Vikram kept the slow, loose rhythm on Mohit’s shaft for several more minutes long, gliding strokes that never accelerated, never squeezed too hard, just enough friction to keep the thick length throbbing steadily in his grip. Pre-cum continued to well up in lazy beads, each one caught and spread by his thumb until the entire head glistened wetly under the low lamps.Mohit’s attempts to speak had grown even softer, slurred at the edges. His arms lay heavy at his sides; when he tried to lift one to push Vikram away, the limb only twitched once before sinking back down with a faint tremor. The drug had settled fully now warm, heavy fog in his muscles, mind still aware but body responding like it was wrapped in thick velvet.Vikram noticed the weak movement. His eyes flicked to Mohit’s face flushed, brows faintly knit in confusion and fading protest, then back down to the powerful limbs splayed on the table.“You’re carrying so much tension even now,” he murmured, voice low and almost soothing. “The magnesium helps, but sometimes the deeper release needs… positioning. Just a little support so your hips and shoulders don’t have to work against the stretch.”He released Mohit’s cock gently, letting it fall back against the oiled abs with a soft, wet slap. Mohit’s hips gave a small, helpless jerk at the loss of contact.Vikram stepped to the side table again. From a lower drawer he withdrew two wide, soft cuffs black neoprene, lined with fleece, each with a sturdy but adjustable Velcro closure and a short length of webbing that ended in a metal D-ring. Nothing industrial or frightening; they looked almost like high-end yoga or physical-therapy gear.“These are just positioning aids,” he explained calmly as he moved to the foot of the table. “Pro trainers use them all the time for hip-flexor and quad stretches. Keeps everything aligned so I can get to the adductors properly without you straining.”Mohit’s eyes followed him sluggishly. He tried to close his legs an instinctive flinch but the heaviness made the motion slow and incomplete. His thighs only shifted a few inches inward before falling open again.“Vik… no…” The words came out mushy, barely audible over the rain track.Vikram didn’t acknowledge the protest directly. He simply lifted Mohit’s right ankle with careful hands, sliding the cuff around it. The fleece lining was soft against skin; the Velcro fastened with a quiet rip-and-stick sound snug, but not tight enough to cut circulation. He threaded the webbing through a discreet metal loop bolted low on the table frame (hidden until now) and pulled it just taut enough that Mohit’s leg stayed extended and slightly abducted—open, but not painfully spread.The left ankle received the same treatment. Slow. Methodical. No sudden yanks.Now Mohit’s legs were held in a gentle but firm V—knees relaxed outward, inner thighs fully exposed, hips tilted just enough that his heavy balls and the base of his cock were presented upward without any effort on his part.The position made everything feel more vulnerable. More available.Mohit tried to pull one knee inward. The cuff held without stretching; the webbing creaked faintly but gave nothing. A small sound escaped him half groan, half frustrated exhale.
Vikram returned to stand between the parted thighs. His hands settled once more on the inner quads thumbs resuming those tiny circles right at the sensitive crease where leg met groin.“See?” he said softly. “Now your body can just… open. No fighting the stretch. Perfect for what comes next.”He poured fresh oil directly onto the root of Mohit’s cock this time letting it drip down over the shaft and sac in warm, slow trails. Then both hands wrapped around the length again firmer now, one encircling the base, the other gliding up to cup the head.The first true stroke in this new position was devastatingly slow.Base to tip palm twisting lightly over the slick head then back down, thumb dragging along the underside vein the entire way. Mohit’s hips tried to buck upward instinctively, but the ankle cuffs kept his pelvis anchored to the table; the attempted thrust only made his cock slide deeper into Vikram’s loose grip, increasing the friction without granting any real control.A low, broken moan slipped from Mohit’s throat.Vikram repeated the motion stroke… twist… stroke each one drawn out over eight or nine seconds. On every upward pass his thumb circled the corona once, pressing just enough to make the slit flare and leak another thick bead. On every downward pass the heel of his hand brushed Mohit’s sac, rolling the heavy balls gently, feeling them draw up tighter with each cycle.Inside Mohit the sensations were overwhelming in their clarity. The drug stripped away his ability to tense or clench away from the pleasure; every nerve ending lay bare and undefended. Each slow glide felt like it was carving deeper grooves of heat into his shaft. Each brush over the head sent sharp sparks straight into his pelvis. Each gentle roll of his balls made his inner thighs quiver helplessly against the cuffs.Pre-cum flowed steadily now dripping in slow strings that Vikram caught and used as extra lubrication, making every stroke wetter, slicker, more obscene-sounding in the quiet room.Vikram leaned forward until his face hovered just above Mohit’s lower abs. His breath ghosted over the glistening head with every word.“Look at you,” he whispered. “So hard… so wet… leaking like this just from my hands. Your body doesn’t care about the cuffs. It just wants more.”He sped the rhythm fractionally not fast, never fast just enough to build the coil tighter. One hand stayed at the base, squeezing in rhythmic pulses that mimicked a heartbeat; the other focused on the upper halfbshort, twisting strokes over the head and frenulum that made Mohit’s cock jump and throb visibly.Mohit’s breathing had turned into short, ragged pants. His head rolled weakly side to side on the face cradle; weak, slurred sounds protests that had lost all force mixed with involuntary whimpers each time the thumb pressed the sensitive underside just below the head.Vikram watched every twitch, every drip, every helpless flex of muscle against the restraints.Then right as Mohit’s hips began to tremble with the telltale signs of approaching release Vikram stopped.Completely.Hands lifting away. Cool air hitting wet, heated skin.Mohit’s cock jerked once, twice straining upward toward nothing then settled back against his abs with a frustrated throb. Another thick string of pre-cum oozed out and slid slowly down the shaft.Vikram smiled small, satisfied, almost tender.“Not yet,” he murmured.He waited until the peak receded until Mohit’s breathing slowed from frantic to merely heavy then began again.Same slow strokes. Same teasing circles. Same building pressure.The cuffs held firm.The drug kept Mohit limp and open.
Vikram stepped back from between Mohit’s thighs for a moment, letting the cool air of the room kiss the slick, heated skin where his hands had been. Mohit’s cock lay thick and heavy against his lower abs still half-hard from the earlier teasing, the head flushed and glistening with the steady leak of pre-cum that had pooled in the deep grooves of his eight-pack. The ankle cuffs kept his legs parted in that gentle, unyielding V; every small shift of his hips only reminded him how little control he had left.The drug was working perfectly now: limbs leaden, reactions dulled to a syrupy lag, mind clear enough to register every humiliating detail but too foggy to mount any real fight. Mohit’s breathing came slow and deep, chest rising and falling in heavy rhythm, the earlier oil still making his entire torso gleam under the lamps.Vikram moved to the head of the table, slow and deliberate. He reached for Mohit’s right wrist first lifting the limp arm as though it weighed nothing. The fleece-lined cuff slid around it with practiced ease; Velcro fastened snugly. He threaded the short webbing strap through the discreet D-ring loop on the table frame and pulled just enough to stretch Mohit’s arm out to the side shoulder open, palm facing up, elbow slightly bent so the muscle in his bicep and forearm stayed relaxed but utterly immobile.Mohit’s fingers twitched once weak, instinctive but the limb didn’t rise more than a centimeter before gravity and the restraint dragged it back down.The left wrist received the same treatment. No rush. No force. Just quiet efficiency. When both arms were secured, Mohit lay spread in a shallow, elegant crucifix chest lifted slightly by the natural arch of his back, shoulders rolled open, pecs presented high and vulnerable. The position made every breath accentuate the thick swell of his upper chest; his nipples already darkened and pebbled from earlier attention stood out like dark points against the oiled bronze skin.Vikram stepped away again, this time to the side table.He picked up his phone, propped it carefully on the small tripod that had been waiting there all along. Adjusted the angle once overhead but slightly tilted so the frame captured everything: Mohit’s bound wrists and ankles, the long lines of his oiled body, the helpless throb of his cock against his abs, the slow rise and fall of his chest. He tapped the screen.The red recording light blinked on.A soft chime confirmed it was live.Vikram checked the preview for a second ensuring Mohit’s face was visible enough to show the glassy, drugged haze in his eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow then nodded to himself.“For my collection,” he said quietly, almost conversationally. “So I can watch how perfect you look when you finally stop fighting what your body already knows.”
He returned to stand at Mohit’s side, close enough that Mohit could feel the warmth radiating from him.For a long moment Vikram simply looked. Let his eyes trace every inch: the dramatic taper from wide shoulders to narrow waist, the deep cuts of the obliques framing the lower abs, the thick, veined length of Mohit’s cock resting heavy and leaking against his skin. Then his gaze settled on the chest those magnificent, shelf-like pecs rising with each labored breath, nipples taut and begging under the low light.Vikram leaned forward slowly.His hands came down first palms flat and warm, settling over the broad upper curves of both pecs. Fingers splayed wide so they could feel the full weight and density. He didn’t knead yet. He simply held thumbs resting just outside the areolas, letting the heat of his palms sink in, letting Mohit feel the possessive weight of the touch.Mohit’s chest lifted on the next inhale higher, more pronounced in this bound position pushing the muscle firmly into Vikram’s hands.Vikram exhaled through his nose, a low sound of pure satisfaction.Then he lowered his head.His mouth closed over the right nipple soft at first, lips brushing in a feather-light kiss before parting to take the peak inside. Warm, wet suction enveloped it immediately. No teeth, no frantic lapping just deep, steady pull. Tongue pressing flat against the sensitive tip, then curling slowly around the areola in wide, languid circles.At the same moment his right hand drifted downward fingers trailing over the ridges of Mohit’s abs until they wrapped loosely around the base of his cock again.The first stroke was glacial: from root to mid-shaft, palm twisting lightly, thumb dragging along the thick underside vein the entire way. Then back down slower still letting the shaft slide through his grip with deliberate friction.
Suck—stroke up.
Release—stroke down.
The rhythm locked in instantly.Each hard pull of Vikram’s lips on the nipple sent a sharp, electric jolt straight down Mohit’s torso; each slow glide of his hand echoed it back upward, making the shaft throb harder, leak more. Pre-cum welled up in thick beads with every upward stroke, coating Vikram’s knuckles, making the next pass wetter, slicker.Mohit’s bound wrists flexed fingers curling into weak fists but the cuffs held without mercy. His hips strained against the ankle restraints, trying to chase the friction, but the positioning kept him anchored, open, helpless to do anything but take it.Vikram switched to the left nipple without warning mouth latching on with the same deep, devouring suction. Tongue swirling in tight, wet spirals around the peak before flattening to lap broad, slow strokes. His free hand came up to pinch and roll the right nipple in counterpoint keeping both peaks constantly stimulated, constantly throbbing.The dual assault was overwhelming.Every suck pulled a raw, slurred moan from Mohit’s throat sounds that cracked and broke as the drug stripped away any filter. His cock pulsed visibly in Vikram’s grip flaring on each upward stroke, leaking steadily, the head darkening to a deep, angry rose. The slow build coiled tighter in his pelvis: heat radiating from his chest downward, pooling low in his balls, making every denied throb feel like it was ripping him apart from the inside.Vikram lifted his head just long enough to whisper against the spit-slick nipple:
“You’re dripping so much for me… every time I suck here, you leak more down there. Your body’s already mine.”Then he dove back sucking the right nipple harder now, teeth grazing the peak just enough to send fresh sparks racing down Mohit’s spine while his hand matched the cadence: slow, twisting strokes that built the edge higher, higher, never quite letting it crest.Right as Mohit’s hips began to tremble with the telltale quiver of impending release Vikram stopped.Mouth lifting with a wet pop.Hand releasing completely.Mohit’s cock jerked violently upward straining, throbbing, a thick rope of pre-cum stretching and breaking as it dripped down his shaft but no finish. Just the hollow, aching denial.Vikram kissed the left nipple softly almost reverently before taking it back into his mouth.And started the cycle again.Suck. Stroke. Suck. Stroke.Slow.Endless.The red light on the camera blinked steadily.The rain sounds looped on.And Mohit—four limbs bound, body oiled and trembling, chest devoured, cock edged mercilessly could only lie there and feel every sensation amplified, every peak denied, spiraling deeper into the slow, consuming burn.
Vikram kept the rhythm mercilessly consistent deep, sucking pulls on one nipple while his hand delivered those long, twisting strokes along Mohit’s shaft, always stopping the instant the telltale quiver started in Mohit’s bound hips. Each denial was timed perfectly: right when the head flared widest, right when the balls drew up tight, right when the pre-cum flowed thickest. Then nothing. Hands and mouth lifting away simultaneously, leaving Mohit’s cock to jerk and throb uselessly in the open air, another fat rope of pre-cum stretching from the slit and dripping slowly down the veined length.The fourth denial hit harder than the others.Mohit’s entire body trembled muscles straining against the cuffs in weak, uncoordinated spasms. His chest heaved so violently that the pecs quivered under Vikram’s lingering lips; his bound wrists twisted, fingers clawing at nothing. The drug had stripped away every filter, every layer of pride and straight-boy conditioning. What remained was raw, animal need amplified by the chemical fog that made every sensation feel ten times larger and left no room for shame to interrupt it.His voice came out cracked, slurred, higher-pitched than it had ever been in his life.“V-Vikram… please…”Vikram lifted his head slowly from the left nipple tongue dragging one last wet circle around the swollen peak before he spoke against the spit-slick skin.“Please what?”Mohit’s head lolled to the side, eyes glassy and half-lidded. A thin line of drool escaped the corner of his mouth; he didn’t even notice. His hips bucked again small, pathetic jerks against the ankle restraints.“I… I can’t… it hurts… so bad…”Vikram’s hand hovered just above the throbbing cock close enough that Mohit could feel the heat radiating from his palm, but not touching.“Use your words, Mohit. Tell me exactly what you need.”
A broken whine escaped Mohit’s throat. In his normal life ,the gym, Aisha, Instagram reels, straight pride he would have bitten his tongue off before saying anything like this. But the sedative had dissolved every barrier; the endless edging had eroded the last scraps of resistance. All that was left was the screaming, pulsing ache between his legs and the desperate, drug-fueled honesty pouring out.“Please… make me cum… I need it… I need to cum so bad… please, Vikram… please let me cum…”The words tumbled out in a rush slurred, pleading, voice cracking on every syllable. His cock jerked visibly with each syllable, another thick bead of pre-cum welling up and sliding down the shaft like it was trying to beg on his behalf.Vikram’s eyes darkened with something possessive and triumphant. He leaned in close lips brushing Mohit’s ear now.“Beg properly. Tell me how much you want it. Tell me you’ll do anything.”Mohit’s breathing hitched short, frantic gasps. Tears of pure frustration pricked at the corners of his eyes.“I’ll do anything… please… I’m begging you… make me cum… I can’t take it anymore… my cock hurts… it’s so full… please, Vikram… please stroke me… suck me… anything… just let me cum… I need to cum so fucking bad… please…”The words kept spilling raw, shameless, nothing like the controlled, confident man who posted gym motivation reels. Each plea made his bound body arch harder, pecs thrusting upward, cock straining toward Vikram’s hand like it had a mind of its own.Vikram smiled slow, satisfied.“On one condition.”Mohit’s glassy eyes flicked toward him desperate, unfocused.“Anything…”“When you cum,” Vikram said, voice low and deliberate, “you’re going to eat every drop. You’re going to lick it off my fingers… off your own abs… off wherever it lands. You’re going to swallow it all while I film it. Say yes.”
Mohit’s mind whatever was left of it flashed a distant, sober protest. But the drug drowned it instantly. The ache was too intense, the need too overwhelming. Pride didn’t exist anymore; only release mattered.“Y-yes…” he whimpered. “Yes… I’ll eat it… I’ll swallow it all… just please… make me cum… please…”Vikram exhaled through his nose ,a sound of pure victory.“Good boy.”He lowered his head again taking the right nipple deep into his mouth with hard, rhythmic suction while both hands returned to Mohit’s cock. This time there was no teasing, no stopping.One hand wrapped firmly around the base squeezing in pulsing grips that milked upward.The other focused on the head palm cupping over the slick tip, twisting in tight, wet circles while his thumb pressed relentlessly against the frenulum.The dual assault was immediate and devastating.Mohit’s moan turned into a continuous, broken wail high and raw. His bound limbs strained; wrists and ankles pulled uselessly against the cuffs. His hips bucked as much as the restraints allowed small, frantic jerks that only drove his cock deeper into Vikram’s hands.Vikram sucked harder—teeth grazing the nipple, tongue lashing the peak while his hands worked faster now: base-to-tip strokes in perfect sync with each pull of his mouth.It took less than ninety seconds.Mohit’s entire body locked up muscles seizing against the cuffs, back arching off the table as far as the restraints would allow.A guttural, animal cry tore from his throat.His cock flared violently head swelling impossibly wider and the first thick rope erupted.It shot high arcing over his abs, splattering across the deep cuts of his eight-pack in hot, white streaks.Vikram didn’t stop.He kept stroking firm, milking pulls from root to tip while his mouth stayed latched on the nipple, sucking through every pulse.Second rope thicker, stronger landing across Mohit’s lower pecs, dripping down the inner curve.Third—fourth—fifth—each one wrenching a fresh, shattered moan from him as his body convulsed in helpless waves.Cum kept coming spurt after heavy spurt painting his abs, pooling in his navel, sliding down his sides, a few stray ropes even reaching the underside of his chin.When the last weak pulses finally ebbed, Mohit collapsed back against the table chest heaving, body trembling, cock still twitching in Vikram’s slick hand.Vikram lifted his head slowly lips shiny with spit and looked down at the mess he’d made.Then he brought his cum-coated fingers to Mohit’s mouth.“Open.”Mohit still dazed, still floating in the aftershocks parted his lips without hesitation.Vikram slid two fingers inside coated thick with his own release and pressed them against Mohit’s tongue.“Clean them.”Mohit’s tongue moved sluggishly at first then more eagerly as the drugged haze demanded obedience. He sucked, licked, swallowed tasting the salty, bitter heat of himself while Vikram watched, camera still rolling.When the fingers were clean, Vikram scooped more from Mohit’s abs smearing it across his lower lip then fed it to him again.“Every drop,” he reminded softly.Mohit obeyed licking, swallowing, moaning weakly around the fingers until his abs and pecs were mostly clean, until the taste of his own cum coated his tongue and throat.Only then did Vikram pull his hand away.He leaned down brushing a soft, almost affectionate kiss against Mohit’s swollen nipple.“Good boy,” he whispered.The red light on the camera kept blinking.The rain sounds continued their endless loop.And Mohit bound, spent, trembling lay there in the afterglow, mind slowly catching up to what he’d just begged for… and done.
