The vanity engine was still a dull rumble beneath her, the floor vibrating against Karishma’s cheek where she lay gasping, the taste of Harshad’s cum still coating her tongue. She heard the rustle of clothing, the casual zip of his trousers, and then another voice cut through the thick, humid air.

“Wait.” It was Ajay, the director. His voice was a low, curious hum, like a camera lens focusing. “She hasn’t performed for me yet. My star. I need to see what I’m working with. Show me her tits, Harshad.”