Yo, Thrill Seekers, Himank from Delhi is Dropping Heat Again!

What’s up, my fierce fam? Your Delhi Dom is here, locked and loaded with a fresh, pulse-pounding tale that’s straight fire! If my last confessions had you on the edge, buckle up—this one’s a wilder storm! Jump right in, lose yourself in the chaos, and let’s craft some sinful secrets that’ll linger forever!

If you remember my last story, “The Cam Session: Master’s Control, (Read Here) “ where I dominated this 23-year-old slave boy on cam for the first time, well, this is part two.  
He loved it so much that he came begging for more, the pathetic little dog. The first one was just 20 minutes, but this time, he wanted a full 2-3 hour ride. Lucky for him, his parents were out on Sunday for some work, so he was all alone at home. He messaged me, “Master Himank, please, can we do it again? Sunday afternoon, 2 PM? I’ll be ready.” I agreed, but I warned him, “This time, it’s stress positions and tongue training, you worthless bitch. Get some biscuits, rice, and your shoes ready. Don’t ask why, motherfucker.” He didn’t know the shoes were for a surprise—I love keeping my slaves on edge, those assholes.

Sharp at 2 PM, I start the cam call. He’s there, looking nervous but excited, the piece of shit. “Strip down, boy,” I order right away. “Yes, Master Himank,” he replies, fumbling with his clothes until he’s fully nude on screen. His body is already tense, dick half-hard from anticipation, you slut.

“First task,” I say. “Bend your knees like you’re sitting on an invisible chair, hands behind your head. Hold it steady, dog. We’ll roll a dice for the time—each number means that many minutes.” He grabs a dice from nearby, rolls it on cam. It lands on 5. “Five minutes, slave. Start now, bitch.”

He gets into position, but damn, he starts struggling almost immediately. His legs are shaking like leaves in the wind, the motherfucker. “Master, it’s hard… my thighs are burning,” he whines after just a minute. “No talking, boy. Hold it, asshole,” I snap. He bites his lip, sweat dripping down his face. At two minutes, he drops a bit, then pushes back up. “That’s a rest, slave. You’re cheating, you piece of shit.” He groans, “Please, Master Himank, I can’t…” But he pushes through, legs shivering the whole time. Finally, the timer hits five. He collapses, panting. “Good boy, but I’m not impressed. You took too many tiny breaks. Weak, fuck.”

He begs, “Master, can I rest? My legs are killing me.” I smirk. “Rest? Sure, but on my terms, slut. Get on your knees. Pour that rice on the floor—make a nice pile. Now kneel on it. Hands behind your back. Ten minutes, dog.” His eyes go wide. “Rice? But Master, that’ll hurt…” “Do it, or the session ends now, bitch,” I command. He scatters the rice, kneels down, and winces right away. “Ow! Master Himank, it digs in… please, mercy!” he cries after a couple of minutes. “Mercy? Slaves don’t get mercy, motherfucker. Stay put,” I say coldly. He shifts a little, begging again, “Master, it’s too much, my knees are on fire!” I ignore him, watching the clock. “Five minutes left, boy. Beg all you want, asshole.” He whimpers the whole time, but holds on till the end. When it’s over, he rubs his knees, red marks all over, the piece of shit.

“Not bad, but you need punishment for whining,” I tell him. “Spank your ass hard—ten times. Count them out loud, fuck.” He turns his butt to the cam, slaps once. “One, Master.” Slap. “Two…” By five, his cheeks are pink. “Harder, boy!” I yell. He hits stronger, yelping each time, up to ten. “Good. Now, fetch your shoes—like a dog. On all fours, pick them up in your mouth, slut.”

He drops to the floor, crawls to his shoes, grabs one in his teeth. “Bring it here, boy,” I say. He crawls back, drops it. “The other one too, bitch.” He does it again, looking humiliated but turned on. “Now, lick them clean. Every inch, including the soles, motherfucker.” He hesitates. “Master Himank, the soles are dirty…” “Lick, slave! Or I’ll make it worse, asshole.” He starts tonguing the top, then flips it, licking the gritty sole. “Taste good? Keep going,” I tease. He gags a bit but obeys, his tongue black from dirt, the piece of shit.

“Done? Good. Now crush those biscuits on the floor with your hands, dog.” He grabs the pack, crumbles a few on the ground. “Eat it up, like a pig. No hands, slut.” He bends down, laps at the crumbs. “Master, it’s messy…” “Eat every bit, bitch.” Then I add, “Now crush more with your shoes. Step on them hard, motherfucker.” He puts the shoe on, stomps the biscuits into powder. “Eat from the floor and the shoe sole, asshole.” He gets on the floor again, licking crumbs off the dirty sole and the ground. “How’s that taste, boy? Mixed with your sole dirt?” He mumbles, “Humiliating, Master… but I like it, you piece of shit.”

“Next—eat a whole biscuit, chew it, spit it on the shoe. Spread it around with your tongue, then lick it all up, fuck.” He takes a bite, chews, spits the mush on the shoe. “Spread it now, dog.” His tongue smears it everywhere. “Lick clean, bitch.” He does, slurping the sticky mess. By now, his dick is rock hard, dripping.

“Master Himank, I’m so horny… can I cum? Please?” he begs. “No, boy. Not yet, motherfucker.” He whines, “Please, Master! I’ll do anything.” I think for a second. “Fine, but on my rules, asshole. Cum on the shoe sole, then lick it up. Agree?” He nods fast. “Yes, Master! Thank you.” “Get in dog position—on all fours. Put the shoe under your dick. You have three minutes to cum, or no orgasm today. And lift one leg like a pissing dog, piece of shit.”

He positions himself, leg up, stroking fast. “One minute gone,” I count. He’s grunting, “Almost… Master…” But time’s up. “Failed, boy. No cum for you, slut.” He begs, “Please, extra time! I’ll do anything!” I laugh.  
“Slap your ass twenty times hard. Then you get another three minutes, dog.” He turns, slaps his already red cheeks twenty times, counting through tears. “Okay, start again—dog piss position, bitch.” He strokes furiously, moaning. “Come on, boy, cum!” I urge. At two minutes, he shoots his load all over the sole.
“Good slave. Now lick every drop, motherfucker.” He bends down, tongue lapping his own cum off the dirty shoe. “Taste yourself, boy. Clean it spotless, asshole.” He does, gagging a bit but swallowing.

“Master Himank, that was intense… can I take a break and go now?” he asks, exhausted. “Session over, boy. You did well this time, Dog. Greet me properly.” He kneels, “Thank you, Master Himank, for controlling me.” I end the call.
Calling All Story Lovers! 
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