Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Inder watches Prakash pull the whore’s pussy lips apart. 

They’re so slippery that they slip from his pinch grip of index and forefinger, and he uses one more finger, a thicker grip, and pulls the lips apart. The image in front of him is so obscene, the dark cock in the whore’s ass, the pussy wide open, no, stretched open. Her clit is a throbbing nub of pink flesh at the summit of her cunt lips. 

All of it is wet, drooling cunt juice, her female cum. He feels himself harden again, something that happens only rarely. 


And what is this? 

Ramesh has stepped forward, out of the shadows, and is pulling a large pink something from his pocket. He realizes it is the same dildo that Swati had demoed for Ramesh not so long ago. 

Inder is transfixed. He has no idea what is going to happen next. He has a very good idea what is going to happen next. His thoughts are all over the place, his cock is rampaging, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

Ramesh places the pink dildo at the entrance of her cunt and after a couple of sharp pushes, the bulbous end is swallowed up by the whore’s pussy. And then he starts dabbing at the phone in his other hand.

A double penetration! True it is a cock and a dildo, not two cocks, but a DP nevertheless. 

Something magical happens then, something cataclysmic, something that Inder in all his days of watching hardcore porn has never seen. The images are seared into his retina for as long as he will live.

Prakash is sitting on the conference room table, legs splayed out, with Swati between his legs, facing away from him. She is gagged and blindfolded. Drool leaks thickly from her widely stretched mouth onto her chest and tits. Her body is bent double, her thighs against the outer parts of her chest, the tits obscenely compressed between them. Her knees are bent with Prakash’s hands under them. The effect is that of exposing her nether regions to best advantage. 

And those are spectacular. Her ass is only seen as a tight purple ring, stretched out by Prakash’s large, dark member. In front of that and slightly above is her cunt, her pussy, with the pink stem of the dildo sticking out. And what’s that below her left ass cheek? Inder realizes he has failed to account for her arms which are bound behind her and what he can see are her fingers fluttering under her body, contrasting with Prakash’s dark thigh. 

And everything is shaking. 

Shaking, that is, differently. The dildo is shaking because it is vibrating—Ramesh had turned on the vibrator function, and he can see the thin stem blurred from the movement. 

Swati’s tits are shaking, moving ponderously in twin rolling waves as the pleasure takes her. Prakash is moving in and out of her ass, and Swati’s midsection is, well, there’s no word for it other than spasming. Her whole torso, in fact, is shaking, twisting, juddering. 

This is clearly the dual effect of the ass fucking and the vibrating dildo at her core, and the poor whore is simply out of her mind with the ecstasy of pleasure that the two combined are sending into her body. 

Inder tries to imagine the pleasure the whore is getting out of all this. It seems the harder Prakash pushes her, the more enjoyment she seems to be getting out of this. In fact, he sees her mouth open wider even than the ball gag as she screams in ecstasy. 

Prakash gives a few fitful and hard thrusts, his rhythm off, and then holds himself rigid inside Swati’s ass, and then he begins to shake like some powerful machinery switched on. Inder realized that Prakash is dumping his load into her ass. 

Simultaneously, Ramesh turns up the intensity of the vibrations in Swati’s cunt and she practically leaps off the conference table where her ass partially rests. Both are rigid and quaking simultaneously with their respective orgasms and all Inder can do is watch.

When they disengage, Prakash removes the gag, the blindfold, the zip tie, and the dildo and lays the whore down on the table. The slut is shamelessly lying there with not a stitch of clothing on her, her legs splayed as though she has no control over her body anymore. 

And no wonder, thinks Inder—she has been coming for over ten, maybe fifteen minutes, nonstop like an express train. That kind of thing would take the stuffing out of anyone. 

He zooms in close and sees Prakash’s cum leaking out of her asshole onto the conference table’s burnished mahogany, and wonders if it will leave a stain. 

Her cunt looks raw and bruised, a red gash between her legs, and the darker, inner lips flop down like the petals of some carnivorous flower. He can see faint tremors of her cunt lips and pelvis even though it has been a while that her holes were totally plugged.

Swati’s face is a mess. Her mascara has run everywhere and any lipstick she had on was gone, everything is smeared and covered in saliva. Her eyes are closed, her mouth is slack and drool runs out of one corner of her mouth. A faint, but satisfied moan emanates from her mouth over and over.

Then Prakash rises and pulls over the large decorative dish—a ten or twelve inch diameter ceramic creation designed as a centerpiece, and filled with Hershey’s kisses—toward him and peels open one of the chocolates. He is still breathing a little heavily as he pops one of them into his mouth. 

“What a lifestyle these fuckers have,” he observes idly. “Chocolate at meetings. They must be drinking daaru as well, no?”

Ramesh grunts, and joins him at the table and picks up a piece of chocolate of his own. 

“Chicken drumsticks too, from KFC no doubt,” Prakash continues in his fantastic imagination of what corporate board meetings must be like. “And naked women, like our randi here.” He chuckles, both amused and angry at the injustices a poor man like him has to suffer. No board meetings with naked women and booze and chicken and chocolates for him.

Neither of them pay any attention to Swati, lying naked and spreadeagled on the table just a few feet away. She is still breathing heavily but otherwise seems a little out of it, perhaps still blissed out by her monumental orgasms. 

Prakash picks up another chocolate and unwraps it, and then sits looking at it for a bit. Something seems to spark in his mind and he gets up. 

“Watch this,” he says to Ramesh.

He spreads the whore’s legs and bends her knees and pulls her to him, so her cunt is only a foot or so away from his face. He sniffs at her cunt delicately. He doesnt seem to mind the smell. 

“Don’t move,” he says to Swati, “don’t fucking move.”

Then he stuffs the Hershey’s kiss into her cunt in one smooth motion. It doesn’t look like she even feels it, for all the reaction she gives—just a tiny wiggle of her pelvis. Prakash seems disappointed, and he sits back as though not sure what to do next.

He reaches for the bowl and adds another chocolate, then one more to her cunt. 

He keeps repeating this until her cunt seems stuffed with brown chocolate, most of it melting from her heat and her juices and running down the back of her things and onto the table.

“Look what you did,” Prakash growls. “You’re going to have to clean all this off with your tongue.” He seems delighted with the idea.

Inder can watch no more. 

He hikes up his pants and hurries out, thinking, chocolate, chocolate.