Misc. Erotica Swati's Downfall (Original Story)

[S Darko]

Swati has her back to the green screen, which means she has her back to the wall. 

If Mahender’s cameras are still going, he can paint in a background of the Grand Canyon or the Burj Khalifa, and this could be an action movie. 

She can see two cameras mounted on tripods set against the two farthest corners of the rectangular room.


She can see clearly now. 

The blackness is gone, as also the swimming vision. 

The dog is sitting calmly on the ground, not looking threatening in the least. 

Ramesh did that. He turned on that 'look' at the beast and it immediately quieted down. Amazing. 

Ramona makes a faint move toward her discarded dress. 

Swati catches her eye and she freezes mid-movement like in a game of statue.

“Go ahead,” Swati says. “Get your clothes on and get out of here.” 

She is aware that the dress is the only piece of clothing Ramona has. 

The poor naked Brazilian woman is probably in sexual servitude to this charlatan of a man. Swati has no idea what Ramona might do if freed from his clutches, but she has other pressing matters to consider.

Ramona pulls the dress over her head in one swift motion and takes a step towards the open trapdoor. She pauses and looks at Swati again, as though to confirm. 

Swati nods. 

Ramesh and Sammy move back just a little so Ramona can step through and leave. She walks down the steps without a backward glance. 

Swati hopes she can find shelter, and perhaps return to her native land. 

“Can I go too?” Mahender says. He looks piteous, tears running down his face. 

Sammy starts laughing at this spectacle. 

“Please, please,” Ramsaran says, his voice wheedling. He is scared to move after Sammy shot Prakash. The latter is still on the ground, applying pressure to his thigh and moaning softly. 

The dog looks at his wound and licks its chops.
 
Swati waves the big gun around, covering the entire room. 

She has decisions to make. She is also aware that this is the worst possible time to make decisions. For one thing, she is definitely impaired. Her vision blurs and she blinks it away. 

Ramesh’s phone rings. 

He pulls it from his pocket with his free hand and answers. 

It is Rashid, the tea seller. Ramesh puts it on speaker.

“Lockdown! Lockdown! The entire country is under lockdown. Modi has locked the country down!” Rashid is screaming. “I have to go. security officer are patrolling everywhere and I have to go home.”

“Rashid Bhai, calm down. This is Bhim colony. The cops won’t get here for a while. Can you see any cops?”

Rashid Bhai says no, there are no cops yet. 

“Don’t worry then. We will be done here soon. I’ll escort you home.”

Swati looks at Ramesh questioningly. 

Ramesh says, “Lockdown, madam.”
She has been expecting a lockdown for days now. Other countries are doing it, and everyone at the office had expected this to come any day. 

Swati had been a little distracted with all the stuff going on in her life, but now she nods. 

Swati points her gun at Prakash, then Ramsaran. 

Mahender, in the meantime, has pissed himself in fear. Since he wasn’t wearing pants, the piss drips to the floor and puddles around his feet. His cock is shriveled and small, his balls not even visible. 

She cocks one hand on her hip, the other holding the gun. “How much would you get if you sold me?” She directs this at Ramsaran. 

“Sorry, sorry…I won’t do anything…sorry madam.” 

This is especially amusing since he has called her a whore and a slut for the past few hours. 

“Madam huh? Madam all of a sudden? How much?” There is steel in Swati’s voice and the gun inches a little closer.

“Uhh…two, maybe three khokas... crores,” he says.

“Motherfucker!” Prakash says from the floor, bitterness clear in his voice. “And you were fobbing me off with a few measly lakhs!”

Swati is gratified to hear the numbers. 

Ramesh says, “You have to make a decision quickly, madam. Don’t worry, I will take care of the consequences.”

It is not very clear to Swati’s still befuddled mind, but she has full faith in Ramesh. 

Especially after the night at the more. 

She nods slowly, briefly looks at Ramesh and her index finger tightens around the trigger. 

She isn’t sure she wants to execute the man in cold blood. 

Can she? 

Will she?

Ramsaran laughs. 

He seems hysterical. 

He points at the gun, slaps his thighs, and laughs. 

To Swati it seems a little forced, and theatrical.

“What?” 

Ramsaran points at the gun again and says, “The safety is on! You can’t shoot me!”

Swati has heard this dialog in a movie, and she isn’t falling for it. 

As though in reaction, she continues to squeeze the trigger. 

As though to prove him wrong. 

Ramsaran’s eyes widen. 

He realizes, she thinks, that his bluff has been called.

“No, wait…” he says, panic lacing his voice.

There is a loud bang. 

Swati closes her eyes involuntarily.

The recoil pitches her to the floor. 

Her chest throbs where her own fist hit her. Her ears ring.

She opens her eyes to see Ramsaran on the floor, clutching his own chest. 

There is red everywhere. 

Everywhere.

Fuck!

Ramsaran’s chest wound is grievous, no question about it. 

It is lethal.

Ramsaran’s gun has done its deadly work, and his faith in 45s is vindicated. 

Swati says above the ringing in her ears, “Revolvers don’t have safeties, bitch.”

Prakash flings himself at Swati, his own thigh wound forgotten. “You fucking crazy bitch! I was going to get money from him!” Prakash’s voice is high, full of rage and frustration. 

His hands find her neck and he squeezes. 

Ramesh hands his gun to Sammy, who is watching the carnage with fascination. 

Swati can feel herself blacking out under Prakash’s powerful stranglehold. 

She can vaguely hear Ramesh saying, “Hold this. I’ll deal with this lowlife.”

The pressure on her throat slowly diminishes. 

Then Prakash's hands fall away. 

She sits up, groggy.

Prakash is in Ramesh’s grip. 

Ramesh has his powerful, muscled arm around Prakash's neck in a chokehold and is squeezing the life out of him. 

Prakash’s legs drum on the wooden floor and his arms flail, failing to find purchase. 

As if in sympathy, there is a gush of blood from his thigh. 

Then he becomes still.

Swati looks about in a daze. 

Ramsaran is lying still, the wound in his chest the size of her palm. 

Blood and gore have spewed from the crater, but there is no more bleeding. 

Prakash too is lying still. A thin trickle of blood from his nostril.

Ramesh slowly rises from the ground and dusts off his clothes. 

He looks at Mahender who is cringing in his corner. “Get out of here and out of town. Never come back.”

Mahender turns to leave, thinks the better of leaving without his trousers, and returns to pick them up. 

Ramesh says, “And take all your camera-shamera with you. And remember one thing. If any of the madam’s videos come online, I will come looking for you. Remember that.”

Mahender nods, finishes doing up his trousers, picks up his cameras and as much equipment as he can carry, and beats a hasty retreat.

Ramesh pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Rashid. “Call the fire brigade in ten minutes.”