5:29 a.m.
The terrace smelled of dew, incense, and fresh sweat. Twenty yoga mats formed a loose circle around the central skylight dome, each occupied by a woman from the building—housewives, students, a night-shift nurse still in scrubs. The sky above was the color of bruised peaches; the first birdcalls threaded the hush.
Aarav stepped out of the stairwell barefoot, track pants riding low, the *D. pulseus* now rooted in a small clay pot cradled in his palm. Overnight it had tripled in size—stem thick as his thumb, petals unfurling in slow motion, releasing waves of that honey-dark perfume.
The instructor, Mrs. Gomes from 12C, clapped once. "Sun Salutation sequence. We'll flow together."
She wore a cropped tank and nothing beneath; her silver hair was twisted into a knot. When she spotted Aarav, her eyes flicked to the flower, then to the heavy outline in his pants. A smile tugged her mouth.
"Center mat is yours," she said.
He set the orchid down. Its scent bloomed outward, curling around ankles and wrists. The women inhaled as one; spines straightened, thighs parted a fraction wider.
Surya Namaskar began.
**Tadasana** – Mountain. Hands at heart center. Aarav stood behind the circle, cock already thickening against his thigh.
**Urdhva Hastasana** – Arms overhead. Twenty backs arched; twenty breasts lifted. The nurse's scrubs slipped off one shoulder.
**Uttanasana** – Forward fold. Asses in the air, palms to mats. Track pants slid lower on Aarav's hips; the head of his cock peeked above the waistband, slick with morning need.
Mrs. Gomes flowed into **Ardha Uttanasana**, spine flat, and glanced back. "Assist me?"
Aarav stepped forward. He placed one hand between her shoulder blades, the other guiding her hips. The touch was innocent—until it wasn't. His thumb traced the waistband of her leggings, dipped beneath, found bare skin. She pushed back, a silent yes.
He tugged the fabric down in one motion. Her pussy gleamed—already wet, lips swollen from the orchid's breath. He freed himself, notched the thick head at her entrance, and slid home as she exhaled into the fold.
The circle flowed on, unaware or uncaring. Downward Dog—twenty asses high, twenty invitations. Aarav thrust slow and deep, matching the rhythm of breath: inhale, stretch; exhale, fold into her. Mrs. Gomes muffled her moan against her forearm.
**Chaturanga** – low plank. He pulled out, cock glistening, and moved to the next mat.
The nurse. She held plank, trembling. He knelt, entered her from behind in one slick glide. Her scrubs bunched at her waist; the stethoscope around her neck swung like a pendulum. Each push rocked her forward on her toes.
One by one, pose by pose, he flowed through the circle.
- **Cobra** – a college girl face-down, hips lifted; he took her prone, cock dragging across her g-spot until she sobbed into the mat.
- **Warrior II** – a housewife spread wide; he stood behind, one hand on her hip, the other teasing her clit in slow circles.
- **Triangle** – the teenager from 10B bent sideways; he entered at an angle that made her eyes roll white.
The orchid sat at the center, petals now fully open, stamen dripping nectar onto the clay. Every inhalation drew the scent deeper; every exhalation carried soft cries.
By the time the sequence reached **Savasana**, the terrace was a tapestry of spent bodies. Women lay on their backs, chests heaving, thighs slick with release. Aarav stood in the middle, cock rigid and untouched by climax, veins like cables under moon-pale skin.
Mrs. Gomes pushed up on an elbow. "Final offering," she said, voice husky. "For the sun."
She crawled to the orchid, dipped two fingers into the nectar, and painted it across her lips, her nipples, the seam of her pussy. Then she lay back in the center mat, legs spread in offering.
The others followed—forming a living mandala around her, hands linked, pussies glistening. Twenty bodies, one breath.
Aarav knelt between Mrs. Gomes' thighs. He entered her slowly, reverently, bottoming out as the sun crested the dome. Golden light spilled across sweat-slick skin. He began to move—long, unhurried strokes that stirred the nectar inside her, sent it pulsing through her veins.
The mandala rippled. Each thrust traveled outward—woman to woman—until every body trembled in shared rhythm. Mrs. Gomes came first, back bowing off the mat, pussy clamping so hard it forced a groan from Aarav's chest. The wave rolled on: the nurse, the housewife, the teenager—orgasms cascading like dominoes.
He held back until the last woman shuddered into silence. Then, and only then, did he let go.
The release was cataclysmic. Thick ropes flooded Mrs. Gomes, overflowed, ran in creamy rivers across the mat to mingle with the orchid's nectar. He pulled out mid-spurt; the rest painted her stomach, her breasts, the faces of the women nearest. A baptism in dawn light.
When the final pulse faded, Aarav sat back on his heels. The orchid had closed its petals, sated. Its stem bowed, heavy with seed.
Mrs. Gomes touched a finger to the mess on her skin, tasted it, and smiled. "Class dismissed."
The women rose slowly, gathering mats, exchanging lazy kisses. Someone started the kettle in the common kitchen; someone else passed around steel tumblers of filter coffee. The terrace smelled of sex, coffee, and wet earth.
Aarav stood, cock finally softening, and lifted the clay pot. A single seed pod had formed at the base—plump, glossy, ready.
He carried it downstairs. Behind him, the sun climbed higher, gilding twenty satisfied smiles.
Midnight.
The building slept—mostly. Somewhere a baby cried, a pressure cooker hissed, a couple argued in whispers. Aarav lay on his back, sheets kicked to the foot of the bed, cock heavy across his thigh. The clay pot sat on the nightstand. The seed pod had split hours ago, spilling a single black seed that rolled across the wood and vanished between the floorboards.
He woke to the scent.
Thick, cloying, impossible to ignore—like the *D. pulseus* multiplied by a thousand. It seeped through the vents, under the door, into his lungs. His cock surged to full hardness in a heartbeat, aching with a need that felt almost angry.
A soft *ping* echoed from the corridor—the elevator arriving.
He pulled on track pants, no shirt, and stepped out. The scent was stronger here, pulsing in waves. The elevator doors stood open, lights flickering. Inside: vines.
Thick green ropes threaded the steel cables, climbing the shaft walls. Leaves the size of banana fronds unfurled from every corner. At the center, suspended where the control panel used to be, hung a single orchid—petals dinner-plate wide, veins glowing faint gold, stamen dripping nectar in slow, viscous drops that hissed where they hit the floor.
The elevator hummed, alive.
Aarav stepped in. The doors slid shut behind him with a lover's sigh. The vines stirred, brushing his calves, his thighs. One curled around his wrist—gentle, curious. Another slipped beneath his waistband, cool leaves against burning skin.
He exhaled. The orchid's scent flooded his skull, stripped thought down to instinct. His cock throuded the fabric, head pushing past the elastic, slick with precum.
The elevator began to move—slowly, deliberately—descending floor by floor. At each stop, the doors opened to reveal a resident standing in pajamas or less, eyes glazed, bodies already responding.
**Floor 12** – Mrs. Gomes, robe hanging open, nipples hard as pebbles.
**Floor 10** – the teenager, tank top rucked up, fingers buried in herself.
**Floor 8** – Ananya, mangalsutra swinging, thighs slick.
They stepped in without a word. The vines welcomed them—coiling around waists, lifting breasts, spreading thighs. The elevator became a living cocoon.
Aarav stood at the center, track pants gone, cock jutting proud. The orchid lowered on its vine until the dripping stamen brushed his lips. He tasted—sweet, electric, endless. Strength surged through his limbs; his balls drew tight, heavy with new seed.
Mrs. Gomes knelt first. She took him into her mouth, throat opening easily, vines guiding her rhythm. The teenager pressed against his side, kissing his neck, her small hand wrapping around his base. Ananya stood behind, breasts soft against his back, fingers teasing his nipples.
Floor by floor, more joined.
- **Floor 6** – the night-shift nurse, still in scrubs, stethoscope dangling.
- **Floor 4** – a newlywed couple, bride blushing, groom stroking himself as his wife knelt beside Mrs. Gomes.
- **Floor 2** – the security guard, uniform unbuttoned, cock already in hand.
The elevator never stopped moving—up, down, up—shaft walls now a jungle of glowing petals. Vines lifted women, suspended them at perfect heights. Aarav moved through them like a king through his court.
He took the nurse against the mirrored wall—her legs over his elbows, scrubs torn open, cock splitting her in long, wet strokes. She came with a silent scream, pussy gushing down his thighs.
The bride bent over the handrail, veil askew. He entered her from behind, one hand on her hip, the other tangled in her groom's hair as the man licked where they joined. The bride's second orgasm soaked the floor.
Ananya rode him reverse, vines cradling her breasts, her ass bouncing with each downward thrust. When she came, the vines caught her release, funneling it back to the orchid's roots.
Hours blurred. The elevator became a slow-moving orgy—bodies suspended, entwined, dripping. Aarav's stamina was infinite; the orchid fed him, kept him hard, kept him spilling. He painted stomachs, breasts, faces—thick ropes that the vines absorbed like rain.
At some point, the building's power flickered. The elevator halted between floors, doors sealed. The orchid pulsed once—bright gold—and released a cloud of pollen. It settled on skin, in hair, inside open mouths.
Orgasm rippled through the car like a wave. Every body clenched, shuddered, released in perfect sync. Aarav stood at the center, cock buried in the teenager's tight heat, and came harder than ever—endless jets that filled her, overflowed, ran in rivers to feed the roots below.
When the lights steadied, the elevator opened on the lobby. The vines retracted, petals folding. Residents stumbled out—naked, glazed, smiling—leaving trails of cum and nectar across the marble.
Aarav stepped out last. The orchid had vanished, leaving only a single petal on the floor—black now, velvety, warm.
He picked it up. It dissolved against his palm, sinking into his skin.
The building hummed, sated. Somewhere above, a new seed pod formed.