This story is meant to serve entertainment purposes only, it means no direspect towards Muslims or the religion of Islam. I had a crush on a girl, and it just happened that she was Muslim. Hope you enjoy the story.
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"Oh my gosh, it's her again," I thought to myself.
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WARNING: If you are not 18 or older, please leave this page immediately.
Incest—a word that has extreme negative connotations. The image that most often comes about when the word is mentioned is that of a father forcing himself on his daughter. Any forcible sex act, especially done by a parent to a child, should result in the parent being punished in legal and non-legal ways.
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Last year, I attended my cousin Stephanie's wedding and the entire family turned out to celebrate the occasion. A solo attendee, I wanted to bring Lenka; in fact she was more than eager to go with me...
I thought my father's relatives were stuffy and dry, especially the older matrons. I was comfortable with my sexuality but would they be accepting?
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The lights low, his glistening contours barely visible in the mirror. I step closer. So does he. My eyes slowly adjust to the near dark, and I see me, staring back. Blue green eyes drinking me in, a closed circuit of self lust. I step closer. Six feet of rock climber, six feet of swimmer, six feet of dirty hot mind wrapped in a perfect body. I tilt my head. A shaft of light slashes across a sculpted cheekbone.
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She leaned against the cold brick wall, trying to defend herself from the three hoodlums. 'Leave me alone!' she yelled, covering her breasts with her left arm, while slapping away the many hands that were trying to go under her short shirt.
'All we want is some of that sexy ass, baby,' one of the punks said, trying his best to get a feel between her legs.
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When I write my stories, I am concerned with one an only one thing - trying to create a mood of tenderness and longing. Sometimes I probably over do it.
And I end up getting into such heightened state, I get really worked-up - and I write most of the really "haunted" love stuff when I am right on the edge. When I re-read my stories, I can tell that parts were created in that shaky mind space.
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I wish I were able to do this for You today. Hopefully this will give You some relief. I recited my ritual per Your command and so enjoyed the orgasm You allowed. Thank You, Master, so very deeply. This is fairly unedited, so if something isn't communicated properly, please let me know?
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The bride worried that she would shatter. She felt as fragile as the glass bottles of oils and perfumes set out for her bath--a bath she didn't welcome, and one she knew would never make her feel clean. In the water, a gilded lion gushed rose-scented water from his mouth. Julia had always thought the fountain beautified the room, but now the lion seemed like he was just another predator waiting to pounce.
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"You just don't get me, Marcus."
The words pierced right through his seemingly frail exterior. This kind of fight had been all too familiar for the last few weeks of their relationship. Kim wanted him to give her more satisfaction in the bedroom but Marcus was too much of a worrywart and relaxed man to give her the kind of action she so desired.
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I wake up. My room is darker than I've ever seen it, pitch black with no moonlight slipping in through the drapes. I start to move my hand to search for the candle on the bedside table and find that I can't – my arm doesn't respond. The sensation brings me wide awake and I try moving my legs, panic setting in when I can't shift them and realize I have lost the power of movement. I want to open my mouth to cry out for help but a tightly stretched fabric muffles my lips.
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