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Our heroine falls into enemy hands.

"Mr. Hersi, there's no shame in seeking help if you have a problem, as your doctor, I will do my best to help you," Dr. Nasra Ali said, and Mohammed Hersi looked at her, a spooked softness in his chestnut brown eyes. At six-foot-three, the burly, silver-haired Somali man had an imposing presence, but in that moment, he looked remarkably vulnerable. When Dr. Nasra Ali left her desk abruptly and came to sit near him, Mohammed Hersi blinked in surprise.

"Alright, Doc, we will try it your way," Mohammed Hersi said, bowing his head gently. Dr. Nasra Ali looked at him and smiled, then for some reason she gently laid her hand on top of his. Mohammed seemed surprised by the intimate gesture, but said nothing. The good doctor smiled, and then ended their session.

"I'm going to write you a prescription for Viagra," Dr. Nasra Ali said, and Mohammed smiled at her, grateful beyond measure. Mohammed took a long look at Dr. Nasra Ali before exiting the office. Only five-foot-four, the curvy, round little Emirati Arab psychiatrist was indeed a woman of mystery. I'm glad she's my shrink, Mohammed thought to himself as he headed for his car. As he drove home, the Somali-Canadian Muslim businessman felt hope for the first time in ages...

"Here comes the limp one," Choukri Abdirahman-Hersi's grating voice greeted Mohammed Hersi the moment he walked into their house, in the Cambrian neighborhood of Barrhaven, Ontario. Mohammed looked at his wife, a tall, curvy, Hijab-wearing Somali woman, and saw nothing but contempt in her eyes. When he tried to kiss her goodnight, Choukri brushed him away. Mohammed Hersi went to bed, sad and angry.

"I wish things were different," Mohammed said to himself, as he lay in bed. That night, he masturbated, and when he thought of his wife Choukri's curvy body and big round ass, his dick remained limp. Saddened, he thought about going to watch porn in the basement but realized that he might wake up Choukri, who snored loudly beside him.

Sighing, Mohammed Hersi continued to masturbate in the dark. For some reason, he thought of his shrink, the lovely and attentive Dr. Nasra Ali, the Emirati Arab woman who walked away from her family's prestigious oil empire in Dubai, U.A.E. to follow her passion for studying the human mind. Mohammed envisioned Dr. Nasra Ali's smiling face, and her curvy body, and that round ass which he'd glimpsed in her Capri pants. Mohammed marveled as his dick lengthened and hardened, like it hadn't in ages. Pretty soon he came, exploding all over himself. Surprised but pleased, Mohammed went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Elsewhere in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, in the plush suburb of Orleans, someone else was having trouble sleeping. Dr. Nasra Ali lay in bed, clad in a crimson negligee, and tossed and turned. The day had been tiresome, seeing patient after patient, and then there was the psychology classes which she taught at Algonquin College and Carleton University. All this made one of the Canadian capital's doctors one busy little bee...

"I'm going to end up a crazy cat lady," Nasra Ali thought to herself, as she lay alone in her bed. The young woman thought of her old life in Dubai, the city of her birth. The Ali family name was known and respected in the United Arab Emirates. They had millions in oil money. They sent their sons and daughters to study at schools like Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Cornell, Stanford and Oxford. Walking away from all that had been costly, but Nasra Ali did not regret her decision...

"I must make my own way and live my life by my own rules," Nasra Ali once told herself, on the day she boarded a flight to Europe from Dubai, intent on studying at Oxford University in the United Kingdom. Tradition would have her married off to some rich Emirati guy, but Nasra Ali had other plans. Besides, unbeknownst to her parents, Nasra didn't like Arab guys. She liked dark-skinned men, especially the ones from Eastern Africa.

While at Ox

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