Scene 4: Midnight Hotel (Divya's Sensory Collapse)
POV: Divya Rana Location: Unknown Hotel Room — Abu Dhabi | Time: 1:13 a.m.
The room was dark, lit only by the faint orange hue leaking through the blinds from the city below.
The hotel walls were not thin.
Divya realized it as soon as she laid her head down on the stiff white pillow. The room had fallen quiet hours ago—no hallway sounds, no elevator hum, just the distant purr of the city far below.
And then she heard it.
Not a knock. Not a voice.
A rhythm.
Thump… thump… creak…
The unmistakable sound of a bed in motion. Faint at first—like footsteps. But not quite.
She opened her eyes in the darkness, heart skipping.
It wasn't a dream.
It wasn't the air conditioner.
It was the bed next door. Jasmine's.
And it was moving.
At first, she told herself it could be anything.
Maybe Jasmine was tossing in her sleep. Maybe she'd dropped something. Maybe—
"Mmm… yes…"
Divya's breath caught.
Jasmine.
Her voice. Real. Close.
Low. Breathless. Sticky with need.
"Harder… yes… just like that—"
Divya sat up.
Her body responded before her brain could.
A sudden flush of heat. Goosebumps. The tingle down her neck.
She stared at the wall that separated them. Two inches of soundproof luxury. But it wasn't working. Or maybe… maybe it was only her who could hear.
The moans grew clearer.
"Touch my tattoos… you like them, don't you?"
"You want to see all of me… strip me down…"
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Wet.
Rhythmic.
Deliberate.
Sex.
Jasmine was being fucked just feet away. And not quietly.
Divya clutched her sheets. Her thighs pressed together instinctively.
She wasn't supposed to hear this.
She wasn't supposed to feel this.
She turned away from the wall. Pulled the sheet over her head. Pressed a pillow tight to her ears.
It didn't help.
The sounds seeped into her bones.
Because it wasn't just noise—it was a vivid slideshow in her mind:
Jasmine in that maroon slit dress, hips grinding against a stranger's lap at the bar hours earlier.
The way she'd smiled.
The tattoo of black vines on her thigh disappearing up her skirt.
The word "Ryan" inked on her wrist—not the man she was with tonight.
And now—
Now she was on her back. Or on her knees. Or bent over.
"You like that, don't you? You want to fuck the whore, not the hostess…"
Divya whimpered.
Her body was reacting without permission.
Her nipples were hard. Her stomach knotted.
She slid one hand down beneath the sheet. Past her waistband. Past her panties.
And gasped.
She was wet.
Soaked.
Her fingers came back slick with heat and shame.
She pulled them away. Covered her mouth. Eyes wide in the dark.
No. No. Stop it.
But then Jasmine cried out.
"YES—right there—ohhh god, don't stop!"
The bed thudded harder.
The man grunted.
The moans grew filthier. Bolder. Joyful.
"Mmm, fuck, I love being watched…"
Divya's legs trembled.
Her fingers slid back down.
This time, she didn't stop.
She closed her eyes.
And saw everything.
Jasmine bent over the bed, her wings tattoo gleaming under hotel lighting.
A man gripping her hips, pounding into her from behind, his hand pulling her hair back.
Jasmine's back arching. Her tongue slipping out. Her eyes rolling.
"You're so deep… deeper… ruin me…"
Divya bit her lip.
Her fingers moved in slow, agonizing circles over her clit.
She rolled onto her side, gripping the pillow as her hips began to move.
Tiny moans escaped her lips.
She hated herself.
She couldn't stop.
"Say it," the man said."I'm your slut," Jasmine moaned. "I'm your toy—use me…"
Divya gasped. Her legs locked. The pressure inside her broke like a dam.
She came.
Hard.
Mouth open. Body shuddering.
Her back arched.
Her toes curled.
She sobbed into the sheets—half from pleasure, half from humiliation.
But the sounds from next door hadn't stopped.
If anything, they grew louder.
"Yes! YES! Fill me again—use every inch of me—mark me!"
Divya was still trembling.
Her hand hadn't left her body.
And her pussy… was still wet.
Still aching.
Still begging.
She wasn't done.
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POV: Divya Rana | 1:48 a.m. | Unknown Hotel Room
Divya's chest heaved. Her legs twitched, muscles weak and oversensitive. The sheets clung to her like sweat-soaked silk, trapping her in her own aftermath.
But the sounds hadn't stopped.
If anything—they grew clearer.
"Mmm… yeah, that's it—yes—fuck, go deeper—make me feel it tomorrow…"
Jasmine's voice was soaked in pleasure.
Wet. Raw. Wild.
Slap… slap… slap…
The mattress groaned.
A dull thud hit the wall. Once. Then again. Faster.
"Harder. Come on. You want this slut, don't you?"
Divya's thighs pressed together tightly, as if they could hold back the shame. But it was useless.
Because her body was already responding again.
She was wet. Again.
Still.
And her clit—once so overstimulated it felt bruised—was now throbbing.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her hand hovered over her lower belly, hesitating.
But only for a moment.
One slow breath.
And then she slipped her hand back down.
Her fingers slid through her folds, hot and slick and desperate.
She whimpered.
Her other hand covered her mouth.
She didn't even know if she was trying to silence herself or keep from crying.
"Yes—fuck me like that. Use me like the filthy whore I am—" Jasmine screamed.
Divya's body convulsed.
Her pussy clenched hard around nothing, as if begging to be filled.
Her fingers stroked faster.
"I love it—mmm yes—you like watching my tits bounce like this?"
Divya's hand shot up to her breast, grabbing, squeezing, punishing.
Her nipples were rock hard.
The palm of her hand slid back and forth over her slick clit in tight, frantic circles. Her body moved on its own now—hips rocking, thighs parting.
Her lips parted. She moaned softly, breath caught in the back of her throat.
She closed her eyes.
And this time—
She didn't just hear Jasmine.
She saw her.
💭 Erotic Hallucination: The Other Room
Jasmine was on all fours, her spine arched, ass in the air, dark strands of hair clinging to her sweat-slick neck.
Her wings tattoo curved across her back like a claim of ownership.
Her thighs trembled. Her hips rocked back against the man's thrusts—greedy for more.
The man wasn't Ryan.
It didn't matter.
What mattered was the look in Jasmine's eyes:
Euphoric.
Liberated.
Corrupted.
"Do you want to cum inside me? Huh? Do it. Fill your slut. I want to feel it drip out when I walk tomorrow."
Divya's hand moved even faster.
She was close.
So close she felt like she was falling off a ledge.
Her body locked.
Her toes curled.
And—
She came.
Harder than the first time.
A sob broke from her throat.
Her stomach clenched. Her fingers stayed pressed to her clit as the pleasure ripped through her like a quake.
Her whole body trembled violently.
She clamped a pillow over her face and screamed into it, teeth biting the fabric.
It wouldn't stop.
Wave after wave.
Her inner thighs were soaked.
She lay there panting, arms limp, sweat dripping from her temples.
Her fingers trembled.
The sound of Jasmine being fucked was still there—but muffled now. Slower. Like the man was resting inside her, still hard, still moving, drawing out the last of her pleasure.
"Fuck…" Jasmine whispered. "I love being your cumdump…"
Divya cried.
Silently.
A single tear rolled from the corner of her eye and disappeared into the pillow.
Her hand slid down again.
A third time.
Almost unconsciously.
She was still aching.
Still empty.
Still jealous.
"I want to be her…"
She whispered it.
Barely audible.
Then again.
"I want to be her…"
She stared at the ceiling, eyes glassy.
"Please…" she whispered. "Let it be me next time."
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POV: Divya Rana 2:04 a.m.Unknown Hotel Room
She didn't realize her hand was still moving.
Two fingers circled her clit with slow, shaky pressure—barely enough to push her into another climax, just enough to keep her trembling on the edge.
The rest of her body lay slack across the bed. Her tank top was bunched above her chest. Her shorts were down to one ankle. Her thighs were parted like an invitation, and the sheets beneath her were soaked straight through.
She should've stopped.
She should've run to the shower, scrubbed her skin raw, and prayed.
But her fingers wouldn't stop.
Her body wouldn't stop.
And Jasmine—Jasmine wouldn't stop either.
"Ahhh—fuck yes—yes—stretch me out—leave me ruined—"
Her voice echoed like sin through the wall.
slap slap slap slap
creak creak—
The headboard hit the wall harder.
Divya bit the inside of her wrist.
Her fingers dipped inside her again.
So wet. So fucking wet.
She lifted her hips, arching toward the pressure, fucking her own fingers as she cried into the pillow.
The third orgasm was building like a slow fire.
It wasn't sharp like the first.
It wasn't wild like the second.
This was inevitable.
This was the breaking kind.
💭 Erotic Hallucination: The Switch
She wasn't Divya anymore.
Not in her mind.
She was on all fours on that bed.
She was the one being pounded into from behind—sweat dripping down her breasts, knees bruising on Egyptian cotton.
The man pulled her hair. Called her a slut. Asked if she liked being fucked like this.
She said yes.
Over and over again.
Her tattoos burned with arousal—even though she had none.
She imagined them:
A rose chain starting from her left thigh and curling around her hip.
A bold "PROPERTY" above her ass.
And across her breast, under the swell—"RYAN" inked in deep black.
Her imagined body was covered in sin and ownership.
And she loved it.
Divya's fingers pumped faster.
She was panting now, mouth open, drooling onto the sheets.
She rubbed her clit furiously, hips jerking.
"I want it…" she whispered.
"I want to be used like that…"
"Please… anyone… everyone…"
She came.
Harder than before.
So hard her body curled in on itself, spasming around her hand.
She cried out—no pillow this time—just her voice breaking open in the dark:
"Aaaaah—fuuuuck—yes—use me—use me—I'll be good—"
Her thighs locked.
Her pussy clenched tight around her fingers, coating them in slick.
Her breath hitched. Her stomach twisted.
And she let go.
She collapsed.
Fully.
Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.
She lay there—ruined, twitching, sobbing, and high on the edge of madness.
The moans next door faded into whispers, then into laughter, then into silence.
But inside her, the storm still raged.
🖤 Afterglow and Reprogramming
Divya rolled to her side, eyes open and blank.
Her hand rested across her stomach, sticky and glistening.
Her thighs were raw.
Her lips were sore.
Her mind was silent for the first time in days.
Only one thought remained.
"She's free."
Not just sexually.
But completely.
Jasmine was owned—and proud of it.
And Geeta… Geeta was changing too.
Divya had resisted.
Fought the feelings.
Clung to shame.
And where had it gotten her?
Alone in the dark. Soaked. Desperate.
She stared at the wall, still feeling the vibrations of Jasmine's last orgasm through the concrete.
Then whispered…
"Please…"
"Let me be next."