Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

It is only when they arrive at the chawl that Prakash permits her to wrap the towel around herself again. 

After undoing the knot at her chest, Prakash had pinched her ass until she lifted it, then he’d pulled the towel away from under her. The cold was numbing for a few minutes after she sat back down on the freeing vinyl. 


All during the ride, both men have been playing with her boobs, pulling on the nipples, squeezing her tit-meat like buyers at a vegetables market. Prakash has been fingering her as well, and she is wet and ready to party. 

Nawaz has been a little more restrained, whether it’s because he is unfamiliar with her or a natural shyness, Swati doesn’t know, but surely after receiving a blowjob from a woman, you don’t think her unfamiliar? Shy, she decides. By now, Nawaz has ingratiated himself in her consciousness, and no longer feels like another outsider. 

Parvati on the other hand, Swati thinks, is another issue. She is equivocal about her. Not that she can do anything about it; both of them have to party regardless of their wishes, but she wishes she understood the relationship between Nawaz and Parvati better before she made a decision. A decision that is, about her feelings about Parvati being involved. 

All the while, Prakash and Nawaz have been talking loudly over the noisy auto engine about the upcoming elections, the weather, cricket, movies, his upcoming possible trip to his native place.

They treat her like a piece of meat, not a person, definitely not someone to be engaged in conversation with. And Swati just loves it. The abasement of it all, the feeling of being nothing more than property, chattel, a set of fuckholes.

Prakash takes her hand and places it on his crotch. Swati discovers he has unzipped himself. She feels around in the dark and finds Nawaz hasn’t, and so she helps him out. She strokes both cocks expertly, slowly, keeping them on hard, and on edge. No one wants to cum too soon on this trip.

After a while, conversation ceases other than heavy breathing from the back seat for obvious reasons. The vehicle is noisy to begin with and then when driving, there is the wind and the street noises and so on, and so most of the noises during the drive have been grunts and moans from her and the two men. 

Parvati has been staring fixedly through the front windshield. Swati realizes that she is holding a large gym bag in her lap, one that she recognizes. She wonders what Prakash has brought with him. She hopes some of her toys are there.

It is also a blessing that it is now quite dark, and the streets they have driven through have been more or less deserted. No interior lights in the auto mean no one can see what is going on inside. 

But now they are slowly bumping along in the shack lined by-lanes of Bhim colony, and there are occasional streetlights and lamps on buildings that  provide adequate illumination for people on the street--those huddled around trash fires in the street corners-- to see inside. 

And see they do. 

People sitting on the sidewalk, or along the street corners where they normally congregate to smoke or chew paan stare open-mouthed at the fair and beautiful woman partially masked by the two men, her big naked tits jumping up and down with every pothole the auto strikes. 

Some whistle, some make catcalls, and there are many offers to help her out in exchange for several crude favors, but the auto stops for no one. Swati feels quite excited and also apprehensive in equal measure at the crude men who were propositioning her, but they are men and would have gone after any woman in the neighborhood. 

Especially if the woman looked like her and was naked to boot.

She allows herself fantasies of being taken from the auto and gang banged in public, perhaps in a dirty public bathroom that the new prime minister had built for the people. She has no idea how clean those will be, having never had cause to visit one, but she has no doubt they will be dirty. Filthy, probably. And that adds to the excitement she feels. She is practically dripping when the auto stops in front of a small building.

As she rises to get out of the auto, in the faint light, she sees a puddle of whitish liquid on the vinyl seat. Her own secretions, no doubt, plus the deposit the pizza boy had made. She hasn’t noticed until now, although she did feel the combined heat and chill in her nether regions all through the ride, not to mention the lubrication from Prakash’s stimulation. The heat from her own genitals, and the cold of the plastic seat, made colder by the cum leaking from her cunt. 

She drags the towel across the little puddle—the pizza boy had already wiped himself on it before, and a little more wouldn’t hurt. Besides, the towel is old, and probably done. She will toss it at the next opportunity. 

By the time she steps out of the auto followed by Nawaz, she is heady from excitement, anticipation and the expectations she has built in her mind. There is also some panic. 

She hopes Ramesh will be there, since she knows he and Prakash share the space. Did Nawaz also live with them? She doesn’t remember, but perhaps he is a neighbor, and also perhaps he has some kind of relationship with Parvati.

She looks at Parvati and sees she is standing quietly by the auto, waiting for orders. From Nawaz apparently. Perhaps Parvati and Nawaz share the same relationship she and Prakash do? Similar perhaps?

Then she sees a dark lump detach itself from the wall of the building in front of her, and Inder comes into view. He is munching on a chocolate bar, dark stains around his mouth, and he is smiling. 

“Finally!” He says. "You fuckers show up an hour after you said you’ll be here."

Inder is sulky, petulant, but the heat of his anger has all but dissipated now that they have arrived.

“Sorry Boss,”says Prakash, not sounding sorry at all. 

He pays the driver off, hesitates, then says, “Party upstairs, you want to come?” He indicates the women with his head. “Your choice…any one or …both?”

The driver’s eyes go wide at the mention of both women, and he looks lustfully at them, one dressed in a dowdy saree, and clearly a maid type, and the other, equally clearly a high class woman, wearing only a colorful towel. 

Swati can almost hear the gears moving in his head.

A look of profound regret crosses his face, and he shakes his head. “I have to go,” he says and gets back into the auto.

“Your loss!” Prakash calls after him and starts to cackle. 

Nawaz too starts to laugh, and Inder joins in after a beat.

“He has three wives, and he lives in the next street over. If he came up, they would hear about it in  less than fifteen minutes, and then his life would be hell for the foreseeable future,” Nawaz explains.

They laugh some more at the driver’s predicament, and then they all look at each other in the gloom. It is cold, and Nawaz shivers slightly.

“Let's go up and get the party started,” Nawaz says.

“It’s his birthday,” Prakash says to Inder.