The resort’s private hot tub was tucked behind a screen of snow-laden pines—steam rising thick into the freezing air, water bubbling at 40 degrees, hidden enough that only the occasional staff member might glimpse it from the service path. By late afternoon on day three, the four of them had claimed it exclusively—towels discarded on the wooden deck, champagne flutes sweating on the edge.

Anjali and Neha sank in first—naked, skin flushed pink from the heat. Their mangalsutras floated slightly on the surface tension, gold chains catching the weak winter sun. Rohit and Vikram followed—cocks already thickening at the sight of their swapped wives lounging side by side, tits buoyant in the water, nipples tight from the contrast of hot water and cold air.