Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

He makes her count the strokes. 

They aren’t strokes so much as blows, and they hurt like the fucking devil. The plastic ruler is pliable and hard at the same time, and it whistles through the air and makes solid contact with her ass each time he swings it. 


“AAAAHOOOO!” 

He is making a good effort, not just the wrist, but the entire arm, like the dhobis at the ghats, or a professional wrestler pulling an opponent over his shoulder. 

“AIIIIIIOOOOOO!”

On the fourth stroke, the ruler breaks. Shatters, in fact. There is a loud crack that follows the sound of hard plastic hitting flesh, her yelp and then the crack. It is possible the crack came simultaneously with her yelp of, “AOOOOOO!” But it was hard to tell for sure. 

Swati sees Prakash standing there with the stump of the ruler in his hand, looking at it in disbelief. She wonders if he is going to use his hands like last time. His hands had hurt, she remembers. 

“There’s some stuff in the supply closet at the back.” It is Ramesh. He would know, being the janitor. He would not only have access, but also know what was where in this large building’s various nooks and crannies. 

Prakash and Ramesh disappear for a few minutes, while Swati lies on the carpeted floor, ass in the air. She imagines the welts and redness on her butt and wonders if a rash from her new panties could explain it to her husband should he ask.

The cool are conditioned air on her exposed ass is a little comforting, but the contrasting heat from the ass whipping makes her feel simultaneously uncomfortable and aroused. She can feel her cunt juice trickling down her thighs even though she cannot see it from her position. She shifts the position of her head to see if Prakash or Ramesh are visible. 

The supply closet is in the far corner of the room, something she had always thought was a wall. But now she sees there is a hidden latch and the entire panel is open, leading to a good-sized room. Good-sized, that is, for a closet.

All kinds of things are in there, boxes and small gadgets she thinks are routers, modems, even desk phones of the type she herself has on her office desk. But what catches her interest is what Prakash has in his hand. It is a short length of something flexible, about two feet or maybe a little more, and he is flexing it, hefting it, slapping it on his palm.

The two are talking, but they are too far away for her to hear. There is some kind of argument, and she sees Ramesh shaking his head and Prakash raising a hand, trying to convince him. She wonders what it is all about. They then turn to her and catch her watching them.

Prakash raises his voice and says, “One way to find out,” and starts walking toward her. Ramesh closes the closet door and hurries after him. 

Prakash is closer now, and she can see what he has in his hand is a short length of co-axial cable. Like the kind one uses for a cable TV box. It is perhaps a quarter inch in diameter, and she can hear the swishing sound it makes as Prakash whips it through the air. She feels dread in her intestines, and wonders how it will feel on her ass. 

The first blow catches her by surprise, and she almost doesn’t make a sound. First there is the hiss of the cable through the air, then a sharp crack as it connects with her skin. White-hot pain lances though her butt and down her thigh and before she can make a sound, there is a second blow. 

This time, she puts her lungs into it. “AAAAAAIIIIIIIIIMAAAA!!”

There is a lull. She cranes her neck to see what is going on, but it is hard since the men are too close to her and the angle isn’t right. She imagines Ramesh trying to restrain Prakash, but then a third blow lands, then a fourth. She screams as loud as she can. 

“OIIIIIIMAAAAA!”

Then she feels a presence by her head and through her watering eyes she senses it is Ramesh. There is no cigarette or paan masala odor either. 

“Are you okay, Swati madam?” His voice is full of concern. “Prakash is saying you enjoy this, but I’m not so sure.”

She says nothing, her breath is caught in her throat. 

“Just ask her to nod,” Prakash says from behind her. “She’s a whore, she wants it. Then she will want me to fuck her in the ass. Ask, and she will say yes. That’s the kind of whore she is. She likes it…karara, a little rough and hot.”

His voice is confident, knowing, and for a second Swati wonders if her knows her better that she knows herself.

And then Ramesh is back in her field of vision, saying, “Nod if you want this to continue…”

And despite every nerve shrieking at her, no, no, no, Swati nods as best as she can.

“Can you do something about the noise?” Prakash says. “Her wailing is very distracting…and disturbing.”

Something stirs again in her field of vision, and she is roughly jerked up on her knees from her bent over, ass-offering position. Her arms are still zip tied behind her, not painful yet, but not loose and comfortable either. Just enough to remind her of her subservient position. 

Prakash gives her a light tap on her exposed butt, just a mild reminder that he is in charge and that nothing has changed in her position in the pecking order, which is at the bottom. Where does Ramesh stand?

Ramesh produces the yellow ball-gag from his pocket, together with a black silk blindfold. She recognizes the items as being from her office drawer, things she has purchased on impulse, things that Ramesh has seen before, and the use and function of some of which she has explained to him. 

Prakash chuckles as he hauls her to her knees. She could have done it herself, rising to her knees even with her hands tied behind her back, but it would have taken effort. She would have been grateful for his help, except that he does it by roughly grabbing her by the base of the ponytail and pulling her up.

When Ramesh pops the yellow ball, soft but resilient silicone into her mouth, and ties the straps around her head, Prakash watches with interest and slowly dawning understanding, until when the final strap is tightened, he breaks out in a full-blown chuckle and slaps Ramesh on the back and calls him a genius. 

Ramesh smiles thinly, accepting the praise, but not participating in this whole business too enthusiastically. Swati wonders at him anew. What kind of guy is he? He likes to watch but not touch; he likes to help Prakash brutalize her, but won’t participate. 

Prakash understands the next part with greater ease. 

The blindfold. Even though he isn’t too sure about it, he goes along with it. He’d rather her see what he is going to do to her, he says to Ramesh, but the surprise might be good too. 

Swati feels the heel of his boot push her between the shoulder blades, at least she thinks it is his boot, and she goes down to her ass up, head down position again, waiting to see what will happen next. 

Her large breasts hang down toward her face, sliding over her upper chest. Her nipples are large, and they scbang the carpet. The tingle that contact sends through her makes her shiver. 

She knows though that he is going to attack her ass, and there is nothing she can do about it, and even her screams will be attenuated through the ball gag she herself has supplied inadvertently, an impulse purchase several months ago.