The morning sun filtered through Mumbai's towering skyline, bathing the city in a golden hue. The streets bustled with the pulse of daily life, but within Jasmine's luxury high-rise apartment, time moved differently. Slower. Heavier. Charged.
Standing in front of the door, Geeta Sethi hesitated for a moment. Her hands were trembling slightly—not from fear, but anticipation. The memory of the night before was etched into her brain like a brand. Jasmine's moans, the wet slurping sounds, the raw carnal energy in that parking garage… and her own fingers diving between her thighs as she watched them. It wasn't shame she felt this morning—it was hunger.
The door opened before she could knock. Jasmine stood there, barefoot, draped in a sheer, pearlescent robe that clung to her curves. Her nipples were clearly visible, standing taut beneath the translucent fabric. Her hair was tousled, lips glossy. She didn't greet Geeta with words—she let her eyes do the talking, eyes that burned with mischief and satisfaction.
"Come in, sweetheart," Jasmine purred, stepping aside.
Geeta entered silently, but her posture was different. She didn't cower or hesitate. Her chin was raised, her eyes clear. She walked past Jasmine, heels clicking softly on the marble floor, and turned to face her host.
"I want what you have," Geeta said, voice throaty. "The deal. The sex. The life."
Jasmine's smirk widened. She circled Geeta slowly, like a cat appraising a rival who had finally submitted.
"So… you're ready to become one of us?"
Geeta gave a single nod. "More than ready."
Jasmine leaned in close, her lips brushing Geeta's ear. "Then we begin now."
The Transformation
The next eight hours were a blur of sensation and seduction.
They started at one of Mumbai's premier salons, tucked into the corner of a 5-star hotel in Bandra West. The moment they entered, every staff member dropped what they were doing. Jasmine was a known VIP now—after all, she was "Ryan's girl." And Ryan paid generously.
Geeta's transformation began with her hair. Her once-dark locks were dyed a fiery, seductive auburn. Layers were added, then waves. The final look framed her face like molten silk.
Next came her face. Her brows were arched higher, her cheekbones contoured into sharp elegance. Her lips were plumped subtly and painted with a deep crimson gloss that glistened with every pout. Her eyelashes were extended with silky volume, fluttering with every blink.
Geeta barely recognized herself in the mirror—but she liked it.
"This is just the start," Jasmine whispered behind her, running fingers through her hair. "Soon, you won't even remember the woman you were before."
They moved on to a boutique that catered exclusively to high-end escorts and mistresses of Mumbai's underground elite. There were no price tags. Only silk, latex, and decadence.
Geeta tried on piece after piece—sheer bodysuits, crotchless lingerie, slit dresses that bared both thigh and soul. Jasmine was hands-on, zipping her up, adjusting her breasts, squeezing her ass in approval. One dress, in particular, stole the spotlight: a shimmering black number with diamond-studded straps and a plunging neckline that dipped past her navel.
When Jasmine zipped it from behind, her hands lingered at Geeta's hips, pulling her back slightly into a sensual sway.
"This," Jasmine whispered, "is your new skin."
Geeta looked in the mirror, lips parted, chest heaving. She looked like temptation incarnate.
"I feel… powerful," she murmured.
"You look like sin begging to be committed," Jasmine whispered back—and took a picture.
The Ink of Ownership
Late afternoon brought them to Lower Parel. A discreet, luxury tattoo parlor hidden behind a fashion showroom.
Jasmine had booked a private session with Karan—the studio's elite artist. He was shirtless when they arrived, his lean, muscled torso inked with tribal and symbolic designs. His eyes were sharp, fingers steady, and aura pure sex.
"Strip," Jasmine ordered, turning to Geeta.
Geeta hesitated only briefly before obeying. Her dress slid off her shoulders and pooled at her feet. She stood in nothing but a black lace thong, her breasts proud and bare.
Karan didn't hide his gaze. He looked her up and down and gave a slow nod of approval before preparing his tools.
"Let's make you art," he said.
Jasmine guided Geeta onto the reclined chair. "We'll start here," she said, tracing her finger over Geeta's left breast. "Right above the areola. Something bold. Erotic. Unforgettable."
Karan began to work.
The buzzing of the needle filled the room. With every slow, precise stroke, Geeta gasped. The pain mingled with the pleasure of being watched, marked, claimed.
Jasmine stood beside her, whispering in her ear. "You're being remade… each stroke, each drop of ink, carving away the boring wife… and sculpting my perfect little slut."
Geeta moaned softly as the needle moved. "I… I want to be his."
"You already are," Jasmine smiled.
------------------------------------------------------------
New Tattoos (Expanded):
Karan didn't stop with one. He covered her in a slow, calculated series of elegant, erotic designs:
A Text: Ryan's name with an eagle on the top right corner, placed on one of her breasts.
A Cherry Blossom Trail: Delicate pink flowers… From her collarbone to one breast.
Bird in Flight: A graceful bird's wings spread on a portion of both breasts in her cleavage.
The Tramp Stamp: A large, elegant butterfly sits centered on the lower back, just above the ass creak.
The Rose Divide: A partially bloomed rose sits just above her right knee, softly shaded in pinks and deep blush reds. Thorns and lace wind upward like a garter tattoo.As the vine climbs her outer thigh and across her hipbone, it forks into two elegant directions:
One vine continues upward toward her back. The backward-flowing vine curls toward the center of her lower back, traveling up along the spine. Roses bloom along the curve of her back, each larger than the last, until the final, largest rose opens between her shoulder blades, and the vine ends with the last flower at the nape of her neck.The other wraps toward the front, beneath the curve of her right breast. The front vine flows beneath her breast, wrapping delicately under the curve of her right breast and curling inward toward the navel.
A barcode: On the back of her neck, digits match today's date, i.e., Geeta's transformation or rebirth.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Toast of Transformation
Geeta stood in front of the full-length mirror in Jasmine's bedroom, still wearing only the lace thong, her body now a canvas of erotic ink and arousal. Her skin glowed under the soft lighting, Ryan's name on her breast peeking provocatively with every breath she took.
Jasmine stood behind her, sipping champagne in nothing but a silk kimono tied loosely, breasts swaying freely beneath. Her eyes gleamed with pride and possessiveness.
"You were made for this," Jasmine said, fingers running along the rose chain that trailed down Geeta's spine. "This body… this fire inside you… all of it was wasted playing housewife."
Geeta turned, grabbing the flute of champagne Jasmine handed her. Their eyes met.
"I was numb," Geeta whispered. "Now… I feel alive."
Jasmine clinked her glass gently. "Tomorrow, we fly to paradise. But tonight, you take your final step."
"Ryan?"
Jasmine's lips curled into a slow smile. "We'll be there soon."
They toasted, and Geeta tilted her head back, downing the entire glass. Her nipples hardened, heat pooling between her thighs. Her body thrummed like a live wire.