Chapter 9: Travelling is fun
The champagne bubbles went straight to my head, or maybe it was the altitude, or maybe it was just the fact that I, Tia Sharma, was in first class. The pod was a world of its own, all soft grey leather and ambient lighting, a universe away from the cramped economy seats I was used to. I sipped the expensive bubbly, trying to look nonchalant, but my heart was hammering against my ribs. Vishal Sir was right across the aisle, his long fingers tapping on his laptop, the glow of the screen illuminating his sharp profile. God, he was beautiful. Powerful.
Sonal Ma’am was next to him, already buried in a sleep mask, but I’d caught her watching me earlier. A sharp, assessing look that made me feel like a bug under glass.
The ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign dinged off. Vishal Sir closed his laptop with a quiet snap and turned to me. “Comfortable, Tia?”
“Uh, yeah. Sir. It’s… amazing.” I gestured vaguely at the pod, the real linen napkin, the crystal flute. I sounded like an idiot.
He gave a slow, easy smile. “Good. You should get used to it. This is the life that comes with performing well.” His gaze lingered on me, warm and heavy. He undid his seatbelt and slid into the empty pod beside me. The space, which had felt luxuriously large, suddenly shrank. I could smell his cologne, something clean and expensive like sandalwood and rain.
“Relax, Tia,” he murmured, his hand coming to rest on my knee. A jolt, electric and warm, shot up my thigh. “We’re off the clock. Call me Vishal.”
“Vishal,” I breathed, testing the name. It felt forbidden on my tongue.
His hand began a slow, rhythmic stroking on my inner thigh, his thumb making small, deliberate circles. The champagne glass trembled in my hand. I set it down before I dropped it. The hum of the jet engines seemed to grow louder, a dull roar in my ears. His fingers crept higher, under the hem of my dress.
“Vishal…” I whispered, a weak protest. I glanced nervously towards Sonal. The sleep mask was still on, but her head was tilted slightly in our direction.
“She’s asleep,” Vishal said, his voice low and confident. His fingers found the lace edge of my underwear. “Or she’s pretending to be. Doesn’t matter.” He hooked a finger under the elastic. “Lift your hips a little.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a soft command. My body obeyed before my mind could form a coherent thought. I shifted, lifting my hips just enough for him to slide my underwear down my legs. He tucked them neatly into the seat pocket in front of us. The cool air hit my bare skin, and I flinched.
“Shhh,” he soothed, his hand returning to my thigh, pushing my legs apart. His touch was firm, possessive. I was exposed, right there in the cabin, with a hundred people sleeping just beyond a flimsy curtain. My face burned. My breath hitched.
His fingers found me, slick and hot and so, so ready for him. I gasped, my head falling back against the headrest. He worked me with a practiced ease, his thumb circling my clit while two fingers slid inside, curling in a way that made me see stars. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. I bit my lip to stop from crying out, my hands gripping the armrests.
“She’s very wet, Sonal,” Vishal said conversationally, not even looking away from me.
My eyes snapped open. Sonal had pushed her sleep mask up onto her forehead. She wasn’t horrified. She was watching us with a cool, analytical expression, like a scientist observing an experiment.
“Is she?” Sonal’s voice was calm. “Don’t let her get too loud. And make sure she comes. A frustrated intern is an inefficient one.”
The clinical instruction, the sheer absurdity of it, sent another wave of heat through me. I was being orchestrated. Vishal’s fingers delved deeper, faster. The pressure built, a coiling spring in my gut. I was panting now, shameless, my hips moving against his hand. The world narrowed to his touch, the drone of the engines, and Sonal’s unblinking gaze.
“Come on, Tia,” Vishal whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Let go. Show us.”
It broke me. A silent, screaming orgasm ripped through me, so violent my body arched off the seat. Lights exploded behind my eyelids. I shuddered, clenching around his fingers, waves of pleasure washing over me until I was boneless, spent, drowning in the aftermath.
He withdrew his fingers slowly. I lay there, trembling, utterly exposed. He brought his wet fingers to his lips, tasting me without breaking eye contact. “Good girl.”
Then he unbuckled his belt. “Your turn.”
My mind was still fuzzy, blissed-out. “My… turn?”
He unzipped his trousers. His cock sprang free, thick and erect. He gripped the back of my head, not roughly, but with an undeniable authority. “Learn,” he said simply.
I’d never… not really. A few clumsy, teenage attempts. This was different. This was a test. I leaned forward, my heart thudding anew. The smell of him, musky and male, filled my senses. I opened my mouth, taking just the head. It was strange. Salty. Intimate in a way that felt more invasive than his fingers inside me.
“Deeper,” Sonal instructed from her seat. I jumped, having almost forgotten she was there. “Use your tongue. Flat, along the underside. Yes, like that.”
I followed her commands, my cheeks burning with a mixture of humiliation and a strange, burgeoning curiosity. Vishal’s hand stayed in my hair, guiding me, setting a slow, relentless rhythm. At first, I just wanted it to be over. The gag reflex. The awkward angle. The sheer strangeness of it.
But then something shifted. His low groans of pleasure, the way his thighs tensed, the feeling of power that came from having this formidable man at my mercy… it started to feel less like a chore and more like a discovery. A dark, thrilling secret. I found a rhythm, experimenting with pressure and tongue, listening to his breathing hitch.
“Faster now,” he grunted, his grip tightening in my hair.
I obeyed, losing myself in the motion, in the taste, in the raw, primal sounds he was making. The awkwardness melted away, replaced by a fierce, focused hunger. I wanted to devour him. I wanted to be the reason he fell apart.
“I’m going to come,” he warned, his voice strained.
Sonal leaned over, her voice a sharp whisper. “Swallow it. All of it. Don’t waste a drop.”
The command sealed it. When he pulsed hot and bitter into my mouth, I didn’t pull away. I swallowed, once, twice, taking everything he gave me. It was a final, profound surrender.
He slumped back into his seat, breathing heavily. I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My lips felt bruised. My body hummed. I looked from Vishal’s satiated face to Sonal’s approving nod.
The plane sailed on through the night, a silver bullet in the dark. And I, Tia Sharma, intern, felt a new, terrifying certainty settle in my bones. I loved it. I loved every degrading, glorious second of it.
The high was still buzzing in my veins, a fizzy cocktail of champagne and power and his taste on my tongue. I felt invincible, untouchable, curled up in my plush seat as the plane began its descent.
That’s when Sonal leaned over, her sleep mask now a black band holding back her hair. Her voice was a low, sharp blade slicing through my buzz. "Are you completely insane?" she hissed at Vishal, her eyes flicking to me with pure irritation. "Thirty thousand feet in the air? With staff?"
Vishal just stretched, a lazy, satisfied panther. "Relax, Sonal. The cabin was dark. The divider was up." He waved a dismissive hand, his knuckles grazing my arm and sending a fresh shiver through me. "No one saw a thing."
"She's an intern, Vishal. Not one of your seasoned... playthings." Sonal’s jaw was tight. "You need to keep your cock in your pants until we're on solid, private ground. This was reckless."
But we were too floaty, too tipsy on the aftermath to truly hear her. The warnings just blurred into the cabin noise. Vishal winked at me, a secret, thrilling promise. I giggled, a stupid, girlish sound that felt alien coming from my just-used mouth.
The landing was a blur of routine and bright lights. We moved through the airport in a insulated bubble, our silence loud with everything that had happened. A sleek black car was waiting, its interior cool and dark.
The driver shut our door, sealing the three of us in the plush, private cabin. The partition slid up with a quiet hum, disconnecting us from the world. The resort was an hour away, on the isolated outskirts of the city. Night had fallen completely.
The car hadn't been moving for five minutes before Vishal’s hand found my knee again. His fingers traced the same path up my thigh they had on the plane. "See?" he murmured, his breath warm against my temple. "Total privacy."
Sonal sighed from the opposite seat, a sound of profound exhaustion. "Vishal, for God's sake. Let the girl breathe. We just got off the plane."
But he was already shifting, his body turning towards me, his intent clear in the dim light. The atmosphere in the car thickened, charged with a familiar tension. The memory of his fingers, his taste, the way he made me come apart, it all came rushing back, drowning out Sonal's logic.
He unbuttoned his trousers with one hand, the other pulling me closer. The leather seat creaked under our weight. "This won't take long," he said, his voice rough with renewed hunger.
My mind, still hazy, finally snagged on a sharp, cold point of reality. Virgin. The word echoed, clear and terrifying. This wasn't fingers or my mouth. This was different. This was final.
"Sonalji..." I whispered, my voice small, a plea lost in the car's engine hum.
Sonal leaned forward, her face pale in the passing streetlights. "Vishal, stop. She's not ready for this. Look at her."
But he was beyond listening, his own need a feedback loop he couldn't escape. He fumbled between us, his body positioning over mine. The hard, insistent pressure against my core was alien and frightening. The invincibility I felt on the plane shattered.
A sudden, visceral panic seized me. "No," I said, the word firmer than I expected. I pushed against his chest with my hands. "Wait. Stop. I don't want to."
He paused, his body rigid with frustration. "What now, Tia? After everything?" His confusion felt genuine, and that somehow made it worse.
The car sped on into the dark, taking me toward a point of no return. His weight was still on me, his desire a palpable force in the closed space. I had said no. But his body hadn't moved away. The hard tip of him still pressed against my thin cotton underwear, a stark reminder of how little my refusal might ultimately matter.
His weight didn’t lift. The pressure remained, a terrifying promise. “Vishal, please,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I said no.”
“For God’s sake, Vishal, get off her.” Sonal’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and final. She wasn’t pleading. She was commanding. “You’re acting like an animal. Look at her. She’s shaking.”
He froze above me, his breath hot and ragged on my neck. For a long, suspended moment, I thought he would ignore her too. Then, with a grunt of frustration, he pushed himself back onto his seat. The sudden absence of his weight left me cold. I scrambled upright, pulling my dress down, my entire body trembling with adrenaline and relief.
“She wanted it on the plane,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He sounded like a petulant child.
“That was different, and you know it.” Sonal’s gaze was locked on him, a silent argument passing between them. She then turned to me, her expression unreadable. “He doesn’t know how to be patient. He sees something he wants and he takes it, like a child grabbing for candy.”
She moved with a sudden, fluid grace, shifting from her seat to settle beside me on the plush leather. The space felt smaller, charged with a new, different kind of electricity. Her perfume, something floral and sharp, washed over me. “But some things need to be unwrapped slowly,” she said, her voice dropping to a murmur meant only for me. “Don’t they, Tia?”
Her hand came to rest on my bare knee. It wasn't like Vishal's possessive grip. This was softer, exploratory. My breath hitched. I didn't understand what was happening. Her thumb began to stroke slow, hypnotic circles on my skin. “Just relax. Let me show you what he’s too impatient to understand.”
I was frozen, caught between the receding threat of Vishal and this new, bewildering advance. Her fingers trailed higher up my thigh, under the hem of my dress. I should have pushed her away. I should have screamed. But a treacherous curiosity kept me rooted to the spot. Her touch was knowing, expert in a way his wasn’t.
“See?” she whispered, her lips close to my ear. Her fingers found the damp center of me through my underwear. A jolt, entirely different from the one Vishal provoked, shot through my core. It was a deeper, more resonant thrum. “Your body is still ready. It’s hungry. But not for his clumsy rushing.”
Vishal watched from his seat, his earlier frustration replaced by a dark, captivated intensity. He made no move to stop her. His eyes were fixed on Sonal’s hand moving against me. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of my underwear and pulled them down my legs with a single, practiced tug. The cool air hit my naked skin.
“Sonalji…” I breathed, a weak, confused protest.
“Chup raho,” she murmured, her voice laced with a crude warmth. “Bas feel kar.” Her fingers parted me, sliding through my wetness with an intimacy that stole my breath. This was nothing like the plane. This was deliberate, focused exploration. Her thumb found my clit and began to circle it with a precision that felt like it was rewiring my nervous system.
Then she shifted, lowering her head between my legs. The first touch of her tongue was a lightning strike. I cried out, my back arching off the seat. It was a flickering, relentless pressure that knew exactly where to go, how to move. “Oh god…”
“Kitni geeli ho gayi hai,” she muttered against my skin, her Hindi words coarse and thrilling. “Ab to bahar nikal do apna paani.”
I was losing my mind. My hands fisted in the leather seats. The world outside the car windows blurred into streaks of light. There was only this sensation, this building, coiling tension deep in my belly. Her tongue worked me with a brutal expertise, licking and sucking, her fingers joining in, stretching me open. I was babbling, pleading, but I didn’t know for what.
“Haan, abhi… abhi aaja,” she commanded, her voice guttural. “Chillaa. Apna saara nikal de.”
The orgasm tore through me with a violence that was almost frightening. A raw, screaming shout was ripped from my throat, echoing in the car’s confined space. My body convulsed, completely out of my control, shaking uncontrollably against her mouth.
Through the haze, I saw Vishal. He was leaning forward, his eyes burning with a fierce arousal. His gaze was locked on my small breasts, jutting with each frantic heave of my chest as the waves of pleasure crashed over me. He loved it. He loved watching me come completely apart under his sister’s command.
I collapsed, boneless and gasping, into the leather. Sonal sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a faint, satisfied smile on her lips. The car was silent except for my ragged, broken breaths. The city lights were brighter now. We were almost there.
We were almost there. The car slid through imposing iron gates, the city's glare softening into the curated darkness of a private road. Sonal’s fingers, still working inside me, crooked at a brutal angle that made me gasp. "Almost, baby," she whispered, her breath hot on my thigh. "Just a little more."
Vishal watched, his eyes glinting in the intermittent light from ornate lampposts. He didn’t speak, just shifted his weight and leaned toward me. His head blotted out the window, his intention clear in the set of his jaw. I was still trembling from the orgasm she'd wrung from me, my body slick and oversensitive.
He didn't ask. His mouth closed over my small breast, his tongue lashing my nipple before his teeth clamped down. A sharp, bright pain flared, radiating through my entire nervous system. I cried out, a short, sharp sound swallowed by the car's silence.
His bite was not gentle. It was a sharp, possessive claim that made my back arch off the leather seat. It was a counterpoint to the deep, rhythmic pressure of Sonal’s hand. "Such perfect little bites," he growled against my skin, his breath hot.
Sonal increased her pace, her fingers a relentless piston inside me, her palm grinding against my clit. The pleasure was now inseparable from the pain, a single, overwhelming current. "You see how he marks what's his?" Sonal said, her voice low and husky right by my ear. "Be ready."
The car eased to a smooth stop under a gleaming porte-cochère. Vishal released my nipple with a final, stinging lick. Sonal withdrew her hand, slick and shining, from between my legs. The sudden emptiness was a shock. "We're here," Vishal said, his voice rough with anticipation. He straightened up, tucking himself back into his trousers with a practiced motion.
The driver's door opened, then closed. We were suspended in that quiet, heavy space before the world intruded. "The suite is completely private," Sonal said, as if reading the last flicker of hesitation in my mind. "No one will hear a thing."
I looked from his hungry, focused face to her calm, knowing one. My skin was on fire, every nerve ending alive and screaming. The throbbing between my legs was a demanding, insistent drumbeat.
And yes, I was more than ready for the night
The throbbing between my legs was a demanding, insistent drumbeat.
And yes, I was more than ready for the night. The suite was all dark wood and low lighting, a cavern of shadows that swallowed the click of the closing door. My small gold necklace, the one Swati had given me, felt cold against my burning skin. Vishal didn’t turn on the main lights, just a single lamp that cast long, dancing shapes across the vast room.
He stood watching me, his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows and the city’s glittering tapestry below. “Undress for us, Tia.” His voice was low, a rough command that left no room for debate. “Slowly.”
My fingers trembled as they found the zipper at the back of my dress. The sound of it sliding down was obscenely loud in the quiet. I let the fabric pool at my feet, standing there in just my heels. The cool air raised goosebumps on my naked skin. I felt their eyes on me, Sonal’s analytical and Vishal’s hungry, tracing the lines of my body.
“The shoes too,” Sonal said from the velvet armchair where she’d settled. She crossed her legs, a queen observing her subject. “Then come here.”
I stepped out of the heels, the plush carpet soft under my bare feet. I walked toward them, my heart hammering. This was it. The final unveiling. I stopped before Vishal, my gaze lowered. His fingers, cool from holding a glass of whiskey he’d poured, touched my chin, tilting my face up.
“Your turn,” I whispered, the words feeling bold and foreign. My hands went to the buttons of his crisp white shirt. I fumbled with the first one, my knuckles brushing against the warm, solid plane of his chest. He watched me, his breath steady, as I worked my way down.
I pushed the shirt from his shoulders. It fell silently to the floor. My palms flattened against his skin, feeling the shift of muscle, the faint beat of his heart. He was all coiled power and quiet intensity. I unbuckled his belt, the metal clasp cold, the leather sliding through the loops with a whisper.
He kicked off his trousers, standing as naked as I was. The difference was staggering. His body was a landscape of hard angles and defined strength, a stark contrast to my own soft, yielding form. I turned to Sonal, my confidence growing with each frantic beat of my heart.
Her smile was a subtle curve. “Eager, aren’t we?”
I reached for the silk of her blouse. She didn’t help, but she didn’t stop me either. I undid each button with more certainty now, revealing her skin inch by inch. She shrugged out of it, her movements economical and poised. Her bra was simple, black lace. I unhooked it at the back, my fingers brushing her spine.
She stood, letting it fall away, and stepped out of her trousers. Soon, all three of us were bare in the lamplight, a tangled equation of exposed skin and sharp anticipation. The city sprawled below, a silent witness.
Vishal guided me backwards toward the massive bed, its dark sheets a yawning abyss. His hands were on my hips, turning me, pressing me down until my knees hit the edge of the mattress. I lay back, the cool silk a shock against my feverish skin. He loomed over me, a dark silhouette against the window’s glow.
“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through me. He knelt between my legs, pushing them apart with an insistent pressure. His eyes were locked on mine, holding me in place more firmly than any physical restraint.
I felt the blunt, solid head of him press against my entrance. It was so much more real than anything before. This wasn’t fingers or a tongue. This was an invasion, a claiming. I gasped, my back arching off the bed, my hands clutching at the sheets.
“Sshhh,” Sonal soothed from somewhere near my head. Her hand stroked my hair, a bizarre, gentle counterpoint to the pressure building below. “Just breathe into it, Tia. Let him in.”
He pushed. A sharp, tearing pain made me cry out, a short, guttural sound. I felt a distinct, unforgiving stretch, a barrier giving way. Tears welled in my eyes. He paused, his body trembling with the effort of holding still, buried deep inside that impossible, burning tightness.
“It’s done,” Sonal said, her voice matter-of-fact. “The rest is just… depth.”
Vishal began to move then, with a slow, deliberate rhythm that was far more devastating than any frantic pounding. Each stroke was a measured, grinding conquest, a reminder of the space he was carving out for himself inside me. The initial sharp pain subsided into a deep, throbbing ache, a raw fullness that was somehow both agonizing and profoundly satisfying.
My sounds changed from pained whimpers to something else, something lower and born from a place deeper than my flesh. I was being remade around him, my body learning a new, brutal geometry of pleasure. Sonal’s fingers trailed down my neck, over my collarbone, pinching a nipple until I gasped.
“See?” Vishal grunted, his thrusts gaining a fiercer confidence, driving the air from my lungs. “You were made for this.”
A second orgasm began to build, different from the one in the car. This one was darker, rooted in that deep, internal friction, in the sheer overwhelming fact of his possession. It wasn’t a sharp peak but a slow, seismic rupture that started in my core and radiated outwards, leaving me shuddering and utterly spent beneath him.
He followed me over the edge, his own release a hot, pulsing flood deep inside. He collapsed onto me, his weight a solid, crushing finality. The room was silent except for our ragged, syncopated breathing. I lay there, pinned, feeling the wetness between my legs, the dull ache, the weight of his body.
Sonal’s shadow fell over us. She looked down, her expression unreadable. She reached out and ran a single, possessive finger through the sweat on Vishal’s back, then along my jawline.