Persian Femdom for Black Men

"You're my sub, and you will do as I tell you!" Those are the words which came out of my mouth as I looked down at my husband Maher Mutebusi, a six-foot-tall, athletic and burly young Congolese stud who is learning the ins and outs of kink and BDSM thanks to yours truly. Yes, we're a Canadian Muslim couple and we're kinky. Deal with it. I admired our reflections in the full-length mirror on the basement wall, and smiled to myself.

We make for quite an interesting image, Maher and I, thanks for damn sure. A tall, strapping and muscular stud from Central Africa kneeling before a diminutive, dark-haired and curvy young Persian woman. Maher and I have been getting odd looks from everyone, virtually everywhere we go, ever since we first got together. It was a long time ago, during our halcyon days at the University of Ottawa.

"Yes Mistress Azar," Maher replied in that deep voice of his, and then he took my toes into his mouth. Slowly, gently, I sucked on them. Sitting on a throne-like chair in the basement of our Barrhaven townhouse, I felt as high and mighty as I possibly could. For here I am not just Azar Shirazi-Mutebusi, Iranian-Canadian housewife and mother. I am also Mistress Azar, the Dominant One.

"Worship me," I hissed in a haughty tone, and Maher smiled and sucked each of my toes, one at a time, sucking on them as though they were sugar cubes. Maher is one of the strongest people I know, in every sense of the word. Yet he isn't ashamed of submitting to me in the bedroom, on those special occasions when I stop being "his sweet boo Azzy" and become "Mistress Azar," his wicked tormentor.

Maher licked his way up from my toes, and I grinned as he parted my curvy thighs, exposing a most obvious target. Grinning, I spread my thighs invitingly. Maher brought his handsome visage closer and closer, until he was inches from my womanhood. I gently caressed his head, and smiled, leaning over as if to kiss him. Before he could react, I locked my legs around his neck, in a grip even he could not break.

"Always remember I hold the power here," I said, as Maher gasped and looked up at me, a look of uncertainty in his handsome face. I gently caressed Maher's face, stroking his goateed chin. Slowly, understanding dawned on him and he nodded at me. I smiled, and relaxed my hold on his neck. Maher grinned, and then buried his face between my thighs. Now it's my turn to gasp as his tongue slides into my cunt, and he begins exploring and pleasuring me.

I leaned back on the chair and relaxed and enjoyed as Maher used his tongue and fingers to pleasure me. My clit tingled as Maher teased it with his wicked tongue, and his fingers probed me oh so sensually, causing me to moan and writhe. The handsome brother from Congo had me right where he wanted me, and I think we both knew it. My husband Maher definitely knows his way around the female body, and that's one of the many things I love about him.

"Dammit, Maher, I want you inside of me," I cried out, and my wet pussy ached for the feel of him, but Maher, like the frigging tease he is, continued to pleasure me and deny me at the same time. The brother continued munching on my pussy like a cat licking a bowl of butter. I felt just about ready to start climbing the walls, but in a good way.

"Before I fuck you, you need to show some love to this Jimmy," Maher said, and I smiled and pretended to roll my eyes. Smiling cockily, Maher rose to his feet, and freed his long and thick, dark manhood from his boxers. I smiled at Maher as his dick sprang to its full length, erect like a dark serpent. I reached for it with both hands and stroked it, watching a smile slowly creep across Maher's face.

"I'm in control here and don't you forget it," I said to Maher, and I squeezed his dick real hard for emphasis. Maher winced then nodded, and I smiled, for his temporary discomfort was pure nectar to me. Looking into Maher's eyes, I knelt down and took his dick into my mouth. Just like that, I began pleasuring my man. I love the way Maher smells and tastes down below. His masculine funk is wonderfully intoxicating to me.

After getting a rise out of Maher, I climbed on top of him. Looking into his eyes, I grabbed his dick, and rubbed it against my pussy. I batted Maher's hands away as they reached for my breasts, and instead I straddled him. I inserted Maher's hard dick into me, and began fucking myself with it as I would with a dildo. As I said before, I am the dominant here...even with him inside of me. I rode Maher's dick, and had my way with him. One hell of a ride, to be sure. I rode him until I came, then rolled off of him.

"Thanks for the ride," I said, smiling wickedly at Maher, who returned my smile. My husband pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I kissed him back, and for a long moment, we held each other like this. We've been married for years, and like almost every married couple, we've watched our libido and passion diminish due to the constraints of career and family. We sent our son Navid to stay with Maher's parents in Toronto, so Maher and I have the house to ourselves, and we've definitely taken advantage of that.

"I always knew you were a freaky gal, from the first time I saw," Maher said, and I looked into my husband's eyes, to see mischief and love dancing in there, in equal measure. I smiled and said nothing, though part of me questioned my husband's statement. In those days, I didn't let my freak flag fly like I do now. Nope, I was once a cloistered, prim and proper Iranian Muslim sister. It took Maher to bring me out of my shell.

Maher and I met on the University of Ottawa campus in the summer of 2004. I was a newcomer to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, by way of Ajab Shir, Islamic Republic of Iran. My parents, Ali and Esfir Shirazi moved to Canada due to political unrest in Iran. You see, over there, if you're vocal about your opposition to the government or the clerics who influence it, you're as good as dead. My parents were advocating for change in Iran, and when the government got wind of it, our family had to leave the country. The U.S. wouldn't have us, but Canada accepted our claim and granted us political asylum.

I came to Ottawa not knowing what to expect, after all this was a completely different world from eastern Iran where I was born and raised. I fell in love with Ottawa and its people, and grew to appreciate its diversity and culture. I didn't expect to fall in love with one of the locals, though. Enters Maher Mutebusi, a tall, handsome young Muslim brother from the Republic of Congo. I was walking around the University of Ottawa campus and this tall, dark and handsome dude approached me, out of the blue, with urgency written all over his face.

"Salam, sister, could you please point me to the registrar's office? I've got an appointment with them and I'm running late," the young African man said to me, a nervous smile on his face. Typically, I am quite reserved with strangers, especially the ones of the masculine persuasion, but there was something about this one. For some reason, in a move very uncharacteristic of me, I smiled at the stranger and offered to help him.

"Walaikum Salam, brother, I know where it is, follow me and I'll show you," I said with a smile, and the young African man nodded eagerly, relief washing him over him like a torrent. That's how I met Maher Mutebusi, ladies and gentlemen. He moved from the Republic of Congo to provincial Ontario with his parents three years before we met. The brother studied police foundations at Algonquin College, and found himself unable to secure employment with it, so he came to the University of Ottawa to study law instead.

"Thank you sister, you're a God send," Maher said to me as we reached the large, square building housing the administrative offices of the University of Ottawa. I smiled and nodded politely, for I was just about ready to leave. Maher grinned, and then held out his hand for me to shake. Now, I'm a pious Muslim sister who wears the Hijab and don't usually shake hands with males, but this time, I made an exception. Maher's large hand gripped me tightly, but not crushingly so.

"You're welcome, brother, see you around school, Insha'Allah," I replied, as I shook Maher's hand, and then walked away. I was smiling from ear to ear, although for the life of me, I couldn't tell you why. I couldn't possibly know it at the time, but I knew that I'd just met someone special. When I went home, I was still smiling and my parents questioned me about it. I acted cool and played it off, though I did hope to run into Maher at school at least one more time.

Fate definitely had plans for Maher and I. We ran into each other in the Muslim Student Club at the University of Ottawa, and became friends. Our friends and families were stunned when we told them we'd fallen in love, but not even their staunchest objections could stop Maher and I. We stuck it out throughout our days at the University of Ottawa. I graduated in 2008 with a bachelor's degree in Psychology, and Maher got his Law degree, passed the bar the following year and became a lawyer. We got hitched, bought a house in Barrhaven and Heaven even blessed us with a son, our precious Navid, our golden brown prince. Life is good!