Interview With Omar
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Sheik Omar Ch. 02 free porn video
Sheik Omar had been taking good care of the golden haired girl he had found in the desert alongside the crashed airplane. He kept feeding her small sips of water and was surprisingly delighted to notice that during the night she had been peeing all over his best robe he had dressed her in. Because at least that meant her kidneys worked again. So he had removed the robe and washed it as the dry desert air would dry it in an hour and had bathed her again in one of the lakes in the oasis. When he covered her with a blanket in the tent she turned on her side and seemed to have fallen in a healthy normal sleep.
He leafed through the paperwork Samir had found in the plane. Among them were two passports. Lord Charles Westlake, earl of Davenport. That must have been the man they had found dead in the desert. Lady Mary Westlake. The girl must have been his wife then. They seem to be Inglesi, English. He made sure the paperwork was packed in a saddlebag.
Old Ali looked at the blond curls and the white skin of the girl and said: ‘This woman looks like a woman from a fairytale. Who knew hair could be so white blonde as the sand of our desert. In the days of my father girls like that were sold on the slavemarkets on the coast. Even when I was young some of the young lords on the coast were rumoured to have white slaves as a mother. My father said only rich men could pay for a white woman.’
Sheikh Omar had been the only one who had seen her naked and he refrained to mention to the old man that this woman’s face was red from the sunburn but that he had noticed how white her skin was on her belly and how pink her nipples. He could imagine why sultans and pasha’s had been willing to pay to add girls like that to their harem collection. Immediately he dismissed that thought. It was improper to think like that of this woman who was under his protection. Moreover widows were not to be touched under the local law for 3 months so no child had to wonder who his father was. No one would be able to harm her or even look at her in the wrong way.
During the late afternoon the girl woke up. Sheik Omar suddenly saw her blue eyes focussed on him. So they were blue. Blue as the sky. She looked astonished and then frightened.
-.-
Lady Mary had been dreaming that her mother was washing her and combing her hair thinking it strange that her late mother was there but as normally in dreams things then suddenly seem rational. But when she opened her eyes she saw two Arab men look down on her. One a very old and short man with a face full of wrinkles and a bushy white beard and one of around 40 whose eyes and beard were raven-black and who had some look of authority over himself. She tried to wiggle away from them but her body failed her and then to her horror she realised she was naked and just covered by a blanket. She tried to hold the blanket to her chin.
The younger man started to talk to her in his own language. Soothing words as if he was speaking to
a kitten or a horse but none of them she did understand. His eyes kind.
‘Charles! Where is Charles? Where is my brother? Where am I? Who are you? Charles!!’
The tall man shook his head and said something to the old guy who stepped out of what seemed to be a tent. He walked back in holding some white garment in his hand giving that to the other. And then stepped out again. The tall man unfolded the robe and then lifted her up and dressed her in the long robe. She was so shocked to see herself lifted naked as she was that she was dressed properly before she had time to react. She just laid there on her back on the floor trembling.
The old man came back in and was carrying a cup with something that his boss started to feed her. It was some lukewarm strange tasting milk that felt soft in her sore throat.
‘My second wife always insisted on cups and cups of camelmilk after each baby she gave me. Saying it has curing abilities. So I think it will be good for this one too,’ said old Ali and went back to get some more.
They fed her some dates and dried figs and let her wash the sticky fruits down with more camelmilk. She wanted to ask again about her brother but by the time she was finished chewing her eyelids dropped and she fell asleep again. The last thing she noticed was the hand that stoked her hair.
-.-
With the girl awake Sheik Omar ordered his men to make ready for departure the next morning. The girl would be very weak but his men and his animals could not linger. The camels had been grazing the spare grass and scrubs and drunk themselves full. It was time to move as waiting was too risky. The only solution was to carry her in his lap on his camel.
So Lady Mary woke up in the morning by the sound of belching camels, tinkling harnesses and shouting men. A young boy walked in to gave her some more milk and dates and then the tall guy just lifted her up while the others pulled down the tent in a mere minutes. Before she knew it she was slowly rocking on top of a camel, her head covered with a long piece of cloth, tugged to the chest of the tall guy by his strong arms.
She had to tell him about Charles. Charles would be somewhere near. She looked up at him over her shoulder and started pleading.
‘We have to find Charles. Please help. He went here to look for help.’
It was clear this guy did not understand English. She started to panic.
‘Charles est mort’
It took her a while to realise that under the guttural accent of his own Arab language he was saying something in French. French she had a bit in school as any proper lady needed to know some knowledge of it. What was he saying? Mort? Was that dead?
‘Charles? Mort? Dead?’
He nodded and she saw his pity for her in his dark eyes.
‘How?’ She made a slashing motion over her throat wondering if those guys or someone else had killed him.
The man shook his head and said a long sentence she did not understand and then motioned drinking and shaking his head again.
‘Eau. No eau? No water?’
Another nod.
But he had taken some of the water bottles and he was so well trained? But had she herself not also almost died from thirst?
She bowed her head and he felt tears fall on the hand that kept her in place against his chest. Silently she wept. Her whole body shaking. As best he could while riding his big camel he tried to console her. Slowly stroking her belly, whispering encouragements in his own language. After a while she just fell asleep in his arms weak as she was from her ordeal and now the grief. Although his arms got heavy and tired from holding her in place all those hours he refused to hand her over to one of his men.
When the day got very hot they hobbled the camels and all napped a few hours in the simmering heath. Sheik Omar looked down at the blonde head sleeping next to him. Then they all mounted their rides again and continued for many more hours.
In the evening they built a fire from cameldung and made mint tea with loads of sugar and roasted a hare they had shot. The men rolled themselves in capes and blankets and went to sleep around the fire. Omar had tugged in Mary with a blanket but woke up by her screams. She was trashing around in a nightmare and when he gentle woke her she started to shiver in the freezing cold of the desert night. He simply picked her and her blankets up and took her to his bed. The warmth and his soft snores had her sleeping again soon.
-.-
For Mary the next days seem to pass in a routine of dozing and sleeping. She would just cuddle up in that guy’s lap and sleep while the camel’s rhythm rocked her like a boat. At night it seemed perfectly normal to sleep in his bed. It was as if her body and his had grown somehow into one being. As if her back belonged somehow in that space against his chest. All the shock she had experienced mentally and physically – from having her whole life uprooted in England to finding herself alo
ne in the company of natives – made her retreat into herself. She just dozed and dozed.
Her strength did return due to the food and the sleep. And the patient and caring manner the tall man handled her with did evaporate her fear. After the first couple of days she would be wide awake during the days looking at the desert while they travelled. She followed the routine of the caravan drivers with a keen interest. The camels, the gear, the making of camp. They way the desert changed when the sun turned towards the horizon. She admired the impressive nature she was beholding. She tried to talk with the man who shared his camel and his blankets with him. Their rudimentary French their lingua franca. It seemed his name was Omar. The old man Ali, the warrior Samir and the boy Abdul. She had told Omar she was Mary not Leedie. That lady was a title. She had no idea how to say it in French so she tried to explain. ‘Princesse, chevalier, noblesse’. He had smiled and said: ‘Meeri, princesse, Amira’ and had from that moment on insisted on calling her by that Arab name Amira. She had no clue if he meant that as a term of endearment or just a better pronounceable nickname.
As her father had been a country doctor and it had been the distant cousin who had hold their title before the war lady Mary had not been spoiled rotten with servants waiting on her hand and foot so when she was not ill anymore she tried to help out the men when possible. Like packing the bedding of herself and of the leader of the caravan, cleaning and packing the teacan and cups. More and more the men started to feel like a kind of friends.
After a week or so they reached a desert town. Sheik Omar tugged her blonde hair under the turban and gestured she should keep quiet. It was clear to her he did not want the townspeople to know she was a woman and a foreigner. The caravan spent the day trading and selling goods Omar had purchased on the coast. Beautiful shawls and cloth from India, copper pottery, spices and herbs, books. Things he had seen on the coast when he was there to trade the harvest of his tribe and regarded them good stuff to trade on his way home. After having restocked their own water and food supply they left and their caravan turned west to his own home.
Mary was surprised to see how the desert changed. Had the landscape around the town been rocky, now they were back in the sanddunes again but when they travelled further they saw big chotts as Omar called them when pointing them out. Dried up salt lakes it seemed. The area became less flat. Red rocky crops appeared.
The days passed in a slow routine. Sometimes she would walk alongside of the camel or sit on it on her own while Sheik Omar stretched his legs but mostly she would just sit in his arms slowly rocking in the camel’s ship of the desert gait.
Then all of a sudden they reached what was definitely home to the men. A big oasis with huge palm grooves, gardens, water gurgling in canals, mudcoloured houses, small children shouting and jumping, men and women coming to see them, the women ululating shrill sounds to show their happiness. Mary nervously noticed people peeking at her. The stranger. What would happen now?
The camels were guided to a big walled compound and the tradegoods moved inside storerooms while the camels were taken to a field. Omar picked some bundles and then called ‘Amira’ and motioned Mary to follow him into the house itself. An old woman and two girls in their early teens were coming to meet him. Kissing him and hugging him. And then turning to Mary with big surprised eyes. A young woman hurried through the door behind them holding a baby.
‘His family,’ thought Mary. ‘Kids and wife and an elder familymember?’
Omar smiled proudly and pointed to the women ‘Mamam, daughter, daughter, daughter, son daughter.’ Mary wondered shortly why she was glad the woman with the baby was not his wife. Omar pointed to her and said ‘Amira’ and then a lot of Arabic. The old lady shook her head in compassion and hugged Mary. The daughters stood a bit like teenagers can do all over the world. Giggling and not sure what to do or say.
They took her to the back of the house what seemed to be the private area for the family. An old servant woman brought tea and pasties and Sheik Omar showed his family what he had brought them as presents.
One of the bundles was full of scarves and the other were dresses. They were all allowed to pick one dress and one scarf. The whole scene reminded Mary of Christmas presents when she was young. She guessed that Omar would sell the other garments to the townspeople but his mum and his girls had first pick and they loved that.
When they all had picked some and were happily admiring their new cloths Sheik Omar reached out to where Mary was standing in his shadow and tugged her to the pile of cloths. ‘Amira please take.’ So she could also have one? She had no idea what to do. What kind of cloths were here suitable for someone like her?
He bent down over the package and rummaged through it and then showed her a long embroidered thin light blue scarf. Holding it out in between their bodies he only said ‘eyes’. She looked at the gorgeous fabric that was indeed as blue as her eyes were. Inspired she inspected the kaftans and found one that was black but had blue, white and pink embroidery around the neckline and sleeves and in a pattern on the front down to the hemline. Well this was best she could do for a mourning dress for her brother. Sheik Omar and his family were silently watching her stroke the fabric. She looked at him and said one of the few words in Arabic she had learned during their weeks of travelling ‘Shukran, thank you.’ Omar and his mother smiled. His mum said something and when he nodded bent down and pulled another dress from the pile. It was light yellow. She handed that to Mary as well and sent one of the girls to fetch something. She came back with a traditional headdress that was black gauzy material and adorned by small copper coins. The old lady placed that on the pile as well and stroked her arm. It seemed his mum though she needed a bit more cloths and her son was amused by his mum’s fussing.
When they had finished the tea and pastries the Sheik went back outside to overlook the storing of the tradegoods and the old lady took Mary’s hand and took her to a bathing room. A small tiled basin was filled with clear room temperature water. She instructed the girl to sit on a stool and pored some of the water over her and then rubbed her hair and body with a brownish stuff that seemed to be soap. After having flushed her clean of the soap she was instructed to go and soak in the bath. It felt divine.
With help of Omar’s mother she was dressed in the black kaftan and her hair covered with the black scarf. Copper coins falling on her forehead. The dress felt nicely loose and airy. Her feet were put in some beaded slippers. Mary looked at herself in the mirror and saw a stranger looking back at herself.
-.-
The evening was spent with eating a meal and drinking lots of tea. The family talking together in Arabic and sometimes asking her questions using the Sheik to translate. How her parents were doing? Well they had died years ago. If she had brothers or sister? No. Children? No. In the end the women went all to bed and only Omar and Mary were left. She felt heavy of heart. What would happen now they had arrived at his house? Would he help her get back to England? She tried to ask if there was a French governmental office in town but his answer was there were no French here.
In the end he just stood up and gestured her to follow him. They went up two flights of stairs and ended up in a hallway with two doors and on the other side arches and a door opening up to a roof terrace or balcony. The desert wind was blowing cold wind through the open windowpanes. Omar opened one door and gestured to her that that was her room handling her the small lantern. The room was a nice room with a female touch. Suddenly she r
ealised this must have been the room of a woman. Probably his wife. Her absence indicating she either left him or died.
Omar himself left and she heard the sound of a door opening next door and him then walking downstairs again. Mary set down on the bed and discovered a thin nightgown was placed on the bedding. She got into bed and blew out the lantern.
In the dark the old house was full of strange and unfamiliar noises. The wind howling, animals in the yard. Sleep evaded her. For the first time in many weeks she was alone in a bed. She could hear Omar who had come back up walking about in his room. The floorboards squeaking. When she finely fell asleep she woke up from a nightmare the room still pitch dark.
She gave up and got out of bed and walked to the door of Omar’s room and knocked and knocked again. Sounds of someone approaching the door reached her through the wood of the door. The door opened and Sheik Omar was standing in the opening. His face sleepy, only dressed in cotton pants. She looked up at his face and now seeing him for the first time with his head uncovered. Long black strands of still damp slightly curly hair were falling to his shoulders. The light of the candle in his hand playing tricks on his bare chest and arms. The fresh smell of soap still in the air. The only thing she could think of was how beautiful he was.
Omar said: ‘Amira…’
‘Please Omar can I sleep in your bed?’ she stuttered in her halting French. ‘Like in the desert’.
He stepped back and waved her towards his bed.
Her heart seemed to make circles in her chest when she got into the huge bed . He just got in beside her and spooned her against his chest again like they had slept all those weeks since he found her. The familiar warmth of his body and his breathing against her neck relaxed her that much that she fell asleep within minutes.
Sheik Omar laid in his bed holding the beautiful girl he had found in the desert. Her soft curves pressed against him. His arm around her and the weight of her breast against his wrist, his fingers spread over her belly. The thin nightgown just a thin layer covering her.
He longed to peel the garment off her. To see those white breasts again and suckle their pink nipples. To spread her legs and drown himself between her legs in her hot wet core. To hear her moan and gasp his name as she would reach her climax. He felt himself getting rock hard. But he could not. She was a widow. Not to be bedded for months to come according to the law. A law he as the leader of his tribe had to uphold. A woman under his protection. A woman who just lost her husband. He would wait. He had slept alone in this bed for many years. At least she was in his arms. Very stealthy he kissed her neck and hugging her even closer went back to sleep.
-.-
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The next episode I will place under interracial love. Not that I think an Arab is not of the same race as a British woman but to give people who like to read about exotic lovers also a chance to discover this story.
In the meantime please leave your comments and suggestions here. Please vote And maybe you will enjoy some of my other stories as well.
Alessandra
- 13.09.2020
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