Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Swati is getting the fucking of her life. 

Even after three orgasms that have left her panting and squirming with pleasure, the fucking hasn’t stopped. 

Whoever it is, dumps what seems to be a copious amount of semen into her. 

He dismounts and turns away from her, but their genitals are still engaged. There seems to be a large knob of some kind in the cock that prevents it from coming out. 


She follows the pull of the cock, her vagina deformed and bulging, crawling backward on all fours, giggling. 

Vaguely she can hear the men laughing, making ribald comments in the background. 

This is fun. 

But also demeaning. 

Humiliating.

The darkness creeps in at the edges, and she wonders how everything went to shit so fast. 

She remembers her dream from when she was chained up at the mori. How fast and how far she had fallen. 

Was this fucking from the dog? The one with the pink socks? Or was it one of the men, or maybe more than one man? She can’t focus her thoughts, but it could’ve been the dog.

Good dog. Yeah, good dog. 

The orgasms are next level now. 

Must be the drug, whatever they injected her with. 

She peaks high, and often and sometimes endlessly. 

There is no equivalent in her life’s experience. 

This is what paradise or heaven must be. 

Endless ecstasy.

Back to the present. 

The cock has withdrawn, and she still has a small orgasm. She can visualize the spasming of her pussy, her whole pelvis, even though her eyes are closed.

She never signed up for being fucked by animals. 

This must be something the not-white man has done. 

She glances over at him in his chair, but he isn’t there. In fact, he is right in her face, grinning like a maniac.

“Good girl,” he says, in a tone very similar to when he’s petted his dog and called it a good dog. 

His pants are off now, and all he wears is a green striped shirt and a jacket. 

He waves his own cock at her, holding it at the base, the large plastic phallus whistling through the air. 

He smacks her face with it, back and forth, and it is like being struck with a rubber baton. Or a huge dildo. 

The bottom of the shirt is parted and his large cock sticks out of the opening like a bizarre mutant fruit from a weird tree. 

“Suck,” he says. “You will fetch quite a price I think. So many skills. But before I sell you, I will have some fun with you.” He considers. “Maybe a week. Or a month or two. Then I’ll sell you. I have a good friend in Dubai…what’s the matter? Suck!”

And she opens her mouth and obligingly sucks. 

Sex has become automatic now. Her body craves it. 

There was something in the injection they gave her, she is sure. 

She has a few lucid moments, and then she sinks back into a helpless sexual quagmire.

She has moments of rage, but soon they are overcome with the cravings of her flesh. 

The sex is so, so good, that she can even intellectualize her sale, her potential sexual slavery.

Who knew, she might end up in Africa, the sex slave for a black man with a really enormous dick. 

She can’t get enough dick.

She lives, she now feels, for cock, to be subjugated by cock. To be endlessly fucked. Over and over.

The trap door crashes open and she only has to turn her head slightly to see who it is. 

She still has the not-white man’s cock in her mouth and he is leaning forward at the hips,  his eyes closed. 

A large man bursts in. 

She has seen him before, earlier today in fact. 

Why, he was the one that brought the dog. 

Her mind pivots. 

She thinks about the trapdoor. 

This is a weird way to design a room—with the entrance in the floor. She’s never thought about this before even though she’s been in this room quite a bit. 

Swati’s vision shifts. 

The man has a gun in his hand. Oh, he has a gun in his hand. Oh shit! He has a gun. But she’s seen guns. Her father had one and taught her to use it. The man who calls himself Nikolai has one, a shiny, big gun. It is right now near the chair, just a few feet away from where he stands. 

Nikolai has stopped thrusting into her mouth. He sees the big man and says, “Sammy? Sammy, what the fuck?”

Sammy doesn’t reply.

A second man follows. 

She knows this one too. 

Oh, look, it’s Ramesh. 

She feels uncontrollable laughter when she realizes it is Ramesh and she falls about giggling. 

The cock slips from her mouth and Nikolai hasn’t even noticed. 

He is too busy being shocked at the sudden appearance of the two men, both brandishing guns. 

Swati sees his eyes dart about furiously, presumably in search of his own weapon. 

Something shifts in Swati’s consciousness, and she looks around the room. 

There are Ramona and Mahender in the corner, and Prakash standing behind Ramona, all clustered together. 

Nikolai, several feet away from them, stands in front of her. To her left is Nikolai’s gun. 

She estimates it to be about five feet away. 

“Raise your hands slowly, all of you,” Sammy says.

Nikolai obeys, and Prakash, Mahender, and Ramona follow suit.

Swati wonders where Nawaz has gone off to.