[S Darko]

Swati was aware that she’d been neglecting Dhruv for the past several weeks, and had been depending on Parvati to take the brunt of his rearing, and resolved to do better going forward. What Parvati must think of her, coming home so late in the evening, wasn’t something she wanted to contemplate. 


Ashok had also been unusually busy over the last few months and even missed his favorite T20 cricket matches involving his favorite teams. Perhaps he watched them on his mobile, she thought, or maybe at his floozy’s house. The thought that she too, might be considered a floozy by some yardstick never even entered her mind. 

Regardless, Ashok had been distant and they met usually in the bathroom in the morning while brushing their teeth or getting dressed, situations during which the most meaningful conversations concerned running the household. Or if they wanted to get takeout pizza for Dhruv in the evening. 

Parvati could manage most things. In another life, Parvati might have been a happy homemaker with a corporate husband from the way things ran so smoothly in her care.

Swati and Ashok’s wedding anniversary was coming up, and Ashok suggested they go out for a few days. She took the week off and spent the first couple of days with Dhruv and pampered him, assuaging her guilt. The leaves were falling off the trees and there was a nip in the air, especially in the early mornings and late evenings. Winter was coming, and it promised to be a cold one this year. 

She and Dhruv spent time in the park, took in a movie and had a good old time. Ramesh and her uncharacteristic behavior soon drifted out of the center of her consciousness. But of course, it remained at the edges.

Dhruv would miss a week of college, but Ashok said, what college, he’s five years old and in kindergarten, he can afford to miss some days. So they gave Parvati a week of paid leave and drove to his parents house in Noida. 

They dropped Dhruv off with his grandparents who were happy to have him, and the feeling was reciprocated by their son. They’d already lined up a week of fun activities for them to do. Swati and Ashok then drove off to the vacation resort, a place called Travamigo Farms.

Ashok was loving and attentive most of the time unlike at home. Almost to the point that Swati became a little suspicious of what he planned to do. But by now Swati knew he was having an affair, maybe several affairs and that had diminished her self image of being a desirable woman. Being with Ramesh gave her the required ego boost, and the illicit nature of their relationship, if it could be called that at all, was a further thrill. The fact that he was from a lower caste, a lower social strata only increased that thrill. 

It was a difficult adjustment for Swati as she had grown accustomed to her now weekly fix of “shows” with Ramesh. She had to explain to him that she would be out of town for a week and that their activities could resume the following week. It was also a good test since she needed to leave town occasionally for meetings and conferences and wanted to make sure that the cleaner wasn’t getting clingy, and also to make sure she still had the willpower.

In the last several weeks, sex with Ashok hadn’t changed significantly, but on the few occasions they had made love, Swati had felt cold, insipid and not at all turned on. It wasn’t that Ashok wasn’t trying—he nibbled on her ears, kissed her neck, fingered her and so on, his “A” game, so to speak, but it was weak, not even a patch on the excitement she felt even when fully clothed in Ramesh’s presence. After faking an orgasm, she usually, she had to bring herself off afterwards, in the bathroom with her fingers, stifling her moans. Not that Ashok was listening because he usually fell asleep right after. Gone was the time they cuddled and caressed each other and went a second time.

It was interesting, she thought, that Ramesh had yet to touch her. Would he? With his Hanuman hang-ups and so on, who knew? She was starting to take it on as a challenge to see if she could seduce him, but in the meantime, she would continue to play the game. It was so much fun. And the thrill she felt every time, like she told Neetu, was beyond anything she had experienced before.

The time at the resort was great. She relaxed, drank too much and spent a lot of time by the pool and in it. Her bikini was two piece, and she was secretly proud that at the age of thirty and one child, she could still pull it off. 

Evenings there were shows, and mixing with couples like themselves and on day two, they fell in with a couple from Delhi of similar age and interests. The next day the men, Abhibnav and Ashok, went off for a game of golf, leaving Swati to sleep in and relax. She would get together with Menaka and have a spa time, girl time. 

Menaka was interesting. She was a Telugu girl who had been brought up in Delhi, and behaved more like a Punjabi than a South Indian. Even though Menaka was fair, compared to Swati, she was a few shades darker. But she had a pretty face, Swati allowed. 

Her thoughts drifted to Ramesh as she woke up late. It was ten in the morning and almost time for housekeeping to come in. She sloped toward the bathroom in her underclothes—a loose cut-off t-shirt and panties, which she had decided was decadent enough to sleep in, especially during a vacation. 

In the bathroom, she brushed her hair, removed stray hairs from her face with a tweezer and brushed her teeth. She took her top off and inspected her breasts. They looked large, perhaps overly large, but Ramesh seemed to love them—looking at them that is. 

Ashok, in the early flush of their marriage, couldn’t get enough of them, but now even if she was topless in front of his, he wouldn’t even glance at them. Even if he did, if was a neutral glance, like if he’s looked at her foot or hand. There was no lust there, and certainly no love as far as she could tell. He showed more of a reaction looking at the TV remote she thought wryly. 

She wondered if they would have another child. Perhaps by accident, but probably not by design. She still had time.
As she wandered back into the main suite, there was a knock and a second later, the door swung open. There was a moment of déjà vu as she recalled the time when she had been furiously masturbating and Ramesh had walked in with his cart. 

This time too, there was a uniformed man backing in with a cart and for a nanosecond she thought Ramesh had followed her all the way here. That was crazy even to think about. But this was a different man, and he wasn’t wearing headphones.

There was a long moment as he took in her topless nudity with appreciative eyes, and Swati stood still. Not scared, not outraged, just stood there letting the man get an eyeful. She didn’t reach for a towel, even though one lay within her grasp, nor did she raise her hands to cover her tits. 

Even though the familiar urge to cover up was strong, she resisted, appeared casual, and let her hands dangle by her side. 
The man was dark, thin, and had a skinny mustache, and he spent a long few seconds looking up and down at her body, as though admiring a beautiful painting, before snapping to attention and apologizing. 

“Sorry…ma’am,” he said and started to back up to the door.

What was this place where the housekeepers walked into naked guests, Swati wondered. She smiled at the guy, just like she had at Ramesh so long ago and said, “That’s all right. How about you come back after ten minutes?” 

Again, she made no move to cover herself. She was tingling, and the act of nonchalance she put on was just that. Inside, she was buzzing like a 220 volt current was passing through her body. She felt a gush in her panties and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

The man gave her one more long, lingering and lustful look and then, slowly, reluctantly,  moved out of the room.
Swati toddled on trembling legs to her suitcase and retrieved her G spot stimulator, a special, soft vibrator she inserted into her cunt, and also had a stem that stuck out to stimulate the clitoris. Within seconds, almost as soon as she inserted and started the vibe, she came cataclysmically. 

Damn, she thought as she wiped the device and put it away. She must be an exhibitionist. She had never thought of herself in those terms, preferring not to dwell on labels, but now it was becoming undeniable. She really got off on showing herself to random people. Wait, scratch that; it was some specific people. People like Ramesh and the housekeeper that had wandered in. 

Later, Swati told Menaka while they were both luxuriating in the spa with their eyes covered with cucumber slices and their feet being massaged in hot water by industrious masseuses.

“Oh my God!” cried Menaka, “You were completely naked?”

“No, I was wearing panties, but small ones, you know, bikini type.” She had been wearing a thong that barely covered her pussy, and in the back it was just a string that dipped into her ass-crack, leaving nothing to the imagination. Not always comfortable, but she had worn it for Ashok, and he hadn’t even seen it because he was so drunk.

“Oh my God!” Menaka said again. “I would have died right then and there!”

“Yeah,” said Swati, wondering what kind of excitement Menaka might have in her life. Surely nothing like what she was having. Perhaps a night of sex with Dhruv, all of five minutes of foreplay, followed by five more of thrusting? Yeah, that sounded about right, she thought, giving her new friend a sidelong glance from under the cucumber slice.

Swati thought she might tell her story of her flashing and nude shows to Menaka. Just as a form of catharsis, telling something intimate to a perfect stranger could be a form of therapy, but in the end she decided it could be too risky. 

[S Darko]

Ramesh wandered the streets of Bhim Colony, a slum area of Gurugram, late that night, unable to sleep. He had a few friends there, men who, like him belonged to the shakha. Some of them were wrestlers, and a few of them still practiced at the local akhada where an elderly guruji still taught a steadily diminishing number of students. 

He had met the guruji and touched his feet for blessings. Something and someone familiar in a godless and alien city, he remembered thinking at the time. 


Some days, he would spend in the company of the young men who were busy doing push-ups and squats and swinging the jori. He would help out, sweeping the wrestling pit, working the sacred earth with his hands, grinding the almonds into paste for the wrestlers. 

He would occasionally pick up a few weights, but not in any serious way. Just to keep his hand in, so to speak. Sometimes, he would spar with the younger guys, just so they could get some practice. He was always gentle with them. Had he not been forced to leave his village, he might be competing at the state level in the 65 kg category, but alas it was not to be. 

A few stray dogs trotted by, and he paid them no mind. In one of the tenements, a light came on and a woman’s raucous laughter came through. Then a man’s voice telling her to be quiet. A radio, or perhaps a TV played Hindi songs, somewhere in the background. The smell of cooking--cabbage and potatoes, he thought, wafted up to him. An old man sat on the pavement, smoking a bidi. In the street corner, a eunuch was buying paan from a vendor. 

Bhim colony was full of people just like him, he thought, and that’s why he lived there. The people though had changed from when they’d lived in their villages. They had become worshippers of the almighty rupee. He didn’t hate them, just a low level sort of pity. He had his own demons to wrestle with, and paid not much mind to them.

His thoughts turned, naturally enough, to Swati. He hadn’t seen her for a few days and wasn’t sure when she would be back. He knew though that she would message him on his phone when she returned, they had that much set up by now. They no longer had to depend on his regular schedule of cleaning offices. 

Prakash too, was away and he had the chawl room to himself. A lot of time to think and decide what to do, but the answers were not easy. He had no one to talk to, and he wasn’t sure Prakash was the right person.

Their relationship had changed over the last few months. He knew the whole thing started off as an accident when he barged into her office, believing it to be empty. Her initial bitchy attitude was simply because she hadn’t recognized who he was. He figured the chaprasi uniform was part of the problem. 

Or had their “thing” started the next time when she dressed herself in front of him, giving him an eyeful? He wasn’t sure. 

Many years ago, when he still lived in the village, he had visited a temple, several kilometers away where the donations, and oblations were in the form of liquor. The prasad too, was liquor. People flocked from far and near to pay their respects to the temple deity, a form of Kali. 

He had attended a divine assembly that the head priest there had organized and had been very impressed with the way he explained how liquor, or soma ras, was something the gods themselves used, and had given the recipe to mankind. It was not a bad thing; like everything, in moderation, liquor too had its benefits. He had partaken liberally of the prasad and danced all night with the tantriks and other mendicants around a fire. In the morning, he had felt an exhilaration unlike anything he had felt before. 

It was from one of the tantriks that he heard of another temple, that of Mata Rati, several hundred kilometers away from his village, where the goddess of love was worshipped. The temple was reportedly large and the sevikas were all young women who provided sexual services for free.

Were they prostitutes then? Like the devadasis of old were thought to be?

Not at all, the tantrik replied between puffs of his chilam. They were there of their own free will, and they were highly regarded and worshipped as such. Any man could go there, and his wish would be fulfilled. 

Ramesh was intrigued. The year he turned seventeen, he and a couple of his friends had traveled to the village where the temple was situated. Supposedly, one could not visit the place unless one was invited. The call reportedly came in a dream, and the person had no control but to go there. Of course, the local villagers could visit when they wanted, but there was no advertisement for the temple, no tourism or anything at all.

Ramesh believed he’d received an invitation in his sleep. A Hanuman Bhakt, and a wrestler, he believed it was some incarnation of Sita mata who had invited him there. He could not be sure, of course, and there was no one to ask without fear of being ridiculed. He was not going to go as a common worshipper; rather, he had been called to be the protector, and he went there to receive instructions on what he was to do.

When he got there, a mela, a festival of sorts, was in progress, and he decided to stay as long as he could. The temple was open at all times, and he was able to get a better idea of what went on there. 

The chief of the temple wasn’t an old man, but rather, a beautiful, older woman, perhaps as old as his mother. She wasn’t available, not to anyone, but the others were.

Each more beautiful than the other, there were twenty-one girls that lived and learned in the temple. The girls were considered lucky to be chosen, and they were holy as well. They “donated” their time, a year or so, to the temple Devi and initiated young men into the mysteries of the body. The whole thing had a holy feel to it, a spiritual dimension that Ramesh could not understand very well. 

The girls were later often wed into prominent families in the neighboring villages, and there was quite often a bidding war. A bride price had to be paid to the girl’s parents. This was quite a reversal from the usual dowry system that plagued so much of the country. 

Ramesh sat with the old priestess and talked with her. And learned from her. She invited him to take part in the festivities, to be taken by one of the girls, but he declined. 

His need was of a different kind. He had come to learn the purpose of his life. And, he had decided at that time after his long conversations with the priestess, it was becoming clear. 

He looked down at his hand where the bidi was still smoldering. He tended to smoke when he was stressed, even though he didn’t know that was the term to use. 

Just that his head was spinning. He would have to give it up. He tosses it into the street, walls a few steps and then returns to crush it under his shoe. Fire hazard. With all the wooden and the inflammable materials the shacks around him were made of, it was a real risk. 

And now, he was back to Swati. 

Like a circular argument, he went back and forth if his relationship with Swati madam was of the divine kind or the carnal. Ramesh always thought of her as Swati madam even though Prakash often used derogatory terms for her, like whore and slut, and even more colorful and demeaning terms in Hindi. 

He would have to figure it out soon, he decided. In the meanwhile, the encounters with her were too good to pass up. 

[S Darko]

The next week, after Swati returned, Ramesh made another request. Could she walk from her office to the conference room topless?


Ramesh had started making more requests now. Each time, it was something small, incremental, like an off year iPhone update. But taken together, it was hard to believe that she had made some significant steps, progressions actually, from the day she had, on a whim, literally drawn him a map by looking pointedly at her discarded clothes on the floor next to her chair. 

And each time Ramesh made a tiny request, it seemed reasonable, but still it gave her a little jolt like a shot of Red Bull mixed with a shot of vodka. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and a quick lurch of her heart. She would give herself a heart attack one day, she thought, just from that feeling. 

And she was becoming a junkie for that feeling. Kind of like people who loved roller coasters.
 
After some thought, Swati decided she could walk that walk. And did. The thrill of it almost made her swoon. Things progressed slowly after that. 

After the topless catwalk, during which she lost her footing on her high heels, partly because she wasn’t used to walking like that, and partly because she came hard in the middle of her walk, Ramesh asked for more.

Soon, she was walking topless and bottomless but with her panties on to the conference room. Then, she left her clothes in her office and walked to the conference room, clad only in panties, her high heels and her mangalsutra. 

The next step was inevitable. Ramesh asked to see everything. “Poora dekhna hai, please madam,” he said.

His aspect was so pathetic that Swati was able to justify her acquiescence easily. Poor fellow, she thought, he must never have seen this kind of thing outside of porn. So, it was quite all right, giving him these shows. Again the idea of a sort of social service came to her mind. If giving money or food or clothes or even shelter were all considered charity, why not some nude shows for a person’s sexual health?

The day after, Ramesh asked with his characteristic shyness, “Madam, can you please remove the…um…jungle on there? I can’t see anything.”

Sure enough, Swati, who used to meticulously shave when she was newly married, had neglected to do so in recent years, at least after Dhruv had come along, and let things go a little. 

There is a thatch, sure, maybe not a jungle, but when she looked at herself in the mirror later that night, she could see the truth in what he said. It was definitely a thicket, and one had to have really good lighting and exposure to see her pussy lips and the opening to her cunt. 

For a few moments, she fantasized about letting Ramesh shave her. 

That would be quite a leap! She would bring in her razor and other stuff, sit in her chair and spread her legs. Then she would tell Ramesh to get to it. “Do it however you like,” she would say. 

And he would salivate and kneel between her spread legs, and apply the shaving foam slowly and deliberately, and then shave her smooth in the gentlest way possible. 

She decided to postpone that decision to another day.

[S Darko]

Ramesh could not hide his pleasure at what he saw the next day. He had spent the night in a fever of anticipation, and now the need was too much. It felt like a stone in his bowels, this need to see her, to be in her presence. He wasn’t sure what it was, love or lust or something else entirely.


Prakash was going to return in a couple of days from his village, and even though he would likely be engaged to be married by now, he would no doubt would ask details of what was going on, and reiterate his desire to see the heavenly Swati madam. 

Ramesh thought that perhaps he should lie to his friend this time. Yes, he was loyal to his buddies, but he had started to doubt his friend’s intentions. He wasn’t sure that the innocent exterior that Prakash projected was true. 

And then, at the appointed hour, he knocked and entered her office. 

Swati madam sat naked on her chair, waiting for him. The last several times, she had greeted him like that. She wasn’t afraid that someone else might come through the door, and she had overcome her fear and shyness entirely. 

Like a heroin addict for whom small doses soon become meaningless, he thought. The laptop was open. She had evidently been getting some work done. Or perhaps she had been watching whatever it was she watched, like the very first time. He suspected it was some type of porn, but didn't know anymore.

She stood and he saw she was naked. Both topless and bottomless. 

Naked as the day she was born except for a thin strip of hair that had been trimmed with expertise like an arrow that pointed to the treasures and pleasures that lay below. 

His breath caught and for a few seconds he could not believe what he was seeing. Swati madam, completely naked. She had removed the jungle from below.

Nangi. Nangi. Nangi!

Just like he’d requested. 

Of course, she still wore her mangalsutra, and the high heels. But that only made her more sexy, more powerful and Devi-like in his opinion. 

“Shall we?” She said.

Ramesh nodded. He'd already done a round of the floor and knew there was no one around. 

He walked ahead of her as they skirted the cubicles. It was always a risk, he knew, that someone might be in one of those cubicles and emerge at just the right time. He had done his best to scour the area for stragglers, but there was still a small risk. He knew that, and he knew that Swati madam also knew that. That, he supposed, was the fun, the thrill. The excitement.

She walked up and down the narrow corridor lined on one side by the backs of the beige office chairs along the length of the conference table, and the glass wall on the other side, a width of about six feet. The length was more than twenty feet, perhaps even thirty feet, ample space for a catwalk. Ramesh stood at the very end, arms folded and leaning against the wall, and watched her as she sashayed up and down. 

He watched with delight as her boobs swayed gently from side to side, a testament to their ponderous weight and heft. He watched with rapture as she walked away from him, her earthy hips swaying, her beautiful, rounded buttocks dimpling in and out with each step. The darkness between winking at him with each stride. 

He wanted so touch her boobs, fondle them, heft them in his hands and feel their weight. He wanted to run his hands up and down her flanks, her buttocks. Maybe delve a few fingers into the ultimate treasure, her cunt. He knew the words, he knew how these things worked even though he had no personal experience. 

He clearly saw her pussy lips as she came toward him, smooth shaved, beaded in dewy wetness that became more prominent with each trip she took up and down. The clear fluid dripped down her inner thighs, all the way to the back of her knees. He had noticed this the first few times her panties has become wet, and now he knew what it was. The fluid of her arousal. 

After three such cycles of walking up and down, she stood in front of him, hands on her waist, one hip cocked to the side and let him run his eyes up and down her nude form. 

“Happy now? Khush?”

Her voice was throaty, a little hoarse. Ramesh understood that she was turned on, and it was desire that thickened her throat. But he also knew that there wasn’t anything he could or would do about it. 

That kind of thing was for other people, perhaps that fat slob, Inder.

She had that divine smile on her face, with the dimples, and he was breathless and tongue-tied, and he simultaneously wanted to fall on her and…he didn’t know what, but also he wanted to fall at her feet and worship her, run his tongue up and down her body in homage, to pleasure her, just like the pleasure she had given him. 

But, his mind screamed at him, that would be wrong! Wrong! Forbidden! And all he could do was nod.


A few days passed. 

She was now walking naked from her office to the conference room. At first she’d carried her clothes with her, but later, as she gained confidence in his sweep of the office, she left the clothes behind. Why bother when she was going to undress and dress in her office anyway?

The thrill of doing this a couple times a week was what Ramesh lived for, and from what he could tell, Swati madam too wanted to do it equally. She got as much pleasure from exposing herself to him as he did from watching her. He thought of the two of them as partners in this game. A game that he knew was getting more dangerous with time. 

The fat man, he knew, was watching from somewhere. Ramesh didn’t know where exactly the cameras were but her knew they were there, for why else would Inder have told him to move the venue to the conference room. In his mind, it was a good thing that Swati madam hadn’t realized it, but he still felt bad for the deception. 

He had no idea what Inder was getting out of this. Perhaps, he too liked to watch. Remotely, maybe on a television screen, and maybe he recorded it and made videos and sent them out on the internet with the faces blurred. He had no idea. 

So far, Inder had not even spoken to him for weeks. He had brought Swati madam to the conference room and slowly escalated the game, but nothing more had come from the fat IT guy’s end. Perhaps he had forgotten, perhaps the fat man had simply died of a heart attack—fat people sometimes did. 

And then, that day, as she was putting on her kameez, her head still covered by the cloth, he made his next request.

When her head emerged finally, she looked shocked, and the color rose to her cheeks. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then she looked like she had made a decision. She nodded, a slow up and down of her head.

[S Darko]

Prakash sat thinking on the bus back to Gurugram. 

It was a good seven-hour overnight journey including stops, and he had a while to think. His companion, a fat man that smelled of goats, was fast asleep and his head kept slipping don on his shoulder. He had nudged the guy several times, and each time the man would wake, look groggily here and there and go right back to sleep. Couldn’t blame him. It was nighttime after all. 

But Prakash had things on his mind.


This Ramesh business was intriguing to him, and he wondered how to take advantage of the situation. Ramesh was a fool, he knew, a village idiot who had no sexual experience and going about with his pictures of Hanuman and celibacy and on and on until his head hurt. 

He had to pretend to like the fellow—they were from nearby villages and therefore brothers, but it only extended so far. In the city, it was every man for himself.

Take this Swati madam for example. It had been weeks since their little dalliance, if one could call it that, had started. If it was him, Prakash, he would have taken control of the situation and grabbed her by the hair and taken her then and there. Maybe not the first time, but the second or third time, sure. 

But here he was, listening to the fool go on about how beautiful the woman was. God, do something with the bitch already!

In his imagination, the things he could do with such a beauty as Ramesh described were legion. He would fuck her, in every position possible, have her blow him, titty fuck her like in the videos he had seen. He could do other things, he thought. 

Pimping her out in Bhim colony to the poor folks for mere rupees was one of the options, just to humiliate her, lord it over her, but to be able to control someone like that! The feeling was too heady. Too much yaar, he told himself. 

He could fuck her ass, a long time fantasy of his, something the whores he visited wouldn’t let him do, but maybe they wanted more money. He wasn’t sure about that, because he was always on a tight budget. Perhaps for the right amount of money…

He thought about some high and mighty ladies that parked in the garage and wondered if Swati was one of them. Perhaps the bitchy woman who dropped her keys and stood there waiting for him to come out of his kiosk and pick them up for her? 

Or could it be the one that always wore sunglasses and expected him to clean off the bird shit on her windshield for free? 

Or the young lady that ignored him as though he didn’t exist even though he saluted her every time she came in or left? 

Perhaps it was the one who had said, “Diwali bonus? Don’t you get a salary for doing your job?” He was dumbstruck. What was a few hundred rupees to her? 

And his resentment grew for all the entitled fuckers that lived in this city.

Yeah, he hoped it was one of them. He would enjoy humiliating any one of them,for sure. He would love to fuck them senseless, to beat them and enjoy the pain he inflicted on them. His grin was savage in the dark of the night.

He would talk to Nawaz, the third, and mostly absent roommate. 

So far, Nawaz knew nothing about this whole affair, but perhaps it was time to bring him in. He knew Nawaz was connected and had fingers in many pies. Perhaps he had mob connections. He knew for sure that Nawaz had connections in the red-light district, and he suspected the man might be involved in extortion. 

As far as he knew, Nawaz had no real job, like he and Ramesh did. It was a mystery why Nawaz continued to rent the chawl together with them when he hardly spent any time there. Regardless, Nawaz would know what could be done with this madam. 

He had asked to be part of theSwati madam deal, but Ramesh had refused. He asked at least see her, even if it was outside the office, just point her out, so he could see who the woman was, but that too was denied. 

There were over a hundred women that worked in the building, maybe two hundred, maybe even more. He couldn’t even be sure if the woman Ramesh was “seeing” even parked in his garage. 

He could not go into the building without Ramesh because his card would not let him access the main building. Every damn thing here was carefully controlled by card access. That fucking fool, Ramesh had access to practically the whole place, and he, the watchman in the garage could only go to specific places.

But last week that had changed. 

A man had driven in, talking loudly on his cellphone, and swiped his card to enter the garage. As he went through, he dropped his card, but the phone conversation was apparently so engaging that he did not notice. Prakash watched the whole thing from his glass enclosed kiosk and rose to pick it up. 

The door was on the exit side. By the time he had gone around and picked it up, the man had already driven away, still talking on the phone.

Prakash dropped the card with its little plastic cover into his pocket. 

Later, when he was sure he was alone, he’d looked at it. Systems Engineer, it said, below the name of the guy, Prashant Kakkar, but that didn’t tell him anything. 

The title suggested a senior post, especially the way he’d been talking on the phone and the imperious way he’d driven through, not caring about the card. From the car too, a shiny and expensive looking one, the guy looked important. 

Prakash would try the card and see if it would let him access the building. He had no time that day and besides he had to return to his village because his father had deemed it so. 

He wondered how that Kakkar guy had gotten into the building, but perhaps he had some other form of access. Maybe he called security and they gave him a new card. Big people could get things done, and very quickly, he knew.

There was a girl in the village his family wanted him to look at, and knowing his father, the alliance was probably already a done deal and his acquiescence was merely a formality. At least that’s how it had gone for his two elder brothers. Perhaps he, by virtue of his city job, could rebel? Hmm. Something to think about. 

The village felt great, and after he got off the bus, he took in great lungfuls of unpolluted air. Sure, there was the odor of cowdung, and freshly cut wheat, but at least it was natural and unpolluted. 

His homecoming was great. They all doted on him, fed him all kinds of stuff, made a big fuss over him. His two brothers were cordial enough. But there was as a wariness in their eyes. He had escaped the drudgery of the village, and they had not. 

Prakash had shrugged it off. For one thing, life in the city wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and besides, he had other things to think about.

They had to make a journey by bus and then by bullock cart to the neighboring village, everyone dressed in their finest clothes. He was wearing his only pair of jeans and a full sleeve shirt buttoned to the top, and a cheap pair of dark glasses that said Ray-Ban on the lens, but he knew it was fake, although no one else did. 

The girl wasn’t bad looking, he had to admit, but he’d told his mother after they returned, that he didn't want to marry her. It wasn’t the girl. She was okay, but he had other things going on. He had a career to establish, he needed to make a fortune first. He wasn’t in the mood to get married yet. Prakash was only twenty-three, too young by city standards to be married. 

His father had learned of his refusal from his mother, who tried to soften Prakash’s words. She was the peacemaker in the family, and she tried hard, but it didn’t work. His father had raged at him the next day, and his mother had stood at the entrance to the dark kitchen, wringing her hands. 

As the youngest boy, he was her darling. His two brothers were no help. Instead, they stood by, smirking. After all your shenanigans, you have finally been called to account, their looks seemed to say. 

The next few days were spent in a Cold War, and he avoided everyone except his mother. She was nice, but ultimately useless. His two sisters-in-law tried to talk him into the alliance. But he was adamant. 

He stayed away, hanging out with his friends, those he could find anyway, and returned home only for meals. And then it was time to return to work. He had the morning shift, ending at five in the evening. Prakash knew he should sleep, at least a little, for it wouldn’t do to be caught snoozing in the kiosk, but his thoughts were racing. 

He fingered the access card in his pocket.

The possibility that the computerized access on the card could have been revoked in the week that had passed by hadn’t occurred to him.

[S Darko]

Inder logs into his Incel forum and asks a question: “I have a bitch here that loves exhibiting herself and teasing lower class men. What can I do with her?”


The answers start coming in thick and fast. 

Almost all of them want to fuck the bitch senseless and then kill her, some in inventive ways. Her head should be cut off and mounted on the crossroads as a deterrent to other conniving bitches who flaunted their sexuality, one says. 

Another opines that she should be tied to a pole in the street, and every passer-by should be allowed to fuck her in any hole they please and then when everyone is satisfied, she should be shot. Or perhaps she should be skinned alive. 

Inder closes his laptop, deep in thought. He turned forty the week before and has never had sex. Not with a woman, at least. Does his hand count? 

It isn’t for lack of trying to get a woman, and people who point out that he is fat are simply jealous of his intellect. His voyeurism is not a coping mechanism, it is simply a way to get even with the people who make fun of him. Yes, that is what it is.
 
He has watched, with interest and a tumescent dick, the goings-on in the conference room. Swati has progressively undressed and given further shows, and it has all been very titillating. There is no question, the bitch is sexy as hell. Her boobs, her ass, her waist, all are perfectly proportioned. Her complexion is fantastic. 

She must be high caste, Inder thinks. Used to pampering her body with lotions and creams, the best beauty parlors, spas and whatnot. He feels sure of that. But what to do with that?

He sits on a mountain of damning data on so many people, but he still can’t get laid. Well, he supposes he could blackmail one of the women, but would that be fun? What if she laughs at him? He knows his dick is relatively small based on internet searches and porn. But so what? It isn’t the size of the organ, it is how one uses it. And who is to say that men with larger dicks get more pleasure out of sex that those with small ones? 

What he really wants to do is to walk in and take what is his. No questions asked. If he chooses to get a blowjob, that should be a right, not something to be received as charity. Not something he has to beg for. He thinks Swati might be the right one for that. He files away his plan for her. One day…

He logs into the security system to see what the latest shenanigan Swati and Ramesh have gotten up to. He is curious about how Ramesh treats the woman. No touching, just watching. 

There is lust in the man’s eyes, he is sure of it. The cameras in the conference room are high definition, so he can zoom in and see everything. 

Ramesh has done pretty much everything he has asked, no demanded, of him. He has moved the venue from the office to the conference room, he has had her undress fully and do a catwalk for him. The catwalk idea was all Ramesh—Inder had nothing to do with it. He figures Ramesh is no fool, he can be inventive when he wants to. 

But the man is definitely odd.

The screen comes to life in glorious high definition. There is sound too, but they hardly speak most of the time. Just some heavy breathing from what he can tell. Today, the show has taken a little bit of a progression. A show to end all shows, he thinks. 

And then what he sees freezes him in his seat. There is someone outside the conference room, peeking in through the glass wall. 

A man in a chaprasi uniform, but who in the fucking fuck is he?

[S Darko]

Swati thought long and hard about Ramesh’s latest request. It was logical when she thought about it, but there was the big question: was it too much? There was exhibitionism and then there was shameless exhibitionism. 


Was she crossing a line? Was there even a line in this game she was playing? After all, she had fantasized about Ramesh shaving her, him fucking her—especially since Neetu had planted the image in her head, so this wasn’t that much in the scheme of things, was it?

Briefly, she thought of herself on the conference room table, her legs bent, feet near her ears, as Ramesh plowed into her furiously with his hopefully large tool. She didn't have a particular fetish for large penises, but somehow she thought Ramesh would have a big tool. Something about his build, his whip-like body, his stillness, and his economy of movement.

The last time, after her nude catwalk, and she was putting on her kameez—she wore her panties first, then the salwar, and then her bra, and finally the kameez, giving him the longest time to look at her tits. Tits he was evidently fascinated with. 
Her head was still in the kameez—a tight one today—and her head was covered with it, when he spoke.

“Madam, that gulabi thing…”

What gualbi thing? She tried to think what he might be referring to and then it clicked. He was asking about her vibrator dildo. 

She blushed as realization dawned. Oh God, she thought. He’s asking about the vibrator. How to answer this? She could pretend it was something else, something not related to sex. But she thought he knew what it was. At least from the way he asked about it. At least he had some idea. His next words confirmed it.

She wriggled her head out of the dress, and took her time smoothing it over her was it. Then, she slowly raised her head and looked at him. 

“Can you show me how you use it?” His tone, as always, was deferential. A plea, a small, insignificant request. It was nothing. 

The thing, whatever one wanted to call it, with Ramesh had been going on for a couple of months at that point, and she had progressed from shy exhibitionism to full nude catwalks in that time. 

She had shaved her bush in a classy strip with an arrow at the end that pointed to her clit. 

She’d had an enjoyable time shaving. The act itself felt so forbidden and shameless, and slut-like. She got the tingles even thinking about it. 

She had waited for a good moment when she would be alone at home and then used her trimmer to cut it down. Carefully, oh so carefully she because she didn’t want any cuts. 

She remembered fantasizing about letting Ramesh do the honors, but in the end she decided that it would be too much, too soon. 

Besides, that would involve touching her, and that was something he hadn’t done yet. She wondered if he would ever touch her. Part of his hands-off approach why she felt so safe with him. It was kind of the safety women felt with their gay friends. But Ramesh wasn’t gay, was he? At least not from the reactions he gave when she stripped for him. Hmm, bisexual? 

Maybe…or perhaps he was one of those people that liked to watch only, like the character she had once seen in a movie.

By the time she was down to stubble, she was so wet, she needed a release like she never had to before. She had to masturbate in the tub, furiously jamming her fingers in and stroking her clit with the other hand. She wished she’s thought to bring one of her dildos home for this, but what if Ashok discovered them? Much safer to leave them at the office, in her locked desk drawer. She was the only one that had the keys.

Ashok was out of town for a few days as he seemed to be more and more. Hopefully he was having a good time with his buddies, drinking and playing golf or whatever. Perhaps getting a nice blowjob from one of his floozies. She had found some receipts in his pants pocket that confirmed that he was going out for dates with women, probably escorts, she supposed. 

If it was a business dinner, he’s have paid with his business cars. This was on his personal card. And it wasn’t the first time. But she didn’t mind it. She was having her own version of sexual fun outside of marriage.  

Dhruv was asleep in his bedroom, and she had given Parvati the evening off. She wondered if she was getting some illicit sex too. She was young, and even though married, her husband had a night job and she visited him only once a week or so. 

Yes, she decided, Parvati was probably getting it on with some young guy. Perhaps someone from the village, just like Ramesh. Who was she to judge?

She trimmed and shaped the stubble, her tongue poking into her cheek in concentration, careful not to cut herself, until just a strip remained. The rest was shaved away, leaving a smooth, glistening cunt. Pure cunt, she thought.

Her inner labia hung out slightly, a little like the wattle of a rooster, but not too much. It gave her pussy a mature, but inviting look. A cunt that had seen some milage, but not driven into the ground. Like a car with a few thousand miles on it. 

Her outer lips glistened in the overhead lights of the bathroom. She wiped it down with a wet wipe. It looks pleasant, inviting and sexy. Ramesh would like that, she thought. On a whim, she took a selfie, only of her private parts, no face. Perhaps she would show it to Ramesh next time. Perhaps not. 

Then, again on a whim, she trimmed and shaved the lower end of the strip into an arrow. The thought that Ramesh would be excited sent a thrill into her body and she lay back and got herself off once more.

The show she gave him the next time was something out of a porn movie. As she walked up and down the corridor in the conference room, she found herself getting wetter and wetter. She’s put an extra swing in her hips. She’s thrust out her tits more and in the end, she had spread her legs a little, not too much, but just enough so the wetness between her legs was evident. She was turned on beyond belief.

She had asked him if he was happy. His expression had said it all. He was happy. Oh yes, fuck, he was happy. 

But still no touching. 

And then, later, he wanted more. 

She knew he wanted more, but not the direction the request would take.

She thought a long moment. There were no barriers between them. Not anymore. 

She would give him a live demo. She decided she would do it. Not that day, of course. She had to think about it a little more and get her nerve up. So to speak. 

Next time. 

[S Darko]

Thanks all for the encouraging words. Any ideas, as I have said before can still be incorporated in the story of it fits. The story is not written completely although I have a general idea where it is going.

[S Darko]

They were in the conference room. 

She did her stark naked catwalk a few times as Ramesh watched, swinging her hips from side to side, giving it a little extra oomph, and oozing smoldering sexiness. She was more naked than naked with the shaved cunt. The strip of hair gave her the look of maturity, but also a clean look. Not like a completely bald cunt like a child’s. 


Her tits were swinging freely with her motions and her nipples stuck out from them like pumpkin stalks, Ramesh thought, his similes and metaphors always connected to the village and farming. 

Then she took a chair and sat down facing him.

Ramesh only made a request once. He never repeated himself. It was up to her to fulfill his request or not. So far, she had fulfilled every request. Now it was time for her to fulfill the next one.

They looked at each other in a moment of pregnant silence. Her eyes were playful, his questioning, anticipating. 

When he thought he could bear it no longer, she spoke.

“It’s in the second drawer on the left,” she said, and batted her eyes. “Go, get it. Also, get my phone.”

Ramesh immediately understood what she was referring to. 

He turned and left. Back to her office alone. The journey felt long; her office was across the way and he had to pass the whole forest of cubicles in between. It feel strange to be walking to her office without her although he had no concerns leaving her stark naked and alone in the huge conference room. 

He felt giddy with excitement as he opened the second drawer. 

There it was! The gulabi thing he had wondered about for so long. It was curved and looked like banana but skinny in the middle. It was soft and pliant and flexible. There were a couple of knob like things, perhaps buttons, on the narrow end of the device. There looked like a charging port like he had on his phone. The device was probably battery operated. He didn’t know what one might do with it, but he had a vague idea. 

He looked through the other things in the drawer, just out of curiosity. What kind of things could Swati madam hide away in a locked drawer in her office? 

There are a couple of penis shaped things he could easily recognize. They came complete with fake testicles. And then there are a few others that look more like flashlights, and one with a large mobile knob on the end. There is a yellow rubber ball, smaller than a cricket ball, but attached with straps that he cannot fathom a use for. 

No matter, she will show him. All in good time.

For now, it was the pink device he was interested in. He shouldn’t tarry anymore. He needed to return to her. She was going to show him what it was and how it worked.

He returned to the conference room with both the pink device and the phone. 

She was still sitting there on a chair, like she was at a board meeting, completely unselfconscious that she was stark naked. 

He marveled at that. The self composure she had. 

He stood a moment, and openly ogled her tits, and the rest of her naked body. He could see the beginning of the pubic strip of hair that, at its lower end was with an arrow at its lower end. The arrow was hidden between her closed thighs, but she would separate them if he asked. And he knew she wouldn’t mind. It was as if her bounty was there to be shared with him, and for that he was grateful. 

She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling, and took the phone in her hand. She indicated he  should hold on to the gulabi thing, so he did. What was it? A massager of some kind? Would she put it on her cunt and…would that do something? He wasn’t certain.

Swati madam opened her phone and did something on it, and the fat end of the device started buzzing in his hand, like his phone when he put it on silent, but stronger. He almost dropped it from the shock of it coming to life. She did something on the phone and the buzzing grew more powerful, and his hand could hardly contain it. There was a low buzzing sound from the device.

She touched the screen of her phone and the buzzing slowed down and then stopped. 

She looked him in the eye, her eyebrows raised, and said, “Understand?”

He nodded, then shook his head, no. He both understood and didn’t. It was a massager, and he had figured out it was to be placed on her cunt and the vibrations would give her pleasure. Right? He wasn’t sure.

She shook her head and held out her hand for the device. She took it and handed him the phone. 

There was an app open on the screen with a simple on/off button, and three sliders. He could read them—it would take a while, and it wouldn’t necessarily make sense, but that didn’t matter. 

She would show him if necessary. His hands shook a little with excitement.

[S Darko]

Swati took the vibrator from Ramesh and sat up straight. 

She pulled two more chairs to each side and placed her feet on them, spreading her thighs, knees bent, and giving him a peek of the pink—her cunt lips were spread, and the moisture glistened on the outer lips when she glanced down. The slit was faintly open, giving a tantalizing glimpse of the pink heaven inside.


She saw his eyes widen as she took the fat end of the vibe and swiped it up and down her slit. Then, she started inserting it into her cunt. Normally, she would use some water based lube that was easy to clean up later, but today she was so turned on, there was no need. She kept her eyes on Ramesh’s face. His eyes were riveted on her actions, and his emotions revealed in the expressions that flitted across his face. 

She was right. He had never seen anything like this before. A virgin, she supposed, not merely in having sex, but also in any knowledge about the various paraphilias that accompanied the new tech-driven sex industry.

She separated her labia with one hand and slowly pushed it in. It took a little wiggling despite the copious lubrication she naturally provided, but even so, she gasped as the large head slipped past the outer lips and separated the inner lips. Her arousal was strong and her secretions think and almost like the silicone lube she used. She gasped at the coldness of the plastic as it slipped between the lips into the introitus. 

Then she gritted her teeth and pushed it inside. It was always a little painful when it slipped in the first time. A few seconds, and it would warm up and not hurt anymore. It wasn’t really pain she felt though, it was more of a stretching, a widening of tissues and slow accommodation.

She felt like a cam girl, showing off her skills with the vibrator. She had seen such videos before—they tended to pop up when you surfed porn on the internet, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. You clicked on something, and the next thing you knew was a naked girl with big boobs and a vibrator in her pussy, pleasing herself. Usually there was a panel on one side where people made comments and paid tributes to the girl. The only thing missing was a soundtrack, usually a racy techno beat or some pop song played on a loop.

The dildo was silent as she accommodated it’s girth. The fat head of the device disappeared quickly inside her, like a snake gulping down a mouse with only the tail remaining outside. Once it slipped inside, all that remained outside was the narrow stalk and the bulbous smaller head of the vibrator. 

She nodded to Ramesh. Ramesh immediately turned to the app on her phone and hit the power button. Not so stupid after all, she thought as the rumblings began deep inside her pussy. 

“Unhhh,” she said, a moan, but soft. 

Ramesh looked at her, and his face reflected the realization and understanding that the vibrations he’d felt in his hand were now going on inside her body. 

“Aaaaaah….unhhhhsss,” she moaned, a little louder now. 

She smiled coquettish smile, her dimples on full display. Ramesh smiled back, his teeth showing. How cute he looked, and so serious, despite the smile, she thought.

Ramesh played with the remote app, increasing and decreasing the intensity, the cadence and rhythm of the vibrator and adjusted it based on her reactions, her small moans, silent screams, and heavy breathing. 

“Aaaah,” she went, then “Ooohhhhh,” and “Oooi maaa!” Then he turned the vibrations up. Ramesh was having the time of his life. Never had he felt so much in control, so powerful. 

He walked across the room, testing the range of the device. Swati wanted to tell him that the device had short range bluetooth but also was distance independent and could be controlled though wifi. But that would be some other day.

Meanwhile, Ramesh was having fun. He would get her all hot and bothered and get her to the edge and then back off , still keeping the vibrations going. He was edging her, something that only experts knew how to do, and yet he was doing it apparently without effort even though he knew nothing about sex in the broad context of things. 

She lay back, her ass at the edge of the chair, her position eerily reminiscent of the very first day when Ramesh had barged in on her. She closed her eyes, enjoying the stimulation of her G spot. The vibrations made her inner lips quiver and flap a little, and Ramesh seemed to take huge enjoyment in watching that. She took the narrow bulbous end and held it against her clit and the vibrations gave her a jolt of excitement. 

She thought she would have much preferred a hard cock pistoning in and out of her cunt, but the vibe was pretty good.

She slid her ass further to the edge of the seat, her ass now hanging off. She was now supported on her lower back. She spread her legs more on the two supporting chairs. Her pelvis made faint fucking motions in the air which Ramesh no doubt found erotic. 

She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensations. 

She was close, provided Ramesh didn’t prolong the torture and edge her again this time. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the big O closed in on her.

The conference door opened with a loud click.

[S Darko]

Bro love the story till. Now waiting for some bdsm and Dom/sub elements. And moments with fat it guy.

Indeed. Things are going to change soon...

[S Darko]

Prakash decides it is time. 

He has waited long enough. It is after six in the evening, and the garage is almost empty. Just a few stragglers left, no doubt  burning the midnight oil in the office, the poor schmucks.


He is feeling tired, but also angry. It has been over thirty-six hours, perhaps more, since he last slept. He is still angry and resentful about the way his father and brothers have treated him. His thoughts have been churning, and if he slept at all, it must’ve been no more than a few minutes here and there on the bus. 

Now, all he can think about is his next steps. Swati. 

He had retuned to the chawl in the morning, from the bus stand, changed into his uniform and headed straight to work. Management is very strict with attendance. 

The day has been a drag, not that sitting in a kiosk all day is exactly fun. It is all he has been able to do to stay awake. There have been a couple of times when he’s had to do something, exit his kiosk and help people, but he hardly remembers any details. 

But now, it is end of shift and he has had enough. He is feeling more awake after a cup of tea that the friendly boy from the tea shop brings every evening. 

He is sharp, eager for the next steps. He is ready to go see Swati, the bitch. 

And this time, he is determined to succeed.

He strolls around to the front of the building and through the lobby. He walks past the guard in the front who waves a languid hand at him, and returns to his phone. Prakash recognizes him, but doesn’t know him. 

There is a card reader on the elevator bank. Now for the test. He tries his own card, and the light remains stubbornly red. He knows this because he has tried it before, but he tries again anyway. He knows he doesn’t have the clearance to enter the main building. The stairs are likewise guarded by the same security system. Again, he knows this because he had tried. 

Two weeks ago, he had decided that he was going to see the show that so far Ramesh was the only spectator of, and it hadn’t worked.
 
This time however, he has a new weapon, something he hopes will be the Rambaan, the panacea for the current situation. 

He has only a foggy idea of how the security system is set up. He has no notion of the fact that every entry, whether successful or not is logged in the computer system, to be reviewed at leisure by whoever wanted to.

He pulls out the Systems Engineer card from his pocket. 

He wipes the card on his pants leg to make sure there is no dust on it, and then swipes the card. 

He waits an interminable moment. 

Then the light turns green, and there is a click of the lock mechanism opening. 

The elevator doors open, and he walks in with a sense of relief. He has a moment of panic as the elevator doors take forever to close, but close they do, and soon he is on his way.

#

Inder quickly checks the logs of who has entered the building in the last half hour. 

There are a couple of failed attempts by a certain Prakash Majhi, a garage security guy. 

He frowns. The man should know better. He has no business in the building and therefore should not be even trying to get in. Curious. He remembers the man. This was the same guy that was talking to Ramesh the other day. He has no strong memory of the man other than that. He looks at the man’s photo on his screen.

An ordinary face, thin mustache, vestiges of pimples. The man has a few days worth of stubble on his cheeks, although they are sparse. The man can’t probably grow a full beard, even if he tried. There is nothing else in the face that Inder can draw any conclusion about. Except that the man is probably not very educated. There seems to be an animal cunning in the man’s eyes, but perhaps he is mining too much from a headshot taken by HR at the time of hiring.

He turns to the log again. A systems engineer called Prashant Kakkar has entered elevator C, it seems. His log in came right after Prakash. They must have come in right after each other. What is Kakkar doing here at this time? He pulls Kakkar’s file. The man is a consultant, probably comes in once a month or so. 

Hmm, a mystery.

In the meantime, there is some action going on in the conference room. The man has just entered the room. It doesn’t look like Kakkar, and yet, his security system tells him it should be the man. Then it clicks. 

Just about a week, perhaps two weeks ago, he signed off on a replacement card, and it must’ve been Kakkar. He has forgotten to cancel the earlier card. Prakash must’ve found the card somewhere and that’s what he is using. 

[S Darko]

Prakash walks up and down the office space, trying to find Swati’s office. It seems there is no one about. Finally, he walks to the end of the hall where there is a large, glass-walled room.


He peers through the glass. 

Aha!

Finally!

There is Ramesh sitting on one of the office chairs like a laat sahib. 

And, he cannot believe his eyes, right in front of him is a naked woman, her eyes closed, her legs spread shamelessly and resting on two additional office chairs, and there is something pink hanging out of her cunt!

He immediately takes notice of her shaved cunt, but wait! There’s a little strip of hair that’s shaped like an arrow pointing at her clit. Her position on the chair is such that she is slightly turned toward him, and he can see it all.

He watches for a few seconds. This must be Swati, the whore. He shakes his head to clear it. He thinks about what he should do.

He can’t hear much, but it looks like Ramesh is sitting six feet in front, watching her, and occasionally doing something on his phone and then looking up again. There is a fixed and stupid grin on his face as he watches. 

Swati’s mouth hangs open, her eyes closed, her pink lips open and glistening and she is presumably making some sounds, moans perhaps, the shameless whore, but he can’t hear anything. The glass is thick and there is some distortion to the image.

He squints his eyes and looks at her boobs, then her bare cunt where there is copious fluid leaking out and dripping to the carpeted floor. One of her hands is periodically goes down to her cunt and touches the pink thing, rubs at her clit and then goes back up to tug and pinch her nipples. Her other hand is holding on tight to the arm of the chair as though she is afraid she will fall off.

Her boobs are dancing all over the place, swaying and bobbing and amazingly firm. The whore’s nipples are pointing out like, like…metaphors fail him. Finally, he settles on something familiar, bhindi, lady fingers, big fat fucking bhindis. 

What a whore! What a flithy whore! 

The litany repeats itself in his mind. The woman is a bigger, much bigger, whore than he had imagined. From all the stuff that Ramesh has told him, he had built a picture in his head of a voluptuous siren, a sex queen, but the reality is better, way better. And way filthier too.

He can watch the show from here, he thinks, but there is too much turmoil in his head. His thoughts aren’t coherent. One part of him is rooted to the spot, and another wants to pull open the door and confront the duo having fun inside. He waits, and thinks, and waits and thinks.

Finally, he is unable to contain himself anymore and he creeps to the door that is farthest from them and pushes it. 

Nothing.

He pulls on the door. The door swings open with a click.

The woman is the chair opens her eyes at the sudden sound. 

Prakash recognizes her. 

It’s that woman! The Diwali bonus woman!

His eyes widen as he steps into the room and takes several steps toward them. He has no eyes for Ramesh. He looks only at Swati.

“You!” He says. Almost screams. 

All the anger and passion that is bottled up inside him, all the subservience that is forced upon him, all the difficulties of being an under-educated village boy in the big city, the shame and humiliation of it, all of it erupts in that one syllable.

He takes a few more steps toward her. 

Swati is frozen in place.

Then, suddenly, inexplicably, she opens her mouth wide in a scream.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!” She goes, not stopping.

Prakash glances at Ramesh who’s finger seems to be pressed hard on the phone screen. 

“OOOIIIIAAAAA!!!!”

Swati’s hips jerk frantically, pulse like she is fucking the air and her hand frantically pulls at the pink thing that is hanging from her cunt. 

It won’t come out it seems. It looks like a tight fit. Her mouth is still open, still screaming incoherently.

Then, as her hips are still gyrating and humping the air, and presumably the pink thing, she slips from the chair and falls on her ass. The two chairs her legs were resting on are pushed away in opposite directions, rolling away in slow motion, yet her legs are still in the air, jerking and trembling. 

Prakash has seen a woman orgasm before, in porno videos, and always thought they were faked, but now he is forced to reconsider.

Swati’s convulsions are getting less frantic, and she is still pulling at the thing with her right hand. Then, the pink thing is out and there is a loud farting noise that accompanies the ejection. No one speaks.

Prakash’s eyes widen as he sees how big it is. Like a dog’s thing when it just pops out of the bitch. And just as pink. The thing is shaking and jiggling in her hand as though it is alive. She drops it on the carpet and it wriggles on the ground like a crazy snake. 

He has no thoughts except rage. Although, somewhere in his mind he also registers that he has a raging hard-on.

Swati is still convulsing slightly, and still on her ass on the carpet, her legs spread obscenely. Her legs, incredibly, are still shaking in the air, not on the ground. She must have hurt herself falling like that Prakash thinks, but doesn’t care. What a fucking bitch!


Her tremors subside slowly. She is on the ground, coughing and trembling, like a bitch who has just been fucked to within an inch of her life. 

He stands before her, arms folded. Then he speaks. His voice is louder and higher than he intends. He thinks he is going for cool, dispassionate, but the fury has him in its grip. 

“No Diwali bonus, huh? Don’t you get a salary for doing your job, huh?”

Swati’s is looking up at him, her expression uncomprehending. Her legs are splayed, cunt open, gaping in fact, and her tits are still heaving from the massive orgasm she has just experienced.

Her face is blank. She doesn’t recognize this man. She tries to cut her eyes toward Ramesh but Prakash is in the way. 

Prakash is still speaking, now in a low, menacing tone.

“You’re too good for the likes of me, are you? And yet, here you are, naked and fucking that plastic thing like a whore in front of my friend. You shameless whore! Whore! Whore!” 

He is screaming in Hindi, almost incoherent with rage.

[S Darko]

Thanks guys. More fun and games coming up…

[S Darko]

Thank you!

[S Darko]

Ramesh is shocked. 

This was not supposed to happen. 

How did Prakash get into the building? There was a reason why he thought it was safe—the security system. He knew Prakash didn’t have access, and yet here he was.


When Prakash walks into the room, yelling and screaming, he sees Swati stiffen at the sudden intrusion, and like some kind of unconscious reflex, he jams his finger on the screen. 

He must’ve raised the vibrations on the device to the max because Swati madam, instead of stopping her act, goes into a frenzy of what must surely be a world-class orgasm.

He watches as Swati madam convulses like an epileptic, and finally falls to the floor after finally having pulled the device from her pussy. He notices, even in that crazy adrenaline filled moment that the large end of the dildo makes a loud farting sound as it exits her body. He feels embarrassed for her, not for the orgasm, which was sublime, but the fart.

He is still rooted to his chair, still in shock, as Prakash walks up to her and starts yelling about Diwali bonuses. 

What? Diwali bonus? What is he talking about? Diwali isn’t until next month. What in the hell is he talking about?

Finally, Ramesh notices the dildo writhing on the floor, and he returns to the app and powers it off. The dildo dances on the carpet for a second more and then lies still. He feels like he has vanquished some crazy animal that might’ve attacked him. He breathes out in relief. 

But there is more going on in front of him, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Swati is halfway up, fear and anger in her face.

“Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?” She is screaming, half incoherent, and there is drool hanging down from her open mouth.

Then Prakash has Swati by the hair and is pulling, yelling, screaming. She is half off the floor, on her knees, but trying to get his hands off her hair. It must hurt, and he can see Swati madam’s face contorted in pain. 

Prakash seems to be in a frenzy, his face a rictus of rage, still spouting incomprehensibly about how he is not good enough, and still ranting about Diwali bonuses. 

Ramesh sits still, frozen.

Swati is still on her knees now, still trying to get her hair free, her neck twisted at an angle and her face a mask of pain. Prakash pulls her up by the hair, she is upright now. 

He relaxes his grip, but still holds on to her hair. They are almost face to face now and she is still yelling about how the hell he has managed to get into the office. 

Swati’s next move is to cover her breasts with one hand and her pussy with the other. She is failing miserably at both because Prakash is right there, within a foot of her, practically breathing his paan masala and cigarette flavored breath into her face.

He screams some more.

Then his face clears. The shadow of a grin appears on his face. A grin of triumph.

Swati isn’t screaming in pain anymore. But she is still trying to cover her privates, even though she must surely know there is no use.

“Shut your mouth!” Prakash yells. “Shut your fucking mouth!” With his free hand, he backhands her across the face, and her head snaps back. Immediately, red marks appear on her face. It must’ve been a really hard blow.

She is still covering her pussy and tits. Surely, her hand should go to her cheek to soothe the pain there, but her dignity must be more important to her. 

Prakash yells again, incoherent with rage. With his free hand, Prakash slaps at her hand that is covering her boobs. Short, quick slaps, like something a girl might do. 

Slap! Slap! Slap! The flat sounds of hand striking flesh reverberate in the large conference room. 

He slaps her hands and chest without discrimination, and several blows land on her boobs. Her complexion is so fair, and almost immediately, her breasts take on a reddish hue.

“Down!” He yells. “Hands down!” Slap, slap, slap.

This is the very opposite of what guys say in the movies when they have a gun in hand, and Ramesh is tickled by the irony.


He doesn’t think Swati madam will comply, but to his great surprise, she relaxes and her hands fall to her side. Her face is till held up by the pressure on her hair, but otherwise he thinks she might have been lowered it, eyes on the ground. Like one of those village women in the presence of a man. 

There is something in her face that looks like resignation to him, but he can’t be sure.

[S Darko]

Swati’s mind is a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, embarrassment, humiliation, and yes, anger. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

How did this man enter the building?


She takes in his chaprasi uniform and sees the word security on his name tag. Prakash Majhi, it says, and then Garage Security. 

But surely, garage security isn’t allowed inside the building? Her mind cannot fathom what has happened, how it has happened. Ramesh was supposed to sweep the area, the whole floor, and make sure there is nobody there. 

Unless, of course, he is in collusion with this new guy. 

Her whole world is collapsing in front of her eyes. 

Her face is hot. She has embarrassed herself, coming like that, orgasming in front of this new man. She remembers her body jerking in orgasm, like a bitch in heat, like one of the dogs copulating on the street, except that she has been solo in this. 

Solo that is, other than her Lush 2 vibrator. She understands that Ramesh must’ve jammed the button on the phone app, and that triggered the increased rumblings inside her body. She had been close, humping the air, giving Ramesh a show to end all shows, and then the man had come in. 

Her nerve endings were firing, and she was on track for a big O, and then Ramesh had jammed the button, turning it up to the max. 

Even when she was alone, she has never turned the thing up all the way. Too powerful, she knows, at least for her body. 

And when the vibrations hit her, and she’d lost all control. There was no option but to surrender to the sensations. Every nerve ending was firing, from the ones in the cunt, her G spot, her overstimulated nipples and it wasn’t just her sex organs. 

All of her body had been on fire. There were sensations in her belly, breasts, her chest. She felt winded, light headed. 

And then she had fallen, still jerking and convulsing, still orgasming out of control. She had fallen on her fleshy ass with a thud, but had hardly felt it. She is sure that tomorrow she will, but now the adrenaline had numbed it all.

And most embarrassing was the queef, the vaginal fart she had let out as the dildo pulled free. A farting sound, unlike anything she had experienced before. For a brief moment, she wonders about what the men would think about that. And then her mind focuses on more important issues.

The interloper has started yelling something about low class and high class, and bizzarely, about Diwali bonuses. Diwali was still a month away, wasn’t it? She hadn’t looked at the calendar, relying on her mother to remind her of these things. 

She has been too busy, with her work and her fantasy life with Ramesh. 

Wait, she thinks, if Ramesh accidentally jammed the button, surely he must not be in on the plan, the plot? No, Ramesh is too innocent. This must be something else. Perhaps the man has watched the security cameras…and then she remembered the cameras in the conference room. 

She looks around wildly. And there they are, four of them, or perhaps more that she can’t see. At least four, one in each corner of the room. They are used for teleconferences, especially when foreign clients or partners are involved. How can she have forgotten them?

Her mind goes back to Ramesh. It was he who had suggested the conference room. She is ambivalent about his involvement now.

She is screaming at the new man. Incoherent words. Some to the effect that who the hell is he, how the hell has he entered, and so on. There is also a lot of wordless gibberish. 

The man though, doesn’t look cowed at all. In fact, he looks equally irate. He continues to scream at her, meaningless words about him not being good enough. And then again the Diwali bonus.

Then she recognizes him. The guy from the garage! This is the guy that sits in the kiosk, saluting everyone that comes in or out. She also remembers the little altercation between them.
 
He wanted a Diwali bonus. Last year. And she’d been stressed with an upcoming deadline and refused. Churlishly, she had told him, didn’t he get paid for doing his job? She had felt bad later, but she hadn’t done anything to remedy the situation. 

And now, this. 

The man is advancing on her. She tries to get up, rotating her legs behind her, and makes it to her knees. Her legs are still too weak from the orgasm. An undignified position, sure, but she is the wronged party here, isn’t she? He is the interloper. She will have his job! 

But the man won’t shut up. She suddenly realizes her situation. She is stark naked, not a stitch on her, and she has just managed to pull the damned gulabi dildo out of her body. He has been there to witness both the cataclysmic orgasm and the aftermath. He has watched her frantically pulling at the pink dildo, which refused to come out. Her spasming cunt must’ve have latched on to the dildo with a vice-like grip, but in the end she has pulled it out, still vibrating and jerking. 

And don’t forget the queef. 

She has thrown it onto the floor where it still lays juddering and jumping around.
 
And then, before she can think further, the man has her by the hair, and he is pulling her up, still shrieking at her. 

It is surreal.

Then something changes. 

The man slaps her, and her head jerks hard at the blow. Her hands are still covering her privates, and even though she wants to touch her cheek and see if there is blood, her hands refuse to move. She has never been slapped in her life, not like this anyway. For a moment, her mind goes blank.

Then he is slapping at her hands, her boobs, and there is a heat in her chest, and she drops her hands. First the one covering her boobs, then the one over her pussy. 

Her orgasm has faded, and the moisture in her cunt is drying up. She feels cold now, the air conditioning kicking in and making her nipples hard, though this time it is not from arousal. 

She knows that this is a dangerous situation, and the adrenaline is flowing, but there is something else. She doesn’t mind the treatment this unknown man is giving her. 

She stands there with her hands by her sides, her head still upturned because of the death grip he has on her hair. Otherwise, she feels sure, she would be staring at the ground in shame. 

She tries to look at Ramesh, but the man is still in the way, covering her field of vision entirely. 

The man is speaking. He relaxes his grip on her hair, and she does too
.
“We’re going to have some fun, eh, bitch?” His voice is calmer now, but there is unmistakeable menace in it. 


She trembles at the thought of what he means, what he could mean. Deep down, though, she knows. 

This is the beginning of a downslide.

[S Darko]

Sorry. not sure how it duplicated the post

[S Darko]

Why posted the same update again?

apologies

[S Darko]

Prakash is speaking, his tone low and measured. He is in no hurry, it seems. 


“You will do everything I tell you to do. From today, I am your master. You will address me as Malik. Is that understood?”
He releases her hair, and she stands in front of him, her hands by her sides, head down. She is trying to understand the implications of what he has said. 

What does ‘do everything’ entail? And she has to call him Malik? Master? Wow, just wow! The gall of the guy.

But there is also a battling feeling. Somewhere…she likes what he is saying, she wants to accept what he is saying, she wants to say yes. She feels her head go up and down in agreement, although she hasn’t yet decided she will say yes. 

Somehow, she feels that verbalizing her agreement is not what he wants. So she nods, her head going up and down, three times. 

Prakash takes a step back and looks at her. She can feel his gaze taking in her nudity, his gaze moving up and down like a laser beam. She wants to cover up, at least her privates, but she can’t. His words seem to have bound her. Her hand still by her side, head down, her pose compliant. 

Prakash seems jubilant. She peeks up at him. He is a large man, bulky, but more fat than muscle, she is sure. Not like Ramesh at all. 

Prakash turns to Ramesh who is still sitting on he chair, seemingly in shock, still fingering her phone.

“See,” he says, “this is how you treat the bitch.”

At the words, she starts to feel wet again. Somehow, his demeaning words only trigger her sexuality. Not her feminist side, the side that would walk up to a guy that wolf whistled at her and slap him, and maybe even pepper spray him. 

His next words are like hammer blows.

“Do you take it in the mouth?”

What does that mean, she thinks. Take what in the mouth? Oh, yes, his cock. She has fellated her once upon a time lover a few times, but he was always in a hurry to get to second base, and besides, neither of them enjoyed it too much. With Ashok, it has been never more than a few preliminary sucks to get him wet, and that too was during the initial days of their marriage. Now, there is no more fellatio, no more blowjobs. 

She shakes her head, eyes still on the floor. Swati’s mind is cleaved into three. Her rational part is yelling, no, screaming at her to run, run, run back to her office, dress and get the fuck out. Maybe on the way call the cops and lodge a complaint about this guy. 

The second part, the realistic one, says, wait, wait and see what happens. You’ll get an opening that you can exploit, but for the time being, you’re over a barrel. 

And then there’s the third part, a part that surprises her because she never knew it even existed. This part wants to kneel at this brute’s feet and suck his cock and do whatever else filthy, depraved thing he wants her to do. 

“Huh?” Prakash seems confused. Perhaps it is mock surprise, she cannot tell.

“You will now,” he says, “and you will love it. You will take it wherever and whenever I tell you to. You will do whatever I tell you, remember?”

Swati trembles a little at his words. They terrify her, but also strangely, excite her. She dreads what is coming, but also can’t wait for it to happen. She has no thought of her life as an IT professional, a wife, a mother, a homemaker.

He steps closer to her and stoops a little to look her in the eye. 

“And because you said no, you will have to be punished. You understand that, right?”

Swati is horrified. She starts to open her mouth and say, no, what the fuck is going on, but the second she raises her head, she sees Prakash’s expression and reconsiders. 

Slowly, she nods, wondering what form this punishment will take.

“Hands behind your back!” Prakash commands.

Swati has a choice. 

She should run now, back to the office, refuse his demands, but so far his demands have been benign, not very much more than what Ramesh wanted. A part of her wants to stay and see this through. A big part looks like, and the part that makes the decisions and calls the shots. 

She complies. Had she been in the army, she might have clicked her heels and saluted with a loud, Sir, yes Sir!

She feels the muscles in her back tighten and the pressure in her chest lessen. The feeling of relief is so great that she stretches more than he has commanded, arching her back more than required, thrusting her tits out at her oppressor. Her head also comes up, just a little.

Prakash chuckles in delight. 

“See, I told you she is a whore! I tell her to put her hands behind her back and she pushes her tits in my face. What a whore!” He is talking to Ramesh, but facing her.

She can see Ramesh now. He wants to say something, and not sure what. She can see the confusion in his face. An innocent he is, she thinks, so naive.

Ramesh finally speaks. “Prakash bhai, we should be sure Swati madam is okay with this.”

“What will she say?” Prakash says derisively. “All she has to say is yes. Isn’t that so, Swati madam?” The last two works are spoken mockingly, in a falsetto, mimicking Ramesh.

Swati stands silently. If she says no, will Ramesh intervene and stop all this? She isn’t sure. She isn’t sure that she wants to stop this, whatever this is. 

She says nothing, just stands in her glorious nakedness, hands clasped behind her back, tits thrust out, legs slightly spread, giving Prakash a glimpse of the inner folds of her cunt. He has not commanded it, yet, instinctively, she knows this is what he wants.

“All you have to do is nod yes,” Prakash says in a loud voice. “Isn’t that so, cunt?”

His profanity comes in Hindi. Swati has led a sheltered life, and used mostly English as her primary language, but the derogatory words in Hindi are clear enough. She may not know what exactly they mean, but she will learn. She is sure what he said is some slang for her private parts, or perhaps what she is—a slut, a whore, a prostitute.

Prakash is waiting for an answer. A moment passes, and then she nods. Tentatively at first, but then she nods firmly. Her mind is made up.

“See!” He says. “She wants this.”

Ramesh seems a little deflated. A moment ago he was ready to play the hero, but now the winds have been taken out of his sails. 

Prakash turns back to her and commands. “Down on your hands and knees. Right now!”

Swati scrambles to obey. 

The carpet fibers are rough on her knees, but she is strong, and this little discomfort is nothing. She is on her hands and knees, facing Prakash, her tits hanging down obscenely, like a cow’s udders waiting for a milking. She is aware she looks trashy, like a slut, a sex slave, but there is a part of her that is reveling in that vision. 

Prakash moves a chair out of the way and steps behind her.