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For a list of all the Devil’s Pact Chapters and other stories click here

This is a revised version of the story that I published on Smashword starting back in 2014. It is rewritten with much-added material. However, I did have to age up some of the characters so no one is underage in this version.

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Click here for Blonde’s Sexy Fun, Chapter 6.

Click here for Tales from the Orgy Chapter 6.

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Thursday, June 6th, 2013 – Lucy McKay – South Hill, WA

My hands wiped sweat onto my khaki pants. They were part of my uniform at the South Hill Buy Best. Khaki pants and blue polo shirts with a yellow nametag. I swallowed, my eyes wide in shock at what was happening.

An orgy. An actual orgy had broken out in my job. In the electronic section. Mark Glassner, the man behind it, stood naked before us, his cock hard and dripping with one customer’s pussy juices. That woman gasped and moaned as she was fucked. Beside her, my coworker Jessie lay bent over the counter while Kevin, another coworker, fucked her from behind. Men queued behind Kevin, all eager to fuck Jessie.

The orgy shouldn’t be going on anywhere, let alone in the middle of the store. And yet it felt so natural. Mark’s voice had boomed over the PA system and it all made sense. There was nothing wrong with it. It was only sex. And sex was normal, even beautiful.

Mark’s eyes scanned over the crowd. I perked up, hoping he would choose me next. I wanted to be fucked. I was so horny. My pussy was on fire. My poor panties must be soaked, trying to contain the flood of excitement pouring out of my cunt.

I was at work and I wanted to get fucked.

“You two blondes, the Middle-Eastern girl, and you with the big tits, come forward!” Mark barked.

I sighed. I wasn’t blonde, didn’t have big tits, and wasn’t Middle Eastern. I touched my curly brown locks spilling about my shoulders. I never liked being a brunette. And now I had another reason to hate my hair as the four women stepped…

She was beautiful.

My breath caught. I trembled as I stared at the Middle-Eastern girl wearing a conservative dress and a colorful headscarf, hiding her hair. Only her face showed, dusky and perfect. I stared at her profile as she stood before Mark, shivering.

My heart beat so fast. A surge of lust shot through me. I never thought of myself as bisexual, I just never cared if I made love to a man or woman. It was just sex. But seeing her stirred something more inside of me.

“Names?” Mark asked.

“Marcy,” purred the busty girl. She was tall and black-haired. I hardly noticed her.

“I’m Fatima,” answered the beauty.

“Fatima,” I whispered, savoring her name. It was gorgeous. A perfect name.

“I’m Veronica,” the first blonde said.

“I’m Ashley,” the other blonde answered.

“Ladies, pick a partner and start fucking,” Mark said. He smiled, glancing at us in the crowd. “If they choose you, do what they want.”

I hoped Fatima would pick me. I would do anything for her, even if Mark hadn’t ordered it. His voice was so…demanding. It insisted on being obeyed and I was more than happy to do it. The four women turned, then chose their partners. I only paid attention to Fatima. Her eyes darted around, searching, a look of disgust crossing her face.

She couldn’t find the right person. And then her gaze stopped at me.

My eyes widened as I realized she chose me. I trembled in shock. She picked me. Not one of the men, but me. My heart thudded. I wanted to say something, but I was too afraid. What if I spoke and she changed her mind?

Fatima knelt before me. I could only breath as she reached up and unfastened my khaki pants. I trembled, squirming, as the zipper rasped down. I stared into her soft, dark eyes as she pulled my khaki pants and panties down, exposing my landing strip of brown hair leading to the top of my shaved pussy. Her eyes widened as she stared at my cunt, lust burning across her face.

She wanted this. She had craved being with a woman despite the taboo of her culture and religion. And now she was indulging. With me. She chose me. My heart beat even faster. This was a magical moment. Something we would share for the rest of our lives.

Fatima pressed her face into my pussy. Her eyes fluttered as her lips nuzzled at my snatch, teasing me. And then she licked. Her tongue parted my folds, sliding through it and brushing my clit. I groaned as she took her first taste of a woman’s passion.

And she loved it.

I could see it in her face. Her eyes smoldered as she licked me over and over. Then she moaned and seized my ass, pulling my pussy tight against her mouth. She licked me with a frantic need. I groaned, squirming on her, letting her indulge her lesbian desire for the first time.

With me.

My heart pounded in joy. She was so wonderful. So amazing. I couldn’t help moaning, “Oh, shit. Jesus, what the fuck…oh, crap! Ohhh, that feels nice. Mhhh, tongue my clit.”

And she did. Her nub found my pink clit and swirled around it. I closed my eyes and savored it. She was my lover. Mine.

* * *

Thursday, June 20th, 2013 – Puyallup, WA

“Fatima,” I murmured, rising up from my slumber and reaching for my lover.

After two weeks of pining after Fatima since the Buy Best Incident, I finally got through to her, and my little Arab vixen was mine. Mine. I had fallen in love with her from the moment I saw her step before Mark. And then we spent the entire orgy making love to each other. Sometimes Mark fucked us. And other men came on us, but it didn’t matter. We were lost to our own world of sapphic delight, licking and tonguing each other.

Loving each other.

I thought we had this deep connection, but then she wanted nothing to with me once the orgy ended. She claimed she wasn’t a lesbian, that it was only the gas which made her have sex with me. But I knew the truth. I saw it in her eyes even as she tried to deny it.

She loved me. She wanted me.

So I didn’t give up. I kept calling and texting her. Finally, this evening was the support meeting for the “victims” of the Buy Best Incident. I bared my soul to her, and the other people there, pouring out my love. It moved her so much she fled in tears. I followed. Fatima couldn’t fight it any longer and we kissed.

It was a kiss that poets right about. My heart almost stopped. I drank in the feel of her. I breathed her in and drank her love. The dam had broken in her. She couldn’t hold back her desires any longer. She had surrendered to them and became mine. We came back to my apartment and had the greatest, most mind-blowing sex of my life. Sure, I hadn’t had a lot of sex, but I was willing to call that some of the best sex the universe had ever witnessed.

My hand reached and swiped across my bed, searching. I didn’t find her.

“Fatima?” I called, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

My bed was empty. I glanced at the clock and saw it was a little after three in the morning. I hadn’t been sleeping that long, maybe an hour since our last bout of love-making. I stretched and stood up.

“Fatima?” I called louder.

I walked out of my bedroom into my living room/kitchen. My one-bedroom, basement apartment was so tiny that there was no separation from the kitchen and the living room, not even a counter. I frowned, wondering where she was. Did she go home? Panic gripped me.

Did she leave me? Had her out-dated religion driven her away again.

Fear pumped through my body, compelling me to find her. I dashed outside to check if her car was still in the parked on the street. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw it. “Thank god,” I muttered, the air cool on my skin.

And then my eyes widened. I was naked. I was outside and I was naked.

Flushing, I tried to cover myself as best I could, one arm over my breasts, a hand covering my pussy. I darted back down the concrete stairs, my bare feet slapping, and burst into my apartment, slamming the door behind me.

“That was stupid,” I panted and leaned against my closed door. I breathed out a sigh of relief.

Luckily, no one saw me.

So where was my lover? She didn’t drive away. Did she go out on a late-night walk? But her clothing was still scattered about my apartment, mixed with mine. We had ripped each others clothes off in our ardor. Then I noticed the light on in my bathroom, spilling out through the crack at the bottom of the door.

I padded over. “Fatima?” I asked, knocking softly. “Are you in there?”

Silence.

I knocked harder. “Are you okay?”

Silence. My heart quickened its beat. I heard a drop strike water, like my faucet was leaking. It did if you didn’t tighten it. I grabbed the door and tried to turn it, but it was locked. Fatima was in there and she wasn’t answering.

“Fatima?” I pounded on the door, my heart beating faster and faster. “Are you okay?”

Still no answer. I grabbed the doorknob and twisted again, hoping that I was mistaken about it being locked. My sweaty palm slipped around it. The doorknob didn’t turn. She went to take a bath or something and must have fallen and hit her head. She was in there, hurt.

“Don’t worry! I’m opening the door! I’ll help you” I shouted, worry pricking at my heart, urging it to beat faster and faster. I reached above the door, the frame forming a small shelf, and grabbed the small piece of brass rod lying on it. My hand shook as I fitted the rod into the small hole in the doorknob and pressed on the lock.

It clicked.

I ripped the door open. Steam washed over me and I froze, my exclamation dying on my open mouth.

My lover, my beautiful Arab vixen, was pale as she lay in my tub, her head lolling. The water was rose-colored. A knife bloody on the white tiles of the floor. My heart stopped. I could only stare in horror.

“Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod!” My thoughts disintegrated in panic.

I slipped on the wet floor as I rushed to her. I landed hard on my left hand. I ignored the pain as I scrambled to my feet. I had to get to her. My feet squeaked as I twisted around and grabbed her arm. She was still warm, her chest rising and falling slowly.

Thank god she was still alive.

My mind kept telling me I had to do something. I had to do something or she would die. Bleed to death. I had to stop the bleeding. I grabbed one of my towels, wrapping it around her arm.

Now what?

Get help, a voice screamed in my head.

I rushed out of the bathroom, frantic to find my phone. I cast my gaze about then spotted my discarded purse by the door. I rushed to it, my arm throbbing. I grabbed my purse and dumped its contents across my floor. I threw aside lipstick tubes, tampons, keys, change, and all that other crap in my purse before I found my phone.

I dialed.

It rang.

“911, what is the nature of your emergency.”

“She’s bleeding to death!” I shouted into the phone, my heart beating frantic.

It seemed an eternity until the paramedics arrived. I had the phone pressed up against my ear as I held up Fatima’s arm, keeping pressure on the wound. Her blood stained through the towel. I kept staring at the door while the 911 operator assured me, “They are coming.”

Finally, boots thudded then three men wearing tight, blue t-shirts and dark-blue pants walked calmly into my apartment like there wasn’t an emergency in the world. They entered the bathroom and looked down at her, talking. One snatched a bathrobe, hanging from a hook on my bathroom door, and handed it to me. “Here you go, Miss.”

I flushed in embarrassment, I was still naked. I covered myself as they went to work on her, flexing my fingers of my left hand. It hurt so badly and I had no idea why.

When I was sure they were working on her, I retreated into my bedroom. They were going to take her to the hospital, and I needed to get dressed. My mind whirled. What had happened to her? How was she cut? Was it an accident? Or did she… ?

No, I couldn’t think that. She wouldn’t do that. Not after last night. She was so happy. Everything was perfect.

I ripped open my drawer, wincing again at the pain flaring up my left hand. What had I done to it? I tried to remember, but thoughts were so hard to come. Then I noticed what was on my nightstand. There was a piece of notebook paper covered in crisp writing. I dropped the panties I grabbed out of my drawer and walked to the nightstand. I picked up the letter, my hands shaking as I read her flowing, cursive script:

Dearest Lucy,

Tonight was the happiest night of my life. I never felt more loved than I had tonight. It was a sweet dream.

But it is time I woke up. I am a good Muslim girl, and what we did was a sin. A sweet, pleasant sin. I cannot fight it. My heart aches for it too much. All I can do is wake up from this dream.

Know that I love you with all my heart.

Fatima

My tears stained the letter. I read it over and over in shock. She tried to kill herself. I sat on my couch, the letter in my hand, guilt squeezing my chest until it felt like I was suffocating. “I didn’t mean for this, Fatima,” I told her as they carried her by on a stretcher. “I just wanted us to be happy together. I’m so sorry.”

* * *

Friday, June 21st, 2013 – Fatima Tawfeek – Puyallup, WA

My eyes felt like they weighed a ton, refusing to open as I swam up to fuzzy consciousness.

A mask was on my face, covering my lips and nose. Sticky circles were stuck to my chest, pulling at my skin as I shifted. Something pinching my right, middle finger, and what felt like a needle was stuck in my left wrist. I struggled and struggled to wake up, fighting to open my eyes. With a great effort, I forced them open and stared up at white, the lights bright, hurting my eyes.

Where was I? Paradise?

No, Paradise wouldn’t smell so antiseptic.

I wrinkled my nose, blinking against the glare. My head turned.

And I saw my father glowering down at me. I looked down my body and saw the hospital gown covering me. I didn’t die I realized with a sinking feeling. Why was I still alive? Who saved me and brought me to the hospital? Lucy?

I glanced again at my father; hatred and shame burned in his eyes.

He knew. He knew my great shame. I wilted beneath the intensity of his gaze before looking away. On the other side of my bed, my mother sat demurely. She wore a dark jilbāb over her body, and a colorful shaylah covered her head. She was a proper Muslim woman.

Unlike me.

Tears ran hot out of my eyes and down my cheeks as I shamefully remembered how amazing being with Lucy had been. The passion of kissing her, feeling her skin, her wet pussy. The way I had licked every inch of her body, devouring her. And the way she had loved me. Sucking on my nipples, nuzzling at my pussy.

The pleasure we had shared…

Why couldn’t I have just died? It would have been so much easier than having to live with this crushing guilt and the hatred burning in my father’s eyes. I had disappointed him and Allah the Most Merciful with sin.

“That girl was here,” my father barked in Arabic. “That whorish girl you shamed yourself with!”

“I am sorry, Father,” I said respectfully, my mouth dry, my voice hoarse. “I was weak and—”

“Weak!” he roared. “You were her fucking whore! Now I know why you refused to date all those boys. You fucking lesbian! Do you know how much shame you have brought on your family?”

“I…”

Father just kept on yelling, not letting me get a word in. “If we were back in Lebanon, I would slit your whorish throat.”

An honor killing. I swallowed, fear gripping my heart. Why, oh why did I have to live? I should be dead. The family’s honor would have been upheld and my shame atoned. None would have to know the details. Know that I was filth.

“You will never step foot in my house again, whore!” He glanced at my mom and barked, “We are leaving!”

My mom looked at him, and I saw a hint of iron in her eyes. “Go. I will join you in a minute. Let me say goodbye to my daughter.”

“She is not your daughter! She’s just a filthy, lesbian whore!”

My mother stared at him. Father’s fists balled-up and his body tensed. Then he exhaled in disgust and stormed out. I had never seen Mother stand up to him before. She took my right, uninjured hand and kissed my palm.

“I wish I had your courage,” she whispered to me. “Be strong, my dear. Be true to yourself. I love you!” Then she handed me a note. “Lucy left this for you before your father drove her off.”

She stood up to leave. “Wait, what did you mean? What courage did you not have?”

She looked at me, smiling sadly. “I had my own Lucy, but I was too scared to be with her. Too frightened of the consequences.”

And then she swept out of the room. My mind tried to understand what my mother had said. It seemed impossible that she could be like me—a lesbian. It was such a foreign thought. She was the epitome of a good, Muslim woman. Married to a faithful man, giving him many sons and daughters, devoting herself to Allah. How could she be a sinner like me?

It was easier to look at Lucy’s letter than to consider my mother had the same shameful desires I possessed.

Dear Fatima,

I cannot tell you how much I love you and how much guilt I feel for driving you to his desperate act. Our night together was the most amazing moment of my life. I do not wish to give it up. I love you so much.

I wanted to tell you this in person, but your father would not let me see you, and sending a text just didn’t seem appropriate. Your mother seems understanding, so hopefully she will deliver this to you. I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. I ache to be with you. But I need to give you up.

I’ve heard that if you really love someone, then you want what is best for them. And I want what’s best for you, my love. Your faith and your desires tear at you. I am temptation that only causes you pain instead of joy. Therefore, I will stay away. I do not ever want to be responsible for you hurting yourself. I could not live with myself if that happened again. You will always be in my heart, and I will treasure our night together until the day I die.

Farewell my love,

Lucy

I cried until I felt wrung out. I was so selfish that I had never even considered how Lucy would feel finding me dead in her bathtub. I could feel her pain bleeding through her words. I had cut her more deeply than I had cut into my own wrist. I had thought suicide was the easy way out. And maybe it was for me, but not for Lucy or my mother.

What had I done?

I had to spend the weekend in the hospital. Despite all the nurses, doctors, and counselors, I had never felt more alone in my life. I read and reread Lucy’s letter while my mother’s words echoed in my head. Was she gay? Is that what she meant? Did she want me to be with Lucy? I was so confused, and the counselors I talked to didn’t help. I just couldn’t open up to them and tell them what had happened.

* * *

Monday, June 24th, 2013

Monday arrived and I was discharged from Good Sam Hospital, my wrist bandaged up and a prescription for penicillin and vicodin in my hand. I was wearing some clothes my mother had packed in a suitcase she’d left behind. I also found a wad of twenties totaling a couple of hundred dollars. It was her savings. She always kept whatever was leftover out of the household expenses that Father gave her—a rainy day fund. The nurse wheeled me out to the front door and then I climbed out of the wheelchair.

I didn’t know what to do. I had nowhere to go.

My father had disowned me, my mother was forbidden to speak with me, and Lucy wanted nothing to do with me. All my friends were devout Muslims. No doubt they had all heard the scandalous details of my suicide, my sin, and would now shun me.

Desperate, I dug through my purse to find my cell phone. Maybe there was someone on there I could call? Instead, I found a slip of paper. I remembered the woman I met at the support meeting. Like me, she had her life changed by the orgy. She was such a nice woman, offering to help. Her name was Ashley.

I had no one else to turn to, so I called her.

I leaned against the wall of the hospital as I dialed the unfamiliar number. My stomach twisted as the phone rang and rang. What if she was lying about turning to her for help? What if it was just a kind gesture and not a sincere offer?

The phone picked up. “Hello?”

“Is this…Ashley?” I squirmed.

“It is. Who is this?”

“Fatima.” I swallowed. “We met at the support meeting on Thursday. You gave me your number.”

“Oh, yes, you were that trembling thing. How did things work out for you?”

Tears burned in my eyes. “N-not well. I…I don’t have anyone else to turn to. I just was discharged from the hospital. Good Sam. And…And…”

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” Ashley said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’ll help you out.”

“Thank you,” I said in relief.

The time passed so slowly. Every time a new car pulled into the large circle before Good Sam, I hoped it was Ashley and then I was disappointed. I paced, I squirmed, I played with the tasseled fringe of my shaylah. Finally, a car pulled up, and the blonde, busty woman stepped out, a concerned smile on her beautiful face. She was much more conservatively dressed than the slinky, black dress she’d worn Thursday night.

“You look like hell,” Ashley told me as she walked up to me. “So, where to?”

“I…I don’t know,” I said, and I could feel the tears burning as they ran down my face. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

She gave me a hug and said, “Let’s get some coffee and talk.”

“Okay,” I whimpered, hugging her, loving her embrace. The feel of another human.

We drove to the Starbuzz Coffee Shop across the street from the South Hill Mall. I could see the Buy Best from here. Everything had gone wrong there. I couldn’t help staring at it. Lucy worked there. Was she working today?

Ashley bought me a chai tea and an iced coffee for herself, then we sat down at a small table by the window. I took a sip of the tea, letting it flow down my throat. Warm, the flavor relaxing. I set it down before me then stared at my hands, the bandage peeking out of my sleeve.

“What happened to you?” Ashley asked.

I bit my lip, hesitating, not sure if I should tell her. Then I sighed. What was the point in hiding it? “I tried to kill myself.”

Ashley nodded her head. “Because of the girl?”

“How did you know?” I asked in shock.

“I was there at the support group.” She shook her head in exasperation. “It was clear to anyone that you two were in love. So what happened?”

“We sinned,” I answered. “I brought shame to my family by—being with her.”

“I see.” There was a hint of frost in her tone. I frowned then remembered that she was gay.

I shifted uncomfortably. “I just…I mean I couldn’t live with myself after…um…that.” The memory warmed through me. It was paradise. Sinful paradise. “I just…felt so guilty for enjoying it so much and…”

“Oh, honey, there’s nothing wrong in loving another person.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. Her touch was so soft, so comforting. “You need to follow your own heart’s desires or you will be miserable.”

“But Allah says it is wrong,” I objected. I wanted to believe her.

“Muslims believe in the same God as Christians, right?” Ashley asked.

“Yes. Muhammad, peace be upon him, is the last of a long line of prophets.”

“Well, honey. My God loves all of mankind. Even you.”

I wanted to believe that Allah loved me, but how could he? I was a dirty, shameful sinner. “No, he cannot love me. What I did was wrong, and my heart yearns to do it again.”

She gave my hand a loving squeeze. “Honey, every single human being is a sinner. God loves us all nonetheless. Imagine that. Every one of us does something he doesn’t like, and yet he still loves us. He doesn’t want us to be unhappy. That’s what judgmental busybodies say. They think their shit doesn’t stink, that they’re better than the rest of us. Honey, they are not. We’re all the same. All sinner and all worthy of being happy despite that.”

It could not be that simple. “But what I did… It is such a great sin.”

“All sins are equal in the eyes of God, okay.” She paused, staring at me. “Do you want to be with her?”

I nodded my head. “So much. I ache for her. The feel of her, the taste of her.” I pressed my thighs together. My pussy burning for my Lucy’s sweet touch.

“Then go and be with her. Live your life as well as you can and be happy.”

Was Ashley right? Could I be with Lucy and still be loved by Allah? Still be a Muslim? I downed my chai tea. Be true to yourself. I love you! Mother had told me. I felt a growing strength inside me. I wanted Lucy. I wanted happiness. I didn’t want to turn out like my mother, married to a man I feared but did not love all because I was too scared to be true to myself.

To love whom my heart yearned for.

“Can you drive me to the Best Buy?” I asked Ashley.

She smiled and gave my hand one last squeeze.

* * *

Lucy McKay – South Hill, WA

I tried to forget her. My Arab vixen.

My Fatima.

But I couldn’t. All weekend long I tried to forget her. And now that I was back at work, I kept having to sneak off to the bathroom to cry. I missed her so much. I wanted to hug her and kiss her and make all her pain go away.

The only problem was me. I was the source of her pain.

What I thought was the greatest moment of my life was the cause of her greatest shame. I had caused her so much pain that she had tried to kill herself. All because I wanted to selfishly love her. Guilt gnawed at me. Was I too aggressive in my pursuit? Had I rushed her? It was so obvious now that she wasn’t ready to handle our relationship. She had led such a sheltered, strict life.

When I had wrote her that letter and said my goodbyes, I had known just how deep my love for her had been. Despite how much I longed to be with her, I’d rather she was alive and happy without me than sad and guilt-ridden with me.

It was the right decision to make, even if it broke my heart to make it.

“Lucy.”

Great, now I was hearing her voice. Was my longing for Fatima so bad that I was hallucinating?

“I’m sorry, Lucy.”

I turned and jumped. I don’t know why it surprised me to see her standing behind me. She had just said my name twice. She was beautiful, despite her wan appearance. She was dressed in a long, gray skirt and a loose, floral blouse. Her beautiful black hair was hidden beneath a colorful headscarf, leaving only her dusky, round face.

“You hurt your hand,” she whispered, pointing.

I became conscious of the wrist brace I wore on my left arm. I had sprained it slipping on my bathroom floor that night. I was so keyed up on adrenaline I hadn’t even realized I hurt myself for an hour.

I could see the white bandage peeking out of her left sleeve.

“Not as bad as yours,” I muttered.

She flinched then took a deep breath. “I was wrong…to do that. To…hurt myself. I am so sorry, Lucy.”

“You should be sorry!” I snapped, all my guilt and fear suddenly transforming into white-hot anger. It exploded out of me in a second. She wilted before me. I flushed and took a deep breath. “You scared the living daylights out of me!”

“I was a selfish coward,” Fatima admitted.

“Did you even think how I would feel?” I demanded. “We shared that magical night, or so I thought. But it was so horrible for you that you tried to kill yourself.”

Fatima shrunk back another step, then she steeled herself, muttering beneath her breath. It might have been the word courage. “I didn’t know what to do, Lucy. I was confused. I had all these wonderful, sinful feelings for you. That night was magical. I was so happy. I just didn’t think it could last. I wasn’t strong enough to face my family, my community, or my God.”

“And that’s changed?” I crossed my arms before me. “I can’t bear to see you lying in a pool of your own blood again. I just can’t. I will not be responsible for your death. So go, Fatima.”

I turned, tears burning my face. “Go and live.”

“No!” Fatima sounded so fierce, so righteous. She grabbed my arm and spun me about. “I love you, Lucy. I felt that special connection.” She grasped my hands and fell to her knees. “It was wrong and selfish of me to do that to you. I beg of you. Forgive my weakness.”

I wavered, but the image of her in the bathtub, surrounded by crimson, floated up in my mind and I wrenched my hands free. “How do I know you aren’t full of shame? That you won’t try and…and hurt yourself again. I thought everything was fine, and it wasn’t.”

“Because Allah loves us both,” she answered. “It doesn’t matter if we’re sinners. He loves us.”

I hesitated. Her eyes were alive with hope and love. She was on her feet and she threw her arms around my neck. Her face was right before mine, her lips drawing closer and closer to me. I trembled, suddenly so aware of the press of her body.

“People are watching,” I whispered.

“I do not care,” she answered, her voice confident. “Let them watch.”

The kiss was magical, glorious, wonderful. There were no words to describe it. Energy sparked between us, proof of our love. Everything faded away, the store, the men whistling and catcalling. Only Fatima and I remained.

“When do you get off?” Fatima asked me when I broke it.

“An hour,” I gasped, my world spinning.

“I’ll wait for you outside.”

I nodded my head, smiling foolishly. And then she kissed me again. God, it was wonderful. Her lips so soft, so sweet. I ached for her. I wanted to leave with her right now, but I needed the job. And she would wait.

My last hour of worked dragged on and on, an eternity of helping stupid customers. I could swear at one point, the clocks were moving backwards. Finally, four o’clock came and I was free. I rushed to our tacky breakroom, punched-out, and skipped through the store.

The moment I stepped outside, Fatima was on me, kissing me with such an intense passion. Our bodies melted together, her pillowy breasts pressing against mine through our clothing. I slid my good hand down her back to her ass, squeezing her plump butt. I didn’t care if anyone saw us.

Hell, we had already made love before a bunch of men during the Best Buy Incident.

“Come on,” Fatima urged, breaking the kiss. “I need you.

She pulled me around to the side of the building, back to the loading docks and out of sight of the busy parking lot. “What are we—”

My question was interrupted as Fatima pushed me against the back wall of the Buy Best. Her lips were on me again. So hot and hungry. She was so aggressive now. All her reservations about our relationship were gone and only her passion remained.

Wonderful passion.

“I just cannot wait,” she moaned, her hands untucking my blue Buy Best polo and pulling it over my head. She stroked my bra, then slipped a finger beneath the cup and wiggled it down to brush my hard nipple.

“Someone might see us,” I objected.

“So?” Fatima asked. “Let them see how much I love you!”

It was such a beautiful thing to say. “I love you.”

Tears beaded in her eyes. Then my bra flew off and she attacked my breasts. The wall was rough on my back as I moaned in pleasure, writhing. Her lips felt wonderful as she kissed and sucked at my nipple. She circled her tongue around the right nub then sucked hard on it. I gasped, squirming more, ignoring the wall’s texture.

She gripped both my breasts, squeezing them as her hungry lips kissed over to my left breast. She rubbed her cheek against it up to my nub. Then her lips reached my nipple. She sucked and nibbled, loving my breasts.

“Fatima,” I moaned and stroked her face.

I pulled off her headscarf, exposing her luxurious, black hair. I ran my hand through it as she sucked and nibbled. Her hands stroked down my side, her fingers so wild. I groaned, my pussy on fire. And then her fingers reached my khakis.

The pop of my fastener coming undone sent a shiver through me. The zipper rasped down, and then her hands pushed my pants down. Her fingers caressed my bare flesh above my panties as she sucked even harder at my nipple.

“Do it,” I moaned as her fingers hooked the waistband of my panties.

She yanked them down, moaning about my nipple. I gasped as the warm, afternoon air caressed my naked, shaved pussy. Her finger found my landing strip and stroked down it to my bare pussy lips, She circled my clit.

I shivered in delight.

“You are so wet,” she purred as her finger slid through my folds. She lifted her face and pulled her finger away. The tip glistened. “See.”

I nodded my head and groaned as she popped her finger into her mouth and sucked my juices clean. Her eyes fluttered, clearly enjoying the taste. It was such a sexy sight, her black hair free, blowing about her face, her breasts heaving in her conservative blouse. A look of such unfettered lust exploded across her face.

Then she fell to her knees and buried her face into my pussy.

Fatima’s tongue flew through my pussy lips. Her hands seized my hips, fingers digging into my skin as she moaned and licked. Her eyes flashed up at me as she explored my pussy, desperate to touch me everywhere.

“Yes,” I groaned, the pleasure swelling through me. I was so aroused, so turned on from her hot kisses that I felt an orgasm already swelling through me. “Oh, yes, Fatima. Oh, honey. Oh, you’re amazing. Lick me. So good.”

Her tongue lapped hard through my folds, each time ending at my clit. She flicked the nub before licking me again. I gasped each time, my naked breasts heaving. I stared up at the blue sky, trembling.

And came. Hard.

I soaked her face with my juices. They squirted out of me as my pussy convulsed. I bucked and gasped, singing out my joy. The orgasm rippled hot pleasure through me. It soared up to my mind and carried me off into bliss.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I screamed over and over as the pleasure filled me.

And then it left me gasping against the wall, savoring the bliss, trembling. I had cum hard, my pussy so sensitive, my clit throbbing. And she didn’t stop licking me. She kept right on eating me, her tongue exploring every wonderful inch of my pussy.

I groaned and ground my cunt on her lips. I sucked in deep breaths as the pleasure built and built inside of me. It was intense. I groaned, biting my lip. My breasts ached. Such wonderful bliss shuddered through me.

Her tongue wiggled up inside my pussy, swirling about my sensitive flesh. She stirred me to a hot froth. My juices glistened on her face. Her fingers dug harder into my hip as she feasted on me. My pussy was the sweetest thing to her.

She loved it.

“Fatima,” I groaned as another orgasm burst through me, magical and beautiful.

I trembled against the wall. My eyes fluttered as the pleasure bathed my mind. It peaked through me, leaving me groaning and gasping while Fatima fucked her tongue deep into my cunt, moaning as she devoured me.

Footsteps crunched, growing louder and louder.

I froze. “Someone’s coming, Fatima.”

“Mmm, isn’t cumming wonderful?” Fatima purred. “I love licking your pussy and hearing you moan. I bet I can make you come a few more times!”

“No, I mean a person is walking this way.”

To my shock, she answered, “Let them watch. I am not ashamed of who I am.”

Then she buried her face back into my snatch and licked. I gasped and squirmed as the footsteps grew louder and louder. Fatima was possessed. She had embraced her lesbian side.

It was beautiful even if we were about to be caught.

I looked to my left to where the footsteps echoed. I tensed as Fatima glued her lips to my clit. She sucked hard on my sensitive nub. Someone was going to see us. To watch us while we were so intimate.

I came a third time. “Fatima!”

Powerful waves of pleasure roared through me. My small breasts jiggled as I writhed in passion. Who was going to see us? A man who’d leer in lust at the lesbians? An old woman, her face reddening in shock at our depravity? A young woman, her eyes widening as we awakened hidden desires inside her?

The figure rounded the corner. It was my coworker Rosalita.

She grinned at me. Stacy, another coworker, joined her, slipping her arm around her girlfriend’s waist. They both must have just gotten off work, still wearing their Buy Best polos and khaki pants. Stacy mouthed, “You go girl,” at me and gave me a thumbs up. Rosalita slipped a hand up Stacy’s shirt, cupping her girlfriend’s breast.

“Eat me,” I moaned as I trembled in orgasmic bliss. I felt so bold, so wanton as my friends watched. “Oh, God! Eat me, my love! Devour me!”

Fatima nuzzled my clit, sucking it into hungry lips. I groped my breasts, pinching my nipples, showing off to my friends. I felt another orgasm building inside me. A growing pressure of lust that was going to drown me when it burst free.

I could not wait.

Stacy unsnapped Rosalita’s pants and shoved in her hand. Rosalita’s dark eyes widened as Stacy’s fingers shoved inside of her pussy. The two girls watched us with smoky eyes as Rosalita’s hand wormed into Stacy’s pants.

They fingered each other.

Damn, it was so hot.

Fatima nibbled gently on my clit with her teeth, shooting sparks into me. I shook again, a mini-orgasm trembling through me. A prelude to the glorious one about to erupt. I gripped Fatima’s dark hair, holding her as I ground my pussy on her face.

“Yes, yes,” I panted. “Make me cum. Oh, please! You wonderful woman. Make me cum!”

“Cum on her face,” Stacy moaned. I could hear their fingers plunging in and out of each other’s wet snatches.

“Yes, cum,” moaned Rosalita.

Everything went black as the most intense, intimate pleasure of my life burst inside me. This was the passion that only my lover could give me with her gentle lips and sweet tongue. The pleasure rushed through me. It drove away everything, even the sounds of Stacy and Rosalita. There was only me and Fatima.

I loved her so much. I embraced an eternity of bliss churned by my lover’s tongue.

When I could see again, I was leaning against Fatima, breathing heavily, sweat running in beads down my naked body. She held me. I slumped in her arms, my head resting on her shoulder.

She held me. She was mine and I was hers.

“That was amazing,” I gasped, tears bursting in my eyes. “Oh, my god, Fatima, thank you!”

I hugged her and kissed her, holding her tight. I tasted myself on her lips. I had stained them, maybe permanently. She had licked and tongued me so hard. I clung to her, never wanting to let her go. She was mine.

“I can’t wait to get home so you can return the favor,” Fatima said, tears of joy running down her face, when we broke the kiss.

I laughed. “And which home is that?”

“Ours.”

“So, you’re moving in with me?”

She smiled. “Of course I am.”

Rosalita and Stacy gasped as they fingered each other to an orgasm.

Fatima looked over, her dark cheeks flushing. “They watched us.” Then she smiled and boldly looked at the women. “I am Fatima and this is my girlfriend.”

“She’s a keeper,” Stacy hooted, pulling her fingers out of Rosalita’s pants and licking them clean.

I smiled, pulling my pants and panties up as Fatima handed me my polo. I donned it, and she grabbed my hand, leading me away. I squeezed her back. We passed Rosalita who pumped her pussy-stained fingers in and out of Stacy’s mouth.

Then I realized something. I stopped, turning around. “You forgot your headscarf.”

The colorful cloth lay on the asphalt, forlorn and rustling in the wind.

“I don’t need it,” Fatima answered, squeezing my hand.

“But I thought you were a good Muslim girl?” I asked in confusion.

She shook her head. “No, I’m just me. Fatima Tawfeek. Your girlfriend.”

To be continued…

Click here for Jealous Passion, Chapter 1.

Click here for Tales from the Orgy Chapter 8.

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