Thumbs traced the vastus lateralis sweep, the teardrop above the knee, the rectus femoris ridge down the center. He lifted each leg slightly to get the inner quad, fingers brushing dangerously close to the groin but never quite crossing."Your legs are monsters," he whispered. "The vascularity alone... the way the quads sweep out. I've jerked off to your squat videos more times than I can count."Mohit tensed first real sign of unease but Vikram kept the pace glacial. No sudden moves.He moved to the abs next.Palms flat across the six-pack , no, eight-pack ,feeling each segment rise and fall with breath. Slow circles around the navel. Fingers tracing the deep cuts between obliques. Thumbs following the Adonis belt lines inward, stopping just at the waistband."Your core is ridiculous," Vikram said. "So tight. So etched. Every time you post a vacuum pose I lose my mind."He spent minutes there simply feeling the ridges, the heat, the slight quiver when Mohit exhaled hard.Finally only after every visible inch of torso and limbs had been oiled, stroked, admired, praised Vikram hooked two fingers into the waistband of the compression shorts.He didn't pull yet.He looked up, meeting Mohit's eyes for the first time since the massage began."May I?" he asked, voice low, almost reverent.Mohit swallowed. His chest rose and fell faster now. Conflict clear in his expression arousal warring with confusion, discomfort warring with the strange, hypnotic pull of being so thoroughly worshipped.After a long beat, he gave the smallest nod.Vikram tugged slowly.The fabric peeled away millimeter by millimeter. First the hip bones. Then the base of the shaft, still soft but thickening under the attention. Then the full length thick, heavy, uncut springing free as the shorts slid past. Finally the glutes lifted just enough for the material to clear, and the shorts were drawn down the legs and off completely.Mohit lay bare.Vikram stepped back again.He simply stared chest rising and falling, eyes roaming every inch with naked hunger."Perfect," he breathed. "Every fucking inch."
For several long heartbeats Vikram simply stood motionless at the foot of the table, eyes roaming without hurry. The sight of Mohit laid out like this every sculpted inch exposed, skin still gleaming from earlier oil, chest rising and falling in slow, deep rhythm seemed to steal the air from the room. Vikram’s own breathing had grown heavier, though he kept it quiet, controlled.He circled slowly to Mohit’s right side again, footsteps soft on the carpet, and paused there, close enough that Mohit could feel the subtle shift in air temperature when Vikram leaned in.No words at first.Just the soft clink of the oil bottle being lifted.This time Vikram didn’t pour from a height. He held the bottle low, almost touching skin, and let a thick, warm ribbon fall directly into the deep valley between Mohit’s pecs. The oil struck warm and pooled instantly, spreading outward along the inner curves in slow, glossy trails that followed gravity’s lazy pull. A few drops escaped sideways, sliding toward the outer swell before Vikram’s waiting palms caught them.His hands descended together fingertips first, brushing the very top of that glistening cleft, then flattening until both palms were fully seated across the broad upper shelf. The contact was so warm, so enveloping, that Mohit felt it register deep in his sternum: a slow bloom of heat that radiated outward like liquid sunlight sinking into muscle.Vikram held there, unmoving, simply letting his palms absorb the living warmth of Mohit’s chest. Beneath them, Mohit could feel his own heartbeat steady at first, then gradually quickening as awareness sharpened. Every subtle throb seemed amplified where skin met skin.Then the motion began.Slow.Sinuous.Palms gliding outward along the proud, rounded contour of the upper pecs, fingers splayed so wide they nearly spanned the full width from sternum to shoulder. The oil made every pass slick and frictionless; the sound was intimate, a soft, wet glide that filled the quiet between raindrops from the speaker. When Vikram’s thumbs reached the outer edges he paused thumbs hooking gently under the lip where pec flowed into delt—lifting the heavy muscle just enough to feel its dense, resilient weight before letting it settle back with a faint, silken quiver.Mohit’s breath hitched barely audible, but enough that Vikram noticed.Inside, Mohit felt the first real stir of confusion laced with something hotter, more confusing. The touch wasn’t rough. It wasn’t demanding. It was… consuming. Each slow sweep seemed to pull sensation deeper into the muscle itself, waking nerve endings he hadn’t known were there. Warmth pooled under Vikram’s palms, then sank inward, spreading through the thick pectoral fibers like slow honey. His nipples still soft a moment ago began to tighten almost against his will, the areolas puckering as blood rushed closer to the surface.Vikram exhaled, a low, ragged sound.“These are so fucking full,” he whispered, voice rough at the edges with something close to awe. “So round… so heavy even when you’re lying still. The way they sit high on your frame… it’s almost unfair how perfect they are.”His thumbs began tracing lazy, wide arcs along the upper curve circling back toward center, then out again each pass lingering longer where the muscle swelled most dramatically. Mohit felt every millimeter of the journey: the slight drag of callused thumb pads over oiled skin, the gentle pressure that sank just deep enough to compress the outer fibers before releasing them to spring back. Each release sent a tiny ripple of sensation inward, a warm aftershock that traveled down toward his sternum and made his heartbeat stutter.Vikram shifted closer still. His face hovered only inches above Mohit’s left pec now close enough that Mohit could feel each warm exhale feather across the sensitive skin. The heat of Vikram’s breath made the already-tight nipple draw even tighter, a sharp little point of awareness that throbbed in time with his pulse.“Watch how they move when you breathe,” Vikram murmured, lips so near the skin that the words felt like a caress. “Every inhale… lifts them right into my hands.”Mohit inhaled deeper than he meant to and the entire left pec rose in a slow, powerful swell, filling Vikram’s palm completely. The muscle pushed upward against unyielding warmth, stretching the skin taut for a heartbeat before settling again on the exhale. Vikram rode the motion perfectly: pressing gently on the rise, easing off on the fall, so that his hands seemed to coax each breath deeper, drawing heat and life directly from the core of that magnificent chest.Inside Mohit, the sensation was building in layers he hadn’t anticipated.There was the surface heat slick oil, warm palms, slow friction.There was the deeper pressure muscle fibers yielding and rebounding, sending lazy waves of warmth radiating outward from the point of contact.And beneath that… something quieter, more dangerous: a slow, liquid pull low in his belly, a tightening that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the relentless, worshipful attention being lavished on him. His nipples ached now dark, erect, hypersensitive each lazy orbit of Vikram’s thumbs around the areolas sending tiny electric shocks straight down his spine. He could feel blood rushing there, making them throb in time with the heavier beat between his legs.Vikram noticed.Of course he noticed.He poured more oil directly onto each nipple this time. Warm droplets beaded, then slid in slow, teasing trails down the underside curves. Vikram caught them with the pads of his fingers and smeared them in tight, slippery circles around the peaks—still not touching the very centers, only painting glossy halos that made the dark skin glisten brighter, more swollen, more inviting.Only after long minutes of this exquisite teasing did his thumbs finally settle directly over the nipples.A single, slow press: firm, rolling contact that sank the peaks inward slightly before letting them rebound. Then again. And again. Each cycle drawn out over several pounding heartbeats. Mohit felt it everywhere: the sharp bloom of sensation at the surface, the deeper tug that pulled at something low and primal in his gut, the way his cock still soft but thickening gave a lazy twitch against his thigh in helpless response.Vikram’s voice was thicker now, almost hoarse.“So responsive… even under all this power. I could do this for hours just feeling them harden, feeling them beg under my hands without you ever having to say a word.”His palms flattened again, covering the entire breadth of both pecs fingers curling slightly so the undersides were cradled, thumbs still lazily circling the erect peaks in slow counterpoint. He began the deepest knead yet, rolling waves that started at the outer edges and traveled inward toward the cleft, then outward again, like slow tides washing over heated stone. Oil slid and pooled in the deep separation; Vikram’s fingers dipped into it repeatedly, gliding up and down that shadowed valley with deliberate, stroking pressure long, sensual glides that mimicked far more intimate motions without ever crossing that final line.Mohit’s chest flushed deeper gold under the lamps. His breathing had turned ragged each inhale lifting the oiled plates higher into Vikram’s waiting hands, each exhale letting them settle with a faint, quivering tremor. Inside, the warmth had spread everywhere: through his ribs, down his spine, pooling low in his pelvis until every slow circle around his nipples felt like it was tugging directly at the base of his cock.He didn’t speak.He couldn’t.He simply lay there skin burning, muscles trembling faintly, heart hammering while Vikram’s hands continued their slow, merciless worship, drawing out every hidden shiver, every unwilling pulse of pleasure, with no sign of stopping anytime soon.
But, unwilling, for more to come, Vikram finally lifted his hands from Mohit’s chest after what felt like an eternity of slow, rolling worship. The skin there was flushed a deeper bronze now, nipples still standing taut and glistening, every breath sending faint tremors through the thick plates of muscle. He stepped back half a pace, letting Mohit feel the sudden absence of contact like a cool draft across heated skin.No words yet. Just the soft sound of Vikram exhaling through his nose, steadying himself.He circled the table once more slow footsteps that Mohit could track even with his eyes closed until he stood at the midpoint of Mohit’s right leg. The air shifted again as Vikram leaned in closer, close enough that Mohit could sense the warmth of his body hovering just above the powerful thigh.“I’m going to move to your quads now,” Vikram said, voice low and thick, still carrying that same reverent edge. “They’ve earned the same attention. Maybe more.”He reached for the oil bottle without hurry. This time he poured directly onto the center of Mohit’s right quad a thick, warm stream that landed high near the hip crease and immediately began to slide downward in slow, sinuous trails, following the deep separations between the vastus lateralis and rectus femoris. The oil pooled briefly in the valley above the knee before Vikram’s palms caught it, spreading it outward with broad, deliberate sweeps.Both hands settled on the outer sweep first palms flat, fingers splayed wide enough to cover a generous portion of the teardrop-shaped vastus lateralis. He didn’t press hard. He simply glided: long, languid strokes from just above the knee all the way up to the very top of the thigh, stopping precisely where muscle met the soft crease of the groin. Each upward pass took ten full seconds slow enough that Mohit could feel every individual finger pad dragging lightly over oiled skin, every subtle ridge of callus catching just enough to send tiny sparks along the nerve endings.The heat built immediately. Mohit’s quad muscles already loose from earlier work responded with a deep, liquid warmth that sank inward, spreading through the dense fibers like slow-moving current. Each glide compressed the muscle slightly, then released it, letting it rebound with a faint quiver that traveled up toward his hip and down toward his knee in lazy aftershocks.Vikram’s thumbs began tracing the separations now slow, precise lines that followed the etched borders between quad heads. One thumb mapped the outer sweep, the other dipped toward the center line of the rectus femoris, stroking upward in perfect symmetry. When they reached the top of the thigh they paused thumbs resting just shy of the inguinal crease, pressing gently into the soft hollow where leg met torso.Mohit felt the first real stir of something deeper. The pressure there close, but not crossing was intimate in its restraint. Warmth radiated inward from those points of contact, pooling low in his pelvis, making his cock give a single, lazy twitch against the oiled skin of his lower belly. He was still mostly soft, but the blood flow had begun to shift slow, insidious, responding to the relentless nearness without permission.Vikram noticed of course he noticed.He shifted his stance slightly, moving to stand between Mohit’s parted legs now. The table was wide enough; Mohit’s thighs rested comfortably apart, knees relaxed outward in a natural V. Vikram poured more oil this time directly onto the inner portion of the right thigh, letting it drip down the sensitive medial line toward the knee.His left hand stayed on the outer quad, continuing those long, sweeping glides to maintain the rhythm.His right hand ventured inward.Palms gliding along the vastus medialis the thick, teardrop-shaped muscle that framed the inner thigh. Strokes that started mid-thigh and traveled upward, slower than before, thumbs following the inner separation where muscle met softer, more sensitive skin. Each pass crept higher never quite reaching the groin, but drawing steadily closer. The oil made everything slick, hypersensitive; every brush of fingertip felt magnified, electric.
Mohit’s breathing deepened. Inside, the sensations layered: the deep, kneading warmth in the quad itself, the slow-building heat that radiated from the inner thigh toward his core, the faint, teasing brush of Vikram’s knuckles accidental-seeming, but perfectly timed—grazing the very base of his shaft on one upward stroke.Not a grip. Not even a deliberate touch.Just the soft, glancing contact of oiled skin against skin as Vikram’s hand swept high along the inner quad, thumb hooking lightly under the adductor longus, lifting the muscle just enough that the back of his knuckles skimmed the underside of Mohit’s cock for a fleeting second before retreating.Mohit’s hips shifted—barely an inch, an unconscious micro-movement toward the contact before he caught himself.Vikram made a low, appreciative sound in his throat almost a hum.“These inner lines…” he murmured, voice rougher now. “So thick here, so defined. The way the adductor ties in… it pulls everything together. Makes the whole leg look carved.”His right hand repeated the motion slow glide up the inner thigh, thumb pressing into the soft hollow just below the groin, knuckles brushing the base of Mohit’s shaft again on the way back down. This time the contact lingered a fraction longer: a gentle, rolling press of skin against skin before pulling away.Mohit felt it everywhere. The brief touch sent a sharp bloom of heat straight to his groin his cock thickening noticeably now, lifting slightly off his lower abs with each involuntary pulse. Blood rushed there in slow, heavy waves, making the shaft swell heavier, warmer, more sensitive to the air itself. The sensation was maddening in its subtlety: no direct stimulation, just these glancing, teasing brushes that promised more while delivering only enough to stoke the fire.Vikram switched legs without comment pouring fresh oil onto the left quad, mirroring every stroke. Outer sweep first, then inward. Long glides along the medial line. Thumbs tracing separations. Knuckles grazing the base again left side this time on the highest upward pass.Each accidental-seeming touch grew a hair more deliberate: the back of his hand lingering a second longer, the pad of his thumb brushing the underside of the head once light as a breath before retreating to safer territory along the inner thigh.Mohit’s breathing had turned shallow, ragged at the edges. His quads trembled faintly under Vikram’s hands not from fatigue, but from the slow-building tension coiling low in his pelvis. Every muscle in his legs felt alive, hypersensitive; every brush against his cock sent fresh sparks racing up his spine, tightening his abs, making his still-erect nipples throb in sympathy.Vikram leaned in closer between Mohit’s thighs now close enough that Mohit could feel the heat of his breath ghosting across the sensitive inner skin.“Beautiful,” Vikram whispered, almost to himself. “Every inch of you… responding so perfectly.”His hands never stopped moving slow, sensual glides along quads and inner thighs, thumbs pressing deep into muscle, knuckles brushing cock in feather-light, maddening passes that built the ache without ever granting relief.The rain sounds continued their endless loop.The room stayed thick with warmth and oil and unspoken tension.
Vikram paused his slow, methodical strokes along the inner thighs, letting his palms rest high and warm against the sensitive skin just below the groin crease. The oil had turned everything glossy and hypersensitive, Mohit’s cock lay semi thick and heavy now against his lower abs, the head flushed and slick with the steady accumulation of pre-cum that had been leaking for the last twenty minutes. Every shallow breath made the shaft twitch faintly, betraying how close the edge already felt even without a single proper stroke.Vikram straightened slightly, wiping his hands on a small towel draped over the side table. His voice came out calm, almost caring.“You’ve been under my hands for a long time now,” he said. “Body’s probably starting to feel the heat. Let me get you some water ,electrolytes too. There’s magnesium in it; helps with recovery, keeps the cramps away after all this deep work.”Mohit’s throat felt dry. The room was warm, the oil made his skin tingle, and the constant low-level arousal had left him light-headed in a way he hadn’t expected. He nodded once small, automatic.“Yeah… water would be good.”Vikram gave a quiet smile and stepped away from the table. Mohit heard the soft tread of footsteps down the short hallway, the faint clink of glass, the refrigerator door opening and closing. A few seconds later Vikram returned, holding a tall clear glass filled with a pale blue-tinted liquid nothing dramatic, just faintly coloured from whatever electrolyte powder he’d stirred in.“Drink slow,” Vikram said, sliding one hand under Mohit’s neck to lift his head gently. “Don’t want you choking.”He brought the rim to Mohit’s lips. Mohit took several long swallows cool, slightly sweet, faintly salty from the minerals. It felt good going down. He drank half the glass before tilting his head back to signal he was done.Vikram set the glass on the side table and returned to his position between Mohit’s legs. He didn’t speak right away. Just let his hands settle again on the thick quads palms flat, thumbs resuming those tiny, circling motions at the inner-thigh transition zone.Minutes passed.At first Mohit didn’t notice anything unusual. The warmth in his limbs was already there from the oil and the prolonged touching. But gradually a new heaviness began to creep in starting at the edges of his fingers and toes, then spreading upward like syrup sinking into muscle. His arms felt… distant. Not numb, exactly just reluctant to move quickly. His legs, already parted and relaxed, seemed to sink deeper into the table padding. When he tried to shift his hips just a small adjustment the motion felt sluggish, as though his body were moving through warm water.
His mind stayed clear enough to register it.“…something’s off,” he murmured, voice thicker than he intended.Vikram’s thumbs never stopped circling.“Just the magnesium hitting,” he answered softly. “Happens sometimes. Makes everything feel loose… relaxed. Perfect for what comes next.”Mohit blinked slowly. Tried to lift his right arm to push Vikram’s hand away nothing more than a token protest. His bicep contracted, but the forearm barely rose an inch before dropping back to the table with a soft thud. A flicker of real alarm cut through the haze.“Vikram… wait”“Shhh.” Vikram leaned in closer, breath warm against the inner left thigh. “You’re doing so well. Just let it happen.”His right hand glided upward again—slow, deliberate along the medial line of the quad. This time, when the back of his knuckles reached the base of Mohit’s cock, he didn’t pull away after a graze. He stayed.The contact was firmer now: knuckles nestling against the thick root, then slowly rolling upward along the underside in a single, languid drag that followed the central vein all the way to just below the head. The motion was unhurried five full seconds of slick, rolling pressure enough to make the shaft lift off Mohit’s abs and curve upward before settling again with a visible throb.Mohit’s exhale came out broken. The heaviness in his limbs made it impossible to clench or twist away; every attempt at resistance felt like moving through molasses. But the sensation , God, the sensation was sharper than ever. Without the ability to tense or pull back, every nerve ending seemed amplified. The slow drag of knuckles left a burning trail of heat; pre-cum welled up instantly and slid down the shaft in a fresh, glistening line.Vikram repeated it same path, same speed knuckles rolling from base to mid-shaft and back down again. Then he switched: left hand taking over while the right cradled the heavy sac from below, thumb brushing the sensitive seam in tiny, teasing circles.“You’re so full here,” Vikram whispered, voice rough with satisfaction. “Look how it jumps every time I touch you. Even when your body can’t fight anymore.”Mohit tried to speak something like “stop” or “what did you do” but the words came out slurred, soft. His tongue felt thick. His hips gave a weak, helpless twitch toward the contact before sinking back down.Vikram’s right hand wrapped loosely around the base now not a full stroke, just a warm, encircling grip that squeezed gently once, twice, then released. The pressure pushed another thick bead of pre-cum to the surface; it dripped slowly down the shaft and pooled against Vikram’s thumb.He leaned forward until his lips were almost brushing the sensitive inner thigh skin.“Feel that?” he murmured. “How heavy you are… how much you’re leaking for me. Your cock knows exactly what it wants, even if the rest of you is still trying to pretend.”Another slow roll of the hand knuckles dragging up the underside again, this time letting the pad of his thumb circle the frenulum once before retreating. Mohit’s entire pelvis clenched weakly; the shaft jerked hard, slapping lightly against his abs before settling into a slow, rhythmic throbbing.Vikram’s left hand slid higher fingers tracing the inguinal crease, then dipping just enough to brush the side of the head with feather-light touches. Not stroking. Just… exploring. Teasing the ridge, circling the corona, collecting pre-cum on his fingertips and spreading it in slow, slippery spirals around the swollen tip.Mohit’s breathing had turned ragged short, uneven gasps. The drug kept his limbs leaden, kept his protests weak, but it did nothing to dull the building ache. Every teasing brush, every lingering press, every slow roll sent fresh waves of heat crashing through him. His cock stood fully erect now thick, veined, glistening curving upward with insistent throbs that matched his heartbeat.Vikram finally wrapped both hands around the shaft loose, warm, unmoving for a long moment. Just holding. Letting Mohit feel the full encircling grip without any friction yet.“You’re not going anywhere,” he said quietly, almost tenderly. “And your body… it’s already begging.”Then agonizingly slowly he began the first true stroke.One long, slick glide from base to tip thumb sweeping over the head, spreading pre-cum, then back down again. No hurry. No rush toward finish. Just the beginning of a slow, merciless rhythm designed to build and build and never quite let go.Mohit’s weak moan was the only sound louder than the rain track.
