Muslim Hotwife [MF]

Muslim Hotwife

I: Background (Jump to Section II if you just want to read about some action.)

This happened around September 1, 2020 in the suburbs of Salt Lake City, UT.

I met this couple–that’s a story for another day–around Christmas 2019. They were seeking a Bull, and thought I might fit the bill. I’m not sure why they approached me. I was reluctant, but after thinking it over I agreed. I’m a private person but the wife was sexy: Mid to late 20s, fit, 5’7″, light brown skin, South Asian accent. She’d agreed to my ground rules: no husband present until I was ready, no bareback, no pictures that included my face.

We hooked up more or less every week until early March, when the pandemic sent me home to the West Coast. The sex was still good but there was a burgeoning tension between us. She wanted to change the rules, and she wouldn’t shut up about it. She wanted bareback, and my suspicion was that she wanted her husband to taste me off her pussy. She wanted her husband in the room. And she once even mentioned, in a post coital reverie, that she wanted her husband to get me “ready for sex” (read: blow me) and “clean” me afterwards. Red flags everywhere. That pandemic came at just the right time for me.

The texts were quite frequent in the early weeks of the pandemic, mostly links to articles declaring the whole ordeal a senseless panic. I refused to meet. As time wore on, she contacted me less frequently. But around early August her texts resumed. I was generally polite and casually flirty to her entreaties to hook up, but they became more insistent. Out of nowhere, on a Tuesday afternoon, she sent the text that got me to meet her again. There was nothing remarkable about it. But I was back in town, really horny, and in a position to self-quarantine after seeing her. I was also in a foul mood, due largely to the ups and downs of a career in management at a publicly traded tech company. She had gotten a hotel room not too far from me. It was on.

II: Cutting To The Chase

I walked to the room with my fists clenched. I had been having an annoying day at work and her text enticed me as much as it annoyed me. We’d exchanged a steady stream of texts over the last six months, roughly a couple a month. I didn’t really want to see her, deal with her requests, or make idle chitchat. She was an attractive young woman. I didn’t care that she was married. I disliked her husband–to me he was weak, pathetic–and the thought of fucking his wife turned me on. And I resolved to do it the way I wanted to, just for my satisfaction, without regard for her desires.

My phone buzzed in the elevator: Texts from her. She was looking forward to seeing me, and so turned on. That’s nice.

I knocked on the door, and she greeted me with a nervous smile. She looked the same and her body did as well. Tits, hips, ass. She shut the door behind me and said a few words–don’t remember what. I put my hand on the back of her neck and firmly grasped it.

“On your knees,” I told her, as I pushed her down.
“Right here? Let’s at least go into the room–”
“I can leave. Up to you.”

She got on her knees. She was wearing jeans, but that did little to cushion the hard tile floor underneath her. I undid my pants and underwear and let them fall to my ankles. She positioned herself to blow me but I slowly pushed her face into my crotch.

“Not yet. Smell me. Remember who I am?” I asked her. I felt her inhale deeply through her nose and slowly moved her face around. I knew she loved the way I smelled–unshowered, fresh from the gym, and so different from her husband. So much more primal. I knew she loved my uncut cock, forbidden as it was to her as a Muslim. I was definitely not her husband.

It had been over six months, but I’d put in a lot of time training her how to please me. I expected her to remember. I wrapped my hand around my cock and held it up and out of the way.

“Kisses,” I commanded. She clearly remembered, and began gently kissing my balls. I saw her reach down toward her crotch and slapped her arm. “No. Your clothes stay on and you don’t touch yourself. Focus on the task at hand.” I let go of my cock, and now it stood, erect, a few inches from her face. She was looking right at it.

“Tell me what you want. Why have you been texting me all these months?”

“I need to suck your cock. Please.” We’d been working on how she should ask for things. She still remembered that, too.

“Do it right. We’ve been over this,” I told her. She cradled my balls with one hand and put her other hand on the shaft, watching intently as the small sliver of skin still obscuring the head peeled back.

“Yes. I remember. Thank you,” she whispered as she took the head in her mouth. She adjusted her posture and positioned my cock so the head fit in her mouth. It had taken her a few encounters to learn how to handle me without getting her teeth involved. I remembered now why I was here. To seek relief from a stressful day. To unleash my frustrations on a woman who’d welcome them. To feel her suck on me for the express purpose of tasting me.

“This isn’t about you. Get on with it,” I warned her, moving her head back and forth suggestively. “We know you don’t properly suck your husband’s dick–but you *will* suck mine.”

She obeyed, slowly moving her head back and forth on my cock. I held her head with both hands and started thrusting into it, gently at first. I kept my thrusts at a medium depth, occasionally taking deliberately slow, deep thrusts. She gagged, but kept her hands at her sides, totally submitting.

“Back up, against the wall. Keep your hands at your sides.” I positioned her so she was leaning up against the wall, but still on her knees. I stepped out of my pants and took a step toward her. The tip of my cock was less than an inch from her nose. She stuck her tongue out to lick the tip, and missed. I gently slapped her across the face.

“Nope. You ready to take off your clothes?”
“Yes, please.”
“Remember: No touching yourself.” She nodded. “Is your pussy wet?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
“Tell me why it’s wet.”
“My pussy is wet because I’m a dirty slut.” We’d worked on that–she didn’t like saying “the p-word.”

“Good. Arms up, you know the drill.” She raised her arms and I took off her shirt and sports bra. Her tits were just as I’d remembered. C-cups, and covered in soft, tan skin that had never seen more than a moment’s worth of sunlight. Her dark nipples were like pencil erasers. “Stand up and take your pants off.” She complied, stepping out of her jeans and leaving her underwear on. She wore white cotton boy shorts, with pink stripes. There was a large, round wet spot on the crotch. The fabric was soaked to the point of creating a see-through cameltoe.

She pulled off her underwear and handed them to me. Her pussy was shaved, as always. Even in the darkened entryway to the hotel room I could see she was a wet, glistening mess down there. I held her wet underwear firmly against her nose. “What do you smell?” I asked her.

“I smell my wet pussy.” There was that word again. I turned her around and slapped her bare ass. I heard her inhale sharply.
“You shouldn’t have tried to touch yourself earlier.”

I took a condom out of my jeans and led her, from behind, to a table in the dimly-lit room. She was completely naked. I had my shirt on. As we walked the few steps, my hard cock grazed the small of her back. I walked her over to a small table in the room.

“Condom,” I told her. In a series of practiced motions, she opened the condom, positioned it on my cock, and rolled it down. It was yet another example of a lesson I’d taught her that she hadn’t forgotten in the slightest. I knew she hated that I wouldn’t fuck her bareback, but she’d agreed beforehand not to complain about this, or her desire to have her husband present, or any of her other senseless crap.

I turned her around and bent her over the table. Her legs weren’t quite spread enough so I slapped her on the inner thigh. She gasped and spread them more. “Do you want this?” I asked.

“I want it. I want it.”
“What do you want?”
“I want your cock in my pussy. Please, please,” she begged. I entered her slowly, stopping after a couple inches, to adjust to the heat and tightness of her pussy. She pushed back a little against me. I slapped her ass twice in quick succession.

“Do. Not. Move,” I snapped. I held her there for a few moments, with only my cock. She was trembling slightly and had some goose bumps on her back–but she obeyed. I pushed in a few more inches. She moaned. I gave her a few slow strokes, surprised at how wet she’d gotten, before slowly and deliberately pushing myself all the way in. She tried to escape the intensity of the sensation, but the table was in the way. Her breathing quickened.

“Is this why you contacted me? Is this what you wanted?” I asked.
“Yes. Yes. Please, please.” Her accent was more prominent in her English now, presumably because her mind was completely elsewhere. I slowly pulled back and started fucking her slowly. The condom already bore the white streaks of her arousal. With every thrust her moaning became more intense.

There were a couple Marriott-branded ballpoint pens next to a pad on the table. I grabbed them and put them in front of her mouth.
“Suck on these,” I told her. She complied, muffling the sound of her moaning. I took the pens out of her mouth after a minute or so and pressed one of them against her asshole. “This goes in,” I instructed. She relaxed, shuddering as I pushed it in halfway. My thrusts were still deliberately slow. “Where’s the pen?” I asked. There was no answer. I slapped her ass twice. “Answer me.”

“It’s in my ass,” she replied, panting.
“You want the other one in there, don’t you?”
“Ye-yes, please.”
“Not just yet.” I took the pen out of her ass and shoved it into her mouth. I took the other pen and pushed it into her ass. “Can you taste your ass?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What does that make you?”
“A dirty slut,” she replied, whispering.
“What else?”
“A whore.” Her shoulders and much of her back were flushed a deep red.
“You going to come, whore?”
“Yes. Please,” she moaned.

“No. Not yet.” I withdrew my cock and slapped her ass again. Both her cheeks were covered with handprints. I started slowly thrusting the pen in and out of her ass. She counterthrusted. I took the pen from her mouth and added it to the one already in her ass. Her moans became more urgent.

“There’s no more cock for you. Touch yourself. Come. Now.” I didn’t give her a choice. She started rubbing her clit and I think her wetness surprised even her. I maintained a steady rhythm with the pens, and within a few moments her whole body shuddered. Her asshole spasmed and clenched, as if to grab the pens away from my grip. I kept thrusting them, and with my other hand I pulled the condom off. After she’d come she let out a sigh and took a few deep breaths. I grabbed her by her hair and pulled her up, and pushed her onto her knees. The pens were still in her ass. She knew what to do, as she’d done it a few times already. I felt her mouth moving on my cock, slow and steady, and blew a load into her mouth. She moaned as I came, gently squeezing and massaging my balls.

III: Okay, let’s wrap this up, people.

I held her head in place, with my cock in her mouth, and took a couple steps back to sit on the edge of the bed. I often make her suck on me for a while after I’ve come, gently nursing every last drop out of my cock. She seems to really like it. I made her keep the pens in her ass as I backed up to lie down on the bed. I took a breather while she kept her face in my crotch, idly sucking on my cock and balls. At this point, I was half hard. She seemed perfectly content like this, and I felt her take a few deep, relaxed breaths.

After a few minutes of relaxing we started talking. She kept her promise and didn’t bring up all the things she wanted to try that I didn’t: fucking bareback, letting her husband watch, me sending her husband degrading text messages about what I’ve done, etc. She was thankful to see me, and said she hasn’t come like that in a very long time. She has met up with a couple other men, but the chemistry just wasn’t there–either they try too hard, or they’re not rough in the right way, or whatever. Ironically, even her husband found them substandard, in that it was apparent that his wife wasn’t properly satisfied. (This floored me.)

She told me she’d been using the underwear I’d let her keep. I’d forgotten about this: The last time I saw her, in early March, I had told her that given the pandemic I’d not be seeing her for a while, if ever. She asked if she could take my underwear, because it smelled like me. I’d agreed. Apparently, after six months the smell of dick, balls and come wears off and it’s just not the same.

Our whole dynamic is so strange to me. It is like I am living inside a porno. A “modern”–notice the quotes–but still quite traditional Muslim immigrant from India, with her arranged-marriage husband, just trying to make her sexuality fit within the constraints of her culture. She shouldn’t really need me in the picture. She’s 26/27, and she and her husband are an attractive couple. If I could trade for her husband’s looks I’d do so in a hearbeat.

But there’s no question this woman lusts for me like an animal. She loves having her face in my crotch and she is so into my dick. She sucks on it, she plays with it, she just likes being near it. She lets me do whatever I want to her, and tells me no matter what I did that it was exactly what she wanted.

I let her take some pictures, with the pens still in her ass. This has always been OK with me so long as my face isn’t in them. She loves a below-the-waist shot, with her on her knees and me cradling her head with one hand, and my soft cock right next to her face. I have seen the pictures and the aesthetic is oddly hot: My cock, glistening with her spit and still leaking a little come, my balls obviously slick from her sucking on them, next to her wet, sloppy face. Apparently she and her husband really like those pictures the best. We took a few of those, and a few with her sucking the tip, and with her face just buried in my balls.

We moved back to the bed in the same position, with me on my back and her with her mouth on me. It gradually turned into her sucking on my balls, and then gently licking my taint and asshole until I got hard again. She gave me a slow blowjob, just like we’d practiced, and sucked on me until I was completely drained and soft. I made her lay on her side on the bed while I got dressed to leave. I gave her my underwear–stuck them in her face–and told her I expected her to get herself off while smelling them, with the pens in her ass. But only after I left. The last thing I heard her say as I opened the door was, “You’re amazing. Thank you. So, so much.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/iommef/muslim_hotwife_mf