Only after Muhammad’s death, with the depiction of the emerging tyranny of his father-in-law Abu Bakr (Ray Fearon), does this flat-footed telling start to chime with present-day religious intolerance. Instead, The Lady of Heaven gives a stilted walkthrough of the nascent outsider religion that is more drawn to her eventual husband Ali, a martial badass with vehement anime eyes. The strange thing is that the film, until its closing stretch, hardly features Fatimah – who in any case is the only Islamic luminary whose face is never shown, which along with an embarrassingly plummy vocal performance, hobbles our attachment to her. Laith is adopted by a soldier from Baghdad, and the serviceman’s mother comforts the youngster by telling him the tale of the saintly Fatimah, whose example of strength she promises will keep him going in dark times. Director Eli King and writer Sheikh al-Habib attempt to give the Islam origin story a contemporary parallel: it has a framing sequence in which Laith (Gabriel Cartade), a young boy from Mosul, is orphaned when his mother is executed by Islamic State soldiers for teaching him a blasphemous song. While claiming, as per the title, to be about Muhammad’s daughter Fatimah, this is largely focusing on his cousin and successor Ali. Presumably, this is enough to placate Islam’s prohibition on visual representation of the prophet, but this is a Shia-aligned film that is evidently a little more lenient on the issue. And, as a nervous initial disclaimer points out, their faces, often shown in dazzling sunbursts, are computer-generated. No single actor is credited with playing him, or any of the other holy figures in his entourage. We had been sitting in his living room for a few hours, it was the golden hour as the sun was leaving its last bit of sunlight behind and letting it shine through their large bay windows.T his British-made epic earns a significant accolade: it is the first film to put the “face” of the prophet Muhammad on screen. We had drank one too many cocktails and finally the topic had moved to my marriage, I began to confide in my husbands father and I even let him in on our lack of sex. He watched me intently as I explained my troubles and that’s when I realised that I was so turned on, talking about his own son to him was doing things to me and I couldn’t resist my next moves. I decided touch his leg as I told him more of my worries, gently riding it up his thigh as I told him just how hard it was to have to masturbate by yourself every night. He looked down at my hand and then back at me, he told me he knew all about masturbating by himself and smiled. He moved in closer to me and moved his hand down my cheek and across my breasts, I sat completely still and just laughed. I told him this was wrong but he told me he didn’t care. He jumped from where he was sitting and began kissing at my neck, using his hands to undress me. We were ravishing one another, as he got to my breasts I suddenly gasped and covered them, this was my father in law after all and then he washed over me that this was OK and I was very horny. I looked up at him, my eyeliner smudged under my eyes, my breasts out and bouncing with each thrust into my mouth. I couldn’t believe I was blowing my father in law and tasting my own pussy juices. I then stood up and straddled him, riding him as hard as I possibly could. I was desperate to cum and I knew he was too.
I thrust back and forwards before turning round and riding him in reverse cowgirl.
I could see myself in the reflection on their TV, it was hot. He grabbed at my breasts as I steadied myself with my hands on his chest, I kept on riding him as hard as possible, taking his whole cock in and out of my pussy. He then moved his hand to my ass and spread my cheeks, thrusting two of his fingers into my ass. How did he know I loved that? His son never touched my ass. I moaned out in pleasure and told him to keep going that I was going to cum. I couldn’t help making so much noise, I hadn’t felt pleasure like this in a long time.