Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān waited impatiently for the reply.
It never came.
Perhaps the person, who was playing the game, was afraid of her that she was after him/her to know his/her identity.
It was natural there couldn’t be any reply whatsoever.
Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān went to Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī, the lawyer, instead of directly approaching me.
However, she knew very well, Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī was an integral part of HVSI Law Internationals now.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī called in the postal authorities.
The postal authorities went to work.
The letters continued to come, as if the sender took her action as a challenge and accepted it, instead of being afraid of.
It was impossible for the postal authorities, however, to get any proof.
The person mailing the letters evidently wore gloves.
There was never as much as the smudge of a fingerprint that could be developed in iodine vapor.
The envelopes were mailed in drop boxes in various parts of Ved Nagar.
Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān’s name and address had been set in type on a small but efficient printing machine, such as those frequently given children for Eīdul Fitr.
At the suggestion of Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī, Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān’s divorced wife, was consulted.
She was living with me in Ved Nagar.
Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus remembered having given Muħammad Jamīl, the child, a very expensive computerized mini printing press for Eīdul Fitr for the year before.
Muħammad Jamīl had taken it with him when he went to visit his Abbū, Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān.
It was still there.
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān had, it seemed, enjoyed the press even more than his son had.
This information gave Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī ground for jubilation, triumph.
“Now we’ll get the bastard,” she gloated.
Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān made an affidavit against her elder brother that he was torturing her mentally only because Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān loved me, a Hindu, her brother despised very much communally.
He used to call me Anant Muslimātchod Hindu scornfully.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī handled it from there.
The police served a search warrant on Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān.
The said printing press was located without difficulty.
From its condition, however, it was evident it hadn’t been used in some time.
Moreover, the experts gave it as their opinion that the envelopes had most certainly not been addressed on that press.
It didn’t have the font used in printing those letters and envelopes.
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān was on bail.
He was excessively polite to the police officers.
“I am not crazy enough to defame my own younger sister and thus consequently myself too. Can’t everyone see it’s a work of someone, who wants to defame and disgrace my Musalmān houseladies and me?”
His ex-wife, Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus, smiled cunningly.
“He is a pervert, as the so many Pseudo Musalmīn are ever. Allah never forgives the Pseudo Musalmīn for their ever disguised blasphemy. The bastards ever misuse the immensely sacred name of Islam for their ever perverted Pseudo Isālm. Allah punishes them by making them bisexual, gay and cuckold.”
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān commented ironically.
“Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus’s Allah is perhaps Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan. It’s her theory that any Musalmān that’s not true in his conviction to Islam is Pseudo Musalmān and Allah punishes such Pseudo Musalmīn by making them bisexual, transgender, gay and cuckold.”
“You don’t think it’s true?” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus smiled sympathetically.
“Most of the Musalmīn don’t think it’s true.” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān said gravely.
“You mean most of the Pseudo Musalmīn don’t think it’s true?” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus laughed patronizingly.
“I don’t think they are Pseudo Musalmīn.” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān said curtly, “It’s what Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her lady bandits say.”
“I sympathize with you Pseudo Musalmīn, because they are you that are being punished by Allah in this way, by making them bisexual, gay and cuckold, I mean. Allah Ħāfiz, anyway.” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus said sweetly.
“Allah Ħāfiz,” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān said curtly and slammed the receiver.*
No one knew how the name of Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ was mentioned in connection with it.
Neither any one knew who mentioned it.
However, when the police asked,
“Do you suspect your psychiatrist ex-fiancee, Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ might be behind it to defame and disgrace your Musalmān houseladies and you?”
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān said sophisticatedly,
“I don’t think so. The women are softies. Except Musalmīn alone most of the mankind even is softie, or it wants to display itself to be so ostensibly. She could not understand why it’s necessary for me to discipline my son, Muħammad Jamīl, the seven years old child. I’m surprised to the question. I don’t think Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ could fall to such an indignity. We had been engaged. I was quite fond of her.”
“Why the engagement had broken?” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl asked gravely, sympathetically, ostensibly at least.
Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān wasn’t a damn fool enough to think ACP Suraiyā Jamāl was really sympathetic to him.
He knew she was one of the greatest fans of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, her lady bandits and Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah.
Yet, she never approved of Triple Society.
Her concept of Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah wasn’t as violent as that of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her lady bandits, after all.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her lady bandits scorned Pseudo Musalmān actually, while ACP Suraiyā Jamāl was sophisticated somewhat, ostensibly at least, even if not actually.
“The engagement had been broken over a rather minor matter.” Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān smiled as if he was the victim of her injustice. However, he didn’t want to talk of it, “Dr. Ms. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ was working altogether too hard. Naturally, she had been under great nervous tension. She had not been like herself for some weeks before the engagement was broken. If there is still anything I can do, ma’am ACP, I want it understood definitely that I’m willing to help at any time whatsoever.”
“I see,” ACP Suraiyā Jamāl could not help herself from being sarcastic, “How nice of you.”
“Nothing at all, ma’am. I would be only too glad to render any assistance whatsoever in tracking down the scoundrel(s) who are annoying my younger sister, psychiatrist Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān. The police are welcome to drop in at any time. As far as I’m concerned, the police never need any search warrant even. Despite all the adverse deliberate publicity against us so called Pseudo Musalmīn, by Her Excellency Kħātūn-e-Jannat Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan razī Allāhu tålā ånahā and her lady bandits, we Musalmīn are too law abiding citizens. My door would always be open to the authorities. Would you please convey my sincere sympathy to my younger psychiatrist sister, Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān? I have tried to call her myself a dozen times, but she had hung up as soon as she recognized my voice.”
It wasn’t until Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus called her that Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān smiled cunningly.
“Was it the printing press?” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus asked Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān.
“No,” Dr. Al Raħīmah Al Raħmān said, “The press was there all right but it hadn’t been used for some time.”
“That’s just like the bastard,” Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus said, “I know exactly how his ever communal dirty shrewd Pseudo Musalmān mind works. He saw Muħammad Jamīl’s press. He then went out and got one similar to it, but with different fonts. Dr. Al Raħīm Al Raħmān probably printed about two hundred envelopes in advance, then he took the press out on his yacht and dropped it overboard. He knew you’d suspect him; that you’d find out about Muħammad Jamīl’s press and get a search warrant―that’s his way of showing you how diabolically clever he is despite the adverse reputation of general Pseudo Musalmīn.”
She looked at Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ,
“I’m surprised you went with him as long as you did without recognizing the sort of man he is beneath his mask.”
Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ resented Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus’s tone,
“At least I found out in time to avoid marrying him.
Dr. Al Kausar Al Firdaus laughed.
“You were smarter than I was.” She admitted, “I was communal somewhat perhaps. I deliberately scorned marrying any non-Muslim those days. Allah punished me for it. Now, I believe Dr. Ali Sina and his co-authors are correct. Never marry any Muslim bastard. So many other Hindus are there, even if particularly Durgesh is not available to some unlucky Muslimah.”
Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ too laughed bitterly.
“Nevertheless, you’ll remember I dropped you a note telling you not to be fooled.”
Dr. Al Ħumayrah Al Tausīħ said somewhat ruefully, repentantly.
“I thought it was the result of your jealousy that I succeeded where you failed. Sorry.”
“Allah, Heavens, I’m happily in Live In Relationship with Durgesh now. I was trying to save you from what I’d gone through with him. If I could only get the sole custody of Muħammad Jamīl, my son, I wouldn’t want anything more.”*
Åāliyah Fārūq had disabused me of that notion.
“You wouldn’t be causing a problem,” she’d said, “you’d be solving one. I love Åbdul Waħīd to pieces, but he’s just not getting it done in the bedroom. We need someone to help out. Besides, I’ve always been curious about Hindu men.”
“I’m not about to start messing with cheating Musalmān wives, Åāliyah Fārūq,” I had explained.
Åāliyah Fārūq had laughed.
“Cheating? Who said anything about cheating? Åbdul Waħīd brought it up in the first place, and he sure as hell plans on watching you fuck me.”
“I see. So you’re swingers?” I asked.
“No, honey, we’re not swingers. We want to try out cuckolding,” Åāliyah Fārūq replied.
She’d gone on to explain that Åbdul Waħīd didn’t want to fuck someone else’s wife, he wanted a guy to fuck Åāliyah Fārūq while he watched.
So later than night, I had fucked the lovely young Musalmān blonde to the point of exhaustion while Åbdul Waħīd had watched and jerked off.
When I left, Åbdul Waħīd had thanked me profusely and made arrangements for another encounter over the next weekend.
I had quickly found that the notion of fucking an attractive, young, married Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān woman appealed to his libido.
It wasn’t just fucking hot Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot I liked, it was fucking hot white married Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot.
In front of the perverted/cuckold Musalmān husband.
It was like Viagra.
The role of handsome hung Hindu bull fit me like a glove, and I soon discovered that fulfilling Åāliyah Fārūq and Åbdul Waħīd’s expectations of deep, dark taboo jungle love was as entertaining to me as it was arousing to Åbdul Waħīd.
The actual problem was that the Pseudo Musalmīn themselves loved to be cuckolded to their ever dominating Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wives and me/their Hindu lover/Live In Relationship partner.
They needed Stavans/Meditation with Constant Positive Thinking actually to get their confidence and manhood back.
It wasn’t possible due to several communal/religious/social reasons.
The main reason, none wanted to be true to accept, was Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
She wanted them Cuckold to compel them to establish Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s dream Ummat, Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah.
“She hates Pseudo Musalmīn even more than even Mughal-e-Åāzam, Shahanshah Jalāluddīn Muħammad Akbar did. He forced Pseudo Musalmīn to marry their Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān daughters/sisters to marry Hindus. Yet, even he didn’t cuckold them. Whereas Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is running Seven Movements including Cuckold Your Musalmān husband Movement.” I said curtly.
“Well,” Åbdul Waħīd smiled feigning gravity, “we don’t think there’s anything wrong in it.”
I gazed at him contemptuously.
There wasn’t any use of arguing with Åbdul Waħīd.
He had already fallen beneath it.
Åāliyah Fārūq was lying on her back with her legs spread and My Hindu cum load was leaking from her gaping Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot when Åbdul Waħīd had first asked me if I thought I could handle another white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife.
“We have some close friends, Lubnā Salīm and Muħammad Ashfāq, who live in the building,” Åbdul Waħīd said. “Åāliyah Fārūq’s been telling Lubnā Salīm about what an amazing Hindu lover you are, and Lubnā Salīm told Åāliyah Fārūq she was interested.”
“I see,” I smiled meaningfully.
“Lubnā Salīm’s really cute. She’s a tiny little redhead. You’d love fucking her,” Åāliyah Fārūq chimed in, playing with my Uncut Hindu Lund, entirely unashamed of herself. “Why don’t we all have a dinner and we can explain how things work. I love being your hot white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife, but I’m feeling guilty keeping that magnificent Uncut Hindu Lund all to myself.”
“Besides,” Åbdul Waħīd joined in, “Åāliyah Fārūq and I really get turned on by the idea of turning Lubnā Salīm and Muħammad Ashfāq out as an Uncut Hindu Lund cuckold couple. It feels like we’re corrupting them.”
I laughed and agreed to the meeting.
However, I suspected Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was behind it somewhere, somehow.
Åāliyah Fārūq and Åbdul Waħīd were actually members of her Cuckold Your Musalmān husband Movement.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was really establishing seriously her Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah.
She wasn’t kidding anyone in the matter at all.
Åāliyah Fārūq too hadn’t been kidding when she had described Lubnā Salīm as “tiny.”
I towered over the 4 foot 11 inch Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān redhead, who giggled when I took her small hand in my hand to shake it.
“If everything else about you is this big, I’m in trouble,” the Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān redhead chirped.
I liked her immediately.
She’d worn her red hair in a pixy cut.
Coupled with her pouty red lips, alabaster skin and slightly upturned nose, the overall effect made her look like a woodland sprite.
Her easy laughter and constant smile did nothing to dispel the image.
Over drinks, I learned that Lubnā Salīm had been a gymnast and ballet dancer but had switched to elementary education when she’d torn her ACL as a college freshman.
“Besides,” she said with a laugh, “there isn’t a ballet company in the country that wants a sub-five feet redhead in the corps de ballet. All for the best anyway. I love teaching kids.”
Her husband Muħammad Ashfāq was a graphics designer and artist, who’d converted one of the bedrooms in their unit into a painting studio.
He was slender and dark haired, which curled over his collar, looking every bit the moody, struggling artist.
When I had suggested that it must be difficult to make a living as a painter, Lubnā Salīm had laughed.
“Don’t let the ‘suffering artist’ look fool you. Muħammad Ashfāq does quite nicely with graphics design and his parents left him very well off,” she said. “We live comfortably on Muħammad Ashfāq’s graphics income and my salary as a teacher. The painting’s his avocation.”
The dinner went extremely well.
Åāliyah Fārūq had seated Lubnā Salīm and me next to each other, with Muħammad Ashfāq across the table.
Wine flowed freely and Muħammad Ashfāq and I spent most of the dinner in an intense discussion about stock market forecasting, investment strategies, hedge funds, and metals futures.
Lubnā Salīm spent most of the dinner running her left hand first up and down my right thigh and then up and down my Hindu crotch.
At the end of the evening, I stood.
“Thanks for a wonderful dinner, Åāliyah Fārūq,” I said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
I shook Åbdul Waħīd’s hand and nodded to Lubnā Salīm and Muħammad Ashfāq. “Nice to meet you both.”
As soon as I was out the door, Lubnā Salīm hurried to join me, slipping her arm through mine.
“Why don’t you walk me home,” she suggested, seductively, meaningfully.
I smiled and looked at her husband, Muħammad Ashfāq.
Muħammad Ashfāq laughed.
“You don’t need my permission, Durgesh. She is entirely capable to take her own decisions. Sorry to say it, but actually you Hindus are more possessive of your wives than we Musalmīn are. Islam is liberal enough to permit divorce if the spouses have too many differences to the extent they can’t live with each other any more.”
“Islam concentrates on liberty more, Hinduism concentrates on family more. If you want a strong family, you have to sacrifice your liberty for it. If you want a greater liberty, you have to sacrifice your family for it. It depends on what you need more, your family or your liberty.”
Lubnā Salīm laughed.
“Hey, don’t preach your Hinduism to my ardent Musalmān husband, you Hindu scoundrel. Let him remain Musalmān, please!”
Muħammad Ashfāq laughed.
“I love my Īmān even more than my life, Lubnā Salīm. Don’t worry. The entire history of us Musalmān mankind stands to evidence that we Musalmīn always sacrificed everything, including our Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wives, and our families too, to save our Īmān. It’s better to lose our Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wife and family even than to lose our Īmān itself. We Musalmīn always let Hindus fuck our Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wives even, instead of letting Hindus fuck our Īmān itself.”
Lubnā Salīm looked at her proud arrogant Musalmān husband, Muħammad Ashfāq, proudly.
“I’m proud of you, Muħammad Ashfāq.”
“Thank you, Lubnā Salīm, my dear beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wife.”
I could not believe what I was listening to.
But that’s what I was listening to from entire Musalmīn ever since my childhood.
They had their own kind of morals throughout their own history and they loved their morals more than their own life even.
I had to admit Hindus were not so dedicated to their morals.
The Hindus were better in sex, but the Musalmīn were better in morals.
I once more realized it.
Surprisingly, I respected Musalmīn more for it, than I respected Hindus even.
Saiyadah Fatimah PhD, my ardent Musalmān wife and my infinite Musalmān women even, never agreed with me.
Well, they too had their own morals.
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
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam