Priya’s eyelids fluttered, the heavy scent of jasmine filling her lungs before her vision even cleared. The bridal chamber materialized around her, but it was wrong, the air itself was thick, syrupy, pressing against her bare skin like a hot, wet tongue. Every oil lamp burned with an unnatural brightness, painting the room in shades of molten gold and blood red. The marriage bed beneath her was a mountain of marigolds and rose petals, their velvet softness a shocking contrast to the crude, hard thing stretching her ass wide open.

She gasped, looking down at herself. She was completely, utterly naked. Her smooth fair skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat and something else, her own arousal, already leaking copiously from her untouched cunt, thick rivulets tracing obscene paths down the insides of her trembling thighs. But she was not unadorned.