Zainab's slutty confession (fm:adultery, 9331 words)

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I stood in front of the mirror, assessing myself with a critical eye. Light brown eyes stared back at me, framed by long, dark lashes and my straight, brown hair that fell over my shoulders. My fair skin seemed to glow in the dim light of my bedroom, and the modest dress I wore clung to the curves I'd spent years trying to ignore. Despite the conservative cut, there was no hiding the hourglass shape that had drawn glances and whispers since I was a teenager. My breasts were firm, topped with delicate pink nipples that remained hidden under layers of fabric, yet my body always seemed to speak volumes no matter how I tried to mute it.

Living alone with my father had meant a life of modesty and discipline. At 65, he had worked tirelessly to see me through school, his sacrifices reflected in the deep lines of his weathered face. I knew the pride he felt when I graduated with high grades, but reality had set in quickly after. There was no money for university, and as tradition dictated, I was soon engaged to Tahir, a young man my father respected. Tahir was kind but modest, with a small clothing shop that barely supported him.

That evening, my father called me to the living room, his voice carrying a tone I hadn't heard before—an edge of worry mixed with hope. He sat in his usual chair, the fabric worn and shaped by years of use.

"Zainab," he began, eyes softening as he met my gaze. "I'm getting older, and I cannot work the way I used to. But I spoke with Mr. Ben today."

The name resonated in the room like an echo. Mr. Ben, the son of one of my father's old friends, was known throughout the island. Wealthy, powerful, and enigmatic, he was the kind of man who made people speak in hushed tones. Stories of his sprawling estate and his booming real estate empire were common. But I had never met him.

"He's looking for a personal assistant," my father continued. "It's a good opportunity, Zainab. You'd earn more than I ever could. It would help with your wedding, with your future." His voice faltered, and I saw the unspoken wish behind his words—a desire to see me secure before he could no longer be my safety net.

The room fell silent as I absorbed this. A mix of excitement and nerves coiled in my stomach. Working for Mr. Ben would be more than just a job; it would be stepping into a world I only glimpsed from the outside.

I nodded, a small smile breaking free. "Thank you, Baba. I'll do my best."

Later, I called Tahir to tell him the news. His voice, usually warm, had a cold edge when he spoke. "Mr. Ben? You'll be working for him?" A pause lingered between us, heavy with things unsaid. "Well, if your father thinks it's best..."

His reluctant approval settled uneasily in my chest, but I pushed it aside. This wasn't just for me—it was for us, for my father.

The next morning, I woke early, unable to sleep with the anticipation thrumming through me. The shower was warm, steam swirling around me as I lathered the delicate rose-scented soap over my skin. I ran the razor slowly over my legs, making sure every inch was smooth. I dried off,

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Hook writes Sat 2 Nov 2024 21:52:

Well written. Surely there must be follow-ons?

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