Doing the Sheikh's Homework

Graduate School is tough and is a place where one should be going due to aptitude and personal conviction, particularly when attempting to secure a professional degree like an MBA. I met Sheikh Hamed al Sagri, in my finance class, during the second semester. Hamed was in his mid-thirties and was attending the school courtesy of the Saudi Arabian government's program of providing support to qualified nationals to study abroad. He, however, did not appear to be all that smart and some digging on my part revealed that he was the son of a leading business tycoon and the nephew of one the ministers in the King's Council, which would be qualification enough in most countries.

Hamed was in a fix with the coursework and assignments. He needed help badly and I was the solution to his woes, given that I was doing pretty well in class and was also a fellow international student, having come from Pakistan myself. At first he just needed some assistance with understanding the lectures, text and assignments, mostly because his English was certainly below par. As time progressed, it became evident that he was never going to get through on his own abilities.

One day he invited me to dinner with his family, whereby I discovered he was in the US with his wife. Hamed, lived in a lovely suite in an exclusive building, and also had a full time staff including cook, servants and driver, all imported from India. I was expecting a guys-only event, but was pleasantly surprised when a twenty something long haired, fair skinned, doe eyed beauty, wearing a stylish mid-length dress and sharp heels joined us.

"I would like to introduce Mrs. Hamed al Sagri," my host announced, "and Jameela this is my colleague and friend, Sikander Abbas from Pakistan." I learnt that she was from Jordan and he had met her while on a holiday in Amman.

I was even more surprised when having shaken hands with me (a distinct no-no in Saudi), she then proceeded to settle down on the sofa to join the conversation. Dinner was an opulent affair with foods from Saudi, Lebanon and India on the menu. A typical Saudi host, Hamed ate with gusto and made sure I was stuffed. I had a hard time keeping myself from ogling my hostess.

As we waited for coffee, Jameela spoke directly to me, "Hamed is so happy that you are in his class. Without your help he would be lost. He had such a hard time during the first semester and if his grades do not improve he will lose face with his father in Saudi."

"It can't be that bad," I replied, "he must be smart enough to be here, and I have no issues with giving him some help now and then."

"Sikander, there is no way I am going to understand Finance and do the assignments and projects," Hamed confessed, "I need is someone to do these on my behalf."

"Surely you are not suggesting that I help you cheat?" I queried my host.

"Sikander, all he needs is a decent GPA to go back with honour to the family business, he is not going to be stealing anyone's opportunity in this country," Jameela responded.

"In fact Sikander, should you find yourself generous enough to help me in this time of need, I am sure I could make it worth your while now and later," Hamed added.

"And how would you do that?" I asked.

"I will gladly pay you for each quiz, test and assignment that you do on my behalf, with this Honor Code they have here, you can do it all at home," he continued.

I certainly could use the funds and since he was not going to be competing with me, I reluctantly agreed to go along. And I certainly had liked the looks of Jameela; helping Hamed would mean I may have more opportunity to get to know her.

II

I left the al-Sagri's quite happy about our arrangement. Since it was a nice evening, I decided to walk home. About 10 minutes down the road, I realized I had left my jacket at their house. Since I had not walked too far, I decided to return and collect the same, no sense in having Hamed seeing my off the rack garment. As I neared their door to ring the bell, I heard a slap and a muffled scream from the side window.

Curious as to what was happening, I went round to the side and peered in through the living room window. Jameela was bent over in front of a large sofa, which stood a few feet away from the window where I was, with her hands stretched out on top. There was a growing redness on her face and tears were rolling down her cheeks. She was also stark naked, except for her heels and stockings, her pert breasts hanging down. She certainly had a figure to die for. Hamed was ramming his dick into her rectum from behind, keeping up a merciless rhythm. Even worse, the servants of the house were standing at the side, eyes lowered, and he was yelling at them for something. Every so often he slapped her hard on her ass or back, bringing squeals from the poor girl. Jameela continued to sob and thankfully Hamed soon shot his load into her. Pulling out roughly, he wiped his prick with her dress which he picked off the ground. Pushing her on to the sofa, he left her to cry and went to the cloak room. None of the staff moved or lifted a finger to help his wife. I had never seen something so degrading in my life.

Returning to the front door, I reluctantly rang the bell. I was surprised when it was opened by Jameela, who despite the hammering she had just taken, looked tasty in the dress she had quickly thrown on. That it had numerous rips in it was obvious, but we both acted as if nothing had happened.

"I am sorry Mrs. Al Sagri, I forgot my jacket," I explained, "could I please get it?"

Within seconds a servant had retrieved it and handed it over. The door closed behind me and no further words left my mouth or anyone else's. I could not believe that I had seen a man abuse his wife in such a bad way, yet I figured it was best if I minded my own business, I had heard that Saudis had peculiar manners as far as their women were concerned.

III

In no time at all, I went from doing Hamed's work in Finance class to every course that he took. In fact, he made a point of taking the same courses as I did over the last two semesters.

I made sure that he passed with a decent mark, but kept enough of a difference in our answers to not arouse any suspicion. I ended up near the top of the graduating class, but had trouble getting a position in the US, given my student visa.

It seemed as if Hamed's whole clan showed up for the graduation ceremony. He was delighted as this confirmed him as a qualified male member of the family. Interestingly, since the dinner I had not seen his wife and none of the clan women appeared at the ceremony either.

Degree in hand, Hamed came up and hugged me as if I was a long lost brother. "Sikander, I would not have had the grades, to show my relatives that I had brains, if you had not helped me," he squeezed even more.

"Excuse me Hamed, will you not introduce your friend to me," I heard a voice behind me.

"Sikander, I would like you to meet my father, Sheikh Rasheed al Sagri, the head of our clan and the family business," I was introduced to a handsome, 50-ish gentlemen in a sharp Saville Row suit.

"Father, Sikander has been a great help to me at school, I hope he will stay in touch," Hamed commented.

"Well, I am glad you had a smart friend, your cousin Imad at Texas A&M barely got through with a C average. No one is attending his graduation," the Sheikh said, then added, "young man, if we can ever be of service, don't hesitate to call," handing me a business card with about 15 titles on it.

IV

I stayed on in the US, hoping to land a position, but the recessionary times meant that as a student visa holder, I had little hope of a career except in food service establishments. A few months of inactivity caused my accumulated wealth to dwindle to almost nothing. I began to think seriously about returning to Pakistan, and even decided to pack away some of my things. In the process of sorting my belongings, I ran across the senior Sheikh's card. Well, he had offered to help. I penned a letter to him and popped it into the mail.

A week later I was back home in Pakistan. The folks were happy to see me back but the fact that I had returned with a big degree and no job weighed heavily on everyone. Shortly after returning home, I received a phone call from Hamed, who had heard about my letter from his dad.

"My friend, you will be welcome in Riyadh," he enthusiastically advised me, "a visa and a job contract will be with you within the month."

"Thanks, but what position am I getting, with whom and what sort of money," I stammered.

"Oh, I am sure you will be very happy with the arrangements," Hamed asserted, "let me know when you get the stuff and are ready to come over."

The news certainly lifted everyone's spirits. My dad had also worked in the Middle East and the prospect of tax free earning rang well with him.

The package arrived. I was offered the position of Commercial Manager, within the business unit that Hamed now headed. I was to be paid nearly $80,000 annually, plus residence, transport and other expatriate benefits. With this sort of money, I would make back all the expenditure on my education in the US within 1 year.

V

I arrived in Riyadh at the end of September and was shown to my already furnished house, a fair sized 3-bedroom bungalow within a large compound. I learnt that this was one of the annex houses attached to Hamed's residence. While most of the senior management lived in other compounds, Hamed had arranged this for me as we were friends. The vehicle was a nice roomy American sedan. I soon discovered that a female servant and a driver had also been assigned to me, both of whom were from Sri Lanka, and were married to each other.

The Company HQ was an opulent affair in the central business district. Hamed was in a 20th floor corner suite and I was given a sizable office one floor down. My first surprise was to note that my secretary was an Indian guy, and that there were no females in sight. In fact, since arriving in Riyadh I had not seen many women.

"Sikander, it is so good to have you here," Hamed beamed joyfully, "now I can let you handle things and I can take my overdue holiday."

"But Hamed, you just got here a month or so ago," I protested, "You are not going to run off just yet?"

"Oh but I am, my friend, I am getting married next Thursday," he dropped a bombshell, "and my loving wife and I will be off to our honeymoon on Saturday."

"But you are already married to Jameela?" I was shocked.

"Yes, but this is Saudi Arabia and I have to act as is expected of me," he explained, "and Jameela is not my only wife, I was already married once before I met her! In fact, most of my peers have four wives, so I am still catching up!"

"And where will your wives now go?" I inquired.

"My friend, in this country you do not ask a Saudi about the whereabouts of his female family members, particularly his wives," he added in a slightly terse tone, "but since you are new in Saudi, I forgive you. Jameela and my first wife, Layla, also live in the house; they each have their wing and come to me on occasion."

I took the advice to heart and fortified myself to be running the business during his absence, however long it would be. I figured I had less than a week to learn the ins and outs of the operation and went to it with gusto. Sixteen hour days were the norm for the week and then the wedding came.

VI

The wedding was an unbelievable affair, but the segregated Saudi environment meant that I saw no females at all. Hamed and his newest wife escaped as soon as they could and went off to a honeymoon somewhere in the South Pacific. Hamed latest wife was the cousin of one of his friends. Apparently Hamed's sister had recently been married to the same friend. I was left to handle things in his absence.

Leaving work the day after the newlyweds had departed, my driver advised that he had been asked to help with Mrs. Hamed's shopping and he might not be able to drive me to lunch. The day went off as usual and, though I simply worked through lunch, I continued to 8 pm, my usual sign off time. Surprisingly, my driver had not yet come back.

I called for him and, after a moment of hesitation, he told me he was on his way and that I should come on down to the front of the building in fifteen minutes. When he arrived, I was surprised when he motioned me to the front seat. I got in and noticed that there was a burqa clad Saudi lady in the back.

"Excuse me," I stammered, "I did not know someone was going to be with us."

"Relax Sikander," a voice came from the covered form, "its Jameela. How do you like Riyadh?"

My mind went straight back to the last time I had seen her in her glorious nudity. Having not had any female interaction since coming to Saudi, my dick got hard just from the fact that one was sitting some three feet away!

"Hi Jameela," I responded, "how come you are here?"

"Well you know Hamed is out with his new darling," she complained, "I was drowning my sorrows spending his money."

"And how much did you spend?" I inquired.

"Enough to give him a headache, but not so much to bankrupt him," she replied with relish.

"What happened to your driver and car?" I asked, knowing that a fleet was available.

"Oh many of the wedding guests came from overseas and the entire staff was given to them while they are here in Saudi," Jameela explained.

We arrived back at our compound and since the car was loaded with her things, she let me off first.

"It was good to see you Sikander," she bade me goodbye, "have you seen the pool behind your place?"

"Really, there is a pool?" I was not aware.

"Yes, just behind the hedge at your back door, you should feel free to use it, none of us ever does," she emphasized.

Jameela drove away and I was left with a severe case of blue balls. What the hell, I needed to cool off; perhaps the pool was a good idea.

VII

I could not believe there was a near Olympic size pool just on the other side of the hedge. The water was clean and inviting. A few pieces of furniture were strewn about. At one side were a changing room and a kitchen. The fridge held every conceivable form of beverage, alcoholic or otherwise. The cabinets inside the kitchen were stocked with an extensive array of snacks.

Placing a large can of Fosters on one of the tables by the pool, I dove in to the welcoming water. Though tepid, it was still very refreshing and I began to slowly swim from one end to the other. I had perhaps been swimming for about 15 minutes, when I felt that someone else was about.

I looked up from the pool to see Jameela standing by the side still in her burqa. This time her face was uncovered and she gave me a nice smile.

"Well I see you take good advice, Sikander," she said, "mind if I join you?"

The burqa was off in a split second. Beneath she wore the slightest pink and yellow bikini, which hid nothing at all of her awesome figure. Diving into the pool, she was by my side within a moment.

"The water's lovely," she chirped.

"But not so much as the mermaid in it," I complimented her.

"So did you get some good exercise?" Jameela queried me.

"Not really, I was just lounging around," was my honest answer.

"How would you like to race me to the other end and back?" she probed.

Sensing my hesitation, she upped the ante a bit.

"Tell you what, if you get there and back faster than I do, I will remove my top, but if you don't, you will lose your shorts," she cajoled.

We shook hands and lined up at one end. "Go," she yelled and we were off. I reached the end and turned, only to find she was already headed back. I swam like crazy and somehow managed to reach the starting point a split second ahead of her.

"Good race," she said, untying the bikini top and flinging it at me, "but I bet you cannot beat me again." She had perky breasts which, while on the small side for Arab females, looked quite tasty all the same.

"And what if I do?" I questioned.

"Oh, I will lose the bikini bottom also," she promised.

Once again we were off and I was keen to win a second time. I was, however, surprised when she easily beat me by two lengths.

"How did you do that?" I was surprised.

"I used to be on the Jordanian women's swim team, I let you win the first time," she confessed, indicating she wanted my shorts.

As I went over to the steps to remove the shorts, she swam by and hooking her fingers inside yanked them off. She pushed back at my midsection and I sat down on the steps at the shallow end.

Jameela clasped my cock and slowly started to move her hand up and down on it. While I was still processing the information, she closed her mouth over my manhood and began to lick and suck with gusto. While it was not the world's greatest blow job, the lack of recent sexual activity certainly made it feel first rate. Before long, I was ready to explode. Jameela pulled me back into the water as my sperm spouted all around us. Still holding on to my cock, Jameela bit on my ear and whispered, "that's because I cheated in our race, you should try to size up your competition better before taking a challenge!"

She swam to the other end and motioned to me to come over. I followed in a blink and she handed me her bikini bottom. I reached out for her and she willingly melted into my arms. We kissed deeply, our tongues intertwining with expectation. My brain kept interfering with warning messages, but my cock and lips were in no mood to listen. I was on the verge of screwing my boss's wife. Worse I was about to screw my friend's wife, the guy who had got me the job. Oh fuck it; she had already had my dick in her mouth, and without much thought for her husband's feelings!! Serves him right for abusing her, I rationalized.

VIII

Jameela shimmied up the pool ladder and grabbed a towel. I followed and she indicated that I should collect all the clothes from the pool area. Tossing the towel to me, she walked around the bush, into my house, to the bedroom and on to my bed, still soaking wet. I could not believe that the dream I had been repressing since the night I had met her was now coming true.

"Dry me off," she commanded and I responded by rubbing the towel over every inch of her body till no droplets of water were visible. The move from the humid pool area to the air conditioned room had tightened her body and her tits were erect as could be.

Tossing the towel aside, I climbed on top and resumed kissing her luscious lips, while squeezing her boobs and running my fingers through her mane. Jameela began to moan softly and guided my fingers to her pelvic area. Slowly, I began to probe her insides with my fingers, first one, then two and finally a third. As I picked up speed, the sounds from her increased in intensity. She came with a mighty sigh and lay back, tears coming from her eyes.

"Why are you crying, Jameela, is it something I did?" I asked sympathetically.

"No, you are the solution, the trouble is Hamed, who is out screwing his new toy," she whimpered, "it won't last long, he'll want another and another soon enough."

"I am sorry, I thought that he did love you very much, but was bound by tribal customs," I responded.

"Did you think he loved me when you saw him violating me in front of the staff the night you came for dinner?" she shot back.

"What," I exclaimed, "how did you know I saw what he did?"

"I noticed a movement through the window, while he was abusing me," she explained, "and when I saw your jacket still on the other sofa, I knew it was you. You did make it clear when you showed up a few minutes after he finished."

"I had no idea he was going to treat you like that," I was on the defensive.

"It's okay, that is his way of demonstrating his manhood and superiority over the staff and me," Jameela continued.