Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had been the Director of Security through all Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s Seven Movements.
It would certainly have been a backbreaking job if I were not fucking her constantly.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan enjoyed my Uncut Hindu Lund continuously constantly into her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot nonstop.
She never knew she needed sex that much with me.
Today almost entire Creations were against Pseudo Musalmīn terrorism.
They were killing the Pseudo Musalmīn terrorists everywhere openly attacking them.
Since Narendr Modi had become the Prime Minister of India, not even a single Pseudo Musalmān terrorist had succeeded in entering India.
Everyone of them was either killed on the spot when trying to enter, or worse.
S/he was arrested alive.
“Sit down, Saifunnisā.” Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan said, “Let’s keep this on a friendly basis if we can.”
Saifunnisā Al Islam hooked both her thumbs in her sash and remained standing.
“Friendly? With a traitor?”
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had anticipated it.
She pushed her beautiful nude Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān buttocks into my nude lap, swallowed my entire Uncut Hindu Lund into her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot and smiled patronizing Saifunnisā Al Islam.
“With an accused traitor.” She corrected her, “You are a Councilwoman. I’m sure you understand the wide difference between a traitor and an accused traitor. Don’t you?”*
Saifunnisā Al Islam watched Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan cunningly.
“Director of Security, Modern Democratic Årabia, you know very well that you haven’t come to the point where accusation, even by the Kħātoon-e-Jannat Hazrat Saiyadah Fātimah razī Allāhu Tåālā ånahā reincarnated, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, herself, is the equivalent of conviction. I trust you never do. Your job is to clear me if you can. You would do so now while no harm is done, except to my pride, rather than be forced to make it all a matter of a public trial. You hope I’m with you in this.”
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan understood the situation perfectly she was dealing with.
Saifunnisā Al Islam wasn’t an ordinary Councilwoman of the House of the People of Modern Democratic Årabia.
She was a learned young woman.
It was not easy to deal with Saifunnisā Al Islam.
Yet, Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan herself wasn’t an ordinary young woman.
She wasn’t Director of Security, Modern Democratic Årabia, because she was the elder sister of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had earned this prestigious post through her own hard work and achievements.
“Let’s not bother with ingratiation. You asked for it.” Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan said politely, yet authoritatively, “You had witnessed what happened even to Imām Muħammad Ħasan when he challenged the authority of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan. Yet you did the same. Definitely you never expected you could get away with it.”*
Saifunnisā Al Islam smiled ironically.
“I thought we are in a democratic system.”
“Sure,” Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan herself said ironically too, “But you are against it. You want to fail our democracy.”
“That’s the accusation, I think.” Saifunnisā Al Islam again ridiculed Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan.
“You still think you can face the charges of treason against you?”
Saifunnisā Al Islam said contemptuously.
“I want to expose you all. No democracy is being practiced here. If it were democracy here really, you were not establishing Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah here.”
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan smiled at Saifunnisā Al Islam ridiculing her.
“I hope you are intelligent enough to understand neither you have majority here, nor your supporters. The majority of Modern Democratic Årabia is not with you.”
“That’s what you think,”
“That’s what I know.” Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan smiled triumphantly confidently, “Even your Love Jihad has failed everywhere miserably. Each and every attempt of it is immediately detected everywhere before even a single success in it. The Pseudo Musalmīn culprits are losing their manhood forever as soon as they even imagine even to deceive the innocent non-Muslim girls. It’s not old times now. It’s Infinite BrāhmKalp, Sanā Kr’tyug. The sooner you understand the sooner you can save the manhood of the remaining Pseudo Musalmīn.”
“We refuse to let Yogi Āditýnāth be the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh.” Saifunnisā Al Islam said determinedly.
“Who are you to decide who will be the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh? Are you a citizen of India?” Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan looked at Saifunnisā Al Islam contemptuously.*
Yogi Bhāskarnāth was unable to understand how he could get rid of the ever-crazy Mujāhidāt that were having sex with him constantly on this or that pretext.
They just made him lie on his back undressed and straddled him one by one, fucking Yogi Bhāskarnāth despite his every effort to avoid it.
“We would never let you complete your Celibacy Practice, your so called Brahmcharý Sādhnā.” Al Jihad fil Islam said fucking Yogi Bhāskarnāth aggressively, “We don’t want another Yogi Āditýnāth.”
Yogi Bhāskarnāth could not do anything, except to lie there on his back and let them fuck him.
He understood actually, their Pseudo Musalmīn terrorist husbands had either lost their manhood completely, or losing their interest in sexual intercourse itself.
“Young ladies, you never understood our Celibacy Practice, our Brahmcharý Sādhnā.” Yogi Bhāskarnāth said, “You don’t want to let us become another Yogi Āditýnāth. But our Celibacy Practice, our Brahmcharý Sādhnā, doesn’t require other persons cooperation too. Even if you keep fucking us endlessly, our Celibacy Practice, our Brahmcharý Sādhnā, would never be discontinued. We aren’t having sex with you. You are having sex with us. We aren’t responsible for what you are doing with us. Our Celibacy Practice, our Brahmcharý Sādhnā, is discontinued only when we ourselves have sex with you.”*
Saifunnisā Al Islam looked at Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan.
“We aren’t fighting for democracy in Uttar Pradesh, India. We are fighting for Islam.”
“And Islam is against democracy?”
“Democracy isn’t Islam.” Saifunnisā Al Islam said curtly.
“On the contrary, Islam revived democracy in then Årab.” Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan squeezed my Uncut Hindu Lund inside her extremely beautiful, extremely lovely, extremely attractive, Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot. “Al Qur’an Al Karīm never claimed Islam was a new religion. It was the same religion Hindus call Hinduism, Hindutv, adjusted properly to suit then Årab environment.”
“I don’t agree with you.” Saifunnisā Al Islam said contemptuously, “You love Hindu Lund entirely unashamed of you. That’s why you are resorting to these un-Islamic philosophies.”
“And you don’t love Hindu Lund?”
“Never. I hate Hindu Lund instead, on the quite contrary.”
“And that’s why you yourself went to Durgesh and fucked him.” Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan laughed sarcastically.
“That’s not the same thing you do.” Saifunnisā Al Islam said scornfully, “We need money for our Al Jihad fil Islam. Durgesh is the utmost richest multi zillionaire of our times. He is a moron to think he can change us from an Islamist into a so-called humanist. We challenge him to do it with us. The fact is Durgesh isn’t changing us. Instead, the more Durgesh fuck us Mujāhidāt the more he is converted to Islam.”
“And that’s why you so called Mujāhidāt keep fucking Durgesh?”
“Why shouldn’t we?”
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan smiled.
“I never said you shouldn’t. I said what you are doing is actually itself establishing Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah. Have you ever realized it?”
Saifunnisā Al Islam smiled cunningly.
“Keep living in fools’ paradise as much as you please, Director of Security, Modern Democratic Årabia. We aren’t doing any such thing. Nevertheless, if you really think we are too establishing your dream Ummat, Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah, why the hell you call me a traitor? Are we not doing the same thing you are doing either knowingly or unknowingly?”
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan looked at me complaining.
“Durgesh, you’ve fucked these so called Mujāhidāt too much. They are capable to argue rationally too.”
I smiled cunningly.
“Well, you can’t blame me, Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan, they are too beautiful to resist. Aren’t they?”
“Damn you, Anant Muslimātchod Hindu Piyā.”
Saifunnisā Al Islam and I both laughed.
I looked at Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan gravely.
“Don’t blame me for it ever, Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan. I’d never stop it. Whatsoever the reason a woman has, or says to have, for having sex with me, the fact that she is having sex with me makes me her husband according to my morals.”
“We Hindus believe in Vivāhāshŧakam and Ashŧmaithunam. I think it’s more humane to believe in these two principles. If you don’t agree with me, try to convince me why isn’t it so.”*
Shankar Mahāpralayankar rose from the blackjack table, smiled all round, threw the pretty croupier a large tip, and pocketed twenty gold five hundred dollar chips.
Ten thousand dollars.
Not bad for a fast half hour’s work while Fātimah Al Wahāb was sucking his Uncut Hindu Lund.
Durgesh never appreciated Shankar Mahāpralayankar for humiliating Pseudo Musalmīn terrorists even.
Let him not.
The humiliation of Pseudo Musalmīn terrorists pleased Shankar Mahāpralayankar always.
Fātimah Al Wahāb was still sucking Shankar Mahāpralayankar’s Uncut Hindu Lund shamefully.
She couldn’t do anything.
Numerous females, houseladies of members of al-Qaeda, were forced to suck Uncut Hindu Lund publicly, not of Shankar Mahāpralayankar only, but other Hindus’ as well.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar and his followers were challenging not only Ayman al Zawahiri , his entire al-Qaeda instead.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar surveyed the crowded Las Vegas casino.
His dark eyes flicked back and forth amongst the assembled company.
The beautiful Musalmān houseladies in floral dresses exhibited surprising strength as their beautiful arms pulled firmly on the slot machines.
Florid faced couples, Hindu male Musalmān female strictly, none else, filled with excitement, picked up a fast eighty or ninety dollars at the roulette tables.
Strolling beautiful Musalmān houseladies of the Pseudo Musalmīn terrorists, blank eyes alert for the big spender Hindus.
The big spender Hindus themselves, in polyester leisure suits, screeched away in Middle American accents at the crap tables.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar smiled.
Las Vegas always amused him.
They always cooperated whenever Shankar Mahāpralayankar wanted to humiliate Pseudo Musalmīn terrorists publicly in this way.
The hustle and the bustle.
The win and the loss.
The total fantasy of it all.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar loved to fuck Musalmān houseladies of the criminal/criminal minded Pseudo Musalmīn and terrorists right from the beginning.
As soon as he was capable of having sex, he enjoyed it with them too much.
“Never!” Shankar Mahāpralayankar smiled cunningly even then.
“Stop it, I say,”
“You know why.”
“I don’t,” Shankar Mahāpralayankar said notoriously, smiling.
“Shankar Mahāpralayankar, no. I mean it, No!”
“Why not, you like it you say.”
“I don’t, I don’t. Oh, Shankar Mahāpralayankar, Ooooooh!”
It was always the same story.
No, Shankar Mahāpralayankar. Don’t do it, Shankar Mahāpralayankar. Don’t touch me there, Shankar Mahāpralayankar.
Yet, the story always had a happy ending.
As soon as Shankar Mahāpralayankar found the magic button, the Musalmān houseladies of the criminal/criminal minded Pseudo Musalmīn and terrorists stopped protesting.
The beautiful nude Musalmān legs opened in invitation and they hardly noticed when Shankar Mahāpralayankar’s immensely experienced fie upstanding Uncut Hindu Lund penetrated their Musalmān Choots
Shankar Mahāpralayankar, the Muslimātchod Hindu, was his nickname.
It was true that after Durgesh, Shankar Mahāpralayankar was the second ever successful young Hindu man that had screwed more Musalmān ass than anyone else, including Musalmīn even.
Even the Musalmīn were jealous of Durgesh and Shankar Mahāpralayankar.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar smiled when the Pseudo Musalmīn praised Durgesh in comparison with him.
Al Åbd Al Wahāb was the first Shankar Mahāpralayankar fucked in his ass when he praised Durgesh in comparison with him.
“Sālé, praising your Hindu father? Or your Hindu Jījū? Durgesh is fucking both your Ammīs and sisters now.”
Al Åbd Al Wahāb cried helplessly.
“Because you forced me to request Durgesh to fuck them. Otherwise, you and your ever communal Hindus had molested them. Neither I had another option, nor did my Musalmān houseladies.”
“How do you feel when you lick the optimum fucked Musalmān Cunts and Musalmān ass of your beautiful Musalmān houseladies, Al Åbd Al Wahāb?” Shankar Mahāpralayankar pushed his Uncut Hindu Lund again entirely into the ever feminine Musalmān ass of Al Åbd Al Wahāb.
Al Åbd Al Wahāb was feeling himself immensely humiliated.
Yet he couldn’t do anything.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar was more powerful and he had every evidence against him.
If the police had those evidences, Al Åbd Al Wahāb was certainly hanged till his death.
He never wanted to die.
What’s wrong even if Durgesh is fucking his entire beautiful Musalmān houseladies?
Wasn’t that they themselves wanted to?
Abbū, Al Qahar Arraħīm Al Wahāb, was a devoted Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān.
Yet, what happened with him?
Osama bin Laden was killed but Abbū was captured by Shankar Mahāpralayankar, himself.
Osama bin Laden was born on 10 March 1957.
Abbū was entire ten years older than Osama bin Laden.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar deliberately captured Abbū alive and blackmailed his family and followers to immense degradation and humiliations.
It was still continued.
“Shankar Mahāpralayankar, no!”
“Aw, c’mon, Al Qamar Annisā’. Let me just put it there, just next to you. I won’t put it in, I promise I won’t!”
“But Shankar Mahāpralayankar!”
“There. I told you. Doesn’t that feel good?”
“Mmmm, I guess. But don’t move, promise you won’t move.”
“’Course not. I just want to be next to you, that’s all.” Gently Shankar Mahāpralayankar eased his Hindu prick inside her Musalmān Cunt.
“What are you doing?” Al Qamar Annisā’ squealed.
“Just getting comfortable,” Shankar Mahāpralayankar replied, easing his hand down between her legs, feeing for the magic button.
Al Qamar Annisā’ gave a little sigh.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar had found it.
“Feel nice?” Shankar Mahāpralayankar inquired solicitously.
“Oh, yes, Shankar Mahāpralayankar. Oh, yes.”
Keeping his fingers on target, Shankar Mahāpralayankar started to screw Al Qamar Annisā’ properly.*
Al Qamar Annisā’ didn’t object.
Instead, she smiled cunningly.
She wasn’t stupid enough not to know what Shankar Mahāpralayankar was doing.
After all Al Qamar Annisā’ was a mujāhidah of al-Qaeda.
She understood more than even the other members of al-Qaeda suspected.
She knew it wasn’t any Al Jihad fil Islam at all.
It was an outright Årab Imperialism.
If it was really an Al Jihad fil Islam, why the Islamic State of Al Baghdadi is trying to defeat al-Qaeda in Pseudo Islamic terrorism?
Right from the moment Ħazrat Muåāwiyah started to send strategic news of Al Jihad fil Islam to the Kħalīfah, Caliph in power those days, the downfall of Islam and the rise of Pseudo Islam had started.
No, Ħazrat Muåāwiyah never reported anything wrong.
He reported actually what Saifullah Ħazrat Kħālid bin Walīd did.
Yet, Ħazrat Muåāwiyah never reported in detail what positive Saifullah Ħazrat Kħālid bin Walīd did.
He reported in quite detail what wrong Saifullah Ħazrat Kħālid bin Walīd ever did.
It was never a wrong reporting.
Yet, it was never an entirely unbiased reporting too.
It was a very clever, very shrewd strategic reporting that ultimately resulted in the removal of Saifullah Ħazrat Kħālid bin Walīd.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar knew how to please a woman that was so devoted to her cause.
He had been taught by Durgesh himself how to find the magic button.
It was a lesson Shankar Mahāpralayankar was forever grateful for.
It gave him an edge over the other Hindus.
Right from the beginning of the era when Ħazrat Muåāwiyah was coming into power, it was a game of cats, dogs and rats, whether strategic or entirely unashamed open.
No, Ħazrat Muåāwiyah himself never promoted the persons who were involved in kidnapping and selling of beautiful Musalmān houseladies to Hindus.
The Hindus were living in India that was called Golden Bird then.*
Shankar Mahāpralayankar was proud of himself for being at least second Hindu the beautiful Musalmān houseladies of criminal/criminal minded Pseudo Musalmīn and terrorists were crazy of.
Durgesh was the first, no doubt.
Nevertheless, his morals were somewhat different from Durgesh.
Even numerous of his Hindu friends and followers thought all there was to screwing beautiful Musalmān houseladies of criminal/criminal minded Pseudo Musalmīn and terrorists was a fast shove.
After Durgesh, Shankar Mahāpralayankar also knew it was just as important to make them like it, want it, and even beg for it.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar was proud of Al Qamar Annisā’ that she laughed when her family disowned her.
“I sympathize with my family persons.” Al Qamar Annisā’ smiled now fucking Shankar Mahāpralayankar herself.
“As I do?” Al Sidrah Al Aħmad smiled proudly with utmost conference in herself.
Shankar Mahāpralayankar laughed.
“The reasons are different, Al Sidrah Al Aħmad.”
“I know.” Al Sidrah Al Aħmad smiled bravely, “You too are against my life style. Nevertheless, I’m neither discouraged nor even a bit ashamed of it.”
Professor Doctor Rām Chandr Shukl was fucking Al Sidrah Al Aħmad now.
Despite the fact that Professor Doctor Rām Chandr Shukl never appreciated the life style Al Sidrah Al Aħmad had adopted he believed in the freedom for everyone, including Al Sidrah Al Aħmad too, of course.
He had read the Renouncement of Al Sidrah Al Aħmad by her family ultimately.
Unlike Al Qamar Annisā’ Al Sidrah Al Aħmad’s family didn’t disown her immediately.
Her family gave her even more than fifty years to return to the basic moral values of Islam.
Yet Al Sidrah Al Aħmad never cared for it.
She continued to live her ever-irresponsible life towards her family reputation.
Al Sidrah Al Aħmad continued to fuck every Hindu male she came in contact even if he was a peon, driver, servant, whatsoever the hell that Hindu male was.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Muħammad Jamīl was dumbfounded.
He couldn’t believe he was talking to a homebreaker, a marriage breaker.
He could not believe he was talking to his wife fucker.
He was optimum prepared to deal with his wife fucker, a man that had fallen from accepted social morals and humanity.
Muħammad Jamīl was appropriately prepared to discuss his wife fucker’s immoral conduct, but was Durgesh really immoral in fucking his extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Ħafsah Al Nisār?
On the contrary, Muħammad Jamīl himself is immoral in trying to stop Durgesh from fucking his extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Ħafsah Al Nisār.
He is telling him to divorce his wife for Durgesh.
What a man.
Muħammad Jamīl was prepared to impeach an extremely communal, extremely anti-Muslim immoral Hindu.
But on the contrary Durgesh himself was impeaching him, Muħammad Jamīl himself, for not providing optimum sex to his extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Ħafsah Al Nisār.
Durgesh was telling him he would provide Muħammad Jamīl’s ever ravenous extremely attractive Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Ħafsah Al Nisār, as much sex as she needs ever.
What the hell is wrong in it?
Why the hell for Muħammad Jamīl needs his extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Ħafsah Al Nisār?
For getting slapped by her every now and then?
For being kicked with her feet almost daily, even two or three times a day?
Isn’t it immensely disgraceful to him?
His extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Ħafsah Al Nisār, is an ever dominant ever aggressive woman.
Everyone knows it.
She is a wonderfully successful psychiatrist.
How lucky Muħammad Jamīl was that his extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Ħafsah Al Nisār, married him.
“You’ve actually a deep set inferiority complex, Muħammad Jamīl.” his extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Ħafsah Al Nisār, had said when he met her before their marriage, “Yet, you aren’t incurable absolutely. I can cure you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Muħammad Jamīl beamed at her, “So, you’d marry me?”
Al Ħafsah Al Nisār smiled.
“What for? You’ve yourself admitted to me that you never succeeded in lovemaking with anyone.”
“Isn’t premarital sex a sin, a gunāh-e-åzīm in Islam?”
“That’s the root. It is incurably deep set faith of most of us Musalmīn that premarital sex, extramarital sex, LGBT, everything sexy out of wedlock is a sin, a gunāh-e-åzīm in Islam. In your case, it’s the root cause of your inferiority complex. Until and unless you don’t marry someone who understands your problem, sympathize with you and is kind enough to marry you despite all your shortcomings, to cure you, your inferiority complex cannot be cured. You say you watch your entire Musalmān houseladies having sex with Durgesh and clean them, licking their genital organs, after Durgesh fucks them? When did it start?”*
Muħammad Jamīl looked at her gravely.
Allah, how can he tell her?
Was it a blunder not to marry Al Jihād fil Islām?
Al Jihād fil Islām was too a psychiatrist.
She was more generous to Muħammad Jamīl.
Only if Muħammad Jamīl hadn’t hated psychiatrists so much!
Every woman in his household was a successful psychiatrist.
And Muħammad Jamīl was paying for it.
His Ammī, Al Kausar Al Firdaus, herself was a psychiatrist.
And what has she made him?
How the hell could Muħammad Jamīl tell Al Ħafsah Al Nisār his own Ammī made him what Muħammad Jamīl was today?
No one believed him ever even whenever he mustered the courage to tell the truth about his household.
Even Al Jihād fil Islām accused him defaming his own Musalmān houseladies.
“Are you crazy?” Al Jihād fil Islām was dumbfounded, “You mean to say your own Ammī cuckolded your Abbū, Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān, to herself and Durgesh?”
Muħammad Jamīl looked at him gravely.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Ask yourself.” Al Jihād fil Islām said, “Would you believe it if someone of your friends tell you his Ammī deliberately made his Abbū impotent so that she could continue her sex life with a Muslimātchod Hindu?”
“Doubtlessly,” Muħammad Jamīl exploded uncontrollably, “You are a hell of a psychiatrist if you don’t know the horrible facts of our own Ummat-e-Muslimah.”
“You are succumbing to blasphemy.” Al Jihād fil Islām said sympathetically, “Muħammad Jamīl, your inferiority complex is more complex than I thought it was. You enjoy blasphemy actually.”
“How?” Muħammad Jamīl argued bitterly.
Allah, won’t even an immensely successful psychiatrist believe him?
Are his extremely beautiful Musalmān houseladies correct?
They challenged him humiliating him more and more,
“Tell everyone if you can really muster the courage to do it. No one would believe you, moron. Everyone would claim it’s your ever dirtiest fantasy that your own Ammī, the highly successful psychiatrist, Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, made your Abbū impotent deliberately. Your own Ammī, the highly successful psychiatrist, Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, brought you up making you lick her, and your sisters’ genital organs after Durgesh fucked them. They made you to masturbate watching them bonded to Durgesh, abused sexually nonstop, on their own request to Durgesh. Go ahead. Muster the courage enough to tell everyone the real truth. We dare you.”*
With the politeness that characterized everything he did, Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān said to Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ,
“Excuse me, please.”
Then he leaned forward and slapped the child, Muħammad Jamīl’s, face―hard.
Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ was startled.
She could not believe what she herself saw with her own eyes.
The child was already suffering from immense inferiority complex.
Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, Muħammad Jamīl’s real Ammī, herself requested Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ to take care of him.
“I don’t believe my husband, Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān, for my son’s proper care. He never believed Muħammad Jamīl is his son. He thinks Durgesh is Muħammad Jamīl’s real father.”
Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ laughed.
“We can’t blame him for that. Nowadays, almost every Musalmān who has a beautiful Musalmān wife, invariably suspects she has extramarital sexual relationship with Durgesh/some clandestine Hindu lover. It’s so natural today that…”
“Are you telling me? Are you really telling me?” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus shouted desperately, “Most of us Musalmān Beauties, Musalmān houseladies that are beautiful are being hated by Musalmīn for this immensely irrational suspicion. They scorn us only because we are beautiful, and they can’t believe we don’t take any benefit of our immensely incredible Musalmān beauty.”
Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ suddenly realized Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān was telling the seven years old Muħammad Jamīl,
“Little gentleman, don’t interrupt when people are talking. Didn’t your ever cheating Ammī told you that ever?”
Then Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān settled back in his chair, lit a cigar, turned to Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ and said,
“As you were saying…?”
But Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ couldn’t go on.
She was looking at the hurt eyes of the child Muħammad Jamīl, and realized suddenly that that wasn’t the first time Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān, his ‘father’(?), had slapped him like that.
What a luck this seven years old child, Muħammad Jamīl, has!
If he really had been Durgesh’s son, he would have never been suffering from any degradation.
Durgesh would have broken Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān’s hand itself for what he had done to his son.
But only because Durgesh wasn’t Muħammad Jamīl’s father, the child was suffering from everything worst for him.
Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ has seen the skyrocketing facilities Durgesh’s sons get.
Their father is a multi-zillionaire.
He loves his sons immeasurably.
But Muħammad Jamīl hasn’t done anything that could justify his sufferings.
What the hell could Muħammad Jamīl, a seven years old boy do, if his Ammī, Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, hated Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān?
Shouldn’t the Musalmān houseladies, however innocent they are, think of their own children more realistically?
Yes, their own life is itself important.
Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ never holds it’s not.
But on the cost of their own offspring?
Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ couldn’t digest it.
Humiliated, fighting back bitter tears in order to be “a little man” the boy, Muħammad Jamīl, turned away, paused in the doorway to say,
“Excuse me, please,”
Then left the room.
“That’s his Ammī’s influence,” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān explained, “Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, my immensely self-respecting Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, believes in discipline from a theoretical standpoint, but she can’t be bothered putting it into practical execution. Whenever Muħammad Jamīl returns from visiting with his Ammī, Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, in Ved Nagar, it’s a job getting him back on the beam. He starts behaving as if he isn’t a Musalmān boy at all, rather a Hindu boy instead. He starts offering Stavans instead of Salawāt.”
Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ suddenly saw Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān in his true character.
The indolent, idle, smiling politeness, the affable courtesy of his manner, was a mask.
Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus was right.
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān wasn’t as a good man as he presented himself socially.
Beneath the partially contemptuous, partially amused but always deliberate ostensibly polite manner, with which Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān regarded the world, was a sadistic streak, a sadistic inherent behavior, an inherent selfishness that covered itself with a veneer, a layer, of extreme politeness.
Now, Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ could see why Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus deserted Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān.
He wasn’t anywhere in comparison with Durgesh.
Both of them, Durgesh and Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān, were immensely successful psychiatrists.
Yet, Durgesh was a grand human being.
The communal Musalmīn were really jealous of their beautiful Musalmān womankind and Durgesh that they always blamed them for their sexual orientation.
In fact, Durgesh was a better, sincere and honest human being too.
Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus was lucky that she could influence Durgesh sexually and could get rid of this beast that isn’t human even now.
Abruptly Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ was on her feet, stunned not only by her discovery, but by the clarity with which her new realization of Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān’s character came into mental focus.*
My deep voice sent another shiver coursing over Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s skin and made Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s nipples tighten in aching need.
Even though it embarrassed her to the core, Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah loved hearing me call her that.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah moaned in response, My Uncut Hindu Lund still working at Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s ravenous throbbing Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān clit, pinching at Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s nipples.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s eyes drifted down my body, taking in my stunning, well-muscled Hindu male form and finally came to rest on my crotch again.
I brought my other hand over and undid the button on my jeans.
I teased her as I pulled the zipper down with agonizing slowness, making me hold Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s breath in anticipation of being able to gaze on my fully erect Hindu monster.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah licked her lips, anxious to spy the Hindu object of Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān desire.*
Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ said,
“I’m afraid I’m going to leave you now. I have some work that I simply can’t avoid. I have an appointment with a very important patient of mine.”
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān stood up beside her.
“You never told me of that.”
“What do you mean? I am telling you now.”
“Isn’t it rather sudden?” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān looked at her in a disapproved suspicion.
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you that prior.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān asked looking at her suspiciously.
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān hesitated then somewhat, just as he had hesitated for a moment before slapping the child, Muħammad Jamīl.
Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ felt Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān gathering forces for an onslaught.
“I thought you were stronger. I’m surprised to find out that you couldn’t take it.” It came out without any preliminary whatsoever.
“I couldn’t take what?” Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ found herself now incapable to control even.
What a beast.
He isn’t even repenting that he slapped the child unnecessarily.
He isn’t realizing even now that it wasn’t any discipline at all whatsoever.
It was an outright cruelty instead.
A person that could be so cruel to his own child, what can he do to others.
And she was going to marry this beast?
Well, not now.
“You couldn’t take disciplining a child.” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān smiled curtly, “It was for his own benefit. Why the hell you softies never try to understand it?”
“Why the hell you ‘hardies’ understand yourselves it isn’t being ‘softie’ at all? It’s being humane, just, sophisticated.”
“No! It isn’t nonsense at all. I am not a softie. There are more humane, psychological, just and sophisticated ways of disciplining a child.” Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ said curtly herself now, “Muħammad Jamīl is a sensitive boy. He is already suffering from the unjust cruelty of his Ammī, as you say. Nevertheless, he’s still intelligent and proud. You claim his Ammī was deliberately bringing him up devoid of self-respect. She wanted Muħammad Jamīl to enslave to her. That’s why the court awarded Muħammad Jamīl’s custody to you. Yet, what you yourself are doing?
“You could have waited until I had left and explained to him that it wasn’t gentlemanly to interrupt, then Muħammad Jamīl would have accepted the correction more appropriately.
“You didn’t do that, nevertheless. You humiliated your own son instead in front of me, his potential would be Ammī. You undermined his self respect deliberately, because you don’t think he is your son. Despite your claim in the court you still suspect he is Durgesh’s son. Don’t you?”*
“You’re so ready for it, aren’t you honey?” I said softly.
“Yes Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt,” Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah replied breathlessly, needily.
I smiled as I hooked my thumbs into the waist band of my boxer briefs and slowly inched them down.
I was teasing her mercilessly, almost doing a striptease for her, as I pushed down the front of my jocks, exposing first the black colored hair of my pubis.
The material inched lower; next exposing the hard rounded ridge where my thick, stiffened Uncut Hindu Lund met my body.
I pushed it down so my Uncut Hindu Lund moved with the material, uncovering only a small fraction at a time of my enormous Hindu length.
Her fingers worked madly over Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s ravenous throbbing young smooth Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Panjvaqtah Namāzī Choot, delving inside and retreating back to Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s ravenous throbbing Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān clit to circle and tease.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah was right on the brink of ecstasy, so close to falling over the crest of climax and into the world of orgasm it was maddening.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah was desperately trying to hold Herself back but I wasn’t making it easy on her.
Finally, I pushed the material down far enough that the swollen head of my Uncut Hindu Lund twanged free, setting my rigid Uncut Hindu Lund bobbing.
I used a hand to gently pull my engorged Hindu length and tightening balls up as I allowed the waist band of my briefs to come back against my body, tucking them up snugly Behind my balls.
The Hindu male skin stretched taut with the pressure and I slowly began to stroke them, kneading them in my palm.
Not groaning even low in my throat, I wrapped my thumb and forefinger around my hardened Hindu pole and gently began to pull myself off, all the while watching her and what Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah was doing.
One hand travelled from breast to breast, tweaking and pinching at Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s hard nipples, squeezing the full fleshy orbs of Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s boobs, while the other worked tirelessly on Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot.
Stroking, circling, rubbing.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah groaned and panted, uncaring that Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah was acting like the Musalmān sex goddess I kept calling her.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah wanted my Uncut Hindu Lund inside her so desperately Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah could hardly think.
My strokes became longer and Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah could see the sheen of pre-cum that oozed from the tip.
I used a fingertip to smear it all around the bulbous head, again teasing her at every opportunity, knowing how much Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah wanted to lick it off of mine.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah heard my low voice,
“Mmm, soon honey, soon. But first you have to cum for me. Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah, I want to watch your ravenous throbbing young smooth Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Panjvaqtah Namāzī Choot cream. Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah, I want to see it squirt out of you like I know it will, all over your fingers and all over the sheet. Then, if Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah, I thought it was good enough, Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah, I might let you suck on My Uncut Hindu Lund for a while. Might let you lick off all this immensely tasty Hindu pre-cum that you like so much.”*
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah groaned hard and her fingers redoubled their efforts to bring her to fulfilment.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah rubbed her ravenous throbbing Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān clit vigorously, back and forth, round and round, always just on the brink of annihilation.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah felt her orgasm build.
It was going to be a big one.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah could feel that strange sensation of all Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s insides being drawn down to the central point of Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s ravenous throbbing Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān clit.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s nipples screwed up tighter and Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s knees involuntarily lifted themselves off the bed as Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah arched her back high.
The most primal of sexual sounds issued forth from Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s throat, letting me know Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah was seconds away from blowing her top off.
“Oh yeah, that’s it Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah, cum for me honey, that’s Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s good young adult Musalmān sex goddess.”
It was just what Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah needed to hear to push her over the edge.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s hips lifted off the bed, Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s legs tensed, Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s breath caught in Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s throat and Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s orgasm broke like a flood gate bursting.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah felt hercum gush out, coating the tops of Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s ravenous throbbing Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Panjvaqtah Namāzī smooth thighs with the force of release and ruining the sheets.
Her young Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān body convulsed as the aftermath of the event coursed through her.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s limbs twitched and shook.
“Oh honey, that was so good to watch. Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah, I knew you were a squirter.” I told her.
I released my Uncut Hindu Lund as I moved from the foot of Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s bed and slowly made my way toward Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s top half.
I put one knee on the bed near Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s elbow and leant over her young Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān body, leaning in to press my hot lips to hers.
My tongue sought access into Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s young willing Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth and I kissed her hard.
It was the first overly sexual thing I’d done to Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah since our tryst this morning.
My hands didn’t touch her, just my lips, and it was a heady sensation as Her young Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān body cooled.
I pulled back from the kiss, Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s young extremely beautiful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān mouth tried to follow, and I smiled gently at her as I stared into Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s extremely beautiful young Musalmān face.
My fingers brushed Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s hair back from Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s face and I gently stroked along Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s cheek to Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s young extremely beautiful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān mouth.
I trailed my fingertips along Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s parted lips.
Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah desperately wanted to take my fingers into her young extremely beautiful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān mouth and suck on them, to stick Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s tongue out and lick them, but Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah remained still, and Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah kept Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s tongue in Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s young extremely beautiful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān mouth.
I smiled at her again, knowing that Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah remembered what I’d told her last night.
“Mmm, Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah, you are my good young adult Musalmān sex goddess, aren’t you?” I asked her knowingly in my sexy low voice.
I already knew the answer and Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah knew Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah didn’t really need to answer me, but Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah did anyway, for the first time looking directly into my eyes.
With a faint tint of rose brushing Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah’s cheeks, Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah said,
“Yes, Mr. Durgesh,” and Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah meant it.*
4. On History
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