Within These Walls 2

Chapter 1

The house was vast and grandiose, a relic of an era long past--breathtaking--in the way giant, crumbling mausoleums were breathtaking. Its regal facade of ivy-covered brick and gleaming columns loomed large over the sprawling lawns, casting lengthy shadows that seemed to creep along the cobbled paths. The air felt heavy with the weight of beeswax polish and gilded pretense, a stark reminder that, despite the apparent grandeur, it was just as hollow as the woman who owned it.

Mrs. Aisha, a woman with long sable hair dotted with gray strands and a stern, unwavering presence, moved through her abode with dark thoughts concerning her son's future. Her eyes darted nervously, her fingers shook almost imperceptibly, but her resolve was unshakable. She knew she was fighting a losing battle. She could already see the twinkle in her son's eyes, the same one she'd seen in his father's when he kept secrets from her. It was a dangerous spark that threatened to consume the fragile sense of loyalty and tradition she'd spent years building in her son.

Ahmed was a tall, handsome young man, just past eighteen. He inherited his father's muscular physique and confidence, which made her heart flutter with equal parts pride and anxiety. But underneath, he nursed a sensitive soul and a sentimental streak ever since he was little. She always extolled him as being a mother's boy, ever ready to take her side of the argument during her altercation with his father. It wouldn't be long before the world took him from her--she could feel it in the air, like the scent of rain before the monsoons.

He had always filled the void left by his father, who was frequently away, gallivanting with women around the world that suited his acquired 'Western taste', leaving behind a discontented wife who nursed her wounds by the filial love of her son. As Ahmed grew and became more absorbed in his social circles, she noticed that he grew more distant. She knew of the rumors surrounding some of his friends, of their loose adulterous ways, that could easily sway her son to follow in their path. She couldn't allow that to happen -- to lose him to the world. Her whole life depended on Ahmed upholding their family's values and traditions while remaining close to her. To that end, Aisha made a choice that would test the love she bore her son, a hard choice.

She summoned Jameela, her trusted house servant, a warm and nurturing woman from Sri Lanka, and asked her to assist Ahmed in his... discovery of maturity. Jameela, an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, had dark curly hair flowing gently down her shoulders and a graceful poise that was impossible to ignore. As a mother, she felt the troubles occupying her mistress' heart.

"You know my fears, Jameela." Aisha began tentatively, "Ahmed is becoming curious in ways that I cannot fulfill. You know that vanity and adultery are the worst of sins and the most successful allures in snatching our beloved from us. I am coming to understand that Religion and stern discipline have failed to keep youths on the right path and have instead driven a considerable number of them to extremes. After all, they are only following the calls of their growth, which is at odds with our social and religious standards."

She took a deep breath and sighed. "Too often, we have heard of youths who were the pride of their families and who subsequently floundered down the path of prostitutes, drugs, and psychiatric wards."

Here, she paused as tears brimmed in her troubled eyes. Jameela watched her as she listened with concern. Aisha raised her head and continued, "I want him to be happy. I have raised him, and I still want him to continue to live happily, undaunted by strict rules, only to seek hedonistic pursuits once he is beyond the reach of his domestic prosecutors. I don't want a wall of lies to be raised between him and us, to cut us off when he needs me most! Just the other, I heard what happened to my friend's son..." Here, her voice faltered as a few sobs escaped her. Her servant who stood patiently with sympathizing eyes, took the moment to embrace her. After several minutes, Aisha calmed down and continued.

"What I am driving at Jameela is that if my boy is in the prime of his sexual craving - and believe me, I know for I have been through his laundry - what better way to do that than here, within these walls, with someone he trusts?"

Jameela hesitated, searching the depths of her mistress' words, trying to comprehend the enormity of her request. It would be a sin still, a petition for adultery, but she knew that Mrs. Aisha's heart was in the right place, even if her methods differed.

"What about marriage, madame?" she suggested timidly.

Aisha waved that suggestion off irritably. "You know the divorce rates in this country as well as I do." She retorted. "Youngsters are rushed into marriages more for quelling their impulses than for finding each other compatible. Those bigots who sermon on the values of marriage!"

She sighed again. "He will eventually leave this house and experience things outside of our customs and traditions. He will leave for college abroad next year. He will fall prey to temptations and risks. I cannot bear the thought of him getting lost in the world, drifting away from his family, from our heritage, from me!" Jameela watched a teardrop slip down her mistress' cheek, reflecting the faint lamplight like a falling star. She contemplated silently as she nodded, her eyes bearing the weight of her mistress' request. She understood perfectly what was demanded of her.

Finally coming to a decision, she said, "I understand, Madame," she hesitated. "I will help you, for both your sakes," she murmured, lowering her gaze. She understood the depth of her mistress' desperation and her willingness to bend right and wrong rules to keep her son safe. But as a dominating mother, she was crossing a line. Jameela couldn't help but feel a twist of sympathy for both. It was easy for her to see that, despite the stern exterior, Aisha's love--or perhaps, devotion--for the young lad ran deep. So deep that it had led her down a murky path she never could have imagined.

Chapter 2

With its gaudy wallpaper, Jameela's dimly lit room seemed to close in on the maid as she sat on the edge of her sagging bed, her mistress sitting next to her, seemingly out of place in the servant's quarters. Her eyes darted around the chamber, falling on the window that looked out onto the overgrown garden, the filmy curtains casting a spectral glow over the tangled foliage outside. A shiver of discomfort ran through her veins like ice, sending a chill down her spine and pooling in her stomach like a cold stone. Her mind raced with doubts and trepidations.

"Am I certain about this? Once I embark on this journey, there's no going back, " she thought aloud, her voice barely above a whisper, wavering uncertainly. Aisha mustered up a smile as her hands squeezed Jameela's. The warmth radiated from her in waves but did nothing to assuage the maid's fears.

"You are doing this for me and for my son, for our family. This is for his greater good," Aisha said, her voice firm but laced with a tinge of sadness. Jameela closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling a shaky sigh as she resigned herself to her fate. She thought of her family far away in her village, her hardworking husband, her mother caring for her children, and her two boys when she required looking after them. She missed her two children. They were in distant lands, far away from this house, their laughter distant echoes in her mind. The burden of her heart weighed heavily upon her as she felt the cold hand of responsibility graze her heart. She closed her eyes, her fingers making tiny circles upon her thigh, where a teardrop left an iridescent stain. Her mistress saw it and admonished her. "Now, no need for this! I know you, you're your husband. I know how alone you must feel at night. After all, you might come to like it. This might be good for both of you." She stood up, giving Jameela's hands a comforting squeeze before turning away and leaving the room without another word.

It all felt wrong, Jameela thought as she contemplated her mistress's parting words. She couldn't help but wonder just how far down this path she was willing to tread and whether it would be the beginning or the end for all of them. The walls seemed to close around her, suffocating, as she slipped out of her simple cotton clothes and onto the lumpy mattress. Her breathing was heavy and erratic, a cacophony of discomfort and reluctance. Every breath hitched in her throat as if she were on the cusp of screaming but never quite gearing up the courage to do so.

Chapter 3

Moonlight poured into the maid's room like a molten flood, illuminating every corner with a cold yet gentle hand. The musk of stale perfume hung in the air, the perfume she wore for her husband. It was a favorite scent that he appreciated on her. It was the scent she was using now, for a young man she had doted on as her own son. She had bathed and put on her best blouse and ankle-length skirt. She had combed her long sable hair and let it fall around her face instead of having it bound up in braids during work hours. She sat straight back and apprehensively on her narrow bed

"This is work," she thought. "Work of a different kind."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she turned to the gentle rapping at her door. The handle turned, and Aisha quietly led her son in. Jameela noticed similar signs of trepidation on Ahmed's pale countenance, how his teenage body seemed to vibrate with barely contained energy, his muscles tense, and his skin glistened with a faint sweat. She took in his tousled hair and the faint stubble shadowing his strong jawline--the markers of a young man's transition into adulthood. Her eyes lingered on the contours of his muscular shoulders, the way they tapered down into a narrow, toned waist, only to flare out again into his powerful thighs. Her practiced eye noticed the faint outline of his cock pressed against his pants, belying his anticipation and sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through her veins. So, he was nursing an eagerness, she thought. She was surprised to notice in herself that she was, too.

"Son," his mother addressed him softly. "Remember what I told you. There are wrongs done all over the world for truths that are subconsciously denied. I know that you are good and harbor a sensitive soul. God knows I am your mother. But there is no denying that man is weak, no matter how much he swears to the contrary. I know you have been nursing these urges for some time."

She raised her hand and spoke again more promptly to stop her son's rising argument. "I have seen the telltale signs in your laundry and under your bed. I do not condemn you for the filthy porn that you stash and your incessant masturbating."

She raised her hand to his cheek as he looked down abashed and silent. She spoke softly, "I know all too well that God has implanted these urges in all of us. Maybe we are too carried away in bestowing discipline."

"I grant you this, my son: the urges of flesh are part of us and cannot be quelled easily. I would rather you succumb to it here and get acquainted with it within these walls! Under my supervision, then behind my back."

She gestured to where Jameela was sitting on her bed, saying, "Jameela has graciously taken up this task of helping you sate these urges. With no judgment or prejudice, I allow you to do what your heart desires with her. Remember that though Jameela is our servant, she is a mother of two boys and has always been kind and faithful to us. She is considered family. Treat her with respect as you do your own mother or sister." Her gaze was steady and heavy with the gravity of her words. Her son nodded silently, unsure of how to process the surge of emotions that washed over him like a turbulent wave. A part of him felt repulsed--sickened, even--by the mere suggestion that had been made. And yet, another part of him, buried deep in his primal, carnal soul, could not help but acknowledge the exhilarating thrill that snuck up on him like a thief in the night. The forbidden allure of his mother's request was a tantalizing enigma--a temptation he knew he must resist but one that he could not help but long to indulge.

Before he could utter a complaint, his mother planted a kiss on his forehead before turning away and leaving the room. They were alone with an unwanted heat that both recognized yet would rather pretend didn't exist. Jameela sighed heavily with the burden of her resolve. She before breaking the tension-filled silence.

"I know this is uncomfortable for you, but I must ask that you trust me and your mother." She paused, rising from the bed to approach him and gently touching his tense shoulder.

"I understand how strange and wrong this may feel to you and believe me when I say it is not an easy choice for me either." She let out a sigh, her dark eyes softened with empathy. "But this needs to be done," she stole a brief glimpse at the tent of erection.

"And I know that deep down, you want it."

He swallowed hard, feeling the intensity of her gaze burning through him like a branding iron. The conflicting emotions warring within his chest made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. He nodded, resigned, as she took his silence as acquiescence.

"Come, let's sit," she suggested, patting her side of the rumpled bed that was barely large enough to fit them both. She perched on the very edge, looking up at him through thick lashes, her gaze unwavering. Her heart pounded furiously as she waited for him to join her.

Despite himself, he hesitated. This servant, this mother of two, who was supposed to be part of their family, made him feel uneasy yet strangely aroused. She looked so different from her everyday routine, so alluring. Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her angular face and dark, shining eyes. She had the kind of beauty only found in women who had weathered the storms of life and emerged stronger for it. She was a striking contrast to the Arab and Western girls he had grown accustomed to lusting after.

He edged closer to her. His young body continued to betray his thoughts and the shameful growing desire he felt in his groin. His erection pressed insistently against the fabric of his pants, a blatant reminder that his body was not immune to the hypnotizing allure that this housemaid exuded. Jameela's penetrating dark eyes examined him, and a small smirk tugged at the corners of her full lips. She knew the effect she had on him, and despite her warring emotions, she reveled in the sense of power she felt at this moment, the permission exacted to her to do what she wanted with this lad.

Like the moon caressing the sea in the night's quiet, she extended her arm, her hand gently brushed against his firm thigh. The contact felt electric like lightning sizzling through his veins and lingering on his skin. Her touch seared him, tantalizing his already-roused sensations and setting his heart racing. The sound of his rapid breathing filled the room. He still wavered but found himself drowning in desire, unmoving as her hand ventured further, caressing the bulge of his cock through his pants.

"Don't fight it," she breathed, her voice scarcely audible. "You must trust me."

Her fingers danced over the fabric of his trousers, tracing the outline of his cock for what felt like an eternity before finally freeing him from his confines. He sprung forth, hard, veiny, and flushed, a droplet of pre-cum glistening at the tip. The air in the room was tense; the only sound was their interspersed heavy breathing. She grasped his throbbing manhood with a firm yet gentle grip, smearing the droplet of pre-cum over the head with her thumb. A soft gasp escaped his lips as she started to stroke, slow at first, allowing him to fully experience and savor each minute movement of her hand on his shaft. His heart raced in a frenzy of excitement, his cock throbbing at her touch.

The moonlight cast a haunting glow over her face, her expression a mixture of vulnerability and determination, as she continued to stroke his member, gentle yet firm. His mind reeled, thoughts of shame and wrongdoing vanishing like smoke in the wind as he surrendered to the waves of pleasure coursing through him. Biting back a moan, he gazed at her, who continued her slow and steady ministrations.

"Oh," he muttered, words dripping off his tongue with a sultry intensity. A bitter-sweet mix of disbelief and desire bubbled in his chest. She was driving him wild with her touch.

His excitement and desires were chasing away the inner haunting shame.

As she started to carefully peel off his T-shirt, exploring his body with her skilled hands, he remembered his mother's words, and he could feel the seductive fire burning in the depths of his soul.

He breathed hoarsely as she traced her fingers over the soft muscles of his torso, her fingertips leaving little trails of pleasure in their wake. The pungent scent of her perfume assaulted his nostrils, and he felt himself a stranger in a place not his own. Her eyes gleamed with a dark and tantalizing desire as she took in his naked form, the hunger apparent in her gaze.

"I want to taste every inch of you," she whispered, her voice dripping with lust.

And without another word, she lowered herself to her knees before him. Her warm, wet tongue flicked out, tracing a path from the base of his cock to the tip, lapping up his pre-cum with relish. He stopped himself from shifting backwards, startled by the new assault of strange enveloping sensations. He tentatively brough his hands to his seductress' head, his fingers weaving themselves into her thick, silky hair as she wrapped her luscious lips around him. A ragged breath escaped him as he watched her take him in, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. She moved purposefully, her mouth a vortex of warmth threatening to consume him whole. She worshipped his cock with her lips, tongue, and hands as she explored every straining inch of him.

"Ah," he muttered, his voice low and guttural, sounding the expletive he acquired from his peers. As her warm, wet lips encased more of his swollen member. Her tongue massaged the sensitive underside of his shaft, sending waves of pleasure rocketing through him.

"You taste amazing, Ahmed," she purred, her voice reverberating through the dimly lit room.

The eroticism of her words pulsed through him like an electric current, fueling the aching pleasure that radiated from his swollen member. Her head bobbed, sinuous and slow, as she sucked him mercilessly, each pull drawing a ragged gasp from deep in his core. Her hot mouth was a silken vise, teasing him to the edge of sanity. He wanted her to stop; to warn her that he was about to flood her eager mouth with all his pent-up desires.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Moaning with pleasure, he couldn't hold back any longer; his release came with a ragged cry as his seed filled Jameela's hungry mouth. He knees buckled from the repercussions of his orgasm he collapsed onto the bed, panting and spent, as she knelt over him, lapping at the last dregs of pleasure with her talented tongue. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction; she smiled as she swiped her tongue up his chest, tasting the salty residue on her lips. The sight of her victory sent a shiver of arousal down his spine right amid an impending wave of regret.

God, who would have thought a woman like Jameela would be so fucking sexy and uninhibited, turning their forbidden act into an intoxicating dance under the express demand of his own mother, and who probably at this moment, overheard them in the next room. Jameela raised her head, eyes dark and hooded with lust as she crawled up to him and placed her hand firmly on his chest. Her weight was minimal, yet she felt like a goddess as he inhaled sharply under her touch. She leaned to whisper in his ear, teeth gently nibbling at the lobe, eliciting a guttural groan.