Chapter 2: Nova Enjoys the Imam’s Wives

July 24th, 2038 – Nova Alfarsi

My nightgown did nothing to hide my futa-cock throbbing hard as I swept through my new living room. I hadn’t had a chance to notice any bit of the house. It had a cheerful look to it, decorated with colorful blankets on the furniture and photos in gold frames on the wall. Sitting around a low, glass table was my new wife, Wahida, and two other women. All three had their hijabs off, their black hair exposed.

They were sipping tea as they stared at me. Wahida had a smile playing on her lips. I had made such sweet love to her last night while our husband watched and rubbed his little cock. It was so exciting being in this marriage.

I was the first futa, one of the thousands and thousands of daughters of Becky Woodward, to come to the Middle East and show the Arab world they could embrace us. I had converted to Islam and married Talib Alfarsi so he could have the pleasure of watching me fuck his wife and join in the fun.

We shared Wahida. She had experienced such rapture last night. Possibly, her first orgasm. Certainly the first time anyone had gone down on her juicy pussy. It was wild. We had such a delicious time. However, my long flight from America had worn me out, and I had fallen asleep after cumming in her pussy.

“Good morning,” I said in English. “Allah be with you.”

“It’s nearly noon,” said Wahida. “Talib said to let you sleep in after your long journey.”

“From America?” the older woman who had joined my wife said.

“Indeed,” I said, coming to join them. “You are Rizwana, yes?”

The mature woman nodded, her cheeks smooth and with all the beauty her years had given her. She was more than a handsome woman. She must have been breathtaking when she was my age, eighteen. She was Imam Hoosam Karimi’s first wife. I had met her last night at my wedding at her husband’s mosque.

“And you are...” I frowned at the younger woman. She was the imam’s second wife.

A naughty gleam twinkled in her eyes as she stared at me. She licked her lips and shifted on the floor. “I am Fahima,” she said. “Allah’s blessings be upon you, Nova.”

I smiled as I sat down beside my wife, my futa-dick throbbing.

“Perhaps we should be going,” said Rizwana. “Your new wife is awake, Wahida. I am sure you two have much ... to discuss.”

“To get to know each other?” I asked, grinning at them. “We did plenty of that last time, didn’t we, my love?”

Wahida’s dusky cheeks darkened. She quickly sipped her tea, squirming.

I left, wicked and wild. “She was more virginal than I was last night.”

“Did you and her really... ?” asked Fahima. She leaned in, her tongue flicking across her plump lips.

“That is there business,” said the older woman as she rose. “Come along, Fahima. Let’s give them some privacy. What they do is between them, their husband, and Allah. She is his divine gift. How she wishes to ... love Wahida is there business.”

“Do you think our husband will marry a futa?” asked Fahima as she rose, grabbing her colorful hijab and draping the headscarf over her hair.

“Perhaps,” Rizwana said. “Perhaps not. That is his decision.”

“I do hope more my sisters come to Saudi Arabia,” I said. “And if not, well, at least I am here. One miracle of Allah to grace your country.”

Fahima glanced at me and her cheeks darkened. She was such a beauty. My futa-dick throbbed even harder as I watched the two leave. They vanished out of the living room in their heavy dresses, hiding any hint of what they might look like beneath their clothes.

I ached to find out.

“You are a naughty one,” Wahida said, “coming out here with that hard cock thrusting against the folds.”

“I can’t help it that I’m horny,” I said, my hand running through her fine, black hair. It was like silk. It was a wonder to enjoy.

She smiled at me. “Right. You heard the sound of women, and that was enough to get a rise out of you. I have heard of you futas. All horny, wanton things.”

I winked at her.

She grabbed my blonde hair. She was definitely less shy than last night. I shuddered as she pulled me to her lips. I kissed her with hunger. My mouth melted against hers, loving the feel of her against me. She groaned, our lips sealing tight. This wicked heat flowed through me as I thrust my tongue into her mouth. I loved the feel of her. I loved her boldness as her tongue dueled with mine.

I moaned, our tongue dancing and caressing each other. She tasted so good. I whimpered as her hand found my hardon. She gripped me through my thin nightgown, stroking me. Her thumb rubbed across the pinnacle of my breasts. My dick throbbed, my pussy drinking in the tingles.

She broke our kiss. “You are bleeding through.”

“Huh?” I panted as her thumb kept massaging my cock’s crown.

“Your juices are bleeding through. Cock juices.”

“Precum,” I said. I grinned at her. “What do you expect would happen when you touch me like that?”

She gave me a wicked smile. “It’s like your cock is begging me to drink those juices. Your precum.”

“Mmm, yes,” I said, leaning back onto my elbows, my legs stretching out beneath the low table.

She released my cock and dragged my nightgown up my thighs. I trembled, my body shaking. My futa-dick throbbed as my Arab wife unveiled more and more of my pale legs. The hem went higher and higher. She exposed my thighs.

Then she revealed my cock thrusting from my blonde bush.

My clit-dick sprang out, thrusting up long and hard from the folds of my pussy. My cock, swollen dark with my passion, twitched with my heartbeat. She licked her lips as she leaned her head down.

I grabbed her black hair, sweeping it out of the way so I could admire her beautiful face. She was only a few years older than me, her skin a lovely shade of dusky tan. Her lips were plump and wet. They came closer and closer to my cock.

“You make me so wanton,” she said. “You futas are invigorating. I see why Allah made you.”

“Yes, yes, to give pleasure to women like you.”

She smiled at me, pausing in her descent. “You gave me more pleasure than I had in all my life. You made Talib give it to me, too. You are amazing, Nova. I am thankful Allah sent you to us.”

Her head darted down the rest of the way. Her mouth engulfed my futa-dick.

I groaned, my dick throbbing while my thoughts went to that delicious Fahima. The gleam in her eyes. She wanted me. The imam’s wife wanted to enjoy a futa’s passion. I bet she would be wild once I stripped her out of her dress.

Wahida’s hungry mouth slid up and down my girl-cock. My new wife gave me such a treat. I gripped her hair, watching her cheeks hollow as I pictured Fahima in my place. To cuckold not just my husband while I lived here, but an imam...

“Oh, yes, yes, I am so glad Allah sent me here, too,” I moaned. “Ooh, yes, yes, just like that. You’re perfect. You’re making me so happy, Wahida.”

She sucked on my girl-dick. My pussy clenched. My juices trickled out, soaking my bush. My tart passion perfumed the air, rising over the scent of sandalwood incense. I groaned, my heart pounding in my chest as she sucked and loved my girl-dick.

Her tongue danced around my crown while Fahima filled my thoughts. I shuddered, my toes curling. My cunt clenched. The pleasure built and built in me. That need to cum. That explosive, building pressure that grew and grew in the depths of my cunt. I was coming closer and closer to erupting. To flooding Wahida’s hungry mouth with my futa-cum.

It was incredible to enjoy. This wicked delight shot through me. I wanted to enjoy Fahima the same way I could enjoy Wahida. I was an ambassador to the Arab people. To their women. I had to be like my futa-mother.

I had to enjoy as many of them as I could.

“Wahida, yes, yes!” I groaned. “Ooh, you’re incredible. I love you.”

She sucked with such passion. My pussy clenched. My ovaries brimmed with cum. I would fire so much into her mouth. I would flood her. She would be drowning in my futa-cum for the rest of the day. Just reveling in it.

I smiled at her as she worked her mouth up and down my shaft. Her tongue was nimble, dancing, pleasing me as she sucked. Her cheeks hollowed, her eyes glassy. My cunt clenched. This wild heat rippled through me.

I gasped at the feel of her hand sweeping up my thigh.

“Ooh, yes, yes, finger my twat as you blow me,” I moaned. “You’re such a naughty wife.”

She sucked with delight. Her delicious fingers swept up my inner thigh and brushed the curls of my pussy. Then she was brushing over my vulva until she stroked my pussy lips directly. I gasped at her hot touch. My breasts jiggled beneath my nightgown as she stroked my labia.

She penetrated me.

“Wahida!” I moaned, my futa-cock throbbing in her mouth.

She sucked with hunger on my shaft. I groaned, feeling dizzy from the heat surging out of me. This wicked, wild, wanton passion built and built in me. She fingered my twat with her delicious fingers. She caressed my hot flesh, teasing me.

I wanted to just explode. To erupt and spurt my cum into her hungry mouth. I loved her. It was an experience to enjoy. A wild passion that would have me gasping and moaning. Her fingers pumped in and out of me. She stirred me up to a froth.

“Yes, yes, yes!” I groaned. “Oh, wow, that’s good. Oh, Wahida, you’re amazing.”

She moaned around my cock.

Her hungry suckles had my dick throbbing and aching. I panted, my nipples tingling. I grabbed the hem of my nightgown and ripped it off. My blonde hair bounced around my face while my tits were exposed. She stared up at them as she blew me.

She moaned, her fingers thrusting faster and faster in and out of my pussy. My cunt clenched down on her. I loved the feel of her digits reaming in and out of my twat. She gave me such a treat. Such passion to enjoy. This dizzying heat danced around me. I shuddered, my teeth grinding together as the passion built and built in me.

“Ooh, yes, yes,” I moaned. “That’s it. Come on, just work those fingers in and out of me. Oh, damn, you feel amazing.”

She moaned about my cock. She sucked on me with hunger. Her head bobbed up and down on my girth. It was incredible to enjoy. A wild passion. My pussy squeezed down on those fingers. I gripped them with my cunt.

The friction and her sucking mouth set me off.

“Wahida!” I moaned.

My futa-cock erupted.

My pussy convulsed around her fingers.

Hot cum spurted out of my dick and into her hungry mouth. Blast after blast of my jizz flooded out of me. I erupted into her. My cum spurted again and again. It was incredible. I groaned, trembling on the floor.

“Yes, yes!” I gasped as she swallowed my girl-cum. “Oh, Wahida, you’re amazing. An angel!”

Her fingers jammed deep into my spasming pussy. Pleasure rippled out of my cunt and fired from my girl-dick. I swayed. My eyes burst with stars. They flashed across my vision as I shuddered on the floor.

I panted and groaned as the final blast of my cum fired into her mouth.

“Oh, Wahida,” I moaned as she sucked out all of my girl-spunk. Her mouth popped off my dick. “That was incredible.”

“Mmm,” she purred as she looked up at me. Cum dribbled on her lips. “Yes, it was.”

She kissed me with hunger, letting me taste the exciting, salty flavor of my jizz. I loved it, melting into her kiss while I thought of Fahima and that naughty twinkle in her eyes. I had to enjoy her. Seduce her.

I had to experience more Arab delights.

July 25th, 2038

The next day, I arrived at the imam’s house with a jar of candied figs to give as a thank you gift. I stepped out of my self-driven Uber. There wasn’t a driver, the car just navigating the city of Riyadh all on its own. It was perfect when your husband didn’t have a spare car.

I shuddered as I came up to the door. I remembered arriving at this house for my wedding two days ago. I smiled, my headscarf wrapped covering my hair and swaddled about my face. I doubt anyone walking by on the streets realized I was the only futa in Saudi Arabia.

The door opened, and I grinned at the sight of Fahima.

“Oh, Nova,” she said in her accented English. “What a wonderful surprise. Come in. Come in.”

“Are you here alone?” I asked her as I swept in.

“My husband is at the mosque and Rizwana is visiting her mother. She does it every week on Wednesdays.”

I smiled. I knew that from talking to Wahida.

“And she leaves you all alone?” I shook my head as I handed her the jar of candied dates. “Well, this is a thank you gift from me for the hospitality your husband showed me by holding my wedding here.”

“Of course, of coursed,” said Fahima. She took it from me and led me into her house. It had that same spicy, sandalwood scent as my own. We passed a large shelf covered in leather-bound books with titles in Arabic.

I was still learning to read and speak the language.

“I’m glad you came over,” Fahima said. “I was so interested in talking with you.”

“Oh?” I said as she placed the candied dates in a cupboard. She had a surprisingly Western kitchen with all manner of appliances and even an induction heat stove top. “On what.”

“On futas,” she said, her cheeks blushing dark.

“I had a feeling,” I said, slipping my arm around hers. “Well, show me around your house and ask questions.”

She nodded as she took me by the arm. She had a sweet smell about her, something flowery and delicious. Her black hair fell loose about her face. I pulled off my hijab as she led me out of the kitchen into her dining room, my blonde hair falling free.

She glanced at it, her eyes dark.

“What is it like being a futa?” she asked. “I mean, you are mostly female. Do you get periods?”

“Yes,” I said. “I can even get pregnant, though I have no interest in having a man be in me.”

“Not even your husband?”

“He gets to watch me play with Wahida,” I said, noticing the way Fahima’s breath quickened. “And he plays with her, too. She satiates us both. It’s rather ... delicious.”

“Oh, my,” she said, her cheeks darkening.

“Do you and Rizwana never please your husband at the same time? Or each other?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” she moaned. “He comes to our bed separately. Technically, he should buy us each our own house, but the city is crowded.”

“What a pity,” I said. “To have more than one wife and not get the joy of watching one lick his seed out of the other’s pussy. Poor man.”

“Oh, my, that is naughty, Nova,” Fahima gasped. “You would lick Talib out of Wahida?”

“Well, I would lick my own out of her,” I said. “I have. She finds it wicked.”

Fahima was blushing so dark now as she led me down a hallway. She turned on a light for the bathroom, then kept going, passed her husband’s study. I shuddered as we reached a room with a bed in it.

“Is this what you really wanted to show me?” I asked her. “Your bed?”

She swallowed.

I stepped inside, leading her after. I turned, my hand sliding down her arm until I only gripped her hand. I pulled her after me as I backed towards the bed. I stared into her eyes, my futa-dick throbbing and aching beneath my dark, auburn dress.

“Did you bring me here so you could find out about a futa first hand?” I asked.

“You mustn’t think I’m adulterous,” she moaned.

“But didn’t your husband’s fatwa say it is not adultery to sleep with a futa?” I asked. “After all, my futa-mother slept with both of King Njam’s wives. She bred them even.”

“Yes,” groaned Fahima. “But I should still ask his permission before—”

I kissed her.

She melted against me, her lips liquid on my mouth. My tongue thrust past her lips. She didn’t resist me. She groaned and kissed me back. I loved it. I hugged her tight, pulling her against me. My futa-dick throbbed in my panties and beneath my dress, feeling her body.

She was so lush. So delicious. I had to enjoy her. I had to make love to this married beauty. She was an imam’s wife. Somehow, that made it naughtier. Like fucking a reverend’s wife back home. But I was Muslim now. I had converted to Islam.

This was so wild.

I turned us around as I kissed her and pushed her back to the bed. She gasped, breaking the kiss as she sank onto her dark covers. She panted, her brown eyes glossy with passion. She licked her lips as she stared up at me.

I smiled at her and winked. My fingers undid the buttons of my dress, working fast. My nipples ached, my round breasts begging to be free. I threw open my blouse, baring my tits held in my light-pink blouse.

Her eyes stared at me with such hunger as my dress fell off my body. She groaned, wiggling on the ground. She licked her lips. She was such a sweet thing. She had my heart pounding in my chest. I groaned at the sight of her.

“Aren’t you just delicious?” I groaned. “Ooh, I’m going to have such a fun time with you.”

She swallowed and nodded.

“Is your pussy getting soaked?” I asked as I unhooked my bra and bared my pale tits to her hungry gaze.

The Arab woman moaned, “Yes.”

“Good,” I purred. I smiled as her gaze lingered at my tits. They swayed as I slipped off my bra straps off my shoulders. They slid down my arms. My nipples were hard and pink.

I dropped my bra to the ground then slid my hands down my body. My touch electrified me. I groaned as I came closer and closer to my futa-dick. My cock throbbed and ached in my panties, threatening to break free.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties. I smiled as she licked her lips. Her eyes were locked on my panties, ready for the grand unveiling. She groaned, squirming her thighs together beneath her skirt.

I shoved my panties down.

Fahima groaned as my futa-dick sprang into view.

I bobbed before her, aching for her body. She stared at me with such hunger as I peeled my panties down my thighs and let them drop to my feet. My cock swayed the entire time, precum beading at the tip.

“Mmm, is this what you wanted, you naughty, married slut?” I asked.

“Yes!” Fahima groaned with throaty passion.

“Then get naked and show me how sexy you are.”

Fahima moaned. She wiggled on the bed as she hiked up her baggy skirt. She showed off her shaved legs. They gleamed in the light. She looked sexy, her legs the same dusky tan as the rest of her. She pulled her dress higher and higher. I groaned as her panties came into view, a bronze silk, the crotch soaked with her excitement.

She sat up, peeling her dress over her stomach then exposing her breasts in a matching bra. They were round tits, her nipples pressing hard into the fabric. She ripped off her dress over her head, her hair spilling about her flushed face. She threw it to the floor and unsnapped her bra with an eagerness, her straps sliding off her shoulders.

“Oh, Fahima,” I groaned as she unveiled her tits. They were so round and perky. Her areolas were large for a woman of her age. She was only twenty or so. They were also oval. Her nipples thrust out hard before her. “Those are beautiful tits,”

Fahima blushed. “You think so?”

“I know so,” I purred. “Now show me that pussy.”

Fahima groaned. She stretched out on her back again, her breasts jiggling. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. She peeled them off slowly, thrusting her legs up into the air. The cloth slipped off her rump and exposed her shaved twat. Her slit was tight and gleamed with her juices.

Arab women, I’d learned, usually shaved their pussies. Not to look sexy and naughty like a Western woman, but because their bushes were so thick. It was for hygiene, but it made Fahima’s pussy look so delicious.

I licked my tongue as I drifted to the bed. She pulled her panties off the rest of the way and lowered her legs, keeping her thighs pressed tight together. My futa-dick bobbed before me, aching for her as her eyes locked on me. She groaned, squirming. I could see the top of her tight slit vanishing between her closed thighs.

“Mmm, show me that pussy,” I moaned. “Let me see it. Worship it.”

“Oh, Nova,” she gasped. “This is ... I ... I...”

“I am Allah’s miracle, remember,” I purred, grabbing her ankles. “Part those thighs for me. I was sent to love you.”