Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[fuckandforget]

Interesting update

[Arul Pragasam]

Super bro

[blackdesk]

Ohhhh so detailed writing. so kinky erotic. great. give her lot of low class people please.

[zulfique]

Waiting for next update

[desiass]

please update......

[creamydelight]

Please please please please update. Such a great story should not go unfinished

[S Darko]

Please please please please update. Such a great story should not go unfinished

I have every intention of finishing the story. Just got a little busy over the holidays. Expect an update within this week.

[desiass]

Happy new year S Darko and hope you had a great vacation time.

[S Darko]

Happy new year S Darko and hope you had a great vacation time.

Happy new year! Update coming soon

[S Darko]

“There’s a ruler in the drawer,” she says, her voice calm and measured. And then, after a beat, she says, “Malik.” She knows this delay in calling him by his honorific will cost her, probably in terms of a flogging of her ass. 


Prakash stalks to the end of the conference room table and opens the drawer. She knows there are pens and pencils, post it notes, the inevitable tangle of paper clips, and a two foot plastic ruler. It is thick, perhaps a quarter of an inch and quite heavy. Perspex she thinks is the material, some kind of special plastic. 

She watches as Prakash pulls it out and hefts it in his hand, slaps it against his palm. She hears the meaty thwack as the plastic strikes flesh. 

Swati is prone, on her knees and head, her arms behind her back. Her ass is up in the air, the highest part of her body. Her knees are spread, and she is intensely aware that both her holes are probably exposed to his view should he choose to look. 

Her position has been so prescribed by her tormentor, not of her choosing. Her neck is twisted and her face is turned toward him and she watches his every move, knowing what is coming next. And she also knows she deserves it. 

She wonders if she did it knowingly. 



When she walked in, Prakash had motioned her to come crawling to him.
 
Just by simple motions of his hands and fingers, he had commanded her to get on all fours and crawl toward him on her hands and knees. Later when she thinks about it, she is amazed at how easy it has become for him to control her. She relives those minutes before she is stuck in this predicament, ass up in the air, telling him about the ruler in the drawer.

His pants are already unbuttoned, fly open. He has been waiting. She has no idea how long. He isn’t hard yet, but even semi soft, he looks impressive. 

Ramesh isn’t there. Yet.

She licks, then sucks him hard. There is more steel in his erection today, Swati senses. She can already guess that today there will be no trouble getting it up more than once, and a part of her welcomes it. 

Prakash rises and shucks his pants. He is naked from the waist down and his cock is a frightening baton of hardness and menace. His balls hang low and dark and heavy even in the air conditioned room.

She crawls between his splayed legs under his watchful eye and begins. As she begins her ministrations, he sighs, the comfortable sigh of a man getting a little R&R at the end of a stressful day. Today, he isn’t as dirty or sweaty or disgusting as the other day. He might have bathed in the morning or perhaps the night before. 

Soon he is hard, the single eyed monster bobbing in front of her face, now tapping her nose, now her mouth. Precum seeps slowly from the pee slit, clear and viscous, and she wonders if it would be okay to lick it without explicit instruction. She awaits further orders, her tongue out, waiting to start fellating him again if that is his preference.

His penis is engorged, has become purple, with thick veins engorged along its surface. It bobs gently in front of her face with his every heartbeat. It seems impossibly large, hard and menacing. She can hardly believe it was in her mouth, can’t believe she was able to take most of it in.

“Hmm,” he says,” pleased with his erection, glistening in the overheads with her thickly coated saliva, “get ready.” 

Then, with no more warning, he grabs the back of her head and forces himself into her throat. He is big and long enough that the head of his dick can just about get into her throat and suddenly she is breathless, her nose pressed into the thicket of hair at his groin. 

She can’t breathe and the air she has last taken in isn’t adequate. Air hunger sets in within seconds. 

Soon, her diaphragm begins to spasm, her body begins to shake uncontrollably and still he holds her down. She flails her hands at him, but she has no strength. Her legs drum a tattoo on the carpeted floor, her heels fly off, but still he holds on. 

It seems he is superhuman.

Her eyes are wide and all she can see is the thicket of hair in his groin and his lower abdomen. Blackness starts to creep into the ends of her visual field. She is getting light headed. 

Black spots start dancing in front of her eyes. Her hands are curled into fists and she is vaguely aware she is pounding on something. Her body goes stiff, her torso jackknifing, and still he holds her down.

When her diaphragm is spasming almost continuously, by her count, at least a couple of minutes, he pulls her head off his dick. It takes a little effort. His dick makes an audible pop as it comes out of her gullet, like a champagne cork being popped. 

She falls back and scuttles back to the wall. 

She draws in great whoops of air, ragged sounds emerge from her throat she can hardly credit as her own voice. Weakly, on her butt, she leans against the wall just under the windows and struggles to regain her breath. 

She knows her face is a mess. She can feel her mascara running and tears and snot and saliva everywhere. She knows she looks like a caricature of the pretty young woman who walked, then crawled into the conference room just a few minutes ago. 

Her glasses are almost off, smeared and useless. She takes them off and tosses them away, and immediately her vision is blurry. Everything is now smeared in a soft haze, details gone. But she can sense the sharpening of her other senses. Her hearing, smell, even her thinking seem clearer. 

The last time he had face fucked her, used her head like some masturbatory sleeve, she had felt only a shadow of the panic, the loss of air, the feeling of impending suffocation and doom. 

Today it was much worse. 

Time she took charge and put a stop to this nonsense. It is all very well to have fun and games, but there is a limit. Prakash needs to know where hers are. 

When she can breathe without trouble and her chest stops heaving, anger replaces her earlier panic. 

“What the fuck!” She screams at Prakash when she finally focuses on him. He is still sitting, grinning like a maniac, on the chair.

“How was it?” He says, his voice high and piercing, laughing like a hyena. Evidently, he is getting a big kick out of all this. 

He scoots forward on his chair, grinning like an idiot and reaches for her breasts, grabbing the nipples and tweaking them, pulling them, jiggling the generous tit-meat.

She feels the discomfort, but ignores it. There are more important things to deal with. She also knows that her position is significantly weakened by the fact that she is naked, on the floor and getting her tits played with like she is some kind of toy. 

A part of her mind replies, yes, you are a toy. A fuck toy, a sex doll. He is going to do whatever he wants with you. 

She silences her inner voice and turns to him, shaking her tits free of his hands. His fingers fall away and he lets them fall to his sides. 

“What the fuck, Prakash?” She says again, letting her anger out. Her tone is sharp, cutting, and any of her juniors would have quailed, possibly even pissed their pants. She was a tough manager after all. 

Prakash looks at her with what looks like genuine puzzlement on his face, but there is no fear or contrition. Or even any trace of apology. 

He mouths his name, “Prakash?” 

She continues to scream at him, and then his face changes from benign puzzlement to something different entirely. The change in his face is sudden and breathtaking. 

He gets up from the chair and advances toward her, his face dark, menace in his every gesture, and Swati feels sudden fear turn her insides to water. 

What has she gotten herself into? This is no corporate environment even though they are in the conference room. Here, job loss or censure in front of peers isn’t going to cut it. This civilized space has just transformed into the jungle when only the strong and predatory prevail. A deer cannot think itself to be a predator if there is a lion in the jungle. 

He grabs her by the throat with his left hand and pulls her partially up. Not choking her, not yet, but the pressure is there. 

She is on her knees, and suddenly her breathing is faster. Her heart is thundering in her chest. He probably doesn’t need to slap her, but he does. Twice. Forehand and backhand. Perhaps to drive the point home. 

His face is inches from hers and she can smell his paan masala and cigarette breath. Then, very deliberately, he speaks, not shouting, not whispering, just a normal voice. For a moment she wonders if he is a psychopath. Perhaps he is. 

“You are a whore,” he says. “I own your whore ass, and you will do as I say. You will not complain. All I want to hear from you is, yes Malik. Do. You. Understand?”

His voice is measured, but there is no mistaking the menace in every syllable. 

She stays shocked, her head at an angle, looking wide eyed into his angry visage. Then, all she can do is nod. She is in a full posture of defense, body folded as much as it can be, knees drawn up, arms covering her soft middle. 

Mutely, she nods, a limited range of motion that is afforded by the tight grip he has on her throat. 

He slaps her again and commands her to open her mouth. Again, she mutely obeys. The conference room opens and she sees Ramesh come in from the corner of her eye. Somehow she is relieved he has not been around to see her latest humiliation. 

Prakash briefly turns to acknowledge Ramesh and turns back to her. 

He looks at her sitting with her mouth open and straightens, putting his rampant cock at the same level as her mouth. 

Without thinking, Swati takes it in. She has come a long way in her slutdom. She isn’t a whore like Prakash calls her, really a slut, but she isn’t going to argue with him about those nuances. She will, likely than not, get a beating. She pauses a moment and thinks abut the terminology. He calls her a randi, but perhaps there is no such nuance in the Hindi language. 

Not that she knows of anyway. She shrugs and returns to her task. 

His cock has softened slightly in the few minutes but not by much and within seconds, under her ministrations, it regains its former hardness and size.

Prakash pushes her with his hips until she has scooted back and is with her back to the wall. There is nowhere to go. 

Prakash pushes in with force and once more her throat is invaded and full. She cannot even draw breath through her nose because her airway is blocked by his turgid piece of meat. Her eyes start watering and this time she is sure he means to kill her. 

In her position, she cannot effectively use her arms of legs and Prakash is so big and strong. Even in the middle of her panic, she remembers thinking he was soft in the middle and weakened by a desk job, but that wasn’t true was it?

Prakash relents and pulls out, allowing her to breathe. 

When she can see again, Ramesh is standing right behind Prakash and she thinks maybe he had something to do with 
Prakash easing up. She doesn’t know, but she sees concern in Ramesh’s eyes. 

Oh, how she longs for the days with Ramesh when her only fear was someone walking in on them. Those days are gone now, she realizes and the future is uncertain…but definitely exciting. Only if, a part of her brain reminds her, if you stay alive for it.

Prakash is manipulating her and she obeys like a doll. He arranges her on all fours and then pulls one arm behind her, then another. She balances on her knees, her head down. It isn’t a comfortable position, but neither is it uncomfortable. 

She feels his hand reach down and she lowers her body so he can reach whatever he wants without trouble. His fingers touch her pussy. They are rough and probably filthy, but she doesn’t care. Suddenly, all she wants is his hand there, his fingers inside her, preparing her for his monster of a cock. 

His fingers slip inside with no trouble at all. How has she become so lubricated with all this brutal sex play? Is she a junkie for this kind of treatment? This kind of adrenaline rush?

She has hardly any time for thought when he hoists her ass up with a finger crooked in her pussy, then pinches her clit, and she has a small spasm that ripples down her legs and into her belly. She shakes with desire. 

She hears Prakash spit, and then his fingers at her asshole.

“No!” She screams, sudden panic seizing her. “Not there!”

She wants to tell him she is actually a virgin there. Yes, she has had a boyfriend, and now a husband, but neither was interested in her anal opening and even though she has read about anal sex and seen countless videos of women doing and enjoying anal sex, she herself hasn’t. 

And even though intellectually she thought it was going to be fine, and she would do it if that was what he wanted, his merest touch has sent her into a panic. There is something primitive and earthy and absolute about a man taking a woman anally, not to mention depraved, and she isn’t sure she wants to sink that deep. And she is afraid of the pain too. 

“Not there, please, please,” she begs, turning her head toward him, trying to get him in her peripheral vision. She sees Ramesh start to move toward them, perhaps to stop Prakash and she is grateful. At least a part of her is. 

“You never learn, do you?” Prakash says in a sad voice from behind her. 

She hears s rustling sound and then she feels her wrists being restrained behind her. Zip ties. She hears the unmistakable rasp of the teeth of the zip tie tightening and now she can’t move her hands. Yes, they were behind her before, but she could have brought them around anytime. Not any more. 

“I will have to punish you now,” Prakash continues, and pushes her head down. His voice is still sad as though he is unhappy about this turn of events but there is nothing he can do. 

She has brought it upon herself. “And then I will fuck your ass anyway. What was the point of yelling and screaming, huh? You know what you are, and you know what I am going to do. Why resist?”

He sounds genuinely surprised and unhappy that she is such a recalcitrant whore, denying him the simplest of things. She should know better.

Swati feels a great calm settle on her. A punishment is inevitable. And then her ass will be violated whether by her consent or otherwise. 

She twists her head to one side. “There is a ruler in the drawer,” she says.

[pro10]

excellent update.
the change of emotions and body langauge is too good

[Joseph Rayman]

Fantastic update

[desiass]

ass fucking............I love it

[Ajay Kailash]

Awesome update

[Askk2me]

Awesom Update.. Keep it going.

[Sincemany]

Very well written

[abcturbine]

Amazing....

[xavierrxx]

If swati is going this submissive, it means her husband has been that weak. Prakash did not fuck. But made her like a begging whore.

[S Darko]

He makes her count the strokes. 

They aren’t strokes so much as blows, and they hurt like the fucking devil. The plastic ruler is pliable and hard at the same time, and it whistles through the air and makes solid contact with her ass each time he swings it. 


“AAAAHOOOO!” 

He is making a good effort, not just the wrist, but the entire arm, like the dhobis at the ghats, or a professional wrestler pulling an opponent over his shoulder. 

“AIIIIIIOOOOOO!”

On the fourth stroke, the ruler breaks. Shatters, in fact. There is a loud crack that follows the sound of hard plastic hitting flesh, her yelp and then the crack. It is possible the crack came simultaneously with her yelp of, “AOOOOOO!” But it was hard to tell for sure. 

Swati sees Prakash standing there with the stump of the ruler in his hand, looking at it in disbelief. She wonders if he is going to use his hands like last time. His hands had hurt, she remembers. 

“There’s some stuff in the supply closet at the back.” It is Ramesh. He would know, being the janitor. He would not only have access, but also know what was where in this large building’s various nooks and crannies. 

Prakash and Ramesh disappear for a few minutes, while Swati lies on the carpeted floor, ass in the air. She imagines the welts and redness on her butt and wonders if a rash from her new panties could explain it to her husband should he ask.

The cool are conditioned air on her exposed ass is a little comforting, but the contrasting heat from the ass whipping makes her feel simultaneously uncomfortable and aroused. She can feel her cunt juice trickling down her thighs even though she cannot see it from her position. She shifts the position of her head to see if Prakash or Ramesh are visible. 

The supply closet is in the far corner of the room, something she had always thought was a wall. But now she sees there is a hidden latch and the entire panel is open, leading to a good-sized room. Good-sized, that is, for a closet.

All kinds of things are in there, boxes and small gadgets she thinks are routers, modems, even desk phones of the type she herself has on her office desk. But what catches her interest is what Prakash has in his hand. It is a short length of something flexible, about two feet or maybe a little more, and he is flexing it, hefting it, slapping it on his palm.

The two are talking, but they are too far away for her to hear. There is some kind of argument, and she sees Ramesh shaking his head and Prakash raising a hand, trying to convince him. She wonders what it is all about. They then turn to her and catch her watching them.

Prakash raises his voice and says, “One way to find out,” and starts walking toward her. Ramesh closes the closet door and hurries after him. 

Prakash is closer now, and she can see what he has in his hand is a short length of co-axial cable. Like the kind one uses for a cable TV box. It is perhaps a quarter inch in diameter, and she can hear the swishing sound it makes as Prakash whips it through the air. She feels dread in her intestines, and wonders how it will feel on her ass. 

The first blow catches her by surprise, and she almost doesn’t make a sound. First there is the hiss of the cable through the air, then a sharp crack as it connects with her skin. White-hot pain lances though her butt and down her thigh and before she can make a sound, there is a second blow. 

This time, she puts her lungs into it. “AAAAAAIIIIIIIIIMAAAA!!”

There is a lull. She cranes her neck to see what is going on, but it is hard since the men are too close to her and the angle isn’t right. She imagines Ramesh trying to restrain Prakash, but then a third blow lands, then a fourth. She screams as loud as she can. 

“OIIIIIIMAAAAA!”

Then she feels a presence by her head and through her watering eyes she senses it is Ramesh. There is no cigarette or paan masala odor either. 

“Are you okay, Swati madam?” His voice is full of concern. “Prakash is saying you enjoy this, but I’m not so sure.”

She says nothing, her breath is caught in her throat. 

“Just ask her to nod,” Prakash says from behind her. “She’s a whore, she wants it. Then she will want me to fuck her in the ass. Ask, and she will say yes. That’s the kind of whore she is. She likes it…karara, a little rough and hot.”

His voice is confident, knowing, and for a second Swati wonders if her knows her better that she knows herself.

And then Ramesh is back in her field of vision, saying, “Nod if you want this to continue…”

And despite every nerve shrieking at her, no, no, no, Swati nods as best as she can.

“Can you do something about the noise?” Prakash says. “Her wailing is very distracting…and disturbing.”

Something stirs again in her field of vision, and she is roughly jerked up on her knees from her bent over, ass-offering position. Her arms are still zip tied behind her, not painful yet, but not loose and comfortable either. Just enough to remind her of her subservient position. 

Prakash gives her a light tap on her exposed butt, just a mild reminder that he is in charge and that nothing has changed in her position in the pecking order, which is at the bottom. Where does Ramesh stand?

Ramesh produces the yellow ball-gag from his pocket, together with a black silk blindfold. She recognizes the items as being from her office drawer, things she has purchased on impulse, things that Ramesh has seen before, and the use and function of some of which she has explained to him. 

Prakash chuckles as he hauls her to her knees. She could have done it herself, rising to her knees even with her hands tied behind her back, but it would have taken effort. She would have been grateful for his help, except that he does it by roughly grabbing her by the base of the ponytail and pulling her up.

When Ramesh pops the yellow ball, soft but resilient silicone into her mouth, and ties the straps around her head, Prakash watches with interest and slowly dawning understanding, until when the final strap is tightened, he breaks out in a full-blown chuckle and slaps Ramesh on the back and calls him a genius. 

Ramesh smiles thinly, accepting the praise, but not participating in this whole business too enthusiastically. Swati wonders at him anew. What kind of guy is he? He likes to watch but not touch; he likes to help Prakash brutalize her, but won’t participate. 

Prakash understands the next part with greater ease. 

The blindfold. Even though he isn’t too sure about it, he goes along with it. He’d rather her see what he is going to do to her, he says to Ramesh, but the surprise might be good too. 

Swati feels the heel of his boot push her between the shoulder blades, at least she thinks it is his boot, and she goes down to her ass up, head down position again, waiting to see what will happen next. 

Her large breasts hang down toward her face, sliding over her upper chest. Her nipples are large, and they scbang the carpet. The tingle that contact sends through her makes her shiver. 

She knows though that he is going to attack her ass, and there is nothing she can do about it, and even her screams will be attenuated through the ball gag she herself has supplied inadvertently, an impulse purchase several months ago. 

[jiljilrani]

A confident lady in a good position just needed some thrill has now fallen in the pit of shit.