The eighteenth night the sitting room of the old Jaipur haveli felt like the only room that still existed. The rest of the house had faded into background. Priya had spent the day in the same blank, obedient state—wrists bound for long hours, allowed only brief moments of freedom to drink from Vikram’s hand and swallow the small pieces of food he chose to give her. The residual ache in both holes never left. Every movement sent a dull, filthy reminder through her body of how thoroughly she had been stretched and shared. By evening her cunt was already wet, a thin, continuous trickle of arousal sliding down her inner thighs and leaving shiny paths on her bare skin.

Rohan returned from the office changed completely.