Day 3 – Balcony Exhibition
Night fell over Dubai like liquid obsidian. The sky was velvet black, studded with diamond stars, and the city below sparkled with its neon heartbeat. The penthouse balcony of the Burj Khalifa offered a front-row view of a living skyline—cars slicing across highways, lights blinking in synchronized rhythm, and towers gleaming in blue, gold, and crimson.
Geeta stood at the edge of that world.
She wore only a translucent black robe—open in the front, fluttering in the breeze. Her skin glowed under the moonlight, the rose vine tattoo on her thigh catching the light like inked fire. The butterfly at her lower back peeked out with every sway of her hips.
Ryan stood behind her, shirtless, sipping whiskey.
"You're dripping already," he murmured, placing the glass down.
Geeta looked over her shoulder, face flushed. "It's the air… the night…"
He stepped up behind her, pressing his bare chest to her back. "It's me."
She smiled—and then gasped as his hand slid between her thighs, fingers brushing her folds, already soaked.
"Fuck," he muttered. "You're addicted."
She nodded helplessly. "To you."
The First Touch – A Warning
Ryan turned her to face him. His hand cupped her chin, lifting it gently, while his thumb pressed down on her lower lip.
"You wanted more," he said.
Geeta nodded.
"Then you'll give more."
He kissed her deeply—slow, probing, possessive—while his other hand slid up the inside of her thigh and found her pussy again. He pushed two fingers inside, curling them just right.
She moaned into his mouth, nearly collapsing.
"Hands on the railing," he ordered.
She obeyed, stepping backward, gripping the warm steel rail with both hands, her ass exposed to him, the city at her feet.
She was completely naked now. No robe. No shame. No escape.
Public Property
Ryan knelt behind her and spread her cheeks, admiring his work—her glistening folds, the delicate tattooed trail beneath her right breast that led to her navel, the small barcode on the back of her neck.
He licked her from behind—long, slow strokes that made her knees buckle.
"Keep standing," he growled, slapping her inner thigh.
Geeta moaned, eyes fluttering as he tongue-fucked her, his hands massaging her ass.
Just as she began to fall apart, he stood, grabbed her hair, and shoved his cock inside her in one brutal thrust.
"Ryaaaan—!" she screamed, the sound echoing across the sky.
He began fucking her against the glass, each stroke deep and sharp, the railing creaking with the rhythm. Her breasts bounced freely, her nipples hard in the breeze.
"You want the world to see you, don't you?" he asked.
"Yes—yes—please—let them see—"
He spanked her—hard—and she whimpered.
The Neighbors
Across the street, in a slightly lower high-rise, lights flickered on in a penthouse.
A couple stepped onto their balcony. The man stopped. Pointed.
Geeta saw them. Her eyes widened. "Ryan—someone's—"
He grabbed her waist and thrust harder. "I know."
"W-we should stop—"
"No. You'll cum while they watch."
Geeta gasped, frozen between terror and desire. Her hands clenched the rail tighter. Her legs trembled as her orgasm built again.
Ryan reached around, pinched her nipples, then her clit. He twisted her body slightly so her breasts faced the distant spectators.
"Smile," he whispered.
She did.
And then she came.
Hard.
Moaning, panting, almost weeping—her eyes locked on the couple watching from afar. Her knees gave out, but Ryan held her upright, continuing to pound into her mercilessly.
The Balcony Throne
When she couldn't stand anymore, Ryan lifted her into his arms and sat in a lounge chair. He positioned her on top of him, his cock still inside her, her legs spread wide, her back to his chest.
The skyline surrounded them like stars.
He cupped her breasts, kissed her neck, and began to thrust upward in slow, powerful strokes.
Geeta moaned loudly with every bounce. Her hands reached back to hold his head. She tilted her face for a kiss. He gave it to her.
"You're mine," he whispered.
She nodded desperately. "Yes—yes—I'm yours—forever—"
He bit her neck and drove into her harder, faster, her entire body slapping against his in the moonlight.
Her fourth orgasm tore through her, body twitching, tears running down her cheeks.
And when Ryan finally came—he came inside her again—deep, warm, absolute.
Cooling Off
They sat in silence, her body still impaled on his cock, his arms wrapped around her, their breath slowing together.
She looked down at the city, glowing beneath them.
"Do you think they knew?" she whispered.
"They'll never forget," he replied.
Day 4 – Boutique Submission
Ryan took Geeta to a private appointment at one of Dubai's most exclusive designer boutiques nestled within the Armani Hotel tower.
From the moment they walked in, the staff vanished—paid to disappear unless summoned. Jasmine had handled the bribe. What was about to happen wasn't fashion. It was theatre.
Geeta had never been in a place like this—where silk dresses cost more than her yearly salary, where the lighting was warm gold and the floor marble black.
The boutique wasn't just luxurious—it was practically another planet.
Soft French music played in the background. Crystal chandeliers refracted golden light across plush velvet chairs and tall mirrors. Perfume scented the air—floral, sinful, expensive. Geeta followed Ryan like a pet following its master, her heels clacking softly against marble.
Jasmine had arranged a full buyout of the store for two hours. No other customers. Just a silent staff and their owner… and his favorite toy.
Ryan let Geeta browse at first. She admired herself in full-length mirrors, trying on lingerie sets he selected—barely-there lace thongs, sheer corsets with pearl buttons, backless gowns with slits all the way to her hips.
He said nothing.
He just watched.
Until he finally stood.
And followed her inside the private changing suite.
The Mirror Obsession
Geeta turned, half-dressed in a black lace teddy with garters still unclipped. She froze as Ryan closed the door and turned the lock with a satisfying click.
"You shouldn't be in here," she said softly.
Ryan stepped closer.
"Do you want me to leave?"
She bit her lip. "…No."
His hands were on her in an instant—gripping her throat gently, pressing her back against the mirror, his body flush against hers. He kissed her hard, his tongue dominant, tasting her moan.
Then his hand slipped into her panties.
Already soaked.
"Slut," he murmured, dragging his fingers along her folds.
"I can't help it," she gasped.
"Show me."
He turned her around. Bent her over the mirrored vanity.
She watched herself—legs spread, eyes glassy, mouth parted.
He knelt behind her and pulled the lace aside.
Face Down, Ass Up – Mirror Edition
He licked her slowly, savagely, tongue teasing her clit while his thumbs spread her wide.
Geeta moaned so loud it echoed.
He stood, pulled his cock free, and slammed into her without warning.
Her scream hit the glass like a heartbeat.
Every thrust sent her breasts bouncing. Her mouth opened in ecstasy as her reflection fucked her back.
She watched herself being claimed—her ass reddening with each slap, her pussy stretched around his thick length.
"Look at what you are," Ryan growled in her ear. "A wife. On her knees. Begging to be used in a dressing room."
"I love it—" she moaned. "I love it—I'm a filthy slut for you—"
He grinned wickedly.
And fucked her harder.
Her orgasm took her like a storm—legs shaking, hands smearing sweat across the glass.
On the Bench
When she collapsed forward, he lifted her onto the velvet bench.
Her legs spread instinctively. He mounted her, held her ankles high, and pounded her like a man who'd waited days to ruin her soul.
The mirror caught every angle.
When he finally came—deep inside her—he didn't pull out.
He dressed her half-properly, let the cum soak into the sheer lace.
Then kissed her forehead.
"Leave it in," he whispered.