Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[gyaneeguru]

AT29C try this. Expires Sept 10th.

Thank you!!!!

[gyaneeguru]

AT29C try this. Expires Sept 10th.

Thank you!!!

Downloaded. My weekend is sorted out!

[S Darko]

Swati soaks in her large tub, her eyes closed, savoring the warmth. The jacuzzi jets soothe her aching muscles. She is half in and half out of sleep, and she jerks awake as the thought strikes her that she might slip under the water in her exhaustion and drown. 

She is simply wrung out by the night’s events. 


Swati traces the rope marks on her body, some areas of bruising, scbangs, burst capillaries, a small cut or two. She has no idea what her back looks like. The men were not very lenient on her back and ass with the whip, although she is able to sit on it quite well, and without too much pain. 

Her pussy is red and puffy, but there is a satisfaction in the soreness. In fact, her whole lower abdomen, and groin is a dusky red, as are her tits and the skin over her chest. 

She has also looked at her ass in a handheld mirror, and the anal ring was likewise swollen and the color of ripe cherries, with small radiating redder lines she thinks might be small cuts or fissures. It is also sore, but pleasantly so. There is no pain per se when she runs the tip of her finger over the areas. 

She thinks if she tries, she can get a dildo in there, or even a cock. Swati marvels at the thought that even after a night full of the worst kind of debauchery, she is still able to entertain the idea of more sex. A small giggle escapes her as she thinks of more cock.

Most of the night is a blur, but several things stand out. There is an overwhelmingly satisfying exhaustion, and she thinks, it was a sex session to end all sex sessions, an orgy with her at the center, a debauch that would have put the Romans to shame. 

When Mahender showed up, things kicked up a notch, or maybe several notches. She is fuck drunk and also drunk somewhat on alcohol that they forced into her during the long night. By her reckoning, it was about twelve or more hours of non-stop orgy. 

She remembers Prakash yawning prodigiously as he dropped her off in front of her house in the morning in the same auto he took her away in. On the journey back, she barely registers the Christmas decorations in the shop windows as they sped through the deserted streets. She recalls the old rickshaw driver staring hungrily at her, no doubt cursing his luck for having to forego the magnificent fuck she so clearly was.

Mahender, it turned out, was a professional pornographer. At least that’s what she gathered. He made further adjustments to the camera positions, brought in additional lights, and also some new toys. 

The night proceeded similar to the way it started, but more of the same, but also more intense, but also more organized. 

The room, as it turned out, was ideal for the activities that Mahender dreamed up. The exposed beams overhead proved to be ideal anchor points for hooks and rope. Mahender seemed to be an expert on rope. Perhaps as good as she had seen in the internet BDSM sites. 

He was able to bind her in a variety of positions without causing too much discomfort. His rope was neat and orderly, his knots tight, and yet not too difficult to remove when he wanted to. Of course, the main thing was she was immobilized in several poses and still able to enjoy the fucking she received. Swati loved the immobilization, the feeling of being helpless and open to be fucked in any and every position, sometimes not even able to beg for it because she was gagged or blindfolded or both. 

She was tied up in different positions and fucked, beaten with a fringed flogger until her skin turned a deep shade of red all over with little purple marks through them, micro cuts that would take a few days to heal. 

In each position that she was tied, she was fucked, then gagged, blindfolded and fucked, and the list went on until she couldn’t even remember all the events of the night. The most exciting were the suspensions, especially the one where she was horizontal and taken from the back and the front. 

That was the much anticipated double penetration, and the greatest challenge was she couldn’t move a muscle. She was restrained in a near horizontal split, both legs separately suspended, and her arms tied behind her. 

Her boobs too were bound, at one time, like a tight bra, but the ropes went above and below, allowing the bulk of her tits to bulge out obscenely.  Another time, Mahender had bound her breasts differently, winding lengths around the base of her tits until they stood proud of her chest, red and congested angry, and exquisitely sensitive. 

The appearance of her breasts, to her, was even more obscene, but so smutty and lewd, the men couldn't get enough of. All the men had taken turns in sucking, biting, slapping her tits and flicking her nipples over and over, and she had orgasmed just from that. No one had been anywhere near her genitals. 

When the orgasm had arrived, traveling in waves from the pit of her stomach, twitching her labia and convulsing her pelvis, the men had laughed and called her a shameless whore. She had reddened with shame, and closed her eyes, but the strange, warm, internal glow she felt also told her she loved the experience.

She came, she remembers, multiple times with Prakash or Nawaz or Mahender buried in one or more of her holes. She remembers the moans and the screams she must’ve uttered, to the point she worried someone might call the cops or, worse, more men, hordes of them, might come in. 

To be honest, a part of her wanted more people to come in—the chawl people, unwashed and filthy and all wanting a piece of her, the gori memsaab. That was her ultimate fantasy, nasty and raw, to be fucked over and over by filthy men who cared not a whit for her education or her high position in society. 

To them, she would be nothing more than a piece of meat, to be used to the utmost and then discarded. 

She found the inversion suspension the most challenging because her nose got blocked, and she tended to black out when she was blowing someone, but other than that, the sensations were intense, enhanced much more than when she was upright. While she was upside down, her arms bound tightly behind her, forearm to forearm, hands on her elbows, Mahender almost monopolized her mouth. 

He had a decent sized cock, somewhat smaller than Prakash, but otherwise normal. He'd grabbed her head and stuffed his cock in, heedless of whether she could breathe or not. Since her head was almost touching the ground, he had to be either straddling her head, while sitting in the ground, or bending over really low. 

Her legs had been tied to the overhead beam, spread apart like a reverse Jesus, the legs spread akimbo, but the arms tied together behind her. Both Prakash and Nawaz were able to easily access both of her lower holes and they did so one by one, and once, to her amazement, together, giving her the much anticipated DP. Mahender, of course, had been in her mouth, perched on a stool, and she was airtight. She had passed out then, she remembers. 

When she came to, she was still being fucked by the two men, but Mahender had pulled out to allow her to recover. The men hooted and laughed when she finally opened her eyes, and Mahender had promptly reinserted his cock into her mouth.

The interesting thing, Swati discovered, was those moments of blacking out or when she was on the point of passing out while she was being fucked, were also times when her orgasms were the most intense. 

Or perhaps she was merely sensitized to the sex and on a hair trigger to orgasm. 

She does not understand the difference. 

She thinks she will ask them to choke her next time, a more controlled approach, and see if what she thinks is true. 

After that session, she remembers vaguely being reduced to a convulsing, wriggling, drooling, sopping mass of female flesh, wet beyond belief. 

The men's cocks kept popping out despite their large size, she remembers, she was so profusely lubricated in all her holes. 

Was it possible for one person to have so many orgasms? She has lost count after the first dozen or so, and counted properly, the night might have yielded over a hundred times she’d come.

[pro10]

Thank you for this unexpected update.
It is absolutely fantastic.
giving glimpse to the perfectly choreographed orgy but not revealing too much to make it obvious. Proceeding like a fine sailor in the sea.

[gunwinny]

Super update

[NityaSakti]

Nice update

[Samadhanam]

Marvelouss

[S Darko]

This one is a (relatively) non-bang bang sex update because, well, too much sex is boring to write and read. I also want to keep a little dramatic tension going. And so...to the next episode:




The waiting room in the ICU is quiet, save for the beeps and musical alarms from the various life-saving machines that are hushed by the thick layer of glass that separates the ICU from the waiting area. A nurse hovers over a bank of monitors, looking at the readings and answering the phone that never stops ringing. 

She is a mature woman, dressed in a crisp saree uniform, and he can see her large breasts. Come on man, he says to himself, she is just someone doing her job. Keeping your dad alive as a matter of fact.

Everything is at a remove from him, as though Ashok is wearing sound canceling headphones, or watching a movie on mute. He sits on the chair, thinking, his legs crossed one on top of the other, the top leg jiggling.


He is a little concerned that Swati isn’t answering her phone, but not really worried. There could be many completely normal explanations for her not answering, but still. His father is in the hospital, possibly dying, and she can’t be bothered to answer her phone? But then, he reasons, the last few days have been eventful, and she might be tired and sleeping. 

For a few minutes he closes his eyes, but images from the party in Delhi flash into his mind, images and movie reels of the orgy in the kitchen, the sex in the living room, the debauchery in the master bedroom where he and Baldev had both fucked his sister-in-law. He in her mouth and Baldev in her ass. Then Abhi had entered the room, apparently just after he’d fucked Swati in a DP with Pravin. 

Then all three had gone at the sister in law. She was pliant, soft, accommodating. It seemed to be common knowledge that Baldev was fucking his sister-in-law and that her husband was gay. Baldev was a talented cocksman all right, he muses. 

The ecstasy and the Viagra, boy, what a potent combo that was. He had fucked each and every of the women except his wife, and that made seven hot bitches. Not one was fat, although a couple of them were on the chubby side. All loved sex and most were willing enough to be double and some even wanted triple penetration. 

Abhi had chosen well, and he’d thrown one hell of a party. Ashok is aware of course that on his own he’d have never been invited. It was all because of Swati.

But those women! Aparna and Sudha and Menaka, especially Menaka, who loved anal. He remembers how during the kitchen orgy on Christmas morning he had reamed out her ass while Baldev was doing the same thing to his wife. Sudha was sucking his balls from behind. Damn, he had some big Punjabi balls, like a bull he was, that man. 

Not that Ashok was envious or anything. He was quite well-endowed in the cock and ball department, thank you very much. Use what you have and all that. 

But those tits and asses, and the warm, enveloping cunts! God, that was some good time they’d had. 

He has not even an iota of jealousy about how the men had used his own wife. He had used the others, so it was no harm, no foul. 

Besides, he had wanted to try swinging for quite a while. He might want to try it again, it being so much fun and all. Swati would probably be game as well, even though they haven’t talked about it. There has been no time. 

He can feel himself getting hard at the memories. Specifically, the big titted bitch he had fucked without mercy, now what was her name? He shakes his head, opens his eyes, and looks around for something to distract him. A magazine, anything.

His eyes fall on the phone on the seat next to him. 

Arvind’s phone? Huh? He didn’t take it with him, apparently. But who does that these days? No one leaves their phone and walks away. There was a time when people did that, but not anymore. Well, maybe old people, but Arvind was not old.

He picks up the phone and peers around to see if someone is watching. He rises from the chair and peers around the corner, where the elevators and stairwell are located. Arvind will most likely use the elevator if he is getting coffee from the cafeteria on the first floor, and he can hear the doors open with the mechanical voice announcing, “sixth floor, doors are open.”

He re-enters the waiting area and sits down. He touches the screen and sees the Lock Screen image of Arvind with his golden retriever, Moti. He traces the pattern that he uses on his own phone, and the Lock Screen disappears. There is a photo on the screen now.

A naked woman. She looks familiar.

He frowns, zooms in, and his heart stops.

He is sure it is Swati. There are two images, one of her fully clothed, and one of her completely naked. He can't be caught looking at Arvind's phone. He peers around the corner again, then forwards the images to himself and deleted the transaction from the phone log. He is sure Arvind wouldn’t know how to check. 

He puts the phone back where he found it, and sits back, heart thudding now. He wonders how the image was obtained in the first place. 

He supposes the image most likely came from the party at Abhi’s house, but weren’t cameras forbidden? 

Ashok himself didn’t take any pictures, but he believes that Abhi had video cameras set up all over the house so her could film everything. Which sort of explained the no camera rule. But it was really terrible form for someone to not only sneak a picture of his wife, but also to disseminate it.

The bigger problem was how it was on Arvind’s phone. 

How the fuck had that happened? Was he friends with someone at the party? That was certainly possible. Ashok no longer knew Arvind’s friends, and suspected he might have some unsavory ones, but really, he had no idea.

He thought some more, head resting on the wall behind him. 

Another thought pops into his head: is this deliberate? 

Is the phone planted? 

The fact that Arvind has left his phone unattended, knowing that Ashok knows the unlock pattern, seems to be a set-up the more he thinks about it. 

But why would he do that? 

Is there something going on between the two of them ? 

Is that the reason why Swati was so open to sexual experimentation? She hasn't been before. 

Does Arvind fancy his wife or something? He has always been polite, if surly with her, well after the first few months of their marriage anyway. 

If so, why let him know? 

Why not keep it secret?

Should he confront his brother?

The questions swirl in his head, making him giddy. 

He needs to examine the pictures again to see if there are any hints about where they were taken. 

It does look like both pictures have been taken in the same place, but is it Abhi’s house? 

If not, that will open up a brand new can of worms.

Something he can't even fathom right now.

[jiljilrani]

super

[pro10]

Thank you for the update.
Well we are just not body, we are mind too.
So this update is absolutely necessary which will keep us hooked.

[Vasanthan]

Super super

[S Darko]

This episode is dedicated to Pro10 who sent me the idea for the scene. This is pure sex, and I hope you enjoy. Pro10, this one is dedicated to you.



Around midnight, or perhaps a little later Swati reckoned, there had been a break, perhaps as much as a half hour, before the men came to life again. They’d been lounging around, getting their strength back, worn out with the excesses of the night. They ate bananas from a large bunch, the yellow skins of the fruits glistening in the light from the bare bulb in the ceiling.


Swati lay on one of the cots, tired, watching the men. Parvati slumped in one corner, her body partially covered by a sheet, quietly drinking something from a steel tumbler. Water probably, perhaps mixed in with some whiskey, Swati thought. She peed in a corner into a plastic box. 

The men had also been drinking a fair bit, mostly from the booze that Inder had brought but also from the bottle that Mahender had produced from his bag as his contribution to the proceedings. They remained limp, their penises hanging like noodles between their legs. 

It amazed Swati they were so unselfconscious about their nudity, but perhaps the communal fucking had loosened their inhibitions as had the booze. 

Then, at some unseen signal, they rose and started in on her. She gave in willingly. Parvati had a resigned expression on her face. While they remained limp initially, the things they began to do to Swati made them hard again in anticipation. 

This time, Mahender bound her arms behind her again and put nipple clamps on. It was an experience unlike any she’d had before. 

First, he pinched the nipple itself between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, and pulled straight out. She wondered what in the world he was going to do, but also fearing something painful. All this while, his right hand had been behind his back, like a magician not wanting to reveal his trick, or perhaps simply to keep her in suspense. 

Then, in a flash, his right hand came up and before she knew it, there was a serrated, toothed device that looked like a butterfly. He placed it gently over the base of her nipple, but there was nothing gentle about what followed.

Swati had never had nipple clamps before, and the pain was excruciating, and once it settled down to a reasonable level, the pain/pleasure seemed to be wired directly to her pussy and she felt the tremendous jolt of electric pain travel from her nipples to her labia, to the point she almost had an orgasm. Again.

“Aaaaah! Oooooh!” She moaned, had in pain, half in ecstasy.

Then he repeated the process with the other nipple and the pain/pleasure redoubled. 

“Oooi Maaaa! Aaaaaah!” Swati made no effort to keep her voice down. 

She was sure that even the auto driver two blocks away was probably getting hard listening to her. He was probably turning over one of his wives and plunging into her cunt or ass as the fancy took him. He was probably an ass man, she thought.

Prakash lay down on one of the cots and laid Swati on top of him in the reverse cowgirl position. 

She could hardly breathe with the nervous anticipation. She felt herself shaking with the imminent double penetration. This was her favorite position in porn, and she’d never experienced it herself but seen it all the time in her favorite movies.

“Oooh, ooh,” she kept moaning, sometimes for show, and sometimes simply because she couldn’t keep from voicing her  pleasure as some random movement jostled her excruciatingly sensitive nipples or tugged on the chain connecting them. 

Mahender looked at her and frowned. “She’s making too much noise, Prakash Bhai,” he said. “I have just the thing for that.” He gave them a theatrical evil chuckle, like a HIndi film villain.

He produced a device from his bag of tricks that wasnt immediately recognizable. It looked like a ring with a strap. 

A fearsome looking ring-like device with radiating spokes from the circumference. She would later learn it was called, appropriately enough, a spider gag. It was quite comfortable once placed in postion, but almost as soon as it was placed, she realized two things. 

The first was that the ring allowed Mahender to put his cock in her mouth, and even throat even though she was gagged.  

She had zero control over the depth of penetration. All she could do was use her tongue on his cock. This she discovered when Mahender, as a quick demo, pushed into her mouth. By now she could tell even without looking which cock belonged to whom. 

The second thing she realized was she had no control over her saliva. Almost immediately she started drooling uncontrollably, rivulets of saliva dripping down her chin, onto her breasts and belly. Free lube, she figured.

The room had warmed up by now with just the small heater they used for cooking their food, and even the floor felt comfortable now. 

The next thing Mahender did heightened her excitement severalfold. She was aware she was dripping from her cunt, and her mouth like two broken faucets. 

The blindfold blocked out all vision, and heightened her other senses. Especially her hearing and sense of smell. And most important, her sense of touch. Her skin seemed to be on fire, raging mostly in her lower belly and chest. Centering around her nipples, the electric fire seemed heightened, even more than before. 

Someone gave the chain linking the nipple rings a tug and she moaned through the gag. She wriggled her butt, trying by feel to find the cock she had been promised. She would have gladly allowed it into either of her nether holes.

“Do it this way,” Mahender said, no doubt explaining the positions to the men. She of course, couldn’t see what he was asking them to do.

She felt a shifting, perhaps Prakash moving in a way that best caught the light, or perhaps the best camera angle. 

Prakash stuffed his now fully hardened member in her ass. It went in like a hot knife through butter, snagging not even a bit at her sphincter. 

Briefly, she flashed back to the first time he had done this in the conference room and how much it had hurt. 

There had been a searing, tearing pain like she had been constipated and was trying to force the largest turd in the world out her asshole. 

It had taken quite a while for her to get used to the pain. Her head had been pushed into the carpeted floor that time, she recalled. 

Now, the feelings were sensual, comfortable, and after he’d seated himself inside her rectum, feeling full, he began moving, slowly, using short in and out movements. 

“Aah, aah,” are the only sounds she can make with her mouth held open by the open gag.

“That’s right bitch, keep moaning,” Prakash said.

Swati anticipated this position to be one more where she wouldn’t be able to move much if at all. She would be immobilized by the rope binding her arms, and by the men plugging her holes.

“Now watch this,” Nawaz said, but Swati had no idea what he was talking about.

She had barely settled into the slow rhythm that Prakash had set up fucking her ass than she felt the pressure at the entrance to her cunt. A few seconds passed as she tried to fathom what it might be, and then realization dawned. 

It was Nawaz, trying to force his large cockhead into her. With Prakash already in her ass, it was going to be a tight fit. A really tight fit. She wondered briefly if he would even be able to do it.

Swati opened her mouth and tried to breathe in short puffs, trying to ease him in. 

She had found it useful the last time Nawaz had fucked her, but at the time he had been going in solo. Now there was Prakash’s thick member in her rectum to contend with. There was after all, only so much space inside her pelvis. The men though, seemed determined to try.

“Oh man, she is tight!”

This was true, and this despite the copious lubrication she had produced. She was literally dripping from her cunt, not to mention the thick viscous drool from her mouth that must have but his time reached her lower belly. No need for additional lube, just swipe it form there and apply where needed.

“Oh yes, the bitch is tight, sure, but I’ll get it in. I’ve done this before, and I know it can be done!” Nawaz was wheezing with the effort.

Then Prakash gave an upward lurch that lifted her off his body for a split second, and Nawaz gave a simultaneous muscular shove, and he was in! 

They were both in! 

A low groan escaped her mouth, cut off almost instantly by Mahender’s cock in her throat. And there she was, in that ragged chawl room in the middle of Bhim colony, completely airtight. 

“Guk, guk, guk, GUKKKK!” was the only sound Swati could make as Mahender throat fucked her. He seemed determined to elicit the most lewd and vulgar sounds from her throat that night, and she happily obliged. 

“Ggggaaa! Guk, guk, GUKKK, gaaaaah!” All of the sound of course, was muffled. 

Swati felt an incredible tightness and pressure in her pelvis. It seemed like the proverbial two pounds of sugar in the one pound bag. 

The feeling was indescribable, and while not painful, she felt an immense sense of satisfaction, of accomplishment, like an athlete who runs a sub ten-second hundred-meter race. She was a sexual athlete and she had succeeded in doing the DP she had dreamed of. 

The four of them paused for a few seconds absorbing what they had accomplished. 

At least that was the way it seemed to Swati as she struggled to absorb the sensations that flooded her body, shallowly breathing through her nose. Drool leaked out between her lips and Mahender’s cock and dripped slowly down her body. 

She was held in a semi upright position by Prakash’s strong arms, her own being pretty much useless, tied as they were behind her, elbow to elbow, writs to wrist.

Ait tight, she said to herself, she was airtight. 

A slow throbbing began to make its way deep in her impossibly stuffed pelvis, a pressure so great, she felt she must burst. Her bones would part and her pelvis would shatter she was sure. 

How did the pornstars do it with such consummate ease? 

But even as she was wondering about this, she could feel her muscles relax, her ligaments make way, and the overwhelming sense now was that of intense pleasure. 

The men began to move now, and the pressure and pleasure intensified. 

A sudden orgasm caught her unawares, radiating from the pit of her belly and out and out, swelling like the tide. 

A rippling and continuous orgasm began deep in her pelvis, one that lasted many minutes. 

Perhaps it was the sensory deprivation, perhaps it was the inability to breathe properly, and Swati wasn’t sure the orgasm was really that long, but she figured it must have been fifteen or twenty minutes of continuous orgasm during which time the men continued to pump into her body without letup.

The word climax came to her mind, and she wondered if something so prolonged could be called a climax, or more properly a plateau. A really high plateau. 

Then all thought was driven from her mind as she gave herself over to the carnal delights she was experiencing. 

The dark churning in her pelvis with tendrils, both thin and sensuous, as well as thick and more grasping, all of them spreading up and down her body, engulfing each and every organ, lifting her up, imperceptibly, inch by inch above herself.

She stared to black out again, because breathing through her nose alone was becoming difficult and her mouth was stuffed beyond human possibility. 

And then something even more incredible began to happen. Her pleasure peaked, multiplied many folds. The pressure in her pelvis softened, let up for a bit, and then squeezed and spasmed like an epileptic. 

Liquid lava erupted throughout her body, red hot and profound, so consuming that she felt this was the height of all pleasure and she would die, just die this minute. And if she died and went to heaven, that would be all right with her.

She gasped, opened her mouth wider than Mahender’s cock would allow, more than the ring gag, impossible as that feat was and gulped in a huge draft of air. 

One of the men, probably Nawaz, she guessed, sensing she was coming, and coming big, pulled, yanked, tugged hard on the chain connecting the nipple clamps. 

She sensed her nipples being stretched, pulled to their limits, and the pain was excruciating, and red hot.

That sent her over the edge and she screamed into Mahender’s cock, letting out the gulp of air she had just inhaled, drool spattering everywhere, and although she couldn’t see it, she sure felt it on her body. 

Swati was vaguely aware of the two men coming inside her, a double cream pie, one after the other, one in her ass, flooding her insides with semen and the other in her pussy. 

Nawaz was unbelievably potent, producing what seemed like a huge amount of cum whereas Prakash was relatively meager, having already come a few times before. 

The immense surge that lifted her up began to recede, and there was a pause, a moment of pure silence and blackness, the tendrils relaxing, disappearing, the sparking of pleasure diminishing. 

Mahender deposited his load deep in her throat, there being no barrier to the depth of his entry. 

Swati swallowed it down with some difficulty, coughing when she was able to. It was hard to swallow with her mouth held wide open, she found out. 

It was a night of many discoveries, and she was only getting warmed up.

[pro10]

I cant thank you enough. 
loved it.

[S Darko]

Nikolai, aka Nakul Bhai, aka Ramsaran is having a difficult time processing what he is seeing. 

This woman is all that he has always looked for in a woman. She is curvaceous, with big tits and a large bottom, but not the fat belly that usually accompanies such assets. For assets is the right word for what they are, without any question. 


His phone pinged only moments after he woke up, and since then he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off the videos that are bombarding his inbox ever since. 
Nakul Bhai scrolls through the videos slowly, stopping occasionally to pause, zoom and look at this thing or the other. 

The video quality is abysmal, poor lighting and pixelated images. But no matter. This woman is an enthusiastic slut, and she’s doing it all for the love of sex, not even getting paid for any of this. 

And it looks like she doesn’t even care that she’s being filmed as she looks brazenly into the camera and licks her lips and says, “I need one more cock…in my mouth!” 

Her voice is soft and low and sensuous, and Nakul Bhai thinks she could be a great porn actress. Possibly even better and more famous than the Middle Eastern bitch, Mia Khalifa, or the other Indian girl from Canada whose name escapes him for the moment. 

He zooms in on her pussy and sees to his delight that her outer lips are nice and plump and pink while the inner lips just barely peek out, a darker shade of red. Exactly as he’d thought based on the original low res pics, but he is sure now. He has a thing about the inner lips. They shouldn’t hang out too much, or it looks obscene. 

If there is irony in that thought, he being in the business and all, it doesn’t bother him.

Swati is bent oven and getting her ass reamed out by the big lout, Prakash. He is holding her by the hips and giving it to her good. 

“I need a cock in my mouth too, Malik!” Swati screams into his earbuds and instantly Nakul Bhai’s cock goes from semi soft to full attention. 

Nakul Bhai’s cock is steel hard, something that doesn’t happen regularly despite the ministrations of his flock of whores, but today he delights in it. 

He doesn’t bother to call out to one of the prostitutes that usually staff his house on a regular basis. He knows that any other bitch will only be a downer. 

He grabs the bottle of lotion on the side table, and a wad of tissues. 

Nakul Bhai lowers his pajama and beats off to the images on the phone. 

He feels the ridges and bumps on his cock as he teases himself to full hardness. Or rather, as Swati teases him to his full girth. Which is considerable. Some of his bitches have compared him to a soda can or a beer bottle. 

He hasn’t measured, but then he’d had his dick enhanced with as many as twenty silicone beads. Granted it makes his dick look grotesque, but there are benefits too. 

The guy that did it was professional and very good. Even though he hadn’t been able to have sex for a few weeks after, the procedure had been worth it. His bitches tell him that he is even larger than before, and with the pearling, way more effective at giving them orgasms. 

Apparently, some of the beads stimulate their G-spots, not that he knows what that is or cares. 

And, even though he didn’t believe it at first, the pleasure the beads give him are also better than before. So, it’s been a win-win for him and the bitches.

He looks at the video on his phone and slowly beats off into the wad of tissues. 

Woo-hoo, he thinks, beating off like a teenager first thing in the morning! And that too when he had free pussy available on tap. A variety of pussy if he wanted, and maybe even more than one if he so desired. 

But now, he was jerking off instead of calling for one of his whores. This woman had just that kind of effect on him.

When he is done, he rings for his morning chai. A man servant arrives with a tray on which there is a pot of tea, a small carafe of milk, container of sugar and a plate of Marie biscuits. 

The man pours a cup, adds the requisite amount of sugar, stirs, and with a small bow, leaves his master.

Nakul Bhai sips his tea and thinks hard. He thinks he should reconsider his offer to Alexei.

What if he kept the woman for himself. Suddenly he wishes he hadn’t sent her pictures to Alexei. 

There is no way he can undo that. Aleksei has seen the images for sure, and if he knows anything about the crazy Russian bastard, he is already licking his chops and making plans for her. 

Damn! Damn! Damn! 

A sudden fury takes hold of him, and he flings the bone china cup at the wall with force, where it shatters into a million pieces. There is a large splatter of brown tea on the white wall. No matter. The manservant will clean it later.

His phone dings again. More video.

He looks up with interest. 

There is something different about these clips. They seem better even though the cameras, presumably phone cameras, are the same. The lighting, the angles, seem better. He can see it is unedited footage, but even then, there is a definite quality improvement. 

He opens the text app and informs Prakash that the videos are good. Furthermore, he needs to see the whore herself as soon as they can arrange it. 

The one thing he doesn’t do is send any of the videos to Alexei. 

Nakul Bhai is starting to make a plan for Alexei, a plan that will not only net him this new whore, but perhaps much more. 

After all, he knows quite a bit about Alexei’s operation, and they share a number of middlemen. 

He calls a friend, a good friend who he only calls occasionally, but this is a friend who knows certain people who are good at making other people disappear.

[pro10]

The bad man with his sinister motives.
thank you for the unexpected update. 

[abcturbine]

Super.....Duper......Truper....
Sensational......erotic...... Adventurous...

[Santhosh Stanley]

Awesme

[S Darko]

This one is also in the nature of a flashback; linear storytelling sometimes becomes boring. Again, a nod to Pro10 for some of the ideas (dialogs toward the end of the scene). He has been really engaged with the story. Thamks Pro10.




When Mahender took off the nipple clamps, she had screamed from the severe pain from he blood returning to the tender flesh of her tit nubs. Her cunt throbbed in sympathy when he took off the second one.


“It’s really something when I take off the clamps,” he said. “Other girls have told me it is almost like an orgasm when that happens.”

Swati was too engulfed by the pain and pleasure of the moment to reply, but she acknowledged his statement with a nod. 

“Unhhhh,” she moaned, the smell of cum and sweat thick in her nostrils. It was a heady mixture, the combination of smells, the poorly lit room despite the new lights Mahender had installed, and the small but now cozy room thanks to the heater that had been running all through. 

When he’d let her out of all the ropes, she’d collapsed on the floor, weak and worn out, a sodden mess. She’d swallowed down three glasses of water before she could even make sense of her surroundings. 

Swati ate a banana, the first thing in many hours. The pizza had been the last thing and that had been before they started, many thousand calories ago. 

Constant sex did take a toll, she thought. She was tired beyond reckoning, more tired that the wringer of a gym session she’d taken with a personal trainer a few weeks ago. 

And yet, when Prakash, still hyperventilating, had cackled and laughingly asked, “Enough? Or you want more?”

She had taken a deep shuddering breath and said, “more! I want more!” Then, in a parody of a long ago ad, she said, “Yeh dil manage more!” And they’d all fallen about laughing their guts out. 

Swati rubs her sore breasts, the rope marks still fresh on them. She thinks they would have flopped over her upper chest and face if they hadn’t been tied up during inversion. There was that to be said about rope—it kept things from flopping about, especially with all that vigorous, calisthenic sex. 

Her timeline shifts again. She is no longer sure of the sequence of events. By the time Mahender had tied her up, Inder was tired. He’d left after ejaculating in Swati’s cunt for a change. By then he’d come four times by Swati’s count, not that she was really counting, but somehow she kept track of the fat man. 

She thought he was addicted to oral sex, both giving and receiving, for sometime during that night he had eaten her out, repeating his chocolate eating stunt. Of course, she had come that time too, squirting rivulets of chocolate colored and flavored pussy juice.

She thinks about it a little more, and realizes that no one other than Inder has ever eaten her out. It must not be a thing for the lower classes. All they wanted was to use her, have her suck their cocks and accommodate them where she can, any hole will do. 

Swati rolls her shoulders. To her surprise, there is no pain, no pain that usually accompanies such a movement. There was something to be said for the thebangutic effect of having your shoulders retracted and arms bound behind your back after all. The constant backache, especially at days end from having to carry her heavy breasts around isn’t there today. 

Another advantage of light bondage and gangbangs.

She has another hazy memory. It must've been before Inder left. Or maybe it was later? The throbbing in her temples reminds her of what transpired. 

It must still have been relatively early, before midnight perhaps, and Inder had left another bottle of whiskey with Prakash. 

The men had taken turns forcing her to drink with them even as she was tied up and being fucked. 

Mahender, in fact, was fucking her pussy doggystyle, with her bent over, when Prakash took a swig and then grabbed her head and forced her to swallow a mouthful. Then he plugged her mouth with his cock, and the booze went straight down into her stomach. 

Or when Nawaz was in her ass—a very difficult and painful penetration, at least initially, despite the lubrication her juices had provided—and Prakash was maneuvering to get into her pussy, the largest combined DP she’d received that night, Mahender had poured the equivalent of a couple of pegs down her throat as she gasped for breath. 

Then, emulating Prakash, he’d stuffed his cock into her mouth despite her coughing. He delighted in the strong spasms in her throat as her cough was muffled, because she supposed it gave him greater pleasure. Trying to suppress her coughing made strong milking motions on his cock all the more powerful. 

A broad smile spreads across her face as she remembers how she was used. Yes, there was no other word that used, because they took her every which way they could come up with regardless of what she wanted. She was just a set of holes that had to be used. 

No different from how one might use a toy, a gadget, anything really. And especially something that was cheap and disposable because they took no care in treating her. 

Like tissue paper, she thinks, that was most apt. She knows deep inside that once she fails to be of use to them, she will be discarded just like a used tissue.

Her phone dings and she picks it up. There is a message from an unknown number. 

A picture. 

She opens it and sees herself. 

Her mouth is wide open, as are her legs and cunt agape, and all she can see it the base of a large cock in her ass. 

Her eyes are blindfolded. 

There are large brown hands on her paler tits, literally crushing the life out of them, and between the fingers of the brown hand, she can see the glint of nipple clamps and the connecting chain. 

The image is so evocative that she has to put her hand between her legs and rub at her poor sore pussy. 

Around two or three in the morning, everyone was drunk, exhausted and fell asleep where they lay. 

She was awoken at around five in the morning by Parvati’s embrace. There was sympathy and love and question in her eyes, and Swati silenced her with a kiss before she could say anything, Plenty of time for that later.

They had cuddled lovingly for a while, unwilling to stay apart, but also not aroused enough to do anything. 

Slowly, gently, unlike the way the mean had treated her, the smaller woman had caressed Swati’s boobs, then pussy, and soon they were both aroused. 

They twisted around on the wooden floor warmed by the heat from a electric heater, and sixty-nined for a while. They licked and sucked at each other’s pussies and clit until Paro came in Swati’s mouth with a cry and powerful shudder. 

As they lay on the cot, regaining their energy, she saw all three men looking at her with undisguised hunger. They were all limp, other than Nawaz who was semi hard.

She grinned cheekily at Nawaz and said, “Why birthday boy, sated with your gift yet? Satisfied?” 

Nawaz gave her a wolfish grin, his canines exposed. "Heh, heh," he said.

Swati turned to Prakash, baiting him. “Malik, all fucked out? No more starch left in your lauda?” 

She purposely used the crude word to get a rise out of him. 

It was fun to watch Prakash slowly color, his already dark complexion getting darker. His eyes narrowed to slits and his lips curled cruelly.

Rising slowly, he reached over and slapped her face hard. He grabbed her face in one hand, and moving close, spat into her face. His spittle landed on her cheek just below her eye and slowly rolled down her face. 

Despite the double shock of the slap and the spit, Swati smiled. It was her slow, slutty smile, the one she had perfected in college when she had first met Neetu. 

To her surprise and delight, Prakash rose and slapped her face. It was a hard slap and her head rocked with it, but she’d expected it. 

He cupped her chin in his hand and deliberately spat into her face. The glob of spittle landed on her cheek, just below her left eye and slowly dripped down. 

“My God!” he said, “how much of a bitch whore are you?” There was wonder in his voice. 

Wonder at her brazenness, her insatiability, and the understanding that he alone might not be enough for her, that he’d created a monster. 

He put two fingers in her mouth and wiggled them around, getting them nicely coated with her spit. 

Swati moaned in anticipation, loud, horny moans, the meaning of which could not be disguised as anything other than what it was: a mature female in heat. A bitch ready to be fucked.

“You’re not satisfied yet? Even with all these cocks?”

Swati moaned again, surprising herself. “I’m never satisfied! I’m constantly horny Malik. Ever since I met you and you trained me! All day, everyday, I dream of being fucked. I’m never satisfied. I want you to destroy me, take me any which way you want. Squeeze me dry! Devour me! I don't want any part of me left alive by the time you’re done with me!”

She took a deep breath. She didnt know it yet, not at a conscious level but what she said was the truth, no make believe. She was aware, but not conscious that she said all this with the cameras running, recording every word she said. 

And now, as she lies in the tub, rubbing her sore pussy, sticking two, three fingers in, the cum still oozing from her love tunnel in translucent runnels, she can’t help but be amazed at how she has thrown caution to the winds. She has literally asked, no begged, her tormentors to fuck her to death. Nothing could be more sexy, debauched or depraved. 

She is suddenly aware of her heart drumming in her chest, a palpitation that she thinks heralds doom. 

She revisits the road from simple housewife, perhaps a little frustrated, but a simple housewife nevertheless, and a high powered IT executive to what she has become now. A plaything for low class men who has literally spent a night getting gang fucked by them in a slum. 

How much further will she fall? 

She feels cold all of a sudden. Goosflesh marches over her back and arms. 

Swati shivers, leans forward, and turns on the hot water tap to increase the heat of the water in the tub. Where is the woman with the drinks and the food? 

Where is Paro? 

Swati leans back and closes her eyes. Instantly the film she has been running in her head resumes. 

Prakash steppped back for a second, taken aback with her words. She could see the confusion in his face, his attitude. He is shocked, but also angry; and the conflicting emotions make him cast around for inspiration. 

Swati had squealed as he plunged into her, and that roused Nawaz, and without even pausing to rinse out his mouth, he had started kissing Swati, using his disgusting morning breath flavored with the smoking and drinking from earlier, his tongue dueling with hers. 

Of course, they had to sandwich her one last time. 

A Swati sandwich between two dark skinned slum dwellers on each side, one in her ass, the other in her overflowing cunt. 

By that time, she was so loose everywhere, there wasn’t anything she couldn’t have taken in any of her holes. And so the last DP of that night had proceeded, Paro jumping in and hungrily licking their conjoined genitals.

Nawaz tired of the difficult position and withdrew. He then used Paro’s cunt to satisfy himself—it took a long time but in the end he seemed to have a dry orgasm, and lay back exhausted.

Swati hadn’t known at the time, but Paro too had been used during the night, and almost as relentlessly.  

Paro hadn’t been double teamed, that honor being reserved for her alone, but she’d been fucked and sodomized besides being used as a fluffer all night long. 

Finally just before six, when Prakash could no longer get it up, and Nawaz was too fucked out, they brought her back to the street, again wrapped in the towel, and got into the auto. 

It was still dark and bitterly cold, but Swati was too tired to care. 

She too was totally fucked out, aching all over. 

After the women returned, they had simply passed out as they were, and slept like the dead for hours. 

Swati remembers that long sleep with relish. 

She needed it. 

They needed it. 

She feels a twinge of guilt for not having called Ashok, but consoles herself with the thought that he must be busy caring for his father. 

Her whole body is sore, especially her holes. It is a pleasant soreness. 

There are welts on her skin, areas of bruising, small linear areas of redness she knew would be there. Nothing she cannot deal with. Time will heal all. 

There is a light knock on the door and Parvati enters. Finally!

She carries a tray with two flutes of champagne and a quarter plate of peanuts. 

She sets the tray down by the sink and brings over one glass to Swati, and takes the other for herself. 

There is only one thing that is unusual about this otherwise humdrum, domestic scene. 

Paro is naked. 

Not a stitch of clothing on her. 

Swati watches her through half lidded eyes, langor spreading through her limbs like an intravenous sedative.

Paro slips into the water with a groan of relief. 

Their legs intertwine, one of her feet between Swati’s legs. 

Her great toe slips right in.

Swati moans and spreads her legs more to accommodate the new invader.

Paro grins and begins a leisurely in and out motion. 

[pro10]

thank you for such an exciting update and kudos to being the perfect writer you are.

[King Kesavan]

super update