The elevator scene had been brewing in their dirty texts for days. Vikram started it: “Next time, mall elevator. High risk. You’ll be dripping before the doors even close.” Raj added: “We’ll pin you, fill you, and if someone walks in mid-thrust, too bad.” Aryan, the boldest lately, sealed it: “I want to see her face when the doors open and she’s stuffed with three cocks. Beg us not to stop.”

Sunday afternoon, Phoenix Mall again. Peak crowd—families, couples, teenagers, security guards patrolling. I wore the same sundress from last time—short, flowy, easy access—but this time with thigh-high stockings and nothing else underneath. My heart hammered as I rode the escalator up to the top floor, where the service elevators were quieter but still used by staff and shoppers heading to the parking levels.