This blog contains material I wrote and posted on between the years 2005 and 2011 only. It does not contain any new material. For newer writing, please check my main blog (Bill the Butcher).

Thursday, 11 October 2012


Warning: Adult-themed...of sorts.

ometimes people do get their just and promised rewards.


Ali floated up to Paradise.

He floated gently as a cloud, in a bubble of the clearest crystal, listening to celestial music playing. For someone who’d just exploded a car bomb, he was in pretty good shape, and still had all his faculties. As for the devastated marketplace, blood and mangled flesh scattered everywhere, he’d left behind him, he didn’t think of it twice. A martyr had to do what a martyr had to do.

The skies of Paradise were the deepest, clearest blue imaginable; the streams tumbled down fern-clad rocks in delightful little waterfalls, and trees hung their perfumed flowers and succulent fruit low over the lush green grass.

A vision of delight waited for Ali, a woman so incredibly lovely that the breath would have caught in his throat had he still been alive and breathing. Her only clothing was her long, silky hair, which alternately hid and revealed the perfection of her nakedness; and her eyes shone with love for Ali and the desire to please.

“Lord,” she said humbly, “Welcome to Jannat.” She took him by the arm and led him through the wonderful garden of delights, feeding him the celestial fruit with her own hands. Ali walked by her side through that enchanted garden, but in truth he saw none of it, for his eyes were fixed on her, and on her alone. He saw how her hair parted over her shoulder like a silken waterfall around a marble rock, and how her lovely bare feet scarcely bent the blades of grass as she walked, so graceful and light was she. He watched the shadows swim in the tiny hollows at the small of her back, just above the firm globes of her tiny buttocks, and the movements of the roseate tips of her nipples as they swayed back and forth with every step she took.

He smiled grimly as he walked, when he remembered his trainer, the wild-eyed mullah Hukmuddin, who had told him and the others, over and over, that women were to be kept out of sight behind niqab and veil and not to be looked at. Now, he could look at this delightful creature all he wanted, and touch her, and do other things, too – he was certain of that.

“We have waited for you, Lord,” his lovely companion whispered, “since the start of time.”  They had just reached a wonderful marble palace, with carved and decorated columns and a dome of gold, set on the banks of a perfect little lake in which swam fishes and water birds unknown to mortal man. “I am one of the houris who will serve you for eternity, Lord,” said the woman. “And, behold, here, in your palace, are the others.”

And there, in a lotus-decorated pool set in an open pavilion of the marble palace, Ali saw other women, each as lovely and as voluptuously nude as his companion, and with the same light of love in their eyes. Since he had always been good at mental arithmetic, he added quickly, so that he should not be cheated. Yes, counting his guide and companion, there were seventy-two women altogether. They emerged from the pool, their alabaster white bodies wet and inviting, and crowded round him, touched him and kissed him, murmuring words of tender adoration as they did so.
Ali was surrounded by so much naked feminine pulchritude that he felt as though he would die and go to heaven. Of course, as he knew perfectly well, he was already dead and in heaven, so he couldn’t do that, and he contented himself for the moment with feasting his eyes on them, ravishing them with his desire. He looked from one desire-flushed face to another, from one set of perfect breasts to the next, and below seventy-two flat bellies with their seventy-two perfect navels, he took in the wondrous sight of seventy-two velvet-soft clefts, like unopened flower buds, just waiting for his touch to blossom into their full glory. He felt a little dizzy at the prospect of the pleasures awaiting him. Was a mere car bomb not worth all this?

“My Lord,” said the first houri, the one who had met him, her eyes wet with lust, “it would be my profoundest pleasure and greatest honour if you would deflower me now and embark on the eternity of ecstasy your martyrdom has gained you.” Tenderly, she began removing his charred clothes, running her butter-soft hands up his rock-hard, toned muscles and kissing him with rising passion. Ali, his own passion growing, kissed her back hard, his lips and tongue exploring hers, his cheek rejoicing in the smooth warmth of hers. He ran his hands over her firm breasts and smooth body, all the way down to the valley of delight between her thighs. She was wet and warm and parted for his fingers, which slipped smoothly inside her celestial vagina. With rising excitement and desire, Ali heard her gasp with arousal.

“Take me, Lord, take me,” she said, unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants. “I cannot wait,” she moaned, reaching between his legs. “From the start of time I have waited a virgin for you, contenting myself with the caresses and kisses of my sister houris, and while that is pleasure indeed I swear I cannot abide to stay virgin a moment later. Take me now, screw me, fuck me, join your body to mine and fill me up with yourself, O brave warrior, you hunk, stick it in me quick. Take me first, and then take my sisters, for they burn equally with desire.” Indeed, some of the other women were beginning to lock lips and limbs together, unable to contain their passion.

“Take me,” the first houri moaned, her eyes almost closed, her hands fumbling between his thighs, reaching. Then she suddenly stepped back, a look of consternation in her eyes. “Lord, what is wrong?”

“Wrong?” Uncomprehending, Ali looked down at himself, and then he screamed.

“My dick!” he shrieked. “The fucking bomb blew off my dick!”

It must have been his imagination that he heard someone cackling.

Copyright B Purkayastha 2009

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