The Sheikh And I

Everybody thought I was insane when I accepted the job as the private tutor of 8-year old Ahmed. His mother had been a beautiful Englishwoman who died in childbirth and now his father thought it was time for Ahmed to learn English and start getting prepared for Eton. I didn’t know much about their country and I didn’t speak their language, but I was desperate to get away. My boyfriend and I had recently split up and I’d lost my job.

I’d been travelling all day and the sun was already setting over the Arabian desert when we reached a palace that looked as though it had come straight out of some fairytale. My driver, Mustafa, turned around and said in his broken English that this was the sheik’s home. Having grown up in a dingy miner’s cottage in the north of England I was in shock that someone could refer to this as “home”.

We pulled into a courtyard and a woman dressed in black came to meet me. I was aware of the dress code in this country, but as I possessed no suitable clothes I’d dressed in a light cotton trouser suit and a sun hat. I’d been promised that I’d be provided with the correct attire for going outside when I arrived so I didn’t think too much of it.

The woman motioned for me to follow her and we went through a door. As soon as we entered a corridor we were surrounded by giggling women, all in the same black coat. They took me to a big dressing room with a huge tub in the middle. The women started undressing me and when I tried to protect my modesty they laughed and said things in their native tongue and then proceeded to remove all my clothes until I was naked in front of them. They made me get into the tub, which was full of warm and fragrant water. It was heaven on my tired body and I sank back and forgot that I wasn’t alone.

Not for long though. Soon I had eager hands washing my long blond hair and cleaning every part of my naked body. I’d never had anyone touching me this intimately since I was a baby and I was feeling a mixture of fear and excitement. When they were done they got me out of the bath and started drying me and applying a fragrant lotion to my skin. Then a lady walked in with a stunning creation in red and gold. I wouldn’t have known how to get myself into the dress, but I had several helpful pairs of hands at my disposal and they made it seem so easy. Last, but not least, they gave me a pair of gold sandals to put on my feet and then covered me in the black garment that they were all wearing, only my eyes weren’t covered.

There was a knock on the door and the women motioned for me to open it, which I did. Outside was a man in Arabian clothes who spoke to me but I didn’t understand. I looked back and the women waved their hands for me to go with the man. He walked very fast and I almost had to run to keep up with him. After what seemed like a mile through the labyrinth of corridors we reached a door and he made a sign for me to stop while he entered. Shortly afterwards he opened the door and let me in.

On a chair at the far end of the enormous room sat a man dressed in a black and gold outfit. His face was strong and his dark eyes pierced into mine. On either side of him were a number of men, in less fancy clothes, talking animatedly or writing things, or just waiting to speak to this man. I walked up to the man.

“Sheikh al-Hussein?” I asked.

“You may bow down before me,” he said in impeccable upper class English.

I kneeled in front of him and bowed deeply.

“You are Jessamy Barton?” he asked.

“Yes Sir,” I replied, lifting my gaze to meet his.

“You have come to prepare my son for Eton,” he stated.

“Yes Sir.”

“I will accept no failures. My son will score 100% in his exams.”

“Isn’t that a lot of pressure on a little boy?” I was appalled by what I heard.

“His father and grandfather scored 100% and so will he.” That was the end of that discussion. “You will have dinner with me tonight.”

With those words he got up and motioned for me to follow him. We entered a smaller room with a table that was set with a number of delicacies. As soon as the servants had ensured that the Sheikh and I had everything we needed they disappeared and the Sheikh turned to me.

“The men are gone. Take off the abaya and let me look at you.”

I did as I was told and noticed a hint of a smile on his lips. His eyes were dark as the night and his goatee concealed most emotion in his face.

“Your blue eyes and golden hair match the outfit perfectly. You carry the strong colours well for someone so pale.”

I didn’t know whether it was a compliment but I lowered my gaze and smiled as a thank you. This seemed to encourage the Sheikh.

“Your modest behaviour is that of an Arabian woman, yet you’re from the west where women are taught to act like prostitutes.”

“I grew up in a moral household,” I defended myself and my parents.

“You remind me of Ahmed’s mother,” he smiled. “She was also keen on defending her culture even though she knew that I knew about the whoring that went on among her countrywomen.”

“Ahmed’s mother was English I believe,” I said, hoping to learn more about the woman whose child I was going to teach.

“Yes, like you she was from England. She was a true English rose, brought here when she was an 18-year old virgin, and dead before the age of 20. She was my third and favourite wife. The only wife I chose for myself. I haven’t been able to marry again after her so Ahmed is my only heir.”

“Your third wife?”

“Yes, I inherited my older brother’s wife when he was killed in a helicopter accident. She only bore me daughters. Then I married my father’s rival’s daughter in order to stabilize the relationship between our two families, but she was a real disappointment as she proved to be barren. She moved back to take care of her invalid father when I married Numa.”

“Numa?”

“Her name at birth was Naomi, but I gave her the Arabic name of Numa, which means beautiful and pleasant.”

I smiled at the thought of the Sheikh choosing a new name for his beloved wife.

“I find Jessamy a very bland name for such a beautiful girl. I shall call you Jamilah. It means graceful and lovely. It will be easier for my household to pronounce.”

I thought of protesting, but then decided against it. He was right. It would be easier for his household to have an Arabic name for me. Jamilah was a beautiful name too.

We continued with our meal and when we reached the dessert the Sheikh looked at me in a funny way.

“What made you come all this way to teach my son? You say your parents care about morals, why did they let their young, unmarried daughter travel this far?”

“My parents know that I’m a strong woman who can take care of herself,” I said in a cold tone. “They also agreed that at the moment it would be a good idea for me to experience a new culture and put some distance between me and my home. But you’re right; they weren’t thrilled with my destination. I think that’s because they know so little about your culture, which was the very reason that attracted me.”

A suspicious look took over his eyes. “Why was there a need for you to go away? I will not have a single mother teaching my son.”

The nerve of that man! “It was because I didn’t want to become a single mum that I came!”

“Explain yourself!”

“My boyfriend was pressurising me to do things that I wasn’t ready to do.”

“Such as?”

“Things that I was brought up believing should only happen between a married couple,” I blushed as I said this. I did not intend to go into any more detail than this. I’d been called a frigid bitch many a time, and maybe I was one, but I wasn’t going to start taking words into my mouth that I wasn’t comfortable uttering.

The Sheikh got up and sat down next to me. He placed his arm around my shoulders and pressed his lips against my neck. “Will you not share my bed tonight?” he whispered suggestively.

“I most certainly will not!” I was enraged. I’d just struggled to tell him all those personal things about myself and now he was forgetting what I’d said.

“I will make it worth your while,” he nibbled my earlobe and his hand started caressing my thigh.

I felt a bolt of lightning go straight to the pit of my stomach. This was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. If I’d felt like this when my boyfriend tried to get intimate with me I might very well have let him.

He seemed to interpret my silence as serious consideration for his proposition. “I’ll double your salary.”

I loved what he was doing to me, but I hated his words.

“How about I treble your salary?” He must have thought I was bartering.

“How dare you assume that I would do such a thing?” I had to dig my nails into the palms of my hands to stop myself from slapping him. “One minute you say that you don’t want a woman like that to teach your son, the next thing I know you’re bartering with me as if I were a common prostitute!”

He leaned back, chuckled, took my hand and kissed my palm. “I just wanted to see if you were the woman you seemed to be. Please forgive me.”

With those words he got up and rang a bell and disappeared into an adjoining room. Shortly afterwards a man servant knocked on the door, I put on the black abaya and exited into the corridor just as a man servant followed by a short woman with a bit too much musky perfume walked past. I looked over and saw her enter the next room down, the room that the Sheikh had disappeared into. The woman must be from his harem. I shuddered at the thought.

At the end of the corridor I was met by a woman who took me through another maze of corridors to my new living quarters. I had a private apartment in the Sheikh’s palace. There was a bedroom with a giant bed and adjoining dressing room where my luggage had been unpacked, and where a selection of Arabian dresses also hung. The bathroom was marble and dominated by a tub that was big enough for two. Finally there was a living room with sofas, book cases, a TV, a computer and a dining set. All the possessions that I’d brought to this faraway country had been neatly arranged in appropriate places and it looked as though I’d made myself comfortable here a long time ago.

Shortly afterwards a young girl entered through a concealed door in the living room.

“Lady Jamilah,” she called me in broken English. “I am Salma, your servant. I have come to help you get ready for bed.”

This was insane! I’d never had a servant in my life and I didn’t feel comfortable getting one now. “Thank you, Salma, but I’ll be able to sort myself out.”

The girl looked horrified. “Lady Jamilah is dissatisfied with me? I did not unpack your suitcases well?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” I protested. “I’m so used to taking care of myself. You really don’t need to help me.”

“It is my job to look after Lady Jamilah. The master will be very unhappy with me if I don’t do my job properly.”

I could tell the girl wouldn’t give in and I was tired so I let her help me get ready for bed. It was a bit uncomfortable, but in truth, I rather enjoyed being pampered. It felt nice to have someone combing my long hair and marvelling at the golden colour of it.

I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow and awoke to the gentle hands of Salma nudging me. Had she been there all night?

“Lady Jamilah, it is time to wake up. The bath is drawn and breakfast will be served in 45 minutes.”

I stepped into the inviting bath and stretched out. A girl could get used to this lifestyle. Soon Salma came in and dropped scented oil in the water. The fragrance was exotic, yet very light and I enjoyed breathing it in. Then Salma reached for my leg and started shaving it. I’d never experienced anything of the kind before, but decided it wasn’t worth protesting. She was a very conscientious girl and I didn’t want to get her in trouble. She then shaved my arms and again I leaned back and forgot all about her until I felt the razor somewhere it shouldn’t be. Before I had time to react Salma had shaved a wide strip on my pussy. Not being very hairy I didn’t have much hair there at all, and I’d always made sure to keep a neat bikini line, but this was new to me.

“Salma!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“I am shaving unwanted hair,” she replied.

“But not… THERE!”

“Hair is bad, dirty, you want to be clean and honourable. Yes?”

I couldn’t disagree with that, and now that she’d started I had to let her finish. It felt bizarre when she finished the shaving. The fluttering in my stomach that I’d felt when the Sheikh was trying to seduce me last night was back and I didn’t understand why. Salma finished by washing my hair and then made me step out into a soft towel and she towelled me dry. The bathroom was full of mirrors and I studied my naked body. I was 5’8 and fairly slim. My wet blonde hair reached down to my firm breasts that measured 34C. My now shaved pussy looked naked and strange to me, but it was highly sensitised when Salma started wiping it with the towel.

Salma walked with me to the dressing room and she told me to wear a turquoise outfit for my first day in the new job. I was slowly suspecting that I shouldn’t have any use for my new wardrobe here. When we stepped out of the dressing room breakfast had been served and I sat down to eat. When I’d finished Salma came back and helped me back into the abaya, rang a bell and disappeared. A woman came to my door and guided me through the palace to a schoolroom.

The Sheikh was standing with his back to the door, looking out of a window as I entered.

“Good morning sir,” I said and he turned around.

“Good morning, Jamilah,” he replied. “I trust you had a restful night?”

“Very,” I said. “And you?”

His eyes smiled playfully, he knew that I’d seen the girl being taken to his room the previous night. “Very…”

I blushed again and lowered my eyes to avoid his piercing gaze.

“You really must stop teasing me with your virtue,” he whispered in my ear and grabbed hold of my arms. “I might need to keep a chaperone around whenever we’re together, and conversation gets very dull when there’s a chaperone present.”

I shivered and didn’t know how to reply. I didn’t know what to think. What did he mean?

“You do not have to wear the abaya in my son’s company,” he continued, back to business again. “You will be warned if someone is about to enter who cannot see your face. All you need to teach him is in this room. Any questions, then ask for Mustafa. He’s in charge of Ahmed’s needs.”

Then he was gone and I went about to familiarise myself with my schoolroom. It had every modern teaching aid I’d ever heard of and then some. No expenses were spared when it came to the heir’s education. The door soon opened and a shy little boy entered.

We spent the day getting acquainted with each other and assessing Ahmed’s learning so far. He hadn’t been given much of an education to date and was behind the levels I would expect a boy his age to be at, but it was obvious that he was a very bright boy and I could tell that I would love teaching him. We had lunch together in the schoolroom and as the afternoon wore on I started getting that funny feeling inside again. Would I be dining with the Sheikh again tonight? Would he be trying to seduce me again? And most importantly, would I be able to resist him again? Part of me knew that my body didn’t want to resist him at all. He’d awoken feelings in me that I’d never felt before.

At the end of the day Ahmed was picked up by Mustafa and I put the schoolroom back in order and put on my abaya. I was soon picked up by one of the women who’d guided me through the palace before and she took me to my room. I had a little nap and then Salma drew me a bath. Despite the palace being built to stay cool, the sun that shone through the windows during the day did make me feel rather hot and sticky and I was happy to bathe before dinner. I was caught completely unawares by my disappointment when Salma handed me a dressing gown and showed me into my living room where dinner had been served.

This routine continued for the next week. Salma would bathe me in the morning; I was taken to the schoolroom where I spent the day with Ahmed, who improved in leaps and bounds. In the evening I was taken back to my apartment where Salma bathed me, served my dinner and then I read or watched TV or planned the next day’s lessons. Each day I longed to see the Sheikh again even more than the day before. I kept telling myself that I wanted to share his son’s progress with him, but I knew that I was lying. I was drawn to that man and I longed to be in his commanding presence again. I’d started having erotic dreams for the first time in my life and for the first time I was actually wondering what it would feel like to be possessed by someone so powerful and with such a strong personality.

As I lay in my bed on my seventh night in the Sheikh’s palace my mind once again wandered to the image of the Sheikh that seemed to be etched on my retinas. I remembered his long fingers and how they’d felt when he tried to seduce me on that first night. I imagined feeling them on my breasts. Cupping them, caressing them, rolling my rose-coloured nipples until they stood proud from my mounds. Almost unconsciously my hands were following my train of thought. I ran my fingers across my stiff nipples and kneaded my breasts gently. Then, still picturing the Sheikh in my mind’s eye, I let my hands slowly caress my stomach and move down to my naked pussy. Keeping me hairless was one of Salma’s daily tasks and I was now used to the smooth feeling down there.

My fingertips lightly caressed my slit and I parted my legs under the sheet. I let one finger slip inside my virgin hole and I buried it in the warm moisture that I was feeling for the first time. I pulled my finger out again and instinctively put it in my mouth, tasting my own juice. I then played with my clit, rubbing it lightly with my damp finger. I let the fingers on my other hand make their way inside me. Two fingers in the hot and damp hole, making my breathing faster and heavier. Instinct took over. My hand was pumping the two fingers in and out, letting them slide into my hole as more and more juices dripped out and down my crack. My other hand kept a steady pressure on my clit. Then it happened. I cried out in surprise as my body buckled and I came.

I licked my fingers clean and then I got up and walked to the bathroom and cleaned myself. When I got back into bed I lay for a while, imagining falling asleep next to the Sheikh after having made love to him. I’d never wanted a man in my life like I wanted him, but I knew I had to resist him. He’d only ever want me for his harem and there was no way on earth I could even fathom such a lifestyle. No, I had to settle for my fantasies.

The next day my young charge was taken out of his class at noon to go spend some time with his grandmother who lived in the nearest city. I asked Mustafa if I could borrow a jeep and go exploring the desert but Mustafa told me that as a woman it was not advisable for me to go out without an escort in this country, and it was also not strictly legal for me to be driving. Twenty minutes later I received word that one of the palace staff could be spared and we should depart within a quarter of an hour. I realised that the Arabian dresses I’d worn every day since my arrival wouldn’t be practical in the desert heat so I dressed in slacks and a long sleeved t-shirt. I packed a scarf that Salma handed me in my bag, just in case, but realised that I was probably going to have to cover myself with the abaya the entire time.

When I got to the jeep a man was already sitting at the steering wheel, looking the other way. I quietly got into my seat and avoided looking at him as I’d noticed in the last week that the men in the palace didn’t approve of females seeking eye contact. He started the engine and drove off. After 15 minutes he pulled in at the side of the road and spoke to me in the voice that had dominated my thoughts and fantasies in the last week.