Dreams, Part II

Carrie was on her back this time, wearing something more than a hijab. It was a burqa. She was gloved, veiled, completely hidden from view. Except for one man -- this man. Mohammad pulled up her abaya, exposing her smooth, leaking cunt. Mohammad lined up his long, thick cock against her entrance, speaking to her in that foreign tongue. And Carrie was answering in that foreign tongue. The spare bedroom didn't have power. It didn't have light. It just had them, an Arabic conqueror rutting into his American prize. She could feel his balls slapping her ass as he penetrated her, not for pleasure, but so she could bear his seed. She realized with a start they weren't in New Mexico anymore ... they were in Afghanistan, as he filled her with seed.

Carrie woke with a start. These dreams were always so vivid, and only always of him. She got out her toy, starting to use it on her cunt. She couldn't get off to white cock anymore, or black cock, or latinos. Only Arabic men, Afghan men in particular, could even get her wet at all. She fell asleep at 6 a.m., coated in sweat, the dildo still buried deep inside her. Ayesha walked in quietly, looking at the pitiful harlot in front of her. She looked at Carrie's history on her computer. Ayesha smiled to herself. It wouldn't be long now. She shook Carrie awake.

"Carrie, it is time to go read the Quran together." Carrie woke up from her dream of Mohammad. She flushed.

"Ayesha, I'm sorry, it's not what it looks like."

"It looks like you've been dreaming of Mohammad and decided to be bad. It looks like you need something to keep you good until you surrender to Allah." Carrie flushed more and nodded.

"Yes, Ayesha."