POV: Divya Rana | Time: 8:52 a.m. | Setting: Behind SUV, Mumbai Airport Staff Lot
The air had gone still.
Heavy. Saturated with sweat and sex. The heat hadn't lessened—it had thickened, clinging to every inch of skin like humidity born from bodies instead of weather.
From her hiding spot, Divya crouched low, cheek still pressed to the wheel well of the SUV, thighs spread, fingers limp in her panties.
She couldn't move.
Her third climax had left her wrecked—pulse fading, muscles twitching with aftershocks, her core still throbbing from the waves of pleasure Ryan and Jasmine and Geeta had summoned from her.
Without touching her.
Without even knowing her name out loud.
But now… it was ending.
Jasmine exhaled, body sagging over Ryan's lap.
She turned slightly, pressing her cheek against his chest, her knees folded sideways, her body soft, undone. Her breasts rose and fell with lazy satisfaction.
Her eyes were half-lidded.
Her lips swollen.
Ryan stroked her hair slowly, one hand still resting at the small of her back.
Geeta remained on her knees.
Her head rested on Ryan's thigh.
Face turned slightly inward, pressed against his bare skin.
She wasn't moving either.
Her eyes were closed.
Her breathing was shallow but even.
Her skirt was wrinkled. Her blouse still open.
Her pride—gone.
Divya swallowed the lump in her throat.
She'd never seen Geeta like this.
So quiet. So tamed.
So peaceful.
Ryan finally moved.
He reached to the center console and pulled out a cloth from a tucked sleeve.
He cleaned himself with unhurried ease—wiping slowly, precisely, like this was routine.
Then he zipped up.
Still seated.
Still sovereign.
Jasmine shifted, swinging her legs back into the passenger side and adjusting her skirt as best she could. Her panties remained missing.
She didn't seem to care.
Ryan reached up and gently buttoned her blouse—three buttons only.
Enough to qualify as dressed.
But not enough to pretend she wasn't just used.
Geeta climbed slowly into the back seat.
She didn't speak.
She sat with her knees tucked under her, arms wrapped lightly around herself.
Her hair was a mess.
Her chest still glistened with the faint sheen of sweat.
And her eyes stayed low.
Divya watched all of it.
Her heartbeat was slower now.
But the ache remained.
The hunger.
The shame.
Jasmine leaned over, whispering something into Ryan's ear.
He chuckled.
His sunglasses were back on.
He started the car.
The engine purred—a low, expensive growl.
The top was still down.
And the morning sun had risen high enough to reflect straight off the windshield.
Then Jasmine turned her head—toward Divya's SUV.
Her eyes scanned once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
Divya's breath caught.
She tried to duck lower—
Too late.
Jasmine saw her.
And smiled.
Not a smirk.
Not a taunt.
A smile.
Wide.
Wicked.
Warm.
She didn't speak.
She didn't wave.
She didn't call out.
She just tilted her head slightly and touched her fingers to her lips.
Then tapped them twice against her chest.
Then held them open—toward Divya.
A gesture.
A whisper.
A promise.
Ryan looked in the rearview mirror.
Still smiling.
"She'll kneel next time."
The car shifted.
Pulled out of the spot slowly.
Smoothly.
No rush.
No fear.
Geeta didn't look up.
She sat motionless, eyes fixed on the floorboard, lips parted in exhaustion.
Jasmine tilted her head back into the breeze as the car moved forward.
Hair streaming.
Buttons undone.
Face glowing.
They turned left toward the service gate.
Drove away.
Gone.
Divya didn't move for a full minute.
Her chest rose and fell.
She blinked once.
Twice.
Her thighs still glistened.
Her underwear still clung to her lips, soaked and sticky.
And she whispered to no one:
"I wanted it."
"I want it still."
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POV: Divya Rana | Time: 8:53 a.m. | Location: Behind SUV – Staff Parking Lot
There was a moment—just after pleasure, just before shame—where time no longer moved forward.
Divya knelt behind the SUV, one hand still between her thighs, breath caught in the ragged rhythm of someone who had just surrendered to herself three times and didn't know what came next. Her inner thighs were soaked. Her knees burned from the pavement's heat. Her mind pulsed with images she couldn't shake—wouldn't even try.
She blinked slowly.
The morning sunlight glinted across the windshield of Ryan's convertible. It kissed the red leather interior where Jasmine was still perched, her skirt wrinkled, buttons missing, sweat drying in the valley of her breasts.
Beside her, Ryan adjusted his sunglasses and reached for the engine switch. The low, throaty hum of the car starting up felt oddly anticlimactic.
Like the final note of a symphony played just for her ears.
In the backseat, Geeta sat like she had been left there.
Not abandoned.
Just… deposited.
Her legs were folded beneath her. Her hands rested in her lap. Her blouse clung to one shoulder, the other bare. Her bra was gone. Her mouth still slightly parted as if she were still catching her breath. Her hair was a mess of tangled strands and dried sweat.
She wasn't crying.
She wasn't smiling.
She was just… still.
Divya's throat tightened.
The woman who had once corrected her on lanyard positioning was now curled in the back of an open-top convertible after letting another woman guide her into licking cum off a man's cock.
And Divya had cum watching it.
Hard.
Repeatedly.
She didn't know what that made her.
Not yet.
Only that it made her feel more than anything else ever had.
Jasmine leaned over the driver's seat, whispering something into Ryan's ear.
He chuckled softly. His hand slid down her side, cupped her ass, then rested on the shifter.
She leaned into him like it was nothing—like it was the most natural thing in the world to sit half-naked on a man's lap in broad daylight at a public airport and smile like you'd just won the lottery.
Jasmine hadn't just changed.
She had ascended.
Divya peeked over the fender again.
She didn't expect to be noticed.
But Jasmine turned her head.
And looked directly at her.
Their eyes met.
There was no surprise in Jasmine's expression.
No shame.
No smugness.
Only knowledge.
Like she'd known all along.
Like she'd put on the entire show for her.
Then Jasmine smiled.
Slow.
Full.
A curve that dripped invitation and satisfaction and absolute certainty.
She reached into the glove box and retrieved a mirrored compact.
She applied lipstick with slow, steady strokes, still watching Divya as if daring her to blink first.
Ryan revved the engine once.
Jasmine clicked the compact shut.
Then she reached down and did something Divya would never forget.
She touched her fingers to her lips.
Then to her chest.
Then held them—open-palm, outward—toward Divya.
A silent offering.
A signature.
A brand.
Ryan didn't even look in her direction. His hand rested on Jasmine's thigh. His voice drifted into the still air like a promise delivered from Olympus.
"She'll kneel next time."
Divya's lips parted.
Her breath hitched again.
Something uncoiled in her belly.
She was no longer touching herself.
But her body responded all the same.
Her nipples hardened beneath her bra. Her clit throbbed faintly from aftershock. Her soaked panties had cooled against her folds, but her core remained warm.
Too warm.
The car began to move.
The tires rolled forward slowly, quietly, like they didn't want to disturb the spell they'd cast.
Geeta didn't speak.
She sat up slightly, blinked once, then turned her head into the wind.
Ryan pulled them away from the pillar, easing out of the staff lot without hurry.
The sun caught the edge of Jasmine's hair as it billowed in the wind.
And then they were gone.
Divya didn't move.
Not for thirty full seconds.
She stared at the empty parking spot.
Then at the slow drift of exhaust left behind.
Then down at her thighs.
Still open.
Still glistening.
Still trembling.
She whispered it before she could stop herself.
"I want it."
Then again.
"I want it more than I ever have."
The wind picked up slightly.
It cooled her bare skin through the torn opening of her blouse.
She pressed her palm to her center.
Her fingers twitched.
And she smiled.