Saudi Femdom For Djibouti Man

My last good lay, Maher Osman is a strong man in every sense of the term. Six-foot-three, lean and athletic, with dark brown skin, curly Black hair and light brown eyes, this Djibouti-born stud attracts the female gaze everywhere he goes. The first time I actually laid eyes on him, I was walking through the world-famous Nicollet Mall in downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota. I decided right then and there that I'd like to sample this delicious-looking piece of chocolate....and what I want, I tend to get.

Like a lot of Arab sisters, I find men of African descent supremely beautiful and definitely appealing. Most of us, no matter how otherwise open-minded, don't explore that fascination with the chocolate studs, though, because there's few things in life more lethal than Arab male jealousy. Trust me, I was married to an Arab guy for three years. Djohar "Joe" Suleiman, a guy I knew during my school days at the University of Michigan. Biggest mistake of my life. Now I'm divorced, happy and free.

Clad in a red silk shirt, Black silk pants and Black Timberland boots, Maher Osman was a vision of manly beauty. The brother walked through this crowded mall in downtown Minneapolis like he owned the place. I could see his work ID hanging on a lanyard around his neck, and could tell that he was some kind of professional. Cool, I love professional brothers.

My name is Samia Al-Jubeir, and I was born in the City of Dhurma, Saudi Arabia, and raised in the town of Dearborn, Michigan. My parents, Bandar and Mariam Al-Jubeir fled the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia in the early 1990s due to the persecution of Shiite clerics by the predominantly Sunni monarchical government. I barely remember Saudi Arabia, a place I can never go back to since my parents all but signed away all connection to the Kingdom.

"As Salam Alaikum, sister, do I know you from somewhere?" Those words left Maher's sweet-looking lips, and I smiled as I detected the faintest traces of an accent in his voice. I looked at him for a moment, pretending to be thoughtful and barely concealing the excitement I felt in his presence. I'd been eyeballing Maher for a long time, and he finally spotted me, and came to me, just like I knew he would.

"I doubt it, I'm new in town," I replied in a soft tone, and Maher seemed puzzled, then extended his hand, flashed a warm smile and welcomed me to the great City of Minneapolis. As if he owned the place. Minnesota is for the Somali and Djibouti people what Michigan is for us Arab Americans. A home away from home, of sorts.

"Thank you brother I'm Samia," I said, shaking Maher's hand, and nodding gently. I play the part of the pious, self-effacing, Hijab-wearing and conservatively attired Muslim sister all too well. I know what the world thinks of women like me. Just because I wear the Hijab and the traditional long skirt doesn't mean that I don't think about certain things or feel certain things. I am a woman, with all that implies. I have dreams, goals, fantasies, and if you must know, a decidedly healthy sexual appetite.

"Please grab coffee with me," Maher said, and I pretended to hesitate, then followed him to the food court, where we sat down, and got to know each other a bit. I could tell that Maher was surprised that I accepted his offer, and knew what he must be thinking. Hijabis don't typically accept coffee invites from male strangers, that's for sure.

I was raised Muslim, true, but I lead a pretty secular lifestyle. My parents got divorced shortly after moving to the United States, and I was thoroughly Americanized, wearing jeans and T-shirts, sans Hijab, and also going about doing all the normal things that a gal my age does, including dating, and on occasion, having sex. I seldom gave a thought to my Arabian identity...until the events of 9/11.

It's after that tragic day that my Arabian identity and Muslim faith became things which I could no longer deny or escape from. As Arab Americans, and Muslims in general became associated with terrorism in the eyes and minds of countless Americans, I began to wonder what it means to be a Muslim woman. I began reading about the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the land my parents and I left behind. I began associating with other Muslims, a group I'd subconsciously shunned before.

When I attended Fordson High School in Michigan, I mainly hung out with White students and Asian students, for I found the Arab students too conservative for my liking. Most people who met me thought I was a Latina and for a long time, I never bothered to correct them. While the City of Dearborn, Michigan, is full of Arabs, North Africans and Persians, the Detroit metropolitan area, which is a heartbeat away, has a huge African-American population and a sizeable number of Asians, Hispanics and Latinos.

I'm five-foot-nine, with dark bronze skin, long Black hair and dark brown eyes. Depending on who's looking at me, I look Persian, Brazilian, Mexican or even Indian, I guess. I get mistaken for lots of different ethnicities, and I love it. Or used to. Now, whenever people ask me, I tell them that I'm Arab-American. I am proud of it now, and don't shirk from defending it when I encounter bigots. I remember who I am.

"You don't look like the banker type," I said to Maher after he told me that he's a business student at North Central University and works at Sunrise Banks. The handsome Mr. Maher Osman smiled bashfully, and shrugged, and then told me that he was nothing more than a glorified nerd, pointing to his X-Men wristwatch as proof.

"Takes one to know one," I said, and as Maher stared, I pulled a copy of the Marvel Comic book Ms. Marvel # 1, which I just bought at Big Brain Comics an hour ago. I bought it because it's the only comic book in the world to feature a young Muslim woman as its main character. A Muslim chick with super powers, how cool is that?

"You're a fan of Malaka Khan too?" Maher said, a mesmerizing look on his handsome face as I carefully handed the comic book to him. Gently he touched it, then flipped it open. Smiling, he flipped through the pages, and then looked at me, shaking his head. I saw a look of appreciation on his face, and drank it in.

"For your information, Brother Maher, girls like comic books too," I said, and Maher grinned, and nodded. We continued to banter like this for a while, then Maher handed me back the comic book. Here it comes, I thought, and when Maher asked me for my number, I pretended to hesitate, then gave it to him. With that, I got up and flashed him a smile a shark would recognize.

"See you around Brother Maher, Insha'Allah," I said, and with that, I walked away. I could feel Maher's gaze on me, and smiled to myself. I would definitely be surprised if I didn't hear from him. I'm in Minneapolis for a few days, traveling for my employer, CMS Energy, and I might as well see what kind of trouble I can get into. They don't know me here, after all...

A fortnight later, Maher and I grabbed supper at Butcher & The Boar, a nice little bistro near the Hilton Garden Inn, where I'm staying, and I found the Djibouti-American stud utterly fascinating and charming. Maher is twenty two years old, wants to get an MBA and then either work for a corporation or start his own business. Dude's got good looks, intelligence and ambition. Good qualities in a man, but I'm more concerned about his sex appeal.

"Maher, you're cute and smart but you need to shut up once in a while," I said, smiling at him, and Maher smiled back at me and shrugged. Clad in a Black V-neck sweater, Black Hijab and tight Black jeans, I looked hot and I knew it. I like to look both conservative and sexy with my Hijab on, and usually pull it off well.

"What would you like to talk about, Miss Samia?" Maher asked coyly, and I saw a dangerous twinkle in those dark eyes of his. We were sitting in a quiet corner of the restaurant, and had all the privacy we needed. I smiled and laid my hand on Maher's thigh, and he practically jumped out of his skin.

"I'm done talking," I replied, and the look in Maher's eyes told me he understood what I meant. We left the restaurant a few minutes later, and went back to my hotel room. Once we got there, Maher and I had ourselves some fun. I don't often have casual encounters during my business trips, but when I do, they're usually worth the risks involved. I'm happy to say that Maher did not disappoint.

"You taste amazing," Maher said to me, grinning, as he buried his face between my thighs. Lying stark naked on the king-sized bed on the seventh floor of the Hilton Garden Inn, I relaxed and enjoyed as Maher pleasured me, teasing my cunt with his fingers and tongue.

"Thank you sexy man," I whispered, gently stroking Maher's curly hair as he munched on my pussy like only a hungry man can. Fine tendrils of pleasure shot through my core as Maher licked and prodded my cunt with his digits and wicked tongue, and I smiled happily. A lot of guys "suck" when it comes to eating pussy, and not in a good way. Happy to find out that Maher definitely isn't one of them. Nope, the brother knows how to makes a gal's toes curl...

A couple trips to paradise later, it was my turn to taste Maher. I laid the gorgeous Northeast African stud on my bed, and feasted my eyes on his muscular, sexy body. Maher does light bodybuilding and sculpting, and it works wonders for him let me tell you. I ran my hands all over his body, from his muscular chest to his finely cut abs, and finally went to his groin.

"Nice," I said, as I grasped Maher's long and thick rod with both hands. Maher held his breath as I stroked his manhood, and then I got on my knees and began sucking on it. Flicking my tongue over Maher's dick head, I grinned as he winced, then slowly exhaled. Got you right where I want you Maher, I thought wickedly as I began sucking his dick.

"Oh fuck you've got me," Maher said, and I mercilessly sucked his dick with gusto as he trembled all over. I continued working my magic on Maher until he came, and when he did, I welcomed the onslaught of liquid fire, his manly essence, in my mouth. Some chicks balk at this, but I love it. The taste of a man's juices, it gets me every damn time.

"Now I've got you," I whispered to Maher, as I climbed on top of him, and watched as his dick magically revived itself once I pressed my hot body against his. A lot of guys have trouble getting it up again once they cum but not Maher. The brother pulled me into his arms, and seemed ready for the next round.

"Amen to that," Maher said, rolling a condom on his dick, and then we continued with our fun. Maher gently caressed my boobs with one hand and smacked my ass with the other as I straddled him. With a happy sigh, I impaled my hungry cunt on his dick, and we began fucking. I locked eyes with Maher, and told him to fuck me harder.

"Not into happy fucking, brother, I prefer the rough stuff," I said, grabbing his face for emphasis, and Maher nodded. Grinning, he smacked my ass hard and thrust his dick into me. I felt his manhood stabbing my cunt, going deep into my core, and welcomed the deliciously hot pain and wicked pleasure I felt with each of Maher's thrusts.

"Challenge accepted," Maher said, and then he put me on all fours, and began to fuck me roughly, just the way I liked it. I like having my ass spanked and my hair pulled during sex. Don't love me tender, fuck me hard. Maher got with the program and thrust into me, his thick African dick filling me up completely. And I loved it.

Later, Maher and I lay side by side, not quite spent but pretty damn close. The bed reeked of our juices, and I found the aroma quite pleasant. I looked at Maher, and asked him if he was ready for more, and if he was open-minded. Maher nodded in the affirmative, and I smiled wickedly. Just what I wanted to hear...

"I love playing with male asses," I said to a nervous-looking Maher as I began fingering his ass with my gloved fingers while gently stroking his dick. Maher nodded, but said nothing. I dug into his ass, first with one finger then two. Judging by how supple his asshole was, Maher is definitely no stranger to anal play.

"Me too," Maher said, and then bit his lip, and shot me an awkward look, guilt all over his face. I smiled at him and asked him about what he just said, but Maher began mumbling all kinds of nonsense, and I shook my head. Like everyone else in America, I'd read about Down Low brothers or closeted bisexual men of color, after all the publicity they'd gotten from Oprah.

"Maher, I don't care if you fuck both guys and girls, I've got nothing against bisexual guys," I said, and then, without another word, I resumed sucking his dick while inserting two well-lubricated and gloved fingers up that cute, tight butt of his. Maher stopped mumbling, and simply relaxed and enjoyed.

"Glad you feel that way sister," Maher said, sighing happily as I pleasured him. The male G-spot is buried deep inside every man's nether regions, but few men know that. As I sucked Maher off, I thought the things he might have seen and done, with men as well as women, being a bisexual guy and all. Gets me hot just thinking about it...

A little while later, Maher and I had more fun. Maher and I got along great, once I explained to him that his being a switch-hitter turned me on. Seriously, I'm one of those rare women who think male on male action is hot. Also, I'm into domination, both psychological and sexual, and I like to have my way with guys in and out of the bedroom. Maher told me that he's a bottom, and I was delighted to hear that.

"Assume the position big man," I said, grinning as Maher got on all fours, his cute butt looking so damn inviting. I stroked the strap-on dildo I wore, and practically purred with excitement. I am really kinky, and like to peg guys. I bought this strap-on a month ago at Cirilla's, an adult video store in Taylor, Michigan.

"Give it to me sister," Maher said, and I smiled as I got behind him, spread his bum and pressed my well-lubricated strap-on dildo against his hole. Putting my hands on Maher's hips, I thrust into him. Maher groaned sharply, but otherwise didn't complain as I began fucking him. I can't tell you how excited I felt as I began pegging Maher.

There's a sexual thrill that I feel deep within as I dominate a guy, and it's like no other feeling in the world. Few guys are willing to explore this interest with me, thanks to their inner fears of female dominance and their macho bullshit. Glad Maher isn't like that. Tall, masculine, sexy and willing to both pound my pussy with his hard dick AND let me play with his ass. I just described my idea of the perfect man, ladies and gentlemen.

"Give me that sweet ass," I said, laughing and playfully smacking Maher's cute ass as I thrust into him, going deep into that sweet ass of his with my shiny new strap-on dildo. Maher moaned deeply as I fucked him, and I could tell that he was opening himself fully to the experience, and loved it. Finally, a man who is unafraid to explore...

"You're really good at this Samia," Maher said to me, much later, after I gave his cute ass the pegging of the century. I nodded, and smiled at him. We lay side by side on the bed, still glowing after all the wicked fun we just had. Maher got up and went to use the washroom, and while in there, he asked me if he could shower.

"Only if I get to join you," I said, and tossed aside the strap-on and joined Maher in the shower. For the next half hour, we cleaned each other under the warm water. I love long, hot showers, especially when I'm away from home and someone else is footing the damn water bill. One of the many reasons why I love traveling for business.

"You're unlike any woman I've ever met," Maher said to me, and I nodded and gave him a brief hug then walked him to the door. I waved him goodbye, then he left. Maher is definitely going to be one of my fondest memories of Minneapolis. Tomorrow I head to a conference with the good folks at CMS Energy and their affiliates in Minneapolis. After that, I go back to Michigan. Ah, the exciting life of an Arab-American Muslim female business executive in America, huh?