The ninth night broke something inside Priya forever. She no longer felt like a woman with secrets. She was a thing—Dev’s thing. A hole. A canvas. A piss-soaked, cum-filled, chained animal that begged for more even as terror clawed her insides. The thought of her father seeing her like this should have killed her. Instead it made her pussy pulse and leak the moment she woke.

Her body told the story of eight nights of ruin. Wrists and ankles ringed with dark, permanent bruises from iron. The carved “D” above her mound raised and dark, a scar she could feel even through her saree. Nipples swollen, almost purple from clamps and bites, leaking clear fluid when pinched. Her asshole stayed loose—gaping slightly when she walked, a constant dull ache that turned to hunger when she thought of cock. Her pussy never closed fully anymore—always slick, always ready, dripping at the slightest breeze or memory.