Chapter 1

Allow me to offer my Greetings to God and to all of you who read my words on this fine summer day. My name is (censored) and I write to you from the glorious, but decadently capitalistic, city of London. I was not born in London and in fact I must admit I was not born in Great Britain at all. Yes, I do have a British passport, but I must decline to advertise the exact method in which it fell into my hands.

My hands are the hands of a true believer.

I have sworn to eliminate all non-believers no matter how much I have grown to admire and respect them. It is a blood oath, and I would never think to disregard it.

This world of ours is like a garden.

I and many others just like me grow and flourish in the garden in places we are not supposed to take root. It is very difficult to exist as a weed in the garden of life. Weeds are not respected, they are not admired, we exist only because we receive sustenance from the sun, the friendly rain that falls from the heavens above, and the sheltering shade of the many flowers and fruits so revered by the insidious non-believers.

My purpose is simple. I am to grow and stay unnoticed endlessly. There will come a time when I am called upon to fulfill my sacred trust. I often waver in my resolute desire to execute my mission. In fact, I have almost forgotten who I am any more. It is true that my spoken English is a bit tainted. I work hard to make it less every day. I have not spoken in my native language for more than three full years, and it grieves me to lose the flavor of its special nuances and tones. It is one of the many crescents I am forced to bear in the midst of the enemy.

I have adopted the name of A. Patel born to already deceased parents in the city of Blackpool. The simple fact is I have never been to Blackpool and certainly have no desire to do so. My sweet parents are blissfully unaware of my sacred mission and reside in the bustling city of Islamabad working as sellers of fine herbs and scents from exotic places. They have never heard of Blackpool and think that I am a student in the University in London. Despite my unfamiliarity with things Blackpoolian, I possess many little tidbits of Blackpool geography, history and can describe in great detail what one can see on various random street corners.

It is all part of what was explained to me in a far distant place. They told me it was my “cover story” and that I was to try and forget my previous life as best as possible. I have gotten so good at the endeavor that I see myself as this innocent working class cog called A. Patel.

During the past year, I have accumulated a dog, an ex-girlfriend, and a slightly used Television set that has some type of problem with the speakers.

The dog’s name is “Maggie”.

The girl’s name is “Bitch”.

The television I refer to affectionately as “You worthless piece of shit”.

My current female companion who is noticeably lacking what would be considered average intelligence always laughs when I relate a story about my ex-girlfriend. Probably because I start them with the words, “The bitch told me” Or, “The bitch did this or the bitch did that”. It does seem funny when I think about it now in this cold and dark place.

Jesse is what one would call, “A nice piece of ass!” She is quite different than Bitch because she is so annoyingly submissive. Bitch would argue about something as simple as the amount of salt used at the table. Jesse would run out to the store and get some more if I voiced my displeasure in any way. Yes, Jesse was a trap.

She was a soft female trap that I could not allow myself to fall into.

You must believe me it I tell you that should you pass me on the street, you would not suspect me to other than a normal young working male interested only in making enough money to enjoy the simple and time-honored pleasures of a pint of beer, and a date with a nice-looking female with a deliciously shaped bum.

In all truth, I have no liking for beer of any type and only drink wine when I feel my transgression will escape the wrath of my superiors and Allah himself. As for the girls with generous boobs and bums, I find most of the Western females to be far too caught up in their own overblown egos to fully satisfy my demanding cock.

I would like to take them all and put them in training camps to be proper females in the eyes of God.

Each day I give thanks to the almighty for sending me Jesse. She never fails to present her well rounded bottom to me for proper discipline whenever the mood takes me. Not wanting to make a baby with any of these Jezebels of a decaying society, I usually reward her with the insertion of my blessed tool into her high-raised posterior allowing my precious bodily fluids to cleanse her filthy colon. I remember that Bitch would protest vehemently whenever I took her back door entry route in the sacred journey to paradise. With her, it was all, “Don’t even think of doing it back there” or her high-pitched whine of, “It’s too big for me” or her silly exclamation of, “I’m not that kind of girl!”

When I first met Jesse, she was a bit sexually immature. She admitted to me that she had never taken it “back there” and that she was far too afraid to take a man’s cock into her mouth. Apparently, she had been used for sex ever since her 18th birthday by her mother’s boyfriends when they tired of slogging into her mother’s loose-lipped vagina overly stretched by the births of five children.

Her mother watched all late night performances of her tight-pussy daughter with keen attention to the utilization of safe sex and proper lubrication. Jesse told me that after a while, she was able to accommodate even the largest of cocks with little effort. This innocent girl of 20 had been fucked by over a hundred men and had never been kissed a single time. She had no inkling of the meaning of foreplay, never even considered being fucked except in the standard “missionary” position and was aghast at the thought of placing a cock inside her mouth.

I immediately took charge of her proper training. I felt it to be my responsibility to round out her proper education into the correct methods of copulation.

In the past few months, I had taken to chaining my Jesse to my bed at night. She had enough of the chain to use the facilities and she slept on a comfortable mattress on the floor. When I wanted a part of her body for my pleasure, I merely pulled on her chain and she would hop onto the bed ready to serve me as I so desired. I had finally gotten her to totally abstain from the use of decadent cosmetics and after I had whipped her until she begged for mercy, she promised to never again shave her private areas. Her bush now was resplendent with its cushioned nest of long blond hair.

My work was trivial.

That was part of my cover.

I was to be unseen and unsuspected in the midst of the enemy. The firm I worked for was involved in the advertising of feminine hygiene products and I often was the butt of jokes from my pub acquaintances about our products. They are so crude and disgusting that I will not lower myself to repeat them here.

I was ever circumspect both at work and at the pub to be as normal as possible. I tended to blend into the background and let Jessie be the center of attraction. Her physical attributes were so formidable that it was mostly successful. With the elimination of cosmetics, her internal beauty shone with an aura of freshness that attracted most men and even a few women to stand close to her flame.

Just recently, a young businesswoman dressed in a conservatively styled professional suit hovered at Jesse’s elbow at the pub and invited herself to our flat for a nightcap. Jesse was a little bit high and clung to the young girl’s arm like she was a seeing-eye dog leading her to safety. This “Polly” person smiled at me and dismissed me immediately as far too insignificant to notice. I was amused because this was a side to Jesse that I had not seen before. I pretended to be a bit drunk to see what the young girl was up to.

I fumbled for the key and had them taken from my hands by an impatient Polly. She looked like she was very adept at opening locks and she pushed us both through the door with a firm hand.

I sank down into the sofa watching our new friend Polly manhandle an unsteady Jesse into the bedroom and into a horizontal position. I hoped she didn’t notice the chain and mattress under the bed.

I watched the businesslike Polly fix herself vodka on the rocks like she was in her own apartment. She took off her jacket and now her formidable breasts were outlined under her thin white blouse. She looked in my direction with some degree of disgust on her face for my perceived lack of focus.

She was holding something in her hand that I could not quite make out. When she leaned forward on the sofa and held it up to her face I almost laughed out loud. The very sensible Polly was inhaling the scent of my Jesse’s pussy imbedded into her recently soiled black panties. I was somewhat sympathetic as I was known to do the exact same thing from time to time. I remembered when Bitch caught me doing it just before we broke up and how she verbally abused me for almost an entire hour. The perverted Polly seemed to really be getting off on Jesse’s aroma and before long I saw her hand slide inside the waistband of her trousers to start rooting around inside her own control-top panty-hose. Her glistening eyes were starting to cross as her orgasm rose quickly.

I choose that very moment to “awake” from my stupor and confront the suddenly guilty looking Polly.

“What are you doing with my girlfriend’s panties, you dyke bitch?”

Polly tried to hide the panties behind her back and looked at me with a reddened face.

“I am most certainly not a dyke, you perverted prick!”

I scooted over on the sofa and grabbed her hand with the panties in it.

“Getting off on my Jesse’s special fragrance is pretty perverted, I would say!”

Polly pulled her arm away and almost hissing in my face, said,

“What’s with the chains in the bedroom, Mr. Sadistic Bastard? Are you some kind of deviant sleezeball?”

She was so serious, I had to laugh. It was all too pathetic. We both were obviously zeroed in on Jesse’s lush body and had no reason to be at odds.

“That’s behind locked doors, Missy, Let’s have a truce. Keep the panties if you want them that bad, but you have to give me yours as a fair trade.”

Polly looked at me like I was crazy and maybe I was just a little. I was A. Patel, a nondescript nobody with a terrible obsession for friendly female bums. Hers was well hidden but I could tell with unerring accuracy that she possessed the finest of female bums that ever delighted an anal pervert like me.

I could see Polly’s breasts heaving with emotion. Her dark tinged nipples straining to be free. They were quivering with righteous indignation and rightfully so because I was beneath contempt for my blackmailing efforts.

“All right, Mr. wise guy, you want my knickers, you got them.”

The agitated young girl stood up and turned away as she dropped her trousers and kicked them off. Her panties were of the frilly French variety. They were the ones I so loved very much. I still had several of Bitch’s still sitting in my bottom drawer. The agitated young girl hastened to pull down her undies and revealed to me the magnificence of her splendid bush when she bent all the way over to take them off her ankles. It was very obvious her delicious looking pussy was leaking female juices inspired by the inhalation of Jesse’s fine scent. It was difficult to tell if she was more turned on by Jesse’s odor or by the striptease she was performing for my benefit.

Polly held the damp knickers out with her hand and she rolled up her pantyhose pushing them into her oversized purse. I looked into her defiant eyes and before I put them safely away in my pocket, I held them up to my nostrils for a long drawn-out sniff. The girl smelled strongly of exotic spices not unlike my bedroom above the shop in far-away Islamabad.

Since she remained standing half-naked directly in front of me, I took the opportunity of releasing my cock to full view and stroking it right in front of her shocked eyes. I could tell she was excited and very much aroused because her nipples were sticking out like panic buttons on a control panel. Her juices continued to ooze down the inside of her legs and I could not resist pushing my fingers into the sticky liquid and tasting the sweetness of Polly’s pretty pussy.

Polly slapped my hand away from her leg and in an angry voice told me,

“You want to taste something, you perverted fuck, get a taste of my ass, you unmitigated prick!”

She turned her backside to me and bent over the sofa. With her two hands, she spread her ass cheeks and offered me her quivering brown eye. At first, I was offended at her haughty attitude, but then with the beauty of her pretty pucker hole staring me in the face, I decided I would do exactly that.

I leaned forward and licked her pulsing rim and then slowly inserted the tip of my tongue into her tightly clenched anus. Polly gasped in astonishment as she never expected me to take her up on her debasing offer. My face was buried deep in the cleft of her ass with degrading efficiency and I reached around in front and began to softly play gently with her protruding clitoris. Her legs shook and she groaned in complete submission to my will. It was obvious that she had not been handled in such a manner for quite some time. The hard look on her face had softened considerably and she pushed back on my tongue silently begging for more.

Later we lay on the bed next to the sleeping Jesse and I pounded the proud professional woman’s tight pussy with my demanding cock. For some reason, my reservations concerning western women seemed unimportant at that very moment.

A WEED IN THE GARDEN PART II

Maggie! Maggie! Where the devil could that blasted dog have gone? The ever horny hound was no doubt out chasing the sexy French poodle from across the courtyard.

Blast!

My raised voice had awakened the surprising “good lay” Polly from her deep slumber. I poured another coffee anticipating the demands of yet another selfish Western woman.

“Oh my God! What time is it? I have to be at work. Do you have any coffee? Where are my knickers? You must give them back to me, you terrible man.”

Despite my usual annoyance with all things female this early in the morning, I was forced to smile and withdraw the bit of French lace from my pocket. I hated to see those gorgeous arse cheeks covered but realized the poor girl probably had no time for festivities judging from her state of “can’t waste a second” mentality. Besides, my Jesse was stirring a bit under the covers and knowing her usual modus operandi, she would soon be wandering into the kitchen looking for food of any sort. Probably a bit hung over as well.

I watched the lovely Polly dress quickly. She wasted no time and even whipped out a comb and lip color stick from her purse making a facial transformation in the reflection from the side of the aluminum toaster. I admired her ability to adapt to any situation just like fabulous flexibility of her pussy lips and her tight little rear door.

In truth, I must admit I was a bit put off by her initial reluctance to give up her brown eye to my greedy cock but eventually she did allow me to enter my first two inches to test her tightness. I restrained my desire to “go all the way up” because I wanted to break her in slowly to the happiness of anal pleasure. My Jesse was almost fully trained now and she exercised most of her orgasms from full anal impalement. My own reluctance to enter Western women’s vaginal treasure houses stemmed only from a desire to not product a child outside my one true and superior culture and faith.

Polly promised to meet me at the same pub this very evening and implored me,

“Do bring Jesse with you, dear boy!”

The sly bisexual female still had her lustful and deceitful eyes on my Jesse’s pussy and I did not blame her in the least little bit. Jesse was without a doubt the most beautiful “piece of ass” I had the good fortune to acquire in my seamy travels into the depths of decadent societies.

When Polly rushed out the door, she handed me the bottle of milk and newspaper from the stoop. Shamefully, I must admit I took advantage of her bent over stance to pat and explore her well-tailored bottom. Surprisingly, the complex and inscrutable female did not take offense, but stretched up to kiss me fully on the lips and wished me to have a nice day. It grieves me to confess that I am constantly confused by the contradictions of the female animal that is western woman.

I could hear some sounds of life from the bedroom and the hint of muffled groans that confirmed my anticipation of a thoroughly “hung over” Jesse. I surmised the poor girl would be joining me soon looking for sustenance and respite from her pounding head. She was always so predictable when she was recovering from a drinking session.

Sitting down at the tiny table, I added some milk to my morning coffee and spread the newspaper out on top of the table in front of me. It was a ritual for me to check each and every morning a certain section in the “classified” to determine if my status had changed from “inactive” to “online”. I had checked almost one thousand times since my arrival and had been disappointed each and every time. Recently, my searching had been evolving more into relief rather than disappointment.

When I saw the small black-line enclosed rectangle, I had to read it several times just to reassure myself that it was truly real and my long-awaited activation signal.

( A.P. from Blackpool contact Hyde Park Metro Police about Aunt Dorothy’s Doctor’s Report. Ask for PC Anderson.) My hand was shaking as I raised the coffee mug. My coffee was already cold and tasteless but I pressed on and finished it all not wanting to waste a valuable commodity.

Reality took hold of my brain with a shocking vengeance. The facts slowly sunk into my mind that... (1) I was A. Patel (2) The sequential words “Dorothy’s Doctor’s” were in the ad (3) I had truly been activated.

Now I had to consider the possibility that this was some sort of elaborate trap. Why was I being instructed to go to a Police Station? I had just spent almost three years avoiding Police Stations. I was conditioned to keep hiding in the weeds with the other suspect fishes. To suddenly go into the limelight seemed foolhardy at the very least.

I had the sudden urge to smoke a cigarette, an old habit to calm shaken nerves, but the nondescript Mr. A. Patel did not smoke. My nervousness started to dissipate because I knew this was the beauty of hiding in the “open”. My contact would be inside a Police Station and never cause a single suspicion. Staying in the open was the safest way to elude detection. I could see the wisdom of my handlers and let my body relax willing all my tension to drain away like an unwanted blanket.

Just then, Jesse staggered out of the bedroom dressed only in her pussycat slippers. I silently poured her a coffee with lots of milk and lots of sugar. She slurped it down with her eyes mostly closed and crinkled up in that look that told me she was suffering from too much drink the night before. I wondered if she remembered Polly and me coupling right next to her in the bed. I didn’t think so because her snores were too loud to be false.