Chapter 4: The Humiliation Ritual
The lounge bar’s haze of whiskey and cigar smoke clung to Rifki’s hijab as Abang guided him to the corner booth where Ropie sat alone, a half-finished beer before him. “Look who I found,” Abang announced, his hand possessive on the small of Rifki’s back, and Ropie’s eyes widened, traveling from the delicate lace of the hijab to the tight, black cocktail dress that hugged Rifki’s transformed body. “Sit,” Abang commanded, lowering himself into the plush leather before pulling Rifki down onto his lap, the remote in his pocket digging into Rifki’s thigh through the fine fabric. Abang’s arm encircled Rifki’s waist, holding him close as he engaged Ropie in casual talk, his other hand slipping beneath the dress’s hem to trace the waistband of Rifki’s stockings. Rifki felt the cool gel tip of the vibrator press against him, then a slow, insistent pressure as Abang worked it into his ass, the fullness a secret scream in the quiet bar. “Remember the park, sayang?” Abang murmured, his breath hot against Rifki’s ear before his thumb found the remote button and the world narrowed to a brutal, humming vibration that stole Rifki’s breath. A soft moan escaped Rifki’s painted lips, his back arching against Abang’s chest as the device throbbed deep inside him, each pulse a wave of electric shame. “He looks well,” Ropie managed, his voice strained, his knuckles white around his glass as he watched Rifki’s hips make a tiny, involuntary jerk. “He is,” Abang said, clicking the remote to a higher setting, and Rifki’s head fell back with a choked gasp, his hands scrambling to grip Abang’s thigh for anchor. “If you cum in your pretty panties in front of your friend,” Abang whispered, the words a dark promise, “I will fuck you raw in the car until you scream for mercy.” The vibration became a constant, merciless drill against his prostate, and Rifki could feel the damp patch spreading on his dress where his caged dick wept helplessly. “Talk to him,” Abang instructed, his tone casual, and Rifki met Ropie’s stunned gaze, his own vision blurring as he uttered a trembling, “Hello.” The device shifted to a pattern of short, intense bursts, and Rifki’s body seized, a full-body tremor wracking him as he bit down on a cry. “He’s close,” Abang told Ropie conversationally, clicking the remote once more, and the vibrator settled into a maddening, unrelenting buzz that pushed Rifki over the edge. His climax ripped through him, silent and violent, his ass clenching around the intruder as hot cum spilled into his panties, soaking the dress and Abang’s slacks. Abang let him ride it out, the vibrator still humming, prolonging the shame until Rifki went limp, boneless and trembling in his arms. “We have to go,” Abang said, standing Rifki up on shaky legs, the wet stain on the back of his dress dark and obvious under the bar lights. He guided Rifki past Ropie’ frozen form, out into the cool night air, his hand a firm promise on the back of Rifki’s neck. In the car’s backseat, Abang pushed the ruined dress up and yanked the soaked panties aside, not bothering with the vibrator before he shoved his cock into Rifki’s used, slick hole. “You are mine,” he grunted, pounding into him, and Rifki, broken and euphoric, could only sob, “Yes, Abang, always,” as the city lights blurred past the window.
The car’s motion made each of Abang’s thrusts land with a brutal, jolting force. “Such a filthy slut, cumming in public like a common whore,” he growled, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Rifki’s hips. Rifki’s face was pressed against the cold window, his hot breath fogging the glass with each ragged sob of “Yes, yes.”
Abang pulled him back by the hair, forcing his spine into a painful arch. “Look at yourself,” he snarled, his pace never slowing, his cock pistoning deep into Rifki’s overstimulated hole. In the window’s reflection, Rifki saw his own smeared makeup, his hijab knocked askew, and the utterly wrecked expression on his face.
“Ropie saw you,” Abang hissed, the words a new layer of degradation. “He saw your dress stain and heard your little choked-off moans.” He punctuated each memory with a sharp, claiming thrust that made Rifki wail.
Abang’s hand slid around Rifki’s throat, not squeezing, just holding. “You’re not a man,” he stated, his voice calm and absolute amid the violent rhythm of their bodies. “You’re my leaking, trembling sissy wife, and everyone will know.”
Abang’s thrusts became a ruthless, punishing rhythm, the car’s suspension groaning in time. “You think about him now?” he grunted, his hips slamming forward, the wet sound of their joining obscene in the closed space. Rifki’s head swam, the city lights outside streaking into golden smears.
“No, never,” Rifki sobbed, the lie and the truth tangling.
“Liar,” Abang sang, his hand sliding around to press, hard, on Rifki’s lower belly. He could feel the rigid shape of the vibrator still lodged inside, pressed against his own pounding cock. “I feel my gift in you. You’re still buzzing for me, aren’t you?”
Rifki could only moan, the double stimulation a dizzying fracture in his mind. His caged dick, a useless throb, leaked a steady stream that cooled on his thighs. Abang shifted his angle, burying himself deeper, and the vibrator’s hard plastic base ground against his prostate with every drive.
“That’s it,” Abang rasped, his breath hot on Rifki’s neck. “Let go. Be my filthy thing.” The permission, delivered as a command, unraveled the last coil of resistance in Rifki’s gut. A second orgasm, sharper than the first, tore through him with silent, violent intensity.
HE CUMS AGAIN.
His body clenched in rippling spasms around Abang’s invading length, milking it, even as his own trapped dick offered nothing but a weak, pathetic dribble. Abang laughed, a low, dark sound of pure conquest, and fucked him through the shuddering aftermath without pause. “Good wife,” he murmured, as the car slowed, pulling into the dark confines of their building’s garage.
The garage’s concrete chill seeped into Rifki’s knees as Abang shoved him out onto the rough floor, never slipping out of him. “Move,” Abang grunted, hands gripping Rifki’s hips, using his body to walk them both toward the elevator as his cock stayed buried in that wet, used hole. The elevator doors slid shut on the empty garage, sealing them in sterile white light, and Abang finally pulled out only to spin Rifki around and shove him face-first against the mirrored wall. “See what you are?” he breathed, yanking the ruined dress up to Rifki’s waist, exposing the lace top of his stockings, the cage, the glistening mess between his thighs. He fisted his cock, slick with their mixed fluids, and shoved back in with a single brutal thrust that knocked the air from Rifki’s lungs. The elevator climbed, a soft chime marking each floor, a countdown to nowhere as Abang set a devastating, shallow pace that rasped the vibrator still inside Rifki against his screaming prostate. “You think Ropie knows how open you are?” Abang hissed, his voice low and conversational against Rifki’s ear as his hips snapped forward. “How you dribble for it?” Rifki’s answer was a shattered moan, his forehead pressed to the cool glass, watching his own wrecked expression warp with each drive. The doors opened onto their hallway; Abang held him in place with one arm, a steel band across his chest, and kept fucking him right there on the threshold, the risk of a neighbor emerging a sharp thrill in Rifki’s gut. He pushed them inside their apartment, kicking the door shut, and drove Rifki down onto the polished floor of the entryway. The smell of jasmine incense from earlier hung in the air, a sacred counterpoint to the raw, meaty sound of their joining. “You came for him in the bar,” Abang stated, his knees grinding into the hard floor, his balls slapping against Rifki’s ass. “Now you come for me. Now.” He reached around, his thumb finding Rifki’s tiny, caged dick, and pressed down hard on the sensitive tip through the metal bars.
HE CUMS AGAIN.