The game played, in our own way: 2Posted: November 21, 2015
The game played, in our own way
It was obvious to me that she’d started without me.
She was so engrossed with her chore that she didn’t hear me drop my pants and free my raging Hindu tube of flesh.
My balls battered her Musalmān clit on each forward thrust, my hands holding her hips tightly as I pumped her viciously from behind muttering,
“OH, AL ZĀHIDAH AL KĦĀLID, OH, AL ZĀHIDAH AL KĦĀLID, OH. AL ZĀHIDAH AL KĦĀLID.”
“Oooogh, a little role-playing. Try kinky, but I’ll play along,” Al Shafaq Al Åbbās giggled.
The sloppy sounds of my Hindu balls bouncing off her wet Musalmān clit rang in my ears as the vision of Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s solid Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass danced in my head.
I was pile driving into her so hard that she collapsed on the bed face first, where the bunched up covers muffled her screams of pleasure.
Crawling up and over her, I continued to feed all eight inches of my rigid Uncut Hindu Cock into her drenched Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān hole until I felt her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān cunt clamp down and begin to contract.
“OHHH, AL ZĀHIDAH AL KĦĀLIDDDDDD!!!” I wailed.
A ghostly white figure moved out of my sight so fast that I wasn’t even sure I’d seen it in the first place.
The sound of shuffling feet I was sure about though.
Al Shafaq Al Åbbās’s usual peck on the lips was followed by a dressing down.
“Listen Hindu stud, I’m all for role-playing, but next time let’s pick something a little less creepy. Okay?”
With that, she was gone and I was left wondering if I had seen and heard what I thought I had.
I waited until I heard the front door close, then climbed out of bed and padded naked to Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s bedroom door.
I don’t know what I expected to see.
I could just make out the lump of her body under the blankets and her terry-cloth robe lying on the floor next to the bed.
“Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid, you still awake?” I asked quietly.
There was no reply.
I stared into the darkened room trying to make out more detail, but gave up and went back to my room.
My dreams were filled with images of Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid watching me in her mirror as her hands barely covered the lush ripeness of her breasts.
A warm sweet smile played on her ruby-red lips.
The next morning, I found Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid at the dining table sipping her coffee.
I felt her eyes follow me as I fixed myself a cup, but when I turned around, she was looking out the kitchen window.
I gazed out it myself and saw the dark clouds growing thicker and more menacing.
Sometime today, we were going to be in for one hell of a storm I told myself.
I joined Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid at the table, the crotch of my boxers sticking to my sweaty balls.
“How’d you sleep last night,” I asked breaking the stillness of the morning.
“Like a rock. I think I drank too much wine. I practically passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow,” she answered looking down into her cup.
“Al Shafaq Al Åbbās and I didn’t disturb you? Did we?”
“Not at all,” she kinda whispered, still gazing into her coffee cup.
Even with her head pointing down, I was able to see the faint hint of color blush her cheeks.
“I don’t think your little friend likes me very much,” she said lifting her head up and gazing over at me.
“Don’t worry about her, she was just jealous,” I laughed.
“Jealous? Of what?”
“She didn’t know you were my Bhābhījān, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid. She probably thought I’d picked you up and we were planning to…you know,” I couldn’t stop giggling.
“No, I don’t,” she replied, sounding genuinely unsure as to what I was saying.
“You know. The horizontal mamba…the beast with two backs…” I still could not feel my face flushing as I watched her beautiful Musalmān eyes grow wide with understanding.
“Oh. Oooohhhh!” the color on her cheeks rose another shade.
Laughing I said,
“Now you understand why she acted like she didn’t like you?”
“Yeah, I get it. But for the life of me, I don’t know why she’d think that. She could clearly see that I’m old enough to be more mature and sophisticated than she thought I am,” she said stone-faced.
Our laughter lasted a while.
“So you like older Musalmān women,” she asked in a tiny voice, her eyes looking deep into mine.
“Woman. One very hot Musalmān woman,” I said reaching over and taking her hand loosely in mine.
“Oh my,” she said pulling her hand from mine as she stood.
I watched her cheeks sway as she walked over to the counter near the coffee pot.
When she turned around and leaned against the counter, I noticed how loose the top folds of her robe was.
I could clearly see the top swell of her breasts and a small portion of the valley that lay between them.
“You think I’m hot,” she asked, studying me with her eyes as she steadied the cup in both hands and brought it up to her lips.
“Smokin hot, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid,” I cooed, not disappointed by the way she held the cup in front of her, blocked my view of her chest.
“Oh pooh, you’re just like your friend, Åbdul Raħmān, always the sweet talker,” she giggled, her eyes full of humor.
“Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the fact that I have the hottest Musalmān woman, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid, on the block. Always have,” I countered, getting up and going to get another cup.
She almost made me drop my cup when she sat hers down then turned and wrapped her arms around my middle, hugging herself to my side.
I could feel the softness of her beautiful erect proud Musalmān boobs trapping my lower bicep between them.
“I know you’re just saying that to make an old woman feel good, but thank you anyway,” she said, her head resting on my shoulder.
“Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid,” I blurted without thinking, “if you weren’t Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid, I would have been on you like white on rice last night.”
“Oh my,” she said again, then picked up her cup and scurried off to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
I felt like a complete jerk when I realized how uncomfortable I must have made her.
I sat back down at the table to drink my coffee, and also to let the swelling in my boxers go down.
Halfway through the cup I made myself get up and go apologize to her for being such a bad friend.
I knocked on her door, opening it only after she told me to come in.
She was standing in front of the mirror brushing her hair, her eyes watching me in the glass.
“I’m sorry, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid, I shouldn’t have said that,” I said apologetically.
“Did you mean it…the part where if I wasn’t your Bhābhījān, your maraħūm friend’s wife, you’d of been on me like white on rice,” she asked, her voice neutral.
“Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid, I…” I left my sentence incomplete deliberately.
“Tell me the truth, Durgesh. Would you have?”
Standing up straight, I resolved to tell her the truth.
“Yes, yes I would have.”
“Well then I forgive you,” she said, her reflection smiling brightly at me.
“Then you’re not mad at me?”
“Quite the contrary. I’m rather flattered that a Hindu stud, such as yourself, would find me appealing enough to want to, how does it go? Oh yeah…jump my bones.” Her use of the word ‘Hindu stud’ brought a brief memory of me pounding Al Shafaq Al Åbbās’s Musalmān pussy from behind.
“AL ZĀHIDAH AL KĦĀLID!” I cried, shocked to hear her speak this way.
“Oh relax, Durgesh,” she lightly laughed, came over and wrapped me in her arms. “I couldn’t get mad at you for telling me that I’m still a desirable beautiful young Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān woman to even the infinite Muslimātramañ Hindu Piyā of us entire beautiful Musalmān houseladies.”
My love for her overflowed and I crushed her to my chest, messing up her freshly brushed hair as I ran my hand through it.
“You’re suffocating me, sweetheart,” she mumbled against my chest before pushing herself away. “Now, what should we do today?”
“Anything you want to, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid,” I answered fighting back tears of joy.
“With the way the weathers shaping up to be, how about we just lay around on the couch in our pajamas and watch movies. You do own a pair of pajamas,” she inquired after letting her eyes dart down to the slight tent in my boxers.
It made me proud of myself that she kept watching my tent with an obvious appreciation for it.
“Sounds good to me, and yes, I think I have a pair somewhere in my room. They’re probably pretty worn out though.”
“As long as they’re comfortable, who cares? It’s just the two of us,” she replied patting my chest with one hand signaling the end to our conversation.
I found a pair of pajama bottoms wadded up in the bottom drawer of my dresser.
Upon examination, I noticed the buttonholes that held the fly closed were really worn out.
I told myself that I’d have to be careful or my dingus would probably fall through the opening if I moved the wrong way.
I could have just put on some sweats, but the soft worn flannel of the bottoms was too hard to resist.
I went to the bathroom for a shower and saw that Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s door was shut.
I wondered if she was going to wear her robe since I’d never seen her in pajamas of any kind.
The shower felt great, and as a precaution, I rubbed one out to make sure that my hormones didn’t start acting up anytime soon.
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s door was still closed when I emerged dressed in a black t-shirt and the flannel bottoms.
I went into the front room, turned on the TV and pawed through my collection of DVD’s hoping I had something she would like.
Unless Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid had become interested in action flicks, I could only find two that she might like, Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail.
I put the last one in the player and waited for her to join me.
My couch had built-in recliners on both ends, which makes it impossible to place a coffee table in front of it.
Something I never worried about since I didn’t have one anyway.
I do have little tables on each end for drinks and such however.
I sat on the left hand side, put the TV and DVD player remotes in the middle of the couch, and kicked the recliner back.
I had been sitting there almost twenty minutes before I heard Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s fluffy slippers, coming toward me.
I craned my neck around and watched as she rounded the couch.
She was wearing a soft pink slip with a fairly low cut neck that didn’t quite reach her knees.
Two thin straps held it up, and by the way, I saw her breasts jiggling.
I knew she didn’t have on a bra.
I didn’t know if she was aware of it, but another thing I noticed right away was I could see the faint brown of her areolas through the silky fabric.
When she sat down the slip hiked up exposing a generous portion of her beautiful Musalmān thighs.
I just sat there admiring her legs before she brought me back to earth by asking what we were going to watch.
“I like those movies,” she said happily, crossing one leg over the other and kicking her recliner back like mine.
“Before we start, can I ask you something, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid?”
“Sure,” she replied.
Bringing my eyes back down to her legs, I asked,
“How have you kept your legs looking so good?”
“These old things,” she said, lifting the leg closest to me in the air and running both her hands along the calf muscle.
My eyes were glued to the inside whiteness of her other leg’s thigh.
“After your friend, Åbdul Raħmān, died, I started going to the gym to fill my day. I went every day up until the day I moved here with you,” I could hear the pride in her voice as we both admired her shapely Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān legs.
I could also hear the loneliness in her voice when she’d mentioned Åbdul Raħmān.
“The gym did you good, you have gorgeous Musalmān legs,” I softly said.
“There you go again, you sweet talker. Stop ogling your Bhābhījān’s Musalmān legs and start the movie,” she giggled, placing her leg back over the other one.
Halfway through the first movie the rain came.
At first, it was just a light shower that fizzled out after fifteen minutes.
We took that time to grab a couple of sodas from the fridge.
I sat back in my seat and when Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid placed hers on the table next to me, I gave her an inquiring look.
“I’m getting a little chilly. Do you mind if I grab a blanket and stretch out with my head on you,” she asked.
What she was asking immediately registered in my brain.
She was leaning over with her hand still on her drink, the neck of her slip drooping down in front of her.
I caught a brief glimpse of her curly brown pubic hair below her tummy, before she straightened up and asked me again.
“Yeah, uh, sure,” I said.
I put the remotes on my end table and waited.
I had to recline my seat all the way back when Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid returned from the bedroom with a small throw blanket.
If I hadn’t she would have had to put her head in my lap instead of on my stomach, an idea I wasn’t keen on since my Hindu boner hadn’t gone down yet.
She lay on her side with her legs curled up, her head on my upper abdomen with one arm tucked under her and the other she hugged to her chest.
I managed to throw the blanket over her and we settled down to finish the movie.
Occasionally she would reach over me for her drink and mash her bottom-side breast into my ribcage.
My boner remained defiant, refusing to deflate no matter how hard I willed it to.
As long as we were lying there, it wasn’t a problem.
But when the first movie ended, I was relieved when Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid got up and put in the other one.
This time when she lay back down, she rested her hand in the middle of my thigh.
Just as the warmth of her hand seeped through to my skin the heavens opened up and rain came pouring down in buckets.
I don’t know about anyone else, but the sound of rain battering against the roof puts Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid in lalaland.
I heard tiny snores coming from her right before my eyes grew too heavy to keep open.
Visions of Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s erect Musalmān tits played out in an endless loop in my head as the rain pounded the roof of the old house.
Thunder roared in the distance but failed to wake me from the pleasant sleep I was experiencing.
The sound of Al Shafaq Al Åbbās shrieking did wake me.*
My eyes snapped open and I saw her standing in front of the couch screaming at me.
Her hair was plastered to her head and she looked pissed.
Water rolled off her onto the floor and I wasn’t sure, if her trembling was from rage, or if it was because she was soaked to the bone.
That wasn’t the thing that shocked me however.
The fact that my cock was so hard that pre-cum was dripping from the head, and that Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s fingers were wrapped around my pulsing Hindu shaft did.
“You fucking Hindu scoundrel! First, you make me play that disgusting role-playing game last night, and now, I see it looks like you really are fucking your Bhābhījān, your maraħūm Musalmān friend, Åbdul Raħmān’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid! That’s just sick, you fucking Hindu monster,” Al Shafaq Al Åbbās rambled on.
All I heard was,
“Blah, blah, blah.”
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid must have been in shock too, because she didn’t move a muscle as Al Shafaq Al Åbbās’s tirade continued.
“After all the loving I’ve given you, you go and throw it all away by humping your own Musalmān Bhābhījān! You are so crazy to fuck any extremely beautiful Musalmān houselady if she only offers herself to you even once. That’s how you fuck all of us beautiful Musalmān houseladies and have become the infinite Muslimātramañ Hindu Piyā of us entire beautiful Musalmān houseladies. Well buster, you’re not poking this Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy anymore. I can’t believe myself how crazy I myself was until now to have sex with you that I even cheated my otherwise quite gentleman Musalmān husband.” she spat, throwing the key to the house onto the floor and storming off.
The last thing I heard her say before the front door slammed shut was,
“You two are freaks!”
I smiled and remembered my love sessions with Al Shafaq Al Åbbās.*
Moonlight filtered in through the open curtains making it just light enough for me to watch as Al Shafaq Al Åbbās’s young beautiful Musalmān lips moved agonizingly slow up and down on my tingling Uncut Hindu Cock shaft.
She was good, so damn good.
But her over moral Musalmān husband never allowed her to do it.
He claimed it was a sin in Islam.
She knelt on the bed at my side without using her hands and slurped my Hindu tool in slow up and down strokes, the fingers of her left hand working her clit and cunt into a state of saturated readiness.
That was something I really liked about her.
Her Musalmān husband hated her for it, while I loved Al Shafaq Al Åbbās for the same.
Another thing I liked about her was the fact that no matter how many times we’ve fucked, she always insisted on being on top.
I didn’t mind, Al Shafaq Al Åbbās was as skinny as a beanpole with tits bigger than normal, and weighed maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet.
Being realistic, I knew that it appealed to me, and also to her need to dominate in everything she did.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
I tilted my head to look around Al Shafaq Al Åbbās toward the foot of the bed, then out the open door into the blackness of the hallway.
I couldn’t see anything.
The light in the hallway was off.
Still, the sensation of being watched persisted.
Her question snapped my attention back to what was important.
Reaching up I pinched the light brown protuberances of her nipples and felt them get hard enough to cut glass.
That got Al Shafaq Al Åbbās’s motor revved up.
Her fingers clawed into the skin of my chest muscles painfully as her humping increased in tempo.
The squishy sounds of wet genitalia slapping together filled my bedroom and all thoughts of being watched fled as I felt the oncoming bliss of release.
Grunts of pure pleasure poured out of her lips as she feverously hammered down on me.
Faster and faster Al Shafaq Al Åbbās fucked me until suddenly, she sat straight up and squealed out her rapture as her gripping young Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt milked my spurting Uncut Hindu Cock.
“OHHHHHH FUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!” she hollered and then collapsed onto my chest.
Al Shafaq Al Åbbās was a screamer.
I thought I heard the sound of shuffling feet but couldn’t be sure.
Al Shafaq Al Åbbās’s loud panting masking out the sounds of the house.
After our breathing returned to normal, Al Shafaq Al Åbbās did what she always did after we fucked.
She pecked me on the lips, got dressed and left.
Not once had she ever stayed the night.
She didn’t want her husband to come looking for her.
Neither did I.
At a hundred and seventy pounds of lean muscle, I could hold my own.
But her husband was a bull of a man with one of the worst tempers I’d ever seen.
He was also my employee at the construction company I owned myself.
Was Al Shafaq Al Åbbās crazy?
The sound of the front door latching behind her was the last thing I heard before sweet dreams beckoned me into their loving embrace.
However, I couldn’t help but say.
“She is too upset.”
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