Goa Nights: Shubham & Samay Ch. 02

⚠️ Author's Note:

This chapter is filth.

Samay learns what it means to gag, obey, beg--and still be denied.

His best friend owns his mouth.

And something deeper starts to crack open.

________________________________________

The Bluetooth speaker had died after midnight. The pool lights were out. Even the insects had gone quiet. The only sound left was breathing--short, shallow, uneven.

Samay's knees ached.

They were dug into the edge of the mattress, pressed to the cold tile. No cushion. Just bone on ceramic. He knew they'd be bruised by morning. They already throbbed with a dull, pulsing ache. But he didn't move.

Because pain was easier than facing what was in front of him.

Shubham stood like a statue in the dark, looming, silent. His cock was hard--thick, proud, veiny, flushed dark under the terrace light. It jutted out from his body like it had been waiting.

Waiting to be claimed.

Samay had touched it once. Briefly.

It wasn't enough.

Now it just hovered in the air, a wordless command.

No pressure. No instruction.

Just there.

His thighs trembled. His mouth was dry. His own cock throbbed inside his wet swim shorts, pinned and leaking.

He didn't know what he was doing.

No. He did.

And that's what terrified him.

"I don't have to," he said, barely a breath. "We can stop. Call it a night."

Shubham didn't speak. Didn't move. Just watched.

Samay wasn't really offering to stop.

He was stalling. Waiting for an out that neither of them wanted.

The floor got harder by the second. His spine shifted to ease the pressure. His jaw locked.

He looked up.

Shubham was still staring. Still silent.

From above, Shubham took it all in: Samay on his knees. Shirtless. Sweat glistening on his lean torso. Neck taut. Back arched. His ass--unfairly round in those too-small shorts--peeking out like it knew what this was.

And his cock. Thick and twitching under damp fabric.

But it was his eyes that got Shubham.

Those dark, confused, defiant eyes.

Begging for permission to fall apart.

Fuck, Shubham thought. Look at him.

The boy who never lost bets. Who got his dick sucked behind club bathrooms and bragged the next day.

Now kneeling.

Silent.

Posture begging.

Shubham didn't move. Didn't smirk. His cock twitched, aching behind the silence.

He remembered the last blowjob he'd gotten--a girl in second year. Pretty lips. Too much teeth. Couldn't open wide. Didn't like the taste. He got soft halfway through.

It was fine.

This?

This was something else.

Samay hadn't even opened his mouth yet, and Shubham was already close.

He could guide him. Tell him where to lick. How to open.

But no.

He needed Samay to figure it out.

To learn the cock by feel. By taste.

To worship it.

The air thickened.

Samay's hands clenched.

All he did was look at me, Samay thought. Just looked. And now I'm here.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Then--

"Need an invitation?" Shubham said, voice low, almost sarcastic--but undeniably hot.

Samay flinched.

His eyes dropped back to the cock. Heavy. Veined. Jaw-achingly thick.

Not something you tasted lightly.

Something you braced for.

He leaned in.

Slow. Hesitant. Lips parting.

Tongue out.

First flick--salt, sweat, skin.

Shubham's cock twitched.

Samay flushed.

Another lick. Slower. Up the shaft. Veins, heat, the pulse beneath.

Then--he wrapped his lips around the head.

His jaw stretched.

His mouth filled.

He pushed--inch by inch.

The ridges, the weight, the taste.

His lips sealed. Cheeks hollowed.

He moaned.

Couldn't help it.

His cock throbbed in his shorts, leaking uncontrollably. His knees screamed. But he stayed.

Mouth full.

Eyes fluttering.

Right where he wasn't supposed to be.

What the fuck are you doing, his brain hissed.

But deeper down--another voice answered:

Don't stop.

He eased off. The cock popped free with a wet smack. Spit trailed.

Then he went back in.

Deeper.

Two inches.

Thicker now. Tongue flattened. Jaw protesting.

He gagged once, pulled back, gasping.

Shubham didn't say a word.

Just watched.

Watched Samay lean in again--mouth slick, jaw trembling, eyes glassy.

Vulnerable.

Not just sucking cock.

Learning it.

Shubham's cock throbbed.

Samay moaned.

Not from shame.

From need.

His hand stroked the shaft gently. Other hand braced on Shubham's thigh.

Three inches.

He gasped when the head hit the back of his mouth.

Paused.

How much more?

Another half inch.

Then--

He gagged.

Hard.

Spit sprayed. He coughed into his fist.

But something stirred in his chest.

He'd taken half of it.

Half of this monster cock.

And Shubham was still hard as stone.

Samay looked up--face flushed, lips red, hair clinging to sweat.

He met Shubham's eyes.

And that's when it hit him:

This isn't where a guy like me belongs.

Not kneeling. Not sucking dick. Not gagging on cock.

But here he was.

And when Shubham didn't look away--didn't flinch, didn't smirk--just stared like he deserved this...

Samay's cock twitched again.

His hand stroked.

His mouth opened.

And he dove back in.

Because something in him wanted more.

Needed more.

And as the thick cock pushed past his tongue again--

He realized:

He fucking liked it.

________________________________________

Samay's knees were killing him.

The tiles offered no mercy. Cold, hard, biting into bone. He shifted--just slightly--but even that threatened his balance. And he couldn't lose rhythm now.

Not when he was finally sucking cock like he meant it.

Spit dripped from his chin. His lips moved over Shubham's shaft in slow, deliberate motions. One hand gripped the base, the other steadied him on Shubham's thigh. He'd fallen into a rhythm--somewhere between instinct and desperation.

Like he had something to prove.

Like he could control the filth if he just set the pace.

Then came the line.

Low. Calm. Unbothered.

"Hands off."

Samay froze.

The words weren't loud. Weren't cruel. But they changed everything.

He looked up, just briefly.

Shubham stared down at him--quiet, still, unreadable. But his eyes held something new. A flicker of ownership.

Samay's chest tightened.

His fingers stayed curled around the shaft.

But slowly--like giving something up--he let go. First from the thigh. Then from the cock.

His hands dropped to his own legs. Clenched into fists.

Now it was just his mouth.

Just his lips. His tongue. His throat.

No more control.

Only submission.

He leaned back in.

And everything changed.

Without his hands, every inch of cock he took felt... deeper. Heavier. Realer.

No more illusion of control. Just stretch. Heat. Pressure. Hunger.

He parted his lips around the swollen head. His jaw already ached, but he didn't care.

An inch.

Then two.

Then three.

His throat fluttered. Gag reflex triggered.

But he didn't pull back.

Didn't whimper.

Didn't stop.

Tears welled in his eyes. He blinked, but they spilled anyway--slow trails down flushed cheeks.

He'd never cried during sex.

Never sucked a dick before last night.

And now?

Now he was full of one.

Swollen lips. Burning throat. Wet spit pooling around his mouth.

And still--his cock throbbed in his shorts. Angry. Leaking. Shameless.

Straight boys don't do this.

Straight boys don't get hard while choking on cock.

And yet.

Here he was.

He pulled off with a wet gasp. "I'm really doing this," he whispered.

Shubham didn't answer.

Just sat there, wide-legged, silent. Watching.

Samay moaned softly.

Then leaned in again--slower this time. Sloppier. His tongue dragged up the underside of the shaft, tracing a fat vein.

The taste hit him again--salt, sweat, precum, cock.

Familiar now.

But still wrong.

Still hot.

He thought of the girls who had sucked him before. Their stretched mouths. Dripping spit. Red cheeks. Wide eyes.

He remembered how powerful that made him feel.

Like a king.

Now he was them.

Now he looked like that.

He didn't even realize he was moaning until he felt the vibration ripple through his throat.

Shubham's cock twitched.

Samay flinched.

He hadn't meant to enjoy it that much. Hadn't meant to make a sound.

But the cock twitched again. Shubham's breath caught. Thighs tensed.

It felt like praise.

And it made Samay want more.

He moaned again--this time on purpose.

And his cock pulsed in his shorts.

The need clawed at him.

He reached for his waistband.

Just a few strokes. Just--

"Focus on my dick," Shubham said. Calm. Firm. With just a flick of amusement. "You can take care of yourself later."

The words hit like a slap.

Samay's hand froze.

Then dropped.

Back to his thigh.

Shame bloomed across his face.

He sucked harder.

Faster.

Like he could make up for the mistake.

Like punishment.

Shubham watched. Eyes sharp. Lips twitching faintly with satisfaction.

The shift was complete.

Samay was his now.

On his knees. Cock in his mouth. Hands obediently still. Spit running freely.

He sucked like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

His mind blurred.

If I can take this much of him... if I can gag on it... cry for it... moan around it...

What else would I do?

He remembered the truth-or-dare game.

Shubham had said it then--how fuckable Samay's ass looked.

He'd laughed it off.

But now--

Now that memory echoed like a prophecy.

And the thought struck like lightning:

Would I let him in?

His hole twitched.

Unbidden. Raw. Real.

He didn't want to notice it.

But he did.

And the shiver that passed through him wasn't from fear.

He sucked harder--trying to bury the thought.

Only for Shubham's cock to throb again--swelling against his tongue. Leaking more precum onto the back of his throat.

It tasted like sin.

Like heat.

Like surrender.

Then--Shubham moved.

Stood.

Slowly. With intent.

And the cock never left Samay's mouth.

It stayed lodged between his lips.

Thick.

Heavy.

Claiming.

Samay had to crane his neck now, mouth stretched wider, angle worse, tears threatening again.

He was properly kneeling now.

Like a worshipper.

Like a--

Cocksucker.

The word detonated in his mind.

He flinched.

Gagged.

His throat spasmed around the cock.

It was too much.

Too filthy.

Too real.

He wasn't sucking a friend anymore.

He was being used.

And deep down--somewhere dark and terrifying--

He didn't want it to stop.

________________________________________

Shubham stood tall.

Cock still lodged in Samay's mouth.

The shift wasn't big--but the power shift was seismic.

Samay had to tilt his head back now. Neck strained. Lips stretched wider than before. His jaw screamed, but the cock stayed put--heavy, veined, leaking across his tongue.

He blinked through fresh tears. This new angle made everything harder--breathing, sucking, thinking.

The weight of the cock rested against the back of his mouth like it belonged there.

He should have pulled back.

Should've said something. Moved. Broken the spell.

But he didn't.

He knelt there.

Still.

Letting the cock sit across his bottom lip like it was home.

Shubham just looked down.

And what he saw made his cock twitch.

Samay's lips--raw, red, stretched wide. Spit leaked from the corners, trailing down his chin. His cheeks hollowed with effort. And his eyes--

Wide. Glassy. Scared. Needy.

Fucking perfect.

So Shubham moved.

Just an inch.

A slow thrust forward.

The swollen head pushed deeper.

Samay gagged, violently.

His body jerked.

Tears spilled.

But he didn't retreat.

Didn't protest.

Didn't stop.

Shubham's hand hovered at the back of his head. Not holding. Just letting him feel the presence.

Another thrust.

Deeper.

Three inches.

Samay choked again. His shoulders curled inward, hands clutching his thighs, but he held still.

Held it.

More spit leaked around his lips, down Shubham's shaft, pooling at the base.

Dripping onto his feet.

"You're a fucking mess," Shubham muttered. Calm. Amused.

Samay moaned.

He didn't mean to.

It just came out--a helpless vibration around the cock in his mouth.

Shubham's eyes darkened.

Another slow push.

Four inches now.

Samay's throat contracted. His back arched. His whole body trembled.

But he stayed there.

Mouth open. Eyes clinging to Shubham's face.

His own cock throbbed untouched. His shorts soaked with precum.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Why does this feel so good?

He couldn't stop moaning.

Couldn't stop sucking.

Couldn't stop falling.

Then--just a little more.

Half an inch.

4.5.

His limit.

He choked.

Hard.

Full-on.

His eyes rolled. His face flushed dark red. He jerked back, coughing, drooling.

Shubham didn't flinch.

Just stood there. Watching.

Panting. Cock slick and angry, twitching with Samay's every heartbeat.

"That your limit?" he asked. Curious. Not cruel.

Samay nodded, coughing.

Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

His palm came away soaked in spit. And precum.

His own.

"I can't... it's too thick," he whispered.

Shubham smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

"That's fine," he said. "We'll train that pretty throat. You'll take it all eventually."

Samay's eyes widened.

He looked up again.

At the cock still standing tall. Still twitching. Still ready.

And he knew it was true.

Shubham wasn't done.

Not even close.

He didn't stand.

Didn't move.

Didn't even wipe his face.

He just opened his mouth again.

Offered himself.

Willing.

Defeated.

Owned.

Shubham gripped the base.

Guided it forward.

Samay leaned in like it was inevitable.

Because it was.

He'd begged to suck this cock.

Cried for it.

And he'd do it again.

________________________________________

Shubham's cock throbbed inside Samay's mouth.

It had been nearly 25 minutes since he dropped to his knees. His body was wrecked--knees bruised, back aching, jaw barely able to open. But the cock? Still hard. Still thick. Still demanding.

Samay didn't know how he was still going.

Somewhere along the way, he'd crossed a line.

This wasn't about experimenting anymore.

This was worship.

And Shubham knew it.

He could feel it--the wet heat of Samay's mouth, the rhythm, the surrender. Not just sucking. Serving.

He looked down.

Samay's lips were swollen. Red. Shiny with spit. His cheeks hollowed from suction. Face flushed. Eyes--those cocky, defiant eyes--glassy and ruined.

His hands sat limp on his thighs.

Obedient.

And that mouth?

That mouth was doing things no girl ever had.

No hesitation. No flinching. Just need.

Just hunger.

Shubham's balls ached.

Two weeks without release. Not since before the trip. Nothing had gotten him close--until this.

Until Samay.

The pressure built fast--deep in his base, along his spine.

He was close.

So fucking close.

He reached down, gripped the back of Samay's head.

Firm this time.

No more patience.

No more testing.

"Don't waste a drop."

He didn't whisper it.

He commanded it.

Samay moaned.

His whole body flinched at the words. His cock kicked--still trapped, untouched, soaked inside his shorts.

He knew what was coming.

And he wasn't ready.

But he didn't stop.

Couldn't.

Shubham's cock swelled--pulsed hard against his tongue.

Then--

He came.

The first spurt hit the back of Samay's throat like fire. Hot. Thick. Shocking.

Samay gagged, instinctively tried to breathe--but Shubham's grip held him there.

The second pulse hit harder.

Full blast.

His cheeks filled.

He swallowed fast, choking slightly. Still too much.

The taste slammed into him--metallic, salty, obscene.

The third blast overflowed. Leaked from his lips. Ran down his chin. Onto his chest.

Tears poured from his eyes.

Not from emotion.

From sheer body shock.

The fourth spurt came slower. Ropey. Heavy on his tongue.

I can't.

I can't do this, his brain screamed.

But his mouth stayed open.

His lips sealed tighter.

His cock twitched even harder.

The fifth--final--pulse was cruel. A slow trickle. Like Shubham's balls had emptied but still had more to prove.

Samay swallowed it.

All of it.

His lips trembled. His chin was soaked.

His pride?

Gone.

And Shubham didn't release him.

Held him there.

Just a second longer.

Just to own it.

Then let go.

Samay pulled back slowly--like surfacing after drowning. His breath came in broken gasps. His face was streaked with spit and cum. His throat burned.

But his cock?

Still hard.

Still. Fucking. Hard.

Neither of them spoke.

The air was thick with sweat and silence.

Samay trembled. Knees still on tile. Lips still parted.

Eventually, Shubham stepped back.

Cock still twitching. Dripping.

He looked down at Samay one last time.

Then turned.

Walked inside.

Didn't say a word.

Just left him there.

Spent.

Used.

Ruined.

________________________________________

The shower ran hot.

Too hot.

Samay stood beneath the stream, motionless. Eyes closed. Letting it bite into his skin.

He didn't touch himself.

Didn't lather up.

Just stood there.

Letting the water scald his lips. His chest. His throat.

Trying to wash away the taste.

But it lingered.

He opened his eyes eventually. Looked at the mirror through the steam.

And what he saw--

His lips were swollen. Puffy. Glossy with leftover spit. His eyes were red. His cheeks streaked with dried tears and salt.

He looked down.

His knees were bruised--angry red circles where bone had pressed tile too long. His thighs trembled. His core felt hollowed out.

His shorts were gone.

And still, his cock twitched.

Not fully hard.

Just... swollen.

Still leaking.

There was a wet stain at the tip. Slow, shameless drip.

He should've been disgusted.

But part of him looked at the marks--at the proof--and felt something else.

Not regret.

Something darker.

Like pride.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He touched the mirror. Forehead resting against the glass.

He didn't cry.

Didn't scream.

Didn't say a word.

Just breathed.

Shallow. Hollow.

When he stepped out, he dried off like a ghost. No thought. Just muscle memory. Wrapped a towel low on his hips. Walked to his room.

Collapsed into bed.

Naked.

Didn't even pull the covers.

Too tired to think.

Too tired to feel the way he knew he should.

________________________________________

Elsewhere in the villa--

Shubham lay in bed.

Alone.

Sheets half-kicked off. Sweat cooling on his skin.

He turned once.

Then again.

Then again.

Couldn't get comfortable.

Couldn't stop thinking.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched, mind spinning.

An hour passed.

Then another.

But the image wouldn't leave him.

Samay's mouth.

His lips.

His eyes.

The sound he made when he swallowed--

It haunted him.

Not because it was wrong.

But because of how right it had felt.

And how badly he wanted to do it again.

________________________________________

Samay woke up sore.

Not gym sore. Not hangover sore.

Deeper.

His knees pulsed. Throat raw. Tongue dry.

And his lips... still felt full.

Stretched.

Like they remembered what had been inside them.

He didn't look in the mirror.

Didn't need to.

He knew.

He'd sucked Shubham's cock.

For real.

Not a joke. Not a dare. Not a drunken mistake.

He'd moaned.

Gagged.

Let him cum in his mouth.

Swallowed it.

The weight of that truth sat thick in his chest.

Sticky.

He sat up slowly. Sheets slipping from his body.

His cock was hard under the covers.

Painfully hard.

Already leaking.

But he didn't touch it.

He couldn't.

Because he knew what he'd think about.

Not girls.

Not soft thighs, perfume, gasps and giggles.

No.

He'd think about Shubham.

The weight of that cock on his tongue.

The way it pulsed.

The command: "Don't waste a drop."

The look on Shubham's face when Samay opened his mouth again.

His stomach twisted.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He swung his legs off the bed and stood. Everything ached--neck, back, pride.

His cock? Still hard.

Still twitching.

No jerking off.

Not until this clears. Not until I can think of a girl without flashing to...

He moved to his suitcase.

He needed clothes.

Something normal.

He reached for the loose black shorts--

Then stopped.

His hand moved past them.

Found the white swim shorts.

The ones he packed as a joke.

Too small.

No lining.

They clung when wet. Rode up when he walked.

He hesitated.

Then pulled them on.

No underwear.

His cock pressed against the fabric. Already staining the waistband.

He added the crop top next--barely a shirt. It clung to his chest. Rode up just above his abs.

It's Goa.

Hot. Humid. Chill vibes.

But really?

Some twisted, sick part of him wanted Shubham to see.

To look.

To remember.

To want.

Maybe to feel a little of what Samay had felt--

Helpless.

Under someone else's power.

________________________________________

Downstairs, Shubham had been up for hours.

He hadn't slept--maybe drifted for a bit between 5 and 7. But his body was still buzzing.

His cock still wasn't soft.

Samay's mouth haunted him.

The way it stretched. The way it drooled. The fucking sound of it.

No girl had ever done that.

Hell, no fantasy had ever gotten him this worked up.

Even now, he shifted on the lounger. His black shorts did little to hide the shape pressing against them.

And honestly?

He didn't care.

Then--he heard the door slide open behind him.

Footsteps.

He turned.

Samay.

Shubham's breath caught.

The white shorts were practically illegal. No lining. No mercy. They clung to his ass like they'd been painted on. No underwear--obviously.

The crop top was worse. Tight. Cropped above his abs. A strip of skin showing every time he moved.

Shubham swallowed. Hard.

Samay avoided his gaze.

Walked to the fruit tray. Picked up a piece of watermelon. Bit into it.

Shubham kept staring.

That's the same mouth that sucked me off less than 12 hours ago.

And now he's walking around like this?

Like nothing happened?

Like he doesn't still have my cum in him?

Samay finally looked over.

"Morning," he said.

Flat. Careful.

Shubham grunted. "Afternoon."

Samay stretched, but it wasn't playful.

It was mechanical. Overcompensating. Like he didn't know what to do with his body.

His crop top lifted.

Waist flashed.

Shubham's cock twitched.

Samay noticed.

His gaze dropped--just for a second.

Then quickly back up.

Like he wished he hadn't looked.

They fell into silence.

The sun was high. Humid.

Neither of them mentioned last night.

Then Samay moved.

He turned.

Dropped onto his stomach on the lounger.

Too casual. Too fast.

Like if he did it quickly, it wouldn't count.

The shorts rode up. Hard.

One cheek nearly spilled out.

Shubham's pulse jumped.

Samay grabbed the sunscreen bottle.

Held it back over his shoulder.

Didn't look.

"Can you..."

His voice cracked. He cleared it.

"Can you do my back?"

Shubham didn't move right away.

"You have hands," he said.

Samay exhaled. Not quite a laugh.

More like a surrender.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "But yours are bigger."

He regretted it the moment it left his mouth.

Shubham stood.

Walked over.

Samay didn't turn. Didn't look.

Shubham took the bottle from his hand.

"You want to take this off?" he asked.

The crop top.

Samay hesitated.

Then nodded.

Peeled it off. Tossed it aside.

Face still down.

Waiting.

Expecting Shubham to kneel beside him.

But instead--

Shubham straddled him.

Sat right on his ass.

His bulge pressed against the small of Samay's back.

Samay froze. Every muscle locked. His cock throbbed. Pressed hard against the lounger beneath him. But he didn't say anything. Didn't move.

Shubham's cock pressed hard against his shorts as he straddled Samay's ass. He didn't grind. Didn't hump. Just sat there. Still. Watching Samay squirm under his hands. That was enough. For now.

Shubham squeezed lotion into his hands.

Rubbed it between his palms.

Then started.

Shoulders first.

Then down the spine.

Long, slow strokes.

Firm.

Dominant.

Samay's eyes fluttered closed.

He tried to stay still.

Tried not to shake.

But it felt too good.

Too much.

The weight. The heat. The pressure of Shubham on top of him.

Like he was being claimed all over again--just without a cock in his mouth this time.

Minutes passed.

Maybe more.

Then--

He made a sound.

Barely a moan.

More like breath catching.

But Shubham heard it.

Felt it in his cock.

His hands slid lower.

To the waistband of the shorts.

Where the soft flesh of Samay's ass peeked out.

"Should I do your ass too?" Shubham asked.

Voice rough.

Low.

Samay's brain stuttered.

This was a line.

Beyond mouth.

Beyond submission.

This was opening up.

Offering.

He didn't speak.

Didn't breathe.

But his cock throbbed.

Louder than any answer.

The sun burned hot on his bare back.

He closed his eyes.

Swallowed.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"Sure."

Shubham didn't speak.

He just reached down.

Hooked his fingers into the waistband of Samay's shorts.

Samay flinched--but didn't resist. He lifted his hips, barely, just enough.

Permission.

The shorts slid down.

Over his hips.

Past the round swell of his ass.

Down his thighs.

They caught at his knees and stayed there.

Shubham exhaled.

He was staring.

The cheeks were plump. High. Smooth. Flawless. Bare in the sun.

Perfect.

He lowered himself onto Samay again--knees straddling his thighs, towel long gone.

And he started to rub.

Slow. Firm. Deep.

Fingertips first, gliding over the flesh.

Then palms.

Then thumbs digging into the curves.

Kneading.

Rolling the muscle.

Worshipping it.

Samay shivered.

He didn't speak.

Didn't move.

But his body loosened under the touch.

He was breathing harder.

Not resisting.

Just letting it happen.

Shubham's cock throbbed as he worked lower.

He rubbed the underside of each cheek, then up again. Circles. Pressure. Heat.

It was hypnotic.

The way the flesh gave under his hands.

The way Samay's hips shifted--subtle, involuntary.

He wanted this.

And that made Shubham hungrier.

Possessive.

He pressed his thumbs into the center--right where the cheeks met.

Pressed down.

Then slowly, steadily--

Pulled them apart.

Samay gasped.

But didn't close up.

Didn't resist.

Just breathed, face buried in the towel.

And there it was.

The hole.

Soft. Pink. Tight. Hidden.

Beautiful.

Shubham froze.

Staring.

Not even moving.

Just drinking it in.

A secret part of Samay that no one else had touched.

And it was open. Offered. Waiting.

For him.

Only him.

He inhaled slowly. Deeply.

Then--

He spit.

________________________________________

The spit was warm.

Wet. Thick. Filthy.

It slid down the center of Samay's crack--slow, obscene--pooling right over his tight hole before dripping lower.

He gasped.

Louder than before.

Not from pain.

From shame.

From heat.

His fingers dug into the lounger beneath him. His whole body was trembling, but his hips didn't move. His ass stayed right there--raised, open, waiting.

He should be fighting this.

But he wasn't.

He was offering it.

Shubham stared.

Like a starving man.

The spit glistened in the sun, making Samay's hole shimmer. It twitched--helpless, sensitive--reacting to every shift in breath.

Shubham hadn't even touched it yet.

And already it looked hungry.

Like it wanted to be played with.

"This ass..." he murmured, voice ragged. Reverent. "... was fucking made for this."

Samay didn't answer.

Couldn't.

His face was pressed into the lounger, cheek to towel, lips parted in a soundless moan.

Shubham dipped his thumb into the spit.

Dragged it upward.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Let the slick smear along the crack, tracing every curve.

Then--

He touched the hole.

Just a graze.

The pad of his thumb.

Samay flinched like he'd been shocked.

Moaned.

His ass clenched, then loosened again.

His cock--still untouched, still trapped beneath him--throbbed violently. Leaking into the cushion.

He breathed harder.

Muffled gasps. Little whines.

The kind of sounds girls made under him.

Now they were his.

Now they were coming from him.

"Open it up for me," Shubham said.

Quiet. But unshakable.

Samay blinked.

"What...?"

"You heard me."

Voice calm. Confident. Commanding.

"Use your hands. Show it to me."

Samay froze.

He wanted to scream.

This is too far. This is fucked.

But he didn't move away.

Didn't say no.

His hands lifted.

Shaking.

He reached back.

Gripped his own cheeks.

And pulled.

Opened himself.

Exposed everything.

Every twitch. Every fold. Every drop of spit glistening on his filthy little pucker.

He was offering it.

To his best friend.

Voluntarily.

Shubham inhaled.

Like he'd been punched.

That was it.

The last line crossed.

No more games.

He dove in.

Tongue first.

Buried his face between those cheeks and licked.

One long, slow, wet drag.

Tongue flat. Rough. Relentless.

Samay screamed into the towel.

Not from pain.

From the explosion of sensation.

It was fire. Shame. Filth. Heaven.

"F-fuck," he whimpered, voice breaking.

Shubham didn't stop.

He ate.

Circles around the hole. Then into it. Then over it again.

Faster.

Rougher.

Deeper.

His hands gripped Samay's thighs. Spread him wider. Pulled him back against his face.

Samay was shaking.

Gasping.

High-pitched, needy sounds pouring from his mouth. Slutty. Helpless.

His cock was leaking nonstop--slick soaking into the towel beneath him.

How is he this good?

He's never done this.

Never even with a girl.

But it's like he knows.

Like his tongue was made to ruin ass.

Like my ass was made for him.

His mind flicked back to the blowjob.

To his own instincts. His lips. His moaning.

We were made for this.

To break each other.

Shubham growled.

"This hole's filthy," he said, voice deep, dizzy.

"But fuck if it doesn't look perfect on you."

Samay moaned. Long. Shaking.

"I bet it's hungry. I bet it's been waiting."

He spat again.

Thicker.

Right onto the center.

Then licked it clean.

"You like being a little hole for me, Samay?" he whispered.

"You like offering your ass to your bro like a fucking slut?"

Samay bit the towel.

Tried not to cry.

But the words stung.

And they turned him on harder than anything ever had.

His body betrayed him completely.

He pushed back.

Grinding into Shubham's face.

Hips rolling.

Like a bitch in heat.

He wanted more.

Deeper.

Harder.

He wanted to be used.

"Good boy," Shubham said. Voice ruined. Eyes wild.

"This ass was made to be eaten. Played with. Fucked."

He slapped it.

Once.

Twice.

CRACK. CRACK.

Red marks bloomed instantly.

Samay choked on his moan.

The sting made him jerk forward.

But it didn't feel like punishment.

It felt earned.

Like every slap meant he was doing something right.

Something filthy.

Something worth being hurt for.

His cock jerked hard--painful now.

He was crying.

Silent tears.

From humiliation. From overwhelming need.

But he still didn't stop.

Shubham licked harder.

Deeper.

Tongue pressing in.

And in that moment--in the spit, the heat, the pain--

Samay thought one terrifying thing:

Would I let him?

Would I let him fuck me?

Would it break me?

And worst of all:

Did I want that?

________________________________________

Samay was still holding his ass open.

Even after the rimming stopped.

His cheeks spread wide.

Hole twitching.

Breathing fast.

Waiting for more.

But Shubham had pulled back.

Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

His face was flushed. His cock--leaking, angry, red--stood tall and ready.

He stared down at Samay.

The boy bent in front of him.

On his knees. Shorts bunched at his thighs. Back arched. Arms behind him, spreading himself wide like a fucking invitation.

Like a toy someone had forgotten to use.

Shubham stepped in close.

Voice low. Flat.

"Take those off."

Samay hesitated.

"Completely."

The word hit hard.

Samay let out a soft breath.

Reached down with shaking fingers.

Slid the bunched shorts down his legs.

Off his feet.

Now he was naked.

Completely.

Skin flushed. Body bare.

Cock stiff and dripping. Hole twitching. Knees on tile. Mouth still slick from rimming.

Nothing to hide.

Shubham--still in his shorts, bare-chested, but clothed enough--looked down at him.

Samay didn't meet his gaze.

Just waited.

Exposed.

Owned.

Shubham grabbed a fistful of hair.

Pulled.

Samay gasped as his head was yanked back.

He stumbled up onto his hands.

Shubham stepped in.

Slid the head of his cock across Samay's lips.

Slow.

Smearing precum along the curve of his mouth.

"Open up," he said.

Samay obeyed.

Mouth wide. Tongue out.

Waiting.

Shubham slapped his cock against it.

Once. Twice. Again.

Wet smacks echoed.

Samay flinched--but kept his mouth open.

Inviting.

This is what I am now.

A mouth.

A place to fuck.

Shubham pushed in.

One inch. Then two. Then three.

Samay gagged.

Kept going.

Four.

His jaw trembled.

Five.

He choked--but didn't stop.

Didn't pull away.

Shubham paused, hips still, looking down.

Five inches.

Just two to go.

Last time, it had barely been three before the choking made him pull off.

Now?

Now he was taking it.

Sloppy, moaning, shaking.

But taking it.

Shubham's cock twitched at the thought.

We'll get him to the base.

He'll take it all eventually.

Shubham pulled back.

Started to thrust.

Slow at first.

Then deeper.

Rougher.

He was close.

Could've finished in Samay's mouth right then.

But he slowed down.

Held back.

Let Samay keep working for it.

Because edging on power tasted better than release.

Samay's arms quaked beneath him. His jaw hung wide. Spit poured down his chin.

He moaned around the cock--wet, broken sounds.

Still on his knees.

Still naked.

Still serving.

Shubham grunted.

"You're such a fucking cocksucker," he said. "Look at you."

The word hit him again. Cocksucker.

Last night it had made him flinch.

Now it just made him harder.

Samay moaned louder.

His cock bobbed between his legs, untouched, painfully hard.

"You beg for it now, don't you?" Shubham hissed. "You'd wake up and open your mouth if I told you to."

Samay whimpered.

And Shubham--

Spanked him.

Hard.

The sound cracked through the villa.

Samay jolted forward. Gagged. Moaned.

Shubham's handprint bloomed red across one cheek.

He did it again.

And again.

Between thrusts.

Each slap echoing.

Each one punctuating Samay's submission.

And as he fucked his friend's face--

Watched him naked, drooling, choking, moaning--

Shubham felt something shift.

This wasn't just a blowjob.

Samay was prostrating himself.

On his knees. Mouth wide. Back arched. Body open.

Exposed in every way.

And still--he didn't stop.

Didn't beg for mercy.

Didn't touch his cock.

Because this wasn't about pleasure anymore.

This was about serving.

Shubham's cock pulsed deep.

Close now.

He grabbed Samay's head.

Pulled him in.

Buried himself to the same five-inch mark.

Then--

He came.

Hot. Heavy. Endless.

Samay didn't flinch.

Didn't pull back.

Didn't need to be told.

He remembered.

Don't waste a drop.

He swallowed.

Pulse after pulse.

His throat worked furiously.

Some spilled--but most?

Gone.

Down. Taken.

His mouth stayed sealed until Shubham let go.

When he finally released him--

Samay slumped forward.

Cum streaked his lips.

His jaw hung open.

A thick drop slid from the corner of his mouth.

He saw it fall--slow, glistening.

And without thinking, he caught it in his hand.

Sticky. Warm.

He stared at it for half a second.

Then--

Licked it.

Right from his own palm.

The taste hit sharp--salt, metal, sweat, filth.

Shubham.

He swallowed.

Again.

Like it was natural now.

Like it was his duty.

And that?

That was the worst part.

He didn't even hesitate.

His cock twitched beneath him.

Still hard.

Still dripping.

Still unclaimed.

Face red and ruined.

Body shaking.

His cock still hard.

Still untouched.

Still denied.

________________________________________

By late afternoon, neither of them had left their rooms. The plan was to head into Old Goa, rent scooters, get drunk on cheap feni, flirt with strangers. But that version of the trip had dissolved--washed away in spit and cum and the sound of Samay choking on cock. Something heavier had taken over. Stranger. Hotter. And both of them seemed too shaken to talk about it.

Samay lay naked in bed, muscles sore, throat raw, cock still hard despite the exhaustion. He'd showered again but still felt ruined. His knees were bruised, lips tingling, hole tender and twitching from being spread and spat on and tongued like it was someone else's. What haunted him most wasn't the act--it was what he'd done after. That thick drop of Shubham's cum that slipped from his mouth. How he caught it. Licked it. Swallowed it. Without thinking. Without being told. Like it was instinct. Like it was what he was supposed to do. He didn't know how long he lay there, staring at the ceiling, his cock twitching uselessly. At some point, he passed out--too tired to jerk off, too humiliated to move.

Shubham, in the room next door, did the same. Neither of them had spoken since that last moment on the terrace. Both pretending to sleep. Both drifting in and out of something heavier than rest. Shubham woke up hard. Again. He could've stroked it. Could've come thinking about Samay's ass, that slick little hole, the way it opened like it belonged to him. But he didn't. He let it ache. Let it throb. Let it build. Because restraint was part of it too. Power wasn't about release. It was about control.

They woke after sundown. Still groggy. Still wrecked. Ate their dinners in silence, separately, doors shut. The villa stayed unnaturally quiet. The TV never turned on. No music played. Goa was out there--alive and glowing--but they couldn't bring themselves to step into it. Not yet. Not when what had just happened was still thrumming in their blood, not when the real tension was under their skin, not out there under neon signs.

And so, after sleeping all afternoon, they stayed wide awake all night. Separate beds. Separate rooms. But both of them hard. Aching. Remembering. Wanting. Again.

________________________________________

???? Let me know what you think.

I'd love to hear your reactions, questions, or what you'd want to see happen next.

Your comments fuel the story--and make it filthier.

This series is still unfolding, chapter by chapter.

More is coming.

Samay hasn't hit bottom yet.

Shubham hasn't gone as far as he could.

Tell me how far you think they'll fall.

________________________________________