Mohit woke up around 2 PM on February 25, 2026, still in the same clothes from the morning: hoodie damp with sweat, joggers bunched uncomfortably around the cage. The apartment was quiet; Aisha had left a note on the fridge: “Had to run to client meeting, back late. Eat something, love you.” He stared at it for a long time, stomach twisting.His phone buzzed on the nightstand. One new message. Unknown number, but he knew.Vikram.The text was short, clinical, no emojis, no pleasantries:“Tonight. 9 PM sharp.
Location: a nondescript residential society in Sector 52, Gurgaon, 20 mins from your place]
Wear: loose pyjamas only (no underwear), thin white or light grey t-shirt on top (the kind that clings when you sweat).
Come by metro. Sector 52 station, 5-min walk from there.
Be on time.
Don’t be late.”Mohit read it twice. Then three times. His thumb hovered over “block number.” Didn’t press.He dropped the phone like it burned him. Sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, face in hands. The cage tugged with every shift: already a familiar, hated sensation after less than 24 hours. He could feel himself half-swollen inside the tube again, the bars pressing, the constant low ache that never quite faded.He spent the afternoon in limbo.Tried to nap: couldn’t.
Tried to eat: managed half a chicken breast and some rice, tasted like cardboard.
Tried to scroll Instagram: saw his own face in stories replies, fans tagging him in gym motivation edits. Closed the app fast.Every hour he checked the time. 3 PM. 4 PM. 5 PM. The light outside changed from harsh afternoon white to softer gold. Aisha texted once: “Running late, probably 10-ish. Order dinner if you want.” He replied with a thumbs-up emoji because typing actual words felt impossible.By 7:30 PM the decision crystallized: not because he wanted to go, but because the alternative (Vikram sending that begging clip to Aisha, to his followers, to anyone) felt worse than whatever waited at 9 PM.He showered again: cold this time. Stood under the spray until his skin pruned, trying to wash away the shame. Didn’t work.In the bedroom he followed the instructions to the letter.No underwear.
Loose grey pyjama bottoms: thin cotton, the kind that hung low on his hips and outlined everything when he moved.
A white, semi-sheer muscle-fit t-shirt he sometimes wore for home workouts: the fabric so thin it turned almost transparent when damp, clinging to every ridge of his pecs and abs.
He looked in the full-length mirror.The cage created a visible bulge: subtle under the loose pyjamas, but unmistakable if anyone looked closely. His pecs pushed against the thin shirt, nipples faintly visible through the material, the deep separation between them shadowed in the overhead light. He looked exposed. Like a fitness model dressed for a private shoot, not a man going out in public.He pulled on the hoodie over it anyway: for the walk to the metro. Hood up. Head down.The metro ride was hell.Evening rush hour. Crowded coach. He stood near the door, gripping the pole, trying to keep space around him. Every jolt of the train made the cage shift, tug, press. His cock, traitorous as ever, responded to the vibration and friction, swelling inside the bars until the pressure bordered on pain. Pre-cum leaked steadily; he could feel the damp spot growing in the crotch of the pyjamas.A guy next to him glanced down once: eyes flicking to the outline, then quickly away. Mohit turned his body toward the door, face burning under the hood.Two college girls across the aisle whispered and giggled, phones out. He couldn’t tell if they were looking at him or not. Didn’t want to know.By the time he got off at Sector 52 station, his shirt was clinging to his pecs from nervous sweat: thin fabric now semi-transparent, outlining every curve of muscle, every vein on his upper chest. He walked the five minutes fast: head down, hands in hoodie pockets, praying no one recognized him from Instagram.The building was mid-rise, quiet society, no security at the gate. Vikram had texted the flat number: 403.Mohit took the stairs: elevator felt too enclosed.At the door he hesitated. Knocked once: soft.The door opened immediately.Vikram stood there: casual, barefoot, in black shorts and t-shirt. Smiling like this was a normal gym buddy hangout.
“On time. Good.”Mohit stepped inside without a word. Door closed behind him with a soft click. Lock turned.Before Mohit could speak, Vikram’s hands were on him.One palm flat against his chest: pushing him back against the wall. The other grabbed the bottom hem of the hoodie and yanked upward in one swift motion. Mohit’s arms lifted automatically; the hoodie came off, taking the thin white t-shirt with it in the same pull.Fabric tore slightly at the shoulder seam: ripping sound sharp in the quiet hallway.Mohit gasped: half from the sudden exposure, half from the cold wall against his bare back.Vikram didn’t stop.He hooked fingers into the waistband of the loose pyjamas and dragged them down: hard. The thin cotton gave at the seams, splitting along the outer thigh with a loud rip. The pants pooled at Mohit’s ankles in tatters.Now he stood naked except for the cage: pecs heaving, abs tight from the shock, cock straining uselessly inside the bars, a fresh bead of pre-cum already forming at the slit.Vikram stepped back. Looked him over slowly: head to toe, like appraising livestock.“Perfect,” he said quietly. “Exactly how I wanted you to arrive.”Mohit’s voice cracked on the first word. “Unlock me. Please. I came. Just unlock it. We can talk. I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”Vikram tilted his head. Smiled: small, almost fond.“We’ll talk,” he said. “After.”He reached out: thumb brushing once over Mohit’s left nipple, making it tighten instantly.Then he turned and walked deeper into the apartment.“Living room,” he called over his shoulder. “On your knees by the couch. Hands behind your back.”Mohit stood frozen in the hallway: clothes in shredded piles at his feet, cage tugging with every heartbeat, body already betraying him again.He closed his eyes for one long second.Then slowly he followed.
Mohit knelt in the dimly lit living room, the cool hardwood floor biting into his knees. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back not bound, not yet, but the position felt instinctive now, a silent admission of surrender. The shredded remnants of his clothes lay in the hallway like discarded skin; he was naked except for the cage, his powerful body on full display under the soft glow of a single floor lamp. Pecs heavy and rounded, abs etched deep, quads flexing slightly to maintain balance. His cock strained inside the metal bars already leaking from the metro ride, the anticipation, the humiliation of following orders.Vikram entered slowly, carrying a small black bag. He set it on the coffee table without a word, then circled Mohit once eyes roaming like a predator assessing prey. Mohit kept his gaze on the floor, heart pounding, but Vikram reached down and tilted his chin up with two fingers."Look at me," Vikram said quietly. "I want to see your eyes when you realize how far you've fallen."Mohit swallowed hard. His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "Please... just unlock me. I came here. That's what you wanted."Vikram's thumb brushed Mohit's lower lip slow, possessive. "What I want is more than that. And you'll give it to me."He stepped back, unzipping the bag. From inside he pulled a pair of small, silver clamps nipple clamps, adjustable, with rubber tips for grip. Mohit's breath hitched at the sight."No... Vikram, wait "But Vikram was already kneeling in front of him. His hands cupped Mohit's pecs first palms warm, fingers splaying wide to feel the full weight and density. He squeezed gently, thumbs circling the areolas in slow spirals, waking the nerves until the nipples hardened into tight peaks."These," Vikram murmured, voice low and reverent, "are what everyone's been staring at. Your Instagram followers those 108K thirsty fans they scroll through your reels just to watch these bounce during push-ups, to see the sweat drip down the cleft. You've been teasing them for years, Mohit. Parading this perfect chest like it's nothing. But now... it's mine to milk."Mohit's mind flashed reels of him flexing shirtless, comments flooding in: "Pec goals ", "Those tits tho ", "Bounce for us bro". He'd always laughed it off, straight pride intact. But here, on his knees, Vikram's words twisted it into something dirty, exposing.Vikram pinched the right nipple hard, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until Mohit gasped. Then he attached the first clamp. The pressure was immediate: a sharp bite that bloomed into a deep, throbbing ache. Mohit arched involuntarily, a low whine escaping his throat.
"Feel that?" Vikram whispered, attaching the left clamp with the same deliberate slowness. "That's what your followers have fantasized about bruising these perfect pecs, making them swell."The clamps were tight adjustable screws turned until the tips dug in just enough to bruise without breaking skin. Mohit's chest heaved; the pain was electric, radiating down his torso, making his caged cock twitch and leak harder. Pre-cum dripped steadily onto the floor between his knees.Vikram stood, pulling a thin chain from the bag. He hooked it between the clamps short enough that any tug would pull both nipples at once. Then he yanked lightly.Mohit cried out loud, broken his pecs flexing as the clamps bit deeper. Bruises were already forming: faint purple blooms around the areolas, skin turning tender red.Vikram didn't stop. He knelt again, hands returning to the pecs squeezing the meaty undersides, lifting and dropping them slightly to make the clamps jiggle. Each movement sent fresh waves of pain-pleasure through Mohit, his moans turning ragged."Milk them," Vikram commanded himself, almost in a trance. His mouth closed over the right pec lips sealing around the clamped nipple, sucking hard while his hand milked the left: firm, rhythmic squeezes from base to tip, like drawing liquid from a teat. Tongue lashed the peak inside his mouth; teeth grazed the clamp's edge.Mohit's head fell back. "Ahh... fuck... stop... it hurts..."But his body arched forward, pushing his chest deeper into Vikram's mouth. The pain was insane bruises deepening with every suck, every squeeze but the cage made everything worse, channeling the sensation straight to his locked cock. He leaked in steady pulses now, the floor slick beneath him.Vikram switched sides milking the right pec with his hand while devouring the left. Sucks turned frantic: deep pulls that hollowed his cheeks, tongue swirling relentlessly around the bruised nipple. Hands kneaded harder, fingers digging into the muscle until Mohit's pecs swelled visibly red, tender, bruised purple around the clamps, veins popping under the skin from the constant stimulation."Look at them," Vikram growled against the left pec, sucking so hard Mohit yelped. "Bruised for me. All those followers would kill to see this your perfect pecs milked raw, swollen, marked. You've been teasing them forever. Now they're mine to ruin."Mohit sobbed actual tears overwhelmed by the pain, the exposure, the relentless assault. His pecs throbbed like they were on fire, bruises blooming deeper with every pull, every twist. The chain between the clamps swayed with his heaving breaths, tugging both nipples in sharp reminders.When Vikram finally released his mouth, the nipples were dark red, swollen to twice their size, clamps digging cruelly into bruised flesh. He tugged the chain once more harder this time making Mohit scream, body jerking forward."Please... unlock me... I can't... it hurts too much..."Vikram stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were dark, satisfied."You want out of the cage?"Mohit nodded frantically, tears streaking his cheeks. "Yes... please... anything..."Vikram crouched to eye level. "One condition. I milk your cock again relentlessly, exactly how I want. Hands, mouth, toys, prostate, until you're dry and begging to stop. Or you stay locked. Forever. No unlock. No release. Just this cage, leaking for me, until I decide otherwise."Mohit's breath hitched. The pain in his chest was blinding, but the cage... the constant denial... the thought of never cumming again...He whispered, broken: "Milk it... please... just unlock me after..."Vikram smiled slow, victorious."Good choice."He stood, pulling Mohit to his feet by the chain gentle but firm. Mohit stumbled forward, pecs swinging painfully with each step.Vikram led him to the bedroom dim, bed already prepared with towels and lube."On your stomach. Ass up."
Mohit obeyed face down on the bed, knees spread, ass presented. The position made his bruised pecs press into the mattress; every breath dragged the clamps against fabric, fresh agony shooting through him.Vikram knelt behind him.First, hands on the smooth, firm globes kneading, spreading. Mohit's ass was tight, pink, untouched. Vikram leaned in breath hot against the cleft then his tongue.Slow at first: flat laps along the smooth skin, circling the pink pucker. Mohit gasped shock, shame, unwanted heat blooming low in his belly.Vikram rimmed him thoroughly tongue probing, swirling, pressing inside with wet, insistent pushes. He ate like he was starving deep, sloppy licks, sucking the rim, tongue-fucking the tight hole until Mohit moaned despite himself, hips rocking back involuntarily. "Your pink virgin asshole... so tight, so smooth," Vikram growled between licks, voice thick with obsession. "I love how it clenches for me, untouched by anyone else. It's mine now, this pretty hole, to rim and open and milk from inside."The cage swung between his legs, leaking steadily onto the towel.Vikram added fingers lube-slick, one then two curling inside, searching.He found the prostate smooth walnut under his fingertips.Then the milking began.Slow, firm pressure rhythmic strokes against the gland while his tongue continued rimming the stretched rim. Mohit’s moans turned desperate high, needy as the prostate swelled under the assault. Vikram pressed harder, fingers rubbing in tight circles, milking the spot relentlessly while his free hand reached under to tug the cage, adding vibration. Mohit's body heated up fast sweat breaking out across his back, chest, thighs from the intensity, skin glistening under the lamp light as he writhed on the bed.No cock stimulation. Just internal milking relentless, milking pressure that built a different kind of orgasm: deep, full-body, prostate-driven. Vikram intensified it fingers thrusting now, scissoring inside while pressing the prostate in hard, circular grinds, tongue delving deeper into the rimmed hole, sucking the pink flesh until it puckered and fluttered.Mohit came without touching load after load dribbling from the cage in weak spurts, body shaking, pecs bruised and throbbing against the bed. Sweat poured from him now, soaking the sheets, his muscles slick and shining as the milking went on fingers not stopping, rubbing the oversensitive prostate until another wave hit, more dribbles leaking out, body convulsing in intense, sweaty exhaustion.Vikram didn’t stop until Mohit was dry heaving, spent, ass slick and puffy from the rimming and fingering, body covered in a sheen of sweat, muscles trembling.Then he flipped Mohit over gently kissed the bruised pecs once each, soft and reverent."Unlock tomorrow," he whispered. "If you come back."Mohit bruised, milked dry, rimmed, prostate-drained could only nod weakly, too tired to move.Vikram didn't dress him. He left him like that naked, caged, sweaty, bruised pecs rising slowly as exhaustion took over.Mohit fell asleep there on the bed, body spent, mind blank.The room was quiet.Vikram watched him sleep, smiling in the dark.
Mohit woke up slowly, body heavy and aching in ways he’d never felt before. The bedroom was still dim, curtains drawn against the late afternoon light of February 25, 2026. He was on his back, naked, the thin sheet twisted around his waist. His pecs throbbed bruised purple around the areolas, nipples swollen and tender from the clamps and the relentless sucking. His ass felt puffy, slick, the memory of Vikram’s tongue and fingers still burning there. The cage was back on, cold metal hugging his spent cock, a faint damp spot on the sheet where he’d leaked during sleep.Vikram sat in the armchair across the room, phone in hand, scrolling calmly. He looked up when Mohit stirred.“Morning,” Vikram said, voice soft but edged. “Or afternoon, technically. You slept like the dead.”Mohit tried to sit up. Winced as the movement pulled at his bruised chest. “Unlock me… please. I did everything you asked.”Vikram set the phone down. Stood. Walked over. He knelt beside the bed so their faces were level.“You did,” he agreed. “Beautifully. But unlocking isn’t free anymore. You earn it now.”Mohit’s stomach dropped. “What… what do you want?”Vikram reached out, thumb brushing one bruised nipple light enough to sting, heavy enough to make Mohit gasp.“Tonight you’re going to the gym. Your regular spot, Powerhouse Fitness. 9 PM. Late-night crowd, fewer people, but your trainer will be there. That straight, hunky guy Rohan, right? The one who spots you on bench, slaps your back after heavy sets, calls you ‘bro’ every five seconds.”Mohit’s eyes widened. “No. I can’t”“You will.” Vikram’s voice stayed calm, almost gentle. “You’ll go into the showers after your workout. Make sure Rohan is there, time it right. He always showers late on Tuesdays. You know his routine.”Mohit shook his head, voice cracking. “I’m not… I won’t ”“You will,” Vikram repeated. “And you’ll do it naturally. No obvious moves. Just… show him. Let the towel slip a little when you turn. Let him see your smooth pink hole when you bend to pick up soap, or stretch your leg on the bench. Act like it’s an accident. Let him stare. Let him get hard. If he makes a move ,if he touches, if he pushes you against the tiles, you drop to your knees. You take his cock in your mouth. Your first cock ever. You suck him slow, deep, like you’re starving for it. And you hand him your phone first. Tell him to record. Tell him it’s for ‘private memories.’ Let him film you choking on him, drooling, eyes watering. But no fucking. He doesn’t get inside you. Only your mouth.”
Mohit’s breathing turned shallow. “Why… why him?”“Because he’s straight. Because he’s your bro. Because every time you see him spot you again, you’ll remember his cock down your throat while he called you a good boy on camera. And because I want proof. You’ll send me the video when it’s done. Timestamped. Clear shot of his face and yours.”Mohit’s hands shook. “I can’t… he’ll tell people. He’ll, ”“He won’t,” Vikram said. “Straight guys like him don’t talk about getting sucked off in the gym showers by their shredded training partner. They take the video, jerk to it later, and pretend it never happened. But you’ll know. And I’ll know.”He leaned closer, lips brushing Mohit’s ear.“Do this tonight, and I unlock you tomorrow morning. Full release. No cage for a week if you’re good. But if you refuse… the cage stays on. And the next video I send Aisha isn’t begging. It’s you getting rimmed and prostate-milked until you cry.”Mohit stared at the ceiling, tears pricking again. His bruised pecs rose and fell rapidly. The cage tugged with every heartbeat.Vikram stood. “Shower here if you want. Fresh clothes in the drawer. Loose shorts, no underwear, tight tank to show the bruises. Leave at 8:15 so you’re there by 9.”He walked to the door.“Send me the video when it’s done, Mohit. And don’t disappoint me.”The door clicked shut behind him.Mohit lay there alone, body aching, mind spinning.He had seven hours.Seven hours to decide whether to destroy his life one way… or another.He closed his eyes.And the cage kept tugging.
