[S Darko]

For a limited time only, Wages of Sin is available for FREE using coupon NF62K

Enjoy!

[S Darko]

Swati regains a sense of space and time, and the awareness that the men have allowed her to enjoy her orgasm for quite a while.  

They have, it seems to her, been watching her with awe. It is possible none of them have ever seen a woman come like that—with that intensity, or even someone squirt. Prakash has, of course, and Swati is aware that she sometimes squirts when she is being ass fucked and has what is called an assgasm. 

This time, what she had was a combo of assgasm and vaginal orgasm. A DP of sorts, although she would welcome a real DP with these dudes. 


Nawaz approaches her and helps her sit up, and once her breathing is even, positions her on all fours. 

She is aware what is coming next, or at least she thinks so. It is incredible, but no one has been in her cunt, her main fuckhole yet, and she’s already had a few incredible orgasms. Other than the pink vibe of course, but in a surfeit of real cocks, the toy doesn’t count. 

Her after office dalliances have usually been limited to an hour or two because there is always the pressure of returning home. 

But today she has no such pressure. There is no one waiting at home, Ashok is busy in the hospital, and Dhruv is with his grandparents. 

Inder sits down again in front of her, his floppy cock at half mast, ready for one more round of fellatio. The guy seems to be insatiable. He may have taken a pill or something, she thinks. 

Normally, he has one orgasm and then he is done for the day. He is also the only one among the three men who would have access to such pills; Prakash and Nawaz are relatively low class, uneducated, and probably ignorant. 

But these days, who knows?

She takes Inder’s slimy member into her mouth for the second time that evening and starts to suck, hoping someone will fuck her pussy soon. And almost as though the universe were conspiring to make her wishes come true, it starts to happen. 

Swati becomes aware of unremitting pressure at the entrance of her vagina, a pressure such as she hasn’t felt for a long time, not since she has given birth to Dhruv. 

From her imagined place, floating near the ceiling, she sees the huge mushroom head of Nawaz’ cock trying to breach the entrance to her cunt. 

She sees her outer and inner lips smashed, stretched and distorted like they haven’t been before, the ring of her vagina dilating, pulsing, taking a breather, then dilating some more. 

Her cunt has one job to do right now, and it is to get large enough to let this freakish intruder in.

She opens her mouth wider, still with Inder’s cock in it and breathes deep, relaxing her muscles, willing her cunt to open, relax, to let the giant lollipop into her love tunnel. 

And slowly, like a mole tunneling into fertile soil, the cock head slips in with a slurping sound, like a vacuum seal being released. 

There is no pain but incredible pressure as he takes her from behind, the pressure most intense around the urethra. It is incredible, this sense of stretching. 

She opens her mouth and pants around Inder’s rapidly stiffening cock. He seems to like her hot breath on his prick and murmurs appreciatively. Some more urine escapes her in the excitement. 

“Oh, yeah, do that more,” Inder says.
 
“Guk, guk,” she says, agreeing with him.

But Nawaz is in. 

His cockhead, the glans, the head of his monstrous cock is deep in her love tunnel. 

She can feel only the wide head of his cock, the rest being of more modest dimensions. But the toilet plunger analogy is apt, for it is the cock head of his that does the most magic, stimulating the G spot, deeper and harder than anyone has ever done before.

And the man has moves too! He grabs one of her legs and raises it in the air, changing the angle of his so far gentle thrusting. 

He pulls back only a bit before pushing in again. Each stroke comes at a different angle, and Swati is soon screaming with ecstasy around the meager cock in her mouth. 

Inder pulls her head into his crotch in an effort to shut her up, and yet her screams continue to emanate, albeit muffled by Inder’s massive thighs.

Swati feels her orgasm building. Already! She barely has time to appreciate it before it hits her, and then undulates through her. 

For the next ten or so minutes as Nawaz fucks her with varying intensity and angles and technique, she experiences, for the first time in her life, a continuous rippling orgasm, over and over, unending.

She feels faint, the lack of oxygen from her face being forced into Inder’s lap taking its toll. She has no idea if the fat man has come yet, and she doesn’t care either. 

She hears a muted groan, a cry like a wounded animal. Then she feels rough hands pull her away from the obese man and turn her around. The cock in her cunt is suddenly gone, and she feels even in that dizzy moment as though something valuable has been  lost. 

And then Nawaz is spurting in her face, her mouth, and it’s like a fire hose, and she swallows and tries to breathe in the face of his spurting orgasm. 

When she regains her senses, she sees there has been an addition to their cozy little group. 

There is a new man, about Prakash’s height and weight, darker by a few shades. He has a hungry, lustful expression on his face, and there is no question about what he is leering at.

[S Darko]

Ramesh gives up around midnight as the proprietor indicates he wishes to close up. 

He realizes that he has been thinking of the man as “the '. Proprietor,” not knowing his name even though he has been frequenting the establishment, such as it is, for many months now.


“Chacha, what is your name?”

The man looks startled, as though this was a strange question. He takes a few seconds to process the question. 

“Rashid,” he says finally, “Rashid Mohammed.”

“I am Ramesh,” he says, “Ramesh Awasthi. I live right there.” He points at his building. “On the third floor…”

“I know beta,” Rashid says. “I have seen you with the other two guys you live with, Nawaz and Prakash." He makes an expression of distaste when he says the two names, as though he has bitten into a particularly bitter karela. 

“You don’t like them?”

Rashid clears his throat and spits into the gutter. “Bhadwa hai sala, that Nawaz is nothing but a pimp.”

Ramesh knows this to be true, but never had any definite confirmation. 

“You saw the two women that came in?”

Rashid scrutinizes Ramesh’s face. “Yes? You mean Paro or the madam?”

Paro, so that was the woman’s name. 

He wonders where he’s heard the name before. Probably from Nawaz, he decides. There must be some relationship between the Madam and Paro.

“Paro, yes, that who I mean.”

“She’s one of his whores. I believe she also works as a maid. Part-time job, you know?”

An auto, making a noise like it is going to die any second, rolls into the street. They both turn to look at the somewhat unusual sight, this late at night. The vehicle passes them and disappears out of sight at the other end. 

A street dog that has been sleeping on the pavement comes to life, barks a couple of times at the retreating auto, then goes back to sleep.

Ramesh turns back to Rashid. “And Prakash?” 

“Looks like he’s going that way. Can’t say I’ll be sad when their end comes. Their expiry date gets moved up once they enter this kind of life. Always trying to make a quick buck, always trying to victimize people.”

“I see,” Ramesh says, because he has nothing more to say. 

It is clear to him that the old man has a keen eye and knows what happens on the street. He is probably a fount of information, only he doesn’t need anything. Not right now, anyway. And also, he thinks, the old man is quite judgmental.

“What do you think of me, chacha?” Suddenly, and urgently, it is important to Ramesh what this random old man thought of him. He feels somehow that the man should think well of him, not associate him with the pimps and whore mongers his other two roommates evidently are. He looks at the old man with some anxiety.

Rashid narrows his eyes and looks him up and down. At length, he says, “Pehelwan right? Hanuman bhakt, right?”

Ramesh’s eyes go wide. “How do you know?”

Rashid shrugs. “I know. I just know.”

“And do you know what is going on in there today?”

Rashid squints, and stares at Ramesh for a long time. “You’re not a cop are you?”

Ramesh shakes his head.

“Good night then, shabba khair. And take care.”

[S Darko]

“Mahender,” Prakash says by way of introduction. “He’s a film director.” 

This isn’t strictly true because Mahender is really a sort of spot boy, a gofer, but so what. 

What Prakash has only just found out is that Mahender works in the porn film business. 

When he went down to fetch the man, he had told him about the orgy in progress upstairs, and Mahender had volunteered the information that he worked making porn films.


“I see all these girls naked all day, every day. But they’re usually the dark, ugly and fat chicks. Low grade movies for the mass market, the social media sites and so on,” he says. “We almost never get any high class maal. Not like the English ones…sometimes, truth to tell, I don’t even feel aroused when I see those chicks naked.”

“Well, my friend, you’re in for a treat today because what I have up there is exactly what you’re looking for.”

And then they were through the trapdoor and in the upstairs room, Prakash leading the way, and watching Mahender’s expression raptly. And boy was he rewarded. It was so gratifying to see the raw lust on his face when he saw Swati twitching on the floor in orgasm. He could not have scripted it better or chosen a better moment to enter the room. He did see that Mahender glanced briefly at the naked Paro but did not dwell there. 

Now, he watches as Mahender literally has his tongue out, panting like a dog with a bitch in heat in front of him. 

“Kya maal hai bhai, kya maal hai!” Mahender’s voice is husky with lust. “Asli boobs?”

Prakash laughs. “Hundred percent asli hai Mahender bhai, there’s nothing fake about this one.” 

He praises his smartness at first finding and then training this world-class slut to perfection, conveniently forgetting the role his roommate Ramesh played, and that it was all a huge coincidence that he is in this position at all. He is too busy patting himself on the back for that level of insight. 

Mahender has no words. All he can do is watch with huge eyes the absolute spectacle of the big titted, beautiful woman writhing in ecstasy on the floor. After a while, Swati subsides into a wet mess on the floor, dirt streaked and still looking impossibly beautiful, and Mahender takes his eyes off her and looks around. 

When he sees the three phones propped up against the walls in strategic locations, he lights up. 

“You guys are shooting a porno!” 

It is so obviously not a question, and Prakash says nothing. 

“You should have told me before, I would have brought better cameras, lights, maybe even a couple of real porn actors…”

“Never mind,” Prakash says, “You’re here to have fun. So have fun.”

“But Prakash bhai, I have stuff—ropes and gags and other stuff they use in porn movies. If she can take some pain, that is.” He casts a doubtful eye at the woman on the floor.

Prakash notes that she is starting to recover. That’s good. Time for some more action.

“No worries bhai, she can take pain. In fact, she loves it!”

From the floor, now partially sitting up, legs still spread with her pussy on full display, Swati uses her right hand to heft her breasts. First one, then the other.

“All hundred percent real,” she says. “And yes, I like cock, in every hole. I can take pain too…are you a specialist?”

“Arre bhai!” Mahender gasps. “She speaks Hindi!”

“What did you think? She’s a firangi or something? She’s from right here in Gurugram…or maybe Delhi.”

“Y-yes, I mean no, I mean, she’s so fair and beautiful.”

Prakash cackles like a crazy person. 

Swati laughs and says, “You look at a naked woman in a chawl, looking to get fucked, and you’re impressed by what language she speaks?”

Mahender gapes at her as though looking at a ghost. “Bap re!” He wipes his forehead.

Prakash starts laughing again, and soon Nawaz and Inder and even Paro join in the merriment. When they’ve subsided a little and Mahender is looking suitably chastised, he says, “Ok bhai, I’ll go get the bag of tools.”

Something strikes Prakash. “Wait, before you go, take a look at this bag.” 

He offers him the bag he has brought from Swati’s house. It is a large gym bag of cylindrical design with a semicircular zipper on the top. It is from her that he has removed the ball gag earlier, as well as the pink vibrator that now lies partially under one of the beds.

Mahender opens it and starts tossing the collection of dildos, gags, a butt plug, nipple clamps on the floor, and also a pair of padded handcuffs together with a key. He nods with satisfaction with each item he removes.

“This is all good stuff. But, I have more. I’ll be right back.”

[S Darko]

waiting

You have a preference of where the story should go from here?

[S Darko]

She should become nikolai property in brothel and at the very end only be rescued by our hero.Before that her downfall should be complete.

Oho! Wow! You guys are HARDCORE!

[S Darko]

The Downfall part should go till she becomes a pro for Nikolai while still continuing her current life only to realize how far she's fallen after some really shocking event like she had to sleep with a family member she never thought of and then trying to say no to Nikolai but falls a level deeper as punishment for retaliation and then recovers from there with help of someone like Ramesh though it's difficult to imagine how it will happen at this moment for me, but you have the gift for writing I'm sure you can figure something out that does make some sense in the fictional erotica :). A few regular tormentors and possibly new ones she crossed paths with keep banging her after that (recovering from racket of Prostitution) which is the irreparable damage she has to live with.

Thanks for the suggestions. I will try to incorporate.

[S Darko]

Arvind sits in one of the chairs, his back against one arm, his legs dbangd over the other, his heart thudding. 


Impossible, he thinks, impossible, his mind refusing to believe. He would never have believed it, but here are the images, here is the proof. He thinks he has her. 

He looks carefully at the two pictures that Alexei has sent, zooms and un-zooms, squints at the images, and he is almost a hundred percent sure the woman in the images is his beloved sister-in-law, Swati. 

The unmistakable sexiness that oozes from the images, the saucy smile, the lush body he has lusted after for so many years, now revealed in all its glory, even better that he imagined. 

He puts his phone down and rests his head on the wall behind him and thinks. What should he do? 

He has several avenues of action, one of which is of course that of confronting Swati with the proof. Undeniable proof. Of course, he should get more pictures, preferably video before he does that. In this day and age of photo and video alterations and actual websites devoted to morphing famous peoples’ faces onto someone else’s torso, deep fakes are not only possible, but rampant. 

Also, she may simply dismiss it as an obvious fake and dare him to do whatever he can. That wouldn’t leave him a lot of wiggle room.
 
He can see from Aleksei’s message that he has sent the image as someone he is targeting for trafficking, and not because of any personal relationship his partner in crime, Arvind might have with the woman. Arvind is almost sure Alexei isn’t aware of any personal connection. 

He isn’t averse to allowing things to take their course, but he thinks he could maneuver to make sure Swati knows that he is involved in her permanent degradation and downfall. And also that this is payback. Then the bitch would be sorry for the scorn she heaped on him. 

Hmm. So many things to consider. He drums his finger on the armrest as he considers his options. 

He could expose her to Ashok and that would be payback for the generally shitty way older brother had treated him. That would be nice, and not an exclusive path either. He could do that and still have her sold off to some Sheikh’s harem in Dubai. 

But unfortunately, that wouldn’t give him the chance to fuck her, something he really wanted to do. 

If Aleksei got his hands on her, the chances of him spending any quality time with her fell to zero. She would be herded together with other girls, under guard around the clock and there would be no opportunity at all. He wonders what else he can do. 

Is there a way, he wonders, he can get her alone for a period of time, so he can humiliate her before she gets sent away to the Middle East for good? Hmm, something to think about. 

He can talk to Nikolai, another Russian who has business in the area. 

He has never met the man, but has only heard of him, and perhaps the man might be amenable to a little arrangement. Maybe he would be amenable to interceding on his behalf with Aleksei, because he sure doesn’t have the balls to talk to Aleksei. 

He would just get a lecture at best, and at worst, Arvind shudders to think what the man might do. He has heard the stories. Perhaps if Nikolai, as a fellow Russian, took Swati as a loan for a few days? 

Yeah, that might work. Sure, a lot of convoluted maneuvering, but in the end it might work. 

He closes his eyes and visualizes Swati as she appears in the second photograph. Completely naked. He doesn’t know this of course, but these are the same two images that Prakash sent to Nakul Bhai, and he in turn to Aleksei. He also doesn't know that Nakul Bhai and Nikolai are one and the same, and that he is really Ramsaran, a fellow Indian.

He feels a stirring in his pants, and a slow triumphant smile creeps onto his face. There is no one in the waiting room with his, so he doesn’t care. 

He visualizes Swati in his mind’s eye.

Her perfect, large round tits, her heart shaped beautiful face. Her flat stomach. Her shaved pussy with the tantalizing arrow she has groomed into her pubic hair, the whore. 

And always, that knowing, slutty smile. 

He closes his eyes and her face, then her whole body floats up in his vision. He can feel his cock hardening as he sees the details of her sexy body. 

A noise stirs him, and he quickly pulls the newspaper over his groin before he lifts his face to the new entrant. It is Ashok.

“Hi Ashok, hey. All ok?” He is aware he is almost stuttering, but he cannot help it. The irony is simply too delicious. 

Here is his brother and there is his wife on his phone, naked. 

Except neither of them know it yet. 

“Yeah, all good.” Ashok looks harried. 

“What’s up?” Arvind pours on the solicitousness. 

“Nothing. Just trying to reach Swati, and can’t get her. Must be she forgot to charge her phone or something.”

“Oh, yeah, that kind of thing happens all the time.” Arvind waves his phone at Arvind as though in explanation. “They’re all unreliable.”

Ashok nods in a distracted way. 

Something devilish seizes Arvind. He sets his phone down on the chair next to him. He gets up and stretches his arms out, yawns, and says, “It’s getting late. I’m feeling sleepy. Coffee?”

Ashok seems startled. “Sure, why not.”

Arvind holds up a hand when he sees Ashok readying to go with him. “No need to come, you relax a while. Besides, the nurse might come anytime with some meds we need to buy.”

Ashok nods again, this time in acknowledgement. The nurses did indeed pop up at any and all hours asking for this or that medicine to be purchased from the pharmacy. It was so much better in other countries—they treated the patient regardless of whether an attendant was present. Here though, they needed a family member around at all times. 

Arvind folds the paper he’d been holding to cover his erection, and places it on the coffee table. His hard on has subsided by now anyway. With one last sideways glance at the phone on the chair, he leaves.

On the way he wonders if he should have unlocked the phone, taken off the security design he has, but then he remembers that the design is the same as Ashok’s. They’d both set it up the same way when they’d purchased theirs. 

Besides, an unlocked phone would raise suspicions. 

He hopes, as he strides away that Ashok will overcome his scruples and check his phone.

[S Darko]

I tried the coupon today but it did not work, I know I may be late.

Anyways if you post a new coupon for free download then please inform so that I can download it again.

Thanks.

I believe the coupon was set to expire on August 4th. I Can generate another one and send it if you need. Let me know.

S

[S Darko]

Of course we need it. Who would want to miss such a deal from such a great storyteller!!!

AT29C try this. Expires Sept 10th.

[S Darko]

Fantastic! This coupon is working... will make good use of it.

Fair warning, one of the people who downloaded stayed up all night reading it.

Enjoy, leave comments and reviews on the Smashwords site. 

Thank you.

S

[S Darko]

Swati soaks in her large tub, her eyes closed, savoring the warmth. The jacuzzi jets soothe her aching muscles. She is half in and half out of sleep, and she jerks awake as the thought strikes her that she might slip under the water in her exhaustion and drown. 

She is simply wrung out by the night’s events. 


Swati traces the rope marks on her body, some areas of bruising, scbangs, burst capillaries, a small cut or two. She has no idea what her back looks like. The men were not very lenient on her back and ass with the whip, although she is able to sit on it quite well, and without too much pain. 

Her pussy is red and puffy, but there is a satisfaction in the soreness. In fact, her whole lower abdomen, and groin is a dusky red, as are her tits and the skin over her chest. 

She has also looked at her ass in a handheld mirror, and the anal ring was likewise swollen and the color of ripe cherries, with small radiating redder lines she thinks might be small cuts or fissures. It is also sore, but pleasantly so. There is no pain per se when she runs the tip of her finger over the areas. 

She thinks if she tries, she can get a dildo in there, or even a cock. Swati marvels at the thought that even after a night full of the worst kind of debauchery, she is still able to entertain the idea of more sex. A small giggle escapes her as she thinks of more cock.

Most of the night is a blur, but several things stand out. There is an overwhelmingly satisfying exhaustion, and she thinks, it was a sex session to end all sex sessions, an orgy with her at the center, a debauch that would have put the Romans to shame. 

When Mahender showed up, things kicked up a notch, or maybe several notches. She is fuck drunk and also drunk somewhat on alcohol that they forced into her during the long night. By her reckoning, it was about twelve or more hours of non-stop orgy. 

She remembers Prakash yawning prodigiously as he dropped her off in front of her house in the morning in the same auto he took her away in. On the journey back, she barely registers the Christmas decorations in the shop windows as they sped through the deserted streets. She recalls the old rickshaw driver staring hungrily at her, no doubt cursing his luck for having to forego the magnificent fuck she so clearly was.

Mahender, it turned out, was a professional pornographer. At least that’s what she gathered. He made further adjustments to the camera positions, brought in additional lights, and also some new toys. 

The night proceeded similar to the way it started, but more of the same, but also more intense, but also more organized. 

The room, as it turned out, was ideal for the activities that Mahender dreamed up. The exposed beams overhead proved to be ideal anchor points for hooks and rope. Mahender seemed to be an expert on rope. Perhaps as good as she had seen in the internet BDSM sites. 

He was able to bind her in a variety of positions without causing too much discomfort. His rope was neat and orderly, his knots tight, and yet not too difficult to remove when he wanted to. Of course, the main thing was she was immobilized in several poses and still able to enjoy the fucking she received. Swati loved the immobilization, the feeling of being helpless and open to be fucked in any and every position, sometimes not even able to beg for it because she was gagged or blindfolded or both. 

She was tied up in different positions and fucked, beaten with a fringed flogger until her skin turned a deep shade of red all over with little purple marks through them, micro cuts that would take a few days to heal. 

In each position that she was tied, she was fucked, then gagged, blindfolded and fucked, and the list went on until she couldn’t even remember all the events of the night. The most exciting were the suspensions, especially the one where she was horizontal and taken from the back and the front. 

That was the much anticipated double penetration, and the greatest challenge was she couldn’t move a muscle. She was restrained in a near horizontal split, both legs separately suspended, and her arms tied behind her. 

Her boobs too were bound, at one time, like a tight bra, but the ropes went above and below, allowing the bulk of her tits to bulge out obscenely.  Another time, Mahender had bound her breasts differently, winding lengths around the base of her tits until they stood proud of her chest, red and congested angry, and exquisitely sensitive. 

The appearance of her breasts, to her, was even more obscene, but so smutty and lewd, the men couldn't get enough of. All the men had taken turns in sucking, biting, slapping her tits and flicking her nipples over and over, and she had orgasmed just from that. No one had been anywhere near her genitals. 

When the orgasm had arrived, traveling in waves from the pit of her stomach, twitching her labia and convulsing her pelvis, the men had laughed and called her a shameless whore. She had reddened with shame, and closed her eyes, but the strange, warm, internal glow she felt also told her she loved the experience.

She came, she remembers, multiple times with Prakash or Nawaz or Mahender buried in one or more of her holes. She remembers the moans and the screams she must’ve uttered, to the point she worried someone might call the cops or, worse, more men, hordes of them, might come in. 

To be honest, a part of her wanted more people to come in—the chawl people, unwashed and filthy and all wanting a piece of her, the gori memsaab. That was her ultimate fantasy, nasty and raw, to be fucked over and over by filthy men who cared not a whit for her education or her high position in society. 

To them, she would be nothing more than a piece of meat, to be used to the utmost and then discarded. 

She found the inversion suspension the most challenging because her nose got blocked, and she tended to black out when she was blowing someone, but other than that, the sensations were intense, enhanced much more than when she was upright. While she was upside down, her arms bound tightly behind her, forearm to forearm, hands on her elbows, Mahender almost monopolized her mouth. 

He had a decent sized cock, somewhat smaller than Prakash, but otherwise normal. He'd grabbed her head and stuffed his cock in, heedless of whether she could breathe or not. Since her head was almost touching the ground, he had to be either straddling her head, while sitting in the ground, or bending over really low. 

Her legs had been tied to the overhead beam, spread apart like a reverse Jesus, the legs spread akimbo, but the arms tied together behind her. Both Prakash and Nawaz were able to easily access both of her lower holes and they did so one by one, and once, to her amazement, together, giving her the much anticipated DP. Mahender, of course, had been in her mouth, perched on a stool, and she was airtight. She had passed out then, she remembers. 

When she came to, she was still being fucked by the two men, but Mahender had pulled out to allow her to recover. The men hooted and laughed when she finally opened her eyes, and Mahender had promptly reinserted his cock into her mouth.

The interesting thing, Swati discovered, was those moments of blacking out or when she was on the point of passing out while she was being fucked, were also times when her orgasms were the most intense. 

Or perhaps she was merely sensitized to the sex and on a hair trigger to orgasm. 

She does not understand the difference. 

She thinks she will ask them to choke her next time, a more controlled approach, and see if what she thinks is true. 

After that session, she remembers vaguely being reduced to a convulsing, wriggling, drooling, sopping mass of female flesh, wet beyond belief. 

The men's cocks kept popping out despite their large size, she remembers, she was so profusely lubricated in all her holes. 

Was it possible for one person to have so many orgasms? She has lost count after the first dozen or so, and counted properly, the night might have yielded over a hundred times she’d come.

[S Darko]

This one is a (relatively) non-bang bang sex update because, well, too much sex is boring to write and read. I also want to keep a little dramatic tension going. And so...to the next episode:




The waiting room in the ICU is quiet, save for the beeps and musical alarms from the various life-saving machines that are hushed by the thick layer of glass that separates the ICU from the waiting area. A nurse hovers over a bank of monitors, looking at the readings and answering the phone that never stops ringing. 

She is a mature woman, dressed in a crisp saree uniform, and he can see her large breasts. Come on man, he says to himself, she is just someone doing her job. Keeping your dad alive as a matter of fact.

Everything is at a remove from him, as though Ashok is wearing sound canceling headphones, or watching a movie on mute. He sits on the chair, thinking, his legs crossed one on top of the other, the top leg jiggling.


He is a little concerned that Swati isn’t answering her phone, but not really worried. There could be many completely normal explanations for her not answering, but still. His father is in the hospital, possibly dying, and she can’t be bothered to answer her phone? But then, he reasons, the last few days have been eventful, and she might be tired and sleeping. 

For a few minutes he closes his eyes, but images from the party in Delhi flash into his mind, images and movie reels of the orgy in the kitchen, the sex in the living room, the debauchery in the master bedroom where he and Baldev had both fucked his sister-in-law. He in her mouth and Baldev in her ass. Then Abhi had entered the room, apparently just after he’d fucked Swati in a DP with Pravin. 

Then all three had gone at the sister in law. She was pliant, soft, accommodating. It seemed to be common knowledge that Baldev was fucking his sister-in-law and that her husband was gay. Baldev was a talented cocksman all right, he muses. 

The ecstasy and the Viagra, boy, what a potent combo that was. He had fucked each and every of the women except his wife, and that made seven hot bitches. Not one was fat, although a couple of them were on the chubby side. All loved sex and most were willing enough to be double and some even wanted triple penetration. 

Abhi had chosen well, and he’d thrown one hell of a party. Ashok is aware of course that on his own he’d have never been invited. It was all because of Swati.

But those women! Aparna and Sudha and Menaka, especially Menaka, who loved anal. He remembers how during the kitchen orgy on Christmas morning he had reamed out her ass while Baldev was doing the same thing to his wife. Sudha was sucking his balls from behind. Damn, he had some big Punjabi balls, like a bull he was, that man. 

Not that Ashok was envious or anything. He was quite well-endowed in the cock and ball department, thank you very much. Use what you have and all that. 

But those tits and asses, and the warm, enveloping cunts! God, that was some good time they’d had. 

He has not even an iota of jealousy about how the men had used his own wife. He had used the others, so it was no harm, no foul. 

Besides, he had wanted to try swinging for quite a while. He might want to try it again, it being so much fun and all. Swati would probably be game as well, even though they haven’t talked about it. There has been no time. 

He can feel himself getting hard at the memories. Specifically, the big titted bitch he had fucked without mercy, now what was her name? He shakes his head, opens his eyes, and looks around for something to distract him. A magazine, anything.

His eyes fall on the phone on the seat next to him. 

Arvind’s phone? Huh? He didn’t take it with him, apparently. But who does that these days? No one leaves their phone and walks away. There was a time when people did that, but not anymore. Well, maybe old people, but Arvind was not old.

He picks up the phone and peers around to see if someone is watching. He rises from the chair and peers around the corner, where the elevators and stairwell are located. Arvind will most likely use the elevator if he is getting coffee from the cafeteria on the first floor, and he can hear the doors open with the mechanical voice announcing, “sixth floor, doors are open.”

He re-enters the waiting area and sits down. He touches the screen and sees the Lock Screen image of Arvind with his golden retriever, Moti. He traces the pattern that he uses on his own phone, and the Lock Screen disappears. There is a photo on the screen now.

A naked woman. She looks familiar.

He frowns, zooms in, and his heart stops.

He is sure it is Swati. There are two images, one of her fully clothed, and one of her completely naked. He can't be caught looking at Arvind's phone. He peers around the corner again, then forwards the images to himself and deleted the transaction from the phone log. He is sure Arvind wouldn’t know how to check. 

He puts the phone back where he found it, and sits back, heart thudding now. He wonders how the image was obtained in the first place. 

He supposes the image most likely came from the party at Abhi’s house, but weren’t cameras forbidden? 

Ashok himself didn’t take any pictures, but he believes that Abhi had video cameras set up all over the house so her could film everything. Which sort of explained the no camera rule. But it was really terrible form for someone to not only sneak a picture of his wife, but also to disseminate it.

The bigger problem was how it was on Arvind’s phone. 

How the fuck had that happened? Was he friends with someone at the party? That was certainly possible. Ashok no longer knew Arvind’s friends, and suspected he might have some unsavory ones, but really, he had no idea.

He thought some more, head resting on the wall behind him. 

Another thought pops into his head: is this deliberate? 

Is the phone planted? 

The fact that Arvind has left his phone unattended, knowing that Ashok knows the unlock pattern, seems to be a set-up the more he thinks about it. 

But why would he do that? 

Is there something going on between the two of them ? 

Is that the reason why Swati was so open to sexual experimentation? She hasn't been before. 

Does Arvind fancy his wife or something? He has always been polite, if surly with her, well after the first few months of their marriage anyway. 

If so, why let him know? 

Why not keep it secret?

Should he confront his brother?

The questions swirl in his head, making him giddy. 

He needs to examine the pictures again to see if there are any hints about where they were taken. 

It does look like both pictures have been taken in the same place, but is it Abhi’s house? 

If not, that will open up a brand new can of worms.

Something he can't even fathom right now.

[S Darko]

This episode is dedicated to Pro10 who sent me the idea for the scene. This is pure sex, and I hope you enjoy. Pro10, this one is dedicated to you.



Around midnight, or perhaps a little later Swati reckoned, there had been a break, perhaps as much as a half hour, before the men came to life again. They’d been lounging around, getting their strength back, worn out with the excesses of the night. They ate bananas from a large bunch, the yellow skins of the fruits glistening in the light from the bare bulb in the ceiling.


Swati lay on one of the cots, tired, watching the men. Parvati slumped in one corner, her body partially covered by a sheet, quietly drinking something from a steel tumbler. Water probably, perhaps mixed in with some whiskey, Swati thought. She peed in a corner into a plastic box. 

The men had also been drinking a fair bit, mostly from the booze that Inder had brought but also from the bottle that Mahender had produced from his bag as his contribution to the proceedings. They remained limp, their penises hanging like noodles between their legs. 

It amazed Swati they were so unselfconscious about their nudity, but perhaps the communal fucking had loosened their inhibitions as had the booze. 

Then, at some unseen signal, they rose and started in on her. She gave in willingly. Parvati had a resigned expression on her face. While they remained limp initially, the things they began to do to Swati made them hard again in anticipation. 

This time, Mahender bound her arms behind her again and put nipple clamps on. It was an experience unlike any she’d had before. 

First, he pinched the nipple itself between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, and pulled straight out. She wondered what in the world he was going to do, but also fearing something painful. All this while, his right hand had been behind his back, like a magician not wanting to reveal his trick, or perhaps simply to keep her in suspense. 

Then, in a flash, his right hand came up and before she knew it, there was a serrated, toothed device that looked like a butterfly. He placed it gently over the base of her nipple, but there was nothing gentle about what followed.

Swati had never had nipple clamps before, and the pain was excruciating, and once it settled down to a reasonable level, the pain/pleasure seemed to be wired directly to her pussy and she felt the tremendous jolt of electric pain travel from her nipples to her labia, to the point she almost had an orgasm. Again.

“Aaaaah! Oooooh!” She moaned, had in pain, half in ecstasy.

Then he repeated the process with the other nipple and the pain/pleasure redoubled. 

“Oooi Maaaa! Aaaaaah!” Swati made no effort to keep her voice down. 

She was sure that even the auto driver two blocks away was probably getting hard listening to her. He was probably turning over one of his wives and plunging into her cunt or ass as the fancy took him. He was probably an ass man, she thought.

Prakash lay down on one of the cots and laid Swati on top of him in the reverse cowgirl position. 

She could hardly breathe with the nervous anticipation. She felt herself shaking with the imminent double penetration. This was her favorite position in porn, and she’d never experienced it herself but seen it all the time in her favorite movies.

“Oooh, ooh,” she kept moaning, sometimes for show, and sometimes simply because she couldn’t keep from voicing her  pleasure as some random movement jostled her excruciatingly sensitive nipples or tugged on the chain connecting them. 

Mahender looked at her and frowned. “She’s making too much noise, Prakash Bhai,” he said. “I have just the thing for that.” He gave them a theatrical evil chuckle, like a HIndi film villain.

He produced a device from his bag of tricks that wasnt immediately recognizable. It looked like a ring with a strap. 

A fearsome looking ring-like device with radiating spokes from the circumference. She would later learn it was called, appropriately enough, a spider gag. It was quite comfortable once placed in postion, but almost as soon as it was placed, she realized two things. 

The first was that the ring allowed Mahender to put his cock in her mouth, and even throat even though she was gagged.  

She had zero control over the depth of penetration. All she could do was use her tongue on his cock. This she discovered when Mahender, as a quick demo, pushed into her mouth. By now she could tell even without looking which cock belonged to whom. 

The second thing she realized was she had no control over her saliva. Almost immediately she started drooling uncontrollably, rivulets of saliva dripping down her chin, onto her breasts and belly. Free lube, she figured.

The room had warmed up by now with just the small heater they used for cooking their food, and even the floor felt comfortable now. 

The next thing Mahender did heightened her excitement severalfold. She was aware she was dripping from her cunt, and her mouth like two broken faucets. 

The blindfold blocked out all vision, and heightened her other senses. Especially her hearing and sense of smell. And most important, her sense of touch. Her skin seemed to be on fire, raging mostly in her lower belly and chest. Centering around her nipples, the electric fire seemed heightened, even more than before. 

Someone gave the chain linking the nipple rings a tug and she moaned through the gag. She wriggled her butt, trying by feel to find the cock she had been promised. She would have gladly allowed it into either of her nether holes.

“Do it this way,” Mahender said, no doubt explaining the positions to the men. She of course, couldn’t see what he was asking them to do.

She felt a shifting, perhaps Prakash moving in a way that best caught the light, or perhaps the best camera angle. 

Prakash stuffed his now fully hardened member in her ass. It went in like a hot knife through butter, snagging not even a bit at her sphincter. 

Briefly, she flashed back to the first time he had done this in the conference room and how much it had hurt. 

There had been a searing, tearing pain like she had been constipated and was trying to force the largest turd in the world out her asshole. 

It had taken quite a while for her to get used to the pain. Her head had been pushed into the carpeted floor that time, she recalled. 

Now, the feelings were sensual, comfortable, and after he’d seated himself inside her rectum, feeling full, he began moving, slowly, using short in and out movements. 

“Aah, aah,” are the only sounds she can make with her mouth held open by the open gag.

“That’s right bitch, keep moaning,” Prakash said.

Swati anticipated this position to be one more where she wouldn’t be able to move much if at all. She would be immobilized by the rope binding her arms, and by the men plugging her holes.

“Now watch this,” Nawaz said, but Swati had no idea what he was talking about.

She had barely settled into the slow rhythm that Prakash had set up fucking her ass than she felt the pressure at the entrance to her cunt. A few seconds passed as she tried to fathom what it might be, and then realization dawned. 

It was Nawaz, trying to force his large cockhead into her. With Prakash already in her ass, it was going to be a tight fit. A really tight fit. She wondered briefly if he would even be able to do it.

Swati opened her mouth and tried to breathe in short puffs, trying to ease him in. 

She had found it useful the last time Nawaz had fucked her, but at the time he had been going in solo. Now there was Prakash’s thick member in her rectum to contend with. There was after all, only so much space inside her pelvis. The men though, seemed determined to try.

“Oh man, she is tight!”

This was true, and this despite the copious lubrication she had produced. She was literally dripping from her cunt, not to mention the thick viscous drool from her mouth that must have but his time reached her lower belly. No need for additional lube, just swipe it form there and apply where needed.

“Oh yes, the bitch is tight, sure, but I’ll get it in. I’ve done this before, and I know it can be done!” Nawaz was wheezing with the effort.

Then Prakash gave an upward lurch that lifted her off his body for a split second, and Nawaz gave a simultaneous muscular shove, and he was in! 

They were both in! 

A low groan escaped her mouth, cut off almost instantly by Mahender’s cock in her throat. And there she was, in that ragged chawl room in the middle of Bhim colony, completely airtight. 

“Guk, guk, guk, GUKKKK!” was the only sound Swati could make as Mahender throat fucked her. He seemed determined to elicit the most lewd and vulgar sounds from her throat that night, and she happily obliged. 

“Ggggaaa! Guk, guk, GUKKK, gaaaaah!” All of the sound of course, was muffled. 

Swati felt an incredible tightness and pressure in her pelvis. It seemed like the proverbial two pounds of sugar in the one pound bag. 

The feeling was indescribable, and while not painful, she felt an immense sense of satisfaction, of accomplishment, like an athlete who runs a sub ten-second hundred-meter race. She was a sexual athlete and she had succeeded in doing the DP she had dreamed of. 

The four of them paused for a few seconds absorbing what they had accomplished. 

At least that was the way it seemed to Swati as she struggled to absorb the sensations that flooded her body, shallowly breathing through her nose. Drool leaked out between her lips and Mahender’s cock and dripped slowly down her body. 

She was held in a semi upright position by Prakash’s strong arms, her own being pretty much useless, tied as they were behind her, elbow to elbow, writs to wrist.

Ait tight, she said to herself, she was airtight. 

A slow throbbing began to make its way deep in her impossibly stuffed pelvis, a pressure so great, she felt she must burst. Her bones would part and her pelvis would shatter she was sure. 

How did the pornstars do it with such consummate ease? 

But even as she was wondering about this, she could feel her muscles relax, her ligaments make way, and the overwhelming sense now was that of intense pleasure. 

The men began to move now, and the pressure and pleasure intensified. 

A sudden orgasm caught her unawares, radiating from the pit of her belly and out and out, swelling like the tide. 

A rippling and continuous orgasm began deep in her pelvis, one that lasted many minutes. 

Perhaps it was the sensory deprivation, perhaps it was the inability to breathe properly, and Swati wasn’t sure the orgasm was really that long, but she figured it must have been fifteen or twenty minutes of continuous orgasm during which time the men continued to pump into her body without letup.

The word climax came to her mind, and she wondered if something so prolonged could be called a climax, or more properly a plateau. A really high plateau. 

Then all thought was driven from her mind as she gave herself over to the carnal delights she was experiencing. 

The dark churning in her pelvis with tendrils, both thin and sensuous, as well as thick and more grasping, all of them spreading up and down her body, engulfing each and every organ, lifting her up, imperceptibly, inch by inch above herself.

She stared to black out again, because breathing through her nose alone was becoming difficult and her mouth was stuffed beyond human possibility. 

And then something even more incredible began to happen. Her pleasure peaked, multiplied many folds. The pressure in her pelvis softened, let up for a bit, and then squeezed and spasmed like an epileptic. 

Liquid lava erupted throughout her body, red hot and profound, so consuming that she felt this was the height of all pleasure and she would die, just die this minute. And if she died and went to heaven, that would be all right with her.

She gasped, opened her mouth wider than Mahender’s cock would allow, more than the ring gag, impossible as that feat was and gulped in a huge draft of air. 

One of the men, probably Nawaz, she guessed, sensing she was coming, and coming big, pulled, yanked, tugged hard on the chain connecting the nipple clamps. 

She sensed her nipples being stretched, pulled to their limits, and the pain was excruciating, and red hot.

That sent her over the edge and she screamed into Mahender’s cock, letting out the gulp of air she had just inhaled, drool spattering everywhere, and although she couldn’t see it, she sure felt it on her body. 

Swati was vaguely aware of the two men coming inside her, a double cream pie, one after the other, one in her ass, flooding her insides with semen and the other in her pussy. 

Nawaz was unbelievably potent, producing what seemed like a huge amount of cum whereas Prakash was relatively meager, having already come a few times before. 

The immense surge that lifted her up began to recede, and there was a pause, a moment of pure silence and blackness, the tendrils relaxing, disappearing, the sparking of pleasure diminishing. 

Mahender deposited his load deep in her throat, there being no barrier to the depth of his entry. 

Swati swallowed it down with some difficulty, coughing when she was able to. It was hard to swallow with her mouth held wide open, she found out. 

It was a night of many discoveries, and she was only getting warmed up.

[S Darko]

Nikolai, aka Nakul Bhai, aka Ramsaran is having a difficult time processing what he is seeing. 

This woman is all that he has always looked for in a woman. She is curvaceous, with big tits and a large bottom, but not the fat belly that usually accompanies such assets. For assets is the right word for what they are, without any question. 


His phone pinged only moments after he woke up, and since then he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off the videos that are bombarding his inbox ever since. 
Nakul Bhai scrolls through the videos slowly, stopping occasionally to pause, zoom and look at this thing or the other. 

The video quality is abysmal, poor lighting and pixelated images. But no matter. This woman is an enthusiastic slut, and she’s doing it all for the love of sex, not even getting paid for any of this. 

And it looks like she doesn’t even care that she’s being filmed as she looks brazenly into the camera and licks her lips and says, “I need one more cock…in my mouth!” 

Her voice is soft and low and sensuous, and Nakul Bhai thinks she could be a great porn actress. Possibly even better and more famous than the Middle Eastern bitch, Mia Khalifa, or the other Indian girl from Canada whose name escapes him for the moment. 

He zooms in on her pussy and sees to his delight that her outer lips are nice and plump and pink while the inner lips just barely peek out, a darker shade of red. Exactly as he’d thought based on the original low res pics, but he is sure now. He has a thing about the inner lips. They shouldn’t hang out too much, or it looks obscene. 

If there is irony in that thought, he being in the business and all, it doesn’t bother him.

Swati is bent oven and getting her ass reamed out by the big lout, Prakash. He is holding her by the hips and giving it to her good. 

“I need a cock in my mouth too, Malik!” Swati screams into his earbuds and instantly Nakul Bhai’s cock goes from semi soft to full attention. 

Nakul Bhai’s cock is steel hard, something that doesn’t happen regularly despite the ministrations of his flock of whores, but today he delights in it. 

He doesn’t bother to call out to one of the prostitutes that usually staff his house on a regular basis. He knows that any other bitch will only be a downer. 

He grabs the bottle of lotion on the side table, and a wad of tissues. 

Nakul Bhai lowers his pajama and beats off to the images on the phone. 

He feels the ridges and bumps on his cock as he teases himself to full hardness. Or rather, as Swati teases him to his full girth. Which is considerable. Some of his bitches have compared him to a soda can or a beer bottle. 

He hasn’t measured, but then he’d had his dick enhanced with as many as twenty silicone beads. Granted it makes his dick look grotesque, but there are benefits too. 

The guy that did it was professional and very good. Even though he hadn’t been able to have sex for a few weeks after, the procedure had been worth it. His bitches tell him that he is even larger than before, and with the pearling, way more effective at giving them orgasms. 

Apparently, some of the beads stimulate their G-spots, not that he knows what that is or cares. 

And, even though he didn’t believe it at first, the pleasure the beads give him are also better than before. So, it’s been a win-win for him and the bitches.

He looks at the video on his phone and slowly beats off into the wad of tissues. 

Woo-hoo, he thinks, beating off like a teenager first thing in the morning! And that too when he had free pussy available on tap. A variety of pussy if he wanted, and maybe even more than one if he so desired. 

But now, he was jerking off instead of calling for one of his whores. This woman had just that kind of effect on him.

When he is done, he rings for his morning chai. A man servant arrives with a tray on which there is a pot of tea, a small carafe of milk, container of sugar and a plate of Marie biscuits. 

The man pours a cup, adds the requisite amount of sugar, stirs, and with a small bow, leaves his master.

Nakul Bhai sips his tea and thinks hard. He thinks he should reconsider his offer to Alexei.

What if he kept the woman for himself. Suddenly he wishes he hadn’t sent her pictures to Alexei. 

There is no way he can undo that. Aleksei has seen the images for sure, and if he knows anything about the crazy Russian bastard, he is already licking his chops and making plans for her. 

Damn! Damn! Damn! 

A sudden fury takes hold of him, and he flings the bone china cup at the wall with force, where it shatters into a million pieces. There is a large splatter of brown tea on the white wall. No matter. The manservant will clean it later.

His phone dings again. More video.

He looks up with interest. 

There is something different about these clips. They seem better even though the cameras, presumably phone cameras, are the same. The lighting, the angles, seem better. He can see it is unedited footage, but even then, there is a definite quality improvement. 

He opens the text app and informs Prakash that the videos are good. Furthermore, he needs to see the whore herself as soon as they can arrange it. 

The one thing he doesn’t do is send any of the videos to Alexei. 

Nakul Bhai is starting to make a plan for Alexei, a plan that will not only net him this new whore, but perhaps much more. 

After all, he knows quite a bit about Alexei’s operation, and they share a number of middlemen. 

He calls a friend, a good friend who he only calls occasionally, but this is a friend who knows certain people who are good at making other people disappear.

[S Darko]

This one is also in the nature of a flashback; linear storytelling sometimes becomes boring. Again, a nod to Pro10 for some of the ideas (dialogs toward the end of the scene). He has been really engaged with the story. Thamks Pro10.




When Mahender took off the nipple clamps, she had screamed from the severe pain from he blood returning to the tender flesh of her tit nubs. Her cunt throbbed in sympathy when he took off the second one.


“It’s really something when I take off the clamps,” he said. “Other girls have told me it is almost like an orgasm when that happens.”

Swati was too engulfed by the pain and pleasure of the moment to reply, but she acknowledged his statement with a nod. 

“Unhhhh,” she moaned, the smell of cum and sweat thick in her nostrils. It was a heady mixture, the combination of smells, the poorly lit room despite the new lights Mahender had installed, and the small but now cozy room thanks to the heater that had been running all through. 

When he’d let her out of all the ropes, she’d collapsed on the floor, weak and worn out, a sodden mess. She’d swallowed down three glasses of water before she could even make sense of her surroundings. 

Swati ate a banana, the first thing in many hours. The pizza had been the last thing and that had been before they started, many thousand calories ago. 

Constant sex did take a toll, she thought. She was tired beyond reckoning, more tired that the wringer of a gym session she’d taken with a personal trainer a few weeks ago. 

And yet, when Prakash, still hyperventilating, had cackled and laughingly asked, “Enough? Or you want more?”

She had taken a deep shuddering breath and said, “more! I want more!” Then, in a parody of a long ago ad, she said, “Yeh dil manage more!” And they’d all fallen about laughing their guts out. 

Swati rubs her sore breasts, the rope marks still fresh on them. She thinks they would have flopped over her upper chest and face if they hadn’t been tied up during inversion. There was that to be said about rope—it kept things from flopping about, especially with all that vigorous, calisthenic sex. 

Her timeline shifts again. She is no longer sure of the sequence of events. By the time Mahender had tied her up, Inder was tired. He’d left after ejaculating in Swati’s cunt for a change. By then he’d come four times by Swati’s count, not that she was really counting, but somehow she kept track of the fat man. 

She thought he was addicted to oral sex, both giving and receiving, for sometime during that night he had eaten her out, repeating his chocolate eating stunt. Of course, she had come that time too, squirting rivulets of chocolate colored and flavored pussy juice.

She thinks about it a little more, and realizes that no one other than Inder has ever eaten her out. It must not be a thing for the lower classes. All they wanted was to use her, have her suck their cocks and accommodate them where she can, any hole will do. 

Swati rolls her shoulders. To her surprise, there is no pain, no pain that usually accompanies such a movement. There was something to be said for the thebangutic effect of having your shoulders retracted and arms bound behind your back after all. The constant backache, especially at days end from having to carry her heavy breasts around isn’t there today. 

Another advantage of light bondage and gangbangs.

She has another hazy memory. It must've been before Inder left. Or maybe it was later? The throbbing in her temples reminds her of what transpired. 

It must still have been relatively early, before midnight perhaps, and Inder had left another bottle of whiskey with Prakash. 

The men had taken turns forcing her to drink with them even as she was tied up and being fucked. 

Mahender, in fact, was fucking her pussy doggystyle, with her bent over, when Prakash took a swig and then grabbed her head and forced her to swallow a mouthful. Then he plugged her mouth with his cock, and the booze went straight down into her stomach. 

Or when Nawaz was in her ass—a very difficult and painful penetration, at least initially, despite the lubrication her juices had provided—and Prakash was maneuvering to get into her pussy, the largest combined DP she’d received that night, Mahender had poured the equivalent of a couple of pegs down her throat as she gasped for breath. 

Then, emulating Prakash, he’d stuffed his cock into her mouth despite her coughing. He delighted in the strong spasms in her throat as her cough was muffled, because she supposed it gave him greater pleasure. Trying to suppress her coughing made strong milking motions on his cock all the more powerful. 

A broad smile spreads across her face as she remembers how she was used. Yes, there was no other word that used, because they took her every which way they could come up with regardless of what she wanted. She was just a set of holes that had to be used. 

No different from how one might use a toy, a gadget, anything really. And especially something that was cheap and disposable because they took no care in treating her. 

Like tissue paper, she thinks, that was most apt. She knows deep inside that once she fails to be of use to them, she will be discarded just like a used tissue.

Her phone dings and she picks it up. There is a message from an unknown number. 

A picture. 

She opens it and sees herself. 

Her mouth is wide open, as are her legs and cunt agape, and all she can see it the base of a large cock in her ass. 

Her eyes are blindfolded. 

There are large brown hands on her paler tits, literally crushing the life out of them, and between the fingers of the brown hand, she can see the glint of nipple clamps and the connecting chain. 

The image is so evocative that she has to put her hand between her legs and rub at her poor sore pussy. 

Around two or three in the morning, everyone was drunk, exhausted and fell asleep where they lay. 

She was awoken at around five in the morning by Parvati’s embrace. There was sympathy and love and question in her eyes, and Swati silenced her with a kiss before she could say anything, Plenty of time for that later.

They had cuddled lovingly for a while, unwilling to stay apart, but also not aroused enough to do anything. 

Slowly, gently, unlike the way the mean had treated her, the smaller woman had caressed Swati’s boobs, then pussy, and soon they were both aroused. 

They twisted around on the wooden floor warmed by the heat from a electric heater, and sixty-nined for a while. They licked and sucked at each other’s pussies and clit until Paro came in Swati’s mouth with a cry and powerful shudder. 

As they lay on the cot, regaining their energy, she saw all three men looking at her with undisguised hunger. They were all limp, other than Nawaz who was semi hard.

She grinned cheekily at Nawaz and said, “Why birthday boy, sated with your gift yet? Satisfied?” 

Nawaz gave her a wolfish grin, his canines exposed. "Heh, heh," he said.

Swati turned to Prakash, baiting him. “Malik, all fucked out? No more starch left in your lauda?” 

She purposely used the crude word to get a rise out of him. 

It was fun to watch Prakash slowly color, his already dark complexion getting darker. His eyes narrowed to slits and his lips curled cruelly.

Rising slowly, he reached over and slapped her face hard. He grabbed her face in one hand, and moving close, spat into her face. His spittle landed on her cheek just below her eye and slowly rolled down her face. 

Despite the double shock of the slap and the spit, Swati smiled. It was her slow, slutty smile, the one she had perfected in college when she had first met Neetu. 

To her surprise and delight, Prakash rose and slapped her face. It was a hard slap and her head rocked with it, but she’d expected it. 

He cupped her chin in his hand and deliberately spat into her face. The glob of spittle landed on her cheek, just below her left eye and slowly dripped down. 

“My God!” he said, “how much of a bitch whore are you?” There was wonder in his voice. 

Wonder at her brazenness, her insatiability, and the understanding that he alone might not be enough for her, that he’d created a monster. 

He put two fingers in her mouth and wiggled them around, getting them nicely coated with her spit. 

Swati moaned in anticipation, loud, horny moans, the meaning of which could not be disguised as anything other than what it was: a mature female in heat. A bitch ready to be fucked.

“You’re not satisfied yet? Even with all these cocks?”

Swati moaned again, surprising herself. “I’m never satisfied! I’m constantly horny Malik. Ever since I met you and you trained me! All day, everyday, I dream of being fucked. I’m never satisfied. I want you to destroy me, take me any which way you want. Squeeze me dry! Devour me! I don't want any part of me left alive by the time you’re done with me!”

She took a deep breath. She didnt know it yet, not at a conscious level but what she said was the truth, no make believe. She was aware, but not conscious that she said all this with the cameras running, recording every word she said. 

And now, as she lies in the tub, rubbing her sore pussy, sticking two, three fingers in, the cum still oozing from her love tunnel in translucent runnels, she can’t help but be amazed at how she has thrown caution to the winds. She has literally asked, no begged, her tormentors to fuck her to death. Nothing could be more sexy, debauched or depraved. 

She is suddenly aware of her heart drumming in her chest, a palpitation that she thinks heralds doom. 

She revisits the road from simple housewife, perhaps a little frustrated, but a simple housewife nevertheless, and a high powered IT executive to what she has become now. A plaything for low class men who has literally spent a night getting gang fucked by them in a slum. 

How much further will she fall? 

She feels cold all of a sudden. Goosflesh marches over her back and arms. 

Swati shivers, leans forward, and turns on the hot water tap to increase the heat of the water in the tub. Where is the woman with the drinks and the food? 

Where is Paro? 

Swati leans back and closes her eyes. Instantly the film she has been running in her head resumes. 

Prakash steppped back for a second, taken aback with her words. She could see the confusion in his face, his attitude. He is shocked, but also angry; and the conflicting emotions make him cast around for inspiration. 

Swati had squealed as he plunged into her, and that roused Nawaz, and without even pausing to rinse out his mouth, he had started kissing Swati, using his disgusting morning breath flavored with the smoking and drinking from earlier, his tongue dueling with hers. 

Of course, they had to sandwich her one last time. 

A Swati sandwich between two dark skinned slum dwellers on each side, one in her ass, the other in her overflowing cunt. 

By that time, she was so loose everywhere, there wasn’t anything she couldn’t have taken in any of her holes. And so the last DP of that night had proceeded, Paro jumping in and hungrily licking their conjoined genitals.

Nawaz tired of the difficult position and withdrew. He then used Paro’s cunt to satisfy himself—it took a long time but in the end he seemed to have a dry orgasm, and lay back exhausted.

Swati hadn’t known at the time, but Paro too had been used during the night, and almost as relentlessly.  

Paro hadn’t been double teamed, that honor being reserved for her alone, but she’d been fucked and sodomized besides being used as a fluffer all night long. 

Finally just before six, when Prakash could no longer get it up, and Nawaz was too fucked out, they brought her back to the street, again wrapped in the towel, and got into the auto. 

It was still dark and bitterly cold, but Swati was too tired to care. 

She too was totally fucked out, aching all over. 

After the women returned, they had simply passed out as they were, and slept like the dead for hours. 

Swati remembers that long sleep with relish. 

She needed it. 

They needed it. 

She feels a twinge of guilt for not having called Ashok, but consoles herself with the thought that he must be busy caring for his father. 

Her whole body is sore, especially her holes. It is a pleasant soreness. 

There are welts on her skin, areas of bruising, small linear areas of redness she knew would be there. Nothing she cannot deal with. Time will heal all. 

There is a light knock on the door and Parvati enters. Finally!

She carries a tray with two flutes of champagne and a quarter plate of peanuts. 

She sets the tray down by the sink and brings over one glass to Swati, and takes the other for herself. 

There is only one thing that is unusual about this otherwise humdrum, domestic scene. 

Paro is naked. 

Not a stitch of clothing on her. 

Swati watches her through half lidded eyes, langor spreading through her limbs like an intravenous sedative.

Paro slips into the water with a groan of relief. 

Their legs intertwine, one of her feet between Swati’s legs. 

Her great toe slips right in.

Swati moans and spreads her legs more to accommodate the new invader.

Paro grins and begins a leisurely in and out motion. 

[S Darko]

Mahender cannot believe his luck. He has hit the mother lode for sure. For years, he has struggled on the fringes of the film industry, such as it is in the Delhi area, simply because he has no connections to go to Mumbai, and has been waiting for his chance to make it big.


This slut is going to be his ticket, he decides. 

There isn’t much by the way of hardcore BDSM type movies in India, not good quality anyway, and he has an idea that this slut might form the kernel of his new enterprise. He might be able to raise some money, but he feels the imperative to strike out on his own. 

As soon as possible. 

He goes over the list of people who might be willing to lend him money, perhaps go into partnership with him. He, Mahender, would bring the talent and the know how, and the other partners would bring the money. That way if, in the unlikely event things went south, he would not be left holding the bag. They would all lose. 

But that wouldn’t happen. 

Not with this kind of talent available to him. 

Not with this Swati madam. 

The woman is exquisite. Her body is perfect, her attitude is perfect, and her approach to sex, any kind of sex, is also perfect. There is no question in his mind that she is a porn star born. 

In fact, after the first few fucks, he went easy on her, not wanting to mark her in any way or ruin the talent.

How old was she? Perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties? That was fine. She could work for at least five years, maybe more, now that there was a trend with older women in porn. 

The very thought of her makes his dick rise again. It must be the fifth or sixth time this night, and that is a record for him. He needs to calm the fuck down and get some sleep if he is to make his shift at ten in the morning. 

He has big plans to shoot several hardcore movies with the best talent he can find, and this woman would be the jewel in the crown. 

Once his OTP platform is established, more and better talent would flock to him. This was India after all, a land of over a billion people, and the income potential was unimaginable. 

He tries to breathe regularly, smoothly, hoping sleep will come, but it doesn’t. 

Ideas crowd his mind. He has several scripts he has worked on. They can only loosely be termed scripts, but they are situations where a man and woman might find themselves, have a few lines of dialog before they settle down to some hardcore action. 

The scenes are no more than a page long, but he has realized in his career, that people like a little story before the main action starts, and it lends some authenticity to what the movies are. 

There would be lesbian stories, regular boy-girl scenes, multiple men with one woman like it had been upstairs. His mind wanders to the lesbian scene. He’d seen Swati and Paro make out, and he thinks that could be a winner. Perhaps if he replaced Paro with someone with better looks?

He is no Ashutosh Gawarikar. 

He of all people knows that, but who knows, in a decade or two, porn could become mainstream. 

High class porn like what he intends to shoot, of course, not the low budget, low class, cheap shit that floats about on the internet these days. 

He has some footage on his phone that he will edit, enhance and finalize. 

Why, this might be the start of his OTT platform. He can already see the name on the banner, “Mahender Adult Films Release.” 

He could release footage of Swati as a teaser before the viewer is blocked by a paywall. Furthermore, he has only the foggiest idea of how to set these things up. 

He will ask the IT guy, Inder about how to set it up. It might be better to have the servers in a different country where the government wouldn’t or couldn’t interfere. Yeah, that was the way to go. 

Tomorrow, today actually, he thinks, the sounds of intense fucking finally settling down to silence upstairs, he will talk with Prakash and Nawaz and see how he can get the woman alone and talk to her. She seems to be the rarest of the rare type—doing this kind of thing just for the love of it. He had been taken aback because while he’d heard stories of such women, he had never actually seen one. 

He goes over all her positive points; she has a fantastic figure, large natural breasts, and the ability to take cock in every hole. Plus, she can squirt. 

During the night, when she had been writhing on the floor after a particularly brutal fuck, Mahender had inserted two fingers into her cunt and vigorously massaged her G spot until she squirted in his face. Squirting is not common, but it is huge in porn. 

He gets another idea. He can sell the films directly to the big porn producers. Breakers, or Find Your Kink, and he could make mega bucks on that kind of a deal. 

He needs to talk to one of the guys in his porn job, someone who might know how to get this done. He thinks he knows just the guy. Perhaps they could go in as partners?

He will get Swati’s number and text her, and go from there. He thinks he will send her a sexy image of herself, one of the many he has saved on his phone. 

And that’s his last thought as sleep finally takes him.

[S Darko]

Sorry everyone for the delay. I will be posting an update soon, maybe tomorrow, but then I will be going on a hiatus;  I cannot predict how long that will be. I may or may not be able to post during that time. Some kind of family situation that I did not foresee. 

Sorry about that. And thanks for bearing with me.

S

[S Darko]

Arvind regards the magnificent walled compound and the guarded gate from his mirrored safe place in the drivers seat. 

The uniformed sentry gives him the dead eye despite the fact he has driven up in a swanky car. The Mercedes usually shines enough in anyone’s eyes that they never question his credentials, but this guard seems to be made of sterner stuff. Perhaps he needs a chauffeur to impress this guy.


Slowly, he gets out and lights a cigarette, blowing the smoke out in soft puffs, signaling calm. 

The guard seems to soften as well. It is a few days after the new year, and even though he had vowed to stop smoking, that resolution only lasted a couple of days. He has since crept back to his previous pack-a-day habit.

His father is still in the ICU, and now his mother too is starting to show signs of the same disease. She is still at home, but Arvind thinks from the way she coughs, she too is probably headed to the ICU. It seems to him it is only a matter of days. 

The doctors believe it is some kind of virus out of China, although there is no confirmation, nor any definite treatment beyond the basic supportive treatment. 

Ashok has been spending a lot of time at the hospital, having taken a long period of time off from his work. 

Swati too, shows up from time to time, and everyone is worried.

Arvind walks up to the gate and says, “Nikolai Saab?”

The guard stares at him for a minute before he pulls out a ledger. 

“You have appointment?”

“Yes, I called him a few days ago.” 

Arvind had called a friend in Delhi, a Punjabi guy he knew that was openly fucking his sister-in-law, and sometimes pimping her ass out as well for the connect, and had been richly rewarded. 

The man, Baldev, had not given him the phone number for Nikolai, but instead had called and made the appointment for him. Arvind knew that people in this line of business didn’t openly give out visiting cards and usually kept their phone numbers secret.

The driveway is L-shaped and the main door out of sight of the main gate. 

When he rings the doorbell, he has a longish wait. He stands on the highest step and drums his fingers on the stair rail.

 A fully naked, magnificent specimen of womanhood opens the door. 

His breath catches as he takes her in. 

She is tall, about five feet ten, maybe more, in her red heels, which is the only thing she has on. She has a fantastic figure. Her breasts are high and large, standing proud of her chest like a teenagers’, marred only by the plastic surgeon’s scar at the bottom of each boob. 

“Mr Arvind?” 

He nods, not trusting his voice. It isn’t everyday that he is greeted by a gorgeous naked woman at the door. 

Her face cannot be called beautiful, plain in fact, bordering on mannish, but she is definitely striking. Her  features are broad and prominent, and even though she is made up, he can see she has had fillers in her lips and cheeks. 

He isn’t sure where to look, alternately looking at her face and then away, but her body pulls his eyes back, and he notes in quick fleeting glimpses that she has no scars other than those under her breasts, her cunt is clean shaven, and that she has very little fat on her body, there being the hint of a six pack on her flat belly. 

Her whole body has a sheen as though she has been oiled. He attempts a nonchalance as though being greeted by naked women is all in a days work for him. 

“Follow me please,” she says and turns. 

Her manner is neutral, neither arrogant, nor deferential. 

She is completely unselfconscious that she is stark naked and he is fully clothed. It is a good thing the house is heated he thinks, as he follows.

Her ass cheeks dimple with each step, and her hips swing from side to side in the most enticing manner as he follows her into the large house. 

The house is somewhat darker than the outside, and he can catch quick glimpses of her pussy lips winking in and out from between her ass cheeks, as she takes each step. 

She finally stops at a larger wooden door that stands partially open but Arvind has been so busy focusing on her ass that he almost bumps into her. He has to hang on to the door jamb to keep his balance and when she turns, he can see the ghost of a smile on her face. 

She steps aside and Arvind can see a white man sitting on an overstuffed wing-back chair, his face in shadow. 

The man is large, and the wings of the chair that would have dwarfed a lesser man seem to sprout from his shoulders, giving him a vaguely Darth Vader like look. 

The man has a beard that is between blonde and brown and so is the hair on his head which are heavily gelled and combed to stand up in front. 

His features are neutral, almost Indian, Arvind thinks, except that the man is clearly white. Perhaps some mixed blood in his genealogy?

He looks powerful, something in the breadth of his shoulders, the depth of his chest. Even though the man is sitting down, Arvind thinks he is probably close to six feet tall, perhaps more. Muscular, but going to fat. Probably eighty, ninety kilos in weight.

The most striking thing about the man though, is that his trousers are around his ankles together with his underwear, a checked pair of boxers, and Arvind can see his erect cock bobbing slightly with each heartbeat. 

It is a fantastic specimen, this cock, simultaneously the most fascinating and ugly member he has ever seen. The color of it is pale, paler than the rest of him, like a mushroom, and the cock is very large, but the interesting thing is that it is knobby, like a sitaphal, except that it is longer like a mooli, rather than spherical. Also, he is completely clean shaven there. 

Arvind tears his eyes away lest the other man catch him looking. He is no homo, and he wouldn’t be caught dead examining another man’s penis. 

He looks around at the stark white walls, the large dark stain on the wall as though someone had spilt tea or something. 

There is almost no furniture in the large room. Nikolai is probably a minimalist, but not when it comes to women. 

The woman goes to Nikolai, kneels between his legs and starts sucking his dick as though she had just been interrupted in a chore and now has to get bak to it. 

The man pays her no mind other than to grunt his pleasure.

“Arvind?” There is no hint of any foreign accent, and Arvind thinks this man must have spent a lot of time in India to lose his accent.

Arvind nods. He steps into the room and closer to the man. He thinks twice aabout extending his hand, but seeing that Nikolai has seemingly no inteest, thinks better of it.

There is an empty chair, similar to the one the man is sitting in, and Arvind sinks into it. 

“Nikolai?”

“Yes, yes, I am Nikolai,” he says. 

Then, in Hindi, he says, “What can I do for you.” 

Now there is an accent, but Arvind, for all his sophistication cannot think where the accent is from. Certainly not Russian because he knows how Alexei speaks. This man’s accent feels like it is put on. A make believe accent that might pass for any generic white man mangling Hindi.

“I have a proposition for you,” Arvind says. He pulls his phone out and brings up the picture and holds it out to him. The girl continues to suck away at the monstrous cock and he tries to ignore it. 

Nikolai seems not at all put off by the situation. He appears to consider it normal and acceptable. 

It could be that Nikolai believes this is some kind of power play, and Arvind feels the faint twinge of resentment. He cannot imagine the arrogance it would take to do this kind of thing.

The man has money, power, and naked women to service him even when there are visitors. 

The woman makes loud slurping sounds and when Arvind glances at her, he can see a long string of saliva trickle from her mouth to the mosaic floor.

Nikolai takes the phone and for a second Arvind thinks there is a reaction. Surprise, he thinks, but the man’s features quickly go back to a careful neutrality.

Nikolai clears his throat. “What about her?” He puts a hand on the girl’s head, forcing himself deeper into her throat. 

“Gluk, gluk, gluk…ggggkkkkk.”

He lets up the pressure and the girl pulls her mouth off him and takes a couple of greedy breaths. Her lipstick is gone now and her mascara is running. 

Then she goes back to sucking, now using both hands to masturbate him as well. Her hands are small, and she needs both hands to engulf the girth in addition to the portion in her mouth.

Arvind pulls his eyes away with some effort and concentrates on Nikolai’s face. 

“I believe you have a deal with Alexei about this one.”

“Maybe,” Nikolai allows. “But what is that to you? You don’t know her, do you?”

For a moment, Arvind is nonplussed. Does this man know the truth? That the woman is his sister-in-law? That he has a personal and nefarious motive for this little piece of business? 

If Nikolai knows, and he lies, he could be in trouble. But then, the chances he knows would be slim. Or would it? He decides to roll the dice.

Arvind takes a big breath, thinking, here we go. The moment of truth. “No, nothing like that. I want to have a day or two with her before…before, you know, she goes away.”

Nikolai doesn’t even blink. “I see. And what are you willing to pay for the privilege?”

Arvind names a number, and Nikolai doesn’t say anything. He closes his eyes and moans, enjoying his blowjob. He caresses the woman’s head with one hand, affectionally like one might pet a dog. 

The woman redoubles her effort.

Arvind names a second number, then a third.

Finally Nikolai opens his eyes and says, “That sounds fine, but why don’t you take her from Alexei directly? You are his friend, business partner, no?”

Arvind knows, and Nikolai knows and they both know that the other know the reason, and Arvind just shrugs and says nothing.

“You’re getting her, right?”

“Maybe,” Nikolai concedes. “I will let you know. It maybe a month or two.”

Arvind nods and starts to rise.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Nikolai says, “How rude of me.” He points at the girl between his legs, and looks up at Arvind. “You can fuck her if you want. She is very talented with her vaginal muscles.”

Arvind feels torn. It would be great to fuck this woman, she is so perfect. But then, this is business, not pleasure. 

“Thanks, but I have to go.” And before he can change his mind, he turns and walks back to the main door. 

As reaches the door, he hears Nikolai say, “Alright, now get up and sit on it.”

There is a sensuous moan, presumably the woman as she settles herself on his cock, but by the time he has reached the door and let himself out.

Arvind reaches his car and lights another cigarette as he unlocks the door. 

He wonders at the man he just met and ponders the strange accented Hindi he spoke. 

It sounded almost like a parody of a foreigner in the movies. Weird. 

He takes a puff, opens the door to his car and is suddenly doubled over with a coughing fit. 

He desperately blows out the smoke he has inhaled, looks at the cigarette he is holding as though for clues. He throws the cigarette away and coughs over and over, his hands on his knees. When the coughing subsides, he tries to catch his breath. He feels breathless, a little dizzy. 

He spits the saliva that has collected in his mouth all of a sudden and finds it frothy and pink. 

Must be the pan masala he had earlier, he thinks.

He should go home, pour himself a stiff one and relax. 

Watch a movie maybe. Even though it is only mid afternoon. 

[S Darko]

Sorry for the long delay. I have something going on that prevents me from allocating the necessary bandwidth to this story. Thanks for patiently waiting. Here is an update. Enjoy.




Swati and Neetu have lunch.

“Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker!” 


Neetu is simply amazed at the revelations Swati has made over their lunch. “So, you’re doing regular orgies with the low class, and that too in the chawl in Bhim colony!”

Swati has been telling her story, catching her friend up on her shenanigans over the last couple of months.

“So, what, back up. Let me get this straight. First you were giving nudie shows to this Ramesh guy, then you were fucking him in the conference room of your office…”

“No, no, I never fucked Ramesh.” Swati giggles. “Not yet anyway. It’s on my list of things to do.”

Neetu frowns. “Seems to me like you have taken forever to get to first base with that guy! So who is it again you were fucking?”

“A security guy called Prakash. And the IT guy, Inder. Then there was this chaiw,.' called Ganesh.”

Swati goes through the sequence of events as best as she can as they sit on the outdoor table at a fancy restaurant having lunch. It is late February, and the two friends are sitting in the same al fresco place they’d met last time. 

Neetu has been out of the country for a while, and just returned from Belgium. The day is cold, but sunny and both their jackets are off, dbangd over the chair backs. Neetu has been given the gist of the happenings, and she is ruminating on them and asking for details. Deets, like she likes to say, "Give me the deets."

“So the guy just picked you up from your house wearing nothing but a towel? And then took you in an auto to his chawl!”

Swati giggles. “That’s pretty much what happened. Although, I wouldn’t say picked me up. More like kidnapped me.” She fills in more blanks about Paro and Prakash and Inder, and then the new guys that were there, Nawaz and Mahender.

“Mahender tried to contact me a few times. He’s a porno director of some sort. He does good work actually,” she said when Neetu made a face.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re not going to do that, are you?” Then seeing Swati’s expression she says, “No! You’re going into porn, girl? Really?”

Swati shakes her head. “No, not really anyway. There’s a bunch of my videos that are on the internet, I’m sure, but I don’t think it is recognizable as me.”

“Babe, this is a slippery slope you’re on. Better call it quits while you can.” Neetu picks up her glass of sweet tea and sips while looking thoughtfully at her friend over the rim. 

She casts around for the waiter and finally catches his eye and beckons him over. 

“Can we get martinis? Vodka please.”

The waiter raises his eyebrows as though in surprise, or perhaps in censure. Who drinks martinis in the middle of the day? But he nods and scurries off.

Swati continues. “Oh, but I can call an end to it whenever I want! I’m in control here. I know I have to call Prakash Malik, but it’s not like a slave-master relationship in any case.” 

Swati feels unsure of what she has just said, but part of being an executive in the corporate world involves lying confidently. The truth is that she has been feeling a little apprehensive, definitely so after the last time she was at the chawl. 

The two women sat in the mild sunshine, sipping their drinks, eating their delicate starters in companionable silence. The martinis arrive, and they sip at it. Swati nods and says, "That's good."

“How was Belgium? Did you get any action there?”

Neetu laughed. “Not much, but I did get into a threesome. There are two kinds of Belgians, you know? The French speaking and then there are the Flemish. They generally hate each other, but maybe not like so bad as like the caste or religion things in India. Well, they basically tolerate each other for the most part. Anyhow, the French, as you know, are very romantic. Very liberal and open with marriage and stuff. So I was at this meeting in the afternoon with these people and one of them suggested I should come out with them for a drink after work. I thought it was harmless, because there were a lot of people, but in the end, it was just me and three other guys. Then as the evening progressed, one of the guys begged off because he had to take his daughter somewhere, so that left me and the two guys, both single, and then, well, one thing led to the other and we ended up in bed in one of the guys’ hotel room and…”

“And?”

“Well, they fucked my brains out. Both of them, one by one, then teaming up. All night long. I even got a DP, my first one. Wait, no, does oral and ass count as a DP?”

Both of them burst out laughing at this technicality. Neetu tells Swati some more about her foreign tryst, and all Swati can think is it was so bland, so vanilla compared to her own experiences. 

Swati tells Neetu about going back to the chawl on her own accord—not forced by Prakash or anyone—at least three times after the Christmas gangbang. 

She'd shown up at the chawl unannounced, much to Prakash’s surprise, but he had adapted to the situation without missing a beat. He had rustled up the required participants and given her what she needed. That time some of the men had been rough, very rough in fact, and she’s had bruises on her tits and belly for almost two weeks. 

Thankfully, Ashok’s time had been fully taken up with caring for his parents, and he’d barely visited home to shower and change clothes. 

Swati has been satisfied each time by the prolonged sessions of intense and sometimes painful sex. 

Ramesh was there one of those times, and he'd stayed and watched for the bulk of the session, then taken her back home. She had noticed the somewhat disappointed expression on his face as she prostituted herself for these common people, but he hadn't said one word in censure. 

On second thoughts, she thinks, she hadn’t exactly prostituted herself—she hadn’t been paid after all. In fact, she’d have paid them if they wanted. She wasn’t sure what the appropriate word was for her behavior, but she thought "slutted herself" would work best.

That day she had performed double and triple penetrations with aplomb, with Mahender, Prakash and Nawaz, and a couple more of the slum residents. The old auto w,.' had finally gotten into the act after swearing everyone around to silence. He was perhaps the most pathetically grateful. 

Mahender had upped his game considerably, now using better lights, sometimes a green screen and other accouterments that allowed him to produce a better end product. He had even shown her some of his footage that he stored on an external hard drive, and she had to admit it looked good. He was still casting about for a good partner, one who wouldn’t rob him. 

For her part, Swati wasn’t quite sure if she was ready for a new career in porn, even though her existing career in IT seemed increasingly distant these days, and her family in disarray. 

Ashok was still spending a lot of time in the hospital. Both her parents-in-law were in the ICU, sick from what they were calling the Chinese virus, and her brother-in-law, Arvind, was also not doing very well either. 

Dhruv, who’d been enrolled in a new college near her parents house was spending a lot of time there, and she was either commuting between the hospital, her parents' house, her own house, or work. She had been using up a lot of her sick time, but no one seemed overly concerned with that since many people were in the same boat, either sick themselves or caring for someone that was sick.

And always, the chawl that called her back with increasing insistence every time she went there, like the sirens that called out oh so enticingly to Odysseus on his journeys. But unlike Odysseus, Swati had no self-control to lash herself to a metaphorical mast and avoid acting on the call. She heeded almost every call, and went willingly to be manhandled and ravaged for hours at a time.

She was addicted to the sex and the surroundings, she finally admitted to herself. During the day, whether she was in a conference call, in the boardroom or sitting in the ICU, the naked, rough boards of the chawl room would pop into her mind. Boards that were sometimes her only view as she took cock after cock on her hands and knees in the doggy position. She dreamed about the ropes binding her, suspending her, the roughness of the manhandling, the crude comments, but most of all, the cocks in her orifices. Sometimes, admittedly, they were toys, especially when the men were exhausted, but there was something in one or more of her holes almost all the time.

Moving in and out, reaming out her holes, unending friction, her nerve endings screaming in pleasure. 

She would unconsciously open her mouth, gasping a little when a remembered orgasm flooded her mind. Once, her boss had asked if she was okay, and guiltily, she had brought her mind back to the meeting, the present.

The sessions in the conference room were long over; Inder had returned to his home, some place in Madhya Pradesh. His parents were sick. 

There was a collective sense of the entire country holding its breath, waiting for God knew what was going to happen. A feeling of the end of times was upon them, no one was sure what tomorrow would bring, and people lived from day to day without concern for what the morrow would bring. 

In the meantime, life continued like a facsimile of the real thing; restaurants and offices were open, buses and trains and taxis and autos continued to work, although there was the palpable sense that there were fewer people on the streets.

Neetu snapped her fingers in Swati’s face. “Earth to Swati, Earth to Swati, come back!”


Swati started and sat up. She’d been daydreaming, zoned out. “Sorry, I was…”

Neetu chuckled and said, “So, tell me more about the “glory hole” thing. That sounded exciting.”

“It’s a long story,” Swati said, “if you have the time!”

“Sure,” said Neetu. 

And Swati launched into her story.