Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[dragonslair]

Wonderful update

[abcturbine]

Love the way you write....
Amazing....
Superb....

[S Darko]

Swati's mood is dark now, and Neetu can sense it like a live, hideous thing. 


Swati seems to sense Neetu's discomfort and says, “Sorry Neetu, I’m telling you all this…I’m dumping all this on you…I’m trying to sort through what happened. I don’t think it is such a good idea to continue this kind of thing. You know…but I can’t help myself. I am afraid…”

Neetu nods, her face now somber. She can feel the skin stretched taut over her cheekbones. Swati’s story is both exhilarating and deeply terrifying. She tries to get her visceral reactions under control. Her lubricating cunt for one thing, her tingling nipples for another. She can feel the buzz from the martinis they have drunk. Was it two or three? She can’t remember. 

“I understand.” She says. “But what are you going to do? If he calls, will you go? You could delete his number and maybe get him fired from the job, but there are too many people in the mix now for you to stop cold turkey. Besides, he knows where you live. That’s a problem.” 

Neetu thinks that if Prakash comes calling, Swati won’t be able to refuse him, resist him. She will go like a docile little lamb wherever he takes her, do whatever he tells her to do. Swati is more of a fuckdoll, a sex slave than she herself realizes. 

Swati nods. “Yes, he knows where I live. Maybe I could ask…”

“Who? Ramesh? isn’t he from the same chawl? Same kind of guy? Low class, filthy, just the kind of man you like to get fucked and humiliated by?” Neetu can’t control the venom and sarcasm in her voice. Perhaps, she thinks, I am just a teeny bit jealous of her.

“No, no. Ramesh is different. In fact he saved me that night. I haven’t told you all that happened that night, but I trust him implicitly. I’m just not sure if he can stop all those people. I mean, Prakash and Nawaz both know where I live. Inder, the IT guy is out of the picture right now, but if I complained to HR, I could get him fired…maybe Prakash too, but Nawaz I don’t know. Then there are all those videos that are online. I mean you can recognize me in them, I think.”

“Yeah, show me, and I’ll tell you.”

Swati taps on her phone, goes into incognito mode, and pulls up a video that Mahender has uploaded. It isn’t the most recent one, but not very old either. It is one of the bondage ones where she is hanging from the rafters facedown and being fucked at both ends. The shot has her in the frame, the men’s cocks but not their faces.

Neetu gasps at the images she sees, but can’t take her eyes away from it. When the clip ends, she rewinds and watched it again. 

Finally, she says, “I can tell it is you, but most people won’t be able to. And by the way, this is the sexiest porn video I’ve ever seen. The production is really good!”

“Mahender,” Swati says by way of answer. “He’s good. He uses a green screen sometimes and…see, here’s a clip showing me in Florida!”

Neetu looks at the images of Swati giving a double blowjob in front of a completely unpopulated Animal Kingdom.

“He got the footage from some holiday shot,” she said, “that’s why there’s no one else in the frame. 

Neetu looks carefully, and now she can see that the images are superimposed, but done so well, it is easy to imagine it is real. 

“There are ones in front of the Eiffel Tower and one in Niagara Falls also. The man is a genius.” She pauses. “Anyhow, that’s not the point. The point is how to get out of this.”

Neetu takes a reflective sip of her drink. She finishes her martini and signals for another. “Repeat,” she says under her breath, and the waiter understands the mimed word and scurries off to get another martini.
“How about the cops? Have you thought about that?”

Swati pouts. “You think I haven’t thought of that? Everything I did is by mutual consent…at least in the videos he has of me. It looks like that anyway. Can’t cry foul play at this stage.”

They talk a while more about possible courses of action, but nothing concrete emerges. 

Neetu finally says that the best course might be confessing everything, or at least to a semblance of the truth to Ashok and then relocate to a different city. Also, never to repeat what she had done here. But she is also curious about how that night at the mori ended. Swati had mentioned that Ramesh had saved her.

“Anyhow, what happened after that? You were chained to the tap in the mori at night, in the cold…so someone must have let you loose, right? Who? Prakash? Wait, no, you said Ramesh came, right?”

“No, not Prakash, he’s a monster…I think. No, I know. He’s a sadist, and he enjoys hurting me. At first, I thought it was all mutual, but it has mostly been him coming up with new ways to fuck me, hurt me, humiliate me, and I’ve gone along every time. I’ve never protested really, so I guess I thought it was all mutual consent, but not really. Anyhow, at the more, it was cold, so cold, and I was still wet, I could feel he chill of the ground seeping through me, and I suppose I must've been on the verge of hypothermia—I was exhausted and cold, and despite the discomfort and the difficult circumstances, I fell asleep."

[pro10]

thank you for the update again

[Sanjjay Rangasamy]

excellent

[S Darko]

Swati walks disconsolately along Ring Road in the shadow of the Red Fort. 

Tomorrow is Independence Day and the Prime Minister will be speaking from the ramparts, telling crores of Indians all about how things are, what his plans are and so forth. He has been a good Prime Minister, this tea-seller from Gujarat, she reflects. His graph has gone exponentially up. Her’s, on he other hand, instead of going up, had rapidly gone the other way.


She looks down at her clothes. The shirt she is wearing belongs to a man, and the weird thing is she does not even remember who the man was. Underneath, she wears a short skirt, black with spangles. A party mini skirt really. No underwear. She looks like one of the streetwalkers she used to wonder about. She remembers vaguely the party last night at Kalkaji, or was it somewhere else? Vasant Vihar? Green Park?

A nice posh nightclub, a padded, soundproof back room with hooks and bolts on the floor, ceiling, walls. 

There were many men that Vicky (that was his name, right?) had asked her to entertain and she had done that with her usual enthusiasm. Her breasts throbbed a little from the rope bondage, but nothing that wouldn’t go away in a few days. The cigarette burns though, that would take a little more time. 

There was a time when Vicky wouldn’t allow the merchandise to be marked, the merch of course, being her, but not any more. Now anything and everything was possible for the clients to do and she had no limits, hard or soft.

She recalls the cage she was in, then the spanking horse where she was whipped brutally. While being fucked in the ass and the mouth. There were nipple clamps she recalls, floggers, clamps on her cunt lips. Someone had even attached weights to the cunt clamps and laughed hysterically as she writhed in pain. All the while someone had been fucking her in the ass. Later, there were beer bottles, baseball bats. The brutes delighted in inserting anything they found, that was easy to hand, the bigger the better. Initially her moans were for effect, later they were real. 

They delighted in making her scream.

Despite all the torture she has endured, the remembrance of last night brings a tingle to her sore nipples and they stiffen in the slight breeze. That itch she used to feel in her pussy, the feeling that something was empty and needed to be filled, preferably by a stiff cock, has become an almost continuous ache. 

She realizes she has become a sex addict and there is no cure. 

No cure other then white knuckle, cold turkey abstention. Perhaps for life. For that she needs support, and that is something she doesn’t have. 

There is nothing left of her family; Ashok has left her, and taken Dhruv with him. She can’t even remember when the divorce came through. She doesn’t even know where they are, and even if she did, she doesn’t have the resources to go there. 

She is nothing now, not the IT middle manager with promise, not the mother, not the high flying wife. She has lost her high paying job, her perks, her car and house. She has no life anymore. She is no more and no less than a whore, on the verge of being washed up. 

On the verge of becoming a fifty rupee whore that only the lowest of the low visit.

The way ahead is easy to see because it is all downhill, and there is nothing in the way. Marginal subsistence, desperate poverty, disease, and then the final equalizer of them all. It is not pretty. And yet, she has no one to blame but herself. 

It had all started innocently enough with an inadvertent exposure of her body to the janitor. The janitor actually turned out to be a possible savior, but he was weird, and he gave way to the garage security guard, then came the chai w,.', not that she had anything against chaiw,.'s, then it became a blur. There were pimps photographers and videographers and a whole slew of low class slum dwellers, and other strange people involved, and somehow even her savior, Ramesh couldn’t help her from her downfall.

There was a time when she was to be sold off to a rich Arab sheikh, but somehow she slipped those grasping hands and instead ended up in Delhi in the care of a pimp called Vicky (Vicky, right? Or was it Vinny?). He shopped her around, in the high class party circuit, then slowly the class started going down, the regulars wanting more and more roughness. 

It was now nothing for her to entertain more than one man at a time, animals too if she remembers last night well. Drugs seem to be a good way to cope, something she had never done before, but now, well now there is no other word for it other than junkie.

She is in Old Delhi now, not even remembering how she got there. Somewhere near Paharganj or Chandni Chown. There are old houses on both sides of the narrow street. Someone comes at her. The woman is carrying a bucket of water. 

Dirty water as it turns out. She has a grimace on her face, and she spits on the ground before she upends the bucket on her head. Not just dirty water as it turns out. Worse, much worse.

“Whore! Whore! Whore!” The woman is screaming at her. 

She falls to the ground in despair, stinking and dripping. Crying.

She grasps at a straw. Ramesh! She whispers the name. 

He has always been the one to ask her during her rougher adventures if she was ok, if she wanted to stop. She has never paid him much heed, but he was good to have, like a little puppy. Oh, if only she had paid more attention to him. 

Oh, if only she had given him more importance in her life. He had once tried to give her advice, good advice as she now thinks back on it.

Ramesh!

Ramesh!

Ramesh…the words dribble out of her mouth like water she cannot swallow and it drips down her chin and chest. 

She is all wet. 

From head to toe. 

And shivering. Like a malaria patient. 

And it was indeed Ramesh who came to find her. He’d been sitting at the tea shop, when he heard the men bragging about how the men had gangfucked the high class madam and left her to wallow in their excrement in the mori, and came to investigate.

When Ramesh came to her, he was livid to see her chained like an animal to the water pipe. 

The sight of Swati, naked and shivering melted his heart, and tenderly he undid the chain—it turned out not to be locked, merely tied, and she could have undone it herself—and carried her to the auto. 

Perhaps Prakash expected that she would undo the chain and come inside. Who knew? He found a sheet and wrapped her in it and took her home. 

On the way, Ramesh said, “Madam, you need to rethink what you’re doing. These are not good people. Especially that Prakash fellow.” 

Swati was so out of it that she could not reply. 

The truth was she was scared and at one point feared for her life. But how could she tell these things to Ramesh? 

And the dream felt so real. Had she really been sold? Nah, that was all just a dream. Wouldn't happen in real life. She would get control. 

When she could finally speak, she forced a level of gaiety into her voice. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Ramesh. Prakash isn’t such a bad guy. He’s all bark and no bite. What do you think he’s going to do that I don’t already want? And besides, isn’t he your friend?”

In reply Ramesh had just muttered something inaudible and Swati had let it go. 

He carried her into her uninhabited home, washed her tenderly in the tub, and tucked her in. 

She reached for him, for his crotch, but he shied away, gently put her hands under the covers. 

After that, he left. 

Swati slept the sleep of the dead.

[chellaporukki]

Nice update. She is living her live as if the husband and 5 year old son are not anymore.

[pro10]

Guys like ramesh are always taken for granted.

[abcturbine]

Wonderful....
You are GENIUS.....
Amazing writing skills....
Thanks a TON for writing.....

[S Darko]

Sammy, the bodyguard in Alexei’s employ calls Nikolai. 

Getting paid by two masters for the same information is proving quite lucrative for him. It helps that people think that because he is so muscular, he must be stupid. He is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. People think he is hired muscle for Alexei, but the truth is that he has been the Russian’s secret right hand man for a while now.


Back in his native place in Aligarh, he might’ve ended up as a bahubali, a local gunda or enforcer for a politician or mafia, but here in the nation’s capital, he actually holds the title of security chief for one of Alexei’s shell companies.

“Nikolai,” he says, “Alexei’s container is almost full. Arvind Bhai is going to make a move soon. He’s going to pick her up from her home and take her to the docks where the container is. It’s going to be game over if you don’t make a move soon.” 

Sammy knows from Arvind that he’d made a deal with Nikolai before he got sick, and the deal involved this particular woman. 

That was before Alexei had been called away to Kyiv. He knows also that Nikolai has a hard on for this particular woman. 

He wonders what it is that’s so special about this woman. He himself can’t see it because he swings the other way. But he does appreciate that she is a good looking woman.

“Wait,” Nikolai says in his weird accent, “Isn’t the plan to pluck her up from Bhim colony? From that guy’s house?” 

He says pluck, like she’s a chicken, sitting there, just waiting to be snapped up. The truth is, that for the large majority of women they traffic, it is just so. Some they pull off the streets, some from their homes, offices, anywhere. Nowhere is safe. Nikolai snaps his fingers, trying to remember the name. Finally, he gets it, “Prakash.”

Sammy hesitates just long enough for Nikolai to say, “You want me to get her from her house? Or send someone to pick her up?”

“Yes, that would be better. I think he will want to wait for darkness, perhaps 5 pm or so before he does it.” Sammy isn’t eager to cross Arvind quite yet. It is enough for now that he is getting paid twice for the same work, but not yet time to make a move. In a few days he thinks it will be time. 

“Okay,” I’ll see if I can find Prakash or Nawaz. Those fuckers have no sense of time or duty.” Still grumbling about how hard it was to get good help these days, these lazy motherfuckers, sister-fuckers, Nikolai hangs up. 

Sammy wonders again how and when the Russian got so fluent in Hindi that he could swear so readily and fluently and with no accent at all. In fact, he thinks the guy sounds like he might've grown up in UP, possibly near his hometown.

[S Darko]

It is Thursday, mid-afternoon when Prakash calls on her. 


It has been a while since the night she was chained to the tap at the mori behind the chawl, the night of the glory hole, the night when she was pissed on and humiliated. She has had no contact with anyone since that night. Indeed, it took her the better part of a week to recover from that night, physically and mentally. 

After her conversation, nay, confession to Neetu, Swati has been alone. She works from home, and only rarely goes to the office. The office in any case is almost deserted. Swati meditates these days to control the cravings, focusing on her breath, but it isn’t easy. Images of intense sex, humiliation, and carnal hunger crowd her mind as soon as she closes her eyes, and even though she thought that time would diminish the intensity of these feelings, that hasn’t happened so far.

She’s tried to abstain from masturbating, but occasionally she’s had to give in and use one or more of her toys when she can’t stand it any more. Paro, when she comes, sees her mistress in dire straits, and says nothing. Dark circles discolor her eyes, and she looks gaunt even though her figure is still as voluptuous as ever.

Swati has been to the hospital several times to see Ashok, but the staff there are very busy, and they won’t let her see him anyway because there is widespread fear of an epidemic that is raging uncontrolled. No one knows what the virus is other than it is from China. It has already claimed many lives, including those of her in laws. There is no known cure.

She’s just finished working out, a fairly intense yoga routine, and is just a little bit sweaty. She was in the process of planning what she would put into her afternoon smoothie when the doorbell goes ding-dong.

Prakash simply shows up at her door, all by himself — no Nawaz today — with no forewarning, no call or text or voice message. He wears a crooked grin, a smirk really, and looks her up and down like one might a prize cow at the village fair. 

The sight of him fills her first with terror, then intense need, like a junkie craving a fix. 

He is dressed today in a green tee shirt and a pair of track pants she didn’t know he owned. He is also wearing the track top, unzipped all the way. It is not so cold in Delhi any more, and a light jacket is all that’s needed. 

As she opens the door and he steps inside, the longing is so intense in the pit of her stomach that she doubles over, gasping. She knows her pussy is a sopping mess, and that Prakash probably knows it despite the clothes she is wearing, yoga pants, sport bra, and a loose tee shirt that leaves her midriff bare. 

She wants to pull out his cock, suck him to hardness and present him with her holes to choose from. She wants him like a dying man wants water.

Prakash ignores her and looks at the interior of the house as though he has never seen it before. “Rich people,” he mutters under his breath.

When he finally turns to look at her, Swati is already pulling off her clothes. 

She has been well conditioned. 

She lays her clothes on the nearest chair and kneels before him, legs wide, cunt on display, hands cupping her breasts in offering. 

He glances at her and nods appreciatively and this pleases Swati more than it should. 

He caresses her tits, pulls on the nipples, fingers her cunt and she squirms on the ground in front of him like a dog that has been well trained and accepts what affection even a cruel master will give. She is ready to offer him any hole he would like, whatever form of ravishment he would desire. 

But that is not to be.

“Get dressed,” he says. “We have to go to the chawl.” He throws the yoga pants and the insubstantial tee shirt at her, throwing the sport bra and her panties into a corner. She follows the trajectory of the garment, and again a thrill goes through her. 

She’s going to get fucked today after a long time. 

Her heart races and there are butterflies in her stomach, something she didn’t even have when she was getting married. 

As she rises to put on the clothes he has chosen, her cunt squelches, a sound almost like the queef she had in the conference room, a lifetime ago.

[pro10]

Loving the apprehension here!

[S Darko]

Nakul Bhai has the whore suck him off while he watches a video of Swati getting gangbanged. It’s an old video, one of Mahender’s earlier efforts. She is airtight, a cock in each hole, one man straddling her torso and fucking her tits, and there is a cock in each of her hands that she is jerking off. 


He knows it is disrespectful to the girl who’s fellating him, to watch another woman, or rather some hardcore porn, but fuck it, she’s only a whore.

When he’s done, she wipes the saliva and semen that coat his cock. His member is still quite hard, something that has happened over time with all the beads that have been injected under the skin. 

He can get ready at a moment’s notice, and sometimes even the sensation of his underwear rubbing against the sensitive flesh can arouse him unreasonably. Sometimes he thinks this obsession with sex might be getting in the way of his business, but so far so good, and besides, sex is so enjoyable, especially the kinks. 

And once he has Swati in his clutches…he thinks about the girl. She is in great demand it seems. Alexei wants to grab her and sell her in the Gulf, probably the Gulf, but could be Africa too. Not for nothing is it called the dark continent. Once you went there, you were never heard from again.

Then there was Alexei’s man, Arvind. He seemed to have his own agenda. 

Nakul Bhai has done some investigation, and it seemed that they might be related. Some kind of revenge scenario, he thinks. He’s not sure what Arvind plans to do to the woman, but he thinks it’s sex and then probably sell her to someone. He seemed to be quite desperate to get his hands on her. 

And then finally there was himself, Ramsaran, also known as Nikolai and also, more recently as Nakul Bhai. He rather likes the name now, and sometimes uses it to introduce himself, particularly when the other person isn’t able to say Nikolai correctly. 

It was he, Nikolai, who had initially called Alexei to sell the hot piece of ass, but then he’d changed his mind. Then Arvind had come along with his ridiculous offer and now that Alexei was out of the country, he feels he has more leeway. Arvind hasn’t even called him to tell him the deal was off. He has found all this out through Sammy. The little shit. He could get Sammy to take care of Arvind, Alexei too when he returned. And then, he thinks, Sammy…Sammy. Hmm.

Things were looking up. Way, way up. He has come a long way. 

He’d been a freak in his village, the only man with the unknown skin disease, and pretty much everyone shunned him, the fear of the unknown being what it was, especially among illiterate villagers. He forgets what they called it in Hindi, but he wasn’t all white back then. Patchy, his arms and legs still had some dark brown colored areas, but by the time he was eighteen, even his hair had turned a colorless white. 

The only way he could gain some respect was through a life of crime, and accordingly, he attached himself to the local crime boss, who took him on out of pity. 

It was only when he ended up in Bombay and met a few foreigners around the gateway of India that he hit upon the idea of passing himself off as a white man. There wasn’t much he could do about his face, which still looked like a villagers’ but he copied the white peoples’ gestures, mannerisms and their patterns of speech. Realizing soon that he would never speak English like a Brit or an American, he decided to be a Russian, so that his accent might be overlooked. 

When he was sent to Delhi on an assignment, he ran into some trouble when the businessman he was supposed to shoot turned out to be more than he could handle. His gun, an automatic, jammed, and the businessman, with hard gym honed muscles, beat him senseless. 

He was nursed back to health by a gang of human traffickers, and he had the good sense to be quiet or speak only in English, and thus the legend of Nikolai was born. 

He shakes his head. Enough reminiscing. Okay, he says to himself. He rises and goes to his bedroom, opens the safe and pulls out a shiny revolver. He always prefers revolvers to semi-automatics. Ever since the businessman incident, way back when, a time he cannot even remember well. 

Most of his men prefer the autos, and he allows them to choose. But the one thing he insists on is that they are at least 45 caliber. That’s pretty good stopping power for most situations. 

He has used 9 mm guns before, but he definitely favors the heft and finality of the 45. This one is a Smith and Wesson, large and comfortable and heavy. 

He jams it into this waistband in the back, pulls on a light jacket and calls for the driver. He will take two bodyguards and the woman. 

He snaps his fingers at the whore, a Brazilian or Argentinian perhaps, or so he believes. She is enhanced, but spectacular. So spectacular that he keeps her naked all the time. 

She doesn't seem to mind. And she is very accommodating.

[pro10]

Thank you for daily updates

[S Darko]

In the auto, Prakash reflects that he should’ve had Swati suck him off in the house with the door open. 

Or maybe out in the front yard, between the front gate and the front door. The neighbors, especially those on the second floor would’ve got an eyeful. It would have humiliated her, but also released some of the pressure from his balls. 

Well, he thinks, glancing at his watch, there was some time still to do whatever he wanted. 


Prakash reflects on the last several months as the auto bumps along the uneven roads. From the time he met Swati, naked and masturbating in the conference room and all the subsequent shenanigans they have been up to. He regrets none of that.

He sighs heavily. He has become attached to her. He will miss her, he thinks. But the money that Nakul Bhai has offered is way more tempting. 

He could return home to his village if he wanted to. Buy more land than the rest of the family combined, and have enough left over for a house. A proper kothi, the likes of which even the village zamindar might not have seen. He thinks perhaps three floors, and bathrooms on every level—no more outhouse or going into the fields. And yes, a wall around the compound, a gate, perhaps even a guard at the gate. There were a lot of jobless guys who would jump at the chance. 

Nawaz had told him earlier that day that Nakul Bhai had called. The container was ready. It would be loaded on the ship and sail away in a couple of days. In the meantime, he could have some fun, perhaps for the last time. 

“Ready for some fun, huh bitch?” He grabs her boob roughly over her loose tee shirt, and she lets out a gasp of surprise and pain. 

The auto driver, not the old man from the colony, but a younger man, starts and almost turns back to see what is happening, but recovers his professionalism at the last moment and contents himself with merely angling the rearview mirror so he can see what’s happening. 

Prakash knows she is ready for action based on his awareness of her arousal. There was the wet sound she made from her cunt when she moved to get dressed back at the house, but he can also smell her arousal from where he sits. He has come to love the scent of that over the last few months. 

Prakash puts his other hand under the waistband of her yoga pants and roughly feels her up. 

Her cunt, as he had guessed, is a swamp, he can feel her clit, and for a moment, he is even surprised. He fingers her roughly for a few seconds, and she moans throatily into his chest. 

The auto driver is struggling very hard to maintain his professionalism. 

Prakash looks at the driver in the mirror, and he can see the lust in his eyes. 

He could have her give the auto driver a blow job, or even fuck him in the street, both of which she has done before with the old auto driver, and he has no doubt she would be willing. 

But no. His modus operandi has always been to keep her guessing. 

He tells the auto driver to stop in front of a paan-beedi shop a couple of streets over from where his house is.

“Come on,” he says, “step out, take off your pants and go buy me a pack of beedies.”

He pushes her out of the auto and gives her a stern look as she stands in the street, indecisive.  

[Deepak Sanjeev]

great writing

[Lakshmi1]

Nice update

[pro10]

excellent

[S Darko]

The SUV is large, black, and heavily tinted as it makes its way through the narrow streets of Bhim colony and comes to a stop in front of the building where Prakash lives.


Nakul Bhai is excited beyond belief. Finally, he will meet the woman he has come to fantasize about. 

Lately, she has been visiting his dreams as well. It has become an obsession, this need to possess this woman. 

Beside him, Ramona is sitting quietly. 

Today she is wearing a simple dress, black, with nothing underneath. Nakul Bhai knows because that was how he’d instructed her. She is a plaything, nothing more. The real deal is the woman he has been obsessing over for the better part of a few months.

The SUV comes to a smooth stop and Nakul Bhai instructs his driver to make a phone call. Over the speakerphone, he hears Prakash, a little breathless.

“Nakul Bhai!”

Nakul Bhai winces at this name that has been thrust upon him. How is it that this twerp of a man (the actual word he thinks is chutiya), cannot say Nikolai like almost everyone else can? He lets it pass. 

“Prakash.” It comes out with more menace than he intended. There is no need to say anymore.

“Yes Bhai, she’s here.”  Prakash sounds nervous.

Nakul Bhai can hear moans and grunts in the background. Flesh slapping upon flesh. It seems she is already in the party mood, getting some action. Either that, or there is another woman. Or women.

“Who else is there?”

“Just me, Nawaz and Mahender, Bhai.” Nakul Bhai can smell the lie, but lets it go.

“Mahender?”

“Photographer, he takes the videos and such.”

“Oh, okay, I’m coming up.”

“No, no! Wait there. I’ll come down and guide you,” Prakash says, “It’s a little tricky.”

Nakul Bhai can feel his tumescence building. “Come soon, man.”



#

Arvind’s phone rings. It is late evening on Thursday, the 19th of March. 

The significance of the date will not be understood until later, and for some of the characters, not even then. Of course, no one knows all this, not at this time anyway. And definitely not Arvind. 

It is Sammy. He sounds out of breath. “Bhai, that Russian guy, Nikolai is making a move. I followed him to a chawl in Bhim colony. It looks like the girl is there. I’m pretty sure he’s going to snatch her. I found out there’s a guy called Prakash that lives there and he handles the girl.”

Arvind knows Nakul Bhai of course, but he hasn’t felt the need to call him and tell him their deal is off. The other name is new to him. She has a handler? Like a pimp? He sits up, improved from before but still not at a hundred percent.

“But aren’t we supposed to pick her up? Like from her house?” Arvind is confused. 

It seems to him that Sammy is more aware of things than he lets on. More knowledgeable than he would have suspected from someone who was supposed to be muscle. 

“And why…how…Bhim colony?”

“Yes Bhai, I thought it best if we kept tabs on Nikolai because we know he has designs on the girl. I spoke to the butcher across the street and he was happy to tell me everything he knows once I put some Gandhijis in his pocket.” Sammy sounds patient and in control. Perhaps he has misjudged the man. He seems to be quite capable. 

Arvind grunts his appreciation. There’s nothing more he can do. “What should I do?”

They both go silent as they think about it. 

Then Sammy says, “Bhai if I come to pick you up, I can’t keep an eye on these guys. Best you come by yourself. Park your car at the Apsara Mall and take an auto from there. I’ll send you a location pin so you can follow it on GPS.”

Ah, technology to the rescue. 

“Yes,” Arvind says, “good idea.” He adjusts his crotch which suddenly has become quite tight.

[pro10]

seems like the showdown is near.
But we need to know also what happened when prakash sent her to fetch her from paan biri shop