Arab Impregnates My Wife

By Gustav Jorgenson

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My wife, Janet and I invited our new neighbor Nadeem over for dinner one evening to welcome him to the neighborhood.  He had just arrived from Pakistan and Linda suspected he was having a hard time adjusting to life in America. She tried hard to be culturally sensitive and didn’t offer him any alcohol or pork so as not to offend his Muslim faith.  It was actually a bit of an uncomfortable evening because Nadeem was not a very sophisticated conversationalist.

“So, when are you two going to have children?” Nadeem asked when we had retired to living room after the meal.

I stared down glumly at my tea, wishing it was a glass of wine and let me wife answer him.

“Oh I don’t know if we are going to have children, Nadeem,” said Janet.  “I am so busy with my career, and I am getting older now.” She gave me a tender look.  

“Yeah, we figure there are enough humans on the earth right now,” I said dutifully.  In fact, I had wanted kids myself, but Janet had always put it off.

“Ach, that is terrible, man!” Nadeem was practically shouting in amazement.  He was very emotional. “A woman’s place is in the home, making babies. She is not meant to work.  This is an abomination.”

Janet grimaced and tried to diffuse the situation.  “Now Nadeem, here in America, women often choose to have a career.  The idea that women should stay at home and have babies is considered old fashioned.”

“Well, not in the red states,” I mumbled.

“Nonsense, your husband is too weak.  You need a strong man to make you live the correct way as Allah intended.  A real man would force you to stay home and give him lots of babies.” Nadeem drew himself up and stared at me, daring me to oppose him.

But I just laughed in his face.  “Easier said than done, my friend.  Easier said than done.” What a backward fellow this guy was.

“You are a coward.  It is only right for your bloodline to die out,” Nadeem told me with a sneer.

“Now, Nadeem, that’s really not very polite,” said my wife.  She looked at me helplessly. “You have to understand, we live differently here than your people do.”

“Silence, woman.  I would impregnate you and make you into a real woman.  You don’t know what a real man is,” Nadeem clenched his fist and shook it at my wife angrily.  I was starting to get a little nervous.

“Uh, maybe we should change the subject,” I suggested gently.

Janet agreed and tried asking Nadeem about his family back home, but the dark skinned foreigner was still angry and gave terse, surly responses before excusing himself and leaving abruptly.

“Wow, Nadeem is so intense,” said my wife after he left.

“What culture shock he must be going through if he thinks it is acceptable to call a husband a coward and threaten to rape his wife,” I said.  I wasted no time dumping out my tea and grabbing a proper glass of wine.

“Oh, well, he didn’t exactly threaten to rape me,” said Janet.  She chewed the edge of her finger thoughtfully as I poured out a glass of wine for her.

“He did call me a coward though,” I said.

“Yes, well,” said my wife.  I had a hard time reading her expression.

“Well, what?  Do you think I’m a coward?” I asked with annoyance.

“Maybe by his standards,” said my wife.  “Each culture has it’s own values, you know.  We need to respect that.”

“Ha, well next time you invite him over, you should be sure to wear a hijab then,” I told my wife with a bitter laugh.

“Stop it, Adam,” said my wife.  “I WAS going to get a hijab and participate in World Hijab day this year.  You need to be more culturally sensitive.”

“I really can’t understand why a supposed feminist such as yourself would support that sort of thing,” I said.

“You just don’t understand cultural relativism,” sniffed my wife haughtily.  She was always lording her social justice views over me. “I do think I should invite Nadeem back for tea and I should wear a hijab to make him more comfortable.  And I don’t think you should be there. He seems to have something against you.”

I stared at my wife in shock.  “You can’t be serious? You actually want to have that backward neanderthal back in our house?”

“I think you are over-reacting dear,” said Janet.  And she pulled a scarf out of the hall closet and stood in front of a mirror, trying to arrange it to look like a hijab.  “You need to be more open to other cultures.”

“This is ridiculous.  I forbid you to have that man back in our home.” I stamped my foot petulantly.

“Oh, you forbid me?” my wife told me ominously.  She turned on me and fixed me with a piercing glare.  Even in her silly faux-hijab, she was quite an imposing figure.

“Now, Janet, please,” I said, backing down.

“You don’t forbid anything, Adam, we are partners,” my wife continued, her voice gone cold.

“Of course, darling,” I said.  I spread my hands, trying to appease my angry wife.

“I am going to get a proper hijab and then have Nadeem over for tea on Saturday afternoon.  You will need to find something to do with yourself,” my wife told me.

“Yes, dear,” I agreed.  But I had a bad feeling about that.

I went to the art museum by myself that day and stayed until closing.  I kept thinking of my wife bending over backward to be culturally sensitive in her hijab while Nadeem berated her for her decadent feminist lifestyle and it annoyed the shit out of me.  Before heading home, I texted my wife to make sure the coast was clear, but she didn’t respond. So I just shrugged and drove home.

When I entered our front door, I saw Nadeem’s shoes on the mat and I frowned.  I briefly considered leaving and coming back later, but I decided that this was my own home and I wasn’t going to be driven out of it by a backward Pakistani.  “Honey, I’m home!” I called out. I went through the living room and the kitchen, but my wife and our neighbor were nowhere to be seen. I was starting to get a weird feeling in my gut as I searched the house.  Surely they weren’t in the bedroom? But as I went down the hall, Nadeem emerged from my bedroom door tucking his shirt into his pants. He didn’t look at me, but just brushed past me gruffly and then left without saying a word.  My blood ran cold as I considered the situation. Had this guy been fucking my wife? I walked forward in dread and found Janet hastily straightening the covers in her hijab.

“Janet, tell me you have an explanation for this,” I told my wife as I stood at our bedroom door in shock.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard me.  “Oh, Adam. There you are. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What was Nadeem doing in our bedroom?” I asked coldly.

“Nothing, I mean, I was just showing him around,” stammered my wife.  She looked very guilty and I felt my armpits growing damp with anxiety.

“Why is the bed messed up?” I demanded.

“Well, he was just being silly and jumped on it to see how comfortable it was,” said my wife.  She wouldn’t meet my gaze and I gulped at the implication. She was a terrible liar.

“Did he wear a condom at least?” I asked her acidly.

Janet blushed bright red.  “Of course not, don’t be silly darling,” she told me.  “How could you say such a thing?”

“No he wouldn’t wear a condom, because that would prevent him from impregnating you,” I told her.

“You are just, I don’t know how you could suggest such a thing,” gasped my wife, and she ran from the room.

I followed her around all day, pestering her with my accusations.  She kept denying that anything unsavory had transpired between her and Nadeem.  But I noticed that she didn’t remove her hijab all day and she was evasive when I asked her why not. I was stewing with jealousy and suspicion, but I had no real proof that Janet had been unfaithful to me.  When she told me that she wanted to have Nadeem over again the following day, I saw an opportunity to catch her red-handed, so I readily agreed.

The next day, instead of going to the museum again.  I just drove to the coffee shop around the corner. I gave them about thirty minutes and then drove right back home again.  But instead of going in my front door, I went into the back yard and crept up to my bedroom window. I was frustrated when I found the curtains drawn and I was about to turn away when I realized that the window was open and I could hear the headboard tapping rhythmically against the wall.  I stood there listening numbly to my wife’s whimpering and then I heard Nadeem’s rough voice.

“You will take my seed, woman,” he groaned.

“Yes, Nadeem, give it to me,” called out my wife submissively.

The tapping of the headboard increased to a feverish tempo.  I was about to run inside and confront my wife and her lover when I noticed a strange feeling inside me.  My penis was growing stiff for some reason. Instead of going to break up the lovemaking, I unzipped my fly and started masturbating as I listened to my wife getting fucked.  It was incredibly stimulating for some reason I can’t exactly explain. Nadeem grunted and cursed in some foreign tongue as he ploughed my wife and she called out his name over and over and soon I was spurting jizz all over the rose bushes outside our bedroom window.

I didn’t even complain when my wife started studying the Koran and wearing the hijab whenever she went out.  She quit her job and everything, and I was hardly surprised when she announced she was pregnant. I had setup a peep hole for me to watch my wife and Nadeem’s weekly impregnation sessions, so I knew that he had worked very hard to attain this outcome.  I also knew that I would need to divorce her for this at some point, but it was hard for me to give up my voyeuristic pleasures. So I just kept my mouth shut and pretended not to be surprised when she gave birth to a brown baby boy and insisted on naming him Muhammad.

 

Gustav Jorgenson’s cuckold stories:
Wicked Wife Mischief: NEW! Tales of Erotic Liberation
Slut Wife, Happy Life: Naughty Wife Tales
Exhibitionist Wife Tales: 15 stories of wives cheating in public
Most Popular collection: Gustav’s Selected Shorts
Giant chunks of cuck erotica: Wives Cheating Vol 1-5 Box, Collected Longs
Hate reading?  Try an audiobook:
Slut Wife, Happy Life Audiobook
Hard Times, Hot Wife Audiobook
“What’s My Wife Doing With That Guy?” Audiobook

1 thought on “Arab Impregnates My Wife

  1. You are one of the best cuck writers our there, all your stories are small and crisp but cover almost all attributes of a good cuck story..

    Like

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