Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

It is full dark by the time Prakash and party return to the auto and start for the chawl. 

Swati is grateful for the cover of darkness that will hopefully keep Mrs. Singh from seeing her depart her house clad only in an oversized and colorful towel. The streetlight in front of their houses is broken, and the moon hasn’t yet risen. Very little light bleeds through the windows to let people see what is going on in the street. All this is good because the fiction of someone from the office with work related stuff will wear thin when confronted with her clothing, or rather lack of it when laving the house.


The auto driver, an older man with a white beard, nearly has a heart attack when he sees the two women the men have brought. 

He seems to know Parvati, whom he greets cordially, and when he sees three others, he slides over in his diver’s seat and makes space for her. Swati gets into the rear bench seat together with Prakash and Nizam, sandwiched between them. Prakash holds the large rectangular pizza box.

The last few minutes…or has it been longer? have been a blur. 

Th elast thing she remembers is the blackness,  passing out while Nawaz’ freakish organ was in her throat. 

She doesn’t know how long his cock was in her throat, or even if he came in her esophagus. 

The next thing she does remember is the pimply pizza guy grunting between her legs. The boy hadn’t even bothered to take his pants off, just unzipped the fly. Perhaps he was in a hurry, maybe he felt if he lost any time, he would lose the opportunity altogether.

“What the fuck?” she said when she felt her body being jostled in an all too familiar rhythm. When she opened her eyes, she sees a grinning Prakash and an equally amused Nawaz, the former still getting his cock sucked, the latter all zipped up and ready to leave.

It took her a full minute to realize where she was and what was happening. She was flat on the floor, on the carpet really, of her drawing room, and she could feel the soft fibers of the expensive rug on her bare skin. 

The rest of the memories came rushing back—how Prakash and Nawaz had forced their way into her house and the last memory of the weird and enormous cockhead being forced inch by agonizing inch into her throat. 

She recalls taking it up as a challenge, to try and deep throat Nawaz’ cock, and she isn’t sure if she succeeded. She licks her lips and tastes the salty residue of cum. Yes, he had ejaculated inside her mouth. More likely her throat, and this was only the overflow from what she hadn’t swallowed. Or not been able to.

“Your pizza arrived,” Prakash said, leering at her. Then he put on a sad expression. “But we had no money to pay him, and we went through your pockets…heh, heh, but you had no pockets, so we offered him what we thought was a fair trade.”

Nawaz cracked up at this witticism. It seemed to Swati that Nawaz was a big fan of Prakash. He seemed to hang on every word, find every joke, however stupid, sidesplittingly funny.

Meanwhile, the boy was pumping away at her pussy. She ignored him, still befuddled. 

There was not much sensation down there. She still felt numb, but the boy appeared to be enjoying himself. Like a windfall, he had probably never imagined a chance for an actual fuck, that too with a real live woman, naked and ready and apparently willing. He would probably pay for pizza out of his pocket, but it would be worth it for him. 

The boy grunted, his guttural groans rising to a crescendo. He went rigid, then juddered for a bit, and groaned like he was dying. 

He was done. 

The boy stood, wiped himself on the discarded towel that lay at his feet, and smiled at Prakash with pathetic gratefulness. 

He gave Swati not even a glance. 

Swati thought he looked awfully young, probably not even eighteen. She had no time to register any more than that—just an average kid, probably in high college. She didn’t even notice if his cock was small or large; she was still wrapping her mind around the new reality.

So the pizza guy had come, and she had been offered as payment. How cliché, she thought. The stuff of so many porno movies. 

And here she was in the same situation, and it was her reality. 

Usually though, the pizza guy gets offered a blowjob or a glimpse of naked boobs, sometimes the entire naked woman. With Swati, the fucker had gotten straight to the fucking. 

Lucky guy.

Prakash's phone buzzed agian, and aftera glance at the caller, he slapped Parvati on the face and pulled her by the hair off his cock. “We have to go, bitch! You’re a terrible cocksucker. You should learn from your madam here.”

For some bizarre reason, Swati felt a flush of pride at this backhanded compliment. 

“Come on,” said Prakash, “we have to go to the party! Party! Party!” 

He pulled her to her feet just as his phone started ringing again. Prakash pulled it out, said, “We’ll be there in a minute,” and hung up. 

“But I have to wear something! Let me just go get some clothes on, won’t take a minute,” Swati said.

Prakash kicked at the towel on the floor, and then at her. 

Swati stared at the orange and red and blue beach towel and back at him. Surely he was joking? 

But the set of his face told her otherwise. She had no choice. She picked up the towel and wrapped it around herself, securing it around her chest. It reached her mid-thigh, longer than some mini skirts she had in her closet, stuff she was sure Prakash would surely be delighted to see. And yet, she felt vulnerable and underdressed. 

She followed him barefoot out of the house. 

And so, here they are, five of them squeezed into the auto, in a space meant at most for three. 

She is acutely aware of her nakedness under the towel. It is a thick Turkish towel, but still, only a towel. One tug and it will come off and she will be as naked as the day she was born. 

The driver wears his religion like a badge, the skull cap, the beard without a mustache and kohl in his eyes. His eyes widen when they see her, but he makes no comment.

Prakash begins to chuckle. 

He is talking in general, but Nawaz and to some extent Parvati, understand the context. The old auto driver is simply soaking in this unexpected free entertainment. 

“Did you see how the boy looked when I said instead of money, you can fuck the woman on the floor?”

Nawaz dutifully chuckles.

“And when I started going through my pockets to see if I had any money, how he simply unzipped and jumped on her, hahaha!”

Even Parvati cannot suppress a giggle at the vision, and Swati is the only one that feels left out. Well, she was left out because she was out cold. Pretty good reason. Under other circumstances, she too might find it funny. 

Right now, all she feels is apprehension. She is going to a party with Prakash, clad only in a towel. She can  very well imagine what is going to happen there. 

More likely than not, it is she that will be the main entertainment. She is sure Nawaz, birthday boy that he is, will be there too. Idly, she wonders how the weird cock will feel inside her. 

Inside her pussy. 

Inside her ass. 

The tingle in her cunt that she had started feeling when Nawaz’ cock choked her out, hasn’t been sated by the pimply boy at all, starts up again. Her heart starts going faster, and the fluttery feeling in her stomach is at full intensity. 

She is ready, but also very, very apprehensive. 

She wonders if Ramesh will be there. 

Just a little insurance. 

She is unsure how much he will help if she gets into serious trouble. 

There has never been any open dialog between them, but from time to time, he will step in and make sure she is ok. She always says no problem, she’s ok, even though there have been times when she might have said, “No, I want to stop now.” She wonders what would have happened if she had indeed said those magic words. 

No, those magic words belonged in the porn site. 

They were for the female talent if the men got too rough. This was real life, there was no contract, and Ramesh was, when you got right down to it, an unknown quantity.

And that’s when Prakash reaches across her and hands the pizza box to Nawaz. 

On the way, he casually flicks her towel open. After a brief moment as the towel tries valiantly to cling to the friction that will keep the garment, such as it is, closed, it gives up and falls open. 

The towel puddles to her waist, to the cold seat. 

The cold December air rushes across her bare boobs and her nipples spring to attention immediately.