Chapter 3

Rohan’s plan to own Aanvi completely began to take shape in the most calculated way. He started inviting Mahesh out for expensive drinks after work, always paying the tab and sending his own staff along to keep the younger man company. Every three months Mahesh received another raise, even though he barely showed up at the office. The money kept flowing, the bar bills disappeared, and Mahesh never questioned why his boss was suddenly so generous. Rohan knew the price of that generosity: Aanvi, delivered to him whenever he wanted, no questions asked.

On a quiet Friday evening Rohan arrived at their house while Mahesh was still out drinking. Aanvi opened the door wearing a simple cotton nightie. Rohan didn’t greet her. He simply walked past her, locked the door, and said, “Strip.”

She obeyed at once, folding the nightie and placing it on the chair. Rohan opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick black butt plug and a small tube of lube. “Turn around. Bend over the arm of the sofa.” Aanvi did as she was told. Rohan squeezed lube onto the plug, pressed the rounded tip against her tight ring, and pushed steadily until the widest part stretched her open and then sank inside. The base settled between her cheeks. “You will wear this every day at home,” he told her. “If I find it missing, you’ll be punished.”

He clipped a thin silver chain to the base of the plug and ran it up between her cheeks, fastening the other end to a small ring on the back of a new leather collar he locked around her throat. The chain was short enough that any movement tugged the plug deeper. Aanvi’s breath hitched.

Rohan led her into the living room. From the same briefcase he produced a flat wooden tray with two leather straps dangling from the underside. He placed the tray on the coffee table and gestured for her to kneel in front of it. “Chest up.” He lifted her heavy breasts, positioned the tray beneath them, and threaded each nipple through a small hole drilled in the wood. Once the nipples poked through, he attached heavy clover clamps directly to them. The clamps bit down hard; the chain connecting them ran beneath the tray so that any shift of the tray pulled cruelly on her nipples. Two short chains from the sides of the tray clipped to the D-rings on her collar, forcing her to keep her back arched and her breasts thrust forward to keep the tray level. The weight of glasses or plates would tug the clamps even tighter.