The red boat slipped away into the narrowest channels of the backwaters, hidden by overhanging palms and thick clumps of water hyacinth. Vikram poled hard and silent, muscles flexing under the moonlight. Asha sat huddled on the damp floorboards, skirt still bunched around her waist, thighs sticky with their mixed fluids — cum, pee, rain. Her pussy throbbed with aftershocks, swollen and raw from the rough fucking. The bra hung loose around her ribs, cups pulled down, boobs still exposed and heaving with every breath. She didn’t bother covering them. Part of her liked the way the night air kissed her bruised nipples.

Neither spoke for a long time. The only sounds were the soft splash of the pole, distant frog calls, and the endless patter of rain on leaves.