Scene 3 – The Shared Moment of Weakness
POV: Divya Rana | Time: 9:43 p.m. | Location: Jasmine's Penthouse, Lounge
Geeta came back from the balcony different.
Divya didn't know what had changed—maybe it was the way her lips were slightly parted, or how her eyes no longer flickered around the room nervously. They were… still. Too still.
She walked quietly across the plush carpet and sat beside Jasmine again.
Closer this time.
Their thighs touched.
Jasmine didn't move away.
Divya pretended to sip her wine, but her hand shook slightly. Her legs were crossed, tightly, a muscle twitching in her thigh from clenching for so long. Her panties were already wet, and she knew it—knew if she moved the wrong way, she'd feel the soaked fabric shift.
She kept still.
But her eyes didn't stop moving.
They watched Jasmine's every breath.
Jasmine reached across Geeta to refill her glass, and in doing so, her breast pressed softly against Geeta's shoulder.
There was no apology.
No adjustment.
Just skin.
Geeta didn't flinch.
She tilted her head slightly to let Jasmine pass—and her cheek grazed Jasmine's robe-covered breast like it meant nothing.
But Divya saw the way her fingers curled into the couch.
Jasmine leaned in, brushing Geeta's hair behind her ear with slow fingers.
She whispered something.
Too soft to hear.
Geeta nodded.
Her chest rose.
And fell.
And didn't rise again for two whole seconds.
Divya's breath caught.
There was no denying it now.
Something was happening.
And she wasn't just watching.
She was being pulled into it.
Jasmine stood up without warning.
She didn't adjust her robe.
She didn't need to.
It slipped as she moved, baring more of her chest than before. The soft swell of her right breast was nearly fully exposed.
And her thighs… smooth, strong, tattooed… glistened faintly with the reflection of candlelight.
Divya's eyes followed every step.
Her throat dry.
Her legs clenched.
Her pussy ached.
Jasmine walked around the back of the couch.
Behind Divya.
And then—
A hand.
Fingers, warm and soft, brushed over her bare shoulder.
Divya flinched.
But didn't pull away.
"You don't have to pretend you're not curious," Jasmine whispered—low, intimate, just behind her ear.
Divya's stomach flipped.
Her breath stuttered.
She stared ahead, trying not to move, not to break.
But her body betrayed her.
A tremble in her thigh.
A twitch in her fingers.
Her nipples hardened under her bra.
And her panties were soaked.
Jasmine walked around again and sat beside her this time.
Directly beside her.
No space between them.
Their thighs touched.
Skin on skin.
Divya could feel the warmth radiating off her.
Could smell the faint trace of sweat and perfume and sex that clung to Jasmine's skin.
Jasmine crossed her legs slowly.
Her robe fell open just enough to reveal a flash of bare inner thigh—no fabric, no pretense.
And Divya felt it.
Like a slap between her legs.
She couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Her core throbbed.
Her vision blurred for a moment.
The wineglass trembled in her hand.
Then she looked up—
And met Geeta's eyes.
Geeta was watching her.
Not with judgment.
Not with fear.
With… understanding.
Heat.
Her lips parted.
Her cheeks flushed.
And for a second, Divya saw it in her—
The same ache. The same surrender.
They were both caught.
Jasmine didn't need to bind them.
She had already claimed them with her voice, her skin, her stories.
Then Jasmine's hand reached over.
Rested on Divya's inner wrist.
Her thumb rubbed small circles on the delicate skin there.
It was nothing.
But it was everything.
Divya gasped softly.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
All she could feel was her pulse racing under Jasmine's touch—and the thick, humid wetness pooling between her thighs.
She felt it soak through the lace of her panties.
She clenched her legs harder.
She almost moaned.
"This isn't touching.""This isn't kissing.""But I've never felt more naked in my life."
Jasmine leaned back again, satisfied.
Divya sat motionless.
Breathless.
Undone.
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Scene 4 – The Inner Collapse
POV: Divya Rana | Time: 10:07 p.m. | Location: Jasmine's Penthouse, Guest Bathroom
Divya nearly stumbled into the guest bathroom.
Her legs felt like rubber. Her skin was flushed, prickled with sweat beneath her dress. She locked the door with shaking fingers and leaned back against it—breathing like she'd just run up ten flights of stairs.
The silence hit like a slap.
No Jasmine.
No perfume.
No heat radiating off her bare thigh.
But everything lingered.
The scent.
The touch.
The image of Jasmine's fingers tracing Geeta's ear.
And then…
That glance.
That knowing, heat-filled look Geeta had given her.
Divya covered her mouth and let out a shaky breath.
"What the fuck is happening to me…"
Her heart pounded against her ribs.
She turned and stepped toward the counter, gripping the edge with both hands.
The marble was cold beneath her palms.
She looked up.
The mirror didn't lie.
Her eyes were glassy.
Her cheeks flushed.
Her lips—swollen, bitten.
And her nipples… visibly hard beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
Her chest heaved.
Her thighs trembled.
She couldn't stop it.
She didn't want to.
She reached under the hem of her dress.
Her fingertips found her panties—soaked.
She pressed.
Just once.
The warm squish of slick fabric made her gasp.
She pressed harder.
Rolled her palm slowly.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"You're disgusting."
"You're dripping from a look."
"You want her fingers on you."
"You want to kneel."
She sat on the edge of the closed toilet seat.
Spread her legs slightly.
The air hit her thighs.
Her panties clung to her like a second skin—hot, sticky, humiliating.
She didn't pull them down.
Not yet.
She needed to feel the shame.
To drown in it.
She closed her eyes.
Her hand moved again.
Pressed through the wetness.
Two fingers rubbed her clit slowly, the lace adding friction.
Too much.
Not enough.
"You want her to make you cum."
"You want Ryan to call you his."
"You want Geeta to watch you fall."
She whimpered.
Her other hand moved to her breast, squeezing it hard, twisting her nipple.
She imagined Jasmine's voice.
"Don't stop until you break."
Her body twisted.
Her toes curled.
She bit the back of her wrist, trying not to moan.
Her orgasm built fast—dangerous, raw.
She shoved her panties aside.
Slid two fingers in.
So wet.
So tight.
She pumped fast, clit grinding against her palm.
"Please—please—please…"
And then—
She came.
Violently.
Silently.
Her body seized.
Her thighs shook.
Her slick dripped onto the tile beneath her.
She sobbed into her hand—tears and moans and release all at once.
She collapsed forward.
Arms on her knees.
Fingers still twitching.
Chest heaving.
"You're already hers."
"Already his."
"You just haven't said it yet."
She wiped herself with trembling hands, barely cleaning anything.
Her panties were ruined.
She tossed them in the trash.
No hesitation.
She couldn't wear them anymore.
They didn't belong on her.
Not after this.
She looked back into the mirror.
Her voice cracked.
"Please… let me give in."
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Scene 5 – Departure and Lingering Desire
POV: Divya Rana | Time: 10:38 p.m. | Location: Jasmine's Penthouse → Private Elevator → Parking Lobby
She barely remembered how she cleaned herself up.
Her legs were still trembling when she stepped out of the bathroom. Her dress stuck slightly to her thighs. Her panties were in the trash can—ruined, wet, unsalvageable.
She walked barefoot back into the lounge, unable to bear the friction of fabric against her raw, tender skin.
The air in the penthouse was different now.
Softer. Dimmer. Charged.
Jasmine stood near the bar, refilling her glass like nothing had happened. Her robe was tied again—but lazily. Loose at the hips. A hint of cleavage showing with every breath. Her nipples—still firm—were clearly outlined beneath the satin.
Geeta stood near the window. Silent. Motionless. Her hair was slightly messy now. Her cheeks still bore the flush of something unspoken.
"They know.""I know they know."
Divya tried to pretend nothing had happened. That her thighs weren't still sticky. That her pulse wasn't pounding. That she hadn't just come harder than she ever had in her life, whispering their names.
But Jasmine didn't ask.
She didn't need to.
She just smiled.
"I'll call the car," she said casually.
Then she moved to the foyer and opened the door for them.
Divya walked slowly toward it, trying to steady her breathing.
Jasmine stopped her with a hand on her arm.
She turned.
Jasmine leaned in.
Her lips brushed Divya's cheek—not quite a kiss. More like a secret being delivered skin to skin.
Then her hand slid down Divya's back.
Lower.
Lower.
Until just above the curve of her ass.
Then slowly…
dragged her nails up her spine.
Divya gasped.
Her thighs clenched instantly, heat exploding in her lower belly.
Her body shuddered from the ghost of that touch.
Jasmine whispered:
"Come back anytime…"
"Just bring less clothing next time."
She stepped back.
Still smiling.
Still dangerous.
Geeta walked past quietly.
But Jasmine stopped her too—hugged her slowly, arms wrapping low, almost around her waist.
Geeta leaned in like she belonged there.
Eyes closed.
Silent.
Divya followed Geeta into the elevator.
The mirrored walls closed around them like silk and glass.
The floor began to descend.
Neither of them spoke.
Divya watched her reflection.
Her eyes looked dazed.
Her lips—still parted.
Her chest—still rising too fast.
Her nipples—still hard.
Geeta clutched her phone.
Her other hand trembled slightly at her side.
They didn't look at each other.
But they both…
pressed their thighs together.
Tight.
Trying to hold something in.
Trying not to remember what it felt like to be watched.
To be touched.
To be almost owned.
"She didn't say a word the entire ride down…""…but her thighs never stopped pressing together."
Neither did mine.
They stepped into the parking lobby in silence.
The night air hit them like truth.
Cool.
Sharp.
Cleansing.
And completely useless.
Because the heat stayed with them.
The smell.
The sweat.
The taste of surrender still clinging to their bodies like fingerprints they'd never scrub off.
As they waited for the car to pull around, Divya whispered silently into the night:
"I'm not going to say yes."
"Not yet."
"But I'll be dreaming of the moment I do."