Scene 1 – Boarding: The Arrival of the Master
POV: Divya Rana | Location: Mumbai Airport Jet Bridge | Time: 9:47 a.m.
The airport murmured with its usual chaos—boarding announcements, the low rumble of jet engines, the polite but curt commands from uniformed staff—but for Divya Rana, none of it registered.
Her spine was locked straight, her hands clasped in front of her waist like a schoolgirl hiding trembling fingers. A brittle smile hovered on her lips, carefully controlled. She stood at the first-class boarding entrance, just behind Jasmine and Geeta, who were posted at the front.
Their cabin section—Rows 1 through 6—was closed off from the rest of the plane, reserved entirely for business-class VIPs. But today, there was only one name on the manifest. One name that occupied every seat, every inch of the air in that space. One name that pulsed in Divya's chest like a prayer soaked in sin.
Ryan.
She had barely slept the night before. Her dreams were flooded with flashes of moans, of kneeling figures, of Geeta's mouth stretched open and Jasmine's voice whispering, "Ask him yourself."
She hadn't touched herself.
Not once.
Not since the parking lot.
Not since Jasmine's kiss.
It wasn't an instruction. It was discipline. A fast before the feast.
And now, he was here.
The security team appeared first, discreet, suited men in black with earpieces, moving like a ripple through water, clearing space around the private bridge access gate. Baggage handlers stood straighter. Gate agents fidgeted. One of the younger hostesses dropped her phone as they approached. Everyone felt it.
Then he stepped into view.
Black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Slim trousers tailored so well they looked poured onto his body. No tie. No unnecessary badge or pass. Just sunglasses, a gold watch, and presence.
Presence is like gravity.
Ryan.
Jasmine smiled first.
It wasn't the cheeky, cocky grin she gave to flirty passengers or clueless pilots.
It was reverent.
Lustful.
She stepped forward, lips barely parting.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Ryan."
She curtsied slightly—just enough for her undone top button to shift, flashing the inked curve of a vine just above her left breast.
Geeta followed behind her with a quieter gesture—bowing slightly at the waist, hands folding neatly at her front.
Divya stared.
Not at Ryan.
Not yet.
But at Geeta.
The same woman who once barked safety protocol at her like a military officer now stood before this man with lowered eyes, a flushed neck, and a faint tremble in her lip.
She looked…
Owned.
And it made Divya's legs shake with need.
Ryan stopped in front of Jasmine.
He didn't speak right away.
His eyes scanned her face, her body, her collar.
He noticed the lipstick.
The flush.
The slight tightening of her thighs.
He looked pleased.
"You're glowing," he said.
Jasmine's breath caught. "Always… when you're near."
He nodded.
Then turned to Geeta.
She didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
He tilted her chin up with two fingers and ran his thumb lightly along the line of her jaw.
No kiss.
Just a signal.
Geeta's eyes fluttered.
Ryan stepped past them and toward the final figure in line.
Divya.
She didn't know how long she'd been holding her breath until her vision began to darken at the edges. She inhaled too fast, chest rising more than she wanted.
He looked at her.
Not like a stranger.
Not like a coworker.
Like a man who already knew what she tasted like—who had heard her cry behind the SUV and smiled through it.
"Miss Rana," he said softly. "We meet again."
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Jasmine stepped in smoothly. "She'll escort you to your preferred seat, Sir. Row 1, left side."
Ryan glanced back at her. "Perfect. I like the left."
He walked forward.
Divya's legs moved of their own accord.
Her heels clicked against the cabin floor as she led him inside—Jasmine behind her, Geeta just behind Jasmine. Like a procession. Like something sacred.
Passengers gawked from the economy cabin behind the divider curtain.
A few senior stewards narrowed their eyes.
But no one said a word.
He sat.
Seat 1A.
Window view. Ample space. A seat that converted to a full bed with a single press.
Ryan reclined slightly. "You may begin your preparations."
Divya nodded, swallowing hard.
Jasmine and Geeta exchanged a glance.
And the door to first class clicked shut.
The plane hadn't even taken off yet.
But Divya's descent had begun.
Scene 2 – Takeoff Rituals
POV: Divya Rana | Location: Inside Aircraft, First-Class Cabin | Time: 9:58 a.m.
The hum of the boarding bridge disengaging echoed through the cabin with a sharp metallic thunk.
Divya felt it in her bones.
The plane was alive now.
No turning back.
Passengers in economy murmured behind the closed curtain. A distant overhead speaker crackled with the co-pilot's announcements. Below her pumps, the floor thrummed as the engines began their slow, powerful stir.
Inside the first-class cabin, everything was immaculate—cushioned beige seats, champagne flutes, glossy control panels beside the armrests.
And him.
Ryan sat in 1A like a king on his private throne. Legs crossed. Elbows relaxed on the padded rests. His sunglasses hung from the open collar of his shirt now. The black fabric stretched gently across his chest each time he shifted, small movements that seemed designed to catch attention.
Divya couldn't stop watching him.
Even as she moved robotically—check the seatbelt, the tray, the emergency guide folder tucked into the pocket—her peripheral vision refused to release him. Her lips had gone dry. Her thighs are slick. Her core tightened with each glance.
Jasmine led the pre-flight announcement. Her voice, smooth as velvet, flowed over the cabin speakers:
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard this morning's flight from Mumbai to Dubai. Your senior crew today includes me, Miss Jasmine Kohli, Head Air Hostess, Miss Geeta Sethi, and Miss Divya Rana. Please ensure all electronic devices are placed in airplane mode…"
The words came from memory.
But the way Jasmine delivered them now was different.
Sultry.
Measured.
Almost… performative.
Geeta walked the aisle silently behind her, eyes calm, posture composed—but not cold. Not anymore. There was a warmth beneath her exterior now, a blush under the surface that had never existed before her week away.
And her tattoos…
The ink on her thigh peeked out as she knelt beside Row 3 to check a safety card, just visible past the line of her skirt.
Another spiraled up from her left wrist—a lotus blooming into three rising vines curling toward her elbow.
Geeta Sethi—once the epitome of clean-cut discipline—now bore permanent proof of ownership. Of transformation.
Of submission.
Divya trembled as she fastened the curtain divider behind the last business seat. She returned to the front with a tray of water bottles and napkins, her breath tight.
She turned.
And tripped.
Not a fall—just a stumble. Her foot caught the edge of a bag. The tray tilted violently.
The bottle she'd been holding slipped.
Time slowed.
The plastic arc'd midair.
Headed straight toward Row 1.
Straight toward him.
Divya's eyes widened in panic—
And Ryan's hand reached out.
Snatched the bottle before it hit his leg.
She froze.
Heart hammering.
Ryan looked up slowly.
And smiled.
Not with his lips.
With his eyes.
He set the bottle down on his tray and leaned forward slightly.
"Careful," he said gently. "We wouldn't want you wet before takeoff."
Her breath caught.
Jasmine appeared beside her like a ghost.
"Divya," she said, voice smooth but firm, "would you double-check the side hatch latch?"
Divya nodded, grateful for the excuse to escape—even briefly.
She fled to the side compartment.
Closed the panel.
Gripped it.
Hard.
She needed to calm down.
To focus.
But how could she?
Her body ached. Her throat was dry. Her nipples were stiff under the tight cotton of her uniform.
She'd felt it again.
That magnetism.
Ryan's voice—low, knowing, playful.
That smirk.
That presence.
And he had caught her mistake.
Handled it without scolding.
Just… claimed the moment.
Owned it.
Owned her.
Divya turned her face toward the mirror just above the panel and stared.
Eyes wide. Cheeks flushed. A single drop of sweat rolled down her temple.
From behind her, Jasmine's voice returned. Not from the speaker this time.
Just a whisper in the aisle.
"We're rolling."
Divya turned.
The cabin shook slightly.
The plane was taxiing toward the runway.
The seatbelt light pinged on.
She took her place at the crew station, just behind the curtain, facing the wall with the intercom.
She could feel the hum rise beneath her feet.
Engines roaring stronger.
Faster.
The nose lifted—
Her stomach dropped—
And they were airborne.
Flight 716 to Dubai was in the air.
And so was her fate.
Scene 3 – Post-Takeoff Shift
POV: Divya Rana | Location: In-Flight, Cruising Altitude, Business Cabin | Time: 10:32 a.m.
The seatbelt light blinked off with a soft ding. The cabin exhaled.
Thirty-five thousand feet above the earth, everything was quiet but charged. The air in the business class section felt too still, like every breath belonged to someone else. Someone watching.
Divya adjusted her skirt.
She'd done it four times already since they leveled off.
It didn't help.
Her body wasn't behaving normally—she felt raw. Her panties clung between her folds like wet silk. The fabric of her bra itched against stiff nipples. Her skin burned with nervous static, and she hadn't even touched Ryan since the tray incident.
She was going insane.
Geeta moved past her aisle—slow, graceful. A silver tray rested in her palms with two champagne flutes and a pair of golden napkins. Her blouse was buttoned properly now… but too snug. It hugged her chest like second skin, her breasts prominent with every breath, the subtle outline of nipple unmistakable beneath the thin fabric.
And her posture?
Composed.
Serene.
She didn't just walk. She glided.
"Delivering champagne to 1A," she whispered into her earpiece.
Jasmine's voice responded through the crew comm: "Acknowledged. Standby for follow-up."
Divya lingered by the galley curtain, peeking just enough to watch.
Geeta arrived at Ryan's seat, bowed slightly—subtle, submissive. Not a performance. A habit.
He didn't need to ask.
She placed the flute gently on his tray table, then stepped back and kept her hands behind her back.
He took the glass.
Sipped once.
Didn't even look at her.
And still, her eyes shone with pride.
Divya swallowed.
She felt lightheaded.
She turned back toward the galley—and there Jasmine stood.
Waiting.
Watching.
Divya jumped slightly. "Oh! Sorry—"
"You don't need to apologize," Jasmine said softly.
She stepped forward, blocking off the entrance to the aisle behind them. The business curtain whispered shut.
Divya's heart pounded.
They were alone now.
Sort of.
Close enough.
Jasmine reached for the wine cooler.
Pulled out another champagne bottle.
Her eyes never left Divya's face as she uncorked it with practiced ease.
A hiss of pressure escaped the mouth.
"Good vintage," Jasmine said. "Smooth. Clean. Dry… with a hint of heat."
She poured a glass.
Didn't hand it over.
Just set it on the counter.
Then turned to Divya.
"Do you know what we call this part of the flight?"
Divya blinked. "W-What?"
Jasmine smiled.
"Cruise mode. After the climb. After the pressure. It's the part where… we glide. Where there's room to breathe."
She took a step closer.
Divya couldn't move.
"You've felt the climb, haven't you?" Jasmine asked, voice low now. "You've been climbing. Ever since that parking lot…"
Divya's breath caught.
"You've seen what we are now. What you could be."
Her lips parted.
She nodded.
Jasmine brushed a hair from Divya's forehead—just a single touch, intimate and gentle.
Then she leaned in and whispered:
"It's time."
The words hit like a warm current through her chest.
"Me?" Divya breathed.
Jasmine turned and walked to the service panel.
Pressed a button.
"Cabin secure. Service suspended for fifteen minutes," she announced over crew-only speakers.
Then she looked over her shoulder.
"Follow me."
Divya did.
Her legs felt like air and steel at once.
They reached Row 1.
Ryan was reclined comfortably, legs extended. His champagne flute still half-full. Geeta sat beside him now in the auxiliary jump seat—knees together, hands folded, eyes lowered like a content pet.
Jasmine stepped forward and whispered in his ear.
Ryan didn't flinch.
Just smiled faintly.
And nodded.
Then he looked directly at Divya.
There was no question in his gaze.
Only invitation.
Jasmine stepped aside.
Geeta patted the seat cushion between them.
Divya stepped forward.
Her knees trembled.
The air felt thinner here.
She stood before him.
Jasmine's voice was velvet behind her:
"Ask him."
Geeta whispered, "Now."
Divya's lips quivered.
Then—
She dropped to her knees.
The carpet was soft beneath her. Her skirt rode up. She didn't adjust it.
She placed her hands on her thighs.
Looked up into his eyes.
"Please…" she whispered, voice shaking.
"I want to be yours, too."
Ryan stared at her for a beat.
Then—
He unzipped.
Scene 4 – The Interview (Blowjob Initiation)
POV: Divya Rana | Location: Row 1, VIP Business Section, In-Flight | Time: 10:44 a.m.
The faint metallic rasp of Ryan's zipper opening was louder than the aircraft's hum.
Divya's breath caught.
She was on her knees now—on his carpet. Her arms rested at her sides like she'd seen Geeta do. Like Jasmine trained her to do. Her fingers twitched, aching to reach for him, to touch, to serve.
But she waited.
Waited for permission.
Ryan didn't speak at first.
He simply pulled his slacks down just enough to free himself.
And there it was.
Heavy.
Thick.
Half-hard, already flushed with color, resting against his thigh.
Her mouth watered.
She didn't mean to. It just happened.
Ryan looked down at her.
"Look at it."
She obeyed.
Her eyes dropped.
She stared.
It twitched once, the head rising slightly as if aware of her presence.
She felt her core clench.
Her lips parted instinctively.
"I want to hear you say it again," he said. "Clearly this time."
Divya swallowed.
Then met his gaze.
"Please…" she whispered, voice hoarse with need. "Please take me. I want to serve you. I want to belong to you."
Jasmine, standing behind Ryan, smiled faintly.
Geeta, still seated to the side, shifted closer, her fingers gently brushing Divya's back.
Ryan's tone was calm. Controlled.
"Then prove it."
Divya inched forward.
Her lips hovered just above the tip.
The scent hit her—clean, masculine, arousing. Not just from him. From them. The residue of earlier sessions with Jasmine and Geeta clung faintly to his shaft, mingled with fresh skin and dominance.
She moaned softly.
Then pressed a single kiss to the base.
Geeta let out a quiet breath behind her.
"Good girl," Jasmine whispered.
Ryan didn't move.
Divya kissed again.
And again.
Slow.
Reverent.
She ran her tongue along the underside—flat and slow—like worship.
Then, with one trembling breath, she parted her lips and took him inside.
Just the tip.
Her lips formed a tight seal.
Her cheeks hollowed.
Her jaw widened around his girth.
Her tongue danced in nervous strokes.
She moaned softly.
And Ryan sighed.
"Deeper."
Divya obeyed.
She slid forward, inch by inch.
Her throat fought it. She gagged once, but didn't pull away.
Tears pricked her eyes instantly.
But she wanted this.
God, she needed this.
Jasmine crouched beside her now, her manicured fingers brushing the base of Ryan's shaft, guiding her pace.
"Breathe through your nose," Jasmine whispered. "Keep your tongue pressed. Swallow when you feel the burn."
Divya whimpered.
She gagged again.
Her hands braced on Ryan's thighs for balance.
Geeta leaned in and kissed her cheek.
"You're doing perfect," she said softly, lips brushing her skin.
Divya pulled back—wet, messy.
Saliva strung between her lips and his cock.
She gasped once, then went down again, this time faster.
Ryan's hand moved to her head. He didn't push.
He just held her.
Let her know she was his now.
Her tongue began to learn his shape.
Her throat adjusted.
The taste, the weight, the truth of it settled deep into her.
She was on her knees, in the air, between his thighs, surrounded by two women who had already fallen—and she wanted to fall harder.
She sucked harder now.
Her head bobbed slowly, rhythmically.
The obscene wet sounds filled the cabin.
Jasmine's voice coached her in her ear.
"Use your hand—yes. Twist it. Match the suction."
Divya obeyed.
Her hand gripped the base.
She began to stroke as she sucked.
Geeta stroked her hair now, soft, reverent.
Ryan groaned.
Low.
Approval.
Divya nearly came from the sound.
Her panties were ruined again. She was sure of it.
She gagged once more—then forced herself down farther.
More spit. More heat. More desperation.
Her throat clamped around the head.
Ryan hissed.
His hand tightened in her hair.
"Don't stop now."
Divya's lips sealed tight.
She bobbed faster.
Slrk. Slrrp. Gag. Moan.
It was a symphony of submission.
Jasmine knelt on the other side and kissed Divya's temple.
"You're almost there," she whispered.
Geeta joined in.
"Take it. Own it. Show him."
Divya's whole body shook.
Her knees ached.
Her jaw burned.
But she didn't stop.
She didn't want to.
This was her trial.
Her offering.
Her purpose.
Ryan's voice came again, low, strained.
"Look at me."
Divya looked up.
Her lips were still sealed around him.
Her eyes—glassy, worshipful.
Their gazes locked.
And he came.
The pulse hit her tongue before the warmth did.
Hot.
Thick.
Claiming.
He didn't groan loudly. He didn't shudder dramatically.
He just exhaled—deep, masculine satisfaction.
And held her head steady.
Divya swallowed.
And swallowed again.
She didn't pull off until it was done.
When she did, her mouth opened slightly, and she gasped softly for air, then licked her lips, tasting him.
She didn't wipe her mouth.
She didn't hide.
She looked up again.
Waiting.
Ryan leaned forward.
And with a single finger under her chin, she lifted her face.
He said nothing at first.
Then, slowly, he reached into his coat.
Pulled out a slim envelope.
Slid it into the top of her blouse.
The flap brushed the curve of her breast.
Divya didn't blink.
Ryan smiled.
"Welcome to the sky."
Then he leaned down.
And kissed her forehead.
It wasn't tender.
It was ownership.
The brand she had begged for.
Geeta clapped once, soft and proud.
Jasmine grinned.
And Divya?
She smiled.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
And she whispered:
"Thank you… Master."
Scene 5 – Acceptance and the Lead-in to Use
POV: Ryan | Location: VIP Business Section – Mid-Flight, Cruising Altitude
The warmth of Divya's lips still lingered on his cock.
She knelt there, dazed, flushed, her mouth shiny with saliva and submission, her breath soft and steady like she had just emerged from baptism. Her chest rose gently beneath her tight blouse, the envelope containing her first $1000 resting like a sacred seal between her breasts.
Ryan let his gaze linger.
She looked beautiful like this—not just obedient, but radiant. Transformed.
Jasmine and Geeta stood behind her now like sentries of the altar. One had lured her. The other had broken her. Together, they'd guided Divya to the edge of herself and watched her leap.
He reached out again, not with command but with grace.
His fingers brushed along Divya's cheek.
"You did well."
Her lips parted.
A small sound escaped.
"Thank you… Master."
The word sent a ripple through the air.
Jasmine smiled knowingly. Geeta's eyes fluttered shut for a beat.
"You're not just mine now," Ryan continued, his voice velvet but sharp. "You're part of this now."
He gestured gently between the three of them.
"Jasmine will teach you how to live without shame. Geeta will remind you of what pride costs. But me…" His tone lowered, dark and intimate. "I'll give you purpose. I'll show you who you really are beneath the uniform."
Divya's eyes welled again.
"Please…" she whispered. "Use me."
Ryan tilted his head.
"So eager already?"
Jasmine crouched down beside her.
"She's been ready for weeks," she said, brushing a thumb along Divya's wet lips. "Haven't you, pet?"
Divya nodded wordlessly.
Ryan leaned back in his plush seat and tapped his thigh.
Geeta understood first.
Without needing instruction, she slid into his lap, facing him, her blouse already unbuttoned.
Her lips found his neck as her hands worked at her skirt.
"I've missed this…" she whispered.
Jasmine guided Divya to her feet.
"Come, baby. Time for your first real lesson."
Together, the two women stripped her down—not completely, but just enough.
Her bra slipped from her shoulders, her blouse opened, her skirt hiked high to reveal the soaked ruin of her black panties.
Ryan's cock was already recovering, twitching with new life.
He looked at Divya as she stood trembling beside him, half-naked, heart on fire.
"One of you on my cock," he said calmly. "One on my mouth. The third on my hand."
His voice cut through the cabin like a king addressing his chosen.
Geeta straddled him instantly, guiding his shaft toward her soaked entrance.
Divya didn't move.
She stared, wide-eyed, at Geeta as she began to sink down, inch by inch, taking him inside with practiced grace.
Her breath caught.
Her back arched.
Ryan groaned.
"You're still tight," he murmured.
Geeta smiled—bliss and shame intermingling.
Divya reached for her own panties, ready to step forward.
But Jasmine stopped her.
"Not yet," she whispered.
Then she took Divya's hand.
And pulled her to the side.
"Let him fuck Geeta first. Watch. Learn."
Divya obeyed.
And watched as Geeta began to ride.
Slow.
Rhythmic.
Her breasts bounced.
Her eyes fluttered.
Ryan gripped her hips and thrust upward once, sharply.
Geeta gasped.
"Fuck—yes…"
Jasmine's fingers slipped between Divya's thighs.
"You want to feel this too, don't you?"
Divya nodded frantically.
Jasmine guided her fingers under the ruined lace of Divya's panties.
"Touch yourself for him," she whispered. "Make it beautiful."
Divya obeyed.
She moaned softly.
Ryan's hands were now on Geeta's back, pulling her close, driving deeper.
Their bodies moved as one.
Divya rubbed harder.
Watched closer.
Every thrust burned itself into her soul.
Jasmine leaned in and licked her neck.
"You're going to be fucked like that too, baby. Over and over."
Divya's moan spilled into the air.
Ryan's voice snapped again:
"Jasmine."
She smiled and turned.
"Yes, Master?"
"Get on the floor. Ride my tongue."
Divya gasped.
Geeta moaned.
And Jasmine? She obeyed like a queen in heat.
She climbed down, stripped her soaked panties in one motion, and crawled between Ryan's legs.
As Geeta rode him, Jasmine planted her thighs on either side of his face and sank down onto his mouth.
Ryan's muffled growl rumbled through her.
All three women gasped together.
Divya couldn't take it.
Her fingers moved faster now.
Watching her two idols lose themselves on Ryan's cock and mouth—watching sweat bead between their breasts, watching Jasmine tremble as Ryan's tongue licked her clit in strong circles—it shattered her control.
"Please…" she whispered. "Please fuck me too…"
But Ryan was busy devouring Jasmine.
Geeta's cries filled the cabin.
Their trio rode his body like a throne.
Divya collapsed against the seat beside them, moaning into her hand, cumming untouched.
As her orgasm tore through her, Ryan looked up through Jasmine's thighs and locked eyes with her.
He smiled.
And mouthed: "Next."