Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[Blue Bull]

Nice going ...... keep it up .....

[Rangabaashyam]

Come soon.

[S Darko]

The next time, before she could put the chunni on, Ramesh spoke.


“Madam, can you leave the dupatta off this time?” 

His voice had a pleading quality, like a little child who is asking for a small treat. A treat that she could easily grant and something that cost her nothing, but that same thing would mean a lot to him.

So far, she had never spoken, and nor had he, not when she was putting on her show, but this time was different. The stakes had been raised once more. She felt the familiar giddiness, the heady feeling of transgressing some imaginary line, crossing some illicit boundary.

Her throat was dry like the Thar desert. She swallowed. “Theek hai, sure.”

She was still standing with her back to him, topless, and in the act of placing the kameez on the chair. Acutely conscious of her nudity, she laid the garment carefully on the chair so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Cotton fabric is the worst in that sense even though it is comfortable. In reality, she was buying time. 

Her hands touched the chunni, hesitated. 

She could picture the disappointment in Ramesh’s face. His mouth might turn down, his eyes lose their glitter. Her hands, which had traveled almost all the way to cover her breasts now dropped to her sides. Everything had a surreal, slow-motion quality to it. 

And again, in complete silence.

Slowly, hands now by her sides, she turned giving him a side view, then a three-quarter, and then finally the full-frontal she had denied him the last time. 

Her aureoles puckered, and her nipples hardened and pushed out further. 

Hard as stainless steel, she thought, and giggled. 

Ramesh must think she was some kind of tramp, laughing in this situation, this crazy circumstance. 

But Ramesh was not looking at her face. He was rapt on her boobs as they swayed gently with her slow twirl, and of course, her breathing. 

It was a look she has seen only on the religiously devout, that staring, unbelieving and mesmerized look, mouth slightly agape, tongue unconsciously moistening dry lips, and she felt a little surge of triumph. 

She had done that. She had made him feel like he was close to God. That feeling would go away and Ramesh wouldn’t be quite as awestruck a few weeks from now, but she had no way of knowing that.

She was leaking down below. Her pussy was on fire. Must wear some thin panty liners if this keeps up, she thought. But then the fun of transparent lingerie would be gone. 

Decisions, decisions. 

Because every time she went through this, her panties were sodden and her salwar wet. She had to throw the whole suit in the wash rather than hang them up in the closet for one more wear. Panties of course would be washed regardless.

Ramesh’s hands came up, palms toward her, like he was going to push her. Or make a grab for her tits. But he stopped short. He must have massive self-control.

“Are you a Hanuman Bhakt?” She asked.

Wordlessly, Ramesh nodded. 

She would not know this now, but later he would tell her. 

He was indeed a bhramachari, a celibate person by choice. He had been in the shakha for a few years as a child and a young man. He had worshipped Hanuman and taken an oath of celibacy. 

Now, of course, all that was in jeopardy. The oath was taken in some childhood or teenage excess of emotion, with peer pressure. He hadn’t known anything about the alternatives, except that they led to the road to hell. 

Now, he could feel himself being dragged down into the depths of depravity by this gori memsaab and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. It was blackening his hitherto pristine, pure white soul and probably tainting his afterlife, but again, nothing do about it. 

And he loved every minute of it.

She nodded understanding. That explained his enormous self-restraint in the face of overwhelming temptation.
 
But, she thought, if he had wanted, would she have let him touch her? Had he reached out for her, would she have shrunk back, avoiding his touch? 

She imagined his dark, probably rough and callused hands on her cold cream and lotion pampered, soft and silky skin? The flesh of her breasts? Touching, caressing, maybe even kneading. Pulling at her nipples, palming and hefting the massive tits. Her intimate flesh that even Ashok couldn’t touch at will? She didn’t know and didn’t want to dwell on it right at that moment. 

But later, with Neetu, she would face these questions and try to come up with some answers. Answers that she would not like because it told a story about her and what kind of person she was. But eventually, she would come to terms with that.

Her breasts heaved with her breathing, which was now coming in short gasps as she neared orgasm. At least she thought she was close. 

This was a curious phenomenon that she still hadn’t come to terms with; whenever she was with Ramesh, doing a “show,” she would have an orgasm at some point. She had no control over it. Her pussy would lubricate and gush, and then the orgasm would be upon her, a surprise every time. 

She had tried to research it online, but nothing conclusive. The female orgasm, it seemed, was in many ways a mystery, even to women. 

It hit her as she picked up her bra and settled the cups on her breasts. It might have been the inadvertent stimulation of the nipples, or it might not, but her knees became water, and her hips thrust out in a mimicry of the sex act, and she came.

It was a powerful gush this time. Something she knew was called squirting in porn, and she had zero control over it. The crotch of her salwar and then the inner material that covered her thighs darkened with the deluge and as soon as she could, she pulled her kameez over herself to cover her shame. 

Ramesh was watching goggle-eyed. He had no idea what had just happened. 

If this was normal, or extreme sexiness, or something else, he had no idea. He thought he might ask Prakash about it, but decided that his buddy would probably know nothing either. But in that he would be wrong.

Red faced, her eyes on the floor, Swati left, but not before securing the day and time of her next “date.”

[Vicky Viknesh]

Nice update bro

[AjitKumar]

Nice one...

[Steven Rajaa]

It must be first bang instead of date.

[Dumeelkumar]

Very good.

[S Darko]

Inder Kumar, the IT guy, was an inveterate snoop. 

One of his habits was to idly monitor the goings and comings of the company he was employed in. He had found many interesting things in his ten plus years running the security settings of the computers, the surveillance cameras, monitoring passwords, and such. 

It was his firm belief that people had become so used to surveillance cameras everywhere, that they had become inured to them. And of course, privacy was a myth that people held to make themselves feel better.


At Synchronics, he had been promoted to the head of IT security a few years ago, but his habit of snooping was long-standing. Even in college, he had found ways of getting into the Principal’s office and obtaining crucial question papers before the exams. It wasn’t that he was a bad student; it was the challenge of doing something that others couldn’t or wouldn’t do, the curiosity of someone who found human activities intriguing that drove him. 

For example, he had once seen and recorded footage of one of the senior managers fornicating in the copy room, after hours, with an intern who doubtless thought that this would advance her career. 

Inder sat on the footage after carefully erasing his footprints from the log and then investigated the guy, Baweja. It turned out, from Baweja’s hacked personnel records, that he was also married to a high-profile business lady from another company. She made more money than him, and Inder guessed it was that sense of inadequacy that led him down the path of infidelity. When Inder blackmailed him, the man was quite happy to pay him a chuck of the money his wife made. The business had soon lost its flavor, though. What was the fun with a willing victim, anyway?

Inder had, on one occasion, supplied important documents from one guy’s computer to his rival to enable his to get ahead in the company. For cash, of course. He could have, but never did sell inside information to a rival company. No industrial espionage for him. The penalties could be steep. He kept to the down low; individuals only and cash only. As anonymous as possible. Not that he needed the money. 

In the meantime, his voyeurism continued, and the hours of pleasure he derived from watching his fellow humans do all kinds of illicit things was a reward all in itself. From the CEO of the company drinking from the bottle that he kept in his drawer to the CFO who was fucking his assistant in the bathroom attached to his suite under the guise of giving dictation, Inder had all kinds of information. 

In an Information Age, Inder was king of the heap, at least in the small pond he found himself in. 

He knew how to hack into laptops and view the user without their being aware, thanks to the news that Zuck was using duct tape to cover his camera. Inder had hopped on the dark web that very day and learned how to do that. Surprisingly easy once you knew how. But his experience with that wasn’t that great. It was surveillance, sure, but the view was limited to what the camera could see, and that usually wasn’t much. It was much more interesting to monitor keystrokes and watch what his target was doing.

He was therefore surprised when he heard Ramesh and Prakash talking in the staff break room where he had gone to fix a router, about some gori memsaab that was putting on “nanga shows” for the lowly, laborer-type guy. His interest piqued, he interjected himself into the conversation and found out very little more, and not enough to pinpoint the person in question. 

So he went back to the surveillance tapes in his own time, and discovered certain interesting anomalies. 

It turned out from the time stamps that the man, Ramesh was spending an inordinate amount of time cleaning a certain cabin on the sixth floor of the building. Not enough evidence of course, but enough to dig deeper. 

After all, what could be keeping the man in that specific office for so long. He cleaned every other office in just a few minutes. There were no cameras in the individual offices, only in the halls, the conference rooms, and common areas like the staircase, the garage and so on, so Inder had to be patient and bide his time. 

But Inder was a spider. If he had one quality above all others, it was patience. He would have to have a word with the cleaner, what was his name again? He settled his bulk in his gaming chair, and looked at his notepad, yeah, Ramesh. 

He pulled Ramesh’s personnel records and scanned them. Twenty-year-old guy from some small village near Balli. Class eight pass, very minimal skills, hence the cleaner job. Bottom of the pile. No prior criminal record. A stupid looking picture on the front page confirmed it was the right guy. 

He dug deeper. Using the Aadhar card information, he hacked into the security officer files. Aha! There it was. Ramesh babu wasn’t quite as naive as he let on. He had been involved with some politician in his village and had been caught carrying a country mage gun, a katta. There were bribes paid, the case was dropped for lack of evidence, some sort of story about the gun itself going missing. Some kind of bargain had been struck, and he was to leave the village, and only return for visits, not exceeding two weeks. 

And no more contact with the politician. It was a mystery how the details of these records were still available. Inder had an idea that the deal was quite okay with Ramesh. 

Inder had found a lever. And like Galileo, he was ready to move the earth.

Inder pulled the man’s personnel file and noted down the mobile number. A phone call? A text message? Probably neither. Her didn’t want to call, and the guy might not be able to read a text message in any language. So…a voice message would work best.

A thought struck him. Was the other guy, the guy in the chaprasi uniform with whom he had been discussing the woman, was he into the game too? He had, so far, not featured in any of the archival video that Inder had gone through, but there was a limit to what he could humanly surveil. 

He shrugged. Went back to his video game and took a bite of his Cadbury bar that Amitabh Bachchan highly recommended. No nuts or raisins or any of that shit. Plain milk chocolate was the best.

[xbiilove]

Splendid update.

[Gandhi krishna]

Inder is going to rule swati? Wonderful turn of events. great writing.

[xavierrxx]

Wonderful bro

[Blue Bull]

[S Darko]

Why the sad emoji?

[Blue Bull]

Missing Swati .........

[Chitrarassu]

When is the next update coming

[Arul Pragasam]

Niceeee

[Hotyyhard]

Update pls

[S Darko]

Soon. Maybe tomorrow. Thanks for your patience.

[S Darko]

“Are you crazy?” The question was rhetorical, of course, but Neetu’s eyes flashed anger as well as some degree of respect, maybe even jealously.


Swati had just finished telling Neetu all about the “shows” she had been putting on for Ramesh the cleaner for the last several weeks. 

They were sitting in the outdoor seating area of the popular Prego restaurant, nibbling on veggie pizza. Neetu had iced tea, and Swati was drinking coke, regular, not diet, and Neetu had pointed it out, pointed out Swati’s minuscule midriff and told her that it was a bad idea to continue along the regular coke route.

Swati pointed right back at Neetu’s hourglass figure, but it was a weak comeback. 

Neetu could have been an instagram fitness model and they both knew it. Instead, she just asked her for some tips for her aching back. Neetu said that was a nice problem to have with her big boobs and all and the two friends went back and forth with the ribald comments. 

“Let’s make sure of a few things,” Neetu said, taking a dainty bite of her pizza. “No touching, right? No hands on business.” 

Swati nodded. Nothing hands on. So far, she thought, so far everything has been hands-off, but did not say. 

“But just in case, you know, for safety and so on…you have your pepper spray, right?”

Swati nodded again. So far, she had, not even for a moment, felt afraid of Ramesh. He was just a kid, maybe around twenty or so, but she decided she would ask him the next time they met. 

As for the pepper spray, where was she going to hide it? Not many choices if you were half naked, and that too maybe not for long. A quick and stupid thought flashed in her mind—conceal it like a tampon. 

Yeah, right. That would be hard metal and plastic and could hurt her. Anyway, it was only a passing thought. 

She fantasized a little about a full nude show, maybe something more than just a nude show? What could that be? 

But Neetu was speaking, and Swati had lost her. “What?” She said.

“Swati! Jeez Girl, pay attention! I was talking about safety. You’re on the pill, right?”

This was a completely different type of protection from pepper sprays, she thought.
 
“No, I have an IUD, and it’s quite comfortable.”

“How about STDs? You have to insist on a condom, okay?” Neetu looked at her friend with concern. This was a differnet  kind of protection. 

“I said it was all hands off,” Swati snapped. “Where is all this IUD and condoms and shit coming from?”

“Hehe. You know what they say…be good, but if you can’t be good, be safe? That’s all I’m saying.”

They were silent for a bit and then Neetu said, “But remember the time when you thought he was going to grab your tits? How about that?”

Swati thought about it. “Yeah, but the guy is a Hanuman bhakt. You know, those wrestler types that practice celibacy. I doubt he will try to touch or start anything. It’s all just titillation for him I think. Besides, he’s just a kid. I can handle him.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you think,” Neetu said, batting Swati's statement with a languid wave of her hand. “These guys, once they get the idea that it is for the taking, he’ll be over you, pumping away, and you doubled up, with your feet by your ears.” 

Neetu made a ring of her index finger and thumb and rapidly moved her other index finger in and out of the circle. Then she furtively looked around to see if her obscene gesture have been seen by anyone. No one had paid them the least attention, it seemed. Neetu started laughing and soon they both dissolved into gales of laughter.

The lewd image Neetu had painted was exciting and enticing, and Swati imagined herself in that situation, and then Neetu also. The thought wasn’t that unwelcome. His dark skin, juxtaposed on her fair complexion. His, hopefully large cock, plowing though her cunt, glistening with her juices, in and out…she shuddered.

Neetu noticed her reaction but misinterpreted it. “Those low class fellows are all the same. Be careful…but you know what you have to do if not! Hahaha!”

Neetu sucked on her ice tea. Her red lips around the straw were super erotic, and Swati flashed on an imaginary scenario where she was sucking, and not on a straw.

She decided to change the topic. “So how’s your new thoku? Is it the Anglo guy from the gym that you’re fucking, or are you seeing someone else these days?”

Neetu was still single, and not just ready to mingle, but doing so at a furious rate over the last many years. Swati sometimes felt jealous for having settled into the life of a normal, boring, domestic existence. 

What she was doing was so tame, it was like nothing at all. Compared to Neetu and her famous orgies, Swati was practically a sadhvi, someone who practiced meditation and went to the temple twice a week at least.

“Of yeah, I have a few dildos juggling in the air right now. But I’m getting into this tantric sex stuff. There’s this guru that’s very knowledgeable…” she dissolved into a giggling fit. 

“A guru? Really? You’re into that kind of kink now, are you?” This was not really new stuff. 

Neetu had once dropped out of college for a couple of months following a new age guru who preached free sex and lots of good hash, nothing new there, but she had become a sort of groupie for a bit. And of course, she’d had a whole buttload of sex. Literally. She told me her entire sexual encyclopedia had been rewritten. I, of course was on the verge of getting married at that time, and could only hear her stories and have the familiar FOMO.

“No, it’s not that kind of guru. His name is Guru. He’s an insta fitness model, but he’s into these kinks. You ever heard of a yoga swing?”

She then went into an elaborate explanation of how the device,  invented for doing arial yoga could be so readily adapted for sex games. Swati pretended to yawn and snap her fingers in front of her open mouth. 

Neetu took the hint and stopped with a giggle. 

“But seriously babes, what’s the end game here? Where are you going with this? Are you going to keep putting on these “shows” for him, or is there any other plan in place?” She made air quotes.

Swati had to think for a moment. She’s had no plan beyond the immediate. No end game in mind. She went with her gut. 

But now that she thought about it, what were the next steps? There would have to be touching, for sure, otherwise where was the fun? Then, there might be mutual masturbation like she had done with her first and only boyfriend before marrying Ashok, but perhaps not actual sex? 

She would have to think about it. Neetu was now busy on her phone. Even though her question wasn’t rhetorical, Swati had no answer. 

As they parted, Neetu swatted Swati on the butt, winked and said, “Stay safe, you mega slut!”

Swati stuck out her middle finger and mock seriously said, “Yeah, yeah, sure, you whore!”

She turned and started back for her office when she saw someone in the chaprasi uniform of her company. 

Her heart skipped several beats until she realized it wasn’t Ramesh, but it was a while before her heart rate settled to a regular rhythm again.

[Vasanthan]

Superb update. The heat is started now.