The next morning's Mumbai haze did little to cool the fire still smoldering on Priya's skin from the previous session. The cigarette burns—those precise, sizzling welts on her thighs, breasts, and mound—pulsed with a lingering heat, each one a throbbing reminder of her "aversion therapy." She'd chain-smoked three more cigarettes defiantly after leaving Vikram's apartment, the nicotine rush paling in comparison to the masochistic high of his punishments. Now, at 9 AM sharp, she knocked on his door, robe slipping off her shoulders to reveal the marks he'd left, her body already slick with anticipation.

Vikram pulled her inside, his white coat crisp, eyes gleaming with dark approval as he inspected her. "Back for more, meri gandi smoker randi? (Back for more, my dirty smoker whore?)" He locked the door, guiding her to the examination table with a firm grip on her collarbone. "Strip and spread, patient. Today, we'll intensify the external treatments—no quitting means no mercy."