Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Ramesh could not hide his pleasure at what he saw the next day. He had spent the night in a fever of anticipation, and now the need was too much. It felt like a stone in his bowels, this need to see her, to be in her presence. He wasn’t sure what it was, love or lust or something else entirely.


Prakash was going to return in a couple of days from his village, and even though he would likely be engaged to be married by now, he would no doubt would ask details of what was going on, and reiterate his desire to see the heavenly Swati madam. 

Ramesh thought that perhaps he should lie to his friend this time. Yes, he was loyal to his buddies, but he had started to doubt his friend’s intentions. He wasn’t sure that the innocent exterior that Prakash projected was true. 

And then, at the appointed hour, he knocked and entered her office. 

Swati madam sat naked on her chair, waiting for him. The last several times, she had greeted him like that. She wasn’t afraid that someone else might come through the door, and she had overcome her fear and shyness entirely. 

Like a heroin addict for whom small doses soon become meaningless, he thought. The laptop was open. She had evidently been getting some work done. Or perhaps she had been watching whatever it was she watched, like the very first time. He suspected it was some type of porn, but didn't know anymore.

She stood and he saw she was naked. Both topless and bottomless. 

Naked as the day she was born except for a thin strip of hair that had been trimmed with expertise like an arrow that pointed to the treasures and pleasures that lay below. 

His breath caught and for a few seconds he could not believe what he was seeing. Swati madam, completely naked. She had removed the jungle from below.

Nangi. Nangi. Nangi!

Just like he’d requested. 

Of course, she still wore her mangalsutra, and the high heels. But that only made her more sexy, more powerful and Devi-like in his opinion. 

“Shall we?” She said.

Ramesh nodded. He'd already done a round of the floor and knew there was no one around. 

He walked ahead of her as they skirted the cubicles. It was always a risk, he knew, that someone might be in one of those cubicles and emerge at just the right time. He had done his best to scour the area for stragglers, but there was still a small risk. He knew that, and he knew that Swati madam also knew that. That, he supposed, was the fun, the thrill. The excitement.

She walked up and down the narrow corridor lined on one side by the backs of the beige office chairs along the length of the conference table, and the glass wall on the other side, a width of about six feet. The length was more than twenty feet, perhaps even thirty feet, ample space for a catwalk. Ramesh stood at the very end, arms folded and leaning against the wall, and watched her as she sashayed up and down. 

He watched with delight as her boobs swayed gently from side to side, a testament to their ponderous weight and heft. He watched with rapture as she walked away from him, her earthy hips swaying, her beautiful, rounded buttocks dimpling in and out with each step. The darkness between winking at him with each stride. 

He wanted so touch her boobs, fondle them, heft them in his hands and feel their weight. He wanted to run his hands up and down her flanks, her buttocks. Maybe delve a few fingers into the ultimate treasure, her cunt. He knew the words, he knew how these things worked even though he had no personal experience. 

He clearly saw her pussy lips as she came toward him, smooth shaved, beaded in dewy wetness that became more prominent with each trip she took up and down. The clear fluid dripped down her inner thighs, all the way to the back of her knees. He had noticed this the first few times her panties has become wet, and now he knew what it was. The fluid of her arousal. 

After three such cycles of walking up and down, she stood in front of him, hands on her waist, one hip cocked to the side and let him run his eyes up and down her nude form. 

“Happy now? Khush?”

Her voice was throaty, a little hoarse. Ramesh understood that she was turned on, and it was desire that thickened her throat. But he also knew that there wasn’t anything he could or would do about it. 

That kind of thing was for other people, perhaps that fat slob, Inder.

She had that divine smile on her face, with the dimples, and he was breathless and tongue-tied, and he simultaneously wanted to fall on her and…he didn’t know what, but also he wanted to fall at her feet and worship her, run his tongue up and down her body in homage, to pleasure her, just like the pleasure she had given him. 

But, his mind screamed at him, that would be wrong! Wrong! Forbidden! And all he could do was nod.


A few days passed. 

She was now walking naked from her office to the conference room. At first she’d carried her clothes with her, but later, as she gained confidence in his sweep of the office, she left the clothes behind. Why bother when she was going to undress and dress in her office anyway?

The thrill of doing this a couple times a week was what Ramesh lived for, and from what he could tell, Swati madam too wanted to do it equally. She got as much pleasure from exposing herself to him as he did from watching her. He thought of the two of them as partners in this game. A game that he knew was getting more dangerous with time. 

The fat man, he knew, was watching from somewhere. Ramesh didn’t know where exactly the cameras were but her knew they were there, for why else would Inder have told him to move the venue to the conference room. In his mind, it was a good thing that Swati madam hadn’t realized it, but he still felt bad for the deception. 

He had no idea what Inder was getting out of this. Perhaps, he too liked to watch. Remotely, maybe on a television screen, and maybe he recorded it and made videos and sent them out on the internet with the faces blurred. He had no idea. 

So far, Inder had not even spoken to him for weeks. He had brought Swati madam to the conference room and slowly escalated the game, but nothing more had come from the fat IT guy’s end. Perhaps he had forgotten, perhaps the fat man had simply died of a heart attack—fat people sometimes did. 

And then, that day, as she was putting on her kameez, her head still covered by the cloth, he made his next request.

When her head emerged finally, she looked shocked, and the color rose to her cheeks. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then she looked like she had made a decision. She nodded, a slow up and down of her head.