Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[pedapandu]

Swati waits on her hands and knees, not knowing what will happen next. She can hear Prakash rustling about being her. Ramesh sits in front of her, his eyes wide as saucers, an unfathomable expression on his face.


The first thing she feels is a swoosh of air, and then a stinging slap on her buttock. The force of the blow pushes her forward as though she is reaching for Ramesh’s crotch, perhaps to suck his dick. But he is fully clothed. There is a big tent in his trousers though and Swati thinks, even as the pain in her butt lances through her, yes, he has a big one, just like I thought.

“Owwwww!!” She screams. And then, Oow, ow…ooi maaaa!”

She is remembering her mother at this strange and critical juncture. 

She wants to get up and stop this butt slapping, but restrains herself, waiting for what is going to happen next.

Another blow lands, this time on her other cheek. Then, before she can brace herself, the blows start coming. Thick and fast, at irregular intervals, and Swati cannot anticipate them accurately and tense up. It seems each slap arrives just as she had relaxed a bit. Some slaps land on her butt, some cross the middle, straddling her asshole, and some even on her protruding pussy lips. 

Wryly, she thinks of the arrow she has stenciled there. It is almost as though Prakash is following the arrow.

She can feel her ass getting warm, then hot. It must be red, she thinks. She feels moisture form at her cunt and trickle down her thighs, both sides. She can smell her own arousal. A musky, earthy, sexy smell. 

Swati is moaning now, interspersed with the grunting that accompanies each blow. Her cries are more mewling now as though she is enjoying it. At least that’s how it sounds to her own ears.

“Owwww…uhhnnn…ohhh…uhhhnnnn…”

How can this be happening? She is getting turned on by the slapping on her ass. That is incredible, mind-boggling. 

Prakash is breathing heavily behind her, and after a few more slaps, he stops. He steps to her side, huffing and blowing. 

“Nice tits, bitch,” he says between gasps. Then he bends down and grabs her tits, awkwardly embracing her from behind. His hand is warm, almost hot.

He is still breathing hard. She gets powerful whiffs of his tobacco and paan masala scented breath. Swati thinks that her earlier assessment of his fitness was bang on. He is used to a sedentary job—sitting in the kiosk all day, not much exercise, and he has become soft.

After a minute of rough fondling of her breasts, Prakash stands up. He walks around to the front where she can see him. 

Prakash is flapping his hands, rubbing them together. The spanking must’ve hurt him too, but she wins because she enjoyed it more. Did he too enjoy it? The spanking and the degradation he put her through? A high class, educated woman, completely naked on all fours in front of him, and Prakash the security guard dominating her like this?

Then her thoughts are interrupted by the sensations in her tits. Prakash has approached her again, from the front this time. He kneels before her. He is not gentle, the way Ashok is. Prakash is mauling them, pulling at her nipples, squeezing them, palming her breasts, at least as much as he can get in his hands. The manhandling is painful, and yet her nipples stiffen, and her arousal peaks. Then, still pulling on one nipple, Prakash moves one hand between her legs and touches her core.

Just that touch sends her over. 

Without warning, her orgasm arrives, and her hips start to buck and writhe. 

She almost blacks out, or at least that’s how it seems to her. One moment she is on all fours, getting her ass spanked, then her tits mauled, and the next, she finds herself sprawled on the carpet, her hips involuntarily trying to hump the ground. Did Prakash push her down?

She realizes it is all her own doing. 

There is a loud wailing she can hear and after a second she realizes it as her own orgasmic throes. The screams are coming from her own throat. As soon as she realizes this, she gains control of herself and stops. The sound trails off as a soft mewling. 

Prakash is laughing, wheezing. He is delighted. He is clapping his hands, pointing at her like one might a spectacle in the street. 

Shame courses through her as she realizes what has happened. 

She has gotten off on the manhandling, the abuse, she has come again in front of his uncultured boor of a man. The second time in a matter of minutes. She struggles back to all fours and glances at the clock. It has been half an hour only since Prakash entered the room. She can hardly believe it. It seems like she has lived and died a lifetime of shame in these last thirty minutes. 

She looks at her tormentor. Prakash is overjoyed.

“What a whore! What a whore!” He cries over and over. “Did you see that? What a whore! I beat her and pull her tits and she comes like that! Wow!”

Prakash is admiring his own intuition about her, something she herself did not know. 

Was she really a slut, a whore? How could this be happening? 

With great effort, she rises back to all fours and then upright, on her knees. Prakash has pulled a chair over, the one hat she had not so long ago been resting her leg on and is crotch level with her face. 

She waits. 

a lot for the hot n erotic update.....

Keep going on.....