My Egyptian Romance Ch. 02

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Author’s note. This is a continuation of my previous story ‘My Egyptian Romance.’ Although not essential, I suggest you read that first.

Chapter 02: Betrothed

I was besotted with him. No, that suggests a temporary crush and that was not what I felt for Ahmed. I was in love with him as I had been for most of the six months I had known him. We met when I had a holiday at the hotel he ran in Sharm el Sheikh, which is on the Sinai Peninsula of Egypt. I was alone. He lived in Cairo with his wife and children, but stayed at the hotel for ten-day spells, also alone. He is forty-four, I am twenty-four. He is dark, brown eyed and husky, I am blonde, blue eyed and slim.

It took us four days of my holiday to get round to having sex. For the rest of the ten days we had it at least twice most days; he is an awesome fuck with fantastic stamina and recovery powers, for his age.

As the ten-day holiday came near to its end I said to Ahmed that I would stay longer, but visa restrictions prevented that. Instead I suggested I go home and book another holiday. He had a better idea.

“Why not get a job at the hotel?” he asked one night just after we had a bout of, as usual, spectacular sex. “I can help you.”

I did and we had several wonderful weeks of me working near his office and us sneaking meetings for sex, usually in vacant rooms in the hotel, although twice he had me in the office!

Then one day I felt desolated as he told me he was leaving and going to live in Cairo because an uncle had died and he was needed to run a family business. Almost immediately I felt better, though, for he told me he wanted me to work for him in Cairo. I moved there and after a few weeks in a hotel, which was so wonderfully convenient for our lovemaking I moved into a company apartment mid-way between the office and his home.

To get the job I had to meet Halima, Ahmed’s wife and that was so frightening. This was necessary as it was her family that owned the multi-billion US dollar turnover conglomerate of which Ahmed’s family were minority shareholders, and she was the group HR director. Surprisingly we got on very well and I liked her. I would have preferred not to really, for it made fucking her husband more difficult; I managed to cope though!

She was delightful. Friendly, warm and intelligent we seemed to build a quick rapport. She appeared to be very interested in me, my life in the UK and my work at the Hyatt in Sharm and asked loads of questions, but not in an interrogatory manner. It didn’t occur to me until afterwards that I had been thoroughly interviewed, but it did cross my mind a couple of times as we were chatting as to whether she suspected anything was going on between Ahmed and me.

She was more attractive than in the photo Ahmed had shown me. She had fabulous, big, almond-shaped, very dark brown eyes and glorious long, black hair that she wore up with some ringlets falling down the sides of her face. She had the typical Arab prominent nose, but as she was quite large featured and had very full lips it was not unsightly; a little like that old actress, Sophia Loren or the British Princess Anne.

Taller than me, around five seven I guessed, Halima was clearly a large girl, but everything was in proportion. She was quite broad shouldered, had big hips, thickish legs and truly spectacular breasts; they must have been at least a double D cup.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to see her again until my probation ended and I had my first appraisal, which was with her; she handled them for all HO staff. That went well and again we got on ok with her asking a load of quite probing questions again making wonder whether she knew or suspected anything about her husband and me.

I didn’t see Ahmed for a couple of days after meeting his wife as he was in Bahrain for meetings. He got back early evening on a Tuesday and came straight to the apartment.

“Halima thinks I am arriving back tomorrow” he told me as we had room service dinner in my room with him, as usual going into the bathroom when the waiter delivered the dinner.

Having eaten we had sex. It was quite casual and easygoing, but as always was nice. We had it with both of us lying on our sides facing each other with me lifting my left leg and wrapping it round his waist.

He was obviously staying the night, which I loved so there was no rush and we lounged around naked on the bed watching TV for a while.

“Halima said the meeting went well” he said with his arm round my shoulder his fingers dangling down caressing the top of my breast.

“Yes she is very nice, I like her.”

“Good she does you too” he replied cupping my boob and pinching my nipple.

“Mmm that’s lovely” I murmured as he kissed me and I cradled his growing cock in my hand.

“She again asked me so many questions” I told him.

“Well it was your formal appraisal and she is very curious about you?”

“Why is that? Does she suspect something.”

“Not suspect Sammi” he said slipping his other hand canlı bahis between my legs, which I opened for him.”

“What then?”

“She knows about us.”

“What. How much?” I said feeling mortified.

“Pretty much everything, she has to.”

“What do you mean has to?” I almost shouted pulling myself away from him.”

“Well you see my darling” he started as cool as a cucumber adding. “It is part of our custom almost our law.”

“Why is it?”

“Because Sammi before you can be my second wife the first has to know everything and by custom has to approve.”

“Oh fuck what do you mean?”

“I mean my darling that I want you to become my second wife and come and live with Halima and me. Will you do that Sammi?”

It took some time for that to sink in. I had no thoughts of marriage, it wasn’t on my radar, it wasn’t something I ever considered and certainly not, obviously, as a second wife to a Muslim.

“You don’t have to answer now my darling, but please think about it very seriously will you?”

*

“What?” My mother said. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“No mother dear, just in love.”

“How old is he?”

“Forty five” I told her.

“You are fucking crazy” she went on rubbing her hair with the towel I handed her as she climbed out of the pool in her garden.

I have inherited some of my mother’s features, but not regrettably her divine breasts. Hers are full and round and a perfect large C; mine are ‘fried egglike’ and a miserable B.

As she dried her hair so her gorgeous mounds jiggled and wobbled so fucking sensuously that it should have been censored.

I had flown back to the UK to announce my decision to marry Ahmed and to live with him and Halima.

Whilst he had taken me completely by surprise with the proposal and I realised what a risky, unconventional and giant step it was I had said yes that evening. We were both naked at the time, but we didn’t celebrate with a fuck, seal it with a kiss or crack open some Champagne; Ahmed doesn’t drink. But we did mark the occasion in a very special way, one that we had done before and that we both loved.

“Fuck yourself for me Sammi” he said his cock rearing up.

Ahmed has a lovely cock. Without being extreme it’s longer than most I have had and it is beautifully thick. It’s as straight as a die, gets fantastically hard and is smooth and warm to the touch. When he is near to cumming it pulsates almost like a vibrator; I love it.

He was half; lying and half kneeling beside me his erection against his flat six-pack. His fingers were softly stroking it. I lay back against the pile of four pillows. Our eyes only broke their gaze to run up and down the other’s body, apart from that they were locked in a continual stare. I raised my knees until they were nearly touching my boobs. Loving his lustful gaze of adoration at me I smiled slightly and slowly opened my legs, wide to expose my most intimate place to my lover. He smiled as well.

“You have the most beautiful cunt Sammi” he said quietly as I cupped both my tits in my hands. I rubbed and squeezed them, pinched and gently scratched them. I pushed them together, lifted them up and then squashed them hard against my chest. I pinched each nipple and then pulled them so that they almost doubled their short length.

Ahmed was slowly rubbing his cock. Not fast or hard and hardly even with masturbation pace, but it looked lovely. I simply adore watching men wank. As he rubbed it so his, what I called, ‘big bag of balls’ jiggled so sexily.

I slowly ran one hand down my body and between my opened legs. I ran my fingers round my cunt lips, what a lovely pairing of words that is, and then found my clit. Sending fantastic feelings all over me I rubbed right alongside that little stalk that has only one purpose; the provision of sexual pleasure.

“May I?” Ahmed, ever the gentleman, asked.

“Mmmmm” I sighed as the combination of caressing my breasts and rubbing my clit in front of my lover who was now, with my ‘permission’ clearly jerking himself off, took over both my body and my mind.

I started to cum.

My eyes were opening and closing, my mouth was open as I struggled for air and every nerve end in my body was tingling. I was rubbing my clit faster trying to get even more pleasure from it as Ahmed moved closer to me. His cock that he was pumping in long slow strokes now was just inches from my face. I turned that so I was looking at him and my face was just beneath his dick. I watched with wonder and so much excitement as it started to spurt. The first splash was across my left cheek, eye and eyebrow and was quickly followed by a stream that hit my chin and neck and dribbled onto my tits. He took me in his arms and we kissed as his sperm was rubbed into both our faces.

Some way to celebrate your betrothal I thought as I lay in his arms still ‘wearing’ the smear marks of my husband to be’s cum on my face and tits.

*

Dad took the news in his stride. But then he is a player and bahis siteleri chancer and he knew the conglomerate of which my husband to be was the CEO. I thought that he might be seeing a business opportunity with the Al Salem Company, a bit of trading his daughter for a number of camels as used to happen in Egypt I smiled to myself

“I can’t say that being a concubine was what I would have chosen for you Sammi, but if that’s what you want and if you love Ahmed then good for you. What does Amanda say?” He asked about his ex-wife.

“Well she went mad of course.”

“Naturally” dad said.

Most of my friends were supportive, but quizzical about my arrangement with Ahmed and his wife. I wasn’t able really to assure them for I didn’t know how things were supposed to, or were going to work. I mean it’s difficult to ask your husband to be how he selects who to fuck each night, which when I cut through the crap was the key question most people wanted me to answer.

Ahmed and Halima, well one of their companies actually, had chartered a plane to fly from Northolt to Cairo two days before the wedding so that the UK line of their family and friends could attend. Wonderfully generously they had offered to include my family and friends to travel on it free of charge as well; I began to think that I was going to like my new life!

I was quite surprised how many people accepted the formal wedding invitations that we sent out in March, but then a free flight to Cairo is some inducement I guess.

Only one of my two closest friends was able to join us. That was Stephanie, my friend from college with the MSc in Economics, a high flying well over a million a year job with Goldmans and the most spectacular breasts I have seen and, to be honest touched.

“Actually luv I am coming back from New York the day before so I’ll get a flight direct to Cairo, but will have to leave on the Sunday” she told me on the phone.

“Oh that’s great thank Steph.”

“Only shame is we won’t have time to er, um celebrate will we?”

“Now, now, remember I’ll be a married woman by then.”

“So much the better, far less hassle, but I will be there the night before.”

We both laughed.

I didn’t of course send an invitation to my longer-term married lover DD. We had been having an affair since I had half-seduced him when I was a student of his at Bristol University and had carried this on after he moved to London.

“I’m really pleased for you” he said as I sipped an expresso in the conservatory of his house in Barnsbury. As was frequently the case his wife, or as we called her ‘the bitch’ was on a business trip to Brussels or Strasbourg or some fucking dump in Europe; she was a civil servant involved with the EU and was always popping off somewhere. That was convenient for DD and me and saved a hell of a lot on hotel rooms.

“So any chance of a farewell fuck then?” he said sliding his hand up my short skirt and kissing me.

We had a delicious afternoon and evening saying goodbye with him fucking me. As my orgasm subsided after the second shag I thought. ‘That’s my last fuck as a single woman, well at least with someone other than my husbnad.’ That shocked me so grabbing DD’s soft cock I said.

“How long before you can do me again?”

Ahmed and I got married in a private mosque in the centre of Cairo. Halima, by tradition acted as the equivalent of the matron of honour in a C of E ceremony. Although I had been to some rehearsals with the mullahs, the guys with really long beards, I had no idea what was going. I was, however, surprised at how long it lasted and at the amount of talking and moving around that went on during the ceremony. But that didn’t worry me as during it I was continually aroused.

I had to wear a very conservative dress. It wasn’t supposed to show my figure and I had to leave as little bare flesh exposed as possible, essentially my face and hands. Egyptians generally are strongly religious, but nowhere near as extreme as other Arab nations. With most aspects of life the women are pretty emancipated and wear whatever they wish. They wear tight clothes and do expose their arms and legs; they even wear bikinis! At weddings, though, similar to most other religions they become fundamental.

Halima had advised me what to wear and had helped me choose a loose, neck to ankle white dress with long sleeves. On our last time together before the wedding, Ahmed had managed to spend a couple of hours in bed on the Thursday afternoon and he had advised me what to wear under the dress.

“I want you naked apart from white stockings so I can visualise exactly what I am going fuck after the ceremony.”

So as the Mullah whined and moaned about our vows and the reasons for marriage and why Muslim men should have more than one wife I stood holding Ahmed’s hands.

“So are you?” He asked.

“Am I what?”

“Naked under it?”

“Apart from my stocking yes.”

“I am getting hard, I want to fuck you so much.”

“My nipples are pounding bahis şirketleri and are like acorns.”

“Are you wet?”

“Yes I think so” I was saying as the mullah said the equivalent of ‘I pronounce you man and wife.’

The last few days of my spinsterhood had, to say the least been interesting.

Although Ahmed and Halima and their families were not very orthodox Muslim, they did abide by some traditions. This was especially the case with weddings and especially so when Ahmed was taking a second wife. Although there was absolutely no criticism both families became involved to offer their advice on how the marriage, both the ceremony and the living together after should be handled.

Ahmed had decided to move to a new house; a beautiful ten bedroomed, two storey villa in a luxurious area near to the centre of Cairo. It had its own grounds with a secluded swimming pool that Ahmed described as being ‘perfect for outdoors sex.’ Looking at it I couldn’t have agreed more and could hardly wait to be fucked in one of the sideless tents with fans dotted around the pool area. This was a time when I got to know Halima much better for we were charged with getting the new house ready for our three-way marriage, something that still made me nervous and excited in about equal quantities.

We visited all the best shops in Cairo and looked at many more online. We had to furnish the entire house with what seemed to be an endless budget. We met with architects, designers and decorators planning and working out every detail. Ahmed left everything to us and with Halima’s eye for detail and mine for flair we worked well together and, more importantly we bonded, almost like sisters.

“Well it is not only tradition Samantha” Halima said sounding like my mother as we waited in the office of Cairo’s leading interior designer. “It’s also practical.”

She was referring to the way the upper floor with the bedrooms was going to be reworked. The house was being reduced to seven bedrooms with three in one wing of the house and four in the other; the grand staircase separated the two. The four she explained were guest bedrooms and would be used by their when they came home from their boarding schools, the boy at Eton, the girl at Rhodean. Our three suites, by tradition had to be in a row. Ahmed would have the middle suite, she being wife one would be to his right when he laid on his back and me to his left. There would be doors from his room to ours, but again by tradition these would only be able to be opened from Ahmed’s room. Laughing she said.

“So he can get to us, but we can’t get to him.”

Ahmed and Halima moved in to the remodelled house ten days before the wedding.

I wasn’t allowed so see or have any contact with him for the last three days. That was supposed to be a period when the husband and his wife one spent time together thinking about how their lives were going to change and making plans as to how they would cope with the new life, including, presumably me!

So on my last night as a single woman I knew that by tradition my betrothed would open the door from his to his wife’s room and invite her in to his bed where they would have their last sex before they became a tripartite marriage or, as I referred to it, ‘the ultimate threesome.’ What I also learned as we stood at the altar for over an hour being married was that the sex they had was not traditional for Ahmed said quietly. “Halima gave me her arse last night Sam as my wedding gift.”

The ceremony went on for ages as did the lavish reception at a marquee in the grounds of Ahmed’s parents’ house on the edge of the Nile. But all went well and everyone including my parents seemed to enjoy it. I could tell that mum liked, well more fancied actually, Ahmed for she was showing out to him all the time. I was almost expecting her to ask whether he wanted a third wife! Dad, now just coming out of his bankruptcy and looking for new ventures talked business with both Ahmed and Halima’s relatives making me wonder whether a loan to him was part of my dowry.

“I have a present for you Sammi” Halima said when at last the three of us together were alone.

“What do you mean?”

“As Ahmed’s wife one I have to be with you to give you to him so that the pair of you can consummate the marriage.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s traditional, but also practical for I am symbolically expressing my agreement and happiness at sharing my husband sexually with his wife two.”

“Are you ok with that?” I asked for the first time getting into her feelings.

“I can’t say it doesn’t hurt a little, but knowing you makes it easier. It’s difficult as you age and your husband is still attractive to younger women” she explained adding. “We had better hurry, Ahmed will be waiting.”

She took me to her bedroom. “This should be the only time you come in here unless I die.”

“Why?”

“Tradition Sami. This is my sanctuary, your room is yours I will never enter that any more. It is all a little silly I know.”

“I’m from England remember Halima, I think we invented tradition so I am used to it.”

Smiling, she said as we stood in thr lavishly appointed sitting room of her suite. “You have to undress I have to look at you.”

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