The low thrum of bass was a distant memory, replaced by the quiet, anticipatory hum of the room. Nandini lay on her belly across the leather chaise, her plump, pierced ass high in the air. The men--Rohan, Vikram, Arjun, and the others--stood in a loose circle, drinks in hand, their eyes dark with renewed interest.

Manik stood over her, a small, sleek black remote in one hand. In the other, he held a bulbous silicone toy, glistening with clear lubricant. It was deceptively large, with a flared base and a subtle, powerful hum already emanating from it.