Chapter 2: The Daily Cock-Milking Ritual – Turned into Their Personal Cum-Rag

The first morning after his abduction dawned like a cruel joke. Sunlight filtered weakly through the heavy curtains of the South Delhi apartment, illuminating the wreckage of the previous night. Pranjal lay sprawled on the king-sized bed, naked and broken. His once-smooth, innocent body was now a map of fresh bruises — fingerprints on his thighs, bite marks on his neck and chest, and a deep, throbbing ache radiating from his raw, swollen asshole. His modest six-inch cock rested limp and red against his stomach, coated in dried cum and the women’s juices. The air in the room was thick and stale, heavy with the overpowering stench of sex: musky pussy, bitter ass, sweat, and cheap perfume.

He tried to move, but every muscle screamed in protest. Tears stung his eyes as memories of the night flooded back — Rani’s merciless riding, Meera’s filthy ass-to-mouth demands, Priya’s smothering tits, Sonia’s violent twerking, and the endless hours of thick strapons destroying his virgin hole.

Rani’s voice cut through the haze. “Good morning, beta. Time to start your new routine.”

She stood at the foot of the bed in a silky robe that barely contained her heavy breasts, a cigarette dangling from her red lips. The other three women — Meera, Priya, and Sonia — lounged nearby, already dressed in revealing loungewear, eyes gleaming with fresh hunger.

Pranjal’s voice was hoarse from screaming. “Please ... let me go. My mother will be worried. I won’t tell anyone what happened. Just ... please.”

Meera laughed, sharp and cruel. “Oh, sweet boy. You’re not going anywhere. Your phone is gone. We already sent a message to your college saying you had a family emergency and returned to Himachal. No one is looking for you. You belong to us now.”

Rani stepped closer and stroked his hair almost tenderly. “This is your life, Pranjal. Our personal fucktoy. Our cum-dump. Our innocent little hill-boy slave. Every single day.”

The daily ritual began immediately and never wavered.

As soon as the women returned from their “work” at the beauty parlor in the evenings, the apartment transformed into a den of relentless use. Pranjal was kept locked in the main bedroom during the day, sometimes with a soft ankle chain attached to the bedpost. Food was brought to him — simple dal-rice — but the real sustenance they demanded was his young body.