The Stunning Musalmān Houseladies: 1-Of my Musalmān friends-6

The Stunning Musalmān Houseladies

1: Of my Musalmān friends

Indro nirjyotishā tamso gā aduxat


Previous  Chapters

Chapter 6

Durgesh Ħamīdah Sheikħ

Durgesh Åādilah Sheikħ

Durgesh Nādirah Sheikħ

Ħamīdah Sheikħ gasped, as her aunt took her in her arms, shielding her nakedness from me with her own magnificent female Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān body.

“What do you mean?”

“Did your Hindu lover rape you?”

“No, Durgesh  didn’t rape me,” Ħamīdah Sheikħ said, “In fact, if anybody got raped, it was Durgesh. I started the whole thing and I don’t regret a single second of it. Kħālājān, Durgesh isn’t a scoundrel, neither most of the Hindus are. In fact, our mankind, Musalmīn term them scoundrels.”

“What? What did you say?” Åādilah Sheikħ groaned, holding Ħamīdah Sheikħ by her shoulders threatening to shake her at any Moment. “You mean that you…you mean…you wanted…you mean that Durgesh  didn’t… Allah, yā Allah! Oh my God…child. Why?”

“Well, it should be obvious to you. My Hindu lover doesn’t think of me as a ‘CHILD’,” Ħamīdah Sheikħ  blurted out angrily. “And I find Ħamīdah Sheikħ’s Supreme Experienced Hindu lover, Durgesh darling, méré Hindu Piyā, Hindu  Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt, hum Musalmān ħasīnāon ké Hindu Kħasam, Hindu  husband of us Musalmān Beauties! Simply irresistible. Most of the Hindus are to us sex starved love starved status and respect starved Musalmān Beauties.”

“Yes, you said so.” Åādilah Sheikħ smiled gravely to Ħamīdah Sheikħ.

She couldn’t understand herself how to deal with this peculiar situation.

She had come here to make love to me.

She thought it was the best time.

Åādilah Sheikħ didn’t know Ħamīdah Sheikħ also thought the same.

It was the second time, rather third, Åādilah Sheikħ lost her Hindu love Durgesh to some another Musalmān Beauty.

First, it was Nādirah Sheikħ, Raħmān Sheikħ’s sister.

The second time it was her own sister Jalīs Sheikħ.*

I was just going to hang out loaf around at the house with my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, and Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ. And Nādirah Sheikħ, of course, but I didn’t expect to spend too much time with her as we’d never really been that close before.

So where is all this leading, you might ask?

Well, to my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s sister, Nādirah Sheikħ, yes: Nādirah Sheikħ, I guess.

Nādirah Sheikħ had just graduated from University and Nādirah Sheikħ’s parents had promised her, a vacation to Hawaii if she graduated with higher than a 3.5 GPA.

What would have been a dream vacation for an eighteen-year-old girl just out of University had turned into a bit of a bust for her, I suppose when Nādirah Sheikħ’s parents had found out I was coming home around the same time.

When they heard that, they had decided to join Nādirah Sheikħ on the vacation and had invited me along as sort of a welcome back home present.

I can’t say as I would have been surprised if Nādirah Sheikħ  might have been a little resentful.

I was really looking forward to the trip.

It had been twelve months since I had seen a Musalmān Beauty  dressed in anything less than a burqa.

As you probably know, the Musalmān Beauties in Afghanistan were hardly up to date with the latest fashions.

It had been so long since I’d seen a female without a burqa on, I’d almost forgotten what they looked like underneath the damned things.

And now I was drooling at the thought of all of the bikini-clad Musalmān dolls running around on the beaches in Hawaii.

I couldn’t wait.

Well, back to My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s sister, Nādirah Sheikħ.

When I’d left, some five years ago, Nādirah Sheikħ had been a gangly, knob-kneed, flat-chested thirteen year old.

During the past five years the only time we’d seen each other was at Eīdul Fitr time when I came home for a visit.

I had noted changes in her looks and saw the potential, but I didn’t know what to expect this time since I hadn’t seen her for two years.

We had traded letters over the years and I had enjoyed her letters.

Somewhat romantic?

Well, what the hell another reason for which Nādirah Sheikħ would write me letters?

She was fed of bearded dirty giant fellow Musalmīn.

She wanted masculine love from a handsome intelligent smart Hindu.

And Nādirah Sheikħ was not alone that wanted it.

All the rest of her eleven elder sisters were already enjoying sex with me.

It didn’t make any difference that they were already married with different Mullahs, Maulavīs and other ardent Panjvaqtah Namāzī backward Musalmīn.

You could see Nādirah Sheikħ’s nature in the letters as they had first started out babbling about her infatuations with every new and rising teen star in Hollywood, but gradually that had changed and she had focused most of her adoration on the Indian Mega Star Amitabh Bachchan.

She’d even sent me a picture of the same.

There for a year or so, her letters were almost exclusively devoted to the guy, but then about six months ago, the mention of his name abruptly stopped.

I just assumed that they had broken up over something.

After paying the cabbie, I grabbed my duffel and slung it over my shoulder.

Shuffling up the front walk, I saw that little had changed in the neighborhood.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw old Mr. Naåīmuddīn across the street waving at me.

Smiling I waved back and stopped in front of the door.

It was odd the way the people got behind the servicemen now days as compared to back.

Old Mr. Naåīmuddīn’d been in ‘Nam and told me about the way he got treated when he got back home.

Plopping my duffel down beside the front door, I rang the doorbell and stood waiting for someone to answer it.

It felt a little strange ringing the doorbell instead of just charging in, but I’d been gone so long, I felt more like a stranger than part of the family.

Suddenly the door came swinging open and I found myself face to face with a stunningly-beautiful young Musalmān Beauty in a bikini.

My mind did a sudden flip-flop.

The only thing I could think was who was this beautiful girl?

Could she be Nādirah Sheikħ?

And if so, where had those breasts come from?

They certainly hadn’t been there the last time I saw her.

“Durgesh—” I heard the girl exclaim as she stepped out, wrapped her arms around me and hugged me so hard I thought that she was going to break a couple of ribs.

“Nādirah Sheikħ?” I muttered when I was finally able to regain my senses and hug her back.

I was stunned as we stood on the front steps hugging.

Now like I said earlier, it had been twelve months since I’d been in the company of a Musalmān girl, or Musalmān Beauty for that matter, and to suddenly have a stunning Musalmān Beauty with a rather large pair of soft, pillowy Musalmān breasts hugging me had a profound and telling effect on me.

Finally, Nādirah Sheikħ let go and stepped back away from me.

“Welcome home, Durgesh . . .” she grinned not seeming to be the least bit concerned by my gawking Hindu stare as I slowly ran my eyes up and down her scantily-clad young adult Musalmān body.

“Wow, Nādirah Sheikħ,” I muttered. “Uh, you’ve really filled out, and in all the right places, too, if I might add.”

“You think so?” she smiled, slowly pirouetting around on a toe and giving me a view of her exceptional, almost-naked backside, too.

As she did, I saw that she had a cute, perky Musalmān ass to go with her spectacular rack.

Then when she finished her turn, my eyes which had been on her brushed across the little, red triangle covering tip of her belly.

The little swath of red was so tiny she apparently had a trimmed muff . . . or no muff at all.

Yeah, I know, for some over morals, I’m a cad for thinking of My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ, like that, but a year—

“I know so,” I told her as I smiled and lifted my eyes back up to her twinkling, blue eyes when she finished turning and was facing me again.

I couldn’t stop myself and I let my eyes stray across her Musalmān breasts again.

I don’t know why I was surprised by the size of her Musalmān breasts as it seemed only natural that she would take after my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī.

My My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, had always been a big-chested Musalmān Beauty and had a pair of Musalmān breasts that were even larger than Nādirah Sheikħ’s.

I don’t know what had gotten into me thinking about Raħmān Sheikħ’s mother and Sister like this, but I imagined their extraordinary outstanding stunning dazzling Musalmān beauty probably had something to do with it.

“Come on, Ammī and her girlfriends are out back by the pool,” she giggled, grabbing my hand and tugging me in that direction.

“Just a second—” I told her pulling my hand out of hers and grabbing up my duffel bag.

Tossing it on the floor by the front door, I pushed the door shut and grabbed Nādirah Sheikħ’s hand in mine.

“Let’s go.”

It was such a strange feeling as I followed along behind my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ, watching her cute, little Musalmān ass bobble and ripple while she stepped along.

A part of my mind still pictured Nādirah Sheikħ as the skinny, gangly, knob-kneed, flat-chested thirteen year old I had left behind when I departed for the service, but that definitely wasn’t the case anymore.

It almost seemed like this beautiful young Musalmān Beauty wasn’t my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ, but some other Musalmān Beauty who had mysteriously showed up at our house and took Nādirah Sheikħ’s place.

“I’m so glad you’re back, safe and sound, Durgesh. We used to see all those other guys coming home with all sorts of injuries on the news every night,” Nādirah Sheikħ bubbled as we stepped out onto the patio and into the bright, afternoon sunlight.

“Durgesh—” I heard My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, squeal from across the patio as she threw herself out of the chaise lounge she had been lying in and came bobbling and bouncing across the patio toward me.

Despite myself, I couldn’t help ogling her barely-clad Musalmān breasts as they heaved and floundered down inside the tiny cups of her skimpy bikini.

They looked like they were going to flop out of the bikini at any second.

“MY FRIEND, RAĦMĀN SHEIKĦ’S AMMĪ, RIZWĀNAH HĀSHMĪ,—” I cried out, throwing out my arms to catch her when she came crashing against me.

I knew, some over moral persons think I should feel guilty for gawking at My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī’s and My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ’s Musalmān breasts, but what in the hell was I supposed to do?

They were too beautiful and I was a hyper sexual after all.

I couldn’t ignore extremely attractive Musalmān Beauties.

And why should have I?

They themselves were not treating me as their son or brother.

What do these over moral idiots mean?

They could seduce me as much as they damn pleased and I couldn’t even respond to their ever evident ever aggressive advances too?

Well, I can’t act that impotent.

I can’t succumb to female dominance on me ever.

Let the over moral damn fools do it as much as they want to.

The ever unjust Western culture couldn’t make its mankind competent enough to face the cultural aggressiveness of Feminism.

Basically being a Business Culture, the Western Culture demanded every adjustment to the revolution of Feminism from its mankind only.

It didn’t want any adjustment from its womankind too.

Having two pair of the stunning, spectacular things on display right in front of me, I couldn’t stop myself.

It felt wonderful, I groveled as I hugged my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, and felt her warm, soft Musalmān breasts pressed against my Hindu chest.

I never forget how good that feels.

Finally, my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, let go of me and stepped back as Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ stepped up and thrust his hand out at me.

Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ, Hank and I had never been ones to openly show much emotion and so a good, firm handshake was just about as far as it got with us.

“Glad to have you back home, Durgesh—” he declared, squeezing my hand so hard I was afraid he was going to break a couple of fingers. “What can I get you from the bar?”

“Uh, any juice only, you know me better, Abbū.” I grinned.

“So tell us how it was?” My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, said, pulling me over to the chair sitting beside her chaise lounge and indicating that I was to sit.

“Not pleasant—” I told her, watching Nādirah Sheikħ as she pulled a chair up beside mine while Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ went about making our drinks.

We spent the next twenty minutes or so talking about Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iraq and the terrible mess George had gotten us into.

Finally, tiring of talking about the war, I decided it was time to change subjects and move onto something a little less unsettling for me.

“So, how have things been back here on the home front?” I asked leaning back and sneaking a peek at My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ’s scantily-clad Musalmān breasts when she Momentarily looked away.

“Not much going on back here,” Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ told me. “Things down at the plant are running so smooth, I’m thinking about selling the business and retiring. Hell, they don’t need me down there anymore.”

“What’cha gonna do when you retire?” I asked as I was conspicuously aware of my ever incurable Hindu hard on for the extremely beautiful stunning Musalmān houseladies of my friend Raħmān Sheikħ, down inside my pants.

I never felt any wrong in it.

Well, I couldn’t stop my natural reaction to those dazzling Musalmān Beauties.

And why should I?

Only because they were my friend’s houseladies?

Then why the hell they were seducing me so stubbornly?

If it was wrong for me to react in such a manner to ther nonstop seduction of me, how it was good for them to seduce me constantly?

Hum aah bhī bharté hain to ho jāté hain badnām,

Voh qatl bhī karté hain to charchā nahīn hotā.’


They were seducing me.

And I was only honouring their seduction by having such a hard on.

If it was wrong even, it was wrong on their part, not on mine.


To hell with the over ethical ones who still disagree with me.

Moreover, I know the secret of their over ethics.

Most of them are the bloody losers.

They never have any seduction from fair sex for them.

Naturally they are jealous of me.

I sympathize with them.

But sorry, I expressly decline to join the losers’ society.

I’m proud of my ever victory on fair sex.

And I’d always be.

Oh, maybe I’d had fantasized about My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, back when puberty had first reared its ugly head, but I’d never done anything about it except for sneaking around trying to see her Musalmān breasts, her excellent exquisite outstanding Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Pussy.

And sneaking through her drawers.

But, hell, who is the man that didn’t do that ever?

Why the hypocrisy?

Shouldn’t everyone despise hypocrisy?

And besides My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī’s boobs were MUSALMĀN BREASTS among Musalmān breasts.

They were extraordinary.

My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, certainly hadn’t been shy about showing them off, either.

She seemed to be wearing a bikini all the time, and the bikinis she wore didn’t leave much to the imagination of a poor, hormone-driven hyper sexual man like me.

The bikini she was wearing today was of the same ilk and unfortunately, it had the same effect on me as it had back.

She might as well have been naked!

And the ever jealous over ethical ones are blaming me!

Damn the scoundrels.

“Your Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, and I thought we’d do a little traveling. Get to see some of the rest of the good old U. S. or A,” Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ laughed.

“That’ll be cool. Uh, ya’ll mind if I wash up?” I asked, pushing up out of my chair, trying not to make the big bulge in the front of my pants any more conspicuous than it already was. “It’s been a long day.”

“No, go ahead. Our reservations at The Kħātūn-e-Jannat aren’t until seven o’clock. You have plenty of time,” My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, said, setting her drink down and making her magnificent Musalmān breasts heave down inside the tiny top of her bikini as she reached out and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “We’re glad you’re back, Durgesh . . .”

I somehow managed to make it out of the chair and went hurrying back to the living room where I gathered up my duffel and then plodded down to my room.

They hadn’t changed a thing in my room.

They still loved me even more than their own son, Raħmān Sheikħ.

The reason was simple.

Raħmān Sheikħ never did as much for them as I did.

Both Rizwānah Hāshmī and Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ were closer to me always than they were close to Raħmān Sheikħ even.

Raħmān Sheikħ took his relationship with them for granted always; I never did this ever suicidal mistake.

It looked like I had just walked out of it yesterday instead of five years ago, except that now it was neat and tidy without clothes and all sorts of other crap strewn around everywhere like I used to leave it.

Tossing my duffel bag down beside the bed, I toed off my loafers and pulled my tee shirt up over my head.

Tossing my shirt on the bed, I flopped down beside it.

Reaching down, I unbuttoned my pants, unzipped them and dragged out my Uncut Hindu Lund.

As I began to watch it proudly, I let my mind play back over My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, and Nādirah Sheikħ and the way they had looked out by the pool this afternoon in their teeny, tiny bikinis.

I couldn’t believe how much Nādirah Sheikħ had changed.

Hell, if I’d just met her walking down the street I don’t know if I’d recognized her.

And since she had been wearing a bikini, I’d gotten to see almost all of her newly-acquired Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān assets.

Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā!

What the Assalāt does to a Musalmān Beauty.

The same what Stavan does to a Hindu.

Isn’t it?

I guessed that she was around five foot eight or nine barefooted.

Her long reddish-blond hair hung down to just below her shoulders stopping at the tops of her spectacular Musalmān breasts.

She had a pretty face with big blue eyes and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her cute, upturned nose.

But my mind’s eye kept coming back to her Musalmān breasts.

Her areolas had been covered by the tiny bikini top, but her jutting nipples had been plainly discernible under the thin cloth.

She was definitely cheerleader material with her tiny Musalmān waist, big Musalmān buttocks and long, svelte legs.

The bikini she had been wearing was so tiny, there couldn’t be much pubic hair underneath it or I would have seen it.

Did she trim it, or did she shave it all off?

And since my my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, seemed to always be wearing a bikini too, maybe she shaved hers too.

I knew I was sexy for thinking such thoughts, but the idea of my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, and Sister both shaving their Panjvaqtah Namāzī excellent exquisite ardent Musalmān Choots was incredibly evocative.

What they would look like, I wondered as my hand squeezed my Uncut Hindu Lund.

I needed to fuck someone now or I’d have a fucking hard on all night long.

And while I was sitting there at The Kħātūn-e-Jannat with My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, Nādirah Sheikħ  and Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ , I’d probably be wondering what My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, and Nādirah Sheikħ  were wearing under their dresses and that would just make things worse.

It would be undignified if either of them found out what I was thinking and realized what a hyper sexual I was.

Keeping the picture of Raħmān Sheikħ’s beautiful Sister in my mind, I let my sexual thoughts run wild.

I pictured Nādirah Sheikħ lying on her bed, naked.

She had her hand down between her long, curvaceous Musalmān legs that were spread out to reveal the wet, succulent Panjvaqtah Namāzī excellent exquisite ardent Musalmān Choot between them.

She had one finger extended out from her hand and she was rubbing it back and forth across the swollen nub of her ravenous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān clit.

I could see that the small, wet lips of her excellent exquisite outstanding Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Pussy were spread open and glistening wetly in the bright afternoon sunlight.

What she was thinking about, I sexually wondered.

Was she thinking about her Hindu boyfriend if she had someone?

Or maybe Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ, her ageing Abbū?

Or me?

Why not?

Most of the Musalmān dream girls now themselves dream of me.

I’m myself so famous, or infamous (?), among them.

My Musalmān Beauties have spread the virtues of my abnormal sexual prowess widely.

What was I thinking?

Maybe Nādirah Sheikħ couldn’t be as sick and twisted.

I was crazy for even thinking about such a thing.

But I couldn’t stop myself and the thought of My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ, and I doing it was so, so—oh shit, that did it as I felt my Uncut Hindu Lund lurch in my hand.

Squeezing my dick to keep it from shooting cum all over the place, I grabbed my tee and covered my Uncut Hindu Lund.

Then I stopped squeezing.

I wonder how a Musalmān Beauty feels when she comes.

It must not feel as good as it does for us guys or they’d spread their legs every time a guy came within fucking distance.

Wearing a suit and tie, I went skipping down the stairs to make myself a juice before we headed out for The Kħātūn-e-Jannat.

About half way down the stairs, I saw that My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, Nādirah Sheikħ and Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ  were all sitting at the bar, apparently waiting for me.

They were all dressed in nines, too and I couldn’t believe how sexy Nādirah Sheikħ looked.

Gawking at her, I stumbled and nearly fell before I caught myself.

“Careful there, don’t want you falling and breaking your neck,” I heard Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ laugh, as I stumbled the rest of the way down the stairs.

“Yeah,” I muttered, feeling more than a little self-conscious.

Both My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, and Nādirah Sheikħ were wearing short, low-cut dresses that displayed their over-sized bosoms for all to see.

It was going to be a long night, I told myself trying to keep my eyes off all of the bare, exposed Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān tit-flesh hanging out right in front of me.

“Here, time for one juice before we head out,” Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ told me handing me a glass of juice.

“Uh, thanks,” I grinned, taking the glass from him.

“You look spiffy all dressed up in your suit and tie,” My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, smiled at me as she ran her eyes up and down me. “You ought to wear them more often.”

“Too much like a uniform. Get kind of tired wearing a uniform all the time,” I grinned back at her.

“I guess I would, too,” she told me, turning to face Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ and giving me a chance to ogle her spectacular rack one more time.

“Did you have to wear a uniform all the time over in Afghanistan?” I heard Nādirah Sheikħ  ask me as I turned to face her and saw that she had a knowing smile on her pretty Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān face.

She must have seen me eyeballing My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī’s tits, I smilingly told myself as I felt a warm feeling spread out across my cheeks.

“Uh, yeah,” I said and couldn’t help but notice when Nādirah Sheikħ seemed to thrust out her Musalmān breasts out a little.

What was going on?

Neither Musalmān Beauty seemed the least bit concerned that I was taking peeks at their Musalmān breasts every chance I got.

In fact, if anything, it almost seemed like a contest between the two of them who would seduce me more impertinently, yet sophisticatedly even then.

A contest to see just who could show off the most cleavage to me.

“Is it true that all the Musalmān Beauties in Afghanistan have to wear burqas?” Nādirah Sheikħ asked me, slowly spinning on her bar stool until she was facing me and giving me an unobstructed view of both of her partially-concealed, breath-taking ever erect Musalmān boobs.

“Yeah, just about all of them,” I told her, unable to keep my eyes from sweeping across the vista of bare, quivering Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān flesh in front of me.

“What would they do if they caught me dressed like this over in Afghanistan?” she teased, thrusting her big breath-taking ever erect Musalmān boobs out even further.

“I’d be careful about that,” I invitingly joked. “The Afghanie men are especially fond of lopping things off as punishment and they might get carried away.”

“Durgesh—” My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, scolded.

“Really?” Nādirah Sheikħ laughed, seemingly amused by my aggressiveness.

“Well, are you two ready to head out?” I heard Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ ask.

“Uh, yeah, let’s do it,” I grinned, offering my arm to My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ.

As Nādirah Sheikħ and I walked across the room behind My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, and Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ, I couldn’t help but admire the way My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī’s round, firm Musalmān ass quivered and rippled under her tight, short dress.

Then I felt Nādirah Sheikħ’s hip brush against mine.

It almost seemed like she was flirting with me as I felt another bump and then another.

Was Nādirah Sheikħ still contesting with her Ammī to keep my masculine attention to herself ?

I was confused.

Nādirah Sheikħ coming onto me?

It couldn’t really be happening.

It had to be all a figment of my overactive, hyper sexual mind.

Feeling proud, I looked over at her looking for some sign as to what was going on while I held the door open for her and let her step out into the garage.

I couldn’t decipher her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān feelings through the look on her face as she looked back at me and smiled, but I thought I could detect amusement in her smile.

Was she just teasing me?

She must know how horny I was.

Twelve months in that hellhole called Afghanistan and fucking sex starved Musalmān Beauties almost 24x7x365.

She was tempting fate if she didn’t think I would do anything about it.

Watching her cute, excellent, exquisite, firm, round, spectacular, big buttocked Musalmān ass twitching back and forth as she clacked across the garage, I followed her over to the car and opened the back door for her.

I heard the door on the other side of the car chunk shut as Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ closed it behind My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ start back around the front of the car as Nādirah Sheikħ sat down on the seat and bent her long legs to swing them into the car.

As she did, her short skirt rode up her cute, excellent, exquisite, firm, round, spectacular, smooth Musalmān thighs, up past the tops of her black hose to reveal the long, elastic garters holding the nylon up.

A shiver of excitement spasmed through my Uncut Hindu Lund as her spectacular,  smooth Musalmān legs Momentarily parted, just for a second but just long enough to give me a glimpse of smooth, fleshy pink down between them.

My smart Hindu  brain was reeling as I watched Nādirah Sheikħ pull her long legs into the car behind the back seat.

She wasn’t wearing any fucking panties.

Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā!

Was the show especially for me?



Is it her offer?

Well, why couldn’t it be?

My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ, wasn’t wearing any panties!

What the fuck was going on?

But I’d been right about one thing.

She did shave.

Her little excellent exquisite outstanding Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Pussy was as smooth and hairless as a newborn’s Musalmān ass.

As I closed the door behind her, I saw that Nādirah Sheikħ was smiling at me.

That had been on purpose I told myself.

My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ, had just flashed her sweet, little excellent exquisite outstanding Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Pussy at me.

My brain was scrutinizing.

My night was hopeful.

I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else all night but My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ’s naked, hot Panjvaqtah Namāzī excellent exquisite ardent Musalmān Choot down between her spectacular,  smooth Musalmān legs without a hint of panties to cover it, if I wasn’t fucking her.

Now my Uncut Hindu Lund was so hard, I thought it was going to burst as I made my way around the car and slid in on the other side.

Nādirah Sheikħ hadn’t bothered to push her skirt back down and I could still see up above the top of her scalloped nylon as she sat on the other side of the car.

Then as I closed the door, I saw her beautiful Musalmān eyes dart down to my Hindu crotch and then back up to my grave face.

Another teasing smile as Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ backed the car out of the garage.

Nothing even remotely like this had ever happened between Nādirah Sheikħ and me before.

But then again, she hadn’t been a Musalmān Beauty back then either.

Raħmān Sheikħ’s little Sister was now a young Musalmān Beauty and on the prowl, it seemed.

I still found it difficult to believe as we drove along heading for the restaurant.

My mind was in my constant control from a fuzzy whirl as Nādirah Sheikħ looked straight ahead, her beautiful Musalmān eyes on the road ahead giving me ample opportunity to devour her big, quivering Musalmān breasts with my hungry Hindu eyes.

Finally we arrived at the restaurant and Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ  parked the car.

His eleven daughters were already fucking me and the remaining twelfth was also on the holy warpath.

One thing was certain.

Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ had spectacular X chromosomes for exquisitely beautiful Musalmān daughters.

As we debarked from the car, the same scenario played itself out when I opened the door and held it open so Nādirah Sheikħ could step out.

I was in pleasant shock, but somehow I was able to offer my arm again and walk along with Nādirah Sheikħ behind her parents.

The whole bizarre thing had taken on all the trappings of a date.

A first date.

The only drawback to the sordid mess was the fact that we were being chaperoned by her parents.

The night passed in a blur with a secret touch her and a hidden smile there.

My poor, sex-starved brain was warning me to reel and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

Nādirah Sheikħ was a master in the art of stealth and flirtation.

I was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t all just a big joke to her.

Get me all hot and bothered and then leave me high and dry because there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

But surely Raħmān Sheikħ’s sweet, little Sister couldn’t be that conniving.

Could she?
As we departed the restaurant, Nādirah Sheikħ put on a show similar to the one she had put on getting into the car at the house.

What was I going to do?

I couldn’t confront her and ask her what was going on.

What if there wasn’t anything going on?

What if it really was just a thing my hyper sexual, sex-starved psyche had dreamed up?

If I came out and confronted her and there was nothing going on, it would probably ruin things between us forever.

I lay awake that night waiting for a secretive knock on the door . . . but nothing came and it was four o’clock before I could finally fall asleep.

I regretted that I didn’t call someone of my Musalmān Beauties to fuck her.

But there was a possibility Nādirah Sheikħ could have honoured me.

I still couldn’t deny it.

When I finally did wake up it was one o’clock and all I had to show for it was a sleepless night and a hard on to add to the fog inside my brain.

Stumbling down the stairs, I wandered into the kitchen to get me something to eat.

But when I did, I found that I had company as Nādirah Sheikħ was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal.

She was wearing a loose pair of black, satin pajamas that clung to her like a second skin in some places and hung loosely in others.

“Hi, there, Sleepyhead,” she cheerfully chirped, smiling at me as she watched me with her big, blue eyes.

“Hi, there, yourself,” I mumbled, shuffling across the kitchen to the cabinet and pulling down a bowl. “Where are Ammī and her girlfriends?” I asked, picking up the box of cereal she had apparently left out for me.

“They’re down at the mall getting some last second stuff for the trip tomorrow,” she said as I shucked out some cereal and poured milk over it.

“You already have everything you need?” I asked plodding across the kitchen in my slippered feet to sit down across the table from her.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking forward and planning for this trip for the last six months. I’ve got everything . . . I need,” she softly laughed making her braless Musalmān breasts jiggle and bob down under the clingy satin material of her pajamas. “You?”

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe I’ll run down to the mall later just to make sure,” I told her unable to not notice the way her big nipples were tenting the shiny, satin material.

“I’m so glad you’re coming, too,” she sighed, setting her spoon down in the bowl and looking over at me with a happy, contented look on her smiling beautiful face. “I’ve missed you.”

“Where’s all this coming from? You never professed to miss me before,” I grinned.

“I don’t know,” she softly laughed. “It’s different now. Back then I was just your friend’ little Sister and you were my big, know-it-all brother’s friend. All that has changed. It’s kind of like we’re on even ground now. I can see you for who you are and not the demagogue I once thought you were.”

“Well, that’s nice to know. A demagogue, huh? I never pictured myself as a demagogue, but I guess I can be a little overbearing every once in a while,” I laughed, “When I want to be.”

“Yes, you can,” she told me, turning slightly as she spoke.

And when she did, I saw that one of the buttons on the top of her pajamas was unbuttoned as the opening down the front ballooned out.

When it did, I got a brief glimpse of white, quivering breast-flesh before she reached up and clamped the opening closed again.

“Oops—” she giggled. “I don’t know what has gotten into me lately. I feel like such a klutz when I’m around you.”

“You hide it well,” I smiled, glancing down at her fisted hand holding the opening clinched shut.

“Yeah, right—” she fussed, slowly releasing her hold on her pajamas and seeing if they would stay closed this time.

It did and she laid her hands down on each side of her bowl.

“So, tell me, what happened between you and your boyfriend? I haven’t heard you mention him lately,” I asked her.

“That’s an unpleasantry I’d rather forget,” she snorted, the sudden anger in her voice harsh and raw.

“What happened?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” she said. As she spoke, I saw a bright, red blush crawl out across her cheeks as she averted her beautiful Musalmān eyes away from mine.

“What? What did he do?”

“It’s too embarrassing—” she sniffed, still unable to bring herself to look at me.

“Come on, Nādirah Sheikħ, you can tell me. I’m your brother’s friend,” I told her reaching across the table and gently grasping her hands in mine. “Come on, tell me.”

Finally, she looked over at me.

“Durgesh, I’m not what he said,” she said and I could see the tears welling up for a flood. “I’m not a slut—”

“What?” I gasped; feeling like someone had hauled off and hit me in the stomach with a fist.

Why had the son-of-a-bitch said that about Raħmān Sheikħ’s sweet, little Sister?

“Oh, Allah, God, this is so embarrassing,” she wept, the tears finally starting to trickle down her blushed cheeks.

“What?” I demanded, squeezing her hands harder.

“I . . . I . . . I let me . . . oh, Durgesh it was horrible,” she sobbed, the tears becoming a river coursing down her cheeks. “It hurt, Durgesh. It hurt so bad . . . but he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was him. He didn’t care if it hurt me as long as he got his, his . . . got what he wanted. It was terrible.”

I didn’t know immediately what to do.

I’d been in situation like this many times with so many Musalmān Beauties.

They loved sex as we Hindu men loved.

Yet, they were not slut.

I’m fucking countless Musalmān Beauties now almost 24x7x365.

I’m maintaining my Live in Relationship too, with most of them.

I know they aren’t slut at all.

Yes, most of them were crazy for sex.

But it was due to the peculiar sex ethics of their extremely backward Musalmān society.

Their society was responsible for it, not the Musalmān Beauties themselves.

They were Not, Certainly Not, slut.

She went on.

“Then he lied about it . . . he, he put it on a web site. And when everyone saw it, it was like I had leprosy or something. No one would talk to me or even be seen with me. It was terrible,” she wept.

“Did you tell Ammī and her girlfriends?” I asked her, squeezing her hands harder, trying to somehow take away some of the pain.

“Tell them that I’d let a boy . . . No. It was too embarrassing,” she sniffed.

“Can I see it?” I asked her as I tried to formulate a plan to rectify this situation.

“Why? It’s embarrassing enough for you to even know about it without actually seeing it.”

“Please . . .Let me see the extent to which a rascal can go to.” I insisted.

I wanted to see the web site to face the scoundrel thoroughly.

And then I would act.

“This is so bad,” Nādirah Sheikħ sniffed, pulling her hands out of mine and pushing up onto her feet.

As she did, the opening of her pajamas billowed out and gave me another brief glance of her beautiful, bare Musalmān breasts.

It was the oddest sensation seeing My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ, in so much pain and yet in the midst of it all, I was sneaking a peek at her breath-taking ever erect Musalmān boobs.

“Come on and I’ll show you,” she told me as she padded across the kitchen.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her sweet, little big buttocked Musalmān ass as it twitched back and forth while I was following her down to her room.

Seconds later we were both staring at the monitor of her computer when suddenly there was a picture of Nādirah Sheikħ looking back at us.

She was wearing a miniscule bikini and the pose could be considered provocative, considering the title of the website.

It was labelled:

Nādirah Sheikħ the SLUT.’

I could feel my blood begin to boil as I read what the son-of-bitch had posted on his fucking website about Raħmān Sheikħ’s sweet, little Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ.

‘Horny? Looking for a little USED excellent exquisite outstanding Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Pussy?

Well, Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn is your Musalmān Beauty.

I can vouch for her as I was the one who took her sweet, little cherry.

Like I said, her excellent exquisite outstanding Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Pussy is a little used, and if you’re interested in a little “Oral”/Anal action, too, she is quite proficient in these fields, too.

So, if you’re interested, here’s your chance. Call her at 775-6598. Good luck,

Muħammad Åbdullah —‘

“That punk,” I growled, looking over at my red-eyed darling Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn. “Someone ought to teach him some fucking manners.”

“It’s over now, Durgesh. I’m going away to University and I’ve changed my cell number,” she sniffed.

“Where does this punk usually hang out when he’s not on his computer bullying Musalmān Beauties?” I asked her.

“Down at the basketball courts at University, but don’t do anything to get yourself in trouble, Durgesh,” she told me.

“I won’t,” I snarled as I went stomping out of her room.

I was so mad, Muħammad Åbdullah was lucky he wasn’t in the vicinity or he might be missing an arm or two or maybe his cut Musalmān nūnī even.

Changing out of my pajamas, I slipped into my old sophisticated clothes.

Now I was not Durgesh the Supreme Business Tycoon, the Multi Zillionaire, the Writer.

I was a holy fighter, a holy warrior on holy warpath.

But I didn’t think it would go that far as I knew how effective the element of surprise was in a conflict.

Pulling up at the playground, I saw a little bunch of guys on the court shooting hoops down at one end of the courts and I picked out Muħammad Åbdullah as one of them from the picture Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn had sent me while I was over in Afghanistan.

As I stepped onto the court, I saw all the guys stop and look over at me, but I just kept on walking.

Finally I stopped when I was about three feet away from Muħammad Åbdullah.

“You Muħammad Åbdullah?” I asked him, gathering myself for the punch.

“Who wants to know?” he smarted back at me.

“Durgesh the Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt—” I grunted aiming for his chin and swinging with all my might.

My fist caught Muħammad Åbdullah right on the chin as his head flew back and he went sprawling onto the concrete on his back.

“What the fuck—” he cursed, scrabbling and trying to get back up, but a foot on his groin stopped him.

I saw a couple of the other guys make a move as if they were going to come to his aid, but a threatening look and a terse “This is between me and him. No one else needs to get involved, else he would too get punished as this punk is going to be from now on.” stopped them in their tracks.

Turning back to Muħammad Åbdullah, I added a little more pressure with my foot for emphasis, just to get his attention again.

“You have one hour to remove that website and replace it with an apology,” I sneered down at him. “And if I ever catch you within a hundred yards of my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn, I’ll cut off your fucking balls and shove them down your throat. Do you understand?”

Muħammad Åbdullah lay looking up at me with hate gleaming in his eyes, but I knew that I had the upper hand as I watched Muħammad Åbdullah rubbing his chin.

When he didn’t answer me, I added a little more pressure with my foot.

I could feel the soft tissue under my sole giving and knew that I had my foot directly on top of his cut Musalmān nūnī.

“Do you understand?” I snarl, pushing harder.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it—” Muħammad Åbdullah muttered, his hands closing around the ankle of my brogan, trying to push my boot off his cut Musalmān nūnī.

“Good, because I have better things to do than kick your scrawny Musalmān ass,” I told Muħammad Åbdullah, lifting my foot off his Musalmān crotch and stepping back.

I didn’t give Muħammad Åbdullah  a chance to retaliate as I turned on my heel and went marching across the court toward my car.

I could feel Muħammad Åbdullah’s angry glare bouncing off my back as I stopped by my car and looked back over at the little knot of Musalmān boys.

They were all still looking at me, but Muħammad Åbdullah was glaring at me.

Smiling to myself, I opened the door and crawled into my car.

When I got back to the house, I saw that Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ’s car was parked in the garage, so I assumed that Ammī and her girlfriends had finished shopping.

Walking across the living room, I looked out back and saw that My friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ, and Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn were all out by the pool.

As usual, my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Ammī, Rizwānah Hāshmī, and Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn were wearing bikinis and Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ was wearing swimming trunks.

Hurrying up to my room, I slipped into trunks and went down to join them out on the patio.

“Where have you been?” Naåīmuddīn Sheikħ asked me as he stepped over toward the bar.

“I had some business to take care of,” I told him as I sat down in the chair sitting next to Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn.

“Where did you go?” I heard her ask in a voice so low I knew that I was the only one who could hear her.

“Let’s go up to your room, and I’ll tell you,” I smiled back at her.

“Uh, okay,” she said, looking back at me with a puzzled look on her pretty face.

Fascinated, I watched her breath-taking ever erect Musalmān boobs heave, threatening to flop out of her bikini as she pushed up onto her bare feet.

I was glad that I was wearing loose trunks as I could already feel my Uncut Hindu Prick starting to firm up as I stood.

“We’ll be back in a minute,” I heard Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn tell Ammī and her girlfriends as she started for the house.

Proudly I marched with Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn.

In her bikini, her pert, tight Musalmān butt cheeks were almost completely exposed as I admired the way they rippled and quivered with each mincing step she took.

“So, what’s the big secret that you couldn’t tell me in front of Ammī and her girlfriends?” she asked me once we were in her room.

“Pull up Muħammad Åbdullah’s website,” I grinned.

“Why, do you want to embarrass me again?”

“No, just pull it up,” I told her, taking her by the shoulders and turning her around to face her computer.

Sitting down in front of her computer, she quickly tapped a few keys and suddenly the monitor screen came to life.

Then, as we both watched, the website flashed onto the screen.

The phrase “Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn —I’m sorry—” had replaced the previous rant that had been there.

“What?” Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn gasped, turning, looking at me, her big, blue eyes and her mouth wide open in surprise.

“I just asked Muħammad Åbdullah if he’d like to remove what he said about you and apologize to you,” I grinned as I watched the look of surprise melt into a look of elation on my friend, Raħmān Sheikħ’s Sister, Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān face.

“I love you, Durgesh—” Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn gushed, jumping up and stumbling up in front of me.

Then before I could move, she reached out and wrapped her arms around me and pulled me against her.

With my arms trapped under hers, I couldn’t return the hug like I wanted to and was taken completely by surprise when Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn pressed her lips against mine in a hard, crushing ashvinātam kiss.

I was at a loss for words as we stood, our bodies touching from head to toe as we kissed.

It felt like electric sparks were arcing from everywhere our ashvinātam bodies touched and I could feel every sensual Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān curve of her excellent exquisite outstanding stunning dazzling young adult Musalmān body thrusting against mine.

I could feel the giving softness of her Musalmān breasts pressing against my Hindu chest and then, to my pleasantly shocked amazement, I thought I felt her rub her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān mons against my rock-hard Uncut Hindu Lund.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over as she stepped back away from me.

As she did, I could see a bright, red flush spread out across her cheeks.

She was breathing hard and looked like she was about to cry.

“Thank you, Durgesh, thank you so much—” she told me, grinning from ear to ear.

“Wow, if that’s the thanks I get, I think I’ll go do it again,” I laughed, still shaken by her over-enthusiastic remuneration.

“Silly,” she smiled, reaching over and slowly running the backs of her fingers down my cheek. “I really meant it. Thank you so much. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

“Hey, what are big brother’s friends for if they can’t give their friend’s little Sisters a hand every once in a while,” I smiled, returning the gesture and slowly running the backs of my fingers down her cheek. “If there’s anything else I can do for you . . .” I said, pausing for effect,”. . . anything . . . anything at all, just let me know.”

Maybe that was the Moment I was referring to earlier.

I don’t know what it was, but something changed between us at that Moment.

Before it had seemed that we were almost strangers, but now in that brief span of seconds, we became Hindu man and Musalmān Beauty again.

But strangely, we now seemed to be closer than we had ever been before.

Maybe even closer than Hindu man and Musalmān Beauty!

“I will,” she whispered, leaning against me and giving me a soft, intimate ashvinātam kiss on my Hindu lips once more.

Then as we stepped apart again, I thought I felt her hand brush across my Uncut Hindu Lund, but in the Moment I couldn’t tell if it was an accident or on purpose.

Yet, I suspected she squeezed it too significantly.

I smiled.

Wasn’t it the reward I wanted from Nādirah Sheikħ Naåīmuddīn?

“We’d better get back downstairs before Ammī and her girlfriends think something is going on between us,” I heard her laugh as she grabbed hold of my hand and tugged me toward the door. “And we wouldn’t want them to think that . . . would we?”

“Uh, yeah, uh, no, no, we wouldn’t want them to think that,” I agreed, my mind in a muddle.

Was that a hint?

She had finally come out and said it?

She had insinuated that there could actually be something between us.

That thought sent an electric charge straight down to my Uncut Hindu Lund as it lurched down inside my trunks.

Chapter 7


1. More Creative Adult Sex in English from Durgesh

2.Durgesh in Hindi/Urdu

3. Science Fiction

4. On History

5. Commentary on Ved

6. On Hinduism

7. On Islam