Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

The truck in front of her changed lanes without signaling, par for the course here. No one even drove in their lanes, and she wondered why they even bothered to draw them at all. 


Her thoughts drift back to Prakash and the conference room. Last month, Prakash fucked her silly in the hallway, not even waiting to get to the conference room while Ramesh looked on. 

Prakash spent a good, long time edging her, taking her close to orgasm and then pulling back until she was horny like an alley cat. He could tell when she was about to come, the tells on her face and body, the quickening of her breath, the tightening of the cords in her neck. He was an expert in her, his whore. She screeched her frustration at him, just like a feral cat might, and he slapped her. 

He dragged her by the hair to the conference room and said, “What do you want, cunt?”

She said she wanted to be fucked, she wanted to come. She said this in broken English, so he would understand, but he had not understood, or at least pretended not to. He made as though to consider what she was saying, a big show of scratching his head and looking confused. 

“Which hole?” he said finally.

“Any hole, take any hole,” she said. She bent over and spread her cheeks, showing him her holes, both of which were dilated and gaping by this time. 

“I’m not sure…” he said, “It doesn’t seem to me that you really want it.” He made a show of looking at his watch as though he were late for something. 

“No! Please, please, I really want it! I’ll do anything!”

“Really? Anything?” His tone was skeptical. 

“Yes, anything,” she said, not even thinking for a moment what she was saying. 

It wasn’t like she was offering him something he’d not had. Not that she had a choice anyway. Prakash would have taken her anyway, any hole, any which way he pleased, and there wasn’t much she could do about it. 

Prakash stuck his finger into her pussy, bent it and hooked her up so she was standing on her tiptoes. “Whose hole is this?”

Swati moaned, and her hips writhed in frustration. Hurry up and fuck me already, she thought. “Yours, Malik!”

“Hmm.” He pulled his finger out and stuck it in her ass. Two fingers this time. “And this one?"

“Yours Malik!”

Prakash pulled his fingers out of her asshole and stuck it directly into her open mouth. Swati was beyond all the niceties of cleanliness and hygiene by now. She didn’t care that Prakash’s cock stank of urine and stale sweat. She didn’t care that Prakash was now sticking his fingers in her mouth, the same fingers that had been in her ass just seconds ago. 

Instead, she sucked on his fingers with gusto, rotating her hips in an approximation of the sex act, moaning all the time. Prakash had seemed satisfied by her responses, and his cock had seemed to stiffen even more in response. The veins stood out at attention on his turgid member.

Swati thought Prakash was satisfied with the way he had trained her. She was happy with the training too. Stick and carrot. The stick was sometimes a slap, a caning on her ass, slapping on various parts of her body, sometimes his leather belt, but the carrot, oh, the heights of sexual ecstasy mixed in with pain was nothing she had ever experienced before. 

Prakash asked Ramesh to open the window. She hadn’t known the windows could be opened, but open they did, but not in the conventional way of windows but as a whole. The large panel of glass in front her swiveled out and away and right there was a small ledge with a railing around it, suspended with steel cables and pulleys. Perhaps it was for the window washers to stand on, or for some other function. It could barely be seen from the street, even if you knew where to look. Maybe it changed places with each day, depending on where the workers needed to work.

Prakash took her there, from behind, in the ass and then in the pussy, changing every few strokes while she stood bent over, clutching at the railing for dear life, fifteen floors above the ground. 

From across the street, she could see lighted office windows and people gathered. She wondered if they could see her being hammered in this lewd fashion. She thought they might see a woman being fucked, but they wouldn’t know it was her, nor would they know who was fucking her. The thought of exhibiting herself to so many more people at the same time excited her, and she exploded into orgasm.

Another time, Prakash fucked her against the window pane, her breasts flattened on the glass, nipples spread like pancakes while he thrust into her from behind over and over. She worried the glass might crack, but it was the reinforced kind, not easy to break. 

That was also the night he had humiliated her by calling in the chai w,.' for the first time. 

He called the guy on his mobile and when he’d shown up, Prakash had escorted the guy upstairs while she lay in post-coital bliss. He’d told him that the madam would pay him in kind for the three cups of tea. She had felt extremely embarrassed and shamed, trying to cover her privates with her hands, but then she realized how ridiculous that was. 

She dropped her hands and got into the spirit of things and gave him a blowjob, still tentative, but slowly getting more into the bizarre situation. She gave him a good sucking, even though his cock was relatively small. The advantage was that he couldn’t choke her like Prakash could. Still, it was larger than Inder’s. 

Prakash humiliated her further by asking her to admit she was nothing but a cheap whore, a whore who would take cock in any and every hole, whatever the client wanted. He made her say she wanted to be fucked, humiliated, then he spit on her, made her lick the spit up and shine his shoes with her tongue, all in front of the chai w,.' who had his eyes so wide they looked like poached eggs.

She still remembers the conversation as though it were some kind of catechism. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m a whore, a randi”

“What do you want?

“I want to be fucked.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a whore!”

“You really want strange men to stick their cocks in you”

“Yes! Yes! I want cocks! I want strange men to fuck me in all my holes!”

All this had to be accompanied by her spreading her legs, showing off her holes. Sometimes she bent over and displayed her holes, her breasts dangling in front of her. Other times, Prakash made her heft her own boobs, and pull on her nipples while repeating the catechism. 

Her vocabulary in Hindi had also improved with the incessant coaching, and now most of the dialogues were spoken in Hindi with only the occasional word in English.