Over the past years, my work has taken me more or less frequently into the Middle East, giving me a chance to see different countries and experience another life culture altogether. Increasingly, I got to know the local customs and had grown accustomed to the fact that that any relation or intimacy with a Muslim woman was strictly off limits.
It’s not that the women are not attractive – just the opposite, a look out of those dark eyes hidden under a black veil can be more erotic than any pin-up girl! But in the Arab societies it was simply not possible and could become the cause of many problems. So when I got offered to take over a job in Egypt for a full twelve months, of course I was really looking forward to living in probably the most enchanting and intense cities in the world, the eternal Cairo. But the prospect of having my love life being limited the expatriate women did not really stun me. Nevertheless, I took the chance and moved the centre of my life into the Middle East.
The issue with Egyptian women was just as expected – most of them covered under their veil, the occasional glance with one or two cautious attempts of second-long flirtations and approximately four shy smiles in more than three months. So the longing for a real mixing with a local woman was confined strictly work and business and nothing else. So my fantasies about a veiled Muslim woman exposing herself to me was limited to lonely nights at home and fantasies of what was not allowed to happen.
My name is Gabriel James Anderson.I’m from USA.However one female contact I had in a ministry department proved more consistent than others, and even though our projects only touched every once in a while, it was always nice to talk to this woman; besides, her English was excellent, which was a real relieve at that time! So one afternoon after a meeting I ran into her in the entrance hall, it had been months since the last time we had met. Spontaneously, she invited me for a coffee at her desk. While she went off to order the drinks, she made me sit down in front of the screensaver showing her little daughter.
I took a look around – her desk was tidy, evidence of her work load piled up next to the computer and the nail polish neatly placed next to it. When she came back and started telling me about her current tasks, I somehow drifted off and started to watch the expressions on her face: her features were pleasantly normal without any surgical improvements, her eyes had something clever behind them and her sensual lips could not stop blurting out her latest problems at work.
The headscarf she wore did frame her face and almost no wrinkles showed what I guessed were around 30 years of age. And I could not prevent myself from wondering what she would look like without the headscarf – what lay beyond that wall of textile that separated her world from mine…. When she picked up a piece of paper, her different layers of clothes revealed some ideas about her bodily curves – rather the typical Arab type with wide hips and smaller bust size. But at least she did not try to make up for it with one of those major push-up bras that were so fashionable.
Anyway, something in her look stayed with me for the rest of the evening and I felt something tingling in my stomach. We had agreed to meet on Saturday afternoon (usually my day off) to discuss some of the work issues she was facing. Funny enough, this was to be my first “date” with a local woman during all my time in Egypt – although it was not more than an informal work meeting in a café. Anyway, I tried to pretend this was something special just for making myself happy, for having at least one sense of achievement with women in the Arab world.
Via short messages we agreed on time and place, and I showed up at the café way too early. Reserving a table inside to get out of the sizzling heat of the afternoon, I greeted her when she showed up in her usual dress – white scarf tucked tightly around her head and the usual long coat, this time in an unpretentious green. But as always, she gave me that big, confident smile of hers, flashing her white teeth.
Over a cappuccino, we discussed work issues, switching to more conversational issues as the hot afternoon dragged on: work, life, some politics, leisure, society. She told me that she has been divorced from her husband for one year, which is becoming slowly more common though not widely accepted in Arab society. She spoke openly and fixed me with an intensive look from her wonderful dark brown eyes as if to test my reaction towards this revelation. Probingly, she inquired to know about my personal situation (I was single) and then my experience with the female gender in Egypt (which was practically none).
The course of the conversation had subtly changed – and something had also altered in the way she looked at me… For the first time this afternoon, she appeared to me as a woman, as a female being with all kinds of wishes, senses and desires. I noticed the wonderful bow that her plucked eyebrows described, the happy wrinkles around her mouth from a lot of smiling, and the dark red colour of her lips – was it like this just moments ago? Her facial features softened, when she suddenly gazed more intensely at me and then her look wandered off as if her thoughts were somewhere completely different. This totally new behaviour made me nervous and my heart started to beat – something had unexpectedly changed between us and we were heading towards a different level of interaction.
Her look came back to me and her dark eyes fixed me when she asked me: “Did you ever wonder how a Egyptian woman looks without her headscarf?”
“Of course,” I replied, “what kind of man would not wonder about this secret hidden so meticulously from his sight?”
She probed further: “Would you want to see me without my headscarf?”
This question caught me completely off guard and almost gasping I managed to state: “Somehow, yes, of course, well, very much!”
She looked around and with a conspiratorial smile she whispered: “Of course I can’t show it here, but if you accompany me home, there might be a chance!”
Needless to say that my mind raced at the unknown situation that had just unfolded before us, and I guess I did not manage any coherent conversation during the next few minutes – although I did manage to pay the bill while she slipped off to the bathroom. On our way out of the café into the soaring heat of the day, she seemed to be much more comfortable than I was with the situation. I kept telling myself to calm down and that by no means there could be second intentions involved in this, other than a friendly exchange for a foreign friend. However, imagining that I was about to see her hair for the very first time brought my breathing up considerably and this emotional rollercoaster continued while we clambered into a taxi.
The trip was short, and after ten minutes we climbed up the steps to her apartment and as if she read the question mark on my forehad she told me that her parents were out of town for the weekend with her daughter; otherwise, of course, I would not be able to visit her. And again she flashed that suggestive smile at me, with a little blink of one eye, this time making me almost shiver down to the bone. Impossible that this was just a friendly invitation for tea – but she was after all an Arab woman, a Muslim woman, and there could not be anything more forbidden in her religion than even the slightest hint of indecency! But somehow it dawned on me that this was just her intention.
She bade me in and made me sit down in the living room, making my anticipation rise with every second; when she reappeared, she handed me the steaming tea glass and we both took a sip. Then, supporting herself with a hand on my knee, she stood up in front of me and started fumbling with her headscarf. She took out some hair slides and again offered me her smile – this time a little more nervous, knowing that she was about to do something “haram” – something forbidden. She pulled out the ends of her headscarf and untied the rest. All that was left now was her hair covering, which she slowly took off. She shook her hair, pressed after a day in the heat, and than she stood there for me – a totally different woman after all.
She appeared much more feminine with her hair visible and her look took on a soft notion, a mixture between a sweet temptation and a natural shyness. A feeling of slow motion embraced me when I took in the intense beauty her hair: it was a sparkling dark colour, mixing in tone between chestnut and Arabic coffee, and flowed down her shoulders, until coming to a soft halt just before her breast. I was amazed at her suddenly appearing feminine side that she succeeded so well in hiding from me until now.
Automatically, I was drawn into reaching out to touch her hair, which she complied by sitting down next to me on the couch. My fingers ran through her light curls and followed them down to her playful ends. Every single hair was of stunning thickness, full and gorgeous, and my attempt to wriggle one flock around my finger was met with a tentative resistance. Everything smelled so wonderfully of flowers and there was something else emerging from her – the smell of a an Arab woman starting to blossom in the heat of the sizzling afternoon.
This situation seemed to have brought back the cheekiness in her and while taking my hand she asked me straightforward: “So you never had anything going on with an Arab woman during all your time in the Middle East?”
“Not even by far,” I managed to reply, “not more than a smile and maybe a nice handshake after a meeting.”
“You know,” she continued, “it is not that all Muslim woman have always been well-behaved during their life, saving themselves only for their husband. We do have a young life, too and we make our own experiences, whether you can believe it or not. Of course we have to be a little more imaginative when it comes to, well, you know, physical contact, since there are certain limits before marriage. You know that anyway, don’t you?”
I hardly could believe what I heard. After years of totally abstaining myself from any thought of having intimate contact with a woman in the countries where I worked, I was sitting here with a divorced Egyptian mother who told me openly about her past experiences in sex! My blushing must have looked quite funny, since she burst out laughing.
“Don’t worry,” she told me, “my parents won’t come back until tomorrow. And to be honest, until this afternoon I did not think about anything else but a serious work relation with you. But something has changed, and my attraction to you rises by the minute. Maybe you would want to know what a Egyptian woman is capable of giving you, other than a friendly handshake?”
By now, I could not hold back my growing excitement at the situation, and my sitting became uncomfortable at the growing bulge in my trousers. She noticed my movement and leaned forward to give me a kiss on my lips – and we both sank into the wonderful mixture of oriental tea spices mixed with her heavy, sweet perfume.
Hesitatingly, she broke away and after a slight hint of embarrassment she asked nonchalantly: “Is it ok when I take off some of these clothes?”
In the meantime I had gathered some of my composure back and replied in the same teasing tone: “I would love it if you did.”
She got up and started undressing. Really, she was undressing in front of me while my lust kept rising steeply. This situation was so unexpected and out of the ordinary, yet so real and lively. I knew I was about to get into an intimate encounter with a Muslim woman for the first time in my life – and she obviously knew quite well where she wanted this to go.
Slowly but steadily she took off her clothes, the many layers that usually cover her from the manly outside world. Her blouse dropped, so did her undershirt and she revealed a black lace bra on her marble-like skin. Her breasts were small and firm, they needed to artificial support. The contrast of textile against her body was breathtaking, with her long dark hair flowing over her white shoulders. Next to drop was her long skirt and after a quick motion with her pantyhose, she revealed a tiny, see-through black slip. She was not of those meagre model types, but instead disposed of all the beautiful assets of a true woman with a feminine figure. During her performance, my cock had grown to its full size inside my pants and my mouth stood open.
“Is it true that Muslim woman remove all their body hair from the eyebrows downwards?” I blurted out something I always wanted to know.
“Ever since I was 13 years old” she replied assertively. “Stand up and find out for yourself!”
When I got up, the brought her arms around me and kissed me deeply. Our tongues met and intertwined first playfully, then more demanding. My heart was beating so hard I almost could not breathe. Out bodies touched in the middle and she pulled me towards her. I recovered a little from my initial paralysis and started to feel what was in my hands: her warm back with skin soft as silk, little mounts where her spinal column could be felt and the release of her bra, which I untied.
I took her face in my hands, kissed her and then instinctively went for her breasts. They were perfect in size, with the nipples hardening under my touch in the hazy summer afternoon. She let out a light sigh when I put my fingertips on top of them, closing her eyes when I moved my hands towards her armpits. She was so smooth and when I went on with my touch down her arms I could feel no single hair.
“No hair – anywhere?” I exhaled.
“None whatsoever. Feel me!”
Only her slip covered her total nakedness now. Her dark eyes looked at me meaningfully. While I fumbled with my shaky hands about her underwear, she helped me and our looks met again on eye level. From my intentional contact on her thigh, a shiver went down up her left side and created goose bumps that extended all over her leg. Slowly, I moved forward and was met with the warmth that only an excited woman can emit. My first touch with her pussy was like an electric shock – she was hot, she was wet and she was so smooth. My hand covered her sex; her hips were pushing towards me. No hair whatsoever was between me and the dampness of her womanhood. When I made only miniscule moves in the area of her clitoris, her legs gave away a little and she let out a moan from deep within. All along I could watch her features reflecting the mounting excitement and the ends of her thick hair trembling slightly.
Unbelievable, this Muslim woman who was covered in her headscarf and coat only some hours earlier stood here before me totally naked – and the wetness emanating from her pussy now showed how turned on she was. There was no religious reasons holding her back now any more, she wanted to sexually experience me. And so did I.
While kissing me wildly, she started unbuttoning my shirt and took it off. After exploring my chest with her fingers and finding my armpits just as shaved – which brought a short smile to her excitingly red lips – she started on my belt and the zip. Without anticipating anything, she cautiously removed my trousers together with my underwear in a swift motion, until she had me fully naked standing in front of her; my hard cock stuck out from my body in pulsating expectation.
Without lowering her gaze, she motioned me to sit down on the couch. Her voice came as a whisper: “I want to do something nice to you, is that ok?” She hardly waited for my affirmative nod and sat down in front of me on the fluffy carpet.
Although she had none of those long finger nails, she did some magic when she moved her hands upwards from my knees. My cock was by now fully erect and throbbing from the amount of blood that the situation had pumped into it. She looked at my erection and licked her lips – just before her finger tips touched my balls for the first time. “Just as smooth as I am,” she commented on my clean shaving. By that time I could hardly wait to get more of that touch and I shifted my weight impatiently. Everything she did was slowly and knowingly, making me feel just incredibly good. I did not know what to expect from her, but she guided me self-confidently with her lust.
Her left hand kept weighing my balls like the most precious jewels she had ever felt, while the right hand found the bottom of my cock bringing two fingers around the base. She squeezed quite strongly and pushed the foreskin firmly downwards, making the head of my cock stick out even more. All this she performed in slow motion, but I felt the clear intention in her movements. I was getting hornier and hotter every second, and she knew it. Then I felt the tip of her tongue touching the most sensitive point of my foreskin – and I almost shrieked with lust.
I opened my eyes to take in the full proportions of the scene – this Muslim woman sitting naked in front of me licking the tip of my cock, absolutely incredible! A small drip of precum appeared on the top, and she playfully licked it off. The next sight almost took my breath away: she moved a little closer and opened her mouth in order to put her excited lips directly over the head of my cock. Not loosening on her grip, she moved down in a slow but decisive motion. I had to close my eyes and take back my head, the sensations from this treatment were just unbearable. I don’t know exactly just what she did from that point on; I just know it was magic, out of this world, and I felt like flying through the universe under her caresses.
I could feel that one hand continued scratching my balls, while the grip of the other became even tighter around the base of my cock, making me sense as if my cock was going to burst of all the blood and the pressure. At the same time I felt the heat of her mouth wrapped around my entire manhood – but the only movement she did actively with it was moving the tip of her tongue at that special spot right under the head of my cock. Unbearably wonderful, I sensed something immensely powerful building up inside me.
She knew exactly what she was causing and she did not change anything in her motions. She knew she would take me over the edge just with this kind of steady and skilful stimulation. I could feel my orgasm start somewhere around the area of my lower back, but it took ages until it reached my balls. She kept me what felt like forever on the brink and my entire body was so over-tense that I started to relax. My cock was almost hurting from so much pleasure and I bent my head further backwards, pushing my hips into her face.
And then I felt it, and she did too. She started scratching the area behind my balls, which gave me the last kick. All my energy built up right there and my balls started throbbing heavily. She let out loud and rhythmic moans through her deeply engaged mouth. She knew I was about to come and kept her position steadily, applying at last a final twist of pressure; she made me feel like she wanted it just as much as I did.
The familiar feeling of my orgasm started to set in, only this time in a completely different sequence. Rhythmic contractions extended over all my body and then concentrated on my cock. For a moment, time stood still – and then my thick come started to pour into the awaiting mouth of this wonderful Muslim woman. Several squirts of my semen flowed into her – and only then the real orgasm finally hit me. My entire body jerked upwards and powerful shots of come pumped out of me like a hot lava fountain. Again and again I exploded, and every time I felt her grip tighten even more on my cock. She grabbed my balls and squeezed them, while her mouth kept perfectly still, just letting me splash her palate with my semen.
After what seemed like an eternity, my spasms finally subsided. Only then she started to blow my cock, very carefully, while loosening her grip. Another smaller wave of convulsions hit me and I wanted her never to stop. When I finally regained some of my consciousness, she slowly took my cock out of her mouth, licked her lips and with obvious pleasure swallowed the liquid load I had pumped into her mouth.
We went to the bedroom, and she laid on her back.
The horny man and the equally horny woman wanted nothing more right then than to fuck, she introduced a condom for me but I refused to use it. I wasn’t really worried about impregnating her, nor was I afraid of STD’s or AIDS.I love cumming in her pussy and wanted to bury my Western seed in her Eastern Muslim vagina after fucking, and I had no wish to let any of my semen in a damn condom in the process. When my cock was ready, I guided it into the dripping pink hole that she was holding open for me.
Although this was our first time together, we were both experienced enough to begin our coupling easily. With my left hand splayed on the mattress beside her, I leaned forward and pressed the tip of my cock against the opening that she was creating for me. Before making the initial penetration, I rubbed it against her dripping juices, spreading the lubrication. With a short, firm push, the head wedged its way into the tight and very welcoming pussy.
She watched and felt the head of my cock squeeze into her, sending pleasure rippling through her body. She breathed in sharply between her teeth and continued to hold her pussy open, wanting everything I had to give her. I shifted my weight and thrust forward again, driving two more inches into where it was most wanted.
“Oh, God! Oh, my God, that’s good,” she murmured. “Give it to me!”
Wanting more than anything else to do exactly that, I leaned over her and slid my hands forward until they were under her arms. With one more thrust, almost all my cock was imbedded in her tight pussy, sending waves of bliss flooding her body. Her wet channel clamped onto my shaft, one of the most wonderful places my cock had ever been. She spread her legs wider, letting another fraction of an inch of my stiff cock squeeze into her pussy, and hooked her legs around mine. I was still above her, supporting my weight on my hands because I was reluctant to put any pressure on her sensitive breasts, especially because I knew they still contained my magical treat. She reached up, wrapped her hands around my upper arms and smiled at me.
Slowly, I drew my cock most of the way out of her pussy, paused, and drove it back in. She flexed her arms and legs and fucked back to meet me, our bodies coming together with a soft “smack”, and tiny droplets of her pussy juices spattering on both of us. We moaned in unison from the exquisite pleasure, both of us happy to finally be doing what we had done without for so long. The second stroke was even better than the first, and the third and fourth and the many that followed would have better yet, if we had been bothering to count.
“Oh, my God, baby, your cock feels so good, and I’m so horny! I’m almost ready to cum.”
I felt the same way after my long period of involuntary abstinence, but I hoped that this would be no more than the first of several couplings between us that day. “Me too,” I said.
I moved forward on her body, so my face was directly above hers, and started driving my cock into her faster. With the slight change in position, my thick shaft was plunging almost straight in and out of her pussy, massaging her clit with every stroke.
“Yes! Yes!” she encouraged me. “Fuck my clit! Fuck my clit! Make me cum!”
That was my intention, both her and myself, and I started fucking her even harder and faster. Her body thrashed on the bed and her head rolled from side to side on her pillow as she thrust her pussy up to meet me. We both knew we were seconds from cumming and that it would be a memorable one.
“OH!” she cried. “Yes!” She pulled her upper body against mine, and wrapped her arms around my neck, while her legs squeezed me tightly around the hips. “I’m cumming!” she shouted into my ear, quite unnecessarily.
I pounded my cock into her, slamming her against the mattress at every stroke, while she clung tightly with her arms and legs, imploring me to keep fucking her. Abruptly, her back arched, driving her pussy against me even harder, and her whole body spasmed as she climaxed. After her orgasm, She relaxed under me, but I kept ramming my cock into her until I felt my own pleasure well up like a fountain and burst out. I climaxed, ejaculating a three-month buildup of semen into her vagina in a series of gushers, before he also relaxed, sprawling on top of her, but keeping my weight off her breasts, the source of my virility.
“That was wonderful,” she murmured, looking up at the man who had just brought her to such a great orgasm.
“Was? I hope it still is. I mean, I hope you don’t want to stop yet.”
“Not if you don’t want to. Do you want to keep going?”
In answer to her question, I eased my cock from her pussy and, not even pausing to catch my breath, then thrust it into her again. Realizing what I wanted to do, and very much wanting me to do it, she raised her legs.And I fucked her again.