The eleventh night the haveli felt transformed—no longer a home, but a stage set for her complete ruin. Priya had spent the day in a haze of residual ache and constant, shameful wetness. Every time she moved she felt the lingering soreness in both holes. Every time she sat the soft fabric of her salwar pressed against her tender skin and reminded her of the thick loads she had already taken and the way her husband had been forced to clean them from her with his tongue. By evening her cunt was already dripping, the thin cotton between her legs dark and sticky.

Rohan returned from the office pale and silent. He ate almost nothing. After dinner he did not go to the bedroom. He simply sat on the edge of the low sofa in the sitting room with the door still wide open, staring at the floor, waiting. He already knew what was coming.