A Haram Desire Pt. 01

"Oh, oh I'm so sorry," she said, flustered and embarrassed by her clumsiness.

"No problem," the man she had run into said, turning to face her.

He was young, twenty-two, twenty-three maybe. Tall enough to make her feel nervous, a foot and a bit above her own petite height. The culmination of her embarrassment at running into him, the nervousness induced by his size were then further blended with a shameful spike of attraction at the sight of his youthful handsome black features. Tahira dropped her eyes, hoping her took the blush that stained her cheeks as simple mortification at her handling of the shopping trolley.

"Seriously, no problem at all," he added, obviously aware of her blush which just deepened it as Tahira's nervous self-consciousness took another beating. "If I'm gonna get run over, nice that the person driving the trolley looks like you," he said ending with a flourish of charm.

Oh, that was just too much for her. Head still down Tahira rushed past him, leaving another quiet "I'm sorry," in her wake, steering the trolley down another aisle, any aisle. She checked the contents, bread and milk were the only essentials missing, everything else could wait, she just needed to be gone.

Throwing those items in, she looped around the store, avoiding the aisle she had seen the young black man standing in. At the checkouts, she stuffed the cheap shopping bags quickly, not even bothering to load them evenly, she just wanted to leave before she might run into him again. She swiped her card at the checkout, nodded and smiled to the weary "Thank you, come again," of the middle-aged woman serving her and all but ran out the door, a bag in each hand, filled to bursting.

Tahira hadn't even passed the long storefront before the bag in her right hand decided to split along the bottom, her groceries sliding out into a pile, a few cylindrical shaped purchases already rolling away with their new found freedom. Her day was no longer dull but a second embarrassing incident in a row was hardly what she'd wished for as a lift from the tedium.

"Need a hand?"

It was him. The same young man from the store. Tahira glanced over at him before reaching out to gather her spilled purchases into a messy pile. He was wearing heavy workpants, the type preferred by plumbers, carpenters and the like, all pockets and loops for hand tools and reinforced kneepads at the front. These pants hung down low over his slim hips, the tight t-shirt he wore above them tucked in at one side so that the upper hem of his underwear was visible. She flushed again, her vow, her faith being tested. The shame of her weakness distressing her.

"No, I'm fine, really. Thank you, but there's no need..."

"Jesus..." he stopped, awkward now as if only noticing her hijab for the first time. Tahira didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. "I mean come on... let me help... uhh, yeah, wait a sec."

He walked away and Tahira couldn't help herself but she looked at his rear, drinking in the sight of him. The young man stopped at a white panel van, opening the driver's door and reaching inside. He seemed to be fumbling around, then he was on his way back to her. In his hands he held a worn scruffy looking gym bag that he the offered her. She looked at it like he was holding a live snake in front of her.

"It's clean," he said defensively.

"No, I-I just... it's not necessary. I can go back inside for more bags it's okay. Please, I can't take it."

He stooped down beside her, grabbing up items and stuffing them into the bag, then he reached for the bag she still held in her left hand, the touch of his fingers on her hand making her snatch her arm away, a trembling response to a churning in her belly at the physical connection.

"There, done. No arguments. That's my good deed done for the day," he said, straightening up to stand but not moving off, looking at her, as if waiting on something.

"Thank you, I-I need to go," Tahira said, voice quavering and she grabbed the handles of the gym bag, rushing down the street towards her home.

<<0>>

Back in her house she dropped the bag on the floor of the kitchen, placing a coffee cup beneath the nozzle of the coffee maker, starting it up with trembling fingers. She was mortified by her behavior. She'd acted so badly towards him and while the reason was obvious to her it must have been so rude to him. Her urges, her itch, was back. She'd held off for years now, relying instead on the memories of the four times when her need and lust had outweighed her guilt and faith. Those memories, she would call them up, reliving them as she masturbated beneath the warm spray of the shower, a band aid over a gaping wound.

She had to get a hold of herself. It wasn't like she hadn't seen men, black men, around the place. There'd just been something about him, unfathomable, but something about him had made her nervous.

The machine beeped and she picked up the cup, the strong black coffee soothing her as she sipped at it, the heat scalding her lip and tongue but still she drank, seeking calm. Once she'd finish, Tahira took a moment to whisper a silent prayer, beseeching her god to take those troubling thoughts from her mind so that she might find peace and grace in her life. Only then did she begin to pack away the shopping. As Tahira pulled out the plastic milk carton, she noticed a rectangular card stuck to the damp bottom of the carton. She plucked it free, turning it over to read the small lettering on what was clearly a business card.

'Keenan Williams Electrical services' it read, beneath this was an email and a mobile phone number.

For the next hour, Tahira's whole life revolved around that simple small white piece of card. It sat on her kitchen counter as she paced up and down in front of it, sometimes stopping to let her eyes roam over the simple black lettering, sometimes picking it up with a mind to just throw it in the bin. She never did though, just putting it back on the counter and continuing her pacing, a thousand thoughts and arguments pulling at her as she waged a war within herself.

Finally, neither side of her internal debate emerging as a victor, she simply put off making a decision.

She picked up the card and slipped it into her purse, wedging it among a number of other cards a homeowner collects over the years, plumbers, window cleaners and the like. Essentially hiding it in plain sight.

Soon enough her children returned home from school and the turbulent waves of that morning subsided, her life returned to the still predictable waters of any other day. Her children retreating to their rooms to do their homework. Tahira working on dinner for the family. Ali then arriving back home, sitting in front of the tv until the evening meal was ready. Same old, same old.

She didn't sleep well that night. Her shifting, tossing and turning did not disturb Ali who snored softly through all her turmoil. Old memories, the four times she had strayed from her husband, her family, her faith... they resurfaced in her mind unbidden, as fresh as if they'd only happened the day before. Tormenting her with their vivid details. By the time the alarm clock beside her blinked three am in muted red digits, those memories had become confused, her tired mind unable to keep them straight.

In these new erotic recollections, the faces of the other men she had been with had become replaced by the handsome features of the young man she'd met the day before. His voice now was the one whispering dirty words in her ear as a big black cock stroked its length inside her.

When the alarm went off that morning, Tahira stumbled from her marital bed, as weary as if she had indeed been fucking all night long.

<<0>>

Almost as soon as her kids had disappeared through the front door on that Thursday morning, Tahira opening her purse with fumbling, fatigued fingers, yanking out the business card she'd placed there the day before. No more hesitation, she needed to set the thing right with the young black man, maybe then the dreams would stop troubling her sleep.

Tahira pulled out her phone, opening up WhatsApp and adding him to her contacts before beginning to type out a message.

'Hi. You gave me your bag outside the supermarket yesterday. I found your number in it. I wanted to text to apologize. You were being kind and I was being rude.'

She read over the message a few times before finally pressing send. Now her focus was on her phone, the card no longer relevant. She starred at the screen for a full minute until she saw he had opened her text. The messaging App then showing he was typing a response.

"Dat OK. All have bad days."

That's the point where she should walk away. She'd apologized, made things right. Job done, move on, turn off the phone.

"Doesn't excuse it, you were being a Knight, I was being ungrateful," she typed, not heeding her own internal voice of reason.

"Black knights are de best." he replied, a smiley face emoticon behind it.

"I know, Black is the best," she hit send before even thinking about the consequences or was it that she simply accepted the consequences fully.

She watched as he began to type, saw he'd stopped but no message appeared. A few moments later and he was typing again, another pause, more disappointment as still no fresh reply materialized. Tahira groaned out loud, she was so bad. Bad at this and bad in general as a person. She needed to take it as a sign, stop this setup... A message appeared.

"Let's start over. Keenan."

"Tahira." she typed back.

"Nice to meet u Tahira."

"And u Keenan."

Another pause, each second an eternity as her sloe-eyed features wore her emotions openly, anticipation, fear and guilt already plastered across her attractive face.

"I don't got time to fuck about. Don't do time wasting. I saw u an I wanted to no u. U get me?"

"Yes." Tahira answered, not trusting her brain to come up with anything else. Simple meant less chance of her saying something stupid at this point.

"U play?" Tahira knew exactly what he meant; she'd received similar messages before online.

"Yes."

"Married? BF?"

"Married." she texted.

"Wen u free?"

She remembered her husband Ali, the only time in the last few minutes he'd crossed her mind, saying he'd be away Friday night. Though that still left the kids. If she arranged for them to go to friend's homes after school, she'd have the entire day, well into the evening. Hopefully some time in that space would suit Keenan.

"Tomorrow. Friday, 9 in morning till maybe 8 at night. Ok?" She waited on his answer.

"Text u ltr wit plan,"

'Allah forgive me' Tahira whispered.

Chapter Three: What a Difference this day makes...

Friday morning, Ali gone, leaving the house with an overnight bag. His work taking him hours away. The kids pushed and prodded into their uniforms, packed lunches thrust into fumbling hands, ten pounds each on top of this for them to get treats later on with their friends. Tahira couldn't get them out of the house fast enough.

As the front door closed, she pounded up the stairs. She'd already showered, but now she wanted to dress to impress. She had a nice set of lingerie, matching black bra and underwear she'd bought years back when she'd put up her profile picture online. They were still in pristine condition, she worn them only twice since. Once she'd put them on, she hesitated over her choice of Abaya. After an agonizing discovery that none were good enough, she settled on a sky blue one, it belted at her waist, framing her curved figure. The final touch was a cream-colored Hijab that went with her dress nicely. Tahira then threw spares of everything, Hijab's, Abaya and underwear, into a small backpack before glancing at the clock. It was after nine already and Keenan had texted to meet him at the same store at nine thirty.

She closed and locked up the house, moving as quickly as she could down the street. It was a balancing act of getting there on time and not being all sweaty when she arrived. She made it with five minutes to spare. The rush had been good. The need to keep moving, to get ready had stopped her thinking. Her mind was her enemy right now. If she thought too long or too hard about this, then she'd either chicken out or send herself into a guilt spiral. Tahira looked at her watch, hoping he'd hurry up. She didn't want to wait around in case she was seen and because waiting led only to thinking...

Right on time, the same white panel van pulled up beside her in the car park, Keenan behind the wheel. Tahira climbed in on the passenger side, buckling up her seat belt as he reversed out.

"Hi," she said, looking at him finally.

"Hey," he answered, a smile making his thick lips dance and she felt a flutter within her at the sight of them.

"You good girl? No problem gettin' away?"

"All good," Tahira answered, relieved that it was the truth.

The van pulled out of the town center, peeling onto the motorway.

"Yeah... well no point wastin' time, Let's see how good you are," Keenan said, winking at her.

"Eh?" she blurted, nonplussed. The confusion melted away, her pussy melting in unison, as Keenan pulled at the front of his work pants, a long thick black cock rising up. Actions speak louder than words.

Tahira eased forward and to her right, shrugging the seatbelt off her shoulder, just leaving the section around her waist in place. She took a hold of his cock, the shaft quivering as her trembling hand closed around it.

"It won't suck itself," he said.

Her head came down over it, mouth open, throat dry with nervous need. Then her lips were around it and for the first time in a long time, she wasn't feeling bored, unfulfilled or regretful.

"Mmmh yeah, that's right. That's good. Real good. Who knew Muslim girls sucked cock so good?" Keenan groaned in response to her bobbing action, his hand resting on the back of her head, stroking her through the fabric of the Hijab.

"Where you from anyways?" Keenan asked as small slobbering sounds started to come from Tahira's mouth.

"Birmingham," she slurred, not wanting to release his cock to answer him clearly.

"Nah, nah, I mean you like from Iran or one of those places?"

"Pakistan," she replied, still licking his cock as if it were dipped in something sweet.

"Never had me a Pakistani girl. Never had me a Muslim neither. This aint your first black cock though, dat right?"

"Mmmph, fifth, glurrph," Tahira responded.

"Well shit... a five's a fuckin' magic number, you gonna see dat soon...mmmh yeah, keep suckin' dat cock, jes' like that..."

<<0>>

Keenan kept driving, one hand on the steering wheel, his left hand resting lightly but firmly on the back of her shrouded head, the rationale clear, to keep Tahira at her task.

She hardly needed any inducement though. His cock was big, probably... no definitely bigger than those other men she'd been with. Harder too. It must have been because of his youth, the other men being her age or a little older, Keenan perhaps as much as thirteen years her junior. After all this time, five long years, to have a virile cock in her hands, her mouth again. Tahira wasn't sure what was the wetter, her mouth that drooled as she sucked and licked his rampant length, or her pussy that quivered in anticipation.

'BHAAAAAAHHHHHHH'

The blare of a trucks horn startled her and she raised her head in alarm. Tahira had a moment to glimpse the grinning face of a truck driver in his side mirror as he overtook Keenan's van, the driver sounding his horn is ribald amusement, inspired by the sight of her face down in Keenan's lap.

Her cheeks flushed pink and Tahira's impulse was to pull the edge of her hijab across her face in disgrace. Instead, Keenan's hand cupped the back of her head, urging her back down. Sheepish, shamefaced, submissive... Tahira lowered her mouth back onto his cock. The disruption had served to awaken concerns inside her. First being this blowjob. In her faith, the ingestion of seminal fluids was considered unclean. This had never been a problem before, Tahira merely using her mouth to excite her partners, never to bring them to completion. Here on the motorway, she was faced with a problem that she hadn't considered before this. Spit or swallow?

As it turned out, this was one dilemma she didn't need to deal with yet. Before ever coming close to ejaculation, Keenan pulled off the motorway into a service area, removing his hand so that she could rise up in her seat, a delicate hand wiping spittle from her chin. Aside from offering travelers food and fuel, there was also a small motel in the area. Normally it would see mostly truck drivers as clientele, but she had no doubt it had been used before for the same purposes as Keenan's and hers.

They checked in together, Keenan keeping an arm around her waist in a familiar fashion that caused Tahira to keep her head marginally bowed, her paranoia rampant that the middle-aged woman at the desk would make assumptions based on her expression. If the woman had an opinion, she didn't share it verbally or in her manner, simply handing Keenan the key card for the room and directing them to the elevator. The room was one floor up, Keenan carrying their two bags in one strong hand, holding Tahira's hand with the other. He only let go of her when they reached the door, sliding in the card to unlock it. He stepped in first, Tahira following.

Inside, the young black man slipped the key card into the plastic socket on the wall, bringing the hotel room to life. Tahira then heard a soft thump as he released the bags so that they fell to the floor, then his hands were on her waist, his whole body pushing against hers. The wall stopped her backwards movement, bracing her against his tall, strong body as he pressed against her, his full mouth finding hers, kissing her with an earnestness that simply left her breathless. As his mouth explored hers, his hands commenced their exploration of her body. Tahira contented herself with resting a hand on each of his hips, while Keenan moved his up, down, around... feeling her curves with a pleasure that was obvious from the hard erection pressing against her stomach.

"Lift up your dress," he said, his own breath erratic from the passionate kiss.

"Abaya," Tahira corrected him.

"Whatever... pull it up," Keenan took a half step back as she began hitching up her robe, exposing her toned legs hidden beneath it. He helped her, taking a fist full of the fabric, pulling on it, helping her to gather it about her waist. Tahira moaned in pleasure as he went to one knee, drawing her panties down her legs till they were beneath her knees. A shocked hiss escaped her mouth as the young man leaned forward, his face pressing a kiss on her flat stomach before his lips began drifting south.

"What are you doing?" Tahira gasped out.

"Puttin' the kettle on... what you think I'm doin' eh?"

"I-I..." she'd never had anyone do this to her before. While not forbidden it wasn't a common practice in her culture and the men, she had slept with outside of her husband had always been more interested in getting inside her. Then his tongue was teasing her, tasting her. Her stuttering confusion changed into a blissful moan.

"I... ahhhhh, oh, oh... "

As his tongue continued to tease the soft folds of her intimate place, Tahira raised an arm to rest across her eyes, shielding her eyes as she struggled between a heady mix of unexpected pleasure and decades of adherence to a principle. Her other hand still had her abaya raised to her waist as she did so, fingers nervously gripping and regripping the cloth.