I grinned to myself, remembering last night when I thought I was going to get a chance to do much more than just look at Sabīħah Åbbās.
That hadn’t worked out, but something much different, much better had.
“Durgesh, what the hell happened to your back?” Ashok cried as he stood and threw on his clothes.
Sabīħah Åbbās did as well, but she was moving slower.
“Looks like someone played with a tigress,” she grinned.
I immediately realized what they were talking about.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling cunningly, naughtily. “I met a Musalmān girl a couple of nights ago. She was wild.”
“Man!” Ashok laughed. “She must have been.”
“You’d better get downstairs,” I prompted. “Al Furqān Al Firdaus will be up soon.”
“Right!” Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, said. “I don’t want to face her from a bedroom.”
“I’m right behind you,” Sabīħah Åbbās said when Ashok looked at her impatiently.
He nodded and left.
I moved to leave and take my shower, but she stopped me by placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Yes?” I asked.
She was looking at me oddly.
“Those scratches are new,” she said. “There’s no way they happened before last night.”
My mind raced.
“No…” I began, but she covered my mouth with her hand briefly to silence my protests.
“Maybe I was wrong about you,” she smiled sexily. “Maybe you can handle Al Tahajjud Al Islam.”
“Your older sister?” I asked.
She nodded, getting very close.
“You must be wilder than Ashok describes,” she said.
Sabīħah Åbbās was so close that if I moved at all our bodies would touch.
“Because those scratches are new and I’m the only Musalmān girl not related to you in the house.”
“That’s sick! I…” I began, but she covered my mouth with her hand again.
“I know,” she smiled, her awfully attractive Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān eyes burning into mine. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. It also doesn’t mean that it doesn’t get to me, on a purely sexual level.”
I was sure how to answer that.
Yet, it didn’t matter.
Sabīħah Åbbās removed her hand from my mouth and barely brushed her lips against mine before turning and moving toward the door.
“I’m looking forward to introducing you to Al Tahajjud Al Islam,” she said as she left the room. “It’s been a while since she and I double dated.”
It was such an innocent statement, but I thought there was more to it.
She didn’t seem shocked at all by her discovery that I had an incestuous affair, only enticed.
“I’m sure it will be some double date,” I mumbled to myself, and then thought, ‘I think it’s time Ashok and I had a talk. I want to make sure he knows what Sabīħah Åbbās is hinting at before I meet her sister.’
The shower felt good.
My back stung as the water hit the scratches and I let myself dwell on how I got them for the first time since waking up.
If nothing else, they were proof that the night before wasn’t a dream.
I really had sex with Al Furqān Al Firdaus and the sweet Panjvaqtah Namāzī extremely beautiful ardent Musalmān woman who cared for me had scratched the hell out of my back.
“Wow!” I said, shaking my head as the truth tried to sink it.
The whole situation from the night before was impossible, but it had happened.
I knew that, and now I’d have to deal with the repercussions.
Well, I was ready.
It wasn’t my first sexual intercourse with someone that was known to be my Bahū Bégum, my daughter in law, irrespective of the fact whether she really accepted to be so, or adamant, insistent and persistent even to refuse her such a platonic relationship with me.
I finished my shower, dried and got dressed.
I even took the time to brush my teeth and dry my hair.
I almost felt human again by the time I left the bathroom.
I could hear voices being raised downstairs.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus was obviously awake and it sounded like Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus and she were going at it.
I also heard other voices.
I guessed Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, hadn’t gotten away before Al Furqān Al Firdaus woke up.
‘This should be fun,’ I sighed.
“…It’s bad enough you had a party while I was away,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus was saying. “But for you all to sleep over with your dates is too much!”
“You’re not going to tell our father, are you, Aunt Al Furqān Al Firdaus?” Shaguftah Jamīl asked as I walked down the stairs.
Shankar and Sabīħah Åbbās were gone.
It was only Al Furqān Al Firdaus Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, and cousins in the room.
I guess Ashok and Shaguftah Jamīl figured that it was better to face Al Furqān Al Firdaus rather than their father.
They were probably right.
“Don’t worry, she won’t do that,” I said.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus looked at me and frowned.
I met her awfully attractive Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān eyes until she looked away.
That was something new.
Last night had clearly changed the dynamic of our relationship.
I frowned to myself, but couldn’t help admit that it felt oddly satisfying.
She has surrendered!’ I smiled at myself. She isn’t an arrogant communal Musalmān bitch anymore that always hated and criticized Hindus’ sexual relationships with ‘horny’ Muslimahs.’
I never wanted to hurt Al Furqān Al Firdaus, or anyone else.
It wasn’t my nature ever.
“No, I’m not going to tell your Abbū,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus said to Shaguftah Jamīl, gravely.
“Why not?” Ashok asked in annoyance. “It’s time he loosened up anyway. He’s ridiculous!”
“Maybe,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus surprised me by saying. “But Anwar is Anwar and he’s not about to change anytime soon.”
“Al Furqān Al Firdaus, you’re right,” I said before Ashok could continue. “They shouldn’t have had the party while you were away. They’re sorry.”
Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus looked at me in surprise, but quickly agreed.
“Truthfully,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus sighed. “I’m less concerned about the party than what happened afterward.”
“It’s no big deal,” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus argued, but Al Furqān Al Firdaus was looking at me.
I knew what she meant.
“They were all drunk,” I said carefully. “It happens.”
“But not again,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus replied meaningfully. “Not in my house.”
“I can’t promise that,” I said honestly.
“Durgesh!” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus snapped, having no idea what the real conversation Al Furqān Al Firdaus and I were having.
I was glad Sabīħah Åbbās left.
She’d have picked up on it instantly.
“Let me make you all some breakfast before you two go home,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus said, changing the subject.
Poor Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus looked totally confused.
“That would be great, Aunt Al Furqān Al Firdaus,” Shaguftah Jamīl smiled. “I’ll help.”
The two went into the kitchen.
“What’s up with Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bājī Bégum?” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus frowned once they were gone.
“Aunt Al Furqān Al Firdaus did seem a bit odd,” Ashok added.
“Ease up on her today, Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus,” I said softly. “Al Furqān Al Firdaus quit her job last night.”
“She what?” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, cried, but then added, “Let me guess. It was Mr. Muħammad? He hit on her, didn’t he?”
“You knew about him?” I asked in surprise.
“No, but I guessed,” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, sighed. “He had jerk written all over him. I’d better go in and make sure she’s alright.”
“Okay, but don’t push her,” I said, authoritatively somewhat now. “She’ll tell you about it when she’s ready.”
“MuslimātRamañ, Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s not the only one acting weird today,” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, said, but then thankfully left the room before I could decide of how to respond her.
“Sorry to hear about what happened,” Ashok said once we were alone.
“We’ll be fine,” I said in a tone that let Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, know I didn’t want to talk about it.
Ashok nodded slowly and then changed the subject.
“Mind if I take a shower?” Ashok asked.
“Not at all,” I replied, leading him back upstairs to my room for some clothes.
I threw open the door and the sight and smell made me shake my head and add, “Right after you air out my room and change my sheets.”
“No problem,” he laughed.
“You are one lucky man,” I said as we entered. “That Sabīħah Åbbās is something else.”
“She is, isn’t she?” he laughed, pulling the sheets off my bed.
“Have you met her older sister?” I asked.
“Al Tahajjud Al Islam? Sure,” he smiled. “She’s even hotter than Sabīħah Åbbās!”
“No way,” I argued.
“Seriously,” he said. “They look a lot alike, only Al Tahajjud Al Islam has bigger tits.”
“Now that sounds interesting,” I said, handing him a clean set of sheets as I opened the window. “Because Sabīħah Åbbās said she wanted to set me up with Al Tahajjud Al Islam.”
“Really?” he asked in surprised. “You lucky dog! If she’s half as wild as Sabīħah Åbbās, you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”
“You sound jealous,” I teased.
“I am,” he laughed, making my bed.
“What I wouldn’t do to get into Al Tahajjud Al Islam’s pants!”
“And chance screwing up what you have with Sabīħah Åbbās?” I asked.
“We’re not that serious,” he shrugged. “We like each other and the sex is amazing, but I don’t think either one of us is expecting what we have to last forever. In some ways it’s really nice, because we’re not afraid of trying things or saying what we want.”
“Sabīħah Åbbās doesn’t strike me as the type to be afraid to say or do anything,” I said, shaking my head.
“You may be right,” he smiled.
“Maybe?” I asked. “She didn’t even pause when I burst in on you two this morning!”
“True,” he said, his smile turning into a grin. “And I couldn’t believe what she said last night!”
“What?” I asked.
“You remember. About letting me play with Al Tahajjud Al Islam while she took care of you,” he answered. “She was just teasing you, but man!”
“What if she wasn’t?” I asked. “Would you go for it?”
Ashok looked at me and if possible, his grin grew wider.
“In a heartbeat,” he replied.
“Me too,” I said. “Just in case it ever comes up.”
“Just in case,” he agreed, laughing again. “But you won’t want to switch once you meet Al Tahajjud Al Islam. She is something else!”
“I don’t know,” I argued. “Sabīħah Åbbās is one of the hottest Musalmān girls I’ve ever met.”
“She is that,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, agreed.
“I’m just wondering how a guy like you got her,” I joked.
“Dumb luck,” Ashok replied, finally finished with cleaning my room. “Now give me some clothes. I really do need a shower.”
“You’re telling me?” I teased, handing over something that would fit him.
I moved on to the guest bedroom and called a house cleaner to clean it while he was in the shower.
It didn’t take long.
I had plenty to think about.
“Breakfast!” I heard Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus call up the stairs.
I left and bumped into Ashok in the hall.
He was just getting out of the shower.
“Tell them I’ll be there in two minutes,” he said.
I nodded and went down the stairs.
The meal ended up being surprisingly good considering that, everyone at the table had a hangover to one degree or another.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus seemed to be relaxing and I made sure not to do or say anything to upset her.
We were all laughing at one point when the phone rang.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus picked it up.
“Anwar!” she said in surprise. “Yes, they’re both here.”
“Oh brother,” Ashok said. “Father in law is checking up on us.”
“Can you blame him?” his cousin asked.
They exchanged a grin.
“Yes Anwar, she was right,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus said. “I was on a business trip.”
“Uf oh!” Shaguftah Jamīl groaned.
“I got home last night,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus continued, and then paused again. “It was pretty late.” Everyone could hear Anwar’s yelling through the phone.
“Oh relax!” Al Furqān Al Firdaus snapped at her older brother, surprising us all. “They’re fine and that’s what matters most.”
“Here it comes,” Ashok sighed, guessing at his father’s in law next question.
“I didn’t see Shankar or Ashok’s Musalmān girlfriend,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus replied, eying us all briefly before grinning and adding, “But I got home pretty late and for all I know they were all in their bedrooms having mad passionate sex.”
“Aunt Al Furqān Al Firdaus!” Shaguftah Jamīl whispered in horror, but she had the decency to blush as well, after all, it was the truth.
“Oh come on Anwar!” Al Furqān Al Firdaus sighed. “You have to admit it was a little funny.”
Again, more yelling from Anwar Ůsmān.
“He really needs to get laid,” Ashok sighed, but then looked at Al Furqān Al Firdaus and added, “Sorry.”
Al Furqān Al Firdaus covered the receiver.
“You’re not wrong,” she said, shaking her head.
“Bājī Bégum!” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus cried in shock.
“Oh please!” Al Furqān Al Firdaus retorted. “If nothing else, what happened last night had made me realize I can’t treat you as kids forever. Besides, Anwar is being ridiculous!”
“That’s my father in law,” Ashok sighed.
“You know it’s because he loves you, right?” Al Furqān Al Firdaus asked him, switching from anger to defense in a flash.
You have to love siblings.
“Yeah, but it gets old,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, replied.
“Yes, it does,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus said knowingly. “I remember how he was when I started dating. What a pain!”
“He hadn’t changed much,” Shaguftah Jamīl put in.
“Hold on,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus said to us and took her hand off the phone receiver. “Anwar, I have to go. Breakfast is getting cold. The kids will be home shortly.” She hung up right afterward.
“You didn’t just hang up on dad, did you?” Ashok grinned.
“I said goodbye,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus shrugged, causing them all to laugh.
“Thanks, Aunt Al Furqān Al Firdaus,” Shaguftah Jamīl said.
“I didn’t lie,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus shrugged. “And you shouldn’t either.”
“He doesn’t make it easy,” Ashok put in.
“I know,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus said, and then looked at Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus and me. “I guess I don’t either. I’m sorry. Things are going to change around here.”
“Really?” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus said in surprise.
“A little,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus replied. “I mean, this is still my house and I don’t want it becoming party central or where you and Durgesh have your booty calls.”
“Booty call?” Ashok asked in surprise. “Where in the world did you hear that?”
“I’m old enough, yet―” Al Furqān Al Firdaus sighed. “Not dead!”
“Who the hell are you, Durgesh, and what have you done with Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bājī Bégum?” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus asked me in shocked surprise.
“Very funny,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus sighed, glancing my way briefly.
There was an impish secret smile on her beautiful lips, but it faded swiftly before anyone else could notice it.
I’d intentionally remained quiet.
“I guess last night opened my eyes up to a lot of things. It wasn’t just your party and sleep over.”
“I know,” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus said. “Durgesh told me.”
“I heard too,” Ashok added.
“Heard what?” Al Furqān Al Firdaus asked, clearly stunned.
I knew what she was thinking.
“I’m sorry Al Furqān Al Firdaus,” I said gravely. “I guess I should have let you tell Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus that you quit your job.”
“My job,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus said, shaking her head. “Right.”
“Are you okay, Aunt Al Furqān Al Firdaus?” Shaguftah Jamīl asked.
“I will be,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus answered honestly. “It’s just a lot to take in, all at once.”
“Don’t worry, Bājī Bégum,” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus said. “Durgesh and I will help.”
“We’ll be fine,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus smiled. “I’ve got enough saved to last for at least six months and I’ll have another job well before then.”
“I still think you should sue Mr. Muħammad,” I grumbled. “Or better yet, let me pay him a visit.”
“I’m willing to tag along,” Ashok too said quickly.
“No!” Al Furqān Al Firdaus snapped. “I can take of him myself.”
We changed the subject and went back to finishing breakfast.
It didn’t take long.
The maidservants cleaned the kitchen afterward.
It went quickly.
“I guess it’s time to go home and face the music,” Shaguftah Jamīl sighed.
“Yeah,” Ashok said, shaking his head.
I could see that he was brewing for a fight already.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus took one look and sighed.
She could see it too.
“I think maybe I’d better come with you two,” she said. “I haven’t visited your father in law for a long time anyway.”
“Thanks, Aunt Al Furqān Al Firdaus,” Shaguftah Jamīl said.
The three of them disappeared not long afterward.
“I’m wiped,” I sighed once they all were gone.
“I guess that means I can’t convince you to help me clean?” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus asked.
“You clean?” I joked. “It will never happen! Do you even know how to wash a dish?”
“Very funny,” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, said. “You jerk.”
Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus really wasn’t much of a cleaner.
She could do it when she put her mind to it, but that wasn’t very often.
I wasn’t much better, but I’d been known to throw a load of laundry on every so often. I even vacuumed upon rare occasions.
“You aren’t serious, are you?” I asked.
“Yes I am,” she replied. “Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s had a tough few days.”
I frowned and nodded.
I was very tired, but Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus was right.
On the other hand, cleaning could wait a little while.
“How about we take a nap first?” I asked. “Al Furqān Al Firdaus will be over Anwar’s all day. I really am wiped.”
“Hmm,” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, said thoughtfully. “That does sound good, but I need a shower first.”
“Enjoy,” I shrugged. “Bed time for me.”
Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus was first to the stairs.
She climbed them and it actually took me a Moment to realize I was staring at her excellent, extremely beautiful, perfectly round, firm, plump, heavy Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān ass.
‘It’s okay!’ I smiled to myself.
After what happened with Al Furqān Al Firdaus, did it really matter?
I took a few Moments to think about Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, and her appearance.
‘Eīshān! Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus’s pretty hot!’
It wasn’t that I didn’t know what she looked like or that I thought she wasn’t attractive before, but I’d never truly looked at her as a Musalmān girl.
No, that’s not right.
I’d never looked at her in a sexual way, and I was now.
I couldn’t help myself.
Damn Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her Panjvaqtah Namāzī ever sexy Musalmān lady brigade!
I had already fucked a twenty eight at night, yet I was still thinking of her younger sister, twenty three only.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had successfully changed my taste.
Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus had Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s blond hair and she was built athletically.
Her excellent, extremely beautiful, perfectly round, firm, plump, heavy Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān ass was big, and rounded nicely from all the sports she played in high school and college.
She was a gym teacher and it showed.
Her ever excellent ever erect Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān breasts weren’t nearly as big as Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s, but they were still pretty amazing on her tight Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān body.
“What?” Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus asked when we reached the top of the stairs.
She obviously noticed the attention I was giving her.
“You know,” I said, breaking one of the unspoken rules between us. “You could do a lot better than Vijay Vikram Pratāp.”
I saw her start to swell up angrily, but then she stopped and sighed, letting out a breath.
“You’re right,” she said, surprising me. “It’s too bad really. He’s handsome and smart.”
“Pretty packaging doesn’t make a good guy,” I said. “And neither does brains. And what’s with the total lack of a sense of humor?”
“Okay, MuslimātRamañ Hindu, ease off,” she said pointedly.
I raised my hands with palm toward her in surrender.
Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, rolled her awfully attractive Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān eyes and laughed.
I’d learned long ago not to comment on Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister’s Hindu boyfriend.
The fact that she hadn’t jumped all over me when I offered up my opinion about Vijay Vikram Pratāp said a lot about how close she was to dumping him already.
“See you in a couple of hours,” I said, entering my room.
The clean sheets felt wonderful and I was out almost instantly.
I woke up slowly.
It took me a few minutes to realize I wasn’t alone in my room.
Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus had pulled my desk chair out and was sitting in it, facing me.
She looked as if she’d be there for a while.
I looked at Al Ħabībah Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, and rubbed my face as I fought to wake up.
Whatever was bothering her was bad.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
I drank my morning coffee while sitting in the comfortable club chair in my living room.
I had an unobstructed view of the city, but I wasn’t focused on the scenery.
Instead, I was worried about my recent entry into a world of young white Musalmān wives and their cuckold Pseudo Musalmīn husbands.
I’d been seeing Lubnā Salīm, the tiny redheaded Musalmān extrovert, for nearly a month.
At first, we had only been intimate when Lubnā Salīm’s husband Muħammad Ashfāq was present and therefore able to watch.
Lately, however, Lubnā Salīm had started seeing me alone.
She’d assured me that Muħammad Ashfāq actually enjoyed waiting for her to return and fill him in on the details of her dalliances with me.
I had been extraordinary cautious at first, but Muħammad Ashfāq had personally confirmed that he was entirely comfortable waiting as well as watching, and I had been only too happy to oblige.
The truth was, I was really enjoying Lubnā Salīm’s near-obsession with my big Uncut Hindu Lund.
The fact that she was getting kinkier by the week didn’t hurt at all, either.
The last time we’d fucked in front of Muħammad Ashfāq, Lubnā Salīm had insisted that her husband lie on his back while she straddled his face and I drove into her from behind.
Muħammad Ashfāq had obligingly spread his white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot open so that I could easily ram my Uncut Hindu Cock into her, and then begun licking her Musalmān clitoris.
When I had finally pumped Lubnā Salīm’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot full of cum, she’d lowered herself down on Muħammad Ashfāq’s face and climaxed one last time while her Pseudo Musalmān husband licked and sucked her clean.
We’d been in a post-coital haze when Lubnā Salīm spoke up.
“I almost feel guilty keeping your incredible Uncut Hindu Cock to myself.”
I chuckled, but Lubnā Salīm persisted.
“Seriously, Muħammad Ashfāq and I know at least three other Musalmān couples we could pretty well guarantee would love to go Hindu. They are young marrieds like us. One couple just got back from their honeymoon last week. If you’re interested, we could make introductions.”
I smiled affably.
“Tell me more about the newlyweds,” I said.
Lubnā Salīm laughed.
“Thought that might get your attention. Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s only 21 and just started as a teaching assistant at my University. Åbdul Ħamīd ― her husband ― is older, around 30 I think. He manages an electronics store.”
“And what makes you think they’d be interested?” I smiled, meaningfully.
“We went out for drinks the other night and I got a little talkative about what Muħammad Ashfāq and I were into,” Lubnā Salīm replied. “Al Nādirah Al Waħīd was very curious ― she asked a lot of questions, so many in fact, that I started teasing her about wanting to try some Uncut Hindu Lund herself. She got very flustered and didn’t exactly deny it, so I flat out asked her if she was interested. She said she was, but wasn’t sure how Åbdul Ħamīd would react.”
“So you don’t really know?” I asked, smiling, teasing her actually.
Lubnā Salīm frowned.
“I didn’t say that, did I? I told her if she was serious to talk to Åbdul Ħamīd and see what he had to say,” she explained. “Al Nādirah Al Waħīd pulled me aside at our lunch break today and told me Åbdul Ħamīd was willing to meet you. We’re coming over for drinks tomorrow evening.”
“How likely is this?” I asked.
Lubnā Salīm paused for a minute.
“That’s a really tough question to answer. To be completely honest, Åbdul Ħamīd’s kind of an arrogant ass. He thinks he’s Allah’s gift to Musalmān women. Al Nādirah Al Waħīd tells me that he’s quite well hung and absolutely convinced that she would never, ever, consider another man after him. He’s so confident that he gets her to dress provocatively and takes her to a local club frequented by Hindu men. He sits at the bar and makes her flirt and dance with the Hindu customers even, but she never delivers anything. Åbdul Ħamīd likes showing that he controls her and the Hindu guys can look but not have her. Then he takes her home and fucks her.”
I was cautious.
I had to.
My Uncut Hindu Lund belonged to my infinite Musalmān Live In Relationship Partners actually.
Their happiness and life of their children even was dependent on me.
I didn’t have any right to risk their happiness and life of their children even.
“Sounds like a weird dynamic. Al Nādirah Al Waħīd likes it?”
“She likes flirting with the Hindu guys at the club, but she hates feeling like a pawn in Åbdul Ħamīd’s dominance games,” Lubnā Salīm replied. “Åbdul Ħamīd will try to pull the same crap with you, no doubt, but Al Nādirah Al Waħīd wants to teach the bastard, Åbdul Ħamīd, a lesson. Or should I say, to have you teach Åbdul Ħamīd a lesson Åbdul Ħamīd won’t ever forget.”
“How should I play this, then?” I asked, testing herself actually.
“Åbdul Ħamīd will have her tease you, but this time Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s not going to leave when he tells her to,” Lubnā Salīm explained. “You need to control the dynamic, take charge, and fuck the hell out of Al Nādirah Al Waħīd. She’ll take care of cutting Åbdul Ħamīd down to size.” Lubnā Salīm paused. “I should tell you that Al Nādirah Al Waħīd thinks she’ll run the show. You need to dominate her too and make it clear that she’s your Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān slut and they’re both your cuck couple.”
I found myself drinking my coffee and thinking on my own increasing involvement in the interfaith cuckolding lifestyle.
I hadn’t originally wanted to reinforce Musalmān couples’ fantasies about Hindu bedroom dominance and Uncut Hindu Lund “superiority.”
Yet this was clearly where Musalmān couples were coming from and, I had to admit, lately I’d found the power dynamics increasingly arousing.
Taking control of a pretty Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife like Lubnā Salīm and giving her the fucking of her life while her Pseudo Musalmān husband watched was like Viagra, and the more I did it, the more I liked it, and the more I liked it, the deeper into dominance I found myself descending. In addition, with Lubnā Salīm’s suggestions about Al Nādirah Al Waħīd and Åbdul Ħamīd, it seemed like I was about to explore the scenario even more.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd and Åbdul Ħamīd were already at Lubnā Salīm and Muħammad Ashfāq’s condo when I arrived.
I ignored the new couple momentarily, nodded to Muħammad Ashfāq, and, walking up to the petite redhead, gave Lubnā Salīm a long tongue kiss, running my right hand down her gorgeous magnificent Musalmān back and squeezing her excellent gorgeous glamorous Panjvaqtah Namāzī heavy extremely beautiful Musalmān ass.
Lubnā Salīm made a little humming noise in her throat and melted against me.
I knew the newlyweds were watching my display of open dominance closely.
“Muħammad Ashfāq, get me a bourbon and branch for your lovely wife, will you?” I made it sound like an instruction to a waiter rather than a request.
Muħammad Ashfāq headed to the kitchen to get the drink, while Lubnā Salīm made the introductions.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd was a willowy blonde.
Like Lubnā Salīm, her hair was cut quite short, which called attention to her enormous blue eyes.
The effect was stunning.
She was perhaps 5 feet 7 inches tall, and radiated good health.
As I had anticipated, her Pseudo Musalmān husband had dressed her for display.
She was wearing a light and semi-opaque sun dress that tied around her neck and waist, leaving her back bare and showing clearly that she was not wearing a bra.
Her big Musalmān breasts were outlined clearly against the fabric.
The dress ended two inches above her knees, showing off her long, firm legs to advantage.
She smiled radiantly when I took her hand in mine, holding it far longer than necessary as I deliberately made a show of looking at Al Nādirah Al Waħīd from head to toe.
Only then did I release her hand and turn to her Pseudo Musalmān husband, acknowledging him with a slight tip of my head and ignoring Åbdul Ħamīd’s proffered handshake.
Muħammad Ashfāq returned with the drink, which I took without acknowledgement, and then turned my full attention back to Al Nādirah Al Waħīd.
“Tell me about yourself, Al Nādirah Al Waħīd,” I said, smiling at the young Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān bride, offering my hand.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd took my hand in hers and I led her away from her Pseudo Musalmān husband toward the balcony.
“What brings you to me?”
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd smiled back.
“Lubnā Salīm’s been singing your praises,” she said. “I guess I’ve always found Hindu men attractive, but have never had an opportunity to act on it. Åbdul Ħamīd and I met while I was a sophomore, started dating, got engaged and got married, so I’ve never been in a position where I felt I could date Hindu men.”
I looked into her extremely beautiful Musalmān eyes until she blushed and broke the contact.
“So you’re a newlywed and a Uncut Hindu Lund virgin and you already want to cuckold your new Pseudo Musalmān husband with a Hindu man? That’s jumping in the deep end of the pool,” I said. “Is Åbdul Ħamīd failing to satisfy you?”
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd blushed again.
“He’s . . . fine.”
“But?” I asked.
“I’m not sure how to explain it,” Al Nādirah Al Waħīd said. “Åbdul Ħamīd’s focused on himself. It never occurs to him that he could be a better lover, or that I might have other interests. Moreover, it really upsets me that he makes me play the Uncut Hindu Cock-tease with Hindu guys for his amusement. I guess you could say that I want to just shock the hell out of Åbdul Ħamīd and show him that he doesn’t own me, if that makes sense, and that he’s not the be-all to end-all lover that he’s convinced he is.”
“Do you get turned on when Åbdul Ħamīd has you Uncut Hindu Cock-tease?” I asked.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd nodded.
“I like dancing and flirting with the Hindu guys at the club, that’s for sure, but it never amounts to anything. As soon as they start trying to feel me up, Åbdul Ħamīd cuts it off and we go home. It’s frustrating to get turned on and then have to stop.”
“I know I can help you with that problem.”
Then I leaned in and kissed the lovely young Musalmān blonde full on the lips, putting one hand on her waist and pulling her toward me.
The action was so smooth that it caught Al Nādirah Al Waħīd by surprise, and I felt her stiffen momentarily, but then relax, Her lips parted and her Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān tongue darted between them and into my mouth as she pressed against me.
I felt her nipples stiffen under the thin fabric of her dress, and slid my hand down to caress her excellent Musalmān butt, squeezing her as I did so, and pushing her groin forward until it pressed against my Hindu crotch.
I held the kiss and felt her respond more passionately, finally breaking it off and leaving her gasping as I ran my hand down the front of her dress and over her now hard nipples.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, and crossed the room back to the kitchen, knowing full well that Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s Pseudo Musalmān husband had witnessed the entire event.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd stood, stunned by the suddenness of the development.
I approached Lubnā Salīm as the petite redhead smiled a welcome. “That was pretty impressive,” she said. “Looks like she’s practically putty in your ever competent Hindu hands.”
“Maybe,” I replied, “but I need you to help get her ready and relaxed. That is, if you can think of a way to help out.”
Lubnā Salīm gave me a wicked grin. “I have just what she needs.” She bounced across the living room, put her head close to Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s and whispered something in the Musalmān blonde’s ear.
Al Nādirah Al Waħīd nodded and the two young Musalmān wives headed down the hall to the master bedroom, pulling the door shut behind them when they reached their destination.
I turned to Åbdul Ħamīd and Muħammad Ashfāq, acknowledging Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s husband directly for the first time that evening.
At thirty, Åbdul Ħamīd was in decent shape, perhaps 6 feet tall and trim, with close-cropped black hair, brown eyes, and decent muscle tone.
I surmised that Åbdul Ħamīd worked out enough to stave off the pudginess that often came with middle-management responsibilities.
Despite the air of confidence that Åbdul Ħamīd tried to project, I sensed that the man was uncertain and a bit uncomfortable about what he had just seen transpire.
“So, Åbdul Ħamīd, are you ready to join the ranks of Musalmān cuckolds?” I asked casually, almost as though Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s husband and I were talking about the latest standings in the NFL.
Åbdul Ħamīd nearly choked on his drink. “I, uh, well I don’t know that anything like that’s going to happen right now,” he spluttered. “Al Nādirah Al Waħīd wanted to just meet you, and I agreed to let her.”
“Oh, I think she’s ready to do way more than just meet me, judging from the way she just stuck her sweet little tongue halfway down my throat in the living room. I’d say she’s already made up her mind that the two of you aren’t leaving until she’s had a Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot-full of big Uncut Hindu Lund.”
Åbdul Ħamīd scowled.
“I think you’ve got it all wrong. Al Nādirah Al Waħīd’s not doing anything until and unless I tell her that I want her to do it.”
I gave Åbdul Ħamīd a long look.
“I don’t think so, my friend. The first lesson to be learned is that cuck Musalmān husbands don’t make the rules anymore. You’re here to help Al Nādirah Al Waħīd get what she really wants, which is to have you watch her fuck me. Don’t worry, though. It’ll be the most intense sexual experience of your life.”
Muħammad Ashfāq nodded vigorously. “My right, Åbdul Ħamīd. It really is the most amazing thing you’ll ever see.”
Åbdul Ħamīd’s jaw clenched and he closed my hands into fists.
“I think this evening’s over. Muħammad Ashfāq, where’s Al Nādirah Al Waħīd gone to? It’s time for us to leave,” I said.
I smiled at the attempted assertiveness Åbdul Ħamīd was putting on display.
I drew myself up to my full height and leaned forward into the Pseudo Musalmān husband’s personal space, forcing Åbdul Ħamīd to look up at me.
“The only place you’re going is where I tell you to sit while you watch your Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife get the kind of fucking she wants but you could never give her.”
Åbdul Ħamīd blanched and took a step back.
At that moment, Lubnā Salīm bounced into the kitchen.
“My goodness, boys, the testosterone is so thick in here you could cut it with a knife,” she said merrily. “Maybe you should just all put your dicks on the table and see who the real man is. On second thought, never mind. We all know who’d win that contest pretty easily.”
Åbdul Ħamīd shrugged. “I was telling Muħammad Ashfāq and Durgesh that we were just leaving.”
“Oh really?” Lubnā Salīm replied. “Might want to talk to Al Nādirah Al Waħīd about that. When I left the bedroom, she was lying on the bed stark naked. She sent me to tell Durgesh she was waiting for him.” With that, the Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān redhead turned and walked back down the hallway to the bedroom.
I couldn’t help smirking at Åbdul Ħamīd.
“You two Pseudo Musalmīn cucks wait here,” I said, and followed Lubnā Salīm.*
It was the same bed I’d gained comfort from when I was here before.
Yet, now it was also something more.
It dawned on me that my thoughts described Al Furqān Al Firdaus as well.
She was the same Al Furqān Al Firdaus I knew and loved, but now she was something more.
“Hey Durgesh,” Ħabībah said as she flopped down on the couch cushion next to my head with a grin. “What are you doing sleeping out here?”
“Who said anything about sleeping?” I groaned as I sat up. “This couch sucks! I’m exhausted.”
“Aren’t you going to sleep in your Bahoo Bégum’s room?” her boyfriend Vijay Vikram Pratāp asked.
“That was the plan,” I sighed. “Until Al Furqān Al Firdaus came home early.”
“Al Furqān Al Firdaus, your Bahoo Bégum’s home?” Ħabībah asked, no longer smiling.
“Yeah,” I replied as I stood and stretched.
“Damn it!” Vijay Vikram Pratāp cried. “She hates me as it is, and this isn’t going to help!”
I fought off a smile.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus didn’t hate Vijay Vikram Pratāp.
She didn’t hate anyone, but then again he wasn’t her favorite person.
Mine either for that matter.
“Does she know about the party?” he asked.
“Of course she does,” Ħabībah said, answering for me. “She’s Al Furqān Al Firdaus, Durgesh’s Bahoo Bégum.”
“Don’t worry,” I said to Ħabībah, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister. “I told her it was all Vijay Vikram Pratāp’s idea. You should be okay.” I then turned to Vijay Vikram Pratāp and added, “Although, she did say something about wanting to talk to you this morning.”
“What?” he asked nervously.
“Relax,” Ħabībah, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister sighed. “Durgesh is just joking.”
“Very funny man!” he said angrily.
“Vijay Vikram Pratāp, I think you’d better be going,” Ħabībah, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, said. “Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s an early riser and I don’t think you want to be here when she gets up.”
“I’m gone,” he said, giving Ħabībah, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)’s sister, a quick kiss and making for the door.
Was it fair to be annoyed at him for bailing without even offering to stay and face the music?
“Think we should wake up Shaguftah Jamīl and Ashok?” Ħabībah asked.
“Probably,” I answered, forgetting about Vijay Vikram Pratāp for the Moment. “It will give them a chance to prepare.”
“As you can prepare for one of Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s lectures,” Ħabībah sighed, but then added, “On the other hand, maybe they can slip out too. There’s no reason for everyone to have to face the music.”
“I’ll wake them,” I said.
I climbed the stairs quickly as memories of the night before drifted through my head.
I was also exhausted.
Had it happened?
Did I really sleep with Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?)?
Moreover, what did it mean for us today?
The last question was the one that concerned me the most.
I had no idea how to react, but I figured I’d work through it eventually.
On the other hand, I was seriously worried about Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my ‘Bahoo Bégum’(?).
I was cautious that there was a good chance she wouldn’t handle it at all.
And then what?
I pushed open the guest bedroom door and forced the thoughts of the night before, out of my head, for the Moment.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, and her boyfriend Shankar were asleep in the bed.
She was short and shapely, with long red hair, pale skin and freckles.
Shaguftah Jamīl took after her Ammī’s side.
Shankar wasn’t much taller with blond hair and a wrestler’s built.
They made a nice couple.
They met at the local community college two years ago and were bound for an altar ever since.
“Wake up you two!” I said, shaking the bed.
Shankar didn’t budge, but Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, opened her awfully attractive Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān eyes.
“Lillah, For God’s sake, why?” Shaguftah Jamīl groaned.
“Because Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s home,” I replied.
“Aunt Al Furqān Al Firdaus? Oh no!” Shaguftah Jamīl cried, and then started shaking Shankar.
I left the room and moved on to my bedroom.
I pulled my shirt off as I went.
I needed something to get me going.
A shower was just the thing.
I’d grab some clothes while I woke Ashok and his Musalmān girl up.
Maybe it would help.
I threw open the door to find Sabīħah Åbbās riding Al Furqān Al Firdaus’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, on my bed.
The room smelled of sex.
Sabīħah Åbbās looked at me and smiled.
I shook my head.
She didn’t even pause in what she was doing.
“You two better hurry,” I said. “Because Al Furqān Al Firdaus is home and she’s bound to wake up soon.”
“Damn!” Ashok cried and pushed his Musalmān girl off him.
Sabīħah Åbbās clearly wanted to finish.
I shook my head and went to my dresser.
Ashok’s hair was light brown and he was average height with a slim built.
Sabīħah Åbbās‘s hair was darker and she had a sexy smile when she chose to show it.
You wouldn’t know it based on the way she dressed, but her extremely beautiful soft Panjvaqtah Namāzī pink Musalmān body was amazing.
I’d gotten a chance to see it twice now and neither time had been a disappointment.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
I overheard Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, cry as I passed the guest bedroom.
“Oh yes, Shankar! Harder!”
I rolled my eyes.
“It’s nice to see someone is having fun,” I said softly as I moved down the hall.
I passed Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s sister’s bedroom and heard the headboard rocking into the wall.
“Ħabībah really needs to fix that.”
I didn’t much like Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s sister’s boyfriend Vijay, but I’d learned a long time ago to stay out of her love life.
He was an asshole.
I couldn’t hide my feeling on him, not from her, but I remained silent on the subject.
I was sure Ħabībah would figure it out eventually and for the time being; at least he was a good-looking asshole that seemed to make her happy.
Vijay Vikram Pratāp, of course, wasn’t a Dvij, but if he was Ħabībah’s love, Vijay Vikram Pratāp was better than her Musalmān cousins were, her Ammī was trying to marry Ħabībah with.
I moved on once again toward my own room. Shaguftah Jamīl’s cousin Ashok was there with his new girlfriend Sabīħah Åbbās.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, was using my room because the only other bedroom available was Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s and neither Ħabībah nor I thought it right that he and his girlfriend sleep there.
I got Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s bed since she was the one who stupidly broke up with her girlfriend the week before.
“I really could have timed it better,” Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum, mumbled to herself.
Ħabībah and I had started planning this night from the Moment Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum, told us that she was going out of town on business.
I was sixty-five already.
Ħabībah was twenty-three and already working.
She still lived home while she saved up for a place.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum, was pretty old fashioned and didn’t let the people we were dating sleep over.
She had to know that we weren’t virgins, but Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum, was a typical Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum.
She liked to think of them still as kids.
It would have been cute if it weren’t so annoying to them.
I stopped in front of my bedroom door and listened.
I forgot to get a pair of sweats to sleep in out of my closet before Ashok and Sabīħah Åbbās disappeared into my room.
I didn’t hear anything, so I opened the door gently.
I glanced at my bed and saw that they were asleep.
Ashok and his Musalmān girl were naked.
My eyebrows rose in appreciation when I saw Sabīħah Åbbās.
I had to give Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, credit.
I’d thought she was cute when I met her earlier, but now I realized that Sabīħah Åbbās was a lot more than that.
She was hot!
Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl had a very nice Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān body.
I shook my head and looked away.
The sweat pants were easily reachable and I got them as quietly as I could.
I was making my escape when I stubbed my toe.
I cursed as quietly as I could.
“Are you okay?” I heard Sabīħah Åbbās ask.
I looked back toward the bed.
She had pulled the covers up, but I could still see her excellent fantastic Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān curves through the sheets.
She saw me looking and smiled.
“Fine,” I replied a little too quickly. “Sorry. I just needed to get something to sleep in.”
“It’s not a problem,” she said kindly. “I shouldn’t have a problem going back to sleep. I’m still pretty drunk.”
“Aren’t you all?” I grinned. “You finished almost all the alcohol you bought, and that’s saying something! You new generation!”
“It was a fun night,” she smiled in return.
It was sexy as hell.
I looked at her and shook my head as I fought to hide my sudden and intense ashvinātam attraction to her.
Damn Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan!
She had succeeded ultimately to brainwash me, despite my utmost efforts constantly to keep away from her Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was more serious to make me fuck Jet Musalmān Beauties more and more than I suspected her dedication to it.
It was her mission of life to establish the fact that Kħalīfatul Musalmīn, Ħazrat Abū Bakr Siddīq were a better father, an ideal father actually, when he decided his nine years old daughter, Åāyeshah Siddīqah, to marry with fifty plus, Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam.
“Islam is the best religion for womankind.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan used to say proudly, “It saved the daughters from being buried alive in then Årabia. Islam is the only Dīn that advocates marriages oriented to morals and humanity, instead of oriented to their bloody age suitability. Islam never supported the bloody age oriented marriages. Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam married Ħazrat Kħadījatul Kubrā razī Allāhu tålā ånahā not for sex, for morals and humanity instead. When he sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam married Ħazrat Kħadījatul Kubrā razī Allāhu tålā ånahā she razī Allāhu tålā ånahā already had been married thrice. Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam easily could have married a virgin, couldn’t he sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam?”
Now I myself didn’t think anything abnormal in lusting for the teenager Musalmān Beauties and even fucking them wildly.
Now, I never thought I was sixty five.
I myself thought I was even less than thirty five.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad had done wonders ultimately.
I obliged Åbdul Waħīd, Muħammad Ashfāq, Åāliyah Fārūq and Lubnā Salīm.
When we reached Lubnā Salīm’s condo, she insisted I join her for a nightcap.
We sat in the living room and drank, looking out at the city skyline and the bright lights below.
“Tell me about what you and Muħammad Ashfāq are looking for,” I inquired.
“We’re crazy about each other, but we’re very different sexually,” Lubnā Salīm replied. “Muħammad Ashfāq is moody and intense and frankly a bit passive. He likes to make love. I, on the other hand, am light-hearted and just love to fuck.”
“We’re out of sync. I want to get my brains fucked out and Muħammad Ashfāq wants candles, flowers and a string quartet.”
Lubnā Salīm took a long pull at her double vodka tonic and continued.
“I’ve always found Hindu men attractive, at least in the abstract, though I’ve never been intimate with any. To try and liven things up, I got Muħammad Ashfāq to watch porn together. It was just sort of okay, but one night I put on an amateur video of a white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife with a Hindu guy while the Musalmān husband watched, and it was like ‘POW!'”
“POW-how” I asked.
Lubnā Salīm laughed.
“POW as in Muħammad Ashfāq got hard as a rock, I got soaking wet, and we screwed like we did when we first got married,” Lubnā Salīm said. “At the same time, Åāliyah Fārūq was telling me about what was going on with you and her and Åbdul Waħīd. I told Muħammad Ashfāq about it, and we started watching what I guess you could call amateur interfaith cuckold videos pretty regularly. I finally flat out asked Muħammad Ashfāq if the idea of me actually fucking a Hindu guy turned him on. He didn’t have to answer the question, because he was hard as a rock in two seconds. No denying it after that,” she said. “And here we are.”
I looked at Lubnā Salīm intensely.
“I’m not into cheating Musalmān wives, Lubnā Salīm. It sounds like this is entirely your agenda. Is that right?”
Lubnā Salīm laughed.
“I definitely am leading the way, that’s fair enough,” she said, “but you and I wouldn’t be here if Muħammad Ashfāq wasn’t intrigued and aroused by the idea too.”
“Ideas are ideas. The reality of watching another man― and a Hindu man at that― taking a Musalmān husband’s white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife can be a lot different than the idea of it for a husband, if you get my drift.”
Lubnā Salīm nodded.
“Supposing, for example, that you really love it but Muħammad Ashfāq can’t cope, what then?”
“We’ve talked about it quite a bit,” Lubnā Salīm replied. “We’re going to give it a month and reassess. Either one of us can cancel at that point, but if we both say okay there’s no backing out after that.”
“Tell me what you want from me,” I asked.
“I want you to fuck me. Not just fuck. I want you to own my Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot and fuck it as if I’m your personal Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān slut, white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife fuck toy. I want you to make me totally lose control, and I want Muħammad Ashfāq to see what a real man with a big Uncut Hindu Lund can do to his white Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wife,”
Lubnā Salīm smiled impishly, winked at me meaningfully and continued.
“And I want Muħammad Ashfāq to know deep down inside that he will never, ever, be able to fuck me like you can, and that my Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Choot will never ever be just for him anymore.”
I watched her gravely.
“You think Muħammad Ashfāq would ever agree to that?”
Lubnā Salīm looked at me conspiratorially.
“Why should we worry about it?”
“I am not interested in Muħammad Ashfāq any more, as Åāliyah Fārūq is no more interested in Åbdul Waħīd any more.” Lubnā Salīm said curtly.
“Most of the Pseudo Musalmīn are losing interest in lovemaking now, but not in sex.”
I smiled ironically.
“Are you telling me? I am fucking more and more Musalmān wives, nowadays, not only with the consent of their Pseudo Musalmān husbands, but even on their own request too. Can you imagine?”
Lubnā Salīm’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān eyes were burning now with immense hatred for Pseudo Musalmīn, including his husband Muħammad Ashfāq too.
“Durgesh, what do you think, your de facto wife, Kħātūn-e-Jannat Ħazrat Saiyadah Fātimah razī Allāhu tålā ånahā, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s movement, Cuckold Your Musalmān husband Movement would have succeeded even if the Pseudo Musalmīn were not actually munāfiqīn?”
“Certainly not.” I exploded suddenly, “If there is really a God, and Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam were his prophet actually, it could never happen. And I believe there is a God and Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam were his prophet actually.”
My voice was effervescent with immense wrath against Pseudo Musalmīn, inherent in me, but I never let it come out.
Lubnā Salīm smiled.
“Lā ilāh illillāh Muħammad arrasūlallāh?”
“Lā ilāh illillāh Muħammad arrasūlallāh.”
Lubnā Salīm laughed.
“You are a Muslim, Durgesh, you are not a Hindu any more.”
“A true Muslim is always a true Hindu too.”
“Don’t believe if you don’t want to. Lā ikrah fiddīni.”*
I began, and paused when I realized what I was about to say.
“You know if you do have a problem going back to sleep…”
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Yes?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
I was horny as hell and tempted, but it was all right, if wasn’t going to happen.
I wasn’t the type to try and steal Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl.
Let Shaguftah Jamīl herself come to me.
Brahmcharyéñ kanyā yuvānam vindaté Patim.
Besides, what kind of heel would do it from right out of bed?
“You could wake up Ashok. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
“You think so?” she smiled.
I thought I saw some disappointment there too, but it was probably just my imagination.
“I know!” I laughed, then glanced at Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s cousin, Shaguftah Jamīl, who seemed almost comatose and added, “Although he seemed wiped out.”
“He is,” she replied, slowly looking at me oddly. “Do you want to fill in for him?”
I was stunned.
Sabīħah Åbbās never even thought what she was suggesting me to do.
Tonight was the first time I met Sabīħah Åbbās.
She was pretty quiet earlier.
I would never have guessed she was like this!
“No,” I smiled affably. “Not that I’m not tempted. Hell, more than tempted! You’re hot as hell, but you’re here with Ashok. Come to me yourself if you really so kind to honor me. You are always most welcome. I’m honored. Thanks for the so kind offer.”
“How sweet,” she teased. “Oh, and thanks for the compliment.”
“You deserve it,” I said, shaking my head.
“If you keep talking like that,” she smiled sexily. “I might not give you the choice.”
“I’d better be going then,” I laughed, but it was not easy to move.
“Now look what you’ve done?” she asked. “I’m horny again. I guess I’ll have to wake up Ashok and help him recover.”
“Think you can?” I joked. “He looks passed out.”
“Watch me,” she replied confidently.
Sabīħah Åbbās shocked me again by reaching out and beginning to rub Ashok’s cock through the sheet.
She was watching me, obviously enjoying my reaction.
Was Sabīħah Åbbās teasing me, seducing me actually?
I couldn’t believe it.
‘Wow!’ I thought. ‘This Musalmān girl was definitely something else, drunk or not!’
Sabīħah Åbbās continued to look at me as she worked Ashok’s cock.
I stood there mesmerized.
She had one of the sexiest smiles I’d ever seen.
She let the sheet drop slightly and exposed her ever excellent ever erect Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān breasts.
I shook my head.
“I don’t suppose you have a sister?” I asked.
“Two,” she grinned. “But the younger one is only eighteen and pretty innocent.”
“And the older one?” I asked.
“You, perhaps only you, can handle her,” Sabīħah Åbbās laughed.
“Maybe not,” I smiled. “But after watching this, I’d sure like to try.”
“Watching what?” she asked huskily, no longer laughing. “You mean this?”
And with that Sabīħah Åbbās pulled Ashok’s hard cock from under the sheet and took it into her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān mouth.
Her awfully attractive Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān eyes never left mine.
I smiled at Sabīħah Åbbās.
“Does Ashok know just how much of a slut you are?” I teased her.
After all, Sabīħah Åbbās, herself was teasing me.
Wasn’t Sabīħah Åbbās?
She pulled off Ashok’s cock.
It glistened, but I wasn’t really looking at it.
My eyes were locked with hers.
“Not yet,” she smiled sexily, stroking Ashok’s cock. “But he’s learning.”
“Are you sure you aren’t willing to introduce me to your sister?” I kept smiling.
“Maybe one day,” she smiled. “Or maybe I’ll let Ashok play with my sister too and keep you to myself.”
“Wow!” I cried. “Are you always like this?”
“Not usually,” she admitted. “But as I said earlier, I’m drunk.”
“So if you were sober you wouldn’t want to do what you just suggested?”
“Oh, I would want to do it,” she replied. “I just wouldn’t have suggested it, at least not so soon after starting to date Ashok and meeting you.”
“You are something else!” I said, shaking my head.
“Yes, she is,” Ashok said, finally awake.
“Hey Hindu lover boy,” Sabīħah Åbbās said, smiling at Ashok.
She followed that by taking Ashok’s cock back into her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān mouth.
He looked at me and grinned.
“You two have fun,” I said, shaking my head again and leaving my room.
I went into the bathroom and changed into my sweats.
I had to wrestle my cock inside.
Sabīħah Åbbās really got to me.
No surprise there, but I was also a little shocked at Ashok.
He was nineteen and Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s younger cousin, but he seemed to take Sabīħah Åbbās’s sexuality in stride much better than I did.
It wasn’t a good sign.
Could he let his extremely beautiful ultramodern Musalmān girlfriend fuck me?
If yes, either he wasn’t serious about her, or he wasn’t as possessive as the most of the Hindus are usually.
I forced, Tried to force myself, not to think about it or I’d never get to sleep.
Al Furqān Al Firdaus, my Bahoo Bégum’s room was the biggest after my own master bedroom, and she had a king sized bed.
I shook my head as I looked at it.
It was too bad she never shared it with anyone.
My stepson had disappeared right after he married her.
I didn’t know him and at this point, I never wanted to.
There was a rumor, my Bahū Bégum, Al Furqān Al Firdaus, actually loved me, not her Musalmān husband.
She married him only to cuckold him to both of us.
“Nonsense,” I had exploded, “What the hell these Pseudo Musalmīn want to say? Entire Musalmān girls that marry my Musalmān stepsons actually want to cuckold my Musalmān stepsons to themselves and me? Actually, they want to break my home, my family, terrifying my Musalmān stepsons to leave my home if they really want to keep their beautiful young Musalmān wives to themselves, and don’t want to share them with me.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan smiled,
“Don’t worry, your Musalmān stepsons would rather share their extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wives with you, rather than they would leave our home.”
“You keep away from it,” I said spitefully,
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, don’t think I don’t understand the deepest game you are playing.”
“Allah Allah, husband, now what the hell have I done?” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan asked innocently.
“You want it. You are behind it. You want my Musalmān stepsons cuckolded to their beautiful young Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wives and me. You…you are an immensely incurable incestuous…”
“Yes, I am.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan interrupted me raising her head proudly, “I want your Pseudo Musalmīn stepsons cuckolded to you and their extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī young ardent Musalmān wives. They don’t deserve them. Instead, their extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī young ardent Musalmān wives deserve you.”
“Oh, stop this bloody Optimum Matchmaking.”
“Why the hell should I?” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan herself thundered at me now, “you can’t make me not to practice my Dīn. Lā ikrah fiddīni.”
“And your Dīn is to make my Bahū Bégums my Live In Relationship partners?” I smiled venomously.
“Allah Rabbil åālmīn himself did it. Ummil Mominīn Ħazrat Zaynab bint Jaħash…”
“Oh, shut up,” I laughed sarcastically, “Your version of Islam is as incestuous as you yourself are.”
“The entire humankind are product of incest, Hindu Piyā, entire Musalmīn, entire Christians, entire Jews believe it. You Hindus are not even countable. Adam and Eve’s children had to commit incest to save humankind. We entire humankind are product of their incest. Never forget this ever burning truth before hating incest so much. Incest is necessary to save humankind. Incest is necessary to do justice with us womankind. Why the hell only we daughters leave our parents’ house, not even your stepsons ever?”
1. Bahoo Begum
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam