Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās laughed.
“My secretary can take care of it. Why the hell the ever greatest Durgesh is worried of it?”
“Okay. Let’s talk about something else.” I smiled, “Would you care to tell me what figure you received for the movie rights, for instance?”
“The media insists that I got one million dollars cash for you and one million dollars cash for myself too separately.”
“Well, we both know that’s not true. Even the media couldn’t surmise what the exact heavy remuneration we received for the movie rights.”
Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās squeezed my hardening Uncut Hindu Penis impishly.
“The media surmised but has been bribed to keep mum about the actual figure.”
“Sure, but not directly, through Shankar Mahāpralayankar instead.” Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās winked at me, “The media could double cross me, but not Shankar Mahāpralayankar.”
“Getting smart, don’t you?”
“The law of mutual inductance is working, Hindu Piyā.” she winked at me.
I squeezed her buttocks.
“What about the royalties?”
“Well,” she said, “royalties from the hard cover edition have been very satisfying, you know. However, the paperback edition that’s coming out is going to be the main source of income. It’s no secret, Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt. I have been given a guaranteed royalty for a period of ten years, payable in ten annual installments.”
“You think the book will be selling for ten years?”
“Why not? I think the book will be selling even more. It’s not only a book on sex. I have deliberately studied your writing style and tried my best to imitate you. It’s a book on humanity, Hindu Muslim Unity, Ved Nagar, Parapsychology, Eīshān Vigyān, Para humanity, etcetera.”
“You seem to be quite confident.” I smiled, “Your corrupt politician Musalmān husband, Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī, didn’t feel humiliated? He didn’t object that you have boldly written a book about your extramarital affair with me?”
“We aren’t living in a feudal era anymore.” Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās laughed, “If he doesn’t approve of my love life with you, he can ask for divorce. What the hell any more can a husband do to his wife on her extramarital affair?”
I watched her.
“Not legally. You are right.”
“Not even illegally. I have eaten milk and rice with Shankar Mahāpralayankar from a common plate. Shankar Mahāpralayankar is now my milk-shared brother. I put even Raxābandhan on Shankar Mahāpralayankar’s wrist. Shankar Mahāpralayankar has warned Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī already. If he doesn’t approve of my extramarital affair with you, Shankar Mahāpralayankar would never mind if he divorces me. But if anything sinister happens to me,Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī will sign his own death warrant thus.”*
“Very smart. I sympathize with poor helpless Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī.”
Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās smiled at me cunningly.
“Planning to write other books?”
“Not so certain, yet.”
“Don’t you want to follow even your such a spectacular success?”
“After a while, perhaps. Nevertheless, you know, people essentially are hypocrites. They love to lecture about morality, but they love to read about immorality.
“An attractive young Musalmān woman writes a story about her Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān heroine whose clothes keep coming off. The Musalmān female writer describes the resultant consequences in detail.
“The people are shocked.
“But that’s the point.
“People love to be shocked.”
I didn’t say anything.
Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās kept speaking in the same flow.
She was too enthusiastic now to stop.
In addition, why the hell shouldn’t she?
She married Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī when she was not as capable, as popular, as understanding, as smart and as resourceful, as ingenious, as she was now.
“If someone notices the bestsellers,” Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās continued to say, “and bothers to analyze them too carefully, s/he can’t miss to find that most of the sex books written by attractive women…”
“Why?” I interrupted teasing her playfully.
“Well,” she also became mischievous, “Because we women are sexier than you men.”
“Well, our Hindu studies too tally with your realization, but no one would believe you.”
“That’s right. I know it. That’s why I say the people hypocrites. They know so many cold and hard truths, yet they are too hypocrite, are at least too afraid, to accept them to themselves even when they are alone.”
“You are right.” I said gravely.
“Thanks. I was telling you that most of the sex books written by attractive women, whose photographs look very seductive on the dust jackets, are the stories that sell in big figures.
“Women readers love to read about sex more than the male readers, because most of us women are more hypocrites in this matter than you men. Our most hypocrite social system is responsible for it. It requires more morals from women than it requires from you males. You are praised everywhere, envied, and even role modeled, even by movie and television personalities and stars; because you have fucked most of the Beauties exist anywhere anytime, whether they are Musalmān Beauties or otherwise. However, Sidrah Aħmad is termed even a slut by most of the persons for she isn’t a One Man Woman. What a double standard. What a horribly hypocrite society we have.” Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās spit away in a dustbin.*
I watched her gravely.
Her husband, Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī, was listening to her attentively yet he didn’t want to come to the hall.
He hated both his wife, Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās, and me.
He hated his humiliation very much.
He was himself a man.
He has his own self-respect after all.
How the hell could he tolerate his own wife’s extramarital affair with me?
Yet what the hell could he do?
His wife was now smarter, shrewder, more capable, more resourceful, and more prudent and had even too much more money now, still flooding in more and more to her.
He couldn’t win her.
He was left too far behind his wife.
Only because she had a cunt and Durgesh fucked her.
He was a damn male.
He couldn’t get that easy money.
Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī heard.
I was saying.
“Our present society is not actually homogeneous, Tasbīħ. It’s a heterogeneous society. Every Democratic society is bound to be a heterogeneous society.”
“We must understand, for our own benefit, that we can’t have a common standard strictly, even if we want to do so. We are bound to have not only double standard but a multi standard society actually, whether we accept it boldly or not.”
“Because we are a Democratic society. We have to respect the standards the other persons have, whether we like them or not. I respect Sidrah Aħmad’s philosophy of life that she is ambitious to have sex with almost every Hindu male, though I’m strictly a man that actually respects and praises One Man Women.”
“Hey, I never knew that. Aren’t Sidrah Aħmad and you close friends, as close as you have sex mutually too?”
“So what? I think, perhaps, I don’t have any woman friend that isn’t as close to me as we have sex mutually. Even the women in my relations, even the Houseladies of my friends and foes have sexual relations with me. So, why not Sidrah Aħmad? What the hell has she done to harm me or other human beings?”
“Your friends don’t hate you that you enjoy sex with their own Houseladies?” Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās smiled.
“Some of them do.” I accepted, “Some of them have severed even their friendship with me and they are my worst critics and/or enemies too now. But they are helpless because as soon as they severe their friendship with me, their Houseladies turn also against them, and start ridiculing and humiliating them themselves.”
Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās watched me in an honest and sincere abundant admiration.
“I’ve never met anyone like you Durgesh. You are unique.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan had also been invited.
It was called a yacht, but actually, it was a large ship having almost every facility, Ved Nagar itself had.
Muħammad bin Qāsim represented Al Qāsim Rolling, Casting and Engineering Company there.
The ‘yacht’ glided smoothly up the bay.
The throb of the big Eīshān Vaigyānic motors and the thrust of the propellers gave the sense of grand power underneath.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan realized that Eīshān Vigyān is succeeding largely whether Pseudo Musalmīn liked it or not.
It was succeeding despite a grand hatred of Pseudo Musalmīn.
The Musalmān Beauties were utmost fervent to greet it.
“It guarantees and establishes our own too much required and ever demanded freedom and importance.” Nafīsah Salmān had warned him, “I know you are a great man, but we Musalmān Beauties are getting more from Durgesh and/or other Hindus than you Pseudo Musalmīn can even offer us. Al Qur’an Al Kareem doesn’t say not to marry non-Muslim males. Al Qur’an Al Kareem is never communal. It says only:
‘Wa lā tunkiħū al musharikīn ħattā yu’minū.’
‘And don’t marry polytheistic men to your women until they bring Īmān.’
−Al Qur’an Al Kareem: 2 Al Baqarah| 221
Durgesh is never a polytheist by any damn standard anyone may use, neither the other Vedic Monotheist Hindus are.”
“I agree with you, Nafīsah Salmān, word to word.” Imām Muħammad Ħasan, the great man of the time, said, “but what the damn difference my agreeing with you makes? Not even the slightest.”
“And you think we Musalmān Beauties should care for it? Have we damn cared ever of Pseudo Musalmīn? Are you suggesting us Musalmān Beauties too to turn communal as the Pseudo Musalmīn, after Yazīd Malåūn, turned in a hateful large number? We fought with the damn Yazīd Malåūnists ever and we would still continue our Jihad against them. If the Pseudo Musalmīn have surrendered to Yazīd Malåūn forever, damn them. We would keep fighting against Pseudo Musalmīn too with Durgesh and/or other Vedic Monotheist Hindus, with us. That’s what our daughter, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, is proposing as Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah. What the hell else she is doing?”*
The teakwood decks, mahogany trim and comfortable deck chairs gave the passengers a sense of luxury, a quite enjoyment of the good things of life.
As Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī let me pilot around to meet the various guests, the lady lawyer realized that the multi zillionaire could hardly have selected a more propitious, a more favorable, occasion for compromising a potential lawsuit with Al Qāsim Rolling, Casting and Engineering Company.
Most of the guests knew the ship, or yacht, whatsoever the guests wanted to call it, was actually a personal gift to me from Dévarshi Sadan of HVSI.
Brahmarshi Sadan of HVSI had gifted me a personal spaceship.
Maharshi sadan of HVSI had gifted me a personal latest hover HVSI limousine.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī smiled.
She knew the gifts were actually the exhibition of the Eīshān Vaigyānic, scientific, and financial power HVSI Group of Companies possessed globally today.
The personal gifts to the Chairman indicated the power the HVSI Group of Companies enjoyed now.
She had tried her best to convince her younger brother, Muħammad bin Qāsim, not to fight with HVSI Group of Companies.
Muħammad bin Qāsim was furious.
“HVSI Group of Companies is supporting Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan blindly.”
“Oh, you don’t approve of it?”
“Her own Abbū, Imām Muħammad Ħasan, doesn’t approve of her proposed Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah.”
“She is now the new Al Sadar Al Jamhūriyat Al Årabiyat.”
“I know. Moreover, I know Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is after either purchasing the oil island or taking it on lease too as she has leased nine islands already.”
“For her Seven Movements Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club, Cuckold Your Musalmān husband, Ashvinātam Gangbang Club, Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh, Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad, Durgesh Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ Sex Therapy and Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah Social Service.” Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī reminded him.
“She is establishing her damn Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah there.” Muħammad bin Qāsim shouted, “Can’t you see?”*
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī understood very well.
I not only did the environment make for friendly good feeling, but in the background, there was always a suggestion of financial power on my part sophisticatedly, yet ingeniously.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī acknowledged Ruqayyah Muħammad Åbdullah, Fātimah Muħammad Åbdullah and Muħammad Ůsmān.
The fact that Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī wasn’t only related to the Al Muħammad Al Qāsim family, being an elder sister of Muħammad bin Qāsim, but she was even representing Al Qāsim Rolling, Casting and Engineering Company legally, had brought a glimpse of latent hostility in Muħammad Ůsmān’s eyes.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī noted it and smiled.
The damn fool didn’t deserve to lead any Company whatsoever.
He was unable to hide his inner emotions, even courteously.
How could the stupid survive in the corporate world of constant nonstop business strategies and Diplomacy?
Muħammad Ůsmān, evidently, didn’t relish the idea of having lawyers checking on him.
I had gone the limit to have everyone aboard who was at all interested, even to Zaynab Muħammad Åbdullah and her daughter, Shāhidah Muħammad Ůsmān.
Muħammad bin Qāsim was bubbling with youth and vigor, for a change.
Everyone who knew him, had never seen Muħammad bin Qāsim, in such a happy mood.
He was actually an incurable pessimistic.
It was really a surprise that he was bubbling with happiness, now.
Taufīq Fātimah, Muħammad bin Qāsim’s dynamic Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, met with me with even more bubbling youth and bliss, her husband was bubbling with.
She was twenty-eight, PhD, and definitely a lot smarter than Muħammad bin Qāsim was.
It was more than evident, Taufīq Fātimah married Muħammad bin Qāsim for his money, rather than for anything else.
She had golden hair, gray blue eyes and a friendly unspoiled manner.
I saw that cocktails were served.
“No business of any kind, please,” I smiled the warning, “Not until after dinner, if the honorable guests don’t mind. Then all of us concerned will sit down at the big table and discuss the matter in a friendly environment. No bitterness, however. I warn everyone. We are educated persons and we should act and behave mutually in a civilized manner. Any uncivilized act from anyone may cause him/her a great trouble, I warn everyone, please. It’s the first and last warning, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s hope I would have nothing to cause you trouble, because if I would have to, it would make the concerned person wish to die instead. Sorry for the hard talk, but it was necessary to warn you for once and all. Now, let’s relax and enjoy. My staff will take care of you all. Please don’t hesitate to tell them for anything you need. You are honorable guests of the Chairman of HVSI Group of Companies. Enjoy it optimum, please.”
I took them around on a tour of the yacht, showing them the various staterooms, mechanical gadgets and lounging rooms.*
I moved over to stand at the rail ultimately some time later.
I let the brisk breeze tingle me into a feeling of physical well-being.
We had left the bay behind and were now within the confines of the river.
The banks were less than a mile apart.
The pilot was guiding the ship between spar buoys that marked a rather treacherous channel.
The ship was moving forward at half-speed skimming through the water as smoothly as a game fish in a cool pool.
The day had been hot, dry, and cloudless.
Now, it was pleasant hot, not a scorching one.
Neither it was cold now.
The sky above was still a clear, deep blue.
I heard motion behind.
Then Muħammad bin Qāsim’s voice said.
“Jījū, you alone? What a miracle.”
“What do you mean, Sālé?”
“Not even a single sister of my infinite ones, is interested in you now. Isn’t it amazing?”
“You requested me to meet you here alone.”
“That’s right.” Muħammad bin Qāsim said gravely now, “Jījū, I think someone is trying to poison me, and deliberately trying to implicate and frame Taufīq Fātimah.”
“Yes, I myself suspect it.”
“Has Taufīq Fātimah talked with you about it?” Muħammad bin Qāsim asked me enthusiastically.
“Muħammad bin Qāsim, we only tease each other. We don’t have any extramarital affair mutually.”
“Well, I’ve seen her grabbing your Uncut Hindu Penis and you playing with her boobs and buttocks.”
“She is a successful Hollywood heroine, isn’t she?”
“She says she has done some porn movies with you.”
“And you believe her?” I laughed, “Idiot, she is either only teasing you or boasting.”
“You haven’t fucked her?”
“If you really care about these things, why the hell you married a Hollywood Star?”
“Well,” Muħammad bin Qāsim hesitated.
“You’ll laugh at me.”
“As if you care.”
“Yes, I do. I respect you, Jījū, very much. They call you ‘Nīlkanŧh’. I think it’s true. It needs too much manly vigor and indisputable bravery to give a chance to the women who have gone off track, either due to this way or due to that way.”
“It’s a drastic change in you, Muħammad bin Qāsim. Congratulations. Now, I think I should myself respect you.” I smiled at him appreciatively.
“You don’t need to. Instead, I need your help.”
“Someone is trying his/her best to poison me and implicate, frame, Taufīq Fātimah.”
I watched him.
“You suspect anyone.”
“I’m not actually a real son of my present Abbū, Al Muħammad Al Qāsim. I am an adopted son.”
“I am actually his cousin’s son. My real Abbū expired and my Ammī married my elder uncle, Al Muħammad Al Qāsim.”
“I know that too.” I said patiently.
“I suspect some of my legal sisters now; my real cousins however, don’t like the idea of sharing their father’s property with me.”
“Keep this information to yourself, please. Abbū and Ammī, if they knew it ever, would be immensely depressed of my nudist feminist legal sisters/ real cousins.”
Muħammad bin Qāsim extended his hand to me.
He held a sealed envelope in him.
“This is my affidavit stating that ‘if something happens to me ever, due to poison or otherwise, and it appears that my wife Taufīq Fātimah is involved, it’s only because she is framed up. I am dead sure that my wife, Taufīq Fātimah, isn’t responsible in any manner for my death.’ Would you assure me to protect Taufīq Fātimah if I die?”
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd smiled.
She was now fucking me wildly moving her buttocks in rapid back and forth movements.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus looked at her somewhat surprised.
Evidently, she didn’t expect it from Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd.
She expected tears from her and a horrible scene.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus was prepared for both.
“Damn her!” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus gritted through her teeth to herself.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd was quite confident and in immense possession of her faculties.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus expected Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd couldn’t listen to the awful things she was saying.
She would turn and run out of the house.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus had planned to call after Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd that she had until tomorrow night to move her things out, otherwise she would move them herself.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd’s quite composure had thrown her off her grounds.
It was evident now that Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd had herself transformed in her three months’ vacation.
Evidently, Durgesh was not fucking Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd today.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd feigned it that she fucked me one month ago first time and surrendered her virginity.
Actually, she was smart enough to fool Al Safiyah Al Ghaus’s private detectives and had done it right under their nose, four months ago.*
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm watched me.
What a man!
Equally popular among every age group of Musalmān Beauties.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was Durgesh’s young Musalmān live in relationship partner.
Al Waħīdah Al Qāsim could be handled by Durgesh and Durgesh only, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had advised Al Nāsirah Al Karīm.
“But Al Muħammad Al Qāsim wants my problem child to marry Prañav Yogéndr Divyānand.”
“Prañav Yogéndr Divyānand?” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had laughed, “He would never marry a gambling girl.”
“We need Prañav Yogéndr Divyānand to face Al Safiyah Al Ghaus.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan smiled patronizingly.
“Al Safiyah Al Ghaus needs Durgesh’s violent nonstop sex kicks, Al Nāsirah Al Karīm.”
“Act wisely. Al Safiyah Al Ghaus married Al Nadīm Al Quddūs because Al Nadīm Al Quddūs is Al Muħammad Al Qāsim’s elder brother. And Al Muħammad Al Qāsim is a billionaire. You are a trillionaire. Put Durgesh in front of her. Durgesh is a multi-zillionaire. Get rid of the both problem women you have.”
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm thought and decided to act under the shrewdest guidance of Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.*
I was listening to Al Nāsirah Al Karīm.
“I’m making up some of my lost life. I was brought up according to rigid, puritanic, Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān standards.None of the people around me took time out to enjoy life. They couldn’t enjoy youth because they were preparing to take part in life, as if Hindus never do it. You Hindus, in my opinion, are enjoying life utmost optimum. The utmost Musalmān Beauties fuck you/you Hindus. Why the hell they don’t even learn from you/you Hindus how to enjoy life utmost optimum as well as to take part in it the best they can?”
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm was furious.
“Because we Musalmān Beauties are also damn fools as our Musalmān mankind is.”
I kept smiling non-commitally.
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm went on furiously.
“What we utmost Musalmān Beauties enjoy with you/you Hindus is only an infinitesimally significant part of your grand superb every way accomplished life. I was a damn fool that I married Al Chughad Al Muħammad Al Qāsim. I must have married you. Even as one of your infinite live in relationship partners I would have gained more.”
“Thank you.” I smiled graciously, sophisticatedly, “Thank you very much. You have honored me very much, as well as us Hindus too.”
“Hey,” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm laughed mischievously, “you are honoring me as well. Thank you very much.”
I looked at her perplexed.
“Sorry, I couldn’t understand you.”
She pointed her pointing finger toward between my legs.
“You have a nice erection there.”
I smiled sophisticatedly, elegantly.
“Are you? Really?” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm smiled cunningly, “For honoring my Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān extraordinary beauty in such a nice way?”
I laughed urbanely.
“Want to do what it’s demanding?” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm marched to me confidently and looked into my Hindu male eyes invitingly.
“If you are kind enough to honor my intentions too.” I too looked into Al Nāsirah Al Karīm’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān eyes.
She grabbed my rocking hard Uncut Hindu Penis.
“I said I kicked loose from the conventional traces.”
I hugged Al Nāsirah Al Karīm.
“Poor Al Muħammad Al Qāsim.” I whispered.
“Poor.” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm said significantly.
We kissed each other passionately.
She kept on holding my rock hard Uncut Hindu Penis.
Rather her hold on it more and more strengthened.
“Ravenous?” I whispered.
“Al Muħammad Al Qāsim, my husband, is a hell of a lover. He is only a money magnet. They say you are both.”
I cupped her buttocks.
“Nice Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān flesh you have there.”
“Thank you; enjoy in any manner whatsoever you damn please.” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm said smiling at me seductively.
We both undressed each other.
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm kissed my Uncut Hindu Penis.
I kissed her beautiful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt.
She pushed me back.
I fell on my back.
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm straddled me on my mouth keeping her Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt on my lips and licking my Uncut Hindu Penis as well.
Eīshān Eīshān shammā shamīshān!
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm was extremely beautiful.
She was more beautiful in her glorious Musalmān nudity.
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm swallowed my Uncut Hindu Lund into her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth and started sucking me ravenously.
“Your first, darling?” I asked with immense love in my voice.
“Sure.” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm smiled suavely, “Al Muħammad Al Qāsim, my damn fool husband hates oral sex.”
“How nice of him.” I said, “I am your first in your mouth.”
“And you’ll be the last too. Your Uncut Hindu Lund is very tasty.”
“I think I can have you in my mouth from now on whenever I damn please?”
“Oh sure, my pleasure, darling.”
“Hey, your Uncut Hindu Penis is still growing into my mouth. Wonderful. That’s a phenomenon, a miracle.”
“Thank you, enjoy.”
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm sucked me for almost one hour.
Then she straddled me once more.
Now she was facing me boldly.
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm herself positioned my Uncut Hindu Penis between her quivering ravenous Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān labial lips.
Then instead pushing herself on it, she smiled at me.
“I won’t let you fuck me first. I am ravenous to fuck you myself. Sorry.”
“Go ahead. You are most welcome.” I smiled gracefully.*
Elbows on the rail, we looked down on the heads and shoulders of people leaning over the rails on the lower decks.
It was a latest ultramodern HVSI ship.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd was glad that Al Safiyah Al Ghaus had ultimately arranged her three months’ vacation.
She was gladder that her Uncle Al Muħammad Al Qāsim had managed me to accompany her in her vacation.
How grateful to Allah she was.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus had successfully disinherited her from his own Abbū, Al Nadīm Al Quddūs’s property.
Yet, her Uncle Al Muħammad Al Qāsim had offered her to support from thereon.
Iyyāka nåbudu wa iyyaāka nastaåīnu.
Sirātallazīn anåmt ålayhim ghairil maghzūbi ålayhim wa lā alazzwāllīn.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd smiled at me.
“There’s the couple we saw last night in the restaurant.” she squeezed my hand.
I followed the direction of her gaze.
“She was in our cabin when our baggage came aboard.”
“Åāliyah Muħammad Ůsmān?” I said gravely.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd smiled at me.
“Hey, you know her? Have you already fucked her even before me?”
“Nonsense.” I admonished Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd, “She is the youngest daughter of Muħammad Ůsmān from his first wife Zaynab Muħammad Åbdullah. And I haven’t fucked every Musalmān Beauty I know ever.”
“That’s why Åāliyah Muħammad Ůsmān is fooling around with that Underworld Don, Shankar Mahāpralayankar.” Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd winked at me, “The damn fool doesn’t know how hard your Uncut Hindu Lund is for us Musalmān Beauties. Even Shankar Mahāpralayankar’s Uncut Hindu Lund doesn’t stand anywhere in comparison to your unique legendary Uncut Hindu Lund.”
“Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd, please! Can’t you comparatively younger Musalmān Beauties think of anything else?”
“Hey, you munāfiq, you hypocrite, what anything else is there to think of, better than your Uncut Hindu Lund, for us Musalmān Beauties?”*
I spanked Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd on her gorgeous Musalmān buttocks.
“Sālī, try to think something else too beside sex.”
“I’m neither that old nor crazy.”
I kissed her.
“Okay. Want me inside?”
“Don’t ask me ever, you idiot. Just go ahead and fuck me.”
She undressed me, kissed my Uncut Hindu Penis, licked it, then pushed me on my back and straddled me on my mouth in 69.
Her young adult Musalmān Cunt rested on my lips and she swallowed my Uncut Hindu Prick into her absolutely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī young Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth.
It was rock hard already.
“Have you noticed something, Hindu fucker of us Musalmān Beauties?” she asked.
“I notice many things.” I winked at her, “What do you have?”
“In this ever largest ship, there are not Ashvinātam couples only. Most of them are Musalmān couples actually. But I don’t see even a single Musalmān fucking his Musalmān wife. Instead, several of them are watching their Musalmān wives either fucking Hindu males, or the Hindu males fucking their Musalmān wives.”
“I know some of them personally. They hate Hindus very much. Yet, here…”
“They are taking it absolutely normal?” I smiled.
“Isn’t it surprising?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s normal in this atmosphere. Most of the Musalmān Beauties on the ship believe that only Hindu males are their perfect match. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s Seven movements: Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club, Cuckold Your Musalmān husband, Ashvinātam Gangbang Club, Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh, Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad, Durgesh Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ Sex Therapy and Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah Social Service, have now created a mass belief of it. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has vowed to establish Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah replacing Pseudo Islam completely.”
“So many persons now believe Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan is Kħātūn-e-Jannatrza personified, reincarnated.”
“Reincarnation is a Hindu belief, Durgesh. Islam doesn’t support reincarnation.”
“I know. Yet, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has successfully made most of the Musalmīn believe that. Now it’s a mass belief whether true or untrue.”
“Mass belief is a tangible psychic force. Notice the authentic stories of persons who have violated Hindu Lund Muslim Choot Islands beliefs. Almost all of them met with disaster. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan has successfully established her dream society Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah on those islands. There are so many orthodox Musalmān families that didn’t have any male child. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan spread the rumors among them that if they visit Hindu Lund Muslim Choot Islands and leave at least one of their lady members there to establish Ashvinātam Ummat-e-Muslimah they would certainly have a male child in their family.”
“And it happens?”
“And it happens.” I said, “Hundreds of Thousands of minds believe it now. Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan used her seven movements successfully to do it.”
“How the hell otherwise can you explain it?”
“Well,” Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd laughed mischievously winking at me, “how interesting, how sexy, how miraculous and how true nevertheless.”
“Are you telling me?” I said gravely.
“Here comes Muħammad Ůsmān. But, hey, he doesn’t have his first wife, Zaynab Muħammad Åbdullah, with him. Åāliyah Muħammad Åbbās, his newly wed fourth Musalmān wife’s elder sister, Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās is with him.” Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd smiled astutely.*
Muħammad Ůsmān smiled at me energetically.
“Hi, Jījū, enjoying my one more sister?”
“Definitely not,” Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd held her beautiful proudly, “He is a bloody softie moralist Hindu, not far better than any bastard Musalmān. He won’t enjoy any of your bold Musalmān sisters ever. Your bold Musalmān sister is enjoying the silly Hindu Jījū of yours.”
Muħammad Ůsmān laughed.
“Jījū, she is dynamite.”
“Don’t worry sālé. I enjoy playing with these dynamites. Let her bark whatsoever she wants to. My Uncut Hindu Lund in her Musalmān Choot can take care of her even more than optimum.”
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd winked at me.
Muħammad Ůsmān and Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās laughed.
Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās had retained a slender graceful Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān figure and walked with long, easy strides.
Her dark brown eyes studied my ever-young face gravely, sophisticatedly yet seductively.
I never met any Beauty in my life that didn’t looked at me seductively.
I didn’t know why.
Was it my infinite Bhogyantrānk?
Well, what the hell anything else could it be?
If I was handsome, still in my sixty-three, I wasn’t alone.
Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās watched me with interest then swung to Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd.
Muħammad Ůsmān, however, didn’t as much as shift his eye from my Uncut Hindu Prick penetrating Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd’s graceful young Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt.
She had changed her position in the meantime, yet still straddling me.
I watched Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās and Muħammad Ůsmān as they passed Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd and me.
Muħammad Ůsmān was now staring with preoccupation at the dark curtain of night beyond the magnificent latest new model HVSI ship.
Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās was frankly sizing up her fellow passengers.
“You’ve met her?” I asked Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd watching Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās still now.
“Yes, they were in our cabin for a few minutes. You were in the bathroom then.”
I once more stared down at the couple on the lower deck.
Åāliyah Muħammad Ůsmān and Shankar Mahāpralayankar were still there.*
I was watching now the intermittent, irregular, flashing of signal lights, inhaling the scents of the warm tropical air.
The decks became silent and deserted.
The passengers had sought their cabins.
I turned abruptly as I felt the presence of some third person there.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd was now on her knees and elbows.
I was fucking her from her young glorious behind now.
“Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās?” I commented somewhat surprised, “Now alone? Where is Muħammad Ůsmān?”
“He is with my husband Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī.” Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās said gravely, “I’ve deliberately come to you alone. I want to consult you.”
“Consult me? Professionally?”
Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās nodded.
I studied Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās with patient appraising eyes.
“What about?” I asked.
“About my daughter, Ħamd Yūnus Saåīdī.”
“Well,” I smiled, “I think you are misjudging my profession, Mrs. Yūnus Saåīdī. I’m not exactly a practicing barrister anymore. I don’t need to work for money now.”
“I know you are a multi zillionaire now. Yet you still work to protect the interest of us Musalmān Beauties. Don’t you?”
“Well,” I hesitated somewhat.
“Please, don’t refuse. My daughter Ħamd Yūnus Saåīdī and I both need you very much.”
“But your husband…”
“He isn’t my daughter’s father.”
“I see. You said your daughter’s name is Ħamd Yūnus Saåīdī.”
“Sure, sure, but it’s the name Ħamd Yūnus Saåīdī adopted deliberately. She hates her real father and me, both.”
“Because her real father is a Hindu.”
“Ħamd Yūnus Saåīdī hates me for it. She doesn’t understand Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī is a corrupt politician.”
My recent encounter with Muħammad Yūnus Saåīdī flashed in front of my eyes.*
I tapped on the door of Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās’s apartment.
There wasn’t any response.
I tapped again.
“The door was flung open.
“Well, it’s about time you got here.” Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās said. “We…”
Her melodious voice trailed away into dismayed, yet still pleasant, welcoming silence, as she saw me.
“Well, well, well, the Mayor himself again?”
“I thought you must be given abundant material now to write your second bestseller, ‘Our Mayor with me: Again’, the sequel to your first bestseller, ‘Our Mayor with me’.”
She winked at me.
“My husband is present now.”
“That’s very good. I’d certainly enjoy once more you fucking in front of your corrupt politician Musalmān husband. I love to see his sheer helplessness on his corrupt bearded rugged face.”
Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās laughed.
“Come in. I’d love to watch you degrading my corrupt politician Musalmān husband once more.”
“You have really written a highly successful novel highlighting my sex life too much.”
“Not only yours, mine too with you.” Tasbīħ Muħammad Åbbās smiled cunningly.
“The critics are writing in their reviews now that you deliberately did it to humiliate your corrupt politician Musalmān husband and harm his political career in this way. What’s your response to the charges the critics have charged you with?”
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Durgesh Farħānah Al Åbbās
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī herself was behind it.
I was exasperated,
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī laughed,
“Sālī.” I gritted my teeth.
“I can’t help it, Pitr’shrī. Durgesh is always against my best decisions.”
I watched her gravely.
“Haven’t you learned any lessons even now, Satī?”
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī retorted,
“What’s there to learn?”
“I requested Ārsh Sadan, not compelled ever.”
“Didn’t you fight the issue until the entire Ārsh Sadan didn’t agree with you?”
“That’s my fundamental political right. Can you deny it, my dear Bachhalyā husband?”
He was smiling sophisticatedly.
“Don’t enjoy her idiosyncrasies, Param Brahmarshi.”
“I object on the word ‘idiosyncrasies’.” Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī smiled cunningly.
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī retorted,
“Benefits of Shāshvat Satyug? What are they, Bachhalyā Piyā?”
“Call me ‘Durgesh’.” I admonished her curtly.
“I love to respect my husband.” Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī smiled, “It’s not good manners to call one’s husband by his name.”
“Well, that’s what I think.”
“Sālī, come to the point.”
“It’s bad manners to abuse your wife when her father is present.”
“You are again enjoying her naughty activities, Bhagvan.”
“She calls me ‘Bachhalyā Piyā’ on your support.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong in calling you ‘Bachhalyā Piyā’.” Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī smiled impishly.
I smiled too.
Sālī was hiding behind the mask of marital relationship between us.
Her real father was Prajāpatipati Dax Brahmāputr.
But Param Brahmarshi was Gr’harshi of our entire family including Tārxý, Shésh, Balrām Bhrātr’shrī, Bharat, Laxmañ, Shatrughn, Prakāsh, Shlésh and Ved Prakāsh.***
“‘Bachhalyā’ was my birth Gotr in the ever last Kaliyug. It causes me to remember my ‘Pashu Janm’, my animal birth. Isn’t it denying my Dvij identity?”
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī laughed triumphantly.
“No.” I said, “I hate this ‘Pashu Janm Sambodhan’, this ‘Animal Birth Address’, for me.”
Satī Dāxāyañī Brahmāpautrī smiled,
“That’s another matter.”
“How? They are Musalmān. Therefore? They make Ashvinātam Sharīr Yantrs with you. Therefore?”
“I never blamed you so.”***
When Muħammad flew into Miami, all he seemed to see from the air was water.
It was everywhere.
It was the encroaching sea at the coast, and inland ribbons that sliced the landscape to pieces.
Much of the downtown Miami was protected, of course, but outlying districts, even just blocks away, were flooded.
Muħammad was mildly shocked.
But the place still worked.
He was unable to understand why so many Musalmīn of India still loved to vote Congress.
It had to resign.
Being a time traveler himself, Muħammad had never seen so many foolish Musalmīn anywhere.
“I haven’t objection that Zaynab Bājī has chosen a Hindu his Live in Relationship Partner, Abbū.” His youngest daughter Saiyadah Fātimah Muħammad PhD had complained, “Durgesh is not only a Hindu. He is a black magician as well.”
“What nonsense are you talking, Saiyadah Fātimah Muħammad? Muħammad was furious.
“Abbū, he is fucking infinite Musalmān Beauties.”
“Nonsense. You are a PhD. Shame to you.”
“Abbū, Zaynab Bājī claims she has seen him so.”
“Fucking infinite Musalmān Beauties?”
“And you believed it?”
“You must be crazy, Saiyadah Fātimah Muħammad PhD.”
“Is Kåbah Sharīf itself infinite?”
Muħammad had silenced his daughter.
But he knew it was possible.
Yes, his eldest daughter, Zaynab Muħammad Åbdullah, was right when she argued,
“Abbū, if Måraj is possible, why what I saw is impossible?”*
Two years ago, I bought Farħānah Al Åbbās her first car; a sporty little red convertible.
I swam deep into my thoughts.
I could bring up the day I handed the keys to my Live in Relationship Partner Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam’s daughter, Farħānah Al Åbbās, as if it was on a Rolodex.
Two years ago in the mild stages of spring, Farħānah Al Åbbās blew out the candles on her eighteenth birthday cake.
The very breath that Farħānah Al Åbbās breathed was my breath.
That very breath she exhaled over eighteen candles was the day I felt myself.
I would be sixty-three on my upcoming birthday, by no means ancient.
But my Live in Relationship Partner Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam’s daughter, Farħānah Al Åbbās’s declaration of youthful independence became my silent resolution of long experiences.
And I was having no trouble admitting it.
Why should I?
I was still everyoung.
Wasn’t I, still fucking extraordinary young Musalmān Beauties, even teenagers too?
My age was increasing but so was my bubbling Hindu youth as well.
None knew I was a Parahuman however.
They thought I was a normal human being.
Well, how could they differentiate?
We try to explain the things we can’t deny.
But, naturally, we use our own knowledge and experiences for it.
They took my Parahumanism as an exception to normal humanism.
The exceptions were not unusual.
It helped me in keeping my real identity to myself and to the persons who understood it.
I trusted them.
No use to tell my real identity to the persons I didn’t trust ab initio.
It couldn’t solve any problem.
On the contrary, it could increase my problems instead.
Naturally, I was not stupid enough to do so.
It seemed like only a few, short years ago, I was driving my first car.
The others were surprised that it was not any great occasion to me.
We felt happier when we accomplished something in our Shaktimān or Bhogchakr.
To the most of non Hindus it was extraordinary.
They criticized Hindus,
Saiyadah Āmnah smiled,
“When we say ‘razī Allāhu tålā ånhā’, do they understand? When we say ‘nauzbillah’ do they understand?”
“Every religion has its own terminology based on its own particular philosophy of life and vision.”
Muħammad couldn’t say anything.
Saiyadah Āmnah, his Ammījān, smiled,
“Hindus believe that to every action of a person, there is either Shaktipāt or Shaktixaý. The amount of energy in any person at any moment is his/her Shaktimān.”
“I see, and Bhogchakr?” Muħammad smiled ironically.
One more religious nonsense.
But Hindus’ own religious nonsense is also not less entertaining.
“The Hindus believe that the entire infinite creations are made by Allah for our human beings consumption.
Every person thus, according to Hindus, has his/her own Consumption Cycle. They call it Bhogchakr in their religious language, Sanskr’t.
“We all have our own religious idiosyncrasies.”
Åbdullah Hāshmī smiled,
“Not because their so called Eīshān Vigyān, Ammī.” Muħammad retorted.
Saiyadah Āmnah chuckled,
“How do you know, my dear son?”***
My mind dove deeper into my past memories as I took my exit to the office.
I had given up my spot in the two-car garage to my Live in Relationship Partner Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam’s daughter, Farħānah Al Åbbās’ car.
It seemed ridiculous to have a convertible car sitting outside in the elements and my fifteen year old Chevy Silverado had seen better days.
Farħānah Al Åbbās had definitely benefited from her Ammī’s beauty.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam and I had gotten off to a rocky Live in Relationship, in our first few years.
From the normal “settling in” phase to various arguments, it took us many years to straighten out our problems with each other.
But after the newness wore off, our understanding for each other grew.
I had tried so hard to keep the peace with my Live in Relationship Partner; something easier said than done.
I knew when I met her that she would be hard to handle.
Musalmān women as beautiful as her don’t come around often, and I was surprised when she agreed to a first date with me.
I knew what I had.
But I also knew it would take me controlling my temper to keep her.
I tried as hard as I could to make my Live in Relationship with Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam work.
I had to.
Being a Hindu it was my duty.
Not only it, being a good human being even, I had to adjust with Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam.
I wasn’t a plaster saint, by any means.
Everyone knew it.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam was also included in this everyone.
During our first few years of Live in Relationship, I had openly met several young Musalmān women on the internet.
There was something in the over possessive attitude of Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam that I felt somewhat imprisoned and even tortured by my new Live in Relationship.
The only distraction from that was in the safety of the anonymous interest of another Musalmān Beauty.
A Musalmān Beauty I had no ties or resentment toward.
I even met a few of the young Musalmān women in person.
Some would be only for brief talks, leading to more, but most were simply for my sexual unions.
I always let my temptations take me all the way, bravely.
I was a hyper sexual, a Parahuman.
I needed those Musalmān Beauties not only for my sexual satisfaction, but for my own survival as well.
Ordinary human beings couldn’t understand it very well.
But how could I help it?
By sacrificing my own life, my own existence?
I was not such a sucker, neither had I wanted to be, nor prepared to be, ever.
I never agreed I was wrong.
Why should have I?
I always used to have intercourse with other Musalmān Beauties other than my Live in Relationship Partner, Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam.
It’s not that I wasn’t sexually attracted to my new Live in Relationship Partner, back then.
Eīshān Param Brahm Paramātmā, she was gorgeous.
Tall and sleek, she had the body of a competent Musalmān seductress.
Her breasts perked high in her tight, little tops.
I always loved the cuteness of a big-chested Musalmān Beauty.
They just always gave me a warm, sweet feeling; making me smile in satisfaction.
Her legs were something to be appreciated; long and tone, always silky smooth and tan.
She had one of those big gorgeous Musalmān asses that I would imagine a sexy heiress to the families fortune having.
Tight, round, almost giving off a conceited vibe, like it was actually saying, “I’m better for you”.
She had that nice, deep line running from the small of her back up between her shoulders and slender arms and fingers.
Her hands and feet were dainty, something I always loved about her.
Her hair was long and dark, absolute perfection and her eyes matched it in color and luster.
With full, pouty lips and a small, up-turned nose, she was constantly viewed by other people as stuck-up, vein or a bitch.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam had everything and I knew it.
But after our Live in Relationship, her looks became horribly skewed as I realized her communal mood swings, controlling attitude and just a general idea that I would wait on her, hand and foot, took its toll on my attraction to her.
I found myself not very anxious to have sex with her and I knew, this happening this early in a Live in Relationship was not a good thing.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam was only two years younger than me.
I found younger Musalmān women more open to my intentions.
Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam was the only exception.
I had never dated a Musalmān Beauty that made me wait for sex.
She was a virgin and intended on staying that way until Live in Relationship.
It was that easy, usually.
Most of the Musalmān Beauties I met only once, and oddly enough, they were perfectly fine with that.
One girl in particular, I met more than once.
At twenty-one years old, slightly thick, with 38DD’s that were spilling over her bra, she was definitely something I never had usually.
Petite Musalmān girls had always been my thing.
The first night I met her, we talked and laughed. something I hadn’t done in a while with Al Jamāl Annisā Al Islam.
I constantly admired her excellent Musalmān breasts.
Almost like an expensive piece of chocolate I slowly peeled her tight shirt upward, my excitement building with every inch of her enormous Musalmān breasts coming into view.
My intentions were hers as well; we had discussed it beforehand.
Her bra forced the top of her Musalmān breasts out over the edge.
She smiled at my overwhelming interest as she unhooked her bra, squeezing her massive Musalmān tits together, with her arms, as she let the straps fall from her shoulders.
Slowly she pulled the cups away and relaxed her arms back to our resting position.
The result was her gorgeous round globes were swaying and knocking together like a desk novelty.
I smiled teasingly at the sight.
I took my time with something as if, a well-endowed rack.
Light touches and strong squeezes excited me more then I knew possible.
Pressing them together, letting them sway, light squeezes turned to lustful squeezings.
I could feel her chest heaving, her breathing becoming louder, stronger.
Then a thought quickly came to me.
“Would you mind if I tit-fucked you? I want to do it to you more than before,” I asked, looking up at her from between her cupped breasts.
“Sure,” Åāýéshah Muħammad panted. “It looks like you’re having a lot of fun. Who am I to deny you, plus, this feels really good!”
I rose and straddled her waist, watched her palm the sides of her breasts, pressing us tightly against each other.
The sight alone made me drip precum.
My unquestionable Hindu arousal for this curiosity, the feeling of firm, huge Musalmān breasts sucking tightly on my naked Uncut Hindu Dick, the unbelievably Musalmān softness of them pressing against my Hindu pelvis overwhelmed me.
I tit fucked Åāýéshah Muħammad for almost half an hour.
She held it into her mouth, briefly gave it an accepting look, then looked me directly in the eyes and guided it into her mouth.
“Durgesh darling, méré Hindu Piyā, Hindu Al Buůūlatul Muslimāt, hum Musalmān ħasīnāon ké Hindu Kħasam, Hindu husband of us Musalmān Beauties! Has anyone ever told you your Hindu cum is very sweetest?” Åāýéshah Muħammad teased me, swirling her tongue in her mouth; enjoying the remnants of her fresh oral sex with me.
“Actually, I’ve heard that a few times,” I smirked, still teasing her.
As she stepped out of my truck, she waved ‘Allah Ħāfiz’, ‘goodbye’ and we went our separate ways. Durgesh felt the bliss rising deep within me.
I talked to her on the phone, as well as on the internet after that, and met her on three other encounters.
One meeting I pulled up to her car, Åāýéshah Muħammad got out and climbed into my truck.
Åāýéshah Muħammad swallowed, primed my leftover Hindu cum to the tip of my Uncut Hindu Cock, licked it off, zipped my pants back up, looked at me, smiled and said ‘Allah Ħāfiz’ once more.
That meeting was my favorite; to-the-point, raw, it was cut-and-dry and required no build-up.
Another time Åāýéshah Muħammad knelt down in a parking lot and sucked my excited Uncut Hindu Cock in full view of anyone deciding to park in the lot.
When Åāýéshah Muħammad could sense I was close to cumming, Åāýéshah Muħammad e held out her palm and gently massaged my Uncut Hindu Cock to orgasm.
She cupped her hand in front of the tip and let my warm, sweet Hindu juice puddle into it.
Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī then rose up and began licking small quantities of it from her hand until all traces were gone.
My satisfied Uncut Hindu Cock began throbbing with each fast-paced heartbeat, as I watched her lap my most primal of Hindu fluids up like a hungry kitten.
Muħammad Abdullah turned his car onto the gravel road and drove up the hill toward the clubhouse.
The brick building was about 2 miles up the road, in a little forest of pine trees.
It could not be seen from the road.
And unless you knew it was there, you wouldn’t even know it existed.
A generous patron had donated the somewhat isolated land and building to the local Explorer troop some years ago.
Even though it had been built in the 1940’s, the Explorers had taken good care of it, and it was very nice.
The grounds were well-kept with a nicely-trimmed lawn and a picnic area.
Inside, there was a meeting room, a kitchen, a bunk room, and a full gym with weight machines, a large mat room for boxing and wrestling, and a large shower area.
The Explorers were a group of teen-aged Hindu boys who were interested in going into law enforcement or fire-fighting careers.
They worked with local agencies to learn about the job and would meet at the clubhouse on Tuesday nights to discuss what they had learned and plan events and fundraisers.
Other than that, the Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club house was mainly a place for the guys to hang out and work on projects or work out in the weight room.
The leaders would come in most evenings and open the place from 6 pm to 8 pm if any of the guys wanted to work out.
But the weight room could get pretty crowded at times.
And the guys would sometimes have to wait awhile for their turn.
That was why Muħammad Abdullah had driven up there that night.
At the meeting the night before, I, one of his fellow leaders, had mentioned to him that I was going to stay late the following night and had told Muħammad Abdullah that he could come and work out if he wished.
Muħammad Abdullah’s school schedule was fairly light the following day, and he thought it would be great to be able to get in a workout without having to wait around for machines to open up.
As he neared the clubhouse, he saw that my car was parked in back, but no one else was there.
The outside light was on, as were the lights inside the gym area.
Muħammad Abdullah parked his car and walked over to the building.
It had been a warm spring day, but a cool breeze had begun to blow through the pines.
It was very quiet up there.
The only sound was the wind blowing through the trees.
Muħammad Abdullah breathed in the pine-scented air and enjoyed the moment.
It felt like he was way out in the country.
He had dressed for his workout in a t-shirt and some loose nylon running shorts.
Underneath his shorts, he was wearing a jockstrap and could feel the breeze blow up his shorts and across his butt.
He liked wearing a jock because of the way it snugly held his cut Musalmān nūnī and balls, while allowing him to feel otherwise naked underneath.
He walked into the gym and saw me sitting on the floor, stretching.
I was one of the older leaders.
I was 62 years old, 6′ 5″ tall, and weighed about 250 pounds, all solid muscle.
I constantly worked out and was very strong.
The sexiest men in entire infinite Creations and infinite time dimension too.
Muħammad Åbdullah was suggested so many times to reconsider what his system of life should be for his future life.
Not even if his Musalmān friends were terrorists themselves.
How can he fuck the women he called Ammī once?
How can he fuck the women he called Bājī once?
How can he fuck the girls he called sisters once?
How can he fuck the women he called Bhābhījān once?
Muħammad Åbdullah would prefer even to die instead.
To hell with such Sukr’ts.
Might is always right.
That’s what Hindus actually believe in.
The Bachhalyās were always immorals.
The ever immoral Bachhalyās were the first who started incest.
Moreover, they argued it moral, religious and legal too.
Ultimately Lord Parashu Rām had killed the immoral Bachhalyās consecutively for twenty one times, in twenty one Brāhm Kalp Cycles.***
I reveled in her complete raw sexual cravings, her uninhibited urges to milk my wanting Uncut Hindu Cock of every single drop of my nature.
But what was so intense to me was I had no idea who this Musalmān Beauty was, and she knew nothing of me.
“Allah, God, that tastes so good,” Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī grunted.
I moaned, dazed from the delight.
Each encounter was something new and different.
A drastic change from the already staleness, sexually, I had already become accustomed to.
On our last encounter, I went to her house to see her.
She was like nothing I had ever met.
She stopped at nothing to amaze me.
She knew nothing would come of our meetings, but I felt, something inside her loved the attention.
I followed her upstairs to her bedroom, admiring the thigh high stockings and very short miniskirt that left nothing covered.
This, she knew, was one of my fetishes.
We had discussed some very, very sexy ideas and fantasies in our little chats.
She stripped away my pants along with my boxers.
“I love sitting on your Hindu lap Durgesh darling, while you fuck Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī.” she winked at me as she peeled her spaghetti-strapped top up over her head, her large melons dropping and swaying from the release.
Her nipples softly slipped across my skin and then pressed against my Hindu chest.
The slushing noises of all those juices being forced in-and-out, up-and-down, back-and-forth was enough to bring me over the edge.
“Hold on Durgesh darling, I’ve got to go get something,” Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī said as she rose up off me.
Cautioning my mind back in reality, I was cautious as I stared at her bare Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Choot release itself from me.
Strands upon strands of her natural lubrication clung to my Uncut Hindu Lund, refusing the separation.
Well, the refusal was inevitable ultimately.
It all had made its own infinite time cycle repeating itself again and again.
Musalmān Beauties had to fuck me consequently.
Even they couldn’t resist the temptation.
Their Musalmān Cunts demanded my Uncut Hindu Lund uncompromisingly.
I watched, bewildered, as clear droplets of desire splashed silently, from deep within her, against my lurching Uncut Hindu Cock.
I had rarely, seen a Musalmān Beauty so wet, even while I always fucked infinite of them actually.
Wasn’t it something special?
Certainly it was.
Her short skirt was lowering a little with every step.
Walking back into the room, Åāýéshah Muħammad Hāshmī again straddled my hard Uncut Hindu Cock.***
It all made sense now.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could feel me — feel a man nearby.
The voices and images that had bombarded her made sense now — and they had washed away her old reality.
All Jamīlah Bū Pāshā remembered was being sucked up by the blue light into the Posthuman warship, and the gas she and the other Musalmān Beauties had been subjected to….no, not gas exactly, the were tiny particles like…dust or…spores.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that now.
Finally, all of it made sense.
She had eons worth of memories; the biologically—encoded memories of a great race, an ancient race.
The body of knowledge that filled her brain overshadowed all ethical, political, or religious beliefs; her race—memory was all.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had awakened at long last from a prison of petty, weak, female morality and anxiety, and Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew what Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had to do.
Again, and again.
It was not a means to an end, reproduction was the end.
It would be beautiful; she was beautiful.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had been given a gift when the Posthumans sprayed her with their spores; Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that she did not need to age, she need not fear rejection.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had a choice of any man… she was erupting with the power of limitless seduction — no matter a man’s station, commitment or preferences — Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could have me…Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could possess the best men…but… but…she didn’t want the best man…
No, she wanted…all Hindus!
All of them!
She would spread her legs, shake her extremely beautiful gorgeous glamorous excellent exquisite perfectly round firm Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass for any chance to copulate with a Hindu.
She laughed when Jamīlah Bū Pāshā realized that normal Musalmān Beauties would be selective for the most suitable Hindu.
What mattered was breeding!
When Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had been human; Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had wanted only to attract the right Hindu; now Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could attract any Hindu, and wanted them all!
They thought she was an Egyptian.
‘Pāshā’ was an Egyptian surname.
Well, only her Abbū was an Egyptian Årab Musalmān.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā closed her eyes, and felt a sweet sensation.
It was an aura that teased her senses like electric sugar.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could see glowing blue threads in the air,
Many of them with a common root — but with a few wild branches.
The glowing threads that waved and wandered in front of her seemed to radiate that energizing sweetness.
She grasped a tangential strand, and gained a flash of images — massive lovely Musalmān breasts, platinum blond hair, metal studs and piercings, a extremely lovely Musalmān feminine shape.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was dimly aware of her flesh flowing, bones popping, chest expanding.
And in a flash, Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had become the very soul of desire!
The sweetness grew more intense, and was accompanied by a sense of invincible power.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was desirable now, a perfect match…but….for what?
For a Hindu…Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could practically smell his anti-Islamic Hindu lust.
It was not the nature of the Hindu himself, but the strength of his Hindu libido that drew her.
It made no difference what he looked like.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā would spread herself for any Hindu even…Hindus from other planets?
Yes…yes…their Hindu libidos captivated her, made her wet, made her pulse flutter with longing.
There was a time when Jamīlah Bū Pāshā would have rejected a Hindu based on meaningless emotional impulses!
She scoffed at the human woman she used to be, Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was…. yes, a Musalmān Beauty.
She embraced the term as normal, natural.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had reached the inevitable evolution of the female Musalmān organism — absolute promiscuity.
She looked forward to impregnation — Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā could give birth offspring quickly, easily, without pain or risk of injury — in her new, advanced body Jamīlah Bū Pāshā realized the process would be highly pleasurable!
And imagine, Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had been afraid when the Posthumans had first captured her!
“Hindus,” she breathed.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was one of them now.
They were her people, her species.
It was human Musalmān Beauties that were Posthuman now.
Her new sisterhood ruled this planet.
And they would steal every living Hindu away from their own Musalmān Beauties.
But that had already been done.
Only a tiny handful of Hindus in the most remote places on Earth could have possibly escaped the Great Harvest.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew that ships had even combed the Kalahari Desert and Amazon rainforests, to capture every possible Hindu to ejaculate into Musalmān Cunts for the Ashvinātam Empire.
But there was one left.
Durgesh must have somehow escaped.
He had a cunning, powerful mind, but his lust for fucking Musalmān Beauties nonstop was strong.
That was what drew her, the greater the Hindu’s lust, the more her own Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān sexual craving was fed — and Jamīlah Bū Pāshā knew Jamīlah Bū Pāshā had taken the shape of a deep—rooted desire.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was drawn to me like a magnet, from my Hindu sperm; Jamīlah Bū Pāshā would derive both pleasure and sustenance, from her Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt.
Durgesh would gain a potent addiction.
She loped forward to follow the strands of desire across the stripped soil where blue moss from the Hindus Homeworld had been planted.
Jamīlah Bū Pāshā was not sure.
Hindus lived originally in Vyom, an immensely unapproachable Space with equally immensely unapproachable time dimension.
Their President, Durgesh, lived in still more immensely unapproachable Space, Param Vyom, the Absolute Space.
It was said that no man except Durgesh himself could stay male in Param Vyom.
He would immediately be transformed into an extremely beautiful woman, if he even enters there somehow.
What a security system.
There was a ship; it was a small shuttle made from rough, bluish—purple crystalline blocks.
Not Hindus Manufacture.
Her race memory told her that it was made by an ingenious, telepathic species smarter on average than humanity, but far less fertile.
Nonetheless, the Hindus of that race could not restrain themselves from the limitless sexual indulgence the Hindus promised — and had thus become one more planet of lesbian savages and stud—slaves.
Now, there were Hindus who had added that race’s genius and greater telepathy to the gene pool at large; making them all the more capable to conquer Trio Arabia Creations.
“Ashvinātam Intelligence is limited; Ashvinātam Lust is eternal.” Jamīlah Bū Pāshā droned, her race memory feeding her a popular Hindus maxim.
The mating instinct was a weakness shared by the smartest, strongest, toughest species — none could resist The Ashvinātam Empire.
And the leaders of this planet had been so eager to ejaculate their freedom and power into the accepting Musalmān Cunts of the First Wave agents.
This ship’s presence here was a mystery.
A mystery that Jamīlah Bū Pāshā would explore after she’d gotten a Musalmān crotch full of sweet, virile, human Hindu Semen.
A mystery that was fleeting, it seemed.
The bluish blocks began to fracture, crack and smoke.
In a few moments, it was clear that somehow, the ship was disintegrating from some reaction inside its own structure.
The blocks fragmented and faded into sandy debris, flowing downwards into a pile around the crash site.
Beneath the blocks oozed a substance that resembled molten metal that flowed in steely rivulets.
In less than a minute, evidence of the Posthuman craft had vanished, and what remained could easily resemble the melted wreckage of any human-manufactured aircraft.
And in the center, stood the Hindu.
I was wiry, of medium height for my species, not bulky, but with a hint of lean muscle.
Clean shaven, my black hair resembled a spiky crew-cut, and there was a fierce gleam of Uncut Hindu Cock—sure certainty in my smoldering eyes.
And my rod… my Hindumeat stood poised, half-erect as if ready at any moment to surge into steely rigidity.
My sausage—like Uncut Hindu Cock throbbed, seeming to beckon her forward.
Knots of desire twisted in her gut, and her Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt began to quiver with the raw instincts that burned in her Musalmān blood.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam