[S Darko]

Hello All, I am aware of the delays, but bear with me. I definitely intend to complete the story. I have some personal issues I am dealing with that don't allow me enough time to write and post. Thanks for your understanding. 

Also, the credit for the central idea in this episode goes to Pro10.


With that, Swati launches into her story. 


That evening, when she arrived at the chawl after texting Prakash she was coming over, she found him on the street, looking at a large cardboard box, smoking a cigarette. The butcher across the street had apparently purchased a large new freezer, and this was the box. The delivery men had been about to take it away for recycling when Prakash had seen some possibilities in the box and told them to leave it where it was. 

When she reached him, he openly fondled her breasts with the chawl people watching. Both men and women, although the ooh’s and aah’s were from the women. He stood in front of her and fondled with both hands, looking around with a goofy grin and a proprietorial look of one exhibiting his prize circus animal. 

Swati was used to this. 

It was part of the humiliation of being objectified, of being treated like no more than a possession. 

She had taken to doing her makeup differently than usual as though it was some kind of disguise, even though deep down she knew it was just a lie she told herself. Regardless, the truth was that this was such a different environment and she really had no idea what she was letting herself into.

Prakash and another guy carried the sturdy box to the back of the tenement and placed it over the concrete rectangle where a tap stuck out of the wall. This, she learned, was called the mori where all the residents of the place bathed, washed clothes, and did sundry other things that needed running water. Not that the water came all the time. There were timings for that, something that Swati could not even comprehend.

One corner of the box had been slit open lengthwise to remove the freezer, and this could now be used as a flap to enter and exit the box. It was a good-sized box, large enough for a couple of people to stand in, but the best thing about it was that once the flap was closed, and the top repositioned, it was almost entirely dark inside.

Prakash said, “I’m going to blindfold you and tie your hands behind your back, then put you in there and then send in guys one by one. You can see the guy or touch them. You have to suck cock and…maybe fuck him too if you want, but this is the game. You have to guess the guy’s age without touching any part of his body except his cock.”

A few men she knew stood outside the box, looking at it, hands stroking chins, wondering what was going on. Three other men from the chawl were there too, men she did not know, but they looked middle-aged, curious, and Swati judged probably married, but always horny for some new cunt to fuck. 

And she was in just the right place and time to give it to them. 

The idea Prakash was proposing sounded intriguing, but the obvious question came to her mind. 

“Malik, what happens if I am right, and what happens if I’m wrong?”

Prakash turned from surveying the box to her. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek like he might a pet dog. He turned her so he was behind her and dipped a hand into her kurta and scooped out a boob in full view of the men around them. 

Her breast hung obscenely, sticking out, constricted, and pushed up by the neckline of her kurta. Prakash absently pulled on her nipple, causing her to moan.

“Hmm. I have to think about it, but if you’re right, you’ll get a reward, and if you’re wrong, um…three times, you’ll be punished.”

Prakash rolled the nipple between forefinger and thumb, then pinched harder, pulling the nipple out and away from her body.

“Aaah! And what’s the reward and what’s the punishment?”

Prakash hadn’t thought this through.

“Punishment is you have to drink my pee. I will put my cock in your mouth and pee, and you have to swallow. That’s the punishment.” 

Prakash grinned widely. He was sure he had hit upon the best punishment he could devise at that moment. Later, he might rethink it, but for now, this was good. 

Swati’s heart sank. She had never indulged in piss play, golden showers, or whatever they were called although she had seen some websites that specialized in that. But there was no alternative. She wasn’t in a position to call the shots. Any attempt to protest would result in a beating or worse. 

But the idea of the box put her in mind of glory hole porn she had seen and sometimes wondered about. 

“I have a better idea,” Swati said, moaning and trying to twist away from his pinching hand.

“Better idea?” 

Prakash looked her uneven tits, one inside and the other hanging out, and shook his head at the asymmetry of things. He thrust his hand in and scooped out the other breast. Now both were exposed, riding high and squished together. Still from behind her, he rolled both nipples between thumb and forefinger, squeezing, pulling. 

The neckline of her kameez was stretched to the point of ripping. She felt the fabric give a little.

“Ye-ah, aaah! Umm, aah!” Swati was moaning like a bitch in heat. She was at the point that breast and nipple play alone could arouse her. Sometimes she could come with titty play alone. 

“Can we fuck her now?” 

It was one of the men around them who had been taking a keen interest in the conversation. He was middle-aged, with a gray beard, and wearing a sweater and lungi. 

Prakash waved him away.

“What better idea, bitch?”

“What if we make holes in the wall and the men can stick their dicks in? I can be inside and use my hands and mouth…or other parts to test their cocks and tell their age?” 

Swati was very excited about this new idea. Prakash had come up with the core of the plan, but it was her idea to make it a glory hole. It had been one of her fantasies, and it seemed to be coming together.

“Hmm,” said Prakash, hefting the weight of both breasts in his palms and softly jiggling them.

“Ufff!” It was the same man. “Can I touch?”

“Oh fuck off man, can’t you see I’m thinking here?” Prakash said. Then, seeing the crestfallen expression on the man’s face, he said, “Oh go on, play with her tits if you want.” 

He vacated his position behind her, allowing the guy to get into his spot. 

The man wasted no time in manhandling her tits, pulling and twisting and pawing. His hands were rough, workman hands, callused and abrasive. Swati felt the discomfort, but it was exactly this treatment that brought her to the chawl. She craved it like a heroin addict needs her fix. If needed, she would have crawled there, just for this kind of treatment. 

She leaned back against the man and moaned loudly.

“Oh wow, this is some kind of whore you got here, Prakash Bhai,” the man said. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Prakash said. “I think your hole idea is good.” Then he turned to the men around him, by now there were seven of them. “You guys aren’t shy or anything, are you?”

There was a chorus of men saying no. One more man stepped in front of Swati and took control of one boob. 

“So heavy and beautiful!” 

Two more men came closer and started to paw at her breasts. 

The first man behind her protested but the others shut him up. “It’s not like she’s your maal! She belongs to Prakash Bhai. If he says it’s okay, it’s for all of us to share,” he said. “Isn’t it Prakash Bhai?”

Prakash nodded absently and walked around the box, trying to understand the logistics of what his bitch had just told him. Finally, he said, “Sure, yeah. We can make four holes, one in each wall and we can have four men around at a time. That should be good enough for the whore.”

By now, one of the men had found the string that held her salwar up and loosened it. She was in danger of being stripped naked right there on the street. Expect it wasn’t exactly the street but rather the narrow lane behind the house. 

Her salwar fell to her feet, puddling around her ankles, and someone, probably the guy behind her, pulled her kurta up until it covered her face. He left it there, trapping both her arms, but not before he had worked her boobs out of the clothes. 

There was the matter of the bra, but it wasn’t covering anything anyway, and soon that too was unclasped and hung limply over her stomach. 

She wasn’t wearing panties—no sense wearing them because they usually disappeared at the end of these sessions. 

When her lack of panties was revealed, there was a gasp among the men.

“She doesn’t wear a chaddi!” said one of the men.

“Naked under the salwar!”

“What a whore!”

Another said, “Best to get laid, the slut that she is.”

“Yes, yes,” a couple of the other men agreed.

She couldn’t see any of them because of the kameez covering her face, but she shivered with anticipation and sheer delicious depravity of the situation. 

Swati stood in the narrow lane, surrounded by men she did not know, all low class and smelly and making crude statements, mostly about her body parts, her lack of morals, and what a whore she must be if she was doing this. 

Hands roamed all around her body. Her legs were jerked apart and fingers were inserted into her holes, first her cunt, but later, more boldly, into her ass too. 

She was lubricating furiously, already on the cusp of her first orgasm, effectively blindfolded and arms constrained. 

Any minute she would be fucked in all her holes in the middle of the chawl. 

Probably standing up, one of her favorite positions. 

All her previous episodes had been in either Prakash’s room or that one time in Mahender’s room. 

She heard Prakash say, “Cut it out, guys. Go away now and come back in fifteen minutes. We’re going to play a game, and I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

[S Darko]

The men’s hands fell away, and she almost screamed in frustration. What was it to Prakash if a few of the guys fucked her first, put the fires out, so to speak? After all, everyone was going to get a chance to fuck her one way or the other. But it wasn’t to be. 


“Aw, come on!” one of the guys said. “Lets keep the party going!” another said.

Prakash was enigmatic. “The night is young,” he said, “And the movie is far from over,” and Swati’s body shook in anticipation. 

Who knew what perverted ideas he had? Hopefully, it would be delicious as always. She wished again, he would take her to the room which would be warmer, but again, the discomfort was part of the pleasure, wasn’t it? 

Some of the men seemed to understand the game, but some wanted more that to be just sucked off. They wanted to fuck the voluptuous beauty who from all appearances had actually come to their chawl to fulfill their fantasies. 

Most  of the guys heeded Prakash’s words, but several just backed off several feet and waited and watched. Prakash looked at them with thinly veiled anger and then yelled at them. He punctuated his curses by slapping at her tits, one slap for each 'sisterfucker' or 'motherfucker.'

They finally scattered and disappeared from view. Swati had no doubt that some of them were peeking from behind partially open doors or windows or bits of construction material that the chawl had been constructed from.

As soon as the men left, Prakash stripped her of what few clothes remained. He seemed in a hurry, his lust unable to be contained. 

“Come on,” he said, his voice hoarse, and pulled her over. 

He bent her over the tap in the mori, and took her from behind. 

He didn’t even bother to undress; just pulled his cock out and entered her. A sort of priming of the pump, an auspicious beginning for the fun and games he had planned for the day. He must not have been able to contain himself at the sight of her ripe naked body, a plaything for lower-class men, a body he lorded over like a proprietor.

Swati hung on to the pipe with both hands for dear life, her head occasionally thumping into the wall while he fucked her boiling cunt hard and fast, just the way she wanted it, and soon both of them were grunting and panting and coming from the excitement and novelty of the situation. 

After he’d finished and she had sucked his cock clean, he pushed her inside the box and started cutting holes in the walls.

She stood inside the box, shaking with anticipation and fingering herself as she waited naked in the cold. 

The chilly air made her nipples hard as diamonds, and her clit throbbed with an otherworldly fire despite the cold. 

She wished Prakash had moved this indoors. But there was a thrill in the discomfort too, as she had found out lately. Prakash had closed the open flap, so she was in near complete darkness except for the narrow shaft of twilight that came in through the two holes he had cut in the walls. He was working on the third hole with what appeared to be a box cutter with speed.

“So whore, you’re up for more action tonight, huh? You know you’re going to get the answers wrong, so better prepare for the punishment.”

Swati trembled violently, simply thinking about what Prakash might have in store for her. “Yes Malik.”

It was a few minutes later she heard Prakash say, “Ready bitch?”

One of the holes in the wall to her right went dark as an erect cock was inserted into it. She couldn’t see much, but she could make out something. She fell to her knees and engulfed the cock with her mouth, not even stopping to feel it with her hands.

A few minutes of hard sucking went by, both participants moaning in the pleasure it gave them. Swati was, of course, fingering herself madly.

Prakash said, “Okay whore, what’s your guess?”

She thought about it for a second before answering. There was really no way to tell the age. The cock was about as rigid as she had seen and it had been a few minutes and the man had shown no signs of coming. She regretted signing up for this game, but also shivered with anticipation for the punishment which would surely come.

She made a random guess, “forty five!”

“Very good whore, he’s forty three, so I’ll give it to you. Now look to your left. And don’t leave this one hanging or there will be severe consequences.” He gave a soft chuckle as the man getting his cock sucked said something.

Swati looked to her left and there was another cock there, veiny, and black as the night. By now, she had adjusted to the darkness and could make out some detail.
She reached out and started stroking the new cock. 

“Another one on the right,” Prakash said, and sure enough, there was. 

Pretty soon, Swati was occupied fully, mouth on one cock, two hands busy with two more, one to the right and one to the left. She was moaning in frustration as she couldn’t finger herself.

Then she had an idea. She reversed herself and impaled her drenched cunt on the middle cock and continued backhand stroking the other two. 

The flap opened and a man entered. At least she thought it was a man. He wore a lungi, and as soon as he could see her position, he pulled his lungi up and shoved his cock in her mouth. Both his hands went to her tits and started roughly kneading and pulling. 

Swati was delirious with the sensations.  He lost count of the number of men she serviced, and called out random numbers when Prakash asked for the men’s ages. 

When she was done, an hour or more later, she had come seven times, and she thought she might have fucked twenty men in total. With her hands, her pussy and mouth. No one took her ass. Not so far.

The box was abruptly pulled away and she stood, saturated and wet from the saliva and cum that covered her body. Gobs of liquid streamed down her torso as she stood upright. Her back ached after being bent over for so long. She stretched, pushing her tits out to ease the crick in her lower back. The men hooted at this apparent display of whorishness.

A yellow moon hung low in the sky, and an anemic yellow bulb glowed over the mori. A whole bunch of men stood all around her, laughing and hooting. Some were taking pulls from bottles of country liquor, some were smoking beedies, and some joints. The smell was a dead giveaway.

Most of the men wore sweaters or jackets, and they’d only loosened their trousers or pulled up their lungis to fuck her orifices. She was the only one that was stark naked. 

“You didn’t do well my dear whore,” Prakash said, shaking his head in mock sadness. “I will have to punish you.”

The men snickered. They were clearly aware of the tableau that was playing out, much to her detriment. 

She put on a brave face and looked at Prakash.

Swati of course had no way of telling if he was lying or telling the truth, and besides, she knew the deck was stacked against her from the beginning. There was no way she could verify what he was saying. She put her hands on her hips and stretched her back again, hoping it didn’t look insolent.

She hung her head, and with the back of her hand wiped away some of the saliva and cum from her face. 

“On your knees bitch!”

The concrete was cold and hard under her knees. After her exertions in the enclosed box, Swati had worked up a little bit of sweat and the cool night air felt welcome, but she knew she would start feeling cold soon.

Prakash stood in front of her and two more men she didn’t recognize on two sides. Prakash and one of the men unzipped while the third, still puffing on a joint, pulled his lungi up.

Swati looked at the man with the joint and said, “One puff?”

The man looked startled, and the other two laughed out loud. 

“She’s in a party mood for sure,” one man said to his friend. 

The man with the joint passed it over, and Swati, still kneeling, took a couple of puffs, and like she had done in college, held it in as long as she could. 

Then she took a breath and opened her mouth wide and engulfed his cock and blew the smoke all around his erect member. The man yelped in surprise and pleasure. 

After a few moments of sucking, she turned to receive whatever Prakash had in store for her. 

They had her suck them to full stiffness, then there was some confusion while they looked to Prakash for direction. He too looked nonplussed and then called to someone in the crowd.

A string cot was brought and one of the men lay down on it. The cot sagged under the man's weight, but not too much. 

Swati was positioned on his cock, his member sliding into her well lubricated cunt easily. The second man took her anally, straddling the thin cot, and Swati waited for Prakash to stuff her mouth. She was confused. Was this was supposed to be her punishment or reward? He knew that she loved to be made air tight, so what was this? 

She would find out soon.

Swati was in delirious ecstasy as she was triple penetrated and within a few minutes was on the edge of orgasm in both her nether holes when Prakash gave a sharp command and all movement ceased.

She writhed in frustration, her orgasm so near, yet unattainable. 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t come earlier that evening, but she had become addicted, dependent even on the multiple orgasms that these men gifted her. 

She wriggled her hips and moaned throatily, trying to get the men to move. 

She tried to move her hips, but strong hands held her tightly in place. 

She found she couldn’t move a muscle, and try as she might to clench her pelvic muscles, there was no friction to be had. 

She tried to scream her frustration, but her throat was too far plugged with cock for more than a thin sound to emerge.

[S Darko]

Happy New Year, Dear readers. Here is the next installment. The story is slowly drawing to a close as you might imagine. Thanks for sticking with me and Swati, this long..



Swati took a long breath and paused in her story. 

She picked up her drink and took a long sip of the martini, finishing it. 

She waved to the waiter for a repeat. He nodded and disappeared. 


“Wow!” Neetu was awestruck. Her jaw hung open as she took in the story. “All that degradation and humiliation…fucked literally in public, by those low-class people! All those people watching…not to mention the public triple penetration…air tight isn’t it?” 

Neetu shook her head as though in disbelief. Then she narrowed her eyes and looked at Swati sideways. “You get off on it, don’t you? The pain and the humiliation and of course the sex. Most of all, I think it’s the situation, the people, the environment.”

Swati gazed at her friend. She saw understanding there, not judgment. 

She nodded. “You’re right. That’s what I get off on. It is like an addiction now. I went to a swingers' party last year around Christmas, and while it was fun, I always thought something was missing. There were five or six men there and we did everything. In private with one and then two men and then there was an orgy in the kitchen on Christmas Day. There was this huge guy called Baldev who was there with his sister-in-law. He was fucking her because his own brother was gay, and it was a convenient arrangement for them. He brought her to the swingers' party and I suspected from what she said that he might be even pimping her out. It was all great fun, but…”

Neetu nodded. She tilted her head and gazed at Swati, considering. “I wouldn't mind a trial run of something similar. Of course, I understand that every experience will be different. This ain’t no fantasy fulfillment service…but I guess it could be.”

Swati nodded, then shook her head. She was thinking of what had followed that night. “I would go to the chawl crawling on my hands and knees if Prakash called me. I am that far gone. The sex is addictive, like a drug, like heroin I think. Maybe like cocaine. I haven’t done either though.”

Swati closed her eyes as she relived those moments in the chawl, late at night. She spoke, still with her eyes closed. “But you don’t understand. I thought I was in control, but I was wrong. These things take on a life of their own. I don’t really know where things are headed, but I am a little worried.”

After a moment to collect herself, Swati continued her story.

There she was in the chawl, in the lane behind Prakash’s tenement, sitting on one man, his cock in her cunt, another man behind her on his knees, his rampant cock in her ass, and Prakash standing on one side, her head tilted to him, her mouth plugged to the brim with his cock. 

They had been fucking her in all her holes, in and out, creating exquisite feelings, feelings she craved, feelings she could die for and she was a hair’s breadth away from a gargantuan orgasm when all three men stopped moving as though on cue.

Then, her mouth filled with liquid as Prakash started to piss. 

So this was it. 

This was the punishment! The pungent smell of his urine hit her nostrils before her mouth overflowed and flowed down the front of her body. Her throat worked as she tried to swallow as fast as possible to prevent choking.

The heat of the urine warmed her and she welcomed it like a warm blanket in the chilly night. Then she felt more heat in her pelvis as the two men in her cunt and ass started pissing there too. 

Swati felt the humiliation make her face flush as she overflowed piss from her nether fuckholes. 

She simply stopped swallowing the piss that Prakash was hosing into her mouth and sat there, taking the mortification, the indignity, the sheer shame of sitting in front of an audience with her holes plugged and dribbling copious amounts of urine.

She couldn’t even hide her face, red as it was with embarrassment. 

There was no place to hide, nowhere to run, not with all her holes plugged with cock, and held in place with manual bondage. 

Swati was a true three hole where now, in every sense of the word. She wept with the humiliation, but no one saw her tears.

Prakash pulled out and the men pulled out too, one after the other. They stood around her in a loose circle and let the remaining piss flow onto her body as though they were hosing her down.

“All that cum and stuff. We’re doing you a favor washing it all away,” Prakash said.

The other men laughed. One said, “Personal shower, haha!”

“Enough to take a bath if we had a tub!” remarked another.

Swati bent her head as she listened to the barrage of insults and the urine continued to pour down on her. She focused on the runnels of the liquid running down to the drain in the corner of the mori. She tried to ignore the ribald comments the onlookers made. 

There were many women now, it seemed from the voices she heard. Most of them thought she deserved it for being such a whore. Although it must not have lasted more than a few minutes, it seemed endless to her. More men joined in and pissed on her, some spat on her and called her names. 

When the men were done, a few women laid her down on the cold concrete and raised their saris, and pissed on her too. 

They spat on her and called her names. 

It was true, Swati thought, that the women were more vicious than the men. 

She thought they might be a little jealous of her, but she knew she was only deluding herself. Who in their right mind would want to be gang fucked in the open like this and then pissed upon? 

When it ended, Swati lay in a puddle of piss that slowly ebbed as it drained away into the gutter. 

She was no longer warm from the hot piss the people of the chawl had discharged upon her. She was getting cold now.

She felt something cold and metallic on her neck, clinking, and then some conversation. 

“C’mon, lets go get some booze,” Prakash said. 

There was a general murmur of agreement and the men moved out, leaving her alone in the cold night, lying in the mori, chained by the neck like an animal. 

The men all seemed to be fucked out, at least for the time being.

She lay there for what seemed like hours, uncomfortable, getting colder by the minute, until she could no longer feel her fingers or toes. 

She had no clothes to wrap herself in, no rags, nothing she could wrap herself in. 

All that she could reach with the chain around her neck was the mori tap. After a while, she roused herself enough to open the tap. 

A thin stream of cold water flowed out, but it felt warmer than the ambient air, so she tried her best to wash, to rid herself of the stink of piss. 

Then she lay back and waited. 

She wasn’t sure what she waited for, whether it was Prakash, who would most likely subject her to further indignities or someone else who might take pity on her.

Her mind swam as she tried to fixate on the light from the stars and the moon, and at some point, she fell asleep.

[S Darko]

New update, but no apologies. 


Arvind’s phone rings. 

He has just been given his phone privileges, the tube in his windpipe having been removed just the day before. It has been a tough few weeks and he is still on a shit ton of medication, but now the worst is past him. He is still short of breath, but his oxygen saturation is acceptable on room air. He does have the oxygen mask for use if he needs it. 

They have identified the pathogen as a virus, now widely being called by a complicated name, but more colloquially as the Chinese virus. Many people have died and there are websites now tracking infection and death rates. It has replaced other things that people used to track such as cricket and soccer. 


His parents have both passed away while he was on the ventilator in the ICU, thoughts of his own mortality crowding out all others. No one was even allowed to witness the cremations, but someone had sent some pictures on WhatsApp. He has had some time to reflect on his own demise, his life of thirty odd years counting for not very much. 

He thinks of his brother, Ashok, now also in the ICU. He gets some progress notes from the nurses, but he believes they are overly optimistic. He feels Ashok may not make it. That would leave Swati all alone, perhaps at his mercy. Hmm, stuff to think about. Perhaps he could have her legitimately. Marry her even, if Ashok were to die that is. Perhaps keep her as a sex slave? Anything was possible. These were, after all, unusual, even unprecedented times. The slap she gave him all those years ago resounds in his mind. 

He picks up the phone and sees Alexei’s name on the display. 

“Hello?” his voice is a hoarse croak that he hardly recognizes. He is still not used to speaking; the tube had been in his throat for over four weeks.

“Hey man,” the Russian says, sounding a little out of breath, “Bad news I’m afraid.”

“What? You got it too?” Arvind feels a surge of energy in his tired limbs and his heart beats a little faster. If Alexei has the virus, that would not exactly be bad news. In fact, it would be news of the good news and bad news variety, that is bad for him and good for Arvind, and bad news these days almost always meant the virus. Arvind tries to keep the smile out of his voice. He would gain hierarchy and make more money.

Alexei gives a little cough-laugh. “Oh, no, no, no, not the virus. I have to leave the country now, the boss has recalled me to Kyiv.”

“Okay.” Arvind pauses, a little disappointed, wondering what it is that Alexei wants. He is in no shape to do anything other than sit up weakly in bed. The energy he’s felt a moment ago has dissipated.

“I need you to get that bitch asap,” Alexei says. 

Arvind does not need to be told which bitch is being talked about, and he feels a little stir in his loins, a sensation he hasn’t had for a while. 

For her, he might be able to stir himself. Perhaps not today, but in a few days it might be possible. Also, with Alexei out of the country, he wouldn’t have to deal with Nikolai either. He could save the exorbitant amount of money he was preparing to pay the other Russian. He wondered if either of the men was actually Russian. Just having a Russian sounding name didn’t mean anything. They could be from anywhere in the former Soviet bloc. 

“Hmm. Okay. Maybe not right away, but soon. When are you returning?”

“I have a container ready to leave in a week. I think March 21st or 22nd, but these days there are so many delays. I won’t be able to return in time, I think, so it is up to you.”

Arvind pushes himself up in bed to an upright position. He knows there are at least twenty, if not more girls in the container already. It is a big task to keep them all docile and safe until they’re ready to be dispatched. He takes a deep breath and says, “Is that guy, um... what’s his name, available?” The name escapes him.

There is silence while Aleksei presumably thinks. Then he says, “you mean the muscle guy? Sammy?”

“Yeah, Sammy.” Sammy is muscle with very little between his cauliflower ears. “He’ll come in useful.”

“Okay, I’ll send his contact to you. I'll talk to him also. Get better soon. ” Aleksei hangs up.

There is a knock at the door and a nurse comes in with a clipboard. She beams at him. “Looking better today, Sir.” 

Ashok grimaces. She is a Malayali nurse, supposedly the most efficient and dependable of nurses, but not very good looking. The good ones go to the Gulf, he knows. But no reason to be churlish. He finds a smile. “Thank you sister.”

Three days later, he leaves against medical advice. 

He figures he will recuperate better at home. He doesn’t visit his brother Ashok who is in the ICU. He reflects on the death of his parents, and his sick brother. It is a miracle he's made it. These are tough times, he reckons. Dangerous times, Apocalyptic times. Times when people like himself can thrive.

It is difficult to even walk for more than a few meters, but he leans against the wall as he slowly makes his way to the front door of the hospital. Don't they have wheelchairs in this place? But everyone that works in the hospital is busy, scurrying about, wearing those weird plastic suits. All around him people are wearing masks. The hospital employees as well as the patients and visitors.

He calls for an Uber, but isn’t sure he can navigate all the way to the special area reserved for the shared vehicle. In fact, he is sure he cannot. He cancels the Uber, but still has to pay a fee. A small fee, but still it was something.

He calls Sammy. “Hey man, can you come and help me out here? I’m at this hospital…”

Sammy arrives in ten minutes. He is huge, well over six feet tall and heavily muscled. He wears a large cloth mask and an eye shield. He handles Arvind like he’s an infant and deposits him in the front seat of his SUV.

Arvind leans back against the cushioned interior and breathes heavily. When he has finally caught his breath, he outlines the plan. 

Sammy nods. He takes notes on a little notebook in the dashboard. When Arvind is through, Sammy starts the car and eases out into the late afternoon traffic. 

[S Darko]

Swati's mood is dark now, and Neetu can sense it like a live, hideous thing. 


Swati seems to sense Neetu's discomfort and says, “Sorry Neetu, I’m telling you all this…I’m dumping all this on you…I’m trying to sort through what happened. I don’t think it is such a good idea to continue this kind of thing. You know…but I can’t help myself. I am afraid…”

Neetu nods, her face now somber. She can feel the skin stretched taut over her cheekbones. Swati’s story is both exhilarating and deeply terrifying. She tries to get her visceral reactions under control. Her lubricating cunt for one thing, her tingling nipples for another. She can feel the buzz from the martinis they have drunk. Was it two or three? She can’t remember. 

“I understand.” She says. “But what are you going to do? If he calls, will you go? You could delete his number and maybe get him fired from the job, but there are too many people in the mix now for you to stop cold turkey. Besides, he knows where you live. That’s a problem.” 

Neetu thinks that if Prakash comes calling, Swati won’t be able to refuse him, resist him. She will go like a docile little lamb wherever he takes her, do whatever he tells her to do. Swati is more of a fuckdoll, a sex slave than she herself realizes. 

Swati nods. “Yes, he knows where I live. Maybe I could ask…”

“Who? Ramesh? isn’t he from the same chawl? Same kind of guy? Low class, filthy, just the kind of man you like to get fucked and humiliated by?” Neetu can’t control the venom and sarcasm in her voice. Perhaps, she thinks, I am just a teeny bit jealous of her.

“No, no. Ramesh is different. In fact he saved me that night. I haven’t told you all that happened that night, but I trust him implicitly. I’m just not sure if he can stop all those people. I mean, Prakash and Nawaz both know where I live. Inder, the IT guy is out of the picture right now, but if I complained to HR, I could get him fired…maybe Prakash too, but Nawaz I don’t know. Then there are all those videos that are online. I mean you can recognize me in them, I think.”

“Yeah, show me, and I’ll tell you.”

Swati taps on her phone, goes into incognito mode, and pulls up a video that Mahender has uploaded. It isn’t the most recent one, but not very old either. It is one of the bondage ones where she is hanging from the rafters facedown and being fucked at both ends. The shot has her in the frame, the men’s cocks but not their faces.

Neetu gasps at the images she sees, but can’t take her eyes away from it. When the clip ends, she rewinds and watched it again. 

Finally, she says, “I can tell it is you, but most people won’t be able to. And by the way, this is the sexiest porn video I’ve ever seen. The production is really good!”

“Mahender,” Swati says by way of answer. “He’s good. He uses a green screen sometimes and…see, here’s a clip showing me in Florida!”

Neetu looks at the images of Swati giving a double blowjob in front of a completely unpopulated Animal Kingdom.

“He got the footage from some holiday shot,” she said, “that’s why there’s no one else in the frame. 

Neetu looks carefully, and now she can see that the images are superimposed, but done so well, it is easy to imagine it is real. 

“There are ones in front of the Eiffel Tower and one in Niagara Falls also. The man is a genius.” She pauses. “Anyhow, that’s not the point. The point is how to get out of this.”

Neetu takes a reflective sip of her drink. She finishes her martini and signals for another. “Repeat,” she says under her breath, and the waiter understands the mimed word and scurries off to get another martini.
“How about the cops? Have you thought about that?”

Swati pouts. “You think I haven’t thought of that? Everything I did is by mutual consent…at least in the videos he has of me. It looks like that anyway. Can’t cry foul play at this stage.”

They talk a while more about possible courses of action, but nothing concrete emerges. 

Neetu finally says that the best course might be confessing everything, or at least to a semblance of the truth to Ashok and then relocate to a different city. Also, never to repeat what she had done here. But she is also curious about how that night at the mori ended. Swati had mentioned that Ramesh had saved her.

“Anyhow, what happened after that? You were chained to the tap in the mori at night, in the cold…so someone must have let you loose, right? Who? Prakash? Wait, no, you said Ramesh came, right?”

“No, not Prakash, he’s a monster…I think. No, I know. He’s a sadist, and he enjoys hurting me. At first, I thought it was all mutual, but it has mostly been him coming up with new ways to fuck me, hurt me, humiliate me, and I’ve gone along every time. I’ve never protested really, so I guess I thought it was all mutual consent, but not really. Anyhow, at the more, it was cold, so cold, and I was still wet, I could feel he chill of the ground seeping through me, and I suppose I must've been on the verge of hypothermia—I was exhausted and cold, and despite the discomfort and the difficult circumstances, I fell asleep."

[S Darko]

Swati walks disconsolately along Ring Road in the shadow of the Red Fort. 

Tomorrow is Independence Day and the Prime Minister will be speaking from the ramparts, telling crores of Indians all about how things are, what his plans are and so forth. He has been a good Prime Minister, this tea-seller from Gujarat, she reflects. His graph has gone exponentially up. Her’s, on he other hand, instead of going up, had rapidly gone the other way.


She looks down at her clothes. The shirt she is wearing belongs to a man, and the weird thing is she does not even remember who the man was. Underneath, she wears a short skirt, black with spangles. A party mini skirt really. No underwear. She looks like one of the streetwalkers she used to wonder about. She remembers vaguely the party last night at Kalkaji, or was it somewhere else? Vasant Vihar? Green Park?

A nice posh nightclub, a padded, soundproof back room with hooks and bolts on the floor, ceiling, walls. 

There were many men that Vicky (that was his name, right?) had asked her to entertain and she had done that with her usual enthusiasm. Her breasts throbbed a little from the rope bondage, but nothing that wouldn’t go away in a few days. The cigarette burns though, that would take a little more time. 

There was a time when Vicky wouldn’t allow the merchandise to be marked, the merch of course, being her, but not any more. Now anything and everything was possible for the clients to do and she had no limits, hard or soft.

She recalls the cage she was in, then the spanking horse where she was whipped brutally. While being fucked in the ass and the mouth. There were nipple clamps she recalls, floggers, clamps on her cunt lips. Someone had even attached weights to the cunt clamps and laughed hysterically as she writhed in pain. All the while someone had been fucking her in the ass. Later, there were beer bottles, baseball bats. The brutes delighted in inserting anything they found, that was easy to hand, the bigger the better. Initially her moans were for effect, later they were real. 

They delighted in making her scream.

Despite all the torture she has endured, the remembrance of last night brings a tingle to her sore nipples and they stiffen in the slight breeze. That itch she used to feel in her pussy, the feeling that something was empty and needed to be filled, preferably by a stiff cock, has become an almost continuous ache. 

She realizes she has become a sex addict and there is no cure. 

No cure other then white knuckle, cold turkey abstention. Perhaps for life. For that she needs support, and that is something she doesn’t have. 

There is nothing left of her family; Ashok has left her, and taken Dhruv with him. She can’t even remember when the divorce came through. She doesn’t even know where they are, and even if she did, she doesn’t have the resources to go there. 

She is nothing now, not the IT middle manager with promise, not the mother, not the high flying wife. She has lost her high paying job, her perks, her car and house. She has no life anymore. She is no more and no less than a whore, on the verge of being washed up. 

On the verge of becoming a fifty rupee whore that only the lowest of the low visit.

The way ahead is easy to see because it is all downhill, and there is nothing in the way. Marginal subsistence, desperate poverty, disease, and then the final equalizer of them all. It is not pretty. And yet, she has no one to blame but herself. 

It had all started innocently enough with an inadvertent exposure of her body to the janitor. The janitor actually turned out to be a possible savior, but he was weird, and he gave way to the garage security guard, then came the chai w,.', not that she had anything against chaiw,.'s, then it became a blur. There were pimps photographers and videographers and a whole slew of low class slum dwellers, and other strange people involved, and somehow even her savior, Ramesh couldn’t help her from her downfall.

There was a time when she was to be sold off to a rich Arab sheikh, but somehow she slipped those grasping hands and instead ended up in Delhi in the care of a pimp called Vicky (Vicky, right? Or was it Vinny?). He shopped her around, in the high class party circuit, then slowly the class started going down, the regulars wanting more and more roughness. 

It was now nothing for her to entertain more than one man at a time, animals too if she remembers last night well. Drugs seem to be a good way to cope, something she had never done before, but now, well now there is no other word for it other than junkie.

She is in Old Delhi now, not even remembering how she got there. Somewhere near Paharganj or Chandni Chown. There are old houses on both sides of the narrow street. Someone comes at her. The woman is carrying a bucket of water. 

Dirty water as it turns out. She has a grimace on her face, and she spits on the ground before she upends the bucket on her head. Not just dirty water as it turns out. Worse, much worse.

“Whore! Whore! Whore!” The woman is screaming at her. 

She falls to the ground in despair, stinking and dripping. Crying.

She grasps at a straw. Ramesh! She whispers the name. 

He has always been the one to ask her during her rougher adventures if she was ok, if she wanted to stop. She has never paid him much heed, but he was good to have, like a little puppy. Oh, if only she had paid more attention to him. 

Oh, if only she had given him more importance in her life. He had once tried to give her advice, good advice as she now thinks back on it.

Ramesh!

Ramesh!

Ramesh…the words dribble out of her mouth like water she cannot swallow and it drips down her chin and chest. 

She is all wet. 

From head to toe. 

And shivering. Like a malaria patient. 

And it was indeed Ramesh who came to find her. He’d been sitting at the tea shop, when he heard the men bragging about how the men had gangfucked the high class madam and left her to wallow in their excrement in the mori, and came to investigate.

When Ramesh came to her, he was livid to see her chained like an animal to the water pipe. 

The sight of Swati, naked and shivering melted his heart, and tenderly he undid the chain—it turned out not to be locked, merely tied, and she could have undone it herself—and carried her to the auto. 

Perhaps Prakash expected that she would undo the chain and come inside. Who knew? He found a sheet and wrapped her in it and took her home. 

On the way, Ramesh said, “Madam, you need to rethink what you’re doing. These are not good people. Especially that Prakash fellow.” 

Swati was so out of it that she could not reply. 

The truth was she was scared and at one point feared for her life. But how could she tell these things to Ramesh? 

And the dream felt so real. Had she really been sold? Nah, that was all just a dream. Wouldn't happen in real life. She would get control. 

When she could finally speak, she forced a level of gaiety into her voice. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Ramesh. Prakash isn’t such a bad guy. He’s all bark and no bite. What do you think he’s going to do that I don’t already want? And besides, isn’t he your friend?”

In reply Ramesh had just muttered something inaudible and Swati had let it go. 

He carried her into her uninhabited home, washed her tenderly in the tub, and tucked her in. 

She reached for him, for his crotch, but he shied away, gently put her hands under the covers. 

After that, he left. 

Swati slept the sleep of the dead.

[S Darko]

Sammy, the bodyguard in Alexei’s employ calls Nikolai. 

Getting paid by two masters for the same information is proving quite lucrative for him. It helps that people think that because he is so muscular, he must be stupid. He is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. People think he is hired muscle for Alexei, but the truth is that he has been the Russian’s secret right hand man for a while now.


Back in his native place in Aligarh, he might’ve ended up as a bahubali, a local gunda or enforcer for a politician or mafia, but here in the nation’s capital, he actually holds the title of security chief for one of Alexei’s shell companies.

“Nikolai,” he says, “Alexei’s container is almost full. Arvind Bhai is going to make a move soon. He’s going to pick her up from her home and take her to the docks where the container is. It’s going to be game over if you don’t make a move soon.” 

Sammy knows from Arvind that he’d made a deal with Nikolai before he got sick, and the deal involved this particular woman. 

That was before Alexei had been called away to Kyiv. He knows also that Nikolai has a hard on for this particular woman. 

He wonders what it is that’s so special about this woman. He himself can’t see it because he swings the other way. But he does appreciate that she is a good looking woman.

“Wait,” Nikolai says in his weird accent, “Isn’t the plan to pluck her up from Bhim colony? From that guy’s house?” 

He says pluck, like she’s a chicken, sitting there, just waiting to be snapped up. The truth is, that for the large majority of women they traffic, it is just so. Some they pull off the streets, some from their homes, offices, anywhere. Nowhere is safe. Nikolai snaps his fingers, trying to remember the name. Finally, he gets it, “Prakash.”

Sammy hesitates just long enough for Nikolai to say, “You want me to get her from her house? Or send someone to pick her up?”

“Yes, that would be better. I think he will want to wait for darkness, perhaps 5 pm or so before he does it.” Sammy isn’t eager to cross Arvind quite yet. It is enough for now that he is getting paid twice for the same work, but not yet time to make a move. In a few days he thinks it will be time. 

“Okay,” I’ll see if I can find Prakash or Nawaz. Those fuckers have no sense of time or duty.” Still grumbling about how hard it was to get good help these days, these lazy motherfuckers, sister-fuckers, Nikolai hangs up. 

Sammy wonders again how and when the Russian got so fluent in Hindi that he could swear so readily and fluently and with no accent at all. In fact, he thinks the guy sounds like he might've grown up in UP, possibly near his hometown.

[S Darko]

It is Thursday, mid-afternoon when Prakash calls on her. 


It has been a while since the night she was chained to the tap at the mori behind the chawl, the night of the glory hole, the night when she was pissed on and humiliated. She has had no contact with anyone since that night. Indeed, it took her the better part of a week to recover from that night, physically and mentally. 

After her conversation, nay, confession to Neetu, Swati has been alone. She works from home, and only rarely goes to the office. The office in any case is almost deserted. Swati meditates these days to control the cravings, focusing on her breath, but it isn’t easy. Images of intense sex, humiliation, and carnal hunger crowd her mind as soon as she closes her eyes, and even though she thought that time would diminish the intensity of these feelings, that hasn’t happened so far.

She’s tried to abstain from masturbating, but occasionally she’s had to give in and use one or more of her toys when she can’t stand it any more. Paro, when she comes, sees her mistress in dire straits, and says nothing. Dark circles discolor her eyes, and she looks gaunt even though her figure is still as voluptuous as ever.

Swati has been to the hospital several times to see Ashok, but the staff there are very busy, and they won’t let her see him anyway because there is widespread fear of an epidemic that is raging uncontrolled. No one knows what the virus is other than it is from China. It has already claimed many lives, including those of her in laws. There is no known cure.

She’s just finished working out, a fairly intense yoga routine, and is just a little bit sweaty. She was in the process of planning what she would put into her afternoon smoothie when the doorbell goes ding-dong.

Prakash simply shows up at her door, all by himself — no Nawaz today — with no forewarning, no call or text or voice message. He wears a crooked grin, a smirk really, and looks her up and down like one might a prize cow at the village fair. 

The sight of him fills her first with terror, then intense need, like a junkie craving a fix. 

He is dressed today in a green tee shirt and a pair of track pants she didn’t know he owned. He is also wearing the track top, unzipped all the way. It is not so cold in Delhi any more, and a light jacket is all that’s needed. 

As she opens the door and he steps inside, the longing is so intense in the pit of her stomach that she doubles over, gasping. She knows her pussy is a sopping mess, and that Prakash probably knows it despite the clothes she is wearing, yoga pants, sport bra, and a loose tee shirt that leaves her midriff bare. 

She wants to pull out his cock, suck him to hardness and present him with her holes to choose from. She wants him like a dying man wants water.

Prakash ignores her and looks at the interior of the house as though he has never seen it before. “Rich people,” he mutters under his breath.

When he finally turns to look at her, Swati is already pulling off her clothes. 

She has been well conditioned. 

She lays her clothes on the nearest chair and kneels before him, legs wide, cunt on display, hands cupping her breasts in offering. 

He glances at her and nods appreciatively and this pleases Swati more than it should. 

He caresses her tits, pulls on the nipples, fingers her cunt and she squirms on the ground in front of him like a dog that has been well trained and accepts what affection even a cruel master will give. She is ready to offer him any hole he would like, whatever form of ravishment he would desire. 

But that is not to be.

“Get dressed,” he says. “We have to go to the chawl.” He throws the yoga pants and the insubstantial tee shirt at her, throwing the sport bra and her panties into a corner. She follows the trajectory of the garment, and again a thrill goes through her. 

She’s going to get fucked today after a long time. 

Her heart races and there are butterflies in her stomach, something she didn’t even have when she was getting married. 

As she rises to put on the clothes he has chosen, her cunt squelches, a sound almost like the queef she had in the conference room, a lifetime ago.

[S Darko]

Nakul Bhai has the whore suck him off while he watches a video of Swati getting gangbanged. It’s an old video, one of Mahender’s earlier efforts. She is airtight, a cock in each hole, one man straddling her torso and fucking her tits, and there is a cock in each of her hands that she is jerking off. 


He knows it is disrespectful to the girl who’s fellating him, to watch another woman, or rather some hardcore porn, but fuck it, she’s only a whore.

When he’s done, she wipes the saliva and semen that coat his cock. His member is still quite hard, something that has happened over time with all the beads that have been injected under the skin. 

He can get ready at a moment’s notice, and sometimes even the sensation of his underwear rubbing against the sensitive flesh can arouse him unreasonably. Sometimes he thinks this obsession with sex might be getting in the way of his business, but so far so good, and besides, sex is so enjoyable, especially the kinks. 

And once he has Swati in his clutches…he thinks about the girl. She is in great demand it seems. Alexei wants to grab her and sell her in the Gulf, probably the Gulf, but could be Africa too. Not for nothing is it called the dark continent. Once you went there, you were never heard from again.

Then there was Alexei’s man, Arvind. He seemed to have his own agenda. 

Nakul Bhai has done some investigation, and it seemed that they might be related. Some kind of revenge scenario, he thinks. He’s not sure what Arvind plans to do to the woman, but he thinks it’s sex and then probably sell her to someone. He seemed to be quite desperate to get his hands on her. 

And then finally there was himself, Ramsaran, also known as Nikolai and also, more recently as Nakul Bhai. He rather likes the name now, and sometimes uses it to introduce himself, particularly when the other person isn’t able to say Nikolai correctly. 

It was he, Nikolai, who had initially called Alexei to sell the hot piece of ass, but then he’d changed his mind. Then Arvind had come along with his ridiculous offer and now that Alexei was out of the country, he feels he has more leeway. Arvind hasn’t even called him to tell him the deal was off. He has found all this out through Sammy. The little shit. He could get Sammy to take care of Arvind, Alexei too when he returned. And then, he thinks, Sammy…Sammy. Hmm.

Things were looking up. Way, way up. He has come a long way. 

He’d been a freak in his village, the only man with the unknown skin disease, and pretty much everyone shunned him, the fear of the unknown being what it was, especially among illiterate villagers. He forgets what they called it in Hindi, but he wasn’t all white back then. Patchy, his arms and legs still had some dark brown colored areas, but by the time he was eighteen, even his hair had turned a colorless white. 

The only way he could gain some respect was through a life of crime, and accordingly, he attached himself to the local crime boss, who took him on out of pity. 

It was only when he ended up in Bombay and met a few foreigners around the gateway of India that he hit upon the idea of passing himself off as a white man. There wasn’t much he could do about his face, which still looked like a villagers’ but he copied the white peoples’ gestures, mannerisms and their patterns of speech. Realizing soon that he would never speak English like a Brit or an American, he decided to be a Russian, so that his accent might be overlooked. 

When he was sent to Delhi on an assignment, he ran into some trouble when the businessman he was supposed to shoot turned out to be more than he could handle. His gun, an automatic, jammed, and the businessman, with hard gym honed muscles, beat him senseless. 

He was nursed back to health by a gang of human traffickers, and he had the good sense to be quiet or speak only in English, and thus the legend of Nikolai was born. 

He shakes his head. Enough reminiscing. Okay, he says to himself. He rises and goes to his bedroom, opens the safe and pulls out a shiny revolver. He always prefers revolvers to semi-automatics. Ever since the businessman incident, way back when, a time he cannot even remember well. 

Most of his men prefer the autos, and he allows them to choose. But the one thing he insists on is that they are at least 45 caliber. That’s pretty good stopping power for most situations. 

He has used 9 mm guns before, but he definitely favors the heft and finality of the 45. This one is a Smith and Wesson, large and comfortable and heavy. 

He jams it into this waistband in the back, pulls on a light jacket and calls for the driver. He will take two bodyguards and the woman. 

He snaps his fingers at the whore, a Brazilian or Argentinian perhaps, or so he believes. She is enhanced, but spectacular. So spectacular that he keeps her naked all the time. 

She doesn't seem to mind. And she is very accommodating.

[S Darko]

In the auto, Prakash reflects that he should’ve had Swati suck him off in the house with the door open. 

Or maybe out in the front yard, between the front gate and the front door. The neighbors, especially those on the second floor would’ve got an eyeful. It would have humiliated her, but also released some of the pressure from his balls. 

Well, he thinks, glancing at his watch, there was some time still to do whatever he wanted. 


Prakash reflects on the last several months as the auto bumps along the uneven roads. From the time he met Swati, naked and masturbating in the conference room and all the subsequent shenanigans they have been up to. He regrets none of that.

He sighs heavily. He has become attached to her. He will miss her, he thinks. But the money that Nakul Bhai has offered is way more tempting. 

He could return home to his village if he wanted to. Buy more land than the rest of the family combined, and have enough left over for a house. A proper kothi, the likes of which even the village zamindar might not have seen. He thinks perhaps three floors, and bathrooms on every level—no more outhouse or going into the fields. And yes, a wall around the compound, a gate, perhaps even a guard at the gate. There were a lot of jobless guys who would jump at the chance. 

Nawaz had told him earlier that day that Nakul Bhai had called. The container was ready. It would be loaded on the ship and sail away in a couple of days. In the meantime, he could have some fun, perhaps for the last time. 

“Ready for some fun, huh bitch?” He grabs her boob roughly over her loose tee shirt, and she lets out a gasp of surprise and pain. 

The auto driver, not the old man from the colony, but a younger man, starts and almost turns back to see what is happening, but recovers his professionalism at the last moment and contents himself with merely angling the rearview mirror so he can see what’s happening. 

Prakash knows she is ready for action based on his awareness of her arousal. There was the wet sound she made from her cunt when she moved to get dressed back at the house, but he can also smell her arousal from where he sits. He has come to love the scent of that over the last few months. 

Prakash puts his other hand under the waistband of her yoga pants and roughly feels her up. 

Her cunt, as he had guessed, is a swamp, he can feel her clit, and for a moment, he is even surprised. He fingers her roughly for a few seconds, and she moans throatily into his chest. 

The auto driver is struggling very hard to maintain his professionalism. 

Prakash looks at the driver in the mirror, and he can see the lust in his eyes. 

He could have her give the auto driver a blow job, or even fuck him in the street, both of which she has done before with the old auto driver, and he has no doubt she would be willing. 

But no. His modus operandi has always been to keep her guessing. 

He tells the auto driver to stop in front of a paan-beedi shop a couple of streets over from where his house is.

“Come on,” he says, “step out, take off your pants and go buy me a pack of beedies.”

He pushes her out of the auto and gives her a stern look as she stands in the street, indecisive.  

[S Darko]

The SUV is large, black, and heavily tinted as it makes its way through the narrow streets of Bhim colony and comes to a stop in front of the building where Prakash lives.


Nakul Bhai is excited beyond belief. Finally, he will meet the woman he has come to fantasize about. 

Lately, she has been visiting his dreams as well. It has become an obsession, this need to possess this woman. 

Beside him, Ramona is sitting quietly. 

Today she is wearing a simple dress, black, with nothing underneath. Nakul Bhai knows because that was how he’d instructed her. She is a plaything, nothing more. The real deal is the woman he has been obsessing over for the better part of a few months.

The SUV comes to a smooth stop and Nakul Bhai instructs his driver to make a phone call. Over the speakerphone, he hears Prakash, a little breathless.

“Nakul Bhai!”

Nakul Bhai winces at this name that has been thrust upon him. How is it that this twerp of a man (the actual word he thinks is chutiya), cannot say Nikolai like almost everyone else can? He lets it pass. 

“Prakash.” It comes out with more menace than he intended. There is no need to say anymore.

“Yes Bhai, she’s here.”  Prakash sounds nervous.

Nakul Bhai can hear moans and grunts in the background. Flesh slapping upon flesh. It seems she is already in the party mood, getting some action. Either that, or there is another woman. Or women.

“Who else is there?”

“Just me, Nawaz and Mahender, Bhai.” Nakul Bhai can smell the lie, but lets it go.

“Mahender?”

“Photographer, he takes the videos and such.”

“Oh, okay, I’m coming up.”

“No, no! Wait there. I’ll come down and guide you,” Prakash says, “It’s a little tricky.”

Nakul Bhai can feel his tumescence building. “Come soon, man.”



#

Arvind’s phone rings. It is late evening on Thursday, the 19th of March. 

The significance of the date will not be understood until later, and for some of the characters, not even then. Of course, no one knows all this, not at this time anyway. And definitely not Arvind. 

It is Sammy. He sounds out of breath. “Bhai, that Russian guy, Nikolai is making a move. I followed him to a chawl in Bhim colony. It looks like the girl is there. I’m pretty sure he’s going to snatch her. I found out there’s a guy called Prakash that lives there and he handles the girl.”

Arvind knows Nakul Bhai of course, but he hasn’t felt the need to call him and tell him their deal is off. The other name is new to him. She has a handler? Like a pimp? He sits up, improved from before but still not at a hundred percent.

“But aren’t we supposed to pick her up? Like from her house?” Arvind is confused. 

It seems to him that Sammy is more aware of things than he lets on. More knowledgeable than he would have suspected from someone who was supposed to be muscle. 

“And why…how…Bhim colony?”

“Yes Bhai, I thought it best if we kept tabs on Nikolai because we know he has designs on the girl. I spoke to the butcher across the street and he was happy to tell me everything he knows once I put some Gandhijis in his pocket.” Sammy sounds patient and in control. Perhaps he has misjudged the man. He seems to be quite capable. 

Arvind grunts his appreciation. There’s nothing more he can do. “What should I do?”

They both go silent as they think about it. 

Then Sammy says, “Bhai if I come to pick you up, I can’t keep an eye on these guys. Best you come by yourself. Park your car at the Apsara Mall and take an auto from there. I’ll send you a location pin so you can follow it on GPS.”

Ah, technology to the rescue. 

“Yes,” Arvind says, “good idea.” He adjusts his crotch which suddenly has become quite tight.

[S Darko]

Prakash holds his breath as he hits the end button. 

He is fucked. 

Nakul Bhai is here well before time and has caught him flat-footed. He looks instinctively at his watch. He might have five minutes before the Russian takes things into his own hands. 

Damn, he should have paid more attention to the time.


Prakash enters into a flurry of activity, trying to get the room in some semblance of order. He hustles the men other than Nawaz and Mahender out of the room. Paro has to go too. 

The three chawl men take one last hungry look at the incredible whore tied and suspended from the ceiling, her legs widely spread, both her nether holes easily accessible for penetration. 

They have been fucking her holes one by one and all together for more than two hours, mangling her boobs, using her body like a plaything, and she looks a little worn out. Her mouth is widely stretched over a ball gag and her head lolls to one side, saliva dripping down her chin and body. 

The chawl men last saw this whore the night of the glory hole as it came to be known, but not in those specific terms. 

“Take her down and clean her up. Nakul Bhai is here! I thought he wouldn’t be here for at least an hour. Quickly, quickly!” 

Mahender and Nawaz hop to it. It wouldn’t do for the merchandise to be shown in such poor light even though it was likely that Nakul Bhai too would be using her for the same purposes. 

Earlier, on the way to the chawl, Prakash had stopped the auto and told Swati to go buy him a pack of beedies. The driver had started to offer him his own bodies, but stopped when he realized what Prakash was doing.

He told Swati to take off her yoga pants in public in the middle of the day, and that too a couple of streets away from his house. Here there could be big differences from street to street. People tended to congregate along ethnic, religious, caste, and other lines, and what was true of one street was not necessarily true of the next one over. 

She hesitated, perhaps too long and ultimately it was Prakash’s steely look that decided her. Slowly, and not necessarily in a sexy way, she started taking off her tights. They clung to her crotch, her thighs, so she had to do a fair bit of wiggling in order to get the garment off. Prakash ogled her all the time, and the driver watched open-mouthed in the mirror, a string of drool hanging from his mouth. 

The crotch of the thin nylon pants had soaked through with her juices and appeared darker than the rest of the fabric. The excitement was making her breathe hard and the effort pulled her shirt further up where her full breasts strained. 

In the end, she gave up and accepted her situation. 

It helped though that Prakash shot her a venomous look and made raised a threatening hand. She didn’t mind the spanking and other corporal punishments he meted out, but she wasn’t so sure here out in public. 

But the situation was getting to her, there was no denying it. She was incredibly turned on and leaking from her cunt and her pussy juice was running down her thighs. Her nipples were hard as diamonds. All thoughts of abstaining from sex, staying away from Prakash and his perverted sex games had fled. 

Once the pants were off, she tried to pull her tee shirt down to cover her crotch. It was a futile effort. The tee shirt was loose and tented out with her large tits, the points of her nipples clearly visible to anyone who looked. The shirt only reached the level of her navel. There was no way it could stretch to cover her crotch. She gave up, her pussy bare for all to see, and her ass out there, proudly in the open.

Through the honking and beeping traffic, red with the embarrassment, she dodged the cars and motorcycles, and crossed the road to the shop, a small hole in the wall where the middle-aged man wearing a skull cap sold his wares. 

She hoped that at least at first glance people would think she was wearing skin-colored tights. She was almost clean shaven, but there was the thin strip of trimmed pubic hair in the front. 

That didn't happen. From the moment he laid eyes on her, the shopkeeper couldn’t take his eyes off her body. She had to repeat herself three times before he would look at her face. 

“Bhaiya, a pack of beedies please.”

Without taking his eyes off her naked lower body, he reached blindly behind him, pulled out a packet of beedies and handed it to her. 

She thanked him and turned to go, feeling his eyes on her naked ass. 

It was only when she had almost reached the road that he suddenly found his voice. “Paisa? Madamji, what about the money?”

She sighed. Her whole body deflated. She had rather hoped he would not ask, that her near-naked body might be distraction enough, but apparently it wasn’t enough of one. The problem, of course, being she had no money. No place to keep money either.

She pointed at the auto rickshaw to where Prakash sat watching and grinning. 

“It’s for him. Don’t you have a khata or something? Where you write down your regular customers’ accounts?”

“I don’t know him,” the man said. “Not a regular customer.”

Swati sighed again and turned back. 

All she had was her body to give. If she returned without the beedies, Prakash might do worse than he was already doing. There was only one thing she had she could bargain with. “I can give you a blow job for this," she said.

Without a word, he took her by the hand into the narrow lane between two buildings and pulled off her tee shirt before he pulled his pants down for the blowjob. She was in no position to protest but kept a careful eye on her only remaining garment that lay a few feet from her on the dusty, garbage-strewn ground.

The man had an average-sized cock but he rammed it into her throat without mercy. She gagged and choked, and that only added to his delight. He kept up a constant stream of obscenities as he fucked her mouth, one hand braced on the wall for support, the other mangling her tits.

When she thought he was going to come, he pulled out abruptly. He pulled her to her feet, turned her, and kicked her legs apart.

Swati sighed, knowing what was coming. 

She braced herself against the wall and waited for penetration. 

It wasn’t long in coming and when it came, it was very welcome. She’d been lubricating for a while and she needed a stiff cock to scratch that itch. 

She was wet enough that he was able to get all the way in with his first thrust. But that was the end of it. 

She saw a blur of motion from the corner of her eye. 

She turned to see the man slumped on the ground, stunned. Prakash towered over him, and now he drew back a foot and kicked the prostrate man in the ribs with his heavy work boot. The shopkeeper groaned but didn’t move much. 

“Son of a bitch,” Prakash said, “trying to play around with my maal!” 

He spat on the man and pulled her up by the elbow. 

Swati bent in half and succeeded in retrieving her shirt which she tried to put on, but Prakash would have none of it. He dragged her through the dark alley, completely naked, and out into the main road and bundled her into the auto.

By the time she was back in the auto, Swati was thoroughly wet and dying for a fuck. She clutched the crumpled shirt in one hand, and pressed herself into Prakash, rubbing her tits and pussy on his arm. He pushed her away as though in disgust. She begged, whimpered, and even tried to ask permission to fuck the auto driver.

"Please," she said, "give me some relief. You hand?" She grabbed his hand and pushed it between her legs. 


The auto driver's eyes nearly popped out with this wanton display and he forgot to start the engine.

Prakash removed his hand from between her legs and yelled at the driver. He finally got the engine started and took off. 

Prakash stopped half a block from the house and had her walk stark naked the rest of the way. 

Swati was more comfortable with this since most of the people there, men and women, had seen her naked at one time or another. 

She even put some swagger into her walk, an extra sway in her hips. 

She’d been left unfulfilled from the shopkeeper’s aborted fuck session and hoped to entice someone, anyone, to come and take her like a whore in the middle of the road, in broad daylight. 

That was if Prakash would allow it. He was sadistic enough that he might not let her have her release.

But then Prakash stopped in front of his building, in the middle of the dusty footpath, and had her give him a blow job. 

She saw a few of the men rubbing their crotches, hoping for a turn with the high-class whore.

Her excitement was at its peak. Several more people came to see what was going on, and Swati got to work, sucking and linking Prakash’s erect member. 

He beamed at the crowd, enjoying his glorious position as the whoremaster of this luscious piece of ass, and the piece of ass enjoyed it equally. Both participants were almost delirious in their perverted desires.

Prakash turned her around so she was facing away from him, but then he had her bend her neck backward so her throat was in line with his cock. He slapped her boobs with both hands and pinched and pulled them as he rammed his dick into her compliant mouth. She was on her knees, her body curved backward, her tits and pussy sticking out, her throat full of his rampant cock. 

Then he’d taken her upstairs where Mahender, Nawaz, and a few other men were waiting impatiently. All the equipment was ready and Mahender had dressed up the walls with all kinds of sex-related equipment. The beds had been moved to a corner, stacked one on top of the other so there was a lot of empty space in the middle. 

Paro, naked and looking a little put out, was busy sucking one of the men in one corner. 

Prakash could see that this was no more than a diversion. 

They were really waiting for Swati, the star whore of the show.

[S Darko]

By the time Prakash goes to fetch Nakul Bhai, it is ten minutes later and the gangster narrows his eyes at him. But he says nothing.


Nakul Bhai grimaces as he climbs the filthy stairs, lined on both sides with betel juice, and looks even more put out when he has to climb through the trap door. 

It takes him a minute to adjust to the darkness, but once he does, his face breaks out into a joyous smile when he finally sees what he has come for.

Swati stands in the middle of the dusty wooden floor, stark naked, her arms tied to opposite sides of the room, a wanton look of pleasure and eroticism on her face. 

There are clamps on her nipples, connected to a chain which then hangs down to her pussy, the lips of which are also similarly clamped. When Nakul Bhai looks carefully, he notices there is a green screen behind her, stretching from floor to ceiling. 

She is beautiful, perfect, her skin creamy white, and there is not a blemish he can see on her. Her nipples are pink, moderately large areolas of a lighter pink, as are her pussy lips, and the inner lips a dusky red. Moisture glistens on her cunt lips, further heightening the eroticism of the scene.

There are accoutrements of sex, all kinds that he can see. He doesn’t know it yet, but that is all Mahender’s doing. So that participants in any scene can pick what they want. This must be some kind of sex heaven, Nakul Bhai thinks, when all you have to do is stretch out your hand and it will be available to you. 

There are whips, clamps, chains, floggers, rope, thick rubber bands, leather belts, paddles, cattle prods and dildos. In fact, one entire wall devoted to dildos, from small ones to motorized ones, to one that looks like it could kill you if they tried to use it on a normal person.

That’s when he becomes aware of a low level buzzing sound and traces it back to the thin stem of the pink dildo stuck in Swati’s pussy.

As he watches her, his mouth agape, her hips go into a frenzy of vibrations, there is fresh wetness on her thighs.

Her eyes roll back and her mouth opens in wide. 

She screams out her orgasm for all to hear.

Nakul Bhai is in lust. 

He has no eyes, but for the whore in the middle of the room. 

He barely notices the woman, Ramona, that accompanied him enter the room, followed by one of the bodyguards. 

The room feels crowded all of a sudden.

[S Darko]

Ramesh is working out at the akhada when his phone buzzes. 

He ignores it and continues swinging the heavy clubs, a set called a jori. They’re large, wooden and cylindrical, with relatively short and narrow handles. 

The rhythm is calming, the motion almost meditative. He will see who it is after he is done.

It is late, and the other wrestlers have finished their workouts and bouts and left. 

Ramesh is alone in the rectangle of sacred soil, which smells of turmeric and spices. The way wrestlers prepare the soil, it is holy and you could eat it without any ill effects. His feet alternately find purchase and he grips the loose earth with his toes. 

When he is finished with his exercises, he bathes in the tube well water at the back of the akhada. He doesn’t mind the coldness of the water that comes up from deep within the earth. He worships all things natural.  

Guruji calls out to him, “Beta Ramesh?”

“Ji Guruji,” he says and appears before the older man as soon as he is decent.

Guruji nods at him and closes his eyes. With his eyes still closed, he speaks. “Today is a day of great moment. A pariksha for you. Are you ready for it?”

Ramesh is confused. 

He has been following the news about the virus and the devastation it is causing but there is nothing particularly special about today. 

He searches Guruji’s face, but half of it is masked. Guruji may be spiritual and religious, but he is no fool. 

Unconsciously, he adjusts his own mask.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about Guruji,” he says with great humility.

Guruji waves his words away. “It is about your Devi. I have had a vision. But, don’t worry. Like Arjun, you will do what is required of you. And when it is done, return home.” 

He spreads his hands, taking in the ashram where he and a few others live. Most of the others have departed for their home towns.

Ramesh is still confused. But he is used to Guruji’s cryptic ways and he just nods.

He eats sattu mixed with water to make a firm dough, a little bit of jaggery, a couple of green chilies.

When he finally picks his phone up, he sees seven missed calls, all from Rashid, the tea stall owner who has become a friend. 

He wonders what it could be. 

It is nearing 10 pm, and he picks up the phone to call Rashid.

[S Darko]

Nakul Bhai is distracted. 

He sits on the chair,  watching Swati perform jumping jacks. 

He's trying to get her large tits to hit her in the face. 

The dildo in her pussy is still buzzing away, and he marvels at her ability to focus on the jumps despite the obvious distraction at the core of her body. 

She is one talented whore, and he wants to put her through her paces, make sure she is what he thinks she is; perfect whore material of the best quality.

Physically, she is fit, toned and with large natural tits, something that is rare. But her fitness doesn’t take away from her natural fleshiness. 

Her buttocks are full and perfect half moons, and yet when she stands there is a small thigh gap. The waist is trim, but he thinks he could pinch about half an inch of fat between his finger and thumb if he tried. He will do that later. Right now, he is trying to humiliate her and see how she takes it. 

So far she is doing well. Very well, in fact.

Nakul Bhai is still torn between selling her off to someone, and keeping her to himself. 

And then there is Arvind to consider. 

His story, if Sammy is to be trusted (and Nakul Bhai isn’t completely sure yet), will change dramatically and very soon, and he will cease to be a problem at all.

He watches, fascinated as her large natural titties sway and fall, sway and fall, bounce enticingly over and over, and then finally one of them slaps her full in the face. She gasps and slows down.

“OK, stop,” he says, “Let’s do something else.

He sits on the wooden chair and motions to Ramona. 

She catches his eye, and he nods, makes a gesture with his eyebrows. 

She doesn’t hesitate, lifts her dress in one smooth motion and drops it to the floor.

Mahender and Prakash are at one corner of the room, observing the proceedings, and participating when called up to do so. 

They know that this is a big and important Bhai, a don of sorts, and it would not do to displease him. He is, after all, here to take possession of the girl. 

Nawaz has just been dispatched to get some booze and food.

Earlier, the men had been so busy playing with their gori whore that Prakash had lost track of the time and Nakul Bhai had almost derailed them. But now things seemed to be a little more controlled even though Nakul Bhai in the middle was clearly calling the shots.

When the foreign looking lady removes her dress, they stare at her mesmerized. 

She isn’t a white woman, a gori, but clearly she is foreign. 

Her features are not Indian at all. 

They have heard Nakul Bhai call her Ramona. 

Mahender and Nawaz watch bug eyed as she drops to her knees in front of Nakul Bhai and fishes his large, peculiar looking dick from his slacks. 

She begins sucking.

It does not take long for him to get fully erect, and by this time the woman can barely contain him in her mouth.

Nakul Bhai waves her away and she goes and stands in the corner, like a piece of furniture.

“Turn around and back up your cunt onto my dick,” Nakul Bhai instructs. 

Swati hesitates, but obeys.

[S Darko]

Sammy parks the car a little distance away from the target house from where he can just about see the SUV in front of the house, but not much more detail.

His knees jiggle, and his fingers beat a tattoo on the steering wheel.

He looks around, peering through the gathering gloom.

He is a little nervous, he admits to himself, but it wouldn’t do to show it to Arvind who is eyeing him with curiosity.

He turns to Arvind, forces a smile and a chuckle. “Nothing. Just waiting.”

“Want a smoke?”

Sammy shakes his head. “No, I don’t smoke. Never did.”

Arvind gives him a sad smile. “I keep trying to give up," he says, and taps the pack in his shirt pocket.

Sammy feels a little bit of some emotion, he isn’t sure if it is guilt or remorse or something else, but he has come to like Arvind.

But he also understands what needs to be done. Nakul Bhai has already told him, and if that weren’t enough, Alexei too has texted him the same thing on WhatsApp.

Arvind says nothing, but he is clearly uncomfortable. His breathing is still a little labored and he coughs a lot.

Sammy finally pulls his cell out of his pocket and makes a call.

Arvind says, “Who? Who are you calling?” His voice is a full octave higher and there is an edge of panic in it.

“One of my men at the butcher’s shop,” he says to Arvind as the connection goes through.

He points into the distance where Arvind can see a few goat carcasses hanging.

“Arvind Bhai is here,” he says into the phone. We will be there in a couple of minutes.”

He listens some more, then hangs up and turns to Arvind. “The guys are in place. The girl is here. Let’s wait over there and make sure we know what’s going on.”

He points to a tea stall, an awning with wooden benches underneath. The old man, the tea seller is busy with a couple of customers, paying no attention to them.

They get out of the car, and walk to the stall. “Two cups of tea, Chacha,” Sammy says and sits down.

There is a darkly tinted SUV near the entrance to Prakash’s building.

Sunny knows it is Nikolai’s car, but he is also certain that the man is upstairs, although he doesn’t know the exact location.

He waits and watches. There is probably one person in the car other than the driver, he knows. This is how they operate.

He sees a sudden green pulsing light in the car.

A phone call.

This must be the signal.

“Let's, go,” he says and gets up without waiting for his tea.

Things are finally in motion.

[S Darko]

Swati backs up, legs bent slightly, hands parting her fleshy buttocks, and slowly, very slowly, settles her pussy on his large, protruding member. 

She can feel the ridges of his strangely shaped cock, the girth of it stretches even her cunt. 

Mahender had sprayed some kind of astringent liquid there and she had tightened up considerably, and now this Russian gangster’s dick was proving to be a tight fit. 


“Impale yourself on my dick,” Nikolai says, comfortably leaning back in his comfortless wooden chair. 

Swati feels humiliated beyond belief by this Russian. 

Prakash briefed her before he went to get the man that he was an important man, a firangi to whom he owed money, and she should therefore be nice to him. 

This isn’t unusual; he has pimped her out a few times before, mostly to the men from the chawl, and she never thought anything of it. 

Truth be told, she was usually deep in her sexual sub-space, not caring who used her body, fucked her holes. 

In that space, in that time, she was in a sexual haze, living only for the next sensation, the next orgasm. 

But this was new. 

The man who walked into the room looked white, but there was something funny about the way he spoke. 

He spoke English, but the accent was weird. She had spoken to Russians before, clients and collaborators, and although they spoke English quite well, they had a specific kind of accent. Most of the people from the former USSR spoke with similar accents. 

This man’s accent was different. His emphasis has been on the wrong consonant more often than not and his vowels not clear enough. 

She didn’t think much more about it, mostly because she sensed a new adventure, more sex, and this time with a foreigner. 

She senses he is rich and powerful, and probably a gangster. 

She had already seen the bulge under his jacket in the back, and knew he was packing a gun, and that only added to her heady sense of impending sexual ecstasies. She sets about pleasing him as well as she can. 

Standing in the middle of the room, she had greeted him with a knee quaking orgasm, and from the way his eyes widened, she had sensed he was quite taken with her. 

Then he had walked into the room, and quite literally taken charge. 

He spoke little, but made his intentions abundantly clear. He had Mahender untie her and her arms had fallen to her sides. She was already quite tired, having had at least three double penetrations already, but the hungry wolf in her body was awake and she was raring to go. 

Nikolai, as he had introduced himself, sat down in the chair and asked her to go through a variety of moves, all designed to show off her best assets. 

The dildo in her cunt kept buzzing away all through the process. 

He hefted her tits in his hands, grunted his approval. He then tested the openings of her cunt and ass with one, then two, and finally three fingers and approved. 

He noted her obedience and alacrity to obey instructions, and turned to Prakash and complimented him on training her well. 

Most of the time he treated her like furniture, rarely speaking to her, and always referring to her as though she wasn’t even there. 

Perversely, this thrilled her like nothing else. To be treated like nothing, a commodity, no more than a sack of potatoes. 

It wasn’t exactly what he said or did. It was more his attitude toward her, a dismissive way, and she felt demeaned and cheapened. 

The chawl men were always grateful for her company, for what she did for them, and it showed in their attitude. This man was different. 

Over the next half hour, Nikolai had her insert various dildos and other devices in her cunt, her asshole, and each time he had her lick them clean afterwards. 

During the time she tried out the different devices, he would have Prakash or Nawaz whip her with the flogger or with the crop, and sometimes with the cane. Nothing severe, but there was a constant barrage of mild pain on her tits, her stomach, and sometimes even her pussy. She could see her skin turning red, but there were no welts or bleeding points. Both men were expert floggers.

He made her hold several poses, some seductive, but mostly just humiliating, although this too wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before. 

He had Mahender take his pants off, and made her lick his asshole, making her stick her tongue into it. She did it all, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. 

He hadn’t touched her other than hefting her tits in the beginning.

Swati could see the prominent bulge in his pants and wondered what was behind the layers of cloth. She didn’t have to wait too long.

He instructed her to do jumping jacks, but with the dildo stuck in her cunt on full vibration. 

It was difficult enough to keep the device in place, but she managed somehow and even started doing the jumping jacks. 

Her breasts jumped all over the place with her movements and ultimately one of them struck her full in the face. 

She had never had that happen before. Always while exercising, she wore a sport bra. She could suck her own nipples, and had done so much to the delight of her many lovers, but she’d never had her own breast hit her in the face. 

She was surprised at how heavy and meaty it was.

Nikolai had laughed at her discomfiture, a nasty, demeaning laugh, a laugh that was aimed at you and not from simple mirth but from malice. The others had remained silent. 

Somehow this felt worse to her than everyone laughing and having a good time, and she stared at the floor, red faced. 

But this was fine with her, at least judging by her body’s reaction. 

She had never felt so alive, her cunt had never tingled more. He nipples felt like they were on fire. Her whole body, despite the shame, was alive with an animation that was more than sexual. It was a release, a culmination, an apogee of sex. 

But Nikolai had moved on. 

He sat back and beckoned to the foreign looking woman who removed her dress in one swift move. What was this? Some kind of orgy?

But the woman, Ramona, only fished out Nikolai’s cock and started sucking on it like a lollipop. 

The cock was fascinating though. It was pale like the rest of him, but full of bumps and knobs, like one of the dildos on the wall. She’d used one not too long ago to satisfy the Russian. 

When the Russian’s cock was as hard as it would get, she had an eyeful of the monstrosity. The woman moved off to one side and stood with Mahender, who was pantless. He started pawing at her breasts. From the way they stood proud of her chest, she could tell they were fake, but they were beautiful nonetheless. The woman resisted, but then gave in, and even started fisting his still erect cock. 

Swati began to feel like this was some kind of test, an audition of sorts, although she had no idea what it was for. 

She started to feel uneasy. She wanted to ask Prakash what was going on, but he seemed to be in the white man’s thrall and stood to one side, saying nothing. 

She wished Paro was in the room to provide some support. 

And so, back to the present, she wiggles her hips, spreads her legs further, widening her pelvis and the cock head settles in her vulva. 

She gives a slight push, and Nikolai’s cock enters her. 

“Now fuck yourself on my cock,” he instructs. 

Obediently, she pushes back and forth. His knobby cock, she realizes is hard like plastic, like the dildos she has used. He must’ve enhanced his cock with some kind of plastic. But the feelings are pleasurable, and he stretches her pussy walls like no one, not even Nawaz, he of the orange sized cock head.

She focuses on the unique sensations the new cock in her is providing, the friction, the pressure of the enhanced cock. Someday perhaps all men might be enhanced, and provide unlimited pleasure to their women. 

She settles into a bent over position, her hands on her knees, supporting her upper torso, legs bending and straightening with every impalement. Nikolai is really doing none of the work, just sitting there and letting her fuck herself on his cock. 

She is about to come, and come big, when Prakash, coming out of nowhere, sticks his cock all the way into her throat and pinches her nose shut. 

Her mouth has been open, panting, her eyes closed, and he must not have been able to wait, to resist this opportunity.

She vaguely hears Nikolai say, “Behenchod!” His accent is typical Northern UP.

As she becomes hypoxic from being unable to breathe, her orgasm builds. 

And then she erupts like a volcano.

The orgasm flows like a tidal wave into her belly and curls her toes and she is shaking like an epileptic and if the men are saying anything, she can’t hear them. 

[S Darko]

Arvind gets up from the bench following Sammy’s lead, his movements labored. 

He is still recovering from the effects of the virus despite all the rest and medications. 

He is able to smoke again, but not very much. He smokes four or five a day now, but only half the cigarette. 

He really should quit, he thinks for the umpteenth time.


There is something strange, he thinks as he crosses the street behind Sammy. Things are moving faster than he’d envisaged, quicker than he’d like.

They’d sat down, and ordered tea. 

Sammy had watched the tinted SUV intently. Then there was a green light, like the LED on a phone. 

One of the older models. 

A call had been received.

Sammy had jumped up, ready to go.

It was an automatic action. What had changed?

He’d trusted Sammy implicitly. After all, he’d come to the hospital immediately when he had called. Also, a trusted guy for Alexei, his partner. 

He is vaguely aware that the tea shop owner is looking at him open-mouthed. Perhaps he's worried about the payment for the tea. Or is it something else? 

“Wait,” he says, “what are we doing? Is Swati up there?”

“Yeah,” Sammy says over his shoulder. “I told you she’s there.” He injected more urgency into his voice, “But we have to go now. Remember, you are talking to the Russian, keep him distracted, and I’ll take her away.”

That sounds like a hare-brained scheme. Stupid and reckless.

“Is it just him and the girl? Are there others?” he asks, and immediately realizes it must not be the case. 

Both Sammy and he are armed. There might be a civilized negotiation, and the guns just to enforce that, but there might be a shootout too. 

But then, he knows Nikolai, even though he’s met him only once. Surely some kind of accommodation can be reached?

“You think we can talk it out?”

“We might, if you’re a good talker. Otherwise, we have this.” He pats the small of his back where he has his gun. 

Arvind hopes this won’t come to a shootout. Perhaps if they take the gang by surprise, they would have a chance. 

Yes, that would be best. Go in quickly before the gangsters have a chance to pull their weapons. 

Right now they must be fucking the girl. 

Swati, he thinks, I’m coming for you, and you have no idea what I have in store for you.

He dismisses his concerns and silences the alarm that is going off in his reptile brain. 

Rationality and logic overcome the primal instinct. 

He focuses on his breathing, trying deep inhales, trying to oxygenate his virus-ravaged body.

They are in the middle of the street now, Sammy’s large bulk still covering his line of sight but also protecting him. 

Sammy looks left, then right. No cars or other vehicles coming. 

No passers-by either. 

Other than the tea seller and two customers, none of whom seem to be paying them any attention. Even the tea seller is focused on his saucepan, tea filter, whatever.

They near the other side of the street, and Sammy starts to veer away, toward the left.

He can see the SUV now. 

There is a man climbing out of the front seat. 

Not the driver’s side. The other side, the side that’s away from him, and therefore the one he cannot see clearly.

The man steps clear of the car.

There’s something in his hand. 

The late afternoon sun glints off it. 

Metal.

A few nanoseconds later, he thinks, gun.

A few more nanoseconds pass before he reaches behind him to remove his own gun. 

Even as he does so, he knows it is too late.

A horrific punch in his chest and he is thrown back into the street. 

He looks down at his chest. 

Surely the man was too far away to punch him, land a blow. 

When he sees the redness pouring out of the center of his chest, he understands. 

It must have been a 45 cal, he thinks. 

Big fucking bullet.

Then, there is no more time, and the darkness engulfs him. 

Swati, he thinks as he fades away. 

Swati. 

The bitch is responsible for this…

[S Darko]

Arvind. His POV. I can't edit it.

[S Darko]

Sammy and the other bodyguard, a man named Hari, wrestle Arvind’s body into the trunk of the SUV and cover it with a blanket. 

Hari works smoothly, precisely, like a man who has done this many times before. 

Sammy is relatively new to this, but not a stranger to violence. 


He wonders about this man. 

Would he too become like Hari in time? Is this what he really wants? 

He knows he was destined for a life of crime, and he doesn’t have much education, so there are no good jobs for him. 

The only way he can earn good money is in his present line of work. 

He feels a sudden panic, as though his life has boxed him in. 

Would he too take lives, casually stuff bodies into the backs of SUVs in time? 

Hari scans the street. Sammy copies him. 

No one is visible. 

The tea seller and his customers have vanished. 

No one wants trouble, especially the kind that attracts the cops. 

Also, because of the Chinese virus, people are hesitant to go out. Many people wear masks, and that’s a good thing for criminals. 

Sammy reaches in casually, pulls Arvind’s gun from his hand, and reaches into his jacket for the suppressor. 

An auto rickshaw putters down the street. 

It is the old man from the chawl, and Sammy has seen his around on his reconnaissance missions, but doesn’t know his name. 

They wait for the auto to pass all the way to the end of the street.

A few huts down the lane someone is lighting a chula, and sparks and smoke fly out and then settle as the fire gets going in the clay stove. 

As the SUV hatch closes, Hari’s phone rings. 

“Ji Bhai?”

The speaker is loud enough that he can hear Nakul Bhai say, “Tommy, bring Tommy.”