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
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan sat back in the green swivel chair and contemplated her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, across her favorite desk.
Her Abbū had a dream to be the Mustafa Kemal Atatürk of entire Islamic World.
But whereas Mustafa Kemal Atatürk was practical, her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, was utopian more than practical.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan could not understand that the Musalmīn were never democratic practically except when Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam and Kħulfa-e-Rāshidīn were alive.
Maybe Abū Sufyān had embraced Islam ultimately sincerely after the victory of Mecca.
Yet, his ‘crown prince’, his Walī Åhad, Ħazrat Muåāwiyah bin Abū Sufyān, never forgot he was the crown prince of Mecca before Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam conquered Mecca.
He was never democratic, nor as sincere to Islam as Ħazrat Kħālid bin Walīd, Saifullah, razī Allāhu Tålā ånahu.
Her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, was almost always in a state of high enthusiasm.
He had congratulated his daughter profusely, abundantly.
She had fulfilled his dream in Saudi Arabia.
Even her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, had ignored that Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had revenged her for betraying her father.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan never listened to her Ammī.
Nafīsah Salmān always tried to explain to her daughter,
“Your Abbū is a bloody terrorist. He is a munāfiq, a Pseudo Musalmān. I punished him for his munāfiqat, his pseudo Īmān.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan laughed sarcastically.
“And I punished you for your insincerity to my Abbū as his wife. I can please Durgesh more, sexually, than you can. I’ve successfully replaced you in his life.”
“Because you are thirty two years younger than Durgesh?” Nafīsah Salmān, her Ammī, had smiled cunningly.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan realized once again she owed her cunningness to her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, she detested so much.
Her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, wasn’t cunning at all.
He was a utopian idealist Musalmān.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan was Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s utmost close sister.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was happy that Tawaħīd Bājī was too not less cunning than herself or their Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān.
What a great Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān female body her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, had.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could not deny her own immense Musalmān beauty was due to her Ammī’s incredible eternal Musalmān beauty.
Nafīsah Salmān knew very well how to maintain her magical magnificent figure.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had congratulated her younger sister too.
She had happily recounted the details of her airplane trip down from Ved Nagar, accompanied by the Secret Service commando who had shown at Ålīgarh Muslim University a week ago.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had reported proudly that every passenger aboard was absorbed in a newspaper or weekly magazine filled with pictures of Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had recounted the excitement of her ride in the President House limousine too, of the photographers who had surrounded her outside the Al Ajm lobby, of her rescue.
Momentarily muted by her first visit to the Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah Office, Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had then wanted to know everything about it.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan happily led her Tawaħīd Bājī on a tour of the Presidential House, Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah Manzil, pointing out the historical curiosities about which Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had learned and dreamed of ever since she understood why Durgesh was so loved and so admired by even his enemies.
Even Durgesh’s enemies wanted to be what Durgesh was today.
Yet they only wanted to be Durgesh.
It was their fantasy only.
They only fantasized to be Durgesh.
They never were serious about it.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was serious about it.
She studied gravely, deeply, profoundly, what Durgesh always cared for and his opponents never did, even though they were always jealous of Durgesh.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan always watched Durgesh fucking her eternally beautiful Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān.
She wanted to know what her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, lacked and Durgesh doesn’t that her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, left her Abbū for Durgesh.
She found Durgesh loved animal wild sex similarly as her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, did.
Her Abbū hated animal wild sex.
It was the first reason her eternally beautiful Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, preferred Durgesh on her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan.
When having sex with each other, her eternally beautiful Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, and Durgesh, both were not even human.
They were entirely unashamed beasts, surrendered to their ever wild animal lust, without caring anything else whatsoever.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could not believe her otherwise ever sophisticated Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, was so horniest the female beast.
Durgesh was so horniest male beast.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan decided to have Durgesh for herself too.
Yes, Durgesh was thirty two years elder to Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam were also even far more elder than Ummil Mominīn, Ħazrat Åāyeshah Siddīqah, razī Allāhu Tålā ånahā.
She was surprised by my firm tone, but always welcomed our conversations.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, we need to talk!”
For over ten year now it was just Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, her fifty five years old Hindu friend of her husband, Durgesh, and her nineteen-year old daughter Sādiyah Raħīm.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn was near forty now, a homebody, and still in pleasing shape.
Her tresses were raven black, only her hair-dresser knew for sure… Her ample bosom hadn’t sagged even a little.
Even forty years couldn’t do that.
Her skin showed no signs of age.
She could still turn heads if she wanted to.
I had not seen my friend’s wife, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, in anything form-flattering since the old man, my friend, Muħammad Raħīm, was around.
At home she always wore a bra under her frumpy, baggy sweats.
Mostly green, or on a daring day, for her, I sometimes caught a glimpse of a black strap and once even, a red bra.
Though I thought that might have been Sādiyah Raħīm’s on a laundry day.
An occasional glimpse of the beautiful Musalmān cleavage showed the wear of four decades on a full exquisite female Musalmān figure.
Her chest never revealed even some wrinkles and the natural effects of gravity on a well-endowed Musalmān woman.
Her legs were nicely muscled, as she had never been taught to drive, so biking and walking had served her well.
And either by design or comfort, she often wore very skimpy, tight shorts in her garden or for her daily runs or rides.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn sometimes got wolf-calls and whistles from bold Hindus and she could truly catch my eye when she leaned over the handle bars and peddled swiftly.
The pumping motion often made me wish that her swaying Musalmān breasts would one day spill over the top of her almost transparent bra.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn had been a middle-management secretary back in the day.
Schlepping, filing and pleasing a typical ladder-climbing idiot of a boss.
She worked overtime and through lunch, and ordered her own flowers for “appreciation day.”
After closing a big deal, the boss would escort her to a hotel lounge for a single appletini and offer a snide jab that her career would advance quicker if she spent more time under my desk than in front of it.
The crude sexual remarks elicited only a smirk.
She sometimes daydreamed that if my remarks were sincere or even clever, she would drag me into the elevator and up to one of the luxury suites on the upper floors.
She once joked that they could settle a sexual harassment suit out of court.
Her boss merely smiled, drained his glass and scanned the room for younger talent.
For the past ten years, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn had become a stay at home Ammī for her children.
She cooked, cleaned and cared for kids while nearly abandoning her own identity.
I was, beside the Mayor of Ved Nagar, a web designer and programmer.
I spent countless hours online and on porn sites to know how to make and use them positively.
I dreamed-up various positive scenarios on my laptop, with every fantasy woman from Xena to the Flying Nun.
After trolling internet spank-sites into the early morning, I would “run one off” and then hunker down for another day.
I had never been a jock.
Though my upscale, early life had afforded me rich-man privileges. I surfed the Pacific off the shore of their Malibu beach house.
I took riding lessons and belonged to a posh club.
This however was long ago.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn’s wealthy husband had left them with nothing but bills.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn won custody of a beachfront home they could not afford and platinum cards that served only as anchors.
In came the dot.com.
Boom and soon, my dexterity with a mouse came as a saving grace.
I was soon able to pay down the family debt and transfer Sādiyah Raħīm from a community college to a “big-name” Pac-10 school.
Their life was suddenly golden and the family adored me.
I was classically handsome in this “Hollywood” town.
With dark hair and warm black eyes I always got an offer or a look, every now and then.
When I sat my friend’s wife, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, down for our “talk”, I had already steeled my nerves with a little juice and had worked my diabolical scheme online for weeks.
In my mind, all my money went into this home and to Sādiyah Raħīm and Åāliyah Kamāluddīn.
I believed I could easily be on my own, living the high-life.
Instead, every day was a round-up of shopping-lists, utility bills, school work and more.
The beach-bunnies and bachelor-pad were nowhere to be found and it was time someone paid.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn,” I began, “it’s time for some changes. You and Sādiyah Raħīm have to start doing more around here.”
“Well of course Durgesh, you are the breadwinner and we would do anything to help out. What can I do for you, dear? Anything we can do to help, you just ask.” This was the only way Åāliyah Kamāluddīn knew how to answer.
She sat pleasantly on the couch, in shorts and a thin blouse.
Dark, full black locks framed her face and lay gently on her shoulders.
Her family was European Årabian and they all inherited the shiny, black hair and olive complexion.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn seldom wore makeup at home, and that only lipstick and liner to high-light her big, doey eyes.
She was content to remain invisible and anonymous.
Her hands were folded delicately in her lap, her long fingers intertwined.
Light-green shorts riding up her thighs and stretching tightly across her wide hips.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn’s tanned legs showed her toned calves and thick quads.
And her bare legs were crossed at the ankles with one canvas sandal precariously balanced on the toes of her right foot.
These Åāliyah Kamāluddīn-Durgesh talks always lifted her spirits.
She sat her teacup on the inlaid coffee table and scooted to the edge of the sofa.
She looked directly into my eyes.
It was good to see me taking charge of a situation and she was pleased to see me assert myself more.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn had taken on the role of the facilitator and always tried to ease family friction.
No sense beating around the bush.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, frankly I’m horny. I’m not getting enough sex in this home, and I want to make some changes, here.”
She was surprised at that, naturally.
And coming from her husband’s ever best friend, even if I was the ever infamous Anant Muslimātchod Hindu.
She wasn’t sure what I was trying to say.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn,” I tried again, “I’m going to change the dynamics here.”
She was thoroughly confused, shifting her position, and taking on a look of concern.
She tried her best to discern my intent.
“Do you mean you need more privacy, or that you want to have more beautiful Musalmān girlfriends over? Would you like us to stay out of the way on certain nights? You want to have sex. That’s fine, you’re a Hindu, I understand.”
This just tended to infuriate me.
And now anger was increasing moreover.
“Yes, sex, that’s it. In this house. And whenever I want it. And it starts tonight!”
My face reddening as I rose and paced the room ominously.
My ego grew with each repressed desire.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn was flustered and not quite comprehending.
“Durgesh, it’s late, Sādiyah Raħīm’s staying with a friend and I can make myself scarce. Let me gather a few things and I’ll ride over to my friend, Lailā’s.”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn rose to leave and as she tried to pass, I grabbed her wrist and said,
“You don’t get it, do you? I want sex. I want it, now. And I want it from you.” I blurted it out and liked the way it sounded.
Then I roughly pulled her back onto the couch.
She was just catching up with my last words, ..
“I want it from you.”
Her beautiful dark, brown eyes grew wide. “Durgesh, are you crazy? I’m your friend’s wife, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, your Bhābhījān!”
Beads of sweat appeared at her temples and her heart-rate soared.
I sat on top of her to plant her in her place.
Her head started thrashing wildly, her ebon locks clinging to her face and loose strands flying in all directions.
Her strong gams kicked at me as her sandals flew across the living room.
Her grunts of exertion were working like a tonic on my conception of things and she felt my Hindu manhood begin to swell.
The thrill of the hunt was always better than the trophy!
I pushed her sweaty, disheveled excellent Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān body into the cushions and figured my next move.
It was now or never and I had already gone too far to stop.
Her protests increased verbally and physically as her resistance started.
Allah, Allah, Nooooooooooooooo!
Yes, she had lost her mind while flirting with Durgesh.
But not sex!
She teased Durgesh, seduced Durgesh, but it was only a tease.
She wasn’t prepared even to have sex with the ever infamous Anant Muslimātchod Hindu.
She shrieked in my face and tried to heave me off her.
I was sitting on her belly, my left hand clasping both her wrists and my right hand violently yanking her shorts down her legs.
“You grab my Uncut Hindu Penis every now and then, don’t you? You play with it and suck it every night when you think it’s safe and I’m sound asleep. You even undress me yourself then, undress yourself too, straddle me and fuck me almost entire night. Don’t you?”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn was dumbfounded.
“You, you were never asleep? You, you were always wide-awake?”
“What do you think? Aren’t you one of the utmost beautiful Musalmān wives my Musalmān friends have and always crazy for me? You are already enjoying the ultimate pleasure with me, while I always suppress my feelings for you.”
“I, I’m sorry. I was fed up, frustrated actually.”
“What the hell do you mean, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn?”
“I needed such videos to show to my husband.”
I was startled.
“He always refuses me to straddle him. He doesn’t have sex with me properly. I boasted to him that even you let me straddle yourself. He didn’t believe and laughed at me.”
“Your ever righteous Musalmān friend challenged me to make our videos and show them to him, if you really allow me to straddle you.”
“And you did it? Are you crazy?”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn blazed at me suddenly,
“Shut up, you damn fool. Every Musalmān houselady that’s beautiful, is crazy for youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Not me aloneeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”*
I watched her incredulously.
“So, you prepared our videos yourself and gave him?”
“It wasn’t necessary.” Åāliyah Kamāluddīn said disinterested, “I only had to agree. He himself made entire arrangements.”
“And do you know what he is doing with those videos of us? He is using them to make our adult movies. You are now a wonderful, one of the utmost successful porn stars, with me.”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn wasn’t startled.
She wasn’t dumbfounded.
Instead, she smiled cunningly.
“And my husband himself is doing it?”
“That’s what I wanted.” Åāliyah Kamāluddīn smiled triumphantly.
“I told him he is a pimp, not any sophisticated person. And now he himself has proved it.”
“Are you crazy? He is selling our porn videos.”
“He isn’t alone,”
“What do you mean?”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has made Pseudo Musalmīn either to surrender to their cuckolding to their beautiful Musalmān womankind and you, or leave Modern Democratic Årabia and live the vagabond life of a refugee.”
“That’s the exact punishment the terrorists, criminal and criminal minded Pseudo Musalmīn deserve. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has decided even not let them unite anywhere. Their unity has always proved harmful to humanity.”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is right, but…”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn mused.
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is always right.”
“Not always.” I said disapprovingly, “No one is always right except Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā, Allah, God. Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, you are a Musalmān lady. You can’t appreciate anyone beyond a limit. Alhamdulillah. Y’ ék ittamu sŧuhi. Mā chidanyasvishansat sakhāyo mā rishañyat.”*
Damn Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan!
She has spread so many white lies about my unique legendary sexual prowess that almost entire Musalmān houseladies believed if they hadn’t have sex with me ever, they haven’t enjoyed even their life optimum as a woman.
My Uncut Hindu Penis wasn’t the biggest one, neither the monster as Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her ever cunning, ever shrewdest, ever smart, ever preplanned untrue Young Musalmān lady Brigade spread the white lie everywhere.
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan,” I gritted my teeth, “Stop spreading white lies about my ever incredible unique legendary sexual prowess.”
“Am I harming you, Anant Muslimātchod Hindu Piyā?” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan cooed straddling me aggressively as usual.
“Not me, and don’t try to bribe me by straddling me aggressively every when I want to talk with you on some grave matter.”
“It’s bribery?” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan looked into my eyes seductively, “It isn’t my ever exclusive wifely love for my ever sexiest Hindu husband?”
“Why do you and your ever obedient Young Musalmān lady Brigade spread white lies about my Uncut Hindu Penis? You and your entire Young Musalmān lady Brigade know with your own constant experiences that I don’t have the biggest penis…”
“Who the hell is interested in the damn biggest penis? They want only to experience the thrill of having sex with the utmost sexiest Hindu.”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan,”
“A large number of them want to have only the ultimate intimacy with you, to feel the pride of it their entire life. They damn care about the truthfulness of the fantastic stories we spread of your ever miraculous sexual prowess. They live in dreams. They want to keep living in dreams. They never want to come out of it. That’s the tragedy of not only us womankind, but of us entire humankind as well.”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is right, Durgesh.” Imāmzādi Ħumayrah Qāzī smiled gravely at me.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam