The Devil’s Pact
Tales from the Best Buy Incident: A Good Muslim Girl Part 2: Guilt
© Copyright 2015
Story Codes: Female/Female, Oral Sex, Exhibitionist
For a list of all the Devil’s Pact Chapters and other stories click here
Comments are very welcome. I would like all criticism, positive and negative, so long as its
constructive, and feedback is very appreciated.
Click here for Part 1.
Note: This takes place three weeks after the Best Buy Incident, following Fatima. Thanks for Scotstigger.
Thursday, June 20th, 2013 – Lucy McKay
“Fatima,” I murmured, rising up from my slumber and reaching for my lover.
After weeks of pining after Fatima, I finally got through to her, and my little Arab vixen was mine. After the support meeting for the “victims” of the Best Buy Incident, 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’m willing to call that some of the best sex the universe has ever witnessed.
My hand reached and reached. I didn’t find her. “Fatima?” I asked, 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. 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. I frowned, wondering where she was. Did she go home? Panic gripped me.
Did she leave me?
Fear pumped through my body, compelling me to find her. I dashed outside to check if her car was still in the parking lot. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw it. And then my eyes widened. I was naked. Flushing, I tried to cover myself as best I could as I darted back down the concrete stairs.
I leaned against my door and breathed a sigh of relief. No one saw me. Luckily. So where was my lover? Then I noticed the light on in my bathroom, spilling out through the crack at the bottom of the door.
“Fatima?” I asked, knocking softly. “Are you in there?”
I knocked harder. “Are you okay?”
Silence. My heart quickened its beat.
I pounded on the door. “I’m opening the door!” I shouted, worry pricking at my heart, urging it to beat faster and faster. My hand shook as I grasped the doorknob and swung it open.
My lover, my beautiful Arab vixen, was pale as she lay back in my tub. The water was rose coloured. The 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 didn’t feel the pain in my sprained wrist. Only later would I even realize I‘d hurt it. I just had to get to her. I 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 was going to die. I grabbed one of my towels, wrapping it around her arm.
Get help, a voice screamed in my head. I rushed out of the bathroom, frantic to find my phone. I grabbed my purse and dumped its contents across my floor, throwing aside lipstick tubes, tampons, keys, change, and all that other crap in my purse before I found my phone.
“She’s bleeding to death!” I shouted into the phone.
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. They calmly came into my apartment, and when one of them handed me a bathrobe, I flushed in embarrassment,covering myself as they went to work 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, don’t think that. She wouldn’t do that. Not after last night. She was so happy.
On my nightstand was a piece of notebook paper covered in crisp writing. I picked it up, my hands shaking as I read her flowing, cursive script:
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.
My tears stained the letter as they took her away on the gurney, guilt squeezing my chest until it felt like I was suffocating. “I didn’t mean for this, Fatima. I just wanted us to be happy together. I’m so sorry.”
Friday, June 21st, 2013 – Fatima
My eyes felt like they weighed a ton, refusing to open as I swam up to fuzzy consciousness.
A mask was on my face, around my lips. Sticky circles were stuck to my chest. Something pinching my right, middle finger, and what felt like a needle was stuck in my left arm. I struggled and struggled, fighting to open my eyes. With a great effort, I forced my eyes open.
Where am I? Paradise?
No, Paradise wouldn’t smell so antiseptic.
Then I saw my father glowering down at me. I looked down, and saw the hospital gown covering me. I didn’t die, I realized with a sinking feeling. Why was I still alive? I glanced again at my father; hatred and shame burned in his eyes.
He knows. He knows my great shame. I wilt beneath the intensity of his gaze, looking away. My mother sat demurely next to me in a dark jilbāb and a colorful shaylah covering her head. She was a proper Muslim woman. Unlike me.
I felt the tears running down my eyes as I shamefully remembered how amazing being with Lucy had been. 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.
“That girl was here,” my father barked in Arabic. “That whorish girl you shamed yourself with!”
“I am sorry, Father,” I said respectfully. “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?”
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.
“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. “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. Then he exhaled in disgust and stormed out. I had never seen my mom 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 at me. “I had my own Lucy, but I was too scared to be with her.”
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. It was easier to look at Lucy’s letter than to consider my mother had the same shameful desires I possessed.
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, and I do not wish to give it up.
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. 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,
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 through her words. I had cut her more deeply than I had cut into my own wrist. I had thought it was the easy way out. And maybe it was for me, but not for Lucy and my mother.
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 arrived, and I was discharged, my wrist bandaged up and a prescription for penicillin and vicodin in my hand. I had nowhere to go. My father had disowned me, and Lucy wanted nothing to do with me. All my friends were devout Muslims; they had probably heard all the scandalous details and would now shun me.
I found the slip of paper from Ashley tucked in my purse, the nice woman I had met at the support group. I had no one else to turn to, so I called her.
“Of course I can, sweetheart,” Ashley promised as we spoke. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you,” I said in relief.
The nurse wheeled me out in a wheelchair like an invalid, and Ashley was waiting, 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. “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 patted my leg. 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.
“Let’s get some coffee and talk,” Ashley said.
She bought me a Chai tea and an iced coffee for herself and we sat down at a small table in the Starbucks across the street from the South Hill Mall. We were just down the street from the Best Buy where everything had gone so wrong.
“What happened to you?” Ashley asked.
I bit my lip, hesitating. Then I sighed. “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, and I remembered that she was gay. I shifted uncomfortably.
“I just…I mean I couldn’t live with myself after…um…that.”
“Oh honey, there’s nothing wrong in loving another person.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “You need to follow your own heart’s desires or you will be miserable.”
“But Allah says it is wrong,” I objected.
“Muslims believe in the same God as Christians, right?” Ashley asked.
“Yes. Muhammad, blessed be his name, 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.”
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. “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.
“Can you drive me to the Best Buy?” I asked Ashley.
She smiled and gave my hand one last squeeze.
I tried to forget her. My Arab vixen.
But I couldn’t. 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. 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.
Great, now I’m hearing her voice. Is my longing for Fatima so bad that I’m hallucinating?
“I’m sorry, Lucy.”
I do not 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.
I was conscious of the wrist brace I wore on my left arm. I 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.
“I was wrong,” she whispered. “I am so sorry, Lucy.”
“You should be sorry!” I snapped, all my guilt and fear suddenly transforming into white-hot anger; she wilted before me. I flushed and took a deep breath. “You scared the living daylights 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 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, my God.”
“And that’s changed? 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, Fatima.”
“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 floated up in my mind and I wrenched my hands free. “How do I know you aren’t full of shame? 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. “People are watching,” I whispered.
“I do not care,” she answered. “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.
“An hour,” I sighed.
My last hour dragged on and on. 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 practically skipped through the store.
The moment I stepped out of the store, Fatima was on me, kissing me with such an intense passion. Our bodies melted together, her pillow breasts pressing against me through her blouse. I slid my good hand up and down her back, down 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.
She pulled me around to the side of the building, back to the loading docks. “What are we—”
My question was interrupted as Fatima pushed me against the back wall of the Best Buy. “I just cannot wait,” she moaned, her hands untucking my blue Best Buy polo and pulling it over my head. She stroked my bra, then slipped a finger beneath the cup and wiggling down to brush my hard nipple.
“Someone might see us,” I objected.
“So?” Fatima asked. “Let them see how much I love you!”
My bra flew off and she attacked my breasts. The wall was rough on my back as I moaned in pleasure. Her lips felt wonderful as she kissed and sucked at my nipples. I stroked her face, then pulled off her headscarf, exposing her luxurious, black hair.
As her mouth was busy on my tit, her hands were busy with my pants. She unbuttoned my khakis and pushed them down along with my panties. Her finger ran through me and I shivered in delight.
“You are so wet,” she purred, licking her finger.
Then she fell to her knees and buried her face into my pussy. I came. Hard. Soaking her face with my juices the moment her tongue licked through my slit. An orgasm rippled through me, leaving me gasping against the wall.
And she didn’t stop.
She just kept right on eating me, her tongue exploring every wonderful inch of my pussy. Her tongue wiggled up inside my pussy, swirling about my sensitive flesh. Another orgasm burst through me, magical and beautiful.
I heard the crunch of footsteps and I froze. “Someone’s coming,” I whispered.
“Umm, isn’t it wonderful?” Fatima purred. “I bet I can make you come a few more times!”
“No, I mean a person is walking this way.”
“Let them watch,” Fatima moaned before she buried her face back into my snatch.
I looked to my right, back out to the side of the Best Buy, to where the footsteps echoed. I tensed and Fatima wrapped her right hand about my waist, and just glued her lips to my cunt. Someone was going to see us. To watch us while we were so intimate.
I came a third time. 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? A young woman, her eyes widening as we awakened hidden desires inside her?
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 Best Buy 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, moving up to cup her girlfriend’s breast.
“Eat me!” I moaned. 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 her gentle lips, sucking my little pearl. I grabbed my breast, pinching my nipples, showing off to my friends. I could feel another orgasm deliciously building inside me. A growing pressure of lust that was going to drown me when it burst free.
I could not wait.
Stacy hand unsnapped Rosalita’s pants and shoved in. Rosalita’s dark eyes widened as Stacy’s fingers shoved inside of her pussy. Fatima nibbled gently with her teeth, exciting my clit. 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 head as I ground my pussy on her face.
“Yes, yes!” I panted. “Make me cum! Oh please! You wonderful woman! Make me cum!”
Everything went black as the most intense, intimate pleasure of my life burst inside me. There was only the passion that my lover gave me with her gentle lips and sweet tongue. When I could see again, I was leaning against her, breathing heavily, sweat running in beads down my naked body.
“That was amazing!” I gasped. “Oh my God, Fatima! Thank you!”
I hugged her and kissed her, holding her tight. “I can’t wait to get home and you can return the favor.”
I laughed. “At which home is that?”
“So, you’re moving in with me?”
She smiled. “Of course I am!”
Rosalita gasped as Stacy fingered her to an orgasm and Fatima looked over, her dark cheeks flushing. “There really was someone.” 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. She grabbed my hand, leading me away and I stopped, turning around. “You forgot your headscarf!” I exclaimed.
The colorful cloth was lying on the ground, 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.”
There’s a new poll out! The Devil’s Pact Tales of the Best Buy Incident: A Good Muslim Girl 2 won the poll! What shall be released next? You can vote here!
I have released a part 10 of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!by