Chapter 6

Jamilah Hassan was a very pretty woman. Her eyes were a light brown near the pupils with a dark green outer ring. Their unique color, wide spacing and her high cheekbones gave them a very cat-like quality. Her nose was thin and turned up slightly, while her mouth was generous and full lipped. She had a slight overbite that made her somehow even more attractive. She had a nice body also. No, her breasts weren’t big like Fatima’s or her legs long like Basheera, but the package was still excellent. Her skin was smooth and blemish free, her complexion a tawny tan. She was just a very attractive woman with a terrific personality. I was amazed at the tender feelings I had for her after such a short time.

There was one other thing about Jamilah for which I was unprepared. She was the most passionate woman I had ever met. Jamilah let it all hang out, and absolutely everything I did sent her to the moon. It was the most intensely gratifying sexual experience of my life, as her unrestrained ardor made me the lover that I’d always wanted to be. I had always been proud that I was an unselfish partner, but, with Jamilah, I swear the more pleasure I gave her, the more I experienced myself.

Jamilah had a clit the size of the last joint of my little finger, supersensitive nipples and a g-spot as large as a half dollar coin. Not only was she multi-orgasmic. In addition, she was a screamer, a squirter and a scratcher. I started kissing my way down her fine body as soon as I talked her out of her slip. By the time I reached her smoothly shaven vulva she had already shivered and squealed through two minor climaxes. When I wrapped my lips around her big love button she almost detached my ears pulling me against her tighter.

After about fifteen minutes of muff munching I came up for air. I flipped Jamilah’s legs over my shoulders and went at her jackrabbit style, fast and furious. She stayed with me stroke for stroke, and we both came so hard we almost blacked out. I was down for the count, but Jamilah was brimming with energy and happiness. She jumped up, grabbed a washcloth and dipped it in the bucket that held my next morning’s cleanup water. I protested when she started washing both our privates. I didn’t protest this when the other women had done it because I knew they were leaving. I was hoping Jamilah would stay longer, though, because I was looking forward to round two if I could find the energy.

“You can wait on that, Honey, the night is young,” I said.

Her beautiful eyes gleamed in the candlelight as she looked at me with a smile.

“Oh, it is very young, Neeko, but we are janabah (unclean, impure) now. We must be taharah (clean) before we continue. We wives are very strict about following the Prophet’s words on cleanliness.”

“Is that why you shave down there?” I asked.

“Yes, but now I think I will have other things in mind when next I shave my faraj. I forgot how good that feels, it has been fifteen years since I last had that,” she answered.

“I can’t believe Hassan stopped doing that for you, you taste wonderful,” I said.

“Hassan would never do something like that, he only used me for his pleasure. My roommate in school and I used to do it, though. The housemother caught us doing it and we had to leave school in disgrace. That’s how I ended up married to Hassan. He was doing some sort of business with my father at the time, and offered a small dowry for me along with a promise to move me far away from Baghdad. Hassan said I was a Jezebel and that Adara’s lameness was the punishment for my sins.”

Jesus! This guy Hassan had to be the biggest asshole that ever lived. I pulled her up against me and kissed her.

“Hassan is gone now, maybe you will find a husband that accepts you as you are. He’ll be a lucky man to have you by his side and in his bed,” I said, encouragingly.

She smiled real big and planted a scorching kiss on my lips.

“Yes he will,” she sighed. “Let me show you how lucky he’ll be.”

She did ... twice more, in fact. In between sessions I had my face firmly wedged in the gap between her thighs as she bucked and squawked through too many climaxes for me to count. I now knew the meaning of being fucked senseless. Jamilah raved about my performance but I was really only along for the ride. Snuggling with her, both of us sated and sweaty, was almost as nice as the sex itself. Jamilah was the whole package, sweet, smart, and sexy as hell. What a cruel fate that she was stuck out here in the desert, all that potential going to waste.

I slept until after seven the next morning, slept like a baby as a matter of fact. Jamilah was gone when I woke up, but I could still smell the lingering scent of her. Fatima came down to get me for breakfast. She smiled and surprised me by giving me a big hug and kiss. I was thrilled that I navigated the stairs much easier. In a day or so, I would be through with the cane.

I loved eating breakfast with all the women, it was fun and lively as they teased me about all the strange noises they heard coming from the basement last night. We sat on the floor around a low table. Adara, Tahani and Kalila were on one side of me and Basheera, Fatima and Zahrah were on the other. Jamilah sat opposite me, alternately smiling and blushing at the other women’s remarks. The sudden noise of a vehicle outside the house broke up the party. Basheera jumped up and ran to the door to see who it was. She looked out then whirled around.

“Ba’athists (baath party insurgents, remnants of Saddam’s old power structure),” she hissed.

Jamilah grabbed my arm and practically dragged me to the basement. I started to head for my cell but she diverted me over to some shelves set under the concrete suspended stairs. She pulled out a couple of storage containers and lifted a concealed panel on the wall. The cubbyhole she exposed was just large enough for me to wriggle into. When she closed the panel it was completely dark and absolutely quiet in the coffin-sized space. My heart was thundering in my chest. I lay there, my mind filled with nightmare scenarios as to what might be happening outside. The following hour was the longest of my life, as each second passed with agonizing slowness.

Just as I started to relax somewhat, the panel concealing me swung upward. It was impossible to see who opened the panel, because the sudden light blinded me. My heart revved into overdrive again until Jamilah spoke.

“They are gone now, Neeko, you are safe,” she said.

I rolled out of the tight space and she helped me to my feet. Jamilah led the way back to my cell, where Adara was chained to the wall, lying on my pallet. She giggled at me when I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“Someone had to be in here in case the jihadists searched the house. It is well known that Hassan punishes us this way,” she said.

That made sense because the room did have an occupied look to it. Once again, I was impressed with how sharp these women were and how well they worked together. And, once again, I was reminded what a complete asshole Hassan had been.

“I’ll spank you if you are a bad girl, so you don’t have to worry about this punishment any more,” I said with a grin.

She was looking at me inquisitively as Jamilah unlocked the shackle.

“Spank?” she asked. “I do not know that word.”

I guess I was still giddy from my stay under the stairs to do what I did next. I sat down in the chair and motioned her over too me. She looked mystified until I pulled her across my lap and lightly swatted her on her ass.

“This is spanking. It’s what I do to women who misbehave. Of course if it were real, I’d pull up your skirt and make your pretty little kara (ass) ahmar (red).”

She giggled and squealed as I playfully swatted her a few more times. When I stopped, she seemed reluctant to get up. I pulled her upright and perched her on my knee.

“Of course I know you’ll be a good girl and I’ll never have to do that to you,” I said.

“Umm, I don’t know Neeko, I’m bad sometimes,” Adara said dreamily.

Just then, Jamilah cleared her throat. “So am I,” she said huskily.

The other women joined us before I could reply. We all sat around the basement, as they filled me in on the visitors. I received a real education that day about the Iraqi insurgency. I also understood how fortunate I was that Basheera found me instead of the Ba’athists. This area of the desert was the stronghold of the cadre of two defunct Republican Guard divisions. The commander of one of the divisions had appointed himself warlord of the area. His troops made sporadic visits to the scattered farms in the region to enforce loyalty and collect tribute.

Hassan had been a friend of the rogue general and Basheera was afraid that the family would be in danger if the soldiers found out that Hassan had disappeared. Another fear she had was the general’s interest in Kalila. That weasel Hassan had been bargaining with the general for a suitable dowry for his eldest daughter. Kalila was quite naturally petrified of becoming the wife of a man even crueler than her father. Basheera did not think she could hold off the general much longer.

Basheera then related to me that one of the soldiers today had boasted about their gunners shooting down two American warplanes in an area southwest of the farm. The soldier went on to boast that the general still had many other weapons hidden in the desert. The general had absorbed most of the other resistance groups in the area and now controlled over two thousand square miles of western Iraq. The savvy old general called himself Sheik Omar Abdullah. He conducted his military operations on the periphery of the area to draw American and Iraq government forces away from his stronghold as he gathered strength.

That night I finally got to take a shower. Man it was fantastic, even though the water was not as hot as I would have liked. Basheera even dug me out another pair of boxers. The boxers were made of a silky material and were a red and green plaid. They were not my style but they covered my ass so I didn’t complain. I was laying on my bunk thinking about all I learned today when Fatima came into my cell. I started to get up but she motioned me to stay where I was. When I lay back down she whipped her abaya over her head and gracefully slid under my thin blanket with me. When I pulled her against me, she sighed contentedly.

I loved the feel of Fatima’s body next to mine. She was such a cute little cuddly handful. As I thought that, my mind strayed towards my feelings for all the women in the house. I was amazed at how strongly my attachment to them had grown. It was a revelation of sorts for me to realize that I had feelings for all of them, even though they were all so different from each other and different from the women that I thought were my type. Yeah, I had a type of woman I seemed to gravitate toward, women like Vickie Salvatore: cool, sophisticated and beautiful. Funny, I could still feel the same for these women who were polar opposites from Vickie, yet still love her too. I was going to have to devote some serious thought to that.