I walked into her air conditioned office that late Thursday morning as she stood up to greet me and shake my hand. She was elegantly dressed in a pastel green suit with a tight fitting skirt which accentuated her hips. Her jacket was open and I could just see the outlines of a dark bra behind her sheer shirt. Her hijab was a stunningly colourful and tasteful blend of light greens, blues and pinks. I felt her soft hand in mine for the first time, even though I had known Rasha for years. She was the widow of my friend and business partner who had died five years earlier. Rasha had taken over the business, grown it, modernized it and moved the main office into the ground floor of their building outside Cairo.
"American coffee, right?" she asked.
"Yes please. Cream no sugar," I replied.
She ordered her assistant simply with a glance and we sat down for a long day of discussions. She had big plans for our business and was pushing me to expand in other parts of the US. Our heated debates lasted late into the day and was getting extremely detailed and I felt cornered. I had run out of excuses and was starting to visualize her plans.
It was around 7pm and dark outside when she suggested we continue upstairs in her apartment and have dinner together. I was starving by then so I agreed. We climbed the two flights of stairs while I struggled to keep my eyes off of her hips as they swayed in that tight skirt. Her perfume was light and sweet as she brushed alongside me. When we arrived at the landing, the door magically opened from inside. As she stepped in she introduced me to Mariam, her assistant who took care of her apartment and had just opened the door.
Unlike her boss, Mariam did not wear a hijab. On the contrary, she was dressed extremely provocatively. Tank top, tight short skirt, high heels and nothing else. She seemed very young, her blonde hair was cut short like a boy and she wore tiny earrings and a very thin necklace tight around her long neck.
Mariam had already set the dinner table for two and some appetizers were already out.
"Have a seat please," Rasha said, "while I change for dinner." She walked down a hallway towards what I guessed was her bedroom.
I sat at the table as Mariam brought me a Diet Coke. She stood so close to me as she poured it out slowly over the ice, I could feel her legs touching mine and her bare arm touching mine. She was wearing the same perfume that Rasha was, which surprised me a little. Mariam turned to face me and gave me a little smile, as my eyes for a split second looked down her tank top revealing small perky breasts. Mariam stood up straight when she was done and I could see her nipples were hard. I must have stared at them a little too long, because when I looked at her face she giggled. She put her hand lightly on my shoulder and turned to walk away so slowly as her little tight ass swayed. She turned around and smiled an even bigger smile.
"Mrs Rasha will be with you in a minute. I will go help her get ready for dinner."
I sat at the table sipping on my Diet Coke and adjusted my hardening penis in my trousers. I sat in anticipation wondering how Rasha would be dressed. Her dreamy brown eyes and lovely full lips appeared much more attractive than I had noticed before. There was something different about how she spoke and moved. Something much more tempting. She had definitely lost some weight since I had last seen her the year before, and her figure looked tight, like she had started working out. Based on what I knew about her, I estimated she was in her early forties. She had definitely been taking good care of herself.
My mind then drifted to my family back in New Jersey. I checked the time on my phone and noticed that my wife and kids had been messaging me for a while. I was about to reply to some of them when Rasha appeared.
She wore a light pink hijab that was loosely placed around her head; one end dropped on her shoulder and the other end between her ample sized breasts. Strands of her black hair were slightly exposed and she tried lazily to push them back under the silky scarf. She wore a pure white long robe that dragged on the floor and was held with a thin white rope at her small waist. The fabric of the robe was so silky and smooth it followed the contours of her body and I could tell she was not wearing anything at all underneath. From her height and the sound of her footsteps I could tell she was wearing high heels, but they were hidden by the long flowing skirt of her robe.
She smiled widely at me as Mariam walked behind her with a tray filled with two glasses of lemonade.
