The sixth night felt like the point of no return. Priya no longer pretended to resist. Her body had become Dev’s instrument—marked, stretched, used. The cane welts on her ass had faded to faint pink lines, but touching them still sent jolts straight to her clit. The carved “D” above her pussy had scabbed over into a permanent, ugly scar she traced in the dark, getting wet every time. Her asshole remembered the oil and his thick cock; it ached emptily during the day, craving to be filled again. Her boobs were covered in faint bite marks, nipples perpetually sore and erect, leaking a little clear fluid when she squeezed them too hard thinking of him.

She didn’t bring anything tonight. Just her naked hunger.