KĦĀTŪN-E-JANNAT: 27

Kħātūn-e-Jannat

Durgesh

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Chapter 27

Durgesh ACP Suraiyā Jamāl

Durgesh Shaguftah Rashīd

DurgeshLily Turner

Al Sāliħah Al Rashīd was also proud of her daughter, Lily Turner.

Despite Shaguftah Rashīd wasn’t her real sister, Lily Turner didn’t love her lesser.

There was a grand difference of age between Lily Turner and Shaguftah Rashīd.

Shaguftah Rashīd was twenty-eight now, while Lily Turner was twenty-eight while she first met me.

Yet, due to my Svarūpé Avasthānam, none of us looked aged.

Lily Turner still looked anywhere in her late thirties.

Actually, she was sixty-two now, on the brim of completing her sixty-three even.

Shaguftah Rashīd, her younger half sister, was twenty-five years younger to Lily Turner.*

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl turned to me.

“The bastard.” She said.

I smiled fucking her more passionately,

“Imām Muħammad Ħasan doesn’t know where Shaguftah Rashīd lives?”

“No. He says there are certain female shareholders who don’t want to come in the open, supporting Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club. Imām Muħammad Ħasan doesn’t have their addresses. They are kept secret.”

“And Shaguftah Rashīd is one of them?”

“And Shaguftah Rashīd is one of them.”

“Maybe he is really not entrusted. Yet, it sounds goofy to me.”

“To me too.” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl roared.

“Anyway, that’s his story.”

The door from the manager’s apartment opened.

Raziyah Najmul Ħasan, wearing a housedress, came toward us.

Her face had been given a generous application of rouge somewhat evenly applied.

She smiled at us,

“I…”

Raziyah Najmul Ħasan turned toward the door.

We followed her gaze.

Through the plate glass, we saw a slim waisted young man run up the porch stairs, and jab a key into the lock of the door.

Raziyah Najmul Ħasan had time to say, before the door opened,

“This is Iqbāl Rashīd now.”

We waited until Iqbāl Rashīd was well on his way toward the elevator.

I noticed his half running pace and the excited tension that seemed to grip him.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl asked.

“Putting out a fire?”

Iqbāl Rashīd apparently saw us for the first time.

He jerked to a standing stop, and stared.

Raziyah Najmul Ħasan said, ingratiatingly,

“Iqbāl Rashīd, this is…”

“Let me handle it.” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl interrupted.

She stepped forward and jerked back the lapel of her coat so that Iqbāl Rashīd could see her badge and stars.

Iqbāl Rashīd’s reaction to it was instantaneous.

He half turned back toward the big plate glass door as if about to run.

By an obvious effort Iqbāl Rashīd caught himself and turned to ACP Suraiyā Jamāl.

His face was white.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl was ominously, threateningly silent.

She watched Iqbāl Rashīd’s countenance.

It began to twitch.

Realizing he was trapped, Iqbāl Rashīd took a deep breath.

Even I could see his hands clenching into fists.

“Well,” he asked, “what is it?”

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl took her time in answering.

I also studied Iqbāl Rashīd.

He was a small boned slim hipped man.

His coat was heavily padded at the shoulders.

The even tan of his face indicated that he habitually went without a hat and was much in the open.

His hair, black and glossy, waved back from his forehead with a rippling regularity that suggested the touch of a professional hairdresser.

His height was medium and he didn’t weigh much more than a hundred and thirty pounds.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl’s voice had the rasping belligerence of a police officer dealing with a law violator.

“What’s the hurry?”

“I wanted to get to bed.” Iqbāl Rashīd controlled himself surprisingly.

He even managed to smile at ACP Suraiyā Jamāl feigning good manners even.

I warned ACP Suraiyā Jamāl in an eyes-to-eyes message.

She reassured me similarly without using even a single word.

“You certainly steamed up about it.” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl watched him sharply.

Iqbāl Rashīd managed to smile sophisticatedly.

He didn’t comment.

“We want some information.” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl said aggressively.

“Sure, ma’am. Whatever I can help the law.”

“Shaguftah Rashīd is your sister?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’re trying to locate her. We got a lead to you.”

“Well, Shaguftah Bājī doesn’t live with me.”

“Where does she live?”

“She has her own residence, Shaguftah Rashīd Apartments.”

“I see. Your Bājī is that Shaguftah Rashīd?”

“My Bājī is that Shaguftah Rashīd. Don’t I appear to be her younger brother, ma’am?” Iqbāl Rashīd tried to be cheerful now.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl maintained her impersonal belligerent police behavior.

“When did you see her last?”

“Last? Why? Is there something abnormal, officer?”

“Don’t try to question me, young chap. Just answer me. When did you see her last?”

“A week ago? An hour ago?” I too asked.

“Oh, probably yesterday sometime. She’s at the Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club. I too am manager there.”

“At Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club?”

“Yes, ma’am. Is there anything wrong?”

“Not that the police know of. Yet, there are so many Musalmīn that think the name of the club is disgraceful to them. Don’t you yourself think so?”

“The Musalmīn that think so, don’t know the Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club is actually owned by internationally renowned and well established zillionaires, trillionaires, billionaires and at least multi-millionaires Musalmān Beauties.  The Hindus have a too much negligible shareholding in the club. So even if it is a disgrace to the Musalmīn, the Hindus are not responsible for it. The internationally capable, accomplished, talented, proficient, skilled, gifted, adept, skillful, clever, and influential, powerful Musalmān Beauties are accountable for it. Most of them are feminist nudists. They don’t think the name of the club is disgraceful to them. Instead, they think it’s disgraceful to the Hindus, not to Musalmīn. ”

“What? Disgraceful to the Hindus? How?”

“Ask them, the owners of the Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club I mean.”

“I see.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You deserve to be a manager there. Quite efficient. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Never mind. Okay. Go on to bed. We shan’t need you anymore. Thanks for your cooperation. The Shaguftah Rashīd Apartments is on Brahmarshi Street, isn’t it?”

“That’s right ma’am.” Iqbāl Rashīd said good-naturedly.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl nodded to me,

“Okay, Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt, let’s go, I think.”*

Leaving the CIA building for the White House in her chauffeur driven black limousine, Lily Turner had entered the west basement.

After nodding good morning to several National Security officers, Lily Turner hastened up a narrow flight of stairs to the office of Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House.

The office was two doors down from the President’s Oval Office.

Inside, three of Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf’s aides, informally attired, were lounging about discussing the contents of a speech President of USA, Jimmy Carter, would soon deliver on cuts in domestic spending.

Lily Turner hadn’t seen Durgesh praising any President of USA as much as he was praising Jimmy Carter now.

Were the rumors true?

Is Durgesh really capable to replace anyone after his so-called Svarūpé Avasthānam?

President Jimmy Carter was really now Durgesh in his one of the infinite projected bodies?

Nonsense.

How is it possible?

How a person can has his two bodies so drastically different in almost everything?

What’s there common between Durgesh and President Jimmy Carter?

Wasn’t Karl Marx right when he said that Religion is opium of people?

Yes, Soviet Union isn’t the friend of USA.

But it doesn’t mean that everything whatsoever the Soviet Union believes in is wrong.

After returning the greetings Lily Turner looked significantly at Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House.

Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf dismissed the aides, postponing the conference on speech for later in the day.

At the moment both Lily Turner and she were expected in the president’s Oval Office to give Evelyn Carter a general picture of the lunch with Durgesh, the Mayor of Ved Nagar.

Mayor?

Hell, Durgesh is actually representing not only India now.

Durgesh is actually representing both the Secular Hindus and Secular Musalmīn spread everywhere internationally.

Yes, Durgesh doesn’t say so in so many words.

But it may fool only the morons, not Lily Turner.

Seated across from Evelyn Carter, Lily Turner felt at ease.

She had known Evelyn Carter a long time.

A PhD from Harvard University, Lily Turner, was very confident she could use Evelyn Carter to the best interest of United States.

She knew she was extremely beautiful.

When Durgesh fucks her, she understood how obsessed he is to fuck Lily Turner.

Since her first sexual intercourse with Durgesh, Durgesh’s obsession in fucking Lily Turner has increased the more he fucked her.

Heavens, how wildly Durgesh thrusts into her Baptist Christian Cunt his Vedic Monotheist Uncut Hindu Cock.

She always felt a great triumph of her Baptist Christian Cunt on my Vedic Monotheist Uncut Hindu Lund whenever I went so wild fucking Lily Turner.

Brilliant, smart and pleasant, with a constantly benign expression, Lily Turner’s affability suited Evelyn Carter.

So did her intellect and her ability at organization.

Now Lily Turner tried to fill Evelyn Carter in on the situation in Ved Nagar, my Svarūpé Avasthānam , the fact that I was the democratic head of Hindu Vishv Underground when it dissolved into Vyom.

Evelyn Carter appeared to be only half listening.

She gradually managed to turn the subject matter to the sex championship contest in Washington D.C. between Musalmān Beauties and Christian Beauties.

I was the male partner, and officially that was the reason I was there.

“Who do you think, Lily Turner, would win?” Evelyn Carter had asked after Lily Turner’s extensive briefing of her on my Svarūpé Avasthānam.

Lily Turner was neither sure nor actually, she was interested.

What the hell difference does it make?

She double-talked.

She knew only who would lose if Lily Turner didn’t get Evelyn Carter back on the rails about Ved Nagar and my Svarūpé Avasthānam.

Evelyn Carter was impatient somewhat.

“Look, Lily Turner, let’s go to Ved Nagar and Durgesh’s so called damn (Shanno Mitrah!) Svarūpé Avasthānam later. Do I have to hear it all twice? Let’s go over it at the cabinet meeting. Then it’ll be fresh in my mind when I settle down to lunch with Durgesh.”

“Evelyn Carter,” Lily Turner grunted, “we are preparing you for the next president. If you don’t want to…”

Evelyn Carter laughed.

“We have four years now for it, dearie, haven’t we?”

Lily Turner held Evelyn Carter’s hand and twisted it somewhat.

“Ouch!” Evelyn Carter jumped up, “what are you doing?”

“Trying to make you listen to me, you moron.”

Evelyn Carter winked at her.

“I’m dying to watch Durgesh fucking us Christian Beauties.”

“He’d fuck Musalmān Beauties as well. And the Musalmān Beauties would win the contest.”

“Damn you! How do you know?”

When Lily Turner returned to her quarters, annoyed at her failure to get anywhere with Evelyn Carter, she considered phoning Dr. Åārifah Mustafā, Secretary to Secretary of State, Cyrus Vance, and Dr. Shāhidah Ashraf, the recommended Chief of Staff of White House, to pick up on the speech about cuts in domestic spending.*

The Shaguftah Rashīd Apartments was a little walk up.

Here again ACP Suraiyā Jamāl and I encountered a locked door, a series of mailboxes and call bells.

There was no answer at Shaguftah Rashīd bell.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl summoned the manager again.

She ordered her to follow us up to the apartment with a passkey.

We climbed two flights of stairs, as the elevator wasn’t in working order temporarily then.

All the three of us, ACP Suraiyā Jamāl I and the beautiful manager of Shaguftah Rashīd Apartments, walked down a narrow, yet heavily carpeted corridor, fragrant with wonderfully pleasant aroma and the lighted emanations that fill an excellent ventilated place where people were sleeping.

It was noticeable that the immigrant apartment owners were providing more facilities to their tenants and customers in Ved Nagar than even the original residents.

They had to.

They had to win the tenants and customers from the original residents.

It had started a healthy competition between the immigrant apartment owners and the original residents of Ved Nagar in providing more and more facilities to their tenants and customers.

My administration there was encouraging it more and more.

It was impartial.

We wanted to encourage immigration.

Shaguftah Rashīd’s apartment was in the middle.

A light showed over the transom.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl knocked.

There wasn’t any answer.

She nodded to the beautiful manager.

“Okay. Open it up.”*

The beautiful manager of Shaguftah Rashīd Apartments hesitated a moment, then looked at me.

I nodded.

The door had Eīshān Vaigyānic lock.

While it was locked from inside it needed the Eīshān Vaigyānic rays emanating either from Shaguftah Rashīd’s own Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt or from the Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt of the beautiful manager.

My Vedic Monotheist Uncut Hindu Lund generated the required Eīshān Vaigyānic rays entering these Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunts.

The beautiful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān manager, Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk, unzipped me and I undressed her myself.

Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk sucked me and as soon as it was ready enough to fuck her, I nodded her to go into rukū.

Then I started to fuck Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk from her gorgeous Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān behind.

It was her first time with me.

Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk felt immensely honored.

I fucked Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk wildly until the required Eīshān Vaigyānic rays emanated from our wildly active genitals.

Even then, Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk whispered.

“Please honor my femininity by coming into me.”

I obliged her.*

The door clicked back.

The figure of a blond woman dressed in a tweed skirt and jacket stockings and rubber soled gold shoes, lay sprawled near the door.

The telephone had been knocked from a small spindly-legged stand to the floor.

A box of the chocolate creams was open on the table, and some wrapping paper.

It was evident that in the wrapping paper the chocolate box had been tied folded itself neatly around the edges of the box.

The cover lay slightly to one side.

On the cover, there was a chocolate smudged card.

It said:

‘These will make you feel better.’

The card was signed with the initials ‘FMA’.

The chocolates were cradled in little paper cups.

A blank space in the upper tray furnished the sole clue as to the number that had been eaten.

I made a swift survey.

I estimated that eight or ten were missing from the top layer of the box.

The lower layer seemed untouched.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl bent over the young woman, felt her pulse and twisted to the manager of the apartments, Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk.

“You must be a highly qualified doctor to qualify for being a manager here in Eīshān Vaigyānic areas. Are you?”

“Sure.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk immediately was all-alert.

“I’m going downstairs. I’ve to call Inspector Pratāp at headquarters. I’ve to tell him I’ve found Shaguftah Rashīd and the candy. It’s evident that she’s been poisoned. I’ve to order Inspector Pratāp to rush out the fingerprint staff and an ambulance.”

“We may need your decisions as a competent police officer for what to do in certain medical turn outs while checking her.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk protested, “Why don’t you use your mobile here to instruct your staff necessarily?”

“I may have to instruct my staff clandestinely.”

“That can wait. Your presence here is far more necessary. It can’t wait.”

“Okay. Go ahead. Check her.” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl immediately decided.

I dropped to one knee to look down on the unconscious Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Beauty.

“Should we straighten her out?” I looked at ACP Suraiyā Jamāl and Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk.

Without answering me Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk took my already out Uncut Hindu Cock and shoved it into Shaguftah Rashīd’s extremely beautiful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth.

To my immense surprise, the unconscious Shaguftah Rashīd immediately responded and started to suck my Uncut Hindu Cock in her very unconsciousness.

I started to harden once more.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl smiled and winked at me.

I looked at Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk.

Then both of us, Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk and I smiled at ACP Suraiyā Jamāl.

“I think it’s Eīshān Vaigyānic first aid? Isn’t it?” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl smiled.

“Sure. That’s right.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk confirmed.

“What if it were a man?”

“The men need different sort of first aid in Eīshān Vigyān.”

Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk felt Shaguftah Rashīd’s pulse.

Shaguftah Rashīd’s face was slightly congested.

Her breathing was slow and seemed labored.

The skin was surprisingly cold to the touch.

“Looks more like a drug than an active poison.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk said, “I think if you fuck her immediately perhaps we can bring her out of it without any more medical help.”

I looked at ACP Suraiyā Jamāl.

There was a legal question in my eyes.

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl immediately took the necessary decision.

“Go ahead Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt, fuck her.”

“Nonsense. She is unconscious. She may hate me for what you both tell me to do with her.”*

Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk said curtly.

“You didn’t hesitate when you’d to fuck me.”

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl laughed.

“You are more beautiful than Shaguftah Rashīd, if she is really Shaguftah Rashīd.”

“Nonsense.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk said, “And she is really Shaguftah Rashīd. Naturally you don’t think I don’t know my employer even.”

ACP Suraiyā Jamāl smiled.

“Well, she has spread her legs. Perhaps even in her unconsciousness she is inviting you to go ahead and fuck her.”

“Is she married?” I asked Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk.

“Yes. Why did you ask?”

“Call her husband. He must consent first in writing that I can fuck his Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife to treat her medically in Sex Therapy.”

Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk laughed bitterly.

“How do you know it wasn’t her husband that has drugged her to death? Musalmān Beauties don’t join Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club if they maintain healthy married life with their wretched Musalmān husbands.”

“Well,” I hesitated.

“Fuck her.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk shouted, “She is losing the temperature of her body. She has been drugged to die of coldness, I think.”

“Durgesh, go ahead. Damn it.” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl also shouted, “I think when she was telephoning you her husband had heard somehow and succeeded in drugging her.”

“Do you know her husband’s name?” I looked at Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk.

“Fahīm Muħammad Åbbās.”

“FMA.” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl roared.

“Durgesh, to hell with your ethics.” Ħāfizah Kalām-e-Pāk roared, “I request you medically to fuck her to save her life.”*

Chapter 28

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1. More Creative Adult Sex in English from Durgesh

2.Durgesh in Hindi/Urdu

3. Science Fiction

4. On History

5. Commentary on Ved

6. On Hinduism

7. On Islam