As the sun crept through the curtains the next afternoon, my cunt was already throbbing, remembering the way Bauji’s thick cock had bulged in my fist yesterday. But today wasn’t about that old man—today was about the MLA’s son. Aayan. Or as he’d made it crystal clear the moment I walked into his flat: I was to call him Daddy. Or Master. Or Sir.

I didn’t even blink.