The leader, a tall and lanky figure with a sadistic glint in his eye, took a particular delight in humiliating Rahul. He pulled down Rahul’s pants from under the nighty, exposing him to the cold air. The other four intruders cackled in unison, their laughter a grim symphony of mockery. They grabbed him around the waist, lifting him up like a ragdoll in a grotesque imitation of a dance. As they swung him back and forth, their hands rough on his bare skin, the fabric of the nighty billowed out like the skirt of a ballroom dress. The sensation of being so utterly at their mercy was almost unbearable, and he could feel his face flush with a mix of anger and humiliation.
They threw him onto the bed, the mattress bouncing with the impact. The girl among them strutted over, holding a red bindi between his thumb and forefinger, her smile widening into a grin. She leaned over Rahul and pressed it onto his forehead. The bindi stick to his forehead, further stripping him of his dignity. He was the joke today. One by one, the intruders approached, pulling him up and forcing him over their laps. They smacked his nighty ass hard, Each blow sent shockwaves through Rahul’s body, making him yelp and squirm in pain. They laughed at his pathetic attempts to escape, their grips on his waist like iron vises. The fabric of the nighty down till his ankles, tied with rope there.
They decided it was time to silence his protests. The girl from the group, smaller in stature but equally vindictive, sauntered into the kitchen, returning with a damp rag and a handkerchief in hand. The sight of these ordinary items twisted into tools of torment made Rahul’s stomach churn. She stepped closer, the rag smelling faintly of garlic from the dinner his mother had cooked earlier. With a wicked smile, she shoved the cloth into his mouth, muffling his cries and filling his senses with the taste of damp fabric and lingering spices. And then the handkerchief, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she tightly bound it around Rahul’s mouth, knotting it at the back of his head. The pressure was uncomfortable, pushing against his teeth and making it difficult to breathe. He could feel the dampness of the rag seep into the back of his throat, the taste of fabric and the faint metallic tang of fear. The gag was a final declaration of their control over him, a symbol of his complete powerlessness.
The girl, her identity hidden behind the mask, bent over him, her fingers tracing the curve of his girly bottom. She grabbed the nighty, pulling it up and over his hips, exposing him completely. The cool air brushed against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. The humiliation was so intense it was almost a physical pain. She was asexual, but particularly sadist for virgin boys. Her hand hovered over his butt, and without warning, she shoved her fingers into his crack. Rahul’s eyes bulged with shock and horror, the gag stifling his protests. The girl began to giggle, her eyes sparkling with a sadistic delight. She twisted her hand around, her fingers moving in a way that made Rahul squirm and wriggle under her touch. He could feel the wetness of her palm as it made contact with his skin. The other four intruders watched with rapt attention, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. The girl wiggled her fingers, tickling him from the inside, and Rahul’s muffled squeals grew louder. She pulled her hand away, and brought her hand to his nose. Her laughter grew as she made him smell his own fear and discomfort.