[S Darko]

Hi all. This one has been long in coming, but finally I got it started. Here's the first installment. It was started for on a specific request; if you're here, you know who you are, and I hope you enjoy it. The broad categories this story will have are exhibitionism, non-consent, light BDSM, humiliation, taboo, inter-racial (insofar as the different areas of India have races; more properly, I suppose inter-class) and so on as the fancy takes me and any specific requests. Please forgive any spelling and grammar errors.

Swati's Downfall

Swati Mishra settled down to a leisurely session of “polishing the pearl” as she liked to call it. She had already had a long day, very long, and needed some relief. And given the fact that she had the office to herself, there would be no interruptions. 

This could be a big session, well, at least a biggish sessions. Not the furtive, in the toilet, furious relief-seeking sessions that seemed to be the norm these days, but a comfortable, relaxed, session. 

The door to her office was unlocked and she rose to lock it. Then, feeling naughty, butterflies fluttering in her stomach, she took off her salwar bottoms, and then her panties and tossed them on the floor next to her desk. It wasn’t much of a risk, but it made her giddy with excitement nevertheless. 

Half-naked, she sat on her comfortable leather chair, took out her personal laptop and logged in. It was a complex password that she had committed to memory, a combination of letters and numbers and special characters like the best security people recommended. The leather felt cool on her bare bottom in the air conditioned office, and sent goosebumps along her smooth flanks.

Oh yes, she thought, and undid her bra by slipping her hand under her top and freeing the hooks. She brought the bra out by pulling them alternately out of her loose sleeves. She tossed the bra on the pile of clothes next to her desk. She felt almost giddy with naughtiness. 

After making sure making sure she was logged on to the company wifi network, she clicked on her VPN program. When that was up, she opened a browser in incognito mode and went to her favorite website, yourkinksexposed.com, and checked for new content. 

The site loaded quickly, showing several small windows of kinky sex acts in progress. Quickly, she checked for her favorite scenarios and found one she could masturbate to.

Then, and only then, did she rise to lock the office door. Her Kameez hung over her naked bottom as she padded shoeless to the door. She opened the door a crack and peeked out into the hall. There was no one there. She closed the door, softly like a thief, locked it, and went back to her desk. The frosted glass walls of her office would allow no voyeurs to peek in, and besides, it was after eight in the evening. 

Subconsciously she must have known what she was doing was wrong because she tiptoed back to her desk. She unlocked and opened the bottom drawer and withdrew a small pink vibrator with a G-spot and clitoral stimulator and made sure it was working fine.

As project leader, Swati had let everyone go home and volunteered to stay behind and work on the finishing touches herself. Tomorrow the software was supposed to be deployed, and the expectation was that it would be bug free. It was a US corporation that had outsourced the critical part of this operation to their company after all. 

Well, now that she had finished the finishing touches, she was entitled to some play time, something she would not have once she returned home to her husband and five year-old son. And her husband, Ashok… well, the less said about his sexual drive, the better.

There was no need for lube, she was already wet with anticipation, and the widest part of the dildo slipped in without any trouble. She clicked on the video, and it started streaming. 

The scenario started playing. Usually this particular site did not believe in too much setup, and usually got into the action quickly, but some of the anticipation and fun was in the way the scene was actually set up, how the girl got into the situation, and Swati found that really exciting. Part of it was also that she delayed the onset of orgasm by getting into the scene, and as everyone knew, the more delayed the orgasm was, the sweeter it turned out to be. Not all the time, of course, but enough that it was worth it. 

Slowly, lazily, she moved the dildo in and out, turning it a little, coating it in her juices getting it nice and ready for more furious action later. She gazed down at it in affection. She had bought it online, and had it delivered to her office address. Her home address would never do for several reasons, chief among which was that her son would intercept and open it.
The video played before her. 

Four men entered the spooky bungalow where the heroine was supposedly taking shelter from a poorly faked storm. The bungalow was supposedly haunted and the four men were ghosts, only the heroine did not know that. The men converged on her and the woman, a really busty and scantily clad blonde, screamed initially, but soon began to sigh as her clothes were roughly ripped from her. Her thin tee shirt went first and then her short skirt. 

Swati moved her left hand from the space bar to join her right, which was slowly pumping in and out of her inflamed cunt. She rubbed her fingers in the juices and then brought it to her nose. She sniffed deep. The odor of her own arousal was heady, musky and sweaty, it reminded her of a seashell she had found once. A conch. And what could be a more appropriate smell for something that even looked like a conch? She giggled at the analogy her mind had made.

One of the men, one of the two white guys, smacked the actress on her rounded rump repeatedly as it jiggled and started turning red. The Hispanic put a hand into her panties and started fingering her with rough movements. 

The third man, a black guy, got behind her and started mauling her still partially clad breasts, although with the minuscule bra, there wasn’t much left to the imagination. The fourth, another white guy, peeled off his clothes and started rubbing his erect cock on her body and inserted a couple of fingers into her mouth. She sucked greedily as though his hand was a cock. She made gagging noises.

Swati switched on her vibrator and sighed in time with the bimbo on screen, like a synchronized Olympic fuck team. She inserted it deep and the curvy, larger part began to stimulate her G spot. Simultaneously the clit stimulator started strumming her clitoris. A small moan escaped her lips. 

The actress was now down on her knees, sucking each of the now naked men in turn, a circle blow job. As she sucked each cock, the others fondled her tits, and fingered her pussy and ass as they reached individually and together between her widely spread thighs. Each man vied for her oral attentions as she slurped and sucked and gagged on the oversized members. 

Swati had read they used injections and drugs to stay erect for long periods. And, she had read that they used girls called fluffers. These were usually wannabe porn actresses, perhaps the ones with pimples on their asses, rendering them poorly photogenic, so their job was to suck the male actors to make sure they stayed ‘upright standing citizens.’ She giggled again at the pun she had made. She briefly thought about the life of a fluffer and how she might like that.

The circle blow job went on and on. Really, she thought, was this a new director? So many porn-stars started directing or producing when they’d reached their sell by date. Then the scene faded to black. 

Swati knew that big cocks like these men possessed existed only in porn, well, mostly she thought; she had no actual experience. She had fucked only one other man before Ashok, her husband, and neither of those encounters had been particularly thrilling. 

And then she had stumbled onto hardcore porn, with overtones of bondage and submission and become hooked from the first story she read. It was an easy hop skip and jump form stories to videos, but she had to be careful.

A new scene started. The actress was now in full suspension, one of her favorite scenarios. Her arms were bound behind her and her legs separately suspended from the ceiling, widely spread apart of course. Tight jute rope circled her thighs and arms. For the first few seconds of the new scene, she swung freely in her bonds. Swati almost missed the padded box right under her ass. 

Then the Hispanic guy got on the box and stuffed his cock into her ass. The blonde opened her mouth in a silent scream. Simulated of course, but Swati found it arousing anyway. The blonde’s breasts were bound too, and they stuck out like little round rockets. Silicone, of course, but Swati didn’t care. It looked sexy, raunchy, disgusting, and she loved it. Her own were real. She wondered how that would feel, having her tits bound and slapped. 

She reached behind her and pulled her zipper down and pulled her neckline forward. She snaked her left hand inside and started rolling her nipple between forefinger and thumb. She gasped as the nipple engorged with blood and stood at attention like a Gurkha guard. 

On screen, the camera panned between the bimbo’s widely spread legs. A great visual of a cock stuffing her asshole and her cunt gaping slightly filled the screen. Swati stiffened slightly, anticipating the double penetration that was going to come. Any minute now. 

Instead of someone stepping forward and ramming their hard-on into pussy, the big muscular black guy walked around and grabbed her head. She turned like an infant seeking its mother’s breast, mouth open, eyes close. She knew what was coming. The black guy thrust his soft-on into her mouth without ceremony.

“Suck that bitch, suck it,” he said.

A third man in the background said, “Tell us what you are, you filthy whore!”

In answer, the bimbo groaned, moaned and gagged as the black guy pushed deeper into her mouth and the hispanic below her thrust upward into her ass. Her inner labia flapped with the jerky motion. 

Swati thought that particular scene was pretty good. The woman’s cunt had a loose look, like she’s been fucked a lot. The inner lips poked out, loose and flappy, looking like the wattle on a rooster. Clearly she hadn’t undergone a labio-plasty like many others in the industry. 

The black guy started slapping her face with slow, deliberate wristy movements even as she sucked him with increasing enthusiasm. She made small muffled screams, moans, groans. 

The black guy said, “Filthy cunt, dirty whore, worthless slut,” over and over like it was a mantra. The bimbo was loving it as she writhed on two cocks, one in her ass, one in her mouth.

Then the white guy stepped forward and started slapping her pussy with a device that looked like a flap of leather stuck at the end of a short stick. Swati had recently found out that it was called a flogger. With every stroke on her cunt, the blonde writhed and moved her hips. Swati wasn’t sure if she was trying to get away from the blows on her pussy or toward it. The white guy slowly masturbated himself with his free hand, keeping himself erect. 

The scene shifted again, and this time the bimbo was air tight. Both her nether holes were stuffed tight with cock. Her glistening flesh was stretched out like a tight rubber gasket around them. Her head was turned to one side, and the black guy was ramming her mouth without mercy, using her face like a cunt.

The fourth guy, the other white guy now stepped forward from the shadows where he had presumably been getting CPR from the fluffer, and started aggressively assaulting the blonde’s tits. He pulled her nipples away from her body as though he were trying to pull them off. 

Swati’s hands started moving with greater rapidity. It might have been an illusion since the vibrator had only one speed, but the vibrations seemed to speed up as well. Her left hand tweaked her nipples, back and forth, cupping, squeezing and kneading ferociously. She was close now.

The white guy kept slapping at the bimbo’s thighs, left, right, now left again, and repeating, “Tell us what you are, you filthy slut, tell us what you are!” Simultaneously, he pumped her cunt as deep as the shot would allow and still present good visuals. Swati giggled. The guy was a true multi-tasker. Maybe she could use him on her team.

The slut on screen wiggled her head from side to side as though trying to answer him, but the cock in her mouth would not let her move very far. Was she trying to answer the repeated questions or was she trying to get away or what? Swati didn’t care. The scene was uber raunchy. 

The black cock pulled out of her mouth, and she gasped, “I’m a filthy whore, I’m a filthy slut! Fuck my holes, I’m a filthy slut!”

Swati’s moans had become more regular, almost keeping time with the white guy banging the blonde whore’s cunt. 
The blonde screamed, “More cock! More cock!”

The guys started spanking her ass, tits, thighs, anyplace they could lay their hands on and the bimbo writhed in ecstasy as though she were loving the treatment. The black guy slapped her face back and forth, holding his enormous member with one hand.

Swati was lost in lust. Her mouth hung open as she furiously worked the vibrator into her cunt. 

“Filthy fuck slut!” The black guy replaced the white guy between her open thighs and pushed in deep. His member was larger than the white guy’s and the whore opened her mouth and cried out. Incredibly, her hips started bucking like a horse trying to throw its rider off. She almost succeeded in dislodging the cocks in her. The guy in her cunt stepped back. 

The camera zoomed into her pussy which was now twitching rhythmically as though it was being electrocuted.

Swati’s own orgasm swelled out like a firecracker from her clit. Waves of ecstasy rippled through her pelvis. She jammed the vibrator deep inside and started to come like she hadn’t for a very long time. A thin wail rose from her throat, rising to a crescendo as she stiffened, her entire body spasming around her center. 

The lock to her office door made a loud click, and the door started to swing open.

[S Darko]

Chapter 2

Swati reacted like a flash. Her right hand dropped the dildo, rose and hit the space bar, freezing the on-screen action. Her orgasm abruptly went from a hundred to zero in a nanosecond, way faster than a Porsche in reverse. 


Only then did she look up toward the door to see who was coming in. 

A large, dark man in some sort of uniform was backing into the door, pushing it open against the articulated automatic door-closer with his ass. He was lugging something heavy into the room.

It was the cleaner. Damn! How had she forgotten. The cleaners were supposed to come in after hours to take out the trash, vacuum the carpet, wax the vinyl floors, do general housekeeping, and she had completely forgotten about them. Damn, and double damn! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

She looked down and quickly took stock of the situation. She was half naked, sitting on the chair, although ‘sitting’ was probably an overstatement. Her naked ass was hanging off the seat in front, wet and gaping pussy fully exposed, and her head was resting halfway down the backrest. In her excitement, she had almost fallen off the chair. 

The good news was that her entire naked lower half was hidden behind the large panel that covered the generous knee-hole of her desk. The knee-hole was flanked on both sides by built-in drawers and file cabinets. So even if he came as far as her side, she was well concealed. That is if she pulled her chair into the knee-hole as far as it would go.

She sat up gradually, anxious that a sudden movement would catch his attention, her eyes glued to the guy advancing into the room. She flipped the front of her kameez down to preserve some of her modesty. Something was better than nothing, she thought irrelevantly. 

She saw what he was pulling in. It was a large black cart with cleaning supplies. She heard some sloshing and saw the bucket with dirty water in it and a mop sticking out the top. And a canister type thing with an electric cord and a hosepipe. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was, and didn’t give a shit. All she wanted was him gone. 

“Hello bhaiya!”

There was no reply. The guy continued to back into the room lugging his stuff.

It was then that she noticed the earbuds sticking out from his ears. A black wire stuck out from each ear and disappeared into his the pocket of his overall. The guy was listening to music. Or something. She could hear the tinny beats from ten feet away.

“Hellooooo!” she said again, louder this time. And then one more time, louder still. 

The man was now closer, with his large cart that she noticed now had a dome shaped roll-top. She also saw that what she had taken for a large man was actually closer to an average guy, all a trick of the perspective. Sitting up had made a big difference.  The man nodded along to what was almost certainly the trashy Hindi film music. Probably one of those “item numbers” that played incessantly on the music stations, both on radio and TV. 

Finally, the man turned, and did a double take when he saw her. 

By this time Swati was getting a little frustrated, having squeezed herself into the knee-hole as much as she could, and her tits were sitting on the keyboard of her laptop. Unconfined by her bra, and the pressure of the hard surface beneath, they were bulging up and partially out from the low top of her Kameez. 

She was, however, not aware of this, her heart beating wildly with the fear of discovery and possible consequences this might bring. Getting fired from her job was one thing that was uppermost in her mind. She was also getting a little angry at the clueless guy that was now looking at her, mouth agape, doubtless his tiny brain hadn’t yet processed that there was someone in the office and that he should leave forthwith.

“What are you staring at?” she said, her voice a little shriller than usual.

His mouth opened to say something, but nothing came. He gaped at her. 

She could see the pimples on his face, a faint mustache, the beginnings of a beard. He probably shaved once a month if that. His dark complexion and narrow build suggested malnutrition during childhood, but lately he had put on a little meat on his bones, as suggested by the slight stretch in the middle of his shirt. How could she have thought he was large?

She was acutely aware of her clothes in a pile by her desk. She knew the hot pink dildo was there as well, somewhere, and she hoped it was under the desk, and not out in the open. Even if it was, perhaps it wasn’t obvious what it was. Then she thought of its shape and size and knew that was hopeless. And of course, the color. She couldn’t even think of looking down to make sure it was out of sight or not. Her gaze would draw his and the game would be up.

But then, the overhead lights had been dimmed as far as they would go, probably accounting for why the guy hadn't noticed someone was inside. She relaxed a bit. He probably couldn’t see much detail in the room because of the low lighting. 

And then somehow, from somewhere, the idea came in her mind to tease the guy a little. Perhaps give him a little thrill, a little excitement in his mundane day of cleaning and vacuuming. It might have been the situation, the look of the guy, she didn't know what it was exactly but she decided to act on it. 

The guy in the meantime had recovered enough to pull the earbuds from his ears. The faint music now came from the buds that dangled by his waist. His mouth was still agape.

Swati pushed back slightly from the desk, just enough that her boobs dropped down to a more normal position on her chest. She was acutely aware of each small movement as she moved the inch or two. The sag of her boobs on her chest as she moved back, the minuscule movement of her thighs as she pushed away from the carpeted floor, the slight relaxation of her shoulders, she was hyperaware of each of them. It was almost like she were hovering near the ceiling and watching herself play out this little drama with the poor boy from the village.

She took a breath and deliberately looked down at the pile of clothes on the floor. Almost like in a comedy movie where the actor is deliberately trying to draw attention to something. And like a magnet, his eyes followed. Time stood still.

After what seemed a full five minutes, during which time they both stared at the clothes and the hot pink dildo on the carpeted floor—yes the dildo hadn’t rolled under the deck; it was sitting in one of the D cups of her discarded bra. While the dildo might still be mistaken for something else—after all the guy seemed to be an unsophisticated kid just off the bus, so to speak, the bra wasn’t something that could be mistaken for anything other than what it was. 

They looked at each other now, the boy’s face taking on an expression closer to understanding and hers a little more knowing, a little smile perched at the corner of her lips. 
“What’s your name?” she said, adding a little teeth to the smile.

His mouth opened again and after a pause, he said, “Ma’am, Ramesh ma’am.”

She moved her hands and inadvertently hit the space bar. The on-screen action started up again. The blonde was still in mid orgasm and her orgasmic wail resumed. Swati hooked down and hurriedly hit the space bar again and the action stopped. This time she slammed the lid of the laptop down so the accident wouldn’t happen again. 

Heart pounding, she raised her eyes to the guy…Ramesh, to see if he had understood anything. She also realized that her actions had moved her away from the desk a few more inches, and from his vantage, he could probably see some of her naked thighs. Fuck! 

But she decided to brazen it out anyway. She had no idea what, if anything he had understood. For all she knew, he might have decided she was changing her pad or some such thing. Yeah, right, you need to take off your bra as well to change pads, her inner voice said.

“Ramesh,” she said, as sweetly as she could. It was a huge contrast after her initial few words when she had been scared, shocked, and even a little outraged. “Can you come back in a few minutes? I’m almost done with my work here.”

Ramesh nodded vigorously and wordlessly and backed out. The office door clicked shut and Swati breathed out a sigh of relief.

She felt a cold wetness under her buttocks. She had been on the verge of orgasm when the guy had entered, but it had been, in a manner of speaking, aborted at the very last nanosecond. Also, she didn’t usually discharge so much fluid when she did come, even during her solo masturbatory fantasies. It was helpful to keep everything nice and tidy. Have quick orgasm, wipe once with a tissue and pull up her panties and she was done. 

Usually. 

This looked like a three, maybe four tissue job. How? What?

The urge was now gone. She exited her browser, unhooked the computer from power and got dressed again. 

This time she took off her kameez and for a few moments was stark naked in her office. The deliciousness of the danger made her skin prickle as she wondered if Ramesh might come back and catch her fully naked. 

She put on her bra, panties and finished dressing. Picked up her bag with the laptop stowed inside and left the office. 

[S Darko]

As Swati exited the Gateway building in DLF cybercity, she thought about the brief encounter in the office. She absently waved to the middle aged man in uniform who saluted her from his glass kiosk at the garage exit and drove out into the night. 

Soon she would be home, and Dhruv and Ashok would be home, waiting for her, watching TV or playing something on the Xbox or whatever it was they called the game consoles these days. She wondered what Parvati, he live in maid might have made for dinner.


“Mummy!” Dhruv ran to her as soon as she opened the door and stepped inside the threshold. 

Swati bent and hugged her five-year-old son as tight as she could while he planted sloppy kisses on her cheeks. She set her purse down and picked him up.

“Oof,” she said, “you’re getting so big!” 

Dhruv giggled, and they proceeded into the sitting room where Ashok was lounging on his recliner with a bottle of beer. 

“Hey!” he called. “Worked late huh?”

“Yeah,” she said, “deadline…product launch.”

Ashok nodded and turned back to the television. Some kind of cricket match was on, probably one of those short three-hour versions with international players and millions of rupees in the balance. Also, probably one of those games where people bet their life savings and more likely than not, lost them. 

She threw Ashok a sour look and stalked off to the kitchen to inspect the food Parvati had prepared and left. 

Ashok's lifestyle was enviable. He was the marketing head for a tractor company, recently promoted to VP and he didn’t have to hustle as much anymore. He just rode a bunch of managers and salesmen under him. Every month, he went off for a week, sometimes ten days, to talk to clients, fire up the troops and so on, but otherwise, he was an excel jockey and meeting maven. 

Long liquid lunches, she supposed from his increasing girth even though he wasn’t thirty-five yet, and…could he be sleeping around as well? The thought didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. Or should. 

Dinner was with Dhruv at the table and Ashok still in front of the TV, so it was mostly kid talk. How had Dhruv’s day gone, what did his friend Shyam say, what happened to that toy and so on. 

Dinner concluded, she gave Dhruv his bath and put him to bed. 

The cricket match was still going on. It must’ve been in the last stages because the excitement was huge. Ashok was sitting at the edge of his seat instead of lounging in it. Three more beer bottles lay by his side. Swati sighed and went to change.

As she removed her bra in front of the mirror in the bathroom, she rolled her shoulders and grunted with the mild relief the movement afforded. The action stretched her spine and also thrust her tits out like some pole dancer in a night club. Her back hurt just like they had ever since Dhruv. Her already large breasts had grown even more and the extra weight pulled on her spine. 

She supposed some yoga exercise or stretch would help and she made a mental note to check it out on google later. Her waist was still slim, although her stomach stuck out ever so slightly. The extra weight had mostly gone to her boobs and hips and her naked boobs went one way and then the other, slapping each other in the process. She tried a little wiggle. Yeah, she was still hot. 

As she lay in bed, images from earlier in the day came back to her. Ramesh standing in front of her, his mouth agape. It was fun teasing him. She decided the thrill of being half naked in front of the help had made her lubricate more profusely than anything she had experienced before, even the most explicit porn. 

She closed her eyes and focused on her sensory feelings during that short interaction. She savored the moments she had prolonged the episode by asking his name. She could have asked where he was from too, she guessed and lengthened the conversation further, adding to the thrill. Ah well. 

Ashok was still watching TV. She wasn’t sure if the damn game was over or if he was watching something else now. Sometimes she wondered if he deliberately didn’t come to bed to avoid her. Even if he did come to bed, he would likely be too drunk to do anything. In any case, even when not drunk, he rarely started anything, and on the occasions she initiated sex, he would make some excuse and beg off. 

Last weekend, with Sunday gloriously empty in front of them, she had reached out to him even though he had come to bed late, almost an hour after she had retired. He hadn’t responded and stayed soft. She tried with her fingers, then guided his hand to her boobs and made some fake moans to excite him, but nothing happened. 

Finally Ashok said, “I’m tired babes, let’s just sleep.” No offer to cuddle, something she would have settle for, or even talk a bit. Nothing specific, just some chatter to fill the space and increase intimacy. But that too was not to be.
 
Their frequency of sex had gone from a few times a week to perhaps once a month. Soon, it would be birthdays and anniversaries only, she thought, and then…well, she didn’t want to think about it anymore. 

Her mind returned to the office. 

Dark but with enough light to see by, especially if one adjusted to them. 

Ramesh stood there with his cart gaping at her, his stupid earbuds hanging from his belt. And she stood there in front of him, bottomless, no dupatta and her unfettered tits straining against the thin material of her kurta. 

Wait, what? That hadn’t happened! Her tired mind, in the twilight before sleep was making up stuff. But still, it would have been fun to give him a little more of a show than the tantalizing glimpse of naked thigh, the big boobs squashed on the keyboard of the laptop. Hmm. Maybe something to think of.

Still savoring the little episode with Ramesh, she drifted off to sleep.

[S Darko]

Ramesh had the weekend off and as usual, he and Prakash, one of his roommates, decided to get some beer and relax. They had the large bottle of kingfisher set up between them, and were drinking from glasses—small glasses that originally contained tea from the little stall down the lane. 


They made small talk for a while and then Prakash said, “How’s that gori memsaab of yours?”

Ramesh colored and mumbled. He wasn’t drunk enough yet to talk about her. 

He had become friends with Prakash after he had reached the big city. The latter had invited him to share his room that he already shared with Nawaz, another boy from a neighboring village. 

In a previous drunken conversation, after the first time, he had told Prakash how he had seen the gori memsaab in a state of partial undress and how her clothes on the floor, especially the bra, had provoked many nights of cot-shaking masturbatory sessions. 

Before then, he had almost never seen anyone in the office at the time he went in after his daytime job at the Raj Hotel where he worked as  a porter. 

The evening hours were solitary, the offices were usually clean, and didn’t take a lot of effort, and the garbage that had to be collected and disposed of was usually paper which he had to take to the second basement under the building. Besides, it was only a few days a week, one of which was usually a Saturday or Sunday. 

It was therefore quite a shock to him to see a beautiful woman in one of the offices that late in the evening.

“She was so bitchy initially, you know, like a pagal kutti,” Ramesh said, “but then, something happened, something changed in her face."

"She asked my name."

"She smiled at me, Prakash bhai, and oh my god! She had these dimples!” He demonstrated by poking his own stubbled cheeks with his index fingers, “I lost my heart to her that very second.”

“Be careful,” Prakash said with a gravity and wisdom he didn’t possess, “she’s married, and besides, she’s way, way above your league, boy!” 

Prakash was of an age with Ramesh but exuded an air of sophistication and worldly-wiseness. The truth was he had been in the city quite a bit longer than Ramesh and unlike Ramesh had a good idea of what went on in the elevated circles. He and Nawaz had made the rounds of the red-light districts, both in Gurugram and in Delhi and knew a thing or two.

Ramesh had acknowledged the truth in Prakash’s words, but he was smitten. He held his hands out, cupped as though holding large bowls. “Man those boobs!”

There was silence as the two men contemplated the possibilities that presented themselves with an apparently willing if not eager upper class memsaab. 

“I still don’t know what that gulabi thing was,” he said, slurring his words and showing with his hands how large the thing was and the rough shape. 

“Might have been some kind of pen? Computer thing?” Prakash was equally clueless.  He had a similar educational background, class eight pass, although the two men were from different villages in the heartland, but he had an idea about how he might go about finding out what the object was.

“Torch?” said Ramesh, suddenly inspired. “It was dark in there and maybe that’s why…” he trailed off realizing that was a foolish thing to say because there hadn’t been a power failure. No one would use a torch these days if the power was still on. 

He sighed and said, “but her boobs were out of this world, man.” He cupped his hands in front of his chest, then readjusted the cups to be larger, then larger still. In his imagination, Swati’s breasts had grown larger and larger, her face more beautiful and her skin tone whiter. 

Many things had happened in the month or so after that conversation, and now Ramesh looked thoughtfully at Prakash, assessing how much he should tell. There had been developments for sure. And what developments they had been! He could never have imagined such things, even the stuff in the cheap Hindi paperbacks with lurid covers at the bus-station were nothing compared to that.

He decided to give an abbreviated version of the events that had transpired. 

“It was the week after, same day that I’d seen the light under her door. I initially decided to skip her office, but then something made me knock on the door. I didn’t want to surprise her like last time.” 

Prakash nodded with understanding. The power of lust on a young twenty year old was too difficult to overcome. Even if someone had threatened him with job loss, he might have still knocked. Hell, even if they’d threatened to kill him. Prakash had never seen the memsaab, but he would have done the same.

“I heard ‘Come in,’ and so I opened the door—it wasn’t locked like last time—and stuck my head in. By God! The scene was same to same, man! The only thing different was the color of the clothes on the floor.” 

“And the gulabi torch thing?” 

Ramesh shook his head. The pink object he had seen on his previous visit was nowhere in sight. 

“She gazed at me like she wanted something, like I was supposed to do something, so I remembered I was supposed to take out the trash, so I opened the door wider and stepped in, pulling my cart in behind.”

“Then?"

Ramesh took a swig of his drink and motioned Prakash to wait, not to rush him. The story was going well, and he was in no mood now to rush it.

“She said, ‘Oh, Ramesh,’ with another smile that made my heart go crazy, ‘I was almost done. Leaving actually. Come on in.’ 

Ramesh made pumping movements in front of his chest to indicate how fast his heart was going. If Prakash noticed any similarity with his mime of Swati’s breasts and this movement, he didn’t comment on it. 

“She spoke in Hindi or English?” Prakash was a stickler for details. 

Ramesh closed one eye and looked up at the ceiling fan, trying to think. Finally he said, “Hindi I think. But maybe some English word or two.”

Prakash grunted and motioned Ramesh to go on.
 
“Then she pushed back from her chair and I could see her malai-makhan legs completely naked…completely naked! under her kameez which had bunched up from sitting in the chair. As she stood, the garment slowly unfolded and fell to her knees, but not before I got an eyeful of her legs. Those rounded calves, the sexy looking shoes she had on, I was in heaven.”

“Wait!” Prakash almost choked on his drink as he frantically signaled Ramesh. He coughed, snorted, sneezed, and then recovered. 

“Sorry, I just wanted you to tell me again what she looks like. How tall, and how long hair and so on.”

Ramesh sighed. He hated interrupting his narrative, but they were both unmarried, and what was this conversation but for titillation? 

“She’s average height, about five-two, maybe five three, and has hair upto here.” He indicated the small of his back, just short of the waist.

“Heh,” Prakash chuckled. “Good to grab, you know, when doing it from behind. Like a horse?”

Ramesh ignored his uncouth friend, but then chuckled and agreed. “Yeah, that would be good. Anyhow, she’s fair, not like Kartina Kaif, but fair, like a *****, you know, very fair. Very nice skin, no pimples or anything.” He was embellishing somewhat because he really didn’t know all the details, but he went on anyway. 

“She’s slim,” and here he mimed an hourglass with his hands, “and her stomach is flat but with just a little bit of charbi, you know, just something to hold on to…and very very nice and broad ass.” He used the Hindi terms for all the anatomical details. 

“And did I tell you about the boobs yet?” Ramesh raised his eyebrows and made cups of his hands in front of his chest, the fingers spread as wide as they would go, cups that might contain a medium size melon each. 

Prakash put a hand to his heart and sighed theatrically. “Haai! Haai! I’m going to just die! Carry on with the story man.”

[S Darko]

Ramesh continued his story after a quick handful of peanuts that he chewed noisily and with gusto. The evening was turning out quite enjoyable.


“I walked toward her and stopped at the dustbin on the floor next to the desk. 

She turned her back to me and bent slowly…and picked up something from the pile of clothes. 

She stretched it out as though showing me what it was, a lacy, gauzy piece of clothing that I had a hard time understanding what it was. 

Then I got it! 

Panties! Panties like that? It was like not even enough material for a handkerchief.” 

Ramesh pulled out his grubby one from his pocket to demonstrate. 

“Not even half of this and so thin! I have seen dupattas that are thicker. You could see all through it. I could see her fingers, her whole hand!” 

Ramesh had been actually clueless at the time. It was only with later reflection that he had realized what it must’ve been, but he didn’t want to tell Prakash that. 

“She bent and stepped into them, one foot at a time. She did it slowly, it seemed, not at all like we do it—you know, take bath, pull it on quickly—but she did it slowly so sexy man! I could see the bottom of her ass and the darkness between as she pulled the garment all the way up and the kameez dropped down like a curtain. The kameez was slit high and I could see tantalizing glimpses of her waist as the garment swished open and closed with her movements.” 

“She repeated the performance with the salwar and again, I got a great look at her now translucent red lace-encased butt and naked upper thighs.”

Prakash sighed and put a palm over his heart once again. Ramesh giggled. He was clearly the senior partner in this situation, even though Prakash may have had overall more sexual experience.

“Nangi! When she started, she only had that thin kameez on, bhai! I’m telling you, it was nothing more than a wet dream!”

“Then what happened?” Prakash poured them the last of the rum and added in some tap water. Soda was too expensive.
 
“The there was only one thing left."

"She hesitated when she came to it on the floor, she was bent over, her ass sticking out at me, man, and what an ass it is. Then she made a small sound that sounded like a cry, a cough maybe. 

And she started shaking like she was laughing or maybe crying. 

I was standing like a rock and had no idea if I was supposed to go and help her or not. But the moment passed. After a few seconds, she just picked it up and shoved the bra into her purse. She dropped in her laptop and turned to me with a huge smile. ‘Goodbye Ramesh,’ she said.”

“In English?”

“Yeah, English this time,” Ramesh said.

“And the chunni? The dupatta?” Prakash wanted to know.

Ramesh had to think a little. Where had it been? Had it been on the chair? Dbangd over the back go it or had it been on the hook behind the door? Or had it been on the floor all along?

“On the chair I think. She picked it up last. Just as she turned for the door.”

Prakash sighed once more. His whole contribution seemed to have been sighs and moans all evening. The drinks were almost over. 

“But wait,” Ramesh said like a salesman on late night TV.  “There’s more. She was almost at the door with me still standing like a fool with the dustbin in my hand when she stopped and said, ‘see you tomorrow then?’”

Prakash roared with laughter and slapped his thigh. “See you tomorrow! See you tomorrow! My God Ramu, it wasn’t even your day! So, what did you say?”

Ramesh grinned crookedly. “What could I say? I’m not a chutiya that I would pass this up! I just nodded.” 

He had actually nodded like a dumb animal, not like the hero he was portraying himself to be in front of his friend, but that was okay. It was his day off, but he was damned if he would miss the opportunity. 

Prakash crammed a fistful of peanuts into his mouth and spoke indistinctly, but with great excitement. He was leaning forward, his hands on his thighs, his eyes shining. 

Clearly he hadn’t anticipated this turn of events. “Then what happened? It’s been a month at least since then, don’t tell me nothing happened! Give me something yaar!”

And what could Ramesh do but oblige? But first, of course, more booze had to be bought. This wasn’t something one did dry.

[S Darko]

Swati still shook with residual excitement as she made her way to the basement garage. A sort of delayed PTSD but of the good kind, in a fantastic way. She was euphoric, on top of the world, like she’d smoked the best hash of her life and drunk some champagne too. 

Her legs still felt weak and shaky, especially after what happened at the end. She couldn’t believe what she had done. Her pussy was as wet as it had ever been, her panties were soaked and she knew when she sat in the car, the seat underneath would have a large wet spot, not to mention her salwar would be drenched as well. 


She had given Ramesh the show she had imagined on that first day just about a week ago, before going off to sleep. And then things had evolved and had sort of taken on a life of their own after that. 

Somehow, she had continued to follow her instincts, something deep within her that said giving Ramesh some thrills was a good thing, almost on par with social service or charity work like those pious high-society women in Mumbai did. 

Yes, she was in the high middle class, living in her swanky apartment and commuting to office in a high end car, working in a highly sought after job, but she had paid her dues, done the hard work, the shitty work, and now she deserved to relax a little. 

True, she would have preferred to do that relaxation, whatever form it might take, with her husband, but that ship seemed to have sailed. Her husband seemed to have a pretty good parallel life of his own that intersected with hers very little if at all. Ships in the night, she sometimes thought. 

Why was she doing what she was doing? She sat in her car, engine still off, and thought about it. The truth was, there was something in Ramesh that triggered these positive reactions in her; it was his lower caste-ness, his subordinate position in the company, in society itself, that lent itself to such a satisfactory reaction in her. 

That she was subordinating herself, her body, to this lower caste man, that she was debasing herself both in her and his eyes, was really the excitement, the thrill. It would not have been half as thrilling if it had been Datta, the CEO of the company, or even Roger, the manager here in Gurugram, or any of the dozen or so men in the company who had at one time or the other sent her clear signals that they were interested. Signals she had rebuffed or ignored. 

She actually had the reputation of being a dragon among her juniors and they feared her a little. That was good, from a career point of view.

The next time Ramesh was due—she looked up the cleaner’s schedule on the company intranet, and although she could not know it would be him that showed up, she had nevertheless waited for him. 

She finished her work for the day—going over the final details of her new networking project—and she moved the large VxWorks manual out of the way so it would not obstruct anything. It had been a hard day with the work, managing the different personalities on her team, and the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach each time she saw a man in a chaprasi uniform or when she thought about what she planned to do later that day. 

Ashok was out of town for that week, so it was going to be just Dhruv and Parvati at home. Dhruv had a playdate in the same buildings so he would be occupied, and Swati could do her “thing” guilt free. 

The time arrived, and the butterflies intensified in her stomach. She had to go to the bathroom several times. The rest of the office left for the day, and she was finally alone. 

As before, she had undressed, not completely, but wearing just her top.

Before Ramesh  was to arrive, she dropped her clothes in a pile next to her, just like the last time, with the bra prominently on top. 

She kept her kameez on, but if she so much as breathed in, her aureoles and nipples would be visible to anyone except a blind man. 

If she thought about it, there had been something deliberate in the choice of what she wore to work that day. She’d chosen a mid thigh, high slit kameez that she usually wore with a slip because it was so see-through. She’d skipped the slip that day, but the dupatta’s folds provided adequate cover during the day. Now the dupatta hung by the hook on the back of the door. 

And now, she was braless too, so her prominent nipples, erect with anticipation were poking tents in the sheer fabric. She spread her legs and slowly fingered herself. She needed no porn today, just the anticipation was enough. 

She’d put a hand towel under her ass because she knew she would be soaking wet by the time the evening was done. It surprised her, this generous lubrication, just by the thought of something that not even her raunchiest porn could do for her. 

She had gotten into watching porn online after her one time room mate, Neetu, in college had introduced her to the limitlessness of smut online. 

Since then, she had evolved in her tastes and now preferred to watch gangbang type porn, but read more of the humiliation and submission subgenera. Because in porn action in the moment was king. 

But stories that built slowly and opened possibilities to the imagination were ultimately more engaging and satisfying. One could revisit them in the mind over and over, changing the possibilities in a way that was difficult to do with video material. Whoever said that the mind was the biggest sex organ wasn’t far wrong. 

She and Neetu occasionally met up for lunch and discussed these matters, their sex lives and what else was going on in each others’ lives. 

So far she had hinted to Neetu that there was a cleaning boy in the office that was sort of having a crush on her and that she found it “cute.” She had mentioned being almost caught in the act of masturbating in the office after hours, but had downplayed the interaction after that. 

Eventually she would tell her all, she knew because that’s what best friends did. 

All this went through her mind as she gently rubbed along her slit, up and down along the rim, not even entering her opening, occasionally rubbing her clitoris and waited for Ramesh to arrive. Her heart was beating furiously, and she was breathing hard. 

Also, she was leaking profusely and thinking about what she would do when the guy did arrive. She didn’t have a fixed plan but rather planned to go with her gut. Go as the fancy took her. 

She must have been in position on her chair, behind her desk, for some fifteen minutes and was practically dying of anticipation when she heard the soft knock at the door. She was shocked to think that he might have not knocked at all if he’d seen her lights, perhaps thinking she was busy. After all, the last time had been a little awkward if one were to look at it from his point of view.

She cleared her throat and croaked out, “Come in!”

Her head was spinning with the heady feeling of doing something taboo and naughty and completely crazy. The door opened and Ramesh’s head poked in. He had a neutral, slightly stupid expression she remembered from last time. 

She might have smiled or not, she couldn’t be sure. Then she said the first thing that came into her head. “I was almost done. Leaving actually. Come on in.”

She pulled her hand out from between her legs, and pushed back her chair with a little force, unlike the last time when she had moved a few tentative inches. This time she was brazen. A whole foot, maybe eighteen inches is how far back the push took her. She was sure he could see her bare lower thighs, knees and legs below where her top ended. 

She stood up before she could chicken out and hide again in the kneehole, and almost stumbled, caught her knee on the tables edge, not hard, just a minor scbang. The kameez had been rucked up, and now it fell and covered her front. She was excruciatingly aware of the shortness of the kameez and the high slits that would show her upper thighs if she turned. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

She gathered herself, then twirled, very slowly, as though she were a model on a catwalk and stood still for a few seconds gathering herself. Her kameez didn’t flare with the twirl, but she was sure Ramesh got an eyeful. 

Her skin burned with electric tingles. Her nipples, already hard, hardened further and her pussy sizzled. She felt a few of drops of her pussy juice run down her inner thighs. Then she bent at the hips, stuck out her ass as far as it would go. The cool air-conditioned air found her nether lips and she sucked in a breath as the sudden coolness met her wetness.

She picked up her gauzy pink panties and on impulse, half turned, spread the garment out between her fingers as though showing it to him. Almost like an offering. She thought she heard a gasp. Probably when he realized what the little nothing made of air and froth was. Or maybe it was her imagination.

Her legs were trembling, and yet her whole body was vibrating with excitement. She could feel the thrill of last time multiplied a hundred fold with this situation. The last time it had been accidental, unintended and completely unplanned. 

Today, she was in charge and loving every second of it. Her head swam with the naughtiness of her actions. Practically naked in front of a lowly cleaning boy. Probably an uneducated kind from the village. Delicious!

Swati then proceeded to give him a show. A show that Ramesh watched with rapt attention, saying not one word. A show that Ramesh would narrate more or less faithfully to his friend, Prakash. 

She could not have known if he had taken his phone out and taken a video. She hoped not. That would complicate things. 

As she bent for the final time to retrieve the bra, she had an orgasm without even touching herself. She was shocked, and a small cry escaped her throat. She shuddered for a few seconds and almost blacked out before her senses returned and she remembered where she was and what she was doing. 

She considered showing him wearing her bra but then she thought about how she would have to take her kameez off and show him her naked breasts. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet…

She picked up her bra and stuffed it into her bag. 

As she reached the door and plucked her chunni from the hook, she had a sudden thought and turned. “See you tomorrow?”  

[S Darko]

On the next occasion, which was also the very next day, just like she had flirtatiously called over her shoulder as she was leaving, she upped the stakes a little bit. Perhaps quite a bit. 


She might not have been aware consciously that this was a slippery slope but somewhere in the back of her mind she must’ve known. But in life, there are no do-overs, no undo button, and things are what they are. We must make the best of what we have, and what we can.

A few things changed this time. For one, Ramesh came without his cleaning cart or his chaprasi uniform. He just had his ID card around his neck like any other company employee. 

This time, she did everything that she did the last time, but when the crucial moment came, when she had to try and wear the bra, she debated about her options. 

This lack of planning ahead was key to enjoyment. It was the very definition of the thrill. The frisson of excitement. The very core of the reason why her nipples hardened and cut the air, and her pussy leaked like a broken tap. And not to forget the elevator ride her stomach took every time this happened. 

She needed to go with the flow and not plan ahead. So she wondered if it was possible to wear the bra without taking the top off, but even though the top was. Loose-fitting one today, the calisthenics it would involve couldn’t be exactly called sexy.

Swati turned to Ramesh and met his eyes. She saw anticipation there. 

She had the sense that since she had been escalating the tension, the exhibitionism each time, Ramesh too was expecting more than just a repeat performance. She though she saw a question in his eyes, will you do it? Will you take off your top? 

The questions could have progressed from there. Will you show me your tits? Can I touch them? Squeeze them? How about the lower half…and so on. Couldn’t think about all that. Lack was planning was the core of this whole thing. She focused on the present. Reached a decision. 

She nodded slightly, having made up her mind. Even though he hadn’t actually asked a question. So far, he had been completely silent as an audience of one. He came, he saw, he left. Not the most interactive of audiences, but that would change.

She turned her back to him and slowly pulled her top off. She heard him suck in his breath through his teeth. A loud, and audible sound in the still office. This was a tableau without a soundtrack, at least not much of one.

She wondered if she had the guts to turn and give him a full frontal. She hesitated, then plucked the transparent chunni off the back of the chair that stood right next to her, and dbangd it decorously over her shoulders, covering her magnificent breasts. The chunni, pale pink and see-through, covered everything, and nothing. 

She turned, topless except for the chunni, but fully clothed below the waist, and stood still for a second. A few seconds, perhaps a full minute. 

She thought his eyes might bug out. His hands seemed to make some motion as though to lunge at her or maybe squeeze her boobs, but Ramesh controlled himself. At least he made no moves.

Slowly, with infinite care, and under the cover of the flimsy garment, she put on her bra. The material snagged on the erect nipples and she adjusted them.

She made a production of settling each breast in the cup, jiggled it until it was just so, then the other breast. She did up the straps in the back, pushing her boobs out at him. 

Then she took the chunni off and put on her kameez, and smoothed it down the front and over her ass. 

End of show.

[S Darko]

Thanks All. Appreciate the positive feedback, and negative too!

The direction of the narrative will change in the next few episodes. 

While I have the story in mind, it isn't written yet in it's entirety, and I will welcome suggestions as we go along on this journey with Swati Mishra. Will the real Swati, for whom this story is written comment? Will she? Won't she?

Let's wait and see.

[S Darko]

The next time, before she could put the chunni on, Ramesh spoke.


“Madam, can you leave the dupatta off this time?” 

His voice had a pleading quality, like a little child who is asking for a small treat. A treat that she could easily grant and something that cost her nothing, but that same thing would mean a lot to him.

So far, she had never spoken, and nor had he, not when she was putting on her show, but this time was different. The stakes had been raised once more. She felt the familiar giddiness, the heady feeling of transgressing some imaginary line, crossing some illicit boundary.

Her throat was dry like the Thar desert. She swallowed. “Theek hai, sure.”

She was still standing with her back to him, topless, and in the act of placing the kameez on the chair. Acutely conscious of her nudity, she laid the garment carefully on the chair so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Cotton fabric is the worst in that sense even though it is comfortable. In reality, she was buying time. 

Her hands touched the chunni, hesitated. 

She could picture the disappointment in Ramesh’s face. His mouth might turn down, his eyes lose their glitter. Her hands, which had traveled almost all the way to cover her breasts now dropped to her sides. Everything had a surreal, slow-motion quality to it. 

And again, in complete silence.

Slowly, hands now by her sides, she turned giving him a side view, then a three-quarter, and then finally the full-frontal she had denied him the last time. 

Her aureoles puckered, and her nipples hardened and pushed out further. 

Hard as stainless steel, she thought, and giggled. 

Ramesh must think she was some kind of tramp, laughing in this situation, this crazy circumstance. 

But Ramesh was not looking at her face. He was rapt on her boobs as they swayed gently with her slow twirl, and of course, her breathing. 

It was a look she has seen only on the religiously devout, that staring, unbelieving and mesmerized look, mouth slightly agape, tongue unconsciously moistening dry lips, and she felt a little surge of triumph. 

She had done that. She had made him feel like he was close to God. That feeling would go away and Ramesh wouldn’t be quite as awestruck a few weeks from now, but she had no way of knowing that.

She was leaking down below. Her pussy was on fire. Must wear some thin panty liners if this keeps up, she thought. But then the fun of transparent lingerie would be gone. 

Decisions, decisions. 

Because every time she went through this, her panties were sodden and her salwar wet. She had to throw the whole suit in the wash rather than hang them up in the closet for one more wear. Panties of course would be washed regardless.

Ramesh’s hands came up, palms toward her, like he was going to push her. Or make a grab for her tits. But he stopped short. He must have massive self-control.

“Are you a Hanuman Bhakt?” She asked.

Wordlessly, Ramesh nodded. 

She would not know this now, but later he would tell her. 

He was indeed a bhramachari, a celibate person by choice. He had been in the shakha for a few years as a child and a young man. He had worshipped Hanuman and taken an oath of celibacy. 

Now, of course, all that was in jeopardy. The oath was taken in some childhood or teenage excess of emotion, with peer pressure. He hadn’t known anything about the alternatives, except that they led to the road to hell. 

Now, he could feel himself being dragged down into the depths of depravity by this gori memsaab and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. It was blackening his hitherto pristine, pure white soul and probably tainting his afterlife, but again, nothing do about it. 

And he loved every minute of it.

She nodded understanding. That explained his enormous self-restraint in the face of overwhelming temptation.
 
But, she thought, if he had wanted, would she have let him touch her? Had he reached out for her, would she have shrunk back, avoiding his touch? 

She imagined his dark, probably rough and callused hands on her cold cream and lotion pampered, soft and silky skin? The flesh of her breasts? Touching, caressing, maybe even kneading. Pulling at her nipples, palming and hefting the massive tits. Her intimate flesh that even Ashok couldn’t touch at will? She didn’t know and didn’t want to dwell on it right at that moment. 

But later, with Neetu, she would face these questions and try to come up with some answers. Answers that she would not like because it told a story about her and what kind of person she was. But eventually, she would come to terms with that.

Her breasts heaved with her breathing, which was now coming in short gasps as she neared orgasm. At least she thought she was close. 

This was a curious phenomenon that she still hadn’t come to terms with; whenever she was with Ramesh, doing a “show,” she would have an orgasm at some point. She had no control over it. Her pussy would lubricate and gush, and then the orgasm would be upon her, a surprise every time. 

She had tried to research it online, but nothing conclusive. The female orgasm, it seemed, was in many ways a mystery, even to women. 

It hit her as she picked up her bra and settled the cups on her breasts. It might have been the inadvertent stimulation of the nipples, or it might not, but her knees became water, and her hips thrust out in a mimicry of the sex act, and she came.

It was a powerful gush this time. Something she knew was called squirting in porn, and she had zero control over it. The crotch of her salwar and then the inner material that covered her thighs darkened with the deluge and as soon as she could, she pulled her kameez over herself to cover her shame. 

Ramesh was watching goggle-eyed. He had no idea what had just happened. 

If this was normal, or extreme sexiness, or something else, he had no idea. He thought he might ask Prakash about it, but decided that his buddy would probably know nothing either. But in that he would be wrong.

Red faced, her eyes on the floor, Swati left, but not before securing the day and time of her next “date.”

[S Darko]

Inder Kumar, the IT guy, was an inveterate snoop. 

One of his habits was to idly monitor the goings and comings of the company he was employed in. He had found many interesting things in his ten plus years running the security settings of the computers, the surveillance cameras, monitoring passwords, and such. 

It was his firm belief that people had become so used to surveillance cameras everywhere, that they had become inured to them. And of course, privacy was a myth that people held to make themselves feel better.


At Synchronics, he had been promoted to the head of IT security a few years ago, but his habit of snooping was long-standing. Even in college, he had found ways of getting into the Principal’s office and obtaining crucial question papers before the exams. It wasn’t that he was a bad student; it was the challenge of doing something that others couldn’t or wouldn’t do, the curiosity of someone who found human activities intriguing that drove him. 

For example, he had once seen and recorded footage of one of the senior managers fornicating in the copy room, after hours, with an intern who doubtless thought that this would advance her career. 

Inder sat on the footage after carefully erasing his footprints from the log and then investigated the guy, Baweja. It turned out, from Baweja’s hacked personnel records, that he was also married to a high-profile business lady from another company. She made more money than him, and Inder guessed it was that sense of inadequacy that led him down the path of infidelity. When Inder blackmailed him, the man was quite happy to pay him a chuck of the money his wife made. The business had soon lost its flavor, though. What was the fun with a willing victim, anyway?

Inder had, on one occasion, supplied important documents from one guy’s computer to his rival to enable his to get ahead in the company. For cash, of course. He could have, but never did sell inside information to a rival company. No industrial espionage for him. The penalties could be steep. He kept to the down low; individuals only and cash only. As anonymous as possible. Not that he needed the money. 

In the meantime, his voyeurism continued, and the hours of pleasure he derived from watching his fellow humans do all kinds of illicit things was a reward all in itself. From the CEO of the company drinking from the bottle that he kept in his drawer to the CFO who was fucking his assistant in the bathroom attached to his suite under the guise of giving dictation, Inder had all kinds of information. 

In an Information Age, Inder was king of the heap, at least in the small pond he found himself in. 

He knew how to hack into laptops and view the user without their being aware, thanks to the news that Zuck was using duct tape to cover his camera. Inder had hopped on the dark web that very day and learned how to do that. Surprisingly easy once you knew how. But his experience with that wasn’t that great. It was surveillance, sure, but the view was limited to what the camera could see, and that usually wasn’t much. It was much more interesting to monitor keystrokes and watch what his target was doing.

He was therefore surprised when he heard Ramesh and Prakash talking in the staff break room where he had gone to fix a router, about some gori memsaab that was putting on “nanga shows” for the lowly, laborer-type guy. His interest piqued, he interjected himself into the conversation and found out very little more, and not enough to pinpoint the person in question. 

So he went back to the surveillance tapes in his own time, and discovered certain interesting anomalies. 

It turned out from the time stamps that the man, Ramesh was spending an inordinate amount of time cleaning a certain cabin on the sixth floor of the building. Not enough evidence of course, but enough to dig deeper. 

After all, what could be keeping the man in that specific office for so long. He cleaned every other office in just a few minutes. There were no cameras in the individual offices, only in the halls, the conference rooms, and common areas like the staircase, the garage and so on, so Inder had to be patient and bide his time. 

But Inder was a spider. If he had one quality above all others, it was patience. He would have to have a word with the cleaner, what was his name again? He settled his bulk in his gaming chair, and looked at his notepad, yeah, Ramesh. 

He pulled Ramesh’s personnel records and scanned them. Twenty-year-old guy from some small village near Balli. Class eight pass, very minimal skills, hence the cleaner job. Bottom of the pile. No prior criminal record. A stupid looking picture on the front page confirmed it was the right guy. 

He dug deeper. Using the Aadhar card information, he hacked into the security officer files. Aha! There it was. Ramesh babu wasn’t quite as naive as he let on. He had been involved with some politician in his village and had been caught carrying a country mage gun, a katta. There were bribes paid, the case was dropped for lack of evidence, some sort of story about the gun itself going missing. Some kind of bargain had been struck, and he was to leave the village, and only return for visits, not exceeding two weeks. 

And no more contact with the politician. It was a mystery how the details of these records were still available. Inder had an idea that the deal was quite okay with Ramesh. 

Inder had found a lever. And like Galileo, he was ready to move the earth.

Inder pulled the man’s personnel file and noted down the mobile number. A phone call? A text message? Probably neither. Her didn’t want to call, and the guy might not be able to read a text message in any language. So…a voice message would work best.

A thought struck him. Was the other guy, the guy in the chaprasi uniform with whom he had been discussing the woman, was he into the game too? He had, so far, not featured in any of the archival video that Inder had gone through, but there was a limit to what he could humanly surveil. 

He shrugged. Went back to his video game and took a bite of his Cadbury bar that Amitabh Bachchan highly recommended. No nuts or raisins or any of that shit. Plain milk chocolate was the best.

[S Darko]

Why the sad emoji?

[S Darko]

Soon. Maybe tomorrow. Thanks for your patience.

[S Darko]

“Are you crazy?” The question was rhetorical, of course, but Neetu’s eyes flashed anger as well as some degree of respect, maybe even jealously.


Swati had just finished telling Neetu all about the “shows” she had been putting on for Ramesh the cleaner for the last several weeks. 

They were sitting in the outdoor seating area of the popular Prego restaurant, nibbling on veggie pizza. Neetu had iced tea, and Swati was drinking coke, regular, not diet, and Neetu had pointed it out, pointed out Swati’s minuscule midriff and told her that it was a bad idea to continue along the regular coke route.

Swati pointed right back at Neetu’s hourglass figure, but it was a weak comeback. 

Neetu could have been an instagram fitness model and they both knew it. Instead, she just asked her for some tips for her aching back. Neetu said that was a nice problem to have with her big boobs and all and the two friends went back and forth with the ribald comments. 

“Let’s make sure of a few things,” Neetu said, taking a dainty bite of her pizza. “No touching, right? No hands on business.” 

Swati nodded. Nothing hands on. So far, she thought, so far everything has been hands-off, but did not say. 

“But just in case, you know, for safety and so on…you have your pepper spray, right?”

Swati nodded again. So far, she had, not even for a moment, felt afraid of Ramesh. He was just a kid, maybe around twenty or so, but she decided she would ask him the next time they met. 

As for the pepper spray, where was she going to hide it? Not many choices if you were half naked, and that too maybe not for long. A quick and stupid thought flashed in her mind—conceal it like a tampon. 

Yeah, right. That would be hard metal and plastic and could hurt her. Anyway, it was only a passing thought. 

She fantasized a little about a full nude show, maybe something more than just a nude show? What could that be? 

But Neetu was speaking, and Swati had lost her. “What?” She said.

“Swati! Jeez Girl, pay attention! I was talking about safety. You’re on the pill, right?”

This was a completely different type of protection from pepper sprays, she thought.
 
“No, I have an IUD, and it’s quite comfortable.”

“How about STDs? You have to insist on a condom, okay?” Neetu looked at her friend with concern. This was a differnet  kind of protection. 

“I said it was all hands off,” Swati snapped. “Where is all this IUD and condoms and shit coming from?”

“Hehe. You know what they say…be good, but if you can’t be good, be safe? That’s all I’m saying.”

They were silent for a bit and then Neetu said, “But remember the time when you thought he was going to grab your tits? How about that?”

Swati thought about it. “Yeah, but the guy is a Hanuman bhakt. You know, those wrestler types that practice celibacy. I doubt he will try to touch or start anything. It’s all just titillation for him I think. Besides, he’s just a kid. I can handle him.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you think,” Neetu said, batting Swati's statement with a languid wave of her hand. “These guys, once they get the idea that it is for the taking, he’ll be over you, pumping away, and you doubled up, with your feet by your ears.” 

Neetu made a ring of her index finger and thumb and rapidly moved her other index finger in and out of the circle. Then she furtively looked around to see if her obscene gesture have been seen by anyone. No one had paid them the least attention, it seemed. Neetu started laughing and soon they both dissolved into gales of laughter.

The lewd image Neetu had painted was exciting and enticing, and Swati imagined herself in that situation, and then Neetu also. The thought wasn’t that unwelcome. His dark skin, juxtaposed on her fair complexion. His, hopefully large cock, plowing though her cunt, glistening with her juices, in and out…she shuddered.

Neetu noticed her reaction but misinterpreted it. “Those low class fellows are all the same. Be careful…but you know what you have to do if not! Hahaha!”

Neetu sucked on her ice tea. Her red lips around the straw were super erotic, and Swati flashed on an imaginary scenario where she was sucking, and not on a straw.

She decided to change the topic. “So how’s your new thoku? Is it the Anglo guy from the gym that you’re fucking, or are you seeing someone else these days?”

Neetu was still single, and not just ready to mingle, but doing so at a furious rate over the last many years. Swati sometimes felt jealous for having settled into the life of a normal, boring, domestic existence. 

What she was doing was so tame, it was like nothing at all. Compared to Neetu and her famous orgies, Swati was practically a sadhvi, someone who practiced meditation and went to the temple twice a week at least.

“Of yeah, I have a few dildos juggling in the air right now. But I’m getting into this tantric sex stuff. There’s this guru that’s very knowledgeable…” she dissolved into a giggling fit. 

“A guru? Really? You’re into that kind of kink now, are you?” This was not really new stuff. 

Neetu had once dropped out of college for a couple of months following a new age guru who preached free sex and lots of good hash, nothing new there, but she had become a sort of groupie for a bit. And of course, she’d had a whole buttload of sex. Literally. She told me her entire sexual encyclopedia had been rewritten. I, of course was on the verge of getting married at that time, and could only hear her stories and have the familiar FOMO.

“No, it’s not that kind of guru. His name is Guru. He’s an insta fitness model, but he’s into these kinks. You ever heard of a yoga swing?”

She then went into an elaborate explanation of how the device,  invented for doing arial yoga could be so readily adapted for sex games. Swati pretended to yawn and snap her fingers in front of her open mouth. 

Neetu took the hint and stopped with a giggle. 

“But seriously babes, what’s the end game here? Where are you going with this? Are you going to keep putting on these “shows” for him, or is there any other plan in place?” She made air quotes.

Swati had to think for a moment. She’s had no plan beyond the immediate. No end game in mind. She went with her gut. 

But now that she thought about it, what were the next steps? There would have to be touching, for sure, otherwise where was the fun? Then, there might be mutual masturbation like she had done with her first and only boyfriend before marrying Ashok, but perhaps not actual sex? 

She would have to think about it. Neetu was now busy on her phone. Even though her question wasn’t rhetorical, Swati had no answer. 

As they parted, Neetu swatted Swati on the butt, winked and said, “Stay safe, you mega slut!”

Swati stuck out her middle finger and mock seriously said, “Yeah, yeah, sure, you whore!”

She turned and started back for her office when she saw someone in the chaprasi uniform of her company. 

Her heart skipped several beats until she realized it wasn’t Ramesh, but it was a while before her heart rate settled to a regular rhythm again.

[S Darko]

Thanks Guys. Next one coming soon.

[S Darko]

Patience, young grasshopper...

[S Darko]

Ramesh lay on his bed, alone this night. 

Nawaz was away on his night duty with whatever he did, and Prakash had gone to his village to see potential brides. Why he needed potential brides when he went to the red light area every week was beyond Ramesh. He could control himself, why couldn’t Prakash? But Prakash was a friend, someone who had given shelter to him when he was alone in this big city. Ramesh was nothing if not loyal to his friends.


Just like the time with his friend in the village who was running for public office. He’d asked Ramesh to threaten a strong rival so that he would withdraw from the race and pave the way for him to become an MLA. 

Ramesh had acquired a desi katta, a country made pistol, and accomplished the intended aim, but unfortunately, he had come under security officer scrutiny. His uncle had made a deal with the local security officer chief and Ramesh was let off without any jail time, but he was, as they say, tadipaar, or exiled from his village except for brief visits. That was hard, especially leaving his mother and sister. His father was mostly a brooding and authoritarian presence, and they weren’t close.

His thoughts shifted again. The trouble was not with Swati madam or Prakash, but with him. 

He had so much trouble controlling his cock. The damn thing would rise up, and swell, and become hard at the most inopportune moments. Moments such as when Swati madam had shown favor to him by appearing in various stages of undress in front of him. And later he would have to take care of it himself. 

He had asked, like a beggar, pleaded in fact, for more, and she had so graciously obliged. She was, in his mind, a Devi, a true goddess. Perhaps the very one he had been destined so long ago to protect. His mind returned to the one night at the temple of Rati. How his spirit had been touched, but not his flesh. Never his flesh. Some people, like himself were above that kind of thing. 

He was troubled by the fat man’s demands though. 

He and Prakash had been talking in the cafeteria in the basement, the one for the cleaners and watchmen and so on, and Prakash had commented loudly on the nangi shows that the madam upstairs had given him. Yes, it was on him that he had told Prakash about the shows, but at the time he had not realized what they were. 

But then, the fat man had walked over. He’d been fiddling with wires in the corner and had heard Prakash’s loud and crass remark, and waddled over, bursting with curiosity. 

“Nangi madam? Who, where?” The foul practically salivating. He even had a bad smell about him. Probably didnt bathe regualrly.

The guy looked, in a word, oily.

Ramesh looked away. There was no reason to speak to this man, leave alone tell him more about Swati madam. Prakash had looked eager, almost on the point of saying something, but one hard look from Ramesh squelched that. 

He’d thought the matter was ended when the oily, fat man asked a couple more times, and Ramesh said, “Nothing, just talking about a movie we saw.” He knew it was unconvincing, and the fat man did look unconvinced, but what could he do. 

Damn Prakash and his loose tongue. The fat man waddled away. 

“Who is he?” Ramesh asked after the departing form.

Prakash shrugged. There was no reason they would know the head of IT security.

And Ramesh thought that was the end of that. 

Until the text message arrived later that night asking him to report to the head of IT security’s office after his evening shift was over.

The fat man came directly to the point. 

He told Ramesh that he knew of his past, something that mystified him. He had thought that the katta incident was buried, never documented, but evidently not so. Yet the fat man somehow knew. 

Then he placed his demands. He wanted to know who the woman was, the nangi madam. Then he wanted Ramesh to take certain incremental steps…

Ramesh’s head was reeling as he walked away from that meeting. But he also realized that he was over a barrel. The fat man had him by the balls. 

If he refused, his past would be made known to the Human Resources woman, and he would be fired immediately for concealing his past. Even though he was not officially a criminal, he would be terminated. They had told him they had a zero tolerance policy right in the beginning when they were giving him the boring orientation speeches. That was the only thing he remembered from that time.

And he absolutely needed this job. The hotel job didn't pay quite enough. And besides, he'd heard that they were downsizing, so that might not last very long.

He wanted the fat fucker dead. Maybe he would just have a heart attack and drop dead, but that was wishful thinking. He had to accede to the fat man’s demands. He had no choice, even though he hated himself for it.

[S Darko]

story is moving in a very slow place, sir please post long updates

Yes Sir! This story is written by request. Long one only. Also, the situations have to be built up, and unfortunately that is slow. It is not a quick fap material; there is actually a story here, at least in my mind.

Thanks for your patience.

I will try to post another update later today.

[S Darko]

Excellent build up so far & it's taking shape beautifully. The various conflicts with the characters will be fun & exciting, gives the thrill, enjoyment, sadness, frustration, feeling bad etc. The various array of emotions this story can bring going by how it's evolving is exciting. Bro, take your time & go slow, this story has lot of potential. Eagerly waiting to see how Swati's downfall unravels. Please give regular updates is the only request. Thanks for taking time out to develop such a nice erotic story.

Appreciate the sentiments. It is indeed a little bit of hard work to think the story through especially if you want it to hang together. 
Next update hopefully later today.

[S Darko]

Sorry if I have offended you and also for putting my request in a wrong way, I know the story is not going to be a quick one but what I was asking for is that the updates are little less frequent and also short. It is just a request from a fan to give long or frequent updates. The story is really nice and I am opening this forum only for this story. I also know this might be just your passion of writing erotica......so no pressure. it's like you ask what you want without considering other people's situation...my mistake.  Thanks for the awesome story.

No offense taken my friend. Thanks for being a loyal reader.

[S Darko]

Swati was topless again, swaying slightly from side to side making her boobs swing, when Ramesh spoke. 


“Madam, can you do a…walk?” He shimmied his hips in an incomprehensible way.

Swati was puzzled and it showed on her face. Walk? What walk?

“Walk matlab?”

“Like the models do…you know on TV and such,” Ramesh said.

Oh, he meant a catwalk. Like in a fashion show. 

Swati was tall, in a relative way, but together with heels, she could top five-seven.
 
So far, all her “show” had been static, in that she had stood mainly in one place, with only the occasional twirl to show this or that. Always, of course, to show her assets better or sometimes to hide them. This was a new twist. Static was now going to become dynamic. She stood a moment, her posture relaxing. She had to think this over.

As far as figure went, she was quite confident in hers. 

She had fleshy but not overlarge hips, a still relatively narrow waist, and as for her boobs, well, wasn’t that the problem in all the wrong ways! If you were to ask a man, any man, he would likely tell her it was a good problem to have. Like too much money or too many girlfriends. 

In some ways, she thought she had the body of the porn actress Lena Paul, but the face more like one of the Indian actresses, closest in her mind was the relative newcomer, Kriti Sanon. 

She glanced down at her boobs. A quick glance. They hung a little now, not as high and proud as they had been before Dhruv came along, but still pretty great, even if she said so herself. Her nipples were large and pointed slightly off to one side rather than straight ahead, like someone who gave a three-quarter profile rather than face the camera straight-on. 

Big aureoles, but nicely proportioned, not too big, not too small, right in the Goldilocks zone. Her belly too was flat, with maybe just a little outward curve as it approached the waistband of her salwar. A nice deep navel.

She thought about her legs. Last she had seen them in the mirror, and critically appraised them, they were still shapely, just the right amount of fat and muscle tone. Good calves. She knew she was no waif like most of the scrawny models in the country. Or the world for that matter.

She decided she could carry off a catwalk. And for Ramesh, an audience of one, who was probably no connoisseur, it should be no issue at all. But, logistics came in the way.

“But, this office is too small,” she said. Two or three steps, and she would be at the door. Two-three steps the other way, she’d run into the wall. It was a spacious office with a large enough desk, yes, but it was hardly a runway ramp. 

Ramesh’s face fell. There was a theatrical quality to his expression and Swati narrowed her eyes. Topless, with her tits on full display, nipples and aureoles all puckered, she still wondered what game Ramesh was playing. 

This was his second request, and Swati assumed it would be harmless like his previous one too. Come to think of it, this was harmless wasn’t it? All he wanted was she should walk, perhaps with a little hip swing, tits thrust out, like all the catwalk models did. Nothing too bad. 

“Yes,” he said, “it is very small…” 

Then he brightened, and again Swati felt the theatricality in the way his expression changed. But then, this whole thing was some kind of drama, wasn’t it? Real life could never be this way. A high-class woman progressively exposing herself to a low-class man from the villages. That too, several years younger than her. 

So many taboos were being broken, Swati had lost count.

“How about the conference room? There’s plenty of space there,” he said. His expression was eager, pleading, hoping she would agree. 

“Conference room? But there might be people there!” Swati was starting to panic. It was one thing to expose herself to the cleaner in the privacy of her office where she had a modicum of control, or at least that’s how it felt, but the conference room was a vast space, and she felt very uneasy. 

Then she thought about the possibilities. She had been pushing past her boundaries, her limitations in the last few months. 

This would be another step forward. But first she had to make sure of one thing.

“Can you walk around and make sure no one is in any office? No one on this floor at all?”

Ramesh grinned wolfishly, canines exposed, and patted the large key-ring that was attached to his belt loop. “I have the master keys to all the offices in this building.”

Swati felt a thrill of danger, fear, all in her belly, her insides feeling light and liquid, but also a tingle of excitement in her nether regions. 

She looked at him carefully. His features were becoming familiar, and he had a naive, innocent quality that she rarely saw these days. People were so knowing, so full of themselves. Ramesh’s face was refreshing that way. Cute almost.

“Go,” she said with a smile, her cheeks dimpling much to Ramesh’s delight, “check quickly and come back.”

They were a team now. He would check to make certain the coast, so to speak, was clear, and she would go along with their games of exhibition. Before, he was an audience of one, she, the titillator-in-chief, but things had changed again. The balance of power, it seemed, had shifted a little, but Swati felt great. She even felt a little grateful that she was getting this opportunity, which she thought was strange.

Now they were partners. They had a common goal now. 

She needed to exhibit herself, make a “show,” and he needed to watch. He checked to make sure there were no stragglers in the office, especially near the conference room while she waited in her office. 

Later, they walked down the hall, she in front, he behind. She was fully dressed, sans bra, but her salwar and kameez were still on. She would undress in the conference room and give him a little catwalk. Topless of course. But the salwar would still be on.