Saudi Wife For Jamaican Stud

Ameera lay on the bed, panting and moaning, her body covered in a shine fine of sweat, and for a moment, she wasn't sure where she was. Then she remembered. She was on the island, in Achilles strong and loving arms. What was that? she asked breathlessly. Jamaican magic my angel, Achilles said with a grin. Let me know if you want to see the second act, he smiled. Ameera nodded, and watched as he stroked his long and thick, uncircumcised member. Her eyes widened at the size of it. Can I? she said, reaching out tentatively. Achilles nodded, and held his breath as Ameera gently ran her hands all over his dick. Looking him in the eyes, dead-serious, she told him she wanted him inside of her. Achilles wide grin threatened to split his face.

Ameera looked up at Achilles as he got on top of her. She wrapped her arms around him, and once more he kissed her. Gently he licked her breasts while spreading her legs. She opened herself up to him, wanting to feel him inside of her. For part of her ached for his touch. Achilles looked into Ameera's lovely brown eyes as he rubbed his hard dick against her hairy mound. Are you ready? he asked her gently. Ameera licked her lips and nodded. Gently he eased himself inside of her. A sharp cry escaped her lips as he penetrated her. He asked her if she was okay and she nodded. Achilles pushed himself deeper inside of her. Never before had he been with anyone half as tight. Burying his face between her voluminous breasts, he thrust deep inside of her. Ameera's moans filled the air, echoed by Achilles groans of pleasure. Gently, roughly, passionately, they made love. And didn't stop until the wee hours of the morning.

The next morning proved somewhat awkward. Only in the cold light of day did Ameera Almahdi consider the full ramifications of everything she and Achilles Jackson had done the previous night. She was an unmarried Muslim woman who had sex with a man who wasn't her husband. In Saudi Arabia her family awaited, along with a suitor, someone chosen by her father to be her future husband. According to Islamic Law she would be put to death for what she'd done. In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, any Muslim woman who had sex with a man she wasn't married to would be put to death. As was Princess Misha'al bint Fahd al Saud in the summer of 1977. If and when she returned to Saudi Arabia, and it was discovered that she'd lost her virginity, Ameera Almahdi knew she would be surely put to death. Despair and guilt sagged the young Saudi woman's shoulders.

Achilles woke up next to Ameera, and the sight of her beautiful face and lovely body so close to his thrilled him. In his twenty four years upon this earth, he'd been with Jamaican women, Ethiopian women, Hispanic women, Chinese women and of course White women. Lovely ladies of all hues flocked to the Jamaican man, since his reputation as a lover was legendary. And yet, he had never been with anyone as lovely as Ameera. She wasn't like the others. Who knew the Hijab-wearing pious and studious young Muslim woman from Saudi Arabia had such passion in her? She was the kind of woman who could tame his wild ways if he wasn't careful. The kind of woman a man brings home to mama.

Since Achilles woke up before Ameera, he decided to take care of business. He went to take a dump, swam in the ocean a bit and then got dressed before foraging for fruits. He found plenty, and brought a basketful back to Ameera. He found her sitting on the straw bed, pensive. Morning sunshine, he said with a smile. Ameera looked him up and down, a strange expression on her face. Hi, she said meekly. He sat next to her, and reached for her hand. She batted his hand away. We shouldn't have done what we did last night, she said. Why not? asked Achilles, puzzled. Ameera shook her head. I'm a Muslim woman and you're a Christian, she said, it could never work out. Shrugging, she added that they came from different worlds. Achilles shook his head, and stroked his beard. I've got feelings for you, he said, I care for you a great deal.

Gently Achilles touched Ameera's long, curly black hair, and she shrank from his touch. Seeing the hurt in his eyes, Ameera apologized. I don't want to cause you pain but this is not going to work out, she said. Achilles took a deep breath. When we get back to civilization I will convert to Islam and ask your family for your hand in marriage, he said earnestly. Ameera stared at him, stunned. I don't want you to convert, she said. Even if you do, my family is racist, most Arabs are, she added. In the Arab world the men can marry women of any race or faith but us Muslim women can only marry men from our own cultures and religion, Ameera stated. I've never seen a Black Muslim guy with an Arab woman, Achilles said wistfully, I guess you Arabs think we're not good enough for you. There was a world of bitterness in his eyes. I'm not like that, Ameera said. Shaking his head, Achilles got up and walked away. He couldn't stand to be near her all of a sudden. Lest he do or say something they'd both regret.

Sitting on the straw mat that served as their bed, Ameera bit her fingernails, something she did often when angry, saddened or outraged. No man had ever made her feel like Achilles had. He'd been wonderful, patient, kind and respectful to her. In her entire existence, no one had ever wanted to know who she was inside. Or share their true selves with her. Achilles wasn't like the others. He told her everything there was to know about himself. Born in Montego Bay, Jamaica, he moved to Toronto, Ontario, with his family during his first year of high school. After a failed career as part of a rap group, he'd been taking criminal justice courses at Seneca College in preparation for a career in law enforcement when his aunt Giselle in London sent him tickets to come spend the summer with her. Achilles had never been to the U.K. and was thrilled about visiting London, England. Of course, it was not to be. The plane in which he was went down, and he found himself stuck on a desert island with a hot but uptight and humorless Muslim chick. Great.

Ameera thought of her life back in Saudi Arabia. Although her father and brothers were nice to her, she'd led a lonely existence, unable to live the house without a male chaperone like all women inside the Kingdom. Nor could she drive. That's why she wanted to attend university in another country. Sometimes, although she loved her country, Saudi Arabia felt like a prison! During that one amazing year she spent in Ontario, Canada, her life changed completely. Her friendship with Persia Johnson and Ferit Romanov, her wanderings around York and Toronto, her visits to museums, sporting events and zoos had changed her life. In Canada she felt like anything was possible. In the province of Ontario where Ameera studied, a lesbian woman got elected leader of the entire province. In Canada a woman could be anything she wanted to be. In Saudi Arabia a woman was little more than expensive livestock. Try as she might, Ameera couldn't deny it.

Sometimes, while hanging out in Persia Johnson's apartment, Ameera felt jealous when her best friend talked about her boyfriend Ferit Romanov and how much she loved him. Of course, Ameera would never admit such a thing out loud. In the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, where arranged marriages were a matter of law and culture, women dared not dream of love. Living with a man who bedded and wedded their body but not their soul, such was the fate of all Saudi women. Ameera dared not dream of love, and certainly not the passionate kind she'd seen Persia and Ferit exhibit for one another. She never dreamed such a thing could be possible for someone like her, a Hijab-wearing prim and proper, deeply traditional young Saudi woman, until she met Achilles Jackson. Love is not just precious and rare it's a force of nature, Ameera remembered Persia saying once.

When she remembered that, Ameera closed her eyes, hard. She'd found love, against all odds...and she foolishly threw it away. Allah forgive me but I love this man, she said aloud, then took off in the direction that Achilles had gone. Frantically she searched one end of the island then the other. She couldn't find him anywhere. A splash out in the surf caught her attention, and she saw Achilles in the water, approximately two hundred meters from shore. Damn he looked good, so tall and strong, his dark skin contrasting against the blue waves. Suddenly filled with inspiration, she kicked off her shoes. So he didn't want to speak to her, eh? Well, she knew one sure fire way to get his attention.

Forget about this woman, Achilles told himself. Foreign women are nothing but trouble. He dove under the waves, and resurface, expecting to feel glorious and strong but instead the sadness he'd felt since Ameera's speech to him this morning dug at his heart like a crab's pincer through a fish's belly. Looking heavenward, the young Jamaican silently asked God why He created women. A splash in the waves caught his attention. His eyes widened when he saw...her. Ameera Almahdi. The tall, curvaceous Saudi Arabian gal waded into the surf, naked as a jay bird. Moving confidently, she made her way to him. A frisson ran through his spine, and Achilles shivered under the blazing sun. Hot damn, this woman was something else. He felt himself harden. I'm sorry for what I said earlier, Ameera said, pressing her gorgeous naked form against his. Consider yourself forgiven, Achilles said, then he kissed her. Overhead, a small plane flew dangerously low. Ameera and Achilles could hear people shouting to get their attention, but ignored them completely. They were in very much in their own world now.