[S Darko]

“Come, suck my cock,” Nikolai says. 


Swati has just come down from the high of an intense orgasm, and even though she would have liked to curl up in the fetal position on the floor, she is still held in place by Prakash’s dick in her mouth and Nikolai’s in her cunt. 

She can still feel the aftershocks of her pulsing pussy walls, the muscles in her perineum. 

She pushes Prakash away and he doesn’t complain. 

Then she pulls herself off the Russian and turns around, her vision still a little wobbly. 

Nikolai pulls his trousers off, taking care not to let the gun fall to the floor. 

He takes the weapon and places it close to hand and sits down again. 

Swati reaches for his cock and starts sucking.

It is as she had guessed. His cock has been enhanced with small beads under the skin. 

It isn’t a small cock to begin with, but with the additional hardware, it is enormous and she can barely fit her jaws around it. 

She soon tires of the large cock, her jaws aching, and she changes her routine. 

She starts liking up and down his length, long and slow strokes all along the shaft. He seems to like it judging by the appreciative noises he makes. That's really good coming from someone presumably jaded with so much sex that is so easily available. 

She takes his balls, one at a time and sucks on them, noting that he is clean-shaven or perhaps lasered. His whole groin is smooth and soft. 

Like he’s had all the hair there lasered away. She can see nor feel any stubble. And also, there is no bad smell like is usual with these chawl types. 

She lifts his cock and balls and with her eyes closed, tongues the skin between the base of his scrotum and his asshole, the chad, as they call it. 

The Russian lifts both feet off the ground and gives her access. 

She reaches further and experimentally licks the small pucker of his anus. 

She has a vision of him, leaning back in his chair, his legs raised in the air and it feels ridiculous.

“Aaah!” cries the gangster.

Swati’s eyes fly open. 

Had she inadvertently hurt him? 

Or was that a cry of ecstasy? 

Her eyes fall on the target. 

There is a patch of dark brown skin. 

About the size of a postage stamp. 

On his gooch. 

It feels the same, and tastes the same, but there is no question in her mind that is his normal, natural skin color. 

All of a sudden everything falls into place. 

This is no white man. 

Even the odd accent, the strong command of Hindi, but not English, is explained.

Swati pulls her head out from between his legs and looks up. 

Nikolai is looking down at her. Their eyes meet.

She knows. 

He knows that she knows. She can see it in his eyes. The shock, the fear, the sudden pallor.

And she knows that he knows she knows. 

His cover is blown and his days of passing as a foreigner are over. 

Vaguely, she hears Prakash say, “Bitch, I’m selling your ass to him. He’s paying me a lot of money, ten petis! I’m going to be a rich man!” There is glee in his tone and he is practically chortling. 

The words take a few seconds to sink in. She is still in the afterglow of orgasm, and she has just had a major revelation. 

But ten lakhs? Is that all she’s worth? 

Then it hits her. 

Prakash is selling her. 

Like he owns her. 

She is now really a commodity to be bought and sold like a cow or a goat. 

She is well aware of what this might mean. 

They will drag her away by force and sell her somewhere else. She has read articles on human trafficking and human slavery. She has seen the documentaries. 

Possibly a brothel in a different city from where she will find it difficult to escape, or perhaps sold to a rich man in a foreign country. 

She would be a sex slave, to be fucked over and over and over, and worse, until she was reduced to a used-up old hag and then she would be discarded. 

Her dream of only a few weeks ago when she lay half delirious in the cold, shivering and naked in the mori right behind this building would come true. 

Panic builds in her gut to a crescendo and her gorge rises. 

She thinks she might throw up.

She starts to rise, to get some modicum of control over the situation when she sees the white man, no, the not-white man nod at someone behind her.

The next thing she feels is the sting of a needle in her neck and within a few moments everything starts to swim, the floor becomes the ceiling, she floats toward it. 

Everything fades to black.

[S Darko]

Sammy looks at Hari, and Hari points at the back of the SUV. 

He opens the door and a large black dog jumps out. 

When the dog is on the ground, the animal is almost at his waist. 

And Sammy is no small man.


“Fucking…” he says, looking at the animal. “What kind of dog is this? Looks like a fucking cheetah or something. 

He makes shooing motion, “Get him the fuck away from me.”

Hari laughs uncontrollably. He holds his sides and shakes with mirth while Sammy looks on, less than amused. 

There is something weird about the way Hari laughs. He makes a noise as he inhales, a snorty-screechy sound, and the exhale is almost soundless. 

Repeated over and over.

The dog looks straight ahead after sniffing his crotch, and his shoes, and apparently deciding there is no threat from Sammy. 

Sammy notices one more weird thing. 

The dog is wearing thick, pink socks on his feet. Paws. Whatever. 

But, weirdly, only his front paws are covered.

When he finally catches his breath, Hari says, “This is Nakul Bhai’s special doggy. It is a Doberman and Labrador mix I’m told, but what do I know of dogs? But he has one special gift, or rather, I should say, ability. And that’s the reason Nakul Bhai has him.”

He winks elaborately. 

His demeanor is not that of one who has shot and killed and concealed the body of a man not fifteen minutes ago. His manner is carefree, debonair even. 

And Sammy is not loving it. Not that he expects Hari to be somber or anything, but the breezy, even buoyant air Hari affects bothers Sammy.

Sammy wonders why or how he had missed the dog when they were stuffing poor Arvind in there. 

Sammy can sense what Hari is driving at with his comment about the dog's special abilities, but plays dumb.

“Great guard dog?” he ventures, in reply to the unasked question.

Hari laughs even more. 

His cackles seem to say he expected this kind of stupid ass remark from Sammy. 

The noise of Hari's laughter has started to grate on Sammy’s ears, and he feels weird, like he might do something he would later regret. 

He reins his temper, something he has become rather good at. 

He hasn’t ever killed a man, not in cold blood like the man Hari. Hari is a stone-cold killer. 

But Hari is riling him and testing his patience to the point he, Sammy wouldn’t mind taking Hari's head off. 

Hari stands almost a head shorter. Well, maybe half a head. 

And Sammy surely outweighs him by at least twenty kilos. That's pretty significant.

Suddenly Sammy makes up his mind. “You sit in the car. I’ll take the dog up.” 

He feels the urgent need to see what this special skill the dog has. 

But before that, he feels the imperative to do one more thing. 

The dog has been pretty docile so far, but its size is intimidating. 

He grabs the dog’s leash, and ties it to the iron grill fronting the stairs.

“Get in the car,” he says with urgency in his voice. “There’s something you need to know.” 

Hari looks at him uncomprehendingly but moves to obey. 

There is something about Sammy’s tone and posture that Hari instinctively obeys even though he is senior to Sammy in this business. They haven’t even met before, and they only know each other through Nakul Bhai. 

Hari hurries to the driver’s door and gets in. 

Sammy follows around the back and opens the front passenger door. 

He flings it open.

As Hari turns to look at him, he fires twice into his head from a distance of no more than three feet. 

Thud, thud. 

As loud as a cough, but not readily recognizable as gunshots. 

Hari slowly keels forward and slumps over the steering wheel,but thankfully does not press the horn.

Sammy mentally thanks Arvind for bringing the silencer with him. 

Together with his 22 caliber pistol, the sound suppression is really good. 

He doubts it would work as well with a 45 caliber.

He examines his work. 

The bullets have entered the man’s head, one at the temple, and one just below the eye, and there is no exit wound. 

There is barely any bleeding. That's the good thing about a 22. Not much mess. But still decent results.

Sammy shuts the door, walks around, glancing left and right to see if anyone is paying attention, and finds no one other than the tea shop man, who is busy making tea. 

He opens the driver’s side door, and pushes Hari over. 

As the dead Hari slumps into the passenger seat, he snags on the middle console. 

Sammy manhandles him over the knobs and stuff in the middle and slides him over. 

When he is done, he is sweating and out of breath. 

One last thing. He sits in the seat, pushes the man forward and pulls the gun out of the back of his waistband, and adds it to his own collection. 

Three guns now. His own, Arvind's and now Hari's.

He exits the car, unties the dog, and goes up the stairs. 

[S Darko]

Ramesh calls Rashid. He picks up on the very first ring. In fact, Ramesh can't tell if it even rang. 


“Ramesh Bhai?” The man's voice is a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Come as soon as you can.” Rashid sounds out of breath, as though he’s been running or is in the grip of some strong emotion. 

Not good either way. 

“What happened?”

“Something bad. I don’t have a good feeling about this. There is a gora here, upstairs, and a couple of cars. And also a dog.”

Ramesh thinks Rashid is too agitated. He needs to get the old man to slow down, give him a coherent picture. 

“Is the madam there?”

“Yes, she’s been here for a while. I think…hai ,.'! They killed a man. Then the other man, he killed the other man.”

“Wait Rashid Bhai, where are you? Take a deep breath and get a hold of yourself. This is important.”

He waits while Rashid takes a few deep, shuddering breaths. 

“Now tell me where are you?”

“Tea shop. Hiding behind the cart with the chula and gas. I have a gunny sack over me. I’m okay…unless they come right up here looking for me.”

“Okay…” at least he was getting somewhere. “What can you see?”

Rashid took in a breath and slowly exhaled. “There’s a very big man coming down the stairs. Another one is following him, smaller man. There’s a big car. The car the white man came in. There is a dead man in the car in the front, and one in the back. The big guy killed the one in the front, and one of the dead guys killed the guy in the back. Madam is upstairs…I think bad men are doing… things to her.” 

It is a long speech for Rashid, usually a man of few words. 

Rashid is also a man unused to violence. 

He isn’t making a lot of sense right now, but Ramesh can surmise that there is some mayhem going on. 

He fingers the gun in his waistband. 

He had sixteen bullets in the magazine, and that’s all he has. 

Not like in the movies where the hero has unlimited ammunition. 

He is also not sure if he is the hero in this story. 

Maybe this is Swati madam’s story and she needs to be the hero. 

“Is there any shouting? People running about? Gunshots? Anything like that?”

“No…nothing like that. All is calm. I can see the lights and movements upstairs in your room…Prakash and Nawaz I mean…but the bullets were quiet. Except the first one and that was loud, but it was a while ago and no one is doing anything right now…so…when are you coming?”

Ramesh nods, then realizes he is on the phone. “Yes, I’m coming, I’m on my way. You stay hidden and stay safe Rashid Bhai.”

[S Darko]

Swati is groggy, her vision swims, and she can barely focus on what is going on around her. 

She is aware she is being fucked in the ass. 

Wait, there’s someone in her pussy too. 

There’s a man below her and one behind her, but she has no idea who they are. 

She isn’t having an orgasm, but seems to be on the edge of one for a really long time. 

She strains to come, and adjusts the angles of thrust, but remains on the edge. 

She moves enthusiastically for a few minutes, and the men grunt their appreciation. There are moans and more grunts, and she realizes after a moment they are coming from her. The orgasm hits her suddenly and she is spasming and convulsing on two cocks. The orgasm goes on for a long time.


Her vision grows black at the edges and she goes away for a bit. 

When she next awakens, she is on the ground, on her side. 

Someone, Prakash is trying to feed her something. 

A banana. 

She recognizes the smell and the mushy texture.

Ten petis, she remembers. 

What are ten petis? 

She remembers all the Bollywood movies where they mention that term. 

Oh yes, that’s a lakh, so ten lakhs. Wait, is it a lakh or a crore? No, crore is called khokha, not peti. 

It seems an unreasonably small amount for her. She is to be sold, and that too for ten lakhs, and it seems absurdly low. 

Why, she knows what she looks like, and she should be worth crores. 

But wait, why must she be sold? 

Is it because she has become a whore? 

Where is Vicky, her pimp. She is having a hard time keeping fantasy, dream and reality separate. 

She is a whore, right? 

Why else is she in this room, getting fucked in all her holes? 

Wasn’t she a software engineer? 

Or was that a dream? 

And also she had a son. And a husband. Were those dreams or fantasies as well? 

Ashok, she remembers. That's her husband. He's in the hospital isn't he?

The Chinese virus. Her in-laws were dead, and Ashok was fighting for his life. And Arvind? She can't remember what his status is. 

She struggles upright. 

The room swims and she sees a white man sitting in a chair with a green screen behind him. Who is he? 

Wait. She remembers. 

He’s no white man. He just has that skin condition. 

She struggles to remember the name of the condition. It seems suddenly important, but the name refuses to come.

There is a crash. 

The trap door in the room’s floor creaks open and a large man comes through. 

She blinks. 

She doesn’t recognize the man.

There’s a dog in the room. 

A big fucking black dog. 

And look how cute—he has pink socks on!

She giggles at the sight.

[S Darko]

Sammy leads the dog into the room.


As soon as Nikolai sees him, he narrows his eyes. The man is nothing if not paranoid. Probably why he has survived for so long in this business. “Where’s Hari?” Nikolai says.

“He went to the sulabh shauchalaya.” He pats his stomach. “Something he ate probably.”

Nikolai continues to view Sammy with suspicion, but then he nods. 

The dog bounds over to him, and he pets it, scratching between its ears, patting his head, good dog, good dog.  

“Chal," he says to Sammy, "you go on downstairs. I will be a while.”

Sammy doesn’t move right away. 

Nikolai turns away from him and addresses the three men he knows as Prakash and Nawaz, and the third one he doesn’t know, but the third guy has a large camera in his hands and he isn’t wearing pants. His dick hangs limp and low.

Prakash and Nawaz manhandle the woman on the floor. She doesn’t seem to be in any distress but isn’t helping them either. 

There is a funny sound coming from her and he realizes after a second that she’s giggling. 

They position the woman on her hands and knees, her side to Nikolai, presumably so he can get the best view of what is to happen. 

The woman is magnificent. She has perfect symmetry, and her tits and ass, and belly are in perfect proportion. 

On all fours, her tits hang down and look larger than they really are, and Sammy can see how a heterosexual man would go for that kind of thing. Even drool over the sight. Her coloring is also creamy and perfect. 

Sammy can see what the fuss is all about. 

There are welts on her ass and tits and belly, reaching almost to her pussy which is red and gaping. 

Her asshole too. 

She has been abused. 

A lot.

The sight does nothing for him sexually, but there is something wrong. He can tell. 

The woman is clearly drugged, and there’s something going on here that’s not quite right. 

He remembers what Alexei told him, and also what Arvind and later Nikolai told him. 

They had told him about a high-class woman they were going to traffic. 

Sell her somewhere. 

He hadn’t given it a lot of thought, but now it all comes back to him. 

There are so many things he is supposed to do. 

Help Arvind take her away from here. 

Help Nikolai neutralize Arvind. 

Help Aleksi to make sure the girl gets into the container. 

And then he has his own agenda. 

And it is all starting to become a bit too much. 

“Nawaz,” Nikolai says, “go get some food and booze for us. I’d rather we went to my place, but now that we're settled here, lets have some fun.” 

He recites a list of things for Nawaz to get and hands him some money. 

Nawaz scurries off.

The woman is on all fours, unsteady and already slumping to one side like her arms aren’t strong enough to support her body. 

The dog looks around and settles on the woman whom he regards with curiosity.

Sammy watches Nawaz leave the room. 

Sammy isn’t sure what he will do in the future, whether he will become a hardcore gangster or a law-abiding citizen, but he decides in the moment, that there is one thing he will not do. 

He will not allow Nikolai to traffic this woman. 

He glances about the room. There is another naked woman on the far side of the room. 

She is beautiful too, but in a different, hard and cheap way. 

Her expression is glazed, disinterested. 

She has a cock in her hand, the guy with the camera next to her has his eyes closed, presumably in ecstasy from the handjob. 

The second bodyguard stands on the other side, their bodies not touching. 

He is trying to look neutral, but there is no mistaking the lust in his eyes, and his expression. 

Sammy thinks the bodyguard is hoping to get second dibs on at least one of the women. 

Too bad, he thinks, too fucking bad. 

“What?” Nikolai says, “What’re you waiting for?” He sounds impatient, annoyed. 

He sounds like a person who is accustomed to being obeyed immediately, at all times.

“I need some help downstairs,” Sammy says. He nods at the second bodyguard. “Can he come with me?”

The bodyguard looks at Nikolai, and Nikolai at him. “Rasik?” Nikolai says.

“Rasik,” Sammy says, and wonders at the strange name and appropriateness of it.

“Why? What do you want?” Rasik says, clearly unhappy with having to leave the room.

The dog starts sniffing everyone’s crotch and eventually settles on the woman on the floor. 

She is positioned as a bitch might be, and the dog seems interested. 

He circles her a couple of times and settles behind her. 

He looks expectantly at his master, Nikolai, waiting for the command. 

Sammy ignores the sight in front of him. 

It is an effort, but he does it. 

He can very well imagine the perversions that have taken place, that will take place now. 

But hopefully not to this woman in the future.

“I need help to move… some stuff.”

Nikolai’s face clears. He understands. “Go with him,” he says to Rasik. 

The latter looks disappointed but obeys. 

There’s not a lot else he can do. 

Presumably, he is getting paid a lot to put up with this kind of shit. 

Sammy steps aside and allows Rasik to precede him down the rickety stairs. 

When they reach the ground, Rasik looks around with an irritated air and says, “Where. What?”

They’re still a little distance from the car, and Rasik cannot see anything. 

In any case one would have to be right at the window to see inside, they’re so heavily tinted. Illegal, but really, who cares?

“Keep your voice down,” Sammy says in a loud whisper. “We have to take care of the body.”

Immediately chastened, Rasik matches the whisper. “Where is it?”

Sammy reaches the back door and opens it slowly. “In here,” he says and Rasik leans forward.

Sammy pushes the man headfirst into the vehicle with his left hand and pulls the gun out with his right. 

He presses the barrel to the back of the man’s head. 

Rasik is smaller than Hari, and therefore way smaller than Sammy. He goes limp. 

Sammy senses some kind of move, some kind of martial arts shit, a way to lower his defenses and retaliate. 

He doesn’t wait for it. 

He fires twice. 

No exit wounds from the 22. 

The small bullets are presumably rattling around in the man’s brain. 

He bundles the man into the back seat and shuts the door. 

He looks around, sees some movement at the tea shop. 

The same one where he forgot to pay. Is the guy still there? 

The streetlights come on but do precious little to dispel the gloom. 

In the distance, he sees a large figure walking purposefully toward the house.

[S Darko]

Nawaz trembles. 

He tries to light a beedi, but his hands are shaking too badly, and he drops the beedi and match on the road. 

He has been dispatched to get food and booze and he has been dawdling. 


Nawaz has no idea what is going to happen, but in his heart, he feels nothing but impending doom. 

Nakul Bhai and his goons and that foreign madam, all have combined to unsettle him. 

Yes, it was true that Nakul Bhai had promised him five lakhs and double that amount to Prakash as finders’ fees, but there was still something that the guns and the aura of violence surrounding these newcomers brings out the worst fears in his mind. 

Nawaz tamps down on his fears and walks back. 

As he nears the house in the chawl, he can see a big man standing at the foot of the stairs, looking indecisive. 

Nawaz has no idea who this man is. 

This isn’t one of Nakul Bhai’s men, but he isn’t sure. 

Instead of approaching like a homeowner should, he ducks into a lane between two adjacent buildings. 

This is technically no man’s land, and people use it to dump their garbage. 

The place stinks, but Nawaz is unfazed. 

He has always lived in squalor.

He watches the large man as he paces up and down. 

Then the big man fixates on something in the distance, something beyond him, hazy in the gloom. 

Nawaz gets up the courage to peek out. A bulky figure approaches. 

Smaller than the big man at the foot of the stairs, but not small like himself. 

It is foggy and difficult to see, but in a minute, there is no mistaking Ramesh. 

He wonders what the crazy guy will do when he sees Nakul Bhai. 

Ramesh is weird. He just watches and never takes part in all the fun and games they get up to with Swati or even Paro. Constantly muttering something about Devis and temples, or reciting the Hanuman Chalisa under his breath.

Ramesh walks with long strides up to the big guy. 

Ramesh is smaller and less bulky, but Nawaz has a feeling that if it came to a showdown, Ramesh would win easily. 

There is something about the way he carries himself, a feline grace, but also predatory.

Ramesh reaches the big guy and they talk for a bit. 

Then, as though they’d rehearsed it, they climb up the rickety stairs. 

The trap door falls open with a crash and Nawaz can feel the wooden structure tremble even from where he crouches. 

[S Darko]

Ramesh sees the big man standing at the foot of the stairs, pacing about as though unsure of what he wants to do. 

Ramesh had called Rashid when he entered the lane and learned that the big man was waiting downstairs, but he did not know who he was. The man had, however, killed one of the white man’s people, so perhaps he was on their side. 


Ramesh, of course, does not know, but the idea of the enemy of an enemy appeals to him. 

He thinks perhaps this is an opportunity to use Chanakya neeti, as Guruji often tells him. 

“Hello,” he says, “What’s going on?” 

His tone is neutral, even friendly. 

He notices this guy is almost six, perhaps seven inches taller than himself, and very well built. Gym muscles, he guesses. 

Not a fighter, but you never knew these days. 

Ramesh fumbles in his pocket and notices the man tense, and then relax as he brings out a bundle of beedies. 

He offers one, and the man hesitates, then accepts. 

He lights both their smokes with one match, and they puff away for a few seconds. 

Until the big man coughs uncontrollably. 

“You don’t smoke?”

The big man shakes his head.

“Then why?”

The man continues to shake his head and cough. When he can finally speak, he says, “This is the second time today someone offered me a smoke. First time it didn’t go so well for the guy.”

Ramesh considers. 

He eyes the dark SUV that stands a few feet away. He nods at the big boat of a car. “Are you with them?”

The big man cuts his eyes at the car and seems to consider the question. Then he shakes his head. “No, not really. I’m Sammy, by the way.” 

He doesn’t offer his hand to shake or anything, and Ramesh merely tilts his head in acknowledgment. 

“You killed one of their men,” Ramesh says. 

He narrows his eyes and watches Sammy. The latter says nothing for a long moment.

“They’re bad people,” he finally says. “And it’s two of their men, not one.” 

Sammy tries another drag off the beedi, coughs again, and throws the smoke into the gutter. “I’d be game to save the woman if possible.”

“Swati madam. She’s up there, right?”

Sammy’s face droops. “Swati, huh? I think they’ve drugged her. I know Nikolai, the Russian guy is going to take her away, sell her… that’s what he does.” 

Sammy brings up a huge hand, large as a wicketkeeper’s glove, and wipes his face, rubbing especially hard at his eyes. 

“What’s your interest in the madam?”

Sammy considers the question. He raises his hand to his lips as though to take another puff, but realizes there is no beedi in his hand. He grimaces. “I was with them, yes, but not really involved in their operations if you understand what I mean. As for the madam, well… I have no personal interest. I'd just like to save her. She seems like a good woman." He takes a breath, hesitates as though before imparting some great secret. "I play for the other team, you know.” He raises his eyebrows and looks meaningfully at Ramesh. 

Ramesh’s eyes narrow further and his mind races. There might not be a lot of time, but this guy could be an ally. “You have a gun?”

“Three,” says Sammy. 

“And how many people up there?”

Sammy thinks about it and then says, “There’s Nikolai, the foreign woman, and two other men. One of them probably lives there. The other has a camera. There used to be a third, but he went out, to get food.”

So Prakash and Mahender were there. And Nawaz has probably gone out. This was probably not the best time to tell Sammy that he too lived in that room. 
“No other women?” 

He hopes Paro isn’t there. It will only complicate matters.

Sammy shakes his head.

“I assume the white man has a gun?” 

“Oh yes, I saw it there, by his side. It’s a big one,” Sammy says.

“Okay, let's go,” Ramesh says, making up his mind. This is a do-or-die situation. 

For him. 

For the madam. 

He starts toward the stairs and steps on the first rung. 

“Wait,” Sammy says. “There’s the dog. He’s huge, and he belongs to Nikolai. I’m not sure…”

Ramesh looks back at him. “Dogs, I can manage,” he says. 

Yes indeed, he can manage dogs. All kinds of dogs. 

It is, in fact, a superpower that he has.

[S Darko]

Swati is getting the fucking of her life. 

Even after three orgasms that have left her panting and squirming with pleasure, the fucking hasn’t stopped. 

Whoever it is, dumps what seems to be a copious amount of semen into her. 

He dismounts and turns away from her, but their genitals are still engaged. There seems to be a large knob of some kind in the cock that prevents it from coming out. 


She follows the pull of the cock, her vagina deformed and bulging, crawling backward on all fours, giggling. 

Vaguely she can hear the men laughing, making ribald comments in the background. 

This is fun. 

But also demeaning. 

Humiliating.

The darkness creeps in at the edges, and she wonders how everything went to shit so fast. 

She remembers her dream from when she was chained up at the mori. How fast and how far she had fallen. 

Was this fucking from the dog? The one with the pink socks? Or was it one of the men, or maybe more than one man? She can’t focus her thoughts, but it could’ve been the dog.

Good dog. Yeah, good dog. 

The orgasms are next level now. 

Must be the drug, whatever they injected her with. 

She peaks high, and often and sometimes endlessly. 

There is no equivalent in her life’s experience. 

This is what paradise or heaven must be. 

Endless ecstasy.

Back to the present. 

The cock has withdrawn, and she still has a small orgasm. She can visualize the spasming of her pussy, her whole pelvis, even though her eyes are closed.

She never signed up for being fucked by animals. 

This must be something the not-white man has done. 

She glances over at him in his chair, but he isn’t there. In fact, he is right in her face, grinning like a maniac.

“Good girl,” he says, in a tone very similar to when he’s petted his dog and called it a good dog. 

His pants are off now, and all he wears is a green striped shirt and a jacket. 

He waves his own cock at her, holding it at the base, the large plastic phallus whistling through the air. 

He smacks her face with it, back and forth, and it is like being struck with a rubber baton. Or a huge dildo. 

The bottom of the shirt is parted and his large cock sticks out of the opening like a bizarre mutant fruit from a weird tree. 

“Suck,” he says. “You will fetch quite a price I think. So many skills. But before I sell you, I will have some fun with you.” He considers. “Maybe a week. Or a month or two. Then I’ll sell you. I have a good friend in Dubai…what’s the matter? Suck!”

And she opens her mouth and obligingly sucks. 

Sex has become automatic now. Her body craves it. 

There was something in the injection they gave her, she is sure. 

She has a few lucid moments, and then she sinks back into a helpless sexual quagmire.

She has moments of rage, but soon they are overcome with the cravings of her flesh. 

The sex is so, so good, that she can even intellectualize her sale, her potential sexual slavery.

Who knew, she might end up in Africa, the sex slave for a black man with a really enormous dick. 

She can’t get enough dick.

She lives, she now feels, for cock, to be subjugated by cock. To be endlessly fucked. Over and over.

The trap door crashes open and she only has to turn her head slightly to see who it is. 

She still has the not-white man’s cock in her mouth and he is leaning forward at the hips,  his eyes closed. 

A large man bursts in. 

She has seen him before, earlier today in fact. 

Why, he was the one that brought the dog. 

Her mind pivots. 

She thinks about the trapdoor. 

This is a weird way to design a room—with the entrance in the floor. She’s never thought about this before even though she’s been in this room quite a bit. 

Swati’s vision shifts. 

The man has a gun in his hand. Oh, he has a gun in his hand. Oh shit! He has a gun. But she’s seen guns. Her father had one and taught her to use it. The man who calls himself Nikolai has one, a shiny, big gun. It is right now near the chair, just a few feet away from where he stands. 

Nikolai has stopped thrusting into her mouth. He sees the big man and says, “Sammy? Sammy, what the fuck?”

Sammy doesn’t reply.

A second man follows. 

She knows this one too. 

Oh, look, it’s Ramesh. 

She feels uncontrollable laughter when she realizes it is Ramesh and she falls about giggling. 

The cock slips from her mouth and Nikolai hasn’t even noticed. 

He is too busy being shocked at the sudden appearance of the two men, both brandishing guns. 

Swati sees his eyes dart about furiously, presumably in search of his own weapon. 

Something shifts in Swati’s consciousness, and she looks around the room. 

There are Ramona and Mahender in the corner, and Prakash standing behind Ramona, all clustered together. 

Nikolai, several feet away from them, stands in front of her. To her left is Nikolai’s gun. 

She estimates it to be about five feet away. 

“Raise your hands slowly, all of you,” Sammy says.

Nikolai obeys, and Prakash, Mahender, and Ramona follow suit.

Swati wonders where Nawaz has gone off to.

[S Darko]

Ramesh is not sure what to do next. His eyes take in the surroundings.


The tableau is frozen. Prakash, Mahender, and Ramona in one corner, next to the green screen. 

In the foreground stands the white man, his monster of a cock still erect, his hands up. 

There is a dog, standing midway between the white man and the three figures huddled in the corner. It is a huge dog, black and menacing. Incongruously, it wears pink socks on its forepaws. 

The dog growls, bares its teeth and takes a half step forward at the interlopers. 

Sammy takes a step back, pointing the gun at the large animal. Ramesh can feel the fear coming off him in waves.

Ramesh though holds his ground, and crouches down to the level of the animal’s eyes. 

He fixes the dog with his steely gaze, and his head tilts to one side. 

A brief staring match ensues. 

Then the dog looks away, whimpers, then sits on the floor, licking his hindquarters. 

This is Ramesh’s superpower. 

And then there is Swati madam on her knees in front of the man. 

Her eyes are glazed and she seems not to know what is going on. 

Her mouth is partially open and there is a string of saliva hanging from the corner of her mouth.

Then she speaks, her voice slurred like she’s drunk. 

Sammy wasn’t kidding. She’s been drugged for sure. 

“He’s not a white man,” she says. “He’s only got a skin condition…disease. He’s as Indian as all of us.”

The white man swallows, and seems to blanch, if that is even possible for one as white as him. “It’s true. I’m not Russian. My name is not Nikolai or Nakul Bhai. My name is Ramsaran and I’m from UP. Please let me go…I have a sick mother at home.” 

His words come out shaking and wobbling. His features are scrunched up, and he looks a far cry from the composed, tough, gangster he was just moments ago.

Ramesh watches with amazement as the UP accented Hindi words fall from the man’s mouth. The others, especially Prakash, also look equally astounded.

Prakash is the first to recover. 

He lunges toward Ramsaran, his hand raised. “Motherfucker!” He roars in Hindi.

His blow never makes it. 

There is a loud report, and he falls, clutching his thigh. Blood spurts from his wound, from between the fingers of his hand as he tries to tamp down on the injury. 

He moans like a dying animal.

Ramesh turns his head and sees smoke curling out of Sammy’s gun. 

“This fucker was selling her to that fucker,” Sammy says, pointing first at Prakash and then at Ramsaran. 

“They’re both criminals. They fucking deserve to die.” His voice is harsh, judgmental.

“Should I? Should I? Huh?” He roars, his pistol waving about.

Nothing like a new convert, Ramesh thinks. This guy was happily being a criminal until this morning, and now he’s a justice bringer.

Mahender and Ramona are watching Prakash with horrified interest. 

Their hands are still up, but fatigue is already setting in and their shoulders droop. 

Ramona’s eyes are as wide as they will go, the whites of her eyes visible all around the iris.

Swati seems to fall to the ground in slow motion. 

She falls away from Ramsaran.

Time stands still. 

Prakash, his mouth open in a moan. 

Mahender, raising his camera as though it would help deflect any trouble, a magic talisman. 

Ramona with her silicone enhanced lips parted in a ‘O.’ 

Ramesh watches Swati slowly sink to the ground, then roll. 

When she rights herself, she is on her knees, breasts shining with perspiration, breathing hard. 

She seems a little changed now. Perhaps more than a little changed.

There is clarity in her eyes. 

And there is a shiny, large gun in her hand. 

It looks enormous in her relatively small hands. 

It points directly at Ramsaran.

[S Darko]

Swati has her back to the green screen, which means she has her back to the wall. 

If Mahender’s cameras are still going, he can paint in a background of the Grand Canyon or the Burj Khalifa, and this could be an action movie. 

She can see two cameras mounted on tripods set against the two farthest corners of the rectangular room.


She can see clearly now. 

The blackness is gone, as also the swimming vision. 

The dog is sitting calmly on the ground, not looking threatening in the least. 

Ramesh did that. He turned on that 'look' at the beast and it immediately quieted down. Amazing. 

Ramona makes a faint move toward her discarded dress. 

Swati catches her eye and she freezes mid-movement like in a game of statue.

“Go ahead,” Swati says. “Get your clothes on and get out of here.” 

She is aware that the dress is the only piece of clothing Ramona has. 

The poor naked Brazilian woman is probably in sexual servitude to this charlatan of a man. Swati has no idea what Ramona might do if freed from his clutches, but she has other pressing matters to consider.

Ramona pulls the dress over her head in one swift motion and takes a step towards the open trapdoor. She pauses and looks at Swati again, as though to confirm. 

Swati nods. 

Ramesh and Sammy move back just a little so Ramona can step through and leave. She walks down the steps without a backward glance. 

Swati hopes she can find shelter, and perhaps return to her native land. 

“Can I go too?” Mahender says. He looks piteous, tears running down his face. 

Sammy starts laughing at this spectacle. 

“Please, please,” Ramsaran says, his voice wheedling. He is scared to move after Sammy shot Prakash. The latter is still on the ground, applying pressure to his thigh and moaning softly. 

The dog looks at his wound and licks its chops.
 
Swati waves the big gun around, covering the entire room. 

She has decisions to make. She is also aware that this is the worst possible time to make decisions. For one thing, she is definitely impaired. Her vision blurs and she blinks it away. 

Ramesh’s phone rings. 

He pulls it from his pocket with his free hand and answers. 

It is Rashid, the tea seller. Ramesh puts it on speaker.

“Lockdown! Lockdown! The entire country is under lockdown. Modi has locked the country down!” Rashid is screaming. “I have to go. security officer are patrolling everywhere and I have to go home.”

“Rashid Bhai, calm down. This is Bhim colony. The cops won’t get here for a while. Can you see any cops?”

Rashid Bhai says no, there are no cops yet. 

“Don’t worry then. We will be done here soon. I’ll escort you home.”

Swati looks at Ramesh questioningly. 

Ramesh says, “Lockdown, madam.”
She has been expecting a lockdown for days now. Other countries are doing it, and everyone at the office had expected this to come any day. 

Swati had been a little distracted with all the stuff going on in her life, but now she nods. 

Swati points her gun at Prakash, then Ramsaran. 

Mahender, in the meantime, has pissed himself in fear. Since he wasn’t wearing pants, the piss drips to the floor and puddles around his feet. His cock is shriveled and small, his balls not even visible. 

She cocks one hand on her hip, the other holding the gun. “How much would you get if you sold me?” She directs this at Ramsaran. 

“Sorry, sorry…I won’t do anything…sorry madam.” 

This is especially amusing since he has called her a whore and a slut for the past few hours. 

“Madam huh? Madam all of a sudden? How much?” There is steel in Swati’s voice and the gun inches a little closer.

“Uhh…two, maybe three khokas... crores,” he says.

“Motherfucker!” Prakash says from the floor, bitterness clear in his voice. “And you were fobbing me off with a few measly lakhs!”

Swati is gratified to hear the numbers. 

Ramesh says, “You have to make a decision quickly, madam. Don’t worry, I will take care of the consequences.”

It is not very clear to Swati’s still befuddled mind, but she has full faith in Ramesh. 

Especially after the night at the more. 

She nods slowly, briefly looks at Ramesh and her index finger tightens around the trigger. 

She isn’t sure she wants to execute the man in cold blood. 

Can she? 

Will she?

Ramsaran laughs. 

He seems hysterical. 

He points at the gun, slaps his thighs, and laughs. 

To Swati it seems a little forced, and theatrical.

“What?” 

Ramsaran points at the gun again and says, “The safety is on! You can’t shoot me!”

Swati has heard this dialog in a movie, and she isn’t falling for it. 

As though in reaction, she continues to squeeze the trigger. 

As though to prove him wrong. 

Ramsaran’s eyes widen. 

He realizes, she thinks, that his bluff has been called.

“No, wait…” he says, panic lacing his voice.

There is a loud bang. 

Swati closes her eyes involuntarily.

The recoil pitches her to the floor. 

Her chest throbs where her own fist hit her. Her ears ring.

She opens her eyes to see Ramsaran on the floor, clutching his own chest. 

There is red everywhere. 

Everywhere.

Fuck!

Ramsaran’s chest wound is grievous, no question about it. 

It is lethal.

Ramsaran’s gun has done its deadly work, and his faith in 45s is vindicated. 

Swati says above the ringing in her ears, “Revolvers don’t have safeties, bitch.”

Prakash flings himself at Swati, his own thigh wound forgotten. “You fucking crazy bitch! I was going to get money from him!” Prakash’s voice is high, full of rage and frustration. 

His hands find her neck and he squeezes. 

Ramesh hands his gun to Sammy, who is watching the carnage with fascination. 

Swati can feel herself blacking out under Prakash’s powerful stranglehold. 

She can vaguely hear Ramesh saying, “Hold this. I’ll deal with this lowlife.”

The pressure on her throat slowly diminishes. 

Then Prakash's hands fall away. 

She sits up, groggy.

Prakash is in Ramesh’s grip. 

Ramesh has his powerful, muscled arm around Prakash's neck in a chokehold and is squeezing the life out of him. 

Prakash’s legs drum on the wooden floor and his arms flail, failing to find purchase. 

As if in sympathy, there is a gush of blood from his thigh. 

Then he becomes still.

Swati looks about in a daze. 

Ramsaran is lying still, the wound in his chest the size of her palm. 

Blood and gore have spewed from the crater, but there is no more bleeding. 

Prakash too is lying still. A thin trickle of blood from his nostril.

Ramesh slowly rises from the ground and dusts off his clothes. 

He looks at Mahender who is cringing in his corner. “Get out of here and out of town. Never come back.”

Mahender turns to leave, thinks the better of leaving without his trousers, and returns to pick them up. 

Ramesh says, “And take all your camera-shamera with you. And remember one thing. If any of the madam’s videos come online, I will come looking for you. Remember that.”

Mahender nods, finishes doing up his trousers, picks up his cameras and as much equipment as he can carry, and beats a hasty retreat.

Ramesh pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Rashid. “Call the fire brigade in ten minutes.”

[S Darko]

Epilogue


It is mid-June, and even though it is boiling, there is a clarity in the air that followed the forced lockdown. Even now, with the lockdown over, there are few vehicles on the roads, pollution is at its lowest in decades, and it feels nice to take a walk without a mask. 

Ramesh has been living in the ashram for the duration, and now he finds himself jobless. The company he was working for has laid him off. 

He has heard nothing from Swati or Sammy or anyone else since that fateful night. 

The security officer had their hands full with controlling the lockdown and paid only minimal heed to a fire in Bhim colony. The fire had caused damage to only one building and there were two bodies found there. Apparently, they had shot each other, but forensics could not reveal a lot more. The bodies were charred beyond recognition. 

And besides, the security officer have bigger fish to fry.

The three bodies in the SUV were never discovered. 

Ramesh believes that Sammy took care of them, but has no further knowledge or contact. 

He assumes the two erstwhile bodyguards for the not-white man are rotting in a landfill somewhere along with the third guy who he never knew. 

Ramesh absently pets the dog on his head and the dog wags his tail in happiness. The two have been inseparable since that fateful night. 



Sammy has landed on his feet. He has stumbled into a money laundering outfit that is operating happily despite the Prime Minister’s attempts to curb such things. 

He is the unofficial chief of security for the outfit and is planning to get Ramesh into the fold. Sammy isn’t sure, but he thinks Ramesh might decline. From what he knows of the man, Ramesh is arrow straight. 

Sammy has appropriated the SUV from that night at Bhim colony. No one from Nikolai's gang has come after him, and he believes the fake Russian might've been operating solo, perhaps with a bunch of paid thugs. Perhaps when Alexei returns, if he returns, things might change. But for now, Sammy is sitting pretty.

Sammy cleans his collection of guns nightly and plans for a future where he is involved less in blue-collar crime and more into white-collar stuff. He is thinking of getting into the betting business. There is a lot of money involved in sports, specifically cricket.


 
Swati has recovered from her night in the chawl, although it took her a many days to become normal from a mental standpoint. Ramesh stayed with her for the first few days, after which Paro took over. 

They discharged Ashok from the hospital in May, and he is still weak and has trouble breathing. They will eventually learn that Ashok has what will come to be known as long covid. 

Swati finds comfort in her toys, and the nightmare of that night in Bhim colony is slowly going away. 

She thinks of Ramesh often and wonders how she should repay him. 

He is most likely jobless, while she has actually improved her situation. She’d applied to several multinational companies since January and she has landed a pure work-from-home job that pays megabucks. This is in an industry that seems to be among the few that have thrived in the economic downturn. 

In her spare time, Swati has organized a workforce to help with covid victims and their families. She feels this diversion is good for her soul to heal, and for her cravings to die away. She still feels the pull of illicit and rough sex, but makes a tremendous effort to refrain from watching such porn and also limits her use of sex toys. 

Time will tell how successful her efforts are. 

One evening, when she has just finished supervising the nurse who does pulmonary rehab for her husband, her phone rings. 

She ushers Dhruv into his bedroom, telling his to sleep, mama will be right along to tell him a story.

The number is unlisted, but she picks it up anyway. 

“Hello Swatiji,” a deep male voice says. 

Swati has no trouble remembering the deep voice of Baldev, the giant at Abhi’s swing party. “I hope you remember me.”

“Yes Baldevji, indeed I do. How are you?”

“I am very fine ji, very fine indeed.” Swati detects what she thinks might be glee in his voice, but perhaps not.

“That’s good to hear. So how come you called?” 

“Well, you see, I have recently come into possession of some video recordings from my good friend Arvind… unfortunately no one knows where he is, but the videos are very interesting…”

Swati's heart pounds at this. 

And she cannot control the tingle of arousal between her legs.



The End




Thank you for sticking with me and reading all the way through.

[S Darko]

Sorry to disappoint. Swati never became a whore (or maybe she did after the story ends). The shore reference is from a dream she had while she was chained to the tap in the more.

Anyhow, glad you enjoyed.