New readers - and previous readers who might have read the last chapter quite some time ago - know that it is advisable to start at the beginning of the series in order to know about/remember the characters and the sequence of events.
*****
The birth of Daneen eight months before had changed the dynamics of the household. All the attention and eyes were turned on the little Black baby girl. Every now and then, one of us would enter the master bedroom with great care to have a look at the newborn, who was now sleeping through the nights.
Master was a lot more present at home since the birth of His daughter, often in the bedroom with her and her mom, taking a multitude of photos. He especially liked to be by them when Abida was breastfeeding. Amanda had ordered a few nursing abayas of different colors with easy front openings.
Luckily, Daneen was a quiet and gentle baby girl. She would let us take her in our arms and carry her around the house when awake and let us put her back in her crib without a whimper. Sometimes, we would try to make her walk by holding her little plumpy hands. Her mom would smile at that sight, certainly looking forward to see her daughter walking by herself soon.
Every day, one or two of us would accompany Abida on her long walks with her baby girl in the neighborhood. On weekends, she would often be seen pushing the stroller with Master and Kiersten at her side, both of them wearing their full-length burqas with only a rectangular window revealing their heavily made up eyes and their long elbow-length gloves.
Sometimes they would come across neighbors who would stop for admiring that cute Black baby and chat. By that time, everybody knew that Abida and I had divorced and that she had remarried with a young Black man 21 years younger than her. Also aware that I was living with them sure made them wonder what was exactly our unusual lifestyle.
The two women had developed a close relationship, influencing and helping each other in their own ways. Abida had made Kiersten a fervent Muslimah believer, so much that Kiersten was wearing abayas and hijabs, sometimes with sarouels [loose, baggy trousers worn tightly at the ankles] at work and had made arrangements to have her own prayer room at the company headquarters. They both strictly abided by the female dress code and prayed together often; they also shared tips and advice on ways to please and excite Master. There was not an ounce of envy or jealousy between them, which was a gift for Faisal and all of us, creating a enjoyable atmosphere in the household.
For instance, Kiersten had suggested Abida to let her hair grow, pleading that Master would like that change and that she wouldn't have to worry about her head tattoo as it would remain there forever anyway. And Master indeed expressed His approval, asking His wife to let her hair grow until it would come down to her bottom. I was looking forward to admiring my ex-wife's jet black hair again, however this foreshadowed more hair care work for me.
Kiersten had also bought Abida a special gift for her birthday a few weeks before: a set of ten exquisite sterling pearl-studded mandarin-style nail guards in a nice velvet cushioned box. Given its obvious high quality, this present must have cost a few hundred dollars. Abida, quite intrigued, asked what these were for. "I thought that it would be nice and pleasing to your Husband if you let your fingernails grow," Kiersten explained. "We know that He likes us to scratch and cling to His back with our hands when He makes love to us. I'm sure He would love it."
Abida, blushing lightly, thought that it was a very good idea indeed, sensing the kinkiness of that new adornment. She decided to let her nails extend up to an inch long past her fingertips and was wearing the guards during most of the day, although she had to get used to them. Again, this would be more caring work for Zoe and me.
Not jealous of her ideas to increase the arousal of their Master, Kiersten had a wealth of suggestions for Abida. I heard her one day encouraging Abida to resume her hormone treatments for augmenting her breasts, at least to become as large as her own, as they knew how much Faisal was fond of them. Always striving to please her Husband, she followed the advice.
On week days, Abida was now installed in a sort of routine. Her priorities were to breastfeed her baby and do her prayers. She had begun to work on her research on Black Muslims in her office when she had time. We bought a digital voice recorder as her long nails were preventing her to type on a keyboard. She would then send her files to a freelance typist.
The evenings and nights were privileged moments for Abida and Master, and sometimes for Him and His concubines. Abida was always happy to greet Him home and enjoyed remaining beside Him and chatting about various things, such as their beloved child, His professional endeavours, and her activities at home.
Early one evening, tired but still not asleep in my quarters behind my partition in the master bedroom, I was listening to Faisal and Abida, who were chatting quietly in their love nest. A few minutes earlier, I had finished preparing Master's suitcase, and I was going to take Him to the airport; He was going with Faridah on a one-week business trip to Dubai.
"I am happy that you recovered well from the delivery," said Faisal. "I hope that breastfeeding Daneen isn't too much of a burden for you, my love."
"Oh no, my Adored One, not at all. I feel great, this is a period of high fulfilment for me. The breastfeeding creates a wonderful between Daneen and I. Of course, this is something a man cannot experience," she said joyfully. "My greatest hope right now is to make myself available to grow Your next child within me, to receive Your mighty semen so that we can have the Black baby boy that You desire so much."
"Oh my darling, I love you so much," Faisal followed on. "Your will to please me is worthy of commend. However, above all, I want to spare your health and safety, dear Princess. You remember what the doctor told us... another pregnancy could be hazardous for a woman of your age, not that I find you old, on the contrary."
I was sure that Abida didn't like to hear that. She carried on with a tinge of disappointment in her voice: "Yes, I do remember the doctor saying that. Although, my beloved Sultan, I love You so much and I am so aware of your longing for having a male Black heir that I would gladly be Your cow forever."
Hearing that word, cow, Faisal couldn't do but laugh. "You're not my cow, you're my dear, my beloved wife. And it's precisely for that reason that I want to ensure your well-being. I want us to be together for many, many years to come."
"Oh, my Love, my only Love... I am Yours and will be Yours forever!" she exclaimed with a quavering voice, on the brink of crying. "But what will we do?"
"As a matter of fact, I am thinking the situation over for some time," Faisal admitted. "I came up with a solution that could be acceptable to you."
"What is it, my Sweetheart?"
"I thought - in fact I decided - to take another wife... You expressed well my longing for a son. And I don't want to impregnate a concubine. My conscience tells me that I have to do it with a legitimate wife."
"Oh... What are you saying? Allah be a witness... I can't believe..."
"Please, stay calm, my darling... Let me elaborate... That other wife wouldn't - will not - be any woman. She will be one whom you know and with whom you get along very well. And I want to breed a white, pale-skinned woman, I want my children to be from a mixed couple, just like we have done so wonderfully for Daneen."
Abida was quick in guessing who it was. "Kiersten, it's Kiersten!" she almost shouted with a voice full of sorrow.
