Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 12

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As Salam Alaikum, dear reader. My name is Yasmin Hussein, and I’m a young woman of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I attend Algonquin College, where I study accounting and I live in the east end with my boyfriend Steve Salomon. The big and tall young Haitian guy stole my heart a long time ago. I love this man something fierce and I would do anything for him. We’re from different religions. He’s a Christian guy and I’m a Muslim chick. A lot of people who know us both said we wouldn’t last but we’re going strong after one year.

The other day, Steve Salomon took me to Soleil Des Iles, a nice little Haitian restaurant in Vanier, to celebrate our one-year anniversary. I was happy that he remembered and he got me a nice bracelet. I’m real thankful for Steve’s kindness and generosity. Still, did he have to bring me to Haitian central? You should have seen the way the Haitian ladies dining inside that restaurant looked at me. I’m a tall, curvaceous, brown-skinned cutie in a Hijab and traditional long skirt.

Since the Haitian people are mostly Christian, they’re not used to people like me. Well, I looked defiantly at the Haitian mama behind the counter as she looked me up and down, then shot Steve a disapproving look. When I asked Steve about that wuthering look, the big bozo just laughed it off and said that lots of Haitian women didn’t approve of Haitian men marrying women of other races and cultures. Hmmm. Imagine that.

Like the keen-eyed observer I happen to be, I saw a dark-skinned Haitian chick having lunch with her white boyfriend at the restaurant and nobody seemed to mind. I guess these Haitian women only mind when it’s a WOMAN from another culture stealing one of their men. Haitian female/other male relationships are considered okay by them apparently. I have Arab and Somali blood in my veins and typically people ask me if I’m Moroccan or even Puerto Rican when they meet me. I always tell them that I’m a Somali-Canadian Muslim woman. End of story.

Of all the peoples of the African continent, the ones most susceptible to marry interracially are the Somalis and Ethiopians. Lots of us have married Arabs, and after centuries of interracial breeding, we Somalis and Ethiopians, along with the peoples of Djibouti and Eritrea, are more Afro-Arabian than purely African. That’s our DNA and our culture, I guess. I love my people but at times, I get mad at them for being so Islamist and less Afro-centric. I’ve met Somalis who considered themselves Arabs, due to their having mixed ancestry and living Zonguldak Escort in Arab countries like Yemen or Tunisia. I consider this to be the purest form of foolishness.

Me? I consider myself a woman of African descent. A proud Muslim sister of African and Arabian blood. Besides, we Muslims know the truth about racial relations. Allah made all human beings, from the black man to the white man and the Arab. No human being is better than another based on his skin color. Only through piety and good conduct is a person better than another. Take my Steve for example. The big and tall Haitian was leering at me the first time we met. I was working as a cleaner in a tall office building in downtown Ottawa and Steve worked security there.

I found Steve roughly handsome but the way he always stared at me was more than a bit creepy. Of course, I was taught that only Allah can judge, so I reserved judgement on the big and tall young Haitian guy. It’s a good thing that I did because otherwise, I might have dismissed him as some random guy and missed out on a life-changing relationship. For there was much more to Steve than meets the eye. He’s in the business management program at Carleton University and he’s actually a really nice guy when you get to know him. And I know him intimately, if you catch my drift.

Lately, things have been fine between us. Maybe it’s the pessimist in me but I don’t think this can last. My fellow cleaners and I were asking for a two-dollar raise at work and got it. I now make sixteen dollars per hour cleaning office buildings at night. I just wish things were better for Steve. He used to complain a lot about a racist manager or supervisor or something at his job. I took care of that toot sweet using my feminine wiles and wicked ways. Steve got promoted, taking the job of his archenemy. You’d think the dude would be happy, but Steve is still complaining.

I love Steve but the dude really needs to stop whining and appreciate the finer things in life. Like me, his beautiful sexy Somali Canadian Muslim girlfriend. That’s why I decided to punish him. Steve truly does enjoy my punishments, and that’s one more thing I like about him. As soon as we got home from Soleil Des Iles, where we enjoyed some delicious plates of rice and beans with goat meat and lemonades, I decided to give Steve a little treat. My way of thanking him for making our one-year anniversary special, AND punish him for whining at the same time.

I sat on a high-backed chair in the living room of our apartment, Zonguldak Escort Bayan clad in a long-sleeved red T-shirt, a traditional long black skirt, and black leather boots. A modest dark blue Hijab concealed my normally lustrous, dark hair. In my right hand I held a whip. Kneeling naked before me, Steve looked at me adoringly. I grinned and ordered him to lick my boots. Obediently, Steve did as he was told, just like a good submissive should.

I love BDSM, folks, and I absolutely delight in playing the part of the Dominatrix. The few guys I dated before Steve found my interest in BDSM freaky and not in a good way. Many of them were scared. Fortunately for me, Steve is not only very open-minded and experimental, he’s more than a little bit kinky himself. Are we perfect for each other or what? That’s what makes this so much fun. To be able to share something I’m so passionate about with someone I truly care about.

Steve polished my boots with his tongue, and then, I told him to use that tongue on me. Gently I hiked up my traditional long skirt, and giggled as Steve gently spread my thighs and then began licking my pussy. For some reason, Steve loves having sex with me while I’m wearing traditional clothing, meaning my long robe and hijab. I sat there, licking my lips and shuddering with pleasure as Steve worked his tongue into my cunt. Dude tried to finger me but I ordered him to keep his hands behind his back. My pleasure is his torture, after all.

Steve is real good at oral sex. The dude delighted me by worming his tongue into my cunt, teasing my clit, blowing on it and sucking on it before I cried out, orgasmic. To thank Steve for bringing me utmost pleasure, I brought him the sweetest pain. I bent him over, and then made Steve spread his ass cheeks wide open. Grinning, I donned gloves and then splattered Aloe cream all over Steve’s asshole before fingering him. Steve loves having his ass played with and that’s more than okay by me.

I donned my favorite strap-on dildo, which is modeled after the penis of Brian Pumper, my favorite porn star. Steve introduced me to his videos, which we use as inspiration during our more creative sessions of lovemaking. I have never seen Brian Pumper ride a dildo in his videos. Usually he’s fucking some hot black chick or a ditzy blonde up the ass. He’s one brother I wouldn’t mind fucking…or get fucked by. Not that I would ever act out such a fantasy, mind you. I love my Steve more than Jannah itself. He’s got my heart.

Steve groaned as I gripped Escort Zonguldak him by the hips and slowly inserted the strap-on dildo into his ass. Just like I expected it to, Steve’s hungry asshole swallowed my dildo. Completely. Steve began moaning as I began fucking him in earnest, thrusting the dildo deep into his butt. I smacked Steve’s ass while fucking him. I swear, he likes getting ass fucked so much it almost worries me at times. No, I don’t think he’s gay or bisexual or anything along those lines. I just think he is way too anal, and you can feel free to L.O.L. at that one.

Plowing into Steve’s butt with my dildo was fun, and hearing his screams delighted me. Still, I was feeling way too horny to continue with the whole female domination thing. My pussy was wet and cried out to be fucked. So I yanked the dildo out of Steve’s ass, and as he lay there, slowly recovering, I stroked his member. Soon his long and thick, uncircumcised dick was hard as a rock. Without a word, I climbed on top of Steve and put my hands on his strapping shoulders while straddling him.

As a surprised Steve looked on, I impaled my wet, horny cunt on his dick. Steve looked at me and grinned, his eager hands reaching for my breasts. I batted his hands away, and his rested them on my hips. Slowly, I began riding him, taking my sweet time. Looking into Steve’s eyes, I ordered him to fuck me for all he was worth. For even with his dick embedded in my pussy and his hands smacking my thick Somali ass, I am still very much the dominatrix and thus, always in control. Thus I rode Steve until I came for the second time that night. I had a great time.

Steve Salomon and I definitely click in the bedroom, and out of it. That night, as is our custom, we went to bed together. I lay in my sweetie’s arms, as usual, but I couldn’t sleep. Steve was snoring louder than a herd of elephants, and having been to Africa on my way to Mecca for Hajj, I would know. I have a lot on my mind these days. I hope the Ebola mess doesn’t come to Somalia, or Canada for that matter. And I hope the West stops freaking out about this plague, or those ISIS assholes. Seriously, as a Muslim woman living in the West, I hope someone deals with these fools soon.

Life goes on, I guess. Steve and I got our own place now. We’re happy together on most days. I also hope to find a job once I get my degree from Algonquin College. Steve is close to getting his business management degree from Carleton University. My boo and I are visible minorities with professional degrees in Ottawa, the most covertly racist city in the world, and we need all the luck the fates might see fit to throw our way. I’m stressing. It’s what I do. I envy Steve and his carefree ways. Must be fun, never worrying about a single thing. Oh, well. Guess I worry enough for both of us. Goodnight.

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