The heavy oak door swung shut behind them, and the world vanished. The lock clicked with a sound of chilling finality. The silence was the first thing Jai noticed. It was a thick, velvety silence that pressed against his eardrums, absorbing every tiny sound—the ragged rhythm of his own breathing, the frantic thud of his heart.
The second thing was the darkness. The silk blindfold was still firmly in place, but this was more. The air itself felt dark, void of any light his eyes might try to perceive. He was floating in a sensory void.
Rough hands guided him forward a few steps. He flinched as his back met a cool, smooth surface—a wall, maybe. The hands left him. He was standing alone, naked, blind, in the profound quiet.
A voice cut through the silence, low and distorted, as if filtered through a modulator. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once. “Welcome to the crucible, vessel. This room is designed for one purpose: to strip you of everything but feeling. No sight. No sound but our voices and your own. No point of reference but the hands that will worship you.”
Jai’s breath hitched. He clutched at the empty air.
“Shhh,” a different voice whispered, this one directly in his right ear. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. A hand, warm and steady, settled on his hip. “Just feel.”
Another hand, from the left, skimmed up his ribs. The touch was light, exploratory. Then a third hand grazed the back of his thigh. He jerked, a small sound escaping his lips. How many were there?
“So responsive,” the first distorted voice hummed approvingly. “Every nerve ending is screaming, isn’t it? You’ve never been more aware of your own skin.”
The hands began to move in unison, a symphony of touch. One set massaged the tight muscles of his shoulders, working out the last remnants of tension from the brutal fucking on the table. Another pair slicked warm oil over his chest, thumbs circling his pecs before pinching his nipples, rolling them into hard, sensitive peaks that made him gasp. A third set smoothed down his quads, the pressure firm and knowing.
He was being mapped, explored by a team of silent, unseen artists. Their touches were clinical and intimate all at once. He couldn’t anticipate anything. A mouth, hot and wet, latched onto one nipple, suckling deeply while a thumb brushed over the other. He cried out, the sound swallowed by the room.
The mouth disappeared as suddenly as it arrived. He whimpered at the loss.
“Patience,” the modulated voice chided. “We’re just beginning to play.”
Hands guided him down onto what felt like a soft, padded bench. He lay on his back, his body exposed to the void. The touches became more targeted, more deliberate. Fingers traced the lines of his hip bones, the hollow of his navel, the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. He was trembling, his cock achingly hard against his stomach, leaking a steady stream of pre-cum onto his skin.
A single finger, slick with more oil, traced the pucker of his ass. He was so stretched, so used, that the touch sent a jolt of pure, raw sensation straight to his core. The finger didn’t push in. It just circled, a maddening, gentle promise.
“So open for us,” a new voice, younger and clearer, murmured near his knee. “So ready to be filled again. Do you even know how many loads are inside you right now, Jai? Can you feel them all, swirling together?”
He shook his head, a frantic motion in the dark. “N-no.”
“Let’s find out,” the modulated voice said.
Two fingers pressed into him without warning. He arched off the bench, a strangled moan tearing from his throat. The stretch was minimal, but the sensation was magnified a thousandfold by the deprivation around it. It was all he could feel. The slick slide inward, the slight burn, the profound fullness.
The fingers began to move, a slow, scissoring motion, stretching him gently. Then a tongue replaced them, lapping at his rim, licking into him with a flat, wet pressure that had him seeing stars behind the blindfold. He cried out, his hands fisting in the padding beneath him.
The tongue withdrew. He was empty for a single, agonizing second before the head of a cock pressed against him. It wasn’t brutal or demanding. It was patient. It pushed in with a slow, inexorable pressure that stole his breath. He felt every ridge, every vein, every millimeter of its progress as it filled him. It was different from the others—a different size, a different angle.
“This is Rohan,” the modulated voice informed him, as if making an introduction. “He’s going to fuck you slowly. You’re going to count his thrusts for us. You’re going to focus on nothing but the feeling of his cock moving inside you. Do you understand?”
Jai nodded, his voice gone.
Rohan began to move. The pace was indeed slow, a deep, rolling grind that emphasized the drag and slide. “One,” Jai whispered, his voice cracking.
The cock withdrew almost completely, then sank home again, deeper this time. “Two.”
On the third thrust, a second set of hands found his cock. They slicked it with oil, one hand fisting the base while the other rubbed the head with a torturous, circular motion. Pleasure, sharp and acute, lanced up his spine.
“Three.”
On the fourth thrust, a mouth closed over the head of his cock, taking him deep, swallowing him whole. The dual sensation of being fucked and suckled was too much. His count dissolved into a incoherent groan.
The mouth pulled off with a pop. “The count, Jai,” the modulated voice reminded him, a hint of steel beneath the distortion.
“F-four. Fuck, four.”
Rohan maintained his pace, a metronome of pleasure. The hands on his cock continued their expert work, twisting and pulling in time with the thrusts. Another set of hands found his nipples, pinching and pulling. He was the epicenter of a storm of sensation, every touch calibrated to drive him out of his mind.
“His body is singing,” the younger voice observed, filled with awe. “Every inch of him is alight.”
“He’s ours,” the modulated voice replied, a statement of absolute fact.
Rohan’s rhythm began to falter. His thrusts became harder, less controlled. A low groan echoed in the silence, the first real sound Jai had heard from him. “Gonna come,” Rohan grunted, his voice tight. “Gonna pump this perfect hole full.”
He slammed deep and held, his body shuddering. Jai felt the hot, familiar flood of another release filling him, another claim staked in his depths. Rohan stayed buried for a long moment before pulling out slowly.
The emptiness was fleeting. Another cock was there immediately, pressing against his well-stretched, dripping entrance.
“This is Vikram,” the voice said. “His turn.”
Vikram sheathed himself in one smooth, confident stroke. He was thicker, and he set a faster, more demanding pace right from the start. The hands on Jai’s cock redoubled their efforts, stroking him in time with Vikram’s frantic thrusts.
“You feel how deep he goes, Jai?” the voice asked. “You feel how he’s pushing all that seed deeper? Making room for his own?”
Jai could only moan, his hips bucking, fucking himself back on the cock and up into the hands. He was a instrument being played by masters, every note of pleasure wrenched from him.
“I want to feel you come,” Vikram growled, his voice a rasp against Jai’s neck—he hadn’t even felt him lean down. “I want to feel that tight little hole milk my cock while you lose your mind. Come for me, vessel. Now.”
The command, paired with the overwhelming sensations, was the final key. Jai’s orgasm exploded out of him, a silent, violent convulsion that ripped through his entire body. His release shot over his stomach and chest in hot pulses, his ass clenching rhythmically around Vikram’s pounding cock.
The heavy door to the private room sealed behind them, and the cacophony of the house vanished. Here, the only sound was the frantic hammering of Jai’s own heart. The space was small, dominated by a vast, low platform bed piled with dark silk pillows. A single, indirect light cast long, dramatic shadows.
Ansh didn’t speak. He simply turned, and in the dim light, his dark eyes were pure, unadulterated possession. He backed Jai toward the bed until the backs of his knees hit the edge and he tumbled down onto the soft mattress.
Ansh followed him down, a predator claiming his territory, his knees caging Jai’s hips. He pinned Jai’s wrists above his head with one strong hand. The other hand framed Jai’s face, his thumb brushing roughly over Jai’s bottom lip.
“All those men,” Ansh breathed, his voice a low, gravelly thing that vibrated through Jai’s entire body. “All their hands on you. Their cum in you. You belonged to everyone. But you’re mine.”
He didn’t wait for a response. His mouth crashed down on Jai’s. It wasn’t the tender, exploratory kiss from the car. This was a reclamation. A furious, desperate branding. His tongue plunged into Jai’s mouth, a violent invasion that tasted of power and a flicker of something else—jealousy. Jai met the force with his own, his head spinning, his body already thrumming with a fresh, desperate need. He was drowning in it, in the sheer animalistic claim of the kiss, his lips aching, his breath stolen.
Ansh broke away, his own breathing ragged. “I’m going to fuck every last memory of them out of you. I’m going to fuck you so deep my name is the only thing you remember.”
He released Jai’s wrists, his hands moving to Jai’s thighs, shoving them apart, pushing them up towards his chest. He exposed Jai completely, his spent, leaking hole on full display. Ansh’s gaze burned into him.
“Look at you. Still dripping. A fucking mess of all of them.” His voice was thick with a dark arousal. He leaned down, his tongue lashing out, not gentle like the older man’s, but rough and punishing. He lapped at the mixed spend seeping from Jai’s body, a groan rumbling in his chest. “Fuck, you taste like a party. But the party’s over.”
He rose up, fumbling with his own clothes, shoving his joggers and briefs down just enough to free his cock. It was already rock-hard, jutting out angrily, the head flushed a dark, angry red. He spat into his palm, slicking himself roughly, his eyes never leaving Jai’s.
“This is mine,” he growled, positioning the blunt head at Jai’s stretched entrance. “This is what you were made for. Tell me.”
“It’s yours,” Jai gasped, his hips straining upward, seeking the contact. “Fuck, Ansh, it’s all yours.”
With a guttural snarl, Ansh drove into him. It was a single, brutal, bottoming-out thrust that tore a ragged scream from Jai’s throat. There was no gentleness, no slow build. Only raw, unfiltered claiming. Ansh’s hips drew back and slammed home again, setting a punishing, piston-like rhythm that jarred Jai’s entire body with every impact.
“You feel that?” Ansh grunted, his hands digging bruises into Jai’s hips. “You feel my cock carving out a space that’s just for me? Pushing all their fucking seed out?”
Jai could only nod, his vision blurring at the edges. The pain was a bright, sharp counterpoint to the overwhelming pleasure, each thrust a violation and a benediction. He was being remade, owned, from the inside out.
Ansh leaned forward, his sweat dripping onto Jai’s chest, his mouth finding Jai’s ear. “I’m going to come so deep inside you it’ll drown out all the rest. My swimmers are going to hunt down every last one of theirs and fucking erase them. I’m going to put a baby in you so there’s no question. No question who you belong to.”
The filthy, biological promise sent a shockwave of pure heat through Jai’s core. His own cock, trapped between their bodies, was leaking a steady stream of pre-come onto his stomach, untouched and throbbing.
“I want it,” Jai moaned, the words torn from him. “I want your baby. I want you to fucking breed me, Ansh. Please.”
The plea seemed to snap the last of Ansh’s control. His rhythm became frantic, wild, his thrusts losing all finesse, becoming a desperate, driving need to get as deep as possible, to leave his mark permanently. His breath came in ragged, animalistic grunts against Jai’s neck.
“Gonna come,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “Gonna pump you so full… fuck, Jai… fuck!”
He slammed deep and held, his body rigid, a strangled roar tearing from his throat. Jai felt it, the hot, pulsing flood of Ansh’s release, a torrent that felt endless, a claiming more profound than any that had come before. It was heat and possession and a promise, flooding his depths. Ansh ground his hips in tight, desperate circles, milking every last drop into him, his entire body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.
He collapsed forward, his weight crushing Jai into the silk, his face buried in Jai’s neck. They lay like that for long moments, joined, both of them breathing in shattered, syncopated rhythms. Jai could feel Ansh’s heart hammering against his own chest.
Slowly, Ansh pushed himself up on his elbows. He looked down at Jai, his expression no longer just possessive, but something darker, more intense. His thumb stroked Jai’s cheek, a gesture jarringly tender after the brutal fucking.
“It’s done,” Ansh whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’re mine now. For good.”
He shifted as if to pull out, but then froze. His eyes, fixed on something over Jai’s shoulder, widened a fraction. A shadow of something unreadable—alarm? calculation?—flashed across his face.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Ansh’s voice was low, cold, and utterly devoid of the passion that had just consumed him.
