Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Nikolai, also known as Nakul bhai, sits in his flat, sipping a whiskey with ice. He is a purist, no mixed cocktails for him. He is dressed only in his gold nightgown, open at the front, something he was inspired to buy after watching a movie. 

The two women who are there for the evening are trying their best to get him off. They are women from the brothel the runs, and they know he is the boss, and mean. 

One naked woman kneels between his splayed legs and sucks his cock. His cock too, like the rest of him, is white. There is, in fact, only one patch, the size of a postage stamp around his asshole, that shows his true color--dark brown. Regardless of the color of his member, she has been sucking him a long time, and he is not finding the excitement that is required to make him come. 

His mind is on the picture that Prakash, the stupid guard at the corporate building, has sent. Not even a real guard, just the guy that sits at the garage entrance that in any case has an automated gate and cameras. 

The second woman, also naked, is pushing her tits into his face for his to suck or do whatever he pleases. He fondles the hanging bags of flesh absently and then pushes her away.

“Leave it,” he says to the girl still trying to suck him to completion. 

She takes her mouth off his stiff penis with a pop. “My jaws are getting tired.”

Such insolence! He backhands her, and she falls on her ass, an expression of surprise and hurt on her face. Then she spreads her knees and displays her brown pussy to him. It is shaved and glistening. The inner labia are wattled and darker, and they flop out of her asymmetrically.  

“Would you like this instead?” She coos at him. There is fear behind the expression. Nikolai can tell it is a fake passion. What he would give to get a whore like Swati to do the same thing for him. It would be different. Her passion would be real, he is sure. Her pussy would look prettier, her boobs would be awesome, out of this world. 

He turns away from the girl and tells them both to get out. 

“Go home,” says, feeling magnanimous. “Chutti for today.”

They look  him with huge disbelieving eyes, not sure if this is another of his perverted games.

When they are gone, he pulls out his phone and looks at the naked image of Swati. In it, she is naked, her hands behind her head, her breasts thrust out and ripe as mangoes in season. The nipples are erect and at least half an inch long, if not a whole inch. Nikolai can’t wait to sample them himself. He takes his time, blowing up the image and focusing on each body part in turn. Her midriff is flat and her navel deep. There is some fat on her. Good for holding on to.
Her legs are slightly parted and her shaved pussy is pink, not like the girl from a few moments ago. This is one top class maal. He zooms in, and he can barely see the pixillated inner lips just peeking out, not hanging out obscenely like the girl he has just sent away. He licks his lips.

Nikolai can feel the need, the raw and naked need, and he reaches for the lotion on the table next to him. He alternately fixes his eyes on Swati’s image as he masturbates furiously, his hand a blur of motion. As he spurts his seed, he can see her smile at him and blow him a kiss.

Spent, he still cannot get her out of his mind. 

After a while, he picks up his phone and makes a call.

“Yeah Nawaz? What happened to the video you guys were supposed to make?” He keeps his tone neutral, trying hard not to betray any excitement. He knows this phone call alone might drive up the price, but he is desperate. Nikolai has to have her. 

“Bhai, it will take a few days. The bitch isn’t in town this week.”

“Oh…” Nikolai can taste the bitterness, but he keeps it out of his voice. “Nothing. No hurry. Just that I was low on inventory. Let me know as soon as possible, yeah?”

“Sure Bhai. Will do.”


Nikolai relaxes his strange accent and makes the next call to his contact, this time a real Russian. 

“Alexei?”

“Ramsaran?”

“Yes Alexei,” he says, responding to his real name. The Russian is one of the few people who know his real name, know that because of his skin affliction, he has been passing as a foreigner, a Russian, and using the name Nikolai and affecting his ridiculous accent, but the guy doesn’t mind. That is, as long as Ramsaran keeps supplying him with what he wants. 

“What you got, man?”

“Alexi…my friend, I have a line on a fantastic maal. I will let you know once I have tasted the goods. But I just wanted you to know. Da?” Nikolai has been trying to learn a few real Russian words to give more credence to his fiction.

“Da!" Alexei laughs out loud. "Okay…good. What do you want?”

“Fifty petis now and fifty later.” Ramsaran makes his voice as flat and disinterested as he can, but his heart is thudding in his chest. 

Alexei is not a man to be crossed. The last guy that tried was killed slowly over many days. But before that, he saw his wife packed off to be a prostitute for life. And his son was killed, very slowly, in front of him. No doubt the man regretted his actions, but what was the point? He was dead, his child was dead, and his wife as good as dead. No, he thinks. The value of the lesson was not for the man, but for others. A cautionary tale.

Alexei whistles through his teeth. “That much huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll get it to you in a few days. Better be good, or you know what will happen, yeah?”

“Yeah. Paka.” He doens't say Da svidaniya, a more formal way of saying goodbye. Even Ramsaran, village bumpkin from Lodhpur, Agra district, can learn some new things. 

He hangs up. Opens his phone and looks at his latest sweetheart, Swati again. 

She seems to be grinning at him. And winking.