I drank my morning coffee while sitting in the comfortable club chair in my living room.
I had an unobstructed view of the city, but I wasn’t focused on the scenery.
Instead, I was worried about my recent entry into a world of young white Musalmān wives and their cuckold Pseudo Musalmīn husbands.
I’d been seeing Lubnā Salīm, the tiny redheaded Musalmān extrovert, for nearly a month.
At first, we had only been intimate when Lubnā Salīm’s husband Muħammad Ashfāq was present and therefore able to watch.
Lately, however, Lubnā Salīm had started seeing me alone.
She’d assured me that Muħammad Ashfāq actually enjoyed waiting for her to return and fill him in on the details of her dalliances with me.
I had been extraordinary cautious at first, but Muħammad Ashfāq had personally confirmed that he was entirely comfortable waiting as well as watching, and I had been only too happy to oblige.
The truth was, I was really enjoying Lubnā Salīm’s near-obsession with my big Uncut Hindu Lund.
The fact that she was getting kinkier by the week didn’t hurt at all, either.
The last time we’d fucked in front of Muħammad Ashfāq, Lubnā Salīm had insisted that her husband lie on his back while she straddled his face and I drove into her from behind.
Muħammad Ashfāq had obligingly spread his white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot open so that I could easily ram my Uncut Hindu Cock into her, and then begun licking her Musalmān clitoris.
When I had finally pumped Lubnā Salīm’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot full of cum, she’d lowered herself down on Muħammad Ashfāq’s face and climaxed one last time while her Pseudo Musalmān husband licked and sucked her clean.
We’d been in a post-coital haze when Lubnā Salīm spoke up.
“I almost feel guilty keeping your incredible Uncut Hindu Cock to myself.”
I chuckled, but Lubnā Salīm persisted.
“Seriously, Muħammad Ashfāq and I know at least three other Musalmān couples we could pretty well guarantee would love to go Hindu. They are young marrieds like us. One couple just got back from their honeymoon last week. If you’re interested, we could make introductions.”
I smiled affably.
“Tell me more about the newlyweds,” I said.
Lubnā Salīm laughed.
“Thought that might get your attention. Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s only 21 and just started as a teaching assistant at my University. Åbdul Ħamīd ― her husband ― is older, around 30 I think. He manages an electronics store.”
“And what makes you think they’d be interested?” I smiled, meaningfully.
“We went out for drinks the other night and I got a little talkative about what Muħammad Ashfāq and I were into,” Lubnā Salīm replied. “Al Nādirah Al Waħīd was very curious ― she asked a lot of questions, so many in fact, that I started teasing her about wanting to try some Uncut Hindu Lund herself. She got very flustered and didn’t exactly deny it, so I flat out asked her if she was interested. She said she was, but wasn’t sure how Åbdul Ħamīd would react.”
“So you don’t really know?” I asked, smiling, teasing her actually.
Lubnā Salīm frowned.
“I didn’t say that, did I? I told her if she was serious to talk to Åbdul Ħamīd and see what he had to say,” she explained. “Al Nādirah Al Waħīd pulled me aside at our lunch break today and told me Åbdul Ħamīd was willing to meet you. We’re coming over for drinks tomorrow evening.”
“How likely is this?” I asked.
Lubnā Salīm paused for a minute.
“That’s a really tough question to answer. To be completely honest, Åbdul Ħamīd’s kind of an arrogant ass. He thinks he’s Allah’s gift to Musalmān women. Al Nādirah Al Waħīd tells me that he’s quite well hung and absolutely convinced that she would never, ever, consider another man after him. He’s so confident that he gets her to dress provocatively and takes her to a local club frequented by Hindu men. He sits at the bar and makes her flirt and dance with the Hindu customers even, but she never delivers anything. Åbdul Ħamīd likes showing that he controls her and the Hindu guys can look but not have her. Then he takes her home and fucks her.”
I was cautious.
I had to.
My Uncut Hindu Lund belonged to my infinite Musalmān Live In Relationship Partners actually.
Their happiness and life of their children even was dependent on me.
I didn’t have any right to risk their happiness and life of their children even.
“Sounds like a weird dynamic. Al Nādirah Al Waħīd likes it?”
“She likes flirting with the Hindu guys at the club, but she hates feeling like a pawn in Åbdul Ħamīd’s dominance games,” Lubnā Salīm replied. “Åbdul Ħamīd will try to pull the same crap with you, no doubt, but Al Nādirah Al Waħīd wants to teach the bastard, Åbdul Ħamīd, a lesson. Or should I say, to have you teach Åbdul Ħamīd a lesson Åbdul Ħamīd won’t ever forget.”
“How should I play this, then?” I asked, testing herself actually.
“Åbdul Ħamīd will have her tease you, but this time Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s not going to leave when he tells her to,” Lubnā Salīm explained. “You need to control the dynamic, take charge, and fuck the hell out of Al Nādirah Al Waħīd. She’ll take care of cutting Åbdul Ħamīd down to size.” Lubnā Salīm paused. “I should tell you that Al Nādirah Al Waħīd thinks she’ll run the show. You need to dominate her too and make it clear that she’s your Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān slut and they’re both your cuck couple.”
I found myself drinking my coffee and thinking on my own increasing involvement in the interfaith cuckolding lifestyle.
I hadn’t originally wanted to reinforce Musalmān couples’ fantasies about Hindu bedroom dominance and Uncut Hindu Lund “superiority.”
Yet this was clearly where Musalmān couples were coming from and, I had to admit, lately I’d found the power dynamics increasingly arousing.
Taking control of a pretty Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife like Lubnā Salīm and giving her the fucking of her life while her Pseudo Musalmān husband watched was like Viagra, and the more I did it, the more I liked it, and the more I liked it, the deeper into dominance I found myself descending. In addition, with Lubnā Salīm’s suggestions about Al Nādirah Al Waħīd and Åbdul Ħamīd, it seemed like I was about to explore the scenario even more.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd and Åbdul Ħamīd were already at Lubnā Salīm and Muħammad Ashfāq’s condo when I arrived.
I ignored the new couple momentarily, nodded to Muħammad Ashfāq, and, walking up to the petite redhead, gave Lubnā Salīm a long tongue kiss, running my right hand down her gorgeous magnificent Musalmān back and squeezing her excellent gorgeous glamorous Panjvaqtah Namāzī heavy extremely beautiful Musalmān ass.
Lubnā Salīm made a little humming noise in her throat and melted against me.
I knew the newlyweds were watching my display of open dominance closely.
“Muħammad Ashfāq, get me a bourbon and branch for your lovely wife, will you?” I made it sound like an instruction to a waiter rather than a request.
Muħammad Ashfāq headed to the kitchen to get the drink, while Lubnā Salīm made the introductions.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd was a willowy blonde.
Like Lubnā Salīm, her hair was cut quite short, which called attention to her enormous blue eyes.
The effect was stunning.
She was perhaps 5 feet 7 inches tall, and radiated good health.
As I had anticipated, her Pseudo Musalmān husband had dressed her for display.
She was wearing a light and semi-opaque sun dress that tied around her neck and waist, leaving her back bare and showing clearly that she was not wearing a bra.
Her big Musalmān breasts were outlined clearly against the fabric.
The dress ended two inches above her knees, showing off her long, firm legs to advantage.
She smiled radiantly when I took her hand in mine, holding it far longer than necessary as I deliberately made a show of looking at Al Nādirah Al Waħīd from head to toe.
Only then did I release her hand and turn to her Pseudo Musalmān husband, acknowledging him with a slight tip of my head and ignoring Åbdul Ħamīd’s proffered handshake.
Muħammad Ashfāq returned with the drink, which I took without acknowledgement, and then turned my full attention back to Al Nādirah Al Waħīd.
“Tell me about yourself, Al Nādirah Al Waħīd,” I said, smiling at the young Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān bride, offering my hand.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd took my hand in hers and I led her away from her Pseudo Musalmān husband toward the balcony.
“What brings you to me?”
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd smiled back.
“Lubnā Salīm’s been singing your praises,” she said. “I guess I’ve always found Hindu men attractive, but have never had an opportunity to act on it. Åbdul Ħamīd and I met while I was a sophomore, started dating, got engaged and got married, so I’ve never been in a position where I felt I could date Hindu men.”
I looked into her extremely beautiful Musalmān eyes until she blushed and broke the contact.
“So you’re a newlywed and a Uncut Hindu Lund virgin and you already want to cuckold your new Pseudo Musalmān husband with a Hindu man? That’s jumping in the deep end of the pool,” I said. “Is Åbdul Ħamīd failing to satisfy you?”
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd blushed again.
“He’s . . . fine.”
“But?” I asked.
“I’m not sure how to explain it,” Al Nādirah Al Waħīd said. “Åbdul Ħamīd’s focused on himself. It never occurs to him that he could be a better lover, or that I might have other interests. Moreover, it really upsets me that he makes me play the Uncut Hindu Cock-tease with Hindu guys for his amusement. I guess you could say that I want to just shock the hell out of Åbdul Ħamīd and show him that he doesn’t own me, if that makes sense, and that he’s not the be-all to end-all lover that he’s convinced he is.”
“Do you get turned on when Åbdul Ħamīd has you Uncut Hindu Cock-tease?” I asked.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd nodded.
“I like dancing and flirting with the Hindu guys at the club, that’s for sure, but it never amounts to anything. As soon as they start trying to feel me up, Åbdul Ħamīd cuts it off and we go home. It’s frustrating to get turned on and then have to stop.”
“I know I can help you with that problem.”
Then I leaned in and kissed the lovely young Musalmān blonde full on the lips, putting one hand on her waist and pulling her toward me.
The action was so smooth that it caught Al Nādirah Al Waħīd by surprise, and I felt her stiffen momentarily, but then relax, Her lips parted and her Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān tongue darted between them and into my mouth as she pressed against me.
I felt her nipples stiffen under the thin fabric of her dress, and slid my hand down to caress her excellent Musalmān butt, squeezing her as I did so, and pushing her groin forward until it pressed against my Hindu crotch.
I held the kiss and felt her respond more passionately, finally breaking it off and leaving her gasping as I ran my hand down the front of her dress and over her now hard nipples.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, and crossed the room back to the kitchen, knowing full well that Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s Pseudo Musalmān husband had witnessed the entire event.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd stood, stunned by the suddenness of the development.
I approached Lubnā Salīm as the petite redhead smiled a welcome. “That was pretty impressive,” she said. “Looks like she’s practically putty in your ever competent Hindu hands.”
“Maybe,” I replied, “but I need you to help get her ready and relaxed. That is, if you can think of a way to help out.”
Lubnā Salīm gave me a wicked grin. “I have just what she needs.” She bounced across the living room, put her head close to Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s and whispered something in the Musalmān blonde’s ear.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd nodded and the two young Musalmān wives headed down the hall to the master bedroom, pulling the door shut behind them when they reached their destination.
I turned to Åbdul Ħamīd and Muħammad Ashfāq, acknowledging Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s husband directly for the first time that evening.
At thirty, Åbdul Ħamīd was in decent shape, perhaps 6 feet tall and trim, with close-cropped black hair, brown eyes, and decent muscle tone.
I surmised that Åbdul Ħamīd worked out enough to stave off the pudginess that often came with middle-management responsibilities.
Despite the air of confidence that Åbdul Ħamīd tried to project, I sensed that the man was uncertain and a bit uncomfortable about what he had just seen transpire.
“So, Åbdul Ħamīd, are you ready to join the ranks of Musalmān cuckolds?” I asked casually, almost as though Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s husband and I were talking about the latest standings in the NFL.
Åbdul Ħamīd nearly choked on his drink. “I, uh, well I don’t know that anything like that’s going to happen right now,” he spluttered. “Al Nādirah Al Waħīd wanted to just meet you, and I agreed to let her.”
“Oh, I think she’s ready to do way more than just meet me, judging from the way she just stuck her sweet little tongue halfway down my throat in the living room. I’d say she’s already made up her mind that the two of you aren’t leaving until she’s had a Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot-full of big Uncut Hindu Lund.”
Åbdul Ħamīd scowled.
“I think you’ve got it all wrong. Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s not doing anything until and unless I tell her that I want her to do it.”
I gave Åbdul Ħamīd a long look.
“I don’t think so, my friend. The first lesson to be learned is that cuck Musalmān husbands don’t make the rules anymore. You’re here to help Al Nādirah Al Waħīd get what she really wants, which is to have you watch her fuck me. Don’t worry, though. It’ll be the most intense sexual experience of your life.”
Muħammad Ashfāq nodded vigorously. “My right, Åbdul Ħamīd. It really is the most amazing thing you’ll ever see.”
Åbdul Ħamīd’s jaw clenched and he closed my hands into fists.
“I think this evening’s over. Muħammad Ashfāq, where’s Al Nādirah Al Waħīd gone to? It’s time for us to leave,” I said.
I smiled at the attempted assertiveness Åbdul Ħamīd was putting on display.
I drew myself up to my full height and leaned forward into the Pseudo Musalmān husband’s personal space, forcing Åbdul Ħamīd to look up at me.
“The only place you’re going is where I tell you to sit while you watch your Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife get the kind of fucking she wants but you could never give her.”
Åbdul Ħamīd blanched and took a step back.
At that moment, Lubnā Salīm bounced into the kitchen.
“My goodness, boys, the testosterone is so thick in here you could cut it with a knife,” she said merrily. “Maybe you should just all put your dicks on the table and see who the real man is. On second thought, never mind. We all know who’d win that contest pretty easily.”
Åbdul Ħamīd shrugged. “I was telling Muħammad Ashfāq and Durgesh that we were just leaving.”
“Oh really?” Lubnā Salīm replied. “Might want to talk to Al Nādirah Al Waħīd about that. When I left the bedroom, she was lying on the bed stark naked. She sent me to tell Durgesh she was waiting for him.” With that, the Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān redhead turned and walked back down the hallway to the bedroom.
I couldn’t help smirking at Åbdul Ħamīd.
“You two Pseudo Musalmīn cucks wait here,” I said, and followed Lubnā Salīm.*
It was the same bed I’d gained comfort from when I was here before.
Yet, now it was also something more.
It dawned on me that my thoughts described Al Furqān Al Firdaus as well.
She was the same Al Furqān Al Firdaus I knew and loved, but now she was something more.
“Hey Durgesh,” Ħabībah said as she flopped down on the couch cushion next to my head with a grin. “What are you doing sleeping out here?”
“Who said anything about sleeping?” I groaned as I sat up. “This couch sucks! I’m exhausted.”
“Aren’t you going to sleep in your Bahoo Bégum’s room?” her boyfriend Vijay Vikram Pratāp asked.
“That was the plan,” I sighed. “Until Al Furqān Al Firdaus came home early.”
“Al Furqān Al Firdaus, your Bahoo Bégum’s home?” Ħabībah asked, no longer smiling.
“Yeah,” I replied as I stood and stretched.
“Damn it!” Vijay Vikram Pratāp cried. “She hates me as it is, and this isn’t going to help!”
I fought off a smile.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus didn’t hate Vijay Vikram Pratāp.
She didn’t hate anyone, but then again he wasn’t her favorite person.
Mine either for that matter.
“Does she know about the party?” he asked.
“Of course she does,” Ħabībah said, answering for me. “She’s Al Furqān Al Firdaus, Durgesh’s Bahoo Bégum.”
“Don’t worry,” I said to Ħabībah, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister. “I told her it was all Vijay Vikram Pratāp’s idea. You should be okay.” I then turned to Vijay Vikram Pratāp and added, “Although, she did say something about wanting to talk to you this morning.”
“What?” he asked nervously.
“Relax,” Ħabībah, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister sighed. “Durgesh is just joking.”
“Very funny man!” he said angrily.
“Vijay Vikram Pratāp, I think you’d better be going,” Ħabībah, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, said. “Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s an early riser and I don’t think you want to be here when she gets up.”
“I’m gone,” he said, giving Ħabībah, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, a quick kiss and making for the door.
Was it fair to be annoyed at him for bailing without even offering to stay and face the music?
“Think we should wake up Shaguftah Jamīl and Ashok?” Ħabībah asked.
“Probably,” I answered, forgetting about Vijay Vikram Pratāp for the Moment. “It will give them a chance to prepare.”
“As you can prepare for one of Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s lectures,” Ħabībah sighed, but then added, “On the other hand, maybe they can slip out too. There’s no reason for everyone to have to face the music.”
“I’ll wake them,” I said.
I climbed the stairs quickly as memories of the night before drifted through my head.
I was also exhausted.
Had it happened?
Did I really sleep with Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)?
Moreover, what did it mean for us today?
The last question was the one that concerned me the most.
I had no idea how to react, but I figured I’d work through it eventually.
On the other hand, I was seriously worried about Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?).
I was cautious that there was a good chance she wouldn’t handle it at all.
And then what?
I pushed open the guest bedroom door and forced the thoughts of the night before, out of my head, for the Moment.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, and her boyfriend Shankar were asleep in the bed.
She was short and shapely, with long red hair, pale skin and freckles.
Shaguftah Jamīl took after her Ammī’s side.
Shankar wasn’t much taller with blond hair and a wrestler’s built.
They made a nice couple.
They met at the local community college two years ago and were bound for an altar ever since.
“Wake up you two!” I said, shaking the bed.
Shankar didn’t budge, but Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, opened her awfully attractive Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān eyes.
“Lillah, For God’s sake, why?” Shaguftah Jamīl groaned.
“Because Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s home,” I replied.
“Aunt Al Furqān Al Firdaus? Oh no!” Shaguftah Jamīl cried, and then started shaking Shankar.
I left the room and moved on to my bedroom.
I pulled my shirt off as I went.
I needed something to get me going.
A shower was just the thing.
I’d grab some clothes while I woke Ashok and his Musalmān girl up.
Maybe it would help.
I threw open the door to find Sabīħah Åbbās riding Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, on my bed.
The room smelled of sex.
Sabīħah Åbbās looked at me and smiled.
I shook my head.
She didn’t even pause in what she was doing.
“You two better hurry,” I said. “Because Al Furqān Al Firdaus is home and she’s bound to wake up soon.”
“Damn!” Ashok cried and pushed his Musalmān girl off him.
Sabīħah Åbbās clearly wanted to finish.
I shook my head and went to my dresser.
Ashok’s hair was light brown and he was average height with a slim built.
Sabīħah Åbbās‘s hair was darker and she had a sexy smile when she chose to show it.
You wouldn’t know it based on the way she dressed, but her extremely beautiful soft Panjvaqtah Namāzī pink Musalmān body was amazing.
I’d gotten a chance to see it twice now and neither time had been a disappointment.
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