The praise still hummed in Rahul’s veins the next evening, a warm, intoxicating echo of Ansh’s approval. That blissful haze was abruptly shattered by the crisp sound of a box hitting the glass coffee table. Rahul jumped, his heart instantly kicking into a frantic rhythm.
“Open it.” Ansh’s voice was a low command from the armchair where he sat, legs spread, watching him with that penetrating gaze. He hadn’t mentioned the shopping trip all day, letting the anticipation build into a tangible force between them.
Rahul’s fingers, slightly trembling, tore at the plain cardboard. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was not the assortment of lingerie he’d vaguely imagined. It was a single, formidable item: a black satin corset, its boning rigid, its laces taut. Beneath it lay a pair of impossibly high, patent leather stiletto heels.
His breath hitched. This was different from the soft lace and silk. This was armor. A uniform.
“Put it on. All of it.”
The order left no room for question. Rahul stood, his bare feet cold on the floor. The corset was cool and heavy in his hands. He struggled with the clasps at the front, his awkwardness feeling profoundly unsexy until Ansh’s sigh stopped him.
“Turn around.”
Rahul obeyed, presenting his back. He heard Ansh rise, his footsteps deliberate. Then, strong hands took the laces, and Ansh began to pull. The air rushed from Rahul’s lungs in a soft whoosh as the satin tightened, cinching his waist, constricting his ribs, forcing his back to arch. It was a breathtaking, brutal embrace. Each tug was a claim, pulling him tighter into the shape Ansh desired. His shape.
“Breathe out,” Ansh murmured, his voice close to Rahul’s ear as he gave a final, powerful pull on the laces, tying them off with a firm knot. Rahul gasped, the world narrowing to the fierce pressure around his torso, the way it pushed his chest forward, accentuating the lean lines of his body.
The heels were next. Ansh knelt, a shocking act of dominance in its service. He took Rahul’s bare foot, his grip firm, and guided it into the slick, cold interior of the shoe. The steep arch forced the ball of his foot to bear all his weight. He did the same with the other foot, then stood back.
“Now. Walk to the center of the room.”
It was a command laced with a challenge. Rahul took a step, wobbling precariously. The heels made him towering, yet utterly unstable. The corset restricted his movement, making every step a delicate, calculated effort. He felt absurd. Exposed. And yet, under Ansh’s hot, appraising stare, he also felt a terrifying, thrilling wave of femininity crash over him. He was on display, a doll being posed.
A slow, sensual track began to pulse from Ansh’s phone, a deep bassline that vibrated through the floor and up through the thin heels. “Dance for me.”
Oh god. The command was even more daunting than the walk. Rahul had no idea what to do. His body, constrained and unbalanced, felt clumsy. He shifted his weight, a pathetic, small sway.
Ansh’s eyes darkened, not with anger, but with intense focus. “No. Not like that. You are not a boy shuffling his feet. You are a sissy, presenting her most alluring self for her Master. Move your hips. Let the music get inside the corset. Feel it.”
He approached, standing just outside of Rahul’s trembling space. “Imagine everyone wants you. But you are only for me.”
The words unlocked something deep within Rahul’s psyche. The fear of judgment began to melt, replaced by a heat that started in his core and radiated outward, warming the satin against his skin. He let his eyes fall half-closed. He stopped fighting the heels and leaned into the arch they forced into his spine. He rolled his hips, a slow, tentative circle.
A low, approving grunt came from Ansh. “Yes. Just like that.”
Emboldened, Rahul let one hand trail up his own side, feeling the unyielding structure of the corset beneath the slick satin. He turned, presenting his profile, looking over his shoulder at Ansh as he moved. The music guided him, his movements becoming less clumsy, more fluid. He was performing. And he was, to his own shock, loving it. The submission of it, the total surrender of his autonomy to become this object of desire, was the most potent aphrodisiac he’d ever known.
Ansh watched, his own arousal evident in the tight line of his jeans. He didn’t touch himself, his enjoyment was purely in the act of command and observation. Just as Rahul lost himself completely in the rhythm, a sharp buzz from the intercom cut through the music.
Ansh didn’t even look away from Rahul. He simply raised a remote and pressed a button. “Yes?”
A smooth, masculine voice filtered through the speaker. “It’s Vikram.”
“Come up,” Ansh said, his eyes glinting with a new, dangerous light. He ended the call and finally broke his gaze from Rahul to look toward the door.
Rahul froze mid-motion, his dance faltering. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through the heat of his performance. Someone was here. He was standing in the middle of the living room, in a corset and heels.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Ansh commanded, his voice dropping to a predatory whisper. “The performance isn’t for me alone anymore.”
The door unlocked. Rahul’s heart hammered against the rigid boning of the corset, a trapped bird beating against its cage. He forced his body to move, a shaky, mechanical version of the dance from moments before, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and a dark, shameful excitement.
The door swung open. A man stood there—Vikram. He was almost as tall as Ansh, with a sleek confidence and dark, observant eyes that took in the scene in one swift, comprehensive glance. His gaze traveled from Rahul’s trembling heels, up his stocking-clad legs, over the cinched waist of the corset, before finally meeting his terrified eyes. A slow, appreciative smile spread across Vikram’s face.
Ansh finally rose from his chair, a king presenting his finest treasure. “Vikram, this is Rahul.” He walked over to Rahul, who was quivering like a leaf, and placed a firm, stabilizing hand on the small of his back, right where the corset ended. “My sissy.” He leaned close, his lips brushing the shell of Rahul’s ear, his voice a low, possessive murmur meant only for him. “And it seems she’s eager to please more than just her Master tonight.”
Well the story takes an interesting turn. What is going to happen now to know read the upcoming parts..
