Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[pro10]

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

Simi

waiting for update.
update chai update daao.

[S Darko]

The three men converge on her, a hand pinching her boobs, one caressing her ass, one finger trying to get into her cunt. There is a hand on her tummy, soft and sensuous, not at all like the Prakash she has known in the past. She wonders if this is because of the video they seem to be shooting. 


A vague thought of sexually transmitted diseases crosses her mind. But Grover has tested her, and she thinks Prakash is clean. Inder too. 

Nawaz? He seemed clean enough when she sucked him off. A little ripe, but probably better now with the saliva bath he’s had. Besides, he probably has never been with a girl other than herself, and even that was just pure luck. Why she thinks that, she has no idea even though he clearly has a relationship wtih Paro who is sitting in the corner, trying to disappear.

Nawaz is delighted with the wetness he discovers when he gets his finger into her cunt. 

“Oh my God! She’s so wet!” He addresses the remark to the other two men as though she doesn’t exist. They continue speaking about her like she’s not even there, and that’s fine with her. 

She is used to being treated like a piece of meat, a whore who has no say in anything. And that is part of the allure, the excitement. To be treated like no more than a set of holes and a couple of fun bags to be used as the men wish. 

The feeling of being a professional woman, one who has a brain and needs to be listened to, and taken seriously—that she gets plenty of in the office. The regular office that is. 

She also knows that secretly most men would want her to be a fuck toy rather than their colleague or boss, but there would be no fun in submitting to them. Not that she has, but she knows it would be boring. It would be sex, sure, kind of like what she had at Abhi’s house, but vanilla. If anything, that experience has cemented her likes and dislikes, and she is sure now what she wants.

What she has now—this getting used by low class men in whatever way they want her, with no regard for her comfort or pleasure, this is where the rubber meets the road, where her fantasies lie. 

“Yes, yes, I’m so wet, I need your cocks! I’m so wet just for your cocks. Your lunds. I’m a whore for your cocks. Your marvelous hard and strong cocks. Please, please give them to me!”

Swati is aware she is hamming it up, but then they are shooting a porno, not someplace you associate with realistic dialog. She is proud that there is not one English word in all her dialog. All Hindi.

“I told you she’s a huge slut!” Prakash is delighted that his toy is performing well. “Keep rubbing her there, she gets wetter!” 

He sticks a finger there too to see for himself.

And so she gives herself to the depraved sensuousness of the situation, three pairs of hands roaming her naked skin, touching, pinching, caressing, pushing, rubbing…Parvati sits in one corner of the room like a neglected piece of furniture.

She feels relatively safe and, she thinks, probably immune from recognition after the make up session with Parvati. She too has started thinking of her maid as Paro, just like everyone else calls her. 

Paro has done her eyes in the style of old time Hindi movie heroines, the lipstick a little fuller than normal, suggesting thicker and somehow more sensuous lips. The rouge is also a little differently applied and makes her high cheekbones less prominent. She looks like she has full, apple cheeks instead of the lean cheeks she has in reality.

Prakash has her go through the usual set of questions and answers, and she obliges, informing them she is a slut, a whore, and will take their cocks in any holes, all holes, and would they give it to her please. She bends over, holding her ass cheeks apart, exposing her orifices for their examination. 

The men chuckle, dip their fingers in said holes, and finding her enthusiastically compliant, exchange high fives, Prakash beaming like the owner of a trained seal.

“We’ll fuck her together, you and me,” Prakash says to Nawaz. “I’ll take her ass and you can take her pussy!” They both chuckle while continuing to abuse her with their hands and mouths. 

This, Swati thinks, is s revelation. Here she was thinking about a DP with Prakash, and he has seemingly already thought of it and planned it. In fact, just the way she would have. 

Inder is sucking hungrily on her nipples, leaving red marks. He nips occasionally with his teeth. He takes his mouth off and says, “How about I put my dick in her mouth while you two guys are taking her front and back doors?”

The comment arouses laughter, raucous laughter, and for a moment there is nothing but the sounds of the men yukking it up.

“Ooh! Aah! Oooimaa!” Swati continues to moan and groan at the various hands doing different things to her body. She is not overacting, simply giving free rein to what comes naturally. 

In her mind, she thinks, airtight! Airtight! She has seen it often enough in porno movies, but had not yet considered the possibility of doing it in real life. Now she considers it and feels it would be a great new experience for her.

“It’ll make for a great video for Nakul Bhai,” Nawaz says. 

Inder stiffens. “Who’s Nakul Bhai?” 

No one says anything for a moment. 

Swati moans, trying to get their attention back to her.

Prakash says, “He’s a friend of ours…wanted to watch some video of her.”

“To sell?”

“No, no,” Prakash says, who knows exactly why the firangi wants the video, but chooses to play ignorant. At least he thinks he knows.

Swati hears the exchange and wonders too. 

She decides it is likely that the man, whoever he is, might be a voyeur, but she also conceded there might be more sinister motives. Under other circumstances, she might have thought it through, but she is so turned on, and so horny that she cannot think anymore.

The hands have fallen silent with this revelation, and Swati is feeling bereft. Instead of escalating, the sexual tension, Prakash and company have slacked off. She wants to rebuild it. 

“Fuck me!” She cries, again in Hindi, “don’t talk about Nakul Bhai and Shakul Bhai, just fuck me!”

Prakash turns surprised eyes at her. He usually doesn’t allow her to speak, preferring her to be a silent recipient of his attentions, but from his face, she can tell he thinks this is also pleasant, perhaps a welcome aberration. Then his face relaxes as he remembers what he told her, about the acting and so on. 

He turns to Nawaz and says, “See, how horny this whore is?”

“She speaks Hindi!” 

Nawaz is more surprised at what she said and the language she said it in. This is not the first time she has spoken in Hindi, but this is the first time Nawaz chooses to acknowledge and marvel at it.

“Oh yes, I’ve had to teach the slut, but she learned.”

Swati gives him a half smile, thinking perhaps she will feel him inside her pretty soon, and that she will be more than a match for him. 

She curtsies, her tits bobbing with the movement, and says, “Thank you!” 

She cups her breasts and holds them up like an offering.

“Watch this,” Prakash says. 

With that, he half turns her and half slides behind her. She gasps with the sudden motion, unsteady on her feet on the rough wooden plank floor. 

She is now between Prakash and Nawaz, Inder off to one side, sipping his whiskey and munching on yet another chocolate bar. His face is ferocious in it’s concentration, probably thinking about this Nakul Bhai, or more likely focusing on the taste of his chocolate. 

She hears the rasping sound as Prakash unzips himself, and with a little maneuvering—fingers moving from her pussy to her ass to get some modicum of lubrication—slides his rampant cock into her ass. 

Swati grunts at the intrusion and opens her mouth wide. She is half unprepared for this as the opening salvo, but it is welcome nevertheless. 

“Oh…ooooh…ooi maa!” She screams. It is a genuine scream, not hamming it up for the video.

Nawaz seems taken aback at this relatively sudden move. 

Inder of course,  is taking all this in stride, having seen this many times before, both on video and in person. The only other people who have witnessed this before, Ramesh and Ganesh the chaiw,.', are not there.

Prakash is performing for an audience. 

Swati takes the pounding he is giving her like a champ, her eyes half closed. 

Initially, when all this started, she didn’t like ass fucking much at all, but with time she has grown to love it, and she feels it is on par with cunt fucking. Sometimes maybe even better because she can simultaneously stimulate her cunt. 

Her hand drops to her pussy and she circles her clit slowly.

Nawaz watches intently and says, “Prakash bhai, she is fingering herself! Wow!”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Prakash says, breathless. “Get Paro over her and have her lick the madam’s cunt!”

Swati hears this, and thinks this is a relative overreach for Prakash. She hasn’t ever been involved in a lesbian sex act in front of Prakash, but she isn’t a stranger to it. 

Just a few days ago in Menaka’s kitchen while Baldev was reaming her ass out, Sudha, of the big floppy titties had grabbed her legs and dived into her pussy like a starving animal. The sensations of being filled so much to the brim in the backdoor and the cool wetness that alternately caused pressure and suction on her front end made her come over and over. 

Sudha too was being fucked from behind at the same time, she remembers, probably by Pravin but it might have been one of the other men. 

“Paro! Come here,” Nawaz orders. 

Swati is breathing hard as she is being mercilessly pounded from behind, but she has enough breath to ask Nawaz, “Who… is she… to you?”

“She’s my bitch,” is his succinct answer. He slaps at her wildly wobbling breasts repeatedly as he answers, as though punishing her for daring to ask a question like that. Her wildly flopping tits trun a deep shade of red, further adding to the eroticism of the scene.

Meanwhile Parvati gets up from the bed she will later learn is Ramesh’s, and walks over, her eyes downcast. She is still dressed in only the ill-fitting blouse and petticoat, and Swati can see there is no bra, and probably no panties underneath. 

Nawaz roughly pulls at her blouse but Parvati grabs his hands and says, “let me.” Her voice is gentle and soft. She would rather not get one of her few garments ripped if she can help it. She unhooks the blouse and takes it off. 

Her breasts have very little sag to them and they stand out proudly. Darker than Swati by several shades, her nipples are perky and almost black in the poor lighting. Parvati unties the cord of her petticoat and it puddles around her feel. She picks up both garments and bundles them, throwing them on the bed with her saree. 

No panties.

In the meanwhile, Swati continues to get pounded from behind by Prakash. She and Parvati are the only ones naked in the room. Prakash has only taken his cock out. Otherwise, he stands fully clothed.

“Malik, jor se! Aur jor se!” Swati wails. 

Prakash responds with more athletic hard pounding. He pulls her arms behind her and they spread out like wings. Her knees are going weak and Prakash’s cock in her ass is pretty much all that is keeping her near vertical. He has started to breathe hard by now.

Parvati looks at her with an expression that Swati in her fuck-drunk state cannot understand. 

There is some pity there, she thinks, and perhaps something like apology? Perhaps she feels she has led these men to her door? No such thing is true of course. Parvati was merely an innocent bystander. Maybe not so innocent, being Nawaz’ bitch and all, but relatively so. 

She is definitely not responsible for Swati being sodomized right now. “That ship, baby girl, sailed a long time ago,” Swati thinks.

Paro kneels in front of her and starts licking her pussy like a cat. Bottom to top, then back again. She isn’t very experienced, but Swati cannot fault her. There is too much movement from Prakash’s athletic and enthusiastic movements. 

She groans and moans louder and starts coming. “Aah Paro! Aaaah! Ssssss! Ooooh!”

“See! I told you!” Prakash manages as he pants, breathing through his mouth. 

He slows down, almost stops, and lets Swati hang from the pivot point of his cock. She hangs limp, her arms stretched out behind her, legs quivering. The orgasm slowly washes away, receding, but still there, on a hair trigger. Just a little more will push her over the brink. 

There is heavy breathing all around for the next few minutes. 

Everyone is still, as though in a tableau. 

It is the lull before the storm, the movement into the eye of the storm perhaps, when things are quiet momentarily before picking up again. 

Swati is fuck drunk. She can’t even fathom that just an hour or so ago, she was in her own house, taking a bath. 

And now she is in this filthy chawl, getting fucked by low class people and loving every minute of it. 

[pro10]

The much needed action for swati and us.
thanks for the lovely update.
its hard not to fall in love with your writing.

[S Darko]

Thanks

[Rocky Rakesh]

very niceeee

[gunwinny]

Superb. Go on.

[Ragasiyananban]

hot and dark side

[S Darko]

hot and dark side

It may have to get darker before there is light...

[harbinger]

Dont make ramesh rescue swati anytime soon..onlynin the end.Sheshould become actual mafia property like in the movie taken

[S Darko]

Nawaz unzips himself and slowly pulls at his menacingly deformed cock. His strokes are backhanded, palm down, slow and methodical. His fist covers roughly half of his cock, the head peeking out from beyond his fingers. He pulls Paro away from Swati and to him, and she obligingly starts to suck. 

Swati notes that Paro takes his cock in without trouble, and feels a pang of jealousy. No matter, she will get better with more practice. But has Paro been part of similar orgies in the past? Swati has no time to wonder. She is too busy in the here and now. 


Inder has dropped his pants now, and moves in front of her. He grabs her by the neck and pulls her down, effectively bending her in half. His four-inch cock is erect, as big as it will get, and dwarfed by his pot of a belly. He sucks in his gut and pokes his erection at her face.

Swati accommodates him, spreading her legs for better balance. 

Prakash slaps her ass hard, perhaps because she hasn’t asked for his permission, but he is still breathing hard. His cock, is still rampant, still in her ass, and she realizes he hasn’t come yet. His strokes have slowed to near stillness. Good god, the man has enormous staying power.  

She opens her mouth and takes Inder in, something that she has been doing for the past several weeks when he comes into her office at lunchtime. First, of course, she licks off the dew of pre-cum glistening at the tip of his pee hole. 

The first time she took his cock in her mouth under the table so to speak, was of course when Ashok had come looking for her, but he has repeated the scenario several times after that, perhaps secretly hoping someone might come in, but no one else ever came in to the room during that time. 

Perhaps people wondered why the IT guy came so frequently to her office, but she occasionally complained her laptop wasn’t working right, and no one actually questioned her. 

Nowadays, Inder comes to her room, looks at her menacingly, and she undresses and gets under the table without question. Inder had begun taking off his trousers entirely, rather than simply unzipping. Perhaps that adds to the sizzle of the situation, and Swati is pleased with the developments. 

The only downside is that Swati couldn’t eat lunch those days, having to remain satisfied with the small portion of a protein diet from Inder’s cock. 

His cock isn’t very big, but his semen is tasty, possibly because of all the sweets he eats, and the depravity of the situation of being naked and under her own desk with imminent discovery an ever present danger, is what adds spice, the mirch-masala, to the moment.

Each time Prakash pushes into her ass, he drives her head, mouth first, into Inder’s crotch and his cock drives into her throat. She gags each time, but with a small, ladylike gagging sound, unlike when her better endowed male friends literally fuck her throat. She still has some control, especially given his not so large cock size. 

Swati feels Inder stiffen further, the head of his cock swelling. 

The idea that all these men have enough blackmail material on her doesn’t even enter her mind. 

She is more concerned with the heady feeling of illicit sex in bizarre situations rather than the tawdry blackmail situation. The fear of discovery, of course, is what drives this. The fluttery feeling in her belly, the itch, that insatiable itch in her pussy, the pleasurable palpitations in her chest, all these are what she lives for, what she craves. 

She is suddenly afraid of where her depravity will lead her. 

The cocks in her body continue to pound in and out, in and out.

Swati lets out a muffled yell as she starts to climax, all thoughts of danger driven from her mind. 

[pro10]

as usual a spectacular update after a draught.

[pro10]

.....

[AjitKumar]

Very nice updates

[anjali]

Update is soo good

[abhay31dececc]

Awesome story . You became my favourite after "Banana muffin saga " writer . Please continue and make it long   

[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.

[pro10]

Ahh poor Ramesh. 

[anjali]

Loved the update

[S Darko]

Loved the update

Thanks. And for that, one more update today. Must be Christmas (or Diwali) in July...

[S Darko]

Swati has an out-of-body experience as she kneels on the hard wooden floor. The discomfort, no, pain, in her knees is part of the fun. 

Not everything in sex should always be comfortable. 

Sometimes, the discomfort was part of the enjoyment. 

After all, weren’t pain and pleasure opposite sides of the same coin? 

She has a blindfold now, and there is very little she can see. 

A bit of the floor from the bottom of the band that binds her eyes, but she closes them because she wants to make the most of the deprivation of the sense of sight. 

Despite that, she sees herself as though floating near the ceiling. She sees herself kneeling in front of one of the cots, Inder sitting on it, and she's sucking his cock, her head nestled between his fleshy thighs. And from behind, she can feel Nawaz fumbling with his cock, trying to find the opening of his choice.


“Don’t worry, she’ll take it in any hole. She’s a three hole whore!” Prakash says. 

She knows he is getting his cock sucked in one corner of the room, Parvati naked, cowering, but compliant, playing the role of fluffer girl in this depraved scene. 

Not very different from a porn movie, Swati thinks, but totally Indian in context. Complete with bad lighting, the video would be nowhere near the quality Inder shoots in the conference room with its large lighted space and multiple hi-def cameras, not to mention the sound that he is able to capture with his strategically placed microphones. She can hear the sucking sounds and the occasional gagging that Prakash is eliciting from Paro.

“Yes, I’m a three hole whore! I’ll take your cock in my cunt, my ass, and of course my mouth. Anything for you, Malik!” Swati sticks out her tongue and waggles her ass as though to emphasize the point. 

Of course, because of the blindfold and also because her eyes are shut tight, she can see none of their reactions, but she is sure they appreciate the added layer of depravity, the declaration of pure lust to the situation. 

Inder had shown her his video creations a couple of times—strictly for personal use, he had assured her—and the quality of his videos, she knows, is very good. 

It was almost like he were bragging about his cinematographic prowess rather than showing her the videos as a way to keep her in line. She thinks he might be looking for validation rather than trying to extort her. 

If she is bothered by her unedited face in the videos, she has set that aside, ignoring it, thinking magically perhaps the depraved expressions of lust on her face would keep people from recognizing her if the videos ever became public. 

Somewhere in her rational mind, she knows she will be ruined if those videos ever hit the internet, that perfect copying machine. For all she knows, they might already have. 

But does she not care? 

She has tried to examine her complicated thoughts regarding this, and hasn't reached any conclusion. She doesn’t know what she wants, what is right and moral, but what she does know is she doesn’t want to give this up. These hours, minutes, seconds, are what make her alive and vibrant. 

They make her tingle all over with a joy she thought she had lost forever. And that is a feeling she craves.
 
Just a few minutes ago, she had been bent in half, Prakash hammering away in her ass, and Inder in her mouth. Inder suddenly scooted forward, lifted his bulky legs in the air and around her head, and presented his ball sack to her mouth. 

It wasn't like Swati had never tea bagged someone, so she took his balls into her mouth, exerting gentle pressure on the fragile testicles, eliciting a groan of pleasure from Inder. 

She took care not to let her teeth smash into the soft skin of his perineum, but it was difficult with Prakash banging away at her backdoor. 

Swati put both hands on his inner thighs, separating the rolls of fat and flesh, and pushed her face further into his crotch. His dick was sitting right on her nose, and she tried her best to breathe. The musky smell mixed with a little urine and shit was like an aphrodisiac.

In other circumstances, she would have hated the smells, but in that moment, she reveled in it. And then Inder pushed it up one more notch. 

He pulled his ball sack out of her mouth with a pop, and scooted down even more, presenting her with his asshole. 

Swati pulled back, disgusted. She would never do something so nasty. 

She was okay with anal sex, in fact she now loved it, and had on occasion even done the ass-to-mouth thing with Prakash. 

But Inder? He was a fat slob, and that alone disgusted her. It was bad enough she had to spend several of her lunch hours sucking him off under her own desk, but this was something she drew the line at. 

Nothing happened for a minute, and she stayed there, her mouth inches away from Inder’s asshole, Prakash still pounding away from behind. 

And then Prakash gave her a resounding slap on her ass followed by a breathtaking push-fuck. 

“Lick his ass like he wants, bitch!”

Now there was no choice. 

She tried to rationalize it by thinking how much worse it would have been if Inder was a toilet paper user. At least, Indians used water almost exclusively, and most places now had jets or bidets to wash after taking a dump. 

She tried a tentative sniff, and it seemed okay. She poked her tongue out and touched his anal rim, then, emboldened by Inder’s sharp intake of breath, she poked her tongue out further.

Swati felt something hard and cold at the entrance of her pussy. She reached down with one hand and felt her own vibrator there. Prakash must be giving it to her as a reward, she thought, even as his hand pushed it inside and turned it up all the way. 

Swati’s tongue pushed into Inder’s asshole of its own accord, her body aching with need, with the urgency for release. 

Prakash slammed hard into her, once, twice, and then he started to cum. 

Warm semen coated the inside of her rectum and leaked out beyond the tight seal of asshole and hard cock. Her own orgasm started to build, spreading out from her ass, into her lower belly. 

Simultaneously, Inder spurted his meager seed into her hair and pulled her face into his ass. 

Swati couldn’t breathe. 

For the second time that day, she feared she was going to black out. 

Then Inder pulled away, and she discovered Prakash had pulled out and all that was left was the vibrator buzzing away on max in her cunt. She fell back, an insect on her back, limbs flailing, her orgasm starting to peak. 

Prakash reached down and yanked the vibe out, and that was when her orgasm crescendoed. 

It crashed over her and bore her away, and she lost it, her entire body going into convulsions of pleasure. She was vaguely aware of her thighs quaking, cramping, bent at the knees, her thighs wide open, toes curled. 

Her hips jerked spasmodically, mimicking the action of coitus.

She squirted, stream after stream, of clear fluid. 

And she was lost in the sea of pleasure that had no shore, no island, just the unending waves that she rode over and over and over, a surfer on a loop.