1: Of my Musalmān friends
Durgesh Al Āmnah Al Saåīd
As the ‘old man’ watched the stock report, he couldn’t hear the AT&T closing figure as Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and I moaned in mutual orgasm.
For the 100th time, yes, we kept track, my manly Uncut Hindu Lund had spewed a tidal wave of my Hindu cum into her deepest fertile recesses.
My potent brew was all baby-making seed–that cum was almost 100% pure sperm.
You know–the stuff that was filling up the local maternity wards with unexpected bundles of joy.
Other times were even wilder.
At dinner, he would sit at one end of the table.
At the other end, my chair was turned away from him.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd sat in my lap and looked at him, her table setting laid out before her as if a normal meal.
However, she was sitting in my lap, my Uncut Hindu Lund lodged deeply inside of her.
I for my part looked away from him, a nice side benefit, with a TV table holding my dinner ware.
Every few minutes Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and I would stop eating or talking and look into each other’s eyes.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd would go up and down upon me as we kissed.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s head would bend as she looked to the ceiling.
She would give a cry of orgasmic ecstasy that always shocked and embarrassed him.
Then she’d settle down upon my lap.
I would grab her and clutch her to me just as my Uncut Hindu Lund would erupt.
Long plumes of pale baby batter would cascade out of my Uncut Hindu Lundhead, the tiny slit expanded to the size of a quarter.
As he watched in goggle-eyed amazement, we would kiss quietly for minutes at a time.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd would whisper words of encouragement and devotion.
Her fertile Musalmān womb was always sloshing, filled up with a potent formula of my sperm-laden Hindu semen.
Normally after a particularly good ‘dining table treat’, she’d be literally sore as her Musalmān womb was horribly distended with an excess of my Hindu liquid love.
On those nights, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd would climb off of my lengthy Uncut Hindu Lund, the Moment where it exited her making a slurping sound and soft plop, drip, trickle, ooze, drip drip…
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd would stand next to me and bend down to kiss my lips.
She always whispered in my ear, thanking me for my Hindu sperm.
I’d look at Al Āmnah Al Saåīd before she walked away.
I enjoyed the thought that he saw his legally married wife with my ‘excessive Hindu seed delivery’ flowing down both bikini-waxed smooth Musalmān thighs.
One time he had to ask her a question before she cleaned herself up.
Eīshān, God, it was so sexy, I was so proud: a huge glob of my sperm-laden Hindu cum had escaped her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot and now was drooling down a satiny Musalmān thigh.
She had become the ultimate love machine…Best of all, it was inescapable: as I bred her, I was claiming her as my own, for now and forever.
He could only watch meekly as the husband/lover switch occurred.
Another time, we again were trying to do it with her sitting in my lap.
Well, it just wasn’t good enough. I asked him if we could just do it there and then, right on the dining room table.
I expected an indignant no, but so hot for that trust money was he that he pushed the dinner service onto the floor with a crash.
He gestured for me to use that table…for breeding…his extremely beautiful ever faithful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife.
I put my gorgeous, blonde haired, blue eyed, little love bunny Musalmān beloved onto our old dining room table.
There she lay, wearing only a smile.
As he sank back into his chair to watch, I walked up to the table, watching Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s shapely tanned legs open wide for her Hindu lover.
I could easily have just inserted myself in Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and ‘gotten her done…’
I stopped short of inserting my babymaker into the lips of Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s dripping Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot, though they beckoned to me like the beautiful petals of a flower.
Well, this one time I wanted him to openly declare my masculine superiority.
“I am going on strike as of right now. Unless and until you do as I say, there will be no sperm flowing into Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s dripping snatch. That trust fund will just have to be remitted to the state treasury, I guess.”
Well, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s old man moaned like he had been gored by a bull’s horns.
He actually ran up to me, got on his knees, hands pleading.
“You win, you WIN!! I will do your bidding. I acknowledge the fact that YOU are the alpha male, the best man here…the ONLY real man in the house. Only YOU can make the babies…only you deserve to sleep in the master bedroom with my wife. I will now insert your magnificent, superior Uncut Hindu Lund into her fertile extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot.”
Grabbing a linen napkin off the table, he inserted my huge Hindu phallus into Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot–even now oozing with excitement.
There was an audible ‘squish’ as it slid in the tight Musalmān warmth.
Both Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and I moaned in pleasure as our mating devices meshed and proceeded to do their thing.
Still, the best part was that I had made him join us up.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and I had a good laugh about his total humiliation; we stopped laughing and kissed just before we came together.
I had made him and Al Āmnah Al Saåīd realize I was the superior male when he was matched against me.
Twenty million or no twenty million, he recoiled a bit when he could actually see us in action.
No longer hidden by the table, he could see the raw power of my hips drive into his wife, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd.
Then, after our simultaneous orgasm and passionate kiss, he cringed.
He could clearly hear the ‘rain drops’ as the copious outpouring leaking from his sexy wife, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s my Hindu seed-filled Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot splattered on the hard wood floor, making several large, milky white puddles.
“I express my gratitude that you are willing to spill your Hindu seed within her Musalmān vaginal walls in order to pursue our selfish needs. I freely admit that my Musalmān seed is worthless now, unwanted and without a fertile home. While my family jewels hang limply, empty and unloved, your incredible testes swell with male Hindu power, bursting with seed, vibrant and throbbing with virility.
“Whereas my balls recede inside of me out of impotence and neglect, your balls, heavy with your Hindu seed like a pair of Rome apples, recede inside of you in order to transmit their awful Hindu power.”
He droned on, acting oblivious to the incredible scene before him of his legally wed Musalmān wife being serviced by her well-endowed Hindu guest.
It was so naughty to do it right in front of him that we started getting more and more excited…
He continued to say:
“Nothing pleases me more than to see my extremely beautiful ever faithful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife embrace and adore you, rather than me, expressing words of love and devotion. The fact that this always, ALWAYS, ends up with mind-blowing coitus is a bonus. The thought that your magnificent Hindu fuck tool is bathing her Musalmān cervix in potent Hindu seed, filling her fertile Musalmān womb with your squiggling spermatozoa, all of them striving for that treasured ovum…well, that’s fantastic.
“If just one of those millions gains entry and causes it to affix itself…we’re talking babytime and the BIG payoff. YOU GO, GUY!!”
It’s only an amusing footnote to inject here: unknown to him, or me or anyone, right after the first act of love between myself and my plump breasted/shapely legged Al Āmnah Al Saåīd, five of my ‘little guys’ had wiggled their way into her holy ovum, whereupon that blessed fertilized object had attached itself to her inner walls.
That’s right; before 99% of the fun and games and utter degradation I inflicted upon him, the deed was already done: Al Āmnah Al Saåīd was pregnant.
Thankfully, he was so inured to relying on doctors, as opposed to the more modern home testing, that he never made us do a ‘home pregnancy test’.
At his encouragement, yea insistence, we kept fucking nonstop.
A visible cream-pie drooled out of Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s warm, tight, welcoming snatch constantly now.
For those keeping score, the will document stated that Al Āmnah Al Saåīd had to be shown to be pregnant by a certain date, as the will did not wish to leave it open-ended and eternal.
So, the day before she was to be tested at the lab for the law firm’s review, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and I were kept in bed 24/7 by a crazed, greedy Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd.
We bred like rabbits nonstop.
Whenever we tired, he’d pour energy drinks into us.
By the end of that day, my bodyweight must have been 50% Red Bull.
We set a modern record, with ten complete acts of love that climactic Sunday.
After the last act of love, at 4 am, I lay gasping on my back, my Uncut Hindu Lund red from overuse.
A streamer of cum ran from the tiny slit in my Uncut Hindu Lundhead to Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s dripping snatch.
Her glistening thighs were a sticky, gooey mess.
Excess cum escaped her unprotected Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot and drooled out in a constant waterfall in slow motion.
A sizable ocean of escaped cum now formed between her legs on the bed.
Four, count them, four, rivers of white now wound their way from this ocean to the edges of the bed, with dripping waterfalls of manly goo descending into tiny lakes of Hindu mancream on the hardwood floor.
Well, everything after that was a mere anti-climax.
We three went to the clinic and got the happy test results.
We zoomed to the law firm, who now were honor-bound to retain the trust proceeds until the birth and DNA testing completed the trust requirements.
It goes without saying that the initial proof of pregnancy would be followed nine months later by the actual DNA test on the newborn baby.
So we’d only passed hurdle number one.
As his beautiful wife’s belly expanded, the final die was cast.
Whereas he got more and more hostile to her and her approaching ‘disloyal’ baby birthing, I was more and more attentive and loving.
I now eschewed all other matters of the heart, i.e. pounding the local Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot, from here to maternity.
It was all for Al Āmnah Al Saåīd now.
To his fury, our lovemaking actually intensified after the ‘deed was done’ and Al Āmnah Al Saåīd was officially pregnant.
We constantly held hands, expressed love and devotion, and kissed at any and all times.
Whenever Al Āmnah Al Saåīd entered a room at home, I would rush up to her and bend down, planting kisses upon her royal tummy and the baby within.
An ultrasound later confirmed: Al Āmnah Al Saåīd didn’t have merely one but indeed five perfect babies within.
All of the fetuses were male.
The happy day approached.
By then, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s ‘old man’ could almost taste that $20 million.
He was appalled that Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and I were still having sex well into the last month.
In fact, we were having a passionate love session when her water broke.
As I pulled away in concern, she pulled me back and kissed me solidly.
Moments from giving birth and Al Āmnah Al Saåīd was still wanting me to seed her.
I kissed her and told her we had to go now…
We then rushed to the OR where the five guys emerged perfect little gentlemen.
Coldly and cruelly, the ‘old man’ chose to stay at home, only seeing us later in the week at the lawyer’s office.
I on the other hand stood next to Al Āmnah Al Saåīd, holding her hand throughout the entire ordeal in the OR.
I bent down and kissed her lips, her eyes all teary.
She whispered to me that if the OR delivery staff weren’t there right then, she’d love to make love…only minutes after the last baby emerged.
At the estate’s attorney’s office, we finally arrived with the DNA results and the birth certificates.
It was only then and there that the withered old coot of Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd got his final comeuppance.
He had never deigned to actually read the trust instrument, preferring instead to allow the law firm to give him only the snippets they felt necessary.
I on the other hand read it cover to back.
As his attorney presumed he was the daddy-in-chief, no one had bothered to read on.
Deep within a footnote in fine print, a rider stated that if the mother of this heir named the child properly and could prove the baby was from a family member NOT being her dumbass Musalmān husband, Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd,, then she could retain the trust proceeds.
The husband, discarded and disgraced as a cuckold, would become only a disreputable reject and no longer party to this proceeding.
You can only imagine the fireworks that erupted when Al Āmnah Al Saåīd showed the DNA results, including not only the partial link between the babies and the ‘old man’ but the 100% statistical DNA match to myself.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd then referred Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd to that little read rider, telling sorry about that.
The attorney shook his grey-haired head, letting Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s ‘old man’ know that it was lights out for him.
Seething, he left.
Now, as Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and I held hands tightly, the elderly attorney joked that they did divorce law too.
The senior partner attorney took all of this in stride without making any comments; I guess he truly had seen and done it all…
Finally, he gave Al Āmnah Al Saåīd a certified check for $19,483,352. Along with the check was an itemized accounting of their fees for $516,648. Essentially, they got a half mill for looking at two lab tests and printing out a check.
In their defense, it was a nice big check.
We were so ‘concerned’ about their overbilling that we left their statement on the desk and rushed to the bank.
When the funds were secured, we called to thank the firm.
An answering service took the call; the firm had one of their ‘settlement’ parties at the local Hyatt.
Well, that was cool; we still had $19.5million to tide us over.
Later, I did complain, telling them I expected Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s divorce to be ‘reasonable’.
Soon Al Āmnah Al Saåīd got a divorce, with a return to her maiden name.
They billed us for $34, the cost of photocopies and a FedEx delivery. That was cool…
We moved to Oahu and bought that palatial estate of the actor that starred on the original ‘Hawaii-Five-O’.
Our five little guys developed into hellacious surf bums, as did the two others to follow.
Two more Hindu sons filled out the family portrait.
When the five oldest turned 18, we told them the truth about their parents.
I suspected they’d be horrified, angry, or appalled.
Instead, all five of their mouths were agape in wonder.
Then, as if we were in a cheap Hollywood movie, their comments were: “Wow”, “Far-out”, “Fucking hot, Hindu man”, and “I’m cool with it”.
I told them not to tell the younger siblings, knowing that they would anyway.
With that psychic burden off of us, this 64 year old Hindu husband and his 56 year old Musalmān wife, Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd, snuck out of our family estate home at 3am.
With a full moon shimmering in the gentle waters of the warm Pacific, we made love on our private beach, and then lay cuddling together, in the nude, for the rest of the night.
It was a happy home and a happy ending to a long and winding road.
We had a staff of countless lady robots, gents robots and mechanical robots to oversee the grounds, the children, and our investments.
One person was unpaid but was retained in order to give him a place to live.
He served as a ‘major domo’ or master domestic servant.
That’s right, it was Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s ‘old man’, Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd.
He came to us contritely after our move, saying he had nowhere else to go.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd said he could stay, but only with my approval.
I said it was cool and he was now restored to our home, albeit as his ‘wife’ Al Āmnah Al Saåīd, was adamant, in the servant’s quarters in the little home set off near the abandoned pineapple fields.
A beautiful ending; Al Āmnah Al Saåīd never expected to have a palatial mansion, let alone one on the most treasured real estate in the world.
Everything arose from that trust instrument-the Will and the crazy things that her greedy ‘old man’ did because of it.
Now we had enough to even look back.
I convinced my Al Āmnah Al Saåīd to loosen the purse strings.
Thinking of 786 wonderful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān ladies who had gotten swollen bellies from me, I hit the internet.
From Twitter, Facebook, Google, the old White Pages, and even a detective agency, I found that some of them were doing fine, their husbands or boyfriends accepting the cover story for the baby and providing for the infants.
Some others weren’t doing well, so Al Āmnah Al Saåīd allowed me to write a very generous check to each of them.
With that act, I had ‘crossed all the T’s and dotted all the I’s’.
It was great to have the dough to buy everything you wanted and to ‘square things’ with anyone you ever cared for.
How to explain it:
I just called it ‘A Triumph of Will’.
And I mean will power now, not the will that made all of it possible legally.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
1: Of my Musalmān friends
Actually, by the time I reached age 18, I was having a ball literally.
I had hot and cold running awfully lovely Panjvaqtah Namāzī fervent Musalmān girlfriends and even an occasional lady teacher on the side.
On most weekends, I was making more ‘cream-pies’ than the local bakery.
I was never so proud as when, one day, I happened to go to Toys ‘R Us looking for a video game on sale. Attached was the store Babies ‘R Us.
There, shopping for maternity wear and infant clothes were three eighteen year olds: two blonde cheerleaders, one brunette gymnast, plus one hot soccer Ammī /substitute teacher.
All of them had swollen bellies containing a fetus, or two, created by of course, myself, who the hell else?
I had ever ‘done the deed’ even before I turned 18, it all started when I was 4 only.
My ‘Ammī’, Imāmzādī Ħumayrah Qāzī, gave me a weight set for my birthday.
She told me to NOT be like her husband and ‘let myself go’ but to always be in top shape, looking for ‘action’.
I would never forget it; she kissed me.
She’d kissed me before, but this kiss lasted a full minute.
She then told me something from years back: Ammī and her BFF were looking me over in the maternity ward observation room.
They saw me take a toy from another baby boy in the next crib.
When the lady doctor came along to return it, she couldn’t pry it loose.
She had to call another lady doctor; after a struggle of ten minutes, the two of them got the toy back.
Ammī’s BFF said,
“Wow, that’s one strong, virile baby!” Then she noticed something that was peeping out of my clothing, drooping down like a small elephant’s trunk.
She gave my Ammī the elbow and pointed it out.
They both gasped.
Ammī’s friend said:
“Speaking of virility, Allah, my God, you don’t think, I mean it can’t be…it just can’t…”
Well, it WAS, thank you.
Ammī stared into my eyes and then left the room.
I was stunned for a Moment.
Well, I took her advice and would lift weights and other things.
By the age of 18, I had an incredible physique that led to the ‘fun and games’.
Even Al Āmnah Al Saåīd would occasionally watch my outdoor workouts from the kitchen.
Little did I know that her nipples popped as she did.
By the end of my workouts, I’d be gasping for breath as was Al Āmnah Al Saåīd; her nipples would be fully erect, her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot sopping wet.
If only I had known: I could have sat in the kitchen, my deliriously sexy Al Āmnah Al Saåīd would’ve sauntered over and placed the slavering lips of that treasured Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot over my uncut rough Hindu cockhead.
I could just imagine her sliding down upon it till she hit bottom.
My youthful but powerful arms would’ve gripped her excellent Musalmān bum, thoroughly plump and rounded by her Panjvaqtah Namāzes, and used her like I was jacking it.
At the climactic Moment, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd would’ve looked to the ceiling, moaning in orgasmic ecstasy as my youthful, innocent Uncut Hindu Lund swelled with power before unleashing a hurricane of my Hindu cum inside of her.
Just after that, she would’ve dropped into my lap like a spent rag doll.
Our lips would have met in a passionate kiss before she embraced me.
Trying to recover, she would’ve whispered something into my ear.
It might have been how much bigger I was than her ‘old man’, or maybe that we ‘shouldn’t have done that; I’m not on the pill, you know.’
Well, it was good that I didn’t think of that; I don’t think her husband would’ve understood me having to take Al Āmnah Al Saåīd to Babies ‘R Us to shop for maternity fashions.
I always wondered why Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and her dumbass Musalmān husband, Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd, stayed together.
Her dumbass Musalmān husband, Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd, had been, I am told, a good looking guy when they wed years ago.
Then it happened: he lost his hair.
Almost overnight, he lost 95% of his hair and with it his confidence, bravado, and potency.
Later Al Āmnah Al Saåīd would tell me that old fossil’s thing was no longer four inches but now a soft and constant two inches.
My magnificent ten inches of Hindu manhood far exceeded Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s old man’s ‘doodle’ even when mine was relaxed.
I never had the heart to tell her that I had him beat when I was nine years old, or even before that.
Those were the days when Niranjan Sharmā came close to her.
Yet, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd never married Niranjan Sharmā.
She had her own plans.
Niranjan Sharmā was only her for the time being Hindu lover.
Ultimately Al Āmnah Al Saåīd needed someone to have sex with.
Well, why not Niranjan Sharmā, if he was so obsessed with her extraordinary Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān beauty?
The reason why Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and her dumbass Musalmān husband, Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd, stayed together was also the reason for the events that were to transpire: a trust and a will.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd knew if she divorced the increasingly decrepit and useless ‘old man’ that she’d be cut out of any subsequent inheritance from his filthy rich wealthy family.
Her attitude was that she had suffered for this long, so why not hang in there till the big payoff.
That was where the twist came in.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s ‘old man’ dragged her to the reading of the will.
The last family leader put in the document that Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s ‘old man’ would get the whole estate, some $20 million (!), IF AND ONLY IF he created an heir and named it Al Aslam Al Saåīd, the given name of that last family don.
Talk about distrust, the will insisted that the child be genuine, genetically from the family, and not adopted or from a non-family member.
To that end, the child, upon birth, would have DNA matches done; then, and only then, would the law firm be authorized and directed to release funds.
This all led to quite a contrast on one weekend night.
In my little bedroom, which was an attachment to the garage, I was balling my English teacher.
She was a 37 year old soccer Musalmān houselady.
Red hair, green eyes, she had a statuesque figure like those giants from Las Vegas revues.
I was drilling her soundly, MILF or not, married or not.
My ten inch Uncut Hindu Lund was eliciting a sigh, a moan, a gasp, and then a protracted scream.
Finally, I tapped against her cervix, my Uncut Hindu Lundhead lodged deeply inside of her.
I had promised to pull out, as I always did.
I then hoped that she’d get second thoughts, which they usually did.
Sure enough, I felt her legs envelope me and her ankles lock around my thrusting hips.
That was my signal and I came with fierce intensity.
As I swooned, my lips brushing gently her pliant Musalmān lips, we came together, a simultaneous phenomenon.
All the while, my Uncut Hindu Lund was pumping white-hot Hindu liquid relentlessly.*
As always, I didn’t care if she was married, wealthy, or anything else; I just wanted to put my Hindu seed into a warm, tight Musalmān place where it could perform its pollination trick.
While I was scoring big time, in the main house Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and her dumbass Musalmān husband, Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd, were trying to pull off a miracle.
It was truly pathetic, as Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s bald ‘old man’ was totally impotent.
Later Al Āmnah Al Saåīd would tell me he’d had just enough to do the job before she got pregnant with me.
Then, the ‘bald thing’ happened and his production went from less than normal to a few drips and drops.
That descended even further to the point he was as dry as the Sahara.
That night resulted in getting that hot teacher of mine knocked up, wonderfully pregnant.
In keeping with my stroke of luck, she was the fourteenth Musalmān babe, the fourth married one, to have to shop for baby clothes courtesy of me.
Like the other three married hotties, she’d fool her dumbass Musalmān husband, into thinking it was his own.
It was clear that the other married babes realized that suing me for support would be never needed.
I always supported every Musalmān Beauty and every Musalmān houselady if I’ve ever fucked her.
I was not any Arjun that needed a Kr’shñ, even to continue his marital responsibilities to his women he married and left behind.
I was myself my Kr’shñ.*
I visited another sexy Musalmān teacher that I had put in the family way some months before.
I explained to her dumbass Musalmān husband, at the door that I was an old student of hers.
I said I had heard about the baby from the class president and just wanted to give a ‘baby shower’ gift to my teacher advisor.
He was surprised but let me in.
Al Kulsūm Al Muħammad was shocked that I had come over and boldly introduced myself to her short, stocky, county clerk hubby.
We started talking.
All of a sudden and without warning, he said a few curse words and then headed out to the sports bar to watch the game just starting.
When I heard him slam the car door and drive away, my old ‘squeeze’ tried to slap me on the cheek, hard.
I grabbed her by the arm and kissed her.
She struggled for a second and then melted in my strong powerful Hindu arms.
We made out passionately for a long, long time.
She asked why I was there and I told her that I DID want to give her a baby shower present.
I brought over three pregnancy outfits.
She thanked me profusely and we kissed again.
Al Kulsūm Al Muħammad started putting them away when I stopped her.
“Wait, you don’t understand. I want to see them on you. I mean, those are from Frederick’s of Hollywood and I wasn’t sure about the size. Can you, well, humor me?”
She smiled and nodded.
She told me to ‘turn around’.
I did..I always wanted to do this, so I did.
I turned 360 degrees and ended up staring at her.
She thought that was cute and stopped demanding me to turn away.
She undid her eight months pregnant clothes, which were just her normal clothes she adapted, her dumbass Musalmān husband, too cheap to get her nice things.
The first outfit went on.
The bottoms fit around her still firm, beautiful hips, right below the beautiful baby bump.
She caressed the bulge with two loving hands…I rushed over and kissed that Masjid of reproduction before kissing her and returning to my seat.
She then removed her overstuffed bra.
I gasped as her breasts were, well, somehow both enormous and gorgeous.
But most of all, they were big… Eīshān! God, so very big. As she tried to close the top, it just wouldn’t reach.
Her struggles got me so excited…she was too big up top.
After a few Moments of her trying, I said:
“Let’s face it; it won’t fit. I guess I wasted money on that one; lingerie is not returnable. I am so sorry.”
Al Kulsūm Al Muħammad said it wasn’t my fault; how could I know her size.
She felt bad about that and hugged me, thanking me for the effort and asking me if there was anything she could give me?
Well, she was still standing there topless, so I stroked her amazing Musalmān boobs, licking my lips.
She undressed herself and I fucked her once more.
We both were so into it that we didn’t notice that we were being watched.
It turns out the game was an early rout, so her useless hubby had come back home.
Now he found his lissome, hot Musalmān wife fucking some old Hindu student.
What was THAT all about?
Immediately, my favorite pregnant teacher started this wild story that I had a condition that could only be cured by fucking a pregnant Musalmān woman.
It was so absurd that I stopped her.
“The truth is I knocked up your beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife. Apparently, you were not up to the task of satisfying her and I was. Why don’t you just accept it and forget what you saw here today.”
Not surprisingly, that wasn’t his first choice on how to handle this.
As his lovely pregnant wife looked on, he went berserk and charged me.
He was maybe five foot five; he laid into me with punches to the old ‘bread basket’.
I was ready for that.
He stopped when he realized he was just hurting his hands.
I picked him up, kicked him with both of my feet alternatively and lectured him:
“Little man, your three choices are: 1-continue to take credit for the babies, twins, in that beautiful swollen tummy over there, maintaining your standing among your friends…OR…2-you can divorce and abandon this Musalmān lady, with the true facts coming out for everyone to hear.”
“Given the odds of you finding someone even remotely this hot, I think I’d recommend choice number one. Of course there’s always choice number 3,” I put him down and showed him my Uncut Hindu Lund ten inches length of solid steel; his wife cooed and cheered; “I don’t think either of us want to resort to that!”
He literally shook in his boots.
He looked at her, then me, in particular the mighty arms that just held him up like a GI-Joe Doll, and slinked off into the other room, defeated.
After that little confrontation, he never said anything to Al Kulsūm Al Muħammad about our tryst. In fact, I never heard back from him.
Getting back to that night where I knocked up the other teacher while Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and her dumbass Musalmān husband, Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd, failed miserably at the old ‘in/out in/out’: The OTHER thing that resulted from that night was a fateful decision.
After an hour of them trying and failing to have a modicum of intercourse, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and her dumbass Musalmān husband, Al Salāħuddīn Al Saåīd, retired to their respective bedrooms.
Within a half hour, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s ‘old man’ was knocking on her door.
“I know you aren’t going to like this, nor will Durgesh. My thinking is that DNA would confirm the lineal ties to that new heir whether it was made by me…OR A SON FROM MY REAL FATHER. The thought of involving him, frankly, makes me ill. I hate the little Hindu scoundrel of yours, especially because he’s always scoring some hot Musalmān babe and doing her brains out in his little fiefdom out there.
“On the other hand, since we are desperate to make an heir, and need one started within 30 days, I think we might find use for that musclebound Hindu freak with his grotesquely oversized Hindu tool. I was afraid to tell you: years ago, that monstrous thing of his ripped the bathing suit and supporter that I lent to him…when he was 15!”
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd turned away from him.
Licking her lips, she didn’t want to let him see that this idea was a dream-come-true for her.
She’d watched me develop over the years, my burgeoning Hindu musculature making her excited more than once.
The idea of that oversized Hindu unit of mine servicing her, with the full intention of putting her in the family way, was scandalous, shameful, and damn exciting.
HER HEAD SPINNING, AL ĀMNAH AL SAÅĪD FLASHED BACK TO TWO INCIDENTS FROM THE PAST WHERE SHE HAD BEEN CONFRONTED WITH HER STUDLY Hindu’s UNMISTAKABLE ‘PHYSICAL ABILITIES’ AND THE BEDROOM ANTICS THAT ENSUED.”
Unknown to me, or her useless hubby for that matter, months before Al Āmnah Al Saåīd had become consumed wondering what DID go on in my little room with that endless line of extremely beautiful Musalmān female ‘visitors’.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd remembered something from years back and ran to the attic.
Sure enough, there it was: a baby monitor.
When I was out, she secreted the monitor in my room.
Thereafter on any date nights when her useless hubby was out on an errand, she’d listen in to the ‘goings on’.
What she did as she heard the moans of pleasure coming from my ‘house guests’ I don’t know; I did see once that Al Āmnah Al Saåīd had a ‘little friend’ in the drawer by her bed.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd was always too embarrassed to tell me, even years later.
She did make me pick up batteries though, until I bought her a battery recharger.
Another recollection: my gorgeous Al Āmnah Al Saåīd was at the tiny local hospital picking up some medicine for her fragile Musalmān hubby when she chanced upon meeting me.
“Durgesh, what in the world are you doing here?”
“To be honest, I wanted to see the babies in the maternity ward observation room. I remember that wild night on my 18th birthday when I went from a party to another party and then hung out with six high school senior awfully lovely Panjvaqtah Namāzī fervent Musalmān girls having their last sleepover.”
“I pumped a lot of my Hindu seed into a lot of tight Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot..oops, sorry Al Āmnah Al Saåīd…I had relations with some wonderful Musalmān women after a proper period of getting to know them. Anyway, I wondered if any of them had gotten knocked up. With this being nine months later, I just had to come and see.”
I grabbed Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s hand, her other hand holding the prescription, and dragged her into the elevator to the third floor.
There they were in the tiny observation room: ten babies.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd asked incredulously:
“Are ALL of those yours!?”
I smiled only.
Just then, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd remembered that she had made a list of the people that were allowed to get through to me if Al Āmnah Al Saåīd received a call, e-mail, or message.
The list had eight, over 18 year old, awfully lovely Panjvaqtah Namāzī fervent Musalmān girls and two adult teachers’ names.
Al Āmnah Al Saåīd called them off and I eventually linked every baby to a name on that honor list.
All ten: every one of the babies in that tiny hospital was my doing.
When Al Āmnah Al Saåīd realized that, I noticed her nipples had erected, poking through the filmy white blouse she wore.
Her yellow slacks had an embarrassing damp spot too.
She kissed me fiercely, and then broke it off just as abruptly.
She whispered to me:
“If this was a hospital in another city, and I wasn’t worried about risking a $20 million inheritance, I would drag you into one of these semi-private rooms and perform a complete ‘spermectomy’…removing every sperm in those family jewels of yours.”
We kissed again briefly then left.
AL ĀMNAH AL SAÅĪD THOUGHT BACK TO THE HOSPITAL BABY BOOM AND THE BABY MONITOR PEEPING INCIDENTS AS SHE WAS IN SHOCK OVER THE SUGGESTION BY HER ‘OLD MAN’ THAT THE TREASURED DURGESH WAS NOW ALLOWED, EVEN ENCOURAGED, TO MATE WITH HER.
To think that my powerful ten inch long babymaker, the talk of the town at the beauty parlor, would be making a special guest appearance in her fertile Musalmān womb was more than she could take.
With a muted nod, smile, and thumbs up, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd gave her approval to start the ball rolling to found the ‘ Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and Durgesh Baby Factory, Inc.’
At first, he had the reasonable expectation of making a baby in a clinical fashion.
I always wondered about other stories, real or fiction, where infertile couples wanting a child would have the wife sleep with another guy.
Insemination didn’t require that, only stupidity.
Sure enough, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd’s ‘old man’ told me of their needs for a child and then ordered me to fill up a beaker with my ‘essence’.
It was his intention to ‘do the honors’ of injecting it into Al Āmnah Al Saåīd.
What a neat solution it would be, too.
Well, that was a little TOO neat.
It was one thing for me to make babies with a lithe, nubile cheerleader or some oversexed MILF substitute teacher.
There, it was a pleasure making those babies.
But now, I was being asked to coldly provide ‘industrial reproductive fluid’ for a cold, sterile insemination procedure.
There was no way I was going to do that, dude.
I pretended to go along with their idea.
Every morning I would dutifully present that little sample bottle to him with my cum.
They were intentionally tiny samples.
When he protested I asked whether his samples had ever been larger.
He had to admit they hadn’t been.
It was simple genetics, or so I convinced him.
When he put the tiny samples into the baster he intended to use to inject my Hindu seed into Al Āmnah Al Saåīd, it actually coated the baster plastic walls and left absolutely nothing to be injected.
He was frustrated and desperate.
We had 21 days left to start to make the trust deadlines.
He called Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and me together in the living room.
“I have tried everything to get the job done without having to resort to desperate measures. Well, we’re out of time if we want that trust money. So, it is with incredible reluctance that I say: the only way we have a chance is for you two to have sex, copulate freely and often, until Al Āmnah Al Saåīd is pregnant. I hereby authorize and encourage the two of you to have sex. Don’t be shy; do it here, do it now!”
We were both stunned.
Even though I had hoped that this would happen, by giving him tiny fractions of my copious spend for his sample bottles, I still dared not dream that it would come to pass.
To be asked, cajoled, even forced, to breed his own ever faithful extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd, trying to get her pregnant, was more than I could imagine.
If you remember the old ‘I Dream of Jeanie’ show starring Barbara Eden, his wife, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd, was almost an exact copy: Same beautiful face and fabulous figure. As a matter of fact, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd was a tiny bit hotter than Ms. Eden, with bigger boobs and better legs. The dimples over her pert Musalmān bum and her gorgeous smooth feet completed a perfect package…We’re talking hot Al Āmnah Al Saåīd now, myself…
Even though cycles were such that we were wasting our time breeding on most days, Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and I were nonetheless directed by him to copulate continuously and relentlessly.
For three weeks, we had the strangest home in all of America.
While we were at home, he demanded that we remain nude at all times.
Furthermore, the Moment that my ‘batteries were re-charged’ after the prior love session I was to call for Al Āmnah Al Saåīd and do her immediately.
This really was becoming ridiculous.
At the breakfast table, he calmly downed waffles and bacon while in the next seat his own Panjvaqtah Namāzī extremely beautiful ardent Musalmān wife was going up and down on a seated Hindu stud.
My ten inch long steel-hard Uncut Hindu Lund was sliding in and out of her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot, the rough Uncut Hindu Lundhead driving her crazy dragging itself against her tingling Musalmān vaginal walls.
My Hindu manhood scraped against those cloying walls as the insipid morning news shows blathered on.
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