swallow. His father's chest gleamed under the kitchen lights, the hollow between his pecs still glistening where that single drop had vanished into dark hair. Rohan's grip tightened. *Soon.*
Raj wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, laughing at some private joke as he reached for another bottle. The movement made the hem of his shorts ride up, exposing the elastic band of his underwear clinging to damp skin. Rohan's breath hitched—this was his moment. While Raj fumbled with the cap, he palmed the drug pouch from his pocket, fingers trembling as he tore it open with his teeth. The powder smelled like nothing, tasted like nothing, but it carried the weight of every stolen glance, every suppressed whimper in the dark.
Rohan drinks under duress while studying Raj’s predatory throat movements, biding time until the older man’s drunken fumbling creates an opening. Seizing the moment, Rohan prepares the memory-erasing drug with desperate precision, his shaking hands contrasting with Raj’s oblivious revelry as the powder’s blandness belies its devastating potential.
The kitchen fan whirred overhead as Raj turned to grab ice, his broad back flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt. Rohan flicked his wrist, letting the powder spiral into Raj's half-finished whiskey like fine sand sinking into a tidal pool. It dissolved instantly, betrayal made invisible. Raj spun back, sloshing fresh whiskey into the glass, clinking it against Rohan's bottle with a grin that didn't reach his dilated pupils. "To promotions," he slurred, already swaying on his feet.
Rohan nodded, throat tight as Raj gulped the doctored drink, his throat working around every swallow. The kitchen smelled suddenly of sweat and impending disaster. Raj wiped his mouth, blinking rapidly—his pupils now black pools swallowing the whiskey-brown of his irises. "Your math exam," he said abruptly, voice thick as syrup. "Tell me about the matrices chapter." His fingers twitched against the countertop, nails digging into the laminate as if anchoring himself against a sudden tilt in the world. Rohan answered with robotic precision, watching Raj's head loll slightly between nods, like a marionette with slackening strings.
Raj obliviously consumes the spiked whiskey while Rohan monitors his deteriorating coordination and erratic speech patterns. The drug's rapid onset manifests in Raj's disjointed questioning and physical instability, his grip on consciousness visibly slipping as he clutches the countertop for balance while slurring irrelevant academic inquiries.
: Raj forcefully drags Rohan into drunken celebration, his aggressive hospitality masking suspicious physical signs. Rohan prepares the memory-erasing drug undetected as Raj’s clumsiness creates an opening. After spiking Raj’s whiskey, Rohan watches the drug’s rapid onset—Raj’s coordination deteriorates into disjointed speech and physical instability, his grip on consciousness visibly slipping.
Raj scratched at his neck, his fingers trembling as he tried to focus on Rohan's face—but the edges kept blurring, swimming like oil on water. His tongue felt thick, clumsy. "Whwhy'sh it sso... hot?" he slurred, blinking slowly as if each lid weighed ten pounds. The kitchen light stabbed his pupils; he winced, swaying where he stood, one hand braced on the counter while the other clawed at his collar like the fabric was crawling on his skin.
Rohan swallowed hard, stepping closer. "Dad? Are you okay?" Raj's brow furrowed—not in pain, but in genuine confusion. He blinked rapidly, like a man trying to shake off a dream. His lips parted, then twisted into something between a sneer and a grimace. "Dad?" he repeated, voice dripping with disdain. "Who the fuck is 'Dad'?" Who are you??His gaze swept over Rohan as if seeing him for the first time, pupils swallowing his irises whole. "And what are *you* doing in my house?"
SUMMARY^1: Raj’s confusion escalates into spatial and temporal disorientation, his slurred speech deteriorating into hostile dissociation as he fails to recognize Rohan or their surroundings. His eyelids droop under the drug’s weight while his limbs twitch erratically, culminating in a venomous rejection of their familial relationship as his altered state rewrites reality itself.
Rohan recoiled like he'd been struck. The drug wasn't just erasing memories—it was peeling back layers of Raj's entire identity. Fear coiled in his gut, but beneath it pulsed something darker, hotter. His fingers twitched at his sides. This wasn't just revenge anymore. This was opportunity. He wet his lips. "No need to get worked up, sir," he murmured, guiding Raj toward the sofa with a hand on his sweat-damp lower back. The older man stumbled, legs buckling, collapsing onto the cushions with a grunt. Before Raj could protest, Rohan straddled his lap, pressing him down—and plunged his middle finger deep into the soft, hairy crevice of Raj's navel.
Raj gasped, his abdominals contracting violently. The sudden invasion sent jolts of sensation shooting through his drugged system—too intense, too intimate. His hands flew up to grip Rohan's wrists, but his fingers lacked coordination, sliding off like he was trying to catch smoke. Rohan twisted his finger deeper, scraping against the sensitive inner folds, his own breath coming fast as he watched Raj's face contort. Sweat beaded along Raj's collarbones, soaking into the dark hair there. The navel, usually hidden beneath crisp shirts and belts, now served as a vulnerable gateway—Rohan's fingertip circling the tight ring of muscle with relentless precision.
Rohan exploits Raj's incapacitated state by forcibly penetrating his navel with a finger, triggering violent abdominal contractions. Raj's flailing resistance proves futile under the drug's influence as Rohan methodically violates the hypersensitive cavity, his own arousal escalating alongside Raj's discomfort—the once-protected bodily recess now a helpless entry point for violation.
Then Rohan struck like a cobra. He crushed their mouths together, teeth clacking, his tongue shoving past Raj's slack lips to dominate the humid cavern of his father's mouth. Raj made a wet, protesting noise, but the drug had stolen his reflexes—his tongue lay heavy and passive as Rohan licked along it, tasting whiskey and something muskier underneath. The kiss turned filthy fast; Rohan sucked Raj's lower lip between his teeth, biting just shy of pain, his saliva mingling with the older man's in glistening strands when he finally pulled back to breathe. Raj's chest heaved, his dazed eyes struggling to focus on the son who'd just violated him so casually.
Rohan's hands trembled as they moved from Raj's ears——down to the hollow of his armpits. The dark tufts of hair there were matted with sweat, the musky scent thick enough to taste as Rohan buried his face against the damp skin. He scraped his teeth along the sensitive flesh where arm met torso, biting just hard enough to make Raj's breath hitch—a weak, drugged sound that sent heat coiling low in Rohan's gut. The older man's body jerked weakly when Rohan's tongue found the tight cluster of nerves beneath the arm, licking roughly until the taste of salt and sleep-warm skin coated his mouth.
SUMMARY^1: Rohan assaults Raj’s mouth in a brutal, one-sided kiss, exploiting his drugged stupor to forcefully explore its interior before marking him with bites. He then burrows into Raj’s armpits, inhaling sweat and musk before biting the tender junction where arm meets torso—eliciting weak, drugged twitches that fuel Rohan’s arousal further.
His fingers trailed lower, tracing the ridges of Raj's ribs before catching on a nipple—dark and pebbled from the night air. Rohan pinched it between thumb and forefinger, twisting until Raj moaned, the sound slurred and broken by the drug. He leaned down, tongue flicking the abused nub before biting hard enough to leave teeth marks in the dusky skin. Raj's back arched off the bed, but Rohan shoved him down with a palm to the sternum, his other hand already working open the fly of his father's trousers. The zipper grated loud in the quiet room, fabric parting to reveal the thick thatch of pubic hair beneath. Rohan's breath hitched at the sight of Raj's half-hard cock nestled there, flushed and leaking against his thigh.
He didn't tease. Didn't hesitate. Rohan's mouth closed around the head in one swift motion, tongue lapping at the slit to taste the bitterness pooling there. Raj whimpered, thighs twitching as Rohan hollowed his cheeks and sucked, taking him deeper with each bob of his head until his nose pressed into coarse curls. The musk was overwhelming—sweat and whiskey and something distinctly male that made Rohan's own cock throb in his pants. He reached up blindly, fingers finding Raj's navel and plunging inside, the tight ring of muscle clenching helplessly around his intrusion as he scissored roughly.
Rohan marks Raj’s nipple with bites before forcing his pants open to expose his half-hard cock. Without hesitation, Rohan swallows him down while simultaneously invading his navel with fingers—Raj’s drugged body unable to resist the dual assault as Rohan chokes on musk and precome.
: Raj’s drug-induced confusion escalates into hostile dissociation, his slurred speech deteriorating into rejection of their relationship. Exploiting Raj’s incapacitation, Rohan begins a systematic assault—violating his navel, forcing a brutal kiss, biting vulnerable areas, and finally taking Raj’s half-hard cock into his mouth while continuing to invade his navel.
Raj's hips jerked when Rohan twisted his wrist, dragging a broken noise from his throat as precum flooded Rohan's mouth. He pulled off with a wet pop, saliva stringing between his lips and the glistening cockhead. "Look at you," Rohan panted, dragging Raj's trousers down his thighs, "fucking yourself on my fingers like some cheap whore." The accusation hung thick as he shoved two fingers knuckle-deep into Raj's navel, the tight ring of muscle fluttering around the intrusion. Raj's back arched, a garbled protest dying on his tongue when Rohan's thumb found his nipple again—pinching, twisting, the pain sharp enough to cut through the drug haze fogging his mind.
Rohan's free hand fisted in Raj's hair, yanking his head back to expose the vulnerable column of his throat. He licked a stripe from collarbone to ear, teeth scraping the shell before biting down on the lobe hard enough to tear skin. Raj's choked cry fueled him; Rohan sucked the blood welling there into his mouth, metallic and warm, as his fingers pistoned deeper into the hypersensitive navel. The assault was relentless—Raj's body convulsed between the dual violation of ear and belly button, his cock leaking helplessly against his stomach while Rohan's spit-slick fingers stretched him obscenely wide.
SUMMARY^1: Rohan verbally degrades Raj while penetrating his navel with fingers, twisting a nipple to amplify pain beyond the drug’s numbing effects. He escalates by biting Raj’s ear until it bleeds, drinking the blood as he continues violating both navel and nipple—Raj’s body spasming between the overlapping torments, his cock dripping untouched.
He didn't prepare him. Didn't care. Rohan spat onto Raj's twitching hole before lining up his cock, the head catching on the tight rim for one excruciating second before he slammed home in a single brutal thrust. Raj's scream shattered into wet, heaving sobs as Rohan buried himself to the hilt, the older man's body clamping down around him like a vice. "Take it," Rohan snarled, hips snapping forward to punctuate each word, "take your fucking son's cock like you were made for it." His fingers dug bruises into Raj's hips, the slap of skin on skin drowning out the whimpers torn from Raj's wrecked throat.
Rohan's vision whited out when Raj's prostate yielded under the next thrust, the tight heat milking him mercilessly as his father's body betrayed him—Raj's cock jerked, spurting untouched between their sweat-slick stomachs. The convulsions around Rohan's length pushed him over the edge; he came with a guttural groan, pumping his release deep into Raj's violated ass as his teeth found the juncture of neck and shoulder. The bite drew blood, the coppery tang flooding his mouth as he rode out his orgasm, hips stuttering through each pulse until he collapsed atop Raj's trembling form.
: Rohan forcibly penetrates Raj without prep, ignoring his screams as he brutally fucks him while verbally degrading their familial bond. When Raj orgasms uncontrollably from prostate stimulation, Rohan follows by climaxing inside him and sealing the violation with a blood-drawing bite to the neck.
Panting, Rohan rolled them sideways without pulling out, his softening cock still wedged inside as he laved attention over Raj's ravaged ear—the lobe swollen and glistening with saliva, the cartilage marked by possessive nips. His tongue swirled into the convoluted folds, lapping at the sensitive hollows until Raj whimpered, his drugged limbs twitching weakly in protest. Rohan chuckled against the abused flesh, thrusting shallowly just to feel Raj clench around him again, before trailing wet kisses down to the dark hollow of an armpit. The wiry curls tickled his nose as he inhaled deeply, then scraped his teeth along the sweat-salted skin until Raj's breath hitched in a broken sob.
Dropping lower, Rohan's mouth closed over a peaked nipple, sucking viciously as his fingers returned to the stretched navel—now puffy and glistening with spit. He fucked into it with three fingers this time, the tight ring of muscle yielding obscenely while Raj's hips jerked in aborted thrusts, his oversensitive cock dribbling another weak spurt of cum. Rohan smirked around the nipple between his teeth, twisting it cruelly as his other hand wrapped around Raj's spent length, pumping roughly to coax out every last drop of humiliation.
SUMMARY^1: Rohan maintains penetration while tormenting Raj’s ear and armpit with teeth and tongue until weak protests emerge. He then simultaneously violates Raj’s navel with three fingers and tortures his nipple with biting suction, forcing another unwilling orgasm from his father’s abused body through rough hand stimulation.
Raj's voice cracked like dry leaves underfoot, his drugged tongue struggling around the plea. "Please—,no more—" The words dissolved into a wet sob as Rohan hauled him upright by the hair, dragging his limp body through the French doors into the moonlit garden. The night air kissed Raj's abused skin, raising gooseflesh as Rohan shoved him against the rough bark of a mango tree, its branches casting skeletal shadows over his heaving chest.
Rohan's grip tightened in Raj's hair as he dragged him stumbling through the damp grass, the older man's knees buckling with each step. "Please—I can't—" Raj's voice was raw, tears streaking through the dried sweat on his cheeks as Rohan pinned him against the gnarled tree trunk. The bark scraped his bare back when Rohan's free hand closed around his cock, already half-hard again from the relentless stimulation. "You don't get to decide," Rohan hissed, sinking his teeth into Raj's left nipple as his thumb swiped over the leaking slit—Raj's choked cry echoed through the garden, his hips jerking forward into the cruel friction.
: Rohan drags a pleading Raj into the garden by his hair, ignoring the drugged man’s broken protests as he forces him against a mango tree. He then renews the assault by biting Raj’s nipple while violently stimulating his cock, ensuring Raj’s body continues responding against his will amid the outdoor exposure.
: Rohan systematically escalates his assault—verbally degrading Raj while simultaneously violating his navel and biting his ear until it bleeds. He forcibly penetrates Raj without preparation, ignoring screams as he fucks him brutally until both orgasm unwillingly. Continuing the torment outdoors, Rohan drags Raj into the garden and renews the assault against the mango tree, ensuring Raj’s body keeps responding against his will through nipple bites and forced stimulation.
Raj's climax hit like a monsoon, his cock pulsing violently in Rohan's unforgiving grip as ropes of cum arced through the humid air. The first thick spurt painted his own chin white, the second splashing across his heaving chest as his knees gave out—Rohan held him upright by sheer force, fingers twisting in his pubic hair as the third jet streaked through the curls. His final spasms left his cheeks and forehead glazed, semen dripping from his eyelashes when he gasped for breath, the scent of salt and musk thick between them. "Look at you," Rohan breathed against his ear, tongue tracing the shell, "dripping like a whore who can't stop coming."
Raj's chest heaved as Rohan's tongue dragged a wet trail through the cooling mess of his own release, lapping up every stray drop with deliberate slowness. He scraped thick cum from Raj's collarbone with his teeth before swirling his tongue into the hollow of his throat, savoring the salty tang mixed with sweat. When he reached Raj's chin, he bit playfully at the stubble there, then licked clean the streaks on his cheeks with broad, kittenish strokes—finally sealing their mouths together to force Raj to taste himself, the kiss messy and deep until Raj whimpered against his lips.
SUMMARY^1: Raj’s body convulses through an involuntary orgasm under Rohan’s cruel ministrations, coating his own face and chest with cum as his legs fail. Rohan proceeds to lick every drop from Raj’s skin before forcing a deep, messy kiss—making his father taste his own humiliation while pinned against the tree.
Rohan's tongue moved with a predatory precision, lapping up every glistening strand of Raj's release—first from his father's trembling abdomen, where the cum pooled in the hollow of his navel like a depraved offering. He flicked the tip of his tongue against the sensitive rim, coaxing out the last drops before dragging his mouth upward to capture the streaks on Raj's chest, the coarse hair tickling his lips as he swallowed greedily. When he reached Raj's collarbone, he bit down lightly, sucking the skin clean until only the faint sheen of saliva remained, his own cock twitching at the bitter-salty taste that flooded his senses. By the time he licked the final traces from Raj's slack lips, their shared breath was thick with the musk of violation, a perverse communion that left Rohan panting against his father's mouth.
Without warning, Rohan shoved Raj forward onto the rough bark of the mango tree, pinning him with a forearm between his shoulder blades as his free hand yanked Raj's hips backward. The angle forced Raj's ass higher, his spent cock brushing against the gnarled trunk as Rohan spat onto his own fingers and rubbed them hastily over his aching erection. There was no gentleness in the way he lined up—just the brutal shove of his hips as he sheathed himself inside Raj's still-loosened hole in one ruthless thrust. The scream that tore from Raj's throat was muffled by bark against his teeth, his body arching against the invasion as Rohan buried himself to the hilt, the stretch bordering on unbearable even after everything that had come before.
SUMMARY^1: Rohan meticulously consumes Raj’s semen from every inch of his body before abruptly forcing him chest-first against the tree. Without preparation, he brutally penetrates Raj again, ignoring the man’s muffled scream against the bark as he buries himself fully inside the still-tender hole.
Rohan wasted no time establishing a rhythm—his thrusts were deep and punishing from the first stroke, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the garden like a grotesque metronome. Every snap of his hips drove Raj's stomach harder against the tree, the friction scraping his nipples raw against the bark while Rohan's fingers dug bruises into his waist. "You're taking it," Rohan growled against Raj's ear, his breath hot with liquor and spite as he felt his father's body clench around him involuntarily. "Every fucking inch—feel how deep I am?" He punctuated the question with a particularly vicious thrust that knocked the air from Raj's lungs, his cock twitching at the choked sob it elicited.
Raj's fingers scrabbled uselessly against the trunk, his legs trembling with the effort to stay upright as Rohan pistoned into him without restraint. The stretch burned worse than before—his hole still tender from the earlier violation—but the drugged haze made resistance impossible. Tears streaked down Raj's cheeks as his body betrayed him again, his ass muscles fluttering around the invading cock in helpless spasms that only seemed to spur Rohan on. "Look at you," Rohan sneered, yanking Raj's head back by the hair to expose his ravaged throat. "Even now your fucking body wants it—" His voice broke off into a groan as Raj's passage clenched involuntarily around him, hot and impossibly tight.
SUMMARY^1: Rohan fucks Raj mercilessly against the mango tree, his deep thrusts scraping Raj’s chest against the bark while mocking his involuntary physical responses. Despite Raj’s tears and uncoordinated attempts to resist, his drugged body continues betraying him—clenching around Rohan’s cock in ways that only fuel the assault further.
A guttural noise ripped from Rohan's chest as he felt his climax crest without warning—the sight of his father's ruined face, the filthy squelch of his own thrusts, the way Raj's hole milked him so greedily even through the pain. He buried himself to the hilt with a snarl, hips stuttering as thick pulses of cum flooded Raj's insides. The warmth of it seemed to sear Raj from the inside, his stomach cramping at the foreign intrusion while Rohan gasped obscenities against his shoulder. "Take it," Rohan panted, grinding deeper as if to imprint himself into Raj's very flesh. "Every last drop—you fucking earned this."
Stumbling back, Rohan surveyed his handiwork with a drunk's detachment. Raj slumped forward against the tree, semen already leaking down his trembling thighs, his breathing ragged and wet. The moonlight caught the tear tracks on his cheeks, the swollen bite marks littering his torso, the way his fingers still twitched weakly against the bark like a dying insect. Something sour twisted in Rohan's gut—not remorse, but the dregs of liquor and adrenaline turning toxic. He snatched Raj's discarded shirt off the grass and roughly wiped the worst of the mess from his father's thighs and ass, avoiding the haunted stare that followed his movements.
The shirt came away streaked with blood and cum as Rohan tossed it aside. He gripped Raj's elbow with bruising force, dragging him stumbling toward the garden bench. Raj collapsed onto it bonelessly, his head lolling against his own shoulder as Rohan stepped back. "Stay," Rohan ordered, voice hoarse, though Raj couldn't have stood if he'd tried. The drug's grip still held him limp, his pupils blown wide and unfocused beneath the swollen lids. Rohan hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before turning on his heel and striding toward the house, his own thighs sticky with sweat and Raj's fluids.
All clean and a nice sleep he got in his room ...... N
