The Trap Begins Chapter 1 & 2
Rohan, a cruel 50-year-old boss, traps his employee Mahesh’s 44-year-old wife Aanvi in escalating BDSM sessions.
Rohan had been circling Aanvi for months before he made his first move. The 50-year-old boss had spotted her at the company annual function, where Mahesh had reluctantly brought his stunning 44-year-old wife. The moment Rohan laid eyes on her upturned nose with those perfectly flared nostrils, her massive breasts straining against her blouse, and that well-shaped ass swaying as she walked, he knew he had to possess her.
“Mahesh, bring your wife to the office party next week,” Rohan had commanded, his eyes never leaving Aanvi’s body. “I want to get to know my employees’ families better.”
The first visit to their home came disguised as a routine check-in. Rohan arrived with expensive whiskey for Mahesh and a delicate gold necklace for Aanvi. She stood in the doorway wearing a thin cotton saree that clung to her curves, her long thick curly hair cascading down her back.
“This is too much, sir,” Aanvi protested as Rohan fastened the necklace around her neck, his fingers deliberately brushing against the swell of her massive breasts.
“Nonsense,” Rohan replied, his gaze fixed on her nose. “A woman with such a beautiful nose deserves beautiful things.”
Over the following weeks, Rohan’s visits became more frequent. He would arrive with increasingly expensive gifts – silk sarees that barely contained her massive breasts, jewelry that drew attention to her upturned nose, and always the finest liquor for Mahesh. Each visit, Rohan found excuses to touch her, his hands lingering on her well-shaped ass as he helped her with household tasks.
“Your husband doesn’t appreciate what he has,” Rohan whispered one evening while Mahesh snored on the couch, drunk on the whiskey Rohan had provided. His finger traced the curve of her nose. “This nose … these tits … this ass … they’re wasted on a drunk.”
Aanvi’s loyalty began to crack as Rohan’s touches grew bolder. He would press against her in the kitchen, his hard cock grinding against her ass while Mahesh remained oblivious in the living room.
The first real session happened on a Friday night. Mahesh had passed out completely after Rohan kept refilling his glass. Rohan led Aanvi to the bedroom, his hand gripping her well-shaped ass possessively.
“Strip,” he commanded.
Aanvi’s hands trembled as she removed her saree, revealing her massive breasts and the curve of her hips. Rohan pushed her onto the bed and secured leather cuffs around her wrists, binding them to the headboard.
“This nose has been driving me crazy,” he growled, running his finger along her upturned nostrils. He pulled out a metal nose hook from his bag – a curved device designed to pull her nose upward, exposing her nostrils completely. He inserted it carefully, the metal pressing against the inside of her nose, forcing her head back.
“Breathe through it,” he ordered. “Let me see those pretty nose holes.”
Aanvi gasped as the nose hook stretched her nostrils wider, the sensation both humiliating and arousing. Rohan attached a small chain from the hook to her collar, ensuring her head remained tilted back.
“Now these tits need attention,” he continued, attaching heavy nipple clamps to her hard nipples. The weight pulled her massive breasts downward, the chain connecting them swinging with each breath.
Rohan positioned her on all fours, her virgin ass presented to him. He spread her cheeks and pressed a small butt plug against her tight hole.
“This ass has never been used,” he observed, pushing the plug deeper. “But it will be.”
Aanvi cried out as the plug stretched her virgin ass, the burn making her eyes water. Rohan worked it in slowly, stretching her tight ring until the plug was fully seated.
“Good girl,” he praised, spanking her hard. “Now let’s see how you take a whipping.”
He pulled out a leather crop and brought it down across her well-shaped ass with a sharp crack. Aanvi screamed, the nose hook forcing her head back as the pain radiated through her body. Rohan continued the whipping, each strike landing on her ass, thighs, and the undersides of her massive breasts.
“Count them,” he ordered.
“One … two … three…” Aanvi sobbed, the nose hook making it difficult to speak clearly.
Rohan whipped her until her ass was covered in red welts, her massive breasts marked with angry stripes. He then fucked her roughly, his cock pounding into her pussy while the butt plug stretched her virgin ass. The nose hook kept her head tilted back, forcing her to breathe through her mouth as he used her body.
“You’re going to be my slave,” Rohan growled, his hand wrapping around her throat. “Your husband can’t satisfy you, but I will.”
He came deep inside her, filling her with his cum while she convulsed around his cock. The combination of pain and pleasure overwhelmed her senses.
The sessions grew more intense over the following weeks. Rohan would arrive with new implements – a riding crop for her massive breasts, a cane for her well-shaped ass, and increasingly larger butt plugs for her virgin hole.
“This nose needs proper decoration,” Rohan announced one evening after a particularly brutal whipping session. Aanvi knelt before him, her ass covered in welts, the nose hook pulling her nostrils wide. “It’s time to get your septum pierced and both sides of your nose pierced too.”
Aanvi’s eyes widened behind the nose hook.
“I’m taking you to a piercer next week,” Rohan continued, running his finger along her stretched nostrils. “You’ll get a septum ring and studs on both sides. Everyone will know you belong to me.”
He attached a larger butt plug to her virgin ass, the stretch making her whimper.
“And this ass will be trained properly,” he added, spanking her hard. “By the time I’m done, you’ll beg for my cock in every hole.”
Rohan whipped her again, focusing on her massive breasts and well-shaped ass until she was sobbing. He then fucked her mouth, his cock sliding past her luscious full red lips while the nose hook forced her head back.
“Swallow it all,” he commanded, cumming down her throat. “Good slave.”
The promise of the piercings hung in the air as Rohan continued to train her, each session more intense than the last. Aanvi’s transformation from loyal wife to BDSM slave was underway, her body marked by Rohan’s ownership and her virgin ass slowly being prepared for his complete use.
Rohan’s cruelty sharpened like a blade. He no longer bothered with excuses or gentle words. When he wanted Aanvi, he simply texted her a single word—now—and she came, heart hammering, pussy already slick with shameful anticipation.
One humid Tuesday, Mahesh was still at the office when Rohan barged in. He found Aanvi in the kitchen, bent over the counter, and didn’t even wait for the door to close. He yanked her salwar down to her knees, shoved two fingers straight into her cunt, and growled, “Dripping already. You’re disgusting.”
Aanvi whimpered, but her hips pushed back, greedy for more. Rohan laughed, cruel and low. He pulled his fingers free, wiped them across her face, then forced them between her lips. “Suck. Taste how desperate you are.”
He dragged her to the bedroom by her hair. The moment the door locked, he stripped her naked and threw her onto the bed. Leather cuffs snapped around her wrists and ankles, spreading her wide. A thick leather collar circled her throat, padlocked at the back. Rohan clipped a leash to the ring and tied it to the headboard so she couldn’t lift her head.
“Open your mouth.” He fitted the nose hook, tugging her nostrils upward until her face tilted, lips parted in an obscene O. Then he added the spider gag, locking her jaws wide. Saliva immediately spilled down her chin.
Rohan circled the bed, crop in hand. The first strike landed across her massive tits, the leather cracking loud. Aanvi jerked, a strangled moan escaping the gag. He kept going—ten, twenty, thirty lashes—until her breasts glowed crimson and her nipples stood painfully erect. Each hit made her cunt clench visibly, juices trickling down to her asshole.
“Look at you,” Rohan sneered. “Your husband fucks you once a month and you lie there like a corpse. I beat you and you flood the sheets.” He dropped the crop, climbed between her spread thighs, and slammed his cock into her pussy in one brutal thrust. Aanvi’s eyes rolled back. The stretch burned, the angle forced by the nose hook making every stroke feel deeper. Rohan fucked her like he hated her, hips snapping, balls slapping her ass. When she started to moan too loudly he slapped her face—left, right—then spat into her open mouth.
“Swallow.”
She did, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, cunt spasming around him. Rohan pulled out before she could come, flipped her onto her stomach, and yanked her hips up. He pressed the fat head of his cock against her virgin asshole, still slick with her own juices.
“No warm-up today,” he said, and pushed. Aanvi screamed around the gag as her tight ring stretched, burning, tearing. Rohan didn’t stop until his balls rested against her whipped cheeks. He held still, letting her feel every inch impaling her guts, then started fucking. Short, vicious strokes that made her scream and drool. Every thrust punched the air from her lungs. Her asshole clenched and fluttered, trying to expel him, but he only laughed and fucked harder.
“Born for this,” he panted. “Your husband’s sweet little wife is just a set of holes that need pain to get wet.” He reached under her, found her swollen clit, and pinched it cruelly between his nails. Aanvi came instantly, a full-body convulsion that milked his cock. Rohan kept pounding through her orgasm, using her clenching ass until he flooded her bowels with hot cum.
He pulled out, wiped his cock on her hair, and left her bound and leaking. Aanvi lay there trembling, asshole gaping, tits throbbing, mind spinning. For the first time she admitted the truth she’d buried for years: normal sex with Mahesh had never made her wet. Only Rohan’s cruelty did. Only the sting of the crop, the burn of the nose hook, the brutal stretch of her ass. She was a born slave, and she craved nothing else.
Later that night, when Mahesh finally came home, Aanvi served dinner with a plug still lodged in her sore ass and fresh welts hidden beneath her saree. Every time she moved, pain flared and her cunt clenched. She smiled at her husband across the table, already counting the minutes until Rohan’s next text.
Chapter 2
Rohan leaned back in his leather chair, phone pressed to his ear. “John, it’s time. She’s ready.” He arranged the appointment for the following evening at John’s private studio, specifying exactly what he wanted: thick studs on both sides of her nose and a heavy gold septum ring. John agreed without hesitation.
The next night, Rohan drove Aanvi to the studio. She sat beside him in a thin black saree, her hands folded in her lap, the welts from the previous night’s whipping still visible on her arms. When they arrived, John greeted them at the door—a tall, muscular man in his late thirties with a shaved head and multiple piercings of his own.
“Strip,” Rohan ordered as soon as the door closed. Aanvi stood frozen, clutching the edge of her saree. Her face flushed deep red. “I … I can’t,” she whispered. “Not in front of him.”
Rohan’s expression darkened instantly. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her forward, delivering a sharp slap across her face that made her stumble. “You will strip when I tell you to strip,” he snarled. “Or do you want me to tear this off you myself?”
Aanvi’s eyes filled with tears as she slowly unwrapped her saree with shaking hands. The fabric fell to the floor, followed by her blouse. She stood naked except for the leather collar around her neck, her arms instinctively trying to cover her breasts and cunt.
“Why do I have to undress for nose piercings?” she asked, her voice trembling. “This doesn’t make sense.”
Rohan laughed coldly. “Because I want you exposed. Because I want John to see exactly what he’s working with. Now sit down.”
John led her to the padded chair and strapped her wrists and ankles down with thick leather restraints. “This will hurt,” he said, examining her nose. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” Aanvi nodded weakly, her cheeks burning with shame.
John cleaned both sides of her nose with antiseptic, marking the spots with a surgical pen. He picked up a hollow needle, thick and sharp. “Deep breath,” he said, then pushed the needle through the right side of her nostril in one steady motion. Aanvi gasped, her body jerking against the restraints as the needle passed through cartilage. John threaded a thick silver stud through the hole and screwed on the backing. Blood welled around the fresh piercing.
He repeated the process on the left side, pushing another needle through with the same deliberate force. Aanvi whimpered, tears streaming down her face, but her nipples hardened visibly. John wiped away the blood and secured the second stud in place.
“Now the septum,” John said, selecting an even thicker needle. He gripped Aanvi’s chin, tilting her head back. The needle pressed against the thin membrane between her nostrils, then pushed through with a wet pop. Aanvi cried out, her thighs trembling. John slid the heavy gold ring through the fresh hole, the weight of it pulling her septum downward. The ring was thick enough that it rested against her upper lip, impossible to ignore.
Rohan watched from a chair in the corner, stroking his cock through his pants. “She’s yours for a few minutes,” he told John. “As thanks.”
John unzipped his jeans and pulled out his thick cock, already hard. He stepped in front of Aanvi’s restrained form and pressed the head against her lips. “Open,” he commanded.
Aanvi’s eyes widened in shock. Until Rohan had walked into her life and forced her into slavery, Mahesh had been the only man who had ever touched her. She had never even considered another man’s cock near her mouth. The very idea made her stomach twist. “No,” she whispered, turning her head away. “I can’t. I won’t.”
Rohan’s face twisted with rage. He stormed over and grabbed her by the throat, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. “You refuse me? In front of another man?” He released her and turned to John. “Untie her. Now.”
John quickly released the straps. Rohan hauled Aanvi off the chair and bent her over the padded surface, her ass exposed. He picked up a thick cane from the wall and brought it down across her ass with a vicious crack. Aanvi screamed, her body jerking forward.
“Count them,” Rohan ordered. “And thank me for each one.”
“One,” Aanvi sobbed. “Thank you, Sir.”
The cane came down again, leaving a bright red welt across both cheeks. “Two. Thank you, Sir.”
Rohan continued the brutal whipping, each strike landing with precise force. By the tenth stroke, Aanvi’s ass was covered in angry red welts, some already beginning to bruise. Her legs shook uncontrollably, and tears streamed down her face.
“Please,” she begged between strikes. “Please stop. I’ll do it. I’ll suck his cock.”
Rohan paused, the cane raised. “Say it again.”
“I’ll suck his cock,” Aanvi cried. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Rohan lowered the cane and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look at John. “Beg him properly.”
Aanvi’s voice broke as she spoke. “Please, John. Please let me suck your cock. I want it. I need it.”
John stepped forward and pressed his cock against her lips again. This time, Aanvi opened her mouth obediently, taking him inside. She gagged as he pushed deep, but she didn’t pull away. John gripped her hair and began thrusting, fucking her throat with steady strokes while Rohan watched with satisfaction.
“Good girl,” Rohan said, stroking her hair. “Now you understand what you are.”
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