His Plaything : From Senior to Slave

Back to the Room (🔞)

Ravi's ordeal continued as Vivek exploited his vulnerability.
The car door creaked open, and Ravi stepped out, still reeling from the trauma. The night air felt heavy, weighed down by the shame and disgust.

As he walked towards his apartment building, the watchman's gaze followed him.

Ravi sensed the man's lecherous thoughts, his mind racing with the events that had transpired. Quickening his pace, Ravi sought refuge in his room.

The door closed behind him, and he finally exhaled. Rushing to the bathroom, the taste of Vivek's manhood still lingered, a bitter reminder.

Ravi's reflection stared back, lipstick smudged, mascara smeared under his eyes – a haunting testament to the nightmare.

With shaking hands, he reached up to the shelf and grabbed a pack of makeup wipes. He stared into the mirror, his once-flawless makeup now smudged and smeared from the desperate blowjob he'd given Vivek.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and began to wipe the layers of cosmetics from his face.

Each stroke of the wipe brought back the memory of Vivek's cock filling his mouth, the taste of his cum still lingering on his tongue.

The sight of his cock, hard and eager, standing tall against the pale, soft skin of his inner thigh was a stark contrast to the delicate blouse that clung to his body.

His eyes glazed over, and he could almost feel Vivek's hands on him again, pushing him down, taking what he wanted. .

With a shaky hand, Ravi began to stroke himself, his moans growing louder as he watched his reflection in the mirror.

The sound of the rain outside mingled with his gasps, creating a cacophony that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The sari pooled around his feet as he lost himself in the rhythmic motion, his body swaying to the beat of his own desire.

He couldn't believe what he was doing—masturbating while still dressed as Urmila, the woman he'd become to escape his mundane existence.

But the fear of the evening had twisted into something else, something dark and seductive. He whispered obscenities to himself, the words "whore" and "slut" slipping past his lips like a sweet release.

The more he said them, the more his arousal grew, his hand moving faster and faster.

Ravi's eyes were glued to his reflection in the mirror, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he watched himself.

His hand moved in a blur, his strokes growing more frantic as he felt his climax approaching.

The silk of his blouse clung to his skin, sticky with sweat, as he imagined Vivek's hands on him, demanding and rough.

Finally, with a strangled cry that was muffled by the thunder outside, he reached his peak.

His semen shot out in thick ropes, coating his hand and wrist, and he couldn't help but watch in a mix of horror and fascination.

The sight of his own pleasure brought on by the degradation of the evening's events he couldn't look away, even though a part of him wanted to.

He brought his hand closer to his face, the musky scent of his arousal filling his nostrils.

For a brief, terrible moment, he wondered if the taste of his own cum would be the same as the bitter tang of Vivek's that lingered in his mouth.

He closed his eyes and took a tentative lick, the salty flavor almost comforting. It was a strange, twisted form of control in the aftermath of his powerlessness.

With a grim determination, Ravi swallowed the last remnants of his own essence, savoring the feel of it sliding down his throat.

He turned on the faucet, letting the cold water wash over his sticky hand, scrubbing away the last traces of the evening's events.

His reflection in the mirror was a stark reminder of what had transpired, but he pushed aside the emotions, focusing instead on the task at hand. His eyes lingering on the ruined bangles scattered on the floor.

His thoughts raced, trying to piece together what tomorrow would bring. Would Vivek keep his secret, or would he use it as a weapon to control him further?