Vikram stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft, definitive click. His eyes never left Rahul, appraising him with an intense, clinical interest that made Rahul’s skin prickle. He could feel the weight of two gazes now, pinning him in place more effectively than any physical restraint.
“A beautiful specimen, Ansh,” Vikram said, his voice a smooth, deep baritone that resonated in the quiet room. He circled Rahul slowly, a predator sizing up its prey. “The corset is a particularly nice touch. Shows off a waist I wouldn’t have guessed he had.”
Ansh’s hand remained on the small of Rahul’s back, a warm, possessive anchor. “He’s full of surprises. And eager to learn his place, aren’t you, sissy?”
Rahul could only manage a shaky nod, his throat too tight for words. The air grew thick, charged with a new, dangerous energy. He was no longer performing for one Master, but two.
Vikram stopped his circling directly in front of Rahul. He reached out, not touching, just letting his fingers hover over the satin stretched taut across Rahul’s abdomen. “And is she prepared for more… rigorous instruction?”
“She will be,” Ansh said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He removed his hand from Rahul’s back, and the loss of contact made Rahul feel abruptly, terrifyingly alone. “On your knees, sissy. Present yourself properly for our guest.”
The command sliced through Rahul’s fear. His body obeyed before his mind could even process the order, the muscles in his legs giving way as he sank to the floor, his stocking-clad knees meeting the cool hardwood. He kept his back straight, his head bowed, the posture already feeling disturbingly natural.
Vikram’s appreciative hum was a vibration in the air. He unbuckled his belt, the rasp of leather sliding through loops unnervingly loud. Ansh did the same, moving to stand beside his friend, a united front of dominance.
Rahul’s heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. He watched, mesmerized and terrified, as two sets of trousers were pushed down, revealing the hard, thick evidence of their arousal. The sight stole the air from his lungs. He’d barely grown accustomed to the sheer magnitude of Ansh alone; the prospect of both was dizzying.
Ansh placed a firm hand on top of Rahul’s head. “Open.”
Rahul parted his lips, his jaw already aching in anticipation. But Ansh’s cock merely brushed his cheek, a teasing, possessive stroke. Vikram’s hand, cool and confident, cupped his other cheek, guiding his head to the side.
“Both of us, little sissy,” Vikram murmured, his thumb stroking Rahul’s lower lip. “Can you handle that? Can you take us both and show us how devoted you are?”
The question was a challenge, a test of the commitment he’d promised. A fresh wave of heat, pure and undiluted, washed through him, burning away the last remnants of his hesitation. He wanted this. He craved the overwhelming fullness, the complete surrender it would require. He looked up, meeting Vikram’s dark eyes, then turning his gaze to Ansh’s commanding one, and gave another slow, deliberate nod.
“Use your words,” Ansh commanded, his fingers tightening in Rahul’s hair.
“Yes, Masters,” Rahul breathed out, the title for both of them feeling foreign and utterly right on his tongue. “Please.”
It was all the permission they needed. Ansh guided the head of his cock to Rahul’s lips while Vikram positioned himself at the side of his mouth. The world narrowed to this single, overwhelming point of sensation. The first press was an impossible stretch, a delicious, burning pressure as his mouth was forced to accommodate the two thick lengths. A muffled whimper escaped him, a sound of pure, overwhelmed bliss.
They began to move, not in unison, but in a devastating, alternating rhythm that robbed him of all thought. As Ansh pushed forward, Vikram would retreat, and then reverse. The glide of slick, hot flesh over his tongue, against the roof of his mouth, the stretch of his lips—it was a symphony of submission. He could taste the subtle difference in their skin, smell their distinct, musky scents. Tears of effort welled in his eyes, blurring the powerful forms of the men standing over him.
His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, were taken. Ansh guided one to wrap around the base of his own shaft, while Vikram guided the other to his. The command was clear: help us use you.
His mind went beautifully, perfectly blank. There was no more Rahul, the man with a job and worries and a life outside this room. There was only Sissy, a creature of sensation and obedience. The gagging reflex faded into a distant memory, his body adapting, accepting, thriving under the relentless, dual invasion. The only sounds were the wet, rhythmic slides, the grunts of the men above him, and his own ragged, choked breaths through his nose.
He was floating, lost in a sea of their dominance, when their pace began to quicken, growing more urgent, more demanding. Ansh’s grip in his hair became vise-like.
“Swallow every drop,” Ansh growled, his voice rough with the edge of his climax.
A moment later, Vikram’s free hand clamped down on Rahul’s shoulder, his body tensing. “That’s it, take it all, you perfect fucking sissy.”
The first hot, salty pulse hit the back of Rahul’s throat, followed instantly by a second, distinct rhythm from Vikram. He obeyed without hesitation, swallowing convulsively, drinking them down as they claimed the very inside of him. The act was the most profound submission he had ever experienced, a total acceptance of their ownership. His own body trembled violently, teetering on the edge of a climax from the sheer psychological intensity of it.
They withdrew, leaving him on his knees, panting, lips swollen and glistening, his mind utterly shattered. He stayed there, obediently waiting, as they dressed themselves.
Ansh crouched down in front of him, tilting his chin up. Rahul’s eyes were glazed, his expression one of blissful, hollowed-out devotion. “You did very well,” Ansh said, his voice softer now, laced with genuine approval. “You’ve earned your reward. And you’ve proven you’re ready for the next step.”
From his pocket, Ansh produced a small, gleaming silver device. It was a chastity cage, simple in its design and terrifying in its implication. Rahul’s breath hitched.
“This is a token,” Ansh explained, holding it up. “A reminder, every moment of every day, of the power you have given me. Of the pleasure you exist to provide for me, and for those I allow. It will help focus that pretty, empty head of yours.” He ran a thumb over Rahul’s damp lips. “You will wear this for me always, only to be removed at my command. Do you understand?”
The last vestiges of Rahul’s former self screamed a silent protest, a final flicker of resistance. But it was smothered instantly by the deep, shocking wave of rightness that washed over him. This was it. The final surrender. The true awakening.
“Yes, Master,” Rahul whispered, his voice raw but steady. “I understand.”
