Hello guys this is my 3rd story here read and enjoy. Story contains forced sex, rape, molestation so weak blooded person stay away... Do comment to support me and buzz me to write more ..
The key turned in the lock, sticking halfway. Rohan swore under his breath and kicked the doorframe—hard—before it finally gave way.
"Fuck, finally," Rohan muttered, dropping his duffel bag onto the cracked linoleum with a thud that echoed through the empty apartment. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, fingers brushing against the damp strands of hair sticking to his skin. The AC had been off for weeks; the place smelled like stale air and the ghost of someone else’s cheap microwave meals.
He didn’t bother turning on the lights—just kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bare mattress in what he assumed would be his room. The springs groaned under him like they were seconds from giving up. A thin layer of dust coated everything, including the single cracked outlet where he’d have to charge his laptop later. Rohan stretched, letting his shirt ride up just enough to expose the sharp line of his hipbone. He was alone here, at least for now. That was the point.
The landlord’s words looped in his head: *Two bedrooms, shared kitchen, bathroom. First month’s rent due upfront.* The price had been painful, but after scouring listings for weeks, this was the only place that didn’t smell like mold or require a three-hour commute. He exhaled sharply through his nose. Sharing with a stranger wasn’t ideal, but he’d dealt with worse. College hostels had been worse.
Rolling onto his side, Rohan fished his phone from his pocket, thumbing it open with a practiced flick. The blue glow lit up the hollows under his eyes. He hesitated—then opened the browser tab he’d closed at the airport. The grid of faces loaded slowly, pixelated thumbnails of men half-smiling in bathroom mirrors, torsos angled just right. *Within 5 km,* he adjusted the filter. Three profiles popped up. One was shirtless, flexing in what looked like a gym locker room. Rohan’s thumb hovered to the gay dating app.
A sharp rap at the door—three quick knocks—made him flinch. He swiped the app closed like he’d been caught doing something illicit. The knocking came again, louder this time. Rohan swung his legs off the mattress, his bare feet hitting the linoleum with a soft slap. He didn’t remember ordering food. Or giving anyone this address.
The door creaked open before he could reach it, revealing a silhouette that filled the frame. Two massive suitcases hovered at the man’s sides like weights he barely noticed, a third strapped haphazardly across his broad back. The overhead light from the hallway caught the silver glint of an earring, the dark curl of chest hair spilling past the open buttons of his shirt. "Hello," the man said, voice deep enough to vibrate through the floorboards. His teeth flashed white under a thick, well-trimmed mustache. "I’m Mohit."
Rohan blinked. The guy looked like he’d walked straight out of a 70s Bollywood poster—all rugged charm and effortless bulk, the kind of man who probably cracked walnuts between his palms for fun. The scent of sandalwood and something muskier rolled off him, cutting through the apartment’s stale air. Mohit adjusted his grip on the suitcases, biceps flexing under the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. The hem had come untucked, riding up just enough to reveal a strip of toned stomach and the faintest hint of a happy trail disappearing into his beltline.
Heat prickled up the back of Rohan’s neck. He swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of his own rumpled T-shirt and the way his jeans clung to his thighs. Mohit’s smile widened, a slow, knowing thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Long day?” he asked, nodding at the duffel bag still sprawled on the floor. His voice was smooth, like whiskey poured over ice—the kind that made you want to chase it with your tongue.
Rohan’s mouth went dry. He caught himself staring at the sweat-damp patch just below Mohit’s collarbone, where one too many buttons had been left undone. A flush crept up his chest. *Focus, idiot.* “Uh—yeah. Hi. I’m Rohan.” He stepped aside too quickly, nearly tripping over his own discarded shoes. “Our room—I mean—come in. Obviously.”
Mohit strode past him, suitcases thudding onto the floor with a weight that made the walls shudder. He unstrapped the third bag from his back like he was shedding armor, rolling his shoulders with a satisfied grunt. “You like tech?” he asked without looking up, nodding toward Rohan’s laptop—already half-open on the mattress, stickers peeling at the edges. “Same. Mechanical engineer. Oil rigs, mostly.” He unzipped a suitcase, revealing neatly folded shirts stacked beside a framed photo: a woman with sharp cheekbones, a toddler balanced on her hip. “My wife, Priya,”
Rohan perched on the edge of his bed, fingers digging into the thin mattress. The photo glinted in the low light—Mohit’s thumb brushing the glass where the kid’s face was. “Two years old next month,” he continued, pulling out a stack of files marked **CONFIDENTIAL** in bold red. “She’s in Hyderabad with her parents while I’m here for this transfer” He tossed the files onto the dresser, then paused, scratching his mustache. “You’re not the type to snoop, right?”
Rohan watched as Mohit moved through the cramped space with a practiced ease, his hands sorting through clothes and toiletries like he’d done this a hundred times before. The engineer’s fingers lingered on a small, worn-out teddy bear—clearly his kid’s—before tucking it carefully into the top drawer of the dresser. “She won’t sleep without this,” Mohit said, his voice softening just enough for Rohan to catch the ache beneath the words. “Skype calls help, but it’s not the same.”
The room felt too small suddenly, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and the lingering heat of the day. Mohit sighed, rolling his shoulders again before grabbing the hem of his sweat-damp shirt and tugging it off in one smooth motion. The fabric hit the floor with a soft *thud*, leaving his chest bare—broad and dusted with dark hair that curled over his pecs, trailing down past his navel in a thick line. His skin glistened under the yellowing overhead light, the sweat making the dusting of hair cling to his sculpted stomach. Rohan’s throat tightened when Mohit scratched idly at his chest, fingers grazing a nipple, his bicep flexing with the movement.
Rohan shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his jeans suddenly two sizes too tight. A familiar, unwelcome heat pooled low in his gut, and he glanced down—then immediately jerked his gaze away, pulse hammering. *Fuck.* The outline was unmistakable, straining against the fabric of his jeans. He grabbed the nearest pillow—a flat, sad thing—and slammed it onto his lap, pretending to adjust his seating position with exaggerated casualness. Mohit didn't notice, still digging through his suitcase with his back turned, the muscles of his shoulders flexing under golden skin.
"Ah, damn—" Mohit muttered, pausing mid-search to press a thumb into his own belly button with a rough, circular motion. The gesture was casual, utilitarian—like adjusting a stubborn bolt—but the way his fingers worked against the deep dip of his navel made Rohan's breath stutter. A bead of sweat rolled down the engineer’s flank, tracing the groove between his abs before disappearing into the waistband of his slacks. "Still can't get used to the humidity here," he grunted, scratching just below his navel before straightening up with a sigh. His fingers lingered, tugging absently at the elastic of his belt. "Back in Kerala ,the rigs were dry as hell. Here? Feels like walking into a sauna fully clothed."
Rohan swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the mattress to ground himself. The pillow on his lap didn’t help anymore. "Yeah, well—welcome to Bangalore," he managed, voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. "You get used to it. Or you don’t. Mostly don’t." His fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against his thigh, his pulse still racing.
Mohit turned then, wiping his palms on his slacks before crossing his arms over his chest—a casual gesture that somehow made his biceps look even bigger. "What about you?" he asked, tilting his head. "Stickers on the laptop suggest you’re not just browsing cat videos." His gaze flicked to Rohan’s hands—the bitten-down nails, the faint tan line from a wristband. "Coding?"
Rohan exhaled, grateful for the distraction. "Software dev," he said, nudging his laptop open with his knee. The screen flickered to life, lines of code still half-finished from his last panic-driven all-nighter. "Mostly backend for fintech startups. Which means I get paid decently to stare at a screen until my eyes bleed." He shrugged, thumbing the edge of the keyboard. "It’s—fine."
Mohit chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck where sweat had darkened the hair curling at his nape. "Better than dodging welding sparks in hundred-degree heat," he said, peeling his socks off with a grimace—the fabric damp from hours of travel. He tossed them toward his suitcase, missing by inches. "Shit. Need a shower."
Rohan watched, transfixed, as Mohit rummaged through his clothes, pulling out a worn blue towel with frayed edges. The engineer shook it out with a sharp snap before draping it over his shoulder, the fabric barely covering the width of his back. "Bathroom still… functional?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rohan nodded mutely, his gaze tracking the way Mohit's fingers hooked into the waistband of his slacks, popping the button free with a practiced flick. The zipper hissed open—too loud in the quiet apartment—revealing a flash of dark briefs straining against thick thighs. Mohit kicked off his pants, letting them pool on the floor as he adjusted the towel around his hips, the terrycloth clinging to the damp sweat still glistening on his skin.
The bathroom light flickered to life with a buzz, casting harsh yellow streaks across Mohit's shoulders as he stepped inside. Steam curled around the doorway almost immediately, fogging the mirror as the shower hissed to life. Rohan caught a glimpse—just for a second—of Mohit's silhouette behind the translucent curtain, the broad outline of his body bending to test the water temperature, the towel slipping from his waist before vanishing into the mist.
Alone again, Rohan exhaled sharply through his nose and glanced down. His lap was still tented obscenely, but worse—the fabric of his jeans clung damply where precum had seeped through in slick, shameful patches. His fingers twitched against the pillow still pressed there uselessly. *Christ.* He’d been hard since Mohit walked in—since that fucking belt buckle popped open—and now his body was outright betraying him with this mess. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he winced at the thought of standing up. The wet spot would be obvious. The bulge worse.
The shower hissed louder behind him; water drummed against plastic as Mohit moved under the spray. Rohan squeezed his eyes shut, but the sound conjured images anyway—Mohit’s thick fingers dragging soap down his chest, catching in the thatch of hair between his pecs, swirling lower— He bit his lip until it hurt. This wasn’t some random hookup from the app. This was his *roommate*. Married. With a kid. And Rohan had to live with him for a goddamn year.
The water cut off abruptly. Silence. Then the creak of the shower door swinging open, the wet slap of bare feet on tile. Rohan froze as Mohit padded out, towel slung low around his hips, water dripping from his mustache onto his collarbone. “Forgot my clothes,” Mohit muttered, shaking droplets from his hair like a dog. His skin glowed pink from the heat, steam rising off his shoulders as he rummaged through his suitcase. The towel slipped—just an inch—exposing the curve of one ass cheek before he tugged it back up. Rohan looked away too late, his pulse hammering in his throat.
Mohit dressed with mechanical efficiency—boxers first, then a crisp white shirt that clung to his damp chest. His fingers made quick work of the buttons, tucking the fabric into navy slacks that hugged his thighs. “Late for my first shift,” he said, checking his watch with a frown. The scent of soap and something woodsy clung to him, cutting through the steam still curling from the bathroom. He grabbed his keys, wallet, then paused—looking at Rohan like he’d just remembered he existed. “You good?”
Rohan swallowed, forcing his gaze up from where Mohit’s belt buckle gleamed. “Yeah. Just—jet lag.” he just nodded, slinging a work bag over his shoulder.
The front door clicked shut behind Mohit, leaving Rohan alone with the hum of the ceiling fan and the ghost of sandalwood soap. He exhaled shakily, tossing the pillow aside. The wet patch on his jeans glistened under the overhead light—undeniable. Fuck. He peeled them off with a grimace, tossing them into the laundry pile like evidence. His cock throbbed, still half-hard against his thigh.
Rohan grabbed his laptop from the mattress, forcing himself to focus on the unfinished code sprawled across the screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard—hesitant—before jabbing at the keys with more force than necessary. Lines of commands blinked back at him, half-formed and mocking. *Focus.* But every clack of the keys echoed Mohit’s belt buckle hitting the floor. He gnawed his lower lip until copper bloomed on his tongue.
The apartment door groaned open just past 10 PM, hinges protesting under Mohit’s weight. Rohan glanced up—and froze. Mohit stood in the doorway, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms glistening with sweat under the hallway’s flickering fluorescent light. A dark smear of grease streaked one cheekbone, his mustache damp with exertion. Two grease-stained paper bags dangled from his fingers, the scent of fried garlic and cumin curling into the stale apartment air. "Didn't know what you liked," Mohit grunted, kicking the door shut with his heel. "So I got butter chicken and kheema pav. Double rotis."
Rohan watched, throat tight, as Mohit dumped the food onto his own bed—the mattress dipping under his weight—and shrugged out of his work shirt in one fluid motion. The fabric peeled away, sticking briefly to his shoulders before hitting the floor. His undershress clung to his torso like a second skin, damp patches outlining the swell of his pecs, the dark circles of his nipples. Mohit dragged a hand down his chest with a weary sigh, fingers catching on the wet cotton. "Oh God, today was a bitch," he muttered, shaking out his arms. The scent of engine oil and fried spices clung to him, mixing with the musk of dried sweat.
Rohan’s fork hovered over the butter chicken container, his appetite vanishing the second Mohit grabbed the hem of his undershirt and yanked it off. The fabric peeled away with a soft *snap*, revealing a torso that looked carved from mahogany—broad shoulders tapering to a waist barely softened by the faintest layer of fat, the dusting of dark hair thickening into a coarse trail below his navel. Mohit scratched his stomach absentmindedly, fingers dragging through the damp curls as he leaned forward to grab a roti. The waistband of his slacks sagged just enough to expose the sharp V of his hips, the indentations shadowed under the dim apartment light.
“Thanks for the food,” Rohan muttered, cutting the silence of awkwardness.His pulse hammered in his ears—too loud, betraying him—as Mohit tore off a piece of roti with his teeth, the movement making the muscles in his bare shoulders flex. Butter glistened on his lower lip for a second before he swiped it away with his thumb, sucking the grease off with a low hum of satisfaction.
Mohit glanced up, chewing slowly before swallowing. "It's okay, Rohan," he said, voice low and rough from exhaustion. His fingers tapped the edge of the food container, leaving greasy smudges on the plastic. "Adjusting takes time." A droplet of sweat traced the curve of his collarbone before disappearing into the thicket of chest hair. He didn’t seem to notice—or care—that he was half-naked, sprawled across his bed like some exhausted god of machinery and grease.
After dinner mohit talked with her wife and baby .. Rohan flicked off the overhead light, plunging the room into darkness save for the faint blue glow of Mohit’s phone screen casting shadows across his bare chest. The engineer scrolled through photos—Rohan caught glimpses of a toddler’s grin, a woman’s hand resting on Mohit’s shoulder—before locking the device with a quiet sigh. The bedsprings creaked as Mohit shifted, rolling onto his side to face the wall, his broad back a dark silhouette against the cracked plaster. The scent of sandalwood soap lingered, mixing with the greasy tang of takeout still clinging to the air.
Rohan jerked awake at 3 AM to a sound like a chainsaw chewing through concrete. Mohit's snoring rattled the walls—deep, guttural exhales that hitched into whistling inhales, his bare chest rising and falling in exaggerated heaves. The thin sheet had slipped to his hips, moonlight glinting off the sweat pooled in the dip of his navel. One arm flopped over the edge of the bed, knuckles brushing the floor with each seismic snort.
The snoring didn't grate on Rohan's nerves—it coiled low in his gut instead, hot and insistent. Every rasping inhale made Mohit's chest hitch, the thick column of his throat working as air struggled past his parted lips. Rohan lay frozen on his back, fingers digging into the mattress as another wet, gravelly exhale punched through the dark. Mohit's Adam's apple bobbed with the effort, his bare torso glistening under the streetlight bleeding through the blinds. The sound was primal, almost obscene—the kind of noise Rohan would've muted in a porno for being too unrealistic.
His cock throbbed against his thigh, already stiffening under the thin fabric of his boxers. The damp spot forming at the tip betrayed him faster than his speeding pulse. Mohit snorted again, louder this time, his mustache fluttering with the force of it. One massive arm flopped over his head, bicep flexing as his fingers twitched in sleep. The movement tugged his waistband lower, revealing the dusky trail of hair leading beneath it. Rohan swallowed hard, his own breath coming too fast now.
Slowly, Rohan peeled back the waistband of his boxers, freeing his aching cock into the humid dark. The first touch of his fingers sent a jolt up his spine—he bit his lip hard to stifle the groan threatening to escape. Mohit’s snores hitched higher as he rolled onto his back, chest heaving, one thick thigh splayed wide enough to strain the fabric of his briefs. Rohan’s grip tightened, strokes rough with desperation, his gaze locked on the shadowed dip of Mohit’s navel where moonlight pooled like liquid silver.
Then Mohit shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his side—and the moonlight caught the glint of a thick gold hooped earring dangling from his left lobe, the kind Brahmin men wore to signify their caste. The heavy ring swung slightly with his movement, drawing Rohan's gaze like a magnet. The contrast was dizzying—the traditional jewelry against Mohit's rough, modern masculinity, the gold gleaming against his sweat-damp neck. His earlobe looked hot from years of wearing it, the skin brightening around the metal, and something about that permanence, that unapologetic mark of identity, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through Rohan's gut.
He couldn't stop himself. The floorboards groaned underfoot as Rohan slid off the mattress, his bare feet sticking slightly to the linoleum. Mohit's snores hitched—Rohan froze—but then the engineer just smacked his lips and buried his face deeper into the pillow, one arm flopping over the edge of the bed again. The scent of sandalwood and stale sweat thickened the air between them. Rohan's throat clicked as he swallowed.
Moonlight spilled across Mohit's back as he shifted onto his stomach, his shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath. The thin sheet clung to the dip of his spine before pooling just above the curve of his ass—round, full, untouched by years of manual labor. The briefs had ridden up, the fabric stretched taut between his cheeks, revealing twin dimples at the base of his back. Rohan's fingers twitched at his sides. *Virgin bubble butt* wasn't a phrase he'd ever thought about applying to a grown man, but there was no other way to describe the way Mohit's ass looked—plush and untouched, like it had never seen a squat rack or a rough hand.
Rohan's fingers hovered over the elastic waistband of Mohit's briefs, trembling like leaves in a storm. The fabric was warm from body heat, slightly damp where it clung to the crease of Mohit's ass. One slow tug—just an inch—revealed the first curve of bare skin, impossibly smooth compared to the coarse hair dusting Mohit's thighs. A bead of sweat trickled down Rohan's temple as he peeled the fabric lower, millimeter by millimeter, the quiet rasp of cotton against skin drowning in another wet snore from Mohit.
Then—silence. Rohan's blood turned to ice. Mohit's chest stilled mid-breath, the sudden quiet louder than the snoring had been. Rohan dropped flat onto the floorboards, heart hammering so violently he thought the sound alone would wake Mohit. The linoleum chilled his bare stomach as he lay there, frozen, every muscle locked tight. A cockroach skittered over his knuckles; he didn't dare twitch.
The pause stretched—three seconds, five—before Mohit's lips parted with a wet *snrk*. The snore that followed was deeper, more ragged, his whole torso jerking with the effort. Rohan exhaled through his nose and pushed himself up on shaking arms, knees creaking as he rose. Mohit's face was mashed into the pillow now, his mustache squashed sideways, one arm dangling off the bed like a felled tree branch.
Rohan's fingers found the waistband again, tugging—slow at first, then bolder when Mohit didn't stir. The elastic peeled away from sweat-damp skin with a whisper, inch by inch revealing the plush swell of Mohit's ass. His thighs shifted slightly in sleep, stretching wider, and suddenly—there. A thick, dark furrow of hair trailed down the cleft, coarse and slightly curled from humidity, glistening where sweat had gathered in the crease. The scent hit Rohan first—musky and warm, tinged with sandalwood soap and something raw beneath it—before his gaze locked onto the shadowed divide, deeper than he'd imagined.
Mohit's thigh twitched in sleep, his leg stretching outward with a deep, unconscious groan—and just like that, the briefs slipped another inch down, the elastic catching momentarily on the swell of his ass before gravity took over. Rohan's breath hitched as the fabric slid completely free, pooling around Mohit's thighs like a discarded flag. The full expanse of his crack lay bare now, a dense trail of black curls glistening with sweat where it disappeared between his cheeks, the skin there dusky and slightly puckered from heat. A single bead of moisture clung to the very top of his cleft, trembling with each snore before rolling slowly downward, tracing that hidden furrow Rohan couldn't tear his eyes from.
His own cock throbbed violently in his grip, the shaft already slick with precum as he jerked himself in rough, desperate tugs. The sight of Mohit's hole—pink and tight where it peeked from between those thick, hairy cheeks—sent a jolt of electricity straight to his balls. He bit down on his own wrist to stifle the groan clawing up his throat, the taste of salt and sweat flooding his mouth as his hips bucked helplessly into his fist. Mohit shifted again with a wet snort, his thighs spreading wider unconsciously, his ass rising slightly off the mattress—presenting himself like some unaware offering. The moonlight caught the glisten of sweat tracing his cleft, the dark furl of his hole twitching slightly with each snore.
Rohan barely registered the warning twinge in his balls before his orgasm ripped through him—sudden, violent, choking the air from his lungs. The first spurt landed hot and thick across Mohit's lower back, pearly ropes spattering against the dimpled skin just above his tailbone. The second shot arched higher, catching the swell of his right cheek in a glistening streak. Rohan's knees nearly gave out as the third pulse hit, painting Mohit's hole itself in a sticky web of cum, the thick droplets clinging to the wiry curls before dripping obscenely downward. He gasped, trembling, watching his own release pool in the crease where Mohit's thighs met—filling that tight, hidden space until it overflowed in slow rivulets down his perineum.
Mohit snorted loudly in his sleep, shifting his weight—and suddenly Rohan's mess was smearing across his skin, his ass pressing the cum deeper into the cleft with every unconscious movement. Rohan stumbled back, cold panic clawing up his throat. The evidence was everywhere—glossy streaks on the sheets, translucent patches drying on Mohit's thighs, his own softening cock still slick with it. He swiped desperately at the dampness on his stomach, fingers coming away sticky under the moonlight.
The bathroom towel hung limp on the rack, still damp from Mohit's earlier shower. Rohan dabbed at Mohit's back first—quick, feather-light touches—but the cum had already begun to dry in tacky strings across his skin. He pressed harder, the terrycloth rasping against Mohit's sweat-damp hair, watching with morbid fascination as the fabric gathered the mess in frothy clumps. Mohit grunted once, his hand twitching toward his ass like he might scratch an itch, and Rohan froze mid-swipe, pulse hammering.
Cleaning Mohit's cleft was worse. The towel caught on wiry curls, tugging them taut before snagging in the sticky residue pooling there. Rohan's fingers trembled as he worked the fabric into the crease, careful not to press too deep, but a pearl of cum still glistened stubbornly at the pucker when he pulled away. Mohit sighed in his sleep, thighs shifting apart further, and Rohan jammed the towel between them with frantic haste, scrubbing until the skin pinkened under his rough ministrations.
The briefs were next—damp with sweat and now smeared with Rohan's drying mess. He peeled them back up Mohit's thighs with held breath, wincing as the elastic snapped back into place against flesh still tacky with his shame. One last swipe at the sheet, then Rohan retreated to his own bed, knees cracking against the floor in his haste. The cockroach from earlier scuttled over his discarded towel, antennae twitching at the scent. Worried about the things happen if mohit knows about this. Damn he slept with so much guilt...
Dawn spilled through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across Mohit's crisp navy shirt as he adjusted his belt buckle with a metallic *click*. Rohan blinked awake to the scent of burnt toast and cheap coffee—Mohit's morning routine already in motion despite the early hour. "Morning," Mohit grunted around a mouthful of buttered bread, his mustache twitching with a casual smile as he leaned down to grab his work bag. The sunlight caught the gold hoops in his earlobes, flashing briefly—no trace of Rohan's midnight transgression left on his skin.
Rohan exhaled into his pillow, tension uncoiling from his shoulders as Mohit rummaged through the fridge with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. The engineer hummed off-key, tossing a juice carton back with a thud before wiping his hands on his slacks—utterly oblivious. Normal. Rohan's gaze flicked to the crumpled bedsheet where he'd scrubbed away the evidence last night; it lay innocently rumpled, no telltale stains visible in the daylight. Mohit's phone buzzed—his wife's name flashing—and he answered with a warmth that made Rohan's gut twist. "Yeah, beta, Appa's leaving now," Mohit chuckled, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he buttoned his cuff. The gold earring swung with his movements, glinting under the kitchen bulb.
"Late again," Mohit sighed, rolling his eyes at Rohan as he shrugged into his work blazer. The fabric strained across his shoulders—broad from years of hauling machinery—and Rohan swallowed hard, remembering how those same muscles had flexed under moonlight. Mohit paused by the door, keys jingling in one hand while the other hovered near his lower back, scratching absently at the exact spot where Rohan's cum had dried hours earlier.
.
The engineer shot him a quick salute, mustache twitching. "Don't drown in code," he tossed over his shoulder, already halfway out. The scent of his aftershave—something woody and sharp—lingered like a taunt. Then the door slammed, leaving Rohan alone with the echo of his own guilt and the faint, mocking imprint of Mohit's ass still pressed into the sheets across from him.
Months blurred into a rhythm of stolen glances and suppressed groans. Mohit's morning routine became Pavlovian torture—the way he'd stretch after his shower, biceps flexing against the damp cotton of his undershirt, or how he'd chew his toast with exaggerated bites, lips glistening with butter. Rohan catalogued it all: the way Mohit's laugh crinkled the corners of his eyes when his daughter babbled on video calls, the precise angle his wedding band caught the light when he gestured mid-sentence, the unconscious way his fingers would drift to scratch his stomach during cricket matches, exposing a sliver of skin above his belt.
Their friendship deepened in the sticky Mumbai heat—shared takeout containers balanced on Rohan's keyboard, Mohit's grease-stained hands demonstrating gear ratios with pen caps and bottle caps, late-night debates about the merits of old Bollywood songs versus the new. Rohan learned the cadence of Mohit's snoring (worse after chicken vindaloo), the exact shade his cheeks turned when he lied about skipping the gym (burnt umber), the way he'd absentmindedly roll his gold earring between thumb and forefinger when troubleshooting engine schematics. Every casual touch—a shoulder bump during monsoon downpours, Mohit's knee pressing against his under the cramped breakfast table—sent electric jolts down Rohan's spine that no amount of cold showers could erase.
The company's annual performance bonus came with an unexpected perk—two round-trip tickets to Phuket, still crisp in their embossed envelope when Rohan slid them across the breakfast table. Mohit's toast paused mid-air, crumbs scattering as he squinted at the tickets. "Thailand?" His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, wedding band glinting as he tapped the itinerary. "
"Yeah," Rohan said, pulse hammering against his ribs as he watched Mohit's lips move silently over the destination. The engineer had been complaining for weeks about missing beach trips with his college friends—this was perfect bait. "They're expiring soon. Thought you might... want to go." The lie tasted sour, but Mohit's grin burned it away.
Mohit's fingers tightened around the tickets, his thumb brushing over the glossy print of turquoise waters. "You serious?" His eyes flicked up—dark, warm, oblivious—and Rohan's gut twisted. A weekend trapped in a beachside villa, . Just salt-stained sheets and Mohit's bare chest glistening under foreign sunlight. The fantasy thickened Rohan's tongue.
Then Mohit lunged. The tickets fluttered to the floor as thick arms encircled Rohan's shoulders, crushing him against sweat-and-sandalwood warmth. Rohan's nose collided with Mohit's collarbone, inhaling sharply—laundry detergent, engine grease, that same musk from a hundred interrupted fantasies. Mohit's stubble scraped his temple as the engineer murmured, "You're a real one, yaar," his breath hot against Rohan's ear. The embrace lasted three agonizing seconds—just long enough for Rohan to memorize the press of Mohit's wedding band against his spine—before breaking apart with a clap on the back that stung more than it should.
That night, Mohit stormed into the flat like a monsoon wind, slamming six-packs onto the kitchen counter. "Pre-game!" He crowed, cracking open a Kingfisher with his teeth. Froth spilled down his chin as he gestured wildly, outlining plans between gulps: "Beach by dawn, fuck hangovers—pubs by sunset, fuck dignity—" His knee bumped Rohan's under the table, radiating heat through thin pajama cotton. "And you?" Mohit's grin turned wolfish, leaning close enough for whiskey-breath to ghost over Rohan's lips. "Find yourself some Thai girl with a tight—" His hand formed a crude shape in the air, thumb and forefinger circling— "to ride that coding frustration out, eh?" The wink that followed was somehow worse than the gesture.
Rohan's fingers tightened around his beer bottle, condensation dripping onto his thigh like sweat. He forced a chuckle through clenched teeth. "Maybe." The lie tasted like aluminum. Mohit's laughter boomed, shaking the overhead bulb—oblivious, always fucking oblivious—as he scrolled through resort photos on his phone. Rohan's gaze snagged on a thumbnail of Mohit waist-deep in Goa's waters last summer, his wife's arms looped around his neck, their daughter clinging to his shoulders like a monkey. The pang hit low and sharp beneath his ribs.
Airports smelled like stale hope and disinfectant—Rohan inhaled sharply as their taxi screeched to a halt outside Terminal 2, Mohit already halfway out the door with their shared duffel slung over one shoulder. Mohit moved like a tank through pedestrian traffic, his gold earring glinting under fluorescent lights as he bulldozed toward check-in, completely unaware of how his sweat-damp shirt clung to the flex of his shoulders with every stride. Rohan trailed behind, pulse hammering, his carry-on bumping against his knees like a guilty conscience.
The flight attendant’s smile faltered when Mohit flopped into his aisle seat—spreading his thighs wide enough to brush Rohan’s knee—and promptly demanded three whiskeys before takeoff. Turbulence rocked the cabin halfway through the flight, Mohit’s hand landing heavy on Rohan’s thigh as he laughed through a mouthful of peanuts, his wedding band digging into denim. “Relax,” he snorted, shaking Rohan’s leg like a stubborn gearshift, utterly oblivious to how his fingers lingered just inches from the growing heat between Rohan’s thighs.
Hotel check-in smelled like lemongrass and regret. The receptionist's polished smile didn't waver as she slid two keycards across the marble counter—one for a deluxe twin room, the other for Rohan's rapidly disintegrating self-control. Mohit shouldered past him toward the elevators, their shared duffel bag swinging against his hip, the outline of his wallet visible through sweat-darkened khakis. "AC better work," he grunted, jabbing the elevator button with his finger "Last time I paid this much for a room, the fucking minibar was warmer than—" The elevator doors slid open, cutting off his complaint with a soft chime that sounded like a judge's gavel in Rohan's ears.
The hotel room door clicked shut behind them with finality, sealing Rohan inside a humidity chamber of Mohit's musk and lemongrass disinfectant. Mohit wasted no time—he tore at his shirt buttons with his fingers, the fabric gaping open to reveal sweat-slicked chest hair matted in whorls against his skin. "Fucking humidity,"
Mohit groaned, peeling the shirt off entirely and tossing it onto the nearest chair, where it stuck damply to the upholstery. The AC unit whirred weakly above them, doing nothing to dispel the heat radiating off Mohit's torso as he stretched, his gold earring swinging with the movement, catching the light from the bedside lamp.
Rohan perched on the edge of his bed, fingers digging into the stiff hotel sheets as Mohit scratched lazily at his stomach, fingers trailing through the dark thatch of hair plastered to his skin. A bead of sweat trickled down Mohit's sternum, disappearing into the waistband of his slacks, and Rohan's throat went dry.
Mohit stretched with a groan, his shoulders popping audibly, before flashing Rohan a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Gonna scrub off three flights' worth of sweat," he announced, already unbuckling his belt with one hand while the other fumbled with the bathroom door. The metallic clink of his belt buckle hitting the tile echoed as he kicked off his slacks, leaving them pooled around his ankles like shed skin. "Save some hot water for me," Rohan muttered, but Mohit just laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the thin walls as the shower roared to life.
Steam billowed from the bathroom as Mohit emerged with a towel slung low around his hips, water droplets clinging to his chest hair like scattered pearls. "Fuck, that's better," he groaned, rubbing another towel through his damp curls before tossing it aside. His skin glowed pink from the heat, the scent of hotel shampoo mixing with his natural musk as he flopped onto his bed, the towel riding up dangerously high on his thighs. "Tomorrow, bro—beach, beers, and bad decisions," he announced with a grin, propping himself up on his elbows. "Gonna find some Thai hotties who know how to handle this," he added, slapping his own stomach with a wet smack that made Rohan's jaw clench.
Rohan's laugh came out sharper than intended, edged with something bitter. "Bro, you're *married*—don't forget," he said, flicking a peanut at Mohit's bare chest. It bounced off his nipple, leaving a tiny wet mark before rolling into the valley between his pecs. Mohit glanced down, snorted, and swiped it away with his finger, popping it into his mouth with a shrug that made his shoulders ripple.
"Tch, you think Priya minds?" Mohit rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, the towel slipping further—just a careless inch, but enough to reveal the dark shadow where his thigh met his groin. He grinned, all teeth, and reached out suddenly, dragging Rohan into a crushing hug. Mohit's damp chest pressed flush against him, the heat of his skin seeping through Rohan's thin shirt, his sandalwood scent mixing with the lingering hotel soap. Mohit's stubble scraped his neck as he whispered, husky and low, "*It's okay to do this kinda stuff when you get the chance, bro*," his voice dripping with playful, drunken suggestion, his fingers digging into Rohan's hips for emphasis.
Rohan's breath hitched as Mohit pulled back, still grinning—completely unaware of the wildfire he'd just sparked. The engineer rolled onto his back, arms folded behind his head like some sunbathing deity, the towel now barely covering the swell of his thighs. "Gonna sleep like a baby," Mohit yawned, scratching lazily at his stomach before letting his hand drift lower, adjusting himself with the casual indifference of a man who'd shared locker rooms his whole life. His fingers brushed the edge of the towel, nudging it askew just enough to reveal a glimpse of coarse hair—and Rohan's pulse spiked like a misfiring engine.
Morning came brutal and bright, sunlight stabbing through the sheer curtains to illuminate Mohit's bare chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. He'd shed the towel sometime in the night—now sprawled naked except for twisted sheets clinging to one thigh, his morning erection curving thick against his stomach. Rohan swallowed hard, watching a bead of pre-cum glisten at the tip before Mohit groaned awake, scratching lazily at his balls with a yawn that showed every back molar. "Fuck, my head," he muttered, rolling onto his side—presenting Rohan with an unobstructed view of his ass, still faintly pink from yesterday's shower heat.
Rohan's fingers twitched against his own thigh, pulse roaring in his ears as Mohit stretched with a grunt, his hole clenching briefly before relaxing again. The scent of sleep-warm skin and last night's whiskey flooded Rohan's senses when he shifted closer, his own cock throbbing against the mattress. One hand drifted forward—slow, trembling—until his fingertips grazed the dip of Mohit's lower back. The engineer sighed but didn't stir, his breathing deepening again as Rohan's fingers trailed lower, skimming the crest of his ass with feather-light touches.
His palm settled over Mohit's cleft, heat radiating through his fingertips as he pressed gently. Mohit's hips jerked slightly in his sleep, a quiet groan escaping his lips as Rohan's fingers slid between his cheeks, brushing against the tight furl hidden there. The slickness of sleep-sweat made the glide easy, Rohan's thumb circling the rim while his other hand fumbled with his own erection, stroking in rough, uneven tugs. Mohit's breath hitched—Rohan froze—but then the engineer arched backward unconsciously, pressing himself harder against Rohan's invading fingers.
The sharp sting of nails digging into his thigh jolted Rohan awake. Mohit was sitting upright now, rubbing his eyes with one hand while the other scratched lazily at his ass, fingers disappearing between his cheeks with the ease of long habit. "Fucking heat rash," Mohit muttered, rolling onto his side to scratch more vigorously, his balls shifting against the mattress as he dug three fingers into his own cleft. Rohan squeezed his eyes shut, feigning sleep as Mohit's fingers worked deeper, the wet sound of skin on skin filling the room. "Ahh, fuck yeah,"
.
Mohit groaned, arching into his own touch—completely unaware of Rohan's frozen stillness beside him—before finally flopping onto his back with a satisfied sigh. The engineer stretched, his morning erection bobbing against his stomach as he reached for his phone. "Beach time," he announced, nudging Rohan's ankle with his foot. "Wake up, sleeping beauty—I wanna see you drown in saltwater before lunch."
The walk to the shore was a study in torture—Mohit clad only in electric-blue swim shorts that clung indecently to every shift of his thighs, his bare chest gleaming under suncream he'd slapped on with obscene relish. Rohan's own shorts felt two sizes too tight as Mohit flexed for a group of giggling tourists, his gold earring catching the sunlight like a lure. "You look like a lobster already," Mohit laughed, flicking sand at Rohan's chest before sprinting toward the surf, his muscular back flexing with each stride, the waistband of his shorts dipping dangerously low to reveal twin dimples just above his ass.
Women lounging on striped towels turned their sunglasses toward Mohit as he emerged from the surf, water cascading down his oiled chest in rivulets that caught the sunlight like liquid gold. A Swedish backpacker dropped her paperback, her gaze tracking the way his swim trunks suctioned to his thick thighs with each stride, the outline beneath the fabric leaving little to imagination. Even the elderly masseuse under the palm-frond shade paused her sunscreen kneading to watch Mohit shake out his curls—saltwater spraying in an arc that made a trio of Japanese girls giggle behind their hands, their eyes dark with appreciation. Mohit stretched his arms overhead with a grunt, muscles flexing in a way that drew audible sighs, utterly oblivious to the effect his dripping, half-naked form had on the beach’s collective pulse.
Rohan’s teeth sank into his lower lip until he tasted copper, fingers clawing at the hot sand as Mohit accepted a coconut from a grinning vendor—his fingers lingering a beat too long on the man’s calloused palm while exchanging baht. Every laugh, every casual touch Mohit doled out to strangers coiled tighter in Rohan’s gut, his own swim trunks straining as Mohit bent over to adjust his flip-flop, the blue fabric riding up to expose the dusky shadow of his cleft. The Swedish backpacker reappeared, her hand "accidentally" brushing Mohit’s bicep as she asked for help with her sunscreen, and Rohan’s vision tunneled when Mohit grinned—taking the bottle without hesitation, his thumbs already circling her shoulder blades with practiced ease.
Back at the hotel, Mohit tossed his damp trunks onto the bathroom floor with a wet slap, already humming some Bollywood remix as he rummaged through his duffel. "Bro, wear the black one—trust me," he called over his shoulder, shaking out a button-down that smelled faintly of coconut oil and recklessness. His bare ass flexed as he bent to dig for cologne, the twin dimples above his waistband winking at Rohan like a dare.
The scent of sandalwood and lime filled the room as Mohit slapped aftershave onto his neck, his gold earring catching the mirror light when he turned to flash Rohan a grin. "Gonna drown in pussy tonight," he announced, adjusting his bulge with the casual confidence of a man who'd never once doubted his own magnetism. The tight black jeans he'd chosen left nothing to imagination, the outline of his thick thighs straining against denim as he bent to lace his boots—his unbuttoned shirt gaping open to reveal the sweat-slicked valley between his pecs. Rohan's throat went dry when Mohit spun the wedding band on his finger absently before slipping it into his wallet with a wink. "Wife rules—no ring, no evidence."
The bar's neon sign flickered like a failing heartbeat, casting a sickly pink glow over Rohan's clenched fists as he trailed behind Mohit's swaggering stride. Mohit's black shirt clung to his shoulders where sweat darkened the fabric, the top three buttons undone to showcase the gold chain nestled in his chest hair—a trophy from some long-ago beach trip with his wife, now glinting under strobe lights as he shouldered through the crowd. Rohan's own collar itched, starched stiff with hotel ironing, every swallow tasting of the extra-strength mouthwash he'd gargled to purge the scent of Mohit's sandalwood shower gel still clinging to their shared bathroom towels.
A blonde in a backless dress materialized against Mohit's side like foam on a beer, her manicured fingers already looping through his belt as he laughed into her ear—something about Moscow winters and Thai humidity that made her toss her hair like a spooked mare. Mohit's palm found the dip of her spine, guiding her into a grind that sent her sequined skirt flaring against his thighs, his hips rolling with the lazy confidence of a man who'd never been told no. Rohan counted the empty glasses lining their table—three whiskey sodas, two shots of something neon—as Mohit's free hand snagged another cocktail from a passing tray, downing it in one smooth tilt of his throat that made the blonde giggle and bite her lip.
The second girl appeared during a Bad Bunny remix, pressing against Mohit's chest to shout over the music while her friend's hands slid into his back pockets. Mohit's grin widened, all teeth, as he hooked an arm around each waist, pulling them flush against the sweat-darkened cotton of his shirt.
Mohit's fingers traced drunken patterns down blonde number one's arm while his thumb worked circles into brunette number two's hip bone—casual, proprietary touches that made both girls giggle into their cocktails. Rohan's knuckles whitened around his untouched beer as Mohit leaned in to whisper something that sent the brunette's head tipping back with laughter, her throat exposed like prey beneath the strobe lights. The blonde's fingers tangled in Mohit's chest hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan—a sound Rohan had only heard through thin bathroom walls until now.
.
Then the new arrivals emerged from the smoke machine haze,,,,thai ladyboys—three lithe figures in sequined bodysuits that caught the disco ball's fracturing light with every sway. Mohit's bleary gaze tracked their approach with slack-jawed appreciation, his whiskey-glazed eyes missing the telltale sharpness of jawlines under contour makeup, the practiced way their hands adjusted wigs when dancing closer. One pressed against Mohit's back, her—*his*—long nails scraping down his shirt as another draped herself across his lap, her falsetto giggles blending seamlessly with the bassline. Mohit's laughter boomed, his palm sliding up a fishnet-clad thigh without noticing the muscle beneath.
Rohan's beer bottle cracked against the table—suddenly sober—as Mohit nuzzled into the neck of the tallest "girl", his stubble catching on the lace choker hiding an Adam's apple. The third ladyboy straddled Mohit's knee, grinding down with expert rolls of her—*his*—hips while unfastening Mohit's shirt buttons one by one. Mohit's head lolled back against the booth, his throat working as a manicured hand dipped below his belt, his wedding band glinting uselessly on the table beside abandoned shot glasses. "Fuck yeah, baby," Mohit slurred, gripping lace-covered hips that were wider than any natural woman's, his fingers digging into padding meant to mimic curves.
.
The tallest ladyboy—cherry gloss shining under neon—trailed a fingernail down Mohit’s chest before slinking toward the spiral staircase, her sequined hips swaying with each step. Mohit’s whiskey-flushed gaze tracked the way her fishnet thighs disappeared upstairs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stumbled after her, knocking over a stool. The brunette at their table pouted, but Mohit didn’t glance back, his wedding band abandoned beside a sticky cocktail napkin.
Rohan’s chair screeched as he stood, pulse hammering in his throat as he followed the sound of Mohit’s laughter upstairs. The second-floor hallway reeked of sweat and jasmine incense, shadows writhing under flickering bulbs. A door halfway down stood ajar—through the crack, Rohan saw the ladyboy straddling Mohit’s lap on a torn leather couch, her long nails scraping his scalp as he groaned into her neck, his hands kneading the padding of her hips.
The ladyboy’s voice dropped an octave when she whispered something in Mohit’s ear, making him laugh drunkenly before she tugged him toward the last door—a narrow room barely lit by a red bulb. Rohan pressed against the hallway’s damp wallpaper, watching Mohit stumble inside, his shirt now hanging open, gold chain swinging against his flushed chest. The door clicked shut behind them, but not before Rohan glimpsed the ladyboy pushing Mohit onto the bed, her fishnet-clad knee sinking into the mattress between his thighs.
Inside the dimly lit room, Mohit’s laughter dissolved into a groan as the ladyboy’s cherry-stained lips crashed against his, their kiss messy with whiskey and desperation. Her—*his*—fingers tangled in Mohit’s chest hair, tugging sharply as she straddled him, the sequins of her bodysuit scraping his bare stomach where his shirt fell open. Mohit’s hands, usually so sure, fumbled at her waist, gripping the false curves of her hips as she ground down, her tongue sliding against his with practiced ease. Rohan’s breath fogged the peephole he shouldn’
Mohit arched off the bed with a gasp when the ladyboy’s nails raked down his torso, her thumb flicking his nipple—already peaked from the AC’s chill—before her mouth followed, teeth scraping the sensitive bud. Mohit’s head thrashed against the pillows, his hips jerking upward as she peeled his shirt off completely, revealing the sweat-slicked thatch of hair trailing down to his navel. The ladyboy’s tongue dipped into the deep groove of his belly button, making Mohit curse and fist the sheets, his gold chain swinging wildly between his collarbones. Rohan’s own breath came in ragged bursts against the doorframe, his cock throbbing as he watched the ladyboy’s cherry-stained lips close around Mohit’s other nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise.
The ladyboy's fingers made quick work of Mohit's belt buckle, the metallic clink drowned out by Mohit's whiskey-slurred laughter as she yanked his jeans down his thighs. His briefs followed in one fluid motion, catching on his erection before snapping free—leaving him sprawled naked across the cheap motel sheets, his skin flushed pink under the flickering red bulb. Mohit groaned into the pillow when she shoved his shoulders down, his ass lifting instinctively as she climbed astride him, her sequined thighs bracketing his hips. The gold chain around his neck twisted against his spine as she ground against him, her acrylic nails digging into the dimples above his ass while Mohit's fingers clawed at the sweat-damp pillowcase.
With a sudden jerk, she tore the last scrap of fabric clinging to Mohit's thighs—his briefs splitting with a sharp rip that made him flinch. Mohit's hole clenched instinctively when she buried her face between his cheeks, her tongue lashing against his rim with a wet slurp that echoed off the water-stained walls. Mohit's hips bucked wildly, his thighs trembling as she inhaled deeply against his damp cleft, her cherry-stained lips parting around a groan—"*Fuck*, you smell like whiskey and bad decisions." Rohan's fingernails bit into the doorframe as Mohit's cock twitched against the sheets, leaking precum onto the motel's scratchy linen while the ladyboy's fingers dug into his asscheeks, spreading him wider.
.
Mohit's breath hitched when her tongue probed deeper—his fingers twisting in the sheets as he arched back onto her mouth with a shuddering gasp. His gold chain swung wildly as he turned his head, whiskey-glazed eyes struggling to focus on her smeared lipstick. "*Don't—ahh—don't do that, babe,*
Mohit's laugh dissolved into a groan when her nails dug into his hips, her tongue swirling just inside his rim. "*Feels fuckin' heaven, but I didn't wash that goodly—*" His thighs trembled as she inhaled sharply against his damp cleft, her lips sealing around his hole with a filthy pop. "*—gonna make you turn off, babe,*" he slurred, hips jerking when her fingertip replaced her tongue, circling lazily. The ladyboy's laughter was dark syrup as she licked a stripe up his perineum, her voice dropping an octave—"*You taste so manly and salty. I* live *for this.*
Mohit's back arched violently off the bed, his hands scrambling to grip the ladyboy's shoulders—not pushing her away, but clinging like a drowning man. "Wait—fuck—*wait*," he panted, his voice cracking as her fingertip breached him properly for the first time, the tight ring of muscle fluttering around the intrusion. His thighs trembled, toes curling into the sheets as he choked out a disbelieving laugh, "Christ, that's—nobody's ever—" before his words dissolved into a groan, his forehead dropping against her collarbone. The ladyboy smirked against his shoulder, swirling her tongue over his pulse point while her finger worked deeper, feeling him clench rhythmically around her knuckle.
She leaned in to bite his earlobe, her cherry-stained lips grazing his flushed skin—just as the bedframe jerked violently against the wall, sending her platinum wig sliding sideways. Mohit's whiskey-dulled gaze tracked its slow descent, his fingers freezing mid-grope as the wig hit the mattress with a soft *plop*, revealing close-cropped black hair and the sharp jawline of a man who'd spent years perfecting the illusion. The ladyboy—*he*—didn't miss a beat, grinding his now-obvious erection against Mohit's thigh with a throaty chuckle. "Surprise, handsome," he purred, his voice dropping into its natural register, deep enough to vibrate through Mohit's chest.
Mohit recoiled like he'd been doused in ice water, scrambling backward until his shoulders hit the headboard—his gold chain tangling around his throat as he stared at the stranger straddling him. "What the *fuck*," he snarled, his voice cracking with something between rage and panic, his hands flying to cover his still-hard cock. The ladyboy—no, the *man*—just smirked, rolling his hips deliberately to press their erections together, his painted lips parting around a laugh. Mohit's palm connected with his cheek before either of them could blink—a sharp *crack* that sent the wig tumbling to the floorboards, the man's head snapping sideways with the force of it.
"You fucking *deceived* me!" Mohit roared, shoving the man off with enough force to send him sprawling onto the floor, sequins scattering like cheap glitter. His palm throbbed from the slap—still tingling with the imprint of the bastard's stubble against his skin—and his chest heaved with ragged breaths, the gold chain biting into his neck. The man blinked up at him, lipstick smeared sideways from the impact, his fishnet stockings torn at the knee where he'd caught himself—
—and then he *laughed*, low and throaty, rubbing his jaw with a shrug. "Should've checked the merchandise first, handsome." Mohit's stomach lurched, his erection wilting as disgust coiled hot in his gut—only to be replaced by white-hot fury when the man winked, licking cherry gloss off his teeth. "You were *enjoying* it," he purred, crawling forward on his knees, his hands sliding up Mohit's thighs—
Mohit's fist clenched around the man's wrist like a steel trap, wrenching it away from his thigh with enough force to dislocate a weaker man's shoulder. "Touch me again and I'll break every fucking bone in your hand," he spat, slamming the impostor against the wall with a thud that rattled the cheap framed poster of a tropical beach. The man's smirk faltered as Mohit's palm cracked across his face again—left cheek this time, splitting the corner of his painted lips with a satisfying smear of cherry-red blood.
"You think this is funny?" Mohit snarled, his gold chain swinging wildly as he crowded the trembling man against the damp wallpaper. The man's chest heaved under his sequined bodysuit, his breath sour with whiskey and humiliation as he hissed, "I know how to handle men like you—could've eaten your shit too, you fucking handsome prick." His voice cracked on the last word, tears smearing his mascara as Mohit's knee jammed between his thighs.
Mohit barely registered the man's fingers slipping into his pocket—too consumed by the fury boiling in his gut—until the sharp *hiss* of aerosol sprayed directly into his nostrils. His vision blurred instantly, the scent of bitter almonds flooding his senses as his grip slackened. "What the f—" His knees buckled before he could finish, the room tilting violently as his gold chain swung like a pendulum. The last thing he saw was the man's smeared lipstick curling into a smirk before darkness swallowed him whole.
Rohan's pulse hammered in his throat as he watched the ladyboy's manicured fingers dart into a hidden pocket, producing a small aerosol canister with practiced ease. Before Mohit could react, she pressed the nozzle directly against his flaring nostrils—releasing a sharp hiss of bitter-scented mist that made Mohit's eyes roll back instantly. , body slumping forward like a marionette with severed strings, his unconscious weight crashing onto the bed with a muffled thud.
The ladyboy wiped her smeared lipstick with the back of her hand, chuckling darkly as she rolled Mohit onto his back—his gold chain twisted against his throat, his bare chest rising and falling in slow, drugged breaths. "Sleep tight, handsome," she murmured, pressing a cherry-stained kiss to his slack jaw that made Rohan's pulse spike. The hallway fell silent except for the hum of flickering bulbs and the wet sound of Mohit's parted lips dragging against the pillowcase—his body sprawled vulnerable and pliant, his cock still half-hard against t him.
Rohan's fist slammed against the doorframe befor he could stop himself, his voice cracking with a ferocity he did't recognize. "Hey—*what the fuck are you doing*" The ladyboy's head snapped up, her acryli nails freezing mid-air where they'd been tracing Mohit' navel. Rohan barreled into the room shoving her aside with enough force to send her sequined hip crashing into th nightstand. "Leave him alone," he snarled, positioning himself between Mohit's limp body and her smirking lips, "or I swear to god, I'll call the fucking police." His hand trembled as he fumbled for his phone—half-hoping she'd run, half-hoping she'd stay long enough for him to throttle the cherry gloss off her mouth.
The ladyboy's confidence wavered for the first time that night, her painted eyes flicking between Rohan's clenched fists and Mohit's drugged sprawl. "Relax, handsome," she purred, though her voice lacked its earlier honey—now strained at the edges like cheap elastic. "Just having fun—" Her words cut off as Rohan lunged forward, grabbing the aerosol can from her trembling fingers and hurling it against the wall with a plastic *crack*. The sound echoed like a gunshot, and suddenly she was scrambling backward, sequins scraping the floorboards as she kicked off her heels and bolted for the grimy window.
She fumbled with the latch, her acrylic nails snapping as she clawed at the rusted hinges—Rohan's shadow looming behind her as the window finally screeched open. Night air rushed in, thick with the scent of frying pork and sewage, as she hauled herself onto the fire escape without glancing back. One fishnet-clad leg swung over the sill just as Rohan's hand closed around her wrist—her pulse rabbiting against his fingertips—but she twisted free with a desperate jerk, her wig catching on the window frame before tumbling into the alley below like a discarded animal pelt.
Rohan didn't watch her stumble down the iron stairs, already turning back to Mohit's motionless form, one arm dangling off the bed where the ladyboy had shoved him. Droplets of sweat traced the hollow of Mohit's throat, pooling in the divot above his sternum as his chest rose and fell in drugged slow-motion. Rohan's fingers hovered over the chain, not touching—not yet—but close enough to feel the heat radiating off Mohit's skin. The cloying scent of cherry lipstick mixed with the bitter chemical tang of whatever she'd sprayed in his face.
He swallowed hard when his gaze dropped lower—past the gold chain, past the dark trail of hair leading down—and caught sight of Mohit's cock, still half-hard against his thigh. Rohan's own erection strained against his jeans, the fabric suddenly unbearable as he reached out, trembling fingers skimming Mohit's hipbone. The damp heat of Mohit's skin sent a jolt through him, and before he could think, Rohan was unbuckling his own belt, shoving his pants down just enough to free his aching dick.
Fuck... This is hot as rohan made mohit wear just his shirt and pant and with a lot of hardwork bring him to the cab and then to the hotel...
Rohan's fingers dug into Mohit's slack wrists as he rolled him onto his stomach, the scent of whiskey and sweat thick in the air. He yanked the belt from his own jeans with a sharp hiss, looping it around Mohit's right wrist before cinching it tight to the bedframe—the leather biting into flesh with a satisfying creak. The second belt came from Mohit's discarded pants, still damp with spilled liquor, and Rohan used it to secure his left ankle to the opposite post, spreading him wide like a starfish on the stained sheets.
Mohit groaned into the pillow, his drugged limbs flopping weakly against the restraints as Rohan straddled the small of his back. The gold chain pressed into Rohan's palm as he fisted it, using it to tilt Mohit's head back—exposing the vulnerable stretch of throat where the ladyboy's cherry gloss still smeared. "
Let's play a game," Rohan murmured, digging through the nightstand drawer until his fingers closed around a black silk tie from Mohit's discarded outfit. He draped it over Mohit's unfocused eyes, knotting it snug behind his head—not tight enough to leave marks, just enough to keep those whiskey-glazed pupils hidden. Mohit's breath hitched when the fabric slithered into place, his drugged confusion lending him a pliant stillness as Rohan adjusted the blindfold with careful fingers.
.
Mohit jerked awake to darkness—not the soft blur of sleep, but the suffocating press of silk against his eyelids. His wrists burned where leather bit into flesh, his legs splayed wide and tethered by something that creaked when he thrashed. "What the *fuck*—" His voice cracked dry as desert sand, tongue clumsy from whatever chemical still swam in his veins. "Ladyboy bitch—untie me *
Rohan froze mid-reach, fingers hovering inches from Mohit's heaving back—close enough to count each bead of sweat sliding down his spine. The insult coiled hot in his gut, twisting tighter when Mohit bucked against the restraints, his gold chain clinking as he snarled, "I'll break your fucking teeth if you touch me again."
With a snarl, Rohan grabbed fistfuls of Mohit's half-buttoned shirt and *tore*—cotton seams popping like gunshots as the fabric split down his sweat-slicked back. Mohit arched with a gasp, muscles flexing against the sudden rush of air, his exposed skin flushing pink under Rohan's hungry stare. "in a lady boy voice"" enjoy babe""", tossing the ruined shirt aside before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Mohit's briefs. The elastic snapped against his hips as Rohan yanked them down in one vicious motion, baring the full curve of his ass to the flickering hotel light.
Rohan's breath hitched when Mohit's belly button came into view—a deep, shadowed dip just above the waistband of his briefs, darker than the rest of his golden skin from years of sweat pooling in that perfect little hollow. He pressed his thumb into it hard enough to make Mohit hiss, the tight ring of muscle flexing around his finger like a second mouth. It smelled faintly of salt and whiskey, the scent intensifying as Rohan leaned down to drag his tongue along the creases—each swipe drawing out a muffled groan from Mohit, his abdominal muscles twitching under the wet heat.
Mohit's nipple was already peaked from the AC's chill when Rohan's teeth found it—a stiff little bud begging to be bitten. He obliged with a sharp nip that made Mohit jerk against the restraints, the leather groaning as his back arched off the mattress. Rohan didn't let up, worrying the nub between his teeth until Mohit's breath came in ragged pants, his chest heaving as Rohan switched to the other side, laving it with broad strokes of his tongue before sucking hard enough to leave a darkening bruise.
"*Leave me—ahh—please leave me,*" Mohit gasped, his voice cracking as Rohan's palm skated down his stomach to grip his half-hard cock, squeezing just shy of painful. "*I have a family—fuck—I'm married—*" His hips bucked into Rohan's fist despite his protests, precum smearing across his abs as Rohan twisted his wrist on the upstroke. "*Don't—don't do that—I'll pay you—*" The words dissolved into a broken moan when Rohan's thumb swiped over his leaking slit, his thighs trembling as pleasure warred with panic.
Rohan's teeth found Mohit's earlobe next—the gold hoop there cold against his tongue before he bit down hard enough to make Mohit yelp. The metallic tang of blood bloomed as Rohan worried the piercing like a wild animal, his hips grinding against Mohit's ass as he snarled into his ear, "*You think this is about money?*" He licked a stripe up the shell of Mohit's ear, tasting salt and copper before biting again, his free hand fisting in Mohit's hair to yank his head back. "*You've been teasing me for months—flaunting yourself—begging for this.*"
Mohit's throat worked against the silk blindfold, his voice raw with pain and confusion. "*What—what months? I don't—fuck—I don't know you, ladyboy!*" His breath hitched when Rohan's fingers twisted tighter in his hair, the gold chain biting into his throat as he was forced to arch further. "*You're not—not the same one from before—*" His words dissolved into a gasp as Rohan's other hand slid between his legs, cupping his balls with a possessive squeeze that made his thighs jerk against the restraints.
Rohan froze mid-grope, his pulse hammering against his ribs like a caged animal. *Fuck. Fuck.* Mohit's slurred accusation echoed in his skull—*not the same one*—sharp enough to pierce the haze of lust. His teeth sank into his own tongue until copper flooded his mouth, the pain a necessary anchor. One wrong word, one recognizable inflection, and this would shatter like cheap glass. He exhaled through his nose, forcing his grip to loosen in Mohit's hair—reverting to the ladyboy's practiced purr. "Shh, handsome," he murmured, dragging his lips along Mohit's shoulder to hide his trembling. "Just enjoy."
Mohit shuddered when Rohan's tongue swiped up his spine—slow, deliberate, savoring each salt-bitter ridge of vertebrae. "*Stop—fucking—stop,*" he panted, hips bucking as Rohan's saliva traced the dip of his lower back, the wet trail glistening under flickering neon from the window. His muscles tensed when that tongue circled the dimples above his ass, a whimper escaping as Rohan blew cold air across the damp skin. "*I’ll kill you for this,*" Mohit snarled, but the threat cracked when Rohan's teeth sank into the meat of his thigh, licking away the sting with languid, mocking strokes.
Rohan dragged his tongue along Mohit's inner arm next, tasting the tang of cologne and panic where his wrist strained against the belt. The vein there pulsed under his lips, rapid as a trapped bird's, and Rohan sucked it lightly—just enough to draw a hissed "*Fuck you!*" from Mohit. He moved lower, lapping at the crease of Mohit's elbow, then down to the palm, pressing open-mouthed kisses to each callus while Mohit's fingers twitched helplessly. "*Disgusting,*" Mohit spat, but his breath hitched when Rohan's tongue slipped between his fingers, coating them in slick heat before moving to his ribs, painting each ridge with saliva that cooled in the AC's draft.
The first brush of Rohan's nose against Mohit's damp armpit made him jerk like he'd been branded—the thick curls there matted with sweat, dark as spilled ink against golden skin. "*No—NO—*" Mohit's voice cracked as Rohan inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring at the raw musk trapped in those wiry strands, the scent heady as aged whiskey. His tongue darted out first—just a tentative lick along the crease—and Mohit shuddered violently, the belt creaking as he tried to wrench his arm away. "You sick *fuck*—" The insult dissolved into a strangled moan when Rohan sealed his mouth over the hollow, sucking hard enough to pull the salty tang straight from Mohit's pores.
Rohan's fingers tangled in the armpit hair, tugging just enough to make Mohit gasp—the coarse strands wrapping around his knuckles like living things. He laved the trembling skin with broad strokes of his tongue, savoring the way Mohit's bicep flexed involuntarily, veins standing out in stark relief. The taste was addictive—bitter with deodorant residue, layered over something profoundly *male* that made Rohan's cock throb against Mohit's thigh. When he scraped his teeth lightly over the sensitive skin, Mohit's entire body jerked, his restrained wrist twisting so hard the leather groaned. "*Fucking—hnn—disgusting,*" he panted, but his hips rolled back against Rohan's erection, betraying him.
Dropping lower, Rohan hooked his thumbs into the crease where Mohit's thigh met his ass—spreading him wide with a single rough motion. The sudden rush of humid air made Mohit flinch, his hole clenching visibly around nothing as Rohan leaned in, nostrils flaring at the first unfiltered scent. It was muskier than he'd imagined—ripe with sweat and the faint metallic tang of precum from their grinding. His tongue darted out experimentally, tracing the outer rim in one slow circle, and Mohit's entire body seized, a strangled noise escaping his throat. "*Don't you—ah!—don't you fucking dare—*"
Rohan inhaled deeper this time, pressing his nose flush against Mohit's twitching hole—breathing in the heady mix of salt and skin, the adrenaline-sharp edge of panic underneath. The scent was intoxicatingly raw, like leather left in the sun too long, and he dragged his tongue upward in one long, slow lick that left Mohit trembling. "*FUCK!*" Mohit's thighs strained against the belts, his wrists twisting violently as Rohan repeated the motion—this time swirling his tongue in tight circles, savoring the way Mohit's body betrayed him by pushing back greedily. The bitter taste bloomed across Rohan's tongue, unmistakably *him*, and he groaned against Mohit's skin, his own cock leaking against the mattress.
With deliberate slowness, Rohan pulled back just enough to lick his index finger thoroughly—watching Mohit's shoulders tense at the wet sound—before pressing the slick digit against his fluttering rim. Mohit's breath hitched audibly, his entire body freezing as Rohan traced the tight muscle without pushing in, just teasing the outer ring with featherlight pressure. "*No—no no no—*" Mohit chanted, his voice ragged, but his hips twitched forward instinctively, forcing Rohan's finger to catch on his rim for one breathtaking second before pulling away. Rohan smirked against the small of Mohit's back, blowing cool air across the dampness he'd left behind just to feel him shiver.
Without warning, Rohan drove his index finger in to the first knuckle—the sudden intrusion wrenching a punched-out gasp from Mohit's throat as his back arched violently against the restraints. "*FUCK—STOP!*" Mohit's wrists twisted in the belts, his thighs trembling as Rohan worked the digit deeper in shallow thrusts, each movement dragging another broken noise from Mohit's lips. "*Hurts—fucking hurts—*" he sobbed, but his body betrayed him, clenching greedily around the invading finger as Rohan crooked it just enough to brush that sweet spot inside. Mohit's cry splintered into a moan, his cock dripping onto the sheets beneath him.
"
Don't—*fuck*—don't do that, dude!" Mohit's voice cracked, raw with panic and something perilously close to shame as he twisted against the restraints. His sweat-slicked back arched off the mattress, muscles straining under the gold chain's bite. "That's nasty—what do you even get by that? I'm not—*hnn*—not some girl!" The protest dissolved into a choked gasp when Rohan's finger curled deeper, brushing that forbidden spot inside him. "I didn't even—*ah!*—care for my asshole before this—*leave me!*"
Rohan leaned in, lips brushing Mohit's trembling earlobe as he slipped into the ladyboy's honeyed cadence. "Dear, I said..." His tongue flicked out to trace the shell of Mohit's ear, voice dripping with saccharine malice. "I can even eat your *shit*." Mohit recoiled with a strangled cry—just as Rohan shoved a second finger past his rim without warning. The stretch burned white-hot, tearing a ragged scream from Mohit's throat that rattled the headboard. "*FUCKING STOP!*" His back arched like a bowstring, tendons standing sharp against sweat-slicked skin as his hole clenched violently around the invading digits.
Gold gleamed wetly as Rohan's teeth found Mohit's earlobe again—the cold hoop piercing digging into his tongue before he bit down with brutal precision. Mohit's scream tore through the room as flesh split beneath Rohan's canines, metallic warmth flooding his mouth while the ear turned crimson under his relentless suction. Blood trickled in rivulets down Mohit's neck, mingling with sweat as Rohan lapped at the wound with obscene relish, his free hand twisting the piercing mercilessly until Mohit sobbed. "Fucking—*animal*—" Mohit choked, thrashing against the belts as Rohan's tongue probed the ragged hole where the gold hoop had partially torn through swollen flesh.
Suddenly Mohit arched violently, his voice breaking into something raw and desperate. "*You bitch!*" he screamed, the blindfold darkening with tears. "*Wait till Rohan finds me—he'll gut you alive!*" His wrists twisted against the leather restraints, skin splitting as he hurled himself sideways in a futile attempt to dislodge Rohan. "*I swear to god he'll feed you to the police in pieces!*" The threat cracked into a gasp as Rohan's fingers thrust deeper inside him, curling against his prostate with calculated cruelty—proof that his beloved friend was the one violating him all along.
Mohit's cock pulsed against Rohan's palm—half-hard and leaking precum in thick, sticky strands that clung to his fingers. Rohan squeezed experimentally, his grip tightening just shy of pain, and Mohit's breath hitched in a way that wasn't entirely protest. The tip glistened under the flickering neon, a fresh bead of moisture welling up as Rohan dragged his thumb across the slit, smearing it in slow circles. "*Fuck—stop touching me there!*" Mohit snarled, but his hips jerked forward instinctively, driving his length deeper into Rohan's fist. The contradiction was delicious—his body arching into the touch even as his voice spat venom.
Rohan exhaled sharply through his nose, the scent of Mohit's arousal thick as he leaned down—close enough to feel heat radiating off the flushed head. His tongue darted out first, just a tentative lick along the underside, and Mohit's entire body tensed like a bowstring. The taste exploded across his senses—salt and musk and something distinctly *male* that made his own cock throb against Mohit's thigh. "*You sick—hnn—fuck!*" Mohit's curse dissolved into a groan as Rohan pressed his tongue flat against the slit, lapping up the precum in slow, deliberate strokes. Each swipe drew more from him, the bitter-sweet fluid coating Rohan's tongue like liquefied sin.
Mohit's hips bucked wildly when Rohan's lips finally closed around his cockhead, the wet heat dragging a ragged moan from his throat that echoed off the hotel walls. His protest died mid-sentence—"*Get your fucking mouth—ahh!*"—as Rohan took him deeper, tongue swirling along the throbbing vein underneath in slow, torturous laps. The contrast was obscene: Mohit's teeth bared in a snarl while his body arched off the mattress, his restrained wrists twisting against the belts as pleasure overrode his fury.
Rohan's fingers dug into Mohit's hips hard enough to bruise, forcing him still as he swallowed him whole—nose pressing flush against coarse pubic hair while his throat convulsed around the sudden intrusion. Mohit's cock pulsed violently against his tongue, thickening impossibly further until Rohan's jaw ached with the stretch. Nine inches of flushed, iron-hard flesh filled his mouth completely, the salty tang of precum flooding his senses as Mohit's thighs trembled like a bowstring drawn too tight. "*Fucking—hnn—whore!*" Mohit spat through clenched teeth, but his hips jerked forward in shallow thrusts, his body betraying him with every desperate roll into Rohan's throat. perfect 9 inch thick cock Rock Hard.....
.
With a guttural growl, Rohan plunged down onto Mohit's cock with brutal force—no teasing, no restraint—taking every throbbing inch down his throat until tears blurred his vision. Mohit's scream tore through the room like shattered glass, his body arching violently against the restraints as pleasure detonated up his spine. "YA—YA—YAHH I'M CUMMING!" His voice cracked mid-shriek, thighs trembling as his cock pulsed against Rohan's tongue, hot ropes of cum flooding his throat in thick, salty spurts.
Rohan's throat convulsed as Mohit's cock pulsed violently, thick ropes of cum flooding his mouth until it overflowed—warm, bitter cream spilling past his lips in glistening strands. He let Mohit's cock slip free with a wet pop just as another shuddering spurt erupted, the force of it splattering across Rohan's chin before arcing high to paint Mohit's own heaving chest. The next shot landed lower, painting sticky stripes across his gold chain and the dark curls matting his stomach, each thick droplet clinging to the sweat-damp hair there.
Mohit's breath came in ragged gasps now, his muscles slackening against the restraints as exhaustion overtook him—blindfold darkened with tears, lips parted around weak pleas. "*Please... just leave me alone now...*" His voice cracked, barely louder than a whisper, every syllable dripping with spent humiliation. "*You already did... whatever you wanted...*" His cock twitched weakly against his thigh, still glistening with Rohan's spit and his own release, the gold chain sticky where it lay against his shuddering chest.
The drawer squeaked open—too loud in the sudden stillness—and Rohan's fingers closed around the small bottle of lube hidden beneath folded socks. Mohit's breath hitched at the sound, his sweat-slicked back tensing as the mattress shifted under Rohan's weight. "W-what are you—" The question died in his throat when cold liquid splashed directly between his ass cheeks, the viscous gel dripping down his taint in thick rivulets. Mohit's entire body locked up, a strangled noise escaping him as Rohan's slick fingers circled his rim with deliberate, taunting slowness. "*No no no—*" His voice cracked, raw with dawning horror.
Mohit's breath came in frantic, shallow hitches as Rohan's slick fingers teased his rim without pushing in—just circling that tight furl of muscle with torturous precision. "Please—*fuck*—please don't do this," he gasped, his voice stripped raw, thighs trembling against the belts holding him open. "I'll—I'll give you money, my watch, *anything*—just not this—" The plea dissolved into a broken sob when Rohan's fingertip pressed inward just enough to make his hole flutter, the lube cooling against his overheated skin.
Then Rohan's patience snapped.
With a guttural snarl, he lined up his cock and slammed into Mohit in one brutal thrust—no prep, no mercy—shearing through virgin muscle like a hot knife. Mohit's scream tore through the room, inhuman in its agony, his body arching violently against the restraints as his vision whited out. Blood smeared where their bodies joined, dripping down trembling thighs as Mohit's hole spasmed around the sudden intrusion, clamping down in reflexive agony. "*FUCK! FUCK! IT'S TEARING ME—*" His voice shattered into wordless shrieks, fingers clawing at the headboard until his nails splintered.
Rohan pulled out with a wet, obscene squelch—his cock glistening crimson under the flickering neon, streaks of blood and viscous lube painting his shaft in lurid detail. Mohit's scream pitched higher, his torn hole gaping obscenely for one breathless second before clamping shut, a thick rivulet of blood-tinged feces oozing out to stain the sheets beneath them. The stench of copper and musk flooded the room as Rohan stared, transfixed, at the way Mohit's wrecked rim pulsed erratically, dark with trauma and glistening with fluids that shouldn't mix.
Without hesitation, Rohan snatched the discarded underwear from the floor—still damp with sweat and the musky tang of their earlier struggle—and wadded it into a tight ball. Mohit's eyes widened beneath the blindfold as the fabric brushed his lips, his muffled protests turning to gagging when Rohan forced it past his teeth with a brutal shove. The taste flooded Mohit's mouth—salt and stale arousal and the bitter residue of deodorant—making his throat convulse as Rohan leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Breathe through your nose," he whispered, before slamming back into him with a vicious snap of his hips.
Mohit's scream was muffled into a wet choke as the sweat-stained fabric filled his mouth, the musky taste of Rohan's dried arousal coating his tongue in bitter waves. His throat convulsed against the forced intrusion, nostrils flaring wide as he sucked in frantic breaths through his nose—each inhale thick with the scent of his own violated body. Rohan's hips pistoned forward in brutal strokes, his cock splitting Mohit open with every thrust, the wet slap of skin echoing louder than Mohit's gagged sobs.
With a guttural groan, Rohan suddenly yanked the underwear free, the fabric dragging against Mohit's teeth with a sickening pop before clattering to the floor. Before Mohit could gasp for air, Rohan's fingers tangled in his hair—yanking his head back at a brutal angle—and shoved his still-throbbing cock past Mohit's parted lips with one savage thrust. Mohit's scream dissolved into a choked gurgle as his throat bulged obscenely, tears streaming from beneath the blindfold while Rohan bottomed out against his uvula.
Mohit's gag reflex kicked in violently, his stomach convulsing as Rohan's cock pulsed against the tight ring of muscle in his throat—each ragged breath through his nose whistling wetly past the intrusion. Saliva dripped down his chin in thick strands, his nostrils flaring wide as Rohan dragged back slowly, letting Mohit taste every inch before slamming forward again with a wet snap of hips that made Mohit's eyes roll back.
Rohan's fingers tightened in Mohit's hair, forcing his head lower until his nose pressed flush against sweat-damp pubes—the coarse curls matted with precum and the musky scent of their struggle. His throat bulged obscenely around the thickness, veins standing out in stark relief as Rohan fucked into his mouth with short, brutal thrusts that sent spit flying with each wet slap of skin. "*Take it—hnn—swallow it all,*" Rohan growled, his hips stuttering as heat coiled low in his gut, the raw friction of Mohit's convulsing throat dragging him toward the edge.
Mohit's gagging intensified, his body jerking violently as Rohan's cock swelled against his tonsils—thickening impossibly further just before the first spurt of cum erupted straight down his clenched throat. The taste exploded across his palate, bitter and thick as molten wax, flooding his windpipe in scalding waves that forced his Adam's apple to bob helplessly. "*Ghk—!*" Mohit's nostrils flared wide, his chest heaving against the gold chain as Rohan's hips snapped forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt just as another viscous rope shot deep into his gullet.
The sheer volume overwhelmed Mohit's reflex to swallow—cum and bile mixing in his esophagus before surging upward in a violent torrent. Rohan barely managed to yank free before Mohit convulsed, his body arching off the mattress as vomit erupted from his lips in a frothy geyser—chunks of half-digested food and Rohan's semen splattering across his own heaving chest. Strings of spit and stomach acid swung from Mohit's trembling lips as he gasped between retches, his throat burning with the acidic backwash of violated digestion.
Rohan ignored Mohit's ragged sobs, his fingers closing around Mohit's spent cock with renewed purpose—jerking him with brutal efficiency despite the soft whimpers of "*Please... please leave me now...*" that spilled from his swollen lips. Each stroke tore another broken sound from Mohit's chest, his oversensitive flesh twitching painfully in Rohan's relentless grip as fresh precum beaded at his slit—his body betraying him even now. "*I-I beg you...*" Mohit's voice cracked, his thighs trembling as Rohan's thumb swirled roughly over his leaking tip, smearing the slickness down his shaft in cruel, twisting motions.
With a sharp inhale, Rohan gathered saliva in his mouth—letting it pool thick and hot on his tongue—before spitting directly onto Mohit's flushed cockhead. The glob landed with a wet slap, viscous strands clinging to his slit before dripping down his shaft in glistening trails. Mohit recoiled with a choked cry, his hips jerking weakly away, but Rohan's grip only tightened—his strokes turning vicious now, the spit-slick friction bordering on painful as he jacked Mohit's cock with punishing speed. "*N-no—too rough—hnn!*" Mohit's protest dissolved into a ragged moan, his back arching against the restraints as pleasure and pain blurred into unbearable sensation.
Rohan's hand tightened around the base of Mohit's cock like a vise, shaking it violently—each rough jerk making the swollen head bob obscenely while precum splattered across Mohit's heaving stomach. At the same moment, he slammed his hips forward in one brutal motion, shearing back into Mohit's torn hole with a wet crunch of abused muscle. Mohit's scream tore through the room, his entire body seizing as fresh blood welled around Rohan's shaft, the coppery stench mingling with the sour tang of sweat and spent arousal. "*Ahhhh uhhhh man ehhhh fucking—animal!*" Mohit sobbed, his thighs trembling as Rohan pistoned into him with short, savage thrusts—each movement forcing Mohit's cock to flop violently in his merciless grip.
The rhythm was relentless—Rohan's hips hammering forward while his fist twisted Mohit's shaft in counterpoint, creating a dizzying push-pull of agony and overstimulation that left Mohit gasping. His rim burned where it clung to Rohan's cock, stretched too wide too fast, the raw flesh pulsing around each thrust as blood smeared thick between them. Mohit's stomach muscles quivered with each brutal penetration, his abs flexing involuntarily as his cock jerked in Rohan's palm—still half-hard despite the trauma, still leaking pathetic beads of precum that Rohan smeared down his length with sadistic precision.
Rohan's thrusts turned erratic, his hips stuttering as heat coiled white-hot in his gut—Mohit's torn hole clenching around him in reflexive pulses that dragged him closer to the edge. With a guttural snarl, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing violently as thick ropes of cum erupted deep inside Mohit's abused passage. The warmth flooded Mohit's guts in viscous waves, his body jerking at the unfamiliar sensation of being filled, his own cock twitching pathetically against his stomach as if in sympathy.
Mohit's body arched violently as Rohan's cock pulsed inside him, hot cum flooding his guts in thick, relentless spurts that stretched him obscenely. His torn rim clenched around the intrusion on instinct, milking every last drop while his own cock twitched against his stomach—leaking untouched as his balls drew up tight. A strangled moan tore from Mohit's throat when Rohan's thumb suddenly swiped over his dripping slit, the rough friction sending electric jolts down his spine. "Fuck—*fuck*—I'm ahhhhhhha—" Mohit's warning dissolved into a ragged scream as his orgasm hit without warning, thick ropes of cum painting his own heaving stomach in erratic stripes.
Rohan's tongue dragged a thick, wet stripe up Mohit's trembling chest, lapping up the sticky strands of cum with slow, deliberate strokes. His lips sealed around Mohit's gold chain for a moment—sucking the trapped beads of semen from between the links—before trailing lower, tracing the coarse trail of hair down to his navel. The hollow there was pooled with sweat and seed, a glistening mess that Rohan buried his face in, inhaling deeply before cleaning it with broad, filthy licks that made Mohit's stomach muscles twitch.
Mohit shuddered as Rohan's tongue probed deeper into his navel, swirling around the sensitive dip until every drop was gone, leaving only damp skin and the occasional shiver in its wake. His breath hitched when Rohan's teeth grazed the soft flesh just above his waistband—a sharp contrast to the wet heat of his mouth moments before. "You taste like shame," Rohan murmured against his skin, lips brushing the faint tremors still wracking Mohit's body. "Like you fucking loved every second of it."
A sob tore from Mohit's throat, raw and broken. "I didn't—*fuck*—I didn't want this!" His voice cracked under the weight of humiliation, tears streaking fresh tracks down his cheeks beneath the blindfold. The restraints creaked as he yanked against them, his wrists rubbed raw from earlier struggles. "*You fucking raped me, man!*" The words burst out like a dam breaking, hoarse with disbelief. "*What did I even do to you?!*" His chest heaved, the gold chain trembling against his skin with each ragged inhale.
Rohan chuckled darkly, leaning in close enough for Mohit to feel his breath against his damp skin. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured—pitching his voice higher, softer, mimicking the ladyboy's honeyed cadence perfectly—"don't pretend you didn't beg for it." His fingers trailed down Mohit's trembling stomach, dipping into his sticky navel before pressing two fingers between his parted lips. Mohit gagged as they pushed past his teeth, the taste of his own cum flooding his tongue. "*Mmm,*" Rohan purred in that counterfeit voice, twisting his fingers cruelly. "Virgin ass *and* virgin mouth? *So* greedy for a married man."
Mohit thrashed against the restraints, his hips jerking when Rohan's free hand suddenly palmed his spent cock—squeezing just enough to make him whimper. "*Ahh—stop!*" The plea was muffled around Rohan's fingers, his throat working as drool dripped down his chin. "Look at you," Rohan cooed, slipping back into the ladyboy's lilting tone as he dragged his thumb over Mohit's slit, smearing precum in slow circles. "*Such* a hot, *manly* body..." He leaned down, tongue flicking out to lap at Mohit's belly button, lapping up the lingering sweat and seed pooled there. "*Mmm*... virgin ass, virgin mouth, *and* this filthy little hole?" He bit Mohit's hipbone hard enough to bruise. "*So* greedy."
Rohan's teeth sank into Mohit's earlobe without warning—crunching through cartilage and flesh with a wet, metallic *pop*—the pain white-hot and immediate. Mohit's scream tore through the room, raw and ragged, his body arching off the mattress as blood spurted from the mangled wound. "*FUCK! FUCKING ANIMAL—*" His voice shattered into a strangled sob as Rohan *twisted*, the gold earring ripping through torn flesh with a sickening tug. The taste of copper flooded Rohan's mouth as he lapped at the bleeding wound—each flick of his tongue sending fresh tremors down Mohit's spine.
Mohit's breathing turned shallow and erratic, his eyelids fluttering beneath the blindfold as shock and exhaustion dragged him under. His body went limp against the restraints—muscles slackening, cock softening against his thigh, the gold chain rising and falling weakly with each staggered breath. Rohan watched, fascinated, as Mohit's head lolled to the side, his lips parting around a final, shuddering exhale before consciousness slipped away entirely. Blood trickled sluggishly from his ear, mingling with the sweat and cum streaking his chest in glistening trails.
Methodically, Rohan untied the belts securing Mohit's wrists and ankles, his fingers lingering over the raw, angry marks left behind. He wiped the worst of the fluids away with damp towels—cleaning Mohit's spent cock, his trembling thighs, the wrecked furl of muscle between them—before carefully removing the blindfold. Mohit's slack face looked younger in unconsciousness, tear tracks cutting through the drying sweat on his cheeks, lips slightly parted around shallow breaths.
The gold chain still clung to Mohit's neck, sticky with sweat and fluids, but Rohan left it there—a gleaming contrast against skin gone pale from exhaustion. He dragged the soiled sheets out from under Mohit's limp body, replacing them with fresh ones before maneuvering him onto his side, arranging his limbs into something resembling comfort. Mohit didn't stir, not even when Rohan pressed a kiss to the mangled ruin of his earlobe, the wound already crusting over with dried blood.
Rohan worked in silence, wiping away every trace of the night—the smeared cum, the blood, the sweat—with damp towels until Mohit's skin was clean again, save for the bruises blooming along his thighs and wrists. He unbuckled the restraints last, rubbing circulation back into Mohit's wrists with thumbs that lingered too long on his pulse point. Mohit's breath remained steady, deep, his eyelashes casting faint shadows over cheeks still damp with old tears.
The weight of Mohit's unconscious body sagged against Rohan's chest as he lifted him from the sweat-stained sheets, his limbs loose and unresponsive like a marionette with cut strings. Rohan wiped him down with meticulous care—warm cloth tracing the hollows of his collarbones, the curve of his spine, the trembling aftermath in his thighs—each stroke erasing traces of their violence until only the bruises remained, purple fingerprints blooming under clean skin. Mohit's breath hitched once when the towel brushed his torn rim, a whimper escaping slack lips before his face went smooth again, lost in whatever numb refuge his mind had clawed for. Rohan slept there in The Queen sized bed....
What happened next morning...... Next part . Do comment and give review for more parts... Thank you .
Mentioned my Gmail [email protected] . Give me ideas for next part of you can.
