Scene 1 – Arrival at the Penthouse
POV: Divya Rana Time: 8:15 p.m. Location: Jasmine's Mumbai Penthouse
The elevator didn't feel like an elevator.
It felt like entering another world—one paved in velvet and gold, where the lighting dimmed itself automatically and the floor glowed beneath your feet. There was no elevator music, no hum of mechanics. Just silence and stillness, like the lift was floating on luxury alone.
Divya clutched her clutch bag a little tighter, trying not to sweat through her blouse. She stood beside Geeta, who hadn't said a word since stepping in. Both of them had put on their best dresses—borrowed, in Divya's case—and yet the walls alone made her feel underdressed.
"This isn't a flat," she thought. "It's a fucking palace."
The panel above blinked once: PH – Penthouse.
The doors opened.
And Divya's breath left her in a quiet, involuntary gasp.
The room before them looked like something from a dream.
White marble stretched from wall to wall, softened by Persian carpets that swallowed her footsteps. Crystal chandeliers glimmered overhead, not gaudy but elegant, like frozen starlight. The air smelled like white orchids and money—clean, cool, floral, and expensive.
Everything shone. Everything whispered.
Imported art lined the walls. Velvet cushions in shades of rose, gold, and ivory were scattered across sculpted seating. A sunken lounge overlooked the glowing Mumbai skyline beyond massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows. A mahogany bar cart stood beside a sculptural lamp shaped like a naked woman on her knees.
Divya barely registered Geeta's low murmur.
"This is yours?"
Then came her voice—warm, casual, soaked in invitation.
"It was never hard. Just took saying yes."
Jasmine stepped out from behind a white pillar near the kitchen island.
She was barefoot.
Her robe was pale champagne satin, barely tied, the deep-V neckline showing enough cleavage to silence Divya's thoughts entirely. Her hair was loose, glossy, her lips stained berry red like she'd just been kissed. Her toes were polished. Her thighs, exposed through the open split of the robe, were bare and smooth.
One of them bore the visible edge of a tattoo—black vines curling just beneath her hip.
She carried a wine glass like it was an extension of her fingers. Casual. Commanding.
"Come in," she said. "I just opened something sinful."
Divya stepped inside slowly, heels muted against the rugs, the sheer space swallowing her whole. The door closed behind them.
Geeta's eyes flickered toward a hand-carved mirror beside the foyer—one framed in gold and designed like a cathedral window. She straightened her back.
Divya's own reflection caught her by surprise: cheap bangles, secondhand dress, the single smudge in her eyeliner that already made her feel out of place.
"She's not showing off," she thought. "She doesn't need to."
Jasmine turned away, hips swaying slightly as she walked toward the kitchen.
The hem of her robe slid up, and for a moment, Divya was certain she saw the bottom curve of her bare ass.
A soft tremor ran through her belly.
Her thighs clenched.
She looked down at her own flat sandals, her fading pedicure, and wanted to scream.
"Champagne?" Jasmine asked, already pulling a third flute from the fridge.
Her robe dipped as she leaned forward. The gap widened.
No bra. No shame.
Her breasts swayed with the motion, round and soft, nipples shadowed under satin.
Divya looked away.
But not fast enough.
She took the flute Jasmine offered her. Their fingers touched.
Jasmine smiled like she knew.
Geeta wandered toward the lounge.
Divya followed more slowly, every step muffled by luxury. She passed a marble sculpture of a naked woman riding a lion, and another—more abstract—of a hand gripping a pair of lips.
Everything in the apartment was erotic in its own way.
Not obscene.
But suggestive.
Everything here had been touched.
Divya ran her fingers along the velvet edge of a curved white chaise lounge.
She could almost picture Jasmine on it.
Naked.
Straddling someone.
"You're not supposed to think that."
But the thought wouldn't leave.
Jasmine sat casually on the edge of a designer armchair near the window, legs crossed, robe riding up, the high slit exposing the long stretch of her thigh.
She gestured at the view.
"He gave me this. After the third night."
"Just like that?" Geeta asked.
"Just like that," Jasmine said, sipping. "Told me I moaned prettier than the skyline."
Divya choked on her champagne.
Jasmine looked amused but said nothing.
Her eyes drifted over Divya's legs.
She uncrossed her own.
The robe shifted again.
No panties.
Definitely no panties.
Divya's hand trembled as she brought the glass to her lips.
She sipped too fast.
The bubbles burned.
"I didn't think this would be me either," Jasmine said softly. "But then again… I didn't think begging could feel like worship."
The chandelier caught the light in her wine glass, casting a golden ring onto her bare thigh.
The tattoo there seemed to shift with every breath.
Geeta said nothing.
Divya said nothing.
But her body—her betrayer—was reacting.
Warmth between her legs.
Pulse in her ears.
A tightening sensation low in her abdomen she couldn't ignore.
"This is a web," she thought. "And I want to be caught."
Jasmine stood.
The robe parted for half a second.
Enough.
She walked toward the balcony and said:
"You should see the view at night."
Then turned back, holding the door open.
Smirking.
"It's better when you're not wearing anything."
Divya's knees almost buckled.
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Scene 2 – Subtle Seduction Through Storytelling
POV: Divya Rana | Location: Jasmine's Penthouse – Main Lounge
Jasmine didn't sit. She reclined.
Sprawled along the velvet couch like a goddess at rest, one leg folded beneath her, the other trailing downward, the hem of her robe clinging to the curve of her thigh. The candlelight flickered across her skin, casting her in a warm amber hue, like she'd been lit by something not entirely earthly.
Divya watched her with wide eyes from across the low glass table, wineglass clutched too tightly in her hand.
Geeta sat beside her, back straight, glass untouched.
No one spoke.
Not yet.
Jasmine broke the silence.
"The first time he touched me," she said, swirling her wine, "he didn't kiss me."
She smiled over the rim of her glass.
"He stood behind me. Said I wasn't allowed to turn around. Just… feel."
Divya felt her heart race.
Jasmine's voice was different now. Slower. Lower. Like something you shouldn't be allowed to hear unless you'd already signed something.
"He didn't rush," Jasmine continued, her voice silken. "He slid his fingers into my hair. Pulled. Gently. But I felt it all the way down my spine."
She closed her eyes.
"And then he whispered—'I don't want you to beg yet. But you will.'"
Divya's throat went dry.
She set her glass down carefully, afraid she might spill it from shaking.
Her legs were already pressed tight together.
But Jasmine's words…
Her tone…
The slow, erotic rhythm of her story—
It was undoing her.
"I didn't speak," Jasmine said, tracing her thumb along the base of her neck. "I didn't dare. I didn't need to. My body answered for me."
She chuckled, low and indulgent.
"I was soaked. He knew it. I knew it. I just stood there—his to claim."
Divya bit the inside of her cheek.
The image was too vivid.
Jasmine's voice too intoxicating.
She was picturing it.
Every word.
Every movement.
Jasmine standing still.
Ryan behind her.
One hand in her hair.
One hand probably on her hip.
She shifted where she sat.
The silk lining of her panties now damp, clinging uncomfortably.
She wanted to squeeze her thighs harder but feared she'd make a sound.
Geeta said nothing. But her jaw was tight. Her knuckles pale where she gripped the glass.
Jasmine noticed.
And smiled wider.
"He didn't kiss me until I'd cum. Twice. Without touching myself."
She leaned forward, cleavage deepening with the robe parting slightly.
"He whispered things to me the whole time. About how I smelled. About how he'd already chosen where to mark me."
She tilted her head.
"And then he kissed me."
She licked her lower lip slowly.
"And I felt it in my toes."
Divya exhaled shakily.
She didn't even realize she had been holding her breath.
Her eyes dropped involuntarily to Jasmine's bare knee… to the sliver of inner thigh where a familiar inked vine peeked out.
Jasmine poured more wine.
The trickle of dark red into the glass was almost obscene.
Then she rose to her feet.
Her robe slipped just slightly off one shoulder.
She made no move to fix it.
She stepped closer.
First to Geeta—who didn't flinch as Jasmine brushed a finger beneath her chin.
Then to Divya.
She leaned down.
Too close.
Far too close.
Her breasts hovered in front of Divya's face—flesh soft, full, a single freckle near the edge of her left areola.
"It's not about submission," Jasmine whispered."It's about surrender."
Her breath was warm.
Her voice a kiss.
Divya didn't move.
Couldn't.
She sat frozen, wide-eyed, lips parted, breathing through her nose like a woman on the verge of something irreversible.
Her thighs burned.
Her clit throbbed against the damp silk between her legs.
Jasmine reached for the bottle.
Poured another glass.
Sat down again.
Crossed her legs.
The robe shifted higher.
Divya caught it this time.
No mistake.
No panties.
Smooth, bare, wet from the wine condensation on her thigh.
She swallowed.
Hard.
"He marked me," Jasmine said."And I begged him not to stop."
Geeta stood up suddenly.
Walked to the balcony without saying a word.
Divya watched her go, heart still thudding.
She was alone now.
Alone with Jasmine.
And a glass of wine she dared not drink.
Jasmine smiled at her.
Eyes burning.
"You're sweating," she whispered.
Divya closed her eyes.
Said nothing.
But her fingers clenched into the velvet cushion beneath her.
Hard.