Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

“Open the zipper,” Prakash demands.


So this is where the actual sex begins, Swati thinks. 

She scoots forward on her knees and her breasts wobble. She looks down on them and sees they are red. There are finger marks on them, and a few red streaks. Superficial abrasions, but they will take a couple of days to go away.

Prakash leans forward just as Swati reaches his zipper. She thinks he means to kiss her, her faces are so close. She is ambivalent about that. Kissing Prakash? With that breath she has already smelled? Nah, but if she must, she will. It is a day of many firsts.

But he doesn’t kiss her. He leans in, and pulls more at her tits, almost as though he is milking a cow, at one point making her scream. She stifles the scream, but a small sound escapes her mouth anyway. Something that sounds more like a moan of pleasure rather than pain.

“See,” he says again to Ramesh seated right behind him. “This is how you do it. Not your pussyfooting around with nanga shows!” 

He sounds triumphant, happy. The anger of a few moments ago is forgotten. Swati welcomes the change in mood. When he was angry, he was so unpredictable and she had feared him. Not that she is comfortable now, but at least it is better he is in a good mood.

He reaches forward and his hand snakes between her breasts and down her belly. She leans forward a little to facilitate his quest which surely is her pussy. He reaches his destination, flicks her clit experimentally, and gives a gratified grunt when she moans. 

Then he roughly fingers her pussy and sweeps his fingers from back to front. The touch makes her shiver and lubricate more. Her arousal is at a peak. Prakash comes away with his fingers coated with her arousal. 

“Oh my God!” He says, inspecting his fingers. So wet! Ramesh Bhai, did I not tell you? This one is a class A whore.”

Swati hangs her head. She is still on her knees in front of this strange man, her face level with his crotch, waiting to give him a blowjob, something she hasn’t done in years, and then not even very well. At least as far as she knows, based on her porn viewing. She is no match for the young porn stars that can fellate a foot long cock literally for hours. 

“What are you waiting for?” He asks in sarcasm. He grabs her by the throat and hisses, spittle flying, “Better do it right, or else…”

Swati nods, and pulls the zipper down. There is a fair sized bulge there, perhaps more than she has expected to find, and she pulls and tugs at the aperture that will allow the cock to emerge. Prakash shifts his hips a little to help her, and then his cock pops into view. 

The head is purple and dark and menacing, the pee hole is yawning, the foreskin pulled back. When he shakes the whole thing loose and out of the aperture, she sees it is respectable, perhaps six or so inches and a nice girth. 

What really bothers her is the odor. It is a mixed, musky smell. Stale urine, sweat mixed in with some body odor. She thinks she might gag, but then she might get punished again and have to suck him off anyway. 

Somehow, he senses her distaste as she sees out of the corner of his eyes, his arm going back, elbow cocking preparatory to delivering a slap. The last slap was good enough reason for her to want to avoid another one. 

He gives her a tap on her face anyway. Just a light one, there isn’t even a sound when he does it, nothing approaching the power of the last one that was fueled by rage. She nods, looks apologetic and uses her hands to widen his fly. 

She hasn’t given head in so long, she has almost forgotten. And then there’s the odor. But gamely, she bends to the task. She tries to breathe through her mouth, something that’s difficult if your tongue is sticking out and your mouth is going to be full of something in short order. 

She licks up and down the shaft and kisses the head. A little clear liquid seeps from the pee hole and she decides it must be his precum. 

She licks it up and Prakash groans and spreads his legs a little more to give her better access.

“Aah!” He says. If he is winking at Ramesh, she can’t see it. She is totally absorbed in her task. 

His hips scooch forward and he falls back in his chair. “No teeth, okay,” he says, his tone now languid.