The royal chamber was steeped in a warm, flickering amber. A dozen scented oil lamps sculpted the air into shifting layers of gold and shadow, their soft light catching every glisten and stain on Priya’s naked, kneeling form. She remained where he had left her, a tableau of beautiful ruin in the centre of the vast bedchamber. Her massive, swollen breasts, still slick and smeared with the creamy evidence of previous lessons, rose and fell with ragged anticipation. Dried rivulets of cum traced paths down her heaving belly. Fresh saliva hung in trembling threads from her well used lips, and her face flushed, tear streaked, utterly surrendered was angled up toward Ranjeet with a look of pure, glassy devotion. To him, she had never looked more perfect: exactly the broken, eternally hungry randi he had envisioned.