Scene 1 – Post-Interview Reward
POV: Divya Rana | Altitude: 35,000 Feet | Location: Business Class Cabin, Rear Lounge Section
Divya collapsed into Jasmine's arms.
Her lips were swollen, her mouth tasted of salt and musk, and her jaw ached with the trembling fatigue of her first act of submission. And yet, her body throbbed—not from pain, but from a fullness. An arrival. The quiet, terrifying realization that she had crossed a line, and on the other side wasn't darkness…
…but ecstasy.
Jasmine held her with practiced ease. One hand gently stroked her hair, the other caressed her trembling spine through her uniform. Jasmine's breath was steady. Warm. Familiar.
"Good girl," she whispered against Divya's ear.
Geeta knelt beside them both, her hand resting on Divya's thigh, her expression unreadable—but her eyes burned with solidarity. And pride.
Ryan sat reclined in the wide leather VIP seat, his cock still half-exposed, gleaming with the residue of submission.
He gave no praise.
He didn't smile.
He simply adjusted his collar, tapped one polished shoe against the floor, and murmured:
"But you're not paid to sit."
The voice hit like a crack across her soul.
Jasmine smiled knowingly.
Geeta rose slowly.
And Divya… obeyed.
Still flushed, still breathless, she slid out of Jasmine's embrace and approached Ryan on her knees.
She didn't question the words. She didn't hesitate. Her body had already begun moving on instinct.
Like a pet responding to the sound of a leash being unclipped.
She knelt between his legs again, eyes cast low.
He pulled her up—not to her feet—but by the knot of her uniform necktie. She stumbled forward, chest bumping his knees.
His fingers found the hem of her skirt.
And without ceremony, he flipped it up.
The sudden exposure sent a fresh wave of humiliation through her.
Her soaked panties clung to her like a surrender flag—sticky, transparent with wetness.
He didn't pull them down.
He simply gripped them and tore them aside with a casual flex of his fingers.
The sound—a faint rip—echoed like thunder in her ears.
"Show me what you're worth now."
His voice was calm. Direct.
A command, not a request.
Divya crawled forward, body folding over his lap, knees pressing into the soft carpet. Her ass remained exposed, trembling in the chilled air-conditioned space. Her hands braced on the seat beside his hips.
Jasmine and Geeta moved around her like dancers in a well-practiced ballet.
Geeta took her place behind Ryan, arms around his shoulders, kissing his neck with reverent hunger.
Jasmine knelt beside Divya, brushing her fingers down her spine like she was smoothing the wings of a newly born creature.
"Breathe," Jasmine whispered. "Let him shape you."
Then—
Ryan entered her.
No buildup.
No preparation.
Just a sudden, stretching heat as he pressed inside her soaked, twitching core from behind.
Divya's mouth opened in a silent gasp.
He filled her like he owned her.
She whimpered into the cushion, biting the edge of her own sleeve to muffle the sound. Her walls clenched around him, fluttering with overwhelmed pleasure.
And Ryan simply… held her there.
His cock buried deep.
His palm flat on her ass.
Claimed.
Then he started to move.
Long, slow thrusts.
Measured.
Punishing.
Beautiful.
Jasmine kissed Divya's temple.
"You feel it, don't you?"
Divya nodded, eyes brimming with tears.
"I'm… his now…"
Jasmine smiled.
"No, baby. You were his the moment you knelt. This? This is just your reward."
Ryan's rhythm deepened.
Divya's arms collapsed.
She moaned loudly, uncaring of passengers behind the curtain, of turbulence alerts, of altitude.
The only sky that mattered was the one he built inside her—over and over with each thrust.
Geeta leaned forward, kissing Ryan deeply.
He groaned into her mouth, never once slowing the use of the trembling girl beneath him.
Divya's pussy clenched again.
She couldn't stop moaning.
Couldn't stop shaking.
Her climax built fast—dangerous.
Jasmine reached between her legs and rubbed her clit with two fingers in perfect rhythm with Ryan's thrusts.
And Divya screamed.
Her orgasm shattered her.
Her thighs spasmed.
Her mind blanked.
Her body fell limp against Ryan's lap, sobbing with overwhelming pleasure.
But he didn't stop.
Not yet.
"You'll learn," he murmured, still fucking her, "that I don't stop until I'm done."
Geeta purred beside him.
Jasmine chuckled softly.
Divya's eyes rolled back as he fucked her through her orgasm, past her limits, into something new.
Something darker.
Something freeing.
She wasn't a flight attendant anymore.
She wasn't a woman chasing respect.
She was a pet. A toy. A whore with a name only he would ever use with meaning again.
And she loved it.
When he finally came, it wasn't with a roar—it was with a groan, low and primal, as he buried himself to the hilt and held her trembling hips in place.
Divya felt the heat spill inside her.
Her body jerked again from the aftershock.
Ryan let out a breath.
And only then—only after she had collapsed completely—did he pull out.
Jasmine gently helped Divya roll off his lap.
Geeta handed her a wet towel from the service tray nearby, the same one they used to wipe champagne glasses.
It felt fitting.
Divya wiped her thighs, still panting.
Ryan finally spoke again.
"Next time, you'll ride."
He tucked himself back into his slacks, slow and clean.
Then gestured toward the seat beside him.
"Sit."
She did.
Without question.
Her hands folded in her lap, legs still quivering.
He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a black envelope.
He slipped it into her bra with casual ownership.
"Your first thousand."
Her heart jumped.
She looked down, eyes wide.
Jasmine leaned in and kissed her cheek.
"Welcome to the sky."
The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the plane hit a mild pocket of turbulence.
But inside this sealed sanctuary of sin…
The only thing airborne was euphoria.
Scene 2 – Airborne Threesome
POV: Omniscient (rotating perspectives: Ryan, Jasmine, Geeta, Divya) | Altitude: 35,000 Feet | Location: VIP Business Cabin
The VIP cabin was quieter now, draped in post-interview silence, a tension heavy and erotic like incense hanging in temple air. The only sound was the low hum of the engines and the rhythmic, softened clink of turbulence masked under professionalism. Outside the porthole windows, sunlight poured down in thick golden streams. Within, everything glowed with the afterglow of submission.
Divya sat crumpled between Jasmine's thighs, her body slack with exhaustion and release, cheek pressed into the stewardess's lap like a tired animal. Her lipstick was smeared. Her mascara had long since given up. Her panties were discarded somewhere beneath the polished table.
She wasn't broken.
She was reborn.
Ryan leaned back in his seat, shirt half-unbuttoned, trousers pooled at his ankles, cock glistening with the remnants of Divya's devotion. He hadn't spoken since her "interview" concluded. He didn't need to. His silence was weighty. His presence was gravity.
Jasmine cradled Divya gently, brushing damp hair from her temple like a lover. Her touch was not gentle out of mercy—it was celebratory. She had seen this transformation before.
Geeta knelt on the floor beside them, her hands folded neatly on her thighs, her blouse still unbuttoned, her bra long gone. A thin, satisfied smile curved her lips. She hadn't touched herself. She hadn't needed to.
She knew what came next.
Ryan finally stirred.
His voice cut through the quiet like silk through skin.
"Divya," he said, still reclining. "You're not paid to kneel. Come here."
Divya blinked. The fog didn't lift—it thickened. Her muscles responded before her mind did. She crawled forward slowly, trembling, her knees dragging across the soft carpet until she was between his parted thighs again.
Ryan didn't offer kindness.
He offered his hand—a single commanding gesture.
And when she looked up?
He pulled her forward—not by the wrist, not by the hair, but by the hem of her skirt.
The fabric bunched.
Rode high.
Until her bare ass was exposed to the cabin air.
Ryan's fingers stroked her cheek.
Then slapped it once.
Not hard.
Just enough to make her gasp.
"I own this now," he whispered.
She nodded, lips parted, tears in her eyes again.
Jasmine leaned over her shoulder.
"That's right, sweetheart. You're part of the crew now. Time to serve."
Ryan didn't wait.
He grabbed her waist and pulled her up and onto his lap.
Her soaked folds met the hard head of his cock.
She twitched. Whimpered.
"No hesitation," Jasmine whispered.
"None," Geeta echoed, her voice velvet.
Divya lowered herself.
Slowly.
Sinking inch by inch, her body stretching, swallowing him.
"Ah—Master—"
Ryan's hands gripped her hips and shoved her down in one sharp motion, burying himself completely inside her.
She cried out.
And the flight became holy.
The turbulence outside masked everything.
The bumps, the slight dips in altitude, the low rattling in the galley—it all blended seamlessly into the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin inside the cabin.
Divya rode him like she was possessed—sloppy, untrained, desperate.
Jasmine coached her in moans and whispers, hands guiding her hips.
Geeta kissed her shoulder. Bit her neck.
And when Ryan grabbed Divya's hair and yanked her backward, exposing her throat and arching her chest forward, Geeta leaned in and sucked one nipple between her lips, moaning with her mouth full.
"Fuck her," Jasmine said, licking her own fingers.
"Make her yours," Geeta whispered.
Ryan didn't need the encouragement.
He thrust upward, meeting her halfway, his cock brutal inside her, stretching her limits with every pump.
Divya screamed—but it was joy, not pain.
"Yes—Master—more—use me—"
Her legs trembled.
Her back bowed.
Her body took everything he gave.
And just as her third orgasm built behind her eyes—
Ryan slapped her ass.
"Switch," he said.
She barely managed a whimper before he lifted her off and tossed her sideways into Jasmine's arms.
Jasmine caught her.
Kissed her.
And passed her like a dish to the corner seat.
Then Jasmine stood.
Climbed up.
And turned around.
Her thighs spread.
Her ass hovered above Ryan's face.
And when he grabbed her hips and pulled her down, Jasmine moaned like a woman touched by God.
Geeta mounted him next.
Smooth. Silent.
She didn't need to adjust.
She had memorized his size.
She sat all the way down and didn't move for five seconds.
Just… clenched.
"Welcome back," Ryan muttered against Jasmine's soaked folds.
Jasmine moaned above him, grinding onto his tongue, one hand braced on the ceiling panel, the other pinching her nipple.
Geeta began to ride.
Her pace was measured. Controlled. Devastating.
She clenched with each rise.
Sank with each fall.
Divya knelt beside them, kissing both their thighs, fingering herself mindlessly.
"Look at them," Jasmine panted.
"That's what awaits you," Geeta whispered.
"No," Ryan said from beneath Jasmine, his voice muffled by wetness.
"That's what you are now."
Divya climaxed again, her body convulsing silently, head thrown back, her hand dripping.
The threesome unfolded like choreography.
Jasmine came once on Ryan's tongue.
Then again, on his nose.
She collapsed forward and slid off, slapping Divya's thigh as she passed.
"Your turn."
Divya didn't hesitate.
She climbed up onto his lap, pressing her folds to his stomach while Geeta continued riding his cock.
She kissed him. Bit him. Sucked his collarbone.
Geeta reached behind and guided her mouth to one nipple.
Divya latched on.
Geeta moaned.
Jasmine knelt below, licking both women where they joined, teasing clits and folds and inner thighs.
The scent of sweat and sex filled the cabin.
No passenger knocked.
No announcement interrupted.
The world existed only here.
Ryan flipped them.
Suddenly.
With a growl.
He shoved Geeta off.
Pulled Jasmine onto her back on the reclining seat.
And rammed into her in a single brutal thrust.
"Oh fuck!" she screamed.
Divya sat on Jasmine's face, riding her tongue.
Geeta knelt beside, kissing Ryan's neck, whispering:
"Use all of us. Break us."
And he did.
He fucked Jasmine with no mercy.
One hand on her throat.
The other gripping Divya's hair, forcing her to ride the older woman's face like a trained animal.
Geeta kissed both their breasts, then licked her fingers and shoved them into her own cunt.
"Yes. Yes. Yes—"
Ryan pulled out.
"On all fours. All of you."
They obeyed.
Lined up.
Three stewardesses in matching uniforms—torn, drenched, degraded.
All bent over the seat.
Faces buried in the leather.
Asses up.
He fucked Geeta first.
Then Divya.
Then Jasmine.
Then back again.
Over and over.
Until they begged for it.
Until they cried.
Until he came again, flooding inside Geeta.
They collapsed.
Sweaty.
Used.
Smiling.
Ryan reclined in his seat again, rebuttoning his shirt.
He looked down at the three women, slumped in the aisle like worshipers after a temple.
"Best crew I've ever flown with."
Scene 3: Closing Words
POV: Third Person | Setting: VIP Business Cabin, Post-Threesome
The cabin smelled like sex.
Not perfume. Not cologne. Not airplane sanitizer.
Sex.
Raw and indulgent and human. A scent born from sweat and tongues and the rhythm of submission. And no one—not the senior crew, not the guests behind the curtain, not the world spiraling beneath the clouds—could stop it from lingering.
The three women lay tangled on the floor of the galley.
Jasmine's leg was draped lazily over Geeta's thigh, her skirt halfway up her waist, panties gone, lips still parted in a sigh of victory. Geeta, arms slack against the curved steel of the serving counter, looked dazed. Content. Her blouse was half-buttoned, but the collar was stained with sweat, and the vine tattoo at her hip peeked out in full view.
Divya curled at their feet.
Face flushed, hair matted, inner thighs glistening.
Her mouth was raw. Her eyes were wide. Her limbs twitched with the last electric echoes of surrender.
She had been filled. Used. Initiated.
And she had loved every second of it.
Ryan stood above them. Composed. Sharp. His shirt tucked back in, tie perfectly reset. Not a wrinkle betrayed what had just occurred. Only the faintest shimmer of sweat on his throat suggested heat, and even that looked curated. Controlled.
Godlike.
He reached into the inner pocket of his charcoal blazer.
Pulled out a sleek, matte-black envelope.
He knelt.
Not low—just enough.
And held it out to Divya.
"Your second payment," he said.
She took it with trembling fingers.
She didn't ask how much.
She didn't need to.
Because tucked inside was not just crisp, American hundred-dollar bills…
But also a small, embossed card.
A name. A location. A phone number.
And three bold words at the bottom in gold ink:
Tattoo. Appointment. Confirmed.
Her lips trembled.
Jasmine saw it and smiled.
Geeta exhaled through her nose and leaned her head back against the chilled wall.
Ryan rose.
"You did well," he said to all three of them.
No one spoke.
They didn't need to.
He turned.
Walked to the crew terminal.
And tapped the comm panel.
A quiet beep. Then a whisper only Jasmine and Geeta could hear.
"You know what to do."
Jasmine nodded without turning around.
Geeta whispered: "Always, Master."
Divya blinked at the title—but didn't flinch.
Ten minutes passed.
The plane began its descent.
Announcements played through the speakers—smooth, practiced, polished.
But the tone was different now.
Beneath the professionalism, a subtle rhythm throbbed.
The rhythm of obedience.
Of afterglow.
Of women fucked into clarity.
Divya stood, legs shaking, and began helping Jasmine straighten the VIP cabin. Wiping down the seats. Realigning the magazines. Folding the blankets with care.
Geeta sealed the champagne bottle with practiced fingers and placed it gently in its cradle.
No one said a word about what had happened.
No one needed to.
It had become true.
A shared religion.
A rite of airbound passage.
Ryan stepped out of the lavatory at the front of the plane.
His sunglasses were on.
His tie knotted tighter than before.
His suitcase handle glided effortlessly as he walked down the aisle.
He passed the main cabin.
Passengers never saw the women he left behind.
He paused at the threshold of the front cabin door.
The airport stairs had already been connected.
The door hissed open.
Outside, tarmac sunlight blinded everything.
Ryan turned back.
Just once.
Jasmine stood at the galley edge, hair tied back into a high, controlled bun. Her uniform immaculate, lips glossed, collar neat. But the vine tattoo at her collarbone peeked out, uncovered. Intentional.
Geeta stood next to her. Poised. Calm. Subtle ink was visible where her blouse had shifted at the ribs.
Divya knelt at the serving station, folding linen napkins with silent reverence.
She looked up.
Ryan met her gaze.
And spoke one last line—cool, crisp, deliberate.
"I'll be unreachable for a few weeks."
"Handle things… beautifully."
He stepped into the light.
And vanished down the stairs.
The world outside swallowed him into the sunlight.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the echo of boots on the staircase.
The faint roar of airport ground activity—luggage carts trundling, refuelers humming, an overhead announcement blaring a final boarding call for a different destination.
But Divya didn't hear any of it.
She knelt near the crew station, her hands still clenched around the folded linen she had just arranged. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, her uniform skirt sticking to her skin with the last traces of dried arousal. Her lips were swollen. Her chest still rose and fell with the kind of shallow rhythm that only came after release… or longing.
He was gone.
And he hadn't looked back.
Jasmine straightened a tray behind her, unhurried. Her eyes glinted with something proud—primal. She stretched slowly, arms overhead, letting her blouse ride up just enough to flash the bottom ink of her rib tattoo.
A passing steward peeked into the galley and froze.
He blinked, took in Jasmine's appearance, and then quickly backed out.
They were becoming infamous.
And Jasmine reveled in it.
Geeta, in contrast, stood in silence.
She was wiping down the curved counter by the espresso unit. Her motions were slow. Careful. Measured.
But her eyes… they were far away.
Not haunted.
No.
Satisfied.
Owned.
Divya pushed herself to her feet slowly.
Her knees wobbled.
She stumbled once—barely—and Geeta turned just in time to catch her by the elbow.
Neither woman said a word.
But their eyes locked.
Geeta's gaze was steady. Unapologetic. Sisterly.
Not the same Geeta who used to correct lipstick shades or reprimand uniform creases.
Not the same Geeta who once judged Jasmine for every minor indulgence.
This Geeta was reborn.
This Geeta had tasted Ryan.
And smiled.
They disembarked last, as always.
The protocol dictated senior flight crew be the last off the aircraft.
But today, the delay wasn't about duty.
It was about recovering from submission.
They emerged from the jet bridge into the private crew corridor—an auxiliary hall lined with mirrors and lockers, with signs directing them toward the VIP lounge and ground transport.
Divya walked between them like a freshman between two queens.
Jasmine's heels clicked against the linoleum. Her hips swayed with unashamed confidence. Her makeup, though slightly smudged, looked like war paint worn with pride. She held her purse over one shoulder, but the gold chain draped perfectly over the exposed tattoo across her collarbone—a vine curling upward like ownership etched into her skin.
Geeta's pace was slower, more restrained. But no less striking.
Her walk was precise. Trained.
She had the presence of a weapon that had surrendered willingly.
And now served a new master.
Divya's heartbeat was louder than her footsteps.
She felt the wetness return. Just from walking between them.
She was one of them now.
She had knelt.
Sucked.
Begged.
Swallowed.
And been told: "Welcome to the sky."
They entered the backroom of the crew lounge.
Jasmine dropped her purse on the couch and unbuttoned the top of her blouse with a tired sigh.
Geeta kicked off her heels and sat on the armrest, eyes closed for a moment as her fingers traced the edge of the tattoo on her wrist.
Divya stood near the mirror.
She looked at herself.
Eyes flushed. Lips bruised from use.
Hair tangled. Mascara smeared faintly below one eye.
She looked…
Owned.
And beautiful.
She reached into her bra.
Pulled out the sleek envelope Ryan had given her during the blowjob "interview."
Inside was the crisp cash.
And the card.
The tattoo studio.
The address.
Her first official appointment.
Her mark.
Her claim.
Jasmine walked up behind her.
She didn't speak.
She just pressed herself softly against Divya's back, breasts brushing her shoulder blades, her breath warm against the curve of Divya's ear.
Then, with infinite softness, Jasmine whispered:
"You're one of us now."
Divya's knees weakened.
Her hands trembled.
But she smiled.
For the first time… fully.
Scene 5: Post-Landing Reflection
POV: Jasmine | Later, in her Penthouse
The city below was alive, neon veins pulsing through Mumbai's concrete skin. The skyline glittered like a false heaven, and Jasmine watched it from her penthouse balcony—barefoot, in a silk robe, sipping from a glass of rosé that hadn't left her hand since touchdown.
She wasn't smiling.
Not quite.
But something close lingered on her lips.
She tilted her head back and exhaled slowly, letting the breeze dance against her collarbone. Her tattoo peeked out from her robe—visible now even in moonlight. Ryan's initials are inked near her pulse point, above the curve of her breast.
Behind her, laughter echoed softly from inside.
Divya and Geeta were unpacking. Fresh from the flight. Glowing in post-orgasmic bliss and the thrill of new ownership. Their bodies bore the evidence. Their eyes told the story.
They were his now.
All three of them.
And he was gone.
"He didn't even fuck us goodbye," Divya had whispered an hour earlier, collapsing onto the plush couch in the lounge.
"No," Jasmine had said, running her fingers through her hair, "He did something worse."
Geeta raised a brow. "Worse?"
"He made us crave the next time."
That was the game.
Ryan didn't cling.
He claimed.
Then vanished.
A text. A whisper. A smirk at the gate as he adjusted his sunglasses.
"I'll be unreachable for a few days. Handle things… beautifully."
No explanation.
No timeline.
Just that same devilish certainty that whatever he left behind would burn brighter in his absence.
And they would miss the pain of it.
Inside the penthouse, the lights dimmed on their own. Divya had changed into one of Jasmine's old slips—a silken red number that clung to her curves and made her blush every time she saw herself in a mirror.
Geeta, ever composed, wore only a towel.
Her back bore faint marks from Ryan's fingernails.
She hadn't covered them.
Hadn't even tried.
They were her badge now.
Jasmine sipped her wine and turned her face to the wind.
He wasn't just in control.
He was a world-changer.
And he was moving again.
She knew the truth, of course.
He wasn't going to handle business.
Or family.
Or politics.
He had jumped.
Again.
To another world.
To watch another drama unfold.
To insert himself where destiny was too slow, too soft, too naive.
She didn't know which one it would be this time.
Maybe Goa. Maybe Delhi. Maybe somewhere colder, darker, where new women wore masks of virtue just waiting to be peeled off.
But she knew he'd return.
They all did.
And when he did…
He'd want stories.
He'd want proof they had obeyed.
That they had spread the flame.
So they would.
Divya would get her tattoo next week.
Geeta would finalize her divorce and walk into the courtroom with her collar visible, makeup bolder, eyes sharper.
And Jasmine?
She would continue to corrupt.
One girl at a time.
She turned around and stepped back inside.
The penthouse smelled of lavender and leather.
Divya was curled up on the corner chaise, phone in hand, texting someone, but Jasmine could see it in her eyes. She wasn't there. She was replaying the flight. The blowjob. The look in Ryan's eyes when she swallowed everything.
Her arousal hadn't faded.
It never did.
Geeta had opened the bar cart and was pouring whisky.
Neat.
No ice.
Jasmine smiled softly and set her wine glass down.
She crossed the room, leaned over Divya, and whispered:
"Tattoo appointment's set for Wednesday. Chest or thigh?"
Divya blinked.
Blushed.
Bit her lip.
Divya hesitated. "Where yours is."
Jasmine nodded.
Of course.
Geeta handed her the glass. Jasmine took it and raised it slightly.
"To him?"
"No," Geeta said, her voice low and reverent. "To us."
Jasmine smirked. "Owned. Branded. Used."
"Elevated," Divya added, eyes glowing.
"Chosen," Jasmine finished.
They clinked.
And drank.
As the music played softly in the background, Jasmine picked up the envelope Ryan had left on the marble counter.
It had no words.
Just three initials.
And a small map.
She opened it again.
Read it once more.
And smiled.
They knew what to do next.
And when he returned?
They'd be ready.
Changed.
Darker.
Prouder.
And his.
"He wasn't gone forever. Just long enough to see if we'd burn the world for him."