30-07-2026, 05:50 PM
Shamita stuffed the soaked triangle deep into his mouth—packing it tight against his tongue, forcing his cheeks to bulge. Only the three fragile strings dangled out the corners of his lips like puppet strings, swaying with every ragged breath. The taste hit him immediately: thick, musky, salty-sweet, coating his tongue, filling his senses until he could taste nothing else.
She leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.
“Suck every last drop from this slut’s bikini thong,” she ordered, voice velvet-soft and merciless. “Till it’s bone dry. Swallow it all down like the good dog you are for Ma’am. Don’t you dare stop until I tell you. If even one drop remains when I check… you’ll wear it as a gag the rest of the night.”
Mohan’s muffled whimper vibrated around the fabric. He began to suck—hard, desperate—cheeks hollowing, tongue working frantically against the sodden lace. Wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the room as he drew Deepa’s juices into his mouth, swallowing convulsively, tears mixing with the mess on his chin.
Shamita straightened, turning to Deepa.
“Now you,” she said. “Milk his cock. Slow. Ruthless. And pull that weight harder every time he starts to leak more. Edge him. Make him cry harder. But don’t let him come. Not yet.”
Deepa dropped to her knees in front of Mohan—close enough that her bare, dripping cunt hovered just above the marble, inches from his weighted, straining cock. She wrapped one small hand around the thick base, just below the steel ring, fingers barely meeting around his girth. The other hand gripped the short chain attached to the one-kilo weight and gave it a slow, deliberate downward tug.
Mohan’s whole body jerked forward with a choked, muffled groan—the plug shifting deep inside him, the weight stretching his balls to their limit, fresh pre-cum surging up his shaft in response. Deepa caught it with her thumb, smearing it over the swollen head in slow circles, then began to stroke—long, torturously slow pulls from root to tip, twisting lightly at the crown, then back down again.
Every few strokes, she yanked the weight harder—sharp, sudden jerks that made Mohan’s hips buck involuntarily, tears pouring faster, sobs muffled around the thong stuffed in his mouth.
“Suck harder, dog,” Shamita reminded him, circling behind to watch. She trailed a gloved finger down his spine, making him arch. “I can still see it glistening. Don’t disappoint me.”
Mohan redoubled his efforts—sucking, swallowing, tongue lapping desperately at the fabric, cheeks working rhythmically as he tried to wring every drop from Deepa’s thong. The strings dangled wetly from his lips now, swaying like sad little flags of surrender.
Deepa’s strokes grew firmer, more insistent—milking him with expert precision, thumb pressing just under the head on every upstroke, forcing more pre-cum to well up and spill over her fingers. She tugged the weight again—harder this time—holding it down for a long count of three while Mohan’s muffled cries turned frantic, body trembling on the edge of something unbearable.
His cock throbbed violently in her grip, veins standing out, head flushed dark purple, leaking steadily now in thick, clear ropes that Deepa smeared back down the shaft, keeping him slick, keeping him tortured.
Shamita watched it all with cool satisfaction, then picked up the edging wand from the chair arm.
She clicked it on—lowest setting first, a soft, insidious buzz.
“Keep sucking, Mohan,” she murmured. “Keep milking, Deepa.”
She knelt behind him, pressing the vibrating head lightly against the base of the plug—right where it disappeared into his stretched hole.
The vibration traveled straight through the silicone, buzzing against his prostate like a live wire.
Mohan’s entire body locked—sobs turning to high, broken whimpers around the thong, hips jerking helplessly between Deepa’s hand and Shamita’s wand.
He was crying openly now—tears streaming, body shaking, cock throbbing on the razor’s edge.
And still, he sucked.
Still, he thanked her in muffled, desperate sounds.
Still, he obeyed.
She leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.
“Suck every last drop from this slut’s bikini thong,” she ordered, voice velvet-soft and merciless. “Till it’s bone dry. Swallow it all down like the good dog you are for Ma’am. Don’t you dare stop until I tell you. If even one drop remains when I check… you’ll wear it as a gag the rest of the night.”
Mohan’s muffled whimper vibrated around the fabric. He began to suck—hard, desperate—cheeks hollowing, tongue working frantically against the sodden lace. Wet, obscene slurping sounds filled the room as he drew Deepa’s juices into his mouth, swallowing convulsively, tears mixing with the mess on his chin.
Shamita straightened, turning to Deepa.
“Now you,” she said. “Milk his cock. Slow. Ruthless. And pull that weight harder every time he starts to leak more. Edge him. Make him cry harder. But don’t let him come. Not yet.”
Deepa dropped to her knees in front of Mohan—close enough that her bare, dripping cunt hovered just above the marble, inches from his weighted, straining cock. She wrapped one small hand around the thick base, just below the steel ring, fingers barely meeting around his girth. The other hand gripped the short chain attached to the one-kilo weight and gave it a slow, deliberate downward tug.
Mohan’s whole body jerked forward with a choked, muffled groan—the plug shifting deep inside him, the weight stretching his balls to their limit, fresh pre-cum surging up his shaft in response. Deepa caught it with her thumb, smearing it over the swollen head in slow circles, then began to stroke—long, torturously slow pulls from root to tip, twisting lightly at the crown, then back down again.
Every few strokes, she yanked the weight harder—sharp, sudden jerks that made Mohan’s hips buck involuntarily, tears pouring faster, sobs muffled around the thong stuffed in his mouth.
“Suck harder, dog,” Shamita reminded him, circling behind to watch. She trailed a gloved finger down his spine, making him arch. “I can still see it glistening. Don’t disappoint me.”
Mohan redoubled his efforts—sucking, swallowing, tongue lapping desperately at the fabric, cheeks working rhythmically as he tried to wring every drop from Deepa’s thong. The strings dangled wetly from his lips now, swaying like sad little flags of surrender.
Deepa’s strokes grew firmer, more insistent—milking him with expert precision, thumb pressing just under the head on every upstroke, forcing more pre-cum to well up and spill over her fingers. She tugged the weight again—harder this time—holding it down for a long count of three while Mohan’s muffled cries turned frantic, body trembling on the edge of something unbearable.
His cock throbbed violently in her grip, veins standing out, head flushed dark purple, leaking steadily now in thick, clear ropes that Deepa smeared back down the shaft, keeping him slick, keeping him tortured.
Shamita watched it all with cool satisfaction, then picked up the edging wand from the chair arm.
She clicked it on—lowest setting first, a soft, insidious buzz.
“Keep sucking, Mohan,” she murmured. “Keep milking, Deepa.”
She knelt behind him, pressing the vibrating head lightly against the base of the plug—right where it disappeared into his stretched hole.
The vibration traveled straight through the silicone, buzzing against his prostate like a live wire.
Mohan’s entire body locked—sobs turning to high, broken whimpers around the thong, hips jerking helplessly between Deepa’s hand and Shamita’s wand.
He was crying openly now—tears streaming, body shaking, cock throbbing on the razor’s edge.
And still, he sucked.
Still, he thanked her in muffled, desperate sounds.
Still, he obeyed.
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