The story starts on a burning hot afternoon in Jaipur. Dust sticks to everything. Priya steps through the tall wooden gates of the old haveli carrying one small cloth bag. She is 22. Her body screams sex even though she tries to hide it. Skin dark golden like warm jaggery. Long black hair tied loose. Big heavy tits that strain the cheap cotton blouse so hard the top two hooks are already open. Dark nipples poke through like they’re begging to be seen. Waist small, hips wide, ass round and thick – the kind that jiggles when she walks. Her skirt is old and thin; when she bends, you see the smooth backs of her thighs and the shadow between them.

She comes from a tiny dirty village. Her father drinks and owes money to half the moneylenders. They sent her here to clean floors and cook so the family doesn’t starve. She knows nothing about men except what the older women whispered at the well: “Keep your legs closed or they’ll ruin you.”