Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Prakash’s phone starts to vibrate. It is such a strong vibration that it almost leaps out of his shirt pocket. Distracted, he takes his eyes off Swati and grabs the phone. This time, despite the eye roll, he answers. 


“Haanji!”

It is Inder, calling from the chawl. Over the speaker, he sounds impatient, angry even. Prakash is aware that the fat man has some evidence on him, but he has thought about it, and there is really no way he can get Prakash into trouble without implicating himself, and so he isn’t as scared of the guy as he used to be. 

Besides, he had video of the fat man playing with Swati’s nude body, eating chocolate from her cunt and even fucking her. So, yeah, the fat man can shove his anger where the sun don’t shine, he thinks.

“We are on our way,” he says. “Just fifteen minutes or so.” Then he drops his voice, looks about as though about to impart a great secret, and says, “Bitch was giving us some trouble. But it’s all sorted now.”

He hangs up, and snaps his fingers at Swati. One finger points at her towel, then at the ground. The meaning cannot be clearer. 

Swati sighs, undoes the knot at her chest, and slowly the towel slides off. Nawaz gasps and Prakash looks at him and grins. “You haven’t seen anything yet, baby.”
Swati stands uncomfortably, one hand trying to cover her breasts, the other her pussy. Prakash snaps his fingers again and her arms drop to her sides. 

Nawaz is practically salivating as he takes in her nudity. He takes a slow walk around her, admiring the scenery. 

Swati hangs her head and looks at the floor. 

Time to show the bitch who’s boss, Prakash thinks. 

He snaps his fingers again, and Swati obediently sinks to her knees and spreads her knees. Her pussy is clearly visible, and the arrow of trimmed pubic hair is clearly visible. The bitch must’ve shaved recently, perhaps she had just finished doing it when he had rung the doorbell.

A sigh escapes Prakash as he thinks about how lucky he is. Now he has the problem of taking her back to his chawl, shooting the video for Nakul Bhai and then the possibility of hitting a big payday also in the offing. So many things to worry about, but, on balance he decides, good problems to have. 

For now, he has to deal with the bitch, and the other whiny bitch, Inder who is waiting at the chawl in Bhim colony. 

He looks at the scene in front of him: Swati in position, naked and on her knees. He only has to give the command, and she will do anything for him. 

Including sucking Nawaz’s cock, if he only tells her to. He decides to order her to do just that. It would be very nice if the maid walked in when Swati was sucking his friend. He had not realized that Nawaz’ Paro was also Swati’s maid, so this was perfect. All things in the universe coming together at just the right time. 

Nawaz is standing now, clearly unable to believe how docile the madam is being. 

Prakash can see the bulge in Nawaz’s pants. What to do?

He makes a decision. He will give Nawaz a taste of things to come while simultaneously humiliating Swati in front of her maid and then take all of them to the chawl. 

There, he will maybe invite the guy that lives downstairs, Mahender, and let him handle the video part, giving him a chance at free high-class pussy as a reward. After all, the man works as in a movie studio, so he can be the director. Never mind he was only what they called a class four employee, probably a guard or gofer of some sort, but what the hell. But then, Inder is also going to be there, and he is an accomplished video geek. Hmm, decisions, decisions. 

There is another decision to be made—what will he have Swati wear during the trip. He goes over the possibilities—usual office wear, slutty western clothes, or maybe, and this is exciting, just the towel? He has time to decide. 

“Okay Nawaz, my friend, you are going to be treated to the best blowjob of your young life. Bitch! Get to it. As quick as you please. And that means now!” 

He raises his voice at the last part and Swati scoots over on her knees as though she has been expecting this command. 

[pro10]

slowly but steadily sinking to the main act.
lovely update

[anjali]

Nice and slow update

[S Darko]

Swati is acutely aware she is stark naked in front of yet another stranger. 

This is not the first time this has happened, of course, but previously she has always been in a compromising position in the relatively safe zone of her office conference room. And Ramesh had always been there. She is sure he would have protected her if she had only asked. If only she had so much as looked at him with a plea in her eyes. She has never felt the need.


But the demon has possessed her again, and she cannot wait to embark on this new adventure. 

Her cunt is tingling with anticipation, and—this is a strange new feeling, one that has come over her in the last few weeks—her mouth opens as though longing for something to fill the space. Something, anything, but preferably a cock. She has found herself unconsciously opening her mouth and keeping it wide open while working, and once, embarrassingly, during a meeting. It is a strange empty feeling, this longing for something thick and hard to fill her mouth. One time she has fellated the cucumber she brought for lunch and another time looked longingly at a sausage at the supermarket. 

When Swati has undone Nawaz’s fly and extracted his member, she gasps. 

The cock is strangely shaped. Strange doesn’t even start to describe it.

The best she can think of is a miniature toilet plunger. The shaft is relatively narrow, but long, perhaps six or seven inches, and it curves upwards. 

The head of his cock is where the anomaly lies. It is disproportionately large, like a ball on a stick. Swati thinks of a large tomato, or a small apple, and wonders how wide she will have to open her mouth to accommodate this monster. She might actually dislocate her jaw, she thinks, like some snakes routinely do.

Then the thought crosses her mind. His dickhead is shaped very like his actual head! She suppresses a chuckle, but a small smile creeps onto her lips.

“What the fuck you smiling at bitch?” Prakash snaps. Evidently, he has been watching her closely.

She shakes her head. Better to keep quiet and not invite any more beatings, although that too has its place in the scheme of things.

And then the time for thinking is over, and the head of his cock is invading her mouth. As she suspected, she has to open really wide, and since the head is so large, there is no way to deep throat it. It fills her oral cavity and cuts off her breathing as it enters deeper, past her tonsils. Her cunt pulsates in sympathy or excitement, she doesn't know which, and she can feel the gush of wetness between her legs.

Swati has just enough time and the neck flexibility to glance at Prakash. He, too, seems mesmerized by the scene, by Nawaz’ cock. 

Parvati chooses this moment to make her entry. She gasps as she enters the room and drops the tray. Swati is too fully occupied to see the cups crash to the floor, too busy to see what biscuits Parvati has chosen to bring.

Nawaz is laughing, a strange, high-pitched cackle. She hears him speaking, but the words seem muffled, like she is underwater, probably because of the cock in her throat. In her mind’s eye, she can see his cock in her esophagus where he has been steadily forcing it, like a python with a large animal in its throat. 

Swati takes it up like challenge, to try and deep throat this cock, but she is rapidly losing oxygen to her brain. Black spots are starting to pop up around the periphery of her vision.

From a distance, a great distance it seems, she hears, “Suck my friend’s cock!” Presumably this is a command to Parvati from Nawaz, since she’s already sucking his cock.

She feels movement behind her, and she imagines Parvati sink to the floor in front of Prakash. She can only see him from the waist down, and soon his hairy legs are revealed as Parvati takes down his jeans.

The blackness is creeping into the outer edges of her vision, what she can see has narrowed into a tunnel.

She has one last lucid thought: How come Parvati didn’t protest at all when Nawaz ordered her to suck off Prakash?

The blackness is complete. 

Swati passes out.

[pro10]

how she wakes up will be entertaining to see.
from fucking or beatibgs

[Chitrarassu]

Super update

[S Darko]

It is full dark by the time Prakash and party return to the auto and start for the chawl. 

Swati is grateful for the cover of darkness that will hopefully keep Mrs. Singh from seeing her depart her house clad only in an oversized and colorful towel. The streetlight in front of their houses is broken, and the moon hasn’t yet risen. Very little light bleeds through the windows to let people see what is going on in the street. All this is good because the fiction of someone from the office with work related stuff will wear thin when confronted with her clothing, or rather lack of it when laving the house.


The auto driver, an older man with a white beard, nearly has a heart attack when he sees the two women the men have brought. 

He seems to know Parvati, whom he greets cordially, and when he sees three others, he slides over in his diver’s seat and makes space for her. Swati gets into the rear bench seat together with Prakash and Nizam, sandwiched between them. Prakash holds the large rectangular pizza box.

The last few minutes…or has it been longer? have been a blur. 

Th elast thing she remembers is the blackness,  passing out while Nawaz’ freakish organ was in her throat. 

She doesn’t know how long his cock was in her throat, or even if he came in her esophagus. 

The next thing she does remember is the pimply pizza guy grunting between her legs. The boy hadn’t even bothered to take his pants off, just unzipped the fly. Perhaps he was in a hurry, maybe he felt if he lost any time, he would lose the opportunity altogether.

“What the fuck?” she said when she felt her body being jostled in an all too familiar rhythm. When she opened her eyes, she sees a grinning Prakash and an equally amused Nawaz, the former still getting his cock sucked, the latter all zipped up and ready to leave.

It took her a full minute to realize where she was and what was happening. She was flat on the floor, on the carpet really, of her drawing room, and she could feel the soft fibers of the expensive rug on her bare skin. 

The rest of the memories came rushing back—how Prakash and Nawaz had forced their way into her house and the last memory of the weird and enormous cockhead being forced inch by agonizing inch into her throat. 

She recalls taking it up as a challenge, to try and deep throat Nawaz’ cock, and she isn’t sure if she succeeded. She licks her lips and tastes the salty residue of cum. Yes, he had ejaculated inside her mouth. More likely her throat, and this was only the overflow from what she hadn’t swallowed. Or not been able to.

“Your pizza arrived,” Prakash said, leering at her. Then he put on a sad expression. “But we had no money to pay him, and we went through your pockets…heh, heh, but you had no pockets, so we offered him what we thought was a fair trade.”

Nawaz cracked up at this witticism. It seemed to Swati that Nawaz was a big fan of Prakash. He seemed to hang on every word, find every joke, however stupid, sidesplittingly funny.

Meanwhile, the boy was pumping away at her pussy. She ignored him, still befuddled. 

There was not much sensation down there. She still felt numb, but the boy appeared to be enjoying himself. Like a windfall, he had probably never imagined a chance for an actual fuck, that too with a real live woman, naked and ready and apparently willing. He would probably pay for pizza out of his pocket, but it would be worth it for him. 

The boy grunted, his guttural groans rising to a crescendo. He went rigid, then juddered for a bit, and groaned like he was dying. 

He was done. 

The boy stood, wiped himself on the discarded towel that lay at his feet, and smiled at Prakash with pathetic gratefulness. 

He gave Swati not even a glance. 

Swati thought he looked awfully young, probably not even eighteen. She had no time to register any more than that—just an average kid, probably in high college. She didn’t even notice if his cock was small or large; she was still wrapping her mind around the new reality.

So the pizza guy had come, and she had been offered as payment. How cliché, she thought. The stuff of so many porno movies. 

And here she was in the same situation, and it was her reality. 

Usually though, the pizza guy gets offered a blowjob or a glimpse of naked boobs, sometimes the entire naked woman. With Swati, the fucker had gotten straight to the fucking. 

Lucky guy.

Prakash's phone buzzed agian, and aftera glance at the caller, he slapped Parvati on the face and pulled her by the hair off his cock. “We have to go, bitch! You’re a terrible cocksucker. You should learn from your madam here.”

For some bizarre reason, Swati felt a flush of pride at this backhanded compliment. 

“Come on,” said Prakash, “we have to go to the party! Party! Party!” 

He pulled her to her feet just as his phone started ringing again. Prakash pulled it out, said, “We’ll be there in a minute,” and hung up. 

“But I have to wear something! Let me just go get some clothes on, won’t take a minute,” Swati said.

Prakash kicked at the towel on the floor, and then at her. 

Swati stared at the orange and red and blue beach towel and back at him. Surely he was joking? 

But the set of his face told her otherwise. She had no choice. She picked up the towel and wrapped it around herself, securing it around her chest. It reached her mid-thigh, longer than some mini skirts she had in her closet, stuff she was sure Prakash would surely be delighted to see. And yet, she felt vulnerable and underdressed. 

She followed him barefoot out of the house. 

And so, here they are, five of them squeezed into the auto, in a space meant at most for three. 

She is acutely aware of her nakedness under the towel. It is a thick Turkish towel, but still, only a towel. One tug and it will come off and she will be as naked as the day she was born. 

The driver wears his religion like a badge, the skull cap, the beard without a mustache and kohl in his eyes. His eyes widen when they see her, but he makes no comment.

Prakash begins to chuckle. 

He is talking in general, but Nawaz and to some extent Parvati, understand the context. The old auto driver is simply soaking in this unexpected free entertainment. 

“Did you see how the boy looked when I said instead of money, you can fuck the woman on the floor?”

Nawaz dutifully chuckles.

“And when I started going through my pockets to see if I had any money, how he simply unzipped and jumped on her, hahaha!”

Even Parvati cannot suppress a giggle at the vision, and Swati is the only one that feels left out. Well, she was left out because she was out cold. Pretty good reason. Under other circumstances, she too might find it funny. 

Right now, all she feels is apprehension. She is going to a party with Prakash, clad only in a towel. She can  very well imagine what is going to happen there. 

More likely than not, it is she that will be the main entertainment. She is sure Nawaz, birthday boy that he is, will be there too. Idly, she wonders how the weird cock will feel inside her. 

Inside her pussy. 

Inside her ass. 

The tingle in her cunt that she had started feeling when Nawaz’ cock choked her out, hasn’t been sated by the pimply boy at all, starts up again. Her heart starts going faster, and the fluttery feeling in her stomach is at full intensity. 

She is ready, but also very, very apprehensive. 

She wonders if Ramesh will be there. 

Just a little insurance. 

She is unsure how much he will help if she gets into serious trouble. 

There has never been any open dialog between them, but from time to time, he will step in and make sure she is ok. She always says no problem, she’s ok, even though there have been times when she might have said, “No, I want to stop now.” She wonders what would have happened if she had indeed said those magic words. 

No, those magic words belonged in the porn site. 

They were for the female talent if the men got too rough. This was real life, there was no contract, and Ramesh was, when you got right down to it, an unknown quantity.

And that’s when Prakash reaches across her and hands the pizza box to Nawaz. 

On the way, he casually flicks her towel open. After a brief moment as the towel tries valiantly to cling to the friction that will keep the garment, such as it is, closed, it gives up and falls open. 

The towel puddles to her waist, to the cold seat. 

The cold December air rushes across her bare boobs and her nipples spring to attention immediately. 

[pro10]

"The hot update bring blood across his bare thighs and his cock spring to attention immediately"

[creamydelight]

Is the pizza boy's cum trickling out on the auto seat?

[anjali]

Soo hot

[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.

[pro10]

what an excellent update baapre..

[S Darko]

“What have you got there in the bag?”


“Stuff you asked for,” Inder said, opening the bag and pulling out a bottle of whisky. 

“Oh great!”

They are standing in the little room, having climbed the rickety stairs and through the trap door which lies open, two squares, one dark and the other brighter. Swati wonders at the arrangement, and how they lock it at night. For security. Or perhaps they had no need of security given their meager possessions. There was no bolt or hasp on it after all. Perhaps there was one outside that she had missed?

The men ignore Swati as they take out an assortment of glasses from a built-in shelf in one corner and pour themselves hefty measures of the amber liquid. It is Bagpiper, one of the most popular brands of indigenous whiskey. 

Prakash swirls the drink in his glass, a steel tumbler, and finally looks at her as she stands, not cowering, not standing at attention, but just standing near the open hatch door and looking around, taking in the surroundings. 

“Good stuff,” he says as he takes a careful sip. Clearly, he is not used to this class of liquor which can be sipped and appreciated. His drinks are probably those you have to choke down. He doesn't feel the need to offer any liquor to the women. 

“Nothing but the best for you,” Inder says, no hint of sarcasm in his voice. He is still a little short of breath after the climb upstairs.
 
Nawaz is speaking softly to Parvati in one corner—she is sitting on the bed, and he towers over her. His haircut looks even more incongruous in this setting, Swati thinks. 

“Chal, take off your clothes,” Nawaz says in a loud voice. 

Parvati cringes, but stands and unwraps the saree she is wearing and folds it roughly, and places it on one end of the bed. She stands, half naked in her blouse and petticoat, and for the first time Swati can see the outline of her breasts. They are well shaped, not as large as hers, but still a handful and then some. 

Nawaz turns her around and cups her tits from behind, squeezing, pressing, and grunting appreciatively. Parvati makes no reaction. She just stands there, allowing Nawaz to paw her body.

Swati is aware of Prakash’s eyes as he takes in the unusual sight of a practically nude woman in the tenement room. 

She ignores him for now—he isn’t making any demands yet—and focuses on the dirty window and the incongruously luxuriant money plant growing on its sill. Other than the humans, it is the only sign of life in the room. The view from the window is a depressing gray, the color of the other tenements that crowd together as though seeking shelter from the elements. Which they very well might be doing. 

“Nawaz, don’t waste time with that whore. We have a job to do. Leave her for now.” Prakash sounds impatient. 

He pulls Nawaz aside and in a low voice says, “This is not really a party, you know? We have to make that video.”

Nawaz’ eyes go wide in understanding, and together they move toward Inder who is already measuring out his second drink with the concentration of a concert pianist.

The three men join together and converse in low tones she cannot overhear. 

Then they start placing their phones in various strategic locations around the room. This is going to be a multicamera shoot, it seems. Inder, the IT guy, is orchestrating the placement of the cameras and probably managing the shoot—Prakash has no expertise in these matters. 

Prakash steps up to her and pulls the towel off. She has been clutching the knot at her chest, but her hand falls away, as does the towel. Inder whistles as she stands completely nude in the center of the room, her nipples hardening again in the cold air. 

She is aware that the pizza boy’s semen is still trickling out of her cunt and down one thigh, but there is little of it after the “deposit” she made on the auto rickshaw seat.

Swati feels uncomfortable, but also the need to exhibit herself. The lighting is stark—just one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. She knows the shadows will not be flattering, but she has to work with what she’s got. 

She does a slow pirouette, allowing the men to take a good look at her. 

She spreads her legs, bends over, and gives them a view of her holes, both from the front and the back and wishes they will hurry up and start with the sex. She can’t wait. The anticipation is driving her crazy. She is lubricating profusely.

“Kya maal hai!” Nawaz says. “Prakash bhai, you were right. She is something indeed. So gori chitti makkhan malai!” He cannot stop his somewhat embarrassing description. “And her cunt is shaved so artfully, too! Like a painting yaar!”

“Like I said,” Prakash says, “hang out with me, and you’ll see all kinds of things.” He is grinning hugely, like a showman with an exceptionally good exhibit.

Prakash strokes his chin and looks at her speculatively, his brow furrowing with concentration.

“No, he says, this will not work.”

Swati cannot help but blurt out, “What? Why?”

“Sit,” he says, and motions to the middle cot, probably his. He squats in front of her, a decidedly not master-like position, and peers up at her face. “You have no make-up on.”

“I didn’t have time. I was just out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, when you came.” She indicates the towel that now lies like a dead animal in the middle of the floor. 

“No, no, we have to make a video. For…somebody. You have to look good. Also, you have to do some acting.”

“Acting?”

Prakash considers. “No, not really acting. Just act like normal. You can talk more, moan and so on, a little more.”

Swati feels the heat rise to her face. She is quite vocal during sex, she knows, and Prakash has commented on it numerous times, usually with delight. But they’re usually non-verbal moans and groans and sexy noises in general. 

“What do I say?”

“Stuff like we usually do…you know, which hole would you like, Sir. I am a whore, I like my holes stuffed with cock, the more the larger the better. Stuff like that.”

“But,” Swati says, “That’s all true, not acting really.”

Prakash bursts out laughing, and after a minute so does Nawaz. 

"She actually says that?" Nawaz is unbelieving.

Inder, who has been doing something on his phone, looks up and says, “What? What?” But the other two are too busy laughing. 

Swati too joins in the general merriment, aware of the more relaxed atmosphere than usual. One thing does bother her—Prakash is making a video for someone. It looks like he is doing something out of the ordinary, something special. What does it mean for her?

“I told you she is a born whore!” Prakash roars above the laughter, and Nawaz is slapping himself on his thighs, clearly unable to believe they’ve landed such a high class woman who’s ready to do whatever they want. 

Swati thinks back on her journey to this point. 

Has she always been such a slut? A whore? The pat answer she gave—that isn’t acting-- it’s real, and speaks volumes of what she has become, or possibly uncovered about her own character. How exactly did she get here? 

The answer of course is the exact same as for how to eat an elephant. One bite at a time, one step at a time.

[Mottapayyan]

Superb update

[creamydelight]

Great update!!!
"That's all true, not acting really" hahaha

[S Darko]

Prakash looks at her with a steady gaze, like a connoisseur appraising a rare object, not necessarily beautiful. 

He runs a finger over her face from her forehead where her third eye might have been, down her nose, her upper lip. He pokes it in her mouth for a moment, and she obligingly sucks. When he pulls it out, he can see the glint of her saliva, thick on his finger.

He drags his finger down her pink lower lip and downward ever so slowly.  Her eyes converge as she watches the slow movement of his finger, no doubt wondering what he is up to. 

Down her neck he goes soft as a butterfly’s kiss, then his fat finger gets stuck momentarily in the valley of her tits, then trails downwards as he traces down on her smooth flat belly. 

He hooks her belly button, which allows his digit up to the first knuckle. His slowly rotates his finger in her belly button and his thumb makes slow circles, feather stroking her skin. 

She shivers and her breasts jiggle on her chest. Like the ripple on a still pond when you toss in a pebble, only better. Way better. It is the most erotic sight he has seen. The raw sexuality of this woman affects him like no other. 

He gets a heady feeling like one might in the presence of something powerful and otherworldly. He’s had it once when his family had visited the famous temple in Jammu. 

Sometimes Prakash feels Ramesh understands this whole business better than himself, this matter of men and women, sex, the whole shebang. He can admire the man’s self-restraint in that moment, his refusal to have sex, uninhibited sex with someone who is clearly a willing slut.

But he lets the thought pass. His venal self overcomes the little spark of divinity that had reared its head, however briefly. He stands to make a shit ton of money. He can’t get emotional about this. 

But, he thinks, seeing himself making a wicked, villainous face in his mind, laughing out loud like Amrish Puri, there’s no harm in pretending, right?

He looks critically at her face. Something has to be done about her makeup. He gets an idea. 

“Paro,” he says, and she looks up at him from the corner she has been hiding in. 

She is half naked, wearing only a petticoat, and somehow he knows he will not find any underwear underneath. The thought excites him, but there are other pressing matters to be dealt with, not the least is the making of the video.

“I see you have your purse with you. You have some make-up in there? Some lipstick, kajal, like that?”

Paro nods. Perhaps she is intimidated by the situation, or maybe she has never been naked in front of three men at the same time. 

“Can you do some make up for Swati madam’s face? Just make sure you do it a little different from the way she does it--do something different with the eyes, the lips. And do some coloring on her nipples too.” 

He thinks that if he is able to get Swati to look different from usual, it will be to his advantage. Sometimes it is hard to look past the superficial, and excessive makeup is as good a device of disguise as a mask. He gives her further instructions and leaves them to it.

[pro10]

Swati is a natural slut. why waste her beauty like this. Prakash should use her without make up to let world know how nasty she is.

[Vicky Viknesh]

Super update bro

[anjali]

Super update

[S Darko]

I'm going to be posting a mega update soon because I will be offline for at least a week. Enjoy.

Simi