The next morning Shamar is awake before I am. I am awakened by his caresses, and when I open my eyes, I am looking right into those dark eyes of his. What a gorgeous sight early in the morning. “Coffee or tea?” he wants to know. “Coffee with lots of milk,” I mumble sleepily. Instead of getting up to get the coffee, Shamar’s fondling intensifies.

We make love. It is a slow and tender kind of love-making that makes my heart overflow with love for him. This time Shamar drives me to orgasms that turn my legs into rubber. Shamar has two orgasms, too – once on my stomach and the other time with a condom. I thought that men only had one orgasm. But Shamar seems to be different.

He remains hard after he has ejaculated on my stomach. Watching him have an orgasm that way makes my inner muscles contract and jump for joy.

Only one week ago I was a virgin and today I already feel like a femme fatale. That is how fast things change. Shamar is on the phone ordering breakfast for us while I linger in bed in post-coital lethargy. And just when I am about to get up and take a shower Shamar walks in with a huge tray with breakfast and sets it down in front of me.

It is a sumptuous breakfast with all sorts of things to choose from. Coffee, hot milk, honey, fresh croissants, fresh pita bread, eggs, jam, tea and fresh orange juice. We sit across from each other with the tray between us and take all the time in the world to have breakfast. Afterwards I head for the shower, and while I am busy, Shamar opens his computer again. I am wrapped in the hotel’s robe when I walk back into the room and catch him on the phone again. The data he was waiting for has arrived. The print out is on the desk, right in front of him.

“May I?” I ask quietly, in order not to disturb him on the phone. He nods, so I sit down across from him on the couch and start to read the expert opinion he has been waiting on. It is long and detailed and has to do with the area where the drilling is to take place. Shamar is trying to secure the rights. There are specifications that have to do with the thickness and composition of the strata. And from what I can see, the drilling has reached a layer of salt, and the recommendation is to stop the drilling. The papers include various graphics.

Shamar has finished talking on the phone and is watching me read. Then get gets up, kisses me on the back of my neck and walks into the shower. While he is taking a shower, I continue reading the report. The water stops and Shamar returns with a towel wrapped around himself. He’s so gorgeous. When I see him, I think to myself that I would love to lick every single drop of water on him.

“But you aren’t dressed yet, darling,” he says while he looks at me with an amused look on his face, using his second towel to dry off his wet hair.

Wow, I forgot to get dressed reading the report. I put the papers aside and get up.

“I forgot. Sorry. Shamar, I’ll be dressed in no time,” and I run back into the bedroom to put on my white dress. Shamar steps up behind me to close the zipper. The sensation his fingers create is a very pleasant kind of tingling.

He is wearing dark pants and a polo shirt, and after a short glance into the mirror I step into my sandals and am ready for what Shamar has planned for the day.

Shamar grabs the phone and instructs someone to fetch the car. When we arrive outside, the electronic car is waiting for us to take us back to the hotel lobby, where a large black van-like rover with dark tinted windows is waiting for us right in front of the entrance.

Shamar walks up to the car and opens the back door on the passenger side, and I climb in and scoot over to the other side of the seat to make room for him. A man wearing a chauffeur’s uniform is sitting behind the wheel, and he turns around to greet me. It’s Ahmad, the driver who picked me up at the airport.

“Your driver?” I ask Shamar, and he kisses me on my cheek and answers, “Ahmad is one of my uncle’s drivers. When I am here, he works for me, for security reasons.”

“Why?” I want to know. “Is it so dangerous here?”

He glances at me from the side with a grave expression and answers.

“Luna, people like me are constantly in danger of being abducted, or attacked. This risk is minimized when one changes staff as rarely as possible. That is why I use Ahmad, who has been working for my uncle for years.”

Aha, I think to myself, not entirely comfortable with his answer.

“Does that mean that Matthew is also one of your uncle’s employees?” I add.

He shakes his head.

“No, darling, Matthew flew here with me. He is in charge of the household in Woodlands. Matthew and his wife take care of things there.”

“So Matthew is married?”

“Yes, sure, why not. His wife helps him and cooks for us. The two are perfect together.”

“Must be a pretty big house if you need that many people working for you.” I have a hard time imagining how one person needs that many people. On the other hand, I cannot see Shamar doing things like shopping and marketing, or working in the garden or cooking for himself. I feel a bit intimidated by the fact that Shamar is so rich. I had forgotten that part while we were all by ourselves in the hotel. I honestly don’t care how much money he has, however. I am interested in him.

“Hey there,” he whispers and puts his finger under my chin. “Everything okay?”

I look up at him. “Yes, sure, I was just thinking that I completely forgot who it was I was dealing with and how wealthy you are.”

He kisses my forehead, and I enjoy the touch of his warm lips. I breathe in the fragrance of his skin lotion and think what a pleasant combination it is.

“And now you don’t like me anymore?” he teases me.

“Oh, come on. But this is not about money. You have a real luxury problem. I was not really aware of that, and I was in complete denial about your money. I was busy doing other things.”

I grin at him, and he takes my hand so that we can hold hands.

We have driven for about half an hour when we arrive at a large, green meadow covered in the type of grass that grows on golf courses. Ahmad stops at the entrance for us to get out. And immediately I remember the heat and the force of the sun shining down on us. While Ahmad drives away with the car Shamar and I walk towards the open area, where a large group of people has assembled. Shamar is greeted by various men, some of whom are wearing the traditional garb. I would have liked to touch Shamar to reconnect with him in a physical way, but the people in their long robes make me pull back my outstretched hand.

I sigh and decide to make the best of it. At least I am with Shamar and have not been excluded from the event. I look around. A large green meadow that is about 300 x 160 yards is surrounded by short brown wooden bollards. The polo field is painted in white on the short grass, with a middle line and several lines on each side. The two shorter sides have a white line that borders them in which two woven poles represent a goal. I hear horses from the direction of the left goal. Slowly we all move towards the opposite side of the playing field where there is a promenade with a light roof that protects the spectators from the sun. Two waiters are running around between the tables that are covered by sun umbrellas, serving people drinks. Shamar explains the game to me.

“There are two teams, and each team has four players. There are two referees and one superior referee who also ride horses, like the players. There are between four and eight time units which each last seven minutes in total. After every goal, the teams line up in the middle of the field according to their playing position. Every time there is a goal the direction of the game changes.”

“How about the horses? Don’t they get hurt?”

“The horses are protected. Anything that could hurt the animals is not allowed. Also, the horses cannot be used in two consecutive time units, which is why each player has two horses. And every time there is a situation that could endanger an animal the game is interrupted.”

We are standing beneath one of the sun umbrellas, and I am sipping some of the water that one of the waiters has brought. I see one of the players running across the field in our direction, before he comes to a halt in front of us. First he greets me cordially, then he embraces Shamar. The two of them seem to know each other, speaking in Arabic, excluding me from their conversation. Then the player turns to me and introduces himself.

“Hello, I am sorry not to have introduced myself immediately. My name is Moustafa. Shamar and I were at boarding school in England together. It is always a pleasure to see each other here.”

I reach for his hand. “Moustafa, nice to meet you. My name is Luna-Marie Buchholz, I am from Germany and have never seen a polo game played on a horse.”

Moustafa and Shamar both laugh.

“I have just asked my old friend here to sub for a player of our team who hurt his shoulder. But I am sure that Shamar does not want to leave you alone here.”

I look at Shamar, surprised. “You play, too?”

“Yes, I’ve played this game for many years.” His gaze scans the green meadow before it returns to us.

“That is the understatement of the year,” Moustafa grins. “Every team that has Shamar playing for it is lucky. His handicap is 6 or 7. So how about it? Are you going to participate?”

Shamar looks at me, and I don’t want him to do without something he loves. And I also have the impression that I will do just fine on my own.

“Just go,” I say and smile at him. “I will watch from here. Just do me a favor and watch out for yourself.”

The joy I see in his face when I say that shows me that that was the answer he was hoping for. He takes my hand, squeezes it and leads it up to his lips. The public display of his affection gives me a jolt. I am so happy.

“Every goal will be for you,” he whispers to me before Moustafa pulls him away. Both men wave at me and walk away across the field in the direction that Moustafa had approached us from. The game is supposed to start in 15 minutes, so I take my water and go and look for a shady place on the bleachers. Two other women sit down next to me, looking at me curiously, but they do not say anything to me. It doesn’t bother me because I am excited and waiting for the game to begin.

And then there is a signal, and eleven riders come out to the field on their horses. Three of them are referees. One of them joins the players on the field, the other two move along the length of the playing field.

The players ride along the sideline to greet the members of the audience. I keep trying to pick which of the riders is Shamar, but I am not sure. I don’t think I have found him. But Player No. 1 of the white team looks somewhat taller than the others.

And it does turn out to be Shamar. He’s discovered me sitting on the bleachers. He lifts his hand to his forehead to greet me. He looks so hot. I greet him back and smile at him. The impulse to jump up and shout “he’s mine,” and point towards him fills me, but of course I don’t do that.

Shamar looks so elegant sitting on the horse. You can tell he’s been a horseback rider all his life. He is completely at ease controlling the speed of the horse and the direction he wants the animal to move in as he holds the bat in his right hand. Shamar is in his element. He turns the animal and moves in the saddle, and I have a marvelous time watching him. His horse is a rich chestnut, and the horse’s mane and tail are braided which makes it seem as if the horse is unhappy. Or at least, not free.

All of the animals are wearing protective gear on their legs, so that they are not hurt when the riders move as fast as Shamar is moving right now, driving the ball at a breakneck speed and surging ahead.

The player no. 4 of the opposite team is trying to push him away but is not succeeding. With a strong thrust, he manages to get the ball into the opponent’s goal. Unlike the cheering you hear during football matches in Germany, the reactions here seem restrained. Before the riders get into position in the middle of the field, Shamar guides his horse past the bleachers and smiles at me. This time a second rider joins him. That must be Moustafa, who is no. 3. Like Shamar, he greets me, and I wave back.

The game picks up speed and has to be interrupted twice. After the first-time unit, Shamar changes horses and is now riding a horse that is somewhat lighter in color. After the time unit, Shamar is in distress because he is pushed aside by a different rider. I am biting my lip, I am so nervous. My heart leaps as Shamar is almost lifted from his saddle and then again, when one of the bats is swung dangerously close to his head.

The time unit is complete, and Shamar has won an additional three points for his team and me. The horses are substituted, and now he’s riding the darker horse again. Another three units are played, and Shamar is once again among the other players and wins three more points. Then I hear the signal that the game is over.

Shamar’s team wins by a margin of seven points. Shout-outs of members of the audience can be heard, and the players thank their audience. They ride by the bleachers greeting the audience before they leave the field. While the audience moves down to the playing field slowly, I remain seated, preferring to watch everyone from my position.

I order some more fresh water for Shamar and myself from the waiter, who is passing by. And while I do I see Shamar running across the field. He has changed and is wearing the clothes that he wore when we drove here.

As soon as he approaches the side of the playing field in front of the bleachers he is surrounded by people who pat his shoulder and congratulate him. He laughs and smiles, but I can tell that he is looking for me. He keeps glancing around and does not stop until he discovers me. He exchanges a few words with various people and then walks toward me. He shakes people’s hands to the right and the left, but while doing so continues to move in my direction. In the meantime, the waiter has brought the drinks I have ordered.

When Shamar reaches me, I hand him the water. “Congratulations, Shamar. I didn’t realize that you were such a renowned polo player.” He grins, and I could swear that he looks like he is about to kiss me. “Seems like I am pretty desirable,” he says, and the hidden meaning is obvious.

“Correct,” I say, without looking away.

“Did you like it?”

I reach for the glass of water.

“Very impressive, the way you move with the horse and the way the team plays together. Still, sometimes I was afraid that you were going to get hurt. Isn’t it a dangerous kind of sport?”

“You can get hurt anywhere, darling, not just here. Of course, it does happen. But it is not that dramatic.”

“Where are the other players?” I ask.

“They’re in the locker room. They’re showering and changing, and they’ll be right back.”

“Didn’t you shower?”

“Do you mind? I wanted to come out and join you as quickly as possible after deserting you for the game.”

I think it is pretty seductive imagining the sweat on his body. I would like to embrace him then and there, but alas, I can’t.

“No, Shamar, not at all. Quite the contrary. I can think of ways I’d like to remove it.” And from one second to the next I see passion in his eyes.

“Ma Chérie, don’t make me an offer like that, I just might accept.”

“Darling, I always mean what I say,” I reply.

“Can you hold out for a while longer? I’d like to wait and talk to the other players. Then we can get going.”

I nod, and it does not take very long for the other players to arrive. They’re also greeted enthusiastically by everyone. People pat their shoulders and cheer. Shamar and I are now also on the playing field and mingling with the rest of the audience.

He introduces me to various people and explains to me who everyone is. I am greeted cordially, which is probably because I’m with Shamar. Two more drinks and several conversations later we look at each other and agree that it is time to leave. Shamar takes out his cell phone and says something, presumably asking Ahmad to come and pick us up. Then he nods to me, and we start our retreat.

“Now they’re probably gossiping about us,” I say, walking alongside him.

“Most certainly. But I don’t mind. Do you?”

“No, not really, but I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

He wrinkles his forehead. “What kind of trouble?”

“How should I know?” I respond, shrugging my shoulders. “I don’t know people’s attitudes and customs here.”

Shamar turns around to me and smiles. “We are magnificently naughty. But that does not bother me because it is no one else’s business.”

I take his hand and discover our car in front of the entrance. Ahmad is standing in front of us and holding open the back door. I climb in and move aside to make room for Shamar and Ahmad closes the door again, walks around the car and climbs in behind the wheel. The car is nice and cool, the air-conditioner has been waiting for us, and I can forget the heat outside.

Shamar puts his arm around me and on the way back we exchange deep glances and passionate kisses. The dark windows protect us from people watching us outside and from Ahmad in the driver’s seat.

---

When we arrive in our suite, we are all over one another within minutes. I can hardly wait to feel Shamar inside me and it is obvious that he can’t either.

Our clothes leave a path from the door to our bedroom, while we also make good use of the walls. Just as when we were in the elevator together I lean back against the wall, and Shamar strokes me, kisses my breasts to get me hot. When we arrive at the bed, we are both so hungry for one another that we merge immediately. Shamar pulls on a condom and penetrates me, which makes me climax immediately. He has his orgasm pretty fast also. Our love play continues. He retreats again.

And even though he’s just had an orgasm he is so stiff that he pulls over a condom again. He is sitting upright in bed, and I take the opportunity to sit right down on him with my legs spread apart. We look at each other. We are so close. His arms envelop me while his chest touches my breasts and tickles my nipples.

I bury my hands in his hair and kiss him, and we continue at a slower pace while gazing at each other. This kind of closeness and intimacy is so new to me I feel like it creeps right under my skin. In his eyes, I can see the whole range of emotions and in them I see myself reacting to our movements. His lust is my lust. We merge, and finally we have a long and deep orgasm together.

Both of us are satiated and together we enjoy the sweet, soft feeling between us. After a little while, I decide to go swimming and leave for the pool while Shamar fetches his cell phone to call Raoul. I take a lazy nap in the afternoon sun. I have fallen asleep when I am awakened by splashes of water.

Shamar seems to have finished his telephone calls and has jumped in our pool, so I decide to keep him company and we swim together for a while, until Shamar eases himself out of the pool and sits there watching me get out on the other side to lie in the sun. He stares at me while I sprawl, which seems to turn him on, which turns me on. I’ve become more daring anyway, and enjoy having the power to evoke these kinds of reactions in him.

He watches me for a while until he utters in a hoarse voice, “Take off your clothes. I want to see you naked.”

Seeing that we are all alone, and no one can watch us I am quite willing to do so, but I want to up the ante.

“If you want to see me naked you have to take your clothes off, too.” I swim over to him and have him open the back of the top of my bikini.

I use my right hand to hold it up so that it does not slip down immediately. Shamar wants to grab me, but I manage to wiggle away and swim back to where I was sitting before. My bikini straps are floating next to me on the water. I stroke my breasts and slip my hand under the piece of material that covers my breasts.

“Come on, what’s up?” I tease. Shamar is fixating me with a burning hot, passionate look. I am hot, even though I am in the cool water. I slowly release my bikini top and let it drift on the surface of the water. My nipples are dark and hard as Shamar stares at them. I become even more daring and cover each breast, letting my nipples peak out. Shamar swallows as his breathing accelerates. He is about to jump in the water and swim over to me.

“Stay where you are,” I warn him and splash some water in his direction, “Maybe this will cool you down.”

I jump up and down in the water, hmm, feels great. Then I grab my bikini pants and look over at Shamar, who looks like he is gasping for breath. But he is still dressed and sitting on the side of the pool.

“If you want to see more, sweetheart, you are wearing too much.”

With a quick movement of his hips, he pulls off his bathing trunks and throws it aside.

“Don’t stop,” he says breathlessly. I turn around and show him my backside. Then I slowly pull off my bikini bottoms and swim away from him. I splash around in the water and slowly move up and down. Finally, I dive into the water and swim right up to him under the water until I am right in front of him. I move even closer and stand up between his legs. I grab his thighs and pull myself up so that I can briefly kiss his mouth while his penis is between my breasts. I move around, up and down, and right in front of him.

“Do you like this?” I ask innocently.

“Are you kidding? Or do you want me to call you little witch? What are you doing to me? Come over here. I want to be in you. Immediately.”

He grabs my arms, and I swim away again.

“You will be in me, darling,” I purr while I kiss his penis every time I utter a word. Soon several clear drops appear, and his penis looks like it is going to explode.

“Lean back and enjoy it.” I am no expert at what I am doing and don’t know if I am making the right moves, but something I am doing seems to be right, judging from his reactions.

Each time drops appear I lick them off. Shamar moans and his penis quivers. All’s well, I think to myself, and I take it and put it in my mouth, varying the depth, and continuing to lick him.

“Oh God, if you don’t stop, Luna, I will come in your mouth,” but he does not stop and grabs my hair to press my head against himself rhythmically. Then I take over. He shouts and comes in my mouth.

His semen is hot and creamy and runs down my throat before I swallow it. It tastes surprisingly good, tangy and masculine. I like the essence. His orgasm ends, and Shamar looks at me in disbelief.

“Where … I mean how … you are simply unbelievable!” I am really proud of myself to see Shamar speechless. Obviously there is more femininity and sex appeal in me than I would have thought possible.

“I tried it and I had the impression that you liked it. And so I continued …” Slowly I glide back into the water.

“Darling, that was wonderful. You are unbelievable.”

And with these words he also glides back into the water and hugs and kisses me. Then we both dive for our clothes, put them back on and lie in the sun to dry. The heat of the sun goes right through every fiber in my body. I feel like I have given the man I love an unforgettable orgasm, and so I feel like a goddess. Does it get any better? While the sun sets behind the dunes in a spectacle that is so colorful, it looks like silent firecrackers have gone off we sit together on the lounger. He has his arms wrapped around me and I have my face against his chest. Tomorrow we fly back to the hotel again.