Just Eighteen Just Adult
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was really looking forward to this weekend away with me.
As Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I sat side by side on the plane heading for Spain, Waħīdah Ǻbbās closed her eyes and thought back to how it had all come about.
Allah, how difficult it was to seduce Durgesh, Waħīdah Ǻbbās thought.
And the bastards, Musalmīn, claim Durgesh is a Hindu communal sex maniac.
Durgesh fucks every Musalmān Beauty he meets ever.
Bosh and nonsense.
If the ever communal bastard Musalmīn were true in their ever false ever communal claim, why the hell so many Musalmān Beauties were still dreaming and suffering to have Durgesh as their lover/ live in relationship partner?
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was Just Eighteen Just Adult, and liked to think that she was independent.
She was just coming to the end of her first year at University.
For the last couple of years, Waħīdah Ǻbbās had chosen not to go away on the annual family holiday with her younger sister and her parents.
The previous summer, the rest of the family had gone to Spain, and had spent the day in Barcelona, a city Waħīdah Ǻbbās had always wanted to visit.
When we got back, Waħīdah Ǻbbās was quite jealous of us for having been there, and on the spur of the moment, Durgesh had promised to take her there for a long weekend.
For various reasons, the long weekend had never happened – until now.
About a month ago, the topic of the trip had come up again.
Durgesh was due a few days off, and so – without telling Waħīdah Ǻbbās – he had stumbled about on the internet, and booked them some flights and two rooms at a decent looking hotel.
It had all seemed to work out okay, and she was actually quite proud of me for having booked the holiday that way.
I could barely contain myself when I surprised Waħīdah Ǻbbās with the tickets a few days later.
The excitement had built over the next few weeks as Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I had both looked forward to the trip.
The two of us had always got on well, and Waħīdah Ǻbbās actually got on better with me than she did with her Ammī, particularly in the last couple of years since she had got over those difficult, early teenage years.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I had caught the early flight to Barcelona on the Friday morning, and had until our flight back, late on Sunday afternoon, to enjoy ourselves.
I smiled at Waħīdah Ǻbbās as I caught her looking across at me.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I laughed, for no other reason than Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I were happy to be getting away for a few days, able to spend some time together.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās shut her eyes and relaxed, thinking about me.
Despite the ever communal ever unjustified in their Hindu hating dastardly claims of the Pseudo Musalmīn, Waħīdah Ǻbbās found me never communal, never Musalmān hating.
I was okay, she thought to herself.
Generous, a good laugh, kind.
And extremely good looking too, Waħīdah Ǻbbās concluded.
Actually, she thought, I was outstandingly handsome, in every kind of way.
Moreover, she knew that almost everyone of her friends fancied me like mad even at my sixty-four.
Was I really sixty-four?
No one believed it ever.
Except perhaps her Nānājān, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, and Durgesh himself.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās laughed to herself at the thought, preferring men her own age, but understanding the attraction of someone older.
Nowadays, it was a surprising trend for Waħīdah Ǻbbās that Just Eighteen Just Adult Musalmān Beauties were mostly interested in senior Hindu males, instead of those of their own age.
In Ved Nagar, it was almost a miracle now if a Just Eighteen Just Adult Musalmān Beauty dreams of a Musalmān or a Hindu male of her own age.
“Teenagers are immensely inexperienced.” one of her closest friends, Ǻāliyah Kāmrān, said scornfully, “They are as afraid of taking our cherry as we ourselves are. The bastards, always seeking safe girls who have already lost their cherry either to their fathers or brothers.”*
Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl looked at Ǻāliyah Kāmrān immensely horrified.
“To their fathers or brothers, Ǻāliyah Kāmrān?”
There was a strong disbelief in Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl’s voice.
Ǻāliyah Kāmrān laughed at Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl.
“I hate you.” Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl shouted at Ǻāliyah Kāmrān protesting strongly.
“Nevertheless, you are a chicken still now even at your Just Eighteen Just Adult. Stupid girl.”
“Shut up. Keep your filthy mouth shut. You dirty bitch.” Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl thundered at her.
Some of their friends were watching them quarrel, with interest, but most of them were laughing at Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl.
Yes, some of them were neither laughing at Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl nor watching them interested in their futile quarrel, but even they were smiling at Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl with quite an immense smirk on their lips.
“Chicken,” Ǻāliyah Kāmrān laughed at Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl mockingly, “the world is not as moral as you childishly think. Most of the fathers fuck their own daughters and most of the brothers fuck their own sisters until they are not married to their foolish husbands.”
Farħānah Salāħuddīn laughed.
“Not only that,” she confirmed Ǻāliyah Kāmrān, “there are so many Ammīs even who are cougars to the extent that they have their sexual relationship with their own son.”
“You are dirty girls.” Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl said scornfully, “I hate all of you.”*
Ǻāliyah Kāmrān teased Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl not to humiliate her, to teach her instead the cold and hard things of life.
Ǻāliyah Kāmrān wasn’t as lucky as Al Rashīdah Al Jamīl was.
Ǻāliyah Kāmrān had had to face grim realities of life, consequently, even while she was Just Eighteen Just Adult only.
The kitten’s eyes, waving back and forth, followed the ball of crumpled paper.
Ǻāliyah Kāmrān was waving it high above the arm of the chair.
The kitten was named Green Eyes because of the color of her eyes.
Ǻāliyah Kāmrān liked to watch her eyes.
Their pupils were always changing, narrowing to ominous slits and widening to opaque pools of onyx.
Those black and green eyes had an hypnotic effect on Ǻāliyah Kāmrān, as Durgesh himself had on almost entire womankind.
Ǻāliyah Kāmrān disagreed.
There isn’t any exception, as far as Ǻāliyah Kāmrān knew.
Ǻāliyah Kāmrān’s own elder sisters hated Durgesh once.
They deliberately, stubbornly, married eligible Ǻrab Royal Sheikħs.
Their age difference even didn’t matter at all.
Ultimately, her Māmūjān, Muħammad Yūsuf, was proven to be exactly correct.
Eventually, everyone of her elder sister seduced Durgesh herself.
And now, they are having their actual live in relationship with Durgesh while still married to their royal Ǻrab Sheikħ husbands.
Their royal Ǻrab Sheikħ husbands tried to object on it.
Durgesh immediately transferred his numerous stocks of shares in the oil companies in the name of their wives.
Their royal Ǻrab Sheikħ husbands suddenly found their wives actually controlled now their oil wells even.
Their objections died out eventually after a long futile struggle.
The royal Ǻrab Sheikħ husbands surrendered to their richer wives for their own financial survival.
It was their bad luck that Saůūdī Årab was not Saůūdī Årab anymore.
She was Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat now.
Modern Democratic Årabia.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was its ever first President.
Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat.*
However, it was not exactly as Ǻāliyah Kāmrān thought it was.
Her eldest sister, Kħālidah Kāmrān managed it somewhat differently.
Her Ammī, Kāzimah Yåqūb and I left work early at five o’clock because she wanted extra time to get ready for the Halloween party our friends were throwing tonight.
Kāzimah Yåqūb and I worked together at my office.
I was an utmost successful Sex therapist in the suburbs and Kāzimah Yåqūb was my Colleague lady Sex therapist.
I met Kāzimah Yåqūb just after her second year of medical school to become a Lady Sex therapist.
Kāzimah Yåqūb was 18 at the time.
Shortly after we met, Kāzimah Yåqūb got pregnant from me.
Kāzimah Yåqūb wanted to manage her live in relationship with me, but Kāmrān Hāshimī proposed her surprisingly.
“Why not oblige me, Kāzimah Yåqūb?”
“What do you mean?” Kāzimah Yåqūb could not understand.
“I’m a bisexual, Kāzimah.”
“What? How the hell you know it?” Kāmrān Hāshimī was dumbfounded.
“Nāzimah Raħmān told me.”
“Allah! Is she telling everyone that I am a bisexual?”
“Not bisexual, worse. She is telling everyone that you are impotent, not capable to satisfy any woman. You exploded as soon as you entered Nāzimah Raħmān. Nāzimah Raħmān had to go to Durgesh to extinguish the fire you incompetently set between her legs.”
“Durgesh? She went to Durgesh? But she loves Shankar Mahāpralayankar.” Kāmrān Hāshimī was horrified.
“Nāzimah Raħmān doesn’t love Shankar Mahāpralayankar. Shankar Mahāpralayankar loves Nāzimah Raħmān. Nāzimah Raħmān hates Shankar Mahāpralayankar. He is a Criminal.”
“But… but Shankar Mahāpralayankar said…”
“Nāzimah Raħmān isn’t responsible for what Shankar Mahāpralayankar claims. Only Durgesh could save Nāzimah Raħmān from Shankar Mahāpralayankar. Nāzimah Raħmān hadn’t another option. Shankar Mahāpralayankar fucks even the royal Ǻrab Sheikħs in their asses.”
“Shankar Mahāpralayankar is more powerful than the royal Ǻrab Sheikħs even. The royal Ǻrab Sheikħs can’t protect themselves from his criminal powers.”
“As they sowed so they’re reaping.” Kāzimah Yåqūb said curtly, “The royal Ǻrab Sheikħs created Shankar Mahāpralayankar against Musalmān terrorists to protect their kingdom. They succeeded in protecting their royal kingdom from Musalmān terrorists, but not from Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan. They thought Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan couldn’t do anything. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan slapped them, rather kicked them actually with her far stronger feet than the royal Ǻrab Sheikħs thought Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had. As they sowed so they reaped. What’s wrong in it?”*
I looked at Waħīdah Ǻbbās, as she sat, totally relaxed, her eyes closed.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was quite beautiful, just like her Ammī at that age.
She had had her red hair cut for our break, but it still hung around her shoulders, framing her awfully stunning Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face.
She really was quite lovely, with her big brown eyes, full lips and pert nose.
Like many girls of her age, Waħīdah Ǻbbās was wearing a tight sleeveless top, with the narrowest of straps, which clung to her body, curving softly around her full Musalmān breasts.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās’s tanned midriff was bare, the gold cross in her pierced belly button glinting softly.
Her skirt was – according to her Ammī – too short.
Looking across at her, I suddenly felt aware of myself at how my ever experienced Hindu male eyes were drawn to her long, slender, tanned female Musalmān legs.
The flight wasn’t that long.
By the time Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I had been fed a typical airline breakfast, had a couple of cups of coffee, and bought Waħīdah Ǻbbās some duty free perfume, it was time to start descending towards Barcelona.
As soon as the captain announced our approach to the airport, Waħīdah Ǻbbās grabbed My arm, her excitement evident on her terribly stunning Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face, her Musalmān breasts squashed against me as Waħīdah Ǻbbās bent over to try and see more out of the window next to me.
Once the plane landed, and came to a halt at the terminal, Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I were amongst the first to leave the plane.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I dashed through the airport, hoping that our luggage would arrive quickly.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I were in luck – it seemed that only minutes after Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I reached baggage reclaim, our cases were on the conveyor belt in front of us.
Minutes later, Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I were in a taxi heading for the city centre.
The taxi driver picked up on our excitement straightaway, and was soon chatting away in his broken English, pointing out the various sights as he drove.
He offered us a sight seeing “detour”, and as it wasn’t much more than the fare itself, Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I took him up on his offer.
He drove us up to the highest part of the city, and Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I gasped at the panoramic views in all directions, of the docks and the cruise ships lined up in one direction, and of the city in the other.
He showed us the historical sights, where the famous football stadium was, where the Olympic village had been, and so much more.
By the time Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I reached the hotel, Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I couldn’t wait to see more.
I paid off the driver, and then led the way through to the hotel reception, proud to have beautiful young Waħīdah Ǻbbās on my arm, proud yet cautious of the admiring looks Waħīdah Ǻbbās was getting.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās clung to my arm as Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I waited in the short queue at reception, both of us chatting away happily.
When Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I reached the reception desk, I gave the receptionist our name, and then waited while she found our paperwork.
As she looked through it, Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I both became aware of the looks the receptionist was giving us.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās giggled.
“She thinks I’m either your wife or at least your Musalmān girlfriend,” she told me, hardly able to hold back her giggles.
The receptionist gave me the booking in form to sign with a frosty smile, and asked to see our passports.
I handed over the passports, and then looked at the form the receptionist had asked me to sign.
“I’m sorry,” I told her a few minutes later, “there’s been a mistake. I booked two single rooms, not one twin room.”
As the receptionist took the form back, I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the e-mail confirmation I’d received.
I also had the screen print form when I booked the hotel over the Internet.
“Look – there,” I pointed.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās looked as well.
“Durgesh darling,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās cried mischievously, seductively, naughtily. “It is wrong – look at the boxes your secretary ticked erroneously. You’ve booked one, Double Bed room, instead of two, Single Bed rooms.
She pointed at the e-mail.
I stared at the paper in front of me.
It suddenly dawned on me what my secretary had done.
“You can’t be trusted with secretaries, can you?” Waħīdah Ǻbbās told me, only half joking as she saw our weekend being spoilt in front of us.
I told her not to worry, that I would sort it out.
But, as the receptionist explained, the hotel was fully booked.
If Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I wanted two rooms, then Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I would have to look elsewhere.
I looked helplessly at Waħīdah Ǻbbās.
“We’ll take it,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās announced firmly. “After all,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās told me softly, trying to make me feel better, “There is a Double Bed – and a bathroom to get changed in.”
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I finished booking in, gave the still disbelieving receptionist My credit card details, and then followed the porter to the lifts, and the eighth floor.
He opened the door to our room for us, and placed our cases just inside.
As I tipped him, he gave a knowing wink.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās squeezed my arm, telling me to ignore the porter.
He thought Waħīdah Ǻbbās my young wife or young Musalmān girlfriend and we were here to enjoy sex with each other.
It was normal for him to welcome aged Hindu multimillionaires with their sexy young Musalmān secretaries/ girlfriends.
I followed Waħīdah Ǻbbās into the room.
Like so many hotel rooms, there was a short corridor, with the bathroom off to one side.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās popped her around the door to look inside.
It was actually quite big, with a partially sunken bath as well as a separate shower cubicle.
When Waħīdah Ǻbbās came out, she saw that I had stopped.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās walked up behind me, and took in the rest of the room.
It was quite large, with sliding doors out to a balcony which overlooked the city, and a LARGE DOUBLE BED.
She stopped, her eyes frozen on the bed.
I recovered first.
“Don’t worry,” I told her, “It’s probably just two beds pushed together – I’ll get the hotel to move us.”
“Look,” I added, as I flipped up the bed clothes to show her.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I both stared.
There was only one set of legs.
It was only one bed.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I stared at each other.
I eventually broke the silence.
“I’ll get us another room.”
“How?” Waħīdah Ǻbbās asked. “You heard what that receptionist said.” She stared at me for a moment longer. “We’ll just have to put pillows between us like when we were kids.”
Despite myself, I laughed at the memory of when Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I had all gone to Disneyland six or seven years before.
The hotel room had two big beds, so Waħīdah Ǻbbās had shared with me.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I had used pillows to split the bed into two, but by the time Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I had finished, the pillows had begun to look like a barricade.
“Are you sure?” I asked, totally fed up with myself for getting it all so wrong.
“Yes,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās told, squeezing my arm reassuringly.
“Now come on, I’m starved. Let’s get unpacked, and then get some lunch,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās added, more brightly than Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt, but wanting to cheer me up.
An hour later, Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I were sat in the warm spring sunshine, outside a cosy café towards the top end of Las Ramblas, a wonderfully entertaining street in the centre of Barcelona, eating omelettes, Waħīdah Ǻbbās even enjoying a bottle of red wine.
As Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I ate and Waħīdah Ǻbbās drank.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I felt more relaxed, the problems of the last few hours disappeared, and Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I started to plan our weekend.
I was torn between sight seeing and going to the Nou Camp stadium to soak up the atmosphere and watch football, while Waħīdah Ǻbbās wanting nothing more than to visit all the shops Waħīdah Ǻbbās could find, looking at the sights as Waħīdah Ǻbbās went.
In the end, Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I decided Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I would try and do everything.
“Okay, let’s go for it,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās told me, before adding mischievously, “So long as we go shopping first!”
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I spent the afternoon shopping.
I actually quite enjoyed it, glad to see Waħīdah Ǻbbās so happy as Waħīdah Ǻbbās took me from shop to shop, trying on dozens of items for every one Waħīdah Ǻbbās bought.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I even went shopping for me, as I gave in at last to Waħīdah Ǻbbās’s pleas for me to “get with it!”
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I still hadn’t finished when the shops began to close.
“There’s always tomorrow,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās told me, skipping out of the way as I playfully swung a shopping bag at her.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I strolled the half a mile or so back to the hotel, our arms linked, enjoying each other’s company as Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I always did.
Back at the hotel, I had a quick shower and then left the bathroom free for Waħīdah Ǻbbās.
When I heard her in the shower, I leisurely dressed, putting on the new clothes that Waħīdah Ǻbbās had left out for me.
When Waħīdah Ǻbbās re-appeared, Waħīdah Ǻbbās was dressed and ready to go out.
“What do you think?” Waħīdah Ǻbbās asked, spinning around to show off her new outfit.
While my wolf whistle was meant to be playful, I couldn’t help thinking how good Waħīdah Ǻbbās looked.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās had put on a tiny amount of make up, just enough to highlight her extremely sexy Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān features.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was wearing a short, flared skirt and high heels, both of which helped to show off her legs to perfection.
The skirt fitted just tightly enough around her perfectly round gorgeous exquisite excellent voluptuous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass to show just how sexy it was.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās wore a vest top with very thin straps, with a shirt over the top of it.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās had left the shirt unbuttoned, and I couldn’t help but notice how the vest clung to the shape of Waħīdah Ǻbbās’s pert Musalmān breasts.
“You look beautiful, sweet heart,” I told her, “You make me so proud.”
Waħīdah Ǻbbās hugged me, telling me I “looked even more killingly handsome than I myself realized”.
As Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I stood close together, I suddenly realised just how good it felt to have Waħīdah Ǻbbās in my arms like this, just how sexy Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt against me.
I let go of her as if I’d been burnt, Mumbling something about us “needing to go out” as Waħīdah Ǻbbās looked at me quizzically.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I ate in the hotel restaurant.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I took our time, and even I felt relaxed as Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I looked forward to the next few days.
After dinner, Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I went for a walk around the place de Catalunya, strolling slowly amongst
the fountains and statues, enjoying the atmosphere.
By the time Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I got back to the hotel, it was quite late.
As Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I went into our room, there was – just for a moment – an uncertain silence between us, as if Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I didn’t quite know what to do.
But then I went into the bathroom for a quick wash.
When I came out, Waħīdah Ǻbbās was sat on the edge of the bed.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās glanced across at me as I came back into the room bare chested.
She stood up, her pyjamas in her hand, and went to take her turn in the bathroom, smiling at me as Waħīdah Ǻbbās brushed past me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly unsure about sharing a room, let alone a bed, with Waħīdah Ǻbbās.
I glanced at myself in the mirror, and quickly decided to get changed.
I grabbed the pyjama’s I’d bought earlier and quickly unwrapped them.
I didn’t normally wear pyjama’s, preferring to sleep in the nude or in an old tee shirt if it was cold.
But while there were out shopping I had bought some just for the weekend.
I stood up, quickly pulled my trousers and underwear off.
As I stood naked, reaching out for my pyjamas, I caught sight of myself in the mirror.
“Amazing,” I thought, smiling to myself.
At sixty four, I did still look okay.
I always kept my tan, and had managed to avoid putting on too much weight over the years.
While my muscular legs and chest have not softened even slightly with the passing of time, I knew that I could still draw the odd admiring look when I was on the beach.
As I stood naked, my pyjama’s still in my hand, the bathroom door burst open.
I sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed, holding my pyjama’s still in my hand, not even covering my Uncut Hindu Lund and balls, my face startled.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās stopped dead, looking at me, feeling very embarrassed both for her and me.
I looked at her, my mouth suddenly very grave.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was wearing her favourite Winnie the pooh pyjamas.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās had had them for years, so they were now a bit too small, but she still loved to wear them.
The short sleeved top, which had once been baggy on her, now fitted snugly over her Musalmān breasts, her nipples clearly visible.
I stared at her, at the picture of the bear on the front, at the way the picture moved with her, with her body, with her Musalmān breasts, as Waħīdah Ǻbbās breathed.
Her pyjama bottoms were shorts, and while they had once reached her knees, they were now half way up her tanned thighs.
Behind her, in the other wall mirror, I could see just how tight they were over her firm Musalmān ass, how they clung to her soft Musalmān curves.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās stared at my unique legendary Uncut Hindu Lund dumbfounded.
We both were in trance.
For how much time, none of us knew.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās just kept staring at my unique legendary Uncut Hindu Lund dumbfounded.
I kept watching Waħīdah Ǻbbās.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās recovered first.
“Come on Durgesh darling, get a move on,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās told me as Waħīdah Ǻbbās crossed to the other side of the room, doing her best not to look in my direction as she started to put her clothes away in the wardrobe.
“Waħīdah Ǻbbās, I’m trying to get changed,” I told her, saying the first thing that came into my head.
I felt angry with myself for getting us into this mess, and with Waħīdah Ǻbbās for being so sexy, so beautiful.
And with myself for the way my Uncut Hindu Lund was reacting openly.
“Oh come on, Durgesh darling, I won’t look.”
“Well you better not,” I told her, trying not to look in her direction, my voice unexpectedly gruff.
“And if I do? I’ve already more than enough. I’ve already digested too much what the unique you have for us womankind.” Waħīdah Ǻbbās teased me.
“I’ll have to spank you,” I retorted, automatically using our standard joke.
I glanced in the mirror and saw that Waħīdah Ǻbbās was looking away now.
I carefully shook my pyjamas to unfold them, before standing up to step into them.
I glanced up again.
This time I saw Waħīdah Ǻbbās in the mirror, looking in my direction.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās could obviously see my buttocks, but that wasn’t where Waħīdah Ǻbbās was looking.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was looking in the mirror as well, at my reflection, at my rock hard Uncut Hindu Lund swaying in front of me, at my heavy Hindu balls hanging beneath.
I dragged my pyjamas up my legs and sat down.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās had been looking at me so openly.
Or had I imagined it?
Her voice was small, so quiet I could hardly hear her, even though Waħīdah Ǻbbās was now stood next to me.
I felt angry again, at her, at myself.
I reached out and grabbed Waħīdah Ǻbbās’s arm, dragging her to me and throwing her over my knee.
“I told you what would happen,” I almost shouted, as my hand crashed down onto her perfect big ass, barely hidden by the thin material stretched tightly over her hot Musalmān body.
She screamed and wriggling, kicking her legs as my hand crashed down again.
I felt the heat of her perfectly round gorgeous exquisite excellent voluptuous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass against my hand as I smacked her for a third time.
I stopped, breathing heavily, my hand resting on her perfectly round gorgeous exquisite excellent voluptuous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass, her heat radiating through to me.
I was suddenly aware of her Musalmān breasts and belly against my leg, of her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot.
Her pyjama top had ridden up and I looked down at her back, at her smooth skin, at her beautiful sun tan, at the small tattoo at the base of her spine, at the way her narrow waist flared out to meet the soft curves of her hips and ass.
A groan escaped from deep within me as I ran my hand softly over her perfectly round gorgeous exquisite excellent voluptuous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass, and up onto her back, feeling the shape of her sexy Musalmān body.
I slipped my hand into the back of her shorts, pulling them down as I ran the tip of my middle finger down between her cheeks, knowing it was wrong but totally unable to stop myself.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās gasped, trying to take in what was happening, trying to understand why the pain Waħīdah Ǻbbās had felt was now being overwhelmed by the pleasure shooting through her.
“Durgesh,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās cried, wriggling harder as Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt my finger scratching lightly over her puckered Musalmān bum, as waves of pleasure washed through her.
“Durgesh, stop,” she moaned, as Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt my hard Uncut Hindu Lund against her belly, as her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot flooded, as She pressed her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot herself down against my Uncut Hindu Lund.
I sensed the change in her, but couldn’t work out what it was.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was still wriggling, but her movements were now more deliberate, more controlled.
My already hard Uncut Hindu Lund stiffened even more as I realised that Waħīdah Ǻbbās was actually rubbing her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot against it, against the hardness of my knee.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās thought Waħīdah Ǻbbās was going to faint.
Her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot, her whole body, ached with the pleasure surging through her.
Her nipples felt like they were ready to burst they felt so hard.
And beneath her, Waħīdah Ǻbbās could feel the hardness, the heat, of mine.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās couldn’t stop herself.
It was as if a floodgate had suddenly opened.
She pressed her whole body down against me, wanting me.
With a groan, I felt Waħīdah Ǻbbās press down against me.
I pushed my hand further into her pyjamas, reaching down between her legs to find her hot Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās cried out as Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt my Uncut Hindu Lund on her, suddenly scared, very scared, by the depths of her feelings, of her need, of her desire for me, of her need for release.
She scrambled away from me, falling onto the floor before quickly standing up.
Her chest was heaving, her nipples rock hard against the thin material of her top.
There was a dark patch on her shorts where Waħīdah Ǻbbās had been rubbing against me.
I looked Waħīdah Ǻbbās up and down, drinking in her sexiness, my heart thumping.
I saw her eyes looking down at me.
Glancing down, I realised for the first time that my Uncut Hindu Lund had escaped through the open fly of my pyjamas, and was now stood erect, all eight inches of it, thick and hard, the head red and engorged, and already wet with pre cum.
I felt my Uncut Hindu Lund jerk.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās’s eyes widened as Waħīdah Ǻbbās watched my Uncut Hindu Lund swaying.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās didn’t resist, didn’t want to resist, instead when Waħīdah Ǻbbās herself grabbed me, plunging herself to me, her mind blanked by lust.
Her shorts were half ripped away from her body as she grabbed them and plunged herself towards me.
I caught a fleeting glimpse of her red hair, but then Waħīdah Ǻbbās was straddling me, neither of us sure of what was happening, neither of us wanting to stop, but both of us knowing that Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I had to.
“Durgesh,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās almost sobbed as Waħīdah Ǻbbās knelt over my lap, her knees on the bed each side of my nude Hindu male thighs.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās didn’t feel in control of her body any more.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās could feel my hands on her hips, the unbearable heat of my Uncut Hindu Lund against her tight Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās groaned.
“Durgesh, I’ve never ……..”
And then Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt my hands pulling her down onto me.
Her knees collapsed under her, and Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt the searing heat of my rigid Uncut Hindu Lund driving upwards into her ardent Musalmān body.
“….. done this before …” Waħīdah Ǻbbās finished, my Uncut Hindu Lund already deep inside her like a rod of steel.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās screamed with pain, with desire, as My Uncut Hindu Lund tore into her body.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās automatically straightened her legs, lifting herself away from me.
She sobbed, tears welling up in her eyes.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās looked at me, at the awful confused, pained expression on my face, at the horror at what had happened, what she’d done, in my ever experienced Hindu male eyes.
“Oh Durgesh,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās breathed, lowering her body back onto mine.
This time it was I who was frozen, as Waħīdah Ǻbbās lowered her sexy young body back down onto me.
She moved slowly, almost gingerly, reaching down to hold my Uncut Hindu Lund, her hand barely big enough to reach around my thick Hindu shaft. Waħīdah Ǻbbās wrapped her other arm round my neck as she eased my Uncut Hindu Lund back into her body, wanting me, wanting my Uncut Hindu Lund, desperately.
I held her hips lightly, not quite believing what was happening, watching Waħīdah Ǻbbāss face as Waħīdah Ǻbbās lowered herself onto my throbbing Uncut Hindu Lund.
I couldn’t believe how hot, how wet, how tight Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt as the engorged head of my Uncut Hindu Lund slid into her.
I somehow resisted the urge to push my Uncut Hindu Lund into her as deep as I could, to pull her hips down onto me, and let Waħīdah Ǻbbās take her time.
As Waħīdah Ǻbbās lowered herself onto my lap, Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot lips stretching around my Uncut Hindu Lund as it slipped into her.
The pain Waħīdah Ǻbbās had felt was being washed away by the strength of her pleasure as her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot moulded itself to every ridge, every contour, of my Uncut Hindu Lund.
With a deep groan, she settled onto my lap, all eight inches of my thick Uncut Hindu Lund buried inside her.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was in awe of her body, of the pleasure surging through her.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās had no idea how all of that wonderful Uncut Hindu Lund had fitted inside her, but it had.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt so full, as if my Uncut Hindu Lund was reaching up to between her Musalmān breasts.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās wrapped her arms around My neck and looked into my ever experienced Hindu male eyes, seeing the same need, the same desire in my ever experienced Hindu male eyes as Waħīdah Ǻbbās was sure I could see in hers.
Her legs were spread wide, her knees each side of me.
It felt as though Waħīdah Ǻbbās was being split apart by my Uncut Hindu Lund, speared deep inside her.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās could feel my balls against her perfectly round gorgeous exquisite excellent voluptuous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass, my hands stroking her hips, running softly over her body.
Still looking into my ever experienced Hindu male eyes, she eased herself up on my Uncut Hindu Lund, feeling it sliding out of her a few inches before dropping back onto me.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās wiggled her perfectly round gorgeous exquisite excellent voluptuous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass a little, and then lifted herself again, enjoying the wonderful sensations flooding her body more and more, enjoying the feel of my Uncut Hindu Lund deepest inside her, the feel of my skin peeling back over my Uncut Hindu Lund head each time she moved her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot up and down my Hindu length.
It seemed natural for us to kiss, tentatively at first, our lips barely touching.
But then Waħīdah Ǻbbāsicked slowly along My lips, before poking her tongue between them, feeling our way inside my mouth.
Moments later, our lips were locked together, our tongues thrusting and exploring.
As Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I kissed, I pulled Waħīdah Ǻbbās to me, feeling her Musalmān breasts, her hard nipples against my chest even through her flimsy pyjamas, our hips now moving as one.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I broke our kiss, staring at each other as Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I gasped for breath, our lips still for a moment.
Silently, Waħīdah Ǻbbās reached for the hem of her top, and pulled it slowly up her body and over her head.
I gasped, my Uncut Hindu Lund jerking inside her, as the rest of her body was uncovered.
My ever experienced Hindu male eyes moved with her, following the edge of her top upwards.
Firstly, it was her flat, well toned belly with the little gold cross nestling in her belly button.
I had always been against her having her navel pierced, but now all I could think about was how sexy it looked, Waħīdah Ǻbbās looked.
As the top went up higher, my hands moved from her hips and slowly up the sides of her slender body, her skin smooth and soft under my touch.
Gradually, as if in slow motion, the soft swell of her Musalmān breasts came into view.
I moaned, my hands tightening around her, as her sexy young Musalmān breasts were unveiled to me.
They were bigger than I’d ever imagined, but still firm, very firm and beautifully shaped.
They seemed to turn upwards at the end, and were slightly conical shaped, her nipples hard and swollen, the aureoles dark and wide.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās saw how I was looking at her, her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot throbbing at the expression on my face.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās held still for a few long moments, her arms above her head, her Musalmān breasts thrust out to me, wanting me, as I feasted on her extraordinary Musalmān beauty.
I reached out to her, my hands moving smoothly across her body to cup her Musalmān breasts.
I sighed as I felt her firmness beneath my hands, just as Waħīdah Ǻbbās sighed as Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt my hands on her, the rough skin on my thumbs scraping lightly over her sensitive nipples.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās threw her top onto the floor and pulled my head to her.
I pressed my head into her cleavage, my hands still on her Musalmān breasts, the two of us still for a moment except for the gentle movement of our hips, of my Uncut Hindu Lund inside her.
I watched as her nipples puckered and tightened even more under my touch as I moved from one to the other I squeezed them gently, and then harder.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās held my head to her, wanting, needing, my attention, her hips rising as Waħīdah Ǻbbās began to fuck my thick, hard Uncut Hindu Lund again.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I moved as one, my Uncut Hindu Lund ploughing into her, stretching her, as Waħīdah Ǻbbās clung to me, as I squeezed her Musalmān breasts and nipples, my hands roaming easily over her body.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt as though My Uncut Hindu Lund was filling her entire body.
It felt huge inside her – and Waħīdah Ǻbbās loved it.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās loved the way it filled her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot, reaching deep inside her.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās loved the way it moved, the way her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot wrapped itself around it.
And Waħīdah Ǻbbās loved the way the pain, the dull ache, Waħīdah Ǻbbās had felt was now being replaced by waves of intense, almost painful, pleasure.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās had felt nothing like it ever before.
The pleasure filling her, reaching the very ends of her body, was amazing, and was being driven there by my stunning Uncut Hindu Lund inside her body, by my hands on her body, by my mouth on her Musalmān breasts.
Everything was a blur as Waħīdah Ǻbbās clung to me, holding me tighter and tighter as the pleasure inside her became almost unbearable.
Our hips, our bodies, were moving faster now, my Uncut Hindu Lund reaching deeper and deeper inside her as everything else was forgotten except for our pleasure.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās cried out as her orgasm tore through her body, wave after wave of intense pleasure.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās threw her head back, her chest flushed, her body tense, as I buried my Uncut Hindu Lund inside her and clung to her, in awe of her reaction, of the pleasure Waħīdah Ǻbbās was enjoying.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was almost sobbing with relief as her body relaxed, as I began fucking her again.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās was bouncing up and down on my lap as I drove my Uncut Hindu Lund wildly into her, her Musalmān breasts bouncing in front of me as Waħīdah Ǻbbās rode my violent Hindu thrusts, as she straddled my knees, pushing down to meet my Uncut Hindu Lund as I drove it deepest into her body.
As Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I fucked, her juices poured from her onto my Uncut Hindu Lund and balls, the room echoing to the wet sounds of our bodies moving together.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt my Uncut Hindu Lund grow even bigger inside her as my climax approached, as another climax washed through her.
As my Hindu cum threatened to erupt inside from me, I started to lift Waħīdah Ǻbbās away from my Uncut Hindu Lund.
“No,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās cried, understanding what I was trying to do, “it’s okay. Give it to me inside, please.”
Waħīdah Ǻbbās drove her body downwards, using her weight to drive my Uncut Hindu Lund back inside her just as my balls contracted and sent my Hindu cum into her body in thick jets.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I both cried out, I at my release and Waħīdah Ǻbbās at the feel of my Hindu cum filling her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot, mixing with her juices.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I clung together, my Uncut Hindu Lund throbbing inside her, her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot squeezing my n cum from me.
I collapsed backwards on the bed, breathless, my muscular body slick with sweat.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās lay down on top of me, her cheek resting on my chest, my softening Uncut Hindu Lund still filling her hot, wet Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot.
“I love you, Durgesh,” Waħīdah Ǻbbās murmured, hugging me as Waħīdah Ǻbbās felt my arms around her, “I love you now even more than I ever did before. Thank you. Thank you very much for accepting me in your life forever, my dear Hindu husband.”
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I lay still for long moments, savouring the feel of each other, before Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I inevitably thought about what had happened.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I both knew that Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I should be feeling guilty, but Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I didn’t.
All Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I knew was that Waħīdah Ǻbbās and I wanted it more, much more.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās got up slowly.
As Waħīdah Ǻbbās knelt beside me, I propped myself up on my elbows, looking at her.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās leant over and kissed me softly, her hand resting on my belly.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās looked down at my Uncut Hindu Lund.
It was still semi erect, lying at the base of my belly, still slick with cum and juices.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās giggled at the fact that I still had my pyjama bottoms on, at the huge wet patch from her juices.
Waħīdah Ǻbbās dragged them down my legs, leaving me naked, and then got up off the bed.
I watched her, drinking in her ardent Musalmān nakedness, her beauty, as Waħīdah Ǻbbās crossed the room and went into the bathroom.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam