"I hoped it would work out," I said, and my body buzzed with excitement at what would be happening during that meeting, while he was sitting on the other side and selling his loyalty to the family that was eating away his marriage.
The door made a click sound as it closed. I had three hours. I dressed myself as a soldier does before going to battle. I had a plain black dress, modest, professional, a woman's dress appropriate to take documents to her husband's office.
I was wearing crotchless black lace lingerie, not for seduction, but for access, under my thin black leather dress, which I wore under the thin black leather corset that Rashid had sent me. He didn't want any obstacles in his way, and I was his to use.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I rode in a taxi to the city centre. The tower of glass and steel was the building of the Al-Junaid shipping empire, seventy floors of power and commerce.
Zeeshan was working on the 63rd floor. Rashid had an office on the sixty sixth. The entrance hall was a cathedral of marble, and light, with the security guards clad in crisp uniforms watching everyone that came in.
I came forward to the counter with a clear voice, shaking hands. "I'm Zeenat Parveen, I have documents for Sheikh Rashid bin Al-Junaid, he is waiting for me."
Standing at the guard desk, I scanned a list and was given a visitor's badge by the guard. "Elevator bank C. Sixty-sixth floor. Will meet you in reception."
The elevator ascended quickly, causing a stomach ache. I watched the numbers rising, my reflection in the polished steel, wide eyes and flushed cheeks, a woman just one step away from committing a crime. This was the sixty sixth floor, which stood apart from the rest of the building. The carpet was thicker, the decoration on the walls original instead of prints, the air filled with some expensive and subtle.
This receptionist looked up as I came in: her eyes knew, assessing. "He's in his office. Go right in."
I walked down the corridor, into carpet that was more expensive than Zeeshan's monthly salary. And finally, dark wood double doors.
Rashid's name on a gold lettering. I didn't knock. I turned the handle, and I entered. It was a large office, with windows stretching from floor to ceiling, overhanging the Gulf with its view.
Rashid was seated behind a table made of solid mahogany, clad in a white thawb, in the very presence of a king. When I went in, he was looking at a document he was signing and didn't look up.
"Close the door", he said.
I did. The clap in the stillness of the room was loud.
Rashid: "Come here."
I made my way across the gap between us, my heart pounding in my ears. I approached the desk and at last he looked up, dark eyes, assessing, hungry.
He spoke in a calm and conversational tone, "Your husband is in a meeting with my dad, three floors down".
He put his pen on the table, leaning back in his chair. "Zeenat, do you know what loyalty means to me?"
"Trust," I whispered.
"Possession," he corrected, standing and moving about the desk to stand in front of me. It means that his is my, his career, his future, his wife.
His hand came out and grabbed my throat and pulled. "Lift your skirt." I slowly did, revealing the black lace, the crotchless design, my wetness already showing.
His eyes closed, and his fingers tightened around my neck.
"Good," he murmured. "You're ready, you're ready at all times, aren't you?" His free hand snaked its way in, easily, roughly, his thumb pressing my clit. You are playing a game of loyalty with your husband now, you're playing a game of giving him your loyalty, here you are, three floors up, with your boss's fingers in you.
With one arm he pushed me back on his desk, scattering papers, a crystal paperweight crashed with a muffled thud on the carpet below. He bent me over the mahogany, my cheek against the cold wood, my hands holding on to the far side.
"I'm not talking," he said, getting away from me. "My secretary is 20 feet away, the walls are thin, your husband's colleagues walk these halls. One scream and they come running, one scream and he finds his wife being fucked by a sheikh on his boss's desk,"
He had busted my ass in one big blow and filled the whole of me, he stretched me.
I swallowed my tears and squeezed my lips to not cry out. His pace hard and fast; it was to claim, to mark, to punish.
Rashid whispered into my ear, hot with his breath, "Think about him. Consider Zeeshan sitting downstairs, talking about his promising future, while this is his world's that's getting destroyed three floors above."
I thought about it. God help me, I thought, as my husband was sitting in a conference room, earnest and hopeful, and I was bent over a man's desk, taking another man's cock, running the risk of everything for the obscene thrill of it.
He looked at the door, "Look at the door! They would see you like this--spread, used, mine--my father or a colleague or your husband could walk in. You would continue to suck off my dick while they were watching."
I observed the door, its brass handle shiny, the lock was turned, but not quite strong enough. Anyone could knock. It was an emergency call for the Sheikh at any time. Anyone might just come in and witness Zeeshan's wife getting her fucked like a whore right in the middle of the day. The danger was all there was. It was the air I breath that was the risk.
But I asked, "Please," I gasped, not knowing what I was asking for.
Rashid: "Please what? Please come? Please let him catch us?"
"All of it," I cried, clinging to him tightly, the sensation increasing at a frightening rate. "Please, Rashid, please--"
He quickened his pace, hips pounding my own, the desk scraping and creaking under us. His hand went around, touching my clit and pushing, hard, in a merciless circle. "Now," he commanded. "Now come, let him hear, if you must scream."
I came with a shout, my body shaking, my eyes going black. Then he came, seconds later, hips jerking, his seed hot inside me, his teeth biting into my shoulder to drown out his own.
There we, joined, breathed hard, the room silent, save for our ragged breaths.
Then--a sound. Footsteps are heard walking along the hallway. Approaching. Rashid moved quickly, readjusted his robes, his face took on a calm expression. My hands trembled as I pulled my skirt down and scrambled up.
He pointed to a decorative folding screen in the corner, "Behind the screen!" he said. "Now."
I was just about to cross behind the screen when the door opened without any knock. Older man's voice. "Rashid, what are the estimates for the?" The voice was interrupted. "What happened here?"
Rashid said smoothly, as his voice didn't show it, "Papers fell. Pity me, I'm clumsy, good morning." Father. Sheikh Al-Junaid. The patriarch. Zeeshan's ultimate boss. I was standing behind the screen, my heart pounding so loudly I thought they could hear it, with Rashid's fluids dripping down my leg, the evidence of what we did still wet on me. I could see them from the crack in the screen; two men, one young and dangerous and one old and powerful, both in white robes.
The older Sheikh asked, "Who's the visitor?" pointing his eyes around to the purse on the chair on which I was sitting, which showed my visitor's badge.
"No matter." The senior sheikh went to the window facing away from me. "What did you think of the meeting in the shipping department and how did the young Zeeshan come across?"
The eyes of both of us met through the crack as Rashid flitted his gaze to the screen and said, "Eager. Committed. Very committed, to his job, and his wife."
Rashid's father: "Good, we need loyal men; promote him, give him more responsibility, a man with happy home is a man who works hard."
"Yes, exactly my thought, father."
They talked about business for 10 minutes. 10 minutes torturous, my breath stopping and my body shaking from the pleasure, my mind racing with the danger, the evidence of our sin drying on my skin. I could see Rashid, and he was sitting at his desk, and he is composed and professional and sometimes he looked at the screen with a smile that was predatory.
But when his father left, Rashid locked the door and came back to me, his hand on me at once, his fingers fiddling in the mess that he had made.
"Did you hear?" he whispered, his fingers inside me, keeping me on edge, keeping me his. "Your husband is being promoted, he's loyal, and because he's happy in his home." He laughed dark and merciless. "Should we share with him how wonderful his wife is?"
I said, "Please," and I didn't know what more I could ask.
He pulled his hand away, and I was left empty and aching, "Go home," he said.
"Wash away, be the faithful wife, rejoice his promotion."
I walked away from the city and the sun was too much for me to handle. I got a text from Zeeshan in the taxi home: "Amazing news! It was Sheikh Rashid who recommended me for promotion! We're celebrating tonight! I love you!"
I looked at the message, still tender my body, still broken in my mind. I replied back with "so proud of you darling, can't wait to celebrate." The lie was so perfect.
That night Zeeshan seemed to love me, more tenderly, than ever before, and more thanking, more worshipful of my hands. "Sheikh Rashid is a great man," he whispered as he moved inside me.
I closed my eyes, my body echoed, "he saw exactly what he wanted to see," my voice whispered.
Then, while I was snuggling up to him and he was snoring with his head on my chest and hand on my belly, I would look at the ceiling and feel the familiar hunger rising. The promotion will bring more money, more of an apartment, more status. It would also give me more access, more events and more chances to be called upon by Rashid.
My phone buzzed. From an unknown number comes a message: "New apartment. Emirates Hills. You will visit tomorrow while he is signing the lease. The master bedroom. Wait for me there. Naked. Blindfolded."
I wiped out the message; my heart was singing with terror and desire. It was no longer an affair. It was my life.
The Emirates Hills property was encircled by a glass and white stone edifice perched on the rim of a man-made lake that mirrored the desert sky like a mirror. Perhaps a little too bubbly, Zeeshan jumped in his seat as the realtor, a stylish woman dressed in cream-colored suit, guided us through the gated community.
As we went past tennis courts and private parks, Zeeshan squeezed my hand, his eyes wide. "Sheikh Rashid himself recommended this property. It would be suitable for a man of my new position."
I smiled, my stomach knotted, awaiting the what was to come. This had been arranged by Rashid. It was obvious what the message was - " You will visit tomorrow while he is signing the lease. The master bedroom. Wait for me there. Naked. Blindfolded."
The house was beautiful with 5 bedrooms, pool and the view of Burj khalifa in the distance. Zeeshan swept through it like a kid on Christmas morning, touching marble countertops, and marvelling at the smart home options, when his new office would be.
The realtor said, "And the master suite," and then led us up the floating staircase.
The bedroom was huge, white sheets and white floors with windows stretching from the floor up to the ceiling and the view extended to the lake. There was a king-sized bed, and it was already dressed in expensive sheets, as though ready to be slept upon.
"Zeeshan," the realtor said, "I just need to get your signature on a couple of documents."
"Should take about 20 minutes in study room." Twenty minutes. The message read 30. "I'll stay here," I said, my voice firm, my heart pounding. "I want to see how we will store our items."
I was happy, Zeeshan kissed my cheek, he didn't know. "Of course, my love, I'll be right downstairs."
Their footsteps retreated. I heard the study door shut. I was in my new home's master bedroom and waiting for another man to take possession of me in the bed that I would sleep in with my husband.
The terrace door quietly swung open. Rashid came in, in casual elegance, linen trousers, white shirt open at the collar. He then shut the door and turned to me as though his eyes were black with purpose.
"Strip," he said quietly. "Everything. Now."
I took off my dress, my panties, my shoes. I was exposed in the middle of the room and the afternoon sun was hitting it through the windows, and there was a bed behind me.
Rashid: "On the bed - lying on your back with legs apart."
I obeyed; the sheets of coolness against my skin, the absolute of vulnerability. Slowly he approached me, unbuttoning his shirt, showing me the lean, perfect muscled body that I wanted. He hasn't yet taken his trousers off. He had a pleasure in waiting, in anticipation, in aching.
"Have you seen him?" Rashid asked, sitting on the bed, kneeling between my legs.
"Downstairs," I whispered. "Signing the papers."
Rashid said, "Twenty feet below us", his hands sliding up my thighs, giving me room to spread my legs wide.
Rashid: "He has a realtor to do his work for him, who will keep him busy, just as long as I need."
His fingers found my wetness, my readiness. "You're in your new house Zeenat, the house I gave you, the house your husband thinks he deserves, and I'm going to fuck you in it before he does."
He bent his head low and his mouth touched my sex and his tongue swirling patterns for which I could not help but raise my hips. I clenched my lips so tightly that my tongue bit my lips, I tried to swallow, but I couldn't make my mouth open.
Rashid's tongue was relentless, his fingers pushing their way in, finding the place which blurred my vision. My knuckles were clenched and my body shook with the will to keep quiet, while I held onto the sheets.
Then--a sound. Traces of people walking on steps.
Rashid didn't stop. But if anything, he grew more intense, the more he pressed his tongue against his mouth, the faster his fingers moved. Heavy, familiar footsteps came nearer.
"Zeenat?" Zeeshan's voice, calling from the hallway. "Are you up here?"
Rashid lifted his gaze over my arousal, his eyes sparking with some dark amusement, between my legs. He put one finger to his lips shh, and then started back at my clit, his fingers moving into me again.
"Zeenat?" The doorknob rattled. Locked. Thank God, locked.
Rashid's free hand extended up, squeezing my nipple rather hard and making the love more intense. I was to go. I was about to cry out! I was going to be found out.
"Just a minute!" I shouted, came out loud and fast, I sounded different. "I'm... I'm changing!"
"Oh!" Zeeshan's voice shrinking, receding. "Sorry, my love! Take your time!"
The footsteps walked away. Down the stairs. Gone.
Rashid stood, his mouth wiped with the back of his hand, his trousers undone, arousing darkness and thickness, demanding. He took a step towards me and whispered, "Good girl."
He thrust his hard dick into me and filled me to the brink, and I did cry, a scream of pleasure and terror and release, I had been holding back. He was on a rampage, his hips pounding my body, the bed squealing as we crashed through it, the headboard slamming into the wall.
"Your bed," he grumbled, hands clutched at my hips, lifting me, turning me to have me face him for greater access. "Your marital bed where you will sleep with him tonight, where you will make love to him and think of me."
"Yes," I uttered, as I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him further, "yes, I want you to do it. Yes, yes please, please, Rashid, please--"
He suddenly turned me over and my face was on the pillows which would soon hold my husband's head. He entered me from behind with his fingers on my hips and his thrusts were savage and claiming.
"Tell me," His hand on my hair, head back. "Who is the owner of this house?"
"You," I gasped.
"Who's in this bed?
Me: "You."
Rashid: "Who owns you?"
Me: "You. You. You."
He came with a roar, his mouth buried in my shoulder, his teeth breaking skin, marking me.
I trailed behind and when I got to the point of orgasm, it tore through me like a tidal wave, I saw stars and my body took him over, milked him, took everything from him.
We lingered there, we joined, we sweated, the sun on our skin glittering gold.
I heard the study door open and Zeeshan's voice getting louder with excitement.
Panic swamped back at me, "I must go back," I whispered. "He'll wonder--"
"Let him wonder," Rashid said, slowly retreating, and I was empty, used. "Let him discover you shaking and flushed, let him imagine it's about the new house."
He was dressed efficiently, leaving me bare on the bed, his seed dripping down my thigh. He stopped at the door to the terrace. "Zeeshan announced a housewarming party. Two weeks from now. I will be there. You will serve me in your home; your husband will drink his luck. And Zeenat--"
Me: "Yes?"
"I want you get pregnant by Christmas, so I want you to start taking fertility vitamins, and I want him to think it's his."
He was out of the room before I could react and I was lying there on my bed which I hadn't shared with my husband yet, shattered. I rapidly dressed, shaking, humming my body. I did check myself out in the mirror and my hair was all dishevelled, my lips were swollen, my neck was marked. I smoothed out my dress, did my hairs, applied makeup as was when I arrived, and went down the stairs.
At the foot of the stairs, Zeeshan beamed with delight at me. "Zeenat! It's done! The house is ours!"
He hugged me tight, spun me around, and let him, my body private, my mind elsewhere. He kissed me, his lips innocent and eager, I kissed him back, with Rashid's cologne still on my skin.
He put his hand to my cheek, my face was flushed, he said. "Are you alright?"
I said "just excited," the word like ash and ecstasy. "Here is our new home, I just kind of thought about our life here." My eyes were moist with tears, yet I loved him, and he told me so.
Zeeshan: "Zeenat, I love you so much, we're going to be so happy here."
Three days after our we moved to Emirates Hills, the fertility vitamins showed up on my bathroom counter. No note. No explanation. It's just a bottle of prenatal vitamins that's rich, imported and proudly displays a gold falcon on the label. I was in the master bathroom, attached to the bedroom where Rashid had taken me, with the bottle in my shaking hands. He was serious. He actually wanted to be my child's father! He wanted to make his seed grow in my womb and make Zeeshan raise another man's child as his own. The violation was without any doubt. The danger was apocalyptic.
The following morning, I began to take them.
A housewarming party was scheduled 2 weeks after we moved in. Zeeshan was crazy about preparations and engaged caterers, picked his wine and invited all those that counted in his new corporate world.
Zeeshan: "Sheikh Rashid confirmed," he whispered to me one evening, "He's actually coming to our home, Zeenat. You know what this means?"
"It means he respects you," I said, stirring his tea, other hand on my belly, going to work on the vitamins, preparing me for ultimate betrayal.
The night of the party was upon us, and we were all on our feet. I was wearing a modestly cut midnight blue dress that hung just to show the bruise Rashid had left on my collarbone a week ago, which I had covered with make-up but knew he would be able to see. People started to fill the house - colleagues, neighbours, men in fancy suits and women in jewels.
Late for which he was excused, Rashid came with his bodyguards clad in white which contrasted with his dark complexion. When he came in, he didn't bother to take his eyes off me. He didn't need to. I could feel his presence like a hand around my throat.
Zeeshan hurried to him, curtseying and his face red with wine and pride. "Greetings, Your Highness, welcome to our home; we are honoured, indeed."
Over Zeeshan's shoulder, my eyes met Rashid's and he replied, "Thank you, Zeeshan. You've got a lovely house. And a lovely wife," Rashid said with smile.
The party progressed. I moved through the rooms as if I were a ghost in my own house, serving drinks, making conversation, I was aware of Rashid's location at all times, hyper-aware.
Then, he appeared suddenly behind me in the kitchen as I was refilling the ice bucket. I lowered my head and his fingers were sliding down my back until they touched my ass, then he murmured, "Upstairs. The nursery. Five minutes. Let him know that you are checking the thermostat."
"The nursery?" I turned, but he was not there, moving off among the throng, patting Zeeshan on the shoulder and laughing at a joke.
The nursery. The room that we had prepared for the kid that we were trying to conceive--the child that might be already in the making inside me or might be soon, depending on whose seed is germinating.
On way I met Zeeshan. I mentioned, "Zeeshan, I need to do a check upstairs, it's getting warm, I will be right back."
"Of course, my love," he said, "the Sheikh was asking about you."
I climbed up the stairs. The light was out, the door was open and the nursery was at the end of the hall. My heart pounding, I walked in and there he was, standing beside the window, his shadowed figure against the city lights.
"Lock it," he said. I did. The click was loud. "Come here."
I walked over to him, and my feet sunk into the soft plush carpet that Zeeshan had selected, into the carpet that our child would crawl upon someday. Rashid turned, and his hands were on my hips and he pulled me towards him.
"You know what this room is?" he whispered, his hands sliding up my skirt.
"Nursery," I whispered.
Rashid: "The place where he imagines his children playing, where he imagines you, rocking his baby, singing lullabies."
My fingers were grabbed roughly by his fingers, and I gasped.
Rashid: "Here you are, wet for me, ready for me in the very room where his dreams live."
He bent me over the table. I kept my face close to the soft ground against my body, clinging to the borders. I heard him freeing himself, heard the rustle of fabric.
He said, "Quiet. Fifty people downstairs: Your husband is toasting your future: You're going to take my cock in his nursery without making a sound."
He thrust into me and I was full, full. I bit into the skin of my lip, causing a wound, while gazing at the door. I heard the party down below, laughter, glasses clinking, Zeeshan raising his voice in a toast. "To my beautiful wife," he was saying, his voice carrying up the stairs, through the vents. "To our future family."
Rashid started to pace, his thrusts were deliberate and hard, each one taking the air from my lungs. His hand blocked my mouth, silenced the words that I couldn't help but utter.
"Listen to him," Rashid whispered in my ear, hips slamming into me, hot breath.
Rashid: "He is now celebrating, while I sleep with his wife in the room where his children will sleep."
I felt Rashid's cock in my pussy and he took possession of me, he marked me, maybe planted the seed that will ruin everything Zeeshan was believing in in his life. The excitement was heavenly. I gasped against his palm. "Please, Rashid, please--"
He began to make his motions uncoordinated, his mastery of the situation tenuous. He came with a grunt, his teeth breaking skin again, marking me. His seed came pounding, hot and claiming, and I joined him, my body shaking violently as my eyes glazed over, my knees weakened.
When Rashid withdrew slowly, leaving me empty, used, his fluids trickling down my thigh. He put his clothes back in place, and was once again a picture of respectable royalty.
He said softly, "Get cleaned up. Go back to your party and kiss your husband, thank him for his toast."
He stopped outside the door, gazing back at me, his mark on my neck. "So, Zeenat, keep taking the vitamins--"
He was gone and had vanished into the party, leaving me wrecked in the nursery.
I tidied up as much as I could and put my dress in place and my make up on. I went down the stairs and stood in the living room by the fireplace with Zeeshan who was holding court.
"There she is" Zeeshan said, his face lighting up. "My beautiful wife! My love."
Rashid was by the window, watching, his eyes black with knowledge. He lifted his glass to me, and flashed his smile which I knew no other way to interpret but as a silent toast.
He walked across the room and said, "To family." The guests replied, "To family!"
My hand was steady, my body all tender, my womb already probably holding the greatest betrayal. I repeated, "to family," the word as ash and ecstasy.
Zeeshan's lips were innocent and loving, his hand on my stomach, where another man's seed may have already begun to take root.