[S Darko]

It is a long drive and Ashok is taking a nap. He has just returned from Europe and is still jet-lagged, so he asks Swati to drive while he grabs forty winks. 

Swati has a lot on her mind, so she agrees without argument even though driving in the bumper to bumper traffic of Delhi is not her thing at all. 


It is the weekend before Christmas and Abhi has called Ashok over. 

Swati cannot wait for 2019 to be over. This year has been a long one, and an awakening of sorts. Especially the last few months. The sex has been frequent and, while sometimes degrading and humiliating, always thrilling and exhilarating. She has learned to take the aches and pains that go along with this kind of lifestyle, but sometimes the marks on her skin, the bruises have been hard to explain. 

One time after Prakash had been especially brutal with his leather belt, Ashok had inadvertently seen a portion of her back, and asked about it. She could not call it a rash this time, so she said it was a bruise from falling down the stairs. 

She also said, without thinking, and perhaps laying the groundwork for other injuries, that she bruised easily these days, and Ashok was instantly solicitous, asking to see the bruising, but she put him off and promised to go to a doctor. 

“You know, a cousin of mine had this kind of thing—bruising. Then they tested her and she had  leukemia. So, don’t take this lightly, please baby, go see a doctor.”

She agreed, but planned to put it off, but Ashok insisted, and then reminded her again, and in the end, she made an appointment with Dr. Grover, a skin specialist. Ashok knew Grover, and had called ahead, telling him about her skin condition. She had no option but to show him her bruises, which had by now taken on all kinds of colors. She had no doubt he would know instantly what was going on, but she had no choice.

As expected, Dr. Arvind Grover had raised the gown, taken a look and smirked. “Hmm,” he said. 

He motioned to Swati to get dressed and dismissed his nurse who was acting as chaperone. In order to avoid malpractice suits, she supposed, in this age of #MeToo. 

“So, experimenting, huh?”

She reddened and gave him a vague nod. 

His smirk widened. Neither had any doubt about what was going on. If Ashok had no idea, then Swati knew that Grover had made the obvious connection that she was doing something extramarital. 

They stared at each other for a few minutes.

“Don’t tell my husband,” she begged as they faced each other across the consultation table. She was dressed once again, and he was wearing his white coat. 

“I see,” he said, and Swati could clearly see the wheels in his head spinning. She knew he was wondering how he could leverage this woman into bed, or at the very least get some advantage over her, preferably sexual. 

Before he could say or do anything, Swati had pulled her shirt off, easy enough with the loose tee shirt she had on, unsnapped her bra, turned his chair around, and dropped to her knees in front of him, saying, “How about a blowjob? For now that is? We can figure something out later. I might need to have…” here she winked elaborately, “follow-up appointments, don’t you think?”

Her heart wasn’t in it. She wasn’t attracted to Grover even though he was a nice enough guy. 

The sex would probably be good, but not the way it was with Prakash and Inder, but this was the only way to ensure his silence. 

She knew that as a doctor, he was prohibited from discussing her condition with anyone else, even Ashok, but there was no way she could guarantee it. And if he did tell Ashok, what could she do? Sue him? And so, she had made her own deal and sealed it, as they say, with a kiss.

[S Darko]

The truck in front of her changed lanes without signaling, par for the course here. No one even drove in their lanes, and she wondered why they even bothered to draw them at all. 


Her thoughts drift back to Prakash and the conference room. Last month, Prakash fucked her silly in the hallway, not even waiting to get to the conference room while Ramesh looked on. 

Prakash spent a good, long time edging her, taking her close to orgasm and then pulling back until she was horny like an alley cat. He could tell when she was about to come, the tells on her face and body, the quickening of her breath, the tightening of the cords in her neck. He was an expert in her, his whore. She screeched her frustration at him, just like a feral cat might, and he slapped her. 

He dragged her by the hair to the conference room and said, “What do you want, cunt?”

She said she wanted to be fucked, she wanted to come. She said this in broken English, so he would understand, but he had not understood, or at least pretended not to. He made as though to consider what she was saying, a big show of scratching his head and looking confused. 

“Which hole?” he said finally.

“Any hole, take any hole,” she said. She bent over and spread her cheeks, showing him her holes, both of which were dilated and gaping by this time. 

“I’m not sure…” he said, “It doesn’t seem to me that you really want it.” He made a show of looking at his watch as though he were late for something. 

“No! Please, please, I really want it! I’ll do anything!”

“Really? Anything?” His tone was skeptical. 

“Yes, anything,” she said, not even thinking for a moment what she was saying. 

It wasn’t like she was offering him something he’d not had. Not that she had a choice anyway. Prakash would have taken her anyway, any hole, any which way he pleased, and there wasn’t much she could do about it. 

Prakash stuck his finger into her pussy, bent it and hooked her up so she was standing on her tiptoes. “Whose hole is this?”

Swati moaned, and her hips writhed in frustration. Hurry up and fuck me already, she thought. “Yours, Malik!”

“Hmm.” He pulled his finger out and stuck it in her ass. Two fingers this time. “And this one?"

“Yours Malik!”

Prakash pulled his fingers out of her asshole and stuck it directly into her open mouth. Swati was beyond all the niceties of cleanliness and hygiene by now. She didn’t care that Prakash’s cock stank of urine and stale sweat. She didn’t care that Prakash was now sticking his fingers in her mouth, the same fingers that had been in her ass just seconds ago. 

Instead, she sucked on his fingers with gusto, rotating her hips in an approximation of the sex act, moaning all the time. Prakash had seemed satisfied by her responses, and his cock had seemed to stiffen even more in response. The veins stood out at attention on his turgid member.

Swati thought Prakash was satisfied with the way he had trained her. She was happy with the training too. Stick and carrot. The stick was sometimes a slap, a caning on her ass, slapping on various parts of her body, sometimes his leather belt, but the carrot, oh, the heights of sexual ecstasy mixed in with pain was nothing she had ever experienced before. 

Prakash asked Ramesh to open the window. She hadn’t known the windows could be opened, but open they did, but not in the conventional way of windows but as a whole. The large panel of glass in front her swiveled out and away and right there was a small ledge with a railing around it, suspended with steel cables and pulleys. Perhaps it was for the window washers to stand on, or for some other function. It could barely be seen from the street, even if you knew where to look. Maybe it changed places with each day, depending on where the workers needed to work.

Prakash took her there, from behind, in the ass and then in the pussy, changing every few strokes while she stood bent over, clutching at the railing for dear life, fifteen floors above the ground. 

From across the street, she could see lighted office windows and people gathered. She wondered if they could see her being hammered in this lewd fashion. She thought they might see a woman being fucked, but they wouldn’t know it was her, nor would they know who was fucking her. The thought of exhibiting herself to so many more people at the same time excited her, and she exploded into orgasm.

Another time, Prakash fucked her against the window pane, her breasts flattened on the glass, nipples spread like pancakes while he thrust into her from behind over and over. She worried the glass might crack, but it was the reinforced kind, not easy to break. 

That was also the night he had humiliated her by calling in the chai w,.' for the first time. 

He called the guy on his mobile and when he’d shown up, Prakash had escorted the guy upstairs while she lay in post-coital bliss. He’d told him that the madam would pay him in kind for the three cups of tea. She had felt extremely embarrassed and shamed, trying to cover her privates with her hands, but then she realized how ridiculous that was. 

She dropped her hands and got into the spirit of things and gave him a blowjob, still tentative, but slowly getting more into the bizarre situation. She gave him a good sucking, even though his cock was relatively small. The advantage was that he couldn’t choke her like Prakash could. Still, it was larger than Inder’s. 

Prakash humiliated her further by asking her to admit she was nothing but a cheap whore, a whore who would take cock in any and every hole, whatever the client wanted. He made her say she wanted to be fucked, humiliated, then he spit on her, made her lick the spit up and shine his shoes with her tongue, all in front of the chai w,.' who had his eyes so wide they looked like poached eggs.

She still remembers the conversation as though it were some kind of catechism. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m a whore, a randi”

“What do you want?

“I want to be fucked.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a whore!”

“You really want strange men to stick their cocks in you”

“Yes! Yes! I want cocks! I want strange men to fuck me in all my holes!”

All this had to be accompanied by her spreading her legs, showing off her holes. Sometimes she bent over and displayed her holes, her breasts dangling in front of her. Other times, Prakash made her heft her own boobs, and pull on her nipples while repeating the catechism. 

Her vocabulary in Hindi had also improved with the incessant coaching, and now most of the dialogues were spoken in Hindi with only the occasional word in English. 

[S Darko]

The fat man, Inder, only occasionally joined in the fun and games. His thing seemed to be primarily watching remotely. Still, one afternoon, he had walked into her office at lunchtime, and shut the door behind him. 


He looked her up and down while she half stood behind her desk. He looked unsure of what he was doing.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” she said. “Is there some IT problem?”

“No,” he said, his voice rising a little. He looked around uneasily, as though fearing an interruption or to see if there were others in the office. He was sweating profusely.

They looked at each other for a long minute while Swati wondered what was happening. 

Inder lost his composure and yelled at her. “Whore!” He said. “Take off your clothes. All of them!”

She had looked around uncertainly, but she didn’t have a choice. 

She dumped her clothes on the floor, thankful that the door was closed. It was eerily similar to the scene which had started this whole saga, the night Ramesh had barged in. 

She was now comfortable with the idea of being naked, even in front of strangers, and Inder wasn’t really a stranger. He had seen her naked before, and she had sucked him off a couple of times. He hadn’t fucked her, had he? She couldn’t remember for sure. 

Inder then pushed her under the desk, pulled his pants down and told her to fellate him.
“Suck,” he said. 

He seemed to have mastered his emotions now, and felt more in control.

She squatted in the dark, small space and pulled his pants further down. She found him semi-soft and massaged with one hand, licking the tip of his cock and coaxing him to full hardness. Swati wondered how this situation had come about. Did this mean she was just one step removed from being the office whore? At the beck and call of anyone who wanted to get their rocks off?

As she blew him, she heard someone knock on the door and walk in. Shit, the door wasn’t locked!

She couldn’t see who it was, but she recognized Ashok’s voice. She had completely forgotten he was coming by to take her out to lunch that day. He’d even reminded her in the morning. It was an unusual thing, but Ashok had been acting differently of late.

Inder had apparently been completely unfazed, even though he was sitting half naked in her office chair, getting his dick sucked by the man’s wife. But Swati could feel his thighs becoming sweaty, a little clammy.

“Oh, she must’ve gone to the emergency meeting,” he said with a slight waver in his voice.

Ashok was incredulous. “And who are you?”

“Oh me…I’m the IT guy, fixing her laptop.” 

Her laptop lay open in front of him, and was about as convenient an excuse as any. Better than what she had come up with for her “rashes,” she remembered thinking at the time. 

As Ashok departed, muttering under his breath, she felt Inder relax. His cock which had started to soften in her mouth, became hard again.

“Go on,” he said, his voice a little hoarse now. 

Swati finished the blowjob, swallowed without being told, and when the coast was clear emerged from under the desk and hastily donned her clothes. 

Had Ashok seen her discarded clothes on the floor? What would he have thought about it? She didn’t know, and she was slowly starting to think she didn’t care. 

[S Darko]

The drive seems endless. She is finally on the Ring Road, and she has many kilometers to go before they reach Abhi's house. A little snore tells her Ashok is still sleeping. She wonders if he is hungover.

The next time in the conference room, she had been fucked twice by Prakash and then the chai w,.', whose name she had since learned was Ganesh, and as she lay on the carpet, she felt the urge to pee. 


A very strong urge. 

The two men had taken her ass and pussy and mouth until every hole felt raw and sated, but now her bladder was bursting. Earlier in the day, she needed to do a presentation to an overseas client, and in her nervousness, she drank more than her usual quota of coffee and water.

She rose and started to walk nonchalantly to the restroom at the end of the hall, just beyond the glass doors of the conference room. 

Prakash said, “And where do you think you’re going, whore?” 

Very casual, but there was not mistaking the authority behind the voice. 

He almost always called her whore, only occasionally as “Swati madam,” but that was usually with sarcasm, or in the presence of other people when they were clothed. 

The chai w,.', who had by now become accustomed to the way of things, chimed in with, “Yeah whore, where do you think you’re going? We’re not done with you yet.” 

He was an accomplished second fiddle, the little fucker. She might let him fuck her, mostly because she didn't have a choice, but also because he was low class, a blue collar worker. But that didn't mean she couldn't have a private opinion of him. 

Swati raised her pinkie and motioned toward the bathroom. “Going to the toilet.”

“Oh, you need to pee?” Prakash’s mouth twisted in a smirk.

“Ye-es,” she said, alarm bells ringing in her head.

“Why, you can do it right here!” He crooked a finger at her, beckoning her. He rose and emptied the bowl of chocolates onto the table and invited her to hop on to the table.

Shit. She didn't have a choice. That was part of what she loved about this. 

She hastened to comply. If she dallied, it would only be worse for her. Sometimes she welcomed that, but right now, she really needed to go.

He told her to spread her legs and show them her pussy. 

She did so, fingers on either side of her pussy, spreading it to reveal the reddened tissues inside. 

Prakash and Ganesh looked carefully at the offering of flesh, as though to memorize it. 

Prakash put the bowl under her ass, and said, “Go. Do it here. I want to see.”

The chai w,.' was fascinated. “I’ve never seen a woman pee before,” he said.

“See, you hang out with me, and you’ll see all kinds go things,” Prakash said, and the Ganesh gave him a fist bump. 

Swati felt her face becoming hot as she blushed. 

It was one thing to flaunt her nudity, even put on shows, fuck these men, but she wasn’t sure she could bear the humiliation of peeing in front of these men. 

She looked around for Ramesh, but he wasn’t there that day. Of late, Ramesh had been occasionally skipping these sessions. 

She felt more exposed than she ever had before. Even though the men had seen and used her most private of parts, entered her every hole, this felt like a new kind of exposure, a new kind of invasion. 

A humiliation that she had not been prepared for. 

In the end, she had no choice. Of course not.

She squatted over the bowl. For a long time, her pee wouldn’t flow. 

And then it had dribbled out, slowly becoming a thicker stream, and she closed her eyes and sighed in relief. 

When she was done, there was nothing to wipe with, and she let it go. The men were staring at her in fascination, clearly having never seen a woman pee in this proximity. 

She reddened and lowered her head. 

Ganesh took the bowl away and pushed her onto her back, still on the conference table. 

She wondered about this table--it must be pretty rank by now if no one cleaned it. She hoped Ramesh did a good job on it after their adventures here.

Then Ganesh stuck his head between her legs and stared licking her cunt, lapping at it like a kitten might at a bowl of milk. 

Prakash sighed and got up on the table and stuck his cock in her mouth. And of course, within a few minutes, Inder had joined them. He couldn’t resist chocolates.

[S Darko]

It is late afternoon by the time they reach Abhi’s house. It is a two-story bungalow style house in a neighborhood of similar homes, with a large ornamental wrought iron gate and a sentry at the guardhouse. It reminds her a little of Prakash in his glass box. 


This guard is dark, bald and had a large mole on his cheek, like a villain in a Hindi movie, something that would have put her off in a previous life, but now it only makes her curious about how he might fuck her. The gate slides open, and they drive down a circular driveway and are met at the main door by a liveried valet. She gives him the keys, and he tells her he will get their bags.

Just then, the main door opens and Abhi and Menaka step out. 

Swati and Ashok both stiffen in surprise at the costumes the two are wearing. Abhi is in a white Arab dress complete with headband.  Menaka is wearing a loose fitting, shimmery but almost transparent shirt, and a pair of harem pants of the same material. Underneath, in the low lighting of the driveway and the last of the setting sun, Swati can see a set of dark lace bra and panties under the outerwear. She is heavily made up with dark eye shadow and glittery stuff on her cheeks. She looks beautiful, ravishing in fact.

“Didn’t realize it was a costume party,” Ashok says after he picks his jaw off the ground. “If you’d told us, we would have come prepared.”

Swati watches Abhi and Ashok as they shake hands. 

Ashok turns to Menaka and opens his arms for a hug. She steps in and Ashok whispers something in her ear. In the meantime, Abhi comes in for a hug, obviously a reciprocal one, and Swati feels his arms around her, one hand on her ass, gently squeezing and groping. 

So, she has been right. This was a sex thing. Probably swinging.

“You’re going to enjoy this weekend,” he whispers wetly in her ear.

Swati gives him a tinkly giggle, thinking he would appreciate it.

“What’s with the costume?” She says as they walk into the lobby. 

“Oh, nothing…this is just one of the role play things we do sometimes. I’m a rich Arab sheikh, and she is a slave, for auction, you know…oh, and we have costumes for you too in case you were wondering.”

Swati says nothing. She glances at Ashok, but he seems to be taking all this in with a degree of comfort and equanimity she finds surprising. He must be in on the whole plan, or at least parts of it. 

The lobby is grand, a three story, yawning expanse, richly decorated with dbangries, curtains, and gilded furniture. None of it looks very comfortable, but then she notices a separate area near the back where there are mattresses laid out on the floor, full of very comfortable pillows and blankets. It looks like the setting of a very decadent mujra, the only missing thing being the dancing girls.

Milling about are four more couples who are introduced to them, but Swati forgets the names almost immediately. Even though they’re all are in costume, dressed up as Arab sheikhs and harem girls, albeit the sexy type, underneath, they look like the successful banker or corporate type people she has known all her life. 

There are drinks. Top shelf stuff, Johnny Walker Blue, Pappy van Winkle, and Glenfiddich, and a bunch of others she has never heard of. She sticks to Grey Goose, and sips slowly and carefully as she gets a measure of the people around her. 

The conversation swirls around her, ebbing and flowing like the currents of a river. She says as little as she can, and there are no intrusive personal questions, but also no hints as to what will happen later. She supposes that the festivities might happen later, after dinner. 

A thought strikes her. What if this is just an elaborate fancy dress party and nothing more? She fingers the thin material of her harem pants and shirt and feels more exposed than she does in her office conference room, where she wears nothing at all. 

There are waiters in uniform who move around the room carrying trays of finger food. She tries some exotic sounding and pretty looking things. Lots of protein—paneer this, and chicken that, and even beef, even though most people would never admit to eating beef in any other company, this one seems to be among people who are elite, where such things are not talked about. 

 Once the food is cleared away, the servants disappear, melting away like butter hitting a hot skillet. Abhi brings out a bottle of Bailey’s. 

“There are other liqueurs, if you so prefer,” he says and rattles off a few names that Swati dent recognize other than Kahlua, a coffee liqueur. 

Everyone picks up a shot glass from a tray of them on the coffee table, and Abhi walks around filling glasses. Then, at a signal, everyone drains their glass, in the fashion of tequila shots. Swati follows suit after a moment.

“No one likes tequila, I mean like really like? You know what I mean? So we decided to do this instead. It’s our own thing.”

Swati nods like she understands. 

“To this evening’s horse-trading…or rather, slave trading,” says one of the men, raising his shot glasses. He is a mustachioed dark man with a South Indian accent. Malayali if she has to guess.

Abhi sits down on the couch between Swati and Ashok. “You guys know the rules of the game, yeah?”

Ashok looks uncertain, but he nods and Swati shakes her head at the same time. They look at each other, embarrassed, and both laugh in the unsure way when both parties make an inadvertent joke.

“Oh,” Abhi says and stands up, a surprised expression on his face. “You guys are newbies?” This last is said louder and everyone turns to look at them. Ashok looks embarrassed, but Swati looks on with curiosity. This is definitely weird. 

“All right everyone!” Abhi claps his hands and the little conversation also fades away. Everyone is looking at Abhi, now standing in the middle of the large room. 

“A little going over the basics of the rules here. For the edification of our new friends here.” He points his head at Swati and Ashok. 

“Each of us here has a harem girl that counts as an asset. That would be the woman you came here with. It could be your wife, or girlfriend, or escort for the night, whatever. He can sell her, or not, and he can decide at the auction what he wants for her. Whoever buys the girl will have her for the night. Simple, yes?”

Ashok puts his hand up like he was in a class. “What about the money? Are we using real money here?”

Abhi laughed. “What do you think?”

Then he turns to the audience and says in his announcer voice, “All right. Shall we begin?”

The others know the routine, and the men retire to the low placed mattresses and pillows at the edge of the room and settle themselves on the cushions in a semicircle. In the middle is the swarthy man who spoke before, and Swati remembers his name as Krishnan. 

The women withdraw to the kitchen. She sees Menaka preparing one of the other women, a woman as busty as herself, but a few inches shorter, giving her an even more slutty look. She is also a little plump, but then some men like them that way. 

Menaka touches up her lipstick, tugs on the woman’s bra, giving her cleavage more definition, and gives her styled hair a quick rearranging. “Go,” she whispers, and pushes her toward Abhi.

Swati wonders at this strange game where the women are commodities to be sold like cattle. She flashes back to her own fantasy of only a few days ago where she was being fucked in the ass by Prakash and her holes were on display. “Here sir, here are her holes, 40,000 dirhams only sir,” she remembers thinking at the time even as she was being fucked into the stratosphere. 

In comparison, this looks very dignified and staid. For one thing, the women are clothed and there is hardly a naughty word spoken. Even the women are addressed respectfully as, “harem girls” rather than whores or bitches.

Abhi, it seems, is going to be the auctioneer. 

He takes Sudha by the arm and stands under a spotlight that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the room. He looks like a game show host, with his arm around her shoulder, the sides of their bodies making full contact. 

“Gentlemen, we have here a superb South Indian beauty. She is thirty-two years old, and her statistics are thirty-eight--”

Here he waits for the wolf whistles to die down before resuming. Swati wonders if he knows the number to be true or if he is just guesstimating. 

“Thirty, and forty. What do you bid for such a sexy item?”

The men talk among themselves and there is a low murmur of voices. 

“Ten thousand!” Krishnan says. 

Swati thinks this is probably not Krishnan’s wife, but then she hears Abhi say, “Kris man, you can’t bid on your own wife! I mean slave girl.”

Krishnan looks shamefaced and the man next to him, Ravi, says, “Twenty thousand.” He is halfway supine, one elbow solidly planted on a fat bolster.
“Twenty thousand one—“

“Thirty.” This time it is the bearded guy that looks like he might be a wrestler. 

One of the women leans over and whispers in Swati’s ear. “Baldev. He is actually my brother-in-law.”

Swati turns to her. “You’re here with him?”

The woman nods. Swati’s mouth falls open a little, but the woman says, “Nothing to worry. My husband is gay and Baldev, well, he is very well-endowed…” she grabs her right forearm midway to demonstrate. Swati makes big round eyes to indicate her surprise, and the woman giggles. 

“Aparna,” she says. 

Meanwhile, the bidding is proceeding apace. Baldev has reached ninety thousand and Abhi is saying, “Sold! For ninety thousand to Mr Baldev Singh.”

He leads Sudha who walks demurely with her eyes on the ground as though she were really a slave girl just purchased at auction. Abhi leaves her at the edge of the mattress and Baldev indicates his feet where she should sit, and she does.

[S Darko]

Nikolai looks at Prakash from across his desk. The desk is not really a desk. It is really a door on two sawhorses, a temporary office in a temporary building. Everything in this business is temporary.


“You should take a look at her at least,” Prakash is saying. 

Prakash has been introduced to Nikolai as a Russian pimp and human trafficker. What he doesn’t know is that Nikolai is about as Russian as he himself is. 

The only thing different about Nikolai is that he suffers from vitiligo and therefore looks white. He speaks Hindi with an accent he imagines is Russian, although it could be Spanish or Japanese. Regardless, he has his audience fooled. 

“The last one you brought wasn’t up to the standard. The Sheikhs, they want high quality maal, not the naukrani types you guys have. Not interested.”

Prakash looks at Nawaz, and Nawaz looks back at him. 

“Show him a picture,” Nawaz says. 

Prakash grins and smacks himself on his head for forgetting such a basic thing. He pulls his phone out, finds a suitable picture and hands the phone to Nikolai.

“Take a look at this Nakul bhai,” he says, and the white man grimaces. 

“It’s Nikolai, not Nakul bhai,” he says, but his heart isn’t in it, and anyway, Nikolai is too much of a tongue twister for Prakash to say. Besides, he thinks, this Nakul bhai is also not a bad monicker to go by. It would create more of a mystery around his persona. Also, it would be good to keep the cops guessing. 

He does look at the picture with interest. There is a pretty woman, make that very pretty woman, who looks great. In this picture, she is wearing a salwar suit and looks ravishing. She seems to have all the right curves in the right places. 

The question is, how is she involved with this group of lowlives? Anyway, he has to play it cool. Casually, he swipes to the next picture, and it is the same woman, but this time she is completely naked. 

He can see she is as spectacular as Prakash has been raving about, and maybe more. He is careful not to look too long at the image, but that one glance is enough. She is as advertised, her skin like butter and cream, makkhan-malai, like Prakash said. Magnificent tits, beautiful, curvy body. She is the whole package, for sure. He wonders if he will get a chance to sample the wares. 

His heart pounding, he swipes back to the clothed picture he was supposed to see and hands it back to Prakash, who has his hand out. 

He forces a bored look on his face and looks around as though searching for something. “Do something,” he says, “get me a good video with you two guys and the girl of course, and we’ll see. There may be some scope in the porn business, maybe someone might buy her…we’ll see.” He waves his hand dismissively. 

Prakash and Nizam look crestfallen but determined. 

As they turn to leave, Nikolai says, “Oh, WhatsApp me those two pictures—the one with and the one without clothes. Just so…I remember next time you come.” He forces himself to sound bored and blasé, but his heart is thumping. 


#


As they leave the warehouse district of Gurugram, Prakash turns to Nawaz and says, “I thought you said he would be interested?”

Nawaz shrugs. “He gets all kinds of offers all the time, and he has to be choosy.”

Prakash mulls this over. “But she is fantastic…but you haven’t seen her yet.”

“That I haven’t.”

“Well, Nakul bhai said we should get a video with us in it, right?”

“Would’ve helped if you had a video on your phone, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah, but my phone is old, and I ran out of space…”

Nawaz lengthens his stride, and Prakash matches him, trying to keep up. The area is creepy, with warehouses and empty streets and parked trucks, and they both feel uneasy. 

“Lets make a video with her,” Prakash says.

The idea to make more money off of Swati has been percolating in Prakash’s mind for several weeks now. 

Initially, his primary emotion was rage, and he was able to take out his anger in spades on an almost unwilling Swati. Slowly, things changed, and she seemed to accept the reality of his existence in her life albeit unwillingly, and always with Ramesh present. That too changed, and Prakash isn’t sure why. Swati has been welcoming of his sexual attention more and more, regardless what perversions he demands of her. 

Lately, it looks to him like he has her trained as well as he ever will. There is almost nothing she will not do for him, well, nothing actually. Prakash is a man of limited imagination, and he has introduced Swati to Ganesh the chai w,.', but he has been reluctant to share a good thing too widely. 

His circumstances haven’t changed much, though. He is getting his rocks off in spectacular fashion on the regular, but he still lives in a chawl with several others, and money wise, he is no better off. His first thought was to pimp her out in Bhim colony, but that would make him no more money because most of the people there were as poor as him. Yes, there might be the novelty of fucking a high class madam for the first few days, but afterwards it would likely not be quite as lucrative as he would like. 

The first few weeks, he couldn’t humiliate her enough, couldn’t beat her enough, and her resistance seemed to turn him on even more. At times, when he was in his glass booth, and he would think of her, and his cock would harden in an instant. He masturbated in the glass cage a few times, the danger of discovery adding to the thrill. 

All he had to do was to close his eyes and imagine her supple flesh, her tits, her velvet cunt, her vice-like asshole, and he would come in no time. It was odd, he reflected, that he came so much sooner when he was imagining her and jerking off, but when she was available in the flesh, he could last way longer. 

Almost as though he was in total control of his orgasm. 

He still feels though that Swati holds the key to his stepping to the next level. He spoke to Nawaz, the other roommate he knew was involved in the flesh trade. Nawaz confirmed it, but Prakash had his doubts about how big a player he really was. 

Together they thought that if she were to be pimped out to high society clients, a lot of money could be made. 

And that was when Nawaz revealed he wasn’t quite the kingpin he had made himself out to be. Prakash almost snorted with laughter because he had suspected as much. Why would Nawaz live in a slum if he was making that kind of money. But he controlled himself and asked what the next step should be.

As it turned out, it turned out to be Nikolai, now also known as Nakul bhai.

And now there is this additional task they have to do for Nakul bhai. He seemed interested enough, Prakash thought, but he couldn’t be sure. He sent Nakul bhai the images he had requested, and then began to plan what he would do for the video that Nakul bhai had requested. Clearly, he expected a porno video with the woman and probably multiple partners. 

“Nawaz, what did he say? Both of us in the video with her, right?”

Nawaz nodded and grunted. He seemed to be indifferent to the idea of fucking a high class piece of ass like Swati when in reality he was used to a much lower class of pussy. He should really count himself lucky for Prakash to be presenting such a fine opportunity to him.

“What if we got more guys?”

Nawaz frowned, thinking and considering the idea. Finally, he said, “Who?” It irritated Prakash, this inability of Nawaz to come up with any ideas. Then he realized that Nakul bhai was Nawaz’s idea, even if it had only been because he realized the situation was over his head. At least he was that smart.

“Let me think about it,” Prakash replied. He lit a beedi, blew out the smoke.

“Ok,” Nawaz said. “I can bring Paro.”

“Who?” Another woman? Hmm. That might be fun. He had heard of a second or even third woman who were used in porno movies to suck the male actors to keep them hard. Usually in the scenes involving multiple won and one woman. 

“She’s a maid type I think. She gets a day off a week and she works for me for extra money.”

“I see,” siad Prakash. “Isn’t it your birthday next week?” 

Nawaz nodded.

“Aha,” Prakash said, blowing out smoke from his nostrils. “Let’s plan a big party then!”

[S Darko]

“Harder! Harder! Haaaaaarder! Swati screams as the cock in her ass pistons in and out. 


She is in doggy position and there is a man under her, licking at her pussy and sucking at her cunt even as the stiff cock reams out her asshole. She is trying to reach the height of pleasure she is used to, but is unable to get there. 

For one thing these guys are too…soft. Vanilla. They’re just too nice. Abhi is in her ass, by request, and the man under her is someone whose name she has forgotten now. Pankaj? Pravin? Something like that. He is an anesthesiologist she remembers.

The orgasms that she has had so far are mild, tame ones, not the body shuddering, mind quaking ones she has with Prakash and sometimes with Ganesh or Inder. 

Earlier, after the shots, she started to feel good, a feeling of wellbeing that cannot be explained simply by the shots of Bailey. 

Everything seemed to have acquired a bright and simultaneously hazy outline. Jokes seemed funnier, people more interesting than before. The paintings on the walls, that she had previously though banal were now explosions of color. She felt that perhaps the drinks had been spiked with something, perhaps LSD. 

Everyone seemed so much friendlier. She felt very close to everyone, like she had known them all her life. 

There was soft music that she had not been aware of previously, but occasionally it seems to fill the room, the soft percussion beating in time with her heart. The jazzy sounds seemed especially soothing, sexy somehow.

The auction proceeded much as the first one had until all four women had been “sold.” Menaka and Abhi as the hosts were exempt, and allowed to join any of the couples as they wished. Those seemed to be the rules. 

After the women had been duly purchased and attached to their masters, they were all lined up along the wall and were ordered to undress to their bra and panties so the buyers could inspect what they had purchased. 

Their limbs were inspected, their breasts weighed and evaluated and jokes made about how big one was or how soft. Everything was fun and the jokes hilarious. 

The women were supposed to be silent during this period, but there were invariable giggles and sighs and other sounds. 

Finally, the underwear too was taken off and the women were clad now only in their veils, completely naked otherwise. Pussies were inspected visually and manually, to make sure the purchasers were happy. Swati wondered if there were video cameras installed to record these events for posterity, and even though she couldn’t see any, decided that there might be. 

She went along with the role play with a little bit of insubordination that everyone found amusing. She made unnecessary moans when her man pulled on her nipples for example, and a quiet scream when he fingered her pussy. The other women too began to follow her lead much to everyone’s pleasure. 

Eventually the men too shed their robes, and Swati was able to see all the stiff members. SHe had a moment of insight then, perhaps drug fueled, that men were more insecure in their bodies, especially their penises, than women were in theirs. Baldev was indeed big, as advertised, even though he was limp at that point. 

But that was the extent of the group activities. 

Initially, she was visualizing an orgy on those comfortable mattresses, but it turned out to be only the staging ground for what was to come. It seemed that the pairs would go to different bedrooms and spend the night, but the men at least were free to switch partners at any time, and perhaps even double up on a woman if all were in agreement. It was all very polite and consensual. 


Menaka decides to join Ashok and Aparna in one of the bedrooms. When Pankaj (or Pravin) pulls her along, she goes with him, wondering what will happen next. It is surreal to experience this “group sex game,” as Abhi calls it.

Pravin (she decides she will call him Pravin) is gentle with her as he caresses her body, then licks her all over, paying special attention to her pussy and breasts. He is a little rough with the nipple sucking, but nothing that Swati cannot handle. 

Between lover-like caresses, he keeps breathing how beautiful she is and how big and lovely her tits are and so on. It is different from Ashok, and well, it’s nice. No other word for it. 

Then it is time for her to suck him, just like in a porn movie. 

She does this for a long time, and Pravin is not very resilient, able to hold on for a just a short time until he finally shudders his orgasm into her mouth. His semen is watery, and tastes a little fishy, but not too bad. She swallows it all, much to his pleasure. Since Ashok isn’t there, she feels free to let her newfound inner slut out. Anyway, that’s the whole idea isn’t it? 

Now it is time to get to the actual sex.

Only one problem. Pravin is limp. No matter. Once she gets done with him, he will not only be able to fuck, but also last longer. Hopefully. 

“Don’t worry,” she says, her voice soft and comforting. Take your time. Use me like a fuck doll. I am the sexpot of your dreams, just use me like you might a whore you bought for the night. I have no feelings, no opinion, whatever you want is yours. Go on…”

Swati lies supine and lets him play with her body. 

He runs his hands along her inner thighs, her breasts, her neck, her smooth flanks, and she gasps and moans and makes mewling sounds, not all play acting. 

He pulls and twists her nipples, squeezes her breasts, even outs his hand around her neck in an experimental way but doesn’t actually choke her. 

His fingers dip into her honey pot, and a quick stab into her asshole makes her quiver.  Soon she can feel him growing hard against her thigh. 

Abhi makes his entrance into the room at this moment. No knock. The first indication of his presence is the feel of another pair of hands on her tits. 

“Oh! I’ve been waiting all evening to feel these puppies,” he says, as he palms and squeezes her tits, pulling on the rubbery nipples with surprising roughness.

She wonders if he knows something of her tastes. But how could he?

“Abhi! What a surprise,” she says, the image of him shimmering in the half light.

He is larger and thicker than Pravin, not yet fully erect, and his balls hang low. It is a welcome surprise after the relatively smaller Pravin. Abhi isn’t in Baldev’s league who she was disappointed not to land, but still very decent.

“You are so sexy!” He breathes. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the first day I saw you at the resort.

“We should make it special,” she says and winks at him. “I too have been waiting for you to make a move.” Her voice is all tease and seduction.

This surprises Abhi because his mouth opens with shock, then he laughs, a surprised guffaw. Clearly he was expecting something else, perhaps a reprimand for lusting after other women.

“What did you have in mind?” His voice is equally low and seductive.

Instead of replying, she rises and turns around and presents her round ass to him. She can only imagine what it looks like to him. Large white half moons with treasures in between the well padded cheeks. 

Abhi is even more surprised. 

“Ass? Really?” He sounds surprised. 

He takes hold of his cock with one hand and waggles it at her like a weapon, as she smiles at him over her shoulder. 

“Sure you can take this?”

Pravin in the meanwhile is feeling neglected. “I bought you, bitch,” he says, the first crude word she has heard all evening. “You’re my slave girl!” His voice is petulant, a kid whose lollipop has been taken away by a bully. 

“Darlin’ I didn’t forget you,” she coos at him in her best bedroom voice. I do have other holes…other skills.”

Pravin is as shocked as Abhi was a minute ago. 

Perhaps this isn’t the behavior they expect from a Sati-Savitri housewife type. Despite all their swinging and sex games, these men are, at heart, prudes. 

“But I get first dibs at your pussy, don’t I?” Pravin’s voice is pathetic, pleading. He looks from Abhi to Swati and back again.

Swati takes charge and says, “Honey, you will have first crack at my pussy.” 

Her head feels light and the images in the room seem to have taken on an unusual brightness. She blinks rapidly to clear her vision. She is feeling no pain and actually very pleasant. She laughs and even though there is no joke, both Abhi and Pravin laugh with her. 

She dips her hand between her thighs, and brings out some of her juices and waves it under his nose. Then she sticks her fingers into his shocked mouth. He licks and slurps at them with the eagerness of a baby calf.

“Do you want to suck my pussy, baby? Lick it like an ice cream cone?” She makes it sound enticing and sexy. 

Pravin nods, a slow up and down movement of his head. He is grinning stupidly, as though he has just received the keys to the kingdom.

She gently guides him and lays him on his back and then straddles him, so her pussy is over his face. She takes his organ into her mouth and gently nibbles on it. This action alone makes her feels very happy. It is as though she was craving for something in her mouth. 

“Go on,” she says, and Pravin sticks his tongue out and licks her clit. The feeling is immediately electric. Swati sighs deeply in satisfaction. 

She then turns her attention to Abhi. He is till standing with his erect dick in his hand. “Come baby. Stick it in my ass.”

If Pravin has any issues with Abhi’s dick only an inch away from his face, he doesn’t say anything. He continues to lick at there pussy in an inept way that tells Swati that this is not something he does all the time. Or at all. Despite all that, it is pleasurable. 

She feels Abhi moving behind her, the thick mattress settling, dipping, as his knees straddle her body. She gives him a sultry look over her shoulder and says, “Yeah, baby, go ahead, do it…” 

He says nothing, just nods and concentrates on the task at hand. 

Swati returns her attention to Pravin’s erect cock, now pulsing with each heartbeat, standing like a small tree stump. 

She feels a coolness on her ass, then something hard but yielding at the same time. Then her anal ring parts and Abhi is in her ass. At least a couple of inches of his cock. She shudders and makes a deep moan around the cock in her mouth as he pushes deeper. 

Then he is in all the way and begins a languid in-and-out motion, changing his angle slightly with each thrust that makes Swati shudder and moan. 

[S Darko]

Why the ? after excellent?

[S Darko]

It was an emoji by phone keypad. which is not allowed I think thats why it became question mark. It was a love sign

Aha. In that case, thank you!

[S Darko]

Updates please. This is one of the best original stories in this forum, it will be sad if writer has lost interest in updating the story.

My apologies. Update will come soon. I got caught up with one member's request to add photos.

[S Darko]

Nikolai, also known as Nakul bhai, sits in his flat, sipping a whiskey with ice. He is a purist, no mixed cocktails for him. He is dressed only in his gold nightgown, open at the front, something he was inspired to buy after watching a movie. 

The two women who are there for the evening are trying their best to get him off. They are women from the brothel the runs, and they know he is the boss, and mean. 

One naked woman kneels between his splayed legs and sucks his cock. His cock too, like the rest of him, is white. There is, in fact, only one patch, the size of a postage stamp around his asshole, that shows his true color--dark brown. Regardless of the color of his member, she has been sucking him a long time, and he is not finding the excitement that is required to make him come. 

His mind is on the picture that Prakash, the stupid guard at the corporate building, has sent. Not even a real guard, just the guy that sits at the garage entrance that in any case has an automated gate and cameras. 

The second woman, also naked, is pushing her tits into his face for his to suck or do whatever he pleases. He fondles the hanging bags of flesh absently and then pushes her away.

“Leave it,” he says to the girl still trying to suck him to completion. 

She takes her mouth off his stiff penis with a pop. “My jaws are getting tired.”

Such insolence! He backhands her, and she falls on her ass, an expression of surprise and hurt on her face. Then she spreads her knees and displays her brown pussy to him. It is shaved and glistening. The inner labia are wattled and darker, and they flop out of her asymmetrically.  

“Would you like this instead?” She coos at him. There is fear behind the expression. Nikolai can tell it is a fake passion. What he would give to get a whore like Swati to do the same thing for him. It would be different. Her passion would be real, he is sure. Her pussy would look prettier, her boobs would be awesome, out of this world. 

He turns away from the girl and tells them both to get out. 

“Go home,” says, feeling magnanimous. “Chutti for today.”

They look  him with huge disbelieving eyes, not sure if this is another of his perverted games.

When they are gone, he pulls out his phone and looks at the naked image of Swati. In it, she is naked, her hands behind her head, her breasts thrust out and ripe as mangoes in season. The nipples are erect and at least half an inch long, if not a whole inch. Nikolai can’t wait to sample them himself. He takes his time, blowing up the image and focusing on each body part in turn. Her midriff is flat and her navel deep. There is some fat on her. Good for holding on to.
Her legs are slightly parted and her shaved pussy is pink, not like the girl from a few moments ago. This is one top class maal. He zooms in, and he can barely see the pixillated inner lips just peeking out, not hanging out obscenely like the girl he has just sent away. He licks his lips.

Nikolai can feel the need, the raw and naked need, and he reaches for the lotion on the table next to him. He alternately fixes his eyes on Swati’s image as he masturbates furiously, his hand a blur of motion. As he spurts his seed, he can see her smile at him and blow him a kiss.

Spent, he still cannot get her out of his mind. 

After a while, he picks up his phone and makes a call.

“Yeah Nawaz? What happened to the video you guys were supposed to make?” He keeps his tone neutral, trying hard not to betray any excitement. He knows this phone call alone might drive up the price, but he is desperate. Nikolai has to have her. 

“Bhai, it will take a few days. The bitch isn’t in town this week.”

“Oh…” Nikolai can taste the bitterness, but he keeps it out of his voice. “Nothing. No hurry. Just that I was low on inventory. Let me know as soon as possible, yeah?”

“Sure Bhai. Will do.”


Nikolai relaxes his strange accent and makes the next call to his contact, this time a real Russian. 

“Alexei?”

“Ramsaran?”

“Yes Alexei,” he says, responding to his real name. The Russian is one of the few people who know his real name, know that because of his skin affliction, he has been passing as a foreigner, a Russian, and using the name Nikolai and affecting his ridiculous accent, but the guy doesn’t mind. That is, as long as Ramsaran keeps supplying him with what he wants. 

“What you got, man?”

“Alexi…my friend, I have a line on a fantastic maal. I will let you know once I have tasted the goods. But I just wanted you to know. Da?” Nikolai has been trying to learn a few real Russian words to give more credence to his fiction.

“Da!" Alexei laughs out loud. "Okay…good. What do you want?”

“Fifty petis now and fifty later.” Ramsaran makes his voice as flat and disinterested as he can, but his heart is thudding in his chest. 

Alexei is not a man to be crossed. The last guy that tried was killed slowly over many days. But before that, he saw his wife packed off to be a prostitute for life. And his son was killed, very slowly, in front of him. No doubt the man regretted his actions, but what was the point? He was dead, his child was dead, and his wife as good as dead. No, he thinks. The value of the lesson was not for the man, but for others. A cautionary tale.

Alexei whistles through his teeth. “That much huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll get it to you in a few days. Better be good, or you know what will happen, yeah?”

“Yeah. Paka.” He doens't say Da svidaniya, a more formal way of saying goodbye. Even Ramsaran, village bumpkin from Lodhpur, Agra district, can learn some new things. 

He hangs up. Opens his phone and looks at his latest sweetheart, Swati again. 

She seems to be grinning at him. And winking.

[S Darko]

Swati awakes sometime in the night and looks at her phone. It is three in the morning. Pravin is fast asleep, his mouth slack, snoring slightly. The other side of the bed is empty.


She rises, her mouth dry. She needs a drink of water. Right now no liquor in the world would do, no soda, nothing other than cool water. She pads to the attached bathroom, and finds a glass by the sink. She fills up a glass and drinks deep, fills it again, and drinks half of that, and feels better. 

Swati pads back to the bedroom, stark naked, and stands at the foot of the bed looking at Pravin. Abhi has gone, presumably sleeping, or if he has the energy, fucking one of the other women. Pravin still snores, softly, like a kitten. He is on his back, naked except for the sheet that partially covers his upper body. He is slightly pudgy, but in modestly good shape for an Indian male in his mid-thirties. His cock is soft, curled like a kitten between his thighs.

After the ass fucking with Abhi and the simultaneous pussy licking by Pravin, they took a breather. Abhi produced a joint that they all shared, and then they fell to caressing each other softly. Pravin had already come in her mouth while she was getting her ass reamed out, and yet he rose to the occasion. 

Swati suspected there might have been some Viagra for the men in addition to the ecstasy in the Bailey, but she was past caring. In fact, she would have been disappointed if the men did not have erections. 

When Pravin was ready, she straddled him softly, and sank her warm and wet pussy onto his hardness, and he moaned deep in his throat in appreciation. Abhi stood up and nudged her cheek with his rampant member. She turned her cheek and opened her mouth, and took him in. 

The three-way coupling proceeded with moans and groans and when all three had reached their apogees, they subsided. Pravin was the pathetically grateful one, for she had promised him first crack at her pussy and she had delivered.

“It is like velvet,” he said. “So soft and still so tight.” Then he adds, “and wet. Oh, the feeling is so good, so sublime. And your tits, they’re so soft, yet firm, and the nipples, so springy and tasty…”

Swati smiled at the compliments. She plants a kiss on his lips in order to shut him up. It is a little embarrassing, these awkward compliments Pravin was showering on her. 

Abhi, on the other hand, smiled at her, a superior, smarmy smile, as though it was he who has done her a favor by letting her suck his cock and letting her swallow his cum. 

In the moonlight that is streaming in through the tall window, Swati thinks no one has hurt her at all, and it has all been soft and sensuous and yes, pleasurable. But there is not the edgy and raw feeling of lust beyond control, the feeling of abandon, the devil may care attitude, she feels with Prakash. She suddenly wishes he were here to take her masterfully. There is no master-slave relationship here. It is sex among equals. This is the #MeToo generation, afraid to cross lines and boundaries.

Then there is movement in the dark and a large shape comes at her. Large hands reach for her and grab her by the shoulders. Swati suppresses a scream at the suddenness of the movement. The man is large, powerful—she can feel it in the strength of his arms. There is something of the predator in him too, in the way he moves silently, powerfully.

White teeth glint in the moonlight as he smiles, and she recognizes Baldev, the Punjabi brother-in-law.

“I know you wanted me to pick you,” he whispers in her ear. His hands are stroking her flanks, and she moves into him as though pulled by a powerful magnet. 

“Nooo,” she whispers in mock protest. She knows as well as he that what he said is true. 

He grabs and draws her hand to his groin, and she gasps. She has known of course that he was well-endowed. His sister-in-law and girlfriend for the night, Aparna, had shown her, between giggles, the measure of his member by clutching her forearm midway between wrist and elbow, and Swati now realized what she said was true. She had seen him of course, earlier, when everyone was in a state of undress, but he’d been soft then. 

Not now though. She can feel his girth as he rubs up against her thigh. He feels hard, but also moist. She can tell he, or rather his cock, has been somewhere recently, probably Sudha’s cunt, the woman he purchased for the night. Swati feels proud and special that despite having a hot woman to fuck all night, he has come to find her. No doubt he has worn out the voluptuous Sudha, probably fucked her in all her holes, and she must be fast asleep now. 

Aparna has told her about Baldev’s tastes, so Swati isn’t surprised when after some initial fondling, he turns her around with some force and bends her down against the footboard of the bed. 

“You’re a whore, aren’t you?” His voice is a hoarse, low rasp as he manhandles her.

She grabs the solid wood with both her hands, looking down at the peacefully sleeping Pravin and feels Baldev's rough hands on her ass.
 
Baldev separates her cheeks with both hands and then pokes an experimental finger into each of her holes. 

“Wet both holes, I see!” He chuckles, delighted with his discovery. Her ass and cunt are both wet from the previous rounds of sex she has had with Abhi and then Pravin. 

Baldev sounds like he expected this. “I knew it! I knew it from the look you gave me. I know what you need. Baldev is the man to give it to you. Not the nimbu-paani Pravin types.” He scoffs at the sleeping man. 

Swati likes the roughness of his approach. It reminds her of Prakash when he had bent her over in the little balcony off the conference room and fucked her ass in front of an audience across the street. 

Baldev’s hands come around and grab her breasts tight. He squeezes as hard as he can, and she tries to muffle her scream at the sudden pain. Not that she has not been titty tortured before, but the suddenness of his motions have made her vulnerable and panting for more. 

In the bed, Pravin stirs. What will he do if he wakes up and finds the woman he’s purchased for the night being violated in front of his eyes? Nothing, most probably. Nimbu-paani, like Baldev said.

Baldev is whispering in her ear. “You are one hot cunt, aren’t you, whore?”

He has her hair balled up in one hand and her head is painfully pulled back, and she can’t even nod. All she can do is gasp. 

“You get it on with your office colleagues, don’t you cunt?”

She gasps again, lacking the power to conform or deny.

“I bet you fuck the chaprasi types, the cleaners, the low level guys, don’t you?” His voice is delighted, vicious. 

Swati cannot tell him how close to the truth he is, and she knows he doesn’t care. A moment of panic crosses her mind; does he really know, or are these just power and sex games for him? Is it possible that he knows? 

“How would you know something like that?” Her tone is neutral, not admitting to what he is implying. Or denying it. Very lawyer-like, she thinks.

He chuckles deep in his beard. “The look in your slut eyes, bitch,” he says. “And also, you think I missed that arrow pointing down at your slut cunt?”

Swati has taken care that her bush remains in pristine condition. She has taken the time and effort to shape the arrow her trimmed bush makes. She wasn't sure it was visible in the dimly lit drawing room where they had congregated before pairing off, but clearly, Baldev’s sleepy eyes had missed nothing. 

Regardless, she decides that all that Baldev has said in mere conjecture. He doesn’t know anything. 

Then she relaxes into his powerful grip.

Baldev starts inserting his giant cock into her ass. That, it seems, is his preference. He could have chosen either hole from the position she was in, but ass is what it was.

Swati whimpers and tries to relax as she accommodates him.

[S Darko]

Baldev is huge. 


There is no other word for it. Even though Swati is used to anal sex, and Prakash isn’t small by any means, Baldev is in a separate class altogether. She supposes she should have figured it from his large, muscular body. It seems that he has the capacity to grow much larger than his limp form—which was impressive to begin with—would suggest. 

He reams her out, pulling her head back and kissing her roughly. He bites her lips, sticks his tongue into her mouth, making it hard for her to breathe. Every few minutes, he switches holes, now in her pussy, now again in her ass, fucking savagely, brutally, changing angles, depths, one of his hands kneading and pinching and mauling her breasts, the other at her lower belly, clutching her close, or titillating her clit. 

Swati wonders if this is his usual style of fucking, raw and bestial, or if this is special, reserved for her. 

“Bitch!” He whispers with fondness. “You’re a fucking bitch aren’t you?” 

This seems to Swati like the catechism that she and Prakash go through from time to time. 

“Yes,” she whispers back, trying to muffle her moans. The fucking is intense and she is ecstatic. She feels like she is slipping into that special space in her mind where she is watching her body being abused. She isn't sure,  but she thinks this might be what people called subspace. Is she truly a submissive? Regardless, she feels this is more like it. 

“I’m a bitch whore, and I love it up the ass. You are the manly kind of man I was thirsting for. One who can douse the fire in my cunt, my body is burning up for you!” 

Baldev seems to like this, and he chuckles deep in his chest. His beard is like sandpaper on the tender skin of her cheek, her neck, and she loves it. 

“I knew it, I knew it!” He repeats this over and over. Unlike Prakash though, his tone is fond and polite, not full of anger and hatred. Swati misses that, but she takes what she is getting like a champ. 

Each time he pulls out, it seems as though he will pull her pussy or ass inside out. Her insides, the membranes that line her love tunnels, cling to his huge cock tighter than a second skin and the feeling  of pressure and fullness is heavenly. Every nerve ending is being stimulated, and it is all she can do not to scream aloud in pleasure. 

The feeling makes her head spin, her mind totally blown. It seems whatever lubrication she has produced is only a nanometer thick and just about adequate for the act of fucking. If not for that thin layer of moisture, their organs would have fused from all the heat and excitement. 

From time to time, she reaches one hand between her legs and caresses his huge dangling ball-sack. It is wet with her juices, and she smears the secretions all over and around, paying special attention to his low-hanging balls, sometimes squeezing them lightly, sometimes more roughly. He seems to love it.

“Hmmm. More, do it more,” he says and thrusts extra hard into her.  When she crushes his balls, he seems to grow even more inside her, the fit tighter despite the copious lubrication she is producing. 

After a few more minutes of intense thrusting, Swati comes. It is a huge orgasm that leaves her knees shaking, pelvis quaking. She loses control of her bladder, she thinks, or maybe she is squirting. 

Whatever. 

She can’t think very clearly. All she can do is hold on to the footboard of the bed as the orgasm quakes through her. Baldev stays deep inside her ass the whole time, his hand buried in her pussy and the other squeezing the life out of her breast, his hands slick with their sweat. 

For a while the only sounds are the ragged breathing of the two, their breaths rasping in and out of their throats.

“Is this a private party? Or can I join?”

It is Pravin, finally awake.

When she can breathe well enough to speak again, she says, “can you guys both fuck me at the same time?” 

Pravin reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp. She can see his face better now, and he is puzzled. “Like in the mouth and in the pussy?”

She shakes her head. “Like one in the pussy and one in the ass.”

Baldev chuckles. “I was going to suggest the very thing!”

Pravin’s face brightens. “A DP,” he says. “I’ve only seen that in porn movies. In real life, the position always seems awkward.”

“I think with Baldev’s strength and…equipment, we should be able to get it done,” she says, and Baldev chuckles again. 

“You want it classic or reverse cowgirl?”

He is speaking her language. She is quite knowledgeable in the terminology. 

She will face Pravin on the bed, his cock in her pussy, and Baldev will take her ass from behind. If all goes well, they may switch, and who knows, maybe a reverse cowgirl as well. It always looks good to her on film. 

Swati’s pussy continues to tingle after the fucking with Baldev. It is as if there’s an itch there that cannot be satisfied. Not with cock, not with a dildo or a vibe. She rubs at it, and her cunt reacts by getting wet again. 

After a period of recuperation, her breath slowing and becoming more even, Swati laves her raging pussy and asshole with a wet wipe, and she’s ready to go again. 

[S Darko]

Ramesh cannot sleep. He has overheard the conversation between Nawaz and Nakul Bhai, although he doesn’t know who is on the other side and can hear only half the conversation.


It is a rare night when Nawaz is in their room in the chawl. Prakash has a couple of guys over and they have been playing cards, teenpatti mostly, and drinking. It feels like the night before Diwali when most people gamble as a matter of tradition. 

Ramesh, the nondrinker, non gambler, has been tasked with keeping them supplied with food. While the usual chakhna type foods—fried peanuts, bhujia and the like are favorites, they prefer bananas for energy and probably to ease the acidity in their stomachs. 

That’s when Nawaz’s phone rings.

Nawaz looks at the display and picks up the call with alacrity.

“Bhai?” He says.

He listens for a few seconds, then says, “Bhai, it will take a few days. The bitch isn’t in town this week.”

He listens some more, then hangs up.

Ramesh is aware from Prakash’s boasting that he and Nawaz have cooked up some kind of scheme to make money off of Swati madam. He isn’t privy to all the details because every time he has asked, a crafty look comes onto Prakash’s stupid face, and he brushes him off with some kind of non-answer. 

This is unacceptable to Ramesh. He is okay with Prakash fucking the madam and perhaps including a few others in the fun and games, but only as long as the madam is okay with it. This is something that he ascertains with her every time he sees or hears of something out of the ordinary, but she seems satisfied and happy enough, so he says nothing. Anyhow, the definition of "ordinary" seems to shift every time he thinks about it. Over the last few months, even before Prakash entered the scene, change has been the only constant.

He knows the others refer to her as “the bitch,” or “the whore,” and he is almost certain that the call Nawaz just  received has something to do with her.

During the game, Prakash and Nawaz have dropped enough hints to suggest that there is some kind of gangbang being planned and Swati madam is likely going to be the main attraction. There has been mention of another woman called Paro, but Ramesh doesn’t know her.

The plans seem to be imminent, as in probably next week or sooner. But he has no idea of the date, and even if he wants to be there and aware of the plan. Instead, he feels a great desire to go out and walk by himself.

“I’m going out, getting some air,” he announces to the room. 

Nawaz looks up from his hand and then to the bunch of bananas by the foot of the bed. “Sure, looks like we’re good for the time being.”

Ramesh lifts the trap door and descends the rickety wooden stairs, and wonders how Swati madam would negotiate these stairs if they brought her here. But then he remembers that she is slim and quite athletic. Those extended sex sessions surely took a lot of energy and effort. Yeah, she could easily make it up the stairs to their room. The question that keeps niggling at him is whether he is right about the plan. 

When he reaches the akhada after aimlessly wandering about in Bhim Colony for the rest of the night, the sun is just peeking over the horizon and a new day is born. Inside, it is too early for the wrestlers to have begun their exercises, and only guruji is there, having just finished up his morning meditation routine. 

Ramesh touches guruji’s feet and seeks his blessings. 

“What troubles you, my boy?”

Ramesh thinks about this before he answers. “I am in a bit of crisis of faith, dharamsankat,” he says carefully. “There is a Devi who I worship, but there are some people who bear ill will towards her.”

“Hmm. Is this someone you love, perhaps?” Guruji’s tone is gentle, tinged with playfulness. He has clearly underestimated the depth of Ramesh’s despair, the level of his indecision.

“No, no. Nothing like that,” Ramesh says, attempting to set guruji on the right course. “She has been very generous to me. She has some…some people might call peculiar tastes, but I worship her like a Devi. It was not always so…there was a time when I lusted for her, but the Devi ma, the goddess…she showed me the error of my ways. In a dream she came to me and showed me what I should do. It is a solemn promise I made many years ago in my youth, but I had forgotten. I lost my way, but I am okay now. So, the answer is yes and no. I do love her, but not in the sense I think you mean.”

What Ramesh says is true. He has indeed been reminded of his promise made long ago at the temple of the devadasis in a dream, a few weeks ago. He has since given up drinking. He is working on the smoking, but it is a harder struggle. Ramesh has no doubt he will succeed, though. In all things, he is strong, and he knows he will prevail in the end. 

“And what do you think you should do?”

This is guruji at his best. He never gives advice, simply helps you find what is in your heart, for what else is the best guide? In fact, Ramesh knows, he doesn’t even have to speak anymore. Guruji will understand.

Instead, he says, “If I do what I have to do, can I have sanctuary here?” 

Guruji takes his face in his hands. They are of a height, and neither has to look up nor down. For a long time, guruji stares into Ramesh’s eyes. Ramesh looks back, his conscience clear, and he thinks his eyes reflect that.

“Yes,” guruji says. “Your heart is pure. I am satisfied.”

[S Darko]

The drive back is similar to the onward journey, and again it is Swati driving. Traffic is relatively thin this morning. Perhaps the morning commuter rush has abated, or maybe a sign of the holidays. Christmas was yesterday and there’s a week before the new year. Also, it is Thursday. 


Ashok is drowsing again. 

He drank too much at the Christmas dinner last night and of course he is hungover. 

She limited herself to two drinks, and those too were spread apart over hours. She knew this would happen—she would have to drive, and therefore the relative abstention. 

Swati is looking forward to the next week that she has off. She might have to do a couple of calls with foreign clients, but it shouldn’t take up too much of her time. She plans to spend time with Dhruv, some time to herself, perhaps a spa treatment. There’s a book she has meant to read for the longest time, and that too will be in the plans. Abhi too is off, so perhaps they will do a short trip, perhaps a date night. It has been a very long time since they’ve had one of those. 
It isn’t the sex so much as the intimacy she misses. 

The last couple of days and nights—from the day before Christmas, the day itself and the night that followed have mostly been in the character of a sex slave, a harem girl. Everyone, understandably, woke late on Christmas morning, and they were delighted to find small gifts for each of them under the tree that had magically materialized in the drawing room, complete with a lit fireplace. Mostly the gifts were sex toys or gag gifts, but it was fun nevertheless. The feeling the gifts evoked was of home and childhood, even though most if not all of them had ever had such a childhood. She supposed it was from reading all that western literature. 

The morning, or what was left of it, was spent getting the feast together—mostly the womenfolk. They were all in the same harem style clothes they had started the previous evening. No servants were about. Presumably they had the day off or something. 

As the women milled about in the kitchen, one or the other of the men would come in and pinch buttocks or cup breasts, sometimes sucking on exposed nipples, all in good fun of course. The previous night had been controlled debauchery, with most of the men getting together with most of the women at some point. Or so it seemed to Swati. So this was the lifestyle. Not too bad as things went. 

At one point, Swati remembered Aparna  bending over to take something out of the oven, and Baldev walkeds in. He was clad only in a pair of shorts—the house was centrally heated— and his muscles bulged under a generous matting of hair. He wasn't the hairiest man Swati had seen, but not by much. 
Baldev walked over to Aparna and held her by the waist. In one swift motion he pulled aside her pants, exposing her nether regions. Swati was a little surprised to realize the pants had a generous slit in the back, and she checked it on her own clothes. Sure enough, there was a large slit there. A lot of material yes, but there was an opening where it mattered.

In the meantime, Baldev had dropped his shorts, a loose pair of boxers, and plunged his rampant cock into his sister-in-law’s cunt. She screamed a little, but then accommodated him, the pie in the oven forgotten. Swati went to the couple and squatted down between them, watching the action up close. She experimentally gave Baldev’s cock a few licks as it exited Aparna’s cunt, but she had to be quick because Baldev was going at a furious pace. IT seemd to her that all he wanted was to come. He was merely using Aparna as a cum dump, an easily available hole. 

The remaining women went about their chores as though this was a daily occurrence, nothing to gawk at. But Swati saw Menaka and the others take peeks at the action from time to time. They must all have been exhausted from the nonstop sex last night, and yet here was Baldev for more. 

Baldev pulled out from Aparna’s cunt and without ceremony pushed into Swati’s mouth. She was surprised but game and gave him a blowjob as well as she could, given his large size. She tried to deep-throat him, but it was impossible.

“Guk…guk…guk...” She went each time Baldev hit the back of her throat, and soon she was drooling all over his member.

“What a whore this girl is,” said Aparna as she watched the action, no doubt feeling a little left out. 

Swati of course was in no position to reply. 

Sudha from last night walked over and watched with interest. She caressed Baldev’s ass and fondled his large, low-hanging balls, and he grunted in pleasure. 
Menaka said, “Man, these guys are insatiable,” and went on cutting her salad. Knives and sex don’t mix. Usually. 

Last night, Swati, Pravin and Baldev had tried very awkwardly to fit her into a double penetration, and after trying for a while they had achieved the required configuration. The problem, it turned out, wasn’t Swati’s inability to accommodate the cocks. Rather, it had been Pravin whose erection failed. Swati had to coax him with her mouth and once he had regained his erection, they had made it possible.

She had felt fuller than ever before, mostly because of Baldev, but she had been double penetrated before, admittedly with a cock and a toy, but DP’d to be sure. She wasn’t sure if it counted or not. But there she was, getting a good reaming of her ass and cunt at the same time. 

As she kneeled in the kitchen, blowing Baldev with Aparna occasionally getting into the action, her cunt started to lubricate again, and the insatiable itch hit her.

“Fuck me Ballu!” She gasped the words out and rose, grasping the kitchen island with both hands and presenting her backside to him, her holes framed enticingly between her round white buttocks. Aparna mimicked her action, and in a trice Baldev had two cunts or assholes to choose from for his pleasure. Four for the price of one.

That’s when Ashok and Abhi walked in to get refills of their whiskey and the situation devolveed into a free for all, right there in the kitchen. 

A long honk startles her back to the present. There is a truck with Jai Mata Di written on it that wants to pass her, and she has inadvertently been blocking it. She shifts lanes—not that anyone drives in lanes here—and the truck overtakes her. 

The driver, a heavily bearded Haryanvi from the looks of him, leers at her as he passes, and she is powerfully reminded of Baldev.

She is aware that her pussy is wet again. 

[S Darko]

When they’re almost home, Ashok awakes. 


They discuss their plans for the week ahead, and Swati wonders again how they have avoided talking about the events of the last couple of days at all. It isn’t as though they hadn’t been involved in an impromptu orgy in the kitchen just the previous day. She has no idea how many women Ashok has fucked in the last forty-eight hours, although the upper limit had to be eight. She figures they will talk about it later, perhaps in bed. 

It isn’t that they haven’t talked about it at all. There have been snide and sly mentions of the last couple of days. Ashok saying, “That was something, wasn’t it?” And she replying, “Yeah, wasn’t it?”

Ashok saying something about Menaka’s boobs, or perhaps it was Sudha’s. How Abhi had probably spiked the drinks with ecstasy and possibly Viagra or perhaps something even more potent—“I lost out after ten orgasms!”—Something about Baldev’s staying capacity. The way he had stacked the women in the kitchen, fucking now one pussy, now the other, then the assholes in turn, while he, Ashok, had himself had been sodomizing the hostess on the kitchen island and Abhi had maneuvered himself into Sudha's mouth. 

“That scene will stay with me for a long time,” he says. 

Swati adjusts herself in her seat, wishing she were home. All the friction the car ride is generating is just adding to that edge. She isn’t sure how long she can go without getting her itch scratched. Perhaps as soon as they get home, she will attack Ashok. Hopefully he isn’t too fucked out, and there is still some Viagra left in his system. If not, well, there are toys. She watches as Ashok adjusts his crotch in the passenger seat. Hmm. Maybe he too is thinking similar thoughts. 

“So…that’s the lifestyle, huh?”

“It would seem so,” says Ashok. For him, too, this has been a first.

After a moment of silence, Ashok turns on the radio, tuned to an easy listening jazz station. The volume is turned low, so they can still speak with a background of music. 

“Babe,” he says. “The last few days were fun, but you think we should do it again?”

“Visit Abhi and Menaka again, or do this…swinging?” Swati keeps her eyes on the road. 

“Well…either. Or. Not sure. It could be both ways. We could go back to Abhi’s or find closer, um, playmates. What do you think?”

Swati knows about Ashok’s extracurricular activities, especially about the woman in Singapore or wherever. Perhaps this is a way for him to legitimize fucking other women. Perhaps a way to share his penchant for extramarital affairs as a joint hobby, little knowing what his own wife has been up to in the last several months. Kind of like a couple who is drifting apart, suddenly finding a shared middle ground. 

Before she can say anything, Ashok’s phone rings.

She can hear only half the conversation, something about oxygen, ventilators and the ICU, so Ashok switches it to speaker.

“Beta,” his mother is saying, “It’s been twenty-four hours and the doctors are still not sure.”

Evidently something has happened, probably to her father-in-law.

“Bauji?” She whispers.

Ashok nods, still on the phone. Her father-in-law, a businessman, had just returned from an overseas trip. Where had it been? Vietnam? China? Someplace like that.

“I’ll come over in a few hours. I was at a friend’s house, and the phone was on silent so I didn’t notice, but I’m almost home. I’ll drop Swati and come right over.”

He gets the address of the hospital and hangs up.

“Damn. I have to go see what’s happening.”

Swati has already understood the gist of the conversation. Ashok’s father is sick and in hospital. The details can wait. 

“Isn’t your brother there?”

“Yeah, but you know Arvind. Unreliable as usual.”

Arvind, Ashok’s younger brother by ten years, is flighty, unmarried and forever chasing pussy. In fact, even in the early days of their marriage, he had made a pass at her in classic Indian porn fashion. Ashok wasn’t home, and she had just stepped out of the bathroom in only a towel. He’s entered the room, pretending that he had come in accidentally. Swati wasn’t sure what he expected. Perhaps that she would drop the towel and let him play with her body? 

She’d screamed at him and kicked him out of the room in no uncertain terms. But, she muses, today, things might be different. He had a hard, chiseled body. Who knew? But now, her main emotion was irritation at the boy when she had a whole week planned with Ashok.

“So where the fuck is he?”

“No one knows. Been gone somewhere with friends for the last couple of days. Phone is switched off.”

“Fuck.”

They reach home in silence. Dhruv is still with her parents and will likely remain there until this business with Ashok’s dad is settled. One way or the other. Either will likely take more than a week. 

Fuck! Swati screams in her mind. 

[S Darko]

The phone rings, and Nawaz puts it on speaker. 


“There’s some pressure,” says Nikolai in his accented Hindi. To Prakash, there is a hint of desperation in his tone. The guy, he thinks, talks like Bob Christo in the old Hindi movies. Not exactly like Christo, but it is surely a foreign accent. Nawaz has told him the man is Russian. Prakash isn’t sure what that means, having no idea of where Russia might be. Anyhow, was going on with this firangi fellow?

“Bhai, I will check on it today itself,” Nawaz says. Prakash thinks he looks worried. 

“Motherfucker! What do I pay you all this money for, huh? I want results and I want them now!”

Nawaz says, “One minute Bhai,” covers the mouthpiece and says to Prakash, “You told me she was gone for this week. Did you know or were you just…?”

He makes a wave motion with his hand, indicating that perhaps Prakash may have been bluffing. 

Prakash puffs up with indignation. “No! She told me herself.” He produces his phone and shakes it at Nawaz as though that is proof enough.

“Call her again and find out,” Nawaz hisses. 

“Just finding out again Bhai,” Nawaz says into the phone after taking his hand off the microphone. “Can I call you back?”

Nakul Bhai says “Okay,” and hangs up. That one word has urgency and threat all rolled into the two small syllables. And something else. Prakash thinks it is lust, but he isn’t sure.

Swati had told him before she left that she might be out of town for the week. He doesn’t know exactly what that means. Is it the whole week or part of the week. Does it mean she will be out of town the whole time, like visiting relatives, or will she be home and just not come to office? 

It’s not like their relationship, such as it is, lends itself to pillow talk about vacation plans. In fact, a pillow or even a bed has never figured in their many exotic couplings. Usually, he issues peremptory orders to be present and the location, almost always the conference room after hours, and she always follows through. 

On the rare occasion she cannot, she will reply quickly enough. They both use the same app and leave voice messages for each other. He addresses her as Bitch or kutti, and she calls him Malik.

He opens the app on his phone and records a voice message and sends it to Swati. 

He isn’t illiterate, but finds it hard to text people, especially when it is something complex. Hopefully, she will listen to it soon and respond. If she doesn’t, he has some special punishment planned for her. He doesn’t know what it is yet, but it will be special, he promises himself. 

“Bitch! Are you back yet? I need you to be available for something special. Revert as soon as you can.”

He knows the message will not alert her because it could alert others she might be with, but he is sure she will see it soon. She is supposed to check for messages several times a day. 

Those are his orders. 

[S Darko]

Thanks all. 

[S Darko]

“Hello baby! We just got back from our trip, but Daddy has to go because dadu is sick.”


“But mo-om!”

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll come get you as soon as I can, maybe tomorrow. Aren’t you having fun with Nanu and Nani?”

“Oh yes, Nanu took me to see this really cool movie yesterday and tomorrow were going to the zoo. There are all kinds of animals there, like lions and tigers and deer…and, and…dinosaurs. So, it will be fun.” 

Dhruv proceeds to make animal noises that are supposed to be different animals talking to each other with snarls and roars, and to Swati they all sound the same. She doesn’t tell him that of course. 

They talk for a few more minutes, and then hangs up. 

Then she texts Parvati to see if she can come by in the evening to cook something. Perhaps they could eat together since no one else is home. She has started taking more notice of the rest of society, the ones she had previously ignored. Not that she was vain or anything, just the way things happened in her life. The very thought she is having of eating a meal with her maid is sign of progress. She wonders what’s next. Perhaps taking out candle light vigils or marching in processions asking for equal pay for equal work? 

A pizza. Suddenly, she has a craving for pizza. All the heavy Indian food she has had for the last few days have left her with a craving for pizza. A nice, thin crust, chicken and veggie pizza. She pulls up the app and orders. She puts in the time of delivery at 6:30 in the evening, just about when she feels she will want to eat dinner. But what about Parvati and the food she will cook? 

She shakes her head. Parvati can eat pizza with her, and maybe have a drink too. What a scene, she thinks, her maid and her, sitting together, splitting a pizza and having a drink. What would they talk about?

She giggles to herself and plans the rest of her day. Ashok disappeared almost as soon as they had reached home. The worry on his face was obvious. She too is worried about he father-in-law, but then he is an old man. The story is that he was had a cold and cough, and more recently difficulty breathing. He is in the hospital and they are planning to put in a breathing tube. 

As she puts the phone in its charging cradle, she sees a brief pop-up message that disappears almost instantly. Unless one knows the app and where to find it on the phone, it is very secure. Ashok surely cannot figure it out. It is something she has shown Prakash when he insisted she communicate with him by cell phone. 

She knows Prakash has sent her something, but she is tired and even though it is not yet noon, she feels the need to take a nap. A long nap. She will make an omelet, the quickest thing she can make and sleep. Later she can see what Prakash wants. Not that it will be a mystery, but surely he can wait. Plus, her organs need some time to rest and recover too. There has been way too much action going on lately.

It has been a week almost since she has seen Prakash and the distance has given her a little bit of what? Courage? Something. SHe doesnt feel quite as scared of him or subservient. It is more like he's a playmate, maybe a little aggressive, but a playmate nevertheless.

Swati wakes up after a long and much needed nap and rubs at her eyes. The clock on her bedside table reads five in the afternoon. She has slept for three hours. God, she needed that rest. She feels sluggish, but it is the sluggishness that comes from an afternoon nap. A cup of tea will fix that. 

Maybe a quick bath. Bath or shower, she wonders. She settles on a bath. There is the familiar tingle in her nether regions, a feeling she has been having with increasing frequency these days. It is like an itch she cannot scratch and intense fucking is the only thing that settles the feeling. That too for a while. It always return, regardless of what she is doing. A bath, perhaps with a toy or two, she decides, might be exactly what the doctor ordered. For a brief moment she flashes on the doctor, the one she went to see for her “bruises.”

The good doctor has been texting her since that first appointment where she had to blow him. He’s had her tested for the common sexually transmitted diseases and she has come out clean. So far. He wants her to call him Appu, not Arvind or Dr Grover. The name is a hangover from tha Asian games mascot around the time he was born. He suggests they do some role play, perhaps a doctor-patient type scenario? All this on WhatsApp, with its end-to-end encryption. Not much good if her phone should fall into the wrong hands though. You didn’t need to be an IT person for that. 

Swati has so far not responded to him, wondering at his lack of imagination even for a role-play situation, but thinking of him has made her a little extra horny. Perhaps in the next week when there is not very much to do, maybe a tryst with him might be fun. At least a diversion. She would have to look reluctant of course, being blackmailed and all. 

In the last few months, Swati has become quite the consummate actress. Well, maybe not consummate, but she can ham it up with the best of them. Playing a sex slave, a slut wanting nothing more than a stiff cock, or a patient in distress, all come naturally to her. 

She hasn’t seen her friend Neetu in a while. She has been updated on the fucking in the office, but not that there is a new guy in the mix. She thinks it is still Ramesh that is fucking her, and Swati hasn’t clarified the situation to her. Not even the new participants in the game—Inder and Ganesh, and who knows who else Prakash will bring into the mix. She owes Neetu an update, but perhaps the truth might be too raunchy even for for adventurous friend? 

She thinks about it while she sends a “hey” emoji to Neetu. There is no reply. Perhaps she is tied up, she thinks. Haha.Neetu has a predilection for BDSM, and being tied up is one of her favorite things. Sex things that is. 

She hasn’t opened the secret app and heard Prakash’s message yet. After her bath, she thinks. 

She brews herself a cup of tea while the bathtub fills with warm water, just the temperature she likes. She sets out her two current favorite toys and lays them out on the ledge of the tub—a large black dildo and the pink small one that had so fascinated Ramesh, and later Prakash. She plans to do a little double penetration of her own, one in which she has all the control. 

She reflects on this a little. In the last few years, every time she has masturbated, it has been using video clips of gang bangs, invariably ones where the woman, usually a busty one like herself, is being fucked by at least three, if not more, men. Her favorite position is reverse cowgirl where the girl can be seen spread open and ready and completely vulnerable. She wonders why she hasn’t insisted on more double penetration in the last few months when she has had access to more cock that she has ever gotten before. 

In reality, Baldev and Pravin are the only ones that have done a true DP on her. 

Perhaps she can convince Prakash? She thinks about it and dismisses it. Prakash is probably too homophobic for that kind of thing. The closest he has been to another dick was when Ganesh was in her cunt and he in her mouth. Perhaps Prakash just didn’t know that such a thing could be done? Was that possible? She might be the one to teach him new tricks, she thinks.

When the tea is ready, she carries it in one of the travel mugs that keep it warm and undresses. She catches sight of herself in the mirror and sees not a single mark, not one bruise on her body. Those guys were really nice, good sex, but the raunchiness, the cheapness, the intensity she craved was missing. It wasn’t like she was a nymphomaniac, well, maybe just a little bit, but what she really craves is the rough treatment from Prakash, and probably other people like him. 

She has had time to reflect, and it seems to her that Baldev was right. The class divide is an especial turn on for her. There is risk and danger in that, she knows, but she is in too deep, and isn’t sure she wants to put an end to it. Not yet anyway. It doesn’t occur to her that she might not be able to end it even if she wants to. 

She wonders if Prakash would ever do more than fuck her in the office. Would he ever get up the guts to just carry her off to his place—she imagines a shack, perhaps made of waste planks and pallet wood and plastic corrugated sheets with nothing more than a basic cot on the dirt floor. A thin cotton mattress and a thinner pillow, stinking of his sweat, and probably semen. There might not even be a proper door, maybe just a sheet of plastic over the door frame. She has seen such things in movies. 

She has never seen the reality of Bhim colony. There, in his small hovel, Prakash would tie her up, perhaps to the bed with her legs spread wide open and tied behind her head, both her holes available to all and sundry. Perhaps he would hang her from a beam in the ceiling, legs held or tied akimbo, and fuck her senseless. Perhaps his friends would come in too and partake. 

A regular train of men, one after the other. All fucking her one after the other as she takes then doggy style, in the ass, in the cunt, sucking them back to hardiness as they flag. The vision of this scene sends an uncontrollable frisson of excitement through her, like an electric current she is powerless to control, and her pussy dampens. 

She shakes her head, steps into the tub, and adjusts her toys. The beauty was these worked even under water, even if they were completely submerged. In fact, they were designed to work underwater, in situations where they were fully engulfed by hot, moist flesh. 

And so, when her pink toy is safely ensconced in her asshole and buzzing merrily away and her large black dildo is pistoning in and out of her very wet pussy, she sighs and lowers herself into the warm water. Initially it is a little too hot, but she holds on, anticipating the pleasure, and slowly lowers herself. It adds one more layer to the decadent sensuousness of the situation and soon she is hip deep in the water, her hand working the dildo also under water, the jacuzzi blowing strong jets of water on her aching body, her holes stretched by two toys, and feeling very, very satisfied. 

When she is finished, she finds she had sloshed quite a bit of water over the sides in her enthusiastic masturbation session, but no matter, Parvati will be here in any minute now, and she will clean up. Worst case, she will drop a couple of towels on the mess and they will eventually dry out. It is cold outside, but inside they have heating and the temperature is a nice and toasty twenty three degrees.

She is just drying herself, paying special attention to the region between her legs—it wouldn’t do to leave it too moist because of fungal infections and so on, especially with all the action in the recent days, and the slightly rough towel feels good on her cunt lips. Also, she has just shaved again and the pubic arrow is pristine with smooth, clean edges. 

She wonders if she should change up the design. Maybe just a triangle? It is hard to get the arrow right every time, and it does take a while to do. Perhaps a simpler design. Or maybe just shave it clean altogether? What would Prakash think? What would Ramesh say? She hasn’t thought of Ramesh for a while, having accepted his weirdness about not touching her sexually.

As she sets the towel down, the doorbell rings. It is one of the new doorbells that can be programmed to play songs or any tune, but they have never bothered to do do anything with it. It just goes ding-dong. 

Swati frowns. Parvati has her own key. 

Who could this be?

[S Darko]

It is almost five in the evening and already getting dark when Prakash puts his glass of cheap country liquor down with a crash. 

He and Nawaz have been drinking and brainstorming, and Prakash says the best way is to go to the bitch’s house and find out. If she isn’t home, perhaps there might be a caretaker or guard or maybe a main that would let them know when madam is returning. The bitch is after all not returning his calls. He is tempted to actually call her, but holds off.


“Let’s go,” he says. 

“Are you sure?” Nawaz looks uncertain, perhaps a little worried. 

Prakash can see the dilemma pulling him in two directions. On the one hand he isn’t sure if he want to go to a posh locality and confront a high class lady like Swati. He has seen pictures of her and her slutty behavior, but he hasn’t actually met her. On the other hand, there is Nakul Bhai and the man is dangerous. 

He is aware that there are more powerful men behind Nakul Bhai, but he doesn’t know who. 

“Only one way to find out.”

Ramesh isn’t at the chawl today. Earlier he’d said he would go to the akhada and work out with the pehelwans, and hasn’t been seen since. Anyhow, good riddance, Prakash thinks. The man doesn’t even drink alcohol anymore. He just broods and smokes.

“What if she isn’t home?” Nawaz’s voice is a little shrill, reeking of desperation. 

“We’ll figure it out when we get to that point.” Prakash tries to look more confident than he feels. One of them has to take charge. But doubts assail him. 

What if the bitch is indeed not home? And what if there’s no one around to ask.

“Prakash bhai, you know the address, right?”

This is another stumbling block Prakash hasn’t contended with. He sits back down heavily and pours himself another glass. He picks up a few peanuts and chews them meditatively. He takes a deep drink of his liquor, makes a face. 

Then he snaps him fingers and picks up his phone.

“Inder bhai?”

“Yes…who’s this?”

“It’s me, Prakash.”

“What do you want, fucker?” Inder’s voice is a snarl.

“Oh, nothing, just thinking of having a party with a few friends.”

“Oh?” Inder sounds interested, hopeful even.

“Yeah…I was wondering if the bitch might want to participate…so I was going to go get her.”

Prakash hadn’t thought this through. He hadn’t planned to invite Inder, but he had no choice. The fat IT man was the only one who had her address.

“What should I bring?”

Prakash has a ready answer for that. “Chocolates? And some English booze?”

Inder looked the type to drink foreign liquor. He still thought of it as foreign liquor, even though he knew some if not most of it was manufactured in India. Some in Haryana and even his own state, Uttar Pradesh.

“Done,” Inder says. Prakash hears computer keys clacking, and then Inder reads out an address.

“I’ll come to your place directly,” Inder says. He doesn’t question whether Prakash is sure Swati is home or not. Prakash thinks there is some way he knows where she is, but he has no way to be sure. Perhaps he tracks her phone. He has heard there are ways such things might be done, but of course has neither the education nor smarts to know.

Nawaz is staring at him open-mouthed.

Prakash hangs up and says, “That’s how it’s done. Hang with me, baby, and there’s no end to the stuff you’ll see.” He says “baby” in English. Then he winks elaborately.

They arrive at the big house just as it is getting dark. It is a standalone house, and the one thing it screams is “money.” And lots of it. 

Prakash is a little intimidated by the wrought iron gate, but there is no gatekeeper and the door too isn’t locked. With trepidation, he unbolts the small door set inside the large gate, making certain that his companions don’t see his nervousness. 

Once inside, he ascends the marble stairs and approaches the front door. He hesitates before he rings the bell. He turns around to look at Paro and Nawaz. 

After they got in the auto, Nawaz had detoured past the whorehouse and picked up Paro.  “She would be good to have along on the trip,” he explained. Prakash hadn’t understood the rationale, but went along with it. 

And now, here there were. 

Prakash hasn’t seen the bitch, as he thinks of her in his head, for about a week, and he wonders if things have changed in that interval. Nah, he decides, the whore is probably just being lazy, ignoring his message. He will teach her a lesson, slap her around, fuck her ass hard, and she would be fine. 

He presses the bell. 

Ding dong, it goes.

Ding dong, he thinks. These rich fuckers. Ding dong indeed. 

Then, as an afterthought, he pushes Paro in front of the peephole set into the door, Nawaz by her side, hanging on to her arm possessively.