For Married Eyes Only Ch. 04

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Big Dicks

Soraya, a Saudi princess (so she said) and chief Public Relations officer for a major organization funded by the Saudi government, expedited my journey into the world of “loving wives.” She taught me how to use my position to seduce women and play the DC “insiders game,” as she so appropriately called it, on my terms rather than be at the bequest of others. She also enlightened me to the amazing wonders of Arab women.

Over the five years I knew Soraya she introduced me to a diversity of Arab women from different parts of the Arab world, many of them Saudis and women from the other Gulf states, Egyptians, Moroccans, Lebanese, Iraqis, and Syrians (some of the most beautiful). Many of them were single, quite a few of them, like her, were married. I never quite knew what she gained from setting the stage for the affairs I had, but I’m sure it wasn’t just out of good will. I know she was using me, but I had nothing to lose; in many ways I became her personal gigolo that she leant out to friends.

In return Soraya offered me a lot for my professional development. She arranged meetings with ambassadors, political dissidents (for all the different Arab countries except Saudi Arabia!), journalists, and many others I would never have had access to. With such interviews I was able to develop a Middle East expertise for my organization that didn’t exist earlier.

More thrilling was all the women she also gave me access to.

I first met Soraya at a seminar focusing on migration and other issues in the Gulf Arab states. I was far from an expert on the Arab world, but in those days, there were few around, thus my director suggested I attend. At the time I didn’t welcome the prospect of the additional work; only in hindsight was I glad to discover a whole new world waiting to be conquered.

Soraya was the coordinator of the conference. I met her first when I went to register. She was striking: early 40s, rich green eyes, perfectly coiffed hair (not something I find particularly attractive, but it made her stand out), and curves like you wouldn’t believe. She was definitely well endowed, though showed only a hint of her cleavage. Later I would discover her breasts to be 38DD. Her makeup was perfect, her perfume undoubtedly expensive, her clothes tailored for her body, and enough gold and diamonds to open her own jewelry store. Her brown-hued olive skin highlighted her rich green eyes, framed by brunette hair.

Counter to my naïve, media-generated expectations, Soraya was anything but a submissive, veiled Arab woman. Soraya was in charge; she commanded everything she saw. She was a director, a leader; nothing was left to chance. She had an army of underlings, male and female, tripping over her heals running around fulfilling her every command. She welcomed every guest individually, playing her role as hostess perfectly. She subtly flirted with the men and connected and conspired with each and every woman. Wherever she went, eyes followed. Soraya stood out; she was there to be noticed and she thrived on it.

I was one of the most junior people at the seminar, except for a group of Arab students; the majority of participants were senior diplomats both Arabs and Americans. Soraya seemed to know them all personally. She welcomed me warmly, guiding me into the conference room and introduced me to a group of Arab men, one of them a distinguished scholar whose work I was well familiar with.

The seminar, like most, was full of vague policy analyses and political rhetoric, with little on-the-ground specificities. It was, however, a place to see and be seen. And I did enjoy the views.

There was a group of young Arab women who were all graduate students at Georgetown, I would learn. Most of them wore the ubiquitous black robe (the abaya) with veils wrapped around the top of their heads, covering their hair, but not their faces. In the question and answer period, many of them stood up and asked very directed questions; not shy at all from the attention they drew upon themselves.

During one of the coffee breaks, two of them approached me and we started chatting. One was a bit fat, but with a very attractive, round face; the other, on the thick side, with a long face and sharp cheekbones. Both wore a ton of make-up. They were curious to learn more about my organization and questioned if any internship opportunities existed. I gave them my card and told them to call me and I would introduce them to our personnel director.

They were both from Qatar and I asked about their friends. Two were from the United Arab Emirates, one from Kuwait, and the other three were Saudi. Most of them were quite good looking, at least from what I could tell. They introduced them to me and having recently completed my own graduate studies, we chatted about the trials of graduate school, living as a foreigner here, what they liked about DC, etc. I was finally able to move the conversation over to their lives as Arab women, but soon the seminar started again and my questions had to wait.

Regretfully, during the Anadolu Yakası escort rest of the proceedings I did not get the opportunity of chatting with any of them again except in parting. I gave each of them my card with no expectations or hidden intentions, but I did hear from a few of them afterwards, which turned out to be quite the delight.

Soraya overheard my parting invitation to the girls for coffee and to chat further and after they departed approached me and kidded me about being attracted to Arab women.

“Beautiful women are beautiful women, wherever they are from,” I offered.

“Yes, but we Arab women do have a seductive charm, yes?”

“So I’m discovering.”

“But do remember, girls are girls and still bound to their families. They know how to giggle, but not how to gratify.”

I chuckled, “perhaps, but even then, we all start somewhere, girls becoming women is a process, yes?”

“Oh you do like keep all your options open don’t you? But tell me, more seriously, your thoughts on the seminar. I know your organization does not have a Middle East expert on staff and I would like to discuss some of your concerns about the region. I do hope we can meet sometime soon.”

“Absolutely. Shall I call later this week and make an appointment?”

“How about the Wednesday after next? Will you be free?”

“Wednesday it is. Should I stop by and we can meet in your office?”

“Perfect. See you then. In the meantime, do be careful, there are lots of eyes around.”

I wasn’t quite sure the implication of her last comment, but assumed it had to do with the Arab girls and them being watched. As the case would be, they were well aware of the eyes following them, and knew exactly how to behave, in public. In private, that was a whole other matter.

* * *

Within two days after the seminar one of the Emirati girls, Soha, called. She wanted to meet at a cafe in Georgetown Friday evening after work. Could I make it? Of course! Soha was very striking looking with a thin long face and piercing eyes, a small mouth, and wisps of blondish hair under her veil. She was petite, maybe an inch or two over five feet tall and I doubt much more than a hundred pounds. She wore the abaya, a black robe, so I had no idea the nature of her curves underneath, but her face was one you could get lost just staring at.

Soha was very impassioned about her studies and returning to the UAE to work for the government. She was from Dubai, which at that time was still a little unknown place, with a big vision. She was 23 years old, about 10 years my junior, and talked enthusiastically about the transformations taking place there and the hope she had for the city. She wanted very much to gain some experience working with a non-governmental organization and was willing to volunteer at our office.

In the end, just in parting as she was getting in to a taxi to head back home she mentioned she and some of her friends were having a party the next night and that I should stop by. She handed me a slip of paper and off she went.

This was definitely an intriguing invitation; it was hard to pass up a bunch of wealthy, beautiful, and young Arab girls. I had absolutely no idea what to expect, and to say the least the party far surpassed anything I could have imagined.

The apartment was that of Soha and Fatima’s in a very upscale street of Georgetown, which was upscale to begin with. It was a two-story flat with lots of modernist glass and metal furniture and oil paintings on the walls. It was not like the apartment of any grad students I ever knew. A woman I did not recognize greeted me and invited me in. She had shoulder-length wavy black hair and wore a tight spaghetti-strap chemise and tight jeans. She was gorgeous.

“You don’t recognize me do you?”

I looked for a moment and then realized in embarrassment that it was Fatima, the other Emirati girl.

“Of course, I’m sorry.”

“The veil and abaya can be deceptive,” she informed me.

“Indeed,” I said raising my eyebrows.

She chuckled and invited me in. It wasn’t a large crowd, maybe about 15 to 20 people in all. I recognized a few of the girls from the seminar and there were several other Arab girls. Most of the men were Arabs too; I did notice later one young white couple. Several of the men were also older, in their 30s, one looked like he was in his 40s.

This was the type of party I hadn’t been to since my college days: music blaring, young couples dancing, a few people snorting coke, and a complete self-help bar. I soaked up the scene: wow! was all I could think. Most of these girls were solid 10s with perfect bodies and a lot of skin showing: tank tops, tube tops, cleavage everywhere you looked, tight everything.

As I was taking it all in, Soha came up and greeted me with a kiss on each of my cheeks. Now that I could see her body, she was definitely petite, except in one area, she had the most perfect round ass. She wore a tight fitting designer t-shirt Anadolu Yakası escort bayan that gave definition to her small breasts, probably a B-cup. Her dirty-blond hair fell past her shoulders.

She offered me a drink, I settled on a beer, not being much of a hard liquor drinker, while she mixed herself a vodka and orange juice. Soha linked arms and escorted me over to a small group of two other couples chatting and introduced me. We settled onto the couch, Soha at my side. She often kept her arm interlocked in mine, making it clear to others that I was hers. As I barely knew her except for an hour or two conversation over a cup of coffee, I thought it a bit forward, but I certainly wasn’t complaining.

Over the night all the usual questions popped into my mind for me to ponder, plus a few extras given Soha being Emirati. What were her intentions? Where would we be tomorrow? How often will I have to call her to keep her happy? Could I even afford going out with her? Did I want to date?

It was the first time in a while I mulled over such questions. In one of my first realizations, it was then that I recognized what attracted me so much to having affairs with married women – there were no such questions! With married women it was about the moment, the passion, not tomorrow.

Eventually, after a few beers, my mind focused more on the present and this gorgeous woman who latched on to me. I had no idea where it was heading, nor even what my own intentions were, but it was a path worth exploring.

Soon the other couples got up to dance and Soha and I settled back onto the couch. It was only then that I really started to look around again at the crowd. Most of them were paired up, and two couples were making out on another couch on the other side of the room. One girl was sitting on a guy’s lap, his hands all over her ass, as they kissed and she gyrated her body over his.

“Shocked?” Soha asked, pulling me out of my voyeuristic moment

“Not quite like a party I’ve been to in a long time.”

“We’re young!” She said laughing. “Besides, it is one of our few opportunities to be ourselves. We have our traditions and they’re important to us, but we also like to have a good time.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Good, then come dance with me.”

Soha didn’t give me the opportunity of objecting and just grabbed my hand and drew me out into the dance area. Needless to say, I felt quite uncomfortable as dancing isn’t my forte and here I was with a girl I barely knew, and an Arab one at that. I still had images of stoning and honor killings whirling around my head! Stupid, yes, but I was wandering into unfamiliar territory; I didn’t know any of the people at the party, I barely even knew Soha.

She obviously was not concerned. She was even more gorgeous with the slight glow of sweat from the dancing, and though petite, she had all the right moves. She pulled in close to me, swirling her hips against me, then danced back, smiling. It was hard not to respond. I eventually threw caution to the wind and placed my hand just above her hip. She placed her hand on top of mine and stared into my eyes. I gave her a wink and she broke out into a big smile.

She then danced up into me, her body swaying against mine. She stretched up to whisper in my ear, “enjoying yourself?”

I leaned in as to whisper and gently kissed her ear. She just pulled her body more tightly into mine and laid her head against my chest as I wrapped both my arms around her. We swayed together for a while to the beat of the music giving me an opportunity to survey the scene around me. More couples were making out on the couches and dance floor. A few guys were sitting back snorting coke watching the whole scene. One of them, when they saw me looking just gave me a thumbs up.

By this time I had both my hands on Soha’s ass, gently massaging her soft cheeks. It was a bit awkward, as my cock was quite hard from feeling her body rub against mine. There was no hiding it. But she wasn’t the least bit shy. In fact, she kept gyrating her hips against me, making me even harder.

My mind eventually got the better of me, wondering where this was all leading. Was she expecting me to date her? What did she want? What if I dumped her afterwards? I still had images of her white-robed brothers knocking on my door.

Perhaps sensing my hesitation, Soha whispered again into my ear, “I hope you don’t find me too forward. I like to have a good time and I hope we can enjoy some time together. You’re different from other guys, I sensed that, and you appreciate where I come from.”

She was saying all of this while still swaying her body against mine, keeping my cock hard, pressed against her belly. I don’t know what made me different, but I sure wasn’t going to argue with her. I didn’t know where this was leading, but I had a clear sense that it would be a wild adventure.

Soha stopped dancing and linked arms again. It was a bit embarrassing as I had a noticeable hard escort bayan on, though I don’t think anyone else in the room cared, most occupied in dealing with their own hard ons.

“I haven’t been a good hostess at all,” Soha started. I looked at her a little confused. She’s been perfect! “I forgot to give you a tour of the apartment.” As she said this she gave me a wink.

We made our way over to the staircase and walked up. It was now quiet and nobody else seemed to be around.

“That’s Fatima’s room; let’s see what she’s doing,” she said mischievously. With that she opened the door and there was Fatima naked, her big tits bouncing up and down as she was riding some guy stretched out beneath her.

Fatima turned and looked at us, yelling something in Arabic, her tone seemed more playful than angry though.

“Look she has nice breasts, yes?” Soha asked.

“Get out,” Fatima yelled in English. “You are such a voyeur. You like the show?” She asked, looking at me.

I have no idea what the guy under her was thinking, but he certainly didn’t seem to mind.

“Perhaps we should let them be,” Soha suggested as she closed the door. “That’s my roommate.”

Without saying anything I leaned over and kissed Soha. She immediately opened her tiny mouth and our tongues darted to one another, like lovers meeting after a long separation.

Breaking the kiss, Soha asked, “Got turned on seeing her big breasts?”

“I am turned on by feeling your body next to mine,” I replied.

“You Americans know all the right things to say!”

I kissed her hard and grabbed her ass, lifting her up. Soha wrapped her legs around me and I turned, carrying her, backing her against the wall, kissing her hard and passionately. I started pumping into her against the wall, my hard cock pressed against her crotch.

“Ohhhhh, yeah, Duncan, mmmmmm.”

I let her back down to the floor and she led me over to her room by the hand. Her room was partly that of a little girl with stuffed animals everywhere, and partly that of a woman with her table of perfumes and jewelry boxes.

“Tell me the truth now, you prefer Fatima’s body to mine?” Soha asked as she sat up on the bed.

I stood in front of her, looking down on her petite frame. She was pouting in a playful way, adding to her beautiful allure.

“You are beautiful. I actually prefer petite women.”

“Come on, you’re just saying that to get me naked, aren’t you?”

I had to laugh. She certainly wasn’t shy.

“Take off your t-shirt.”

“Oh, now all of a sudden you are the commander. What happened to Mr. Doubtful.”

How she had read my mind earlier, I have no idea; she was saying this while removing her top, of course.

“Mmmm, very beautiful. Now the bra.”

Soha reached in front of her and unclasped the bra from between her two small breasts and teasingly pulled it aside. I knelt down and went straight for her tits, sucking and fondling them with relish. She leaned back on the bed, me half on top of her, continuing to nibble on her nipples as she ran her fingers through my hair.

“I think you do like them!” She managed to say through her heavy panting. “Now you, off with the shirt. By the way who taught you fashion? Where did you get that shirt?”

Fashion? Who the fuck cares at such a moment?

“We’ll have to take you shopping one of these days. In the mean time, kiss me again!”

Who was I to disagree with a beautiful half-naked woman? I climbed onto the bed and knelt over her, leaning down to kiss her again. I slid her across the bed and lay gently on top of her, our naked chests pressed against one another. I rolled onto my side, continuing to kiss her, allowing my right hand to roam over her tight little body. As my hand sliped over the waist of her jeans and towards her crotch she lifted her left knee up, giving me easy access. I reached down and grabbed her tightly in the crotch, making her arch her back up and moan into my mouth. Her hands quickly went down and started to undo her jeans. I helped her unzip them then pulled them down off her legs, her panties coming along with the tight jeans. Her pussy was clean-shaven (a trait I was to discover that all Arab women seem to have, at least all the ones I had the pleasure of seeing).

What an amazing sight, I just wanted to suck it in, and kiss her all over. I crawled back up kneeling over her and started to kiss her neck, nibbling my way down to her breasts. I sucked on one then the other for a few moments, before continuing my journey down her body. I whirled my tongue into her navel, making her squirm from being tickled. I climbed off the bed, and slid her body down to the edge.

I knelt on the floor in front of Soha who spread her thin little legs wide apart as I kissed her inner thigh; first the left, then the right. Her pussy lips were glistening slightly from her dampness. I then flicked my tongue over her pussy, making her squirm and moan loudly. She reached down and put her hands on my head and pushed me into her waiting pussy. I dove in with my tongue, burying it deep inside her. I lapped up her wet pussy then began to tongue fuck her. I slid my right hand up and started to rub her clit then slipped a finger inside her pussy. Man was she tight, even my finger seemed to barely slide in, despite all her juices.

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