[Lordsnow]

Fatima stayed on the bench longer than the ten minutes.

She counted her breaths and tried to make the decision feel smaller than it was. The abaya still covered her completely. The veil still hid her face. Nothing about her appearance had changed. Only the choice in front of her had. She could stand up, walk back along the path, return to the room and to Sameer, and force the entire afternoon out of her mind. Or she could follow the woman deeper into the trees.

Her body felt restless in a way that prayer and careful clothing had not quieted. The memory of the long night with the men sat close to the surface again. She remembered how open she had been, how she had asked for more even when it hurt, how her cunt had stayed wet long after they finished with her. That same low heat was present now, stirred by the calm way the other woman looked at her and by the picture of her stepping out of that side room after the man.

Fatima rose from the bench.

She walked along the path with measured steps, one hand holding the edge of the abaya so it would not drag. The trees grew thicker. The sound of the main resort faded. When she rounded the last curve she saw the old water tank, its concrete sides stained and partially covered by vines. The woman stood in the shade beside it, waiting.

She did not look surprised.

Fatima stopped a few paces away. Her voice came out tight.

“I should not be here.”

“Yet you walked the whole way,” the woman said.

Fatima kept her eyes on the ground between them.

“I keep telling myself I will turn around. Then I don’t.”

The woman pushed away from the tank and closed the distance by two steps. Close enough that Fatima could smell her skin again.

“You watched me leave that room with a man inside me only a short while earlier,” the woman said, plain and direct. “You saw the state of my mouth and my dress. Most women who call themselves modest would have left at once. You followed me instead. What does that say about what you actually want?”

Fatima’s face burned under the veil. The direct words made the heat between her legs sharper. She pressed her thighs together under the abaya and said nothing.

The woman continued, still calm.

“You can keep standing there covered and ashamed, or you can admit that part of you is wet right now from the idea of what I did in that room and from the way I look at you. Which one is it going to be?”

Fatima’s hands trembled inside the sleeves. She forced herself to speak.

“I am wet,” she said, the words barely audible. “I don’t want to be. But I am.”

The woman nodded once, as if that was the answer she had expected.

“Good. At least we are past the lies.”

She reached out and took hold of the edge of Fatima’s veil with two fingers. She did not pull it off. She only held the cloth, waiting to see if Fatima would stop her. Fatima stood frozen, breathing shallowly, and did not pull away.

The woman lifted the veil slowly and pushed it back so that Fatima’s full face was visible. Then she let her hand rest lightly against Fatima’s cheek.

“You have been used hard recently,” she said, still direct. “I can see it in the way you hold yourself. Your cunt is still sensitive. Your body has not forgotten. That is why you are standing here shaking under all this cloth.”

Fatima closed her eyes. The simple contact of the woman’s palm on her face felt stronger than it should have. Her nipples had tightened under the layers of fabric. The heat between her legs was no longer low. It was open and insistent.

The woman spoke close to her ear.

“I am going to put my hand under your abaya. If you want me to stop, say it clearly. If you stay quiet, I will continue.”

Fatima’s breath caught. She kept her eyes closed and said nothing.

The woman’s hand slid under the heavy cloth, found the waist of her under-pants, and moved lower. Her fingers slipped between Fatima’s legs and touched her cunt directly. Fatima was already slick. The woman’s fingers moved over her clit in slow, deliberate circles, then slid further and pressed inside her.

Fatima made a broken sound and reached out blindly, gripping the woman’s shoulder to stay upright. Her hips moved once against the hand under her abaya.

The woman kept her fingers working steadily inside her while she spoke in the same calm voice.

“This is what you came here for. Not conversation. Not answers. You came because your cunt is still hungry and you wanted someone who would not pretend otherwise.”

Fatima could only breathe against her shoulder, legs trembling, the modest abaya still covering everything while the woman’s fingers fucked her slowly in the shade of the trees. She did not tell her to stop.