Mohit’s eyes were glassy, unfocused, the sedative still heavy in his veins. His lips parted on shallow breaths; a faint sheen of sweat and spit coated his chin from where he’d licked Vikram’s fingers clean earlier. The taste of his own release lingered thick on his tongue salty, bitter, humiliating in a way that sober Mohit would have recoiled from forever. But the drug made everything distant, muted, acceptable.Vikram didn’t give him long to recover.He leaned down again mouth latching onto the right nipple with fresh hunger. Deep, rhythmic suction from the first second tongue swirling hard circles around the abused peak while his right hand returned to Mohit’s cock. It was still sensitive, still half-hard from the aftershocks, slick with cum and pre-cum.Vikram wrapped his fingers loosely around the shaft palm gliding upward in slow, milking strokes that coaxed the softening length back to full hardness within a minute. On the upward pass he twisted gently over the head polishing the knob with tight, wet circles of his thumb and forefinger, spreading the fresh leakage that immediately welled up again.Mohit’s hips jerked weakly against the ankle cuffs.“Nnngh… too much… please…”But the words were slurred, needy, contradictory. His body betrayed him instantly cock thickening, veins standing out, head flaring under the relentless polishing.Vikram sucked harder teeth grazing the nipple just enough to make Mohit’s pec flex and quiver while his hand worked faster now: long milking pulls from base to tip, then focused knob-polishing twists that made the slit gape and drool.The second orgasm built even quicker than the first.Mohit’s moans turned high and frantic raw, animal sounds that cracked on every breath.“Please… again… gonna cum… Vikram… please…”Vikram didn’t stop this time.He kept sucking deep, hollow-cheeked pulls while his hand stroked and polished without mercy.Mohit’s body locked up back arching off the table as far as the wrist and ankle cuffs allowed.
A loud, broken cry tore from his throat.The second load erupted thicker than the first, ropes shooting high across his pecs and upper abs, splattering hot and heavy. One thick spurt even landed on the underside of his own chin, dripping slowly down his neck.Vikram milked every pulse hand squeezing rhythmically from root to tip, thumb pressing the frenulum to force out the last weak spurts while his mouth stayed latched on the nipple, sucking through the convulsions.When the spasms finally ebbed, Vikram lifted his head.He scooped the fresh cum from Mohit’s pecs—fingers dragging through the warm, sticky mess and brought them to Mohit’s mouth.“Open. All of it.”Mohit’s lips parted automatically tongue extending, drugged obedience overriding everything. Vikram fed him fingerful after fingerful smearing it across his tongue, pushing it deep so Mohit had to swallow around the intrusion. The taste was stronger this time thicker, more pungent but Mohit licked and sucked eagerly, moaning weakly around the fingers like it was the only thing grounding him.Vikram cleaned his chin, his neck, his pecs every visible drop feeding it back to Mohit until his mouth was coated, throat working on swallow after swallow.Then he moved to the third.No pause.He switched nipples left this time sucking deep and hard while both hands returned to the oversensitive cock.One hand milked the shaft in long, firm pulls.The other focused solely on knob polishing fingers circling the slick, swollen head in tight, relentless spirals, thumb pressing the slit open on every rotation, coaxing fresh leakage even though Mohit’s balls felt wrung dry.
Mohit’s voice was hoarse now cracked, pleading.“Can’t… too much… please… gonna… fuck… please…”But his hips still bucked weakly toward the touch. His cock red, throbbing, impossibly hard again responded despite the overstimulation.Vikram sucked harder teeth scraping the nipple while his hands worked in perfect tandem: milking strokes + frantic knob-polishing twists.The third orgasm ripped through him like a scream.Mohit’s cry was loud, shattered body convulsing so hard the table creaked under the cuffs.This load was thinner, clearer spurting in weaker but still forceful arcs that painted his lower abs and pooled in the deep cuts of his obliques. Vikram milked it ruthlessly squeezing from base to tip, polishing the head through every twitch until nothing but a few pathetic dribbles remained.He gathered it all fingers scooping the warm mess from Mohit’s abs and fed it to him again.“Every last drop,” he whispered.Mohit sucked his own cum off Vikram’s fingers tongue swirling, lips closing tight, swallowing convulsively while tears of overstimulation leaked from the corners of his eyes.When the last smear was gone, Vikram sat back.He reached under the table pulling out a small, gleaming metal chastity cage he’d prepared earlier: polished stainless steel, tight ring, short curved tube, integrated lock.Mohit’s cock was still semi-hard, slick and twitching from the abuse.Vikram worked quickly efficiently.He fitted the ring around the base behind the balls then slid the cold tube over the sensitive, oversensitive shaft. Mohit whimpered at the chill, at the confinement, but his limbs stayed limp under the drug and cuffs.The cage locked with a soft, final click.Vikram dangled the small key in front of Mohit’s glazed eyes.“You’ll wear this until I decide otherwise,” he said quietly. “Your cock belongs to me now. Every time you get hard in it… every time it strains… you’ll remember who owns it.”He leaned down brushing one last soft kiss over each swollen nipple—then stepped back to check the camera angle.The red light still blinked.Mohit lay there bound, caged, cum-smeared abs slowly drying, chest rising and falling in exhausted shudders while Vikram watched him with quiet, possessive satisfaction.
Vikram finally stepped back, letting the room’s quiet settle over them like a blanket. Mohit’s body lay limp in the restraints ,chest still rising and falling in uneven, exhausted breaths, nipples dark and puffy, abs streaked with drying cum that had begun to flake at the edges, cock locked tight inside the cold steel chastity cage. The small padlock gleamed under the lamps; the key dangled from a thin chain around Vikram’s neck.Mohit’s eyelids fluttered once, twice then closed fully. The sedative, the overstimulation, the three wrenching orgasms it had all crashed into him at once. His head lolled to the side, mouth slightly open, a faint sheen of drool at the corner. Soft, ragged snores escaped him almost immediately.Vikram watched for a long minute eyes tracing every line of the bound, spent body he’d just claimed. Then he moved methodically.He wiped Mohit down with warm, damp towels gentle strokes over pecs, abs, thighs removing the last traces of oil and cum until the skin was clean and faintly flushed. He left the chastity cage in place, of course. The ankle and wrist cuffs came off next; he unfastened each one slowly, massaging the faint red marks left by the fleece lining as though they were badges of ownership. Mohit didn’t stir.Vikram lifted him stronger than he looked carrying the limp 90+ kg frame to the adjoining bedroom. He laid Mohit on the king-sized bed, on his back, still naked. Pulled a thin sheet over him up to the waist. Dimmed the lights to a soft glow from a single bedside lamp. Then he left the door cracked, returned to the massage room, and spent the next hour reviewing footage trimming, saving, duplicating the most damning clips to encrypted drives and a private cloud folder.By 3:17 AM on February 24, 2026, Vikram was back in the bedroom, sitting in an armchair in the corner, watching Mohit sleep.Dawn came slowly gray light filtering through blackout curtains he’d left half-open. Around 7:42 AM Mohit began to stir. First a low groan. Then his eyelids fluttered. His hand moved instinctively toward his groin only to freeze when metal clinked against skin. Fingers explored the unfamiliar cage: cold bars, tight ring, locked base. Confusion hit like ice water.He sat up fast too fast. The room spun. His head throbbed; his mouth tasted sour and strange—salty, musky, unmistakably his own cum from the night before. Memory crashed in fragments:Vikram’s mouth on his nipples.
Hands stroking.
Begging loud, shameless begging.
Cumming three times.
Eating it.
Swallowing every drop while being filmed.His stomach lurched.“No… no, fuck…” The word came out hoarse, cracked. He looked down at himself naked, caged, faint red marks on wrists and ankles from the cuffs. Panic clawed up his throat. “What the fuck did I do?”Vikram rose from the armchair calm, fully dressed in a simple black t-shirt and joggers. He held his phone in one hand.“You did exactly what your body wanted,” he said quietly. “And you begged beautifully for it.”Mohit scrambled backward on the bed until his back hit the headboard. His voice shook. “You drugged me. You fucking drugged me. That wasn’t… I wouldn’t have ”“You drank the water willingly.” Vikram tapped the screen. “And once the magnesium kicked in, you begged. Loudly. Repeatedly. You said ‘please make me cum’ more times than I can count. You agreed to eat every drop. You sucked it off my fingers like you were starving.”Mohit’s face drained of color. “Show me. Show me you’re lying.”Vikram didn’t hesitate. He turned the phone, volume low but clear, and hit play.The clip was edited short, devastating. Mohit’s own voice filled the room, slurred but unmistakable:“Please… make me cum… I need it… I’ll do anything… I’ll eat it… I’ll swallow it all… just please…”Cut to his mouth opening, tongue out, Vikram’s cum-coated fingers sliding inside. Mohit sucking, licking, swallowing, eyes half-lidded, moaning around the intrusion.
Another angle: three loads splattered across his abs and pecs, Vikram scooping and feeding, Mohit taking it eagerly.The final frame froze on Mohit’s face , post-orgasm haze, lips shiny, eyes glazed while the chastity cage was locked with that final, audible click.Vikram paused the video. “There’s more. Hours more. But this is enough for now.”Mohit stared at the frozen image of himself. His stomach heaved; he swallowed bile. “Delete it. Delete all of it. I’ll… I’ll go to the police. This is”“You’ll do no such thing.” Vikram’s voice stayed calm, almost gentle. “Because if any of this gets out—Aisha sees it, your followers see it, your company sees it you’re finished. The straight Kashmiri fitness icon who begged a man to milk him dry and then ate his own cum on camera? You think they’ll care that you were drugged? They’ll see a willing participant. You begged. You said yes. On tape.”Mohit’s hands shook. He covered his caged cock instinctively, as though hiding it could erase what had happened.Vikram stepped closer ,sat on the edge of the bed.“You’re going to leave here today exactly like this. Naked under your clothes. Cage locked. Key stays with me. You’ll go back to your apartment, to your gym, to Aisha, to your job and every time you get hard in that cage, every time it pulls, every time you leak through the bars, you’ll remember who owns you now.”Mohit’s voice cracked. “You can’t… you can’t do this.”“I already have.” Vikram reached out slowly, almost tenderly and brushed a thumb over Mohit’s still-swollen nipple. Mohit flinched, but didn’t pull away. “You’re my muscle toy now. My perfect, straight, caged toy. You’ll train. You’ll post your reels. You’ll fuck Aisha when I allow it. And when I call, you’ll come. You’ll strip. You’ll beg again. And you’ll thank me for it.”He stood. Tossed Mohit’s folded clothes from last night onto the bed shorts, tank, hoodie.“Get dressed. I’ll drive you home. And Mohit?” He paused at the door. “Don’t even think about cutting the cage off. It’s titanium-reinforced. You’ll only hurt yourself. And I’ll know. The app tracks it.”Mohit stared at the clothes. At the cage. At the phone in Vikram’s hand.He didn’t speak.He just dressed slowly, mechanically every movement reminding him of the cold steel locked around his cock.Vikram waited in the hallway.When Mohit finally stepped out hood up, eyes down, walking gingerly because every step tugged at the cage, Vikram smiled.“Good boy.”They left the apartment together.Outside, the Gurgaon morning was bright and ordinary traffic honking, joggers passing, life moving on.Mohit got into the passenger seat of Vikram’s car silent, staring straight ahead.Vikram started the engine.And drove him back into his old life.A life that now belonged to someone else.
Mohit stumbled through the door of his apartment at around 8:15 AM on February 24, 2026. The ride back had been silent—Vikram driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift, occasionally glancing over like he was checking on a prized possession. Mohit had kept his hoodie pulled low, legs pressed together as much as the seat allowed, every bump in the Gurgaon roads sending a sharp tug through the steel cage locked around his cock.He shut the door behind him. Locked it. Double-locked it. Leaned his forehead against the wood for several long seconds while his breathing tried to even out.The apartment smelled like home faint trace of Aisha’s vanilla candle from last night, his protein shaker still in the sink, the low hum of the fridge. Normal. Safe. Except nothing felt normal anymore.He walked carefully, bow-legged to the bathroom mirror.Pulled the hoodie off. Tank top next. Stood there in just his gym shorts, staring.The cage looked obscene against his physique: shiny metal ring snug behind his balls, short curved tube trapping his soft cock in a tight, downward bend, slit visible through the bars but impossible to touch. A tiny droplet of pre-cum already beaded at the opening from the friction of the car ride. His balls looked swollen, heavy, pressed forward by the ring.He reached down fingers curling around the bars, tugging experimentally.Nothing gave.He pulled harder. The skin stretched; a dull ache bloomed deep in his groin.“Fuck.”He grabbed nail clippers from the drawer. Tried to wedge them between the ring and skin. The metal was too thick, too smooth. The clippers slipped; he sliced the side of his thumb instead. Blood welled up. He cursed again louder this time and threw the clippers into the sink.Next came the kitchen. He found a pair of heavy-duty wire cutters in the toolbox under the sink. Sat on the closed toilet lid, shorts around his ankles, cage exposed. Positioned the blades carefully around the ring.One squeeze.Pain exploded sharp, electric, radiating up into his pelvis like someone had kicked him in the balls from the inside. The cutters didn’t even dent the titanium. His vision blurred; he dropped the tool with a clatter.He sat there for minutes head in hands, breathing through his teeth while the throbbing slowly faded to a dull, insistent ache.Shower next. He stood under scalding water for twenty minutes. Tried soaping the cage, hoping the slickness would let him slide something, anything ,inside to pry it. No luck. The bars were too close; his fingers couldn’t even fit through to touch skin. The hot water only made his cock swell slightly inside the tube ,pressure building, leaking more pre-cum that dripped uselessly onto the tile.Cold shower after that.Shivering, teeth chattering, he finally turned the water off. Dried carefully around the cage. The metal stayed cold against his skin even after toweling.He dressed in loose joggers and an oversized hoodie , anything to hide the outline. Ate a protein bar standing at the counter because sitting pressed the cage against his taint in a way that made him wince. Checked his phone out of habit.No new messages from Vikram. Just the usual Instagram notifications, gym-bro comments on his last reel from two days ago: “Beast mode bro ”, “Goals as always”.He almost laughed hysterical, bitter—then stopped because laughing made his abs flex and tugged on the ring.By noon the pressure had become constant.Not agonizing. Just… there. A low, throbbing awareness. Every time he walked to the kitchen for water, every time he shifted on the couch trying to watch a YouTube video about carb cycling, every time he crossed his legs or uncrossed them, the cage reminded him. A dull pull. A faint stretch. A slow leak that soaked into his underwear until the fabric clung uncomfortably.He tried to work, opened his laptop, stared at CAD files for the engine prototype due next week. Couldn’t focus. Closed it after ten minutes.Gym was out of the question. Squats? Deadlifts? Anything that involved hip drive or tight compression shorts? Impossible.He paced instead. Living room to kitchen to bedroom and back. Each step a reminder. By 2 PM he was half-hard inside the cage some stupid involuntary response to the constant friction and the pressure had turned sharp. He dropped onto the couch, legs spread wide, hands hovering uselessly over his lap like he wanted to cup himself but knew it would only make it worse.He thought about Aisha.She’d be home around 7. She’d want to kiss him hello, wrap her arms around his waist, maybe slide a hand under his hoodie like she always did when she missed him.His stomach twisted.What if she felt it? What if she reached down and her fingers bumped metal instead of skin?He stood up fast. Paced again. Tried push-ups on the living-room floor hoping the blood rush somewhere else would help. Fifty reps in, his cock started swelling again. The cage bit harder. He collapsed onto his forearms, forehead against the carpet, breathing hard.
“Fuck… fuck fuck fuck.”By 4 PM he was leaking steadily. Not much just enough to keep the inside of the tube slick, enough to make every shift feel slippery and obscene. He changed underwear twice. The wet spots kept growing.He lay on the bed eventually on his back, legs spread, staring at the ceiling fan. Tried to think of anything else: work deadlines, tomorrow’s leg day (which he’d have to skip), the new Avvatar campaign shoot next week.But his mind kept circling back.The taste in his mouth from last night his own cum, thick and bitter, sliding down his throat while Vikram watched.The sound of his own voice begging high, broken, nothing like him.The click of the lock.He rolled onto his side. Curled up. The cage pressed against his thigh cold, unyielding.A fresh leak oozed out.He didn’t touch it. Couldn’t.He just lay there, breathing shallow, feeling the slow, relentless drip while the afternoon light moved across the room.By 6:30 PM he heard Aisha’s key in the lock.He forced himself upright. Pulled the hoodie lower. Plastered on something that might pass for a tired smile.“Hey baby,” she called from the hallway, kicking off her shoes. “Missed you today.”She walked in smiling, tired from her design meeting arms open.Mohit stood. Let her hug him. Kept his hips angled back slightly so she wouldn’t press against the cage.Her hand slid under his hoodie like always warm palm against his lower back, fingers tracing the top of his shorts.“You okay?” she asked, pulling back to look at his face. “You feel… tense.”“Yeah,” he managed. Voice rough. “Just… long day. Gym was brutal yesterday.”She frowned soft, concerned. “You sure? You’re shaking a little.”He forced a laugh. It sounded hollow. “Low blood sugar maybe. I’ll eat something.”She kissed him soft, familiar.He kissed back carefully. Kept the contact light.Inside the cage his cock twitched traitorous, useless and a fresh bead of pre-cum welled up.Aisha didn’t notice.She went to change.Mohit stood in the living room, alone again feeling the slow, humiliating drip continue while the normal sounds of home moved around him.Dinner. Small talk. Couch. Her head on his shoulder while they half-watched a show.Every time she shifted closer, every time her hand rested on his thigh, the cage pressed harder.By 10 PM she was asleep against him.He stayed awake staring at the TV screen without seeing it, feeling the constant, low ache, the wet slide inside the bars, the weight of what he’d done last night settling heavier with every passing minute.No tasks from Vikram.No messages.Just the cage.Just his body, still responding, still leaking, still locked.And the slow, quiet realization that this wasn’t ending tonight.Or tomorrow.Or any time soon.
