Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

“Come, suck my cock,” Nikolai says. 


Swati has just come down from the high of an intense orgasm, and even though she would have liked to curl up in the fetal position on the floor, she is still held in place by Prakash’s dick in her mouth and Nikolai’s in her cunt. 

She can still feel the aftershocks of her pulsing pussy walls, the muscles in her perineum. 

She pushes Prakash away and he doesn’t complain. 

Then she pulls herself off the Russian and turns around, her vision still a little wobbly. 

Nikolai pulls his trousers off, taking care not to let the gun fall to the floor. 

He takes the weapon and places it close to hand and sits down again. 

Swati reaches for his cock and starts sucking.

It is as she had guessed. His cock has been enhanced with small beads under the skin. 

It isn’t a small cock to begin with, but with the additional hardware, it is enormous and she can barely fit her jaws around it. 

She soon tires of the large cock, her jaws aching, and she changes her routine. 

She starts liking up and down his length, long and slow strokes all along the shaft. He seems to like it judging by the appreciative noises he makes. That's really good coming from someone presumably jaded with so much sex that is so easily available. 

She takes his balls, one at a time and sucks on them, noting that he is clean-shaven or perhaps lasered. His whole groin is smooth and soft. 

Like he’s had all the hair there lasered away. She can see nor feel any stubble. And also, there is no bad smell like is usual with these chawl types. 

She lifts his cock and balls and with her eyes closed, tongues the skin between the base of his scrotum and his asshole, the chad, as they call it. 

The Russian lifts both feet off the ground and gives her access. 

She reaches further and experimentally licks the small pucker of his anus. 

She has a vision of him, leaning back in his chair, his legs raised in the air and it feels ridiculous.

“Aaah!” cries the gangster.

Swati’s eyes fly open. 

Had she inadvertently hurt him? 

Or was that a cry of ecstasy? 

Her eyes fall on the target. 

There is a patch of dark brown skin. 

About the size of a postage stamp. 

On his gooch. 

It feels the same, and tastes the same, but there is no question in her mind that is his normal, natural skin color. 

All of a sudden everything falls into place. 

This is no white man. 

Even the odd accent, the strong command of Hindi, but not English, is explained.

Swati pulls her head out from between his legs and looks up. 

Nikolai is looking down at her. Their eyes meet.

She knows. 

He knows that she knows. She can see it in his eyes. The shock, the fear, the sudden pallor.

And she knows that he knows she knows. 

His cover is blown and his days of passing as a foreigner are over. 

Vaguely, she hears Prakash say, “Bitch, I’m selling your ass to him. He’s paying me a lot of money, ten petis! I’m going to be a rich man!” There is glee in his tone and he is practically chortling. 

The words take a few seconds to sink in. She is still in the afterglow of orgasm, and she has just had a major revelation. 

But ten lakhs? Is that all she’s worth? 

Then it hits her. 

Prakash is selling her. 

Like he owns her. 

She is now really a commodity to be bought and sold like a cow or a goat. 

She is well aware of what this might mean. 

They will drag her away by force and sell her somewhere else. She has read articles on human trafficking and human slavery. She has seen the documentaries. 

Possibly a brothel in a different city from where she will find it difficult to escape, or perhaps sold to a rich man in a foreign country. 

She would be a sex slave, to be fucked over and over and over, and worse, until she was reduced to a used-up old hag and then she would be discarded. 

Her dream of only a few weeks ago when she lay half delirious in the cold, shivering and naked in the mori right behind this building would come true. 

Panic builds in her gut to a crescendo and her gorge rises. 

She thinks she might throw up.

She starts to rise, to get some modicum of control over the situation when she sees the white man, no, the not-white man nod at someone behind her.

The next thing she feels is the sting of a needle in her neck and within a few moments everything starts to swim, the floor becomes the ceiling, she floats toward it. 

Everything fades to black.