Chapter 4

Rani’s Price

The call came on a Tuesday afternoon, while Manju was in the middle of a deposition. Her phone buzzed against the leather of her bag—a number she hadn’t seen in months, but one she knew by heart.

Rani.

Manju excused herself, stepped into the empty hallway, and pressed the phone to her ear. Her voice was barely a whisper. “What do you want?”

“Your little secret isn’t so little anymore, is it?” Rani’s voice was smooth, almost sweet, but carried the edge of a blade. “Three nose rings. Butt plugs. Benwa balls. And that peon you’ve been letting fuck you in the supply closet. I know everything, Manju.”

Manju’s blood went cold. “How?”

“I have my sources. The same ones who bring me my clients.” A pause. “You owe me. For the years I gave you your weekly sessions, for keeping your cocksucking habit hidden from your fancy colleagues. Now you’re going to pay.”

“How much?”

“Five lakh rupees. Cash. By Friday. Or I send a little video to the Bar Association, your father, and every newspaper in the city.”

Manju’s hand trembled. She had the money. She’d saved a small fortune from her cases, but it was meant for her daughter’s education, for her future. But what choice did she have? “Fine. I’ll have it ready.”

“Good. And there’s something else. Shankar has been using you for free. That ends now. I’m renting you out to a special client this weekend. A Japanese businessman. He has ... particular tastes. You’ll do exactly as he says, or I’ll add the video to his collection.”

Manju wanted to argue, but the words died in her throat. She was trapped. The high-powered lawyer, the respected advocate, reduced to a rented cunt for a stranger with a fetish.

“I’ll be there,” she said.

“Of course you will. And Manju? Don’t wear panties to the meeting tonight. Shankar will be collecting you at eight.”

The Payment

That evening, Manju withdrew the cash from her locker—five lakh rupees in crisp notes, bundled in a black plastic bag. She met Rani in the back room of the same dingy lodge where her nipple-chain sessions had begun. Rani sat on the edge of the bed, a cigarette burning between her fingers, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Count it,” Manju said, tossing the bag onto the mattress.

Rani didn’t bother. She knew Manju wouldn’t cheat. “Good girl. Now strip.”

Manju hesitated. “I already paid—”

“You paid for your secret. Now you’re going to pay for my entertainment.” Rani stood and walked around Manju, her acrylic nails tracing the outline of Manju’s blouse. “I want to see what I’ve been missing. Those 38DD breasts that every client begged for. That mouth that’s sucked more cocks than I can count.”