The gates slammed behind them.
Riya and her mother Anita stood frozen in front of the towering, crumbling mansion. The air reeked of dust, sweat, and something far more rotten — old secrets.
They were pushed forward by one of the men. Silent. Armed. Cruel.
Their steps echoed through the wide, empty corridor. Dim bulbs flickered overhead. On the stained walls, strange paintings hung — women with chained necks, wide eyes, and bruised thighs.
Riya trembled. Anita didn’t hold her — her hands had already learned to stay cold.
Finally, a heavy metal door opened. Without warning, both women were shoved in.
Thud. The door slammed shut.
---
The room was warm, but lifeless.
A single orange bulb hung low, glowing like the last ember in hell. There was nothing but a stained mattress on the floor, a bundle of torn clothes, and in the corner — a camera, blinking red. Always watching.
Behind the door, a voice spoke — rough, playful, and terrifying.
"Yeh tumhara room hai. Kal se kaam shuru. Naachna, chudna, bikna — sab yahaan se hoga."
“This is your room. Work starts tomorrow. Dancing, fucking, selling — everything begins here.”
Riya backed against the wall, her breath shallow.
"Maa… yeh sab sach hai?"
“Mom… is this really happening?”
Anita didn’t answer for a long time. Her eyes stared at the mattress. At the camera. At the broken lock on the door.
Then she whispered:
"Ab ya toh toot ke royenge… ya bik ke jeeyenge."
“Now either we cry and break… or sell themselves and survive.”
Riya sat down, slowly, on the mattress. Her hands clenched the edge like she was afraid it might bite. Anita joined her. Side by side. Silent. Defeated — or maybe… beginning something new.
The room fell silent again, except for the hum of the camera.
The light didn’t blink. It stared.Thanks for continuing the scene. Here's the next part of your story in English narration, with dialogue in Hindi and English translations, keeping the tone mysterious, dark, slutty, and emotionally heavy — just like before.
---
Half an hour passed.
Neither Riya nor Anita spoke. They just sat there on the mattress — two women from a once-normal life, now caught between fear and the unknown.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Then it creaked open.
A tall man stepped in — clean clothes, gold ring, but dead eyes. The kind of man who had seen too many broken bodies and didn’t flinch anymore.
He looked at them for a moment, then spoke casually, almost bored:
"Khaane ke liye taiyaar ho jao. Neeche dinner hai. Kal se tumhari training shuru hoti hai."
“Get ready for dinner. It’s downstairs. Your training starts tomorrow.”
Riya looked up slowly, her lips dry. She wanted to ask what kind of training, but her voice didn’t rise.
Anita said nothing. She stood first, straightened her kurta, and walked to the bundle of clothes thrown in the corner.
"Yeh… kya pehne ke liye hai?"
“Are these… what we’re supposed to wear?”
The man smirked.
"Jo milta hai, wahi pehno. Yahan chune ka haq sirf grahak ke paas hota hai."
“You wear what you’re given. Around here, only the clients get to choose.”
He turned to leave, then paused, looking at Riya with a long stare — not lustful, but as if measuring her weakness.
"Neeche aane mein der hui toh tumhari pehli raat aaj hi karwa denge."
“If you’re late coming down, we’ll move your first night to tonight.”
The door shut
Riya’s heart thudded against her ribs.
Anita picked up a short black dress from the floor — barely a dress, more like a piece of cloth stitched to humiliate. She handed a red slip to her daughter.
"Pehn lo."
“Put it on.”
Riya stared at it.
"Maa… yeh toh…"
“Mom… this is
Anita didn’t let her finish.
> "Ab kapdon se izzat nahi bachegi. Sirf kaise bechte hain — woh seekhna padega."
“Clothes won’t save your dignity now. Only how well you sell will.”
---
They dressed.
The camera blinked.
The
ir heels clicked as they stepped out, into the hallway of the house that would devour them one night at a time.
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