Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan sat back in the green swivel chair and contemplated her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, across her favorite desk.
Her Abbū had a dream to be the Mustafa Kemal Atatürk of entire Islamic World.
But whereas Mustafa Kemal Atatürk was practical, her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, was utopian more than practical.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan could not understand that the Musalmīn were never democratic practically except when Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam and Kħulfa-e-Rāshidīn were alive.
Maybe Abū Sufyān had embraced Islam ultimately sincerely after the victory of Mecca.
Yet, his ‘crown prince’, his Walī Åhad, Ħazrat Muåāwiyah bin Abū Sufyān, never forgot he was the crown prince of Mecca before Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam conquered Mecca.
He was never democratic, nor as sincere to Islam as Ħazrat Kħālid bin Walīd, Saifullah, razī Allāhu Tålā ånahu.
Her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, was almost always in a state of high enthusiasm.
He had congratulated his daughter profusely, abundantly.
She had fulfilled his dream in Saudi Arabia.
Even her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, had ignored that Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had revenged her for betraying her father.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan never listened to her Ammī.
Nafīsah Salmān always tried to explain to her daughter,
“Your Abbū is a bloody terrorist. He is a munāfiq, a Pseudo Musalmān. I punished him for his munāfiqat, his pseudo Īmān.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan laughed sarcastically.
“And I punished you for your insincerity to my Abbū as his wife. I can please Durgesh more, sexually, than you can. I’ve successfully replaced you in his life.”
“Because you are thirty two years younger than Durgesh?” Nafīsah Salmān, her Ammī, had smiled cunningly.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan realized once again she owed her cunningness to her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, she detested so much.
Her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, wasn’t cunning at all.
He was a utopian idealist Musalmān.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan was Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s utmost close sister.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was happy that Tawaħīd Bājī was too not less cunning than herself or their Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān.
What a great Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān female body her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, had.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could not deny her own immense Musalmān beauty was due to her Ammī’s incredible eternal Musalmān beauty.
Nafīsah Salmān knew very well how to maintain her magical magnificent figure.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had congratulated her younger sister too.
She had happily recounted the details of her airplane trip down from Ved Nagar, accompanied by the Secret Service commando who had shown at Ålīgarh Muslim University a week ago.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had reported proudly that every passenger aboard was absorbed in a newspaper or weekly magazine filled with pictures of Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had recounted the excitement of her ride in the President House limousine too, of the photographers who had surrounded her outside the Al Ajm lobby, of her rescue.
Momentarily muted by her first visit to the Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah Office, Al Tawaħīd Al Muħammad Al Ħasan had then wanted to know everything about it.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan happily led her Tawaħīd Bājī on a tour of the Presidential House, Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah Manzil, pointing out the historical curiosities about which Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had learned and dreamed of ever since she understood why Durgesh was so loved and so admired by even his enemies.
Even Durgesh’s enemies wanted to be what Durgesh was today.
Yet they only wanted to be Durgesh.
It was their fantasy only.
They only fantasized to be Durgesh.
They never were serious about it.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was serious about it.
She studied gravely, deeply, profoundly, what Durgesh always cared for and his opponents never did, even though they were always jealous of Durgesh.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan always watched Durgesh fucking her eternally beautiful Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān.
She wanted to know what her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, lacked and Durgesh doesn’t that her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, left her Abbū for Durgesh.
She found Durgesh loved animal wild sex similarly as her Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, did.
Her Abbū hated animal wild sex.
It was the first reason her eternally beautiful Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, preferred Durgesh on her Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan.
When having sex with each other, her eternally beautiful Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, and Durgesh, both were not even human.
They were entirely unashamed beasts, surrendered to their ever wild animal lust, without caring anything else whatsoever.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could not believe her otherwise ever sophisticated Ammī, Nafīsah Salmān, was so horniest the female beast.
Durgesh was so horniest male beast.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan decided to have Durgesh for herself too.
Yes, Durgesh was thirty two years elder to Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam were also even far more elder than Ummil Mominīn, Ħazrat Åāyeshah Siddīqah, razī Allāhu Tålā ånahā.
She was surprised by my firm tone, but always welcomed our conversations.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, we need to talk!”
For over ten year now it was just Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, her fifty five years old Hindu friend of her husband, Durgesh, and her nineteen-year old daughter Sādiyah Raħīm.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn was near forty now, a homebody, and still in pleasing shape.
Her tresses were raven black, only her hair-dresser knew for sure… Her ample bosom hadn’t sagged even a little.
Even forty years couldn’t do that.
Her skin showed no signs of age.
She could still turn heads if she wanted to.
I had not seen my friend’s wife, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, in anything form-flattering since the old man, my friend, Muħammad Raħīm, was around.
At home she always wore a bra under her frumpy, baggy sweats.
Mostly green, or on a daring day, for her, I sometimes caught a glimpse of a black strap and once even, a red bra.
Though I thought that might have been Sādiyah Raħīm’s on a laundry day.
An occasional glimpse of the beautiful Musalmān cleavage showed the wear of four decades on a full exquisite female Musalmān figure.
Her chest never revealed even some wrinkles and the natural effects of gravity on a well-endowed Musalmān woman.
Her legs were nicely muscled, as she had never been taught to drive, so biking and walking had served her well.
And either by design or comfort, she often wore very skimpy, tight shorts in her garden or for her daily runs or rides.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn sometimes got wolf-calls and whistles from bold Hindus and she could truly catch my eye when she leaned over the handle bars and peddled swiftly.
The pumping motion often made me wish that her swaying Musalmān breasts would one day spill over the top of her almost transparent bra.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn had been a middle-management secretary back in the day.
Schlepping, filing and pleasing a typical ladder-climbing idiot of a boss.
She worked overtime and through lunch, and ordered her own flowers for “appreciation day.”
After closing a big deal, the boss would escort her to a hotel lounge for a single appletini and offer a snide jab that her career would advance quicker if she spent more time under my desk than in front of it.
The crude sexual remarks elicited only a smirk.
She sometimes daydreamed that if my remarks were sincere or even clever, she would drag me into the elevator and up to one of the luxury suites on the upper floors.
She once joked that they could settle a sexual harassment suit out of court.
Her boss merely smiled, drained his glass and scanned the room for younger talent.
For the past ten years, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn had become a stay at home Ammī for her children.
She cooked, cleaned and cared for kids while nearly abandoning her own identity.
I was, beside the Mayor of Ved Nagar, a web designer and programmer.
I spent countless hours online and on porn sites to know how to make and use them positively.
I dreamed-up various positive scenarios on my laptop, with every fantasy woman from Xena to the Flying Nun.
After trolling internet spank-sites into the early morning, I would “run one off” and then hunker down for another day.
I had never been a jock.
Though my upscale, early life had afforded me rich-man privileges. I surfed the Pacific off the shore of their Malibu beach house.
I took riding lessons and belonged to a posh club.
This however was long ago.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn’s wealthy husband had left them with nothing but bills.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn won custody of a beachfront home they could not afford and platinum cards that served only as anchors.
In came the dot.com.
Boom and soon, my dexterity with a mouse came as a saving grace.
I was soon able to pay down the family debt and transfer Sādiyah Raħīm from a community college to a “big-name” Pac-10 school.
Their life was suddenly golden and the family adored me.
I was classically handsome in this “Hollywood” town.
With dark hair and warm black eyes I always got an offer or a look, every now and then.
When I sat my friend’s wife, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, down for our “talk”, I had already steeled my nerves with a little juice and had worked my diabolical scheme online for weeks.
In my mind, all my money went into this home and to Sādiyah Raħīm and Åāliyah Kamāluddīn.
I believed I could easily be on my own, living the high-life.
Instead, every day was a round-up of shopping-lists, utility bills, school work and more.
The beach-bunnies and bachelor-pad were nowhere to be found and it was time someone paid.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn,” I began, “it’s time for some changes. You and Sādiyah Raħīm have to start doing more around here.”
“Well of course Durgesh, you are the breadwinner and we would do anything to help out. What can I do for you, dear? Anything we can do to help, you just ask.” This was the only way Åāliyah Kamāluddīn knew how to answer.
She sat pleasantly on the couch, in shorts and a thin blouse.
Dark, full black locks framed her face and lay gently on her shoulders.
Her family was European Årabian and they all inherited the shiny, black hair and olive complexion.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn seldom wore makeup at home, and that only lipstick and liner to high-light her big, doey eyes.
She was content to remain invisible and anonymous.
Her hands were folded delicately in her lap, her long fingers intertwined.
Light-green shorts riding up her thighs and stretching tightly across her wide hips.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn’s tanned legs showed her toned calves and thick quads.
And her bare legs were crossed at the ankles with one canvas sandal precariously balanced on the toes of her right foot.
These Åāliyah Kamāluddīn-Durgesh talks always lifted her spirits.
She sat her teacup on the inlaid coffee table and scooted to the edge of the sofa.
She looked directly into my eyes.
It was good to see me taking charge of a situation and she was pleased to see me assert myself more.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn had taken on the role of the facilitator and always tried to ease family friction.
No sense beating around the bush.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, frankly I’m horny. I’m not getting enough sex in this home, and I want to make some changes, here.”
She was surprised at that, naturally.
And coming from her husband’s ever best friend, even if I was the ever infamous Anant Muslimātchod Hindu.
She wasn’t sure what I was trying to say.
“Åāliyah Kamāluddīn,” I tried again, “I’m going to change the dynamics here.”
She was thoroughly confused, shifting her position, and taking on a look of concern.
She tried her best to discern my intent.
“Do you mean you need more privacy, or that you want to have more beautiful Musalmān girlfriends over? Would you like us to stay out of the way on certain nights? You want to have sex. That’s fine, you’re a Hindu, I understand.”
This just tended to infuriate me.
And now anger was increasing moreover.
“Yes, sex, that’s it. In this house. And whenever I want it. And it starts tonight!”
My face reddening as I rose and paced the room ominously.
My ego grew with each repressed desire.
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn was flustered and not quite comprehending.
“Durgesh, it’s late, Sādiyah Raħīm’s staying with a friend and I can make myself scarce. Let me gather a few things and I’ll ride over to my friend, Lailā’s.”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn rose to leave and as she tried to pass, I grabbed her wrist and said,
“You don’t get it, do you? I want sex. I want it, now. And I want it from you.” I blurted it out and liked the way it sounded.
Then I roughly pulled her back onto the couch.
She was just catching up with my last words, ..
“I want it from you.”
Her beautiful dark, brown eyes grew wide. “Durgesh, are you crazy? I’m your friend’s wife, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, your Bhābhījān!”
Beads of sweat appeared at her temples and her heart-rate soared.
I sat on top of her to plant her in her place.
Her head started thrashing wildly, her ebon locks clinging to her face and loose strands flying in all directions.
Her strong gams kicked at me as her sandals flew across the living room.
Her grunts of exertion were working like a tonic on my conception of things and she felt my Hindu manhood begin to swell.
The thrill of the hunt was always better than the trophy!
I pushed her sweaty, disheveled excellent Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān body into the cushions and figured my next move.
It was now or never and I had already gone too far to stop.
Her protests increased verbally and physically as her resistance started.
Allah, Allah, Nooooooooooooooo!
Yes, she had lost her mind while flirting with Durgesh.
But not sex!
She teased Durgesh, seduced Durgesh, but it was only a tease.
She wasn’t prepared even to have sex with the ever infamous Anant Muslimātchod Hindu.
She shrieked in my face and tried to heave me off her.
I was sitting on her belly, my left hand clasping both her wrists and my right hand violently yanking her shorts down her legs.
“You grab my Uncut Hindu Penis every now and then, don’t you? You play with it and suck it every night when you think it’s safe and I’m sound asleep. You even undress me yourself then, undress yourself too, straddle me and fuck me almost entire night. Don’t you?”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn was dumbfounded.
“You, you were never asleep? You, you were always wide-awake?”
“What do you think? Aren’t you one of the utmost beautiful Musalmān wives my Musalmān friends have and always crazy for me? You are already enjoying the ultimate pleasure with me, while I always suppress my feelings for you.”
“I, I’m sorry. I was fed up, frustrated actually.”
“What the hell do you mean, Åāliyah Kamāluddīn?”
“I needed such videos to show to my husband.”
I was startled.
“He always refuses me to straddle him. He doesn’t have sex with me properly. I boasted to him that even you let me straddle yourself. He didn’t believe and laughed at me.”
“Your ever righteous Musalmān friend challenged me to make our videos and show them to him, if you really allow me to straddle you.”
“And you did it? Are you crazy?”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn blazed at me suddenly,
“Shut up, you damn fool. Every Musalmān houselady that’s beautiful, is crazy for youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Not me aloneeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”*
I watched her incredulously.
“So, you prepared our videos yourself and gave him?”
“It wasn’t necessary.” Åāliyah Kamāluddīn said disinterested, “I only had to agree. He himself made entire arrangements.”
“And do you know what he is doing with those videos of us? He is using them to make our adult movies. You are now a wonderful, one of the utmost successful porn stars, with me.”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn wasn’t startled.
She wasn’t dumbfounded.
Instead, she smiled cunningly.
“And my husband himself is doing it?”
“That’s what I wanted.” Åāliyah Kamāluddīn smiled triumphantly.
“I told him he is a pimp, not any sophisticated person. And now he himself has proved it.”
“Are you crazy? He is selling our porn videos.”
“He isn’t alone,”
“What do you mean?”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has made Pseudo Musalmīn either to surrender to their cuckolding to their beautiful Musalmān womankind and you, or leave Modern Democratic Årabia and live the vagabond life of a refugee.”
“That’s the exact punishment the terrorists, criminal and criminal minded Pseudo Musalmīn deserve. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has decided even not let them unite anywhere. Their unity has always proved harmful to humanity.”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is right, but…”
Åāliyah Kamāluddīn mused.
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is always right.”
“Not always.” I said disapprovingly, “No one is always right except Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā, Allah, God. Åāliyah Kamāluddīn, you are a Musalmān lady. You can’t appreciate anyone beyond a limit. Alhamdulillah. Y’ ék ittamu sŧuhi. Mā chidanyasvishansat sakhāyo mā rishañyat.”*
Damn Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan!
She has spread so many white lies about my unique legendary sexual prowess that almost entire Musalmān houseladies believed if they hadn’t have sex with me ever, they haven’t enjoyed even their life optimum as a woman.
My Uncut Hindu Penis wasn’t the biggest one, neither the monster as Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her ever cunning, ever shrewdest, ever smart, ever preplanned untrue Young Musalmān lady Brigade spread the white lie everywhere.
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan,” I gritted my teeth, “Stop spreading white lies about my ever incredible unique legendary sexual prowess.”
“Am I harming you, Anant Muslimātchod Hindu Piyā?” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan cooed straddling me aggressively as usual.
“Not me, and don’t try to bribe me by straddling me aggressively every when I want to talk with you on some grave matter.”
“It’s bribery?” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan looked into my eyes seductively, “It isn’t my ever exclusive wifely love for my ever sexiest Hindu husband?”
“Why do you and your ever obedient Young Musalmān lady Brigade spread white lies about my Uncut Hindu Penis? You and your entire Young Musalmān lady Brigade know with your own constant experiences that I don’t have the biggest penis…”
“Who the hell is interested in the damn biggest penis? They want only to experience the thrill of having sex with the utmost sexiest Hindu.”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan,”
“A large number of them want to have only the ultimate intimacy with you, to feel the pride of it their entire life. They damn care about the truthfulness of the fantastic stories we spread of your ever miraculous sexual prowess. They live in dreams. They want to keep living in dreams. They never want to come out of it. That’s the tragedy of not only us womankind, but of us entire humankind as well.”
“Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is right, Durgesh.” Imāmzādi Ħumayrah Qāzī smiled gravely at me.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
I ordered Muħammad to sit and watch us, while I fucked Muħammad’s wife in his own bedroom.
“We’ll be done in a couple of hours, and I expect it to be written after that.” I smiled at him fucking his wife.
I hated to cuckold any one.
But Kħadījah was adamant to cuckold Muħammad.
“He is not any Ħuzūr sallallāhu ålayhi wa sallam.” Kħadījah constricted her vaginal muscles around the entire length and thickness of my unique legendary Uncut Hindu Lund, furiously, “Neither I am any Ummil Mominīnīn Ħazrat Kħadījah Al Tāhirah razī Allāhu tålā ånahā. We are only named after them. Why the hell your ever adept ever infinite Hindu lust to fuck us Musalmān Beauties and us awfully lovely Musalmān houseladies perfectly, suddenly starts to diminish whenever you fuck any Musalmān houselady who is named after some Ummil Mominīnīn or Binnāt-e-Tāhirāt? It’s not blasphemy to fuck them. After all, they too have cunts. They need a competent Uncut Hindu Lund into them. You are NOT disgracing the entire Musalmān community by fucking them, as the idiots Pseudo Musalmīn claim notoriously. What the hell they want to say? If you won’t fuck us, none would? And it wouldn’t be any blasphemy if someone else would fuck us?”
I wanted to pull out my Uncut Hindu Lund to push in back again, but Kħadījah wrapped her thighs around my waist.
“Please, not now,”
“Muħammad could never fill me as you always do.”
Muħammad smiled too.
“I’m not Durgesh, Kħadījah, neither I can ever be. Just enjoy him, and forget me.”
“I think, Kħadījah,” I said gravely, keeping my Uncut Hindu Lund into her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt fully embedded, “it was also a matter of blasphemy for him.”
Muħammad beamed suddenly,
“That’s right. You have pointed it exactly. How the hell did you know? I’ve never told it to anyone. It’s my closely guarded secret I wanted to die with.”
“What is secret there? Most of the Musalmīn are too afraid of blasphemy. They can’t fuck any woman who is named after some Ummil Mominīnīn or Binnāt-e-Tāhirāt. They are just horrified. According to Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s recent survey most of the Musalmīn who are losing their manly vigor with their ever competent Musalmān wives are the husbands of the Musalmān houseladies that are named after some Ummil Mominīnīn or Binnāt-e-Tāhirāt. They are even afraid of divorcing or cheating them. They resort to masturbating consequently. Among Durgesh’s Musalmān Live in relationship partners, most of them are named after some Ummil Mominīnīn or Binnāt-e-Tāhirāt. Even among the other Musalmān houseladies who are not as lucky as to get Durgesh to get satisfied sexually optimum, and forced to have extramarital relations with other competent Hindus therefore, most of the Musalmān houseladies are named after some Ummil Mominīnīn or Binnāt-e-Tāhirāt.”*
There I was, receiving my trophy once more with honors and championship standing on the love makers team.
Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD, Muħammad’s Ammī, smiling proudly from the fleet of chairs in the huge Stadium and pointing the camcorder at me, waving as I smiled back at her.
That was no surprise.
After my own Ammī Ħuzūr and Imāmzādī Ħumayrah Qāzī, Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD’s
Gestapo like dedication to my championship was hugely responsible for my trophy.
But the empty chair beside her was a surprise to her, alright.
Saiyad Åbdullāh Hāshmī wasn’t the best father in law in the world, nor the best husband going by some of Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD, Muħammad’s Ammī’s shouted accusations the past few years, but this was way beneath even his style.
I figured there was a good reason.
I was right.
The day after, after the prom and the ensuing party with my friends that ended with me screwing the hell out of my awfully stunning Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān girlfriends, Al Fātimah Al Zohrah etcetera, in the back of my Hummer, my surprise was deepened.
I woke up and came down for breakfast, being told then by Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD that there was still no word from him.
Muħammad had already left the home in protest of me fucking one by one every extraordinary beautiful Musalmān houselady, not only living there, but even came there any time.
“I am not Muħammad Åbdullah.” Muħammad Saiyad Åbdullāh Hāshmī flared, “My sisters are not either nudists or feminists.”
“But they are adults.” Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD said curtly to her only son.
“Ammī,” Muħammad was angrier now, “Do you also enjoy Durgesh’s unique legendary Hindu sex kicks as most of our other friends’ Ammīs do? Are even you not loyal to Abbū?”
Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD slapped Muħammad.
Muħammad marched out of there in immense wrath.
I stayed home and, using the phone, excused myself from the day’s planned activities with my subordinates to wait and experience a new kind of worrying with her.
At three o’clock, Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD called his office and that’s when they got to be surprised because, as far as they knew, he’d been on vacation for a week.
Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD didn’t explain before she thanked them and hung up, turning to stare at me with a blank expression before she told me what they’d said.
It wasn’t as if Saiyad Åbdullāh Hāshmī wasn’t always gone, but when he did leave on his frequent business trips, he usually let us know, even if it was his secretary calling from the office after he’d already left for the airport.
This was different.
He’d missed my trophy without so much as a message, but beyond that it just felt different.
Looking back, I may have just been reacting to how Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD seemed about it.
Two detectives visited us the very next day.
We feared the worst, as anybody would, my first experience in the true art of fretting coming to a head as Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD invited them in.
Well, we couldn’t have imagined what they’d tell us.
We both just sat there, stunned and speechless at the news that dear ol’ Dad had disappeared, presumably having fled the country, just ahead of a lot of “very serious fraud charges”.
They also informed us that we were now being investigated in order to ascertain whether or not we were involved.
Just over a month later, by the time the Vancouver Police and the RCMP were done with us, we realized that the term, “very serious fraud charges”, was a terrific understatement.
If there was any doubt, it was cleared up as we stood in front of what was once her beautiful home while watching the locksmith change the locks on the front door.
We each had a suitcase, the clothes on our backs and one thousand Dollars Cash that Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD had stashed somewhere in the house in case of emergency.
This seemed to qualify, alright.
At the time, I could only Mumble, “Fuck.”
She didn’t even bother to give me flack for my language.
She was too worried to pay any attention to it.*
Soon I was actually stepping off a city bus with Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD, Muħammad’s Ammī, at a place called King Square in the Maritime city of Saint John, clear across the country from where we started.
She refused to have any financial help from me.
I argued with her immensely.
Yet, Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD was adamant.
She said I should not ‘screw’, yes this was the word she used involuntarily, I should not ‘screw’ her self respect.
I decided to wait and explain its urgency once again at a more suitable time, but as soon as it was possible.
Sālī didn’t think I owed even something in return for what she had done for me.
She had even left her only son to support my twenty four hours sex sessions with Muħammad’s tremendously lovely Musalmān houseladies.
She argued we all were adults.
Muħammad didn’t have any right to object on our consensual sex sessions even however kinkiest they may be.
I felt sorry for her, for her negative thinking at least, standing there in her slightly snug, black casual slacks and light purple pullover with a short V-neck.
She never looked her age, sometimes appearing as much as ten years younger with long blonde hair, hazel eyes and six inches shorter than me.
Both of us were feeling three feet shorter after the public nightmare we’d just somehow survived.
There was really no resemblance to the people we were just over a month ago.
I could have settled it all but her son Muħammad had commented to the media,
“I don’t think my Ammī has anything to do with it. The fraud charges against my Abbū are baseless. Abbū saw Durgesh fucking my Ammī. He could not bear it. He left the house. I myself similarly did it because I could not to watch my friend, Durgesh, fucking my entire beautiful Musalmān houseladies.”
The media asked the question,
“Are you worried for the future of your Ammī?”
“Are you crazy? Durgesh is the multi zillionaire. My Ammī is nympho maniac. She herself encouraged our every beautiful Musalmān houselady to seduce Durgesh, so that Durgesh would never leave the house. My Ammī is prudent enough to secure her future with Durgesh. I am worrying instead about your future.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you keep asking such insulting questions to my Ammī and Durgesh, Durgesh would see that your future must be taken care of not to be secured even a bit. Allah Miyan and Durgesh are almighties. Both when destroy their enemies, no one can even surmise it.”
Saiyadah Āmnah Åbdullah PhD refused to sign the papers for defamation of character against her only son.
She looked around herself, both hands protectively clutching her suitcase to her thighs as a man who looked like he’d just been thrice run over by a car ambled by, looking at her large boobs and soft, curvy heavy big hips.
I was worried for both of us, but more for her.
She really didn’t seem to be adjusting since that day we watched the locksmith at work.
When Saiyad Åbdullāh Hāshmī was gone at work, away on a business trip or whatever, there was never any doubt as to who was in charge and I never once ever heard her say anything alike,
“You just wait ’till your father in law gets home!”
She never felt there was any need for waiting.*
Last evening my friend Muħammad’s wife came into the den and informed Muħammad that she had discovered his collection of Penthouse letters magazine.
She was very upset and questioned why Muħammad needed outside stimulation.
Zaynab wanted to know what exactly was the turn-on that the stories provided.
Muħammad was too surprised to lie.
He immediately told her that he gets a real kick out of the Musalmīn sharing their Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wives with Durgesh/Some Hindu(s) stories.
In fact, Muħammad found them extremely erotic.
Zaynab was shocked,
“Allah, Muħammad, you mean…you mean if I fuck Durgesh you’d love me more?”
Muħammad looked at her gravely.
“My Ammī, Āmnah Åbdullah does it for me. My Kħālās do it for me. My Buās do it for me. My Mumānīs, my Chachīs do it for me, why the hell can’t you? Aren’t you my wife?”
Zaynab was dumbfounded.
“Your entire Musalmān houseladies do it for you? Allah, I can’t believe it.”
Muħammad softened somewhat,
“Well, I should have told you it before we married. I am sorry.”
“Well, I didn’t mean it, but…”
“I am not brought up normally, as the other Musalmīn are.”
Zaynab looked at her husband,
“I could not understand.”
“My Abbū was a terrorist.”
“Durgesh fucked my Ammī in front of my Abbū. Kħadījah Muħammad cuckolded him to my Ammī and Durgesh. She made my Abbū to hold Durgesh’s Uncut Hindu Lund and position it between my Ammī’s Pussy lips. He was compelled to request Durgesh to fuck my Ammī, because he couldn’t fuck his wife. He was a terrorist and every terrorist is impotent.”
“I see.” Zaynab said gravely.
“My Abbū was made to clean my Ammī’s ardent Musalmān Cunt and ass licking them, after Durgesh fucked them. I was too small to understand it was a punishment to my Abbū. I thought it was natural. I too licked my Ammī’s Musalmān Cunt and ass.”
“Allah,” Zaynab said, “Allah!”
“Once my cut Musalmān nūnī got an erection involuntarily. My Ammī hit me there in wrath. It never gets any erection now.”
“What?” Zaynab almost jumped.
“That’s why I always use my fingers and tongue to satisfy you. Even in our Golden night, I didn’t enter you, because I couldn’t. I can’t ever. Sorry.”
Muħammad’s eyes were suddenly full of tears.
Zaynab was startled.
She could never believe, it was true.
She let Muħammad weep as much as he did.
She could not help Muħammad.
She had no alternative.*
Ultimately, Zaynab decided to read some of the stories before passing her own judgment.
Muħammad went out in the garage and found an issue about a Musalmān that had his Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife fuck Durgesh then come home and tell him about it while he licked her Musalmān Cunt and ass.
“Is this what you need?” Zaynab asked Muħammad.
“That’s what I need.” Muħammad said gravely, “uh, yes”
“What if I did it, would that turn you on?”
“I don’t think so, but I can enjoy licking your Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt and ass after that.”, Muħammad was getting hard as they discussed it.
Muħammad was himself surprised incredibly.
“I don’t think you would like it if I were really going to do it.” Zaynab said, but suddenly she saw Muħammad having an erection.
“Allah, Oh, my God, Muħammad, you’re getting hard, aren’t you?”
Muħammad couldn’t hide it.
His cut Musalmān nūnī was as stiff as a board.
“OK buddy, let’s discuss this in the bedroom.”*
Muħammad’s wife, Zaynab, was drop dead gorgeous.
She is 28 years old, long brown hair, an absolutely beautiful face and a body to kill for.
She looked even 10 years younger than she was, Just Eighteen Just Adult, and had no trouble attracting me.
She also knew that she was desirable because other I was always commenting to her about her qualities.
Zaynab and Muħammad went up to Zaynab and Muħammad’s bedroom.
Zaynab turned to Muħammad and said,
“So, you want me to fuck Durgesh and bring Durgesh’s Hindu cum filled my Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt home for you. Is that what you are saying?”
“Well, yes, I guess.”
“Do you know what you’re asking. That could really screw up our marriage. I’ve never cheated on you and I don’t plan to start now.”
“It isn’t cheating if we both agree to it.”
“Are you telling me that you want me to go out, fuck Durgesh and allow him to cum in my Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt, what if I get pregnant?”
“It’s a chance we’d have to take.” Muħammad said gravely, “Moreover, most of the Musalmīn now, are having actually Durgesh’s sons from their Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān wives and call them their own sons. Why can’t we do it, too?”
“You’re Okay with that? What if I like Durgesh myself very much and want to continue.”
“As long as you don’t cut me off, it would be exciting.”
“Allah, I can’t believe it ever, Muħammad. It must be a nightmare, I say.”
“Nonsense, it’s the truth.” Muħammad said gravely,aggressively even strongly, “The cold and hard truth. I was not brought up normally. I told you.”
“Okay. It’s alright, if you say so. Let me get this straight. You want me to go fuck Durgesh, come home to you with his Hindu cum still inside my Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt so you can lick me and feel my used Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt while I tell you about Durgesh’s and my fuck sessions.”
“Yeah, I find it very erotic.”
“Just remember, you asked for it.”
This morning after breakfast Zaynab inquired,
“Have you changed your mind yet, or, am I free to fuck Durgesh today?”
“Go for it,” was all Muħammad could say.
She left for ‘work’ dressed to kill.
Muħammad got home from work around 5 PM as usual but Zaynab wasn’t home yet, which was rather odd, because she got off at 3:30 and usually beat Muħammad home.
About 5:30 she called from her cell phone and told Muħammad,
“Honey, don’t wait up for me, I’m going to fulfill your fantasy tonight, I’ll wake you and tell you about it when I get there. Muħammad, I will be very wet and full of Durgesh’s Hindu cum, you better not be upset because it was your idea.”
Muħammad ate dinner and watched TV until 11 PM.
Muħammad couldn’t get the thought of her fucking Durgesh out of his mind.
He kept thinking about jacking off but Muħammad wanted to be fully loaded for her when she came home.
May be he could too fuck Zaynab, his own wife, after licking her Durgesh’s Hindu cum filled Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt and ass.
Muħammad resisted the urge.
He finally went to bed.
At 1:25 Zaynab got home.
Muħammad remembered hearing her car pull in the drive.
Shortly thereafter, Muħammad heard her come in the house.
Zaynab worked her way to Zaynab and Muħammad’s bedroom and switched on the lamp next to her side of the bed.
With that she reached over and patted Muħammad on the shoulder.
“Come on, you can’t be asleep knowing what I have been doing. Look at your well used Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife. I have Durgesh’s Hindu cum in my Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt, I also have it in my mouth and in my absolutely gorgeous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass. Is this what you wanted?”
With that she spread her legs and placed Muħammad’s hand on her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt.
“Durgesh came inside me”, Zaynab smiled proudly, “And, he came a lot all the three times.”
She smeared my Hindu cum on Muħammad’s hand as she crawled across him and placed her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt above Muħammad’s ever ravenous open Musalmān mouth.
“Would you like to feel my wet, fucked Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt?” she asked as she lowered herself down his mouth.
She felt so warm and slippery that Muħammad could barely feel her.
“Durgesh’s Uncut Hindu Lund is bigger than yours,” Zaynab winked at Muħammad, “it really filled my Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt. I loved it when he came inside me, Muħammad, I could feel it pulsing and squirting, it was fantastic. I rode Durgesh bareback so you could have me still wet. I just hope you like it because if I get pregnant you will have to claim the baby. You will be a cuckold and you will know it.”
Muħammad was licking her Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt as passionately as he had in years. Muħammad could feel my Hindu cum filling his mouth, throat and stomach ultimately as he licked and tongue fucked his extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Zaynab.
“So, do you like my used Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt,” she inquired. “I hope so because I plan to fuck Durgesh regularly in the future. It really was fun to feel Durgesh’s legendary unique Uncut Hindu Lund into my Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot and into my gorgeous Musalmān ass too. I think I’m going to love doing it for you very very much quite often.”
Muħammad erupted with the best orgasm of his life as she said that.
Afterward, they talked.
Zaynab and Muħammad both agreed that this was definitely an erotic experience that they both enjoyed tremendously.
Now Zaynab was free to fuck me whenever she desired as long as she shared it with Muħammad afterward.
According to Muħammad, if you’ve never tried this lifestyle, you don’t know what the hell you’re missing. It is most definitely a turn-on to have your Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife fuck Durgesh and you lick her well fucked Musalmān Cunt after it. There is nothing as fulfilling as licking your Musalmān wife’s ardent Musalmān Cunt, a freshly fucked Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt.
Well, that’s what Muħammad thinks.
You are free to disagree with him if you do.
Muħammad would never mind it.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam