The first time I saw her at the coffee shop, the black hijab framed her face like a secret I was dying to crack open. Aisha was all soft curves under loose layers, but her eyes—dark, bold, and full of heat—locked on mine and didn’t let go. She ordered her drink in a low voice, then slid into the seat across from me without asking. “You keep staring,” she said, lips curving. “Want to know what’s under here?”
I didn’t waste time. We ended up in my apartment twenty minutes later, door barely shut before she pushed me against the wall. Her hands worked fast, yanking my belt open while she whispered, “I wear this every day. No one gets to see what I hide.” The hijab stayed on at first, the fabric brushing my chest as she dropped to her knees and took my cock in her mouth. She sucked hard, tongue swirling, spit dripping down her chin onto the modest collar of her dress. I gripped the edge of the hijab, not pulling it off—just holding, feeling the tension.
She stood, shoved me onto the bed, and climbed over me. The dress came up, revealing smooth brown thighs and a soaked thong she peeled aside. “Fuck me raw,” she ordered, voice thick. I thrust up into her tight, wet pussy in one stroke. She rode me deep, hijab slipping just enough to show the sweat on her neck. Her walls clenched around my shaft, milking every inch while she moaned dirty promises: “I’ve been thinking about this cock all week. Stretch me. Fill me.”
We flipped. I pinned her wrists, pounding into her from above. The hijab stayed, but her breasts spilled free when I tugged the neckline down. I sucked hard on her nipples, biting just enough to make her gasp and buck harder. Her juices coated my balls as I slammed in balls-deep, the wet slap of skin filling the room. “Tell me how bad you want it,” I growled. “I want your cum leaking out of me while I pray later,” she shot back, eyes blazing.
She came first, pussy spasming and squirting around my cock. I followed seconds later, flooding her with thick ropes of cum. We didn’t stop. She rolled onto all fours, hijab still in place, ass up. I spread her cheeks and drove back in, watching my load drip down her thighs with every thrust. She reached back, rubbing her clit, begging for more until I gave her a second load, this one painting her ass and the base of the hijab where it brushed her skin.
Afterward she lay against me, hijab askew but still on, fingers tracing my chest. “Next time the stories get even filthier,” she murmured. The veil hadn’t come off, but everything else had.
