📘 Serving Iqbal

STORY BY: ADAM WEST

Another of my stories based on a true event.

Over the years, one of the things I have learned about being a lover of Muslim men is that it isn’t easy, for me at least, to meet them for a liaison. They tend not to go to gay bars, and hook-up apps can be hit and miss. It takes patience and, often, I need to service a Muslim cock urgently. However, I have developed a technique that works from time to time. It is something that has paid off for me by trial and error. This is about one of the most successful attempts.

I was at a dinner with several colleagues in central London, two of whom were Muslim. They mentioned during the meal that they had just celebrated Eid, which set me thinking: Muslim men are usually at their horniest after breaking their fast and I wanted to be a lucky recipient of Muslim seed, which I was craving wildly, my addiction to Halal semen consuming me. We left the restaurant at around half past eleven and the streets were packed with people out for the night. Now I would try my plan out to see if tonight I might be fortunate. I walked to the door of a well-known gay nightclub and opened up a taxi app. My trick is to book a taxi then, as soon as the driver’s name and picture come up, cancel it if it’s not a recognisable Muslim name; if it is, I let him arrive. This particular evening, it was Iqbal. Since he was collecting me from outside the bar, I figured that I was already making a statement about myself that, if he were interested, would help the conversation flow– or maybe stall. Sometimes, the drivers don’t want to talk at all when I try to engage them in conversation after they pick me up from a gay bar.

My journey would be around twenty minutes, so I had to get on with it. I sat right behind the driver so he could see me, and I him, in his rear-view mirror. He was around my age I think, around mid-thirties, with a black, clipped beard, black eyes with long, curly lashes and heavily cropped hair, just a centimetre long or so all over. Hanging from his mirror was the tell-tale sign of the CD with Arabic script on it and he was playing Arabic-sounding music. I got in and we exchanged greetings. He turned down the music and I asked him not to. I told him I liked the sound of it, even though I didn’t understand it. That led to a stilted conversation about how rare it was for an Englishman to like that music and I told him I had travelled to many Islamic countries and liked the culture.

‘Have you ever been to Pakistan?’ he asked

‘No, but I’d like to.’

‘Which Muslim countries have you been to?’ he wanted to know

‘Well, I went to Morocco when I was young…’

‘Did you enjoy?’ he smiled, his eyes twinkling.

‘Ohh yes. I had such a nice time.’

‘They are very open in Morocco. Where else?’

‘Tunisia, Egypt, Saudi, Dubai, Turkey…’

‘Wow! You like Muslim countries a lot, mate.’

‘I do, especially the people.’

He stared at me in the mirror.

Did you come out of the club where I picked you up?’

‘Yes,’ I said, lying.

‘So, you like Muslim men?’

‘Too much,’ I answered with a slight quiver in my voice. I wasn’t sure if he was pursuing this out of interest or disapproval.

‘Too much?’ he queried.

‘Yes. Too much. They are strong, direct, honest.’

‘I am like that, ‘he said. ‘Strong,’ and he looked at me in the mirror and didn’t break my gaze for a few seconds.

I asked him about himself. He explained that he was born in Pakistan but had lived in London since he was five, which explained his perfect London accent. I caught his eye in the mirror again.

‘Are you working all night?’ I asked

‘I finish when I’m ready,’ he replied. ‘I’ve been driving for around eight hours already so I should finish soon.’

We talked for a few moments about Eid and how it was for him.

‘It must be a relief, I guess,’ I said.

He looked at my reflection in the mirror. ‘In some ways, yes, but not in others. My wife’s on reds,’ a slang term for menstruating. He grinned and looked at me again.

I laughed, nervously.

‘You like that?’ he asked, somewhat oddly

‘Like what?’ I asked

‘She’s on reds.’

I smiled as he looked at me again and I wasn’t sure if he was asking if I liked the expression or the fact that he couldn’t have sex with her.

He was being very careful with his words in this brief driver/passenger relationship.

‘Well,’ I said slowly, ‘It’s not so good for you…’

He paused and another minute or so passed., not responding directly to my remark.

‘When you went to those countries, like Morocco and Egypt, did you meet any strong men?’ His long stare reflected added extra meaning to the question and I understood what he was really asking.

‘Oh yes,’ I smiled looked back at him. ‘Many times.’

‘What is it you like?’

I paused, knowing what I wanted to say but nervous about actually spelling it out.

‘They know what they want and I was always happy to give it.’ I thought this was a loaded statement but at the same time I could explain it innocently as a ‘get out’, if needed. He looked thoughtful.

There was silence for a while after this and we came into my street and pulled up outside my building.

‘So, do you want to give it tonight?’

I paused and stared back into the mirror

‘Yes, I do,’ I answered, my voice cracking with nerves.

‘Yes, I do…what?’ he glared at me now.

‘Yes, I do….sir,’ I replied.

‘Now we understand each other,’ he said.

We both got out of the taxi. Now I could see him fully. Around a metre seventy-five, he wore a loose white shirt, sleeves rolled up and knee-length denim shorts. His legs were firm, dark and hairy and on his feet he sported black and white Adidas trainers and black trainer socks. He excited me as he stood there next to his taxi. He told me to go ahead and to make sure I was clean while he smoked and talked on his mobile phone. I rushed up to my flat, stripped off and douched as quickly as I could. I wanted to be spotless, both inside and out, for this Muslim master. No sooner had I put on my house shorts and T-shirt than he was at the door. He entered and I showed him to the bedroom. There would be no small talk; I was only to cater for his needs. Mine were unimportant.

I have a wooden chair in my room upon which were dirty clothes. He tossed them onto the floor and sat down.

‘’Get me water,’ he ordered. I obliged and he drank it all in one go, leaving the glass on the small table beside.

‘Get on the floor,’ he demanded, then added, ‘Let’s get one thing clear here: no homo.’ By this, I assume he meant no kissing or anything that could be construed as gay. This was about serving him.

I lay on the floor in front of him, my head closest to him. He pushed a foot out towards me and he instructed me to take off his trainer. The right, then the left. His feet had been busy all day on the pedals of the cab and they were sweaty and ripe.

‘Sniff my feet.’

I sniffed them all over, running my face over his soles, ankles and toes. I became excited by it and took long inhalations of his foot odour. He leant back in the chair and rubbed them all over my face. I began to writhe around on the floor with excitement and I took his black-socked feet in my hands to push them even harder against my mouth, nose and cheeks. I could have easily ejaculated there and then but I held back because this was only about pleasing him; I knew he would be insulted if I came – too ‘homo’. I revelled in the honour of sniffing his socks and inhaled again and again then kissed his feet on the soles, the toes and ankles.

‘Take them off!’ he barked

I peeled off his moist trainer socks and he then leant forward and placed them over my face, telling me to breathe in. He then took out his mobile phone and took pictures of me lying there with his potent socks over my face.

‘You worthless faggot,’ he said and laughed.

‘Yes, sir. I am. Thank you, sir.’

Next, he demanded that I take his bare feet, smell them and lick them clean. Before I got to it, I removed my shirt so his feet could have contact with my body if he wished for it. In turn, he removed his shirt and I saw his chest and stomach, both extremely hairy, his pecs firm and defined and nipples as hard as golf balls, a beautiful carpet of black hair all over.

I worked on his feet, licking between his toes and cleaning his soles with my tongue.

‘Good, bitch, good,’ he said in a low voice.

As I continued to clean sir’s feet, he moved forward and pulled down his shorts. He kicked me in the left cheek with his foot so I moved aside and he took them off to reveal a thick circumcised cock, erect and standing at least 20cm, framed by lots of thick, black hair. It was very erotic but I had to put my desires aside and focus on what my master wanted.

He nodded for me to kneel before him, then he pinched his penis at the base so it stood out and, grabbing my head, he planted my mouth onto his organ. I licked his head and then set about running my tongue up and down his dark shaft. He parted his legs so I could lick clean his hairy balls and then take his penis in my mouth. He worked my mouth and controlled it by taking the crown of my head in both hands. Thrusting in and out between my lips and ramming the back of my throat. I could see he closed his eyes, perhaps imagining that I was some lucky woman, given the prize of feasting on her master’s beautiful penis. He went on moving in and out over my tongue for some time, hitting my tonsils with his cock head. All the time he kept his eyes shut. Eventually, he tired of it and, asking me to look up at him, he slapped me hard across the face twice.

‘You’re nothing but a fucking bitch, aren’t you? Aren’t you?’

‘Yes, sir, I’m your bitch. Thank you, sir.

With this, he stood up, rested on his left foot and wiped his right foot over my face again.

He ordered me onto the bed and to remove my shorts. He put back on his trainer socks before getting onto the bed with me. Immediately, he knelt and held onto the headboard, so he was leaning at an angle of about seventy-five degrees.

‘Clean my ass, bitch.’

I did as I was told. I went onto all fours and parted his ass cheeks. The skin around his manhole was hairy too, so I started by licking around his ring so the hair would stick to the hard flesh around it. Once I had a clear view of his anus, purple and dilating, with a bubbly rim, I teased it with my tongue; I licked it up and down, in circles, spitting onto it so as to try to get my tongue inside his hole. It tasted of sweat and it had a certain sweetness. He breathed heavily and continued with the insults.

‘You love licking my ass, don’t you, bitch?’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’ I was tingling all over with the pleasure of serving this real Muslim man.

‘Lick it out, faggot whore. Did you hear? Lick it out!’

‘Mmmmm. Yes, I will. Thank you, sir.’

He grabbed his cock and pushed it down between his legs so I could lick all the way from his wet anus to his penis head. He didn’t moan or seem to get excited the way other men I had rimmed seemed to. It was just a way to prove he was superior. What better way than to have an infidel lick his ass clean?

Suddenly, he turned over and jammed his cock down my throat again. I sucked and took as much as I could as he gained speed and aggression, drilling his cock as deep as I could take and in rapid thrusts too.

I thought I was going to choke, then he pulled out and slapped me on the ass really hard so that it stung.

‘Turn over, bitch, like the dog you are. All fours. Do you want Halal cream in your worthless hole?’

‘Yes, yes, yes please, sir. I want it.’ I really did. I was desperate to satisfy my craving.

‘You want my Muslim cream deep inside you?’

‘Yes, sir, Please sir.’

I could watch our coupling in the mirror at the side of the bed and it was a beautiful sight: him getting into place behind me, his firm, hairy dark body behind my pale, almost hairless slim figure with my dark blonde hair, ruffled.

He positioned himself spat on his cock, rubbing the saliva along his shaft. He then leant down and spat on my ass ring. There was lube by the bed but he ignored it. He placed his hard cock on my ring and pushed hard. As he came in, it stung like hell and I cried out. He slapped me on the face with the back of his hand from behind. There was no going slow. He hammered me from the first thrust, relentlessly.

‘I’ve got at least a week’s load in my balls, bitch, and I’m going to pump it into you.’

He banged me a vengeance and I felt him deep inside me, although it felt sore with no lubrication. Fortunately, my body produced some natural fluid and it became less painful but he didn’t even slow down. Bang! Bang! Bang! I yelled out a few times and moaned loudly but he told me to ‘shut it, bitch!’

After he had been battering my anus for some time, he suddenly said,

‘I’m going to unload in you now. I’m going to pump you full of Muslim seed and you will keep it inside you. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir. Please fill me.’ I so wanted him to explode inside me.

He was now gasping for air to get him through to the climax. I knew he was about to pour into me when he arched his back and pushed back his head, as I could see in the mirror, and roared loudly with relief. One last push and then he let it go. As he came, he thrust even harder and deposited what I knew would be a huge load of his cum right into my ass. He rammed me a few more times until he had shot every last drop into my rectum. For a moment or two he stayed in position and I expected him to withdraw and leave, but he did not. He pushed down on my back and told me to lie face down. He pushed at me so his cock stayed inside me and collapsed on top of me. He was pinning me down and I could hardly move as his full weight pressed down on my body. His cock still penetrated me as he relaxed. I didn’t say a word in case I upset him. I would do whatever he wanted. Not long after he climaxed and planted his seed deep into me, his breath sounded deep and I soon realised he had fallen asleep on top of me and inside me. I clenched my anus and felt his penis resting in me. I lay there and thought of his sperm deep within my body, his DNA being absorbed by my body.

We lay that way for around an hour. I daren’t try to get up and wake him. He was my master right now and he got what he wanted.

Although soft, his cock was still inside me when he stirred and awoke. He lifted his head and I smelt his nicotine breath. He raised himself and his penis fell out of me. He propped himself up on the bed, a relief for me not to have his weight on me and he said,

‘Clean my dick.’

I turned over so I could see him. His cock was wet and soft.

‘Clean it with your tongue, bitch.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I bent forward and got into the prostrate position in front of him then I moved my head into his crotch and started to lick his penis. First, I got my tongue around the head and it tasted sweet and salty at the same time, the taste of his semen and my insides. Once I had cleaned off his head, he became hard again and I could work on his shaft. A few times I got a pubic hair in my teeth and had to remove it, natural since he had so much body hair all over. As I sucked and moved up and down his erect cock with my lips and tongue, he started to hum with pleasure.

‘Suck it, bitch. Take it all and lick it clean.’

I did my best. After what seemed a long time, I used my left hand to massage his shaft as I licked his balls. Larger than average, as I sucked at them, I imagined how much seed he had shot into me earlier. I was hugely excited by his command of me and what he had left inside too.

I used the palm of my hand to squeeze his cock while sucking at the head and caressing his length with my tongue. He wasn’t as vocal now as he had been while fucking me but he seemed like he was enjoying it.

‘Aaaahhhhh yes. Suck me.’

He stiffened even more and I knew were almost there. Now I worked at his tool with a passion, massaging, sucking like crazy as fast as I could. He began to really hammer at my mouth now. In…out, in…out….

I tasted his precum and waited for the explosion. I managed to pick up even more speed even though my mouth ached. A couple of minutes later and he started to breath heavily, and fast.

‘Take my Halal cum, bitch. Swallow it. Here it comes!’

A load of his fresh, hot cum shot out over my tongue and down the back of my throat. I carried on sucking his penis and he moaned so deeply that I felt the bass of his deep voice reverberate through his organ as I licked his sensitive head, having just unloaded into my mouth. I pulled off his cock, looked up at him, opened my mouth to show him how his foamy sperm filled my mouth and then swallowed hard so he could see it. It felt glorious as it drained down into me: warm and salty. I then made sure I had every drop by licking his cock head again and squeezing it with my hand to make sure there was nothing left.

‘Good bitch,’ he said as he shuddered, the nerve ends no doubt tingling as I finished servicing his tool.

Very quickly, he got off the bed and took his phone.

‘I might need to use you again when she’s on reds. What’s your number?’

I gave it to him and he entered it into the mobile.

‘Where are your clean towels?’

‘I’ll show you…’ I started to say but he cut me off.

‘No. I asked where they are.’

I explained that they were in the bathroom cupboard.

He took his clothes and walked out of the bedroom. Moments later, I heard the shower running for just a minute or two. Shortly afterwards, the front door slammed and he was gone.

I switched off the light and lay there, reliving the evening’s events. I took my own cock, playing in my mind that I had two loads of his Muslim semen inside me. I came very quickly, then fell asleep.

I slept lightly and when I awoke, I felt his sperm moving down. I turned on the light and got onto all fours. In the mirror I saw his thick Islamic manjuice burst out of me onto the blue sheet. More was dripping down my scrotum and balls. When I felt no more, I looked down and saw beautiful gooey liquid that Iqbal had left behind inside me. I lay down in it and rolled my body over it. I hoped he would use me again next month.