Mistress Nazirah Of Dubai
My name is Samuel Clarence Marcelin, and I am a young man of African-American descent living in the City of Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates. Like many men the world over, I find Arab culture fascinating…especially the ladies of that culture. I came here at the behest of my employer, Magyar Ltd, a Hungarian-American civil engineering company that does a lot of work with the Gulf States. How I got there is a story in and of itself…
How does a 27-year-old African-American male land himself an executive position with one of the world’s largest companies? Well, it has much to do with my intelligence and charm, as well as my ability to talk people into doing things for me. Oh, and I made sure I knew the right people, of course. In this world, it’s as much who you know as it is what you know. Never let anyone tell you different.
“Dude, you should totally come work for my uncle,” said Randy Magyar, as we grabbed lunch together inside the Copley Mall food court in downtown Boston. I looked at Randy, a short, stocky white dude with reddish brown hair and smiled while looking right into his green eyes. I waited a moment and sipped on my Pepsi, then chewed on the delicious Chinese food we were eating before answering him.
“I’ll think about it, bro, I like to keep my options open,” I replied, and Randy nodded, then continued wolfing down his plate of fried rice and orange chicken. We met at the Boston Public Library during my sophomore year at Harvard University, and have been best buds ever since. I’ve basically carried Randy Magyar through his business classes. And it’s about time I got a return on my investment. Exactly six weeks after graduation, I got hired by Magyar Ltd.
“Marcelin, my nephew speaks highly of you, and your credentials are impeccable, welcome to the team,” said Jonathan Magyar, a tall, silver-haired patrician clad in a stylish dark blue Brooks Brothers suit. I smiled and shook the elder Magyar’s hand, then nodded at Randy, who smiled at me.
The three of us were sitting inside the Club Café in Boston’s trendy Back Bay Area, and I must say, I was having trouble not gushing as the elder Magyar showered me with praise. Randy’s uncle was definitely no fool, and he knew that I basically did his nephew’s homework for him for years. Largely thanks to me, Randy got to graduate from Harvard University, the family’s alma mater, thus sparing the Magyar clan much embarrassment, and the old man thanked me accordingly.
“Thank you for this opportunity sir,” I said with a smile, nodding earnestly at Jonathan Magyar, who sipped on his tea, and then abruptly changed the subject. Sitting in this neat little café, one of a thousand quaint places frequented by the stiff upper crust in Boston, I felt a strange feeling of exhilaration. I’ve certainly come a long way from my humble beginnings, that’s for sure…
I was born in the City of Brockton, Massachusetts, on February 7, 1989. My father, Travis Marcelin was a Haitian-American immigrant, and my mother, Elisabeth Conrad, was white. Both died from gunshot wounds sustained during a drive-by when I was only a few months old, and my maternal grandmother Harriet Marcelin raised me.
Life in the so-called City of Champions wasn’t easy. In a town teeming with minorities of all hues, from Cape Verdeans to Haitians, Jamaicans, Mexicans and Chinese people, I was the odd man out. Half black and half white, and orphaned to boot. I used to get teased in high school for my caramel-hued skin, my curly black hair and my lime-green eyes. I grew up hearing that I was too black or too white. Made me mad as hell, but I fought against the haters the best way I knew. I ignored them.
In the summer of 2006, I graduated from Brockton High School and won an academic scholarship to Harvard University. How about that? From the school of hard knocks to the Ivy League. Movies get made about shit like that. Now, even in liberal Boston, with Deval Patrick as the State of Massachusetts first African-American Governor, there is a lot of prejudice. It’s subtle but it’s ever-present, folks.
Wealthy white kids at Harvard University weren’t exactly warm and welcoming towards people like me. To be fair, the few wealthy African-American, Hispanic and Asian youths I met at school weren’t sure what to make of me either. Race and class divided me from everyone else. I was exception with a capital E. I didn’t come from a wealthy household. My parents didn’t own yachts, nor did they own summer houses in the Hamptons or Martha’s Vineyard. I was just a broke mixed dude from Brockton with a Genius-level IQ, a vicious streak the length of Mississippi, and an appetite for the finer things in life. Needless to say, the rich white brats at Harvard didn’t know what hit them!
I befriended Randy Magyar, the loser son of a wealthy Hungarian-American family, and we became best buds. Opposites do attract, folks. Randy and I were both outcasts. Me because, well, I’m Black and male in the Ivy League and Randy because he’s a natural-born shmuck. Through him I rubbed elbows with Boston’s elite. Men and women whose families numbered among the United States of America’s movers and shakers no matter how far back one goes.
Harvard University is a minefield if you’re smart, talented, ambitious and not white. The same liberal white people with Obama T-shirts will turn on you in a second if they feel you’re a threat to them. Black plus male plus intelligent equals threat in the eyes of white people. That’s something I never allowed myself to forget, folks.
On the Ivy League campus, I made the right connections, befriending the right guys and dating the right girls. A social chameleon, that’s what I was. In the end, my hard work and clever machinations got me a Harvard University MBA, and one hundred and twenty grand a year as an executive with Magyar Ltd. I was ready to take on the world, but nothing could have prepared me for the United Arab Emirates.
“How would you feel about going to Dubai to check out our operations there?” said my direct manager, Eileen Pimental. I looked at the tall, blonde-haired Latina in the sharp business and white blouse, and forced a smile. Truth be told, I’d been lobbying for a foreign assignment like crazy, but it was still a surprise when I actually got it.
Alright, I’ll stop bullshitting you for a second. For any business executive working in America today, a foreign assignment is the chance to prove yourself. To walk with the big dogs, so to speak. My only competition ran into some problems. Rachel Slade, a tall, gorgeous redhead with a Yale University MBA, was a shoe-in for the Middle-East assignment, until our company’s highly conservative leaders discovered that she’d had an abortion during her college days.
As for my other competitor, a sharp Japanese-American gentleman named Rupert Yasimoto, proud Wharton School of Business grad, let’s just say that he had other problems. Rupert is one of those guys who seems just too good to be truth. Tall, smart, handsome, and impeccably dressed. I dug up into his personal’s life, and found out that he had a penchant for young guys. I leaked that little tidbit to the higher ups, anonymously of course, and you can guess the rest.
Now, I felt kind of bad about exposing Rupert Yasimoto’s gayness to the company’s uptight managers. After all, I’ve got certain sexual secrets myself. I love BDSM, especially dominant women in leather outfits who, ahem, crack the whip. Still, unlike Rupert Yasimoto, I know how to be discrete while satisfying my cravings, and I know better than to get caught. Survival of the fittest, people.
“Thank you for the opportunity, ma’am, I won’t let you down,” I said to Ms. Pimental, who smiled and nodded. I’ve been dreaming of visiting the Arab world for ages. Long have I dreamed of traveling to other places. A lot of African-Americans think America is the be-all and end-all of all existence. Me? I want to see places like Paris, Johannesburg, Accra, Vienna, Sao Paolo and London. I want to experience life outside America, and become a truly global citizen. And I’ll destroy anyone who tries to get in my way.
When I arrived in Dubai, the capital of the United Arab Emirates absolutely blew me away. Instantly I became fascinated with Emirati culture…and Arab ladies. Now, given what conventional wisdom and pop culture tell us about the state of gender relations in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, the idea of a sexually liberated and downright dominant Saudi Arabian Muslim woman exploring the world of BDSM might shock the hell out of you. That’s okay, because that was my initial reaction as well, ladies and gentlemen.
It’s no secret that Arab societies are fairly conservative when it comes to sexual relations as well as the socio-cultural norms between men and women. Dubai, the crown jewel of the United Arab Emirates, is a place like no other. In the same mega-mall, you might see a tall blonde-haired white woman in a miniskirt and halter top and a Hijab-wearing brown woman of African or Arabian descent. That’s the beauty of Dubai, almost anything goes.
There are so many foreigners living in Dubai, mostly Europeans but also sizeable numbers of Chinese and South Asians as well. Of course, like many Arab nations, a large number of Africans live in the United Arab Emirates as well. I came here for business, but I was also determined to have myself some fun. I didn’t spend all those years at Harvard University, earning first a bachelor’s degree in psychology then an MBA, to become a stiff.
The company assigned me a local guy as my guide, a slim Moroccan dude named Abu, who’d been living in the Emirates for ages. This dude knew everything about the seedy underbelly of Dubai, the side that doesn’t always the news. Now, you might think that in a conservative Arab country, access to ladies is limited, especially for foreign men. Well, that’s true but in Dubai just like everywhere else, money talks.
“Mistress Nazirah is exactly what you need my friend,” Abu said to me as he drove me to a nice villa at the end of a vast street in the east end of metropolitan Dubai. I stepped out of the car, feeling nervous and excited at the same time. This little excursion was costing me a pretty little penny, but I would spare no expense to fulfill one of my ultimate fantasies.
This little excursion cost me fifteen hundred Saudi Riyals, or the equivalent of four hundred American dollars. Oh, and the professional dominatrix had a lot of specifications about what I needed to do before coming to her place. I had to be showered and thoroughly cleaned…everywhere. And I had to pledge to obey her every word while under her roof. Nice, eh?
“Mistress Nazirah pretty much runs the BDSM scene here in Dubai, people say she moved here from Saudi Arabia ten years ago and never left,” Abu said, and I smiled. The more my guide told me about this professional dominatrix, the better she sounded to me. Honestly? I couldn’t wait to meet her and I would spare no expense, as I said before.
At the door, I was greeted by a tall, muscle-bound Arab dude, and he let me in after exchanging a few words with Abu in Arabic. I smiled at the muscle head and went inside. The place was really nice, seriously. This villa was perhaps one wing short of qualifying for the status of mansion, in my eyes. The Arabs definitely know how to live, seriously. I was still admiring the décor when a tall, statuesque Arab lady seemingly materialized in front of me.
“Take off your shoes and bow your head,” Mistress Nazirah’s crisp voice drawled in accent-less English, and I nodded, then did as I was told. A tingle of excitement mixed with dread crept through my spine, and I smiled as I complied with the lady’s orders. I took off my shoes, and followed the lovely Mistress Nazirah to the living room area.
“As Salam Alaikum, mistress, I am Samuel,” I said respectfully, and Mistress Nazirah smiled. I got a good look at her, and I must say, I liked what I saw. Tall and curvy, clad in a bright red, ankle-length dress and crimson Hijab, Mistress Nazirah was the very picture of Islamic feminine modesty and respectability. And I found that an absolute turn-on, seriously.
“Walaikum As Salam, brother Samuel, tell me why have you come here,” Mistress Nazirah said, and for some reason, I had trouble holding her golden brown gaze. I smiled at her, and for the first time in a long time, I was absolutely honest with another human being. I told Mistress Nazirah the truth and nothing but the truth.
“Ma’am, I find female dominance sexy, especially when the dominant lady is Muslim,” I said honestly, and Mistress Nazirah smiled. The tall, gorgeous Arab lady looked at me and smiled, clearly pleased by what she heard. I smiled shyly, instinctively adapting to the person in front of me and what she expected of me.
“Brother, you came to the right place, I do love you big, strong Africans, and I am going to do things to you that you never dreamed of,” Mistress Nazirah said with a wicked smile, and a thrill shot through me, for I knew that I was in for a treat. I am happy to say that the lady definitely did not disappoint me, ladies and gentlemen.
“My, you are a beautiful man,” Mistress Nazirah said, sighing appreciatively as she ran those sleek yet strong hands of hers all over me. The lady caressed my face, my chest, and I held my breath as Mistress Nazirah held my manhood in her hands. Automatically aroused by her touch, my long dick hardened, and I sighed deeply. I’m a bit longer than average, and uncircumcised, and hadn’t been with a woman in ages. Mistress Nazirah’s magic touch was just what the doctor ordered…
“Thank you Mistress,” I said, and Mistress Nazirah smiled and stroked my dick, and I endured this sweet torture while bound to the wall, fettered with bindings that could hold my six-foot-two, 220-pound, lean and athletic frame. I looked into Mistress Nazirah’s eyes and saw something akin to lust there, though in the darkness of her basement/makeshift dungeon, I definitely couldn’t swear to it.
“So damn beautiful,” Mistress Nazirah said, and then she stunned the hell out of me by getting on her knees and taking my dick into her mouth. Honestly, I was not expecting that. I looked down and smiled happily at the impossible sight of a gorgeous, Hijab-wearing Muslim gal sucking my dick. Seriously, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven…and I’m an avowed atheist!
“Oh my,” I whispered, and Mistress Nazirah abruptly stopped sucking my dick, and then I felt her hands caressing my buttocks. I gasped as I felt one of her sleek fingers up my bum. Sensing my tension, Mistress Nazirah stroked my dick while fingering my bum, and in spite of myself I got harder than a piston. What the fuck?
“Your cute ass loves being fingered, doesn’t it?” Mistress Nazirah asked in a teasing tone, and I smiled and nodded. Moments later, I felt something cold and slick being applied against my asshole…after the lady spread my bum. Lubricant, I thought, feeling both nervous and excited.
“Oh fuck,” I said, and Mistress Nazirah laughed, and playfully smacked my ass, and then I got another surprise. I felt something hard and long and decidedly phallic in nature press against my bum. Instantly I tensed, even though I knew what was coming.
“I am going to fuck that cute butt of yours with my strap-on,” Mistress Nazirah said, and I felt her strong arms encircle me from behind, and her fingers tugged on my chest hairs playfully. I nodded, and instantly felt invaded as Mistress Nazirah pushed her strap-on dildo up my ass. Even though I braced myself for it, it still hurt and still felt intense. Man, what a feeling! There’s nothing quite like it in the world, I swear.
“Scream for me,” Mistress Nazirah whispered, and I gritted my teeth, loving the deliciously hot pain I felt down below as she thrust her strap-on dildo deep into my ass. As she fucked me, the lady stroked my hard dick, pumping her hand up and down my shaft. I groaned and moaned as Mistress Nazirah fucked me, and finally, I gave it up, for it proved too hard to resist.
“Oh yes, fuck me, Mistress!” I heard myself scream those very words as Mistress Nazirah rammed her dildo up my ass. Man, I won’t lie, the tall, curvy and sinfully sexy Arab dominatrix fucked me good, and I absolutely loved it. For me, the act of being dominated by a woman, for a strong man like myself, the high I get from it, it’s more mental than physical. It’s a kind of release, truly.
“Cum for me,” Mistress Nazirah said, playfully licking my ear and stroking my dick while burying her strap-on dildo up my ass. I cried out with wild abandon, and completely let go without fear or shame. I embraced it all, the pleasure and the pain. It was absolutely fantastic. I came, louder and more violently than ever before, and I totally loved it.
“Thank you Mistress,” I whispered in utmost sincerity, smiling faintly at Mistress Nazirah, before I all but collapsed in my bonds. Moments later, a smiling Mistress Nazirah freed me, and I sighed happily as I tried to get back on my suddenly wobbly legs. The lady was kind enough to help me, and considering I’m a pretty big guy, I was amazed at Mistress Nazirah. Tall, beautiful, ferocious, sexy…and kind. What a woman!
A half hour later, I showered and thanked Mistress Nazirah for a wonderful time, then I walked out of the villa. I felt cleansed by this experience, to tell you the truth. In my day-to-day life, whether I am interacting with ordinary men and women, or America’s corporate elite, or the movers of Emirati society, I am calm, cool and in control. In the world I live in, I have to be in control.
Guess I sound like a control freak, eh? Sometimes, I like to lose control, as in let someone else be in charge for a while, but it has to be with the right woman, and in a controlled environment. I’m glad Abu told me about Mistress Nazirah. This lady is going to be seeing LOTS more of me during the rest of my stay in Dubai, that’s for sure. As a successful, intelligent and charismatic brother who simply must get his way, I’m the ultimate bad boy. And sometimes, us bad boys do need a spanking!