A professor and a beautiful Arab woman

“I can take you to the place you seek,” the Arab girl
whispered.

Professor Montana Smith eyed her skeptically. It was
hard to judge if she was lying, as all he could see of
her face was the dark liquid pools of her eyes above
that veil. Although he had been in the kingdom for
nearly three weeks he had gotten little help from the
authorities. All the private leads he had been given
were afraid to talk to him either out of superstition
of the legend of the tomb or fear of reprisal from a
small band of religious fanatics.

“You can take me to the tomb of the Caliph of Muzareh?”
he whispered, leaning close as they moved through the
tightly packed market place.

“Yes, but not directly. You must meet me outside the
city at dusk, behind the third hill south of the old
oasis.” And with that she disappeared into the crowd
ahead of him.

Smith opened his mouth to call her back but then
thought better of it and began making his way back to
the hotel. Sunset was in three hours and the place she
had mentioned was nearly as far in travel time, plus
another twenty miles off the main road, quite isolated
from civilization. Was it a trap? If so, who was laying
it, bandits or the Will of Mohammed sect? One thing
was for sure; he had to check it out.

Back at his hotel he quickly packed a flashlight, some
food, a full canteen, his research notes and his grand-
dad’s old Army revolver. He didn’t want to be caught
unarmed in case it was an ambush. If he left now, he
could make it to the rendezvous point an hour early and
just maybe get the drop on whoever might be planning to
way lay him. As he made his way down stairs, he decided
not to tell anyone where he was going. If the lead was
real, he didn’t want to be trailed to the tomb until he
could publicly announce the discovery on his own, tak-
ing full credit.

Once outside he hauled his 6 foot 4 inch frame into the
battered old jeep with more than a little difficulty
and quickly sped off toward the main road out of town.

Hot wind ruffled Smith’s salt and pepper hair and beard
as he raced down the blacktop highway. At 48 he still
had a good physique, but these expeditions were begin-
ning to take a toll on him as he aged. Increasingly he
felt tired. But he needed one last spectacular archeo-
logical find to end his career and really make his
mark. If he found this tomb, that was it, no more
running over the Middle East. He was going to retire
alone to his study and write. He sighed. The life of a
field archaeologist was a lonely one. He had never had
the time to find the right woman. Now it was probably
too late.

The brilliant sun was sinking lower in the sky and
casting long shadows as he reached the turn off point
of what passed for a road to the old oasis. When he
got there, it turned out to be not much more than two
acres of palm trees and scrub with a spring in the
center. It appeared that he was first on the scene,
as there were no signs of any other vehicles, camels
or horses. Driving the jeep into some tall weeds, in
an effort to conceal it, he realized that it might be
futile. Even if nobody saw the jeep they might still
see the tire tracks. Nothing he could do about that.

Smith grabbed his pack and started heading south for
the third hill. Sand slowed his pace as he scaled the
slopes and slid down the other side. As he neared the
top of the third hill, he thought he heard something
on the wind. A voice? More like a moan.

Going to ground, he slowly began crawling the rest of
the way to the top and cautiously peered over the edge.

“My God!” he whispered in shock. There, at the bottom
of the hill was the girl he had met in the market
place, at least he assumed it was her. She was
completely naked, lying on a blanket, the tips of the
fingers of her right hand delicately caressing the
labia over her clitoris.

Smith just stared transfixed for what seemed an
eternity at the fantastic vision not twenty feet below
him. She seemed completely unaware of his presence.
His eyes drank in every detail of the Arab beauty
leisurely pleasuring her self. She appeared to be not
much more than 21 or 22 and was quite petite, maybe 5
foot 2. Her skin was of a light brown hue, her tummy
flat and firm and her breasts– her breasts were
perfect, firm and perky with the areolae forming
protruding cones that were capped by small hard
nipples.

All he could hear was her soft moans, carried by the
desert wind. He could feel the blood pounding in his
temples as he unashamedly gaped in lust and awe at
this pretty angel. His loins were stirring, his dick
already hard and pressing through his pants into the
sand beneath. When she opened her eyes and looked
directly at him, his heart leapt to his throat.

“Professor Smith,” she cooed, “You are early. I have
been waiting for you.”

He was struck dumb. What do you say to a nude Arab
beauty that has been pleasuring herself before your
very eyes for who knows how long?

“Uhh–uhh–yes…” was all he was finally able to
stammer, his voice more of a frog’s croak than a human
vocal instrument. “I didn’t–uh–didn’t mean to
interrupt.”

“Oh, not at all,” she replied as she slightly spread
her legs, the tip of her middle finger sliding lower
down her labia. “But I must tell you that if you want
me to take you to the tomb, there is a price.”

“There is?” His mind raced, he hadn’t bothered to bring
any money.

“Yes,” she almost moaned, spreading her legs wider,
her delicate knees now pointing toward the sky. “You
must pleasure me, first with your tongue my most
eloquent and esteemed professor.”

Smith didn’t have to think once, let alone twice, as
he slid down the hill toward the lovely naked girl.

“My name is Fatima,” she smiled when he stood between
her ankles, her open pussy revealed in all its glory.

“Montana,” he blurted, though she must already know
that. Throwing his hat and jacket into the desert
twilight he laid down beside her, his left hand
reaching out to gently cup and caress her right
breast.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered. Electric currents lit
up all his senses, as his fingertips thrilled to the
touch of her silky skin. Her fingers quickly found
and undid the buttons of his shirt, exposing his
smooth, almost hairless chest, which she began to
tenderly kiss. When he brought his lips to hers, he
found them incredibly soft, sensuous and yielding,
seeming to melt and merge into his own as they shared
their first kiss. His left hand seemed to assume a
life of its own as he caressed and explored the little
body of this young, naked, Arab beauty.

Kissing his way down her neck, to her firm young
breasts, his lips found their way to her left areola
and nipple. Worshipfully, he extended his lips around
it in long, slow, repeated kisses, even as he caressed
and gently squeezed her left tit. She moaned with
increased pleasure.

Never had he made love to a woman with areolae like
hers, a perfect complement to the rest of her perfect
body. For a long, long time he kissed and gently
sucked her breasts, his tongue running circles around
the nipple as it first hardened and then receded into
the swelling areola.

Gradually, his mouth engulfed more and more of her
breast in his mouth as he continued to gently suck.
He couldn’t get enough of her tit in his mouth; he
wanted to swallow it all, whole.

After a long time, he felt her hands gently pushing
his head away from her breast and down towards her
tummy. He began kissing his way slowly down to her
cute little “innie” belly button. Lingering there
for a moment, he kissed and nuzzled his way into her
fine, soft pubic hair, her aroused woman scent
intoxicating him still further, his head beginning
to spin in a delicious dizzy joy of anticipation as
his tongue caressed and flicked its way around and
down her labia to the gates of paradise.

Opening his mouth wide he pressed his tongue flat and
broad against her opening, greedily lapping her juices.
He flicked the tip into her fuck hole to drink more of
her juices. Then he began slowly and repeatedly licking
his way up her slit to her clit, his tongue pressed
flat against her glorious pussy. Licking, licking,
licking, occasionally pausing to lightly flick her clit
which made her toss her head insanely in pleasure, her
shrieks of joy echoing into the desert night beneath
the brilliant stars.

On and on he pleasured her gently licking and eating
her pretty pussy until she grabbed his head and lifting
it up, gazed into his eyes with a wild animal lustful
abandon.

“Now!” she throatily called.

Montana rose to his knees, unbuckled his belt, unzipped
his trousers and placed the head of his fully erect
cock at the top of her clit. He began rubbing the tip
up and down her hot wet slit, over and over, until she
gently but firmly seized his penis and guided it into
her hot, wet fuck hole.

God she was tight! Hot, tight and juicy. He began
thrusting, slowly at first, but increasingly faster as
he abandoned himself to fucking this young naked Arab
beauty, intent only on planting his seed deep within
her unprotected womb.

On and on he fucked her, pumping her fast then slow,
fast then slow, his mind only half believing that he
really had his tool buried in this beautiful Arab girl
writhing in ecstasy beneath him.

Finally, he couldn’t contain himself any longer and
with an animal grunt he exploded inside her, his cum
splattering, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud in
multiple contractions against her pussy walls, pumping
her sweet little pussy full of his white hot sperm.

His dick still buried to the hilt inside her he kissed
her passionately and repeatedly until his hard-on
finally subsided, grew limp and gradually slipped from
the gates of paradise.

He held her gently in his arms, totally at peace, at
one with her, the night, the stars and the desert. The
stars shone brilliantly, casting shadows in the clear
night air as a gentle breeze caressed and cooled the
lovers. For a long time he just sighed and held her,
lost in the beauty of the moment and their union under
the Milky Way.

Then, ever so slowly a doubt of uncertainty crept from
the inner most recesses of his mind into his conscious-
ness. Finally, he summoned the courage to speak.

“Who are you with, Fatima? Surely not Mohammed’s Will?”

“You really don’t remember me, do you?” she sighed.

Ashamedly, he gazed into her eyes, until it struck him.

“Of course! Fatima! You were in the archaeology class
that I taught at Harvard as a guest lecturer last year!
My God! You were an ace student. Third row, second from
the left. You–you– look so different.”

“People generally do without their clothes on,” she
smiled wryly. “I had a crush on you, but you hardly
even noticed me, you were so serious.”

“I did notice you and found you extremely attractive
but I made it a point not to get involved with my
students.”

“Are you involved now?”

Gently, taking her tiny hand in his, he caressed the
top of hers with his lips.

“Very much so, very, very much. I’ve fallen head over
heels in love with you.”

She beamed a gorgeous dimpled grin and grabbed his
head, pulling his lips to hers once more in a long
open mouthed kiss of intertwining tongues.

But there was something that they had both forgotten
in their passion that now bubbled up to the surface
of his mind.

“Uhh…Fatima,” he hesitantly ventured, though it
pained him to again spoil the mood of afterglow, with
this exotic beauty snuggled against him in his arms,
“I hate to bring this up, but can you still take me
to the tomb?”

She laughed softly and pressed herself closer against
his chest, her firm young breasts once again sending
electrical sparks through his skin, down his spine and
into his loins.

“There is no tomb. It is only a legend. Foreigners are
always looking to find our national treasure. But it
doesn’t exist.”

He knew she was wrong about the treasure. It did exist.
He had just found it. Smiling, they resumed kissing
her. Maybe the local university had an opening in the
archaeology department.