Chapter 10: Sisterly Support
The stale air in their apartment still choked Mustafa, thick with the phantom scents of betrayal and his own humiliation, as Ran swept out into the Kuwaiti afternoon. The heat hit her like a warm embrace after the apartment’s suffocating chill. She navigated the bustling streets towards the café, the memory of Mustafa’s tear-streaked face, pressed against the tile floor where Fahad had fucked her hours earlier, fueling a perverse thrill. It sharpened her anticipation for the rich coffee, the cool air-conditioning, and, most of all, the eager audience waiting at their usual corner table.
Nada’s eyes lit up as Ran slid into the plush velvet chair opposite her. Steam curled from their already-ordered lattes. "Well?" Nada breathed, leaning forward conspiratorially, her perfectly manicured fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "After that little explosion? Spill."
Ran took a slow sip, letting the bitterness dance on her tongue, savoring Nada’s rapt attention. "He found the wrapper," she began, a predatory smile playing on her lips. "Right there on his nightstand. And the smell… God, Fahad practically bathed the whole fucking room in it."
Nada gasped theatrically. "No! He confronted you?"
"Like the pathetic worm he is," Ran scoffed. "Whimpering about it being ‘our bed’. As if he ever owned it. As if he ever used it properly." Her voice dropped, low and charged. "So I told him. Told him exactly what Fahad did to me in it. How Fahad shoved me face down onto Mustafa’s own fucking pillow."
Nada’s eyes widened, her coffee forgotten. "Every detail?"
"Every. Single. Glorious. Detail." Ran leaned closer, the diamond choker catching the café’s warm light. "Fahad didn’t even bother waiting. Just pushed my legs apart wide, spitting on his fingers then shoving them deep, stretching me open right there. I was still wet from earlier, but he likes it rough. Likes to make me wetter." She paused, remembering the raw pressure. "Then he just… shoved that thick fucking cock inside. No easing in. Just one brutal thrust, splitting me wide open. Filled me so deep I screamed into the pillow Mustafa drools on."
"God, yes," Nada murmured, enthralled. "They know how to handle a woman, Kuwaiti men. None of that limp-dick Sudanese bullshit." She gestured vaguely towards Ran’s untouched latte. "Fahad finished inside you? With Mustafa there?"
Ran’s smile was feral. "Oh, he finished alright. Pumped that condom full. Felt him throbbing, pulsing, filling it up while Mustafa probably listened outside the fucking door like the cuck he is." Her voice was thick with contempt. "Then I swallowed the pill like a good girl. Cleaned Fahad’s seed out of me right after. Told Mustafa that too. His face…" She laughed, a harsh sound that jarred the café’s calm. "He actually begged. Got on his fucking knees, grabbed my robe, snot and tears all over the floor. Begged me not to leave his useless ass."
Nada shook her head, admiration mixing with disgust. "Weak. Utterly weak. You deserve so much better. You deserve Fahad. The way they fuck… the power… the money…" She sighed dramatically. "You’re lucky, Ran. Truly lucky to have a real man like that claiming you." She leaned back, taking a satisfied sip. "So? When’s he taking you to the Pearl again?"
Ran’s phone buzzed on the marble tabletop. A single message flashed on the screen: Penthouse. One hour. Be naked. A slow, triumphant smile spread across her face as she looked back at Nada. "Looks like I need to finish this coffee fast."
Ran finished her latte in two long, scalding gulps, the heat a familiar counterpoint to the cool anticipation coiling in her gut. The taxi ride to the Pearl District was a blur of gleaming glass towers, each one a monument to a world Mustafa could never provide. Fahad’s penthouse door, polished darker than midnight, hissed open silently before she could knock.
He stood there, already undressed, his thick cock half-hard and curving heavily against his thigh. "On your knees," he said, his voice casual, as if asking for the time. She obeyed, the plush carpet crushing beneath her, her mouth already watering as she took the blunt, broad head between her lips, tasting the sharp, clean salt of his skin. He fed her more, his hands tangling in her hair, not guiding but forcing, his hips pumping steadily until she felt that familiar ache in her jaw, the violent push at the back of her throat making her eyes water.
"Enough," he grunted, pulling her up by her hair and spinning her towards the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the glittering gulf. He pushed her sweat-damped back against the cool glass, hitching her knee high over his arm, and entered her in one relentless, burning thrust. There was no tease, no tenderness—just the brutal, exquisite stretch of him conquering her, his balls slapping a wet rhythm against her ass. "This cunt is mine," he growled into her ear, each word punctuated by a deep, jarring plunge. "You take this Kuwaiti cock like you were born for it, you Sudanese slut."
She came with a choked scream, her body clamping around him in violent waves, which only made him fuck her harder, his pace turning punishing. He spent himself inside the condom with a final, guttural roar, his thrusts turning shallow, grinding his pubic bone hard against her clit until she shuddered again. He withdrew, disposed of the condom, and tossed a towel at her without a word. She cleaned herself in his gold-fixtured bathroom, the lemon-verbena soap erasing nothing, before descending back to her other life.
Mustafa was waiting in the gloom of their apartment, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. "Ran, please," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I can't live like this. You have to stop. Please, for us, stop seeing him." He reached for her hand, but she pulled away, examining a chip in her nail polish. She headed for the bedroom, his pleading footsteps following hers. "Did you hear me? Please, just stop!"
At the bedroom door, she turned, her face a mask of cold indifference. "Whatever, okay," she said, the words flat and final, and shut the door between them.