Omani Arab Lady for Blac Men

Tucking my son Anwar into his bed, I stand there for a moment and sigh. Thank Allah for my husband Suleiman and our son. Anwar is a little miracle, his caramel-hued skin practically shining even in the dim light, his curly black hair framing his little face like a crown. My beautiful little angel. Come to bed mamas, a deep voice whispers into my ear as strong arms enwrap me from behind. I smile and turn to face my husband Suleiman's dark, handsome face. Gently I kiss him on the lips, feeling his bearded chin tickling my flesh. Let our son sleep Zahra, Suleiman says, and gently kisses my ear. We're just a normal couple living our lives quietly and peacefully with our beloved son Anwar. May Allah smile upon you always.

After casting a last look at our son, I nod and clasp my husband's hand in mine as we exit our lad's bedroom. I came home moments ago, and the first thing I do is see my son. I have to hold him in my arms. Never mind that my husband was home all day with him. It's a motherhood thing. Now that I've tended to my pride and joy, I can see about other matters. Like my wifely duties to my beloved husband Suleiman Xavier. And I do look forward to them.

Suleiman whispers sweet thoughts into my ear, and we step into the master bedroom together. I've missed you so much, he tells me, continuing his wicked sexual banter. I feel his hands on my derriere, and grin. You can't keep your hands off me and you know it, I purr as I slip out of my dress. Off comes my hijab, followed by my bra and panties. Normally, I like to make a grand production out of the whole thing, doing the whole strip tease thing, but not tonight. I'm just a horny woman badly in need of sex.

I've been away from home for three days, traveling to the town of Red Deer, Alberta, to secure a contract for Magnus Enterprises, a textile company from the U.S. that's branching out into the Canadian market. I'm one of the top executives in the Ottawa branch of our company, and traveling for business is part of the package. I've been with the company for three years, they hired me mere months after I graduated from the Sprott School of Business at Carleton University. Not bad for a twenty-six-year-old Omani gal, eh?

I smile seductively at Suleiman and push him onto our bed, and his eyes follow my every move, for I've got him mesmerized. I stand naked, a mere three feet from him, and watch as he licks his lips in appreciation. A mixture of love and lust dances in Suleiman's dark eyes. His lips pull back into a hungry smile, revealing pure white teeth, sharply contrasting against his chocolate-hued skin. Come to me Miss Z, he whispers seductively, in the same baritone voice that sent a thrill down my spine when we first met at Carleton, so long ago.

Grinning mischievously, I joined my hubby on our bed. Suleiman pulled me into his strong arms, and made love to me. I lay there, moaning softly as he kissed me all over, his sweet lips sucking on my tits while his hands slipped between my thighs, and he began fingering my cunt. Suleiman's tongue slid between my womanly folds, and I writhed on the bed as he teased my clitoris, holding it between his fingers and darting his tongue in and out of me. Oh, shit. I love it when he does that.

Suleiman grinned at me while pleasuring my pussy, and I urged him to continue. Like the naughty bastard he can be, Suleiman slid his finger into my butt hole, fucking my ass with his finger while tonguing my cunt. Oh, shoot. He had me right where he wanted me, and he knew it. I love anal, and any kind of butt play. That's my weakness. Suleiman introduced me to it. Even though anal sex is considered haram by Islamic jurisprudence, I'm addicted to it.

Suleiman thrust two fingers into my cunt while sliding his tongue into my ass, effectively driving me over the edge. I found myself screaming passionately, driven absolutely nuts by the double whammy he laid on me. I was ready to get fucked, and told Suleiman to get on with it. Smiling, my sexy hubby did just that. Taking my hands, Suleiman placed them upon his hard member. Smiling, I ran my fingers over its thickness. Let me taste it, I said, and without further ado, I knelt as if to worship at my husband's altar.

Suleiman looked at me attentively as I began sucking his dick, flicking my tongue over his dick head. Knowing how much this drove him wild, I began deep-throating him, while massaging his balls. Soon I had him moaning so loud I feared he might wake up our entire building. Once I deemed him hard enough, I pushed him back onto the bed, and climbed on top of him. Fuck me like you're paying for it, I whispered into Suleiman's ear. Grinning, my sexy stud muffin of a husband gave my ample derriere a firm smack, and put his hands on my hips. Resting my hands on his broad shoulders, I straddled him and licked my lips in ecstasy as he thrust his hard dick into my aching, wet and hungry cunt. Ride me sweetie, Suleiman said, grinning. I kissed him full and deep, and rode him hard. I hadn't had sex in three days, an eternity for my husband and I, and I definitely wanted to make up for lost time.

Hours later, Suleiman and I lay in each other's arms, exhausted but in the most pleasurable way imaginable. You're amazing gorgeous, Suleiman whispered into my ear, his eyes drooping with sleep. He kissed my forehead, and then moments later, he fell asleep. I looked at him for a long moment, smiling to myself and shaking my head. In my lifetime, I've often been praised for my brains, but I know that I am not most men's ideal of beauty. Suleiman is the only one who's ever found me beautiful, and accepted me for who I am. I'm five feet ten inches tall, big-breasted, wide-hipped and big-bottomed. Definitely on the heavyset side, that's me, but Suleiman told me I'm a goddess in his eyes. My bronze skin, dark brown eyes and black hair often get me mistaken for Hispanic but I always tell people that I am a proud Omani woman.

I was born in the City of Rustaq, northern Oman, to a family of poor farmers. My parents, Saif and Mazoon Hajar toiled the rough soil of Oman to grow pomegranates, apricots and plums, which we sold to folks in the big cities like Muscat, the Capital of Oman. It was our family's livelihood, you see. My older brothers Rahman and Abdul were expected to follow our father's footsteps into the family business. As the only daughter of the family, I was expected to get married off promptly, that's our people's custom.

Fortunately for me, I was spared the horror of an arranged marriage at a young age due to my education. I excelled at school while my brothers, who showed little interest in books other than the Quran, did not. It allowed me to go further than them, and led me to the prestigious Sohar University, one of the best schools in all of Oman. While there, I met a Canadian woman of Jamaican and Irish descent named Mildred Thompson. One of a few women instructors on campus. We became friends, and she often told me about her life back in the Capital of Canada, and spoke fondly of her alma mater, Carleton University. This made me curious about all things Canadian, and thanks to her help, I won a coveted international scholarship to Carleton University.

When I announced this to my parents, they were stunned. Knowing how their minds worked, I stressed to them the fact that having a highly educated daughter would allow them to ask for a high bride price when it came time for me to get married. The sons of wealthy families in Muscat and beyond would fall over themselves trying to get at me, once I returned home with a western university degree. It's never a good thing when your own father looks at you and sees dollar signs, but my gambit worked. Thus, with my parents blessing, I found myself on a plane bound for Ottawa by way of Europe. By the Grace of Allah, I was about to embark on the journey of a lifetime!

My time in Canada changed me, much more than I thought it would. In this strange land, full of contradictions and strange people, my life, my whole outlook on the world changed. When I first set foot in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, it was confusing. For starters, it was cold. I arrived right at the end of August, just when the cold was starting to come in. I found Carleton University an odd place to navigate as well, but fortunately, I found a guide right as I got off the OC Transpo bus.

Can you guess who it was? Salomon Xavier, a six-foot-tall, skinny and dark-skinned young immigrant from the island of Haiti. He was a Nursing student at Carleton. Yes, male nurses exist. I asked Salomon to show me the way to the University Center, and he gladly did. In time, we became friends, and much more. Our lives changed the day we met. Salomon and I became pals, as I said before, and learned much from each other. I taught him about Islam, and about Omani culture. Salomon taught me about his people, the sons and daughters of the Haitian motherland.

Surprising at it may seem, we had a lot in common. Suleiman and I came from different worlds, to say the least. I'm an Omani woman and he's Haitian. I was raised in the Ibadi branch of the Islamic faith, and Suleiman is a lapsed Catholic. Nevertheless, we fell in love, Salomon and I. My family disowned me for loving him, and threatened me but I chose to follow my heart instead. I knew he was the one for me. Salomon converted to Islam and took the name Suleiman, then we got married. In time, I graduated from Carleton University with my business degree, and Suleiman earned his Nursing degree. I work for Magnus Enterprises now, and he works at Ottawa's General Hospital.