Aamira has a flashback of her old life as she stood at the window of her small apartment in Karachi, watching the sun dip below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the bustling city. Her thoughts were far from the noisy streets below; they were occupied with the impending changes in her life. In just two days, she would be married to a man she had never met -- a Dubai businessman chosen by her parents.
Her marriage had been arranged in the traditional Pakistani manner, a decision made by her family in pursuit of stability and security. Aamira, though apprehensive, understood the cultural significance and dutifully accepted her fate. Yet, the unknown future weighed heavily on her mind.
She had only seen a photograph of him, a portrait taken in a well-lit room against the backdrop of what seemed like luxury. His name was Hamid, a name that echoed through her thoughts like a distant melody. What would he be like? Would he understand her dreams, her ambitions? Would she find happiness in this union that had been decided for her?
As she folded the curtains shut, Aamira tried to quell the nervous fluttering in her stomach. She had always been a pragmatic woman, guided by logic and tradition. But now, faced with the prospect of spending her life with a stranger in a foreign land, she couldn't help but feel a pang of uncertainty.
Tomorrow, she would fly to Dubai, leaving behind everything she knew -- her family, her friends, her familiar routines. The city of Karachi, with its chaotic charm and familiar faces, suddenly felt both suffocating and comforting. Aamira wondered if Dubai would embrace her or if she would forever remain an outsider in its glittering embrace.
As the night deepened, Aamira found herself grappling with a myriad of emotions -- anticipation, anxiety, curiosity. She closed her eyes and silently prayed for strength and resilience. Whatever awaited her in Dubai, she vowed to face it with grace and dignity.
Little did Aamira know, across the miles in Dubai, Hamid was also contemplating the future that awaited him. Like her, he carried his own hopes and uncertainties about the union that destiny had forged between them.
A sudden sound brought Aamira back to the present. She was settling into the routine of getting massaged by the Bangladeshi maid. What she did not know was the special oil that the maid applied to her nipples, inside the folds of her pussy, and into her asshole, was an aphrodisiac traditionally used on slave girls through history. The Arabs and Turks had used it on the white slaves they captured from Europe to make them compliant and remain aroused to satisfy the Emirs and Sheiks for centuries. This was the oil given to her father-in-law by the Pir when he came to pick her up at the end of her training. It was often used on virgin Pakistani brides who came from conservative families with little knowledge or experience of sex. It was designed to awaken their hidden sexual desires and make them want to please their husbands. Islam allows multiple wives, and it was only natural for a new bride to want to be desirable for her husband.
