Watching My Cheating Hijab Wife Sex Video

The fragrant scent of shisha smoke wafted through the dimly lit room, mingling with the heady aroma of incense. In the corner, a rather portly gentleman reclined on cushioned pillows, a contented smirk playing upon his weathered features. Before him, a smartly-dressed woman sat primly, her hijab tastefully adorned with intricate embroidery. She gazed at him coyly through kohl-lined eyes, a cup of steaming tea placed precariously on her lap.

“You wanted to see me, Papi?” she purred, batting her long lashes.

The man chuckled, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. “Ah, Fatima, always so delightfully parlante.”

Fatima smiled, showing a set of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth. She delicately sipped her tea, the china clinking against her hijab as she did so.

The man leaned forward, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been given information about your husband, mi cielo. Il things he do behind your back…”

Fatima’s ruby lips curved into a scowl. “And what business is that of yours, Papi? I am a faithful wife.”

The man chuckled darkly. “Oh, I’m sure you are, mi amor. But perhaps it would interest you to know of the videos he keeps, hmm?”

Fatima’s eyebrows arched in curiosity. “Videos? What sort of videos?”

The man snapped his fingers, and a small television was wheeled out by a bronzed servant. With a flourish, the servant hit a button, and the screen flickered to life.

Fatima sucked in a sharp gasp as the scene onscreen unfolded. There, displayed in high-definition clarity, was her husband, frolicking in the nude with another woman. A very pale, ginger-haired woman with a shockingly curvy body. The two were entwined in a passionate embrace, their manhoods straining against each other.

“Oh my stars,” Fatima whispered, her face flushing a deep crimson beneath her hijab. “That harlot! I shall have his head for this!”

The man clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Ah, but wait, mi vida. There is more…”

Onscreen, the scene shifted. Fatima’s husband was now kneeling before the pale woman, eagerly lapping at her most intimate area. The woman threw her head back in ecstasy, her breasts bouncing with each stroke of his tongue.

“No, no, no,” Fatima chanted under her breath, her hands clenching into fists. “This cannot be! I have been a faithful wife! A good Muslim woman! How dare he shame me so!”

The man reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Shh, mi amor. It is not your fault. But perhaps now, you can see why I wished to speak with you.”

Fatima nodded numbly, her eyes still glued to the screen. On it, her husband was now being pleasured by the woman, her hand wrapped tightly around his girth, stroking him to full hardness.

“Oh Papi,” Fatima whimpered, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “What am I to do now?”

The man smiled, his hand sliding down to rest on her knee. “Mi vida, I would be more than willing to help you through this difficult time. Of course, as a devout Muslim woman, you would need to remain faithful to your husband…”

Fatima’s eyes flashed with anger at the mere mention of her lying spouse. “To hell with him! He has ruined my honor!”

The man’s hand crept higher, his fingers tracing the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Perhaps, mi cielo, it would be better to give in to your desires. To find release in the arms of another man. A man who can appreciate your beauty, your passion…”

Fatima’s breath hitched as the man’s hand continued its ascent. “I…I…this is not right, Papi. I am a married woman!”

“Say the word, and I will stop,” the man murmured, his thumb now brushing against the damp fabric of her panties.

Fatima let out a soft moan, her hips bucking involuntarily. “Oh Papi, I…I cannot. It is haram.”

The man chuckled, his other hand cupping her face, tilting it towards him. “Mi amor, surely you have heard the saying: ‘There are no absolutes in Islam, only decisions we must make.’ Perhaps this is one of those decisions.”

He leaned in, his lips mere inches from hers. “Tell me, mi vida, what would you do if your husband was not here? If he had not shamed you so? Would you still cling to your so-called morality?”

Fatima’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “I…I…I do not know, Papi. I am confused.”

The man sealed his lips against hers, his tongue probing insistently for entrance. Fatima hesitated for a moment before surrendering to his kiss, her mouth opening to accept his invading tongue. She moaned into his mouth, her hands fisting in his hair as he plundered her mouth.

He pulled away, leaving Fatima panting and flushed. “What is it you want, mi amor? I can give you everything you need, anything you desire. All you have to do is ask.”

Fatima’s eyes were glazed over with desire, her chest heaving with each labored breath. “Oh Papi, I…I want you. I want you to make me forget. Make me feel something other than this pain in my heart.”

The man smiled, his hands sliding up her thighs to hook beneath her panties. “Then let me worship you, mi vida. Let me show you the true meaning of pleasure.”

With a deft tug, he pulled her panties down her legs, tossing them carelessly aside. He pushed her legs apart, settling himself between them. Fatima whimpered, her head falling back against the cushions as the man’s tongue found her most intimate spot.

He licked and sucked, his tongue delving deep into her folds, lapping at the sweet nectar within. Fatima moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on. He slid two fingers inside her, pumping them in and out, his tongue flicking against her sensitive bud.

“Oh Papi, yes!” Fatima cried, her hips bucking against his face. “More, please give me more!”

The man obliged, adding a third finger, stretching her tight walls. He curled his fingers, finding that sweet spot inside her that made her see stars. Fatima came undone, her body convulsing as she climaxed, her juices coating his fingers and face.

He pulled away, savoring the taste of her on his lips. “You are exquisite, mi amor. The most beautiful flower, in full bloom.”

Fatima gazed at him through lust-filled eyes, a satisfied smirk on her face. “And you, Papi, are the most skilled gardener. But I want more. I want to feel your hardness inside me. I want you to make me yours.”

The man grinned, undoing his pants to free his thick, pulsing erection. “As you wish, mi vida. I shall ravage you until you forget your own name.”

He entered her in one swift thrust, burying himself to the hilt in her tight heat. Fatima cried out, her nails raking down his back as he began to move. He set a brutal pace, pounding into her with long, deep strokes. The room filled with the sounds of their coupling, the wet smack of flesh against flesh, their moans and cries of pleasure.

Fatima wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper. “Yes, Papi! Harder! Faster! Make me scream!”

He obliged, slamming into her with abandon, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Fatima came again, her inner walls clamping down on his length, milking him for all he was worth.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her, spilling his seed deep within her womb. They collapsed together, both spent and satisfied.

Fatima smiled up at him, her eyes shining with a newfound sense of freedom. “Thank you, Papi. For showing me that sometimes, the only way to move on is to let go of the past.”

The man smiled back, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You are welcome, mi amor. But remember, this is only the beginning. There is so much more I can teach you…”

And with that, they fell into another passionate embrace, their bodies intertwined, their hearts beating as one.