1: Of my Musalmān friends
Aħmad Ħabīb looked at me gravely.
“We can share her and you can gain some more experience with our Musalmān houseladies. She can be blindfolded so it is not too awkward.”
Aħmad Ħabīb was talking to me about the possibility of sharing Aħmad Ħabīb’s wife, Rizwānah Nadīm, with me in bed.
I was watching him carefully.
What the hell was he after, after all?
He himself was proposing that he could let me fuck his exceedingly beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife.
Aħmad Ħabīb knew once I had gotten any pussy, she becomes mine alone exclusively, gradually.
At even 48 years old, Rizwānah Nadīm, took care of her body had not even a slight sag on her assets.
she still looked better than even some women half her age.
Those c-cup breasts, flat stomach, ripe Musalmān ass, auburn hair, and dark green eyes had often fueled even my sexual lust.
“How will you tell her, Aħmad Ħabīb? This is a crazy idea and I think getting into an Ashvinātam relationship would not be the best thing for you.” I wanted to make sure that Aħmad Ħabīb was for real and not making a regrettable decision.
I sure would enjoy a piece of her lovely Musalmān body, but not at the expense of our relationship.
The idea had come off as a good one, but now it seemed empty.
“What if I told you that she already knows about this proposal and that we want to fulfill our threesome fantasy?” Aħmad Ħabīb looked at me gravely.
I was stunned by his comment which meant that Rizwānah Nadīm, already had agreed to the whole deal.
It all made sense now, Rizwānah Nadīm, had agreed and Aħmad Ħabīb was here trying to get me on board.
“How did this come to be and how will it play out?” Rizwānah Nadīm always dressed and behaved properly.
It made this even crazier.
Why would she be willing to commit Ashvinātam?
Her traditional Musalmān society would go entirely against her.
“Well, we don’t like to see you moping around for her any more. We know you are hyper sexual. You need more sex with more Musalmān Beauties and Musalmān houseladies of us, your Musalmān friends, than even a normal Hindu does. Moreover, this could really open up our sexuality. We have talked about threesome in the past and now that you are available, you seem to be the perfect fit. It will be private and fun for all of us.”
Aħmad Ħabīb had walked into my room a few minutes ago into what seemed to be a simple check up, but this would change everything between us.
Having my commitment into the whole thing, Aħmad Ħabīb patted me on the knee and made his way out of my room.
I wondered whether he could not satisfy his wife now any more, as much as she needed.
That’s why he needed my sexual services now to keep his wonderful wife still to himself.
Had she asked for divorce from him?
Most of my Musalmān friends shared their exquisite extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wives with me, only to keep them with themselves even while they couldn’t satisfy them sexually any longer.
Their children needed their real Ammī.*
I was excited about the possibilities and thrilled just like any 64 year old Hindu getting a Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Pussy for the first time.
Suddenly my excitement turned into anxiety as I didn’t know when it would all go down.
What if Rizwānah Nadīm, changed her mind now that things became more real?
How would we have sex and what did I need to be prepared for Rizwānah Nadīm?
Even at her forty eight, Rizwānah Nadīm never looked more than forty.
I called her Bhābhījān.
She never tried to cross the line my address to her established between us.
In this age of even aggressive and bold incest, while none of my stepsisters, none of my stepdaughters and even so many of my step Ammīs unashamedly refused to maintain any platonic relationship with me, Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān was a great honourable woman for me.
I really respected her very much, even while I felt immediate erection even if she was present around me anywhere.
It was more commendable when her Nanads and sisters were entirely unashamed nudists, feminists and most of them even raped me.
But, even Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān was perhaps tired of her platonic relationship with me, now.
I had mixed reaction.
My lust said I should fuck Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān immediately.
Yet, my morals said I should stop her from falling.
First thing that came to mind was a trim of my pubic hair and taking a shower to be ready at any moment.
Trimming down there made my Uncut Hindu Cock look even bigger.
I thought Rizwānah Nadīm would appreciate it if she sucked me off.
I had recently measured my Uncut Hindu Cock at 9 inches and I doubted Aħmad Ħabīb had it bigger.
I wondered if we would double penetrate her as I looked at the clock anxiously.
I couldn’t imagine Aħmad Ħabīb leaving his wife entirely for me.*
It was 6:24 pm now.
Rizwānah Nadīm would be home from work any minute.
My thoughts were broken by a knock on the door.
“Be down at the living room at seven.”
My heart raised as Aħmad Ħabīb’s words resounded in my head.
I stood up and began pacing back and forth as I was only minutes away from something special.
What exactly would happen I didn’t know, but that everything would be set in motion this Friday night made me ecstatic.
Rizwānah Nadīm had arrived home.
I heard both of them walk into their room.
It only increased the excitement for me.
My mouth was dry and my Uncut Hindu Cock was stiff as I kept looking back at the clock.
In two minutes I would make my way downstairs and embrace the Moment.
Whatever happened would be fine except a change of heart from my friend and his ever righteous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife.
It was a minute past seven when I gathered myself to make my way into the living room.
Aħmad Ħabīb was in the kitchen grabbing a drink as I sat down on the couch.
“Hey are you ready? Your Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān will be down here any second.”
We both had sleepwear shirts on, but Aħmad Ħabīb was only wearing his boxers.
It was comforting to hear Aħmad Ħabīb’s calm voice and see him take a seat next to me.
He was willing to share his wife with me and begin an Ashvinātam relationship so I felt confident next to him.
It was obvious to me now that as most of my rest of the Musalmān friends, Aħmad Ħabīb too needed my sexual services to keep his ever efficient Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān, with him.
“Yeah sure. What are we going to do?” I tried to act as nonchalantly as possible.
My Uncut Hindu Cock was getting uncomfortable under my shorts.
I took them off, but let my boxers on.
I could feel my head touching the fabric which made my Uncut Hindu Cock twitch.
“Blowjobs tonight and then we will take it from there.” Aħmad Ħabīb relaxed back and finished his drink.
I grabbed my shaft and pressed it with my left hand as I knew that I would be getting my first blowjob from his wife, Rizwānah Nadīm Bhābhījān, tonight.
Well, what a graceful Musalmān lady.
Next thing I knew Rizwānah Nadīm was walking down the stairs wearing a matching set of yellow lingerie with white polka dots.
She quickly made her way to the table in front of us and grabbed a black blindfold.
“Alright boys sit back and let me do the work. Don’t worry Durgesh, everything will be fine.”
Aħmad Ħabīb pulled down his boxers and I followed suit.
Rizwānah Nadīm kneeled in front of Aħmad Ħabīb with a smile as I ogled her lovely Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān body.*
I stood over Aħmad Nadīm’s body, seething with rage.
Aħmad Nadīm was drunk and bloody.
He didn’t show up that way. Well, not bloody anyway.
I walked in at the wrong time. For him.
I had been out playing my sex game with my Musalmān lady friends.
We met every Sunday afternoon and played a pick-up game with whoever else showed up to the field behind the National Guard Armory.
After about two hours of full-contact Sex game, I was sweaty, gritty, scraped up, yet never exhausted even then.
A few of us stopped off to eat some pizza before I drove home.
My stomach knotted up when I saw Aħmad Nadīm’s truck in the driveway.
I parked at the curb and as soon as I rounded the bumper of my car I heard Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, yelling with a return from Aħmad Nadīm.
I burst forth in a run across the lawn when I heard a sharp scream from Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl.
I had heard that scream before, countless times whenever I stayed with them.
It was the immediate response to the hand across her face, usually knocking her to the ground.
I burst through the front door, never stopping to close it.
I kept running through the narrow hall, following the noise of repeated smacks peppered through constant begging and crying.
As I rounded the corner, breaking the rule of removing my shoes before walking on the carpet, I saw Aħmad Nadīm bent over, his hand wrapped around Al Nādirah Al Jamāl’s bicep, her form cowering on the floor.
His hand was back over his head for another blow as he spit insults at her.
His “bitch” was cut off when my shoulder caught him under the arm, his feet leaving the ground before he landed on his side on the living room carpet.
Aħmad Nadīm didn’t have time to recognize my face before my left hand had a fistful of t-shirt and my right fist smashed into his bearded face repeatedly.
It wasn’t until Al Nādirah Al Jamāl screamed at me to stop that I came out of my rage and stood up, dropping Aħmad Nadīm onto the carpet.
I shoved him onto the carpet.
“Get the hell out! If I ever saw you in this house again, I’ll send you to jail! I swear I will!”
It was hard to see with the righteous rage in my eyes.
Aħmad Nadīm was blurry, but I could tell his bearded face was spattered with blood.
Aħmad Nadīm was barely moving, but he groaned.
Aħmad Nadīm was obviously dazed, which was a step further from death than I had wished, but there it was.
Naturally Aħmad Nadīm wasn’t in any position to leave on his own, so again the responsibility fell to me.
His responsibilities had always fallen to me.
I pulled him up by his arm, enough to get my other arm around his ribs.
As much as I wanted to drag him out by his feet instead, I carried him like a drunken friend, dragging him to the front door and off the porch, literally dropping him on the lawn.
Confident Aħmad Nadīm wasn’t going back into the house, I walked next door and knocked on Mrs. Zahīruddīn’s front door.
After a moment, she opened it.
Her face showed that she knew what I needed.
“I’ll get the camera,” she said.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn had lived next door to Aħmad Nadīm for as long as they’d lived there.
When we moved in, Mrs. Zahīruddīn and her husband didn’t have any children of their own.
She treated me like family, to get some sons from me.
I was reputed to give sons to Musalmān Beauties and beautiful Musalmān houseladies without even a single failure ever.
They were a few years older than us, her husband a retired Air Force colonel who became a golf pro, and she spent her time volunteering with charities.
The first time she let on that she knew, we had lived there about two years.
Years later, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, told me the story.
after she had requested me go get Mrs. Zahīruddīn.
After Mrs. Zahīruddīn came and took some pictures, sending me out of the room while she did so, I asked Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, about it.
Taking a deep breath and patting her bed, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, sat down on the edge and I took a seat as she had invited.
“A few years ago, your friend, Aħmad Nadīm, and I had a fight. You and Åāyeshah Aħmad Nadīm were at a club and your friend, Aħmad Nadīm, was drunk. Again. Unsurprisingly, it got heated quickly and your friend, Aħmad Nadīm, started in on me. When he had his fill of beating me, he left. I cleaned up and went outside to trim the rose bushes. Gardening has always comforted me, you know.”
“As I worked on the roses, I didn’t hear her walk up, but she had approached the fence and caught me off-guard. ‘Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, are you all right?’ she asked. I thought I was, but I just started crying. Maybe it was too fresh or maybe it was just that she asked. She immediately pulled me to her and hugged me over the fence.” She laughed a little and said, “I remember the thorns digging into my hip and leg, but didn’t want to say anything. When I had settled down, she invited me to her house for tea. While we were there she told me that she had heard us several times, but didn’t want to make things worse for me by imposing. That day, however, she said she had had enough. She had been doing some research and called a friend of hers at social services who works with victims of abuse. She said the best thing to do is to be a safe place.
“So Mrs. Zahīruddīn offered to help me build a case if I ever decided to press charges or file for divorce. Or…to help the police if something…should happen to me.” She took a deep breath. “So she took me upstairs and took pictures of my injuries while they were fresh. She keeps them in a safe place so your friend, Aħmad Nadīm, can’t find them in our house and get rid of them. She’s been taking pictures ever since.”
I can’t count the times I’ve been to Mrs. Zahīruddīn’s house at Al Nādirah Al Jamāl’s request.
Somehow she was always able to treat Aħmad Nadīm as if she didn’t know what he had been doing.
Up until the separation last year, that is.
Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, had finally had enough and kicked him out, threatening to call the police.
She still hasn’t called them and she hasn’t filed for divorce.
I think mostly she just wanted to feel safe, not be single.
A separation means hope, but a divorce doesn’t.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn followed me back over to the house.
As we rounded Aħmad Nadīm’s truck at the end of the driveway, she stopped and gasped, “Oh, my.”
“Yeah,” I cleared my throat. “I, uh…” I was suddenly embarrassed and looked down.
“I see,” she said with a smirk, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go take care of your friend’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl.”*
When we got inside, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, was still curled up against the wall where I left her, but now she was crying.
I felt like a stupid for not coming back in to check on her.
What a dick move.
I rushed over to her and knelt down beside her.
“Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife.”
She looked at me, her eyes red with tears, and her left cheekbone swollen.
She had blood streaking out of her left nostril and her lip was cut open.
“I’m sorry I left you. Are you okay?” She placed her hand on my hand and nodded, reassuring me that she was not upset with me.
She knew the necessary routine.
She looked past me to see Mrs. Zahīruddīn standing behind me.
“Oh, .Tāhirah Saåīd, I’m so sorry to call you again.” She began to cry again.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn was at her other side in a blink, talking as she crouched down, the camera hanging from her wrist by the strap as she reached around Al Nādirah Al Jamāl’s shoulders.
“Believe me, dear, you’re not the one who should be apologizing.”
Again Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, nodded.
Carefully, we helped Al Nādirah Al Jamāl to her feet, me on one side, Mrs. Zahīruddīn on the other.
They didn’t even bother asking me to leave the room this time like they usually did.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn just began taking pictures from different angles, making sure not to miss any wounds.
“Durgesh,” she called.
I snapped out of my haze.
“Ma’am, Tāhirah Saåīd?”
“Why don’t you go get something to help me clean her up while I finish this?”
“Yeah, sure.” I turned and went upstairs to grab a washcloth, some cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide, then halfway down the hall, I remembered I’d better get ointment just in case and returned to the bathroom before bounding down the stairs.
I u-turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead in my tracks.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
Mrs. Zahīruddīn was snapping pictures of Al Nādirah Al Jamāl topless.
But that wasn’t what surprised me.
Aħmad Nadīm’s wife, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl, had her back to me, so all I saw was her back, but she had large welts and bruises across her back and around her upper arms where Aħmad Nadīm was fond of grabbing her.
At my voice, Al Nādirah Al Jamāl jumped and hugged herself as if hiding her breasts which I couldn’t see anyway.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam