Femdom Arrives In Saudi Arabia

In the Muslim world, a woman's life depends on the men in her life, first her father and later her husband and any son who might issue from her womb. This holds especially true in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the venerable Heartland of Islam.

I thank Allah for giving me a husband as kind-hearted and loving as my dear Mahmoud. Now, he may be strange, but he is good to me. I think his strangeness has to do with the time he spent living in Canada. Whatever it is, I've learned to not only live with it but to enjoy it.

My sisters live with men who are cold, domineering and stifle their spirits and ambitions. My husband and I are moving to Ontario after Ramadan, where I will begin my university studies. He's put me in intensive English language classes as preparation, and my instructors say I'm doing fairly well. I can't wait to begin my new life in Canada. My name is Maymuna Suleiman-Khalid and I have a story to share with you, ladies and gentlemen. The tale of how I found that rarest of blessings, true love, albeit with a very strange man.

I have known my husband Mahmoud my whole life, I think. From the moment I was born in the City of Najran we've been neighbors. His father Ali Khalid works in the oil and gas industry, and my father, Kader Suleiman works for the Saudi Arabian government as a high-ranking Cleric in the Ministry of Security. Our mothers are friends.

Mahmoud's mother Ayaan is of Ethiopian descent. His father is of course pure Saudi. I guess that makes Mahmoud half black and half Arab. To some people such differences matter but not me. He'll always be my little buddy. My mother Saleema is half Saudi and half Yemeni. Mahmoud and I used to play together when we were younger, since our families were so close.

In fact, we were born the same day. February 5, 1990. If that wasn't a sign of things to come, I don't know what is. I thought my dear Mahmoud and I would be together forever, and despaired when I found out his parents were moving away. Without my favorite brown-skinned, hairy little buddy, life would be too dull to contemplate. The day Mahmoud and his parents moved to Ontario, Canada, I think I cried a river's worth of tears. July 2, 2004. I remember like it was yesterday. My parents had to restrain me when Mahmoud and his parents got in their car and drove away.

I wept for my old friend, but he never came back. Eventually I moved on. When I turned eighteen, I enrolled at the prestigious King Abdullah University of Science and Technology, the only coeducational, western-style institution in the entirety of Saudi Arabia. A place where women students could study beside men in the same classes, and we were also allowed to wear western-style clothing.

At that school I met girls and women from places like South Africa, Nigeria, Lebanon, Brazil, Ethiopia, and even western nations like England and France. The daughters of wealthy Europeans living and working in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia attend this school in great numbers because all the others are burka central, to quote the favorite expression of an old classmate of mine.

Studying at the King Abdullah University gave me a taste of the west, and I wanted more. I pleaded with my parents to send me to study abroad, but my father refused. You see, my father works for the Saudi government and as a government official he's got an image to maintain.

Men are all about their image, I swear. It simply wouldn't be good form for him to appear liberal at a time when Saudi society is feeling pressure to change from outside forces and is thusly quite defensive and paranoid. Also, terrorism is a big problem in Saudi Arabia. Many radicals feel that by cooperating with American and European officials, the Saudi government is behaving in a manner that's anti-Islamic, and thus has no legitimacy. Those radicals are responsible for the 9/11 bombings. The average Saudi citizen doesn't hate the west. We're too busy living our lives.

Anyhow, the summer of my twentieth birthday, I despaired because my father wanted me to marry an old friend of his, a sixty-year-old Islamic preacher named Mohammed Zahran. A legendary sheikh among Sunni Muslim worshippers in the City of Najran. Lucky for me, he died before anything could be finalized. I know I shouldn't wish death upon anyone but I'm glad the old buzzard croaked. Sorry but that's just the truth!

The idea of playing wife to a dirty old man didn't appeal to me. Especially since Mohammed Zahran had three other wives. I would have been wife number four. Thanks but no thanks. After Mohammed's death, my father left me alone for a while. I knew that it was only a matter of time until he started with the marriage talks again. Lucky for me, something unbelievable happened.

My lifelong friend Mahmoud finally returned to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The short, chubby brown lad I remembered had grown into a six-foot-one, lean and athletic, caramel-colored and curly-haired Afro-Arabian vision of masculine beauty. I'm only five-foot-six, round and bronze-skinned, with black hair and dark eyes. I looked plain next to him. In spite of my attempts at dieting I'm plump, and my thighs, hips and buttocks are huge. Small wonder my prospective husband died. The thought of bedding me might have shut down his heart!

Mahmoud returned to Najran, and as you can imagine, we were happily reunited. His time in Ontario, Canada, had changed him. He seemed more confident now. Also, he seemed to have an intense dislike of many elements of Saudi culture. He shared this with me as we sat in my room, where I snuck him in just like old times.

When I sat him down and asked him about his strange new ways, Mahmoud told me that Saudi society was wrong on many issues and needed to change. I shushed him and warned him that speaking such words might endanger his life, given how paranoid the Saudi government was these days. Mahmoud laughed and told me that he didn't give a damn. Glaring at me, Mahmoud told me that Saudi Arabia was pure hell and he couldn't wait to leave it.

When Mahmoud said these things, I stared at him, shocked. I looked at him and said the only thing I could think of. Take me with you, I pleaded. Smiling, Mahmoud nodded, then he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

Holding me tightly, Mahmoud cupped my face in his hands and told me he loved me. I hugged him fiercely, tears of joy running down my face. Then I told him I loved him too. That night, away from prying eyes, Mahmoud and I lay in each other's arms and plotted our future together.

The next day, Mahmoud spoke to my father, man to man, and asked for my hand in marriage. My father was only too happy to accept. Typically, Arab men don't like seeing Arab women with non-Arab men but my father really wanted to marry me off and no one other than Mahmoud would take me on. I think he just wanted to get rid of me. A dowry got paid, a ceremony was held, documents were signed, and I became Mahmoud's wife.

On our wedding night, Mahmoud laid me naked on our bed, and made sweet love to me. I felt self-conscious at first, naked with a man for the first time, but Mahmoud assured me he found me beautiful.

With his mouth and tongue Mahmoud pleasured my breasts, and my pussy. Spreading my thighs, he lapped away at my cunt with his agile tongue and fingered me. I cried out in pleasure as he did things to me I hadn't even known were possible. Mahmoud made love to me like a skilled artist, and I was like putty in his hands.

Over the next few months, Mahmoud and I discovered much about each other. My husband is a man with demanding sexual appetites. Take anal sex for example. It's forbidden by the Koran and considered a dirty act reserved for homosexuals and women who sell themselves to men for money.

Yet, with some encouragement from my husband, I tried it. First, Mahmoud and I showered together and cleaned ourselves up, then he put me on all fours and began kissing my buttocks. I must say, I liked the feel of his lips on my bum.

Spreading my ass cheeks wide open, Mahmoud stunned me by licking and fingering my asshole. It felt awkward at first but after a while, I relaxed and enjoyed. Next, he lubricated my anus with coconut oil and then pressed his hard ebony cock against my backdoor. Slowly, Mahmoud pushed his dick into my asshole.

When he penetrated me, it hurt and I cried out. Mahmoud held me tight and promised me he'd be gentle. Mahmoud fucked me in the ass, and while it hurt a bit, it also felt oddly good. I enjoyed it. Not something I'd do every day but it's fun. If only he stopped there...

Mahmoud is even naughtier than I thought. He showed me porn DVDs and toys he'd smuggled into Saudi Arabia from Canada. On those videos, my husband showed me his favorite kinks. In one video, a naked female with blonde hair and blue eyes wore a phallic sex toy called a strap-on dildo and fucked a darker-skinned male with it.

I watched, amazed, as the female dominated the male completely, berating him the entire time. Mahmoud smiled and told me he fantasized about this stuff a lot. I stared at him, stunned. When he asked me to try it, I told him I could not. I did not want to hurt the man I love. Also, I am a Muslim woman.

I don't think women are allowed to dominate their husbands in the holy book. Mahmoud assured me that female domination wasn't frowned upon by the holy book of our faith. When I couldn't find a single hadith against "femdom", I agreed to give it a try. After all, I love Mahmoud and want to please him.

Thus, donning a shiny ebony strap-on dildo, I bent my gorgeous biracial husband over and gave his cute bottom a sound spanking. Then, I told Mahmoud to spread his ass for me. Feeling emboldened by his obedience, I smacked him across the face for not complying fast enough. Mahmoud stared at me, and for a moment I worried I'd gone too far. Mahmoud smiled and told me I was doing fine. Grinning, I began working the dildo into his well-lubricated asshole. Time for my Muslim husband to find out what Saudi female domination is all about.

Groaning, Mahmoud bucked wildly as I began to fuck him. I admired our reflections in the bedroom mirror as we fucked on the bed. A short, bronze-skinned Arab woman penetrating her dark-skinned husband with a phallic toy. I found myself incredibly aroused and felt a tingle deep in my pussy. Smiling, I resumed fucking Mahmoud with renewed vigor, slamming the dildo into his butt. Mahmoud cried out and begged me for more. Laughing, I spanked his butt while thrusting the dildo into him. We went at it for another half an hour before Mahmoud said he'd had enough and I pulled out.

After giving Mahmoud a few minutes to recover, I climbed on top of him. I was still horny you see. Smiling, my husband put his hands upon my hips and thrust into me. The feel of his hard, throbbing manhood inside my cunt was amazing. I cried out as Mahmoud fucked me hard, just the way I like it. Burying his face between my breasts as they swayed from side to side while I rode him, Mahmoud held me tight as we made love. We continued our passionate lovemaking until exhaustion claimed us, hours later. What can I say? We got it like that, as Mahmoud is fond of saying.

Yes, I am indeed fortunate to have a husband like Mahmoud. In defiance of Saudi Arabian laws, he's teaching me how to drive. When we move to Ontario, Canada, in a few months, we'll hit the ground running, as he says. As I lay next to him that night after some odd but ultimately wonderful lovemaking, I thank Allah for His blessings. Many women dream of a man who will love them for who they are, and encourage them in their passions. My husband Mahmoud is such a man. Thank you for sticking with me thus far, dear reader. May love find its way to your path someday. Insha'Allah.