Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Sorry for the long delay. I have something going on that prevents me from allocating the necessary bandwidth to this story. Thanks for patiently waiting. Here is an update. Enjoy.




Swati and Neetu have lunch.

“Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker!” 


Neetu is simply amazed at the revelations Swati has made over their lunch. “So, you’re doing regular orgies with the low class, and that too in the chawl in Bhim colony!”

Swati has been telling her story, catching her friend up on her shenanigans over the last couple of months.

“So, what, back up. Let me get this straight. First you were giving nudie shows to this Ramesh guy, then you were fucking him in the conference room of your office…”

“No, no, I never fucked Ramesh.” Swati giggles. “Not yet anyway. It’s on my list of things to do.”

Neetu frowns. “Seems to me like you have taken forever to get to first base with that guy! So who is it again you were fucking?”

“A security guy called Prakash. And the IT guy, Inder. Then there was this chaiw,.' called Ganesh.”

Swati goes through the sequence of events as best as she can as they sit on the outdoor table at a fancy restaurant having lunch. It is late February, and the two friends are sitting in the same al fresco place they’d met last time. 

Neetu has been out of the country for a while, and just returned from Belgium. The day is cold, but sunny and both their jackets are off, dbangd over the chair backs. Neetu has been given the gist of the happenings, and she is ruminating on them and asking for details. Deets, like she likes to say, "Give me the deets."

“So the guy just picked you up from your house wearing nothing but a towel? And then took you in an auto to his chawl!”

Swati giggles. “That’s pretty much what happened. Although, I wouldn’t say picked me up. More like kidnapped me.” She fills in more blanks about Paro and Prakash and Inder, and then the new guys that were there, Nawaz and Mahender.

“Mahender tried to contact me a few times. He’s a porno director of some sort. He does good work actually,” she said when Neetu made a face.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re not going to do that, are you?” Then seeing Swati’s expression she says, “No! You’re going into porn, girl? Really?”

Swati shakes her head. “No, not really anyway. There’s a bunch of my videos that are on the internet, I’m sure, but I don’t think it is recognizable as me.”

“Babe, this is a slippery slope you’re on. Better call it quits while you can.” Neetu picks up her glass of sweet tea and sips while looking thoughtfully at her friend over the rim. 

She casts around for the waiter and finally catches his eye and beckons him over. 

“Can we get martinis? Vodka please.”

The waiter raises his eyebrows as though in surprise, or perhaps in censure. Who drinks martinis in the middle of the day? But he nods and scurries off.

Swati continues. “Oh, but I can call an end to it whenever I want! I’m in control here. I know I have to call Prakash Malik, but it’s not like a slave-master relationship in any case.” 

Swati feels unsure of what she has just said, but part of being an executive in the corporate world involves lying confidently. The truth is that she has been feeling a little apprehensive, definitely so after the last time she was at the chawl. 

The two women sat in the mild sunshine, sipping their drinks, eating their delicate starters in companionable silence. The martinis arrive, and they sip at it. Swati nods and says, "That's good."

“How was Belgium? Did you get any action there?”

Neetu laughed. “Not much, but I did get into a threesome. There are two kinds of Belgians, you know? The French speaking and then there are the Flemish. They generally hate each other, but maybe not like so bad as like the caste or religion things in India. Well, they basically tolerate each other for the most part. Anyhow, the French, as you know, are very romantic. Very liberal and open with marriage and stuff. So I was at this meeting in the afternoon with these people and one of them suggested I should come out with them for a drink after work. I thought it was harmless, because there were a lot of people, but in the end, it was just me and three other guys. Then as the evening progressed, one of the guys begged off because he had to take his daughter somewhere, so that left me and the two guys, both single, and then, well, one thing led to the other and we ended up in bed in one of the guys’ hotel room and…”

“And?”

“Well, they fucked my brains out. Both of them, one by one, then teaming up. All night long. I even got a DP, my first one. Wait, no, does oral and ass count as a DP?”

Both of them burst out laughing at this technicality. Neetu tells Swati some more about her foreign tryst, and all Swati can think is it was so bland, so vanilla compared to her own experiences. 

Swati tells Neetu about going back to the chawl on her own accord—not forced by Prakash or anyone—at least three times after the Christmas gangbang. 

She'd shown up at the chawl unannounced, much to Prakash’s surprise, but he had adapted to the situation without missing a beat. He had rustled up the required participants and given her what she needed. That time some of the men had been rough, very rough in fact, and she’s had bruises on her tits and belly for almost two weeks. 

Thankfully, Ashok’s time had been fully taken up with caring for his parents, and he’d barely visited home to shower and change clothes. 

Swati has been satisfied each time by the prolonged sessions of intense and sometimes painful sex. 

Ramesh was there one of those times, and he'd stayed and watched for the bulk of the session, then taken her back home. She had noticed the somewhat disappointed expression on his face as she prostituted herself for these common people, but he hadn't said one word in censure. 

On second thoughts, she thinks, she hadn’t exactly prostituted herself—she hadn’t been paid after all. In fact, she’d have paid them if they wanted. She wasn’t sure what the appropriate word was for her behavior, but she thought "slutted herself" would work best.

That day she had performed double and triple penetrations with aplomb, with Mahender, Prakash and Nawaz, and a couple more of the slum residents. The old auto w,.' had finally gotten into the act after swearing everyone around to silence. He was perhaps the most pathetically grateful. 

Mahender had upped his game considerably, now using better lights, sometimes a green screen and other accouterments that allowed him to produce a better end product. He had even shown her some of his footage that he stored on an external hard drive, and she had to admit it looked good. He was still casting about for a good partner, one who wouldn’t rob him. 

For her part, Swati wasn’t quite sure if she was ready for a new career in porn, even though her existing career in IT seemed increasingly distant these days, and her family in disarray. 

Ashok was still spending a lot of time in the hospital. Both her parents-in-law were in the ICU, sick from what they were calling the Chinese virus, and her brother-in-law, Arvind, was also not doing very well either. 

Dhruv, who’d been enrolled in a new school near her parents house was spending a lot of time there, and she was either commuting between the hospital, her parents' house, her own house, or work. She had been using up a lot of her sick time, but no one seemed overly concerned with that since many people were in the same boat, either sick themselves or caring for someone that was sick.

And always, the chawl that called her back with increasing insistence every time she went there, like the sirens that called out oh so enticingly to Odysseus on his journeys. But unlike Odysseus, Swati had no self-control to lash herself to a metaphorical mast and avoid acting on the call. She heeded almost every call, and went willingly to be manhandled and ravaged for hours at a time.

She was addicted to the sex and the surroundings, she finally admitted to herself. During the day, whether she was in a conference call, in the boardroom or sitting in the ICU, the naked, rough boards of the chawl room would pop into her mind. Boards that were sometimes her only view as she took cock after cock on her hands and knees in the doggy position. She dreamed about the ropes binding her, suspending her, the roughness of the manhandling, the crude comments, but most of all, the cocks in her orifices. Sometimes, admittedly, they were toys, especially when the men were exhausted, but there was something in one or more of her holes almost all the time.

Moving in and out, reaming out her holes, unending friction, her nerve endings screaming in pleasure. 

She would unconsciously open her mouth, gasping a little when a remembered orgasm flooded her mind. Once, her boss had asked if she was okay, and guiltily, she had brought her mind back to the meeting, the present.

The sessions in the conference room were long over; Inder had returned to his home, some place in Madhya Pradesh. His parents were sick. 

There was a collective sense of the entire country holding its breath, waiting for God knew what was going to happen. A feeling of the end of times was upon them, no one was sure what tomorrow would bring, and people lived from day to day without concern for what the morrow would bring. 

In the meantime, life continued like a facsimile of the real thing; restaurants and offices were open, buses and trains and taxis and autos continued to work, although there was the palpable sense that there were fewer people on the streets.

Neetu snapped her fingers in Swati’s face. “Earth to Swati, Earth to Swati, come back!”


Swati started and sat up. She’d been daydreaming, zoned out. “Sorry, I was…”

Neetu chuckled and said, “So, tell me more about the “glory hole” thing. That sounded exciting.”

“It’s a long story,” Swati said, “if you have the time!”

“Sure,” said Neetu. 

And Swati launched into her story.