The Very Best of Islamic Fundamentalist Erotica, Vol. 1By Luis Prada
Hello, and welcome to The Very Best of Islamic Fundamentalist Erotica, Vol. 1. Today I’m going to share with you a loin invigorating tale of sexual passion from the vast collection of erotica written by the finest sexually repressed minds of the Islamic faith’s more traditional, back-to-basics followers. Moderate Islamics or devil worshiping American heathen pigs need not apply.
Today’s tale is titled Ankles of Desire.
Ankles of Desire
Abdullah wandered in to a small Islamabad café to escape the blistering Arabian sun. He ordered a tea, but only so he wouldn’t get kicked out for loitering. Besides, his sheep’s bladder held more than enough water to keep his thirst quenched for the rest of the day.
He sat, occasionally wiping the sweat from his brow, and taking deep breaths, as if he were trying to release the heat from his lungs like a steam valve. It was hot. Steamy. Valve-y.
Off in the periphery of his vision was a black figure. He turned to get a better look. Standing at a market was a vision of burka-clad desire. This vision was a woman, and she stood at a street vendor’s shop covered head to toe in her oppressive garb, leaving only her dark, sultry eyes exposed to the world.
And what sultry eyes they were.
In them, even from a distance, Abdullah saw the wild, unrestrained passion of a woman yearning to be held in the grasp of a strong, dominate male authority figure. The sweat beads, which had just started to recced, came flooding back as his mind raced with impure thoughts – thoughts of a passion forbidden by society.
He looked over her body, watching closely as the burka did nothing to highlight her natural curves; draping them in such a way that it left nothing for the eyes to see…but everything for the mind’s eye to imagine.
His eyes continued to wander, this time down to her legs, or what was probably legs, because he couldn’t see them with all that burka hanging everywhere.
Suddenly, his eyes sprung wide open. The sweat beads on his forehead collected and turned in to a torrent of salty anticipation, soaking through his turban. “What’s this?!” Abdullah thought to himself. “An ankle?!”
And so it was. Peeking out just beyond the lower areas of the burka’s reach was a sandy patch of flesh. The boney contours of the ankle drove Abdullah wild with ecstasy; its shapely ridges and sharp points all seemed to be crying out to him, beckoning him to break free from the repressive shackles of society, and cave in to his most base sexual impulses. He was driven mad — wildly mad — by this display of raw, unbridled sexual ferocity. His mind became a theater of the sexual absurd, as he wondered what else could be hiding beneath that tantalizing black cloth. Was there also a lustful knee hidden within? Perhaps a sensuous calf was longing to expose itself to his eyes?
His imagination overflowed with thoughts of passion and love, love and passion! In just mere moments he had gone from a man burning in the scorching rays of the sun, to a man burning in the scorching rays of desire.
His mind could not handle the teasing any longer. He needed to do something. He needed to show this faceless, nameless woman just what her maddening flesh parade had done to his mind; to his very soul!
So he had her arrested and stoned to death in the town square.