Chapter 2: The Baptism
His tongue traced a slow, reverent path through the cooling mess on my belly fold, each broad, hot stroke erasing the pearly streaks his release had left. A low groan vibrated against my skin, part shame, part desperate hunger. I tightened my grip in his sweat-damp hair, forcing his face deeper into the soft flesh, making him lick harder, faster, until my skin gleamed clean under the moonlight, only the faint scent of sex and salt remaining. "Good," I murmured, the word a cool counterpoint to the heat radiating from him. "Now, up." I released his hair, stepping back towards the en-suite bathroom door. "Shower. Now."
He pushed himself off the bed, movements stiff, spent cock already stirring again against his thigh. I didn't wait, turning and walking towards the open bathroom door, the cool marble floor chilling my stockinged feet. Steam already curled invitingly from the vast, glass-walled shower stall where I’d turned the taps on full blast moments before dragging him to the bed. The scent of sandalwood and expensive soap thickened the humid air.
I heard his footsteps behind me, hesitant on the tiles. Reaching the shower entrance, I turned. He stood framed in the doorway, naked, magnificent in his submission, the steam curling around his legs. His dark eyes held mine, a question, a plea. I grabbed a fistful of his hair again, hard, and yanked him forward into the billowing cloud of hot water. He stumbled, gasping as the near-scalding spray hit his back. I slammed him backwards against the chilled marble tiles. The shock of cold against his heated skin made him jerk. "Kneel," I commanded over the roar of the water, my voice cutting through the steam.
He sank to his knees instantly, water plastering his dark hair to his forehead, streaming down his beard, his chest. The heat enveloped us, thick and primal. I looked down at him, water sluicing over my breasts, my belly, soaking my stockings and garter belt. His gaze was locked between my thighs, on the dark triangle of lace plastered to my skin by the downpour. "Time to wash your sins away, Sheikh," I growled, my voice rough with promise. My hand slid down, fingers hooking into the soaked lace of my panties. I peeled them down slowly over my hips, letting them fall to the shower floor, a sodden black puddle at his knees. "Open wide, desert dog."
His hands gripped my hips, anchoring himself as he leaned forward, burying his face between my thick, slick thighs. His tongue, hot and insistent even against the hot water, found my swollen clit instantly. "Fuck!" I gasped, arching into the pressure, fingers tightening in his hair, forcing him deeper. "Lick it clean. Worship it." His groan vibrated against my flesh as his tongue plunged lower, spearing into my soaked cunt, lapping at the juices mingling with the shower spray. His soap-slicked hands slid up my thighs, over my ass, squeezing the heavy flesh possessively, fingers digging in as he feasted. "Yes... taste that jungle heat you crave... swallow it all..." My head fell back against the wet tile, the water pounding my breasts as his tongue worked magic, rough and desperate, washing away nothing, only stoking the fire hotter. "Don't stop... make your goddess cum..."
His tongue, slick and relentless, plunged deeper into my soaked cunt, the hot water cascading over us both as he devoured me. "Fuck, Sheikh, that tongue... work my clit!" I gasped, arching my back hard against the cold tile, my fingers knotted painfully tight in his wet hair, forcing his face deeper into my swollen, aching flesh. "Suck it like a starving man!" He obeyed instantly, his mouth sealing over the throbbing bud, sucking hard, his tongue flicking furiously while his fingers dug into the meat of my ass, spreading me wider for his hungry mouth. "Yes! Swallow that Filipina pussy juice! Taste how wet you make me, desert prince!" The pressure built, coiled tight in my belly, a familiar, demanding throb intensifying with every rough, wet stroke of his tongue against my clit, every deep probe inside. "Oh god... Nasser... don't stop... make me cum on your Arab tongue!" I commanded, my voice cracking, hips grinding shamelessly against his face. He groaned against me, the vibration sending electric shocks through my core, his lips and tongue working in a desperate, focused rhythm designed only to break me.
The climax ripped through me, sudden and violent. "FUCK!" I screamed, back slamming against the tile as my cunt clenched hard, gushing hot fluid against his lips, over his chin. Waves of pure, electric ecstasy rolled through me, stealing my breath, my thighs clamping instinctively around his head as I rode the convulsions. "Drink it!" I panted, trembling violently, still grinding my pulsing cunt against his mouth. "Swallow every fucking drop! That's your reward!" He lapped hungrily, greedily, sucking at my folds as the aftershocks made me shudder, his tongue milking the last tremors from my spent body, his mouth wet with my release. A final, guttural groan escaped him as he finally pulled back slightly, chin dripping, dark eyes glazed and worshipful, looking up at me through the streaming water. "Good boy," I breathed, the heat slowly receding, leaving me boneless but still in command. I loosened my grip in his hair, smoothing the wet strands back from his forehead. "Now," I ordered, my voice regaining its steel, "soap my body."
He obeyed instantly, reaching for the expensive sandalwood soap resting on the chrome ledge. The hot water pounded my back as his large, wet hands slid over my shoulders, slicking soap across my skin. His touch was tentative at first, smoothing lather over my collarbones, the suds catching the light. "Do you like soaping a fat Filipina woman, Sheikh?" I murmured, arching my back slightly, pushing my heavy breasts towards his hands. "Tell me." His breath hitched; his soapy palms cupped the full weight of my 36DDs, thumbs brushing roughly over my stiff, dark nipples. "Yes," he rasped, his voice thick with steam and desire, fingers kneading the soft, yielding flesh, slippery with lather. "Feels... incredible." I laughed low, a throaty sound echoing off the marble. "Just washing, desert prince?" I guided one soapy hand lower, pressing it firmly against the soft swell of my belly fold. "Or worshipping?" He groaned, his fingers spreading soap across the warm, yielding curve, his touch lingering possessively. "Worshipping," he admitted, his dark eyes locked on the path his hands made. His other hand slid lower still, over my hip, tracing the curve of my ass, fingers dipping into the cleft. "Every inch," he breathed, his voice rough. "Every fucking perfect, soft inch." I grabbed his wrist, stopping his descent. "Not yet," I commanded, turning slowly under the spray, letting water sluice the suds down my back. "Do my back." His soapy hands slid over my shoulder blades, down my spine, kneading the muscles, fingers digging into the flesh above my waist. He leaned in, his wet beard scraping my shoulder blade, his lips brushing my damp skin. "You own me," he whispered, the confession raw against the roar of the water. His hands slid lower, spreading soap over the heavy swell of my ass, gripping each cheek firmly. "This ass..." he groaned, squeezing hard, pulling me back slightly against his renewed hardness pressing against my lower back. "Fucking magnificent." I pressed back against him, feeling his cock pulse against me. "Keep washing, Sheikh," I ordered, my voice thick with renewed power. "Your goddess isn't clean yet." His soapy hands slid around my hips, fingers seeking the slick heat between my thighs from the front. "Neither am I," he growled.
His soap-slicked fingers brushed against my swollen clit, a teasing spark that made me gasp. "Hands off the merchandise, Sheikh," I commanded, slapping his wrist away sharply. "Your job is washing, not sampling." I turned fully to face him, the hot water pounding my back, steam curling between us. His dark eyes burned with frustrated hunger, his cock rigid against his thigh, flushed dark and leaking. "You want to touch?" I asked, my voice dropping low, thick with promise. "Earn it." I snatched the smooth sandalwood soap from the ledge. "Turn around." He obeyed instantly, presenting his broad, muscular back to me, water streaming down the defined ridges. I pressed my heavy breasts against his wet skin, feeling him shudder. My soapy hands slid over his shoulders, working the lather into the hard muscle. "Strong," I murmured, kneading his trapezius, feeling the tension beneath my fingers. "Built for carrying burdens?" My hands moved lower, slicking soap down the groove of his spine, over the swell of his ass. "Or built for carrying me?" I squeezed a firm cheek hard, making him groan. "Answer." "For you," he choked out, his voice strained. "Always... for you." My soapy fingers traced the cleft of his ass, a deliberate, slow stroke. He tensed, a sharp intake of breath echoing off the marble. "Relax, desert prince," I purred, pressing closer, my slick belly fold against his lower back. "Your goddess is just cleaning her property." My hand slid around his hip, soapy fingers finding the base of his throbbing cock. "Every inch," I whispered against his shoulder blade, my grip tightening possessively. "Mine to wash."
My soapy hand slid firmly up the length of his cock, squeezing the thick shaft, feeling it pulse against my palm. Water sluiced the lather away instantly, replaced by fresh suds as I worked him slowly, deliberately, base to tip. "This belongs to me," I stated, my voice cutting through the steam, thumb rubbing rough circles over his slick, swollen head. He groaned, deep and guttural, his hips pushing forward into my grip, seeking more friction. "Tell me," I commanded, tightening my hold, slowing the stroke. "Whose Arab cock is this?" "Yours!" he gasped, head dropping back against the wet tile, tendons straining in his neck. "Only yours!" I pumped faster, my other soapy hand sliding down, cupping his heavy balls, rolling them firmly in my palm. "Good boy," I murmured, feeling him tense, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "Now turn around." He obeyed instantly, water streaming down his face, his dark eyes wide and desperate. I pushed him back gently against the tile, my slick body pressing flush against his, my wet breasts flattening against his chest. His cock, hard and slick, pressed insistently against my lower belly fold. "You washed your sins?" I whispered, leaning close, my lips brushing his ear. "Think you deserve to fuck your goddess?" "Please," he choked out, hands gripping my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Please, Tina... let me..." I reached down between us, guiding his thick tip to my slick, waiting entrance. "Earn it," I breathed, sinking down onto him slowly, taking every inch until he was buried deep inside my tight, hot cunt. "Fuck!" he roared, his hands clutching my ass, pulling me down harder as I began to ride him, the wet slap of our bodies echoing off the marble. "Harder!" I commanded, rising up and slamming down, taking him impossibly deep, feeling him pulse within me. "Fill me!" His release hit hard, a hot, wet flood deep inside as he shuddered violently against the tile. We stood there panting, pressed together under the hot spray, spent. "Now," I said, pulling away, turning off the water, the sudden silence thick. "Get dressed, Sheikh." I grabbed a plush towel, wrapping it around myself. "We're going out." He blinked, water dripping from his beard. "Out?" "Dinner," I stated, walking towards the bedroom. "I'm starving."