My name is Pooja Sharma. I work in Hyderabad at a well know software firm as a marketing manager. I am 5’7”, 118 and blonde and blue eyed. At 30 I’ve kept my body in good shape: 36C-24-35. Needless to say, I was voted prettiest girl in both my high school and my college senior class.
Because of this most men have always been awkward and hesitant to approach me. I never had to learn to say “no” because the men were usually too insecure to approach me.
I met my husband in the Hyderabad, fell in love and got married last fall. Shortly thereafter a much older, Muslim maintenance man at my company, named Javed, started flirting with me and asking me out to lunch.
I, of course, would decline as politely and diplomatically as I could but I always felt awkward doing so.
I told my husband about this but he would just laugh it off and joke about it. After all, he had seen Javed and knew he was well over 60, fat, missing a tooth or two, and just a homely man.
Then, after a few weeks of this, one day Javed kind of cornered me in one of the hallways when no one else was around.
“Hey sweets, you ready to go to lunch wit me yet?’ he asked with a big smile showing a few missing teeth.
“Javed, now you know I’m married and…uh…you know…it …uh…well…it wouldn’t be right,” I stammered. But my hesitation just seemed to make him work harder at his objective.
“Aw, c’mon baby, give a man a break. I’s just wants to take you to lunch. Don’t make an old man feel put down!” he said with this pained look on his face.
I knew he was playing with me but still it all felt so awkward and difficult.
“Well…I can’t really…”
“Baby, just one time!” he cut me off. I tried to think fast but all I could finally muster was:
“Now Javed you know that…” As I spoke I noticed him looking at my breasts off and on. Slowly—I don’t know how—I began to notice my nipples becoming erect. “Damn!” I thought, I hope he doesn’t notice. But in my peripheral vision I could see they really were sticking out prominently against the fabric of my sheer blouse.
I lost my train of thought as he looked time and time again at my growing nipples.
“C’mon baby, ya can’t says no forever,” he smiled, obviously noticing my body’s inexplicable arousal.
Finally, I just ran out of energy and ideas of how to refuse.
“Well…alright…but really just once…and please…you know…this is just as friends…ok?”
With a big smile, Javed responded: “You bet baby, just a one time date, I know”
“DATE!!!!” I thought. This isn’t a date!!! But I couldn’t muster anything that would come out of my mouth. Under this old Muslim man’s verbal onslaught I just stood there half smiling: confused and angry I had so easily been talked into this.
As I backed away to take leave I noticed the bulge running down the left leg of his pants. My eye first glanced and then had to take a full look to see if what I thought I saw was what I really saw. It was!
Javed’ cock ran more than half way down to his knee and tented out from his pants obscenely. He saw me looking but just smiled and continued looking straight into my eyes. Then reaching over took my hand and said: “I really, really looking forward to this Pooja baby. I know you is too.”
Somehow my hand just responded and held his for a second as I reached to say something, anything to slow him down and get out of this whole thing. But all I could muster was…
“Y-y-yes, Javed…I guess…I guess I am too…” I looked down again and found myself staring at the monstrosity that was his manhood, struggling to pull my eyes off it and leave. He still held my hand. And I still held his.
Slowly I came back to reality, let go of his clutches and pulled away.
He let go and backed off. A huge smile across his ape-like face.
“See you tomorrow then sweet meat,” he called as he backed off to go on his way.
“O, Ok…” I mumbled. I felt confused and dizzy as I turned and walked to the door that opened to the next hallway. In the reflection of the glass door I could see this big, Muslim man just standing there watching me as I walked down the hallway.
For some reason I could not understand I found my heart pounding and my knees shaking.
Then almost unconsciously I began a slightly, ever so slightly, exaggerated sway to my hips and ass as he watched intently. Why was I doing this!!! What was I thinking??? I had no–and have no–idea. But I did it. And as I did I looked into the door’s glass to see his refection reaching down, stroking the serpentine bulge running down his left inseam.
I walked through the doors and felt dizzy, faint. I went straight to the Ladies Room and into a booth. I thought, “God, I feel like I have to pee!” But when I peeled down my nylons to go I noticed a big wet splotch in the crotch. I sat on the toilet just staring into the crotch. Was I actually sexually excited by this pathetic old maintenance man? Did he have me this hot just by his flirting with me?
My eyes closed, I could only see Javed’ huge dick distorting the leg of his pants, trying to break free to get at—me!
When it was done I sat on the toilet. Stunned, dumbfounded. What had happened to me? Could it be? Could I be attracted to this laughable, old Muslim?
But all day I was distracted by my shock that I’d excepted Javed’ invitation. And, of course, by my body’s arousal. What had come over me? What would my husband think if he ever knew?
All day I tried to work…but my nipples continued to ache and my pussy lips remained swollen, leaking their excitement into the crotch of my hose.
I got no work done all day.
That evening when I got home Safely asked me how my day had gone and why I seemed so quiet. I couldn’t say much, still confused and bewildered over the day’s happenings.
That night as I lay in bed waiting on him, he came into the bedroom naked. Looking confidently at me and smiling, he strode toward the bed. But all I could think of was how ridiculous he looked with his man-sized body and, seemingly, child sized penis and testicles.
After he climbed into bed he started to mount me. As usual I had to help guide his 4 inch penis into me. Strangely I felt almost repulsed by his naked body. Somehow it seemed deficient in some masculine way. Only later did I realize I was subconsciously comparing his manhood to Javed’.
He began to hump into me and then slipped out. “God, he’s so little,” I caught myself thinking.
I put him back in and he began again. By the third or fourth hump he began grunting and going through the usual gyration of his orgasm.
I found myself annoyed. All this grunting and bluster about what I knew was a drip of semen. When I had given him oral sex in the past, I found I often didn’t even know when he came—except for all the grunting and writhing around—because his cum was so minimal.
After he stopped, he rolled over and was snoring in minutes. It was then I realized how pathetic our sex life was.
As he snored away I closed my eyes and found myself seeing Javed’ bulge down the inseam of his trousers. Its length and thickness. Its power, nearly ripping through his pants…for me. All of that size and urgency because of his desire, his lust, for me.
Andy continued snoring and I fell off into a deep sleep.
The next day at lunch I honestly hoped Javed would forget all about it. But it was foolish of me to think he would.
“Ready for our date?” he said as he ambled up to my desk.
I wanted to scream, “THIS ISN’T A DATE!!!” and just explain to him it was “just” lunch. But nothing came out of my mouth. I just smiled weakly. Inside I just didn’t want a scene; plus, I knew it would do no good. He would never listen.
As we walked out to his car in the parking lot I could feel his hand gently on the small of my back. “Unbelievable! This old, Muslim, maintenance man has the gall to put his arm around me,” I thought to myself. But again, I couldn’t bring myself to object and create some kind of scene or confrontation. So I let it go.
By the time we got within a few feet of his car I could feel him becoming bolder and definitely let his hand rest on my lower back. He now definitely had his arm around me.
He opened the door of his old , dirty Bolero for me and let me slide in. As I did I noticed his eyes taking a nice long, obvious look up under the short leather mini skirt I was wearing. Why had I worn this sexy little skirt, I thought to myself.
But as I waited for him to go around to his door, I realized my heart was beating heavily in my chest. I’d liked that he looked up my skirt. As he slid in his side of the car I smiled over meekly at him.
He looked into my eyes, smiled then turned and started the engine. After we backed out and turned onto the road he casually put his big, Muslim hand onto my knee, squeezed it gently and said: “You joinin’ me today a dream come true, Pooja.”
My heart bled for him. It was such a nice thing to say. I felt guilty for all the laughing my husband and I had done about his flirtations. This poor beast really admired me so. I wanted to remove his hand from my knee—it was completely inappropriate—but after he said that…I just couldn’t. I was afraid I’d hurt his feelings.
So he drove on with his hand on my knee. Occasionally, running it slightly up to my lower thigh.
I kept coming right to the point of saying stop. But it was so casual, so slight, I never quite felt he’d gone over the line.
Yet as we approached the hotel he was taking me to for lunch, I suddenly thought, “What in the hell am I doing sitting here in a broken down old caddy with an old, Muslim man—one my husband and I used to laugh about—letting him rest his hand on my knee and occasionally stroke my thigh like I was his damn Hindu whore or something!!!”
I felt somewhat stupefied and dazed as he opened the car door for us to enter the hotel. All I could think of was how could I have let this all happen and what am I doing here.
As we walked to the back door entrance from the parking lot something else bothered and alarmed me. The warm wetness I felt again in the crotch of my hose…obviously brought on from Javed’ gentle handling of my knee and thigh.
“What is happening to me, “ I wondered.
As we walked into the seedy hotel Javed suddenly grabbed my hand, holding it in his as if I really was his woman. My immediate reaction was to pull it away but as we walked through the bar area and all the patrons—who were older, seedy looking, Muslim men—stared at us, I felt I didn’t want to create an embarrassing situation.
Besides the way the place quieted down and these old men stared at me, some with their jaws agape, made me feel something strange that I didn’t understand at first. But as we walked by them I found myself slowly holding Javed’ hand more firmly. I also found myself standing tall, strutting somewhat, beside and slightly behind him…somehow proud of their admiration—even awe—of me.
I quickly found my nipples betraying me again as Javed paraded me in front of his buddies on the way toward our booth. They poked out prominently as these old men ogled my bouncing breasts. Damn! I thought. Why did I wear such a sheer bra.
But in the back of my mind I knew this was strangely exciting me against my will. I enjoyed these old Muslims staring and looking me up and down, licking their lips lustfully. And I was also excited by how Javed glowed with pride to be with this young, shapely blonde. Hand in hand, showing her off as his ‘date’ for all his horny, old, pals to envy.
We stopped along the way as Javed introduced me to one or two of his buddies as his “lunch date”. As he’d say this, I’d at first feel my temper rising that he would introduce me as his date…then somehow it would melt away as these men would look me up and down and whistle.
“Well, Javed, you doin’ awright, man!” one said. I found myself blushing. As I did, I could feel Javed lightly squeezing my hand. Unbelievably, I found myself giving his hand a slight squeeze back.
“What was I doing!?!” I screamed to myself. But as I stood there smiling demurely behind him—behaving every inch the role of his woman—I found myself shyly looking to the floor as his buddy would occasionally glance over from their conversation, obviously checking out my tits and my now obscenely protruding nipples.
Why couldn’t I get control of this situation I would keep thinking to myself.
Soon Javed led me to our booth. When I sat down, rather than sitting opposite me, he slid in beside me on my side of the booth.
As we looked at the menu, Javed once again placed his large Muslim hand onto my knee. After squeezing it slightly, he resumed the slow, ever so slight stroking of my lower thigh. This obviously impressed his pals sitting at the bar who could see from their vantage point everything going on above and below the booth table.
I became very angry that he would show me off like his whore in this way and decided I would put and end to it right then and there.
After mustering some courage I slowly put my hand under the table and placed it on his. Slowly I held his hand and squeezed it gently. My way of saying, please stop.
Javed, gently squeezed my hand back, held it for a few seconds, then amazingly let go and proceeded to rub my thigh—even more blatantly and higher than before! I couldn’t believe it. I suddenly realized that this uncouth and uneducated Muslim misread my signal as one of encouragement!!!
Now what could I do? I was angry and frustrated, but also somewhat defeated. I couldn’t think of how to stop this short of a confrontation that I didn’t feel up to at all considering the environment I was in and the exhibition Javed and I had just put on for all these onlookers.
His hand was now stroking from my knee to well up under my leather mini. He was now sliding his hand just inches from my moistened pussy. At times he would reach under and grab a handful of my thigh, then run his hand back down to my knee. Then up again under my skirt. Which was slowly becoming bunched up around my waist. All the while the men at the hotel staring intently and at times whispering to each other.
I felt like some erotic night club act the way these men openly stared at Javed’ pawing of my thigh.
Then Javed looked over at me and looked into my eyes. I had no idea what to expect as I looked into his homely old face. Without warning he leaned over and put his thick, Muslim lips to mine!
“Oh my God!” my mind screamed. This can’t be happening to me! No, no, no!!! Please God, let me wake up from this nightmare!
But this was no dream to wake up from.
I could feel his thick lips pressing mine and working my lips slowly, confidently, erotically open. And then the warm wetness of his long, thick snaking tongue into my mouth.
I hesitantly was trying to push him away but my hands just touched his chest. They froze in place and didn’t push at all.
Why would he just start so confidently frenching me in front of this crowd? My mind struggled to think of what to do as my mouth was being worked open by Javed’ oral ministrations.
But then I realized what had spurred him on to do what he did as his hand continued stroking high up under my skirt. I realized that the moment he looked over at me he had just reached high enough up my thigh to feel my spreading wetness.
My wetness told him I was now his.
And his tongue continued to push through my lips and coil around my tongue. And I admit my lips, so little at first I hardly noticed, began to work back. My mind felt like it was going blank, surrendering as I began, finally, kissing him back hungrily. Offering my tongue fully to him with complete abandonment—for all to see.
Then he took hold of my arm and without pausing from our passionate frenching put it around his neck. I needed no more encouragement. I began stroking his neck, the back of his old balding head with a passion I’d never had before while making out with any man…including my husband.
I felt Javed begin to stroke my face and then let his hand slide down to my breast. At first stroking it, then beginning to paw it heavily. Soon Javed was grotesquely mauling my tits through my sheer blouse. Squeezing them and pinching my swollen nipples. He continued tweaking my nipples even pulling them out obscenely, I am sure to impress his leering pals at the bar with his command over the Hindu blonde he was conquering and making into his whore right in front of them.
As we now were slobbering into each others mouths we noticed a man standing next to the booth. It was an older Muslim man whom apparently Javed knew and who owned the bar.
As we stopped our tonguing and looked up at him, Javed’ hand still working away at my tit, he said, “Why don’t you two take it to the back room”. And then he threw a key onto the table and walked away.
Javed picked it up and began pulling me by the hand from the table toward a room in the back of the bar.
As I rose from the table I could see my blouse was half undone and my leather mini skirt was embarrassingly bunched up around my waist more like a thick belt than a skirt. I tried to push it down with my free hand.
As Javed pulled me to the back room, I could see these old Muslims rubbing their dicks through there pants and mumbling obscenities about me as we passed by them.
In shock I thought to myself, “God, I really have become this old, Muslim man’s whore. Can’t I even say no to an over sexed, Muslim maintenance worker?”
When we got into the back room Javed closed the door and faced me. Right then and there I wanted to say no more take me home. But he just grabbed me into his arms and began kissing me deeply. I responded immediately this time, my tongue exploring his mouth.
When he broke away from my arms he shoved me back onto a half-bed, half-cot in the office. He looked down at me and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Get undressed, “ he commanded, almost casually.
I hesitated for a long moment. I wanted to say no. I thought of my husband. Then I pictured him walking toward me in the bedroom with his infantile genitalia swinging between his legs I began unbuttoning my blouse. Soon I had undone my bra, slid it off, and began sliding out of my skirt.
Meanwhile, Javed was done removing his clothes and I could hear him grunting approval at my free swinging breasts as I continued removing my skirt and shoes.
In the corner of my eye I could see his enormous uncut, dick bobbing its head approvingly at my nakedness—just inches away from my face. I looked up at it and became transfixed staring at this massive Muslim organ. It appeared almost alive, bobbing its huge bulbous head, covered by thick flaps of skin, and drooling precum profusely.
I thought it was hideous, yet gorgeous in some inexplicable way–and it just drove my heart wild with growing excitement!
Completely naked now I lay back on the cot and looked up at him. His incredible dick stood out from him now, curving at an 80 degree angle from his body. It was at least a foot long and 5 inches around. I never imagined any horse, much less a man, could be so big.
As I laid there staring at it and he down at me, I lifted my gaze finally to his eyes. We looked deep into each others eyes and, as we did, I slowly lifted and spread my legs, inviting him into me.
He knelt onto the bed and positioned his meaty, Muslim weapon into place against my swollen and soaked pussy lips. One thrust forward and he was into me three inches. As he began truly mounting me—slowly pulling out and more quickly plunging back in–each thrust brought more and more of him into me. It seemed the depth of his penetration would never end.
I grunted with each spear-like thrust. I felt skewered by this Muslim stallion of a man. And he continued now with greater speed and power.
Finally, he brought his arms down under my thighs and bent me back, my legs over his shoulders. At this point he seemed like a man possessed.
He hissed: “I wanted a hindu bitch like you in a position like dis all my life. Now you’s go’ get it, you fuckin’ hindu, trash !!!”
At this he began slamming his dick into me without mercy!
Slap, bam! Slap, bam! Slap, bam!!!
As he slammed his oversized organ deep into my womb he also slammed me and the whole bed into the wall. The racket we made between his body slapping into mine, the bed slamming into the wall, and my ooohhs and ahhhss with each penetrating hump was creating a loud racket.
Through the walls I could hear the Muslim patrons all whooping it up in the hotel, cheering, whistling, laughing, and shouting all matter of lewd and crude remarks about the blonde bitch old Javed was “givin’ some bone to”.
They were cheering on there old homey who they could now clearly hear banging the living shit out of some uppity hindu wife. They were just loving it!
And so was I…as the pounding I was receiving drove on and on. All I could think was, “Oh my God, how can he do it? How can he keep up this pace?”
Slam! Slam! Slam! He drove on giving me more and more of a ramming from his awesome ebony weapon. Slam! Slam! Slam! I felt I was being ridden by some kind of Muslim bronc buster who would ride his blonde mare until she was completely broken, subdued. Bam! Bam! Bam! He was slamming away at greater and greater speed and power.
After five to ten agonizing minutes of Javed’ pounding into my aching pussy, I felt an enormous orgasm building. It built very quickly and then erupted in flashing light for me. I soon realized I was screaming, clutching him to me, my legs wrapped up around his pumping ass, his hips still pounding madly into my vaginal channel, breaking my pussy wide open like no man had ever done.
Soon his grunting began and then came one final, very hard slam deep into my pelvis. Like molten lava I could feel him spewing himself deep into my womb.
I knew he was impregnating me right at that moment.
And I knew I would forever be his for the rest of my life.
When he was done I looked up at him, pulled his head down to me, put my lips to his and kissed him deep and long. My tongue snaked into his mouth.
We kissed deeply for minutes. When our lips softly parted I whispered to him, “I love you.”
His big homely, Muslim face broke into a huge grin.
“Likes I told you, babe,” he said, “if you just give dis Muslim a chance, I make you one happy, little Hindu slut for Muslim dick.”
He slowly withdrew what appeared to me a Muslim, slimy python from my still clutching pussy lips. He pulled out with a pop as my pussy was now so agitated with lust for him it did not want to let him go.
As he turned his back to me and lit a cigarette, I sat up and leaned on one arm just gazing at him.
Then as my gaze lowered, between his skinny, bow legs hung the most enormous, out-sized pair of balls I have ever seen. They hung a full half a foot down from his groin. They were easily the size of tennis balls.
As I just sat transfixed looking at these big, hairy things I concluded again that for sure this man had just seeded me. I would certainly be mothering his child within the year. No woman could receive a discharge from a pair of testes of these dimensions without being fertilized.
As my admiring gaze continued, I could see that hanging even below his elephantine balls was a still semi hard, horse-like cock. It hung its still swollen head down at least 3 inches below his low slung balls.
As he turned to me I was almost shocked by his ugliness. His gut was huge, his smirk revealed some missing teeth, some gold teeth, his nose flat and wide across his face, and his genitalia were just plain ‘abnormal’ in their size.
But in my eyes all I could see was an incredibly masculine, Muslim tribal chief who had just seeded his hindu slave girl. And he did it as only an Muslim chieftain could. Violently and completely!
I realized that this Muslim specimen of a man was far different, far more powerful than any of the hindu ‘boys’ I had been with before.
And I wanted more….