[S Darko]

Ashok stands at the luggage carousel at IGI airport waiting for his luggage. 

The last week in Bangkok have been exhausting. Mostly, the last day when he’s had to break up with his longtime girlfriend Samantha, probably not her real name anyway, but whatever. He closes his eyes and for a moment dwells on their last night together. Her sweaty tits, bouncing over him, head thrown back in ecstasy. His hands on her tits, squeezing, kneading. Himself, deep inside her. 


He shakes his head. It’s over.

Ashok has always been a firm believer in spice being the plural of spouse, and what’s life if there isn’t any spice in it? So, following the long credo of all respectable sailors, he has a girl in every port. 

He has been careful not to have a family in every port, though. Just a girl. And over the last ten, fifteen years, the girls have been changed as they became more clingy or wanted more than what he could give them. It wasn’t money, even though he paid them well and supported their sometimes extravagant lifestyles. It was usually how much of him they wanted. His time, his attention and so on.

Over the last year or so, he has noticed how far he has drifted from Swati, and he has started longing for the times they had when they were newly married. He has divested himself of most of his girlfriends, broken up with them, paid them off, whatever it took. 

He reflects on the week he and Swati spent together in the resort. It has been a couple of months since then, but he remembers it well. The nights and evenings of togetherness are really what he wants, not this hectic day in, day out of work, dealmaking, and on his part, serial cheating. 

Ashok remembers one evening very well. He had gone golfing in the morning after a night of drinking with his new buddy Abhinav, and while he’d had a splitting headache in the morning, the fresh air and exercise have cleared his head. Swati and Menaka, Abhinav’s wife were supposed to spend the day together in the spa, and later perhaps shopping. 

Later in the evening, after a nice dinner, the four of them had been sitting in their balcony enjoying some wine and the fresh breeze that wafted in over the green expanse. Something like this, even money couldn’t buy in Delhi or Gurugram.

Swati had wanted to turn in early, so after a couple of glasses of wine, their new friends had departed. 

Ashok had been surprised by the ferocity with which Swati attacked him as soon as he entered his bed. It was as though she was a lioness, lying in wait for him. She was naked and wet and ready. He was delighted, but still couldn’t help wondering what had gotten into her to provoke such a reaction. 

That night, he had been able to rise to the occasion twice, with a little chemical help of course, but who notices things like that? He thinks she must’ve had at least three orgasms, something that has not been common for a long time. 

Not only had they had a good time together, but they’d made new friends there. He and Abhinav had hit it off, almost like long-lost brothers. And his wife Menaka was hot. Ashok might have made a play for her in his younger days, but he has mellowed now, and doesn’t want to make the effort.

And now, he decides, he is going to take a couple of months and shed all his other liaisons, and focus on family, his wife, and their son, Dhruv. 

His mind settles for a few minutes on his son. The boy was getting bigger. Soon, in February he would turn six and a few months later he would be going to college. Wow! How time flies. 

His mind goes back to Swati. When was the last time he bought her any jewelry? Dang! He really has to think about that. Was it the diamond necklace the year Dhruv had turned one? but after that it’s all a blank. Swati will be turning thirty-one soon. Something appropriate might be in order. 

Their life too has become too hectic. She is so busy with her work and he with his. 

In another year or two, he thinks, his position in the company will become unassailable and then he able to work less, spend more time with the family. Perhaps time for one more child? Dhruv should have a brother. Or sister. The process could be enjoyable. 

And that brings him full circle to their sex life and to their new friends Abhinav and Menaka. 

Abhi, as he likes to be called, had hinted at something like an open marriage. What does that mean? Does it mean swapping or threesomes or moresomes? 

He has always known there is an active alternative lifestyle, swingers groups and the like in Delhi, just not found the right guys. Hmm. Something that might be explored. 

He wonders if Swati will go for that kind of thing. He has no idea.

[S Darko]

Swati waits on her hands and knees, not knowing what will happen next. She can hear Prakash rustling about behind her. Ramesh sits in front of her, his eyes wide as saucers, an unfathomable expression on his face.


The first thing she feels is a swoosh of air, and then a stinging slap on her buttock. The force of the blow pushes her forward as though she is reaching for Ramesh’s crotch, perhaps to suck his dick. But he is fully clothed. There is a big tent in his trousers though and Swati thinks, even as the pain in her butt lances through her, yes, he has a big one, just like I thought.

“Owwwww!!” She screams. And then, Oow, ow…ooi maaaa!”

She is remembering her mother at this strange and critical juncture. 

She wants to get up and stop this butt slapping, but restrains herself, waiting for what is going to happen next.

Another blow lands, this time on her other cheek. Then, before she can brace herself, the blows start coming. Thick and fast, at irregular intervals, and Swati cannot anticipate them accurately and tense up. It seems each slap arrives just as she had relaxed a bit. Some slaps land on her butt, some cross the middle, straddling her asshole, and some even on her protruding pussy lips. 

Wryly, she thinks of the arrow she has stenciled there. It is almost as though Prakash is following the arrow.

She can feel her ass getting warm, then hot. It must be red, she thinks. She feels moisture form at her cunt and trickle down her thighs, both sides. She can smell her own arousal. A musky, earthy, sexy smell. 

Swati is moaning now, interspersed with the grunting that accompanies each blow. Her cries are more mewling now as though she is enjoying it. At least that’s how it sounds to her own ears.

“Owwww…uhhnnn…ohhh…uhhhnnnn…”

How can this be happening? She is getting turned on by the slapping on her ass. That is incredible, mind-boggling. 

Prakash is breathing heavily behind her, and after a few more slaps, he stops. He steps to her side, huffing and blowing. 

“Nice tits, bitch,” he says between gasps. Then he bends down and grabs her tits, awkwardly embracing her from behind. His hand is warm, almost hot.

He is still breathing hard. She gets powerful whiffs of his tobacco and paan masala scented breath. Swati thinks that her earlier assessment of his fitness was bang on. He is used to a sedentary job—sitting in the kiosk all day, not much exercise, and he has become soft.

After a minute of rough fondling of her breasts, Prakash stands up. He walks around to the front where she can see him. 

Prakash is flapping his hands, rubbing them together. The spanking must’ve hurt him too, but she wins because she enjoyed it more. Did he too enjoy it? The spanking and the degradation he put her through? A high class, educated woman, completely naked on all fours in front of him, and Prakash the security guard dominating her like this?

Then her thoughts are interrupted by the sensations in her tits. Prakash has approached her again, from the front this time. He kneels before her. He is not gentle, the way Ashok is. Prakash is mauling them, pulling at her nipples, squeezing them, palming her breasts, at least as much as he can get in his hands. The manhandling is painful, and yet her nipples stiffen, and her arousal peaks. Then, still pulling on one nipple, Prakash moves one hand between her legs and touches her core.

Just that touch sends her over. 

Without warning, her orgasm arrives, and her hips start to buck and writhe. 

She almost blacks out, or at least that’s how it seems to her. One moment she is on all fours, getting her ass spanked, then her tits mauled, and the next, she finds herself sprawled on the carpet, her hips involuntarily trying to hump the ground. Did Prakash push her down?

She realizes it is all her own doing. 

There is a loud wailing she can hear and after a second she realizes it as her own orgasmic throes. The screams are coming from her own throat. As soon as she realizes this, she gains control of herself and stops. The sound trails off as a soft mewling. 

Prakash is laughing, wheezing. He is delighted. He is clapping his hands, pointing at her like one might a spectacle in the street. 

Shame courses through her as she realizes what has happened. 

She has gotten off on the manhandling, the abuse, she has come again in front of his uncultured boor of a man. The second time in a matter of minutes. She struggles back to all fours and glances at the clock. It has been half an hour only since Prakash entered the room. She can hardly believe it. It seems like she has lived and died a lifetime of shame in these last thirty minutes. 

She looks at her tormentor. Prakash is overjoyed.

“What a whore! What a whore!” He cries over and over. “Did you see that? What a whore! I beat her and pull her tits and she comes like that! Wow!”

Prakash is admiring his own intuition about her, something she herself did not know. 

Was she really a slut, a whore? How could this be happening? 

With great effort, she rises back to all fours and then upright, on her knees. Prakash has pulled a chair over, the one hat she had not so long ago been resting her leg on and is crotch level with her face. 

She waits. 

[S Darko]

Inder watches in fascination as the events un-spooling on the hi-def TV monitor. 

Wow, he thinks, that Prakash fellow really knows how to treat whores like this one. He can’t help but admire the guy. He didn’t seem like much from his picture, but he is a master with this whore. Inder himself could take a few lessons. He wouldn’t mind getting a piece of the action. 


He thinks he will not revoke the Kakkar card. Let Prakash enjoy the access he has for some more time. Perhaps it is better that way. This action has been way more enjoyable that what has gone on before. Comparatively, the Ramesh business was tame, a bland salad before the delicious entree. This is where it is, he thinks. Idly, he takes another bite of the milk chocolate bar.

He turns to his personal laptop and types in his Incel chat box. “She likes being beaten. She gets off on it, I am sure of it. I believe she is a closet submissive as well.”

The answers are sparse this time. Perhaps not too many of his cohorts are logged in. But the gist of it is the same as before. With some embellishments. Parade the whore naked. Fuck her up the ass and pussy and mouth at the same time, someone exhorts. A triple penetration! 

Inder wonders if some of these people are in Gurugram, or somewhere nearby, at least. Perhaps he can get a group together, and really have some fun with her.

He is losing his apprehension at approaching Swati. 

Before he wasn’t sure. Now he feels she will not reject him. He needs to be forceful, that’s all. Not his usual wheedling self. Just be masterful like this Prakash fellow. See how he manhandles the worthless whore? He stiffens his spine and sits up in his chair.

He sucks in his gut and pushes his hand down the front of his pants. Just like he felt, he is stiff and ready. He reaches for the tissue box.

He decides to move slowly, in steps. Inder thinks he will go and join the fun and games in the conference room. He will remember to turn off the cameras there before he goes—no sense in implicating himself if the shit were to hit the fan. He has an idea that something like this could be dangerous. Inder laughs as he remembers the American President almost brought down by something so trivial as a blowjob. The guy who didn’t inhale, he chuckles. 

He looks at the monitor and thinks, tomorrow. He can’t get his nerve up for today, and besides, he is pretty sure they’re done for the day. It will take him at least fifteen minutes to get to the conference room from his office. Maybe the next time when Prakash is having fun with her in the conference room, he will join them. 

But first, he thinks he will call Prakash and inform him of the various transgressions the garage security guy is guilty of, that he has dirt on him too, so that he has not one, but three people in his trap. 

And then, at some point, he thinks, he will visit Swati madam in her office for some one on one time…and take it from there. At lunch time perhaps. 

Inder watches the monitor. Prakash is doing something new now.

[S Darko]

“Open the zipper,” Prakash demands.


So this is where the actual sex begins, Swati thinks. 

She scoots forward on her knees and her breasts wobble. She looks down on them and sees they are red. There are finger marks on them, and a few red streaks. Superficial abrasions, but they will take a couple of days to go away.

Prakash leans forward just as Swati reaches his zipper. She thinks he means to kiss her, her faces are so close. She is ambivalent about that. Kissing Prakash? With that breath she has already smelled? Nah, but if she must, she will. It is a day of many firsts.

But he doesn’t kiss her. He leans in, and pulls more at her tits, almost as though he is milking a cow, at one point making her scream. She stifles the scream, but a small sound escapes her mouth anyway. Something that sounds more like a moan of pleasure rather than pain.

“See,” he says again to Ramesh seated right behind him. “This is how you do it. Not your pussyfooting around with nanga shows!” 

He sounds triumphant, happy. The anger of a few moments ago is forgotten. Swati welcomes the change in mood. When he was angry, he was so unpredictable and she had feared him. Not that she is comfortable now, but at least it is better he is in a good mood.

He reaches forward and his hand snakes between her breasts and down her belly. She leans forward a little to facilitate his quest which surely is her pussy. He reaches his destination, flicks her clit experimentally, and gives a gratified grunt when she moans. 

Then he roughly fingers her pussy and sweeps his fingers from back to front. The touch makes her shiver and lubricate more. Her arousal is at a peak. Prakash comes away with his fingers coated with her arousal. 

“Oh my God!” He says, inspecting his fingers. So wet! Ramesh Bhai, did I not tell you? This one is a class A whore.”

Swati hangs her head. She is still on her knees in front of this strange man, her face level with his crotch, waiting to give him a blowjob, something she hasn’t done in years, and then not even very well. At least as far as she knows, based on her porn viewing. She is no match for the young porn stars that can fellate a foot long cock literally for hours. 

“What are you waiting for?” He asks in sarcasm. He grabs her by the throat and hisses, spittle flying, “Better do it right, or else…”

Swati nods, and pulls the zipper down. There is a fair sized bulge there, perhaps more than she has expected to find, and she pulls and tugs at the aperture that will allow the cock to emerge. Prakash shifts his hips a little to help her, and then his cock pops into view. 

The head is purple and dark and menacing, the pee hole is yawning, the foreskin pulled back. When he shakes the whole thing loose and out of the aperture, she sees it is respectable, perhaps six or so inches and a nice girth. 

What really bothers her is the odor. It is a mixed, musky smell. Stale urine, sweat mixed in with some body odor. She thinks she might gag, but then she might get punished again and have to suck him off anyway. 

Somehow, he senses her distaste as she sees out of the corner of his eyes, his arm going back, elbow cocking preparatory to delivering a slap. The last slap was good enough reason for her to want to avoid another one. 

He gives her a tap on her face anyway. Just a light one, there isn’t even a sound when he does it, nothing approaching the power of the last one that was fueled by rage. She nods, looks apologetic and uses her hands to widen his fly. 

She hasn’t given head in so long, she has almost forgotten. And then there’s the odor. But gamely, she bends to the task. She tries to breathe through her mouth, something that’s difficult if your tongue is sticking out and your mouth is going to be full of something in short order. 

She licks up and down the shaft and kisses the head. A little clear liquid seeps from the pee hole and she decides it must be his precum. 

She licks it up and Prakash groans and spreads his legs a little more to give her better access.

“Aah!” He says. If he is winking at Ramesh, she can’t see it. She is totally absorbed in her task. 

His hips scooch forward and he falls back in his chair. “No teeth, okay,” he says, his tone now languid. 

[S Darko]

Swati takes the mushroom head into her mouth and swishes her tongue over it. It earns her an appreciative “Hmm,” and encouraged, she goes on. 

Repeats the move. 

With her other hand, she fondles his balls which she has pulled out of his fly. It is a tight fit, all this flesh, his penis and the scrotal sac, out of the same hole in the pants. 


She continues with the blowjob, taking him in as far as she can take it and then moving back out. With the other hand, she now fists the base of his cock and that is helpful; because she doesn’t have to take so much cock into her mouth. It is a trick she has seen some pornstars do.

The taste seems quite good now that she has licked away the grime that was there before.  There is some more precum that oozes from the pee slit, and this too she licks away. A sour, organic taste, but not too bad, she thinks. There is still a musky smell, but it arouses rather than repels. 

So far, Prakash hasn’t done anything other than a few appreciative groans and noises, but now he is starting to move his hips and actively push his cock into her mouth. She is still in control though, with her hand and mouth trick. 

There is his hand on her head. She looks up.

“One minute,” he says, holding up a finger, and stands up. He removes his belt, unbuttons his pants and drops them. Underwear follows, a striped boxer type thing that she has seen some people other than her husband wear. Mostly poor people. It isn’t any kind of designer wear, and she assumes it must be cheap. 

Prakash sits again, and this time she can see his genitals spread before her in its full glory. The cock is indeed big, perhaps seven inches, she thinks. The part she has worked on looks clean and a lighter tone than the part that has emerged now, and there is a lot of pubic hair that had been held back by the confines of his fly before. 

“Go on,” he says, his tone now gentle. 

Deceptively so, as she learns in a few seconds.

What a woman can control with a cock in her mouth, she thinks and pops the cock into her mouth again. 

This time Prakash isn’t satisfied with the hand and partial mouth technique. He smacks her hand away and tells her, “no hands now.”

Swati complies. 

Prakash pushes into her mouth harder and the cock head strikes the back of her mouth. She opens wider. But Prakash is still not satisfied. 

She bobs up and down on his cock, now on her haunches, her knees splayed. She is aware of her cunt being on display once more and lubrication building up there. 

Again. 

How is she turned on by giving a blow job to this dirty character, and that too under duress? But there it is.

Prakash’s hand is now on the back of her head. He pushes.

His cock reaches the back of her throat. 

She gags. 

“Guk…guk…guk…”

He laughs a cackling laugh like a hyena. 

Drool runs out of her mouth in rivulets, and she gasps and coughs. 

Prakash gives her no quarter. 

He pushes in and out, now using her hair as a handle, moving her head up and down, up and down, masturbating himself using her head.

Swati is gagging, drooling, and finding it hard to breathe. 

“GGGGGAAAAAAkkkkkk!”

Prakash has her head in a vice like grip and moving her head back and forth. She can’t see, tears are streaming from her eyes. 

Everytime she tries to catch a breath, his cock is back, invading her throat, and she is unable to breathe. She is getting lightheaded and soon, she thinks she will pass out. 

There is nothing in the world other than the need to breathe now. Prakash is really skull-fucking her now and there is nothing she can do.

The sounds continue, but louder. 

“GUKGUKGUKGGGGKKKKKKKK!!”

Then he is shooting into her mouth. 

He pulls out with a yell and starts shooting his cum on her face. 

All the while, Swati is gasping for air, her mouth open, spit flying everywhere. His cum lands in her mouth, her face, her eyes, and also her tits. 

Then he is done. 

She is still breathing hard, trying to catch her breath. She has no idea that blowjobs can be this taxing. On her, that is. He seems perfectly happy. 

But Prakash too is breathing hard. 

She is covered with secretions. There is thick saliva all over her face and chest and dripping off her boobs. Snot runs down her nose, tears from her eyes, and of course, there is his semen as well. 

There is a tissue box on the table. Prakash pulls out a couple and hands it to her. “Clean up,” he says.

She starts to wipe her face and he barks at her, “Clean me up you bitch, not you, ME!”

[S Darko]

IS this consensual or bang. Why she behaving differently between ramesh and prakash. She is dominant or submissive?

Not sure what you mean by “bang” but anyhow what do you think?

Humans are complicated and what started out as a risk free adventure may turn out to be a journey of self discovery, don’t you think?

[S Darko]

Several minutes pass. 

Prakash walks around the conference room, naked from the waist down, trying to get his cock to stiffen up. His pants and boxes lie in a heap near the chair he sat in, much like her clothes on that fateful day so long ago. 


Ramesh still sits in his chair as though shell shocked. She wonders at what he is thinking, but Prakash is taking up all her bandwidth for the moment. 

Swati is on the floor, her legs folded up underneath her. She wonders what is coming next. Can she leave? When will this nightmare be over? 

A part of her wants to be taken roughly and fucked like a whore. Another part is warring with running away. She wants to assert herself. It is getting late and she needs to go home, look after her son. Perhaps her husband is back by now? When will he get it up and fuck her properly? Her thoughts are chaotic, random, chasing each other. 

Then Prakash gets in front of her. He raises his hand and slaps her. Deliberately, left, then backhand on the right. Swati’s hands fly to her cheeks, and he shoots her a warning stare. A death stare. 

Swati puts her hands down. This isn’t quite as exciting as the ass spanking, but she decides she will go through with it. Tolerate it for now.

She realizes that she hasn’t touched this man yet. Well, nothing except his cock. There is no intimacy here, no skin on skin body contact like in conventional lovemaking. But this is no lovemaking. This is sex in its most primal form. The taking of a woman for the pleasure of a man. And somehow, the thought doesn’t repel her like it normally would. In fact, it excites her, if  the reactions of her body are any indication. 

“Suck,” he commands, “make me hard again. Then I’ll fuck you.”

It irritates her, this command, but also thrills her. Finally, she will be fucked, penetrated, used, she thinks. It has been long in the coming.

“You need to be fucked, yes?”

Of course, she wants to remain silent, not let him have his victory, but her head goes up and down without her consent, saying yes to what he says. 

He laughs his hyena laugh, at once victorious and demeaning, and crooks a finger at her. Come on, get to work the finger says.

She scoots forward and separates his thighs and bends to the task. 

She is on her haunches, knees spread, tits hanging, so he can have anything he wishes, but he simply sits in the chair. The odor is almost gone now. She has done a pretty good job last time cleaning him, laving him with her tongue—inadvertently, but she has done it nevertheless. 

She takes his flaccid member in her mouth and starts over. At least this time the goal is not a full blow job, just to get him hard enough to fuck her. She isn’t sure if she liked the breath play when Prakash was skull-fucking her without any regard to whether or not she could breathe. He was singularly focused on his own release. He probably didn’t care if she choked to death. 

#

Inder looks at his monitor, a little disconcerted. His hero is failing. 

He has watched with great interest the way Prakash has handled the bitch. The blowjob, if it could be called that, was brutal, and great. Not so much a blowjob as a brutal skull-fucking, but it had started off tamely enough. He was amazed at the way Prakash grabbed her head and ponytail, and just used her mouth like a masturbation sleeve. Brutal, that’s the right word for it, nothing else would do. 

He has raised the volume on the feed, and still he can’t hear very well, although he has to admit that the choking and gagging sounds came through quite well. 

His Incel friends, all faceless and anonymous have no further advice. No further advice other than to reiterate what they’ve already said. Fuck her, fuck her up and so on. It is getting repetitive, boring, and Inder logs off the chat box. 

His thoughts are awhirl. He has too many ideas right now, all fighting with each other, like the characters in a MMOG that he plays often. There is a porn version too, but Inder isn’t playing that these days. 

He thinks the festivities for the day are over. 

Perhaps, he thinks, he can go over now and confront Ramesh and Prakash, and the woman as well and perhaps, just perhaps, get his rocks off too? Maybe just get her to suck him off? The thought makes him suck his gut in. 

Then he thinks, nah, not today. He wants to see how this develops over the next few days and in the meantime he will do some more research. Try and find out more about the woman, see if she has a husband, kids and things like that. She looks like the type that will have a family. Inder is an astute observer of humans if he is anything. He hasn’t had much interaction though, but that might change in the future. 

The very near future. He rubs his hands and reaches for the chocolate. 

[S Darko]

The site automatically changes r-a-p-e to bang

That's weird. But thanks for the info. I guess we don't have to use the word or write it the way you did.

[S Darko]

Prakash stands up abruptly. The chair rolls back several feet. Ramesh too is standing. 


Prakash puts on his underwear, then his pants. His face is tight, and he wears an expression of regret, sadness. He has not been able to rise to the occasion. He doesn’t know, but thinks it is probably because he hasn’t slept in so long. He is tired, no, exhausted. All it will take is a good night of sleep and he will be good as new. 

He has tried to get it up as best he can. He has had the whore suck him, he has played with her tits, her pussy, made her pose for him, but none of it has worked. He is still soft and limp like a noodle. 

Prakash has tried to make the whore use the toy on herself to stimulate him. Perhaps, if the oral stimulation didn’t work, maybe the visual would? But even though the whore uses the toy and brings herself off in another spectacular orgasm, her whole body shaking, Prakash stays limp.

He looks at Ramesh. Some help here, he thinks? Will the guy not even try to fuck the whore, now that he has shown him what she is? When will his heroine-worship end? 

He shakes his head. It is time.

“Chal,” he says to Ramesh. “Let’s go now.”

It is after seven in the evening, and his shift is long over. 

He looks at Swati who is cowering on the floor in front of him. She has tried her best to revive his cock, but it hasn’t been effective. He has yelled at her ineptitude and make her feel worthless. Just like she is. A worthless whore. There will be more lessons in the future, Prakash thinks.

“Go now,” he says, “but be back day after tomorrow.” An extra day to recover would be good. He consults his watch, a cheap Rolex knock-off. “At six in the evening. I want you to be just like you are right now.” He raises his eyebrows and nods, just to make sure she understands. 

Then, he clarifies further. “Nangi, just like this.”

He tilts his head and looks at her as though waiting for an answer.

Swati looks up at him out of the corner of her eye. He raises his eyebrows and she nods yes. He raises his eyebrows further and waits until she says in Hindi, “Yes…Malik.”

He turns and strides to the door. As he pulls at the handle, he turns and says in thickly accented but understandable English, in a TV announcer’s voice, “Same place, same time, see you!”

He walks out, not waiting to see if Ramesh is following him or not. There is, he thinks, some shame in not being able to get it up even when the whore is trying. 

He will face Ramesh later. But he doesn’t think he will give him an explanation. 

#

Ramesh follows Swati as she walks to her office. Her gait is a little different, even though she is till in her high heels. She lurches more than walks. Her ass must be hurting, he thinks.

“Madam,” he says, “Swati madam?”

She turns to him, her expression unreadable. 

He is not sure what to say. He has been complicit with her in the fun and games so far. At least until Prakash burst in and took over. He tried to make sure she was okay with the rough treatment Prakash was giving her, even asked if she was okay, and she said she was. Ramesh isn’t so sure. Who gets off with that kind of treatment?

The beating, sure it wasn’t as bad as what his father used to give him, but then, he never enjoyed it. Swati madam, on the other hand, actually came from that kind of treatment. 

It’s not as though he hasn’t seen this kind of thing. In the temple, all kinds of sex acts were performed, including ones where the girl was tied up and beaten. He had seen a man use a whip on one of them, and he had asked the head priestess about it. She had told him that as long as the parties consented, everything was fair. Some people got off on the pain. Pain and pleasure, she said, worked hand in hand, like two sides of the same coin. 

He can see her ass is a dull red, with small redder streaks presumably where Prakash’s nails have scratched her, and now that she has turned to face him, her breasts too. Her fair complexion allows him to see the redness. She is still breathing hard after the last orgasm using the gulabi toy. 

Prakash forced her to use it on herself. He suspects Prakash isn’t quite the cocksman he makes himself out to be. Why, he couldn’t get it up after the fist time, even with all the oral stimulation Swati madam provided. Not even when she came spectacularly with the toy, and Ramesh was controlling it remotely with her phone. Ramesh himself has been hard as a rock all through the entire hour or so this drama has been going on. 

“Are you okay, madam?” He has nothing else to say. He is aware that when Prakash visits in a couple of days, the activity will escalate. There will be more beating, he is sure, and probably sex. Of all kinds. 

He is sure Prakash will try and take her anally as he has so often boasted, and he wants to be sure she is accepting of this.

But she is smiling. Her dimples, which have won his heart, are on display.Sure, she looks tired, but the last few hours have been physically taxing on her.

She nods at him. “Yes, I’m okay.”

Ramesh wants to ask more, to get her to elaborate.

“You fell from the chair,” he says, and points to his own butt. “It must’ve hurt, no?”

“Not really,” she says. Then, “a bit…I suppose I’ll feel it tomorrow.”

Ramesh is still clutching her phone in his hand, and now he extends it to her. She accepts it without a work. He has the gulabi toy in his other hand, but he holds on to it.

They reach her office. 

Swati dresses quietly. There is no more conversation, but Ramesh is watching her closely. Her breathing is slower now, and the redness is slowly receding from her ass and tits. He delights, as usual in her nudity, her sexy nakedness. Nangi! 

He thinks. This is all so sublime.

Finally, she is ready to leave. 

Ramesh lays the gulabi toy on the desk. Swati madam looks at it, then picks it up and puts it in the drawer along with her other toys. 

In the distance, a door opens and closes with a bang. It is the main door to this floor, the door that leads to the elevator bank. It must be Prakash leaving. He must’ve gotten tired of waiting for Ramesh.

“That yellow ball madam? What is it?”

Swati reddens and pulls it out of the drawer. She holds it in her hand as though debating something. Perhaps she is wondering whether to tell him.

“It is to put in the mouth, like this.” She demonstrates but opening her mouth wide and putting the ball in. She doesn’t fasten the straps behind her head, but Ramesh understands. 

It is a gag. He doesn’t know why someone might use it, but perhaps to make them quiet? It would have come in handy in the conference room when she was hollering loud enough to alert everyone in the building had someone been there. 

He nods.

She removed the gag and wipes it with her kurti and stores it in the drawer.

They look at each other for a moment. They both realize that a boundary has been crossed that cannot be uncrossed. Something fundamental in their relationship has changed. There is now an additional person in the mix. Things are getting a little out of control. 

[S Darko]

Ashok is sitting in his favorite chair, watching a match on TV when Swati comes in. He takes a swig of his beer, smiles and waves a hand at her. This is unusual, this acknowledgement and greeting, he knows, but he is a changed man. Somewhat, at least. He is going to make an effort.


He watches her as she takes off her heels by the door and smiles at him. Unusually high heels, he thinks, but he dismisses the thought. Perhaps she needed it for some office presentation. Sometimes, it isn’t just the product you sell, it is a bit of yourself too. 

She looks tired.

“Sweetie,” he says, “hard day at the office?” He hasn’t called her sweetie in a while. It is a word he uses only for her and Dhruv, no one else. He has never felt the need or compulsion to use it with any of his concubines, whores, one night stands. Words have power, he knows.

Her smile falters, then widens at the word. A genuine smile. She nods. “Tired,” she says.

He watches as she heads off to the kitchen. 

“Did Dhurv eat? What time did you get in?” She calls over her shoulder.

“Yeah, he ate. He’s in his room on his iPad. Oh, and I got in a couple hours ago. The flight was on time.”

He watches Swati as she returns from the kitchen.
 
“Ready for dinner?” She says. 

“Yeah, sure,” Ashok says, and picks up the remote to turn the TV off, but she says, “keep watching, I have to go change, see to Dhruv…ten minutes?”

Ashok nods. Perhaps he will get lucky tonight, he thinks. Lately, well, after the resort, it has been a while, so perhaps tonight? If she’s not too tired.

Later, after dinner, as they’re washing up, he sidles up behind her and embraces her. He lightly nips her earlobes, kisses her neck. He cups her breasts from behind. One hand for one boob. He can barely contain them, but he is gentle, cupping and supporting rather than squeezing. He can, if he wants, use forefinger and thumb to gently squeeze the nipples, but not yet. This is an old signal that he’s in the mood, one that rarely fails unless she is on her period or something. But she flinches slightly, sucks in her breath, before she settles.

“What’s the matter?” He coos in her ear.

“Nothing…just a rash I think,” she says after a moment.

“On your boobs?” He is incredulous.

Again, she says nothing for a beat. Then, “I think it might be the new bra. Something is off about it. Maybe the material…” she trails off.

“So…” he says, “tonight is off?” He knows he sounds disappointed, but doesn’t care that she knows it. She should know, he thinks. He wants to make love to his wife, improve their relationship. Perhaps break some new ground with their new friends.

“No…” she says, “I mean, sure.” She sounds hesitant, unsure. 

Ashok kisses the back of her neck again, still holding her from behind, firmly cupping her breasts but not squeezing or anything. He nibbles her earlobe and she squirms. This is a sure tell. He can feel himself swelling in his pajamas. 

Later still, after the dishes are put away—Parvati is gone for the day—and Ashok helps her dry the dishes, put the leftovers away in the fridge, they adjourn for the night. 

Swati insists on turning the lights off before she undresses. 

As they make love, Ashok is surprised by how much she is eager and willing. She almost devours him. She is hungry for him, and he reciprocates. 

The viagra he has taken in anticipation kicks in and he feels like a god. He can last for ever. He can choose when he wants to come. He reduces Swati to a quivering mass of jello before he says, “Ready?”

“I already came twice,” she says, breathing the words into his ear, low and slutty. “But,” she adds as she chews her lower lip, “fuck me harder and I will come again!”

Swati never uses words like fuck, not even when they are at the height of their passion. So this is a new one for Ashok. Something has gotten into his wife for sure.

But he is energized, excited beyond anything before. He hammers into her, harder and harder. He can hear a knocking, like someone at the door and realizes it is the headboard banging against the wall. He dismisses it. 

At his peak, he pulls out, holds, and thunders into her as hard as he can go. Each time it is like a jackhammer, a pneumatic punch. He can picture himself as a giant machine, punching through impenetrable rock. 

And above the blood roaring in his ears, he can hear Swati gasping, mewling, crying out as her nails dig into his back and her legs encircle his ass, squeezing, squeezing.

Finally, with a roar, he pushes in for the last time, mashing his pelvis against hers with as much force as he can muster, and unloads. He does a few residual pumps, and he can feel his wife gripping his cock in her velvet vise, milking him. It feels like she is doing the exact same thing as he is, pumping, pumping, pumping, except in reverse. 

Exhausted, he collapses on top of her, still hard, still holding himself in her. He feels her nails still digging into his buttocks and back. Slowly, her grip relaxes.

After a while, he pulls out and flops over to his side of the bed. Swati is still breathing hard. 

“Wow! That was fantastic! How was it for you?”

He is aware that he has never asked her this question before. Usually, he would pump into her until he was done and always assumed she was done when he was. He didn’t understand the female orgasm at all. He had read some, but it confused him. Women were supposed to be multi-orgasmic, whatever the fuck that meant. 

Swati said, “it was wonderful!” She sounds genuinely sated. 

Ashok grunted. They breathe for a while, getting their wind back. 

He wracked his brains to think of what he might say to his wife of almost ten years. How had it come to this?

Finally he says, “I got a text from Abhi.”

“Abhi?”

“Yeah, Abhinav, the guy we met at the resort? His wife is Menaka…remember?”

“Oh,” she says, “them…yeah, I remember. What about them?”

Ashok thinks perhaps Swati and Menaka didn’t hit it off as well as he and Abhi did. 

So he says carefully, “Didn’t you guys get along? Like you did the whole spa thing, right?”

Swati’s reply is a little more enthusiastic. “Oh yeah,” she says, “Yeah, it was great. I like Menaka. Abhi also seems cool.”

Ashok breathes a sigh of relief. “Well, they’ve asked us over to their place in Delhi next weekend.”

“Sure,” she says after a bit, during which Ashok holds his breath. “What about Dhruv? They don’t have any kids…but I guess Parvati can stay until we return. What do you think?”

Ashok is stunned at how easy this was. He decides to push a little. “We may stay the night…” He can see her face in the dim light filtering in through the windows, and her expression is skeptical. He presses on. “You know, it’s a long drive…it could take a couple hours, and we’ll be drinking a little and…”

“Okay,” she says. Apparently she sees the logic in his words. “At their place? Or in a hotel?”

“Oh,” he says, “I think their place is pretty big…he insisted actually that we stay over.”

“But doesn’t he have other people at his party?”

“Not sure…he didn’t tell me.” Ashok knows there will be no one else. And the bed will be shared, hopefully he and Menaka and Abhi and Swati. Separately in different rooms or together in one sweaty mass? An orgy of dicks and pussies and limbs and tits. 

The thought makes his dick rise again. He looks down and says, “Hmm…look at that. Want to go again?”

Swati giggles and throws her leg over him. 

[S Darko]

Swati drives to work with butterflies in her stomach. 

She has no idea what the evening holds for her. She doesn’t know what Prakash will do, and what he will expect her to do other than wait for him naked in the conference room. She hopes he will not bring other people into the mix. Not yet anyway. 


She imagines for a moment, becoming the whore for the whole office and a frisson of excitement passes through her tired body. She has not slept well, and as a result hasn’t been able to wear her contacts today. Her eyes are too tired and gritty. 

She has instead worn her glasses that give her a sexy college teacher look, at least according to Ashok. 

Last night was a crazy whirlwind. After the skull fuck at the office, when Prakash hadn’t been able to get it up again, she had felt interminably horny. It is a feeling she’s been having since the adventure with Ramesh had started, but last night was something different. 

The skull fuck was both exhilarating and frightening. The feeling of complete helplessness and being used as a sex toy, a fuck doll, was so fantastic that she started to fear for her life. She worried that if this was the level of extremes she wanted to go in her sex life, craved to go in fact, she might not be able to keep her sanity. Like a drug that you have to keep escalating the dosage, she worried what she would have to do the next time to reach that same high. 

She had decided on using her dildo, the Hitachi that she had packed into her purse, hoping for a quiet session after Ashok had gone off to sleep, or maybe he was late, and she could fit it in before he arrived. But he’d been there, all solicitous and nice, and homey. Exactly what she didn’t need. 

Her needs have changed significantly over the last few months. Once, it might have satisfied her, sated her. She might have enjoyed it. But no more. Now, it is a different thing she hankers for. More danger, violence. Pain?

She was aroused all evening during the drive home, and when Ashok felt her up at the sink, it was all she could do not to scream. There was no way she was going to be able to explain the redness and scratches on her boobs and ass, and she had delayed it until he was already in bed and the lights were off. Her first instinct when she’d flinched with his touch had been to come up with the first thing that popped into her head. A rash! From a new bra. How stupid. But that was what she had said. 

The lovemaking had been ferocious and satisfying, almost as good as it had been when they had first been married. But there was something missing she felt, even as she shuddered through her orgasm. 

Again, she thought, Ashok was different, unusually responsive to her needs and requirements. What had changed? Was it her? Or was it him? She knew the answer. At least she thought she did. 

She missed the violence that she has now started associating with sex. She has been watching more BDSM porn on her computer. More degradation of the women, more beating, tying up, rough treatment, nipple torture—clips and clamps, multiple penetrations and so on. Of course, always with the VPN on. 

These days, it is not only after hours, but also during her lunch break and during any other breaks. Sometimes, she leaves the video on and just minimizes the window. Anyone can walk in and see what she has been working on. It is dangerous, she knows, but her activities have taken a life of their own. She simply can’t help herself as she fingers or vibrates herself to multiple orgasms during the day. 

Her orgasms, even when she is with her dildo have been explosive of late, but the lovemaking with Ashok was strangely unsatisfying. 

And what is that with the new couple they met at the resort? What is Ashok saying? She tries to think between the lines of their pillow talk, the post-coital conversation. He was quite insistent they make of night of it in Delhi, at the residence of Abhi and Menaka. 

Is he trying to set something up? Something to spice up their sex life? Does Ashok have the imagination to do something like that.

She remembers Menaka very well, of course. Abhinav, not so well. She thinks he was a little on the plump side, darker than Ashok, but about as tall, reasonably good-looking. Younger than them by a few years, no kids yet, they seemed well off, and from what Ashok has told her, they have a pretty large property in Delhi somewhere. What was the place in Delhi again? She can’t recall. Never mind, not important. It is not the going or getting there that occupies her mind. The GPS will lead them there when the time comes. 

What occupies her mind is the evening Ashok has proposed (and she has accepted). Will they be interacting with this new couple one on one, or will there be other guests? The way Ashok said it, she suspects there is no one else, which means there is some ulterior motive, some sneaky thing he is trying or going to try. 

What could it be? Probably wife swapping or maybe sex with each other with the other couple doing the same, and in the same room? Ashok has talked about that kind of thing in the past, but it has been a while. Yes, she thinks, that’s what it must be. It might even be fun. Abhinav is tall and handsome, and most Indian men are a little paunchy anyway, at least in her circle, so well, might as well try it. She will protest of course; she has a reputation to protect. 

She has watched everything on porn sites—threesomes, moresomes, gangbangs. In her imagination, at least, there is nothing that will shock her. If that is what Ashok is planning. Perhaps it will spice up their sex life again. Yet there is a strange feeling of being unfulfilled. Last night was good, but not as good as the preceding hours in the conference room even though there had not been any actual sex. 

Initially, it had all been a game, albeit unscripted. Prakash had been masterful, and she had gone along with his “Malik” business. Later, after the “punishment,” there were moments when she had wanted to please him, do whatever he wanted, go over and above and beyond even. As a consequence, she had felt the shame of failure when she couldn’t get him hard again afterwards. 

Yes, she has had time to consider her emotions, and it was shame for sure. She wanted so badly to please him, make him hard and have him take her there in the conference room that it was almost a physical ache that she had failed. 

As she ruminates, the garage comes up. 

Prakash—she now recognizes him, his coarse features—is at the kiosk. He gives her a smirk and points at his watch as though to remind her of their appointment in the evening. He also gives her a mock salute, quite unlike the ones he used to give her. 

She colors when she sees him, and wonders what he has up his sleeve. Her stomach flutters and she averts her eyes, but there is also a small smile playing on her lips she becomes aware of when she looks at herself in the mirror-like polished surface of the elevator doors. 

The day rushes by with her work, a presentation she zombies through, and three quick sessions in the ladies bathroom to relieve herself, and then the end of the day arrives. Her colleagues start leaving, bidding her goodbye. She overhears one of the younger ones say to another that Swati madam is so driven, she works late almost everyday. 

Ha, she thinks, if only they knew. Wait, she thinks all of a sudden. What if they did? She would either become the laughing stock of the company and made to resign in disgrace. Or…if they kept it quiet, she might become their plaything, a whore for all and sundry to do as they pleased with her all day long. She has read some stories like that on the internet. 

But, she knows, it is all a fantasy. The reality is a few minutes away when she must undress and walk to the conference room naked and wait for Prakash and allow him to whatever he pleases with her body. 

Must she? She allows herself a few seconds of introspection over the compulsive word, must. 

Prakash probably has incriminating pictures, maybe even video of her naked and showing off her nakedness like a shameless hussy. Perhaps even a video of her giving head to him in the conference room. So, what? He could put it on the internet, but there are so many naked women on the internet these days that there is a glut. 

Not like the early days of MMS scandals. Memories are short these days, and her notoriety, if there is any at all, will be short lived. Prakash could send the pictures to HR, her husband, her family she supposes, and yes, that will cause more damage, but is it something she cannot weather? She isn’t sure. 

Finally, she decides, yes, she will do it. As for must, the jury is still out. She is going to do it because she wants to, for now at least. She feels nominally in charge and as soon as that thought pops in her mind, she remembers the scene where she was gasping for breath as Prakash’s engorged organ invaded her throat again and again. She wasn’t in charge then, was she? Not hardly. 

Malik, she reminds herself, she has to call him Malik. 

Today, she has left her hair loose. She is wearing her heels and teeters precariously toward the conference room. She opens the door and walks in. 

Prakash is waiting, a sour expression on his face.

“I thought I said nangi, naked?” His voice is a bark.

Swati is disconcerted. She has taken more care than usual with her appearance today, more lipstick, a little more eye make up, her hair is loose instead of the usual professional ponytail. She has even touched up the pubic hair, shaving the stubble extra smooth in the shower. The vertical arrow is intact, more prominent for the grooming. 

She can’t imagine what she has missed. 

“The glasses,” he says, “What about the glasses?” 

As she moves her hand to remove them, he says, “stop, I like them. Leave them on.”

She guesses he likes the sexy college teacher look as well. 

[S Darko]

Please please please please update. Such a great story should not go unfinished

I have every intention of finishing the story. Just got a little busy over the holidays. Expect an update within this week.

[S Darko]

Happy new year S Darko and hope you had a great vacation time.

Happy new year! Update coming soon

[S Darko]

“There’s a ruler in the drawer,” she says, her voice calm and measured. And then, after a beat, she says, “Malik.” She knows this delay in calling him by his honorific will cost her, probably in terms of a flogging of her ass. 


Prakash stalks to the end of the conference room table and opens the drawer. She knows there are pens and pencils, post it notes, the inevitable tangle of paper clips, and a two foot plastic ruler. It is thick, perhaps a quarter of an inch and quite heavy. Perspex she thinks is the material, some kind of special plastic. 

She watches as Prakash pulls it out and hefts it in his hand, slaps it against his palm. She hears the meaty thwack as the plastic strikes flesh. 

Swati is prone, on her knees and head, her arms behind her back. Her ass is up in the air, the highest part of her body. Her knees are spread, and she is intensely aware that both her holes are probably exposed to his view should he choose to look. 

Her position has been so prescribed by her tormentor, not of her choosing. Her neck is twisted and her face is turned toward him and she watches his every move, knowing what is coming next. And she also knows she deserves it. 

She wonders if she did it knowingly. 



When she walked in, Prakash had motioned her to come crawling to him.
 
Just by simple motions of his hands and fingers, he had commanded her to get on all fours and crawl toward him on her hands and knees. Later when she thinks about it, she is amazed at how easy it has become for him to control her. She relives those minutes before she is stuck in this predicament, ass up in the air, telling him about the ruler in the drawer.

His pants are already unbuttoned, fly open. He has been waiting. She has no idea how long. He isn’t hard yet, but even semi soft, he looks impressive. 

Ramesh isn’t there. Yet.

She licks, then sucks him hard. There is more steel in his erection today, Swati senses. She can already guess that today there will be no trouble getting it up more than once, and a part of her welcomes it. 

Prakash rises and shucks his pants. He is naked from the waist down and his cock is a frightening baton of hardness and menace. His balls hang low and dark and heavy even in the air conditioned room.

She crawls between his splayed legs under his watchful eye and begins. As she begins her ministrations, he sighs, the comfortable sigh of a man getting a little R&R at the end of a stressful day. Today, he isn’t as dirty or sweaty or disgusting as the other day. He might have bathed in the morning or perhaps the night before. 

Soon he is hard, the single eyed monster bobbing in front of her face, now tapping her nose, now her mouth. Precum seeps slowly from the pee slit, clear and viscous, and she wonders if it would be okay to lick it without explicit instruction. She awaits further orders, her tongue out, waiting to start fellating him again if that is his preference.

His penis is engorged, has become purple, with thick veins engorged along its surface. It bobs gently in front of her face with his every heartbeat. It seems impossibly large, hard and menacing. She can hardly believe it was in her mouth, can’t believe she was able to take most of it in.

“Hmm,” he says,” pleased with his erection, glistening in the overheads with her thickly coated saliva, “get ready.” 

Then, with no more warning, he grabs the back of her head and forces himself into her throat. He is big and long enough that the head of his dick can just about get into her throat and suddenly she is breathless, her nose pressed into the thicket of hair at his groin. 

She can’t breathe and the air she has last taken in isn’t adequate. Air hunger sets in within seconds. 

Soon, her diaphragm begins to spasm, her body begins to shake uncontrollably and still he holds her down. She flails her hands at him, but she has no strength. Her legs drum a tattoo on the carpeted floor, her heels fly off, but still he holds on. 

It seems he is superhuman.

Her eyes are wide and all she can see is the thicket of hair in his groin and his lower abdomen. Blackness starts to creep into the ends of her visual field. She is getting light headed. 

Black spots start dancing in front of her eyes. Her hands are curled into fists and she is vaguely aware she is pounding on something. Her body goes stiff, her torso jackknifing, and still he holds her down.

When her diaphragm is spasming almost continuously, by her count, at least a couple of minutes, he pulls her head off his dick. It takes a little effort. His dick makes an audible pop as it comes out of her gullet, like a champagne cork being popped. 

She falls back and scuttles back to the wall. 

She draws in great whoops of air, ragged sounds emerge from her throat she can hardly credit as her own voice. Weakly, on her butt, she leans against the wall just under the windows and struggles to regain her breath. 

She knows her face is a mess. She can feel her mascara running and tears and snot and saliva everywhere. She knows she looks like a caricature of the pretty young woman who walked, then crawled into the conference room just a few minutes ago. 

Her glasses are almost off, smeared and useless. She takes them off and tosses them away, and immediately her vision is blurry. Everything is now smeared in a soft haze, details gone. But she can sense the sharpening of her other senses. Her hearing, smell, even her thinking seem clearer. 

The last time he had face fucked her, used her head like some masturbatory sleeve, she had felt only a shadow of the panic, the loss of air, the feeling of impending suffocation and doom. 

Today it was much worse. 

Time she took charge and put a stop to this nonsense. It is all very well to have fun and games, but there is a limit. Prakash needs to know where hers are. 

When she can breathe without trouble and her chest stops heaving, anger replaces her earlier panic. 

“What the fuck!” She screams at Prakash when she finally focuses on him. He is still sitting, grinning like a maniac, on the chair.

“How was it?” He says, his voice high and piercing, laughing like a hyena. Evidently, he is getting a big kick out of all this. 

He scoots forward on his chair, grinning like an idiot and reaches for her breasts, grabbing the nipples and tweaking them, pulling them, jiggling the generous tit-meat.

She feels the discomfort, but ignores it. There are more important things to deal with. She also knows that her position is significantly weakened by the fact that she is naked, on the floor and getting her tits played with like she is some kind of toy. 

A part of her mind replies, yes, you are a toy. A fuck toy, a sex doll. He is going to do whatever he wants with you. 

She silences her inner voice and turns to him, shaking her tits free of his hands. His fingers fall away and he lets them fall to his sides. 

“What the fuck, Prakash?” She says again, letting her anger out. Her tone is sharp, cutting, and any of her juniors would have quailed, possibly even pissed their pants. She was a tough manager after all. 

Prakash looks at her with what looks like genuine puzzlement on his face, but there is no fear or contrition. Or even any trace of apology. 

He mouths his name, “Prakash?” 

She continues to scream at him, and then his face changes from benign puzzlement to something different entirely. The change in his face is sudden and breathtaking. 

He gets up from the chair and advances toward her, his face dark, menace in his every gesture, and Swati feels sudden fear turn her insides to water. 

What has she gotten herself into? This is no corporate environment even though they are in the conference room. Here, job loss or censure in front of peers isn’t going to cut it. This civilized space has just transformed into the jungle when only the strong and predatory prevail. A deer cannot think itself to be a predator if there is a lion in the jungle. 

He grabs her by the throat with his left hand and pulls her partially up. Not choking her, not yet, but the pressure is there. 

She is on her knees, and suddenly her breathing is faster. Her heart is thundering in her chest. He probably doesn’t need to slap her, but he does. Twice. Forehand and backhand. Perhaps to drive the point home. 

His face is inches from hers and she can smell his paan masala and cigarette breath. Then, very deliberately, he speaks, not shouting, not whispering, just a normal voice. For a moment she wonders if he is a psychopath. Perhaps he is. 

“You are a whore,” he says. “I own your whore ass, and you will do as I say. You will not complain. All I want to hear from you is, yes Malik. Do. You. Understand?”

His voice is measured, but there is no mistaking the menace in every syllable. 

She stays shocked, her head at an angle, looking wide eyed into his angry visage. Then, all she can do is nod. She is in a full posture of defense, body folded as much as it can be, knees drawn up, arms covering her soft middle. 

Mutely, she nods, a limited range of motion that is afforded by the tight grip he has on her throat. 

He slaps her again and commands her to open her mouth. Again, she mutely obeys. The conference room opens and she sees Ramesh come in from the corner of her eye. Somehow she is relieved he has not been around to see her latest humiliation. 

Prakash briefly turns to acknowledge Ramesh and turns back to her. 

He looks at her sitting with her mouth open and straightens, putting his rampant cock at the same level as her mouth. 

Without thinking, Swati takes it in. She has come a long way in her slutdom. She isn’t a whore like Prakash calls her, really a slut, but she isn’t going to argue with him about those nuances. She will, likely than not, get a beating. She pauses a moment and thinks abut the terminology. He calls her a randi, but perhaps there is no such nuance in the Hindi language. 

Not that she knows of anyway. She shrugs and returns to her task. 

His cock has softened slightly in the few minutes but not by much and within seconds, under her ministrations, it regains its former hardness and size.

Prakash pushes her with his hips until she has scooted back and is with her back to the wall. There is nowhere to go. 

Prakash pushes in with force and once more her throat is invaded and full. She cannot even draw breath through her nose because her airway is blocked by his turgid piece of meat. Her eyes start watering and this time she is sure he means to kill her. 

In her position, she cannot effectively use her arms of legs and Prakash is so big and strong. Even in the middle of her panic, she remembers thinking he was soft in the middle and weakened by a desk job, but that wasn’t true was it?

Prakash relents and pulls out, allowing her to breathe. 

When she can see again, Ramesh is standing right behind Prakash and she thinks maybe he had something to do with 
Prakash easing up. She doesn’t know, but she sees concern in Ramesh’s eyes. 

Oh, how she longs for the days with Ramesh when her only fear was someone walking in on them. Those days are gone now, she realizes and the future is uncertain…but definitely exciting. Only if, a part of her brain reminds her, if you stay alive for it.

Prakash is manipulating her and she obeys like a doll. He arranges her on all fours and then pulls one arm behind her, then another. She balances on her knees, her head down. It isn’t a comfortable position, but neither is it uncomfortable. 

She feels his hand reach down and she lowers her body so he can reach whatever he wants without trouble. His fingers touch her pussy. They are rough and probably filthy, but she doesn’t care. Suddenly, all she wants is his hand there, his fingers inside her, preparing her for his monster of a cock. 

His fingers slip inside with no trouble at all. How has she become so lubricated with all this brutal sex play? Is she a junkie for this kind of treatment? This kind of adrenaline rush?

She has hardly any time for thought when he hoists her ass up with a finger crooked in her pussy, then pinches her clit, and she has a small spasm that ripples down her legs and into her belly. She shakes with desire. 

She hears Prakash spit, and then his fingers at her asshole.

“No!” She screams, sudden panic seizing her. “Not there!”

She wants to tell him she is actually a virgin there. Yes, she has had a boyfriend, and now a husband, but neither was interested in her anal opening and even though she has read about anal sex and seen countless videos of women doing and enjoying anal sex, she herself hasn’t. 

And even though intellectually she thought it was going to be fine, and she would do it if that was what he wanted, his merest touch has sent her into a panic. There is something primitive and earthy and absolute about a man taking a woman anally, not to mention depraved, and she isn’t sure she wants to sink that deep. And she is afraid of the pain too. 

“Not there, please, please,” she begs, turning her head toward him, trying to get him in her peripheral vision. She sees Ramesh start to move toward them, perhaps to stop Prakash and she is grateful. At least a part of her is. 

“You never learn, do you?” Prakash says in a sad voice from behind her. 

She hears s rustling sound and then she feels her wrists being restrained behind her. Zip ties. She hears the unmistakable rasp of the teeth of the zip tie tightening and now she can’t move her hands. Yes, they were behind her before, but she could have brought them around anytime. Not any more. 

“I will have to punish you now,” Prakash continues, and pushes her head down. His voice is still sad as though he is unhappy about this turn of events but there is nothing he can do. 

She has brought it upon herself. “And then I will fuck your ass anyway. What was the point of yelling and screaming, huh? You know what you are, and you know what I am going to do. Why resist?”

He sounds genuinely surprised and unhappy that she is such a recalcitrant whore, denying him the simplest of things. She should know better.

Swati feels a great calm settle on her. A punishment is inevitable. And then her ass will be violated whether by her consent or otherwise. 

She twists her head to one side. “There is a ruler in the drawer,” she says.

[S Darko]

He makes her count the strokes. 

They aren’t strokes so much as blows, and they hurt like the fucking devil. The plastic ruler is pliable and hard at the same time, and it whistles through the air and makes solid contact with her ass each time he swings it. 


“AAAAHOOOO!” 

He is making a good effort, not just the wrist, but the entire arm, like the dhobis at the ghats, or a professional wrestler pulling an opponent over his shoulder. 

“AIIIIIIOOOOOO!”

On the fourth stroke, the ruler breaks. Shatters, in fact. There is a loud crack that follows the sound of hard plastic hitting flesh, her yelp and then the crack. It is possible the crack came simultaneously with her yelp of, “AOOOOOO!” But it was hard to tell for sure. 

Swati sees Prakash standing there with the stump of the ruler in his hand, looking at it in disbelief. She wonders if he is going to use his hands like last time. His hands had hurt, she remembers. 

“There’s some stuff in the supply closet at the back.” It is Ramesh. He would know, being the janitor. He would not only have access, but also know what was where in this large building’s various nooks and crannies. 

Prakash and Ramesh disappear for a few minutes, while Swati lies on the carpeted floor, ass in the air. She imagines the welts and redness on her butt and wonders if a rash from her new panties could explain it to her husband should he ask.

The cool are conditioned air on her exposed ass is a little comforting, but the contrasting heat from the ass whipping makes her feel simultaneously uncomfortable and aroused. She can feel her cunt juice trickling down her thighs even though she cannot see it from her position. She shifts the position of her head to see if Prakash or Ramesh are visible. 

The supply closet is in the far corner of the room, something she had always thought was a wall. But now she sees there is a hidden latch and the entire panel is open, leading to a good-sized room. Good-sized, that is, for a closet.

All kinds of things are in there, boxes and small gadgets she thinks are routers, modems, even desk phones of the type she herself has on her office desk. But what catches her interest is what Prakash has in his hand. It is a short length of something flexible, about two feet or maybe a little more, and he is flexing it, hefting it, slapping it on his palm.

The two are talking, but they are too far away for her to hear. There is some kind of argument, and she sees Ramesh shaking his head and Prakash raising a hand, trying to convince him. She wonders what it is all about. They then turn to her and catch her watching them.

Prakash raises his voice and says, “One way to find out,” and starts walking toward her. Ramesh closes the closet door and hurries after him. 

Prakash is closer now, and she can see what he has in his hand is a short length of co-axial cable. Like the kind one uses for a cable TV box. It is perhaps a quarter inch in diameter, and she can hear the swishing sound it makes as Prakash whips it through the air. She feels dread in her intestines, and wonders how it will feel on her ass. 

The first blow catches her by surprise, and she almost doesn’t make a sound. First there is the hiss of the cable through the air, then a sharp crack as it connects with her skin. White-hot pain lances though her butt and down her thigh and before she can make a sound, there is a second blow. 

This time, she puts her lungs into it. “AAAAAAIIIIIIIIIMAAAA!!”

There is a lull. She cranes her neck to see what is going on, but it is hard since the men are too close to her and the angle isn’t right. She imagines Ramesh trying to restrain Prakash, but then a third blow lands, then a fourth. She screams as loud as she can. 

“OIIIIIIMAAAAA!”

Then she feels a presence by her head and through her watering eyes she senses it is Ramesh. There is no cigarette or paan masala odor either. 

“Are you okay, Swati madam?” His voice is full of concern. “Prakash is saying you enjoy this, but I’m not so sure.”

She says nothing, her breath is caught in her throat. 

“Just ask her to nod,” Prakash says from behind her. “She’s a whore, she wants it. Then she will want me to fuck her in the ass. Ask, and she will say yes. That’s the kind of whore she is. She likes it…karara, a little rough and hot.”

His voice is confident, knowing, and for a second Swati wonders if her knows her better that she knows herself.

And then Ramesh is back in her field of vision, saying, “Nod if you want this to continue…”

And despite every nerve shrieking at her, no, no, no, Swati nods as best as she can.

“Can you do something about the noise?” Prakash says. “Her wailing is very distracting…and disturbing.”

Something stirs again in her field of vision, and she is roughly jerked up on her knees from her bent over, ass-offering position. Her arms are still zip tied behind her, not painful yet, but not loose and comfortable either. Just enough to remind her of her subservient position. 

Prakash gives her a light tap on her exposed butt, just a mild reminder that he is in charge and that nothing has changed in her position in the pecking order, which is at the bottom. Where does Ramesh stand?

Ramesh produces the yellow ball-gag from his pocket, together with a black silk blindfold. She recognizes the items as being from her office drawer, things she has purchased on impulse, things that Ramesh has seen before, and the use and function of some of which she has explained to him. 

Prakash chuckles as he hauls her to her knees. She could have done it herself, rising to her knees even with her hands tied behind her back, but it would have taken effort. She would have been grateful for his help, except that he does it by roughly grabbing her by the base of the ponytail and pulling her up.

When Ramesh pops the yellow ball, soft but resilient silicone into her mouth, and ties the straps around her head, Prakash watches with interest and slowly dawning understanding, until when the final strap is tightened, he breaks out in a full-blown chuckle and slaps Ramesh on the back and calls him a genius. 

Ramesh smiles thinly, accepting the praise, but not participating in this whole business too enthusiastically. Swati wonders at him anew. What kind of guy is he? He likes to watch but not touch; he likes to help Prakash brutalize her, but won’t participate. 

Prakash understands the next part with greater ease. 

The blindfold. Even though he isn’t too sure about it, he goes along with it. He’d rather her see what he is going to do to her, he says to Ramesh, but the surprise might be good too. 

Swati feels the heel of his boot push her between the shoulder blades, at least she thinks it is his boot, and she goes down to her ass up, head down position again, waiting to see what will happen next. 

Her large breasts hang down toward her face, sliding over her upper chest. Her nipples are large, and they scbang the carpet. The tingle that contact sends through her makes her shiver. 

She knows though that he is going to attack her ass, and there is nothing she can do about it, and even her screams will be attenuated through the ball gag she herself has supplied inadvertently, an impulse purchase several months ago. 

[S Darko]

So sorry everyone. I got super busy with work but will update in the next day or so.

Thanks for your patience and continued support.

[S Darko]

Inder is transfixed as he watches Swati being gagged, then blindfolded. 


The images are vivid on his monitor which he has recently wiped down with a special solution for cleaning screens and his efforts have been rewarded handsomely. 

To his right, the recorder button is pulsing red, and by the end of the evening, he will have another great video that he will later edit and…he hasn’t thought further, but selling it to one of the porn websites isn’t out of the question. He thinks Swati’s face should probably be camouflaged, but the blidfold is a good idea—he won’t have to use a digital blur which he always finds off-putting. 

Prakash is hefting the thin cable in his hand, and slapping it down. The audio is so good, he can hear the whistling sound it makes as he swipes it in the air. With a lot of force, he notices. 

Prakash positions himself athwart Swati’s ass, his legs slightly apart, a good, strong base from which he can deliver strong blows. Incongruously, he wears no pants or underwear, and his cock—he notices, it is a pretty large one, is sticking straight out. 

As Prakash raises his hand to strike, Ramesh steps in and stops his hand. They speak in low voices, as though they don’t want Swati to hear, and the result is that he, Inder cannot hear either. They seem to reach some kind of understanding and Prakash takes up his stance again. 

Swati whimpers on the ground, her eyes blindfolded, her knowledge of the world reduced by that one hugely important sense. Inder can imagine how she must be feeling, the terror. He shakes his head. Why is he having feelings of empathy for the whore? 

Prakash abruptly brings the cable down on her ass, once, twice, thrice, and immediately there are red welts across both of her cheeks. For a second there is no sound, then a muffled wail from Swati. Her whole body is shuddering and heaving, and wait, what is this? She is actually coming! Orgasming! Just like the whore he knew she was. 

Inder is fascinated. 

There is clear liquid running down her thighs in little rivulets.

Prakash makes a noise between a laugh and a snort and tosses the cable aside. Inder can see it is the heavy kind, the industrial kind, not the type of light cable that is used in houses, but the armored kind that is used in commercial buildings. That would hurt, he can imagine it quite well. 

And now, he stands with his legs on either side of her ass, ready to proceed to the next phase of the fun and games. He starts to crouch when Ramesh taps him on the shoulder. He produces a bottle of something clear, a gel-like liquid, that he squirts into Prakash’s hands, even though the latter seems to think that spitting on his hand is good enough. Ramesh makes a few gestures, making it clear to Prakash that he expects the lube to be used. 

Inder muses on this relationship between Ramesh and Swati and Prakash for one more time. What a strange guy this Ramesh is. No touching, but he takes instructions on what and how to do it. On the one hand he comes across like a virgin, and on the other like a seasoned S&M expert. 

He does pretty much what Inder tells him—the use of lube was one of the things. Ramesh had told him that there is a literal treasure trove of sex toys in the the whore’s office, and Inder has instructed both Prakash and Ramesh to use them on her. Although, he thinks, this Prakash fellow is a little bit of a loose cannon. 

Of course the spit that Prakash is proposing is good enough for the whore, Inder thinks. Bitch like that probably could take it with no lube at all. Her asshole was probably large enough to drive a truck through, he chuckles to himself. 

But, again, Prakash makes him uneasy even though he has him under his thumb, in his grasp. He has him by the metaphorical short and curlies. By his balls in fact. 

Prakash kneels to one side, his head very close to her ass, and uses one finger to cautiously explore her asshole and Inder can see her expression despite the gag and blindfold. Thank goodness for high definition cameras, he thinks. He can zoom in if he wishes, giving him the power and flexibility of a movie cinematographer. 

He can also record simultaneous streams if he so wishes. Inder has put a lot of thought into the A/V system in the conference room, although not for this purpose. It has worked out well for him though. Repurposing and adapting the technology. 

Swati winces and tries to shrink away as Prakash’s finger touches her asshole. But then his finger pushes in with surprisingly little resistance through the ring and he sees Swati visibly relax. 

The lube is working! One second there is the pucker, the starfish, tight as a buttonhole, and the next there’s relaxation, a give, and the finger is through. He was right about her. She is a huge fucking whore! No question about it. 

She is however, whimpering. Soft mewling sounds that he isn’t sure are those of pain. Is she enjoying it? Huh! Surely she isn’t? But then she moans around the gag and then he knows she is enjoying it. 

Prakash is moving two and now three fingers in and out of her asshole which is starting to dilate. When he pulls out, the ring doesn’t relax, the starfish doesn't reappear. 

There is, instead, a deep and mysterious hole that is enlarging with each additional finger that Prakash inserts. The man makes a point of all his fingers, like he is holding something small with all his digits, perhaps making an offering to a beggar and pushes part of the pyramid thus created into her asshole and now he sees her ass moving back to meet his hand. 

It seems to Inder that while Prakash is pushing in, Swati is pushing back to gobble even more of his hand into her nether hole. He wonders if she knows it is his hand, and not his cock, blindfolded as she is. Surely, she expects his cock in her ass before too long. 

After a while, Prakash tires of the fingering of Swati’s asshole, and gets up, his legs straddling her torso. He puts both hands on her buttocks and spreads them, the asshole, the dark redness inside now clearly visible, and the pussy, glistening and wet and slightly puffy, the slit marginally gaped. 

He turns back and momentarily glances at one of the cameras, an actor breaking the fourth wall, and then settles back into his role.

For a second, the bulbous purple head of his cock is poised at the entrance to her most secret cave and then with a slight push of his hips and a grunt, the cockhead in inside and then the stem of his manhood follows. 

“Take that, you whore,” Prakash says as he pushes. 

Swati’s upper body is crushed under his weight, her breasts flatten and bulge obscenely under her. Inder can see that already they are red and raw where the carpet has scbangd her skin. He can see one nipple, long and hard and part of the aureole. 

She grunts as Prakash starts to hammer his cock into her like he is a giant hammer, and his cock a nail he must push all the way through her. 

Every stroke his prick emerges wetter and darker and Inder can hardly believe it, larger. It looks like an angry log, veins and all. 

Inder ponders for a moment what this means. Is he a bisexual? Is he a homo? He has never had sex in his life and isn’t even sure of his orientation. But it is true that both the whore and Prakash’s cock turn him on. He unbuttons his pants and slips his hand under the waistband of his underwear.

With every push, Prakash calls her a whore in different but repetitive Hindi and some other language words that Inder cannot understand. There words are interspersed with grunts and, “take that,” and “fuck, fuck, fuck,” and other wordless sounds. 

Prakash seems to be slowing down his pneumatic hammer-like movements. His face is fixed in a savage grin, grunting with every stroke. 

Swati is also grunting with every punch-like percussion of Prakash’s waist, the sounds starting pig-like and then devolving into mewls. 

She is clearly enjoying this, Inder thinks.

Inder looks over, away from the main action to see what Ramesh is doing, but the man has disappeared. He pans the camera and looks around the large room, but there is no Ramesh. 

That odd, he thinks, Ramesh is like a lap dog, a protector of sorts for the whore, and yet he seems to have deserted her. Then he notices a shadow on the glass wall and Ramesh reappears. His pockets bulge with heavy things that he seems to have retrieved from somewhere. 

Inder wonders what goodies he has brought. 

But back to the main action in center of the room. Prakash does something different. He fucks in his cock all the way until he is lying almost on top of Swati with a loud “Son of a whore!”

She grunts as loud as she can despite the gag. The carpet around her gagged mouth is darker that the rest; the yellow ball is partially visible and in stark contrast with the dark carpet. She has drooled uncontrollably since she first took her position there. 

Then Prakash wraps his hands around the woman’s waist and pulls her to him with a loud groan. 

For a moment nothing happens as Swati’s breath whooshes out. 

Then Prakash is rising to his feet, roaring and screaming, as though he is putting in a supreme effort, a powerlifter pulling three, four times his bodyweight. He rises slowly, carrying Swati in front of him, his hands under her legs, his cock still plugging her ass firmly. 

He moves with unsteady steps toward the large conference table and plops her down on it. His hands hook under her knees and he pulls them up and out, giving Inder a magnificent frontal view of her slightly gaping cunt and her completely plugged asshole. 

Her mouth is open as wide as it can go, almost wider than the ball gag in her mouth and there is drool over her chin. Eyes blindfolded, mouth gaped and gagged, all holes on full display, she looks like a wet dream, and Inder is overcome.

Swati is making a high keening sound as Prakash fucks her nether hole ruthlessly, relentlessly and furiously. His face is a rictus of an unknowable expression. 

Ecstasy or pain, Inder cannot tell, but his entire concentration is on Swati. 

The whorishness of the scene! What kind of woman would allow herself to be treated like this, let alone participate enthusiastically? 

Her holes, both plugged and unplugged consume his consciousness. 

He drops his pants and pulls frantically at his own cock and within seconds he spurts into a wad of tissue that he has kept for this very purpose. 

He is temporarily sated, but there is more action going on. 

[S Darko]

Swati feels weightless as Prakash lifts her, almost it seems without effort. 

She can feel his bone-hard cock in her ass and that it is, in fact, one of the points she is held up by other that his hands. 

He sets her down on the conference table. She can tell by the cold hard surface she can feel under her fleshy ass. 

She still cannot see anything, and all her sounds and words are distorted by the ball gag in her mouth. In her mind’s eye, she can see her saliva dripping all over the gag, her mouth, her chin and even her upper chest, all wet and slimy. 


He is pushing in and pulling out with the regularity of a metronome, and the feelings the movement is causing are electric, her nerves buzzing, the tingling in her pussy building, intensifying to a tremendous crescendo.

She hears a squeak, then wet, mewling sounds and realizes they are coming from her. 

Incredibly, she is getting off on this treatment. 

She, a successful, corporate woman, a career woman, educated, smart, intelligent, and she’s no more than a whore for this crass, uneducated lout. 

And the thing is, she can’t get enough of this!

His cock hasn’t left her asshole even for a second from the moment it went in. Initially, it hurt; hurt like hell in fact, despite the lube—she knows what lube this is—it came free with her pink dildo, a water-based gel-like lubricant that she used only once, but is seems to work. It was cold, ice-cold as it went in, and she could feel Prakash’s fingers as they slowly went in and out, dilating her orifice, her ass, for the reaming he has planned for her. 

The savage way he later inserts his cock tells her he has been planning this for a while. Perhaps he has dreamed of this. 

Perhaps the lower class people use ass-fucking as a family planning device. Who the fuck knows?

The first few strokes, were brutal, she felt a tearing pain, and she worried if he was causing some kind of permanent damage. The pain was almost as bad as the childbirth pain she had when Dhruv was born. 

Then, quickly, very quickly, it started feeling neutral as she relaxed with the smoothness of the motion. 

It was nothing much at all, just a stretching of the tissues, like taking a large dump. 

And then, to her great surprise, she started liking it. It wasn’t like vaginal fucking, it was very different. The sensations were felt in a different place for one thing, but also deep, in her belly and…she finds it hard to think as her body launches into what she thinks is an orgasm, but not something like she has ever experienced before. 

It’s in the wrong place, but it ripples out of her ass, and consumes her pelvis and travels all the way into her stomach.

Her nipples feel tight, rigid and sensitive as all hell as Prakash drives into her ass like a maniac. She shudders and shivers as the orgasm washes over her. 

Not orgasm, she corrects herself, it’s an assgasm! Her first. 

It feels great! No, it feels more than great. It feels divine. The roughness of his fucking pushes her over the edge again, and before she can catch her breath, he lifts her up like she weighs nothing, is nothing and puts her on the table. 

He pistons in powerfully several times and then pulls out altogether. A loud fart escapes her, a real fart this time unlike the vaginal queef last time. 

She knows she is screaming at the top of her lungs but the ball gag effectively muffles the sound to a low wail. She feels empty, desolate. She is aware he hasn’t come and hopes this is not all, there is more.

And there is more.

Prakash pushes her forward and scoots up on the table, still straddling her body, and raises her into his lap. She sinks down, and his erect cock finds her asshole and sinks in with no trouble at all, and she sighs in contentment. To think she had resisted giving up her ass cherry! 

This is fantastic. 

She mewls and grunts as he fucks up into her ass. He hooks her legs under her knees and she feels herself spread apart as though for inspection. She feels like she is being displayed, perhaps in some medieval bazaar for purchase as a sex slave. 

Here sir, see all her holes, she can imagine the salesman saying. All fresh and very elastic. Here, see how she takes cock in her ass? And look here at the cunt—all cleanly shaven except for the tasteful arrow down the front. You won’t be disappointed sir, only 40,000 dirhams, sir. 

She wonders for a second where the number of 40,000 dirhams has come from, but she is distracted as Prakash pulls her knees up until they are almost level with her head. 

And still he fucks on, determinedly, like an automaton. 
His hands slide through and suddenly it is his elbows under her knees, not his hands, and his hands are on her tits, squeezing, molding, and pulling at the nipples. The pain is unbearable, and yet the pleasure is unbearable too. 

She cries out, and her whole body shudders in orgasm again and again and again. Her pussy squirts, almost in sympathy with the ravaging its neighboring hole is getting.

Prakash’s breathing is ragged, and he is out of breath. 

So is she. 

Did he come? 

Swati has no idea. She has been entirely focused on her own self. 

Deprived of sight, she has focused on sensations alone.  And they have mostly been in the lower half of her body, her pelvis to be exact. It seems to her that despite the fact that Prakash has barely touched her pussy, she has been lubricating furiously, and she can feel her cunt justices running back down her fleshy thighs and mingling with the lube around her ass. 

It has all probably been churned to a foam by now, she thinks.

For a moment, she reflects on her position. She is bent almost in half by the way he has positioned her, her tits are probably bulging out obscenely from between her thighs, and her ass and pussy are open like the India Gate. 

Here sire, this way sir, it's open season! Enter at will! 

They rest a moment like that, Prakash still deep in her ass, his hands now cupping her tits rather than squeezing the life out of them, and they both breathe in lungfuls of air as they try to catch their breaths. 

The orgasm is fading, but the tingle in her nether region remains, just below the surface, like a welcome and friendly monster barely concealed by the water, ready to rise and crest again with the most minimal provocation. 

She can feel her pussy twitch in response. He nipples tingle, her whole body is alive and yearning for more. 

She senses movement behind her, Prakash stirring, his breath now steadier and his hands off her boobs. She savors the brief respite because she knows it will be brief. 

His cock, his ramrod staff is still rampant in her ass, and he hasn’t come. 

She doesn’t know that for sure because she might have missed it, but she doesn’t think he would still be that hard after coming. And so, there will be more. 

Prakash is pulling at her pussy lips, pulling them out and apart, and she can only imagine what it looks like to the cameras. Ass plugged by a dark brown cock, and pussy gaping, pulled apart by the lips, the deepest, inner ridged walls of her vagina visible for all to see. 

Then she is surprised as there is something cold and hard at the other hole, pushing, pushing, pushing, parting the lips and entering inside. 

Her cunt is tight because of his cock in her ass. 

There is, after all, only so much space there, and the tissue must dilate slowly to allow intruders like the ones Prakash is introducing there. 

For a wild moment she thinks it is Ramesh, finally putting his cock in her, finally fucking her, but it is too cold, too hard to be a human cock.


She realizes that Ramesh has raided her file cabinet, and this is one of her dildos, probably the pink one that Ramesh was so fascinated with. 

[S Darko]

Inder watches Prakash pull the whore’s pussy lips apart. 

They’re so slippery that they slip from his pinch grip of index and forefinger, and he uses one more finger, a thicker grip, and pulls the lips apart. The image in front of him is so obscene, the dark cock in the whore’s ass, the pussy wide open, no, stretched open. Her clit is a throbbing nub of pink flesh at the summit of her cunt lips. 

All of it is wet, drooling cunt juice, her female cum. He feels himself harden again, something that happens only rarely. 


And what is this? 

Ramesh has stepped forward, out of the shadows, and is pulling a large pink something from his pocket. He realizes it is the same dildo that Swati had demoed for Ramesh not so long ago. 

Inder is transfixed. He has no idea what is going to happen next. He has a very good idea what is going to happen next. His thoughts are all over the place, his cock is rampaging, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

Ramesh places the pink dildo at the entrance of her cunt and after a couple of sharp pushes, the bulbous end is swallowed up by the whore’s pussy. And then he starts dabbing at the phone in his other hand.

A double penetration! True it is a cock and a dildo, not two cocks, but a DP nevertheless. 

Something magical happens then, something cataclysmic, something that Inder in all his days of watching hardcore porn has never seen. The images are seared into his retina for as long as he will live.

Prakash is sitting on the conference room table, legs splayed out, with Swati between his legs, facing away from him. She is gagged and blindfolded. Drool leaks thickly from her widely stretched mouth onto her chest and tits. Her body is bent double, her thighs against the outer parts of her chest, the tits obscenely compressed between them. Her knees are bent with Prakash’s hands under them. The effect is that of exposing her nether regions to best advantage. 

And those are spectacular. Her ass is only seen as a tight purple ring, stretched out by Prakash’s large, dark member. In front of that and slightly above is her cunt, her pussy, with the pink stem of the dildo sticking out. And what’s that below her left ass cheek? Inder realizes he has failed to account for her arms which are bound behind her and what he can see are her fingers fluttering under her body, contrasting with Prakash’s dark thigh. 

And everything is shaking. 

Shaking, that is, differently. The dildo is shaking because it is vibrating—Ramesh had turned on the vibrator function, and he can see the thin stem blurred from the movement. 

Swati’s tits are shaking, moving ponderously in twin rolling waves as the pleasure takes her. Prakash is moving in and out of her ass, and Swati’s midsection is, well, there’s no word for it other than spasming. Her whole torso, in fact, is shaking, twisting, juddering. 

This is clearly the dual effect of the ass fucking and the vibrating dildo at her core, and the poor whore is simply out of her mind with the ecstasy of pleasure that the two combined are sending into her body. 

Inder tries to imagine the pleasure the whore is getting out of all this. It seems the harder Prakash pushes her, the more enjoyment she seems to be getting out of this. In fact, he sees her mouth open wider even than the ball gag as she screams in ecstasy. 

Prakash gives a few fitful and hard thrusts, his rhythm off, and then holds himself rigid inside Swati’s ass, and then he begins to shake like some powerful machinery switched on. Inder realized that Prakash is dumping his load into her ass. 

Simultaneously, Ramesh turns up the intensity of the vibrations in Swati’s cunt and she practically leaps off the conference table where her ass partially rests. Both are rigid and quaking simultaneously with their respective orgasms and all Inder can do is watch.

When they disengage, Prakash removes the gag, the blindfold, the zip tie, and the dildo and lays the whore down on the table. The slut is shamelessly lying there with not a stitch of clothing on her, her legs splayed as though she has no control over her body anymore. 

And no wonder, thinks Inder—she has been coming for over ten, maybe fifteen minutes, nonstop like an express train. That kind of thing would take the stuffing out of anyone. 

He zooms in close and sees Prakash’s cum leaking out of her asshole onto the conference table’s burnished mahogany, and wonders if it will leave a stain. 

Her cunt looks raw and bruised, a red gash between her legs, and the darker, inner lips flop down like the petals of some carnivorous flower. He can see faint tremors of her cunt lips and pelvis even though it has been a while that her holes were totally plugged.

Swati’s face is a mess. Her mascara has run everywhere and any lipstick she had on was gone, everything is smeared and covered in saliva. Her eyes are closed, her mouth is slack and drool runs out of one corner of her mouth. A faint, but satisfied moan emanates from her mouth over and over.

Then Prakash rises and pulls over the large decorative dish—a ten or twelve inch diameter ceramic creation designed as a centerpiece, and filled with Hershey’s kisses—toward him and peels open one of the chocolates. He is still breathing a little heavily as he pops one of them into his mouth. 

“What a lifestyle these fuckers have,” he observes idly. “Chocolate at meetings. They must be drinking daaru as well, no?”

Ramesh grunts, and joins him at the table and picks up a piece of chocolate of his own. 

“Chicken drumsticks too, from KFC no doubt,” Prakash continues in his fantastic imagination of what corporate board meetings must be like. “And naked women, like our randi here.” He chuckles, both amused and angry at the injustices a poor man like him has to suffer. No board meetings with naked women and booze and chicken and chocolates for him.

Neither of them pay any attention to Swati, lying naked and spreadeagled on the table just a few feet away. She is still breathing heavily but otherwise seems a little out of it, perhaps still blissed out by her monumental orgasms. 

Prakash picks up another chocolate and unwraps it, and then sits looking at it for a bit. Something seems to spark in his mind and he gets up. 

“Watch this,” he says to Ramesh.

He spreads the whore’s legs and bends her knees and pulls her to him, so her cunt is only a foot or so away from his face. He sniffs at her cunt delicately. He doesnt seem to mind the smell. 

“Don’t move,” he says to Swati, “don’t fucking move.”

Then he stuffs the Hershey’s kiss into her cunt in one smooth motion. It doesn’t look like she even feels it, for all the reaction she gives—just a tiny wiggle of her pelvis. Prakash seems disappointed, and he sits back as though not sure what to do next.

He reaches for the bowl and adds another chocolate, then one more to her cunt. 

He keeps repeating this until her cunt seems stuffed with brown chocolate, most of it melting from her heat and her juices and running down the back of her things and onto the table.

“Look what you did,” Prakash growls. “You’re going to have to clean all this off with your tongue.” He seems delighted with the idea.

Inder can watch no more. 

He hikes up his pants and hurries out, thinking, chocolate, chocolate.

[S Darko]

Five minutes later, Inder is seated at the table and eating the chocolates out of Swati’s cunt with gusto, much to the bemused enjoyment of Prakash and Ramesh.


“He loves eating pussy, it seems,” Prakash observes redundantly to Ramesh, who grunts. 

All that can be heard are the slurps and wet munching sounds as Inder goes to town on Swati’s love hole.

Swati thinks through the sensations in her nether regions, despite the sensations, that Ramesh is always very quiet, never saying anything obscene or vaguely expletive-like, even though he wants to see her naked and perform for him. What a strange guy.

All this while she is being eaten out with a skill she can hardly believe. Well, actually she is being eaten out of. 

Inder, the fat, oily guy, the IT security chief if that can be believed, is eating the chocolate out of her cunt that Prakash has stuffed in here just a minute or two ago. Swati can readily  believe the fat man loves chocolate even more than sex.

Swati had been in a post orgasmic stupor as she lay on the hard, cold surface of the conference table, her back cold, but her nether regions still practically steaming from the intense orgasms she had enjoyed. Her whole bottom was soaked with her own juices, and there was of course Prakash’s semen leaking from her poor abused asshole. She was aware, vaguely, of Prakash saying she had to clean something up, but she was floating like she had smoked a joint or something. 

Then she had felt herself being pulled, positioned, and she was about to protest because she thought he was getting ready to fuck her again. She would be ready to go, sure, but she just needed to catch her breath, come down a little from her high. 

Her orgasms had been back to back, giving her an almost unending roller coaster like high, a continuous spasm wracking her cunt, ass and pelvis, sweeping up into her body, her stomach clenching, her breasts sore and feeling like they were swollen with milk again.

Something small and hard went into her cunt, and she hardly felt it and she didn’t react much beyond a tiny moan. Then more and more small objects began entering her cunt, almost immediately becoming soft and squishy. She could feel some thick liquid run down the bottom of her cunt into the crack between her buttocks and drip on to the conference table. 

She raised her head to see what it was and was surprised to see Prakash busily stuffing chocolates into her abused pussy.

The next thing she knew was the conference room bursting open and the short, fact, oily man she knew only as the IT guy, entered the room. 

He ordered Prakash away from her and sat himself down at the table. There was no question he called the shots around here. Prakash stepped away with a bemused smile on his face. 

The fat guy then grabbed her thighs, separated them as far as they would go, and dove in. He ate her pussy and the chocolates with great eagerness, and made up for any deficiency in skill with boundless enthusiasm.

Now, Swati feels a presence by her face and opens her eyes that have been screwed shut with her impending orgasm, to see Prakash’s thick spear waiting right there. 

It seems to have revived after the onslaught on her ass. It is a little wet still and faintly smells, well, bad. 

She knows she has no option, bad smell or no, and she opens her mouth and lets it in. 

She controls the natural distaste for the shit smelling dick and feels her esophagus clench in protest. With a conscious effort, she focuses on her cunt that Inder is still eating with avidity. 

One of her hands moves toward her clit, as though of its own volition, and starts making lazy circles over it. She can feel the ripples of early orgasm coming on, and she knows it will not be a big one, but a release nevertheless. 

And then she is coming, her hips bucking into Inder’s saliva and chocolate coated face, his glasses askew and smeared with her juices. 

“AAAAHHHHH! SSSSSSSSS!” She wails. 

She has never been so vocal before, but somehow it feels appropriate to let it all out in this bizarre situation. To think of it is to admit the strangeness of the setting. 

“Aaaah!” Yells Inder, clutching at his glasses. He pulls off his glasses and tried to clean them with his shirt. Incongruously, he is still fully clothed, as is Ramesh. She never quite understands why Inder is yelling. 

Prakash in the meantime has shed his shirt and is in his undershirt, a sleeveless gangee, dingy yellow in color. 

She sucks on his cock with enthusiasm and when she climaxes from Inder’s mouth and her own clit massage, Prakash seizes the opportunity and rams his cock in all the way into her throat. The hypoxia thus created intensifies her orgasm, and she lies there shaking and shuddering with the climax before the air hunger starts to take over her senses, and she slaps at his thigh with her hands.

Prakash releases the iron hold her has on her head and pulls out, and Swati breathes in with great whoops. 

Before she knows it, Prakash is between her legs, bending her in half again. Her thighs are pushed over her chest, crushing her tits, making them bulge outwards. She hears Prakash chuckle at the sight and then adjust her thighs, so her tits are positioned between them but pushed out now as though in offering. 

He bends his head and roughly chews on one nipple, sucking, gnawing, and even biting. It is painful, but she is distracted by the gigantic log he pushes into her cunt with such force that her breath rushes out of her in a great whoosh.

Then he is upright, and fucking her without mercy like a piece of meat, grabbing on to her hips, bending her, doubling her over and fucking not just her cunt but her whole body.

Inder is now by her side, and he grabs one of her tits near the base with one hand and slaps the bulging flesh with his other hand, over and over. She can see from her position, the skin of her boob turn a dusky red. When he is satisfied, or tired perhaps, he rests for a second, then grabs the other one and slaps it over and over. 

Several of the slaps land on her nipple, and they are now painfully erect. 

But the pain in her boobs and the pressure Prakash is putting on her body are more than compensated by the intense pleasure that is rippling out from her cunt into her lower belly. 

She can feel it building even as she puts out her hands to steady herself on the table. 

It is very uncomfortable, the most uncomfortable sex she has ever had, but it is also fabulous, intense and no bed in the world can make up for the simultaneous pain and pleasure. 

She can’t help looking up at the recessed lights in the ceiling, and before she can finish the thought, the lights are spinning away into crazy patterns, and she is coming violently, the lights flashing and spiraling, and she is lost in an orgasmic maelstrom of outer space.