Still, when Imām Muħammad Ħasan was home alone on a weekend, as he was that day a little more than a week ago, He liked to make himself useful around the house, so He decided it was time to tackle the basement.

It hadn’t had a good, thorough going-over in at least seven, maybe eight years, and over that time, boxes of junk had accumulated.

He was home alone that weekend because Imām Muħammad Ħasan’s wife, Nafīsah Salmān, was in California on business, and wasn’t due back for several days.

They’d been married 3 years, and they’d both worked, with the exception of when she was out having their daughter, very early in her career.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan was head of the Islamic Organization for Jamåt-al-Ahl-e-Sunnat, while Nafīsah Salmān worked for a major manufacturing corporation based in midtown Manhattan.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan used to work in the city, as well, but about 12 years ago, he sought a little slower pace and took a job with Jamåt-al-Ahl-e-Sunnat located closer to their home in suburban Westchester County.

H’d had this house for 25 years, it’s fully paid for, and Imām Muħammad Ħasan always thought it was a happy, cozy home.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan was pretty quiet and mild-mannered by nature, and the slower pace suited him.

Nafīsah Salmān, however, was a lot more outgoing, a lot more assertive and a lot more career-oriented.

She started with her company right out of college, and had moved steadily up the ladder.

Seven years ago, she received a promotion to a junior vice-president position, which she currently held, and that job required a fairly significant amount of out-of-state travel.

Nafīsah Salmān went on business trips about every four to six weeks, sometimes more often, usually to Chicago, Washington D.C., Miami or Los Angeles, places where her company had major clients that she was required to visit periodically.

The lengths of the trips varied, from a couple of days to four or five days.

Nafīsah Salmān and Imām Muħammad Ħasan met when He was in high school, when He was a junior, and she was a freshman, which at that time was junior high.

It was love at first sight, at least for him.

She was, and still is, a natural blonde, with penetrating steel-blue eyes, a ready smile and a lean, compact Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān body that she worked hard to maintain.

She’s now 39 and looked at least 10 years younger.

They were a matched pair all through her high school years, and it was a wonder she didn’t get pregnant before she did, not long after she graduated from high school.

Nafīsah Salmān was hot for Imām Muħammad Ħasan from the beginning, but Imām Muħammad Ħasan managed to wait on sex until right before He was started college, after they’d been together for two years.

Once they took the plunge, though, they were insatiable.

Nafīsah Salmān was, and is, a firecracker in bed, an energetic lover who had never denied Imām Muħammad Ħasan anything he wanted sexually.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan went to college close to home, so that He could be close to Nafīsah Salmān, and they fucked just about every chance Nafīsah Salmān got.

She was all the woman Imām Muħammad Ħasan had ever needed.

Getting pregnant only postponed Nafīsah Salmān’s college ambitions for a couple of years, however, because once he graduated from college and went to work, Imām Muħammad Ħasan dutifully put her through college, the way Imām Muħammad Ħasan had promised her Abbū He would when they married.

They had their daughter not long after she graduated from college, then she had her tubes tied and set about making a career.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan was a little disappointed, because He was hoping to try for another daughter, but Nafīsah Salmān had always gotten what she wanted, and she was adamant about not having another daughter.

Their daughter was grown now.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan took a lot of pride in her.

Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan turned out well, although Nafīsah Salmān wasn’t as big a part of her life as most Ammīs, one reason why Imām Muħammad Ħasan decided to get a job closer to home.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan was far more domestic than Nafīsah Salmān was.

It was just the way their marriage evolved.

As Imām Muħammad Ħasan sat there and tried to figure out what went wrong, Imām Muħammad Ħasan had put all of these little pieces together from their past and came up with some vague explanations for why she did what she did, but they really weren’t sufficient.

Certainly, Imām Muħammad Ħasan was not the young stud he once was, not that He was ever what one’d call a stud.

But when He was younger, Imām Muħammad Ħasan had a full head of thick brown hair, now gone gray and thinning rapidly.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan had always been told He was nice-looking, and he guessed that hadn’t changed.

However, over the years, Imām Muħammad Ħasan had put on about 25 pounds that no amount of yard work will take off, and Imām Muħammad Ħasan hadn’t been inclined to spend a lot of time at the health club, the way Nafīsah Salmān did.

Occasionally, he’ll go with her to the club and walk the track, while Nafīsah Salmān attacked the Stairmaster and the treadmill, but that’s the extent of Imām Muħammad Ħasan’s interest in exercising.

That was mostly because Nafīsah Salmān preferred to get her workout in during the evening, after Nafīsah Salmān got off the train from work.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan was usually at home by then, and not all that willing to get back out.

He never realized he was becoming the second person in the household, Nafīsah Salmān becoming the first.

Their sex life, though, had remained pretty good, from his viewpoint, or at least he thought it had.

Nafīsah Salmān still made love to him two or three times a week, which Imām Muħammad Ħasan thought was quite good for a man of 51.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan guessed in terms of their respective biological clocks, he hadn’t been able to keep up with Nafīsah Salmān, but he never got any indication from her, at least not anymore, that Nafīsah Salmān was less than satisfied with their sex life.

He was working in the basement that rainy summer afternoon, trying to clear out some space, when He came across a box that had been sort of hidden away in a corner, under some bags of old tax receipts.

When Imām Muħammad Ħasan opened the box, He saw that it contained some of Nafīsah Salmān’s work documents, including her logbooks.

Now Nafīsah Salmān was very meticulous about her life, and Nafīsah Salmān was very well organized, especially in relation to her job.

So she kept detailed logs of everything Nafīsah Salmān did on the job, day in and day out, both in the office and on the road.

And, as He was soon to learn, Nafīsah Salmān didn’t leave anything out.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan honestly wasn’t snooping, because he had no reason to snoop.

Never in the whole 3 years they’d been married have Imām Muħammad Ħasan had any reason to suspect that Nafīsah Salmān was cheating on him.

Nafīsah Salmān had always behaved in a loving manner toward him when they were together.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan had never heard any whispers of scandal about her, no “knowing” looks, no anonymous letters or tips, nothing that would have led him to believe that Imām Muħammad Ħasan’s wife was anything other than a happily married wife.

They were very well thought of in their community, and they had a modest circle of longtime friends who thought they were the perfect couple.

He wasn’t in any way suspicious about Nafīsah Salmān’s job-related activities.

But He was curious to see what was in her logbooks, since Nafīsah Salmān had never been one to talk a lot about the details of her job, especially when Nafīsah Salmān traveled.

After what Imām Muħammad Ħasan discovered, he could understand why.

Each logbook covered a calendar year, beginning in 1998, when Nafīsah Salmān got her promotion, so Imām Muħammad Ħasan started there.

At first, the log entries were pretty mundane, details about meetings with clients and contracts with companies Nafīsah Salmān was dealing with here in New York, then in other cities.

After about six months, however, Imām Muħammad Ħasan noticed that whenever Nafīsah Salmān was in Chicago, one man’s name kept showing up, a Durgesh.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan read with concern, then mounting alarm, then dismay as the entries became more and more intimate.

It started with routine meetings in his office, then progressed from there to dinner at her hotel to late-night meals at fine restaurants to nightclub visits until Imām Muħammad Ħasan finally came across the entry that began the process of shattering his world.

It was dated in early November, about eight months after her promotion, and it was quite detailed…

One can put a gun to her head, and Nafīsah Salmān still won’t be able to tell anyone exactly why she started cheating on Imām Muħammad Ħasan.

There were a lot of reasons, and none of them by themselves would have been enough to push her into adultery.

But all together, they built up an unstoppable momentum, to the point where Nafīsah Salmān freely and willingly chose to enter into a series of sexual relationship, with me, outside of her marriage.

Let there be no mistake.

Nafīsah Salmān was the one who decided to step out on her husband.

He wasn’t coerced into these relationships.

She was relatively sober when Nafīsah Salmān took that path, and by now, she had made them such a part of her life that she was not sure she could give them up, even to save her marriage.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan had spent many a sleepless night listening to her snore, knowing that Nafīsah Salmān was betraying him.

He was the father of her daughter and they’d made a home together for 3 years.

He had supported her career every step of the way, yet, honestly, he did deserve this.

The plain, unassailable truth was that Nafīsah Salmān needed more sex than she could get from him.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan had always had a very high sex drive, even when they were younger and he was a lot more vigorous.

He’d always struggled to keep up with her sexually, and now the discrepancy between their respective sexual urges was quite pronounced.

While Imām Muħammad Ħasan was right now at or close to her sexual peak, and had been for several years, he was well on the down slope, and had been for several years.

And he just couldn’t satisfy Nafīsah Salmān the way I could.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan tried, and Nafīsah Salmān did appreciate him for it.

He hadn’t given up, and that was to his credit.

When Nafīsah Salmān and Imām Muħammad Ħasan made love, it was nice and she got a lot of affection from being with him.

But he couldn’t stay up longer, and when he came, that was it.

He was through for the night.

Yet, Nafīsah Salmān was very certainly not.

She wanted more, and more and more.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan had said once in irritation.

“Only Durgesh can satisfy you sexually, none else, at least no Sunni Musalmān, I’m sure. You need an Uncut.”

Nafīsah Salmān had now come to need SO much more, than what Imām Muħammad Ħasan could give her, more than he could ever give her, and now she knew that was true even at the start.

Nafīsah Salmān needed more than just nice, sweet lovemaking for 5 minutes two or three nights a week.

I fucked Nafīsah Salmān.

I fucked Nafīsah Salmān hard, I fucked Nafīsah Salmān good, I fucked Nafīsah Salmān long and I made her come, over and over and over.

Then I fucked Nafīsah Salmān again.

It was just raw animal passion.

I always gave her all Nafīsah Salmān could handle and more.

No way Imām Muħammad Ħasan could match that.

Truth was, sex with Imām Muħammad Ħasan hadn’t given Nafīsah Salmān an orgasm ever.

Used to, he could at least get her off when he went down on her, but over time even that had failed to light her fuse.

The lust Nafīsah Salmān once felt for him had pretty much died.

Having been taken to the heights of ecstasy, having experienced what truly awesome sex is all about, and having gotten it on a pretty regular basis; Nafīsah Salmān just couldn’t get a charge out of Imām Muħammad Ħasan’s pedestrian sexual prowess.

If that made her a bad person – a slut, as the Musalmeen claimed – then Imām Muħammad Ħasan had also told her once in a fuming argument, Nafīsah Salmān was a slut.

Honestly, however, Nafīsah Salmān did not set out to cheat on Imām Muħammad Ħasan, and Imām Muħammad Ħasan had tried hard to keep him from being hurt.

Nafīsah Salmān didn’t have another lover in the city – no workplace romances for her – nor did she mess around with anyone here at home.

When Imām Muħammad Ħasan was home, Nafīsah Salmān belonged to Imām Muħammad Ħasan, and she truly enjoyed being in his company.

Except for sex, Imām Muħammad Ħasan was rather a good husband.

But on the road, it was a different story.

When Nafīsah Salmān was traveling on business, she became a sexual creature who couldn’t get enough.

She had done things in other cities that would curl the hair of their conservative, suburban friends, if they were somehow to find them out.

Nafīsah Salmān didn’t intend to cheat on Imām Muħammad Ħasan, but a potent combination of frustration and temptation made her ripe for the plucking and Durgesh swiftly and skillfully seduced her not long after Nafīsah Salmān started going on these out-of-town business trips.

I was the Chairman, and CEO too, of one of their company’s major suppliers, and I was a powerful, dynamic person.

Frankly, I was one of the sexiest man Nafīsah Salmān had ever encountered.

He’s well built, with a right complexion and a full head of dark hair with just enough gray to give her a distinguished look.

Nafīsah Salmān had never asked me my age, but she’d say I was about her age.

But I was much, much more virile and far more aggressive than Nafīsah Salmān could ever be, and that was what ultimately attracted Nafīsah Salmān to me.

I think we both knew from the first time that we met what was going to happen.

There was just this sexual energy that crackled between us from the moment Nafīsah Salmān first met me.

Nafīsah Salmān had been in her job about four, maybe five months, and my company was her first really big account.

Dealings with My underlings had not been going well.

Nafīsah Salmān thought maybe they thought that because of her relative inexperience, the fact that she was a woman and due to her eagerness to bring in the account, that they could lowball her.

Nafīsah Salmān had some flexibility on how low she could go in order to land the contract, but the numbers they were insisting upon were ridiculously, unacceptably low.

Nafīsah Salmān refused to be intimidated, so she seemed to be at an impasse.

The thing was, Nafīsah Salmān knew without a doubt that if she could just reach an agreement with me she could do some profitable business.

Our respective industries were so compatible and our companies were so much alike that she believed if we could just agree on a price, everything else would fall into place.

Finally, in frustration, Nafīsah Salmān insisted on a personal meeting with the CEO, hoping he could bring her company around.

To say I was dazzled by Nafīsah Salmān’s sexual magnetism would be an understatement.

I could actually feel myself getting wet just from the way she fixed her extremely beautiful eyes on me as Nafīsah Salmān first walked into my office.

But Nafīsah Salmān couldn’t get where she was in the business world by letting her emotions get the best of her, so she quelled her budding arousal and got down to making her presentation.

I had to admit, Nafīsah Salmān dressed for success, wearing a snug business suit with a skirt that didn’t quite reach her knees.

Nafīsah Salmān gave me just enough of a look at her slender legs to make me sit up and take notice, without being overtly flirtatious.

Nafīsah Salmān had always known just how to dress for any occasion, and Nafīsah Salmān was extremely skilled at skirting that fine line between showing just enough and showing too much.

I made my pitch, and when she was finished, I asked some questions.

Nafīsah Salmān gave me some answers.

By the tone of my questions, Nafīsah Salmān believed she had made some serious inroads, so she left the prospectus with me for my perusal.

On her way out of my office, I went over and shook her hand warmly, and held the touch just a split-second longer than normal.

“Thank you so much for seeing me today, Mr. Durgesh,” Nafīsah Salmān said, with a slight flutter in her voice.

“Please, call me Durgesh, Miss Nafīsah Salmān,” I answered smoothly.

“It is Mrs. Nafīsah Salmān, but please, call me Nafīsah Salmān, without any ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs’.” Nafīsah Salmān said.

“Nafīsah Salmān, then,” I said finally, “We’ll be in touch.”

That night, Nafīsah Salmān flew back to New York in a horny daze, and when she got home, she practically attacked poor Imām Muħammad Ħasan.

Nafīsah Salmān woke him up out of a dead sleep by sucking his small cut cock up to its whatsoever full hardness, then Nafīsah Salmān climbed on and rode him as if He was some out of control Saåūdī Årab Musalmān cowgirl.

But Imām Muħammad Ħasan was so tired that he kept losing his erection repetitively, until Nafīsah Salmān finally gave up and let him roll over to go back to sleep.

Then Nafīsah Salmān found out her vibrator and imagined that it was my Uncut Hindu Cock.

It didn’t take her long until she was thrashing on the bed in one of the stronger self-induced orgasms, Nafīsah Salmān could ever recall having.

Two weeks went by, during which time Nafīsah Salmān kept trying to tell herself that she was a happily married woman and that she shouldn’t be having these wicked fantasies about Durgesh.

Nafīsah Salmān finally told herself that she was acting like a schoolgirl and that a powerful man like Durgesh wouldn’t be interested in her.

Durgesh was already surrounded by countless extremely stunning Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān Beauties.

They were already after Durgesh like honeybees.

But the moment Nafīsah Salmān’s boss came into her office and told her to run home, pack a bag and catch the red-eye for Jabalpur, her stomach did cartwheels and her Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān Pussy lurched in response.

The next day, Nafīsah Salmān met with my board of directors and me, and repeated the pitch she’d made two weeks earlier.

Nafīsah Salmān also noticed that the bean counters who had treated her with such disdain earlier were now falling over themselves to be solicitous of her.

She knew right then that Nafīsah Salmān had the contract, but we didn’t reach an agreement right away.

Nevertheless, after the meeting, I invited Nafīsah Salmān to lunch, and that’s when Nafīsah Salmān really started working her Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān feminine charm on the Hindu playboy.

Honestly, being in my presence was intoxicating.

I was a smooth conversationalist, skilled at eliciting information from seemingly casual questions, and I was dazzled by her sexiness.

By the time, we left the restaurant and Nafīsah Salmān got in her taxi for the trip to the airport, I knew just about everything about Nafīsah Salmān that I needed to know.

About three weeks later, Nafīsah Salmān flew back to Jabalpur for the purpose of nailing down all of the loose details and getting me to sign on the dotted line.

Nafīsah Salmān was there for the better part of a week, and after the third day, we had an agreement.

To celebrate, Nafīsah Salmān and I had dinner at her hotel, and it was quite apparent by then that we were on a fast track to seduction.

Dinner lasted quite a long time, and Nafīsah Salmān had several glasses of wine, so I was feeling very mellow, very sexual.

Finally, I sat back in her chair and fixed Nafīsah Salmān with an even gaze.

Nafīsah Salmān felt a lustful shiver run through her body from the way I looked at her.

“Tell me, Nafīsah Salmān, are you really happily married?” I asked.

Nafīsah Salmān hesitated before she answered, and that was when Nafīsah Salmān knew I had her.

“Y-yes,” Nafīsah Salmān said slowly, “Yes I am. I love Imām Muħammad Ħasan and we’d been together a long time.”

“But you’re not satisfied, are you?” I asked pointedly.

Nafīsah Salmān just stared at me, because Nafīsah Salmān had never revealed the inner workings of her sex life with Imām Muħammad Ħasan.

“How do you know that?” Nafīsah Salmān I asked, then quickly wished I could have taken the question back.

“Nafīsah Salmān, I can see it on your face, in your body language,” I said softly, “You love your husband, but he is not fulfilling your needs. He is not giving you what, deep down inside, you know you want, what you know you need.”

“And what do I need?” Nafīsah Salmān asked in an equally soft voice.

“You need a Hindu man who can match your Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān sensuality, someone who can bring out your sexual beast, someone who can make you come, and make you come again and again,” I smiled, “Be honest with yourself. Imām Muħammad Ħasan is not that man, is he?”

“Imām Muħammad Ħasan‘s a good, decent man, and we are quite happy together,” Nafīsah Salmān said, trying to work up some righteous Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān indignation, but failing miserably.

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” I said, “But you’re not happy with your sex life, are you? How long had it been, Nafīsah Salmān, since you really and truly had great sex with Imām Muħammad Ħasan? How long had it been since he made you come?”

“Durgesh, what are you saying?” Nafīsah Salmān asked. She wanted me to be direct, “Are you saying that you can do what Imām Muħammad Ħasan couldn’t?”

“Me, or someone like me,” I said, “Face it, Nafīsah Salmān. You want me, and I want you. You want the kind of sex that drives you beyond the boundaries of passion, and you’re not getting it at home. I can take you there, but only if you’re willing to go. You are one of the sexiest, most beautiful Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān women I have ever come across, and I’ve had countless of them. I want very much to please you, to give you the kind of passion you deserve.”

It was true.

Nafīsah Salmān wanted me, wanted the kind of sex Nafīsah Salmān had always dreamed about, but hadn’t gotten in a very long time.

But Nafīsah Salmān wasn’t ready to pull the trigger, wasn’t quite ready to cheat on her husband.

“Durgesh,” Nafīsah Salmān said finally, after we had stared at each other for long, pregnant seconds, “You’re a handsome Hindu man, one of the sexiest Hindu men I’ve ever met. I’ve no doubt that you can give me what you say I need. But I’m married to a good man that I love, and I’m just not ready to cheat on my husband, Imām Muħammad Ħasan.”

I let the matter drop right then, as we ordered dessert.

But as Nafīsah Salmān was standing on the street with me, waiting for the valet to bring her car around, I pulled Nafīsah Salmān to me and kissed her.

And, Eishān Param Brahm Paramātmā, Nafīsah Salmān responded, kissing me back with a great deal of her ravenous Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān enthusiasm.

“When the time is right, and you’re ready, you’ll know,” Nafīsah Salmān said softly, after we broke our embrace, “I’ll see you tomorrow. You get plenty of rest. You have a big day ahead of you.”

Nafīsah Salmān and I played it cool the rest of that trip, since the top brass from her company flew over the next day to sign the contract.

It was her first big success, and Nafīsah Salmān was the star of the company for the moment.

As autumn descended, Nafīsah Salmān found herself wrestling with her conscience.

She was battling, really, between her loyalty to Imām Muħammad Ħasan and her desire for me.

Nafīsah Salmān made two more trips to Jabalpur before she finally succumbed to the temptation and accepted the sexual satisfaction I was offering her.

Both times, Nafīsah Salmān was in Jabalpur, she went out with me on more than one occasion.

I took Nafīsah Salmān to a play, to a late-night dinner at one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, and we went to several nightclubs, including one where we danced until the morning.

Nafīsah Salmān wasn’t much on dancing, so Nafīsah Salmān had the time of her life.

And not once did I try anything sexual toward Nafīsah Salmān, although when we danced, our bodies were molded as one, and Nafīsah Salmān could feel my Hindu hardness poking into her Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān abdomen.

Nafīsah Salmān was sure I could feel her rock-hard nipples.

Nafīsah Salmān’s resistance was crumbling, and I knew it.

Finally, in November, Nafīsah Salmān was told she would be going to Jabalpur for four days to consult with my company on implementing details in the contract, and Nafīsah Salmān knew in her gut that this was it.

The night before Nafīsah Salmān left, she enticed Imām Muħammad Ħasan into bed early, hoping against hope that he would do something that would light her passion and make her forget about me.

Imām Muħammad Ħasan was very attentive that night, very loving, but in the end, it was the same old, same old.

He came way before Nafīsah Salmān was anywhere close to a climax, then rolled over and fell asleep.

Like always.

As he snored in blissful ignorance, Nafīsah Salmān actually held her in her arms and cried, because she knew that when she came back from this trip, Nafīsah Salmān would be a changed woman.

She would be an adulteress.

When Nafīsah Salmān got to Jabalpur, though, her course was set, and it was unbelievable.

Nafīsah Salmān thought Imām Muħammad Ħasan was ready for some good sex, but nothing could have prepared him for what Nafīsah Salmān experienced that first night with me.

Nafīsah Salmān arrived that morning, and was driven straight to my building.

Of course, I met her, and Nafīsah Salmān could tell that the time had come.

We took care of some business for several hours, then we adjourned fairly early in the afternoon.

On their way out of the conference room, Nafīsah Salmān made it a point to catch up to me.

Nafīsah Salmān looked me straight in the eye.

“How would you like to meet me for dinner at my hotel?” Nafīsah Salmān asked, “Say about 7 o’clock?”

I just arched my eyebrows at the time, for it was considerably earlier than our usual dates, and it was the first time that Nafīsah Salmān had initiated an evening together.

“Seven o’clock it is,” I said, and shook my hand, but then held it for a long second, “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” Nafīsah Salmān answered eager to be on her way.

Nafīsah Salmān’s Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān Pussy was drooling, her clit was throbbing and her heart was pounding at the prospect of sex with me. I would be the first man in her life other than Imām Muħammad Ħasan to fuck her, and now that Nafīsah Salmān had set her course, she couldn’t wait.

On her way back to the hotel, Nafīsah Salmān stopped at a boutique and bought a dress that had caught her eye earlier that day, a short, sexy number that left very little to the imagination.

Nafīsah Salmān went back to her room and drew a bath, and while she was in the warm water, Nafīsah Salmān took a disposable razor and a pair of scissors and severely trimmed back her pubic bush.

Nafīsah Salmān usually kept it pretty trim anyway, so there was nothing out of the ordinary about the way it looked.

When Nafīsah Salmān was finished, she slipped on the dress, a pair of thigh-highs and her high heels.

Nafīsah Salmān wore nothing else.

Nafīsah Salmān wanted there to be no mistaking her intentions when she met me that evening.

Nafīsah Salmān did her makeup in exquisite detail, methodically brushed her shoulder-length blonde hair, then called up to room service for a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice and two glasses.

After the champagne had been delivered, Nafīsah Salmān stopped for a moment in front of the mirror and looked deep into he own eyes.

The expression on her face was a little inscrutable.

There was excitement, apprehension, some guilt and a little sadness.

Nafīsah Salmān was about to break her marriage vows, willingly and her emotions were in turmoil.

Then Nafīsah Salmān sighed heavily, took a deep breath and walked out to face the future.

Nafīsah Salmān could feel the stares of every man she encountered on her way to the hotel bar, where she was to meet me.

Somehow, this gave her a thrill, to know that she could have that effect on men.

It was – and remains – an intoxicating feeling to have strange men lust after her, and it was one of the factors that had driven Nafīsah Salmān in her adultery.

I was already in the bar when Nafīsah Salmān arrived, and her eyes sparkled as I swept my gaze up and down her body.

We embraced, and we kissed, long and slow, with lots of tongue.

Nafīsah Salmān couldn’t remember ever being that horny.

After a glass of wine, we went to dinner, and Nafīsah Salmān ate light.

Truthfully, Nafīsah Salmān was so nervous, she couldn’t have eaten much anyway.

While we sat at the secluded corner booth, Nafīsah Salmān finally set about learning a little bit about me.

I had grown up in India.

I myself had founded the company.

I had started it as a teenager in the mailroom.

I worked at every level in the company, learning the business inside and out.

Along the way, I had been married and not divorced.

I explained candidly that monogamy wasn’t for me.

If I saw a woman I liked, I invariably pursued her, and I always had several girlfriends, most of them being Musalmān Beauties.

Nevertheless, I was always on good terms with my unmarried Musalmān wives/sex partners.

They had been generously dealt with, and I was fairly active in the lives of my sons by all of my ‘wives’ whether duly married with me or not.

Finally, dinner was finished, and there wasn’t much left to say.

We were sitting next to each other, and my hand fell onto her thigh.

Nafīsah Salmān’s fingers just brushed the subtle outline of my Uncut Hindu Cock, as we just sort of melded together and kissed.

Nafīsah Salmān lost herself in my lips and tongue, and I felt my hands slide around her back, which was naked save for the straps that held her dress tightly across her unfettered breasts.

My eyes were dewy when we broke our embrace.

“Would you like to come up to my room for a nightcap?” Nafīsah Salmān whimpered.

“Of course, my dear,” I answered softly.

Just the way I talked and the way I looked at her made Nafīsah Salmān’s Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān Pussy gush.

Right there under the tablecloth, I slid a hand up her thigh to the hot delta between her legs.

My fingers brushed her labia and caressed her clit, which was standing fat and tall.

Nafīsah Salmān groaned when I penetrated her with my middle finger, as I kissed her again, and her hips lurched forward, trying to capture as much of my invading digit as possible.

“You are so hot,” I whimpered, panting as we broke again, “Let me show you what I can do for you.”

Nafīsah Salmān barely remembered signing the check, hardly recalled walking arm-in-arm with me to her room.

It wasn’t until we closed the door and came together in a passionate embrace that her focus returned.

Nafīsah Salmān molded her body to her, almost dry-humping her soon-to-be lover.

Nafīsah Salmān could feel the hardness of my Uncut Hindu Cock, and she cooed in response.

Nafīsah Salmān wanted me right then, worse than she’d wanted anything, in her whole life.

At length, we broke apart again, and that was when she discovered the bucket of ice, with the champagne bottle chilling.

I sauntered over to the desk where Nafīsah Salmān had set the bucket containing the bottle.

I stopped shortly to pull off her jacket, which I draped over a chair, and to pull off my tie.

I looked and acted like I owned the place, which, Nafīsah Salmān guessed, I did.

Then Nafīsah Salmān skillfully opened the bottle and filled her glass with the sparkling elixir.

She filled my glass with juice.

We toasted each other, and Nafīsah Salmān downed her glass pretty much in one huge gulp, while I took several sips of my glass before setting it down and pulling Nafīsah Salmān to me.

Again, we kissed, but this time our hands were busy.

I quickly loosened the straps of her dress and it fell to the floor, revealing her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān nakedness to my gaze.

I unbuttoned and pulled off my shirt, then unhooked my belt and let my slacks fall.

We both gasped at our first sight of each other in an almost-naked condition.

Nafīsah Salmān could hear an audible intake of breath as I drank in her body.

Nafīsah Salmān was not bragging when she said that she had a splendid body.

She worked hard to keep herself trim and fit, and there wasn’t an ounce of excess anywhere on her.

Nafīsah Salmān had slender; dancer’s legs; a round, shapely Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān ass and her tits were just full enough to be enticing without being floppy.

Yes, it was a nice body, and it had been her ticket into a world of hardcore sex that she could have only imagined just a few years ago.

But Nafīsah Salmān had to say that her body was every bit as enticing as any fantasy I could have had.

My chest was well defined, with a dark carpet of hair that gave me a tremendously manly look.

I had a bulg to die for, and powerful legs.

And between those legs, sprouting from the hole in my boxer shorts, was a beautiful, well-sculpted Uncut Hindu Cock.

Until that moment, Nafīsah Salmān had only laid eyes on one hard dick other than Imām Muħammad Ħasan‘s, and that was when she was a teenager and accidentally walked in the bathroom one time when her Abbū was jacking off.

Her Abbū wasn’t nearly as big as either Imām Muħammad Ħasan or Durgesh.

And I had Imām Muħammad Ħasan beaten in the girth department.

“This is what you do to me,” I whimpered as I slid my underwear to the floor.

Nafīsah Salmān had to touch it, had to play with it, had to feel its pulsing power.

She stroked my Hindu meat softly, slowly, while I filled my hands with her tits, and rolled her nipples between my fingers.

One could have cut glass with her nipples, that’s how hard they were.

But better was in store, for I slid a hand between her legs and softly massaged her Panjvaqtā Namazī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān Pussy, slipping my fingers between her bubbling labia and curling my thumb around her obscenely bloated clit.

Nafīsah Salmān gasped and groaned in pleasure as she surrendered to me.

Gone was any feeling of guilt or sadness.

Nafīsah Salmān wanted to wallow in her wickedness, to revel in her sin.

I was climbing higher and higher as I kissed her hard while I fingered her Panjvaqtā Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Sunni Musalmān Cunt.

Before Nafīsah Salmān could cum, though, I backed away.

Nafīsah Salmān drained her glass of champagne then bent down to remove my socks, which were all I had left on.

She poured her another glass and Nafīsah Salmān gulped it down just like the first.

Nafīsah Salmān knew the heady liquor would go to her head, but that was what she wanted.

I realized immediately that irrespective of her immense physical need, Nafīsah Salmān was still fighting with her conscience.

Nafīsah Salmān was still a better wife than Imām Muħammad Ħasan was a husband.

Nafīsah Salmān was still loyal to her immensely incompetent husband.

What a miracle it was!