Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Inder logs into his Incel forum and asks a question: “I have a bitch here that loves exhibiting herself and teasing lower class men. What can I do with her?”


The answers start coming in thick and fast. 

Almost all of them want to fuck the bitch senseless and then kill her, some in inventive ways. Her head should be cut off and mounted on the crossroads as a deterrent to other conniving bitches who flaunted their sexuality, one says. 

Another opines that she should be tied to a pole in the street, and every passer-by should be allowed to fuck her in any hole they please and then when everyone is satisfied, she should be shot. Or perhaps she should be skinned alive. 

Inder closes his laptop, deep in thought. He turned forty the week before and has never had sex. Not with a woman, at least. Does his hand count? 

It isn’t for lack of trying to get a woman, and people who point out that he is fat are simply jealous of his intellect. His voyeurism is not a coping mechanism, it is simply a way to get even with the people who make fun of him. Yes, that is what it is.
 
He has watched, with interest and a tumescent dick, the goings-on in the conference room. Swati has progressively undressed and given further shows, and it has all been very titillating. There is no question, the bitch is sexy as hell. Her boobs, her ass, her waist, all are perfectly proportioned. Her complexion is fantastic. 

She must be high caste, Inder thinks. Used to pampering her body with lotions and creams, the best beauty parlors, spas and whatnot. He feels sure of that. But what to do with that?

He sits on a mountain of damning data on so many people, but he still can’t get laid. Well, he supposes he could blackmail one of the women, but would that be fun? What if she laughs at him? He knows his dick is relatively small based on internet searches and porn. But so what? It isn’t the size of the organ, it is how one uses it. And who is to say that men with larger dicks get more pleasure out of sex that those with small ones? 

What he really wants to do is to walk in and take what is his. No questions asked. If he chooses to get a blowjob, that should be a right, not something to be received as charity. Not something he has to beg for. He thinks Swati might be the right one for that. He files away his plan for her. One day…

He logs into the security system to see what the latest shenanigan Swati and Ramesh have gotten up to. He is curious about how Ramesh treats the woman. No touching, just watching. 

There is lust in the man’s eyes, he is sure of it. The cameras in the conference room are high definition, so he can zoom in and see everything. 

Ramesh has done pretty much everything he has asked, no demanded, of him. He has moved the venue from the office to the conference room, he has had her undress fully and do a catwalk for him. The catwalk idea was all Ramesh—Inder had nothing to do with it. He figures Ramesh is no fool, he can be inventive when he wants to. 

But the man is definitely odd.

The screen comes to life in glorious high definition. There is sound too, but they hardly speak most of the time. Just some heavy breathing from what he can tell. Today, the show has taken a little bit of a progression. A show to end all shows, he thinks. 

And then what he sees freezes him in his seat. There is someone outside the conference room, peeking in through the glass wall. 

A man in a chaprasi uniform, but who in the fucking fuck is he?