16-08-2025, 11:15 AM
(This post was last modified: 16-08-2025, 11:48 AM by Abirkkz. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
Part 4: A Night of Forbidden Flames
The night had swallowed the city whole, its inky darkness seeping into my small Kolkata flat, a cocoon of solitude now heavy with unspoken tension. I lay sprawled across my narrow bed, the thin mattress creaking beneath me, my body drained from our earlier wanderings through the city’s neon-lit chaos. Mostafa, Ramesh’s enigmatic cousin, was camped out on a worn mat in the cramped dining hall, his presence a lingering disturbance in my sanctuary. We’d stumbled back around eleven, the city’s pulse still throbbing in my veins, its scents of street food and exhaust clinging to my skin. Exhaustion had pulled my eyelids shut, and I’d slipped into a restless slumber, assuming Mostafa had done the same after washing off the night’s grit. But in the witching hours—perhaps two or three in the morning—a jolt tore me from sleep, my body electrified by a sensation both alien and intoxicating.
Without opening my eyes, I felt it: a hand, warm and deliberate, grazing my cock through the thin fabric of my lungi. The touch was gentle yet probing, fingers tracing the outline of my shaft, teasing it to life. My body shuddered, a primal heat surging through me, but I froze, feigning sleep, my heart hammering in my chest. My mind spiraled into a storm of questions. Who was this? The flat was empty save for me and Mostafa, a man whose dark charisma had already unsettled me. Was it him? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of dread and a forbidden curiosity I couldn’t name.
I cracked my eyes open, just a sliver, and there he was—Mostafa, crouched beside my bed like a predator in the shadows. His dark face, framed by wild, shoulder-length hair, bore that sly, wolfish grin, his eyes glinting with a dangerous hunger that made my skin prickle. His hand moved with purpose, slipping beneath my lungi, fingers brushing the sensitive head of my cock. My shaft twitched, hardening under his touch, betraying me as a wave of shame crashed against a rising tide of arousal. I stayed still, my breath shallow, pretending to sleep as my body burned. What was he doing? Why was I letting this happen? The questions drowned in the heat pooling in my groin.
Emboldened by my silence, Mostafa tugged my lungi aside, exposing my cock to the cool night air. His fingers danced over the swollen head, circling it with a teasing pressure that sent sparks through my nerves. My cock stiffened fully, throbbing under his touch, a traitor to my racing mind. Then, in a move that stole my breath, he lowered his head, his warm, wet lips closing around my shaft. His tongue swirled, lapping at the sensitive tip, then sliding down the length, coating it in slick heat. My body trembled, every nerve alight as he sucked with a slow, deliberate rhythm, his mouth a furnace of pleasure. The sensation was overwhelming, a lightning bolt of ecstasy that drowned out my shame. My hips twitched involuntarily, my cock pulsing in his mouth. I couldn’t hold back—my cum erupted, a hot, shuddering release that flooded his mouth, spilling over his lips. I bolted upright, my face burning with a cocktail of rage, shame, and a dark, undeniable thrill. “What the fuck are you doing?” I stammered, my voice trembling.
Mostafa leaned back, his grin wider, my cum glistening on his teeth, a perverse trophy of his conquest. “Awake now, little brother?” he said, his voice a low, throaty rumble. “Come on, grab my cock. Feel it.” My heart pounded, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. “What is this? Why?” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. He laughed, a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver through me. “City life’s for fun, Akash. Don’t be shy. Take it.” His eyes locked onto mine, daring me to cross a line I’d never imagined. My hand trembled, caught between fear and a strange, magnetic pull. Hesitant, I reached for his lungi, my fingers brushing the coarse fabric before finding his cock. It was massive, a thick, black rod of flesh, its swollen head glistening with precum, pulsing under my touch. The sheer size of it—long, veined, and heavy—made my hand shake. Dense, wiry hair surrounded it, and a musky, animalistic scent hit me, raw and overwhelming, stirring a mix of revulsion and fascination. My cock twitched again, hardening despite myself.
I tried to pull back, but Mostafa grabbed my hand, guiding it along his shaft. “Don’t be a coward. Stroke it,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. My fingers moved, trembling, sliding up and down his iron-hard cock, feeling it throb under my touch. The sensation was electric, a forbidden heat igniting in my core. His groan filled the room, low and primal, as he leaned closer, his breath hot against my neck. Suddenly, he grabbed my cock, still slick from his mouth, and pressed it against his own. The friction of our cocks grinding together sent a jolt through me, a fire that consumed every rational thought. His thick shaft rubbed against mine, the heat and pressure driving me wild. He nudged my balls with a playful tap, making me gasp. “Feels good, doesn’t it, little brother?” he teased, his grin wicked. Disgust clawed at my mind, but my body surrendered, lost in the primal rhythm of his touch.
Without warning, Mostafa pulled me close, his lips crashing against mine in a rough, possessive kiss. His beard scbangd my face, coarse and unyielding, his breath hot and sour with the faint tang of my cum. I tried to pull away, my hands pushing against his broad chest, but his strong fingers gripped my head, holding me in place. His tongue invaded my mouth, thick and insistent, tangling with mine in a dance that made my body quake. My mind screamed in protest, but my cock throbbed, betraying me as pleasure drowned out shame. His hands slid down my body, yanking my lungi off completely, exposing my naked ass. His fingers kneaded my soft cheeks, squeezing with a possessive hunger that made my breath hitch. “Fuck, this ass is making my cock ache,” he growled, his voice dripping with lust. He tore off my vest, leaving me bare, and his fingers found my nipples, pinching them until they stiffened. Then his mouth descended, sucking one nipple hard, his tongue flicking over it, sending shocks of pleasure through me. My body arched, a moan escaping despite myself, as disgust and ecstasy waged war within.
He flipped me onto my stomach, my face pressed into the mattress, the sheets rough against my cheek. His hands spread my ass cheeks, exposing my tight hole to the cool air. Then I felt it—his hot, wet tongue circling my hole, probing with a slow, deliberate rhythm. My body shuddered, the sensation overwhelming, a mix of violation and raw pleasure. His tongue pushed deeper, slick and insistent, making my cock throb against the sheets. “Your ass is like fucking butter,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Gonna feel so good when I fuck it.” My mind reeled, shame screaming at me to stop this, but my body was no longer mine. My cock hardened again, pulsing with need as his tongue worked my hole, softening it, preparing it.
He sat up, his grin wicked in the dim light. “Your turn, little brother. Suck my cock.” My heart stopped, my head spinning. “I can’t,” I protested, my voice weak. But his eyes held a stubborn glint, a predator’s certainty. He grabbed my head, pulling it toward his groin. His massive cock loomed before me, its swollen head glistening, the thick hair around it reeking of musk and sweat. The scent hit me like a wave, revolting yet strangely intoxicating, stirring a dark hunger I didn’t understand. “Just lick it,” he urged, his grip unyielding. My trembling lips brushed his cockhead, the salty, bitter taste flooding my senses. My stomach churned, but his hand tightened, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth. It filled me, thick and heavy, nearly gagging me as he rocked his hips, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. Tears pricked my eyes, my throat burning, but my cock pulsed, hard and aching. “That’s it, suck it like a pro,” he groaned, his voice a low growl. My body burned with shame, but the heat of his cock in my mouth, the rhythm of his thrusts, pulled me into a haze of twisted pleasure.
After what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, his cock glistening with my saliva, a string of it connecting my lips to his shaft. He flipped me onto my stomach again, spreading my ass cheeks wide. His cockhead pressed against my hole, hot and unyielding, sending a jolt of fear through me. “No, please, I don’t want this!” I begged, my voice cracking. He ignored me, his grip tightening on my hips. “Relax, it’ll hurt a bit, then you’ll be in fucking paradise,” he said, his voice thick with lust. With a brutal thrust, he pushed his thick cock inside me. Pain seared through me, a white-hot burn as if my body were being torn apart. I screamed, “Stop, it hurts!” but he didn’t. His cock filled me, stretching my tight hole to its limit, the burn excruciating. He began to thrust, slow at first, then faster, each movement igniting a strange, growing pleasure beneath the pain. My cock hardened against the sheets, my body betraying me as the rhythm took over. “Your ass is fucking perfect,” he growled, slapping my cheeks hard, the sting mingling with the pleasure. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto his cock, each thrust deeper, harder. After ten minutes of relentless pounding, he gave a final, brutal thrust, his hot cum flooding my insides, a searing warmth that pushed me over the edge. My own cum spilled onto the sheets, my body shaking with the intensity of it. He pulled out, panting, his grin triumphant. “You’re a damn good fuck, little brother.”
Exhausted, I collapsed, my ass throbbing, the ghost of his thick cock still lingering inside me. My mind was a storm of shame, disgust, and a dark, undeniable pleasure that refused to fade. Mostafa lay beside me, his dark, sweat-slicked body gleaming in the dim light, his chest heaving, his grin that of a hunter who’d claimed his prize. I stayed silent, drained of words, my body still humming with the aftershocks of our encounter. But Mostafa wasn’t done. Minutes later, he turned to me, his eyes gleaming with unquenched hunger. “One round’s not enough, is it?” he said, his hand stroking my ass, fingers tracing the tender skin. “I’m too sore,” I protested, my voice weak, but he ignored me, his sweat-slicked body pressing against mine, his hardening cock grazing my stomach. The contact reignited the fire in my veins, my cock twitching despite the ache in my body. He kissed me again, his beard scbanging my face, his tongue claiming my mouth with a possessive hunger. His fingers teased my nipples, pinching them until they stiffened, then his mouth descended, sucking them hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive buds. “Your body’s like a woman’s,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “These tits could drip honey.” My body trembled, lost to his touch, my cock hardening fully as shame and pleasure collided.
He flipped me onto my stomach once more, spreading my ass cheeks with a rough grip. “Still so fucking hot,” he said, his cock pressing against my sore, cum-slicked hole. “No, it hurts!” I pleaded, my voice desperate, but he laughed, a low, wicked sound. “Pain’s part of the pleasure, little brother.” His thick cock slid in, the burn intense but softened by the slickness of his earlier cum. My body adjusted, the pain giving way to a twisted ecstasy as he fucked me, his thrusts deep and relentless. His hands gripped my ass, slapping it hard, the sting amplifying the pleasure. I clutched the sheets, my cock throbbing as I stroked myself, lost in the rhythm of his pounding. Each thrust shook my core, his cock stretching me, filling me with a heat I couldn’t resist. After fifteen minutes of brutal fucking, he gave a final, savage thrust, his hot cum flooding me again, the sensation pushing me over the edge. My cum soaked the sheets, my body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. “Your ass is a fucking dream,” he panted, collapsing beside me, his dark body slick with sweat, his long hair splayed across the pillow.
My ass throbbed, the pain and pleasure intertwined, my mind a haze of conflicting emotions—shame, disgust, and a dark, intoxicating satisfaction. The sheets were stained with our cum, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. Mostafa’s grin lingered, his eyes still hungry, but I was spent, my body and mind teetering on the edge of collapse. I lay there, silent, as the night stretched on, a prisoner of my own desires, caught in a web of lust and self-loathing.
Morning came, heavy and surreal. My ass throbbed, the sheets stained with our cum. Mostafa was gone, his bag and mat vanished. Relief mixed with an odd emptiness. In the bathroom, hot water washed over me, but the memories lingered—his thick cock, his relentless thrusts, his sly grin. I scolded myself, “Get a grip, Akash. He’s gone. Move on.” But my body still hummed with the night’s intensity.
The night had swallowed the city whole, its inky darkness seeping into my small Kolkata flat, a cocoon of solitude now heavy with unspoken tension. I lay sprawled across my narrow bed, the thin mattress creaking beneath me, my body drained from our earlier wanderings through the city’s neon-lit chaos. Mostafa, Ramesh’s enigmatic cousin, was camped out on a worn mat in the cramped dining hall, his presence a lingering disturbance in my sanctuary. We’d stumbled back around eleven, the city’s pulse still throbbing in my veins, its scents of street food and exhaust clinging to my skin. Exhaustion had pulled my eyelids shut, and I’d slipped into a restless slumber, assuming Mostafa had done the same after washing off the night’s grit. But in the witching hours—perhaps two or three in the morning—a jolt tore me from sleep, my body electrified by a sensation both alien and intoxicating.
Without opening my eyes, I felt it: a hand, warm and deliberate, grazing my cock through the thin fabric of my lungi. The touch was gentle yet probing, fingers tracing the outline of my shaft, teasing it to life. My body shuddered, a primal heat surging through me, but I froze, feigning sleep, my heart hammering in my chest. My mind spiraled into a storm of questions. Who was this? The flat was empty save for me and Mostafa, a man whose dark charisma had already unsettled me. Was it him? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of dread and a forbidden curiosity I couldn’t name.
I cracked my eyes open, just a sliver, and there he was—Mostafa, crouched beside my bed like a predator in the shadows. His dark face, framed by wild, shoulder-length hair, bore that sly, wolfish grin, his eyes glinting with a dangerous hunger that made my skin prickle. His hand moved with purpose, slipping beneath my lungi, fingers brushing the sensitive head of my cock. My shaft twitched, hardening under his touch, betraying me as a wave of shame crashed against a rising tide of arousal. I stayed still, my breath shallow, pretending to sleep as my body burned. What was he doing? Why was I letting this happen? The questions drowned in the heat pooling in my groin.
Emboldened by my silence, Mostafa tugged my lungi aside, exposing my cock to the cool night air. His fingers danced over the swollen head, circling it with a teasing pressure that sent sparks through my nerves. My cock stiffened fully, throbbing under his touch, a traitor to my racing mind. Then, in a move that stole my breath, he lowered his head, his warm, wet lips closing around my shaft. His tongue swirled, lapping at the sensitive tip, then sliding down the length, coating it in slick heat. My body trembled, every nerve alight as he sucked with a slow, deliberate rhythm, his mouth a furnace of pleasure. The sensation was overwhelming, a lightning bolt of ecstasy that drowned out my shame. My hips twitched involuntarily, my cock pulsing in his mouth. I couldn’t hold back—my cum erupted, a hot, shuddering release that flooded his mouth, spilling over his lips. I bolted upright, my face burning with a cocktail of rage, shame, and a dark, undeniable thrill. “What the fuck are you doing?” I stammered, my voice trembling.
Mostafa leaned back, his grin wider, my cum glistening on his teeth, a perverse trophy of his conquest. “Awake now, little brother?” he said, his voice a low, throaty rumble. “Come on, grab my cock. Feel it.” My heart pounded, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. “What is this? Why?” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. He laughed, a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver through me. “City life’s for fun, Akash. Don’t be shy. Take it.” His eyes locked onto mine, daring me to cross a line I’d never imagined. My hand trembled, caught between fear and a strange, magnetic pull. Hesitant, I reached for his lungi, my fingers brushing the coarse fabric before finding his cock. It was massive, a thick, black rod of flesh, its swollen head glistening with precum, pulsing under my touch. The sheer size of it—long, veined, and heavy—made my hand shake. Dense, wiry hair surrounded it, and a musky, animalistic scent hit me, raw and overwhelming, stirring a mix of revulsion and fascination. My cock twitched again, hardening despite myself.
I tried to pull back, but Mostafa grabbed my hand, guiding it along his shaft. “Don’t be a coward. Stroke it,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. My fingers moved, trembling, sliding up and down his iron-hard cock, feeling it throb under my touch. The sensation was electric, a forbidden heat igniting in my core. His groan filled the room, low and primal, as he leaned closer, his breath hot against my neck. Suddenly, he grabbed my cock, still slick from his mouth, and pressed it against his own. The friction of our cocks grinding together sent a jolt through me, a fire that consumed every rational thought. His thick shaft rubbed against mine, the heat and pressure driving me wild. He nudged my balls with a playful tap, making me gasp. “Feels good, doesn’t it, little brother?” he teased, his grin wicked. Disgust clawed at my mind, but my body surrendered, lost in the primal rhythm of his touch.
Without warning, Mostafa pulled me close, his lips crashing against mine in a rough, possessive kiss. His beard scbangd my face, coarse and unyielding, his breath hot and sour with the faint tang of my cum. I tried to pull away, my hands pushing against his broad chest, but his strong fingers gripped my head, holding me in place. His tongue invaded my mouth, thick and insistent, tangling with mine in a dance that made my body quake. My mind screamed in protest, but my cock throbbed, betraying me as pleasure drowned out shame. His hands slid down my body, yanking my lungi off completely, exposing my naked ass. His fingers kneaded my soft cheeks, squeezing with a possessive hunger that made my breath hitch. “Fuck, this ass is making my cock ache,” he growled, his voice dripping with lust. He tore off my vest, leaving me bare, and his fingers found my nipples, pinching them until they stiffened. Then his mouth descended, sucking one nipple hard, his tongue flicking over it, sending shocks of pleasure through me. My body arched, a moan escaping despite myself, as disgust and ecstasy waged war within.
He flipped me onto my stomach, my face pressed into the mattress, the sheets rough against my cheek. His hands spread my ass cheeks, exposing my tight hole to the cool air. Then I felt it—his hot, wet tongue circling my hole, probing with a slow, deliberate rhythm. My body shuddered, the sensation overwhelming, a mix of violation and raw pleasure. His tongue pushed deeper, slick and insistent, making my cock throb against the sheets. “Your ass is like fucking butter,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Gonna feel so good when I fuck it.” My mind reeled, shame screaming at me to stop this, but my body was no longer mine. My cock hardened again, pulsing with need as his tongue worked my hole, softening it, preparing it.
He sat up, his grin wicked in the dim light. “Your turn, little brother. Suck my cock.” My heart stopped, my head spinning. “I can’t,” I protested, my voice weak. But his eyes held a stubborn glint, a predator’s certainty. He grabbed my head, pulling it toward his groin. His massive cock loomed before me, its swollen head glistening, the thick hair around it reeking of musk and sweat. The scent hit me like a wave, revolting yet strangely intoxicating, stirring a dark hunger I didn’t understand. “Just lick it,” he urged, his grip unyielding. My trembling lips brushed his cockhead, the salty, bitter taste flooding my senses. My stomach churned, but his hand tightened, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth. It filled me, thick and heavy, nearly gagging me as he rocked his hips, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. Tears pricked my eyes, my throat burning, but my cock pulsed, hard and aching. “That’s it, suck it like a pro,” he groaned, his voice a low growl. My body burned with shame, but the heat of his cock in my mouth, the rhythm of his thrusts, pulled me into a haze of twisted pleasure.
After what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, his cock glistening with my saliva, a string of it connecting my lips to his shaft. He flipped me onto my stomach again, spreading my ass cheeks wide. His cockhead pressed against my hole, hot and unyielding, sending a jolt of fear through me. “No, please, I don’t want this!” I begged, my voice cracking. He ignored me, his grip tightening on my hips. “Relax, it’ll hurt a bit, then you’ll be in fucking paradise,” he said, his voice thick with lust. With a brutal thrust, he pushed his thick cock inside me. Pain seared through me, a white-hot burn as if my body were being torn apart. I screamed, “Stop, it hurts!” but he didn’t. His cock filled me, stretching my tight hole to its limit, the burn excruciating. He began to thrust, slow at first, then faster, each movement igniting a strange, growing pleasure beneath the pain. My cock hardened against the sheets, my body betraying me as the rhythm took over. “Your ass is fucking perfect,” he growled, slapping my cheeks hard, the sting mingling with the pleasure. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto his cock, each thrust deeper, harder. After ten minutes of relentless pounding, he gave a final, brutal thrust, his hot cum flooding my insides, a searing warmth that pushed me over the edge. My own cum spilled onto the sheets, my body shaking with the intensity of it. He pulled out, panting, his grin triumphant. “You’re a damn good fuck, little brother.”
Exhausted, I collapsed, my ass throbbing, the ghost of his thick cock still lingering inside me. My mind was a storm of shame, disgust, and a dark, undeniable pleasure that refused to fade. Mostafa lay beside me, his dark, sweat-slicked body gleaming in the dim light, his chest heaving, his grin that of a hunter who’d claimed his prize. I stayed silent, drained of words, my body still humming with the aftershocks of our encounter. But Mostafa wasn’t done. Minutes later, he turned to me, his eyes gleaming with unquenched hunger. “One round’s not enough, is it?” he said, his hand stroking my ass, fingers tracing the tender skin. “I’m too sore,” I protested, my voice weak, but he ignored me, his sweat-slicked body pressing against mine, his hardening cock grazing my stomach. The contact reignited the fire in my veins, my cock twitching despite the ache in my body. He kissed me again, his beard scbanging my face, his tongue claiming my mouth with a possessive hunger. His fingers teased my nipples, pinching them until they stiffened, then his mouth descended, sucking them hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive buds. “Your body’s like a woman’s,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “These tits could drip honey.” My body trembled, lost to his touch, my cock hardening fully as shame and pleasure collided.
He flipped me onto my stomach once more, spreading my ass cheeks with a rough grip. “Still so fucking hot,” he said, his cock pressing against my sore, cum-slicked hole. “No, it hurts!” I pleaded, my voice desperate, but he laughed, a low, wicked sound. “Pain’s part of the pleasure, little brother.” His thick cock slid in, the burn intense but softened by the slickness of his earlier cum. My body adjusted, the pain giving way to a twisted ecstasy as he fucked me, his thrusts deep and relentless. His hands gripped my ass, slapping it hard, the sting amplifying the pleasure. I clutched the sheets, my cock throbbing as I stroked myself, lost in the rhythm of his pounding. Each thrust shook my core, his cock stretching me, filling me with a heat I couldn’t resist. After fifteen minutes of brutal fucking, he gave a final, savage thrust, his hot cum flooding me again, the sensation pushing me over the edge. My cum soaked the sheets, my body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. “Your ass is a fucking dream,” he panted, collapsing beside me, his dark body slick with sweat, his long hair splayed across the pillow.
My ass throbbed, the pain and pleasure intertwined, my mind a haze of conflicting emotions—shame, disgust, and a dark, intoxicating satisfaction. The sheets were stained with our cum, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. Mostafa’s grin lingered, his eyes still hungry, but I was spent, my body and mind teetering on the edge of collapse. I lay there, silent, as the night stretched on, a prisoner of my own desires, caught in a web of lust and self-loathing.
Morning came, heavy and surreal. My ass throbbed, the sheets stained with our cum. Mostafa was gone, his bag and mat vanished. Relief mixed with an odd emptiness. In the bathroom, hot water washed over me, but the memories lingered—his thick cock, his relentless thrusts, his sly grin. I scolded myself, “Get a grip, Akash. He’s gone. Move on.” But my body still hummed with the night’s intensity.
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