Gotrbhid Mahā Bhārat
Shūdrasý tu Savarñaiv Nānyā Bhāryā vidhīyaté
‘Jāti Pānti Poochhé Nahin Koī,
Hari ko bhajé so Hari kā Hoī’
1/18: Ādi Parv
Looking down and seeing Ramā Bhārgav’s musky Bhārgav Brāhmañ hole stuffed with my veined Bachhalyā rod sliding in and out was a wonderful vision.
“Durgesh, Anant Brahmkanyā Ramañ, Anant Brahmāñī Ramañ, Bachhalyā Piyā! Now I want you to fuck me harder and slower,” She instructed, “and when you’re all the way up in there, keep it in for a while.”
I fucked as I was requested.
Who was I to question?
Every slow, hard stroke was complete joy.
I knew that the rectum is full of nerve endings and several muscles and a major artery.
Done right, even the ass fucking can be great for all involved.
The muscles would account for the heavenly tightness, and I could also feel the artery pulsating.
“Your ceaselessly unyielding, ever impulsive, sixty-Six years old, ultimate skilled, matchless, extreme manifest Bachhalyā Lund feels so good in my Bhārgav Brāhmañ ass! Ahhhhh it’s soooooo big! It’s sooooo deep!”
But there was a difference too.
Imāmzādī Sheikħzādī Al Åāyeshah Al Jalāl loved my ceaselessly unyielding, ever impulsive, sixty-Six years old, ultimate skilled, matchless, extreme manifest Uncut Hindu Lund more in her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass than she loved it in her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot even.
She asked me usually to grab her ever erect Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān boobs strongly and penetrate her from her ever glorious Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān behind into her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot and into her Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass both alternatively.
None of us both was aware how much.
Time was immaterial.
It seemed to be infinity.
Then I heard the sounds.
These were the sounds of a woman near orgasm.
Her tight Bhārgav Brāhmañ asshole was gripping my ceaselessly unyielding, ever impulsive, sixty-Six years old, ultimate skilled, matchless, extreme manifest Bachhalyā Lund even tighter pulsating and spasming with her orgasm.
This was what pushed me over:
The thought that Ramā Bhārgav, the Brahm Padminī, would have anal sex, coupled with the thought that she enjoyed my ceaselessly unyielding, ever impulsive, sixty-Six years old, ultimate skilled, matchless, extreme manifest Bachhalyā Lund in her twenty nine years old young Bhārgav Brāhmañ ass so much that she could cum as a result.
My own toes started to curl and my feet and calves seized up.
My heart felt like it was going to explode.
The wonderful electricity ran from my heart down my body to my hips simultaneously with the same electricity running from the balls of my feet, up my calves through my thighs to my hips where it exploded through my own rectum, which seemed to clench up, through my testicles then finally out of my ceaselessly unyielding, ever impulsive, sixty-Six years old, ultimate skilled, matchless, extreme manifest Bachhalyā Lund.
My hips began to buck and hump involuntarily as if I was some sexual marionette controlled by an unseen puppet master pulling my strings.
She had stopped touching her clit and now the only movements were the deep breaths she was taking.
With her Bhārgav Brāhmañ ass cheeks still aimed skyward I watched her asshole’s aperture slowly shrink, like a closing magical portal to the dimension of ecstasy, as my creamy Bachhalyā jizz dripped and bubbled out of it.
I was fighting off a wave of post-orgasmic sleepiness, slowly regaining my breath.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, as if boasting about her vaginal and anal acumen.
“Oh, wow, still tingling.”
“You’re super stimulated.”
“Yeah… I guess… Whatever it is, it’s awesome.”
“And you?” I inquired, feeling the pressure of satisfying her.
“Uh, yeah sure, “I responded proudly, triumphantly.
and she slowly and carefully retreated from the bed and me, always keeping her hind end pointed at me.
I must have had a look of some question on my face, because she answered without being questioned:
“I feel like I have a gallon of your Bachhalyā cum up my Bhārgav Brāhmañ rectum! I’d like to rid myself of it. I’m just going to wash up a bit and then I’ll be right back,” gesturing with those sexy eyes and a head motion towards a door to the bath that was off of the master bedroom.
I watched her lovely form walk to the door and then disappear behind it.
I snatched her hand in mine before she could get far. Somewhat surprised, she turned halfway to face me I was still looking for some kind of connection or acceptance from this woman who’d stepped out of my dreams, and I was worried about what I took as a mixed review of my sexual prowess.
“If you just give me two minutes, I can fuck you again,” I offered. “Slower, if that’s how you want it.”
She moved my hand to her mouth and kissed it.
She looked at me with kind eyes and replied,
“‘Two?’ I’ll give you twenty!”
The way she did this made me see that she understood my ever youth and my sexual experience.
She saw my need for her approval, my desire to please her.
She knew that what she’d said would make me feel like I had satisfied her and that I was off the hook.
So, I’m good enough to earn twenty more minutes of her time, I thought to myself.
I’m good enough to wait twenty minutes to get fucked again.
She had two small wash cloths folded over her arm.
She knelt on the floor beside the bed and dipped one of them in the basin.
She began to gently clean my cock with soft, gentle swabs of the cloth.
The slow, sensual way she cleaned my dick and balls didn’t keep me from asking naughtily.
“What are you doing?”
Patently she answered in a soft sexy voice without ever taking her hands or eyes off my genitals:
She stared at my ceaselessly unyielding, ever impulsive, sixty-Six years old, ultimate skilled, matchless, extreme manifest Bachhalyā Lund as if entranced by it, softly biting her own lower lip as was her habit.
The slow, thorough way she washed my shlong and ball bag with care was evidence that this was all part of the “process of pleasure” she’d spoken of.
That thought alone made me both understand and enjoy this sensual sponge bath.
The summer breeze wafted into the room like a silent visitor and caressed my now clean, wet sex organs it felt cool and refreshing.
Then she took the other cloth and softly patted me dry.
All of this was too much, and my blood started to flow south towards my Bachhalyā crotch.
She gazed at my exposed Bachhalyā manhood like a hungry person would behold a favorite meal, watching intently as my ceaselessly unyielding, ever impulsive, sixty-Six years old, ultimate skilled, matchless, extreme manifest Bachhalyā Lund visibly grew before her beautiful Bhārgav Brāhmañ eyes.
I spread the lower portion of her Bhārgav Brāhmañ ass crack and upper thigh with the back of my hand and touched the lips of her Bhārgav Brāhmañ Choot with my ceaselessly unyielding, ever impulsive, sixty-Six years old, ultimate skilled, matchless, extreme manifest Bachhalyā Lund.
This caused her to stand straight up.
“Slow down a second. I want to out dump this basin. Then I want to lie with you and let things happen naturally.” She walked away, taking the wash basin with her.
“So tell me, you just fuck your clients? Or am I special?” she said with a Cheshire cat grin.
“What’s with all the questions?”
“Sorry. It’s a game I like to play. I try to read you and then see how well I did.”
I didn’t say anything, only smiled.
“Durgesh, you’re a horny guy.”
“I guess so, myself too.”
She raised her sculpted eyebrows and smirked a cute little smirk.
“I watched you mentally undress every beautiful woman who walked in or out of here tonight, including Nādirah and me.”
“Well, isn’t that normal?”
“Yes, but you’re very obvious about it.”
“It shows the beautiful ladies that I’m interested in them. If they too are interested in me, we can enjoy sex mutually.”*
I couldn’t believe her.
“Isn’t it a favor?”
“Durgesh, she is my best friend,”
“She must see a psychiatrist,”
“She has seen,”
“What did the psychiatrist suggest to your best friend?”
“To see you, the utmost successful Sex Therapist.”
“It’s not a problem that needs a sex therapy.”
“The psychiatrist says it’s not only a psychological problem. It involves sex too. So, Nanditā must see you, the optimum Sex Therapist, instead of a female psychiatrist.”
“You want me to rape your friend, Nanditā Joshī?”
Nanditā Joshī looked at me boldly at first.
Yet, she bent her head down realizing her guilty request.
Yes, Nanditā Joshī was very beautiful.
She wasn’t a Just Eighteen Just Adult too.
Nanditā Joshī herself was twenty eight.
“Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā!” I exclaimed.
“My father, Tribhuvan Nārāyañ Joshī too has seen you having sex with my Ammī, Imāmzādī Sheikħzādī Al Nåmat Al Islam. He has asked her to stop having sex with you if she really wants to marry my father.”
“I think you should marry, Nanditā Joshī.” I said gravely.
“The reason is quite obvious,” I smiled at Nanditā Joshī.
“There isn’t any Mr. Perfect anywhere. You’ve searched for him for ten long years. Still you couldn’t understand it?”
“What do you mean?” Nanditā Joshī said furiously, “They all claim you are the Mr. Perfect.”
“I’m Sixty Six now.”
“Well, age is no bar.”
“Your father, Tribhuvan Nārāyañ Joshī, is ready for it?”
“I don’t need his consent.”
“I’m no Mr. Perfect.”
“The entire womankind doesn’t agree with you.” Nanditā Joshī smiled, “Tell me only one thing. Why every beautiful woman is crazy to have sex with you?”
“Because Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, her Seven Movements, her Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad, her Young Musalmān Lady Brigade etcetera have advertised my sexual prowess too much among womankind. They aren’t crazy for me actually, they are crazy for that imaginary Durgesh that doesn’t exist anywhere actually.”
Nanditā Joshī laughed,
“Despite you are fucking now almost every beautiful houselady, your mythic is still not broken?”
“Well, I try to be competent sexually for them.”
“I watch my Ammī, Imāmzādī Sheikħzādī Al Nåmat Al Islam, when you fuck her. That isn’t any myth. That isn’t what I have heard only. I do watch it clandestinely since ten years. You just keep fucking her enormously. Her beautiful Musalmān lady friends have also joined you both in this period.”
“And you watched them too, having sex with me?”
“And you think they are crazy for me for my matchless sexual prowess?”
“You are unique in sex, yes!”
“While a large number of them are after my endless money.” I said curtly, “They deliberately lie about my sexual prowess because they get money for it from Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, Modern Democratic Årabia, the Seven Movements of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, her Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad, her Young Musalmān Lady Brigade , etcetera.”
“Even if it is so, how can it help you to do what I myself am watching for ten long years? That can’t be untrue.”
“Try to understand, Durgesh,” Ramā Bhārgav tried to explain, “Nanditā Joshī can’t request anyone else to rape her. He would blackmail her to continue. Everyone is not as kind, understanding and sympathetic to us womankind as you are.”
“Wājidah has convinced Nanditā Joshī that she enjoyed a sexual adventure very much that she never enjoyed even with the same Amit Bhaŧŧāchārý. Nanditā Joshī wants to enjoy the thrill in it herself too. You are the only safe choice.”
I kept watching them.
“She wanted some degree of security but wasn’t sure how to go about it.” Ramā Bhārgav said, “Nanditā Joshī had been discussing possibilities with me and I had the brainwave that you would make the perfect rapist.”
“Thank you very much for that vote of confidence, Ramā Bhārgav.” I said sarcastically.
The girls now had a theoretical rapist and a voluntary victim, but weren’t sure how to get the show on the road.
I pushed a bit harder on why they had chosen me for a rapist.
It turned out they trusted me.
They knew I wouldn’t actually do anything to hurt Nanditā Joshī, excluding the little matter of rape, and that I wouldn’t expect to discontinue on a sexual relationship with her afterwards. It would just be a once off rape so that Nanditā Joshī could experience it.
“So what you really want is for Nanditā Joshī to have some consensual non-consensual sex,” I told them. “The way it works is that Nanditā Joshī gives her consent at the start and can’t withdraw that consent. It doesn’t matter if she changes her mind, as I would just ignore any refusal. You would, in the initial consent, agree to certain limits. For example, you would make the consent time-frame limited. You may say it applies to tomorrow and runs for forty eight hours, starting at midnight tonight. You may also like to limit the number of times you’re agreeing to have sex in that period. You don’t want to find yourself being pounced on every couple of hours and forced to have sex. And you may want to limit what I can do. Do you understand how it works?”
“I think so,” said Nanditā Joshī. “I’d say that you can have sex with me once tomorrow and then I forget about it, but at some stage tomorrow you ravish me.”
“Close, but not quite accurate. What it means is that sometime tomorrow I would take you, even if you changed your mind and decided you didn’t want sex with me after all. I would already have irrevocable permission, and if you do change your mind you’re going to be raped anyway. And I might want you to do things you don’t want to do. What would you do if I demanded that you give me a blowjob to start with?”
Both the girls blushed at that and looked at each other.
“Um, I’m not sure,” said Nanditā Joshī. “I might refuse to do that.”
“And I’m the rapist, remember. I might not let you refuse. How would you react if I spanked you until you agreed to do the blowjob?”
There was more blushing and exchanging of glances, but Nanditā Joshī actually looked a little intrigued.
“I’m not sure that I’d like a spanking,” she said.
What the hell. I was sitting down and she was standing right there in front of me wearing a short skirt.
“Let’s find out,” I said and took hold of her arm and pulled.
Nanditā Joshī suddenly found herself across my knee.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam