Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

The bidi burns almost to his fingertips when he drops it with a yelp, and vigorously shakes his hand. Ramesh has been so deep in thought that he has forgotten the smoke in his hand. He has sat at the tea shop for quite a while now watching the tableau. 


He watched Inder eat four chocolate bars from a seemingly inexhaustible supply in his backpack and make calls several times. His phone looks exactly like one of his candy bars, and it is difficult to figure out which he has in his hand in the gathering gloom. 

Ramesh sees him finally get through. The exchange is short, but the fat man sits down on the ledge that sticks out of the building with more equanimity than before. Prakash must be on his way.

The auto pulls up, and he catches a glimpse of Swati madam in the backseat, naked. Of course, she’s naked. That’s just how she rolls. 

When the vehicle stops, Prakash allows her to pull up some sheet like garment, perhaps a towel—hard to see what it is in the darkness—and wrap it around her body. 

Ramesh shakes his head. That madam and her crazy shenanigans. But, he reasons, that is her choice, and that is paramount. As long as she is okay with it, Ramesh will go along with it. 

He watches as Inder detaches himself from the side of the building and approach them as they exit the auto. There is some conversation between the auto driver and Prakash, then Inder and Prakash and Nawaz, and then they all get into the building and up the stairs.

That’s when he notices the second woman for the first time. He frowns. Who is she?

She seems to be a servant type from the way she is dressed and the way she walks. Ramesh can tell. He has had a lifetime of experience in the short months he has lived in Bhim colony.

He lights another bidi and thinks. This must be the party that Prakash had been talking about. The one where they wanted to make a video and so on. It looked simple enough—three men and one extra woman. Nothing Swati madam hadn’t handled before. He tries to decide if he should go now to check on her or later. 

Later, he decides, after a few seconds of conjecture, perhaps in an hour or so. 

After all, this is the first time she has been to his home. He might get something to eat for her from the halwai at the end of the street before he shows himself at the venue of the latest debauchery.  

His mind conjures up all the possible things they might be doing. He has witnessed many such combinations of couplings between man and woman, both at the temple in his youth, and again in the conference room of the office. 

There’s not much that can shock him, but he is no saint, detached from all worldly things. He feels himself getting hard. 

Painfully hard. 

He wills his mind to think of something else. 

He tells himself he has tremendous will power. 

Stupendous reserves of self control. 

He is a Hanuman bhakt above all else.

He focuses on a particularly tricky wrestling move, the twisting move that puts the opponent’s body behind you and leverages their own body weight against them, and soon his turgidity softens, disappears. 

Visualizing the mechanics of a dhobi pachhaad works every time.