I pulled down my pants, confident Dad’s theory was almost foolproof for certain women, “He also mentioned your fascination with his godlike shrine.”
“Kevin, you’re being way inappropriate,” she rebuked me, even as her gaze was far from disapproving as she looked at my cock, semi-erect, looking back at her.
“It’s also inappropriate to join your daughter in fucking my dad while your husband preaches about who knows what moral wrongs,” I pointed out.
“Oh my God!” she said, not at my dick unfortunately, but at the sticky situation she suddenly found herself in.
“I imagine you screamed that when my dad fucked you,” I speculated, “or did he just fuck your daughter?”
“Kevin, please leave,” she said, showing a little strength, which I found impressive.
“You sure?” I asked. “I don’t offer the privilege of worship to just anyone.”
“Just go,” she said and then added weakly, demonstrating her insecurity and doubt, “Please.”
“Okay, Mrs. Grady,” I shrugged, keeping my cock hanging out a bit longer before putting it away. “When you change your mind, I’ll expect you to beg to worship at my shrine and to be wearing some sexy lingerie. I’ll stop by after dinner in case you decide you need a creamy dessert.”
She didn’t say a word as I then walked out, hoping this rejection was a temporary one. On the one hand, I was happy to see a woman with the willpower to say no. At least not every woman was a mindless bimbo. Yet her rejection also turned me on, making me more determined to make her my mindless bimbo… which was ironic. On the third hand, I was horny now, and I needed a release.
I texted Mrs. Dieks but she wasn’t home.
So I went back to Ms. Chan’s to deposit a load and walked in on a lesbian act. She had given me a key after the first day, so I could walk in any time I wanted to use her mouth.
A large-breasted Muslim woman, completely naked except for her hijab, was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs spread with Ms. Chan hard at work between them.
Since I was fascinated by race and culture, I found this completely erotic… an Asian pleasuring a dark-skinned Arabic-looking Muslim woman I didn’t recognize.
The woman looked up at me, her hand holding Ms. Chan in place, “You must be Kevin! We were just talking about you.”
My confidence brimming even after my recent rejection, which I hoped would be brief, I said, “I’m assuming it was about my big, fat cock.”
“Indeed it was,” she nodded, as she added, “I hear you have a huge one.”
“So I’ve been told,” I replied, trying to act casual.
“Pull it out,” she ordered.
“You want to worship the great white snake?” I asked smugly.
“I may, if it’s as big as my slut here tells me it is,” she equivocated, as she pulled Ms. Chan’s face deeper into her pussy.
“If you want to see it, you understand you’re becoming my slut,” I clarified.
“He’s already learning,” she said approvingly to Ms. Chan.
Ms. Chan agreed, “Our Kevin is a quick study.”
I dropped my pants and presented my cock for inspection, which was already hard from watching the lesbian act, and I offered her a choice, being a gentleman, “You may either suck my cock or take it in the ass,”
Ms. Chan chipped in, “He’s a good boy; he’s saving his virginity for his Mother.”
“Of course he is,” the Muslim women said, not at all surprised by such a controversial definition of virtue, as she let go of Ms. Chan’s head. She hopped off the counter to face me in front of Ms. Chan’s wheelchair, leaned forward and ordered, “Lick my asshole, slut.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Ms. Chan replied equably, pulling the Muslim’s ass cheeks apart and burying her face between them. I think the telling difference between Ms. Chan and your run-of-the-mill bimbo slut was that, although she loved to get berated with trash talk and she said all the right words and did all the right submissive things no matter how disgusting, I never once saw her grovel. Ever.
“Bring that big cock over here,” the naked woman ordered me.
I pulled my feet out of my pants, walked over and stood directly in front of her.
“You think like I do,” she smiled as she took my big, fat cock in her hand, “This is definitely a cock worth worshipping.”
“Then suck my cock, slut,” I ordered, wanting to make it clear there was a new hierarchy in town, and she wasn’t at the top of this one.
She licked my cock head as she corrected me, “In Arabic you would say sharmuta.”
“Which means cock, or slut?” I asked, receiving a language lesson while getting pleasured.
“Sharmuta means slut, and qadib, alat, and zubur are all Arabic words for penis,” she informed me, before taking my cock in her mouth as Ms. Chan continued eating her asshole… I was curious what that would feel like, but that experience was for another day, another time.
“Then suck my qadib, you dirty sharmuta,” I said experimentally, I imagine butchering both words.
She didn’t try to deep throat me like Ms. Chan could easily do, but she did bob like a sharmuta until I asked, “Ms. Chan, is that ass ready for my cock?”
“It appears to be wet and willing,” she answered, looking up at me. I was dominating my sharmuta and she was calling my sharmuta Mistress, yet she wasn’t calling me Master. Not a problem, my hierarchical relationship with Ms. Chan was flexible: it was whatever it was at the moment. Sometimes she was my slut, sometimes she was my sexual guru.
The Muslim woman walked over to a bag and grabbed a small piece of carpet, which she then placed on the floor in front of me before taking my cock back into my mouth.
I looked at Ms. Chan who explained, “She is a ‘cock Muslim.'”
“A cock Muslim?” I questioned.