The stale, recycled air of the vanity van was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and shame. Karishma lay on the floor, her body a trembling map of Harshad’s recent conquest, her ass still throbbing from the brutal anal takedown. Harshad had zipped himself up, his satisfaction a palpable force in the cramped space. Director Ajay, however, remained seated, his sharp eyes gleaming with an unspent hunger, his own arousal a visible weight in his tailored trousers.

“My turn, then,” Ajay stated, his voice a low, expectant hum. He began to unbutton his own pants.