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From Iran With True Love

I keep hearing from otherwise intelligent people that Middle-Eastern women are oppressed, dull and submissive. Whoever professes that belief obviously never met me. My name is Leila Alkhani, and I'm a gal with a story to share with you today. I was born in the City of Darab, southern Iran, and raised in the City of Montreal, Quebec. My parents, Alexandre Alkhani and Nadiya Nasser-Alkhani left the Islamic Republic of Iran in the 1980s and lived in Berkshire, England, before finally moving to Quebec.

After the Islamist regime took over Iran, following the fall of the Shah, the situation became impossible for Iranian Christians. You've got to understand that in the Middle East, there are millions of Christians, it's not just the Arab/Muslim world and the State of Israel. In Lebanon, Syria, Egypt and Iran, you'll find some of the oldest of Christian sects. My parents and I are proud members of the Assyrian Evangelical Church.

As proudly Canadian as anyone, I am nevertheless the daughter of two worlds. Of Canada, whose history is an open book, and of Iran, a land whose history is shrouded in mystery, a place of great beauty, power and danger. I graduated from the University of Montreal with a bachelor's degree in political science. Like a lot of recent graduates, I looked for work in my field of study and couldn't find any.

How I ended up working as a saleswoman in the TELUS Tower is simply beyond me. Don't get me wrong, in this crappy economy, I'm glad to even have a job. Got bills to pay, you know? I'm making seventeen dollars and seventy five cents an hour, and it's an alright job. It's good to be a team manager, but I didn't spend four years at university to sell cell phones. I wanted more than that out of life.

"Ma'am, the warranty on your device is expired and you'll have to buy a new phone or switch your SIM card to a new one," I said to the latest annoying customer, a plump redhead named Rosie. The angry woman looked me up and down, and I saw a hint of disappointment in her beady little blue eyes, one quickly replaced by malice.

"You people suck," Ms. Plump Redhead said, and left the store in a huff. I watched her go and shook my head, then exchanged a look of amusement with my co-worker, Jason Valbrun. Seriously, I am sick and tired of being and tired of dealing with people like this bitch Rosie. I should be working for the government, or the private sector. Not haggling over cell phones with the dregs of Montreal society.

Something about what that bitch said bothered me. What did Ms. Plump Redhead mean by "you people?" As the daughter of immigrants, and a visible minority, I cannot escape from the racism and xenophobia that's subtly hidden in Canadian society, especially here in Quebec. I'm five-foot-nine, neither chubby nor skinny, but "sturdy" as my Dad puts it. I have long black hair, light bronze skin and brown eyes.

My father is pure Iranian but my mother has some Moroccan in her ancestry, and everyone knows that there are a lot of Afro-Arabian people in Morocco. I definitely have some of that in me, I think. Given my curvy body, large breasts and big, round buttocks, it definitely wouldn't surprise me. Most Iranians look white, but I look Arab, or Hispanic, depending on who's looking. Hell, I've been mistaken for Brazilian more times than I care to admit. I am definitely a person of color, and I hate racism.

"Don't let them get to you Leila," Jason said in his deep, soothing voice. I looked at him and grinned. Standing six feet two inches tall, lean and athletic, with light brown skin, black hair and light brown eyes, Jason is definitely a beautiful young man. Clad in a red silk shirt, black tie, black silk pants and black Timberland boots, the brother is stylish, almost metrosexual, but undoubtedly masculine. He's twenty one, and studies civil engineering at Concordia University. Bright, well-spoken and unbelievably cool, Jason is my right-hand man at the office.

"I'm sick of these bozos," I said with a deep sigh, and Jason came closer. So close that I could smell the Cologne he splashed on before work this morning. Gently, he laid his hand on mine. When Jason did that, my pulse quickened, and I looked at him. The intensity I saw in his soulful brown eyes stilled my heart.

"Let's do an early lunch, on me," Jason said, flashing me that fearless smile that never failed to get to me. The two of us left the store, since it was a dull morning at our favorite mall in downtown Montreal. Katrina Chang, the new trainee, would handle the store. Not exactly a cool thing to do but since it's not too busy, and I am the manager, I can do what I want.

Jason and I took the escalator, and rode it upstairs, to the food court. "Let's try Shawarma today," Jason said, and I rolled my eyes. As much as I like Jason, the fact that so many people can't make the difference between Persians and Arabs irks me. I'm not big on Arab cuisine. Persian cuisine is more my style.

"Today I feel like Chinese," I said firmly, and Jason smiled, and shook his head. We walked over to the Manchu Wok place and had ourselves two delicious plates of rice, with chicken wings, egg rolls, spring rolls and two cans of Pepsi. Jason used his MBNA Mastercard to pay for the whole thing. I told myself I'd pay him back tomorrow.

"Thank you Jason," I said, as we sat down at our favorite spot, at the center of the food court, and ate. As I ate a spoonful of rice, I looked at my co-worker. Jason is always impeccably dressed, and ever the gentleman. Whenever I'm having a lousy day at work, he's the one that I turn to.

We're friends on Facebook, and it always mystifies me how, even though Jason has legions of female fans and admirers, the dude is perennially single. Jason comes from a prominent Haitian-Canadian family. His father, Louis Charles Valbrun teaches economics at the University of Montreal, and his mother Jasonnine Valbrun is a Nurse. We've met, while I was still doing my undergrad. I took an economics course as an elective during my final year.

"You are something else, Leila," Jason said, his deep voice snapping me out of my reverie. I looked at him, and smiled faintly. This man is sinfully sexy and doesn't seem to know it. He's the best salesperson at our store, especially when it comes to signing up female customers. Now, I'm not one of those girls who crosses the line with male friends. Besides, I like to date guys from my background and faith, and Jason's Adventist beliefs weird me out. I believe Middle-Eastern churches to be closer to true Christian beliefs. I consider all the new faiths to be strange. Still, Jason does have his appeal.

"Sorry, Jason, had a lot on my mind," I said, smiling, and sipped on my drink. Jason nodded, non-confrontational as usual. That's his only flaw as far as I'm concerned. I like my guys to be rough and aggressive, and Jason is a bit too nice for me. My ex-boyfriend, Jeremy Behrouz, was a bit too rough, though, and that's why we split.

"Okay boss lady," Jason said, and I flashed him a wolfish grin. Seriously, if Jason knew how bossy I am, this good Haitian church brother might run from our table. What do I mean by that? Simply this, ladies and gentlemen. Brace yourselves for it. I am into BDSM, and I am usually the dominant one. In recent times, a certain bozo named Jian Ghomeshi and his work-related sexual escapades have thrust the BDSM lifestyle in the media and given it a bad name.

In the world of BDSM, whether you're a male dominant with a female submissive, or a female dominant with a submissive of either gender, consent is key. You need someone's consent while tying them up, flogging them, waxing them and whatnot. And the consent must be ongoing. A lot of people, especially misguided feminists, equate BDSM with abuse. I am a strong woman who usually dominates men, and sometimes other women, but sometimes, just sometimes, I allow a man of my choosing to dominate me. It's always my choice.

"Jason, am I too bossy?" I said out of the blue, locking my eyes with my favorite Haitian-Canadian stud. Jason pursed his lips, and smiled faintly at me. I checked his body language, and wondered inwardly if I made him uncomfortable. Without another word, Jason reached into his backpack, which seldom left him, and pulled out a book.

My eyes went wide when I saw the book which Jason held in his hand. The Art Of Sensual Female Dominance by Claudia Varrin. I looked at the book, then at Jason. My heart skipped a beat. My cheeks felt flush. I took a deep breath, and looked at Jason, stunned to my core.

"You like that stuff?" I said, shaking my head, and Jason nodded firmly. I looked into his eyes, and there was an intensity in there that I hadn't noticed before. Something in his body language changed too. It's almost as if I were seeing Jason for the first time. Gone was the handsome but 'nice guy' I knew from work. There was something sexy and dangerous about Jason.

"A lot of strong men like dominant women," Jason said firmly, and I smiled, pleased beyond words to hear such a statement coming out of his mouth. I looked at the book, admired the simple but tasteful cover, which featured a black whip lying on a bed, and gently laid my hand on Jason's. We locked eyes again.

"Good answer Jason," I said, and suddenly, our faces drew closer together. Jason kissed me, and I kissed him back, passionately. When we came up for air, Jason and I smiled at each other. We were grinning like school chums. I looked at Jason, and felt excited for the first time in months. I'd been so bored since Behrouz left me, because he couldn't handle my fondness for tying him up. Oh, well. Looks like I found a replacement.

Thus began my relationship with Jason. I've always been a hard-charger in the realms of sex and romance, and that's a turn-off for a lot of guys from Middle-Eastern cultures, whether Muslim, Jewish or Christian, because of women's roles in those societies. Jason seemed to like my brand of bossiness, and I was delighted by that.

Three days after Jason revealed to me that he was exploring BDSM, and considered himself a Switch, I brought him to my apartment in Laval, and we had ourselves some fun. A lot of people in the BDSM world like to tone down their interest in BDSM when dealing with new lovers. Me? I let a guy know from the get-go that I'm a freak, and he can either take it or leave it.

Jason was more than happy to take it. In more ways than one. I sat on a throne-like chair in my living room, and made the Haitian stud worship at my altar. "I'm at your service milady," Jason said, kneeling before me, stark naked. He was a vision of masculine beauty, with his chocolate skin, rugged good looks, semi-chiseled body, and of course, that big dick swinging between his legs.

"Pleasure me," I said, smiling wickedly while spreading my thighs. Clad in a black tank top, black leather miniskirt ( with no panties ) and black leather boots, I looked hot and I knew it. Jason looked up at me, smiled and buried his face between my legs. I smiled as Jason stuck his tongue into my pussy, and began licking me.

I sighed happily as Jason ate my pussy like a hungry man. A lot of guys suck when it comes to that, and not in a good way. I like to break in my new lovers gently. Obeisance is what I expect of the men I deal with, because I am the dominant. I will tie them up, flog them, spank them, cane them, and yes, I'll even go as far as fucking them in the ass with a strap-on dildo. I love doing that to guys, and I always choose macho-looking guys as my subs.

"Good lad," I said patronizingly, rubbing Jason's head as he continued pleasuring me with that magic tongue of his. I've been with guys and a few girls in my time, and let me tell you, Jason's tongue action impressed me. The last chick I got with, a butch Jamaican woman named Rebecca "Rod" Roderick, couldn't take my fist up her snatch or lick my pussy right, that's why I dumped her. Yes, dear readers, some men are better than some women when it comes to eating pussy.

After Jason polished my cunt with his tongue, I decided to reward my favorite Haitian stud. "Are you ready for more?" I asked Jason, and he nodded. I smiled, for I knew a real gem when I saw one. Next, I bent Jason over and hit that sinfully sexy ass of his with my wooden paddle. I love spanking guys, it's one of my favorite things.

"I like paddling your cute ass," I chided Jason, while spanking his bottom, and to my delight, my Haitian stud nodded without screaming. So, Jason is the stoic kind, eh? I am so going to have fun with him! I continued hitting his ass, determined to get a scream out of him. Finally, after perhaps the hundredth strike from the paddle, Jason cried out.

"Oh fuck," Jason screamed, and I stopped, gently touching his cute ass. Hmm. I had beaten Jason's ass until it was black and blue. Nice. Jason hadn't actually said the safe word we agreed on, which is red, but I knew enough about topping male subs to know that my favorite Haitian-Canadian stud was not quite at his limit, but pretty damn close to it. No need to push him further. I smiled at Jason, and gently licked his ear. I was satisfied, for I'd gotten what I wanted out of him. My sexy stud had screamed for me.

"I'm ready for more," Jason said, once he caught his breath. I looked at him, pleased beyond belief. Gently, I took his handsome face in my hands. I looked into Jason's eyes, searching. A lot of guys think they're tougher than they really are, even in a BDSM dungeon where they're having the living daylights beaten out of them by a female dominant.

"Slow down lover we've got time," I said, and kissed Jason. Taking him by the hand, I took him to the nearby bed. I laid him there, tied his hands and feet with silk scarves, and then proceeded to reward him for his good conduct, as it were. I licked a path from Jason's lips to his neck, I playfully tugged on his chest hairs, and kissed a path to his groin area.

"Oh damn," Jason whispered, and I grinned, looking into his face. Jason held his breath as I took his erect manhood in my hands. I took a good look at Jason's dick. It was long and thick, but not abnormally so. My Haitian stud was well-endowed but no porn star. Suits me just fine. I stroked his dick, and gently pulled back the foreskin. And just like that, I began sucking Jason's dick.

I hadn't gone down on a guy in a while, but certain things a gal never forgets. I sucked Jason's dick with gusto, inhaling his masculine musk while gently massaging his balls. Jason moaned happily as I sucked him off, and to really shine him on, I slid a finger into Jason's asshole. The Haitian stud sighed, but did not protest. If anything, Jason's dick got harder in my mouth as I sucked him and fingered him.

"You like having stuff in your ass," I paused to say, looking into Jason's eyes. Without a word, he nodded, sighing deeply. Thanks for the confession, I thought happily, and resumed sucking him off. I pulled a dildo out of a nearby drawer, dipped it into a cup full of Aloe cream that just happened to be nearby, and then, without a word, slid it into Jason's asshole.

"Oh fuck," Jason said, and his eyes went wide as I worked the dildo up his ass. I stroked Jason's dick, and watched it get harder and harder as I played with his ass. Judging from Jason's body language, the Haitian brother was loving what I was doing to him. Later, Jason would confess that he'd been dreaming of letting a gal fuck him with a strap-on dildo for ages. Well, I'm definitely the woman for the job, once I deemed him good and ready.

The harder I fucked Jason's ass with the dildo, the harder his dick got. Feeling suddenly inspired, I stopped sucking Jason for a minute. "I want to ride that fuck stick," I said, looking into his eyes. Jason seemed surprised, but smiled. I climbed on top of Jason, and rolled a condom on his dick. Time for this dominatrix to have some fun, ladies and gents.

Jason looked at me, as I climbed on top of him, and impaled my pussy on his erect dick. Damn, I hadn't had sex in ages and I definitely wanted to make up for lost time. Jason strained in his bonds, clearly he wanted to hold me while fucking me, but I guess the brother forgot that I'm the dominant and even with his big dick in my cunt, he's my submissive.

"Fuck me sub," I said, through gritted teeth, as I grabbed Jason by the throat. The Haitian stud nodded and did as he was told, bucking his hips upward as he thrust that dark dick into my pussy. I rode him hard, loving the feel of his hard dick stabbing my cunt. Indeed I missed the D, as they say. With his hands and feet tied up, all Jason could do was thrust, and thrust he did. He definitely did not disappoint, ramming his dick deep into me, and it hurt so good that I squealed in delight.

A dominatrix shouldn't beg a sub for anything, but dammit, I found myself begging Jason for more as I rode him. "Ride that Johnson," Jason said, his deep voice a bit hoarse, bucking his hips as he buried his dick in me. I collapsed on top of him, our faces inches apart, my breasts pressed hard against his hairy chest.

"You got it sweetie," I said, and, protocols of BDSM be damned, I kissed my lover passionately as Jason stabbed my cunt with his dick, sheathing it inside of me. I hugged him tightly as I rode him, loving the deliciously hot pain I felt down below as Jason fucked me. I came hard, twice, while riding him. In the end, I just lay there, sweaty, a bit confused, but immensely pleased, my hazy eyes locked with Jason.

"Thank you," I said, and we kissed again. Much later, Jason and I shared a steamy shower, and then relaxed in my living room. We spent the afternoon together, cuddling and watching TV, and ordered food from Kam Shing, one of the best Chinese restaurants in Laval. You should have seen the delivery guy's face when Jason and I greeted him. I had on my tank top and Jason's boxer shorts, and Jason was naked from the waist up.

"I don't think he'll be back next time," I said, laughing, putting my Bank of Montreal credit card back into my purse, and Jason pulled me into his strong arms and grinned. Putting his arm around me, he took the brown bag full of delicious Chinese food away, and I protested, for I was hungry. I always feel hungry after sex, I don't know why.

"I'm hungry but not for Chinese food," Jason whispered into my ear, and I laughed. Putting my arms around him, I mock-protested as the Haitian stud lifted me up, and carried me over to the couch, where he laid me there, and proceeded to unceremoniously yank down the boxers I had on, exposing my pussy, which was still sore from the relentless pounding he gave me.

"Try Persian cuisine my darling you'll love it," I said, spreading my thighs invitingly, as Jason buried his handsome face between my legs. We ended up being late for work the next morning, but that's okay because Katrina, the new trainee, showed up early to open the TELUS store since she's still on her probation period and trying to impress the boss.

Jason and I embarked on a passionate relationship, one which caught me by surprise, to tell you the truth, but since it's very rewarding, I'm happy. I never thought I'd meet a guy who could truly handle all of me. According to Jason, I am one complex chick. A savvy politico in the making, a proud Christian, a whip-smart dominatrix, and a tough businesswoman, all wrapped up in one hot little package.

"Wouldn't have you any other way," Jason said to me, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me. It might be too early to tell, but I'm beginning to think Jason Valbrun, the handsome Haitian Adventist stud who's worked beside me for a year, just might be the one I've been looking for. The brother has a lot going on for him, I must say. Intelligent, ambitious and educated, Jason is definitely going places. We care for each other deeply, he likes my kinky lifestyle and he knows how to make my toes curl. If he keeps this up, Jason just might be a keeper. Wish us luck.

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