Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Inder is transfixed as he watches Swati being gagged, then blindfolded. 


The images are vivid on his monitor which he has recently wiped down with a special solution for cleaning screens and his efforts have been rewarded handsomely. 

To his right, the recorder button is pulsing red, and by the end of the evening, he will have another great video that he will later edit and…he hasn’t thought further, but selling it to one of the porn websites isn’t out of the question. He thinks Swati’s face should probably be camouflaged, but the blidfold is a good idea—he won’t have to use a digital blur which he always finds off-putting. 

Prakash is hefting the thin cable in his hand, and slapping it down. The audio is so good, he can hear the whistling sound it makes as he swipes it in the air. With a lot of force, he notices. 

Prakash positions himself athwart Swati’s ass, his legs slightly apart, a good, strong base from which he can deliver strong blows. Incongruously, he wears no pants or underwear, and his cock—he notices, it is a pretty large one, is sticking straight out. 

As Prakash raises his hand to strike, Ramesh steps in and stops his hand. They speak in low voices, as though they don’t want Swati to hear, and the result is that he, Inder cannot hear either. They seem to reach some kind of understanding and Prakash takes up his stance again. 

Swati whimpers on the ground, her eyes blindfolded, her knowledge of the world reduced by that one hugely important sense. Inder can imagine how she must be feeling, the terror. He shakes his head. Why is he having feelings of empathy for the whore? 

Prakash abruptly brings the cable down on her ass, once, twice, thrice, and immediately there are red welts across both of her cheeks. For a second there is no sound, then a muffled wail from Swati. Her whole body is shuddering and heaving, and wait, what is this? She is actually coming! Orgasming! Just like the whore he knew she was. 

Inder is fascinated. 

There is clear liquid running down her thighs in little rivulets.

Prakash makes a noise between a laugh and a snort and tosses the cable aside. Inder can see it is the heavy kind, the industrial kind, not the type of light cable that is used in houses, but the armored kind that is used in commercial buildings. That would hurt, he can imagine it quite well. 

And now, he stands with his legs on either side of her ass, ready to proceed to the next phase of the fun and games. He starts to crouch when Ramesh taps him on the shoulder. He produces a bottle of something clear, a gel-like liquid, that he squirts into Prakash’s hands, even though the latter seems to think that spitting on his hand is good enough. Ramesh makes a few gestures, making it clear to Prakash that he expects the lube to be used. 

Inder muses on this relationship between Ramesh and Swati and Prakash for one more time. What a strange guy this Ramesh is. No touching, but he takes instructions on what and how to do it. On the one hand he comes across like a virgin, and on the other like a seasoned S&M expert. 

He does pretty much what Inder tells him—the use of lube was one of the things. Ramesh had told him that there is a literal treasure trove of sex toys in the the whore’s office, and Inder has instructed both Prakash and Ramesh to use them on her. Although, he thinks, this Prakash fellow is a little bit of a loose cannon. 

Of course the spit that Prakash is proposing is good enough for the whore, Inder thinks. Bitch like that probably could take it with no lube at all. Her asshole was probably large enough to drive a truck through, he chuckles to himself. 

But, again, Prakash makes him uneasy even though he has him under his thumb, in his grasp. He has him by the metaphorical short and curlies. By his balls in fact. 

Prakash kneels to one side, his head very close to her ass, and uses one finger to cautiously explore her asshole and Inder can see her expression despite the gag and blindfold. Thank goodness for high definition cameras, he thinks. He can zoom in if he wishes, giving him the power and flexibility of a movie cinematographer. 

He can also record simultaneous streams if he so wishes. Inder has put a lot of thought into the A/V system in the conference room, although not for this purpose. It has worked out well for him though. Repurposing and adapting the technology. 

Swati winces and tries to shrink away as Prakash’s finger touches her asshole. But then his finger pushes in with surprisingly little resistance through the ring and he sees Swati visibly relax. 

The lube is working! One second there is the pucker, the starfish, tight as a buttonhole, and the next there’s relaxation, a give, and the finger is through. He was right about her. She is a huge fucking whore! No question about it. 

She is however, whimpering. Soft mewling sounds that he isn’t sure are those of pain. Is she enjoying it? Huh! Surely she isn’t? But then she moans around the gag and then he knows she is enjoying it. 

Prakash is moving two and now three fingers in and out of her asshole which is starting to dilate. When he pulls out, the ring doesn’t relax, the starfish doesn't reappear. 

There is, instead, a deep and mysterious hole that is enlarging with each additional finger that Prakash inserts. The man makes a point of all his fingers, like he is holding something small with all his digits, perhaps making an offering to a beggar and pushes part of the pyramid thus created into her asshole and now he sees her ass moving back to meet his hand. 

It seems to Inder that while Prakash is pushing in, Swati is pushing back to gobble even more of his hand into her nether hole. He wonders if she knows it is his hand, and not his cock, blindfolded as she is. Surely, she expects his cock in her ass before too long. 

After a while, Prakash tires of the fingering of Swati’s asshole, and gets up, his legs straddling her torso. He puts both hands on her buttocks and spreads them, the asshole, the dark redness inside now clearly visible, and the pussy, glistening and wet and slightly puffy, the slit marginally gaped. 

He turns back and momentarily glances at one of the cameras, an actor breaking the fourth wall, and then settles back into his role.

For a second, the bulbous purple head of his cock is poised at the entrance to her most secret cave and then with a slight push of his hips and a grunt, the cockhead in inside and then the stem of his manhood follows. 

“Take that, you whore,” Prakash says as he pushes. 

Swati’s upper body is crushed under his weight, her breasts flatten and bulge obscenely under her. Inder can see that already they are red and raw where the carpet has scbangd her skin. He can see one nipple, long and hard and part of the aureole. 

She grunts as Prakash starts to hammer his cock into her like he is a giant hammer, and his cock a nail he must push all the way through her. 

Every stroke his prick emerges wetter and darker and Inder can hardly believe it, larger. It looks like an angry log, veins and all. 

Inder ponders for a moment what this means. Is he a bisexual? Is he a homo? He has never had sex in his life and isn’t even sure of his orientation. But it is true that both the whore and Prakash’s cock turn him on. He unbuttons his pants and slips his hand under the waistband of his underwear.

With every push, Prakash calls her a whore in different but repetitive Hindi and some other language words that Inder cannot understand. There words are interspersed with grunts and, “take that,” and “fuck, fuck, fuck,” and other wordless sounds. 

Prakash seems to be slowing down his pneumatic hammer-like movements. His face is fixed in a savage grin, grunting with every stroke. 

Swati is also grunting with every punch-like percussion of Prakash’s waist, the sounds starting pig-like and then devolving into mewls. 

She is clearly enjoying this, Inder thinks.

Inder looks over, away from the main action to see what Ramesh is doing, but the man has disappeared. He pans the camera and looks around the large room, but there is no Ramesh. 

That odd, he thinks, Ramesh is like a lap dog, a protector of sorts for the whore, and yet he seems to have deserted her. Then he notices a shadow on the glass wall and Ramesh reappears. His pockets bulge with heavy things that he seems to have retrieved from somewhere. 

Inder wonders what goodies he has brought. 

But back to the main action in center of the room. Prakash does something different. He fucks in his cock all the way until he is lying almost on top of Swati with a loud “Son of a whore!”

She grunts as loud as she can despite the gag. The carpet around her gagged mouth is darker that the rest; the yellow ball is partially visible and in stark contrast with the dark carpet. She has drooled uncontrollably since she first took her position there. 

Then Prakash wraps his hands around the woman’s waist and pulls her to him with a loud groan. 

For a moment nothing happens as Swati’s breath whooshes out. 

Then Prakash is rising to his feet, roaring and screaming, as though he is putting in a supreme effort, a powerlifter pulling three, four times his bodyweight. He rises slowly, carrying Swati in front of him, his hands under her legs, his cock still plugging her ass firmly. 

He moves with unsteady steps toward the large conference table and plops her down on it. His hands hook under her knees and he pulls them up and out, giving Inder a magnificent frontal view of her slightly gaping cunt and her completely plugged asshole. 

Her mouth is open as wide as it can go, almost wider than the ball gag in her mouth and there is drool over her chin. Eyes blindfolded, mouth gaped and gagged, all holes on full display, she looks like a wet dream, and Inder is overcome.

Swati is making a high keening sound as Prakash fucks her nether hole ruthlessly, relentlessly and furiously. His face is a rictus of an unknowable expression. 

Ecstasy or pain, Inder cannot tell, but his entire concentration is on Swati. 

The whorishness of the scene! What kind of woman would allow herself to be treated like this, let alone participate enthusiastically? 

Her holes, both plugged and unplugged consume his consciousness. 

He drops his pants and pulls frantically at his own cock and within seconds he spurts into a wad of tissue that he has kept for this very purpose. 

He is temporarily sated, but there is more action going on.