Misunderstanding-1

Posted: July 17, 2010 | Author: Durgesh | Filed under: Ashvinatam, Muslimahs, Muslimat | Tags: Ammī Ħuzoor, Ashvinatam, Ashvinatam sex, Behavioural Science, Durgesh, Feminism, Imāmzādī Sheikħzādī Dr. Al Kħadījah Al Waħāb, incest, life sciences, Muslim Feminism, Muslim girls love a Hindu, Muslim girls marry a Hindu, Muslim women love a Hindu, Muslim women marry a Hindu, Nauhīd Raħmān, society, Sophisticated Positive adult sex | 2 Comments

Misunderstanding

Everyone thought she’s my wife

Durgesh

Chapter 1

I never thought I would treat my Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān, as a woman until the day she made me realize I am the man of the house.

You are right.

Nauhīd Raħmān was not my real Ammī.

Yet she loved me not less than my real Ammī Ħuzoor, Imāmzādī Sheikħzādī Dr. Al Kħadījah Al Waħāb.

She was one her closest friends.

Few months ago, her husband died.

I used to call him ‘Abbū’.

He left everything to me with a condition that I’ve to take care of her widow, Nauhīd Raħmān, after his death.

As a result I had a house and a large cash in the bank, in my name.

“Don’t worry, Nauhīd!”my Ammī Ħuzoor, Imāmzādī Sheikħzādī Dr. Al Kħadījah Al Waħāb said gravely, “Durgesh would transfer everything to your name.”

Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān, smiled to my Ammī Ħuzoor,

“I never thought, Al Kħadījah, that you’d snatch away even my son from me, as soon as I lose my husband.”

“What nonsense are you talking, idiot?”Ammī Ħuzoor scolded Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān, “I’ve instructed your son, Durgesh, to manage his activities in a manner so that he can give you his company as much as he can. You can’t be left alone in the house.”

Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān’s eyes were full of tears,

“Ask Vishvās Jījū first.”

“Sālī, you should come here, and live with us.”Pitr’shrī Vishvās Shakr Mānav winked at Ammījān Nauhīd Raħmān.

“Al Kħadījah,” Ammījān Nauhīd Raħmān laughed at her closest friend, my Ammī Ħuzoor, “térā Hindu Kħasam mujhé ānkh mār rahā hai. Yeh samajh rahā hai ki Raħmān mar gayā, to main iske bistar par aa jāoongī.”

“Chāhtī to main bhī yahi hoon, Nauhīd!”

“No, Al Kħadījah!”Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān, said gravely, “I can’t forget Raħmān.”

Ammī Ħuzoor argued but Ammījān Nauhīd Raħmān kept on refusing politely.

Pitr’shrī smiled,

“Let it go at that, Al Kħadījah, she has her son to take care of her. And we are still alive too.”

Ammī had to do all the work.

She might have coped well probably for a month or so as she never complained.

But one day, she just burst on me. She cursed me I am irresponsible and a no-good wanderer Hindu Playboy and this and that.

She told me that I am the man of the house and I should take care of all the activities my ‘Abbū’ used to do to the household.

I felt bad for Ammī and from then on I started looking into household activities too.

I got into this household activity groove pretty quickly as I was taking care of all the outside activities and Ammī never complained again.

Every thing was going well.

Well at least until I realized Ammī is also a Musalmān woman, a Musalmān Beauty.

I still remember that day.

I came early from work and since Ammī did not open the door for me, I used the key to get in.

I heard the showering noise from our bathroom so I went to my room to lay all my stuff.

The shower noise stopped and heard Ammī go into her room.

I walked out of my room and strolled towards our lounge passing Ammījān’s room.

The door was not closed properly so I took a casual look.

There was Ammī, Nauhīd Raħmān, in her wet petticoat tied around her waist and naked on the top.

I might have seen her naked Musalmān titties before but never saw her in that position.

She looked extremely beautiful and voluptuous!

Ammī, Nauhīd Raħmān, was an extremely beautiful, still amazingly young, Musalmān lady.

Her big Saåūdī Årab Musalmān boobs wer not even a bit saggy and her waist was still not a bit broad.

Her shape was excellent among most Musalmān housewives in India.

Her sexiness was more displayed with her wet petticoat clinging onto her gorgeous Musalmān buttocks and her body was moist with some after shower sweat.

I quickly turned and walked away before my Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān, could notice me.

After few minutes, I yelled, making my presence known.

Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān, acknowledged and we had a usual talk.

After that sexy scene of my Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān, I always visualized her half naked and with petticoat every time I saw her.

She was still so young that people thought she was my wife.

“Nonsense!” she blurted out, “He is my son. Can’t you see even our age difference?”

“Age difference?” Maulana Imran smiled, “young lady, how old you think you are?”

“How old you think I am?” Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān, was furious.

“Still in teens. Eighteen—nineteen at the most.”

“You are a hell of a judge of age, Maulana. What do you think Durgesh is old?”

“You mean your husband?”

“I mean my son.” Ammījān Nauhīd Raħmān gritted through her teeth.

Maulana Imran said tartly,

“Young lady, I know your husband very well.”

“Oh, you know my husband? you know my husband?”

“Certainly. He is a Hindu playboy. Young Musalmān Beauties of your age are crazy for him. My own daughters are—“

“To hell with your horny daughters.” Ammījān Nauhīd Raħmān shouted, “He isn’t my husband. He is my son. He is only eighteen. I’m thirty five, Almost double of his age.”

“Young lady. Have some fear of Allah and Rasool^s. Don’t call your Hindu huband or Hindu lover, whatever he is, your son. You are a Musalmān young lady after all.”

“You are cazy.” Ammījān Nauhīd Raħmān told him in extremely cold voice and marched out with me.

My attraction towards her grew day by day and I started finding opportunities to peek on her naked Musalmān flesh.

I even started fucking my other Musalmān beloveds imagining they were, Ammījān Nauhīd Raħmān.

It was at this instant, I realized Abbū had left me another thing other than the house and cash.

It was my Ammījān, Nauhīd Raħmān, and her lovely Musalmān body.

She did not accept my Pitr’shrī’s offer, because she loved me actually.

The people thought she was my wife.

How right the people are.

I met Maulana Imran,

“Maulana muħtaram, I’m sorry for my wife’s angry behavior.”

Maulana Imran smiled knowingly,

“I know, barkħurdār! You live in Nauhīd villa with your extremely beautiful Musalmān wife, don’t you?”