Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Happy New Year, Dear readers. Here is the next installment. The story is slowly drawing to a close as you might imagine. Thanks for sticking with me and Swati, this long..



Swati took a long breath and paused in her story. 

She picked up her drink and took a long sip of the martini, finishing it. 

She waved to the waiter for a repeat. He nodded and disappeared. 


“Wow!” Neetu was awestruck. Her jaw hung open as she took in the story. “All that degradation and humiliation…fucked literally in public, by those low-class people! All those people watching…not to mention the public triple penetration…air tight isn’t it?” 

Neetu shook her head as though in disbelief. Then she narrowed her eyes and looked at Swati sideways. “You get off on it, don’t you? The pain and the humiliation and of course the sex. Most of all, I think it’s the situation, the people, the environment.”

Swati gazed at her friend. She saw understanding there, not judgment. 

She nodded. “You’re right. That’s what I get off on. It is like an addiction now. I went to a swingers' party last year around Christmas, and while it was fun, I always thought something was missing. There were five or six men there and we did everything. In private with one and then two men and then there was an orgy in the kitchen on Christmas Day. There was this huge guy called Baldev who was there with his sister-in-law. He was fucking her because his own brother was gay, and it was a convenient arrangement for them. He brought her to the swingers' party and I suspected from what she said that he might be even pimping her out. It was all great fun, but…”

Neetu nodded. She tilted her head and gazed at Swati, considering. “I wouldn't mind a trial run of something similar. Of course, I understand that every experience will be different. This ain’t no fantasy fulfillment service…but I guess it could be.”

Swati nodded, then shook her head. She was thinking of what had followed that night. “I would go to the chawl crawling on my hands and knees if Prakash called me. I am that far gone. The sex is addictive, like a drug, like heroin I think. Maybe like cocaine. I haven’t done either though.”

Swati closed her eyes as she relived those moments in the chawl, late at night. She spoke, still with her eyes closed. “But you don’t understand. I thought I was in control, but I was wrong. These things take on a life of their own. I don’t really know where things are headed, but I am a little worried.”

After a moment to collect herself, Swati continued her story.

There she was in the chawl, in the lane behind Prakash’s tenement, sitting on one man, his cock in her cunt, another man behind her on his knees, his rampant cock in her ass, and Prakash standing on one side, her head tilted to him, her mouth plugged to the brim with his cock. 

They had been fucking her in all her holes, in and out, creating exquisite feelings, feelings she craved, feelings she could die for and she was a hair’s breadth away from a gargantuan orgasm when all three men stopped moving as though on cue.

Then, her mouth filled with liquid as Prakash started to piss. 

So this was it. 

This was the punishment! The pungent smell of his urine hit her nostrils before her mouth overflowed and flowed down the front of her body. Her throat worked as she tried to swallow as fast as possible to prevent choking.

The heat of the urine warmed her and she welcomed it like a warm blanket in the chilly night. Then she felt more heat in her pelvis as the two men in her cunt and ass started pissing there too. 

Swati felt the humiliation make her face flush as she overflowed piss from her nether fuckholes. 

She simply stopped swallowing the piss that Prakash was hosing into her mouth and sat there, taking the mortification, the indignity, the sheer shame of sitting in front of an audience with her holes plugged and dribbling copious amounts of urine.

She couldn’t even hide her face, red as it was with embarrassment. 

There was no place to hide, nowhere to run, not with all her holes plugged with cock, and held in place with manual bondage. 

Swati was a true three hole where now, in every sense of the word. She wept with the humiliation, but no one saw her tears.

Prakash pulled out and the men pulled out too, one after the other. They stood around her in a loose circle and let the remaining piss flow onto her body as though they were hosing her down.

“All that cum and stuff. We’re doing you a favor washing it all away,” Prakash said.

The other men laughed. One said, “Personal shower, haha!”

“Enough to take a bath if we had a tub!” remarked another.

Swati bent her head as she listened to the barrage of insults and the urine continued to pour down on her. She focused on the runnels of the liquid running down to the drain in the corner of the mori. She tried to ignore the ribald comments the onlookers made. 

There were many women now, it seemed from the voices she heard. Most of them thought she deserved it for being such a whore. Although it must not have lasted more than a few minutes, it seemed endless to her. More men joined in and pissed on her, some spat on her and called her names. 

When the men were done, a few women laid her down on the cold concrete and raised their saris, and pissed on her too. 

They spat on her and called her names. 

It was true, Swati thought, that the women were more vicious than the men. 

She thought they might be a little jealous of her, but she knew she was only deluding herself. Who in their right mind would want to be gang fucked in the open like this and then pissed upon? 

When it ended, Swati lay in a puddle of piss that slowly ebbed as it drained away into the gutter. 

She was no longer warm from the hot piss the people of the chawl had discharged upon her. She was getting cold now.

She felt something cold and metallic on her neck, clinking, and then some conversation. 

“C’mon, lets go get some booze,” Prakash said. 

There was a general murmur of agreement and the men moved out, leaving her alone in the cold night, lying in the mori, chained by the neck like an animal. 

The men all seemed to be fucked out, at least for the time being.

She lay there for what seemed like hours, uncomfortable, getting colder by the minute, until she could no longer feel her fingers or toes. 

She had no clothes to wrap herself in, no rags, nothing she could wrap herself in. 

All that she could reach with the chain around her neck was the mori tap. After a while, she roused herself enough to open the tap. 

A thin stream of cold water flowed out, but it felt warmer than the ambient air, so she tried her best to wash, to rid herself of the stink of piss. 

Then she lay back and waited. 

She wasn’t sure what she waited for, whether it was Prakash, who would most likely subject her to further indignities or someone else who might take pity on her.

Her mind swam as she tried to fixate on the light from the stars and the moon, and at some point, she fell asleep.