The seventh night swallowed Priya whole. By now, her body no longer belonged to her—it was Dev’s property, marked and reshaped by pain and filth. The iron cuffs had left dark rings around her wrists and ankles, bruises blooming like black flowers. The carved “D” above her pussy had healed into a raised, permanent scar she rubbed obsessively, the rough texture making her clit throb every time. Her asshole stayed slightly open from repeated use—loose enough to remember his cock, tight enough to hurt when he took it dry. Her boobs were a map of bites and pinches; nipples dark and swollen, leaking tiny beads of clear fluid when she squeezed them too hard in secret. Between her legs her pussy never fully closed anymore—always slick, always ready, dripping at the slightest thought of him.

She didn’t bring anything tonight. No oil. No cane. Just her trembling, obedient body.