1: Of my Musalmān friends
In one of the scenes on the CD Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, had been dressed as a Playboy bunny with a fitted corset and just a bright red thong to cover her womanhood.
As the CD played Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ saw Durgesh just move aside the wet thong and plunge in his unique legendary Uncut Hindu Lund into her wet Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān slit from behind.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had stared at our fornication for some minutes before turning away in shame and humiliation.
But I had still been going strong.
The Ever Young Man of Sixty Four had stamina, that’s for sure.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had never felt so low and bad before and perhaps it showed on his face because he could see his wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, controlling herself back into her chair, yet not even the slightest guilty of something Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had never before thought possible.
At least that Musalmān doctor in the news did not have any CD’s to see his Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān wife, fucking the General, he thought bitterly.
The images of Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, dressed as a bunny with her glazed eyes wide open in pleasure and her big juicy Musalmān boobs jiggling in response to the thrusting from behind just wouldn’t go away.
There were other clips equally as erotic.
The Ever Young Man of Sixty Four had real good fucking techniques as Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, had good taping techniques.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ wondered whether the Hindu General had also made CD’s of himself with his Musalmān mistress at different locations across the globe.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd said gravely, without any stammering anywhat.
“It was not deliberate or planned. After Saiyadah Fātimah PhD and Kħadījah Muħammad went to their parental hometown, Al Makkah Al Mukarramah, we at the office noticed that Durgesh needed a female companion to face Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s Cuckold Your Musalmān Husband movement. He tried so many of his Musalmān women. But they were too angry to the entire Musalmān mankind they had immensely strong antithesis. I was the only available Musalmān houselady that didn’t have any antithesis whatsoever against Musalmān mankind,” said At-Taubah Al Waħīd attempting to start a sensible dialogue between them.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ nodded in agreement.
He was aware of it as well as many others who knew me and my strong opposition of Cuckold Your Musalmān Husband movement.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ looked at the confident face of his wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
All that she had just said was something Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had been broadly aware of in those days but he couldn’t understand how it related to her affair.
“That was when some of the senior members of the HVSI Group of Companies had a small meeting with Durgesh. It was decided that he would have a company aide with him during the important meetings with clients,” said At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
She stopped to see how her husband was taking this all in.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ looked back quizzically at her.
He wondered where this was all going.
“I was appointed as Durgesh’s aide,” continued At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
As she said those lines, At-Taubah Al Waħīd looked back at her husband with a look of … what? An aggressive but at the same time self-righteous sacrificing look.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ leaned forward, his interest rising.
So, she did it for the benefit of entire Musalmān mankind?
She had sacrificed herself?
Well, he knew why she didn’t have any antithesis against Musalmān mankind as the most of the Musalmān houseladies had almost infinitely.
In fact most of the Musalmān houseladies hated their Musalmān mankind to the extent they proudly cuckolded them for themselves and Durgesh/other capable Hindus.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had ignited immense hatred in the hearts and minds of Musalmān houseladies using her entire seven movements and even her ever first eighth movement too.
“I made it a point to ensure that Durgesh got all the input he required from all the departments for any upcoming meeting. This called for a lot of networking with department heads and their staff. It also required that I develop some kind of an understanding of the work undertaken by all the departments. By this time, I had begun to get more and more involved. That was a good sign for us. He then coached me about the functioning of some of the departments and the basic but essential parameters I had to ask for and ensure. Things began clicking and business began improving. We worked as a team. I began accompanying him to all the client meetings, even out of town,” At-Taubah Al Waħīd continued, eyeing her husband warily as she mentioned her out-of-town meetings.
By now, Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had begun to understand some things but he didn’t interrupt his wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, preferring that she tell her part of the story.
“Eventually I had more or less assumed the de facto post of Durgesh’s chief advisor. The business began improving and we were successful in stopping the southward movement in sales. In fact, I had made it my duty to ensure that he did not miss his relaxations also. His total reliance on me was apparent to one and all and it made me feel proud that I had succeeded in pulling the company back from the brink of catastrophe,” continued At-Taubah Al Waħīd with a look of self-righteous ill-concealed pride on her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face, her eyes having a faraway look as she recalled the past events.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ continued watching his wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, but with a sharper eye.
The bile was again threatening to ruin the composed look on his face and the severe constriction was back in his chest.
His analytical technocrat mind had already grasped a lot and was way ahead of the storyline unfolding between bursts of tears and sobs.
“So you became his concubine?” he retorted aloud, remembering one of the terms being lavishly used by the press in describing the fallen General’s married lover.*
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
1: Of my Musalmān friends
The sound of At-Taubah Al Waħīd’s car turning into their driveway in the evening broke the eerie silence prevailing in the Sheikħs residence for the past several hours.
It was followed by the sound of her car door opening and then closing.
A few moments later At-Taubah Al Waħīd walked into the house through the garage door.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” At-Taubah Al Waħīd called out as she busied herself with the task of putting down some shopping bags she had been carrying along with the bag carrying her laptop. “My, my, somebody has been really busy today,” At-Taubah Al Waħīd continued in a light tone as she surveyed the disarrayed scene in the living room.
“Honey, c’mon down and join me in the kitchen. I’m gonna brew up some real hot coffee for both of us,” said At-Taubah Al Waħīd as she made her way to the kitchen.
The fact that her husband hadn’t responded till now didn’t seem to have aroused her curiosity.
“Hey, what do we have here?” Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ heard his wife say.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ looked down through his red rimmed eyes at the photocopied paper Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ held in his now almost numb hands.
Until just recently, they had been trembling uncontrollably.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ gripped the piece of paper in his hands as though his very life depended on it.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had rearranged the parcel contents just as Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had found them, with the letter addressed by his wife’s Hindu lover at the very top.
He knew that’s what she must be looking at this very moment.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ put on his reading glasses and began reading the letter once again, knowing full well that his wife must be doing the same also.
‘My Dearest Pretty Petals,
If you have this letter in your pretty hands and are reading it, then let me tell you, my dear, that never forget you even for a moment.
First things first, please, please, do not worry for me for the same.
I’m an old man in my sixty four.
My Pretty Petals, if it had not been for your loving care and kindness it would have almost impossible for me to fight with the Cuckold Your Musalmān Husband movement.
Don’t argue. I know that is the truth and so do you. You took it in your loving care, comforting me like a beloved.
The warmth of your love and our intimacy worked like a magic potion.
You know, the truth is, I always had a soft spot for you in spite of our age difference.
Whether it was watching you at work or watching you being busy during your children’s birthday party, I always had a strong affection for you.
Perhaps in many ways you reminded me of my younger days when my kids were at home and Saiyadah Fātimah PhD and I had our hands full.
Those special touches and naughty whispers that you girls in the office gossiped and laughed about were really meant for you alone.
I said those things to the other girls just to cover my tracks.
It seemed it worked out okay as whenever you girls in the office would exchange notes my naughtiness would figure high and you all laugh it away as an old man’s senility.
And then after I was left alone in this world, I saw another side of you, a caring and loving side.
Have you ever wondered what the symbol representing womanhood, a full circle with an equilateral cross, signifies?
Well, let me tell you: the circle represents spirit and the cross represents matter.
And you, my dear At-Taubah Al Waħīd, are the epitome of womanhood.
You nurtured this soul giving it a reason for living.
And the physical intimacy that you shared with me?
It was fantastic!
You were always so alive, filled with energy, and naughty tricks.
Even the Playboy girls could learn a thing or two from you.
In short, you are the epitome of womanhood, in spirit, in mind, and definitely in body too.
May Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā fill each minute and second of your life with happiness and good health!
You love children and I hope Eīshān gives you many more of the cuddly young ‘uns.
Well, Pretty Petals, it’s taking quite an effort to pen my eternal gratefulness to you.
Let me come to my main reasons for writing this letter to you.
The first reason you have perhaps already guessed by looking at the stack of photos and CD’s enclosed with this letter in the parcel.
Yes, you guessed right.
These are memories of our togetherness.
I forgive you for this voyeuristic streak in you but you know me so well that perhaps you were already aware of it though you never spoke about it.
Well, I know you had cameras strategically fixed in my office and home.
But rest assured I’ve never shared these memories of our togetherness with anyone, not even with some of the ladies with whom I shared friendship … that too at your behest and you know all about them.
With the feelings of your immense love for me, I could not bear to burn them so I’m sending them to you.
You may please keep them close to your heart forever as I have.
And now for the other reason.
Darling, my lawyers will be shortly getting in touch with you about a cheque for two million dollars made out in your favour.
Remember that trip we took to Miami for two days?
We had sailed out of tMuħammad Jalāl Sheikħ harbour and lived totally nude under the open, blue skies?
That’s one trip I wish I had taken my surveillance camera also.
We snorkelled in the nude then spent the whole lazy afternoon making love on the open deck.
Then we would prepare dinner, get drunk, and then again make love in the living quarters.
Those were great moments we shared together.
You may also remember that on the last day we visited an art gallery and you selected some portraits.
Well, my Pretty Petals, they are now estimated to be worth close to a couple of million dollars and I don’t think I should pass that on to any of my children.
I have instructed my lawyers to get a fair price for them and send the full proceeds over to you.
If you wish, you can send your bank details to my lawyer and he will have them electronically transferred to your bank account.
Well, I think I have said all that I wanted to. My dearest Pretty Petals, I again wish all the very best in life to you.
Forever indebted to you,
The letter slipped out of his lifeless fingers and floated down to rest near his feet.
The letter left very little for one’s imagination.
His wife of over thirty years had had an affair with her Hindu boss, Durgesh, back in Dallas.
And he never even suspected anything was amiss!
An incident came floating back from distant memory.
Durgesh and Saiyadah Fātimah PhD had been quite the party-going types and used to throw parties every now and then.
Like all the parties given before, this too was a grand success.
It was getting late and Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had begun looking around to catch hold of his wife as she had had too much to drink and he didn’t want to have any problems while driving home.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd was not to be seen in the living room and neither was she in the kitchen.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ stepped out onto the patio and stopped short.
His wife was with her Hindu boss, Durgesh, in one dark corner of the patio.
I had my arms around her waist and had pulled her close to myself.
I was leaning close to her and seemed to be whispering into her ear.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd, as far as he could tell, didn’t seem to mind the closeness and had a smile playing upon her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān lips.
Since it was dark and they were a bit far off he couldn’t be sure but it seemed My hips were moving as though I was dry humping his wife!
He didn’t like it one bit.
His foot must have nudged something because, on hearing the sound, I immediately stepped back to a more dignified distance.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ approached us and spoke as though Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ hadn’t noticed anything.
His wife, he noticed, had gone a bit reddish in the face and it certainly had nothing to do with the drinks.
Later, back in the car, he let her know what he thought Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had seen and asked for her confirmation.
Although she didn’t deny anything outright, she brushed away his misgivings by telling him that Durgesh got frisky with just about all the girls, especially after a girl had a couple of drinks.
“With all due respect to Saiyadah Fātimah PhD, one look at her and you’ll understand why he gets so cheeky and grabby at parties” was what his wife had said that night with an impish smile.
Anyway, she assured him that it was something At-Taubah Al Waħīd could handle.
That night they had had great sex and by the next morning, all misgivings had been forgotten by Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ; that is until now.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ remembered Saiyadah Fātimah PhD.
she had always worn her hair short and perhaps in looks was very similar in build and style to the wife of that general who was in the news nowadays for other than battle Victories.
His tenure certainly didn’t see the nailing down of the dreaded terrorists overseas but Durgesh had definitely nailed something much juicier.
Just as I had nailed his wife.
He picked up his smart phone and began thumbing through the pics Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had scanned and loaded on his laptop as well as his mobile.
There were pics of At-Taubah Al Waħīd and I, doing it in the office.
I did have a longer cock and it was much thicker.
He remembered telling his wife rather proudly that Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ had an “athletic cock” to serve her needs, neither very long nor too thick.
They had been to some nudist camps and At-Taubah Al Waħīd had got around to jokingly comparing his with all the others on view.
She did seem to have a happy look back then but now he was not sure if perhaps she had always had a craving for the longer and thicker ones.
Perhaps he would ask her now … not that it mattered much.
Her preferences were obvious in the pictures.
Durgesh invariably had his trousers and boxers off in his office for their quick lunch sessions as discernible from the time shown by the wall clock.
One picture showed Durgesh leaning back on his office chair while Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, played with my thick long Uncut Hindu Prick.
I had my eyes closed while At-Taubah Al Waħīd seemed to be staring with a mesmerised look on her face.
Another picture showed her with her blouse and her bra pushed up to reveal her round, juicy Musalmān boobs with their nipples pointing straight ahead in total arousal.
The next one sickened Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ more.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, was again topless and I seemed to have shot my Hindu cum all over her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ could see my Hindu cum on her ardent Musalmān lips, on her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān boobs, and some even sticking to her hair.
We were both laughing and At-Taubah Al Waħīd seemed to be shaking and squeezing my Uncut Hindu Lund for the last drops of my Hindu cum.
As he tapped on his smart phone’s touch screen to increase the size of the picture, he noticed the date on the table calendar.
It was almost six months after the going away of Saiyadah Fātimah PhD and Kħadījah Muħammad to their parental hometown, Al MakkahbAl Mukarramah, and a year before Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ moved to Houston.
As far as Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ could recollect there were no more parties attended by them at my place but by then I had started an affair with Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
I really didn’t need to party anymore to dry hump Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
For almost one full bloody year At-Taubah Al Waħīd and Durgesh continued fucking each other and Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ didn’t have any inkling whatsoever!
He felt his chest tighten and the bile rising to his mouth.
He was a cuckold just like that doctor in the General’s downfall!*
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ thought,
“What was the General’s wife thinking right now?”
She had been humiliated in pubic eyes by the very man for whose family she had selflessly sacrificed everything.
For over thirty years she had stood like a shadow behind him, encouraging him to take on the toughest of assignments on behalf of the nation, knowing full well the difficulties she and their family would have to endure.
“What was she thinking now?” he repeated to himself, as though the answer to his pain and humiliation lay in her thoughts and actions.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd was in the same age bracket as him and at their age, one looked forward to a simple life after retirement, grandchildren, and watching the sun go down in the west with one’s partner beside him or her.
The last thing to cross one’s mind would be about a cheating spouse and its ramifications, its pain and humiliation.
The General’s wife had selflessly served her family and it showed in her appearance.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd certainly could not give competition to a mother of two young kids who would be basking in the afterglow and beauty that comes along with the delivery of a child.
“And the cuckold, what’s he thinking about? He thought Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ’s wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, was travelling all over the globe to give the final touches to the biography of one of the finest soldiers their nation had produced but now it seems At-Taubah Al Waħīd was also getting nailed by him at different places and locations across the globe.” Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ smiled belatedly at the fact that he was not alone in his hour of deceit and pain.
Before he could contemplate moving to the bathroom, Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ heard soft footsteps approaching his study room.
He wiped away his tears and tried to suppress the urge to vomit.
He may be a cuckold but he was not going to allow his cheating wife to see the humiliation on his face.
He put on his specs and bravely faced the door to his study.
The door swung open silently and At-Taubah Al Waħīd walked in boldly.
There was nothing in her attitude that she was sorry for what she did to Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ.
She stood looking at him silently.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ stared back, trying his very best not to blink or shed a tear.
The bile was still there, somewhere near his mouth.
He could recognise its rancid odour.
He took a deep breath and counted to ten backwards before speaking.
“The parcel was marked to Mrs. M.J. Sheikħ. Unfortunately I overlooked ‘Mrs.’. It was from Dallas so I mistakenly presumed it was for me,” Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ said in as steady a voice as he could muster up.
She had not been crying.
His expectations were wrong.
Her makeup was not even slightly wrecked by the tears that could have made tracks down her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face while her neatly styled hair.
It didn’t wear a dishevelled look as he anticipated as though she had just got up from bed and come directly to the study.
She nodded her head and sat down in the only other chair in the study.
It was across from him and to one side.
He kept looking at his wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
She in turn would glance at him and then go back to staring at the wall over his shoulder as though it contained some vital, hidden hieroglyphics which could help them through their current crisis.
There was nothing on her face that she was repenting or embarrassed even somewhat.
Well, it was the reaction he expected from his friend Durgesh, but never from her.
They both cheated him.
“Durgesh fucks every Musalmān Beauty, every Musalmān houselady that comes in his contact, if she is beautiful. Your wife, At-Taubah Al Waħīd, is extremely beautiful. Don’t let her work for Durgesh.”
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ, the stupid, never thought it possible even.
What should one say to one’s wife of thirty-plus years?
What should a mature man of almost sixty years say to his cheating wife?
They had seen life together, all its surprises and all its ups and downs.
He was old and he was not going to live forever.
That was the Nature’s way of doing things.
The next generation, their grandchildren, had already arrived in this world to continue their lineage long after they were just memories.
So, just how should one confront the grandmother of one’s grandchildren?
How should Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ seek justification for the insult and humiliation heaped upon him?
Why did she kill him without killing him?
“Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ,” At-Taubah Al Waħīd said ultimately sympathetically, “this may sound trite but it’s not what you think …”
As if she hadn’t betrayed him, someone else did instead?
Not what I think?
Eight years back, a mature mid-forty-something married woman cheats on her husband, her family, and her commitments and now says it’s not what I think it is in her defence?
For almost a year!
It was not a one-night stand but had continued for many months.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
1: Of my Musalmān friends
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ gave a grunt of annoyance as he watched the breaking news on the TV about the latest sex scandal involving a top army General and one of his aides, a married lady with two young kids.
The next clipping showed the now disgraced General telling some reporters that it had been a morally incorrect decision on his part.
He was sombre faced and looked a lot thinner than in some of the pictures shown earlier with his aide, now also known to be his mistress.
“Funny how they all wring their hands and say some sorry remarks AFTER they have been caught,” Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ said to his wife of over thirty years.
He glanced at At-Taubah Al Waħīd as Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ said that.
They were in their living room catching up with the news after dinner like they had always done for the past so many years.
They had made this a habit of theirs so that they could share some quiet time together, especially during the years their children were growing up and free time or “us” time was a commodity in real short supply.
Now both their children, Jamīl Jalāl Sheikħ and Kulsūm Jalāl Sheikħ, were adults and had their own families.
Jamīl Jalāl Sheikħ was 30 and an electrical engineer.
He had married his childhood sweetheart a few years ago and they had a three-year-old daughter.
Kulsūm Jalāl Sheikħ, at 28, was the younger one and had married a Hindu she met in her office.
They had a two-year-old son.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ himself was 59 years of age and At-Taubah Al Waħīd was a couple of years younger than him.
She was and always had been a fitness freak and that showed in her well-toned 5’8” body with big juicy-mama boobs and a derriere that still made heads turn.
No doubt the effects of gravity and age were discernible, but they were only just discernible.
Her brown hair had that just-right tinge of white streaks in it which went well with her green eyes and cheerful face and, as far as Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ was concerned, his wife was one hot mama and grandma.
Just a glance at his wife sitting next to him began a stirring in his loins.
He may be a year short of sixty but long walks on a daily basis along with At-Taubah Al Waħīd and power yoga helped in keeping his equipment going strong and steady.
Some of his colleagues were already having high BP, high sugar levels and related issues.
He was lucky.
At six feet, with silver grey hair and blue eyes, he looked more like a successful CEO than a retired technocrat.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ looked fondly at At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
Her favourite serial was coming up next and Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ shifted closer to her.
He placed his right hand on her thigh.
He knew her well.
A bit of foreplay in the midst of her favourite serial never failed to turn her on.
He could get lucky tonight.
“I suppose like any other two adults in an affair by mutual consensus, they never thought they would get caught one day,” she replied with a toss of her neatly coiffed brown hair, her green eyes fixed intently on the telly screen.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ turned back to watch the news.
A retired war veteran was now on the screen telling the world how difficult these constant foreign postings were.
The men would be away from their families for months in a row and, well, men would be men.
He then went on to say that the General in the dock for putting his pecker in the wrong hole had been to six foreign postings in the last ten years.
His manner and style of presentation left the listener in no doubt that the concerned lady aide of his, who was also married like he was, had been his only source of entertainment at an otherwise tough and cold frontier.
“Do you think the absence of the near and dear ones and the resultant loss of companionship can be considered to be a genuine and forgivable reason for adultery?” asked Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ .*
He was not sure but for a moment his wife’s body seemed to have tensed up and then relaxed.
He had been gently stroking her thigh and he was sure his palm had felt that sudden tensing but he could not really be sure why.
She was silent for a minute or two as though considering her thoughts and then she replied,
“We live in a society where gay marriages are no longer frowned upon, couples are in open marriages, live-in relationships are not even worth talking ’bout … in short, it would depend upon the individuals concerned. It would be wrong for anybody else, including us, to pass opinions on matters that are essentially personal in nature. ”
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ digested his wife’s reply.
It seemed a bit hazy, answering but then not really answering what he had asked.
By “individuals” had she meant the man and woman involved in the affair alone or perhaps also about their respective relationship with their spouse or partner also?
Did she mean that it was okay to cheat if the couple were in an unhappy relationship with their respective partners and craved the companionship of the opposite sex?
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ ‘s mind didn’t get any more time to ponder his wife’s reply as At-Taubah Al Waħīd shifted her position at that time and her legs opened up invitingly.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ wasted no time in moving his caressing fingers closer to her womanly treasure.
His hands grazed his wife’s panties and he felt the heat emanating from her core.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd’s serial was now playing on the TV and she was completely engrossed in the unfolding story.
With his hand playing over her panties, Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ took her juicy left boob in his mouth from over her flimsy nightie and began sucking upon it.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd responded by pulling his face into her breast and running her fingers through his hair.
This took him by surprise as she normally reached this level of arousal only towards the end of her favourite serial.
Her love tunnel had also attained a level of arousal that made sure her panties were soaking wet.
He pushed aside the fabric and began running his fingers up and down her vaginal opening.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd let out a low moan even as her eyes continued to remain fixed on the screen.
Her hand travelled down and into his boxer shorts.
She wrapped her fingers around his hardening shaft and began to gently stroke him.
She began pumping his shaft in tandem with his fingers moving in and out of her wet tunnel.
They continued with their foreplay for some more minutes till At-Taubah Al Waħīd breathed out her wish.
“Take me, Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ , take me now,” she whispered, breathing highly irregularly.
Now Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ was completely surprised.
It would be the first time they would be doing it on the sitting couch even before the serial came anywhere near to a close for the evening but he wasn’t complaining.
He quickly stepped out of his clothes and then watched At-Taubah Al Waħīd as she adjusted herself and stuck her ass up in the air, her nightie pulled up and around her waist.
By now the serial was all but forgotten.
For some moments Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ stood behind his wife, stroking his lengthening cock as he admired her smooth, round ass.
Her vaginal lips were parted and he could see the inner pink lips.
His cock had stretched out to its complete six-and-a-half inches; it was long and on the thinner side, the circumcised head a bright tomato red.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ moved closer and lovingly ran his palms over his wife’s buttock cheeks, caressing them, admiring them.
He then began running his tongue up and down her ass crack, leaving a trial of wet saliva.
“Ohhh …” moaned At-Taubah Al Waħīd as her womanly scent filled up the room.
Her eyes were closed tight and her mouth was half open as she enjoyed the sexual sensations building up inside her.
Finally, Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ stood behind his wife and began rubbing his knob up and down At-Taubah Al Waħīd’s wet slit.
“Aahhh … yes! Yes, put it in, Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ. I need you” she moaned out softly, knowing fully well that the real fun was just about to begin.*
The next morning Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ left early for his old firm’s office.
A couple of years earlier he had resigned from his post of Vice President.
His company really didn’t want him to go.
He had been with them for over twenty years, beginning as a site engineer and gradually making his way up the hierarchy.
But Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ was adamant.
He had discussed the issue with At-Taubah Al Waħīd before taking it up with his company.
With their children taking up jobs and starting families, the two felt they needed more “my time” for meeting their extending families more often.
In a couple of years At-Taubah Al Waħīd would also be putting in her papers.
They finally agreed that he would continue to be associated with them as a consultant.
The idea appealed to Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ as he could continue to be in touch with the construction industry while his old company would benefit from his vast experience.
As per understanding, Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ would visit the office two to three times a week unless something important came up.
This gave him ample free time to pursue his hobbies, namely golf.
On the other hand, At-Taubah Al Waħīd held a senior post in the accounts department of a company having a chain of retail shops across the state.
She had been with them for the past ten years, ever since they relocated from Dallas to Houston when he had been promoted and had to move over to the head office.
In fact, it was the hard work put in by her in her previous firm in Dallas and the glowing letter of appreciation given by her old boss Durgesh that had helped her get the new job.
I had been well acquainted with the owners of the retail chain and when they had decided to move over to Houston.
In fact the owners were Cuckold Your Musalmān Husband Movement.
Despite my constant criticism of them, they wanted to keep me on their side.
When I got in touch with them they agreed to help At-Taubah Al Waħīd.
She got the job.
The two were grateful to me for that.
Back in Dallas, At-Taubah Al Waħīd had joined one of my companies as soon as Kulsūm Jalāl Sheikħ was old enough to go to school and had been there from that time until their move to Houston, almost fourteen years.
The decision to move to Houston had not been much of a problem as by then, both the children had finished school and gone off to college.
Given her long association with his company,
I went the extra mile in ensuring she got the job.
There were times when Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ would fondly recollect their years spent in Dallas.
Both their kids had been born and raised there and sometimes he wished they had settled there after retirement but At-Taubah Al Waħīd had not been keen.
As she reasoned, they were closer to their kids and grandchildren from Houston and that mattered more than the nostalgic memories of the past.
Better to live in the present than the past had been her line of reasoning.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ didn’t see any reason to argue with that and with the consultancy offer, it didn’t seem to be a bad choice at all.*
That evening there were some more updates in the prime time news about the fallen Hindu General and his Musalmān mistress.
Looking at the frantic media coverage the affair was getting, it seemed as though this was the next best thing to have happened for the press industry since the sad and tragic events surrounding Lady Diana’s demise.
According to the newsreader, the woman involved had told her friends that she regretted the damage done to her family and others by her affair.
“You know what?” said Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ to his wife as she handed him his glass of wine. “She says she regrets the hurt she has caused her family but she has nowhere mentioned that she’s sorry for the affair. How can a woman … or for that matter a man … be so ambitious and totally focused upon climbing the corporate ladder? Did it never once cross her mind that she was being deceitful and breaking the trust bestowed upon her by her husband?”
“Hey, I don’t agree with you.How can you be so sure that this affair was all about ambition and glamour?” replied At-Taubah Al Waħīd softly as she sipped her wine.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ was taken aback by the reply.
He looked sharply at his wife who continued to stare at the TV screen.
“That lady out there is not a twenty something immature girl but a fully mature forty-year-old Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān woman! You mean she deliberately and consciously made the decision to step out of her marriage? Are you saying that she developed feelings which should have been reserved for her husband and ventured headlong into a steamy affair ignoring even her children and the repercussions it could have on their future upbringing?” asked Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ incredulously.*
By now the news channel was showing some old clippings where the woman could be seen doing push-ups along with the person interviewing her.
It had been taken around the time the mistress had released a book about her Hindu lover, written by her.
It was the Hindu General’s biography.
Of course, at that time the world didn’t know that the General and the writer were also sleeping together when not discussing the book.
“Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ , women and men don’t think alike. Try and understand what I’m trying to say. If one were to ask women their most cherished moment, most of them will tell you about a picnic outing incident or coffee at a bistro one rainy afternoon, but the guy involved would most probably recount the various positions they had sex in AFTER returning home from the bistro.”
For some moments neither spoke as Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ tried to understand the point his wife was trying to make.
Then At-Taubah Al Waħīd continued,
“During the time the Musalmān lady was drafting the biography, the two of them were thrown together for many months, if not years, and most probably gradually developed a mutual bond of sorts, a coming together of two minds.”
“And bodies too,” replied Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ testily.
It seemed as though his wife was condoning the actions of the erring couple.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd pressed her lips together on hearing her moralist Musalmān husband’s outburst and continued to gaze steadily at the TV screen.
“That Hindu is old enough to play grandfather to her young kids. At least he should have shown the maturity … which our leaders thought he had before assigning him those important foreign postings … for ensuring that the mutual infatuation did not cross any unreasonable limits,” continued Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ in a tone he normally reserved for lecturing his juniors.
“Ah! If only one’s heart could think and behave rationally like one’s mind. It was an affair of the heart, fully consummated by the two,” At-Taubah Al Waħīd whispered.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ was flabbergasted.
He could not believe what he had just heard his wife say.
The way At-Taubah Al Waħīd was going on was as if this was another episode of one of her tear-jerker soap operas.
“For the sake of her family and young children, if nothing else, I hope her husband thinks of her betrayal in the same way as you do,” he replied testily.
There it was once again.
He was sure he felt her muscles tense up on hearing him say that.
At-Taubah Al Waħīd was sitting a bit straighter too.
Perhaps Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ should not have sounded as harsh as he did, thought Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ .
It seemed they had unconsciously taken sides here.
He had sided with the betrayed Musalmān guy while his wife had sided with the adulterous Musalmān woman.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ picked up the remote and changed channels.*
The next few days Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ really didn’t get time to follow up on the affair of the fallen Hindu General and his married Musalmān mistress.
He and At-Taubah Al Waħīd were expecting their children and grandchildren over for Thanksgiving and At-Taubah Al Waħīd had given him a long list of things to do.
There were items to be purchased for the little ones who were, it seems, in constant touch with their grandmother through their parents’ mobile numbers.
Then there was the precious chinaware to be safely put aside in the attic.
The idea was to give their grandchildren enough open space to run around freely without crashing into something expensive.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ got so involved in his chores that he decided to forgo his golfing session.
Little did he know that his decision would change his life forever.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ spent the whole day wrapping up the expensive dinner set items in soft cloths and old newspapers and then putting them in cardboard boxes which were then hauled up to the attic.
That done, he began moving some of the other fragile living room items to the garage.
He didn’t hear the doorbell ring the first time as he had been busy putting things in place in the garage.
By the time he re-entered the main house, the guy from the courier service was more or less keeping his finger continuously pressed to the bell.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ glanced around quickly before making way to the front door.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ still had a lot of things to complete.
“You the Sheikħs?” asked the courier boy nonchalantly, as he obviously shifted his chewing gum from one side of his mouth to another. “Parcel for you,” he continued in the same breath as he held out a paper for Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ to sign.
“These kids of today just have no manners,” grumbled Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ as Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ slammed the door shut.
He put the box on the kitchen table at the same time as looking to see who the sender was. It bore his name,
“M.J. Sheikħ,” and was from a legal firm in Dallas.
The fact that it was sent by somebody from their old town raised his curiosity.
Perhaps, had he not been so preoccupied, he would have noticed that the name ” M.J. Sheikħ ” had the prefix ‘Mrs.’ Too that stood for “At-Taubah Al Waħīd”, instead of Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ.
Perhaps he would have then let At-Taubah Al Waħīd open up the parcel after she had returned from work.
But things didn’t happen that way.
His Bhogyantrānk had gone down more now.
Muħammad Jalāl Sheikħ picked up a kitchen knife and slit open the packing tape.
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