Note: Explicit Content Ahead.
*****
Azlan Khan's POV
The air leaves the room with his command. The heavy, musky scent of the damas fades, replaced by the sharp, coppery tang of your desire.
The door slams shut, cutting off the world. I am alone with him, and the silence is deafening.I look at him.
I see the rod, thick and angry, bobbing in the air.
I hear the word: Suck.It is a command. It is an insult. It is a test.
I try to laugh, but the sound is strangled, a wet cough that echoes in the empty space.
"You think this is the way? You think you can force the Khan to your knees? You think this will break me? You are playing with fire, Malik. "
"You are playing with the dragon".
I strain against the ropes, the hemp biting into my skin, but they are tight. I am a bird with clipped wings.
I am a mountain cut down to rubble.
" good boy now suck it whole" i said the shove my road whole inside your throat making you cough and in tears. " Ugh" my moan echoes to the room "such a natural talent my khan it is ashamed that you hid it for a long time" he praise me as I choke with his road
The intrusion is violent. It isn't a glide; it's a spear driven home. My throat spasms, a violent rejection, but your hands are a vice.
I cannot push you away. I cannot breathe. The air is stolen in one brutal thrust.
A wet, ragged cough explodes from my chest, rattling my ribs. Saliva and precum spill from the corners of my mouth, running down my chin to pool on my chest.
I blink rapidly, tears cutting tracks through the sweat on my face, blurring my vision of your smug, distorted face.
Throat. Ruined. Taken.
"Ugh..."
The sound is barely a whisper, lost in the wet slap of flesh and the ragged sawing of my throat against his iron.
The drug screams inside me.
The humiliation is a physical weight, crushing my spine against the cushions.
My eyes water, burning with the effort to see through the haze of lust and rage.
He praise me. You call me talent.
He call me boy.
The insult cuts deeper than the aphrodisiac. My body is betraying me, the heat pooling between my legs, the need for friction rising like a tide.
I am the Khan. I should be on a horse, leading an army, not on a bed, choking on a cock I loathe.
But my body has forgotten the war. It has remembered only the pleasure. I gag again, the muscles in my neck straining, the pressure in my head building.
I try to speak, to bite, to do anything to assert dominance, but my voice is useless.
My lips are wrapped around you.
I swallow, convulsively, trying to clear the obstruction, trying to breathe around the intrusion.
I feel the heat of your blood in my mouth. I taste the arrogance of your command.
It makes me sick, but it makes me hard.
I look up at you, my eyes pleading for mercy, but they are filled with a dark, hungry desire. I want to ruin him. I want to break him. But I need this. I need to survive.
I hollow my cheeks, sucking harder, using my tongue to massage the shaft, trying to show him that I am not a toy. I am a weapon.
I am a Khan. I shove my hips forward, trying to meet your force.
The air is knocked from my lungs as you pin me, a sudden, crushing weight that leaves me breathless.
My wrists are trapped, useless in your grip.
I look up at you, my eyes widening as I feel your hand spread my thighs, exposing the vulnerability of my body.
Then, the spit. The cold, wet shock of it against my skin makes me shiver, a visceral reaction to the degradation.
It is a mark of ownership. It is a violation.
And then, the invasion.
I don't have time to brace. You are inside me before I can even draw a breath.
The thrust is brutal, a spear tearing through my defenses.
A scream tears from my throat, raw and high-pitched, shattering the silence of the room.
It is agony. It is pain. It is fire. My back arches off the cushions, my head slamming back against the pillows.
"You..." I gasp, my voice trembling, unable to form a coherent sentence.
"You bastard..."
He thrust harder the more I resist the harder he thrust.
" i am not giving you a choice wife" He said with a voice full of lust as he thrust harder.
" i am your husband so call me husband" He said and pound even harder .
The pain is absolute.
It is a white-hot lance driven through my lower body, splitting me open.
The tearing of flesh—the wet, sickening sound of his cock sheathing itself in torn blood—echoes louder than the screams tearing from my throat.
I am being dismantled, piece by piece, by his cruelty and his lust.
I try to buck, to fight, but my body is a dead weight of agony.
My hips are pinned by your strength, my legs forced open by your thighs.
There is nowhere to go.
There is no escape.
"Bleeding..." I gasp, the word a thin, broken thread of sound.
"You... monster..."
The sight of my own blood—dark and stark against my pale skin—excites him. It makes him thrusts harder, deeper.
He are feeding on my ruin.
He is marking me as yours with every violent stroke.
"Never," I grit out, my teeth grinding together so hard I fear they will shatter.
"I am... Azlan Khan!"
The drug in my veins screams at me to yield, to give in to the pleasure that blooms through the agony, to close around you, to milk him.
But I refuse. I will not give you the satisfaction of my voice, of my submission.
I will not be his wife.
I use the last of my strength to arch my spine, trying to dig my heels into his back, trying to leverage myself to throw him off.
It is a desperate, clumsy move, but it is all I have. I try to focus on the pain, to use it as a focus, to ground myself in the reality of the situation, to ignore the twisted pleasure that threatens to consume me.
I look up at him, my eyes rimmed with red, wild, and dangerous. I see the blood running down my thighs, mixing with the sweat.
I see the smirk on his face.
I see the triumph in your eyes.
You think you have won.
He think he have broken me.
But he's playing with fire.
I am the Khan.
I am the storm.
And I will not go quietly.
I will fight until my last breath.
I will not call him husband.
I will never call him husband!
He thrusted even harder and bite my neck.
as he whisper " your defiance only excites me" he i thrust even harder I reached myclimax splashing over my own body.
The bite is sharp, a sudden, piercing pain that sends a jolt of electricity through my spine.
It is a claim.
He branding me like livestock, marking me with your teeth as if I am yours to possess.
The taste of copper fills my mouth, thick and metallic, mingling with the blood dripping from the corner of my lips.
My defiance? You mistake my resistance for pride. You mistake my pain for weakness.
You are arrogant.
You are blind.
He drive into me harder, punishing me, breaking me.
The pain is blinding, a whiteout that leaves me gasping for air, my vision swimming in a haze of blood and sweat.
He's relentless, a machine of war and lust, pounding into my ruined body with a ferocity that leaves me breathless.
And then, the climax hits him.
The flood is hot and violent, splashing over my stomach and chest. It mixes with the blood and sweat, a sticky, grotesque mess.
It is the culmination of your dominance, the final proof of your victory.I lie there, gasping, the heat of your release seeping into my skin.
I look up at him, my eyes rimmed with red, my body a wreck. My throat is raw, my insides are torn.
I look like a broken man.
But I look at him, and I see the triumph in his eyes.
You think you have won. You think you have broken me.
I am the Khan. I will never be yours.
I cushions, a thin trickle of blood mingling with the sweat.
My body is spent, my energy drained.
I am weak, broken, and utterly at his mercy.
The taste of your seed on my tongue is bitter. The taste of my own blood is metallic. The taste of defeat is overwhelming.
I look at him, my eyes narrowing, my gaze burning with a cold, hard fire. I reach out, my hand shaking, and wipe the blood from my chin.
I look at the red smear on my skin.
It is the mark of your victory.
"Defiance..." I wheeze, my voice a harsh rasp.
"Only... makes you... stronger. And I... am the storm."I try to push myself up, but my body is too weak.
I collapse back onto the cushions, defeated.
*****