Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Prakash sat thinking on the bus back to Gurugram. 

It was a good seven-hour overnight journey including stops, and he had a while to think. His companion, a fat man that smelled of goats, was fast asleep and his head kept slipping don on his shoulder. He had nudged the guy several times, and each time the man would wake, look groggily here and there and go right back to sleep. Couldn’t blame him. It was nighttime after all. 

But Prakash had things on his mind.


This Ramesh business was intriguing to him, and he wondered how to take advantage of the situation. Ramesh was a fool, he knew, a village idiot who had no sexual experience and going about with his pictures of Hanuman and celibacy and on and on until his head hurt. 

He had to pretend to like the fellow—they were from nearby villages and therefore brothers, but it only extended so far. In the city, it was every man for himself.

Take this Swati madam for example. It had been weeks since their little dalliance, if one could call it that, had started. If it was him, Prakash, he would have taken control of the situation and grabbed her by the hair and taken her then and there. Maybe not the first time, but the second or third time, sure. 

But here he was, listening to the fool go on about how beautiful the woman was. God, do something with the bitch already!

In his imagination, the things he could do with such a beauty as Ramesh described were legion. He would fuck her, in every position possible, have her blow him, titty fuck her like in the videos he had seen. He could do other things, he thought. 

Pimping her out in Bhim colony to the poor folks for mere rupees was one of the options, just to humiliate her, lord it over her, but to be able to control someone like that! The feeling was too heady. Too much yaar, he told himself. 

He could fuck her ass, a long time fantasy of his, something the whores he visited wouldn’t let him do, but maybe they wanted more money. He wasn’t sure about that, because he was always on a tight budget. Perhaps for the right amount of money…

He thought about some high and mighty ladies that parked in the garage and wondered if Swati was one of them. Perhaps the bitchy woman who dropped her keys and stood there waiting for him to come out of his kiosk and pick them up for her? 

Or could it be the one that always wore sunglasses and expected him to clean off the bird shit on her windshield for free? 

Or the young lady that ignored him as though he didn’t exist even though he saluted her every time she came in or left? 

Perhaps it was the one who had said, “Diwali bonus? Don’t you get a salary for doing your job?” He was dumbstruck. What was a few hundred rupees to her? 

And his resentment grew for all the entitled fuckers that lived in this city.

Yeah, he hoped it was one of them. He would enjoy humiliating any one of them,for sure. He would love to fuck them senseless, to beat them and enjoy the pain he inflicted on them. His grin was savage in the dark of the night.

He would talk to Nawaz, the third, and mostly absent roommate. 

So far, Nawaz knew nothing about this whole affair, but perhaps it was time to bring him in. He knew Nawaz was connected and had fingers in many pies. Perhaps he had mob connections. He knew for sure that Nawaz had connections in the red-light district, and he suspected the man might be involved in extortion. 

As far as he knew, Nawaz had no real job, like he and Ramesh did. It was a mystery why Nawaz continued to rent the chawl together with them when he hardly spent any time there. Regardless, Nawaz would know what could be done with this madam. 

He had asked to be part of theSwati madam deal, but Ramesh had refused. He asked at least see her, even if it was outside the office, just point her out, so he could see who the woman was, but that too was denied. 

There were over a hundred women that worked in the building, maybe two hundred, maybe even more. He couldn’t even be sure if the woman Ramesh was “seeing” even parked in his garage. 

He could not go into the building without Ramesh because his card would not let him access the main building. Every damn thing here was carefully controlled by card access. That fucking fool, Ramesh had access to practically the whole place, and he, the watchman in the garage could only go to specific places.

But last week that had changed. 

A man had driven in, talking loudly on his cellphone, and swiped his card to enter the garage. As he went through, he dropped his card, but the phone conversation was apparently so engaging that he did not notice. Prakash watched the whole thing from his glass enclosed kiosk and rose to pick it up. 

The door was on the exit side. By the time he had gone around and picked it up, the man had already driven away, still talking on the phone.

Prakash dropped the card with its little plastic cover into his pocket. 

Later, when he was sure he was alone, he’d looked at it. Systems Engineer, it said, below the name of the guy, Prashant Kakkar, but that didn’t tell him anything. 

The title suggested a senior post, especially the way he’d been talking on the phone and the imperious way he’d driven through, not caring about the card. From the car too, a shiny and expensive looking one, the guy looked important. 

Prakash would try the card and see if it would let him access the building. He had no time that day and besides he had to return to his village because his father had deemed it so. 

He wondered how that Kakkar guy had gotten into the building, but perhaps he had some other form of access. Maybe he called security and they gave him a new card. Big people could get things done, and very quickly, he knew.

There was a girl in the village his family wanted him to look at, and knowing his father, the alliance was probably already a done deal and his acquiescence was merely a formality. At least that’s how it had gone for his two elder brothers. Perhaps he, by virtue of his city job, could rebel? Hmm. Something to think about. 

The village felt great, and after he got off the bus, he took in great lungfuls of unpolluted air. Sure, there was the odor of cowdung, and freshly cut wheat, but at least it was natural and unpolluted. 

His homecoming was great. They all doted on him, fed him all kinds of stuff, made a big fuss over him. His two brothers were cordial enough. But there was as a wariness in their eyes. He had escaped the drudgery of the village, and they had not. 

Prakash had shrugged it off. For one thing, life in the city wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and besides, he had other things to think about.

They had to make a journey by bus and then by bullock cart to the neighboring village, everyone dressed in their finest clothes. He was wearing his only pair of jeans and a full sleeve shirt buttoned to the top, and a cheap pair of dark glasses that said Ray-Ban on the lens, but he knew it was fake, although no one else did. 

The girl wasn’t bad looking, he had to admit, but he’d told his mother after they returned, that he didn't want to marry her. It wasn’t the girl. She was okay, but he had other things going on. He had a career to establish, he needed to make a fortune first. He wasn’t in the mood to get married yet. Prakash was only twenty-three, too young by city standards to be married. 

His father had learned of his refusal from his mother, who tried to soften Prakash’s words. She was the peacemaker in the family, and she tried hard, but it didn’t work. His father had raged at him the next day, and his mother had stood at the entrance to the dark kitchen, wringing her hands. 

As the youngest boy, he was her darling. His two brothers were no help. Instead, they stood by, smirking. After all your shenanigans, you have finally been called to account, their looks seemed to say. 

The next few days were spent in a Cold War, and he avoided everyone except his mother. She was nice, but ultimately useless. His two sisters-in-law tried to talk him into the alliance. But he was adamant. 

He stayed away, hanging out with his friends, those he could find anyway, and returned home only for meals. And then it was time to return to work. He had the morning shift, ending at five in the evening. Prakash knew he should sleep, at least a little, for it wouldn’t do to be caught snoozing in the kiosk, but his thoughts were racing. 

He fingered the access card in his pocket.

The possibility that the computerized access on the card could have been revoked in the week that had passed by hadn’t occurred to him.