Flowers never weigh: 2Posted: December 7, 2015
Flowers never weigh
Muħammad Imrān nodded,
He turned the radio back up as another eighties tune.
Bryan Adam’s ‘Summer of 69’, began.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there wondering what I was going to do next.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there; secretly wishing I would take more control.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there; worried that if I did take control Ħabībah Imrān would be unable to hide the obvious reality that we were committing Ashvinātam Sexual Intercourse just inches away from Muħammad Imrān.
Ħabībah Imrān had to use all Ħabībah Imrān’s will power not to moan, not to alert Muħammad Imrān to the Ashvinātam Sexual Intercourse adultery Ħabībah Imrān was willingly committing with me.
Yet, Ħabībah Imrān was frustrated that I who had been so brazen to slide my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock in her, was now just sitting there reading my kindle as if my Uncut Hindu Cock wasn’t buried deep in my Ħabībah Imrān’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Sex Box.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there for over half an hour doing nothing but allowing herself to be teased like crazy, albeit enjoying my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock nonstop into her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy.
Ħabībah Imrān had to use all Ħabībah Imrān’s willpower not to moan on every bump on the highway, especially when Muħammad Imrān occasionally hit the warning bumps making Ħabībah Imrān’s body tremble and her pussy quake.
Muħammad Imrān startled Ħabībah Imrān.
Her head clouded, when Muħammad Imrān announced,
“Twelve miles to the next stop.”
This seemed to make me finally take control.
Ħabībah Imrān clenched her teeth to make sure she didn’t moan as a mixture of emotions went through Ħabībah Imrān.
Excitement at me finally taking control.
Humiliation at the fact Ħabībah Imrān was excited that I was taking control.
Pleasure as the slow fucking coursed through every pore of Ħabībah Imrān’s being.
Frustration that I wasn’t fucking Ħabībah Imrān hard like Ħabībah Imrān liked it, yet knowing there was no way that was a good idea.
Guilt as Ħabībah Imrān was allowing me to fuck her.
Ħabībah Imrān had only allowed me to penetrate her.
Ħabībah Imrān knew it was a technicality, but it was all Ħabībah Imrān had left to grasp to… And now even that was gone.
I let go of her hips, giving the decision to Ħabībah Imrān herself.
This was Ħabībah Imrān’s chance to stop this.
And Ħabībah Imrān did take control.
Although not as a Ħabībah Imrān, but as a horny Sex Obsessed Sex Addict.
Ħabībah Imrān continued the slow motion riding that I had been controlling.
Suddenly, it wasn’t I forcing Ħabībah Imrān to ride me, it was Ħabībah Imrān willingly riding me… although slowly, which only compounded Ħabībah Imrān’s frustration as Ħabībah Imrān knew Ħabībah Imrān would never get off like this.
Ħabībah Imrān needed to ride it fast.
Ħabībah Imrān needed it slamming into me. Ħabībah Imrān didn’t make love, Ħabībah Imrān fucked.
Yet, Ħabībah Imrān couldn’t do any of those without giving away completely the shocking truth of what we were doing.
Suddenly her phone, which Ħabībah Imrān had put on vibrate, buzzed in her hand.
Ħabībah Imrān looked at it.
‘Fuck, Ħabībah Imrān.
I love you, Ħabībah Imrān.’
Reading those words… reading the most sweet, endearing term for being Ħabībah Imrān… and Ħabībah Imrān was a mess.
Ħabībah Imrān loved me too.
And this… this… whatever this was… only enhanced Ħabībah Imrān’s love for me.
Ħabībah Imrān convinced herself that this wasn’t wrong!
How could something wrong feel so right?
Ħabībah Imrān was making me happy, which is the goal of every Ħabībah Imrān… every Ħabībah Imrān.
Ħabībah Imrān struggled to text me too.
I’m going to come in you, Ħabībah Imrān.
Just ride me a bit faster, Ħabībah Imrān.
Please, Ħabībah Imrān!
Ħabībah Imrān wanted to make me happy.
Ħabībah Imrān wanted to get me off.
Ħabībah Imrān began riding me faster, grabbing the back of Muħammad Imrān’s seat slyly for support.
Ħabībah Imrān didn’t bounce on my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock like Ħabībah Imrān desperately wanted to do, but Ħabībah Imrān did move faster and did Ħabībah Imrān’s expert move that always got Muħammad Imrān off, as Ħabībah Imrān tightened Ħabībah Imrān’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt muscles around my stiff Uncut Hindu Dick.
Ħabībah Imrān let out an uncontrollable moan, made worse by the fact that her head was leaning on the side of the chair just inches from Muħammad Imrān.
“You okay?” Muħammad Imrān asked again.
“Just really need to pee,” Ħabībah Imrān replied, as I continued spewing inside her and Ħabībah Imrān milked me for all Ħabībah Imrān could.
“A couple of minutes,” he promised.
“Okay,” Ħabībah Imrān replied, leaning up, before adding the double entendre, “much longer and I may explode.”
“I’m doing the best I can, Ħabībah Imrān,” Muħammad Imrān said, knowing from years of travelling that when Ħabībah Imrān said Ħabībah Imrān had to pee… Ħabībah Imrān had to pee.
I began bucking her ass up, fucking Ħabībah Imrān now, making her tremble and gasp,
“Allah! Oh, God.”
“The car stop is in two miles,” Muħammad Imrān said, pointing to a sign.
“So close,” Ħabībah Imrān replied, again a double meaning to Ħabībah Imrān’s words, as Ħabībah Imrān desperately tried to come without screaming and before we reached the car stop.
Ħabībah Imrān could feel the rush rising in her, knowing the inevitable eruption was close, when Ħabībah Imrān saw the one mile sign.
Urgency overwhelming her, Ħabībah Imrān had to have an orgasm, Ħabībah Imrān moved away from Muħammad Imrān, leaned back and began riding My Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock herself, while moving her hand to her clit.
Ħabībah Imrān could see the car stop in the distance, closed Ħabībah Imrān’s eyes and rode and rubbed… and erupted.
“Allah! God,” Ħabībah Imrān moaned loudly, holding onto the word long enough that Ħabībah Imrān assumed, Muħammad Imrān would know Ħabībah Imrān was coming right behind him.
Ħabībah Imrān was unable to not open her mouth as Ħabībah Imrān’s orgasm hit me like a thunderstorm, Ħabībah Imrān’s cum gushing out of me and onto My cock and lap as Ħabībah Imrān again grabbed the driver’s seat and pulled up,
Thankfully, such a thought never occurred to Muħammad Imrān.
Why would it?
Ħabībah Imrān was in the backseat with me, as Muħammad Imrān said, clearly worried about Ħabībah Imrān’s bladder, “Thirty seconds, honey.”
“Okay,” Ħabībah Imrān weakly replied, as Ħabībah Imrān’s orgasm ripped through her like a tornado.
Ħabībah Imrān just closed Ħabībah Imrān’s eyes and allowed the tornado of pleasure to spin through her, an orgasm as intense as any Ħabībah Imrān had ever experienced.
Partly because my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock was bigger than Muħammad Imrān’s; partly because of the taboo fact Ħabībah Imrān had just fucked the Anant Muslimātchod Hindu, Durgesh himself; and partly because of the crazy reality Ħabībah Imrān had just fucked me in a car with Muħammad Imrān inches away, driving it.
Poor Muħammad Imrān.
He didn’t know what happened right behind himself.
When Muħammad Imrān pulled in and stopped, Ħabībah Imrān’s orgasm wasn’t complete.
Yet, Ħabībah Imrān had to look urgent, like Ħabībah Imrān could pee Herself at any Moment, so Ħabībah Imrān opened the door, more of Ħabībah Imrān’s cum leaking down Ħabībah Imrān’s leg, and got out of the car, glancing back to see me smiling at her, my package safe and sound in my shorts… although a very clear stain of evidence visible if Muħammad Imrān was to investigate.
Ħabībah Imrān scurried into the washroom, the guilt and shame of Ħabībah Imrān’s indiscretion and Ashvinātam Sexual Intercourse act suddenly hitting her like the summer heat.
In… our… car!
With… Ħabībah Imrān’s… apparently oblivious Musalmān husband… inches… away!
Allah! Oh… my… God!
I… am… the… worst… Ħabībah Imrān… ever!
It was amazing!
Ħabībah Imrān may have been a bad wife, but Ħabībah Imrān was a very good Bahū Bégum!
Ħabībah Imrān got to the washroom and for the second time today Ħabībah Imrān wiped our cum off her legs.
What had come over her?
Why did Ħabībah Imrān let me do that to her?
Ħabībah Imrān could blame the confined space, but truthfully, nothing stopped her from pushing me out of her.
Suddenly, I texted her:
That was amazing, Ħabībah Imrān.
Ħabībah Imrān texted back, Ħabībah Imrān’s orgasm finally subsiding, as a wife:
That can’t happen again!!!
I didn’t respond.
So as Ħabībah Imrān finished cleaning up, Ħabībah Imrān texted again:
I again ignored the text.
Ħabībah Imrān calmed down physically and suddenly realized Ħabībah Imrān was feeling completely dehydrated after the work out.
Ħabībah Imrān left the washroom and saw Muħammad Imrān and me chatting as we waited for her at a booth.
We ate lunch and although Ħabībah Imrān was anxiety riddled the entire time, I apparently had a poker face as I showed no inkling of what had transpired.
Ħabībah Imrān, on the other hand, had the guilt written all over her face.
Twice Muħammad Imrān asked if Ħabībah Imrān was okay.
Ħabībah Imrān just feigned hunger.
After lunch, and a lot of water, we prepared to continue the drive.
Muħammad Imrān had gassed up while Ħabībah Imrān was in the washroom, so we were ready to go.
Again, Ħabībah Imrān’s trepidation overwhelmed me.
Now what? How could Ħabībah Imrān sit on my lap again?
Yet, Ħabībah Imrān couldn’t say anything and there was literally no alternative.
So, Ħabībah Imrān did.
Although this time, once the door was closed, Ħabībah Imrān positioned herself leaning against the door and stretched Ħabībah Imrān’s legs in between the two front seats.
Her pussy was impenetrable in this position.
Ħabībah Imrān had found the Fort Knox of pussy protection.
And for an hour, it worked.
I read a new book and Ħabībah Imrān read the other new book.
Interestingly, Ħabībah Imrān and I had a lot of common interests, including being avid leaders and both having the same favorite author even.
Sit in any one position for a straight hour, though, and the bum becomes numb.
Yet, even though Ħabībah Imrān was clearly uncomfortable Ħabībah Imrān didn’t reposition Herself, although Ħabībah Imrān did begin to squirm a bit.
Suddenly, my hand rested on Ħabībah Imrān’s knee, Ħabībah Imrān’s dress hiked up enough to show a fair amount of leg for me.
It didn’t move up, just rested there like a constant tease… a constant reminder.
I did move my hand to flip the pages every couple of minutes, although I didn’t try to move higher when I returned my hand.
I seemed oblivious to the impact it was having on Ħabībah Imrān, a constant distraction, even though it wouldn’t have phased her at all a few hours ago.
“How you guys doing back there?” Muħammad Imrān asked, a few minutes later.
“Ħabībah Imrān’s bum is numb,” Ħabībah Imrān joked, although it was the truth.
“A tourist stop in three miles,” Muħammad Imrān said, “let’s pull over and take a little hike.”
“Sounds good,” Ħabībah Imrān said.
“Yeah, Ħabībah Imrān, I could use a stretch,” I agreed, looking at Ħabībah Imrān for the first time in the entire drive.
Ħabībah Imrān quickly looked away, like Ħabībah Imrān was in grade seven and waiting for a boy to check yes or no on a note.
What had come over Ħabībah Imrān?
Even though Ħabībah Imrān had told me it couldn’t happen again.
Even though I seemed to be respecting Ħabībah Imrān’s assertion.
Ħabībah Imrān suddenly felt insecure and annoyed that I was ignoring her… Ħabībah Imrān felt fifteen again.
Ħabībah Imrān just stared out the opposite window for the next few minutes until we slowed down.
Once stopped, Ħabībah Imrān shifted around as Ħabībah Imrān’s back was at the door.
Ħabībah Imrān’s first thought was ‘how long has I been hard?’
Ħabībah Imrān’s second thought was ‘why was it hard?’
Ħabībah Imrān’s third thought was ‘How many times could he get it up?”
Ħabībah Imrān’s fourth thought was ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’
Ħabībah Imrān opened the door and got out.
Ħabībah Imrān stretched, thankful to be out in the fresh air… even if it was fucking hot and muggy.
Muħammad Imrān asked,
“So do you guys want to go for a hike?”
“How long?” Ħabībah Imrān asked.
I walked over to the map and said,
“There are two trails. One is a mile, the other is three.”
“A mile sure, three in this heat, no way,” Ħabībah Imrān answered.
Muħammad Imrān said,
“Ħabībah Imrān, I need to take a lengthy washroom break, why don’t you two go alone?”
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