Durgesh Sidrah: One More Mastermind–1
There had been less traffic than I had anticipated.
I parked my car in front of the building of the court.
There was a chance that the case Hudā was fighting might occupy the entire morning and perhaps a part of the afternoon, would have been disposed of sooner than contemplated.
Hudā, therefore, would be free sooner.
I walked the wide corridor to the swinging mahogany doors with the Judge’s name on them and entered the courtroom.
The trial was in progress.
Hudā, obviously self-conscious, was standing by the defense counsel table.
She was apparently at a loss as to what to say next.
The witness, standing in the witness box, was smiling confidently at Hudā.
She was waiting for the next question somewhat patronizingly.
The jury seemed slightly bored.
I eased my body into a seat at the rear of the courtroom.
“So, Imāmzādī Almās,” Hudā asked, “It was dark. Wasn’t it?”
Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, the witness, smiled at Hudā,
“What was dark?”
“The night was dark, but the street was lighted.” Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, the witness, smiled at Hudā, again.
“What do you mean, it was lighted?”
“There was a light at the corner.”
“And that light gave you sufficient illumination?”
“It gave the street sufficient illumination.”
“To the street, not to you?”
“I don’t need it.”
Hudā observed the witness.
She was dressed in such a manner that no one could say, she was an Imāmzādī.
She was looking a film star herself.
“Yes! So I can see.” Hudā commented smiling admiringly at her.
“Thank you.” Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, the witness, smiled back at Hudā.
“My pleasure! So there was enough light there so that you could see?”
“There was enough light there so that I could see. Yes.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw the defendant, Naåeemah Waħāb.”
“What did she do?”
“She was taking a suitcase out of the back of the car.”
“Oh, so you saw her taking out a suitcase?”
I was suddenly distracted.
The young girl sitting next to me suddenly put her right hand on my left thigh.
I was startled.
She was in a burqā.
I looked at her.
But, she was looking at the witness.
She pretended that it was her unconscious act.
“Then?” Hudā asked the witness.
“Then the defendant, Naåeemah Waħāb, put the suitcase down on the ground, bent over it, opened the suitcase, took out something―”
“Yes, yes,” Hudā interrupted impatiently, “You’ve told us all that before.”
The young girl in the burqā put her shawl on my lap.
And then she unzipped me.
I was startled again.
The girl must be mad.
In the courtroom, filled with spectators so heavily?
Was she so ravenous?
“What are you doing?” I asked her under my hot breaths.
“Enjoy yourself and let me enjoy too.” She said under her breaths too, and her hand entered my underwear.
“Allah Allah Kħair Sallah!”
“Who are you?”
“I love you.”
“Shut up. Let me enjoy if you don’t want to.”
“Are you mad?”
“Yes! For you. Otherwise I would not have come from Mumbai.”
The girl had taken out my Hindu Penis till now and was playing with it, hungrily.
“Sālī! someone will see.”
“Let the someone do anything whatsoever.”
“I invite you for dinner, tonight.”
“Leave it now.”
“Well, you asked me what I saw.” The witness, Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, was saying, “I thought you wanted me to tell you again.”
“No.” Hudā contradicted Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, “Not what you surmised the defendant, Naåeemah Waħāb, was doing. I want to know what you actually saw she was doing.”
Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, the witness, adjusted herself.
“I saw her opening the compartment of the back of the car. I saw the defendant, Naåeemah Waħāb, took out a suitcase. I saw her put it on the ground. I saw her open the suitcase.”
Suddenly, I stiffened.
The girl, playing with my Hindu Penis, squeezed it meaningfully.
“Hi, what are you after?” I asked her under my breath.
“I can’t leave the courtroom.”
“The defense lawyer is my friend.”
“You fuck her?”
I smiled at her.
“How old are you?”
“Can you think anything except sex?”
“Then you are not my man.”
“Sorry, I disappointed you.”
“You did not say on Internet that you don’t love sex.”
“I love sex, but―what? On Internet?”
“Of course! On Internet.”
“The defendant, Naåeemah Waħāb, had her back to you.” Hudā asked the witness harshly, “Had she not?”
“She had. Yes.”
“Then you couldn’t have seen the defendant open the suitcase.”
Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, the witness, collected herself again.
“I saw the defendant, Naåeemah Waħāb, bend over the suitcase.” She said curtly, “I saw her hands on the lid of the suitcase. I saw the lid of the suitcase come up. I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“You couldn’t see what the defendant, Naåeemah Waħāb, took out. Could you?”
“No. That I couldn’t. Of course.” Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, the witness, admitted.
It was her first case here, at Jabalpur.
She bent over her laptop.
Her husband, Zāhid Waħāb came to her at once, obediently.
“Can I help you, dear?”
The girl in burqā, playing with my Hindu Penis, under her shawl, smiled ironically.
“Nice role for a Muslim husband.”
“What?” I looked at her.
“My husband is also obedient to me.”
“You are married?”
“Of course, I’m married. What do you think? I’m 27.”
My voice became somewhat impish.
“There are so many girls who are more than 27. Yet, they are not married.”
“Well, I’m not one of them.”
“Yes. I can see.”
She squeezed my penis.
“Want to pluck it out?”
“Your wife will kill me.”
“Otherwise, you would’ve plucked it out?”
She laughed and squeezed my Hindu Penis again.
She winked at me,
Ibtidāye ishq hai, rota hai kyā?
Aage aage dekhnā hotā hai kyā!”
Hudā played with her laptop aimlessly.
Apparently, she was thinking of some question she could ask the witness, Imāmzādī Almās Kaif.
The case was bad.
She was thinking some question that would not make her case worse.
Members of the jury looked at each other, at the clock, and then let their attention wander around the courtroom.
“At the time, you didn’t know who owned the car, did you?”
Hudā demanded of the witness.
“No, madam. How could I?”
“Don’t ask me questions. Only answer me.”
“Yes, madam! Sorry, madam!”
“When did you find out who owned the car?”
“After the defendant, Naåeemah Waħāb, had left I started wondering―”
“Never mind.” Hudā smiled at the witness, “Never mind what you were wondering at, neither what you thought. Tell us only when did you find out who owned the car.”
“When the police told me.”
“So you are testifying what the police told you?”
Public Prosecutor, Nādir Muħammad smiled at the judge.
“Objection, your honor!”
“It goes to the bias of the witness, your honor!” Hudā said gravely.
Judge Shrīkānt M. Āgnéý hesitated somewhat, and looked at the Public Prosecutor, Nādir Muħammad.
Public Prosecutor, Nādir Muħammad understood the situation.
“I withdraw my objection, your honor! If your honor permits it, the witness can answer the question.”
“Answer the question.” Judge Shrīkānt M. Āgnéý ruled.
“Not entirely unknown to you.”She squeezed my penis, suggestively, again.
“You are making me crazy to have you.”
“To fu*k me?”
“That’s what I want you to do. Go ahead. You are most welcome.” She laughed sweetly, lightly.
And squeezed my Hindu Penis again, meaningfully.
“You are making me hot.”
“Your reputation is that you are always hot with us Muslimahs.”She laughed sweetly, lightly, again.
Squeezed my penis again, too.
My penis was refusing me to be in my control any more.
It wanted, at least, to be in her immensely beautiful mouth, if not into her Muslimā Cunt.
“I’m not testifying what the Police told me.” Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, the witness, said.
“Then?” Hudā asked.
“I’m testifying to what I saw.”
“When the police told you, did you go to the police, or did they come to you?”
“I went to them. I saw the news on TV. I had to tell the police that I was a witness to that.”
“You saw your cousin, Katrina Kaif in nude?”
“With Durgesh in nude too.” Imāmzādī Almās Kaif, the witness, smiled mischievously.
“You are promoting Durgesh.” Hudā laughed somewhat, bowing respectfully o the court.
“Have you fucked Katrina Kaif?” The girl in burqā squeezed my penis again.
“She is the sexiest woman and you are the sexiest man. Why isn’t it possible?”
“Katrina Kaif is the sexiest woman in the show business.” I smiled at her.
She became alert.
“What do you mean?”
“Kħadeejah Muħammadis not in the show business.”
“I’m not too.”
“What?” I looked at her.
““I’m not too.” She repeated her words, emphasizing her every word.
“You are comparing yourself with Kħadeejah Muħammad?”
“Not in show business. In being sexy.”
“You don’t agree with FHM?”
“If its report is confined to the show business, I do agree.”
“And, if it isn’t?”
More Creative Adult Sex in English from Durgesh
1. Bahoo Bégum
30. Sālī, Ammījān!
44. Hell, I revolt
64. I live with him
More creative adult sex in Hindi/Urdu from Durgesh:
13. Eidul Fitr-1
Science Fictions from DSM Satyarthi:
17. Saamved: Mantr 1