Ethiopian Trophy Wife S Awakening

Ethiopian Trophy Wife's Awakening

Summary:

Wife explores her sexuality at a sex club with a white stud.

Note 1: This story has a lot of themes and kinks:

-It is non-consensual, at least at first

-It has interracial undertones

-It has voyeuristic sex

-It has cuckolding

-It has a bukkake

-It has a double train

-It has lesbianism

-It has gay sex

-It of course has some stockings

-It also has a little religion in it

In the end I choose the voyeur category because that was a constant.

Note 2:

This storyline was spurred on by an Ethiopian woman who has similar fantasies.

Note 3:

Thanks to

Tex Beethoven

for editing this story.

Ethiopian Trophy Wife's Awakening

I married a man fifteen years older than I was.

It was an arranged marriage.

He came from money.

My family desperately needed all of the money the Imam of our village was paying them for me.

No, of course this wasn't slavery, it was

Tradition,

which is totally different.

Different how?

Ummm... I'll have to get back to you on that.

He was very good looking, although very much an asshole. I was sucking his dick on every date, swallowing most of the loads, and also taking some all over my face... which disgusted me. But once early in our 'courtship', he face fucked me for the first time, and deposited his load into my virgin mouth in the back room of a fancy restaurant. But when I went to my mother in tears, she just calmed me down and reminded me that sex was an important part of marriage. And as an Ethiopian Muslim, a woman always complied with whatever sexual favours her husband... or her fiancé... required of her.

Luckily he believed in waiting for marriage before fucking me, so I just resigned myself to frequently sucking his cock, even though he was insatiable. He expected my services two or three times a day, texting me at all hours to hurry over and service him. He'd also stop by my house at random times. Even worse, he got more adventurous the longer we dated, and he had me blow him in an Uber (yes, of

course

the driver kept glancing into his mirror), in a movie theatre, a park, a few bathrooms and additional places, never caring who was watching. I found all of it totally humiliating, and I often cried myself to sleep at night, and that's just the way it was.

Although I hated his aggression, my mutinous body reacted differently. My virginal vagina would burn while I sucked his cock or got face fucked. I hated the rough treatment, as I was a good Muslim woman and Good Girls

never

engaged in such filthy behaviour (although they also obeyed their boyfriends or husbands in all things), yet I equally hated the way my vagina would leak into my panties. It was both humiliating and confusing.

I'd thought that once we were married, things would change. Yes, as expected, he took my virginity. Yes, we had intercourse often enough that I produced two children for him... but otherwise, he preferred me to give him blow jobs, and after he'd decided he didn't want any more children, he refused to fuck my vagina at all, but instead he only fucked my bottom.

This was the ultimate humiliation, since no religious Muslim would ever even

think

of participating in as filthy a sin as sodomy. Yet he was my husband, and I was required to obey him in the aforementioned 'all things'. Like getting face fucked and being subjected to sodomy... both of them assaults upon my emotions and my body. I always resented it, I thoroughly hated it, and yet my vagina always tingled with pleasure. It was so frustrating... so humiliating... yet because my husband never lasted long... as long as three minutes was uncommon... I never had orgasms.

Soon I was in my mid-thirties... swallowing my husband's loads daily, being sodomized a couple times a week, yet I'd never ever had an orgasm. (In case it needs saying, masturbation was a terrible sin I'd never commit.)

My husband's requirements became even stranger when we moved to Boston a couple years ago. He made me start wearing lingerie under my burqa, which definitely went against the modesty tradition. Yet since he was the man of the house, I had to obey him. I secretly (to the outside world) started wearing lace bras and panties, even a couple of thongs (which were very impractical and took a while to get used to), and either a garter-belt with stockings (which were a pain to put on) or hold up tights. To be honest, at first I found this mode of dressing belittling and an insult to Allah, and that I was caving in to the European standards of beauty... yet when I looked in the mirror while wearing in a matching red lace bra and panty (and

nothing else!)

, or in a sexy all-white lingerie set with stockings (white seeming such a taboo colour for someone like me to wear, since I had children and therefore I was obviously no virgin) for the first time in my life, I felt sexy. (Yes, one could point out I'd been demonstrably sexy for a long time, given my husband's active sex life with me, my viewpoint is that it's very difficult for someone who's in essence been a rape victim for over a decade to see herself as sexy.

But now I took to looking at myself in the mirror while wearing my sexy lingerie, just to admire myself on a regular basis.

Because of the modesty in my culture, I'd never put much thought into how my body looked. Yet recently now as I admired myself, I couldn't help thinking my voluptuous body was well proportioned... with large breasts, nice curves and a dark round ass. Actually my skin was

very

dark; almost literally black.

Yet now that I was wearing this attire while he sodomized me, he repeatedly called me a

sharmuta

(Arabic for whore) which just like all those previous situations, stirred conflicting emotions inside me. Being called a sharmuta was the ultimate shame, and it could get you disowned from your family.

I definitely

wasn't

a sharmuta literally, since I'd only ever had sex of any kind with my husband (and

still

I'd never had an orgasm).

Both of those facts changed one fateful night, ironically upon the decision of my husband, who wanted to show me off. And it resulting in achieving so much more. I can say without exaggeration that it completely turned my life around... and my husband's too!

....

"I'm not taking no for an answer this time," Amir barked while he was fucking my ass.

"No to what?" I moaned, these days really enjoying his dick in my ass... I was fascinated by how a dick fucking my ass triggered some delightful stimulation in my vagina... although never strongly enough to produce an orgasm... whatever that was... something mysterious that I assumed Allah had refused to give me the ability to experience... perhaps as punishment for allowing myself to be used as a sharmuta... even if I'd only had sex with my husband... especially with all the times I'd sucked his cock before I finally walked down the aisle.

"We're going to a club on Friday," he said, slamming hard into my butt.

"Not that sex club you told me about!" I objected.

"Yes, and don't worry; we'll just go there and watch," he said. "I want to showcase my hot sharmuta wife to all those unfortunate white men."

"Why?" I asked, never understanding his fascination with showcasing me. He was an average looking man with, I now know, a very average-sized cock. He was also a little overweight. While I'm twelve years younger, quite beautiful I have learned, and with a body envied by most women... but I didn't know that then.

"Because I want to show off my nasty sharmuta bride to all those rich white people," he said, implying I was a trophy wife... which I suppose I was.

"That's just silly," I said, as he grunted and spewed his load in my ass... which, for the past couple of years, was almost exclusively where he preferred to deposit his load.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" he demanded, pulling roughly on my hair as he unloaded into me.

I didn't respond, just tolerated being used for my husband's pleasure with no consideration for

my

theoretical pleasure.

He pulled out when he was done, snapped his fingers, and I turned around, cum leaking out of my ass...which felt so gross... and sucked his dick clean... yet another humiliating task he required.

As I slowly cleaned his dick, he said, "So Friday night when we go out, all the lingerie you'll be wearing under your burqa will be white."

I didn't respond as I sucked, having learned I was forbidden to quit sucking until he pulled his dick out of my mouth.

"Yes, I'll be showing you off," he said, talking to himself more than to me. "Teasing them with your pure beauty."

Which was as close to a compliment he ever gave me.

When he pulled out, he said, "Go make me a snack," before he got off the bed and headed to the shower.

I waited until I heard the water start (so he wouldn't hear me) before I let out a dramatic sigh... cum leaking out of my ass as I stood up. I grabbed some absorbent panties and pulled them on to catch the leaking cum before putting on a robe and going to the kitchen to make him a snack.

As I did, I tried to come up with a reason to avoid going to this club on Friday.

.....

Friday....

In the morning I sucked his dick, and he blew a load all over my face.

After dinner, he fucked my ass before ordering me to shower and put on the lingerie he'd left on the bed for me. I put on the lace white bra that didn't even attempt to conceal my dark areolas. I put on the matching garter-belt and stockings... which were silky sheer, and they even had black seams going down the back of them. Then I realized there weren't any panties... not even a thong! I called out, "Amir, where is the underwear?"

He walked in, looking relatively handsome in a suit, "You'll be going commando tonight."

"What does that even mean?" I asked.

"Without any underwear," he said, as he admired me in the all-white lingerie.

"I can't go out in public with no underwear!" I protested.

"You will do as I say," he said. "Therefore, no underwear."

"But that defies the very

concept

of modesty," I pointed out, trying to use logic to promote my case.

"Are you defying your husband?" he asked sternly, never allowing me or any other woman to challenge him in even the slightest way. (As you can imagine, since we'd moved to America, this uncompromising attitude got him into many nasty altercations with liberated Western women who just weren't buying it.)

"No, but I

am

reminding you that a proper Muslim gentleman perceives the image of a woman through the chaste eyes of Allah."

"You don't seem to care much about my seeing you through Allah's eyes when my cock is buried in your asshole or when I come all over your face," he pointed out, clearly enjoying this opportunity to humiliate me and put me in my place.

"I do that for you and only you," I defended. (What I didn't

dare

mention was that I

never

requested such treatment.)

"And tonight you'll do this for me and only me," he said.

"You promise?" I asked.

"Yes, honey," he said, walking over to me and grasping my hands in his. It seemed like a tender moment until he added, "After all, you're my sharmuta, my ass slut, my cum addicted bitch."

He thought he was giving me a compliment... yes, I actually think that's what he really thought, the stupid asshole... but inside, I was burning with rage. My mother used to say a girl married for security and religion, and eventually love followed... but I'd never seen that happening in

this

relationship... and I couldn't help wondering if this was

really

what Allah wanted for me.

"I even got you a new burqa for tonight, and new heels," he bragged, clearly excited by his 'generous' gifts.

He handed me the burqa and I looked at it... it was black, but that's all that was conservative about it... and I gasped, "You want me to wear

this?

"

"I do," he nodded. "Put it on and show me."

"But it will barely cover my knees," I pointed out, since it was more than a foot too short to provide the modesty I was always expected to maintain.

"Tonight you're allowed to show a little skin," he said, as if his opinion trumped Allah's.

"This will show a

lot

of skin," I countered.

"When in Rome..." he shrugged playfully. "Now put it on."

"Okay," I said not convinced he'd actually allow me to wear this in public. It was clear he liked to show me off to his Muslim friends, and to the odd black or white co-worker, but he was typically a very jealous man.

I put it on and discovered a few interesting details, some of them not very minor.

One: It was easily the tabooest outer attire I'd ever worn... although a lot more conservative than the lingerie I was also currently wearing.

Two: unlike any other traditional attire I'd ever worn, even during my high school years, this burqa had cleavage. It had a big slice missing from the middle, which gave people a very generous view of my voluptuous fleshy valley. (Yes, I'm very busty. And that's not bragging, it's just a fact... a fact that's never done me the least bit of good.)

Three: for the first time in my life I was wearing something out in public that people would consider sexy.

Four: I myself felt sexy... although I was terrified to be going out dressed this scandalously.

"Hurry up," he called out from downstairs. Secretly disobeying him, I grabbed a white thong, which he wouldn't notice beneath the tight burqa, and slipped them on.

I inspected myself one last time. The white nylons were definitely showcased against the black burqa... I also checked whether the stockings' lace tops could be seen while I was walking... and yes, they could.

.....

We took an Uber, and just the sight of the driver... a white man... made me shiver insecurely. He peeked at me dozens of times during the ride, using the rear-view mirror. I whispered to Amir, "I

really

don't want to do this," since just getting ogled by a creepy, chubby white man already had me riddled with anxiety.

"You'll be fine," he said, dismissing my concern like he always did.

"No, this just isn't right," I whispered.

"We're just going for a night out."

"But I'm dressed totally indecently," I said, my brief moment of excitement because I looked sexy was gone completely, as my conservative nature sent danger flares high into the sky.

"You're dressed quite conservatively for the Western world surrounding us, he brushed me off, continuing to ignore my worries.

"But not for Allah's world," I pointed out, playing the only trump card I thought had a chance of getting him to reconsider.

He trumped me back with the scripture he often quoted on the rare occasions I questioned him. It was from Sarah An Nisa Ayat 34: "'Men are the managers of the affairs of women. Righteous women are obedient.' Now no more pestering me."

As he opened his phone and scrolled through Facebook, I quietly sighed... he'd just forbidden me from pursuing the conversation. He often used that verse to lay down the law to me, but that was what the men in my birth family believed too. I was his wife, therefore in the eyes of Allah, we were far from equal.

I endured many more heated glances from our driver... plus many more minutes of anxiety, and we arrived outside the club.

"Come," Amir ordered brusquely, but at least he got out and offered me his hand.

Reluctantly, I took it and exited the Uber. He then led me into the club. Loud music brayed even from even the outside, and every single man present, and even some women, gave me looks... sinful, lustful looks. I felt such shame at being looked at the same way many infidel women were ogled when they dressed attempting to attract. I was a woman of Allah. I was not a sexual being that strangers were allowed to drool at.

Immediately once we arrived inside a small vestibule, to my surprise a big black man behind a counter said, "You finally brought her along, Amir."

"Yes, I finally put my foot down," Amir said proudly, giving my hand a firm squeeze to instruct me that I wasn't to do so much as move a muscle in objection to this man's condescending and sexist words.

"She's even more beautiful than in the pictures," the black man said... and my eyes went wide.

What pictures? Hopefully not the ones he took of me a few weeks ago in lingerie! Or worse, the nude ones he'd insisted upon taking... once again using the Quran against me. (Loosely paraphrased, it was something like, "Allah says to shut up and just do what you're told, bitch.") I'd been very reluctant and had pleaded for him not to make me do it... but in the end, he'd had me dress in a couple of different lingerie sets, a very inappropriate schoolgirl outfit with my hair in pigtails, and then completely naked.

"I told you," Amir said, beaming with pride at the hungry looks I was receiving from this large black man. To put a finer point on my humiliation, I wasn't introduced to the man (to this day I couldn't tell you his name). Neither of them asked me any questions or addressed me in any way (although Amir maintained a firm grip on my hand throughout their conversation). I was no more than eye candy; some

thing

pleasing to look at.

"Yeah," was all the black man said, as he looked me up and down in a way that made me shiver (not in a pleasant way) and sent a chill up my spine.

My husband paid to get us in, and then he led me through the thick doors and into the club. I should note I'd never been inside a club ever... nor a bar... nor a drinking establishment of any description at all. (Restaurants, yes.) So I had no idea what to expect... my only experiences had been from American movies and television... but nothing could have possibly compared me to what I walked into.

I'd thought we were going to a night club.

I was wrong. Unless night clubs featured people having sex while other people watched.

I stopped dead in my tracks and I looked around at the wild variety of taboo sex acts.

A petite Asian woman was sitting on a table getting fucked by a bald man easily in his seventies... she couldn't have been older than twenty. Like me, she was wearing white nylons, and she was moaning like crazy while the old man really slammed into her.

A very large Latina was bent over another table getting fucked by a well built black man.

An old woman who looked like a grandma was leaning against a wall, while a much younger redheaded woman licked her vagina.

A man sitting at a table looked straight at my breasts, so I looked down to avoid eye contact, but then I was shocked to see a pair of heels under his table.

At the bar, two men were chatting over their drinks while they both had their dicks sucked... one by a blonde woman, the other, even more shocking, by an old black man.

Amir said, tugging at my hand and resuming our walk, presumably towaards a table, "It's not polite to stare honey, unless you plan to join in."

"Where the f...

heck

are we?" I asked, awkwardly following him, almost tripping over a Muslim woman who was wearing a hijab and nothing else, except for a collar and leash, crawling like a dog, while a very pretty large white woman controlled her leash. (In case you're unaware, a hijab is no more than a large headscarf, which might reach slightly below the shoulders and might not.)

"Hey, sexy dark chocolate, ya looking for a white mistress with a big dick?" a large white woman called out to me, and I noticed that except for some pearls around her neck, all she was wearing was a harness around her large waist that was securing a black substitute penis in place.

I stammered, "N-n-no, th-th-thank y-y-you." I was shocked by what I was witnessing, and doubly shocked by the invitation.