The everbest wives: 2

Posted: May 13, 2010 | Author: Durgesh | Filed under: Ashvinatam, Muslimahs, Muslimat | Tags: Imāmzādī Ħumairah Qāzī |8 Comments

The everbest wives

Durgesh

Chapter 1: No Hindu, Please!

Chapter 2

Only Hindus, Please! The discovery

It hasn’t bothered me for some time now.

It used too.

Perhaps many or even most of you will think that it should.

But the fact is, at this stage in my life, my relationship with my son Durgesh is to us, the most natural, the most beautiful, the most pure coupling imaginable.

We are both secure in the strength of our love both filial and physical.

We first consummated our love as Hindu male and Saåūdī Årab Musalmān female when he was but eighteen.

Perhaps at that tender age, there was unfairness in the division of power between us.

What Hindu boy of seventeen could truly resist the charms of an attractive Saåūdī Årab Musalmān woman even those of his Ammījān?

What Hindu boy could exercise true free-will when confronted with the beauty of his Ammījān unabashedly desiring him to be inside her?

This no longer concerns me.

Years later, my Hindu son is now certainly of an age where his decisions are truly his own.

A breathtakingly handsome Hindu man, he’s had the opportunity to sample other Saåūdī Årab Musalmān women, exquisite Saåūdī Årab Musalmān women.

But always, he has returned to me.

He has returned to ‘his’ Ammījān.

How did our relationship turn from a normal, loving, nurturing relationship between Ammījān and son to the animalistic, passionate romance that we now enjoy?

When did that first spark of sensuality burn between us?

It is difficult to say but what follows will be an attempt to portray to you a sense of the love, the passion, and the depth of our bond.

When my son Durgesh is inside me, nothing else matters in this world.

I shall try to express why.

When Durgesh was seventeen, he moved in with me.

He had been living with his real father, my ex-lover, Vishvās Shakr Mānav, for some time, but tensions were building between them regarding me.

Durgesh was not my real son.

Neither, I was, in fact, legally married to his Pitr’shrī Vishvās Shakr Mānav.

My real husband, Muħammad Ůsmān, was Vishvās’s friend.

I fell in love with Vishvās right when my nikāħ was being performed with Muħammad Ůsmān.

I could not say ‘No’, when Qāzī sāħab asked me,

“Imāmzādī Ħumairah Qāzī, do you accept your nikāħ with Muħammad Ůsmān….”

Durgesh was particularly offended by his Pitr’shrī’s treatment of me after my divorce from Muħammad Ůsmān.

He was already calling me, ‘Ammījān’.

“Why can’t you accept Ħumairah Qāzī Ammī, Pitr’shrī?” Durgesh quarreled for me with his Pitr’shrī, Vishvās Shakr Mānav, “She has divorced her unworthy Musalmān husband for you.”

“You are a child, Durgesh. You can’t understand the problems of married life now.” Vishvās Shakr Mānav said.

“But she has left her incompetent husband for you.”

“No, she has done it for herself, NOT for me. Not for your father. I said you can’t understand. You need too much adult experiences to understand it. “

“Experiences? Adult experiences?”Durgesh, my loyal son ,said ironically, “Those are the only experiences my great parents allowed me to have. What else I experience 24×7 except to fuck the extremely beautiful Muslim girls and women?”

“Enough. Watch your language. I’m your father.”

“You both never allowed me to be a normal child. I’m a unique child who is a born adult.” Durgesh said and walked away.

I think Durgesh just grew weary of constantly defending me from the endless tirades my ex lover directed towards me.

Eventually, Durgesh left his father to move in with me.

I had mixed feelings about this.

I loved Durgesh as my son dearly but I had grown to appreciate my privacy.

I had no concerns about modesty.

I could wear whatever I wanted around the house…or go naked.

It was my choice, not appreciated by neither Muħammad Ůsmān nor by Vishvās Shakr Mānav.

Also, since my divorce, I had begun to enjoy the company of other Hindu men.

What else could I do?

Vishvās wanted me to be one more Al Khadijah Al Wahab.

He could not understand that I was a different woman.

I was Ħumairah Qāzī.

I dated.

I had Hindu men over.

And sometimes, they were invited to share my bed.

All the metros living Muslimahs divorcees were doing in my way, I assure that.

You don’t know them personally, I do.

Their bedrooms are actually second bedrooms of capable Hindus.

Why Hindus only?

Because only Hindus could understand these natural feminine emotions and respect us even with the knowledge.

Muslims are never as liberal as Hindus are.

They called us millionaire Muslim sluts of Hindus.

Damn all the Muslim impotents.

Cursing us Muslimahs for their own shortcomings.

We hate Muslims.

And we are proud of it that we don’t need the impotent incompetents ever.

Hindus have already replaced them in our sex life forever.

Allah hafiz, Muslims!

Enjoy your fools Paradise.

We are more than happy with Hindus.

Actually, Hindus are practical husbands of us Muslimahs, and we are proud of them.

But now, I had a young Hindu adolescent living with me.

Things had to change.

Out of respect for my Hindu son, I voluntarily elected to compromise my freedom…

I could not do it even for Vishvās Shakr Mānav.

Sorry!

Extremely sorry!

Perhaps it was my greatest mistake.

Perhaps, if I had done it for him, instead for Durgesh, I had Vishvas even today.

However, what has been done, has been done.

I could not undo it now.

I felt I needed to shield my beloved Hindu son, Durgesh, from the realities of my sex life.

He loved me even more than he loved his real parents Vishvās Shakr Mānav and Imāmzādī Sheikħzādī Al Kħadījah Al Waħāb.

So the Hindu men were gone, banished.

This was quite difficult.

I am by nature an extremely sexual Saåūdī Årab Musalmān woman.

Also, I promised myself that from now on, I would dress more “conservatively” around the apartment when Durgesh was at home.

At first, none of this was a problem.

I simply subjugated my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān libido by throwing myself into my work and into the nonstop effort of taking care of my Hindu boy.

Actually, we turned out to be quite good roommates.

Unfortunately, old habits are difficult to break.

Perhaps, Vishvas is right again.

We need ‘Tahannus’, we need Stavans, to break our old habits, if we really want to break them.

Occasionally, I would forget the impact that my physical appearance could have on an impressionable, rapidly maturing young Hindu man.

You see, without wishing to brag, I must tell you that I am quite a beautiful Saåūdī Årab Musalmān woman.

At the time, I was 41, 23 years older than Durgesh, but few would guess that.

Normally they understood I was his elder sister, or cousin.

They even suspected that Durgesh was my lover.

My lovers were jealous of Durgesh even.

I laughed at all these misunderstandings.

I’m a black with piercing eyes.

My skin is like alabaster since, because of my delicate complexion, I have never been a sun-worshipper.

This fact has served me well and has contributed to my overall youthful appearance.

I’m tall, slim but not skinny.

My Saåūdī Årab Musalmān body is definitely feminine.

I have full, rich curves in what I take to be the right places judging by the admiring Hindu stares I often elicit from Hindu men at my gym.

Very often after a work-out, I like to examine my shape in the Saåūdī Årab Musalmān women’s locker room.

My ritual is fairly structured.

I’ll strip my leotards off my sweaty body and, completely nude, will walk to a large wall mirror.

I check myself out, turning this way and that oblivious to the averted glances of the other Saåūdī Årab Musalmān women to my rather impromptu “demonstrations”.

Hypocrites women.

They love to lead the life, I am leading, yet can’t confess it even to themselves.

Some women are afraid of everyone, even of themselves.

Yet—Every once in a while, a Saåūdī Årab Musalmān woman will catch me alone and tell me what lovely extremely enticing Saåūdī Årab Musalmān breasts I have or what a great Saåūdī Årab Musalmān ass I’ve got!

At any rate, sometimes the power of my appearance on the sexual drive of a maturing Hindu boy is lost on me.

Occasionally, I’ll forget and wear something a little too risqué around the house.

Nothing obscene, but sometimes inappropriate: little under skirts and perhaps a tee shirt without the formality of a brassiere underneath.

Maybe I’ll forget and amble out of my bedroom in one of the skimpy negligees I’m fond of sleeping in.

Durgesh has caught me dressed in such a manner and I could clearly sense the effect I’d had on him.

Sometimes he’d be embarrassed, sometimes anxious.

He was never casual about it though.

One time, I was taking a shower and I’d run out of soap.

My shower was so hot and steaming and wonderful and the apartment was so cold, I figured I’d spare myself the shock of going into the hallway for more soap.

So I called out to Durgesh to have him bring me some.

After perhaps a minute, I heard the bathroom door open.

I figured that Durgesh would simply leave the soap on the counter.

I was quite surprised when instead; he opened the door and handed it to me.

There I was, steaming water cascading over my utterly nude Saåūdī Årab Musalmān body, my Hindu son gazing at me as he gave me the soap.

He stood there for no longer than a second.

However, I’ll never forget the look on his face in that instant.

He was speechless, stunned, his eyes wide open.

Yet, full of immense masculine admiration, of my nude feminine body.

He glanced at my large extremely enticing Saåūdī Årab Musalmān breasts, the nipples erect in the moist heat.

His gaze then drifted to my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt, which had just recently been trimmed.

Lastly, he looked up at my face.

It was obvious that he was NOT embarrassed, neither mortified, at his transgression.

He quickly closed the door and stepped out of the bathroom leaving me to ponder over what had just happened.

That night, and many nights since, I pictured in my mind’s eye, the image of my Hindu son as he gazed at my wet, naked Saåūdī Årab Musalmān body, especially at my extremely beautiful Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt, in the shower.

It very quickly became clear that his expression was more than just normal adolescent Hindu male curiosity.

It was the undeniable expression of Hindu male lust for Musalmān Beauties.

I’d seen it from numerous Hindu men a thousand times in my life.

What was perhaps most surprising was not this realization, but my reaction to it.

I found myself pleasantly excited.

Allah!

Allah!!

Was I that much horny?

The thought that I actually turned on my own son became strangely thrilling to me.

I love forbidden fruits.

Yes, that’s what I am.

I love forbidden fruits.

Weeks went by, since the soap incident.

But then another event occurred that rather surprised me.

One day, I was particularly exhausted after a very long day at work.

I went into my bedroom and got undressed.

I slipped into my favorite nightie: a big favorite of my ex-husband.

Thinking my Hindu son, Durgesh, would be out for several hours with his Musalmān girl friends, I went into the living room to watch television.

Exhausted, I fell asleep on the sofa.

I don’t know exactly what it was that caused me to awaken.

My eyes slowly drifted open and there was Durgesh, standing silently over me.

He’d apparently been watching me as I slept.

As my consciousness gradually returned, I noticed that in lying on the sofa, my nightie had ridden up my side revealing my entire right thigh and providing my son with an unobstructed view of my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt.

Allah!

Allah! !

He was again watching that great Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt of mine, extremely popular among capable Hindus.

What a careless mother I was.

I had no idea how long he’d been standing there but as he became aware that I had awakened, his eyes caught my own.

Durgesh smiled, not even slightly embarrassed, but immediately darted off.

I rearranged my nightie, got up and went to my bedroom, to return to sleep once more.

The strange admiring look on my son’s face never left me until I finally drifted off.

These events lingered in my mind.

My Hindu son, Durgesh, was clearly turned on by my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān physical presence.

I was not his ‘mother’ then.

I was only a Musalmān beauty.

This reality became more and more exciting to me.

Certainly, I knew that like all Hindu boys his age, he didn’t masturbate, yet squeezed his Uncut Hindu Penis controlling himself.

He’d spend an undue amount of time in the bathroom only to control himself.

I’d find an occasional ‘play boy’ under the mattress in his bedroom.

I knew what he was doing.

I never brought it to his attention or sought to embarrass him over what I took to be a completely normal activity.

But lately, I had discovered something new.

My own panties would turn up in the laundry hamper with obvious semen stains…

An expensive brassiere would turn out to be missing from my dresser.

So my son, Durgesh, found me physically desirable.

Måshā Allah!

Subħān Allah!

What an outstanding beauty you are Ħumairah Qāzī.

Imāmzādī Ħuairah Qāzī.

At your 41, an 18 year Hindu boy, Durgesh, is mad for you.

Could it also be that I filled his fantasy life as well?

When he ejaculated on my panties, did they serve as an impersonal fetish?

Or were they a direct link to his recollections of me, of my body, of my own sexuality?

Did my own son fantasize about making love to his own Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Ammījān?

The very idea was incredible!

It repulsed me.

Yet at the same time, it was wonderful!

I tried to push the thought out of my mind but always, my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān mind returned to it.

Perhaps my own forced celibacy was playing tricks on me.

In truth, I was incredibly horny.

I seemed to walk about in a constant state of arousal.

I felt like I was on the verge of exploding at any Moment.

At times, I would even go into cold sweats and late night shivers.

One day, my son, Durgesh, and his Saåūdī Årab Musalmān girl friends were in our garage lifting weights.

Lifting weights?

I smiled.

Fucking.

Doing nothing else.

They were not foolish enough to do anything else.

I rarely bothered him when he was fucking them.

His real parents had brought out him so that he was capable to do that 24×7, yet never tired or exhausted.

Muslim Cunts were the natural home of Durgesh’s Uncut Hindu Penis.

He couldn’t survive out of them, as a fish couldn’t survive out of water.

For some reason though, I came into the garage to ask them if they wanted a cold drink.

The Hindu boy and Saåūdī Årab Musalmān girls were stripped to their gym shorts and nothing else.

Perhaps they were careful to hear any outside coming footsteps.

Their bodies were covered with a thin sheen of sweat.

Now Zahidah Sheikħ, my son’s friend was certainly a beautiful young woman with a very nice Saåūdī Årab Musalmān body.

But I was stunned to notice how strong and muscular my own son, Durgesh, had become.

His Hindu physique was becoming very impressive.

Durgesh looked quite masculine with his shortly-cropped blond hair and his rich tan.

My son was getting to be quite tall, certainly several inches taller than me :and I’m five-foot-eight.

His Hindu body was developing wonderful definition and mass.

The 24×7 fucking was not injurious to his health.

It was a tonic instead.

The bench-pressing he was obviously doing was building a powerful, well-shaped chest that would be the envy of older more mature men.

He was downright magnificent!

At that Moment, as I compared him to his good-looking Pitr’shrī, I was proud of how my own son clearly excelled.

Suddenly as I was looking at him standing there in his little shorts, I found myself becoming very hot for him!

It was as though a flood of Saåūdī Årab Musalmān female hormones surged through my very being.

I don’t know if he noticed the rapid change that came over his Ħuairah Qāzī Ammījān at that Moment, but I knew that I had to leave the garage.

If I’d not leave immediately, perhaps I could grab his Penis asking for penetrations, then and there.

That night, was the first time in my entire life as an Ammījān that I masturbated while fantasizing about my own Hindu son, Durgesh.

But it wasn’t to be the last.

I found myself fantasizing about him constantly.

He was fucking me in my dreams 24×7.

Allah!

I could not get rid of his dreams fucking me savagely, and me responding gallantly.

My mind would drift to images of him in all stages of undress, in all positions of sexual intercourses.

I pictured us making wild, passionate love.

It was insane but I couldn’t help myself.

I couldn’t stop imagining my handsome Hindu son, Durgesh, on top of me, showing his Ħumairah Qāzī Ammījān just how virile and masculine he really was, showing his Ħumairah Qāzī Ammījān just what he was capable of doing to a Saåūdī Årab Musalmān woman.

I began to speculate on the state of his Hindu male “equipment”.

His Pitr’shrī, Vishvās Shakr Mānav, was enormous.

Was the son, Durgesh, as exuberantly endowed?

I had no idea.

I’d not seen this part of his Hindu body in many years.

I found myself checking out his Hindu crotch in the hopes of unraveling this mystery.

My suspicions were that he was, but it was so difficult to tell.

Eventually, I was to find out quite unequivocally.

One night, I was particularly aroused.

I was so missing the physical company of Hindu men that I felt as though I was going out of my mind.

I simply could not expunge images of my Hindu son, Durgesh, from my thoughts.

I had a glass of beer and then made my way to my bedroom.

I closed the door: or so I thought, turned out my overhead light and walked over to the side of my bed.

The only illumination in the room was a small nightlight.

Slowly, sensually, I stripped off my clothing.

I unsnapped my skirt and removed it from my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān torso.

I unbuttoned my silk blouse and slowly drew it over my shoulders.

There I was clad only in a pastel blue, lacy brassiere and a matching pair of French-cut panties.

I still had my stiletto pumps on.

What I didn’t realize was that I had not thoroughly closed my bedroom door.

Silently, it drifted ajar by perhaps eight inches.

My son, Durgesh, dressed in his pajamas and himself ready for bed, had ambled by my bedroom and apparently noticed the open door.

He stopped, peered in and seeing me in the process of undressing, elected to stay and watch surreptitiously.

At this point, I reached behind and unsnapped the clasp of my brassiere.

I lowered it down off my shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

Unknowingly, Durgesh had a perfect profile view of my firm, well-shaped extremely enticing Saåūdī Årab Musalmān breasts as they stood proudly forward.

I tweaked my nipples hard between my thumbs and index fingers.

The delicious twinge of pain caused them to come immediately to attention…

I fondled my extremely enticing Saåūdī Årab Musalmān breasts lovingly, savoring the sensation.

I then reached down and ever so slowly drew my panties down my smooth, creamy Saåūdī Årab Musalmān thighs.

I let them fall down my calves and over my delicately turned ankles.

I stepped out of them, still wearing my heels.

I was now completely nude, though completely oblivious to the presence of my son, Durgesh, standing outside my door, taking in every movement.

I moved my hands from my extremely enticing Saåūdī Årab Musalmān breasts to my rich mane of long, red hair.

Luxuriously, I ran my fingers through my hair raising my arms high overhead.

I threw my shoulders back and my chest forward.

I felt wonderful.

I knew that in a very few Moments, I would experience a profound release from my torrid Saåūdī Årab Musalmān libido.

I looked down at that Saåūdī Årab Musalmān magical place residing between my thighs.

What pleasure that small area of my body had given me in my life.

Almost all the capable Hindus lost their masculine Hindu pride there.

Now, I directed my attention to it.

My Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt hair was well trimmed.

It has always been black as the night in sharp contrast to my pale, white flesh.

In the glow of the little nightlight, it was revealed as a tight, perfectly formed triangle.

Still standing, I subconsciously spread my legs imperceptibly.

I placed my left hand firmly upon my breast enjoying its fullness.

Almost beyond my level of awareness, my right hand descended to my thighs.

I extended my middle finger and lightly rested it between my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān labia.

Immediately, I sensed my hot, wet secretions!

I began to rub my finger gently along the cleft.

It felt wonderful.

My dampness increased a thousand-fold.

I curled my finger and slid it into my extremely enticing Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Vagina, my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt.

I moved it back and forth, up and down in my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt.

My breathing got heavier.

I started squeezing my breast harder, tweaking the nipple.

It must have been a Remarkable sight for my son, Durgesh, to see: his own Ħumairah Qāzī Ammījān pleasuring herself, her legs weakening, ready to buckle.

At last, I couldn’t support myself in my evolving ecstasy.

I lay down upon my bed never removing my left hand from my well-caressed tit or my right hand from my wet, by now throbbing Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt.

I started moaning softly.

I massaged my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt ruthlessly, my pelvis jerking perceptibly.

Then I could slowly feel my impending orgasm rising from deep within my loins.

I turned my head and suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I detected movement.

I looked to the door and there I saw it: my son, Durgesh, standing in my doorway watching my every move.

Allah!

Allah!!

It was like being struck by a thunderbolt.

I knew at that instant that I should stop immediately, but I couldn’t.

I was just about to peak to a fabulous orgasm and I was powerless to terminate it.

Perversely, the realization that my own Hindu son, Durgesh, was watching me pleasure my naked Saåūdī Årab Musalmān body only spurred me to greater Saåūdī Årab Musalmān excitement.

And then, a second thunderbolt struck me.

As I looked to my son, my Hindu boy, I glanced down.

My son had his Uncut Hindu Penis out of his pajamas and he was stroking it with complete abandon.

My own son squeezing his Uncut Hindu Penis at the sight of my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān nakedness.

And his Uncut Hindu Penis!

Allah!

Måshā Allah!

Subħān Allah!

What an astounding Uncut Hindu Penis it was.

I had no idea a Hindu man’s organ could grow to such incredible dimensions!

He was long, thick, and quite obviously hard as a rock.

His Uncut Hindu Cock was nothing less than extraordinary even putting his own Pitr’shrī’s amazing Hindu endowments to shame!

The sight of that massive rod of Hindu male flesh, the flesh of my Hindu son, Durgesh, thrilled me.

I could feel my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān orgasm crescendo to an unparalleled peak.

Involuntarily, I looked up at him and as I felt my orgasm rock my buttocks, my pelvis, my entire body, I began calling out his name,

“Durgesh–Durgesh–Durgesh—”

Endlessly, over and over again as I felt my release.

I could see him stroking his huge Uncut Hindu Cock furiously.

I kept calling his name, I encouraged him, I extended my hand to him and crooked my index finger at him beckoning him to come to me.

Suddenly, he did.

Durgesh pushed open the door and ran to me.

Why shouldn’t he?

I myself was inviting him to.

He yanked off his pajama bottoms and bounded onto my bed.

He knelt down between my thighs and peeled off his top letting it fly across the room.

My son, my gorgeous, magnificent son, Durgesh, kneeling between the outspread thighs of his own Ħumairah Qāzī Ammījān.

Such a powerful, muscular young Hindu male body. What a chest he has!

What an amazing Uncut Hindu Cock he has!

At that point, I knew that I was about to embark on something so dark, so forbidden, so wrong, yet I couldn’t help myself.

I reached up with my right hand, the hand that second before had so expertly pleasured my own Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt, and gently grasped my son’s, Durgesh’s Uncut Hindu Cock .

I stroked it vigorously taking over where he had left off.

Then, slowly, resolutely, I made a decision for the both of us.

I stopped stroking and looked lovingly up to his eyes as he leaned over me.

Gently, I began to guide his fully erect Uncut Hindu Penis towards my already soaking Meccan Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Pussy.

I was a little frightened of his great Hindu size but I was more frightened of the impact of what I was about to do on the two of us.

But in truth, I was helpless.

The die had already been relentlessly cast.

His Hindu glands touched my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt and then Durgesh entered me.

My Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt devoured his Uncut Hindu Penis and my pelvis began oscillating to accommodate Durgesh.

My son placed his hands beside my shoulders as he supported the weight of his Hindu torso.

I could feel the powerful strokes of his Hindu body as he plunged his Uncut Hindu Cock harder, deeper into my Saåūdī Årab Musalmān Cunt.

I looked lovingly into his Hindu eyes, my handsome son’s eyes as Durgesh fucked me.