Cuckoldry, Spirituality, Family Ch. 09

Abida told her guest about the need for every Muslimah to remain modest in public so not to be a source of arousal for other men. She told her that she enjoyed going out with her Husband in public places in Istanbul and Dubai, walking slightly behind Him, wearing her full black burqa with a yashmak, the veil concealing her entire face, and elbow-length black gloves, no matter how hot the weather was. She added that she owed it to her Husband not only to be faithful to Him but to demonstrate her faithfulness and obedience to the world through her clothing, as is the case with a great number of Muslimahs in the Middle East.

"You certainly remember my Muslim wedding gown, Madam," said Abida.

"Yes, I do. It was a nice gesture on the part of Faisal to invite the whole executive to your wedding. You were stunningly feminine and elegant," Kiersten commented.

"You know, I am a Muslimah, therefore I am a queen. Hijab is my crown. And I have to cover myself expensively," Abida told Kiersten. "My aim is to be beautiful and elegant for Master and... slutty when He wants it. It turns me on when He whispers in my ear "You are mine."

"How convincing you are, my dear," said Faisal's concubine, commending Abida's attitude and principles. "I admire you. And your journey fascinates me at the same time. I am simply stunned to look at all the road you have traveled since your divorce. You seem sooo happy and fulfilled!"

"I couldn't agree more with you, Kiersten. This is the best that could have happened in my life. I found the Husband who was to become my Master, and I found Allah. I am and will be forever happy. I live to serve my adored Husband, to honor Him, to obey Him, to love Him. I surrendered to the superior Black Muslim Alpha Male."

"Oh, my God... I should say oh, Allah, hoping not to be a blasphemer," uttered Kiersten, unable to refrain from hugging and kissing Abida tenderly.

Kiersten had another burning question that was on her mind for some time: "You must sometimes think back at your life with your ex-husband and your professional life as a renowned university professor, don't you?"

"Yes, I sometimes think back about my past life," Abida replied. "I don't disown the past. In fact, I think that what I lived before lead inexorably to who I am now. For example, my ex-husband who encouraged me to take lovers because of his sexual inefficiency. Which lead to my encounter with Faisal, who was under my supervision for his research at the university. Looking back, it's a wonderful gift, the ultimate gift, that my ex-husband gave me (she looked at me – although with a neutral look – in the room when saying that)."

"As for my professional life, my one-year sabbatical will terminate soon," Abida carried on. "But then I will be entitled to maternity leave. So I will have a full additional year to think about my professional future. What I am considering, however, is to resign at the end of my maternity leave and work on my own from home. I already have several projects in mind, such as a major research on the history of Black Muslims in the world, including America."

"I see that your new faith didn't deprive you of your mental freedom," Kiersten said. "You are still a true, free woman in all senses of the word. You impress me very much."

"Thank you, Kiersten. Indeed, being a Muslimah does not limit my freedom. Without pressure of any kind, I am free to praise Allah and to love, worship, adore and obey my beloved Husband."

"One thing that I don't want to forget telling you, Kiersten, is that I fully accept the fact that married Muslims can have concubines if they wish to," Abida added. "My Husband now has two concubines as you know. So I do not resent your status as my Husband's concubine nor your presence here. In fact, you're most welcome here any time you'll want to come; please consider this house as your home. Faisal chose me as His precious wife, this despite our great age difference. It makes me very proud. I will be so proud to give Him a baby. And I thank Allah every day for that."

They both smiled to each other. Suddenly, Abida remembered her duty. "Please excuse me, Kiersten, I almost forgot my Asr, my late afternoon prayer. But you don't have to leave. You can stay and witness how a devout Muslimah prostrates to Allah and prays Him. If you feel like it, of course."

"You are sure you don't mind?" asked Kiersten, madly curious to witness that.

"Not at all. Please come," Abida said, taking Kiersten by the hand.

In the master bedroom, Kiersten had the opportunity to see her Lover's wife set her prayer mat, turn toward Mecca then praise and thank Allah for her happiness, and ask her God to protect her through her delivery to come and to give her and her Husband a beautiful and healthy baby.

Without proselytizing, just gently conversing with Kiersten, Abida had opened whole new perspectives in the mind and heart of that mostly haughty, authoritarian, highly-ranked businesswoman.

Less than a week after that memorable long weekend, events proceeded quite quickly. One morning after breakfast, Abida went into labour. Everyone was very excited in the house. Master had asked me to make arrangements with the Muslim midwife so that she would be available at any time after a given date (the doctor was also reachable by phone). So I called her to come over as soon as she could and, right after, I called Master on His mobile phone. He told me not to bother picking Him up, that He would get a cab with Faridah (I was their chauffeur to and from their office everyday) and come right away. Kiersten was away on a business trip.

I was relieved to see the midwife at the door, recognizing her as she had visited Abida several times in the past months. She immediately took charge of the situation, instructing me on what to prepare. As per Master's wish, the delivery was to be in their bedroom, on their marital bed with everyone attending, including me, as well as Amanda and Zoe, given their affection for Master and Madam.

When Master and Faridah arrived, Abida was at the apex of her labour, with the midwife at her side, encouraging her and giving her advice. It was very touching and impressive to see Abida naked lying on her back, her legs bent and her thighs wide apart, exposing her vagina on the immaculate white bed sheets on the canopy bed, with all of us gathered around it. It was obvious that she was in pain, but the midwife was reminding her of the breathing techniques and telling her to relax as much as possible. Abida was nevertheless making low guttural sounds and strong moans. At the request of the midwife, I had prepared a bowl of warm water that she used to reduce labour pain. She then asked Master to massage His wife's feet to make her feel relaxed and cared for, which was a major morale boost.

The 40 and some minutes that followed seemed like eternity for me and everyone else in the room. But we were all relieved and rejoiced when we saw the midwife take the newborn by one leg and say "It's a girl!" in an atmosphere of intense trepidation. Like Master, Faridah and the others, I couldn't refrain from crying to see that beautiful Black baby girl of seven pounds and three ounces and hear her loud screams.

I helped the midwife set the bed so that the mother and her daughter could rest quietly. After washing the baby with warm water, she wrapped her cautiously in bands of cloth and put her in her mother's arms, saying: "Don't worry Madam, she will let you know loud enough that she's hungry (of course, Abida had planned to breastfeed her baby)." This made everyone smile.

Soon after, Master received a call from the gynecologist on His mobile phone. I heard Him, His voice full of joy, say that the baby was a girl and that everything went right, albeit, understandably, with some pain for the mother. And, just before the end of the conversation, all of us could hear Master say: "Daneen, yes... What it means... It simply means 'Princess'... Yes, we picked that name out of a long list... Thank you so much, doctor... Yes, Abida is sleeping with Daneen now... Yes, we will go see you soon... Thanks very much!"

To be continued...