Flowers never weigh
We kept chatting for a few more minutes about trivial things until Muħammad Imrān turned the music back up.
“Need to change positions?” I asked.
Muħammad Imrān never tried to look at her.
Did he really have such a blind faith in her?
I couldn’t believe it.
Nevertheless, he allowed his extremely beautiful young Musalmān wife to sit on my lap.
I wasn’t born yesterday.
If their wives due to it or for another reason succeeded in having extramarital affair with me, they deliberately ignored it, getting monetary benefits from it either this way or that.
I patted my lap, as if putting the decision this time in her hands completely.
Pun intended as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān stroked my cock.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān took a pause and then Al Ħabībah Al Imrān moved around, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s back to me, her hand still on my cock and straddled my cock.
Once Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was entirely on my lap Al Ħabībah Al Imrān just sat there, enjoying the feeling of being full again.
The first time Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was full of anxiety and we were rushed, not to mention Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was having conflicting emotions.
Yet this time, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was going to enjoy the ride.
First, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān just ground on my cock, moving her hips back and forth.
While Al Ħabībah Al Imrān did this, I cupped Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s breasts for the first time.
Yet, knowing that Muħammad Imrān may be able to see her get felt-up by me in the rear-view mirror, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān moved my hands away.
I didn’t try again.
To Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s surprise, this position, and the slow grinding, was enough to get me off, as without warning, a few minutes into the slow tease, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān felt Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt get coated in cum.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was disappointed, wanting to really enjoy the last hour of the drive.
Yet, a minute later, when Al Ħabībah Al Imrān finished milking my cum and went to get off me I held her in place.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān looked back and I mouthed,
“Give me five.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was like, ‘Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I love you’. Once Muħammad Imrān was done, I was done… needing hours to reload my weapon.
But I, ever young and virile, was able to not only reload quickly, but also stay hard while doing so.
Oh, how Al Ħabībah Al Imrān missed her younger college years.
Muħammad Imrān asked,
“Still okay back there?”
“I was hoping for more action,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān answered, grinding back on me slightly.
“Yeah, it’s a boring drive,” Muħammad Imrān agreed.
“Although the scenery is lovely,” I said, slyly cupping Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s breasts again.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān slapped my palms away and said,
“Although it is hard to sit in one position for so long.”
“Half an hour,” Muħammad Imrān said, before adding, “Give or take.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān almost quipped, ‘hopefully give,’ as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wanted me to give it to me, but Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was able to refrain, instead replying, “Good, because I am famished.”
“For T-bone?” Muħammad Imrān asked.
“Yes,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, “a big thick T-bone.” Again Muħammad Imrān was oblivious to the naughty sexual innuendo.
I wasn’t, though, as I bucked my hips up and my cock went deeper up Al Ħabībah Al Imrān.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān yelped, as if Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had the first time my cock filled her.
“You okay?” Muħammad Imrān asked, becoming a common question.
“Oh, just keep getting poked,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said, which was true, as she slyly, skillfully, moved her ass up and down.
“We will try and reorganize tomorrow morning,” Muħammad Imrān promised.
“Good idea,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān tried not to moan.
“There must be a way to make it work,” I said.
“I’m okay, Muħammad Imrān. I’ve gotten very used to having Al Ħabībah Al Imrān on top of me.”
‘Allah! OMG’ Al Ħabībah Al Imrān thought to herself.
My words were so blunt.
Yet, of course, Muħammad Imrān didn’t catch on… nor should he.
Why would he think I would be fucking his wife right behind him?
“Oh, I love this song,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said, when Starship’s ‘We Built This City’ came on, wanting the music turned up, wanting a distraction from the sounds Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was about to make.
Muħammad Imrān obliged Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s request and began singing as well.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān leaned up onto the car and began singing with him as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān offered her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy to my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock entirely unashamed of herself.
I didn’t need to be instructed, as I began slowly fucking Al Ħabībah Al Imrān.
Muħammad Imrān kept looking at me, enjoying this Moment of 1980s duet singing as I sang the mickey Thomas parts and Al Ħabībah Al Imrān the grace Slick parts, completely unaware I was fucking his beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife.
And I… which made her not only a bad wife, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, for allowing me to fuck her, but a bad wife as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān somehow got even more turned on knowing Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was doing it with Muħammad Imrān right there.
If she was really unsatisfied sexually with her husband, it was a more sophisticated way that she should have divorced him.
Well, wasn’t it their personal matter how to live their life?
Who the hell was I to interfere between a husband and wife?
If she wanted to enjoy sex with me, instead, she was most welcome.
Why should I not oblige her?
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s orgasm was rising as the song was nearing its end.
“What’s wrong?” Muħammad Imrān asked, slowing down.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, should I stop?” Muħammad Imrān asked.
“Poor Durgesh,” Muħammad Imrān said, seeing me move up and down, unaware of what Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was really doing.
“I’m okay,” I said, as my hands went to her hips.
“I’m not hurting you?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked, trying to play along.
“No, it’s all good.”
“Let me know if you need me to pull over for a few,” Muħammad Imrān offered.
“Will do,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, when oddly enough Al Ħabībah Al Imrān really got a leg cramp… fucking irony.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said,
“Actually, we need to pull over.”
“Okay,” Muħammad Imrān said, slowing down.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I could use a stretch too,” I added, putting my throbbing cock away, as my cum and Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s wetness leaked out of her.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wondered if she smelled of sex.
She grabbed her purse and pulled out some wet naps.
As soon as the car stopped, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān got out and stretched her leg, which was still cramping.
The men got out and stretched too.
“Under an hour,” Muħammad Imrān said.
“I know,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, “I’m all good, just got to get this cramp out.”
“No hurry,” Muħammad Imrān nodded, before he added, “I’m going to take a quick piss.”*
As soon as Muħammad Imrān went around the other side of the car, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān quickly began wiping her legs, even under Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s skirt, not worrying about the one car that drove by.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān needed to get rid of the scent of sex.
I coughed, which was a warning cough, and Al Ħabībah Al Imrān quickly tossed away the wet naps.
Muħammad Imrān said,
“Allah! It really is hot today.”
“Burning hot,” I agreed.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān added, glancing to me, “The heat is stifling.”
“Ready?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s oblivious, ‘unaware’ (?), husband asked.
“Definitely,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, keeping her gaze on me, implying that Al Ħabībah Al Imrān indeed was looking forward to resuming what we were just doing.
“All right, next stop will be for the night,” Muħammad Imrān announced.
“Sounds good,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said, as I got back in the car.
“Maybe we can find a hotel with a hot tub.”
“Definitely,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān agreed, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s body definitely sore from the long day of confined space and, of course, confined fucking.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān just closed her eyes and enjoyed the slow build as, ironically, Billy Joel’s ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’ played.
As Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s orgasm began building, and Al Ħabībah Al Imrān needed more, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān decided to try a new position.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān leaned to her right as far as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān could go, lifted her ass up which had my cock slide out of her, yet still pointed to her.
I realized what Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wanted.
For me to move onto my side and fuck me that way.
I repositioned myself, her head now leaning on the boxes and in plain view of Muħammad Imrān, if he turned to his right and looked over his shoulder… that he did.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān smiled,
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I see,” Muħammad Imrān nodded.
“Yep,” Muħammad Imrān nodded, as he tried to sing along with Billy Joel.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān needed to reach orgasm and Al Ħabībah Al Imrān needed to soon.
The starts and stops had driven Al Ħabībah Al Imrān crazy and made her more desperate than ever to get off.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wiggled her ass slightly; implying Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wanted it faster.
I began pumping in and out of Al Ħabībah Al Imrān as a new song began, again an ironic one, Duran Duran’s ‘Hungry like the wolf’.
And Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was indeed hungry.
“Didn’t you see Duran live when you were a teenager?” Muħammad Imrān asked, looking back at Al Ħabībah Al Imrān.
“I did,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān tried to hide the feeling of pleasure that Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s face was likely showing.
“You okay?” Muħammad Imrān asked again.
“Oh, yes, I’m feeling great,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said, “just can’t find the perfect position.” Again, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s words having two meanings.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I imagine there is no perfect spot back there,” Muħammad Imrān said.
“That is very true,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, “I can get comfortable and feel good for a while, but eventually I need a new position.”
“Maybe I can drive for the last twenty minutes.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wanted to say,
“‘Durgesh is driving me right now’, but instead, with just the slightest whisper, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s orgasm building, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān again said something with two meanings,
“We are almost there.”
And Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān just needed a few deep hard Hindu strokes from me.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān again wiggled her perfect Musalmān ass.
This time though I took that as permission to penis Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s Musalmān ass as it slid rather easily inside.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān winced slightly, the lack of lube giving her a slight burn.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān loved anal sex, but usually that included a lot of lube.
It had her close to eruption, as the thrill of doing something so naughty, with Muħammad Imrān literally inches away, somehow enhanced Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s desire.*
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān closed her eyes, bit her lip and allowed the pleasure to build.
Thankfully, Muħammad Imrān didn’t talk to her.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was able to just enjoy the double alternate fucking and finally Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s orgasm hit.
Somehow, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was able to keep the scream inside, even though every part of Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wanted to scream out loud, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s cum flooded out of her and onto My Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock.
I kept pumping in and out of her throughout Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s orgasm until Al Ħabībah Al Imrān slapped my hand imploring her to stop and moved up so my cock slid out of her, even as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s wetness leaked out of her too.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān pointed to her purse and I thankfully knew exactly what Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was implying. I pulled out some wet naps and wiped Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s legs and pussy.
Muħammad Imrān turned back and said,
“Allah! Thank God,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān replied, now needing to get out of here before the scent of Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s sin enveloped the car.
“Your cheeks are really red, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān,” Muħammad Imrān said, looking at her worriedly.
“It’s really hot in here, I guess,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān replied, a viable excuse on this hot summer day.
Once I was done cleaning up Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān moved back onto my lap and leaned back on me utterly exhausted.
I whispered in her ear,
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I love you, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wiggled her ass in response, too tired to speak.
Eventually we were in the town and we found a hotel with a pool pretty easily.
Muħammad Imrān booked two rooms and after dinner, we all went for a dip in the pool.
While Muħammad Imrān went to hit the sauna, I said,
“So, once Muħammad Imrān is asleep, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I want you to come to my room.”
“Really?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked, acting coy.
“And Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, Sālī, I expect you in thigh highs,” I added, acting strong and firm, which was utter sexy.
“How do you even know I own thigh highs?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked.
“You wear them all the time,” I pointed out, before adding, “and often your skirts are short enough I got glimpses of your lace tops.”
“You like nylons?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked something that Muħammad Imrān loved.
“How couldn’t I?” I asked, “You wear them every day… I have stared at them every day.”
“Really?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked, surprised by this information.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I made Saiyadah Fātimah wear them for me,” I added.
“You’re just like the damn fool, Muħammad Imrān.” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said.
“Muħammad Imrān likes them too?” I asked.
“Especially foot jobs in nylons,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān revealed.
“That Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, you have never done to me,” I said.
“Mmmmmmm,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān purred.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I can’t wait to fuck you on a bed,” I said bluntly.
“Me too,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, “but I’m not sure I can sneak out of the hotel room.”
“Once Muħammad Imrān is snoring nothing is waking him up,” I pointed out, which was true.
“But still,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I wasn’t asking,” I said, “Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I am telling you.”
“You are, are you?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān questioned coyly.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I am, I am, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān,” I nodded, “Tonight you are mine, Sālī.”
“Your what?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān continued putting pressure on my stiff cock.
“My Sex Obsessed Sex Addict,” I answered.
“Fuck that’s hot,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān moaned, turned on by such words.
Muħammad Imrān came out and said,
“I’m going upstairs.”
“We’ll be there soon,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, thinking maybe we could have some fun in the empty pool.
“Okay,” Muħammad Imrān nodded, leaving us alone.
As soon as Muħammad Imrān was gone, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked,
“So, ever fucked in a pool?”
“Actually Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I have,” I answered.
“Sex Obsessed Sex Addict,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān joked.
“Never did it in a waterslide though.”
“Hmmmmmmmm,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān purred. “We would be pretty isolated up there.”
“Let’s go,” I nodded, getting out of the hot tub.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān followed me up the stairs.
Once at the waterslide, I said,
“On your knees, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān obeyed, moving inside the waterslide tunnel.
I stood directly in front of her.
“So good, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān,” I groaned, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān hungrily bobbed on my cock.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had no idea how long we would have alone in there so Al Ħabībah Al Imrān focused on speed… even though Al Ħabībah Al Imrān would have liked to give me a lengthy blowjob.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān sucked me for a couple of minutes, even deep throating me a couple of times, enjoying the moans from me.
Suddenly, the door opened downstairs.
“Damn it, now you definitely have to come to my room tonight.”
“You really want to come down my throat?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked.
“And in your ass,” I smiled impishly, knowing she loved it even if I actually don’t.
“Now that would be impressive,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān smiled.
“Kids are on their way up,” I said.
“Then you’d better put your dick away,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān responded, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān slid down the waterslide.
We headed back to our hotel rooms with me saying one more time,
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, my room as soon as you can.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān smiled,
“You Hindus really are insatiable.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān returned to her room.
Muħammad Imrān was on the bed and clearly already on my way to snooze-ville.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān went and took a bath to wash off the chlorine.
It was a long bath and gave her lots of time to replay this crazy day.
It gave her time to get horny again.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān got out of the tub, dried off and returned to the room.
As expected, Muħammad Imrān was already snoring away.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān went to her suitcase and grabbed a pair of black thigh highs.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān put them on in the bathroom, put on a hotel robe, and grabbed a hotel key, snuck out of Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s room and into mine.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān saw I had left the door slightly opened and Al Ħabībah Al Imrān walked in… closing the door.
I was on the bed watching news highlights completely naked.
“Black, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s favorite color.”
“Like those tits you have been hiding all day,” I countered.
“What?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked, dropping the robe, “These?”
I was speechless as I stared at Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s still very firm, very big, tits.
“Like?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked.
“God, yes,” I nodded, as I knelt up and cupped Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s breasts with both hands.
“Mmmmmmm,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān moaned.
I surprised her a Moment later as I grabbed her and tossed her on the bed.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said,
“Time for me to finish what Al Ħabībah Al Imrān started earlier. Stand up.”
“Don’t be wasting that cum,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān purred.
“Does Al Ħabībah Al Imrān swallow?” I asked.
“Yes, but I’d rather swallow every drop of your Hindu cum,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān responded, before adding, “as you fuck Her mouth like the dirty Al Ħabībah Al Imrān-Sex Obsessed Sex Addict you have made me.”
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I love your mouth there,” I groaned.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān instantly wondered how long forever was.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān kept bobbing and in no time at all Al Ħabībah Al Imrān felt my legs tense and I declared, “I’m going to come.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān bobbed faster and seconds later Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was finally rewarded with a full load of my Hindu cum… three times a charm finally.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān kept sucking until every drop of my Hindu cum was extracted and I said,
“Do you imagine getting hard again and fucking your Al Ħabībah Al Imrān the old fashioned way?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked, before clarifying, “On the bed.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s question was rhetorical,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān smiled, standing up and kissing me on the lips.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had fucked me twice, sucked me three times and even allowed me to penis Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s ass, but the kiss was intimate.
Our tongues explored each other’s mouths and we fell onto the bed.
For an eternity, we made out; our hands roamed.
We were not Al Ħabībah Al Imrān and Durgesh; we were two lustful adults exploring each other’s bodies.
Eventually, we ended up in a 69, a positon Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had only done once, and that was with a girl.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān bobbed on my cock, I kissed Her pussy and then, without words, I moved her onto Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s back, spread Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s legs and slid my cock in her while holding onto Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s nylon-clad ankles.
“Allah! Oh God, Durgesh,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān moaned, staring into my eyes, “Al Ħabībah Al Imrān loves you so much.”
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I love you too,” I replied, as I began fucking her.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān moaned, my cock slamming into her.
“Me too,” I nodded.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān never knew you had such a big dick,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān replied, bucking her ass up to meet my forward Hindu thrusts.
“Well, we better make every second count,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān replied.
And we did.
I fucked her on Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s side.
I fucked her doggy style.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān sucked my cock again and then fucked me reverse cowboy.
And we ended the night back in the missionary position.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān came first and I followed shortly after.
“Everything today was hot,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān confessed, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān scooped some more cum off the bed from the first rocket that shot in the air.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān probably should get back now,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said,” Muħammad Imrān will eventually wake up.”
“I hope Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, he never does,” I replied.
“An Ashvinātam Sexual Intercourse romantic,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān joked.
“And a very horny teenager,” I countered.
“We still have one more day in the car,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said.
“Maybe two if we can make him stop more,” I countered.
“Mmmmmmm,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān purred.
“Of a night I’ll never forget,” I said.
“The first of many,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān smiled, “the first of many, you Al Ħabībah Al Imrān fucker.”
“Those are the hottest words Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I have ever heard,” I said.
“And once a Al Ħabībah Al Imrān fucker, always a Al Ħabībah Al Imrān fucker,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān smiled, moving to me.
“Well, then Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I guess we will have to fuck every chance we get,” I smiled.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān kissed me once more, put her robe back on and snuck out of my room.
As Al Ħabībah Al Imrān joined Muħammad Imrān in bed, Her head was spinning with the strangest, most surreal day in Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s life.
And Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had no regrets.
And Al Ħabībah Al Imrān couldn’t wait to do it again tomorrow.
Similar Stories from Durgesh
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Flowers never weigh
I said, taking her hand,
We began walking.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān couldn’t help but glance back at me to see if I was watching her…
Oddly, that made Al Ħabībah Al Imrān feel sad, which was, of course, ludicrous.
She loved Durgesh actually.
She loved Durgesh fucked her.
As we walked down the trail, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had the sudden urge to show me Al Ħabībah Al Imrān loved me.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān needed to make up for Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s indiscretion by doing something to Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s oblivious husband.
Twenty minutes in the hike, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān saw a small side path and said,
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I don’t think this is a trail.”
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān hopes not,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān purred, trying to look sexy and with intent.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān considered letting me fuck her, but Al Ħabībah Al Imrān sure didn’t want me to know Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wasn’t wearing panties.
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, really here?”
“You always say you wish Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was more spontaneous,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān quipped, which if I knew just how spontaneous Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had been today I would likely keel over.
Plus, although we had a reasonable amount of sex and Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was very willing in the bedroom, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was not really a risk taker outside the bedroom.
But insecurity, or belief that sex was for the bedroom, seemed to be shattered after the exhilarating, taboo sex Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had in the backseat of the car.
Suddenly, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wanted to take risks.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān loved sucking cock… always had.
Was a bit of a cock sucking Sex Obsessed Sex Addict in high school, deciding it was a good way to save Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s virginity for marriage.
Plus, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was good at it and actually liked the unique feeling and taste of cum.
Of course, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān ended up not saving Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s virginity for marriage, getting fucked at the first college party Al Ħabībah Al Imrān went to by a college senior.
“Oh shit,” Muħammad Imrān groaned, “what has gotten into you?”
The answer to that question was his daughter, but that definitely didn’t seem like a good answer.
“Can’t a wife show her husband she loves him by sucking his cock and swallowing his load?”
“Yes she can,” I laughed.
“And for your complexion, too,” I added, having heard from Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, her ever–Durgesh– obsessed young Musalmān lady brigade ,from Dr. Farīdah Jalāl Shékħ and from even her so uncommunal ever sophisticated Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān husband Dr. Jalāluddīn Ibrāhīm Shékħ that sucking my Hindu cum was very good for a Musalmān woman’s complexion.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān protested,
“Don’t you dare.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān thought to herself,
‘If you only knew.’
Yet, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān kept bobbing, feeling oddly exhilarated doing it in such a public place.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān gasped, “Really?”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had two weaknesses her ever moral Musalmān husband, Muħammad Imrān, always hated to fulfill.
She loved to suck Cock.
She loved to have anal sex even.
When the kiss ended, I said,
“Well, that was unexpected.”
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was hungry,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān shrugged, smiling seductively.
Now, their own history of defeat against Islam was proving them entirely incorrect.
They never needed to.
We headed back down the trail and resumed the hike hand in hand.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān didn’t know how long it took, but eventually we returned to the beginning.
“You should probably go to the washroom before we head out.”
“Good call,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded, “I really need to use washroom.”
“And clean the cum off,” I teased her smiling playfully.
“Sure. Allah, you let me wear it that whole hike,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said, somehow forgetting it was on her.
“Well, you didn’t seem too concerned, and we don’t know anyone here,” I shrugged.
“Which is why Al Ħabībah Al Imrān mentioned it,” I winked at her.
“You wish,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān quipped back, even though Al Ħabībah Al Imrān assumed we would indeed be fucking tonight.
“No, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I know,” I said, slapping Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s ass lightly playfully.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān went to the washroom.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān grabbed a Gatorade and a chocolate bar and returned to the car.
Her husband and I were leaning against the car, chatting. Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wondered how weird it would be if we were chatting about sex.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān joined us and asked,
“Ready to go?”
“Ready to have your Al Ħabībah Al Imrān squishing you for a couple of more hours?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān countered.
“It’s been a tight squeeze,” I countered myself too.
How doesn’t he understand what his ever-horny Musalmān wife is doing right behind him?
It was easy to be born in Ummat-e-Muslimah.
But it wasn’t easy to be a real Muslim.
Now, I was one of the several Musalmīn, Musalmīn Everfirst to be more correct, that were again attempting our best to reestablish the true Islamic movement, opposing the terrorists and other Pseudo Musalmīn everywhere.
Humanity couldn’t survive without it.
“Yes, it’s like a hot box back there.”
“It’s like a weight loss program back there.”
Muħammad Imrān said,
“I’m sorry we hadn’t planned this better.”
I joked, repeating an earlier statement Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had made,
“It’s made for some special Al Ħabībah Al Imrān and my bonding.”
“Well, get ready to bond some more,” Muħammad Imrān said, “It’s a good two to three hours until our late supper stop.”
I had a big smile on my face.
Why the hell shouldn’t have I?
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was serving me her ever-best sex services, perhaps she hadn’t served even to her husband, Muħammad Imrān.
We were back in the car, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was back on my lap, this time on my right leg leaning against the boxes.
Again, like last time, I ignored Al Ħabībah Al Imrān for the first hour.
As Al Ħabībah Al Imrān fidgeted, again uncomfortable, I asked,
“Uncomfortable, my dear?”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān nodded.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān couldn’t take Her eyes off it.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān looked back at me with confusion.
I moved my hand onto Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s leg, under Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s dress and directly to Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s wet Musalmān pussy.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān moaned softly, but thankfully, the music covered it.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān just sat on my lap and allowed me to penis her pussy…
I did it for a good five minutes… getting Al Ħabībah Al Imrān hot and riled.
“Delicious,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said, loud enough that Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s oblivious husband heard.
“What’s delicious?” Muħammad Imrān asked.
“The snack Al Ħabībah Al Imrān shared with me,” I brazenly replied.
“Is there any left?” Muħammad Imrān asked.
“No, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān ate it all,” I responded, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān remained stoic and not ashamed.
She looked at me proudly and even triumphantly instead.
It was evident enough she hated her husband immensely and wanted to punish him as much as she could.
Poor Muħammad Imrān.
I couldn’t enjoy it.
Muħammad Imrān wasn’t my enemy exactly.
He was my friend’s son.
Even if my friend suspected his wife had her extramarital affair with me and Muħammad Imrān was actually my own son.
However, most of my male acquaintances suspected so.
He wasn’t alone.
There were many reasons behind it.
They never took sex as seriously as I always did.
Yes, they hated me for it.
Yet, I knew they were even jealous of me for it.
The damn fools.
They never understood what they actually lacked comparatively.
I believed in Pavmān Som Mandal.
I had seriously studied it and still do in my daily Stavans, daily meditations.
It said sex wasn’t dirty ever in itself.
We, the human beings make it dirty due to our immense ignorance, irresponsibility, and ever-adamant immense irrationality due to our inherent inertia.
Sex is divine otherwise.
It is blessed on us to keep our human race exist.
It must be always respected as such.*
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s oblivious husband said, continuing the surreal conversation,
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I too could use a snack,”
“Maybe next car stop,” I suggested.
“I’m definitely stopping,” Muħammad Imrān said. “Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I could use a bathroom break anyway.”
“It’s hot back here,” I said, also taking my shirt off, suddenly showcasing my rock hard abs… something Muħammad Imrān had lost years ago.
It was a miracle for others.
Yet, for me it was a natural scientific process.
The others could never achieve it, because they never tried to complete the scientific process involved for it.
It was the main problem of the losers ever.
They thought they had nothing to learn from the gainers ever.
Most of the losers were always losers because they never tried to learn anything from their failures even.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān should have resisted, but the invisible magnetic pull was too much.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān took it in her hand and stroked it, even as Muħammad Imrān could stare at us in the rear view mirror if he wished… although he would only see her hungry face.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was ready to climb on top and go for a ride when Muħammad Imrān said,
His words and the slowing car brought Al Ħabībah Al Imrān back to reality like a cold shower.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān let go of my cock and to Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s surprise, I didn’t put my cock away, as we rolled to a stop at a small town gas station.
Muħammad Imrān said, “Five minute stop,” as he exited.
“Two minute snack,” I said, opening the door, and ordering, “suck me, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān gasped.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wanted to suck me, but couldn’t believe I wanted Al Ħabībah Al Imrān to here, even though Muħammad Imrān had conveniently parked in a secluded spot.
“Hurry up, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān,” I ordered, “we only have time for an appetizer.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān quickly got out of the car, overwhelmed with insatiable hunger and lust, turned around, and demanded, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān lowered her Panjvaqtah Namāzī beautiful young Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth onto my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock, “Watch for the damn fool.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān bobbed quickly.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān would have liked to savor sucking my cock, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān loved to worship the Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock, but time was of the essence.
So Al Ħabībah Al Imrān furiously bobbed up and down, enjoying the groans coming from my mouth.
“I’m close, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān,” I warned and Al Ħabībah Al Imrān bobbed faster making it clear I had permission to cum in my new live in relationship partner, her mouth.
Then suddenly I said,
“Muħammad Imrān! Muħammad Imrān! Muħammad Imrān!”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān quickly left and saw Muħammad Imrān with a small bag.
“You have to pee, don’t you?”
“You know me,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān shrugged, as Al Ħabībah Al Imrān headed into the gas station and to the washroom.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān looked in the mirror.
What was coming over her?
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had no answer to the question.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān sucked me in a gas station parking lot and was seconds from swallowing my load.
For someone who wasn’t really a risk taker, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had ridden me to orgasm in the backseat of the car while Muħammad Imrān drove, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had sucked and swallowed my load on a secluded hiking trail and just now sucked me.
And I likely wanted her to finish what Al Ħabībah Al Imrān started when we were back on the road.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān returned to the car.
Both men were already in the car.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān moved back on the same right leg Al Ħabībah Al Imrān was on before we stopped.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān liked being able to keep an eye on Muħammad Imrān and me.
As soon as we were back on the highway, I pointed back to my Cock.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān wordlessly reached over and began stroking it, even as Muħammad Imrān had a conversation with me.
“So about seventy miles and then we will stop for dinner and a hotel,” Muħammad Imrān said.
“Sounds good,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān said, again with a double meaning, “I’ll be starving by then, I may even have to have a nice juicy T-bone.”
“Me too,” Muħammad Imrān suggested, which Al Ħabībah Al Imrān had to bite Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s lip to not laugh.
“What about you, Durgesh, what are you hungry for?” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked, giving me a look that spoke volumes.
I moved my hand underneath Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s dress again and responded, my eyes never leaving hers,
“Oh, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān, I was hoping for the ultimate.”
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān tried to change the topic,
“Did you book us a hotel yet?”
Muħammad Imrān, never the planner, shrugged,
“There will be space,” Muħammad Imrān blindly believed.
“Okay,” Al Ħabībah Al Imrān shrugged, Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s focus at the moment was on My cock.
“Looking forward to living on your own, Durgesh?” Muħammad Imrān asked.
“I’m going to have a roommate,” I pointed out.
“Oh, right,” Muħammad Imrān nodded, “are you looking forward to meeting her?”*
“Al Ħabībah Al Imrān I guess,” I responded, distracted by the way Al Ħabībah Al Imrān’s fingers traced around my mushroom top.
“Hopefully you get along,” Muħammad Imrān continued, trying to keep the dying conversation going.
Al Ħabībah Al Imrān asked,
“Who couldn’t love our sweet Durgesh?”
“Yes, I’m pretty much irresistible,” I quipped.
“Is that a good thing?” Muħammad Imrān questioned.
“Sometimes,” I answered.
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4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Flowers never weigh
Muħammad Imrān nodded,
He turned the radio back up as another eighties tune.
Bryan Adam’s ‘Summer of 69’, began.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there wondering what I was going to do next.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there; secretly wishing I would take more control.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there; worried that if I did take control Ħabībah Imrān would be unable to hide the obvious reality that we were committing Ashvinātam Sexual Intercourse just inches away from Muħammad Imrān.
Ħabībah Imrān had to use all Ħabībah Imrān’s will power not to moan, not to alert Muħammad Imrān to the Ashvinātam Sexual Intercourse adultery Ħabībah Imrān was willingly committing with me.
Yet, Ħabībah Imrān was frustrated that I who had been so brazen to slide my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock in her, was now just sitting there reading my kindle as if my Uncut Hindu Cock wasn’t buried deep in my Ħabībah Imrān’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Sex Box.
Ħabībah Imrān just sat there for over half an hour doing nothing but allowing herself to be teased like crazy, albeit enjoying my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock nonstop into her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy.
Ħabībah Imrān had to use all Ħabībah Imrān’s willpower not to moan on every bump on the highway, especially when Muħammad Imrān occasionally hit the warning bumps making Ħabībah Imrān’s body tremble and her pussy quake.
Muħammad Imrān startled Ħabībah Imrān.
Her head clouded, when Muħammad Imrān announced,
“Twelve miles to the next stop.”
This seemed to make me finally take control.
Ħabībah Imrān clenched her teeth to make sure she didn’t moan as a mixture of emotions went through Ħabībah Imrān.
Excitement at me finally taking control.
Humiliation at the fact Ħabībah Imrān was excited that I was taking control.
Pleasure as the slow fucking coursed through every pore of Ħabībah Imrān’s being.
Frustration that I wasn’t fucking Ħabībah Imrān hard like Ħabībah Imrān liked it, yet knowing there was no way that was a good idea.
Guilt as Ħabībah Imrān was allowing me to fuck her.
Ħabībah Imrān had only allowed me to penetrate her.
Ħabībah Imrān knew it was a technicality, but it was all Ħabībah Imrān had left to grasp to… And now even that was gone.
I let go of her hips, giving the decision to Ħabībah Imrān herself.
This was Ħabībah Imrān’s chance to stop this.
And Ħabībah Imrān did take control.
Although not as a Ħabībah Imrān, but as a horny Sex Obsessed Sex Addict.
Ħabībah Imrān continued the slow motion riding that I had been controlling.
Suddenly, it wasn’t I forcing Ħabībah Imrān to ride me, it was Ħabībah Imrān willingly riding me… although slowly, which only compounded Ħabībah Imrān’s frustration as Ħabībah Imrān knew Ħabībah Imrān would never get off like this.
Ħabībah Imrān needed to ride it fast.
Ħabībah Imrān needed it slamming into me. Ħabībah Imrān didn’t make love, Ħabībah Imrān fucked.
Yet, Ħabībah Imrān couldn’t do any of those without giving away completely the shocking truth of what we were doing.
Suddenly her phone, which Ħabībah Imrān had put on vibrate, buzzed in her hand.
Ħabībah Imrān looked at it.
‘Fuck, Ħabībah Imrān.
I love you, Ħabībah Imrān.’
Reading those words… reading the most sweet, endearing term for being Ħabībah Imrān… and Ħabībah Imrān was a mess.
Ħabībah Imrān loved me too.
And this… this… whatever this was… only enhanced Ħabībah Imrān’s love for me.
Ħabībah Imrān convinced herself that this wasn’t wrong!
How could something wrong feel so right?
Ħabībah Imrān was making me happy, which is the goal of every Ħabībah Imrān… every Ħabībah Imrān.
Ħabībah Imrān struggled to text me too.
I’m going to come in you, Ħabībah Imrān.
Just ride me a bit faster, Ħabībah Imrān.
Please, Ħabībah Imrān!
Ħabībah Imrān wanted to make me happy.
Ħabībah Imrān wanted to get me off.
Ħabībah Imrān began riding me faster, grabbing the back of Muħammad Imrān’s seat slyly for support.
Ħabībah Imrān didn’t bounce on my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock like Ħabībah Imrān desperately wanted to do, but Ħabībah Imrān did move faster and did Ħabībah Imrān’s expert move that always got Muħammad Imrān off, as Ħabībah Imrān tightened Ħabībah Imrān’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt muscles around my stiff Uncut Hindu Dick.
Ħabībah Imrān let out an uncontrollable moan, made worse by the fact that her head was leaning on the side of the chair just inches from Muħammad Imrān.
“You okay?” Muħammad Imrān asked again.
“Just really need to pee,” Ħabībah Imrān replied, as I continued spewing inside her and Ħabībah Imrān milked me for all Ħabībah Imrān could.
“A couple of minutes,” he promised.
“Okay,” Ħabībah Imrān replied, leaning up, before adding the double entendre, “much longer and I may explode.”
“I’m doing the best I can, Ħabībah Imrān,” Muħammad Imrān said, knowing from years of travelling that when Ħabībah Imrān said Ħabībah Imrān had to pee… Ħabībah Imrān had to pee.
I began bucking her ass up, fucking Ħabībah Imrān now, making her tremble and gasp,
“Allah! Oh, God.”
“The car stop is in two miles,” Muħammad Imrān said, pointing to a sign.
“So close,” Ħabībah Imrān replied, again a double meaning to Ħabībah Imrān’s words, as Ħabībah Imrān desperately tried to come without screaming and before we reached the car stop.
Ħabībah Imrān could feel the rush rising in her, knowing the inevitable eruption was close, when Ħabībah Imrān saw the one mile sign.
Urgency overwhelming her, Ħabībah Imrān had to have an orgasm, Ħabībah Imrān moved away from Muħammad Imrān, leaned back and began riding My Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock herself, while moving her hand to her clit.
Ħabībah Imrān could see the car stop in the distance, closed Ħabībah Imrān’s eyes and rode and rubbed… and erupted.
“Allah! God,” Ħabībah Imrān moaned loudly, holding onto the word long enough that Ħabībah Imrān assumed, Muħammad Imrān would know Ħabībah Imrān was coming right behind him.
Ħabībah Imrān was unable to not open her mouth as Ħabībah Imrān’s orgasm hit me like a thunderstorm, Ħabībah Imrān’s cum gushing out of me and onto My cock and lap as Ħabībah Imrān again grabbed the driver’s seat and pulled up,
Thankfully, such a thought never occurred to Muħammad Imrān.
Why would it?
Ħabībah Imrān was in the backseat with me, as Muħammad Imrān said, clearly worried about Ħabībah Imrān’s bladder, “Thirty seconds, honey.”
“Okay,” Ħabībah Imrān weakly replied, as Ħabībah Imrān’s orgasm ripped through her like a tornado.
Ħabībah Imrān just closed Ħabībah Imrān’s eyes and allowed the tornado of pleasure to spin through her, an orgasm as intense as any Ħabībah Imrān had ever experienced.
Partly because my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock was bigger than Muħammad Imrān’s; partly because of the taboo fact Ħabībah Imrān had just fucked the Anant Muslimātchod Hindu, Durgesh himself; and partly because of the crazy reality Ħabībah Imrān had just fucked me in a car with Muħammad Imrān inches away, driving it.
Poor Muħammad Imrān.
He didn’t know what happened right behind himself.
When Muħammad Imrān pulled in and stopped, Ħabībah Imrān’s orgasm wasn’t complete.
Yet, Ħabībah Imrān had to look urgent, like Ħabībah Imrān could pee Herself at any Moment, so Ħabībah Imrān opened the door, more of Ħabībah Imrān’s cum leaking down Ħabībah Imrān’s leg, and got out of the car, glancing back to see me smiling at her, my package safe and sound in my shorts… although a very clear stain of evidence visible if Muħammad Imrān was to investigate.
Ħabībah Imrān scurried into the washroom, the guilt and shame of Ħabībah Imrān’s indiscretion and Ashvinātam Sexual Intercourse act suddenly hitting her like the summer heat.
In… our… car!
With… Ħabībah Imrān’s… apparently oblivious Musalmān husband… inches… away!
Allah! Oh… my… God!
I… am… the… worst… Ħabībah Imrān… ever!
It was amazing!
Ħabībah Imrān may have been a bad wife, but Ħabībah Imrān was a very good Bahū Bégum!
Ħabībah Imrān got to the washroom and for the second time today Ħabībah Imrān wiped our cum off her legs.
What had come over her?
Why did Ħabībah Imrān let me do that to her?
Ħabībah Imrān could blame the confined space, but truthfully, nothing stopped her from pushing me out of her.
Suddenly, I texted her:
That was amazing, Ħabībah Imrān.
Ħabībah Imrān texted back, Ħabībah Imrān’s orgasm finally subsiding, as a wife:
That can’t happen again!!!
I didn’t respond.
So as Ħabībah Imrān finished cleaning up, Ħabībah Imrān texted again:
I again ignored the text.
Ħabībah Imrān calmed down physically and suddenly realized Ħabībah Imrān was feeling completely dehydrated after the work out.
Ħabībah Imrān left the washroom and saw Muħammad Imrān and me chatting as we waited for her at a booth.
We ate lunch and although Ħabībah Imrān was anxiety riddled the entire time, I apparently had a poker face as I showed no inkling of what had transpired.
Ħabībah Imrān, on the other hand, had the guilt written all over her face.
Twice Muħammad Imrān asked if Ħabībah Imrān was okay.
Ħabībah Imrān just feigned hunger.
After lunch, and a lot of water, we prepared to continue the drive.
Muħammad Imrān had gassed up while Ħabībah Imrān was in the washroom, so we were ready to go.
Again, Ħabībah Imrān’s trepidation overwhelmed me.
Now what? How could Ħabībah Imrān sit on my lap again?
Yet, Ħabībah Imrān couldn’t say anything and there was literally no alternative.
So, Ħabībah Imrān did.
Although this time, once the door was closed, Ħabībah Imrān positioned herself leaning against the door and stretched Ħabībah Imrān’s legs in between the two front seats.
Her pussy was impenetrable in this position.
Ħabībah Imrān had found the Fort Knox of pussy protection.
And for an hour, it worked.
I read a new book and Ħabībah Imrān read the other new book.
Interestingly, Ħabībah Imrān and I had a lot of common interests, including being avid leaders and both having the same favorite author even.
Sit in any one position for a straight hour, though, and the bum becomes numb.
Yet, even though Ħabībah Imrān was clearly uncomfortable Ħabībah Imrān didn’t reposition Herself, although Ħabībah Imrān did begin to squirm a bit.
Suddenly, my hand rested on Ħabībah Imrān’s knee, Ħabībah Imrān’s dress hiked up enough to show a fair amount of leg for me.
It didn’t move up, just rested there like a constant tease… a constant reminder.
I did move my hand to flip the pages every couple of minutes, although I didn’t try to move higher when I returned my hand.
I seemed oblivious to the impact it was having on Ħabībah Imrān, a constant distraction, even though it wouldn’t have phased her at all a few hours ago.
“How you guys doing back there?” Muħammad Imrān asked, a few minutes later.
“Ħabībah Imrān’s bum is numb,” Ħabībah Imrān joked, although it was the truth.
“A tourist stop in three miles,” Muħammad Imrān said, “let’s pull over and take a little hike.”
“Sounds good,” Ħabībah Imrān said.
“Yeah, Ħabībah Imrān, I could use a stretch,” I agreed, looking at Ħabībah Imrān for the first time in the entire drive.
Ħabībah Imrān quickly looked away, like Ħabībah Imrān was in grade seven and waiting for a boy to check yes or no on a note.
What had come over Ħabībah Imrān?
Even though Ħabībah Imrān had told me it couldn’t happen again.
Even though I seemed to be respecting Ħabībah Imrān’s assertion.
Ħabībah Imrān suddenly felt insecure and annoyed that I was ignoring her… Ħabībah Imrān felt fifteen again.
Ħabībah Imrān just stared out the opposite window for the next few minutes until we slowed down.
Once stopped, Ħabībah Imrān shifted around as Ħabībah Imrān’s back was at the door.
Ħabībah Imrān’s first thought was ‘how long has I been hard?’
Ħabībah Imrān’s second thought was ‘why was it hard?’
Ħabībah Imrān’s third thought was ‘How many times could he get it up?”
Ħabībah Imrān’s fourth thought was ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’
Ħabībah Imrān opened the door and got out.
Ħabībah Imrān stretched, thankful to be out in the fresh air… even if it was fucking hot and muggy.
Muħammad Imrān asked,
“So do you guys want to go for a hike?”
“How long?” Ħabībah Imrān asked.
I walked over to the map and said,
“There are two trails. One is a mile, the other is three.”
“A mile sure, three in this heat, no way,” Ħabībah Imrān answered.
Muħammad Imrān said,
“Ħabībah Imrān, I need to take a lengthy washroom break, why don’t you two go alone?”
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4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Flowers never weigh
By the time the car was loaded, there was only room for two people.
A driver and someone sitting in the back seat behind the driver.
Muħammad Imrān tried to reshuffle the luggage, but there was simply too much stuff.
Ħabībah Imrān finally suggested,
“Durgesh and Ħabībah Imrān could squeeze back there together.”
“For sixteen hours?” Muħammad Imrān asked.
“Well, we will likely have to take more rest stops,” Ħabībah Imrān shrugged.
“Based on your small bladder, that will be the situation regardless,” Muħammad Imrān quipped, always annoyed by how often Ħabībah Imrān made him stop.
He was a put the pedal to the metal kind of person, while Ħabībah Imrān’s bladder was a stop and smell the roses type of bladder.
Ħabībah Imrān turned to me.
We both were slim.
“Can you handle sixteen hours cramped beside your friend’s Bahū Bégum, Ħabībah Imrān?”
“Sixteen hours only?” Ħabībah Imrān smiled cunningly, “If she is ready Ħabībah Imrān can spend my entire life with her.”
Muħammad Imrān retorted,
“Nonsense, Ħabībah Imrān is your Bahū Bégum too. My Abbū is your friend, he claims. To the extent he deputed you to represent himself always as far as my matters are concerned. He still hates me despite Ammī has taken an oath with her right hand on Al Qur’an Al Karīm that you aren’t my real father.”
“My son can’t be an Islamic State of Iraq and Syria agent.” Ħabībah Imrān said curtly.
“They can’t prove it ever. Your Naréndr Modī is anti-Muslim.”
“Be careful with that attitude,” Ħabībah Imrān shot back playfully. “You’re stuck with me for sixteen hours.”
Ħabībah Imrān should note it was a very hot August day and Ħabībah Imrān was wearing a sundress for the drive to stay as comfortable as possible.
We all did one more pee check, which Ħabībah Imrān, of course, did, and Ħabībah Imrān and Ħabībah Imrān squeezed into the spot made for one.
Muħammad Imrān asked, using sarcasm too, “Comfy?”
My elbow poking Ħabībah Imrān’s breast, Ħabībah Imrān quipped,
“Like a cow on a train.”
I smiled, shifting more, which led to even more pressure on Ħabībah Imrān’s left breast.
We were just out of the city, half an hour later, when Ħabībah Imrān said, “This isn’t working.”
“You don’t like being a sardine?” I asked, as I stopped reading on my IPad, like Ħabībah Imrān too was trying to do, the kindle app the only app really worth owning.
“Not particularly,” Ħabībah Imrān nodded, as Ħabībah Imrān moved and suggested, “Maybe Ħabībah Imrān can just sit on your lap for a while.”
“Okay,” I nodded.
Ħabībah Imrān moved onto my lap and sighed,
“Now that is much better.”
“Agreed,” I said, smiling cunningly.
Muħammad Imrān didn’t approve of it.
Nevertheless, he controlled himself.
He could never believe it was as platonic as his wife was feigning it to be.
Ħabībah Imrān wasn’t so innocent.
Neither was I.
“I’m not too heavy on you, am I?” Ħabībah Imrān asked.
At thirty-six, Ħabībah Imrān was still in great shape.
Ħabībah Imrān was slim with big breasts, a firm Musalmān ass and legs.
Selling real estate Ħabībah Imrān knew that Ħabībah Imrān’s looks played a key role in Ħabībah Imrān’s sales.
Sex sells, always has, always will.
So Ħabībah Imrān dressed in professional, but sexy business suits or dresses with nylons and four-inch heels.
Ħabībah Imrān’s 38d natural Musalmān breasts always were showcased as I’m pretty sure they helped her close more deals then the actual real estate Ħabībah Imrān was selling.
“Certainly not, my dear,” I answered, shifting slightly, “Flowers don’t weigh ever.”
She laughed at me.
Muħammad Imrān again controlled himself.
He knew he couldn’t do anything else.
Ħabībah Imrān was a sexiest woman.
Muħammad Imrān could never satisfy her sexually.
He suspected Ħabībah Imrān was fucking me clandestinely.
Nevertheless, Muħammad Imrān could not afford to divorce her.
She was an immensely successful Business Woman.
Muħammad Imrān needed her money immensely.
As we drove, after a few minutes Ħabībah Imrān noticed two things:
1. Wearing a dress was a bad idea as Ħabībah Imrān was now sitting on My lap, Ħabībah Imrān’s thin thong the only thing stopping Ħabībah Imrān’s Musalmān vagina from being directly on me.
Ħabībah Imrān had complimented me frequently on my summer reformation.
Yet now, as we drove on a bumpy section of road that was under construction, Ħabībah Imrān realized I was indeed a man as Ħabībah Imrān could feel my definitely erect Uncut Hindu Cock directly under her.
Ħabībah Imrān considered moving, but was worried Ħabībah Imrān would embarrass me if Ħabībah Imrān acted as if she could feel my Hindu erection.
So, instead, Ħabībah Imrān tried to control the bouncing by putting her hands on the top of the seat in front of her.
Ħabībah Imrān knew Ħabībah Imrān should move, yet Ħabībah Imrān still seemed frozen in place.
Partly, because Ħabībah Imrān was worried Ħabībah Imrān would embarrass me if Ħabībah Imrān moved and partly, undeniably, it felt good in the position Ħabībah Imrān was in.
For twenty minutes, Ħabībah Imrān’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy rested on my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock , which never shrunk, while talking to Muħammad Imrān as much as Ħabībah Imrān could to distract her from the awkward situation Ħabībah Imrān was in.
Finally, Ħabībah Imrān saw an upcoming rest stop and suggested we stop.
Ħabībah Imrān accidentally moaned.
Muħammad Imrān asked,
“I just need to stretch,” Ħabībah Imrān answered, Ħabībah Imrān’s face burning red at the reality that Ħabībah Imrān was getting horny from sitting on me.
“Ħabībah Imrān, I could grab a drink,” Muħammad Imrān nodded, as he pulled into the car stop.
“Me too,” Ħabībah Imrān agreed, suddenly feeling a bit dehydrated.
Once he rolled to a stop, Ħabībah Imrān joked to me,
“Durgesh, I imagine you are dying for a break, too.”
“No, Ħabībah Imrān, I was enjoying the ride,” I answered, yet my tone didn’t imply any sort of sexual innuendo that could have accompanied those words.
Ħabībah Imrān’s already flushed face went a shade redder as Ħabībah Imrān opened the door and got out.
She was not sure if Ħabībah Imrān’s face could go any redder, but as I got out and stood up two things were apparent:
1. My Hindu erection poking out if my shorts.
2. A wet spot that was undoubtedly from me.
Ħabībah Imrān turned away and headed to the washroom mortified that Ħabībah Imrān’s Musalmān pussy juice was on my shorts.
Once inside, Ħabībah Imrān pulled her panties down and couldn’t believe how wet they actually were.
Now Ħabībah Imrān should note Ħabībah Imrān got wet easily and was quite a flooder when Ħabībah Imrān got off.
Ħabībah Imrān also had a ferocious sexual appetite that Muħammad Imrān could seldom feed completely… thus Ħabībah Imrān had a variety of sex toys to finish the job he often couldn’t complete.
Ħabībah Imrān had a we-vibe, a couple vibrators, anal beads, a butterfly toy that Ħabībah Imrān could wear while out, which was in Her purse, and Ħabībah Imrān’s newest purchase acquisition, a massage vibe… which was literally orgasmic.
Not surprisingly, the half hour plus of accidental teasing had her already revved up and Ħabībah Imrān came in no time at all.
Her pussy juice leaked down Ħabībah Imrān’s leg and Ħabībah Imrān awkwardly cleaned herself up with toilet paper.
Once recovered, Ħabībah Imrān also wiped her panties.
Ħabībah Imrān tried to make them less damp.
But after putting them on all Ħabībah Imrān could still feel was her humiliating wetness.
Usually, Ħabībah Imrān loved sex.
Instead, Ħabībah Imrān put the sexy wet thong in her purse, and went to the sink to wash her hands and legs.
Unfortunately, a mother with her child were there and all Ħabībah Imrān could do was wash her hands thoroughly to hide the scent of Ħabībah Imrān’s own cum.
Leaving the washroom, Ħabībah Imrān decided there was no way Ħabībah Imrān would sit back on my lap, instead, deciding we would have to persevere squished side by side.
Ħabībah Imrān purchased a coke and a bag of chips and headed back outside.
‘Fuck’, Ħabībah Imrān sighed as the summer heat pounded on us.
It was a fucking sauna out there.
Ħabībah Imrān planned to try to get more panties from the suitcase, but decided not to, how was Ħabībah Imrān going to explain that?
Muħammad Imrān and I were leaning on the car, chatting; when Ħabībah Imrān walked over.
“So, under fourteen hours left,” Muħammad Imrān quipped, with a playful smile.
“Ħabībah Imrān, I think it’s going to be a tight ride.”
Ħabībah Imrān couldn’t tell for sure, maybe it was just the self-conscious part of her, but I seemed to stress the word ‘tight’.
Ħabībah Imrān joked, realizing only after Ħabībah Imrān said it that it only added to the innuendo if I was implying any,
“Yes, it is some quality our bonding.”
“Well, it’s you two back there the whole drive,” Muħammad Imrān added. “No way can Ħabībah Imrān fit back there with anybody.”
That was true.
Muħammad Imrān was a bigger man and there was no way Ħabībah Imrān or I would fit side by side or on my lap.
Nope, Ħabībah Imrān still had just under fourteen hours with me in the backseat.
The next few without any underwear.
I got back in the car first and patted my lap.
Ħabībah Imrān was supposed to go in first and suggested,
“Shouldn’t we try to be side by side?”
“It’s okay, Ħabībah Imrān,” I said, patting my lap again.
“You sure?” Ħabībah Imrān asked, knowing Ħabībah Imrān wasn’t wearing any panties and her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy was still slightly damp… the aftermath dribble of a good orgasm.
“Side by side is too tight,” I replied.
“Oh Ħabībah Imrān, you’re light. I’ve already said, ‘Flowers never weigh’. Haven’t I?”
“You sure?” Ħabībah Imrān asked again, still tentative, as Ħabībah Imrān looked down and could still see the remnants of a stain on my shorts as well as the clear outline of my Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock … which, at least, no longer looked to be completely erect.
“Ħabībah Imrān, it’s not hard at all,” he answered, my word choice odd.
Naughty Ħabībah Imrān also wanted to respond, ‘but it likely will be’, but the good Ħabībah Imrān in her responded,
“If you’re sure Ħabībah Imrān won’t smother you.”
“Ħabībah Imrān, I can handle whatever you give me.”
So Ħabībah Imrān sat back on my lap, my words again dripping with possible innuendo, this time moving more onto my leg and avoiding my crotch.
For half an hour, Ħabībah Imrān sat in that spot as we continued driving. Then suddenly Ħabībah Imrān felt my hands on her hips as I stated, while lifting her up slightly,
“We need to change positions.”
For the next half hour, even though the road was smooth, Ħabībah Imrān kept feeling my Uncut Hindu Cock seem to flinch, which made Her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy tremble and get excessively wet.
Muħammad Imrān asked,
“Comfortable back there?”
“It’s tight, Muħammad Imrān, but good.”
“You okay, Ħabībah Imrān?” Muħammad Imrān asked, as Ħabībah Imrān felt her wetness leak out of her slightly.
“I’m good,” Ħabībah Imrān responded.
Ħabībah Imrān wanted to move, but knew without that a doubt Ħabībah Imrān had created more wetness on My crotch and if Ħabībah Imrān moved it would be clearly noticeable… being able to have multiple orgasms had always been a great benefit to her, but at the Moment it was Ħabībah Imrān’s kryptonite.
“Next stop is almost an hour away,” Muħammad Imrān said.
“No worries,” Ħabībah Imrān said, trying to be causal.
“Yeah, although it’s getting hot back here.”
“The air is on full,” Muħammad Imrān said, and Ħabībah Imrān indeed wasn’t overly hot, except down below.
This time my words were definitely implied innuendo. I was flirting with Ħabībah Imrān.
“Ħabībah Imrān, I think it’s Ħabībah Imrān’s body on mine,” I said, as I again flicked my Uncut Hindu Cock directly against Her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy… the intent now definitely clear.
My words also had two very different meanings.
After another minute, I asked,
“Can you turn the radio up?”
“If I do, I won’t be able to talk with you, I barely can hear you now,” Muħammad Imrān responded.
“That’s okay,” I said, “we’ll let you drive and rock out to your eighties tunes.”
“It’s the eye of the tiger,” Muħammad Imrān sang, as he turned up the radio to the survivor tune.
I was on my phone. Suddenly her phone vibrated.
Ħabībah Imrān couldn’t deny it…
Ħabībah Imrān was incredibly aroused.
Perplexed, Ħabībah Imrān clicked on it.
Why are you not wearing panties?
Ħabībah Imrān gasped again.
Although this time, the music was too loud for Muħammad Imrān to hear it.
Ħabībah Imrān didn’t know what to say.
A second message followed.
Why are you so wet?
Ħabībah Imrān still didn’t know what to say.
Ħabībah Imrān was paralyzed with indecision.
Obviously, Ħabībah Imrān should stop this inappropriate talk in its tracks. Yet, Ħabībah Imrān was incredibly horny, and she was not thinking like a wife but as a wanton woman.
As Ħabībah Imrān stared at her phone, shocked by my brazen words, and yet equally turned on, Ħabībah Imrān was startled as Ħabībah Imrān felt my hands on her hips as I lifted her up.
Ħabībah Imrān leaned up slightly on the driver’s seat, bumping Muħammad Imrān’s chair.
Muħammad Imrān looked back and Ħabībah Imrān said, trying to act casual even as Ħabībah Imrān’s mind was mush,
“Sorry, just changing positions.”
“Sorry about this,” Muħammad Imrān apologized.
Ħabībah Imrān yelped in surprise and Muħammad Imrān asked, as he turned down the radio,
“Yes, I just got poked,” Ħabībah Imrān weakly responded, unable to not say something naughty, an amazing pleasure coursing through Ħabībah Imrān as My, Anant Muslimātchod Uncut Hindu Cock, which felt bigger than Muħammad Imrān’s, was buried in Ħabībah Imrān, my hands firmly on Her hips holding her in place.
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4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam