“Looking for a snack, son?” I asked. It had to be Jalal crossing the room. His older brother, my firstborn Faizel, wouldn’t be home until later....At seventeen, he came and went as he pleased. Perhaps he was with one of the American girls he liked to date, sluts like my daughter who took care of his needs until he found a proper Muslim woman to marry.“I am,” Jalal said from right behind me.Then his hands slid around my waist, up to cup my large tits through the conservative dress I wore. I let. He stopped in front of me, his hard muscle level with my face and I looked up at him – he had no chance at all did he? ‘I’m going to examine you,’ I said licking my lips, ‘so I can remember what it looks like when you fuck me.’ I was using this language on purpose. I do quite like it really and I wanted him to feel at ease hearing it and using it, not as swearing but as good effective words for describing things. ‘Do you want me to suck it afterwards?’ I asked coyly. This caused a very deep. More

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