He was the perfect gentleman. I was in awe of his accomplishments. A brilliant and successful businessman with degrees from the finest schools in Europe and the United States, he was a formidable presence. He spoke several languages, including his native Arabic. Darkly handsome, dashing, suave. At the time, I thought of myself as a straight but possibly curious man. Open minded, as it were.
I was instantly swept up in his power when we met at the conference on the West Coast. I was far from home, on my own in a beautiful city, away from the wife and kids. It seemed so natural to fall into conversation with him and hang on his every word. It was natural as well to continue our conversation in his luxurious hotel suite overlooking the city. Something about him and his demeanor and self-confidence made it seem perfectly natural to do whatever he wanted to do. Before I knew it, I was naked and kneeling before him, taking immense pride in making such an incredible, worldly man gasp and swear in Arabic as I took more and more of his thick cock in my then-virgin throat. Little did I know that I had inadvertently taken the first step down a long road that would lead me to converting to Islam and becoming his bride.
He was like a drug. His every word filled my mind. He was a force of nature. It felt right to let him lead, let him do the thinking, follow along in his wake, grateful for his attention. After that first evening, he made love to me repeatedly. Relentlessly. The part of me what was straight became a distant memory. I lived for him now. For a time, he was content to have me as his remotely controlled plaything, a dalliance for him to enjoy when he was in my East Coast city on business. He knew that he had but to call or email and that I would soon be beneath him, naked and moaning, begging and pleading, pledging my devotion to him. He praised my obedience, my growing skills at pleasing him, and my tight, accommodating pussy. When he raised the subject of a deeper commitment to him, I didn’t even think. I couldn’t. At the time, he was ravishing me, pounding me into the king-size mattress, proclaiming his ownership of me, reveling in my moans and sighs and acknowledgement of his supreme power.
He explained that our arrangement was not that unusual. Throughout history, naturally weak and submissive whites have succumbed to more powerful, more masculine, dominant Alpha Male Muslims. Having wealth and privilege in the Muslim world, a man like him has certain leeway in his personal life, and the acquisition of a submissive, feminized white male wife was among them, so long as I converted and strictly obeyed the customs. He explained this to me in the afterglow of our lovemaking as I lay there, spent and enthralled. He intended to have me, to take me from my family and job, not to mention my culture and homeland, and turn me into his muslimah wife. As he explained this further, he spooned me from behind. His thick, Arab cock grew and thickened and poked my soft, white ass. His knowing fingers manipulated my tender nipples. His hot breath at my ear whispered promises of untold pleasure, and my deep submmission and obedience.
He assigned me a new name, Ameera. I accepted it gladly.
Now I wear the hijab and the abaya. Underneath, I wear deliciously feminine lingerie. My face is kept pretty, yet understated. My nails are manicured and pedicured. My body is kept smooth and silky. My man demands femininity and elegance. I am, of course, kept in chastity. Above all, my sexuality belongs to him, now and forever. It is not for display. My body belongs to him, in a very deep and real sense. The merest look from him causes me to flush and anticipate his touch and his cock. My heart flutters when he speaks my new name, my true name.
It is deeper than mere romantic love and affection. I am his prize. His wife. I am living proof of his dominant intellect and Alpha Male prowess. I do as he commands. My old life is gone. Now there is only Ameera, wife and muslimah.
Join the Revolution. Succumb to the Sexual Jihad.
