Evil MC's NTR Harem

Peter squirmed against his restraints, his frustration mounting with every passing second. His body burned with need, and the tight confines of his pants made his arousal almost unbearable.

He wanted nothing more than to touch himself, to relieve some of the pressure building inside him, but the ropes binding him wouldn't allow it.

Sweat trickled down his temple as his breathing grew heavier, and despite his humiliation, the evidence of his desire was impossible to hide.

This, of course, didn't escape the sharp gaze of Ross, who paused mid-thrust to glance at Peter. A wicked grin spread across his face as he caught sight of the bulge straining against the fabric of Peter's pants.

"Oh? What's this?" Ross said mockingly, his voice dripping with amusement. "Looks like your boy Peter is enjoying the show. Your weak boyfriend is excited to see you getting fucked, Maya?"

Maya's eyes, heavy-lidded from exhaustion and pain, slowly fluttered open at Ross's words.

It had taken her a long time to even regain her senses, as Ross's relentless pace had left her teetering on the edge of oblivion. She turned her head to the side, curiosity overcoming her haze of fatigue.

Her gaze fell on Peter, and her heart sank at the sight of the obscene tent in his pants.

She didn't know what to feel.

Embarrassment?

Disgust?

Pity?

There was a strange hollowness in her chest, as though a small piece of her had been chipped away.

She felt a flicker of disappointment she couldn't quite place and turned her face away from Peter, choosing to focus on Ross instead.

Ross chuckled darkly at her reaction, leaning forward slightly as if to whisper in her ear, though his words were meant for everyone to hear.

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"Brandon, why don't you untie Peter? Give him some freedom to... express himself. Clearly, he's been waiting long enough."

Brandon, stoic as ever behind his demon mask, didn't say a word. Instead, he gave a curt nod and stepped forward, his movements efficient and deliberate.

With practiced ease, he loosened the ropes securing Peter to the chair.

Peter's breath hitched as his limbs were finally freed. The relief was short-lived, however, as he felt the unmistakable press of cold metal against the back of his neck.

It was his own handgun, held steady in Brandon's gloved hand. The implied threat was clear: any wrong move would mean instant death.

Swallowing hard, Peter raised his hands slowly, signaling his submission. He dared not look back at the masked man, whose imposing presence felt suffocating.

Instead, Peter focused on the growing ache in his body. The shame and humiliation of the situation warred with his primal need for release, but in the end, desire won.

With trembling fingers, he undid his belt and let his pants slide down his legs. His boxers followed, pooling around his ankles as he exposed himself.

He reached for his swollen cock, a solid seven inches of flesh, which would have been impressive in almost any other situation.

But not here.

Not when Ross, though had a thinner build than him was towering and unrelenting in his south side area, loomed over him where it mattered the most.

Not when the massive, veined monstrosity between Ross's legs was already stretching Maya beyond anything Peter could imagine. Compared to Ross's fifteen-inch behemoth, Peter felt... insignificant.

He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over his throbbing length. The weight of the room pressed down on him—Maya's averted gaze, Ross's mocking smirk, Brandon's silent threat behind him.

It was too much, and yet he couldn't stop himself. With a resigned sigh, Peter wrapped his fingers around his shaft and began to stroke slowly, his movements mechanical and shame-filled.

Every so often, his eyes flickered to Maya, hoping for some sign of understanding or compassion. But she kept her face turned away, her expression unreadable.

He didn't know if she was angry, hurt, or simply indifferent.

Ross, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the spectacle. His smirk widened as he glanced back at Peter, his tone dripping with mockery.

"See that, Maya? Even when tied up and humiliated, Peter still knows his place. Pathetic, isn't it?"

Peter's grip faltered for a moment, but he quickly resumed, his strokes growing faster as he fought to ignore Ross's cruel taunts.

Shame and arousal burned through him in equal measure, and for a brief moment, he wondered if this was how he would remember himself—broken, humiliated, and utterly powerless.

"Uggghhhhh..." Maya groaned, her voice raw and trembling as she clenched her eyes shut. The relentless pounding was too much as it continued this time around with renewed gusto, every nerve in her body screaming in a mixture of pain and overstimulation.

Her cries filled the room, desperate and unsteady, but with each sound that escaped her lips, Peter's desire only grew stronger.

Peter's chest heaved as he licked his lips, his gaze glued to the obscene sight before him. He couldn't help but focus on how Maya's tight, swollen pink healthy pussy lips clung so desperately to Ross's massive cock.

Each thrust seemed to pull her apart, the tender folds gripping tightly as if refusing to let him go, only to be satisfied again when he slammed back in. The sheer force of it, the brutal repetition, sent shivers down Peter's spine.

Maya's body trembled with each relentless thrust, her hands weakly gripping the sheets beneath her, searching for an anchor to ground her amidst the storm of sensations.

Ross was unyielding, his rhythm brutal and unforgiving. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, underscored by the wet squelch of Maya's juices as they coated his cock.

The faint streaks of virgin blood that had marked her earlier were gone now, replaced by a thick, creamy slickness.

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Her body, unwillingly or not, had adjusted to Ross's size, and the evidence of her surrender dripped steadily from her abused hole.

It flowed down to her thighs, leaving a lewd trail that reached her untouched pink asshole.

***

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