Adultery The Swamiji

[shailu4ever]

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

End of Chapter 2 – Threads of Saffron

 

  

The Expanding Mystery

 

 

 

~~~~  oOo  ~~~~ 

 
 
 

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[shailu4ever]

Story is going very well. My earlier comments were not found worthy of posting by who ever decides that.

Hi ratipremi

Thank you for your compliments.

I am sorry, I missed your message. I didn't understand what you mean by your earlier comments. I didn't see them.

Every message and every comment is important for me. Please post your comments and feedback.

That actually helps me get motivated.

Best regards

-- Shailu

[shailu4ever]

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Chapter 3 – Into The Sanctuary

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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[shailu4ever]

Scene 30 – The Hidden Empire
 

Across the vast expanse of India, whispers about one man had become an indelible part of the nation’s collective consciousness. A figure cloaked in mystery, worshipped by millions, feared by the powerful. He had no official title, yet his influence stretched across the country like a shadow, touching every city, every town, every heart.
 
The name was The Swamiji.
 
Swamiji was not just a man; he was a living myth, a god to millions, a force that dictated the rhythm of society in ways that no one dared question. He moved in the shadows, leaving no trace of his actions yet shaping the world as if with an invisible hand. His voice, when heard, was unquestionable; his actions, when observed, seemed to defy the natural order. 

Even those who didn’t follow him spoke of his presence with an almost religious reverence, for no one was unaffected by his power.
 
It was said that no one truly knew where Swamiji would be at any given point. His ashrams, scattered across India and even in select countries abroad, were his fortresses.

Massive, self-sustained structures built on hundreds of acres of land, hidden away in the peaceful outskirts of major cities or nestled in serene hills. These ashrams were like miniature kingdoms, a world of their own, where every need was anticipated, and every comfort afforded.
 
Built with opulence but designed with spirituality, the ashrams reflected the duality of the man they were built for, his vast wealth mingled with his godlike status.
 
Inside, they were palatial, sprawling with wide courtyards, manicured gardens, and majestic temples adorned with gold and intricate carvings. The halls were lined with rare marble, and the living quarters were furnished with the finest silks and velvets from all over the world.

It wasn’t unusual to see rare paintings and sculptures, gifts from the elite, gracing the walls of his private rooms.
 
And then, there were the facilities. In every ashram, a helipad stood ready, waiting to receive visitors from all over the world. Private jets and helicopters in his fleet hovered over cities and towns, ready to pick up influential figures from the comfort of their palatial homes. 

High-profile ministers, industrialists, and celebrities, no one was too important to make the pilgrimage to Swamiji’s abode. 

His fleet would pick them up directly from their locations and escort them, in style, to his retreat.

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[shailu4ever]

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Every ashram was also overseen by a Guruji, or spiritual guide, who resided permanently at that location. 

This Guruji acted as the intermediary between Swamiji and his followers at that particular ashram
 
The ashrams themselves were self-sufficient, producing their own food, water, and energy. No detail was left to chance. Even the staff who worked at these places were selected for their loyalty, trained rigorously in the ways of Swamiji’s teachings. They are called Devotees. They didn’t just serve, they worshipped. They were devoted.

 
And then there was the security.

Swamiji’s presence required a level of protection only reserved for heads of state.

Private security, armed with the latest technology and surveillance systems, ensured that no one could breach the sacred walls of his ashrams. 

Helicopters and drones watched the skies, while his bodyguards, an elite force of specially trained men, kept watch on every corner. No one, not even the most powerful criminals in India, dared to challenge him.

The underworld had learned this lesson well: The Swamiji’s words were the law. 

If he said “no,” the most dangerous men in the country would back away without question.
 

A single visit to an ashram could take hours, yet no one ever complained. Devotees traveled great distances, taking long journeys in luxury buses provided by the ashram itself. 

These buses, which left daily from the heart of bustling cities, were far from ordinary. Plush, air-conditioned, and often filled with families, elderly pilgrims, and young devotees, all on a singular mission: to visit The Swamiji. 

The daily visitors may or may not get The Swamiji’s Darshan on that day, as he may not be in that ashram at all.

But they would pray in front of his photograph in the prayer hall guided by Guriji that looks after that ashram, seeking solace in his divine presence, and return. 

They were fortunate if they had a rare opportunity to see him in person, once in a while, perhaps, if fate smiled upon them.
 
The buses arrived in convoy at the gates of the ashram, where their passengers were greeted with the scent of incense, the sound of bells ringing in the distance, and the promise of a spiritual experience that transcended the mundane.

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[shailu4ever]

The Savakis
 

For those in the upper echelons of society, the visit was even more exclusive. High-profile ministers, business tycoons, and celebrities arrived in their own luxury cars. However, once they arrived at the ashram’s grand entrance, their vehicles were escorted to the special parking area, where they were greeted by female devotees (The Savakis), specially trained to cater to the needs of these VIPs.
 
The Savakis, with their serene beauty and quiet authority, ensured the visitors felt as though they were entering a world entirely separate from the one they had just left.
 
The fleet of plush, sleek vehicles waiting for them, each one a symbol of the ashram’s luxurious devotion, glided smoothly over the well-paved roads, transporting the visitors deeper into the heart of the sanctuary.
 
These vehicles were not just for transportation; they were part of the sacred experience, offering an intimate, cocooned journey where the outside world seemed to fade away, and the very air seemed charged with the divine presence of Swamiji.
 
The female devotees, their presence almost ethereal, guided the VIPs with an unspoken grace. Their voices were soft, soothing, like an invitation into a different realm, a space where the mundane lost its hold, and the visitor was drawn into something far beyond themselves. There was something in the way they moved, fluid and purposeful, that made the world outside seem distant, almost unreal.
 
The VIPs, accustomed to the finest things, found themselves in awe of the quiet reverence that these women embodied. For these high-profile visitors, the experience was a stark contrast to the ordinary pilgrims, there was no rush, no noise, only a quiet, intimate reverence that made each step feel sacred.


The air was charged with an almost electric intimacy, an aura of divine presence that enveloped them with every moment spent within the ashram’s gates. It was an escape from the world, a journey not just into a physical space, but into a realm where time and reality seemed suspended.
 
These women were not mere guides; they were Savakis, the female devotees selected with the utmost care and consecrated into a life of absolute devotion.
 
From the age of eighteen, when the innocence of youth still clung to them, they were chosen, each one a virgin, their untouched purity considered an essential offering to The Swamiji.
 
Their lives ceased to belong to themselves the moment they were selected. From that day forward, they became his dedicated entirely to The Swamiji’s will. 

Their bodies and souls were bound to him, molded by years of training that blended the physical, emotional, and spiritual into a seamless expression of sacred servitude.
 
Their very existence was an offering—each smile, each glance, a manifestation of their absolute surrender to the divine. When they looked at a visitor, it was not with the eyes of a servant, but with the gaze of someone who had become part of something much greater, a conduit through which The Swamiji’s grace flowed.
 

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[shailu4ever]

The Ek Vastra
 

The Savakis wore only saffron sarees, nothing else, the Ek Vastra, a singular, unstitched garment that clung to their bodies like a sacred second skin. This was not merely a piece of cloth; it was an extension of their devotion, dbanging them in modesty while revealing a quiet, profound sensuality that spoke of an intimacy with the divine.
 
The fabric, soft as moonlight, shimmered faintly in the light, wrapping their forms in an almost hypnotic flow, a dance of fabric that moved with every step, drawing the eye without ever trying to. The saffron silk, glowing with a subtle radiance, was as much a part of them as their very skin, as if the garment had absorbed their essence, becoming one with their bodies.
 
It wasn’t simply the material, but the way it surrendered to their curves, wrapping them in an unspoken grace that erased any notion of individuality, binding them together as an embodiment of The Swamiji’s divine power.
 
Every movement was fluid, like a soft caress of air, the fabric brushing their skin with a deliberate, almost sacred sensuality. It sculpted their bodies without revealing anything unnecessary, its flow designed to be both revealing and concealing, modest and yet profoundly intimate.
 
The very way it hung on them seemed to create an aura of purity, yet it carried with it an undercurrent of silent allure. It was as if each step they took, each subtle shift of their body, was an act of devotion, their movements as natural and graceful as a prayer made flesh.
 
They didn’t need to speak; their bodies, covered in the saffron silk, told a story of dedicated surrender and divine connection, the cloth becoming a medium through which they offered their soul’s purity to the world.
 
Their beauty was not only in their physical forms but in how they carried themselves, every gesture suffused with quiet elegance, every glance deliberate and magnetic, as if their very presence was a magnetic force that drew in all who encountered them.
 
They didn’t seek attention, yet it was impossible not to be drawn to them, like moths to a flame, compelled by something far greater than mere physical beauty.
 
Their serene sensuality was not overt or bold; it was soft and subtle, like the first breath of wind before a storm, moving through the sacred air of the ashram.
 
Their very presence commanded the air around them, and each step they took seemed to reverberate with the divine, making it impossible for anyone to not feel awed and humbled in their proximity. Wrapped in the warmth of saffron silk, their movements became a form of living prayer, a silent offering of their devotion, embodying the divine energy of The Swamiji in every subtle shift of their bodies.
 
As they guided the VIP visitors deeper into the sanctuary, their voices were soft, lilting whispers, as if each word was a secret invitation, a doorway into an experience of divine intimacy. Every gesture, from the delicate adjustment of a visitor’s clothing to the soft spray of rosewater offered with a gentleness that seemed to suspend time, was imbued with a sacred sensuality that stirred something deep within the soul.
 
There was no rush, no force, only a slow, rhythmic pull toward the divine, the line between the spiritual and the sensual blurring with every breath they took. They were not simply women in a uniform; they were living manifestations of devotion, walking conduits of divine grace, guiding guests into a holy space where the ordinary world no longer existed.
 
Their very presence made the most powerful men feel not just awed, but exalted, as if in the presence of something far greater than themselves. It was as though the very air was infused with an energy that had the power to touch the soul, to reawaken something ancient and sacred within.
 
The visitors, humbled by their beauty, felt an unspoken yearning to remain in this sacred space, to bask in the divine intimacy the women brought with them. It was an experience that left them forever changed, not just by the meeting with The Swamiji, but by the living embodiment of divine energy they encountered in these women, wrapped in the glow of their saffron silks.
 

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[aaran88]

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End of Chapter 1 – The Red Carpet Vanishing

 
 

~~~~  oOo  ~~~~

Hi

Just finished reading the first chapter.

It's wonderful. The suspense, storytelling and the scenes and very good.

Great story.

[shailu4ever]

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These women were not mere guides; they were devotees chosen by fate to serve in the most sacred and intimate capacity within the ashram. Their lives were intricately woven into the fabric of Swamiji’s divine mission, and from an early age, they were molded to serve him in ways that went beyond the physical. Their devotion was not just a duty; it was a tender surrender of their entire being, an offering of body, mind, and soul. 

They were trained not just in prayer and meditation, but in an art that combined both spiritual purity and an almost sensuous grace, a language of devotion that transcended words.
 
The first phase of their training was deeply rooted in Swamiji's teachings, but it was not just the mind that they had to cultivate. They learned to embody his wisdom, to allow every movement, every glance, every breath to echo his divine presence. Theirs was a life of subtle sensuality, not in the carnal sense, but in the profound sensuous experience of the sacred. 

They learned to move with grace, their bodies becoming extensions of the divine rhythm of life. Their movements were like fluid prayer, a dance between the material and the spiritual, creating an aura of magnetism that was palpable to all who encountered them.
 
This training was not just mental but also physical, for the female devotees had to learn how to receive, soothe, and guide high-profile guests with an alluring presence that was both inviting and deeply respectful. They were taught the art of gentle touch and the language of soft gazes, knowing instinctively when to look deeply into a visitor’s eyes and when to allow them the space to reflect in silence. 

They understood that their role was not merely to guide but to create an atmosphere where every visitor felt immersed in sacred intimacy, as though they had been invited into a space where only the divine existed, and everything else was suspended.
 
Their physical beauty, though captivating, was never their sole charm. It was their energy, something almost tangible, like an invisible thread weaving through the air, that made them unforgettable. There was a mystical allure to their presence, an allure that could not be explained, only felt. 

Some said it was as if Swamiji’s divine aura had infused their very beings, making them the living embodiment of his teachings. 

Others whispered that there was a magnetic sensuality to them, one that made even the most powerful of men feel a sense of vulnerability, a longing that they could not name but could not deny.

But such matters were never spoken of aloud. 

It was understood in the quiet reverence that filled the air whenever these women entered a room.

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[shailu4ever]

Hi

Just finished reading the first chapter.

It's wonderful. The suspense, storytelling and the scenes and very good.

Great story.

Thank you Aaran88.  I am really glad that you liked the first chapter.  I hope you like the 2nd chapter as well.

With warm regards

-- Shailu

[shailu4ever]

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The most sacred part of their role was preparing the visitors for Swamiji's Darshan. The Darshan was more than just a meeting, it was an experience that touched something deeper within the soul. And in preparing the guests, the women guided them with a delicate sensuality that was as much about the soul as it was about the senses. 

They were trained in the rituals that prepared the visitors, carefully leading them through the subtle and sensuous act of spiritual preparation. Their touch, light as a whisper, would adjust the folds of their guests’ clothing, guide them gently to prayer, or even offer them a fragrant spray of rosewater on their faces, each gesture carefully measured, like the delicate brush of a lover’s hand.
 
In the moments before Swamiji's appearance, they would lead the visitors into a space of quiet reverence, where the spiritual energy of the ashram would begin to hum softly, a current in the air that could almost be tasted. Soft incense curled through the air, the scent of sandalwood lingering on the skin like a memory. 

The women’s voices were like a balm, whispers of mantras, guiding their guests into meditative stillness, allowing them to inhale the sanctity of the place until every breath felt like a divine offering. Each step, each word, was part of an almost intoxicating ritual, drawing the visitor closer to the unseen world that swirled just beyond their reach.
 
It was said that there was a soft, ethereal sensuality to the way these women guided the guests. Their voices, soft and melodic, would melt the edges of tension, coaxing the visitor into a space where they could feel the touch of the divine, soft and yet undeniable. There was an intimate quality to the way the female devotees moved through the sacred space, as though the air itself responded to their presence, bending toward them in reverence. 

They did not speak of it; it was simply felt by those who encountered them.
 
Their allure was not just physical, it was the sacred magnetism of women whose every action was an extension of Swamiji's divine will. Their movements were so subtle, so fluid, that it felt as if they were dancing between realms, guiding the visitors not just through the physical space of the ashram but through a gateway to the divine. 

Each gesture, each word was suffused with an almost sacred sensuality, a way of being that transcended the physical and entered into something more ethereal, an energy that pulsed in the space between them and the visitor, as if a divine magnetism existed, pulling all into a shared moment of sacred communion.
 
No one could say for certain what lay at the heart of this connection between the female devotees and Swamiji. Some whispered that it was a spiritual magnetism, a mystical bond that allowed them to serve him with a kind of sacred intimacy that few could understand. Others spoke of it in terms of unspoken energy, a tenderness and reverence so deep that it transcended all worldly understanding. 

Whatever it was, it was not something discussed aloud. 

It was a truth that was felt, not spoken, a presence that lingered in the air, one that could be touched, but never fully understood.
 
In the end, the sacred allure these women embodied was both subtle and powerful. It was a presence that seemed to invite not just respect but something more, something deeply spiritual, almost sensuous in its reverence. And for those privileged enough to visit Swamiji’s domain, they would leave forever changed, as though they had touched something more eternal, something divine. 

The women, with their quiet grace and mystical presence, ensured that those who entered the gates of the ashram would carry with them not just the memory of Swamiji’s Darshan, but the memory of a sacred intimacy that would linger in their hearts forever.

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[shailu4ever]

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These were the gates that received kings and strangers alike, people from every walk of life, yet all touched by the same awe and reverence for The Swamiji. Ministers would arrive to seek his counsel, and industrialists would bow, acknowledging his influence and wisdom. It was said that even the underworld feared his presence. When The Swamiji spoke, no one dared defy him, not even the most notorious criminals in the country.
 
All the staff and security, everyone who worked and served in the ashrams, lived within the walls of the ashram, entirely devoted to his mission, day and night. They were trained not just to serve, but to follow the teachings of The Swamiji with complete devotion.
 
The Guruji’s role was paramount, for they held the power to arrange for the VIP visitors to meet The Swamiji, should the revered guru be at the ashram. If The Swamiji was not at that particular location, the Guruji would promptly arrange for transportation to the ashram where The Swamiji was currently residing. 

In such cases, the VIP guests would be escorted by the female Devotees in the ashram's own helicopters, ensuring that they arrived safely at their destination. The visitor's journey would then be arranged, and after the meeting, they would be safely returned to their original location, ensuring a seamless, exclusive experience.
 
For all his wealth and power, The Swamiji remained elusive, his appearances carefully timed and impossible to predict. He was a phantom, leaving no trace, never allowing anyone to truly capture his essence. When he visited his ashrams, his presence was almost godly.

Ministers from Delhi, CEOs of top corporations, film stars, and even international dignitaries arrived humbly, bowing before him as though he were a deity incarnate. They would speak with him, but only in hushed tones. 

His words, when spoken, were golden, considered divine commands by his followers.
 
The question lingered in the air like a heavy fog: Who was The Swamiji, really?
 
It was a question that no one dared ask directly. People had faith, and faith was enough. Some believed he was the reincarnation of a deity; others claimed he was the true messenger of divine power. Still, others whispered that he was a mastermind, a figure who wielded unimaginable control over both the spiritual and material world. 

There were rumors, too, that he was not just a healer, but a kingmaker, with the ability to shape the political landscape of India as he wished.
 
In the corridors of power, his name was spoken with a blend of fear and reverence. 

Some high-ranking ministers and business tycoons had already pledged loyalty to him, or so it was said. 

His influence was growing, and not everyone was comfortable with it. 

There were murmurs in the streets, in the corporate boardrooms, and even in the temples of the old elites: What would happen if The Swamiji wanted more?
 

-- oOo --

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[shailu4ever]

Dear Friends,



I want to take a moment to share something from my heart. Writing and sharing my work here has been a meaningful journey, but it has also been a struggle. It’s been disheartening to see so little response or feedback on my stories. Writing takes time, effort, and emotion, and I truly believe that deserves more engagement than I’ve received.


I’ve come to realize that maybe this site just isn’t the right platform for the type of stories I’m creating. Particularly, the story Swamiji doesn’t seem to fit here, possibly because of its content. I believe it is better suited for a different platform, one where it can find an audience that truly appreciates its depth and message.


That said, I don’t want to leave without expressing my gratitude. To everyone who supported me, read my work, and offered kind compliments, thank you. Your encouragement has meant so much, and it kept me going for as long as I did here.


So, with a heavy heart, I’ve decided I will not be writing here anymore. It’s time for me to move on and find new spaces where my stories can be better received and engaged with.


Wishing you all the very best, and thank you once again for being part of this journey with me.


With gratitude and warmth,


-- Shailu

Good Bye Everyone

[masti.bhai]

Hello,
We have been supportive and encouraging.
It's no more or less than other authors.
We certainly liked this kind of erotica.
I beg you to stay back.

As the story progresses, I guarantee there will be more feedback - positive or negative.

I'm not sure where else you will find more engagement. Let me know; I'll check it out too.

[rajesh93]

.

The Prologue



The Swamiji
 
 
They call him Swamiji.
Graceful as a saint. Feared as a god. Obeyed as a king.
 
His blessings crown ministers.
His silence erases dynasties.
His ashrams hold secrets no one dares name.
 
Ministers bow with trembling hands.
Industrialists, with guarded hearts.
Gangsters, with bloodied palms, lower their gaze before him.
 
His ashrams rise like temples of mystery,
white walls kissed by saffron flags.
Gates that welcome kings and strangers—
who emerge reborn:
glowing, hushed, untouchable.
 
What happens within, no tongue will confess.
Prayer or sin. Heaven or hunger.
Only shadows know.
 
How many jasmines crushed?
How many roses torn?
How many vows burned to smoke?
 
Purity broken.
Desire reborn.
Sins wrapped in the scent of roses and sandalwood.
 
He is grace.
He is danger.
Saint and ruler.
Sinner and god.
 
Some call him saint.
Some call him sovereign.
Some, a god in mortal skin.
But none truly know him.
Not the devotees who kiss his feet.
Not the ministers who kneel for his counsel.
Not even those who share his bed.
 
He rose,
crushing petals beneath his feet—
jasmines of innocence,
roses of devotion,
lives too fragile to resist his shadow.
 
The world saw a god.
Only the earth remembers
how many flowers he destroyed
to become The Swamiji.
 
This is the story whispered
by crushed jasmines and torn roses,
by vows turned to ash in the shadows.
 
This is the story of The Swamiji
A story no one dares speak aloud.
 
 
The Swamiji

.

Wow, what a great concept. Love to read this story

[rajesh93]

Hi Shailu

Please continue writing this story. This is really a powerful plot.
Please don't stop in the middle

[PELURI]

Hello,
We have been supportive and encouraging.
It's no more or less than other authors.
We certainly liked this kind of erotica.
I beg you to stay back.

As the story progresses, I guarantee there will be more feedback - positive or negative.

I'm not sure where else you will find more engagement. Let me know; I'll check it out too.

hi..shailu ji....i am following all your stories...the concepts are always intriguing and promising...feel that introduction of too many characters simultaneously leads to certain characters being forgotten....slow fire built up is always enticing but too much slow permits diversion of readers interest....they are not held glued and captivated...atleast me...the erotica is often clumsy and therefore not titillating which is the purpose...my very personal opinions....many regards

[shailu4ever]

hi..shailu ji....i am following all your stories...the concepts are always intriguing and promising...feel that introduction of too many characters simultaneously leads to certain characters being forgotten....slow fire built up is always enticing but too much slow permits diversion of readers interest....they are not held glued and captivated...atleast me...the erotica is often clumsy and therefore not titillating which is the purpose...my very personal opinions....many regards

Hi Peluri

Thank you very much for the candid feedback.  This really helps, that is why I stopped writing the story.

Warm regards

-- Shailu

[fanofallnature]

Dear Friends,



I want to take a moment to share something from my heart. Writing and sharing my work here has been a meaningful journey, but it has also been a struggle. It’s been disheartening to see so little response or feedback on my stories. Writing takes time, effort, and emotion, and I truly believe that deserves more engagement than I’ve received.


I’ve come to realize that maybe this site just isn’t the right platform for the type of stories I’m creating. Particularly, the story Swamiji doesn’t seem to fit here, possibly because of its content. I believe it is better suited for a different platform, one where it can find an audience that truly appreciates its depth and message.


That said, I don’t want to leave without expressing my gratitude. To everyone who supported me, read my work, and offered kind compliments, thank you. Your encouragement has meant so much, and it kept me going for as long as I did here.


So, with a heavy heart, I’ve decided I will not be writing here anymore. It’s time for me to move on and find new spaces where my stories can be better received and engaged with.


Wishing you all the very best, and thank you once again for being part of this journey with me.


With gratitude and warmth,


-- Shailu

Good Bye Everyone

Hi Shailu,

I just found your exciting thread and it is easily one of the best on this forum.
PLEASE do not stop. Do continue 

[shailu4ever]

Hello,
We have been supportive and encouraging.
It's no more or less than other authors.
We certainly liked this kind of erotica.
I beg you to stay back.

As the story progresses, I guarantee there will be more feedback - positive or negative.

I'm not sure where else you will find more engagement. Let me know; I'll check it out too.

Hi masti.bhai

First, I am sorry for very late response. 

Thank you so much for your support and encouragement from the beginning of this story. It really means a lot to me. I truly appreciate your honesty and the feedback you’ve shared so far. 

The story has been stopped mainly due to low engagement, and I’ve been waiting to see a bit more response before I can confidently restart it.

Knowing that readers like you enjoy this kind of story and are willing to engage with it motivates me to continue. 

Your support gives me the encouragement to bring the story back, and I’ll do my best if I can see a little more engagement in this thread, to restart it.


Once again for your support from the beginning.

With warm regards

-- Shailu