The text arrived late in the evening, its cruel precision slicing through Kohli’s already frayed nerves:
“You and Hardik looked cozy. Now it’s time to take care of Ishan. If you don’t, I’ll make sure everyone sees what happened in your room.”
The sender’s identity was still mysterious, but the intent was crystal clear. Whoever it was had seen enough to destroy Kohli’s reputation. The thought of someone holding that kind of power over him sent a chill down his spine.
Kohli spent the next few hours pacing his room, the walls seeming to close in on him. Every logical step he considered led to one conclusion—he had to comply. For now, at least. The stakes were too high to gamble with, and the risk of exposure was a price he wasn’t willing to pay.
Swallowing his pride, Kohli picked up his phone and called Ishan. His voice, usually so commanding, now carried an unfamiliar hesitancy. “Ishan, can you come to my room? We need to talk about tomorrow’s match strategy.”
The excuse felt flimsy, but it worked. Ishan, always eager to learn, didn’t question it. Within minutes, he was knocking on Kohli’s door, his usual cheerful energy radiating even in the dimly lit corridor.
“Come in,” Kohli said, forcing a casual tone. He gestured for Ishan to sit on the couch, his own posture betraying his inner turmoil.
“So, what’s this about, bhai?” Ishan asked, leaning forward with curiosity. “Something wrong with the plan?”
Kohli hesitated, the words tangled in his throat. For a moment, he considered coming clean, confessing the truth about the blackmail and the shadow hanging over him. But the stakes were too high, and the fear of losing control kept him silent.
With the shadow of exposure looming over him, Kohli called Ishan Kishan to his hotel room, under the pretense of discussing strategy for the upcoming match.
Ishan arrived, unsuspecting of the true intentions behind the meeting. Kohli, usually the epitome of control, was visibly nervous as he closed the door behind them. “Ishan, there’s something I need to tell you,” Kohli began, his voice a mix of desperation and desire.
Ishan, caught off guard, responded, “I didn’t expect this.” His voice trembled slightly, unsure of what was coming next.
“Just trust me,” Kohli said, his tone softening as he moved closer, closing the distance between them. His hand reached out, brushing against Ishan’s cheek, a gentle precursor to what was to come.
The air was thick with tension, and Kohli leaned in, capturing Ishan’s lips in a kiss that was both exploratory and demanding. Ishan, initially hesitant, found himself melting into the kiss, the shock of the revelation giving way to a burgeoning curiosity and arousal.
Kohli, driven by the urgency of the situation and his own long-suppressed desires, guided Ishan towards the bed. He began undressing Ishan slowly, each button of his shirt undone with deliberate care, revealing the toned body beneath. Once Ishan was bare from the waist up, Kohli’s hands roamed over his skin, worshipping every muscle with his fingers and lips.
Kohli then stripped himself, his 10-inch erection springing free, a testament to his arousal. Ishan’s eyes widened at the sight, a mix of awe and apprehension. Kohli, sensing his hesitation, whispered reassurances, guiding Ishan to his knees.
With gentle but firm hands, Kohli positioned Ishan’s mouth around his cock. Ishan, inexperienced yet eager to please, opened wide. Kohli began to move, his hips thrusting forward, effectively fucking Ishan’s throat. The sounds of Ishan’s gagging mixed with the wet noises of his mouth filled the room, a lewd symphony of their clandestine affair. Ishan’s hands gripped Kohli’s thighs, trying to keep pace, his eyes watering but also filled with a newfound lust.
After pulling back to let Ishan catch his breath, Kohli guided him to the bed, spreading his legs wide, the sight of Ishan’s vulnerability igniting a primal desire within him. Ishan, now eager yet still a bit nervous, pulled his legs back, fully exposing himself. Kohli admired the view, his fingers drawing slow, teasing circles around Ishan’s entrance, his saliva serving as a lubricant for what was to come.
Kohli entered Ishan slowly, his voice a low, commanding whisper, “Feel that, you’re so tight.” He watched Ishan’s face for any sign of discomfort, but instead found expressions of pleasure, his own arousal growing with each moan from Ishan. “You like that, huh?” Kohli murmured, his pace quickening.
They transitioned into missionary, Kohli wanting to see every flicker of ecstasy on Ishan’s face. “Look at you, taking it all,” Kohli grunted, thrusting deeply, Ishan’s legs wrapped around him. Ishan moaned, “Oh fuck, Virat, yes, right there,” his words spurring Kohli on.
Switching to doggy style, Kohli had Ishan on all fours. “Arch your back, show me that ass,” he demanded, giving Ishan’s buttocks a firm slap, the sound echoing in the room. “You love this, don’t you?” Kohli asked, his voice rough with lust as he drove into Ishan, who responded with a loud, “Yes, more, please more.”
They then moved into a standing fuck with Ishan bent over the bed, Kohli standing behind, pulling Ishan’s hips back to meet each thrust. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Kohli growled, his hands gripping Ishan’s waist, the angle allowing for deep penetration. Ishan, overwhelmed, could only manage, “Don’t stop, Virat, don’t fucking stop.”
In side-by-side, they lay, Kohli spooning Ishan, his cock finding new depths, each thrust accompanied by whispered promises, “I’m gonna make you cum so hard.” Ishan, feeling the dual sensations of pleasure and slight pain, moaned, “I’m close, Virat, so close.”
For the final act, Ishan took control in cowgirl, riding Kohli, his hands on Kohli’s chest for leverage. “Ride me, show me how much you want it,” Kohli encouraged, watching Ishan’s face contort with pleasure. Ishan, now fully into the act, gasped, “You’re mine, Virat,” as he moved his hips, dictating the pace.
As Kohli felt the familiar build-up, he abruptly shifted them, guiding Ishan back to his knees for a blowjob to climax. “Suck it, Ishan, I’m gonna cum,” Kohli warned, his voice strained with need. Ishan, eager to please, took Kohli deep into his mouth, his hands working the base, his eyes locked with Kohli’s. The sounds of wet sucking, gagging, and moans filled the room.
Kohli’s orgasm hit, his hands in Ishan’s hair, guiding him as he came, “Fuck, here it comes,” his body tensing with release. Ishan felt the warm spurts in his mouth, the taste and texture overwhelming him, yet he swallowed, his own arousal at its peak. “That’s it, take it all,” Kohli panted, watching Ishan with a mix of dominance and affection.
The aftermath left them both breathless, their bodies slick with sweat, the room charged with the scent of sex and the echoes of their explicit language, marking an end to an encounter that was as much about power, desire, and the thrill of secrecy as it was about physical pleasure.
After Ishan left, the room felt heavier than before. Kohli sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He had done what the blackmailer asked, but the guilt was unbearable. Ishan deserved better than being used as a pawn in someone else’s game.
As Kohli stared at his phone, another message arrived:
“Well done, Virat. Ishan seems to like you. But don’t get too comfortable—this is far from over.”
Kohli’s hands shook as he read the text. The anger bubbling inside him was almost unbearable. Someone had invaded his privacy and manipulated his actions, and now, they were dragging Ishan into the crossfire. He had to figure out who was behind this, and he had to do it soon.
The camera’s blinking light went unnoticed as Kohli buried his head in his hands.
Episode 3 – Read Here Episode 2 – Read Here Episode 1 – Read Here
