Chapter 8

Ranveer lounged in his Delhi penthouse, phone pressed to his ear as Lena’s voice crackled through from Pattaya. ‘She’s broken in nicely here with Mira, but I have a buyer lined up in Jeddah. Arab sheikh type, wants her for ten days of real cruelty. Pays top dollar.’ Ranveer chuckled, glancing at a photo of Divya’s marked body on his screen—her massive 38DD tits stretched by chains, long nose hooked with rings. ‘Sell her. Make sure she suffers. She’s mine to rent out.’ Lena grinned on her end. ‘Done. He’ll leash that septum and drag her through the sands.’

Divya knelt naked in Mira’s villa, wrists cuffed behind her back, the fresh piercings throbbing: thick gold hoops through each nostril side, a heavy bar in her septum dangling like a bull’s ring, her tongue weighted with a barbell that made her drool, and nipple rings yanked taut by padlocks. Her fair skin bore welts from the canings, ass cheeks bruised purple, pussy lips clamped with bells that jingled at every shift. Mira shoved a black burkha at her feet. ‘Cover up, pig. You’re shipping out to Jeddah. Lena’s sold your holes to some desert brute.’ Divya’s heart pounded—her Supreme Court life in Delhi felt a world away, but these visible piercings? She’d have to veil tight or risk questions from colleagues.

The flight from Bangkok to Jeddah was a nightmare from takeoff. Divya huddled in economy, the full burkha swallowing her curves, niqab veil draped over her face, leaving only a slit for her eyes. The fabric itched against her raw skin, the septum ring snagging on the coarse weave every time she breathed deeply. Her 38DD breasts strained the chest fabric, nipples hard from fear, the rings rubbing painfully. She shifted, and the tongue piercing clacked against her teeth, forcing her to swallow blood-tinged saliva. Turbulence hit mid-flight, jolting her forward—the veil caught on the armrest hook, yanking her septum ring hard enough to tear skin. She bit back a yelp, hand flying up under the niqab to free it, but the pain shot through her nose like fire. Passengers glanced her way, murmuring about the ‘modest’ woman fidgeting oddly.

Worse came at Jeddah’s King Abdulaziz Airport security. Divya shuffled through the metal detector, the burkha’s layers hiding her slave marks, but the piercings set off alarms—beeps from her nose, tongue, nipples, even the hidden labia clamps. Guards pulled her aside into a screening room, a stern Saudi woman in uniform barking orders in Arabic. ‘Remove the veil. Explain these metals.’ Divya’s hands trembled as she lifted the niqab, revealing her long, sexy nose with its triple piercings: septum bar glinting, side hoops stretched wide from Mira’s rough handling. The woman’s eyes widened at the Hindu name as per passport also priya conveyed post questioning that she is a lawyer by profession too, the cultural clash evident. ‘Why a Hindu in burkha? And these ... abominations? Justify or we detain you.’