Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

The three men converge on her, a hand pinching her boobs, one caressing her ass, one finger trying to get into her cunt. There is a hand on her tummy, soft and sensuous, not at all like the Prakash she has known in the past. She wonders if this is because of the video they seem to be shooting. 


A vague thought of sexually transmitted diseases crosses her mind. But Grover has tested her, and she thinks Prakash is clean. Inder too. 

Nawaz? He seemed clean enough when she sucked him off. A little ripe, but probably better now with the saliva bath he’s had. Besides, he probably has never been with a girl other than herself, and even that was just pure luck. Why she thinks that, she has no idea even though he clearly has a relationship wtih Paro who is sitting in the corner, trying to disappear.

Nawaz is delighted with the wetness he discovers when he gets his finger into her cunt. 

“Oh my God! She’s so wet!” He addresses the remark to the other two men as though she doesn’t exist. They continue speaking about her like she’s not even there, and that’s fine with her. 

She is used to being treated like a piece of meat, a whore who has no say in anything. And that is part of the allure, the excitement. To be treated like no more than a set of holes and a couple of fun bags to be used as the men wish. 

The feeling of being a professional woman, one who has a brain and needs to be listened to, and taken seriously—that she gets plenty of in the office. The regular office that is. 

She also knows that secretly most men would want her to be a fuck toy rather than their colleague or boss, but there would be no fun in submitting to them. Not that she has, but she knows it would be boring. It would be sex, sure, kind of like what she had at Abhi’s house, but vanilla. If anything, that experience has cemented her likes and dislikes, and she is sure now what she wants.

What she has now—this getting used by low class men in whatever way they want her, with no regard for her comfort or pleasure, this is where the rubber meets the road, where her fantasies lie. 

“Yes, yes, I’m so wet, I need your cocks! I’m so wet just for your cocks. Your lunds. I’m a whore for your cocks. Your marvelous hard and strong cocks. Please, please give them to me!”

Swati is aware she is hamming it up, but then they are shooting a porno, not someplace you associate with realistic dialog. She is proud that there is not one English word in all her dialog. All Hindi.

“I told you she’s a huge slut!” Prakash is delighted that his toy is performing well. “Keep rubbing her there, she gets wetter!” 

He sticks a finger there too to see for himself.

And so she gives herself to the depraved sensuousness of the situation, three pairs of hands roaming her naked skin, touching, pinching, caressing, pushing, rubbing…Parvati sits in one corner of the room like a neglected piece of furniture.

She feels relatively safe and, she thinks, probably immune from recognition after the make up session with Parvati. She too has started thinking of her maid as Paro, just like everyone else calls her. 

Paro has done her eyes in the style of old time Hindi movie heroines, the lipstick a little fuller than normal, suggesting thicker and somehow more sensuous lips. The rouge is also a little differently applied and makes her high cheekbones less prominent. She looks like she has full, apple cheeks instead of the lean cheeks she has in reality.

Prakash has her go through the usual set of questions and answers, and she obliges, informing them she is a slut, a whore, and will take their cocks in any holes, all holes, and would they give it to her please. She bends over, holding her ass cheeks apart, exposing her orifices for their examination. 

The men chuckle, dip their fingers in said holes, and finding her enthusiastically compliant, exchange high fives, Prakash beaming like the owner of a trained seal.

“We’ll fuck her together, you and me,” Prakash says to Nawaz. “I’ll take her ass and you can take her pussy!” They both chuckle while continuing to abuse her with their hands and mouths. 

This, Swati thinks, is s revelation. Here she was thinking about a DP with Prakash, and he has seemingly already thought of it and planned it. In fact, just the way she would have. 

Inder is sucking hungrily on her nipples, leaving red marks. He nips occasionally with his teeth. He takes his mouth off and says, “How about I put my dick in her mouth while you two guys are taking her front and back doors?”

The comment arouses laughter, raucous laughter, and for a moment there is nothing but the sounds of the men yukking it up.

“Ooh! Aah! Oooimaa!” Swati continues to moan and groan at the various hands doing different things to her body. She is not overacting, simply giving free rein to what comes naturally. 

In her mind, she thinks, airtight! Airtight! She has seen it often enough in porno movies, but had not yet considered the possibility of doing it in real life. Now she considers it and feels it would be a great new experience for her.

“It’ll make for a great video for Nakul Bhai,” Nawaz says. 

Inder stiffens. “Who’s Nakul Bhai?” 

No one says anything for a moment. 

Swati moans, trying to get their attention back to her.

Prakash says, “He’s a friend of ours…wanted to watch some video of her.”

“To sell?”

“No, no,” Prakash says, who knows exactly why the firangi wants the video, but chooses to play ignorant. At least he thinks he knows.

Swati hears the exchange and wonders too. 

She decides it is likely that the man, whoever he is, might be a voyeur, but she also conceded there might be more sinister motives. Under other circumstances, she might have thought it through, but she is so turned on, and so horny that she cannot think anymore.

The hands have fallen silent with this revelation, and Swati is feeling bereft. Instead of escalating, the sexual tension, Prakash and company have slacked off. She wants to rebuild it. 

“Fuck me!” She cries, again in Hindi, “don’t talk about Nakul Bhai and Shakul Bhai, just fuck me!”

Prakash turns surprised eyes at her. He usually doesn’t allow her to speak, preferring her to be a silent recipient of his attentions, but from his face, she can tell he thinks this is also pleasant, perhaps a welcome aberration. Then his face relaxes as he remembers what he told her, about the acting and so on. 

He turns to Nawaz and says, “See, how horny this whore is?”

“She speaks Hindi!” 

Nawaz is more surprised at what she said and the language she said it in. This is not the first time she has spoken in Hindi, but this is the first time Nawaz chooses to acknowledge and marvel at it.

“Oh yes, I’ve had to teach the slut, but she learned.”

Swati gives him a half smile, thinking perhaps she will feel him inside her pretty soon, and that she will be more than a match for him. 

She curtsies, her tits bobbing with the movement, and says, “Thank you!” 

She cups her breasts and holds them up like an offering.

“Watch this,” Prakash says. 

With that, he half turns her and half slides behind her. She gasps with the sudden motion, unsteady on her feet on the rough wooden plank floor. 

She is now between Prakash and Nawaz, Inder off to one side, sipping his whiskey and munching on yet another chocolate bar. His face is ferocious in it’s concentration, probably thinking about this Nakul Bhai, or more likely focusing on the taste of his chocolate. 

She hears the rasping sound as Prakash unzips himself, and with a little maneuvering—fingers moving from her pussy to her ass to get some modicum of lubrication—slides his rampant cock into her ass. 

Swati grunts at the intrusion and opens her mouth wide. She is half unprepared for this as the opening salvo, but it is welcome nevertheless. 

“Oh…ooooh…ooi maa!” She screams. It is a genuine scream, not hamming it up for the video.

Nawaz seems taken aback at this relatively sudden move. 

Inder of course,  is taking all this in stride, having seen this many times before, both on video and in person. The only other people who have witnessed this before, Ramesh and Ganesh the chaiw,.', are not there.

Prakash is performing for an audience. 

Swati takes the pounding he is giving her like a champ, her eyes half closed. 

Initially, when all this started, she didn’t like ass fucking much at all, but with time she has grown to love it, and she feels it is on par with cunt fucking. Sometimes maybe even better because she can simultaneously stimulate her cunt. 

Her hand drops to her pussy and she circles her clit slowly.

Nawaz watches intently and says, “Prakash bhai, she is fingering herself! Wow!”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Prakash says, breathless. “Get Paro over her and have her lick the madam’s cunt!”

Swati hears this, and thinks this is a relative overreach for Prakash. She hasn’t ever been involved in a lesbian sex act in front of Prakash, but she isn’t a stranger to it. 

Just a few days ago in Menaka’s kitchen while Baldev was reaming her ass out, Sudha, of the big floppy titties had grabbed her legs and dived into her pussy like a starving animal. The sensations of being filled so much to the brim in the backdoor and the cool wetness that alternately caused pressure and suction on her front end made her come over and over. 

Sudha too was being fucked from behind at the same time, she remembers, probably by Pravin but it might have been one of the other men. 

“Paro! Come here,” Nawaz orders. 

Swati is breathing hard as she is being mercilessly pounded from behind, but she has enough breath to ask Nawaz, “Who… is she… to you?”

“She’s my bitch,” is his succinct answer. He slaps at her wildly wobbling breasts repeatedly as he answers, as though punishing her for daring to ask a question like that. Her wildly flopping tits trun a deep shade of red, further adding to the eroticism of the scene.

Meanwhile Parvati gets up from the bed she will later learn is Ramesh’s, and walks over, her eyes downcast. She is still dressed in only the ill-fitting blouse and petticoat, and Swati can see there is no bra, and probably no panties underneath. 

Nawaz roughly pulls at her blouse but Parvati grabs his hands and says, “let me.” Her voice is gentle and soft. She would rather not get one of her few garments ripped if she can help it. She unhooks the blouse and takes it off. 

Her breasts have very little sag to them and they stand out proudly. Darker than Swati by several shades, her nipples are perky and almost black in the poor lighting. Parvati unties the cord of her petticoat and it puddles around her feel. She picks up both garments and bundles them, throwing them on the bed with her saree. 

No panties.

In the meanwhile, Swati continues to get pounded from behind by Prakash. She and Parvati are the only ones naked in the room. Prakash has only taken his cock out. Otherwise, he stands fully clothed.

“Malik, jor se! Aur jor se!” Swati wails. 

Prakash responds with more athletic hard pounding. He pulls her arms behind her and they spread out like wings. Her knees are going weak and Prakash’s cock in her ass is pretty much all that is keeping her near vertical. He has started to breathe hard by now.

Parvati looks at her with an expression that Swati in her fuck-drunk state cannot understand. 

There is some pity there, she thinks, and perhaps something like apology? Perhaps she feels she has led these men to her door? No such thing is true of course. Parvati was merely an innocent bystander. Maybe not so innocent, being Nawaz’ bitch and all, but relatively so. 

She is definitely not responsible for Swati being sodomized right now. “That ship, baby girl, sailed a long time ago,” Swati thinks.

Paro kneels in front of her and starts licking her pussy like a cat. Bottom to top, then back again. She isn’t very experienced, but Swati cannot fault her. There is too much movement from Prakash’s athletic and enthusiastic movements. 

She groans and moans louder and starts coming. “Aah Paro! Aaaah! Ssssss! Ooooh!”

“See! I told you!” Prakash manages as he pants, breathing through his mouth. 

He slows down, almost stops, and lets Swati hang from the pivot point of his cock. She hangs limp, her arms stretched out behind her, legs quivering. The orgasm slowly washes away, receding, but still there, on a hair trigger. Just a little more will push her over the brink. 

There is heavy breathing all around for the next few minutes. 

Everyone is still, as though in a tableau. 

It is the lull before the storm, the movement into the eye of the storm perhaps, when things are quiet momentarily before picking up again. 

Swati is fuck drunk. She can’t even fathom that just an hour or so ago, she was in her own house, taking a bath. 

And now she is in this filthy chawl, getting fucked by low class people and loving every minute of it.