Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Swati has an out-of-body experience as she kneels on the hard wooden floor. The discomfort, no, pain, in her knees is part of the fun. 

Not everything in sex should always be comfortable. 

Sometimes, the discomfort was part of the enjoyment. 

After all, weren’t pain and pleasure opposite sides of the same coin? 

She has a blindfold now, and there is very little she can see. 

A bit of the floor from the bottom of the band that binds her eyes, but she closes them because she wants to make the most of the deprivation of the sense of sight. 

Despite that, she sees herself as though floating near the ceiling. She sees herself kneeling in front of one of the cots, Inder sitting on it, and she's sucking his cock, her head nestled between his fleshy thighs. And from behind, she can feel Nawaz fumbling with his cock, trying to find the opening of his choice.


“Don’t worry, she’ll take it in any hole. She’s a three hole whore!” Prakash says. 

She knows he is getting his cock sucked in one corner of the room, Parvati naked, cowering, but compliant, playing the role of fluffer girl in this depraved scene. 

Not very different from a porn movie, Swati thinks, but totally Indian in context. Complete with bad lighting, the video would be nowhere near the quality Inder shoots in the conference room with its large lighted space and multiple hi-def cameras, not to mention the sound that he is able to capture with his strategically placed microphones. She can hear the sucking sounds and the occasional gagging that Prakash is eliciting from Paro.

“Yes, I’m a three hole whore! I’ll take your cock in my cunt, my ass, and of course my mouth. Anything for you, Malik!” Swati sticks out her tongue and waggles her ass as though to emphasize the point. 

Of course, because of the blindfold and also because her eyes are shut tight, she can see none of their reactions, but she is sure they appreciate the added layer of depravity, the declaration of pure lust to the situation. 

Inder had shown her his video creations a couple of times—strictly for personal use, he had assured her—and the quality of his videos, she knows, is very good. 

It was almost like he were bragging about his cinematographic prowess rather than showing her the videos as a way to keep her in line. She thinks he might be looking for validation rather than trying to extort her. 

If she is bothered by her unedited face in the videos, she has set that aside, ignoring it, thinking magically perhaps the depraved expressions of lust on her face would keep people from recognizing her if the videos ever became public. 

Somewhere in her rational mind, she knows she will be ruined if those videos ever hit the internet, that perfect copying machine. For all she knows, they might already have. 

But does she not care? 

She has tried to examine her complicated thoughts regarding this, and hasn't reached any conclusion. She doesn’t know what she wants, what is right and moral, but what she does know is she doesn’t want to give this up. These hours, minutes, seconds, are what make her alive and vibrant. 

They make her tingle all over with a joy she thought she had lost forever. And that is a feeling she craves.
 
Just a few minutes ago, she had been bent in half, Prakash hammering away in her ass, and Inder in her mouth. Inder suddenly scooted forward, lifted his bulky legs in the air and around her head, and presented his ball sack to her mouth. 

It wasn't like Swati had never tea bagged someone, so she took his balls into her mouth, exerting gentle pressure on the fragile testicles, eliciting a groan of pleasure from Inder. 

She took care not to let her teeth smash into the soft skin of his perineum, but it was difficult with Prakash banging away at her backdoor. 

Swati put both hands on his inner thighs, separating the rolls of fat and flesh, and pushed her face further into his crotch. His dick was sitting right on her nose, and she tried her best to breathe. The musky smell mixed with a little urine and shit was like an aphrodisiac.

In other circumstances, she would have hated the smells, but in that moment, she reveled in it. And then Inder pushed it up one more notch. 

He pulled his ball sack out of her mouth with a pop, and scooted down even more, presenting her with his asshole. 

Swati pulled back, disgusted. She would never do something so nasty. 

She was okay with anal sex, in fact she now loved it, and had on occasion even done the ass-to-mouth thing with Prakash. 

But Inder? He was a fat slob, and that alone disgusted her. It was bad enough she had to spend several of her lunch hours sucking him off under her own desk, but this was something she drew the line at. 

Nothing happened for a minute, and she stayed there, her mouth inches away from Inder’s asshole, Prakash still pounding away from behind. 

And then Prakash gave her a resounding slap on her ass followed by a breathtaking push-fuck. 

“Lick his ass like he wants, bitch!”

Now there was no choice. 

She tried to rationalize it by thinking how much worse it would have been if Inder was a toilet paper user. At least, Indians used water almost exclusively, and most places now had jets or bidets to wash after taking a dump. 

She tried a tentative sniff, and it seemed okay. She poked her tongue out and touched his anal rim, then, emboldened by Inder’s sharp intake of breath, she poked her tongue out further.

Swati felt something hard and cold at the entrance of her pussy. She reached down with one hand and felt her own vibrator there. Prakash must be giving it to her as a reward, she thought, even as his hand pushed it inside and turned it up all the way. 

Swati’s tongue pushed into Inder’s asshole of its own accord, her body aching with need, with the urgency for release. 

Prakash slammed hard into her, once, twice, and then he started to cum. 

Warm semen coated the inside of her rectum and leaked out beyond the tight seal of asshole and hard cock. Her own orgasm started to build, spreading out from her ass, into her lower belly. 

Simultaneously, Inder spurted his meager seed into her hair and pulled her face into his ass. 

Swati couldn’t breathe. 

For the second time that day, she feared she was going to black out. 

Then Inder pulled away, and she discovered Prakash had pulled out and all that was left was the vibrator buzzing away on max in her cunt. She fell back, an insect on her back, limbs flailing, her orgasm starting to peak. 

Prakash reached down and yanked the vibe out, and that was when her orgasm crescendoed. 

It crashed over her and bore her away, and she lost it, her entire body going into convulsions of pleasure. She was vaguely aware of her thighs quaking, cramping, bent at the knees, her thighs wide open, toes curled. 

Her hips jerked spasmodically, mimicking the action of coitus.

She squirted, stream after stream, of clear fluid. 

And she was lost in the sea of pleasure that had no shore, no island, just the unending waves that she rode over and over and over, a surfer on a loop.