Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Prakash is speaking, his tone low and measured. He is in no hurry, it seems. 


“You will do everything I tell you to do. From today, I am your master. You will address me as Malik. Is that understood?”
He releases her hair, and she stands in front of him, her hands by her sides, head down. She is trying to understand the implications of what he has said. 

What does ‘do everything’ entail? And she has to call him Malik? Master? Wow, just wow! The gall of the guy.

But there is also a battling feeling. Somewhere…she likes what he is saying, she wants to accept what he is saying, she wants to say yes. She feels her head go up and down in agreement, although she hasn’t yet decided she will say yes. 

Somehow, she feels that verbalizing her agreement is not what he wants. So she nods, her head going up and down, three times. 

Prakash takes a step back and looks at her. She can feel his gaze taking in her nudity, his gaze moving up and down like a laser beam. She wants to cover up, at least her privates, but she can’t. His words seem to have bound her. Her hand still by her side, head down, her pose compliant. 

Prakash seems jubilant. She peeks up at him. He is a large man, bulky, but more fat than muscle, she is sure. Not like Ramesh at all. 

Prakash turns to Ramesh who is still sitting on he chair, seemingly in shock, still fingering her phone.

“See,” he says, “this is how you treat the bitch.”

At the words, she starts to feel wet again. Somehow, his demeaning words only trigger her sexuality. Not her feminist side, the side that would walk up to a guy that wolf whistled at her and slap him, and maybe even pepper spray him. 

His next words are like hammer blows.

“Do you take it in the mouth?”

What does that mean, she thinks. Take what in the mouth? Oh, yes, his cock. She has fellated her once upon a time lover a few times, but he was always in a hurry to get to second base, and besides, neither of them enjoyed it too much. With Ashok, it has been never more than a few preliminary sucks to get him wet, and that too was during the initial days of their marriage. Now, there is no more fellatio, no more blowjobs. 

She shakes her head, eyes still on the floor. Swati’s mind is cleaved into three. Her rational part is yelling, no, screaming at her to run, run, run back to her office, dress and get the fuck out. Maybe on the way call the cops and lodge a complaint about this guy. 

The second part, the realistic one, says, wait, wait and see what happens. You’ll get an opening that you can exploit, but for the time being, you’re over a barrel. 

And then there’s the third part, a part that surprises her because she never knew it even existed. This part wants to kneel at this brute’s feet and suck his cock and do whatever else filthy, depraved thing he wants her to do. 

“Huh?” Prakash seems confused. Perhaps it is mock surprise, she cannot tell.

“You will now,” he says, “and you will love it. You will take it wherever and whenever I tell you to. You will do whatever I tell you, remember?”

Swati trembles a little at his words. They terrify her, but also strangely, excite her. She dreads what is coming, but also can’t wait for it to happen. She has no thought of her life as an IT professional, a wife, a mother, a homemaker.

He steps closer to her and stoops a little to look her in the eye. 

“And because you said no, you will have to be punished. You understand that, right?”

Swati is horrified. She starts to open her mouth and say, no, what the fuck is going on, but the second she raises her head, she sees Prakash’s expression and reconsiders. 

Slowly, she nods, wondering what form this punishment will take.

“Hands behind your back!” Prakash commands.

Swati has a choice. 

She should run now, back to the office, refuse his demands, but so far his demands have been benign, not very much more than what Ramesh wanted. A part of her wants to stay and see this through. A big part looks like, and the part that makes the decisions and calls the shots. 

She complies. Had she been in the army, she might have clicked her heels and saluted with a loud, Sir, yes Sir!

She feels the muscles in her back tighten and the pressure in her chest lessen. The feeling of relief is so great that she stretches more than he has commanded, arching her back more than required, thrusting her tits out at her oppressor. Her head also comes up, just a little.

Prakash chuckles in delight. 

“See, I told you she is a whore! I tell her to put her hands behind her back and she pushes her tits in my face. What a whore!” He is talking to Ramesh, but facing her.

She can see Ramesh now. He wants to say something, and not sure what. She can see the confusion in his face. An innocent he is, she thinks, so naive.

Ramesh finally speaks. “Prakash bhai, we should be sure Swati madam is okay with this.”

“What will she say?” Prakash says derisively. “All she has to say is yes. Isn’t that so, Swati madam?” The last two works are spoken mockingly, in a falsetto, mimicking Ramesh.

Swati stands silently. If she says no, will Ramesh intervene and stop all this? She isn’t sure. She isn’t sure that she wants to stop this, whatever this is. 

She says nothing, just stands in her glorious nakedness, hands clasped behind her back, tits thrust out, legs slightly spread, giving Prakash a glimpse of the inner folds of her cunt. He has not commanded it, yet, instinctively, she knows this is what he wants.

“All you have to do is nod yes,” Prakash says in a loud voice. “Isn’t that so, cunt?”

His profanity comes in Hindi. Swati has led a sheltered life, and used mostly English as her primary language, but the derogatory words in Hindi are clear enough. She may not know what exactly they mean, but she will learn. She is sure what he said is some slang for her private parts, or perhaps what she is—a slut, a whore, a prostitute.

Prakash is waiting for an answer. A moment passes, and then she nods. Tentatively at first, but then she nods firmly. Her mind is made up.

“See!” He says. “She wants this.”

Ramesh seems a little deflated. A moment ago he was ready to play the hero, but now the winds have been taken out of his sails. 

Prakash turns back to her and commands. “Down on your hands and knees. Right now!”

Swati scrambles to obey. 

The carpet fibers are rough on her knees, but she is strong, and this little discomfort is nothing. She is on her hands and knees, facing Prakash, her tits hanging down obscenely, like a cow’s udders waiting for a milking. She is aware she looks trashy, like a slut, a sex slave, but there is a part of her that is reveling in that vision. 

Prakash moves a chair out of the way and steps behind her.