Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Swati was topless again, swaying slightly from side to side making her boobs swing, when Ramesh spoke. 


“Madam, can you do a…walk?” He shimmied his hips in an incomprehensible way.

Swati was puzzled and it showed on her face. Walk? What walk?

“Walk matlab?”

“Like the models do…you know on TV and such,” Ramesh said.

Oh, he meant a catwalk. Like in a fashion show. 

Swati was tall, in a relative way, but together with heels, she could top five-seven.
 
So far, all her “show” had been static, in that she had stood mainly in one place, with only the occasional twirl to show this or that. Always, of course, to show her assets better or sometimes to hide them. This was a new twist. Static was now going to become dynamic. She stood a moment, her posture relaxing. She had to think this over.

As far as figure went, she was quite confident in hers. 

She had fleshy but not overlarge hips, a still relatively narrow waist, and as for her boobs, well, wasn’t that the problem in all the wrong ways! If you were to ask a man, any man, he would likely tell her it was a good problem to have. Like too much money or too many girlfriends. 

In some ways, she thought she had the body of the porn actress Lena Paul, but the face more like one of the Indian actresses, closest in her mind was the relative newcomer, Kriti Sanon. 

She glanced down at her boobs. A quick glance. They hung a little now, not as high and proud as they had been before Dhruv came along, but still pretty great, even if she said so herself. Her nipples were large and pointed slightly off to one side rather than straight ahead, like someone who gave a three-quarter profile rather than face the camera straight-on. 

Big aureoles, but nicely proportioned, not too big, not too small, right in the Goldilocks zone. Her belly too was flat, with maybe just a little outward curve as it approached the waistband of her salwar. A nice deep navel.

She thought about her legs. Last she had seen them in the mirror, and critically appraised them, they were still shapely, just the right amount of fat and muscle tone. Good calves. She knew she was no waif like most of the scrawny models in the country. Or the world for that matter.

She decided she could carry off a catwalk. And for Ramesh, an audience of one, who was probably no connoisseur, it should be no issue at all. But, logistics came in the way.

“But, this office is too small,” she said. Two or three steps, and she would be at the door. Two-three steps the other way, she’d run into the wall. It was a spacious office with a large enough desk, yes, but it was hardly a runway ramp. 

Ramesh’s face fell. There was a theatrical quality to his expression and Swati narrowed her eyes. Topless, with her tits on full display, nipples and aureoles all puckered, she still wondered what game Ramesh was playing. 

This was his second request, and Swati assumed it would be harmless like his previous one too. Come to think of it, this was harmless wasn’t it? All he wanted was she should walk, perhaps with a little hip swing, tits thrust out, like all the catwalk models did. Nothing too bad. 

“Yes,” he said, “it is very small…” 

Then he brightened, and again Swati felt the theatricality in the way his expression changed. But then, this whole thing was some kind of drama, wasn’t it? Real life could never be this way. A high-class woman progressively exposing herself to a low-class man from the villages. That too, several years younger than her. 

So many taboos were being broken, Swati had lost count.

“How about the conference room? There’s plenty of space there,” he said. His expression was eager, pleading, hoping she would agree. 

“Conference room? But there might be people there!” Swati was starting to panic. It was one thing to expose herself to the cleaner in the privacy of her office where she had a modicum of control, or at least that’s how it felt, but the conference room was a vast space, and she felt very uneasy. 

Then she thought about the possibilities. She had been pushing past her boundaries, her limitations in the last few months. 

This would be another step forward. But first she had to make sure of one thing.

“Can you walk around and make sure no one is in any office? No one on this floor at all?”

Ramesh grinned wolfishly, canines exposed, and patted the large key-ring that was attached to his belt loop. “I have the master keys to all the offices in this building.”

Swati felt a thrill of danger, fear, all in her belly, her insides feeling light and liquid, but also a tingle of excitement in her nether regions. 

She looked at him carefully. His features were becoming familiar, and he had a naive, innocent quality that she rarely saw these days. People were so knowing, so full of themselves. Ramesh’s face was refreshing that way. Cute almost.

“Go,” she said with a smile, her cheeks dimpling much to Ramesh’s delight, “check quickly and come back.”

They were a team now. He would check to make certain the coast, so to speak, was clear, and she would go along with their games of exhibition. Before, he was an audience of one, she, the titillator-in-chief, but things had changed again. The balance of power, it seemed, had shifted a little, but Swati felt great. She even felt a little grateful that she was getting this opportunity, which she thought was strange.

Now they were partners. They had a common goal now. 

She needed to exhibit herself, make a “show,” and he needed to watch. He checked to make sure there were no stragglers in the office, especially near the conference room while she waited in her office. 

Later, they walked down the hall, she in front, he behind. She was fully dressed, sans bra, but her salwar and kameez were still on. She would undress in the conference room and give him a little catwalk. Topless of course. But the salwar would still be on.