The Stunning Musalmān Houseladies: 1- Of my Musalmān friends-12

The Stunning Musalmān Houseladies

1: Of my Musalmān friends

Indro nirjyotishā tamso gā aduxat

Durgesh

Previous  Chapters

Chapter 12

Durgesh At-Taubah Al Waħīd
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ

The sound of At-Taubah Al Waħīd’s car turning into their driveway in the evening broke the eerie silence prevailing in the Sheikħs residence for the past several hours.
It was followed by the sound of her car door opening and then closing.
A few moments later At-Taubah Al Waħīd walked into the house through the garage door.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” At-Taubah Al Waħīd called out as she busied herself with the task of putting down some shopping bags she had been carrying along with the bag carrying her laptop. “My, my, somebody has been really busy today,” At-Taubah Al Waħīd continued in a light tone as she surveyed the disarrayed scene in the living room.
“Honey, c’mon down and join me in the kitchen. I’m gonna brew up some real hot coffee for both of us,” said At-Taubah Al Waħīd as she made her way to the kitchen.
The fact that her husband hadn’t responded till now didn’t seem to have aroused her curiosity.
“Hey, what do we have here?” Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ heard his wife say.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ looked down through his red rimmed eyes at the photocopied paper Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ held in his now almost numb hands.
Until just recently, they had been trembling uncontrollably.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ gripped the piece of paper in his hands as though his very life depended on it.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had rearranged the parcel contents just as Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had found them, with the letter addressed by his wife’s Hindu lover at the very top.
He knew that’s what she must be looking at this very moment.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ put on his reading glasses and began reading the letter once again, knowing full well that his wife must be doing the same also.

‘My Dearest Pretty Petals,

If you have this letter in your pretty hands and are reading it, then let me tell you, my dear, that never forget you even for a moment.
First things first, please, please, do not worry for me for the same.
I’m an old man in my sixty four.
My Pretty Petals, if it had not been for your loving care and kindness it would have almost impossible for me to fight with the Cuckold Your Musalmān Husband movement.
Don’t argue. I know that is the truth and so do you. You took it in your loving care, comforting me like a beloved.
The warmth of your love and our intimacy worked like a magic potion.
You know, the truth is, I always had a soft spot for you in spite of our age difference.
Whether it was watching you at work or watching you being busy during your children’s birthday party, I always had a strong affection for you.
Perhaps in many ways you reminded me of my younger days when my kids were at home and Saiyadah Fātimah PhD and I had our hands full.
Those special touches and naughty whispers that you girls in the office gossiped and laughed about were really meant for you alone.
I said those things to the other girls just to cover my tracks.
It seemed it worked out okay as whenever you girls in the office would exchange notes my naughtiness would figure high and you all laugh it away as an old man’s senility.
And then after I was left alone in this world, I saw another side of you, a caring and loving side.
Have you ever wondered what the symbol representing womanhood, a full circle with an equilateral cross, signifies?
Well, let me tell you: the circle represents spirit and the cross represents matter.
And you, my dear At-Taubah Al Waħīd, are the epitome of womanhood.
You nurtured this soul giving it a reason for living.
And the physical intimacy that you shared with me?
It was fantastic!
You were always so alive, filled with energy, and naughty tricks.
Even the Playboy girls could learn a thing or two from you.
In short, you are the epitome of womanhood, in spirit, in mind, and definitely in body too.
May Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā fill each minute and second of your life with happiness and good health!
You love children and I hope Eīshān gives you many more of the cuddly young ‘uns.
Well, Pretty Petals, it’s taking quite an effort to pen my eternal gratefulness to you.
Let me come to my main reasons for writing this letter to you.
The first reason you have perhaps already guessed by looking at the stack of photos and CD’s enclosed with this letter in the parcel.
Yes, you guessed right.
These are memories of our togetherness.
I forgive you for this voyeuristic streak in you but you know me so well that perhaps you were already aware of it though you never spoke about it.
Well, I know you had cameras strategically fixed in my office and home.
But rest assured I’ve never shared these memories of our togetherness with anyone, not even with some of the ladies with whom I shared friendship … that too at your behest and you know all about them.
With the feelings of your immense love for me, I could not bear to burn them so I’m sending them to you.
You may please keep them close to your heart forever as I have.
And now for the other reason.
Darling, my lawyers will be shortly getting in touch with you about a cheque for two million dollars made out in your favour.
Remember that trip we took to Miami for two days?
We had sailed out of tMuħammad Jalāl Sheikħ harbour and lived totally nude under the open, blue skies?
(Sigh.)
That’s one trip I wish I had taken my surveillance camera also.
We snorkelled in the nude then spent the whole lazy afternoon making love on the open deck.
Then we would prepare dinner, get drunk, and then again make love in the living quarters.
Those were great moments we shared together.
You may also remember that on the last day we visited an art gallery and you selected some portraits.
Well, my Pretty Petals, they are now estimated to be worth close to a couple of million dollars and I don’t think I should pass that on to any of my children.
I have instructed my lawyers to get a fair price for them and send the full proceeds over to you.
If you wish, you can send your bank details to my lawyer and he will have them electronically transferred to your bank account.
Well, I think I have said all that I wanted to. My dearest Pretty Petals, I again wish all the very best in life to you.

Take care.

Forever indebted to you,

Durgesh’ *

The letter slipped out of his lifeless fingers and floated down to rest near his feet.
The letter left very little for one’s imagination.
His wife of over thirty years had had an affair with her Hindu boss, Durgesh, back in Dallas.
Allah!
And he never even suspected anything was amiss!
An incident came floating back from distant memory.
Durgesh and Saiyadah Fātimah PhD had been quite the party-going types and used to throw parties every now and then.
Like all the parties given before, this too was a grand success.
It was getting late and Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had begun looking around to catch hold of his wife as she had had too much to drink and he didn’t want to have any problems while driving home.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd was not to be seen in the living room and neither was she in the kitchen.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ stepped out onto the patio and stopped short.
His wife was with her Hindu boss, Durgesh, in one dark corner of the patio.
I had my arms around her waist and had pulled her close to myself.
I was leaning close to her and seemed to be whispering into her ear.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd, as far as he could tell, didn’t seem to mind the closeness and had a smile playing upon her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān lips.
Since it was dark and they were a bit far off he couldn’t be sure but it seemed My hips were moving as though I was dry humping his wife!
He didn’t like it one bit.
His foot must have nudged something because, on hearing the sound, I immediately stepped back to a more dignified distance.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ approached us and spoke as though Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ hadn’t noticed anything.
His wife, he noticed, had gone a bit reddish in the face and it certainly had nothing to do with the drinks.

Later, back in the car, he let her know what he thought Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had seen and asked for her confirmation.
Although she didn’t deny anything outright, she brushed away his misgivings by telling him that Durgesh got frisky with just about all the girls, especially after a girl had a couple of drinks.
“With all due respect to Saiyadah Fātimah PhD, one look at her and you’ll understand why he gets so cheeky and grabby at parties” was what his wife had said that night with an impish smile.
Anyway, she assured him that it was something At-Taubah Al Waħīd could handle.
That night they had had great sex and by the next morning, all misgivings had been forgotten by Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ; that is until now.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ remembered Saiyadah Fātimah PhD.
she had always worn her hair short and perhaps in looks was very similar in build and style to the wife of that general who was in the news nowadays for other than battle Victories.
His tenure certainly didn’t see the nailing down of the dreaded terrorists overseas but Durgesh had definitely nailed something much juicier.
Just as I had nailed his wife.
He picked up his smart phone and began thumbing through the pics Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had scanned and loaded on his laptop as well as his mobile.
There were pics of At-Taubah Al Waħīd and I, doing it in the office.
I did have a longer cock and it was much thicker.
He remembered telling his wife rather proudly that Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had an “athletic cock” to serve her needs, neither very long nor too thick.
They had been to some nudist camps and At-Taubah Al Waħīd had got around to jokingly comparing his with all the others on view.
She did seem to have a happy look back then but now he was not sure if perhaps she had always had a craving for the longer and thicker ones.
Perhaps he would ask her now … not that it mattered much.
Her preferences were obvious in the pictures.
Durgesh invariably had his trousers and boxers off in his office for their quick lunch sessions as discernible from the time shown by the wall clock.
One picture showed Durgesh leaning back on his office chair while Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, played with my thick long Uncut Hindu Prick.
I had my eyes closed while At-Taubah Al Waħīd seemed to be staring with a mesmerised look on her face.
Another picture showed her with her blouse and her bra pushed up to reveal her round, juicy Musalmān boobs with their nipples pointing straight ahead in total arousal.
The next one sickened Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ more.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, was again topless and I seemed to have shot my Hindu cum all over her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ could see my Hindu cum on her ardent Musalmān lips, on her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān boobs, and some even sticking to her hair.
We were both laughing and At-Taubah Al Waħīd seemed to be shaking and squeezing my Uncut Hindu Lund for the last drops of my Hindu cum.
As he tapped on his smart phone’s touch screen to increase the size of the picture, he noticed the date on the table calendar.
It was almost six months after the going away of Saiyadah Fātimah PhD and Kħadījah Muħammad to their parental hometown, Al MakkahbAl Mukarramah, and a year before Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ moved to Houston.

As far as Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ could recollect there were no more parties attended by them at my place but by then I had started an affair with Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
I really didn’t need to party anymore to dry hump Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
For almost one full bloody year At-Taubah Al Waħīd and Durgesh continued fucking each other and Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ didn’t have any inkling whatsoever!
He felt his chest tighten and the bile rising to his mouth.
He was a cuckold just like that doctor in the General’s downfall!*

Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ thought,
“What was the General’s wife thinking right now?”
She had been humiliated in pubic eyes by the very man for whose family she had selflessly sacrificed everything.
For over thirty years she had stood like a shadow behind him, encouraging him to take on the toughest of assignments on behalf of the nation, knowing full well the difficulties she and their family would have to endure.
“What was she thinking now?” he repeated to himself, as though the answer to his pain and humiliation lay in her thoughts and actions.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd was in the same age bracket as him and at their age, one looked forward to a simple life after retirement, grandchildren, and watching the sun go down in the west with one’s partner beside him or her.
The last thing to cross one’s mind would be about a cheating spouse and its ramifications, its pain and humiliation.
The General’s wife had selflessly served her family and it showed in her appearance.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd certainly could not give competition to a mother of two young kids who would be basking in the afterglow and beauty that comes along with the delivery of a child.
“And the cuckold, what’s he thinking about? He thought Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, was travelling all over the globe to give the final touches to the biography of one of the finest soldiers their nation had produced but now it seems At-Taubah Al Waħīd was also getting nailed by him at different places and locations across the globe.” Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ smiled belatedly at the fact that he was not alone in his hour of deceit and pain.

Before he could contemplate moving to the bathroom, Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ heard soft footsteps approaching his study room.
He wiped away his tears and tried to suppress the urge to vomit.
He may be a cuckold but he was not going to allow his cheating wife to see the humiliation on his face.
He put on his specs and bravely faced the door to his study.
The door swung open silently and At-Taubah Al Waħīd walked in boldly.
There was nothing in her attitude that she was sorry for what she did to Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ.
She stood looking at him silently.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ stared back, trying his very best not to blink or shed a tear.
The bile was still there, somewhere near his mouth.
He could recognise its rancid odour.
He took a deep breath and counted to ten backwards before speaking.
“The parcel was marked to Mrs. M.J. Sheikħ. Unfortunately I overlooked ‘Mrs.’. It was from Dallas so I mistakenly presumed it was for me,” Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ said in as steady a voice as he could muster up.
She had not been crying.
His expectations were wrong.
Her makeup was not even slightly wrecked by the tears that could have made tracks down her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face while her neatly styled hair.
It didn’t wear a dishevelled look as he anticipated as though she had just got up from bed and come directly to the study.
She nodded her head and sat down in the only other chair in the study.
It was across from him and to one side.
He kept looking at his wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
She in turn would glance at him and then go back to staring at the wall over his shoulder as though it contained some vital, hidden hieroglyphics which could help them through their current crisis.
There was nothing on her face that she was repenting or embarrassed even somewhat.
Well, it was the reaction he expected from his friend Durgesh, but never from her.
They both cheated him.
Everyone said,
“Durgesh fucks every Musalmān Beauty, every Musalmān houselady that comes in his contact, if she is beautiful. Your wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, is extremely beautiful. Don’t let her work for Durgesh.”
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ, the stupid, never thought it possible even.

What should one say to one’s wife of thirty-plus years?
What should a mature man of almost sixty years say to his cheating wife?
They had seen life together, all its surprises and all its ups and downs.
He was old and he was not going to live forever.
That was the Nature’s way of doing things.
The next generation, their grandchildren, had already arrived in this world to continue their lineage long after they were just memories.
So, just how should one confront the grandmother of one’s grandchildren?
How should Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ seek justification for the insult and humiliation heaped upon him?
Why did she kill him without killing him?
Why?
“Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ,” At-Taubah Al Waħīd said ultimately sympathetically, “this may sound trite but it’s not what you think …”
Sympathetically?
As if she hadn’t betrayed him, someone else did instead?
Not what I think?
That’s it?
Eight years back, a mature mid-forty-something married woman cheats on her husband, her family, and her commitments and now says it’s not what I think it is in her defence?
For almost a year!
It was not a one-night stand but had continued for many months.

Chapter 13
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1. More Creative Adult Sex in English from Durgesh

2.Durgesh in Hindi/Urdu

3. Science Fiction

4. On History

5. Commentary on Ved

6. On Hinduism

7. On Islam

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