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Somali Queen In Ottawa

By: Samuelx



Yasmin Hussein is the name and I am a Hijab-wearing Muslim woman from Somalia living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Got a story to share with you. Before we get started, though, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. What I do with my pussy is my own damn business, and I answer to one on this. A lot of Muslims in Ottawa and beyond lead double lives, having wild and kinky sex, sometimes with multiple partners behind closed doors but dressing conservatively and acting demure while in public. They're hypocrites, and I hate this about them.

Me? I'm that rare Somali Muslim woman who will admit that I like sex, and I enjoy myself every chance I get. Doesn't mean I'll give you some pussy, though. I am very selective that way. I'm five-foot-ten, curvy and sexy, with dark brown skin, long curly black hair that I tuck away under my Hijab and almond-shaped golden brown eyes. I'm studying accounting at Algonquin College, and want to work for the Canadian Revenue Agency someday. Two years ago, I had a falling out with my parents, Yousef and Amina Hussein, and left our house in Kanata and moved to Ottawa proper. Best damn decision I ever made, for real. 

I live in the Vanier neighborhood of Ottawa, a spot full of colorful characters, but rent is cheap in the area fortunately. Most of my neighbors are French Canadian, Somali, Arab or some type of minority, and that's how I like it. I work as a cleaning lady at a big office downtown. Whenever I tell people that I clean for a living, they look at me funny or turn their noses up at me. I know what they must be thinking, and they're wrong. What a bunch of idiots. 

At least learn about something before making up your mind about it. Cleaning isn't a bad job when you're a twenty-year-old college student living on your own. I make fourteen dollars per hour cleaning largely empty buildings at night, when nobody sees me. I work six to eight hour shifts in utter tranquility, then go home to rest before my afternoon classes. I have very few hassles at work and that's how I like it. I make about eleven hundred dollars every two weeks, and that's not bad at all considering my rent is only three hundred and eighty dollars a month.

Yup, I had it all figured out, just work and get my degree from Algonquin College before getting a kick-ass job with the Canadian government. I speak and write English and French fluently, and I was born in the Katimavik area of Kanata, Ontario. My parents moved there from Mogadishu, Somalia, in the late 1980s. I am as Canadian as anyone. I don't see why our government shouldn't hire someone like me. I'm just biding my time until good things start to happen for me, ladies and gentlemen. 

Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, I might be out of a job. You see, the other day, I did something crazy at work. Look, there's no clever and discrete way of saying it so I'm just going to say it. I got caught fucking with the security guard at work. The building where I work as a cleaner is located downtown, and it houses many government offices. The overnight security guard, a big and tall young Black guy named Steve Salomon, has been sweet on me for ages. Now, Steve is a Christian guy of Haitian descent and I'm a Muslim woman from a Somali background. Typically, people like us don't mix but odd days can make for some strange bedfellows.

Steve and I had known each other for a while and although he's kind of cute, I never really gave any serious thought to getting with him. I was dating a Somali brother named Ibrahim Warsama and we were getting pretty serious. Until the day I came home to find Ibrahim getting butt-fucked by our white neighbor, Alexandre Thompson. What the fuck? I had no idea that Ibrahim was gay or bisexual or whatever. The sight of a black dude with a white dick up his ass is something I shall never get out of my head. Some things you just can't forget, man. I knew Ibrahim had secrets but never thought they were this freaky. The Koran-quoting Muslim brother I met at Masjid and nearly fell in love with turned out to be a faggot. Hot damn. I did NOT see that one coming.

I'm not seeing Ibrahim anymore and told him that if I ever saw him at my house again, I'd cut his dick off. The disgusting little bozo got the message and left me alone. Good. Ibrahim is probably off somewhere sucking or riding a white dick. Let him do his thing. I'm moving on with my life. I decided to focus on work and school. I've only got one semester left before I graduate from Algonquin College, after all. I told myself that I was over what Ibrahim Warsama had done, and would be more careful with the next guy who came along. Unfortunately for me, I did not keep that promise.

I was at work, cleaning a large office on the seventeenth floor of my building when I sensed a presence behind me. It was Steve, the Haitian security guard, making his rounds. Smiling, Steve asked me if I was alright. I nodded, and we talked for a bit. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Yet for some reason, I opened up to Steve and told him about my fruity ex-boyfriend Ibrahim. When I finished my little spiel, I expected Steve to laugh because, well, even though I'm sad, it is a pretty funny story. 

Instead of laughing, Steve gently pulled me into his arms and hugged me. Pressing his lips against my ear, Steve told me that any man who let go of a gorgeous woman like me was a fool. When Steve whispered into my ear, a frisson coursed through me. I looked up at him and stared, as if seeing Steve for the first time. He smiled nervously at me. I nodded, and then, for some reason, I kissed him.

Sometimes the mind, heart and body simply want what they want, eh? I kissed Steve, and he kissed me back passionately. How we went from kissing to getting it on, right here in the office, on the desk of some government worker schmuck, is beyond me. Next thing I know, I was hiking up my long skirt and yanking down my panties as Steve propped me up on the desk and began licking my sweaty pussy like there was no tomorrow.

I moaned deeply as Steve worked his fingers and tongue into my pussy, causing me to shudder with pleasure. The big security guard really knew his way around the female body. Soon he had me squealing in delight as I came, for he popped my pussy by thrusting three fingers inside of me while teasing my clitoris with his tongue. Hot damn, I cried out like a banshee, overwhelmed with pleasure, thanks to the Haitian dude's expert touch. 

I looked at Steve through misty eyes and grinned lustfully, then told him I wanted to taste him. Steve grinned and unzipped his pants, freeing his long and thick, uncircumcised black dick. I had never touched a Haitian dick before, having been only with Somali guys, like the good Muslim sister I told myself I was. All Somali men are circumcised because of Islamic law and culture. I found Steve's dick different but liked the way it smelled and tasted. 

Gently I inserted the head of Steve's dick in my mouth and began sucking his cock while massaging his balls. Now it was Steve's turn to moan as I worked my magic on him, sucking his dick with gusto. Oh yeah, I think I developed a fondness for Haitian dick that night. They're long, thick, uncut, and feel good in one's mouth! Once I got Steve nice and hard, I told him I was ready to get fucked. The burly security guard grinned, and rolled a condom out of his wallet and onto his dick. Grinning, Steve propped me up on the desk, spread my thick, shapely thighs wide open and pressed his dick against my cunt.

I looked up at Steve as he pushed his dick into my cunt. Gently I wrapped my arms around the big Haitian man's torso and urged him to fuck me hard. Grinning, Steve did just that. Raising my legs in the air, Steve began pumping his dick into my pussy like there was no tomorrow. I screamed loudly, urging him to smash that, as they say. And that's when the office light came on, and a middle-aged white woman in a business suit shrieked upon seeing Steve and I, tangled up in the middle of wild sex. Can you say busted?

Needless to say, the white businesswoman and her office called the security company and had Steve removed from the site's security team. He can't set foot in the building anymore. As for me, I've been suspended from work but the matter will be brought before the union which will decide if I'll be spared and sent to another site or canned. I'm keeping my fingers crossed because I need this job. Seriously. 

As a side note, I got some other news for you. Steve and I are now officially seeing each other. He's overnight security for a building right around the corner from where we used to work together. There's a lot of security guard jobs in downtown Ottawa apparently. If anything good comes from this mess, it's that Steve is quite charming and friendly. The brother likes to take me to movies and restaurants, and he makes my pussy pop every time we go to bed. Nice, eh?

Steve isn't just a rent-a-cop either. Dude is in his third year in the business management program at Carleton University, and wants to be a corporate raider someday. Hmmm. The Haitian brother is tall, sexy, treats me well, and he's also educated and ambitious on top of being good in bed. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? I'm going to hypnotize Steve with my irresistible Somali ways ( and killer pussy ) and convert him to Islam. Then he'll be MINE. Seriously, I've already got his Islamic name picked out. How does Samir Suleiman sound? Wish me luck! 

Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 02



Right now, I'm squatting over my lover Steve Salomon's face and the big and tall young Haitian man has his mouth buried between his big brown ass cheeks, his tongue deep inside my asshole. Grabbing his long and thick, uncircumcised dark dick, I stroked it gently, and watched it grow in my hand. Bet you taste wonderful, I thought, and leaned over to take Steve's dick into my mouth. Nothing hotter than doing the sixty nine with my man.

My name is Yasmin Hussein and I'm a young Somali woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm a student at Algonquin College, and I also work as a cleaner for various office buildings downtown. It's where I met my current boyfriend, Steve Salomon. He used to be the security guard on overnight shifts at my main building but got himself fired when we got caught having sex in someone's office late one night. What can I say? Just because I'm a Hijab-wearing Somali chick doesn't mean I can't get freaky.

Ever since that night, Steve and I have been inseparable. He's working security at another building and I'm back in the same building where we got caught fucking, albeit in a probationary capacity since the union at my job wasn't as supportive of me as they could have been. Steve and I are together now, and he's been spending so much time at my apartment that I ought to start charging him rent, seriously.

Moaning deeply, I shuddered as Steve fingered my hairy pussy while working his tongue deep inside my asshole. Seriously, the kinky sides of Steve never cease to amaze me. I'm a tall, chubby Somali chick. Not most people's idea of beauty in the City of Ottawa, where they seem to worship skinny blondes. To Steve, however, I am supremely beautiful. My favorite Haitian stud loves my body, and I can't get enough of his wonderful, weird brand of lovemaking. 

While sucking Steve's dick with gusto, a deliciously naughty idea crept into my already kinky mind. I slid a finger into Steve's butt hole, and the big and tall Haitian's whole body went stiff. I swear I felt his dick harden in my mouth as I fingered his asshole. Emboldened by this, I worked a second finger into Steve's ass while I continued sucking his dick. Steve said nothing, which did not surprise me since he has his tongue buried so far up my asshole, you'd have trouble telling where I end and he begins. Still, I could tell he liked what I was doing to his ass and dick, so I continued working my unique brand of Somali womanly magic on him.

Seems that Steve likes butt sex in just about every way, I thought as I buried two fingers up his warm and tight hole while flicking my tongue over the 'hood' of his dick, a move which sent him over the edge. Steve shuddered, and then I swear, his dick had a spasm and then he finally came. A lot of girls frown upon sucking dick or drinking a man's sperm but I don't. I'm a freaky kind of chick and I like to roll with it in the bedroom. Also, don't we all come from sperm, dammit? Seriously, ladies, just think about it!

I pulled my fingers out of Steve's butt and eagerly drank up every last drop of his cum, loving the taste of his manly essence. Steve sighed deeply as I finally let go of his manhood, but when he tried to move out from under me, I locked my big and sexy and unbelievably strong legs around his neck and head. Turning around, I shot him a look of disappointment and Steve frowned, clearly confused. This mofo apparently didn't realize that I did NOT give him permission to stop licking my asshole. I reminded Steve of this. Nodding, Steve resumed licking my butt hole while fingering my cunt, just like a real man should.

The feel of Steve's tongue in my asshole is absolutely amazing. Ladies, if you haven't held your man down and made him lick your asshole, you really should give it some serious thought and consideration. After making Steve polish my derriere for a good while, I was ready for the grand finale. Are you curious about what that is? I squatted over Steve's face, and, with his nose and mouth buried in my asshole, I squeezed out a loud, wet fart. That's right, I farted in my man's face.

Later, after inhaling my wonderfully erotic and wickedly intoxicating womanly fumes, Steve thanked me. I rewarded him by getting on all fours, spreading my ass cheeks wide open and telling him to fuck my ass. That's right, I'm a Hijab-wearing Muslim woman from Somalia who likes to get fucked in the ass. Steve was only happy to oblige once I revealed this to him. The big and tall Haitian got behind me, and lubricated my asshole with Aloe cream before pressing his hard dick against me. I nodded, giving him the green light and Steve happily pushed his dick into my asshole. At last, we were one. Gripping my wide hips tightly, Steve buried his dick in my ass while I moaned deeply, feeling invaded and violated, and yet loving every minute of it. Ass fucking, as many a woman would tell you, can be an unbelievably intense and intimate experience.

Burying my face between the pillows, I stuck my ass in the air as Steve pumped his dick into my hole, smacking my big Somali derriere for good measure. I backed that ass up, as they say, grinding my big brown butt against the Haitian stud's groin and driving his dick even deeper up my asshole. Groaning deeply, Steve thrust his cock into the forbidden depths of my asshole, taking his sweet time as he took my ass. I screamed, I cried, I sighed, I squealed, I howled, I bucked wildly and I laughed. It was THAT good. When all was said and done, Steve pulled out of my ass, and we lay side by side, sweaty and panting, laughing like a couple of clowns. What can I say? We were happy. An intense, wonderful ass fucking will do that to you.

Next time it's your turn, I told Steve as we lay in my bed that night, happily snuggling after some wonderful fucking. Steve smiled at me but said nothing. To emphasize my point, I grabbed his dick and squeezed it hard for him to wince in pain. Steve laughed nervously and pulled me to him, gently kissing my lips, and then fondling my tits. I felt his hand sleep between my thick, shapely thighs, and he fingered my pussy while licking my ear. You are awesome, Steve whispers into my ear.

I know what Steve must think of me. I'm curvy, and womanly, and lovely. I'm delightful and my boo can't get enough of me. I guess Steve has gotten it into his thick Haitian skull that his favorite Somali goddess is soft and sweet. Tomorrow I'm going to the adult video store on Rideau Street, the one near the mall. I'm buying a strap-on dildo. Time to show Steve who's the boss in our relationship. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 03



Right now, I've got Yasmin Hussein, my favorite Somali goddess on all fours, face down and ass up, and I'm worshipping her gorgeous, heart-shaped ass just like a real man should. And I've got my tongue buried so far up her asshole, you can't tell where she ends and I begin. And you know what? That's exactly how I like it. My name is Steve Salomon, a Haitian brother living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. And this is a story I've simply got to share with you.

Ever since I first laid eyes on Yasmin Hussein while working overnight security at a building in downtown Ottawa, the tall and curvy Somali sister with the booty that won't quit simply took my breath away. To the point that I risked my job by seducing her, and we both got in trouble because of it when some old white lady caught Yasmin the sexy Somali cleaning lady and I getting our freak on in a darkened office room one night.

Long story short? I got removed from that site and sent to another building. I thought I was going to get fired but Eric Woodward, the manager of my security company, liked the tale I spun so damn much that he convinced the office not to can my black ass. I'm not the only non-Muslim man in town who finds Hijab-wearing Somali ladies hot. Eric likes them too, and he gave me a fist bump after I told him how I got into Yasmin's pants. It's a man's world, ladies and gentlemen. Face the damn fact.

Nowadays, I'm wrapping up my business management studies at Carleton University while working security. Yasmin and I live together, and life couldn't be better. This Somali is freaky, man. I've met a few women who like anal sex but none crave it as much as Yasmin Hussein does. This five-foot-ten, curvy and sexy, brown-hued and big-bottomed Somali mama got an ass that just won't quit and she loves having that ass played with. As a Haitian brother who's the definition of an ass man, that's more than okay by me.

Tonight, I had a field day with Yasmin Hussein's mesmerizing thick Somali booty. First I put my sexy Northeastern African beauty on all fours and lavished her thick round ass with kisses and licks. I'm totally into ass worship. I like to spank, lick, fondle and yes, fuck, a nice big ass. And Yasmin has one of the best that I have ever seen. I fingered her tight butt hole while licking her sweet, hairy pussy. If Somali female booty is simply scrumptious, then you have to realize that Somali pussy is simply delicious. Tastes good on this Haitian brother's tongue, ladies and gentlemen.

Moaning deeply as I fingered her butthole and licked her pussy, Yasmin Hussein urged me to keep going. Ha! As if I needed any more encouragement. I've got her pussy right there on my face and nothing short of her screeching no would have stopped me from eating that delicious plate of Somali pussy like a condemned inmate devouring his last meal. I took my sweet time as I pleasured Yasmin, teasing her pussy with my fingers and stabbing her clit with my tongue, loving the way my Somali goddess shuddered all over as I pleasured her sweet spot. 

Fuck yeah, man. I had the Somali cutie right where I wanted her, and I think we both knew it. After polishing Yasmin Hussein's delicious cunt with my tongue, I decided to have a look at that ass of hers. In my twenty-something years upon this planet, I've been with quite a few ladies. Black women. White women. Asian women. One Arab woman. To date, my favorite ass would have to be Somali booty. And not just any Somali booty. The booty of a Somali Hijabi is what entices me and sets me on fire at first glance, this I must say.

For the first time I laid eyes on Yasmin Hussein, the kinky Somali lady I adore was dressed super conservatively. I'm talking about long sleeved shirts, long Islamic skirt, boots, and a Hijab, of course. Underneath all that, I couldn't help but notice her womanly curves, and even that conservative Islamic skirt she had on couldn't conceal Yasmin's mesmerizing ass. For some reason, when a big-booty woman dresses conservatively it turns me on more than if she was wearing booty shorts or a short skirt. Don't ask me why because I honestly don't have the answer to that. I simply like what I like, I guess.

That's why I've got my tongue buried inside Yasmin Hussein's asshole, for I am an ass licker of the worst caliber. Or the best, whatever. I love the taste of my Somali goddess's sweet booty juice and if loving it is wrong then this kinky and at times corny but always cool Haitian brother doesn't want to be right. Yasmin Hussein moans deeply and fingers her clit furiously as I lick her asshole. Swearing in Somali and English, my sweetie urges me to continue what I'm doing. At this point, I consider Yasmin's screams of urgency mixed with encouragement to be redundant.

Not every man has it in him to be an avid ass worshipper. I, Steve Salomon, am such a man. I love a big round ass, especially if it's attached to a gorgeous, kinky and open-minded female. I'll lick it, smack it, kiss it, and fuck it silly. And that's exactly what I did to Yasmin Hussein's thick Somali derriere. After giving Yasmin's asshole a tongue bath, I decided to have some of my brand of fun with it.

You see, the other day, Yasmin Hussein, my darling and the love of my life went to the adult video store on Rideau Street and purchased a strap-on dildo. And she's been having a field day with it, fucking my ass so damn much that I sometimes worry I might develop prostate issues. I mean, if a man lets a woman fuck his ass twice a day with a strap-on dildo, won't that lead to health issues down below? I don't know. I don't want to find out, though. I can't imagine myself walking into a clinic and discussing this with my doctor. Can you say extraordinarily embarrassing line of questioning?

Here's what I did to my favorite Somali cutie as both reward and punishment for her having plowed my ass with her strap-on dildo recently. I put Yasmin Hussein on all fours, gave her gorgeous round derriere a sound spanking and then lubricated her asshole with Aloe cream, my all-time favorite lubricant. One thing I love about Yasmin is that she loves anal sex in every way, both giving and receiving. Spreading her ass cheeks wide open, Yasmin winked at me and told me to get to work. Grinning, I dropped some lube on my long and thick, hardening dick and then pressed it against her butt hole. Ready or not, sweetie, Big Daddy's coming inside!

Right as I slid my hard, well-lubricated dick into her warm, tight asshole, Yasmin Hussein did something naughty and completely unexpected. The big-booty Somali chick farted, yup, right there on my dick as it worked its way into her asshole. Now, this gave me a pause. Yasmin turned around and smiled at me sheepishly, then apologized. I smiled at her and shook my head. Truth be told, when Yasmin farted on my dick in the middle of anal sex, I felt warmth and a little tremor. I kind of liked it. Laughing, I smacked that thick, round and absolutely gorgeous Somali ass of hers and pushed my dick further into her asshole. Nothing like anal sex with a naughty, kinky and absolutely willing woman, folks. I rammed my dick up Yasmin's asshole, and her squeals of pain and delight were music to my ears.

Much later, Yasmin and I lay side by side on the bed, sweaty and smelling of our own juices, but happy as can be. Yasmin purred with contentment and kissed me full and deep, gently stroking my dick while locking lips with me. I smiled at her and asked her what that kiss was for. Yasmin shrugged and thanked me for giving her thick Somali derriere the ass pounding it so richly deserved. I winked at her and sighed happily. Nothing like having one's talents acknowledged. I think any man reading this would agree.

Yeah, Yasmin's booty is awesome but after fucking her in the ass, I had a sore dick and I was quite tired. Somali women are so damn exhausting in the bedroom, even for a manly Haitian brother like myself. I was ready to go to sleep when Yasmin Hussein told me that she still wasn't done with me. Alarm bells rang in my head when Yasmin flashed me her fearless smile. Grabbing her strap-on dildo and a can of Aloe cream, Yasmin grinned wickedly and told me to assume the position. You're paying for my proctology bills, I said grumpily as I assumed the position while Yasmin got behind me. You just can't win with women, I thought grudgingly as Yasmin Hussein began fucking my ass with her strap-on dildo. Damn it. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 04



Sex is a powerful thing, ladies and gentlemen, and it can take a man places he never imagined. My name is Steve Salomon, a big and tall Haitian brother living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I study business management at Carleton University, and I got one hell of a story to share with you. You see, a while ago, this tall, gorgeous Somali Hijabi named Yasmin Hussein came into my life and turned my entire universe upside down. We've been together ever since.

Now, I've got a weakness for Somali women, especially the Hijab-wearing and conservatively attired ones...who happen to have nice, big and round butts. I'm happy to say that my lady, Yasmin Hussein, is a proud member of the Big Booty Sistas Club, Somali style of course. I've been spending so much time at her place and vice versa that I asked Yasmin to move in with me. Men, if you're reading this, learn from a brother's mistake. Do not ask females to move in with you. Women don't believe in sharing either power or real estate. They believe in total domination.

After a night of passionate lovemaking, or fucking, whatever, Yasmin had me sexually hypnotized, man. Most men have never experienced having the type of female who really lays it down in the bedroom. I give Yasmin a perfect score of ten out of ten. Four stars. Two thumbs up. And other euphemisms. I mean, I swear sometimes I thought Yasmin was trying to kill me using that tight pussy, mesmerizing ass and voluptuous body of hers. What a way to go, eh?

I came home that night after working a twelve-hour shift on a Saturday. Working the 11 A.M. to 11 P.M. shift inside an empty office building downtown is no joke, even if you're the type of security guard who likes to kick back by ordering Shawarma and take off your shoes while watching porn on your laptop. When I got home that day, I was beat. Little did I know that there was a surprise waiting for me. 

Good evening sexy, said a lust-filled female voice as I half-walked, half-loped my way to my bedroom, thinking I'd crash and wake up halfway through the next day. My eyes went wide when I saw Yasmin Hussein, my tall and sexy, brown-skinned, busty and big-bottomed cutie waiting for me, stark naked on my king-sized bed. I grinned from ear to ear, for my gorgeous lady was naked save for her Hijab. The sight of Yasmin Hussein on all fours, with that big round ass of hers winking at me, well, it got my dick harder than a rock. Grinning wickedly, Yasmin told me to come to her. As if a horny Haitian brother like me needed any encouragement. I wanted to tap that thick Somali ass of hers. For real.

Eagerly I joined Yasmin on the bed, all thoughts of sleep and rest gone from my mind. Since my sexy lady was already on all fours, I got right behind her, and grabbed that thick booty of hers. Nothing quite like a thick and round Somali booty on this planet, ladies and gentlemen. Trust me on this, I'm a reformed womanizer who's banged women of all races and body types. I kissed Yasmin's ass and licked it while my sweetie giggled happily. Then I eased my hard dick into her cunt from behind.

Yasmin squealed in delight as I gripped her wide hips tightly while slamming my dick into her pussy. A lot of females like the love-me-tender routine but not my sweet Yasmin. Nope, my favorite Somali cutie loves the rough stuff, and that's more than okay by me. I fucked that delicious, wet pussy of hers like sex was going out of style. Yasmin gets really vocal in the bedroom and that's right up my alley. After fucking her for a good while, I came, and then we lay there, panting and moaning, smiling like a couple of idiots.

Yasmin wanted to go another round but man, after working twelve hours, I was exhausted, and not even the sight of my gorgeous Somali goddess could keep a brother from falling asleep. In spite of Yasmin's protests, I fell asleep and she could not wake me up. Look, I love this chick and I'm addicted to her like no man has ever been addicted to a woman. I love her when she's happy and when she's happy. I love her when she's menstruating and cherish her even when she's super bitchy with bitchy on top. 

For real, man. I love this woman. Yasmin rocks and she's my world. I love her when she's being insecure and annoying, asking me questions about her weight and appearance the way all females seem to. Yeah, I love Yasmin. I love her even when she draws annoying lists full of items she wants me to grab at the damn store, including shit from the ladies section. She's the light of my life. I even love the way her farts smell. That's my Yasmin. However, a tired brother who's worked twelve consecutive hours at work needs some damn sleep. Sorry, ladies, but the pussy can wait.

The next morning, I woke up refreshed and well-rested, ready to face the day. Yasmin was already up, and ready to go to work. Clad in a long-sleeved red T-shirt, blue jeans and crimson Hijab, Yasmin looked damn good. I saw an angry look on her face and wondered aloud about whatever's got my lady pissed off so damn early in the morning. I swear, there's always something going on with females, man.

A still-horny Yasmin demanded satisfaction from me for having slacked off the night before. See what I told you about them Somali women being insatiable? I laid my sexy cutie on the bed, spread her thighs and inhaled her womanly fragrance. Now, a lot of females get self-conscious about the way they smell down there before they shower. Personally, I like a woman who smells and tastes like a woman. I love eating unwashed pussy. Why, you may ask? It's pussy at its most natural, ladies and gentlemen. Nothing like it!

I buried my face between Yasmin Hussein's thick, sexy thighs and ate her pussy like a condemned man devouring his last meal prior to execution. Yasmin moaned deeply and squealed in delight as I licked and fingered her cunt. After getting her nice and wet, I thrust my hard dick into her cunt and began pounding the hell out of her. I put Yasmin on all fours, and yanked the hijab off her damn head, freeing her long, lustrous black hair and pulling on it while fucking her. I had never gotten this rough with Yasmin before and she seemed to love it.

We fucked for a while, and afterwards, Yasmin kissed me and told me that she was going to be late for work. I looked at my sexy Somali sweetie, looking sinfully sexy in her Islamic cultural garb ( which couldn't hide her mesmerizing ass or curvaceous figure ) and smiled with contentment. I tossed her my keys, and told her to keep them. Yasmin squealed so high it hurt my damn ears, then told me how happy she was that I was asking her to move in with me. Um, what the fuck is she talking about?

Yasmin Hussein looked at me adoringly. She hugged me and kissed me and then, before I could say another word, Yasmin squealed again and rushed out of the apartment. Dude, I just wanted to give her my spare keys so she can come over whenever to ride my dick. I did NOT mean to ask Yasmin to move in with me. I'm not ready for this shit. Having a female living with me 24/7. Dammit. If I renege, Yasmin will dump me for sure. The thought of not having her in my life scares me. The thought of living with her terrifies me. How am I going to get out of this? 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 05



The things I do for love never cease to amaze me, ladies and gentlemen. The other day, after a night of passion, I tossed my girlfriend Yasmin Hussein my house keys, mainly because I wanted more access to her pussy, and the sexy Somali chick got it into her Hijab-wrapped head that I wanted her to move in with me. I was terrified of Yasmin moving in with me but feared losing her, so I went along with it. Turned out to be of the best decisions I ever made. My name is Steve Salomon, a big and tall Haitian brother living in Ottawa, Ontario, and I got a story to share with you fine folks.

Yasmin Hussein, my darling girlfriend and frequent bedmate looked lovingly into my eyes and asked me if I was alright. I nodded, unable to speak, for I was gritting my teeth against the pain. Why is that, you may ask? Simply because Yasmin has her fist up my butt. I honestly don't know how or why Yasmin talked me into trying fisting, but here we are. I'm lying on the king-sized bed we share, my arms and legs tightly bound, and my girlfriend has her fist up my butt. Weird how these things happen, eh?

The feeling of Yasmin's hand up my ass is one that I will never forget. I still can't believe Yasmin managed to get her whole hand up there. Granted, Yasmin's got small, sleek hands, like the majority of Somali folks I've met, but still. Yasmin looked into my eyes and I felt like looking away because I felt ashamed. Look, I'm kinkier than the average man and I like to try all kinds of twisted sexual things with my girlfriend Yasmin here but I think we've gone too far this time. What kind of black man lets a woman put her fist up his ass? This is not Kosher, man.

Now, please don't think that I am opposed to anal play. Yasmin and I absolutely love anal sex in every way. I love putting my sexy, big-bottomed Somali sweetheart on all fours while I spank her big round ass before fucking her. I like to slide my thick Haitian cock into Yasmin's asshole after lubricating her with Aloe Cream, our favorite lubricant. Yasmin Hussein is a real screamer during our intense anal sex sessions. The feel of her tight asshole gripping my dick is something I shall never forget until the day that I die. Yasmin loves getting butt fucked, a rarity among black women, and I love that about her. That's one of the many reasons why I love my sinfully sexy Somali goddess and simply can't get enough of her.

Yasmin introduced me to something called pegging, also known as strap-on fucking. I will admit that the first time I allowed Yasmin to peg me, I was more nervous than a cat in a kennel. Still, my kinky Somali sweetie was patient with me as she bent me over, lubricated me and then worked her strap-on dildo into my tight Haitian ass. I don't think you'll find a lot of black men out there who will admit that they like strap-on sex but I'm one of the few who are bold enough to enjoy this sort of thing. Pegging is a ton of fun, especially when it's my gorgeous and kinky Yasmin doing the pegging. I swear, this broad uses the strap-on dildo and various other phallic toys as if she was born with them. Yasmin is so good at strap-on sex it's frigging scary! Seriously, what's up with that?

Yeah, as you can see, dear reader, Yasmin and I have lots of fun together in the bedroom. We are always trying to outdo each other, and find new ways to thrill one another. I love this innovative side that both Yasmin and I possess. I think it's a big part of the reason why we get along so well. Still, there must be limits in all things, I think. When passion has no limits, can disaster be far behind? That's what I am starting to believe, thanks in part to events like what happened today between Yasmin and I.

Fisting isn't for everyone, I doubt I'm the first man, or, hell, the first person to say this. I was nervous as hell as Yasmin prepared me for the experience. I showered, and we had sex the regular way, with me bending Yasmin over and stuffing first her juicy cunt then her tight asshole with my hard dick. And then Yasmin cleaned my ass with water and soap, then sucked my dick while stretching my asshole with her fingers and dildos. I got real hard as Yasmin fingered my asshole while sucking my dick. Oh, yeah. It was some good clean fun until Yasmin started to overly lubricate me, then she began inserting her fist up my ass.

Now, I was apprehensive but Yasmin assured me that I had nothing to worry about. In that seductive, enthralling voice of hers, Yasmin told me to relax while she worked first three, then four, and finally, five digits into my asshole. After a while, Yasmin managed to get her entire fist in my asshole. I didn't believe it, so Yasmin held up a large mirror for me to see. Let me tell you, I was not prepared for this. The sight of my girlfriend's hand buried in my asshole. I was not prepared to see myself this way.

Yasmin's beautiful face was twisted in exultation, and she started to laugh gleefully while fisting my asshole. For a moment, I did not recognize the woman I loved and I asked Yasmin to stop. When she didn't stop right away, I demanded that she stop. Finally, sighing in disappointment, Yasmin complied. I cried out as Yasmin removed her fist from my asshole. Never again, I vowed. I have never felt so humiliated before. I shudder in disgust just thinking about it.

That night, as Yasmin Hussein and I lay in bed together, she kept asking me about the experience. I honestly didn't want to talk about it. I felt violated, and don't care for trying this sort of thing again. What do you think? Did I overreact? I doubt it. Some experiences aren't meant to be repeated. I sure hope Yasmin will stop asking me about this. The pestering is annoying the hell out of me. It's my body, dammit, and I've said no. Good night.



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 06



Tuesday night is here at last. Since my lady Yasmin Hussein and I have been going through a rough patch lately, partly due to her unconventional bedroom antics, I thought a night out would do us some good. That's why I got us tickets to see the new horror flick Annabelle at the Silver City movie theater in the east end of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm Steve Salomon, a big and tall Haitian brother who's almost at his wits end with the craziness of his sexy but at times difficult Somali Canadian girlfriend. Read the story and see for yourselves.

I don't understand why these days things are dicey between Yasmin Hussein and myself, folks. When we first met, it was lust and love at first sight. I was working on the overnight security detail for a government building downtown and Yasmin Hussein, who was studying at Algonquin College at the time, worked as a cleaner at night. The tall, busty and curvaceous, brown-skinned and Hijab-wearing Somali cutie with the thick ass took my breath away. I decided right then and there that I had to have her.

Yasmin and I flirted and talked a bit, but never went further than that, until one night, passion overrode reason and the Somali goddess and I got our freak on in some Canadian lady's office...and got caught. Long story short? I got removed from that building's security detail, and the security company put me in another building nearby. It's a good thing they didn't can my ass because I'm paying for my studies at Carleton University using my security job. As for Yasmin, the lovely Somali gal kept her job. We continued seeing each other, and eventually, we moved in together. Things were just fine, until Yasmin and I fell into a rut.

There we were, sitting together in the movie theater, and Yasmin hadn't even said a word of thanks. What the fuck? I took this broad to the movie theater, paid for our tickets, got her a pizza and a Pepsi, and all I got to show for it was more of her stank attitude. Not to disparage sisters in general but they really do seem incapable of appreciating brothers like me who treat them well. I ducked out of the showroom while the previews were still showing and went to the washroom to take a piss.

When I came out, while walking back to the theater, I saw this chubby white dude with his arm around a tall, fine-looking Jamaican chick with a big ass. Miss Jamaica was all smiles with Mr. Whitey and I shook my head. Black women always give an attitude to brothers but behave like angels when they're out with white guys. Oh, come on. I'm not the only black man out there who's noticed this shit. The Jamaican sister with the white dude saw me looking at them and flashed me a triumphant smile. Whatever, I said in a low voice, and shrugged before getting back into the theater.

I plopped down on my seat, next to my frosty date, Yasmin Hussein. I looked at the screen, where an idyllic white couple in a haunted house for some reason refused to get rid of the demonic doll at the center of their troubles, and a matronly black woman had to come to their rescue. Sorry to spoil the damn movie for you if you haven't seen it but I don't give a damn. I didn't pay attention to the flick, which I found boring and trite. I prefer the Insidious movie series to this piece of crap.

Yasmin Hussein sat next to me, keeping her golden brown eyes fixed on the screen. I reached for her hand, but she shrugged and batted my hand away. Feeling quite angry, I shook my head and resumed watching the movie. We had reached the part when the old Hispanic priest gets attacked by the demon on the church steps when Yasmin Hussein got up and walked out. Oh, and before she did, she put her empty pizza container on my damn lap, and scoffed before hastily exiting.

I sat there, feeling quite pissed. At some point, I noticed there was a piece of paper in the pizza wrapper, and I read it using my cell phone as a light. The skinny white dude sitting further down the row with his Chinese girlfriend cleared his throat loudly. I shot him a look and he went back to staring at the screen. When I finished reading the handwritten note left by Yasmin Hussein, my heart skipped a beat. Grinning, I left the showroom and went to the family washroom located nearby.

I knocked three times, as per the handwritten note's instructions, and the door swung open, revealing a smiling Yasmin. Grinning, my sexy Somali Canadian goddess grinned and hiked up her traditional skirt, revealing the fact that she had no panties on. Oh my Gosh. I just got flashed, up skirt style, by a Hijab-wearing Somali chick. Many a man's fantasy, I tell you. And I'm fortunate enough that it's my reality. Winking, Yasmin gestured for me to come to her, as if a horny brother like me needed any encouragement. Unzipping my jeans, I freed my long and thick, uncircumcised dick. Yasmin licked her lips and reached for my manhood.

Yup, my lady and I got our freak on in the family washroom of the Silver City movie theater that Tuesday night. I leaned against the wall and Yasmin got on her hands and knees, sucking my dick with gusto and massaging my balls. Guys, Hijabi blowjobs are simply the best. If you haven't tried it, I highly recommend it. In no time, Yasmin got me hard as a rock. When I warned my sexy lady that I was about to cum, Yasmin winked at me and kept on sucking my Johnson. Unable to resist any longer, I came, rather loudly, and Yasmin amazed me by swallowing every last drop of my cum.

Yasmin Hussein wiped her mouth with the back of her hand after sucking me off, and smiled at me. I helped my lady to her feet and we shared a passionate kiss. Without another word, we continued with our fun. I sat on the toilet seat and Yasmin climbed on top of me, impaling her hairy, wet pussy on my dick. Fuck me silly, Yasmin whispered into my ear as she straddled me. I put my hands on her hips and thrust into her pussy. Yasmin squealed in delight and I began fucking her with gusto. You see, we hadn't gotten our freak on like this in a while.

Yasmin Hussein and I were still fucking when I heard several loud knocks on the door. Grinning, I called for whoever was at the door to wait, and Yasmin giggled as she readjusted her clothes. When we exited the family washroom together, we were greeted by a tall, chubby and bearded, dark-haired older white male security guard. The dude just gaped at us, his mouth forming a little O, and he said nothing. Laughing, Yasmin Hussein and I left the movie theater. People stared but we didn't care. We didn't make it home till an hour later, though. We fucked in the theater parking lot. Passion has no limits, and Yasmin and I just rekindled ours. Life is good! 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 07



According to popular belief, Muslim women are supposed to be dull, boring and submissive. My name is Yasmin Hussein, and I'm a young Somali Canadian Muslim woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I stand five feet eleven inches tall, curvy and sexy, with an angelic face, pretty dark brown skin, and the kind of thick, heart-shaped ass that can mesmerize the unwary. I'm in the final stages of my studies in my school. I can't wait to have my degree and start making a name for myself as an educated black female professional in the Canadian Capital. 

The way I figure it, Canada definitely needs more educated and successful women of color, especially those from a Muslim background like myself. Although this might frighten quite a few people, one day, Islam will be the dominant religion in Canada, and the rest of the world. The Christians, the Jews, the Hindus, the Buddhists and the Pagans have had their day, but we Muslims are ascending to our rightful place in the world. I am a proud Muslim woman. My faith will dominate the planet Earth in the twenty-first century. And I've already chosen the man I want to marry. The burly but sweet and naïve Haitian won't know what hit him.

I attend Algonquin College, where I study accounting and I live with my boyfriend Steve Salomon, a big and tall, supposedly macho Haitian whom I've got wrapped around my little finger. Soon he will graduate with his degree from Carleton University. I am so proud of him. I just wish Steve were a little less naïve when dealing with me. Seriously, I completely dominate the cute and endearing bozo and half the time, he's got no idea I'm even doing it. Steve is so lucky I love him otherwise I'd make his life a living hell. I'm wicked and tricky, but I am honestly trying to be a better person.

Try as I might, I can't help loving Steve Salomon. My favorite Haitian holds a special place in my heart. Why? Simply because I know that Steve would do anything for me. The guy got fired from his security job downtown because he got caught fucking with me, and he never blamed me. When I asked Steve about that, knowing that losing his job might mean stopping his studies at Carleton University, Steve told me that I was totally worth it. I love Steve, but I'm a wicked chick, and I've got to have my fun.

The other day, just for shits and giggles, I gave Steve a stank attitude all day and just like I expected, the dude did everything in his power to cajole and placate me. Steve took me to the Silver City movie theater, to watch that new horror movie Annabelle and I acted completely unimpressed. The poor guy didn't know what to do with himself. Finally, once Steve was at his wits end, I decided to give my favorite dog a treat. Hence why I sucked his dick in the family washroom and we got our freak on....unfortunately we got interrupted by theater security.

Always one to improvise, as soon as Steve and I left the movie theater, I suggested we should continue with our fun in the Silver City movie theater parking lot. Steve bent me over the backseat and fucked me real good, spanking my thick and round Somali ass and pulling my hair after yanking off my Hijab while fucking me. I kept my Hijab on while sucking Steve's dick, knowing how much it turns him on. I swear, if us Muslim girls wanted, we could convert half the Christian male population to Islam using our feminine charms alone.

Steve Salomon and I went home that night, without seeing the end of the movie Annabelle, but we didn't give a fuck. Once we got home, I still wasn't sated and told Steve to stop fussing around and satisfy me, just like a real man should. Steve obediently put me on the king-sized bed we share, and I spread my thick, shapely thighs invitingly. The burly Haitian grinned broadly at the sight of my wet, hairy cunt. Eagerly he came to me, and began licking my cunt with gusto.

I lay there, smiling faintly and relaxing as Steve Salomon went down on me, flicking his tongue over my clit and fingering my pussy. My favorite Haitian definitely knows his way around the female body. Steve looked at me adoringly while eating my pussy and for a moment, I felt guilty about the times I'd been mean to him without reason. That's why I decided to reward him. I stopped Steve, and then climbed on top of him. Make love to me, I whispered into his ear.

Slowly, gently, the burly and sexy young man I called my Haitian King began making love to me. This time, though, Steve Salomon surprised me with his roughness. Typically, I like to dominate him in our bed. I've done so MANY things to this young man it's not even funny. I've tied Steve up and fucked his ass with a strap-on dildo. I also inserted my fist up his ass. Sure, Steve has fucked my pussy and asshole dozens of times but always within the context of lovemaking rather than domination. I was curious to see his dominant side. The best way to bring out aggression in a man? Every female knows that one.

While Steve slammed his dick into my pussy, I teased him and told him I barely felt a thing. For a moment, Steve looked shocked, and I saw anger and pain in his eyes. I felt bad for saying such things to him, but continued anyways. Finally, an angry Steve grabbed me by my throat. Shut up bitch, Steve said angrily. I looked up at him and smiled. Only then did Steve realize what I was doing. Shaking his head, Steve smiled, and then proceeded to fuck me roughly, just the way I liked it.

Thus I found myself on all fours, my face pressed against the pillows, with my hands behind my back, as Steve rammed his dick inside of me. Face down and ass up, I offered my wet, hairy pussy and later, my asshole, to my conquering Haitian King. This time, Steve Salomon definitely showed me what he was made of. The highlight of the evening came when Steve threw me on my back, and smacked my face with one hand while the other gripped my throat as his thick Haitian cock invaded my tight Somali asshole. 

I looked into Steve's eyes and saw an almost primal aggression in his normally benign facial expression. I had succeeded in bringing out the alpha male hidden deep inside my usually meek boyfriend. As Steve dominated the hell out of me, filling my asshole with his dick, fingering my wet cunt, and calling me every name in the book while topping me, conflicting feelings warred within me. The dominatrix in me hated being topped by a male, but the woman within me loved getting roughly fucked by a worthy man. And Steve Salomon, burly Haitian and undercover macho man, was definitely a worthy man.

Yup, Steve Salomon and I had a lot of fun that night and brought the spark back into our relationship. We decided we'd spend the whole day together. Walking around Algonquin College and the Carleton University campus together, hand in hand. People were surprised to see me, a tall and fine-looking Somali Muslim sister, with a Haitian guy, and a Christian one at that, but I didn't care. I'm proud of Steve and I. Let them stare if they want. The next day, in gratitude, I took Steve to Renedad, a nice little Haitian restaurant located in the east end of Ottawa, and treated him to a delicious Haitian-style lunch. 

We had rice and beans, with plantains, goat meat and Pepsis, and I paid for the whole thing with my CIBC credit card. Yes, I'm the type of female who will spend money on her man. Best thirty bucks I ever spent. Steve Salomon was quite thankful, and he told me I was the best girlfriend ever. So make me your wife already, I muttered under my breath, but in typical Steve fashion, my boo didn't hear me. Life goes on, I guess. Someday soon I'll convert my beloved boyfriend Steve Salomon to Islam, the best of all religions. Will this staunch young Christian man convert to Islam to be with me? My sweet Somali pussy never fails. Just give it time. Stay tuned for more, ladies and gentlemen. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 08



Everyone has secrets, anxieties and insecurities, and I am definitely no exception, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Yasmin Hussein, and I'm a Somali-Canadian Muslim woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I stand five-foot-ten, curvy and sexy, a fine exemplar of the beautiful Northeast African/Horn of Africa woman. Beauties like me are found in nations like Ethiopia, Eritrea, Somalia and Djibouti, but I am nevertheless one of a kind. Everyone who comes in contact with me knows it. The few who don't, well, I try to enlighten them as best I can. 

I study accounting at Algonquin College and I'm close to completing my program. These days, life just couldn't be better. My new boyfriend Steve Salomon, a big and tall Haitian guy I met at work, simply worships the ground I walk on. And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm a Muslim woman of Somali descent and I'm absolutely crazy for this sinfully sexy Haitian guy who was raised in the Christian faith. Whoever says opposites attract must have been talking about us.

I know that my darling Steve Salomon loves me and I love him dearly, but I worry sometimes that I might be pushing my favorite Haitian stud to his limits. The other day, I went to visit him at his school, Carleton University, where he's studying business management, and brought him some Shawarma I bought at the Shawarma King restaurant downtown. I went to the campus library's quiet third floor, his favorite spot, with the intent of surprising him. I'm the one who ended up getting surprised.

You see, I found Steve sitting awfully close to a blonde-haired, green-eyed fat white chick who was grinning at him. The fat bitch looked at my Steve the way a hungry orca looks at a wayward seal. Instantly I felt angry, and approached the two of them with a frosty smile. Hello Steve, I said evenly by way of greeting. Steve nearly jumped out of his skin upon hearing my voice. Dude looked at me with a look of such guilt on his handsome face that I had to resist the urge to smack the shit out of him.

The white chick and I exchanged a look, and the plump white bitch wisely remained silent. Steve Salomon smiled at me sheepishly and expressed his surprise at seeing me there. Carleton University is a long way from Algonquin College, where I'm taking my four final courses. I hopped on the 111 bus at Baseline Station and rode it for half an hour, all the way to the Carleton campus. Long ride but my man is worth it, that's what I told myself at least.

Once I arrived at the bus stop near Minto Center, I walked my ass to the University Center building, and cut through the throngs of students walking in the Atrium. Finally, I made my way to the garden-like quad, and reached the campus library. As I walked through Carleton, a lot of people looked at me. This school is one of the most racially diverse institutions of higher education in all of Canada but as a tall, gorgeous young woman of Somali descent, clad in a long traditional dress and Hijab, I definitely stood out. People checked me out. Nerdy Chinese guys, lusty white dudes, demure Indian dudes, envious white chicks, territorial Jamaican chicks, and so on. 

Yeah, wherever I go, everyone wants a piece of me. The tall, angel-faced, curvaceous Afro-Arabian beauty with the fine body, large breasts and thick, round ass. Hell, sometimes even lesbians hit on me. Especially those short-haired, masculine white chicks with the tattoos and the fake swagger. I like receiving attention from both women and men, even though I consider myself totally heterosexual. I only have eyes for Steve Salomon, though. What can I say? The big and tall Haitian stud holds my heart hostage and I don't want be free. At least, until I saw him laughing with that blonde hussy. 

What is it with black guys and fat white chicks, seriously? Someone should do a study on that. Everywhere I look I see black men with fat white chicks. Are black guys allergic to slender white women? I'm not hating on interracial couples. Honest. I was sad when Seal and Heidi Klum split. I'm still pulling for Kanye West and Kim Kardashian no matter what anyone says. And I have much love for Robert DeNiro and Grace Hightower. I've dated white guys in the past. They were alright, but nothing sets my blood afire or makes my heart race like a tall, sexy black man. That's my one weakness, ladies and gentlemen. 

Anyhow, back to the story. Steve Salomon started mumbling, and with much bluster on his face and guilt on his eyes, he introduced me to his classmate, Beatrice Kendall. I looked the fat white bitch up and down. What the fuck was she doing with my man? I am NOT the type of black woman who will simply stand idly by and let a white whale steal my chocolate prince. A lot of black guys who aren't into black women anymore say that these black females they dealt with in the past were bossy, greedy, didn't take care of themselves, and didn't let them be the man in the relationship. Well, I am not like those bitches. I love and support my Steve, and as a Muslim woman from Somalia, I firmly believe that the man is the head of household. Oh, and I am good in bed. I don't mind spending money on Steve once in a while. We're equals that way. I believe in give and take. That's just how I roll.

Beatrice Kendall looked at me, and smiled, and I resisted the urge to smack the fat white bitch on her mouth. I smiled back and asked her what's up, and she showed me a picture on her iPhone wallpaper. A picture of her locking lips with a short-haired black chick who vaguely looked Somali. Showing all of her teeth, Beatrice grinned and told me that I reminded her of Fatoumatta, this lesbian Muslim chick she's dating. I looked at the picture and shook my head, then laughed. Yup, Fatoumatta did look a little bit like me. If I got hit by the ugly stick a few times and got rid of my long and lustrous black hair, which I would never do.

I looked at Beatrice, then Steve. So, the white chick is gay, huh? Damn. I suddenly feel so silly for my jealous fit. I happily shook Beatrice's hand and handed Steve the food I brought for him. The three of us sat there and talked, laughing, until Beatrice excused herself because she had to get to work. Nice to meet you, I said and shook Beatrice's hand again before she left. Steve looked at me and grinned wickedly. I smiled sheepishly at my man. Open mouth and insert foot, I thought. Looks like I dropped the ball tonight, folks.

When we got home, I tried to make up to Steve but my boo just continued to sulk while ignoring me. Even when I stripped naked ( save for my Hijab ) and reached for his dick, Steve just batted my hands away. I was shocked. The sight of my naked body usually mesmerizes Steve. I 'accidentally' dropped something and bent down to pick up in the living room while Steve was watching TV, exposing my naked booty. And you know what? Steve didn't even blink. Dude just told me to move out of the way and continued watching an old episode of Blade The Series on Netflix. What the fuck? As a woman this disturbed me. Must be losing my touch.

Imagine my surprise when, as I sat on the toilet, taking a piss, Steve walked in on me, wearing only his boxers and looking rather angry. Get up, he said, and grabbed me by the throat until I complied. I had never seen Steve Salomon this aggressive before. It kind of surprised me and turned me on at the same time. Nodding, I rose to my feet, my cunt still dripping piss, and I eagerly reached for Steve's manhood. Steve once more batted my hands away. Grabbing me, he bent me over the washroom counter. I licked my lips, expecting to feel Steve's thick Haitian dick sliding into my cunt or asshole any minute. Instead, I felt Steve's hand slap my ass. Hard.

What the fuck? I turned and stared at Steve, stunned. A feral grin on his handsome face, Steve continued pressing me down on the washroom counter as he smacked my ass. Twice, three times, Steve slapped my thick Somali ass. I yelped in pain and tried to flee but Steve held me into place, holding me by the back of my neck as he rained heavy slaps on my bottom. Truth be told, it stung real bad when Steve slapped my ass but it also felt kind of good. Grinning, I winked at Steve and told him to keep smacking my ass.

Shaking his head, Steve grunted, and called me something I won't print here and thusly my favorite Haitian continued raining slaps on my big brown Somali ass. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, Steve changed tactics and thrust two fingers into my cunt. Whether my pussy was wet because I was turned on or because I just peed, I couldn't tell you. All I can say is that Steve fingered my cunt with one hand and slapped my ass with the other. The combination proved really erotic and I found myself close to squealing, for I was about to cum. The mixture of pleasure and pain proved too much for me, I guess.

Without warning, Steve pulled his fingers out of my cunt, and pried my thick ass cheeks wide open. I felt something cold and slick being applied against my asshole. I turned and saw that Steve was using Colgate as a lubricant, and laughed. At least my ass will smell fresh after, I said with a grin. Steve said nothing and pushed his dick up my asshole. I licked my lips, expecting him to put those big, strong hands of his on my wide hips as he fucked me in the ass. Nope, Steve did no such thing. Instead, he grabbed my hands and held them behind my back, and used his hips to buck against me while running his dick up my asshole. Unexpected, but I absolutely loved it!

My asshole gripped Steve's dick tightly, and it didn't take my favorite Haitian long to cum in my ass, even though he tried to resist me. Steve came inside of me, and, um, that's when something unusual happened. As Steve slowly pulled his dick out of my asshole, I let out a loud, wet fart. For those of you laughing at me while reading this, shame on you. Have you ever tried to hold a fart while getting fucked in the ass, ladies? I doubt it would work. Fortunately, Steve just laughed it off. Afterwards, my sexy man pulled me on the washroom counter, spread my shapely thighs and gave my hairy Somali cunt a good licking. Yup, we had a lot of fun.

Much later, Steve and I lay in bed, happy as can be. You're forgiven, he whispered into my ear as he pulled me into his arms. I smiled with contentment and tried to go to sleep, not an easy endeavor, with Steve's dick inches from my cunt. Still, I had a long day at school tomorrow so I needed my sleep. It's midterm season at Algonquin College and this Somali-Canadian cutie intends to ace her accounting courses. That's right. I, Yasmin Hussein, am not just a pretty face. I'm plenty smart too. Anyhow, good night. See you around the universe, Insha'Allah. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 09



Look, um, I have a confession to make. It's sort of, well, a tad bit on the embarrassing side. Here goes nothing. My name is Steve Salomon and I'm a big and tall Haitian brother living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I study business management at Carleton University, and I'm madly in love with this tall, sinfully sexy Somali-Canadian Muslim vixen named Yasmin Hussein. No, that's not the embarrassing part of my confession. You see, I'm turned on by female flatulence. I have Eproctophilia, also known as the dreadful and giggle-inducing ( when mentioned aloud ) farting fetish. 

I discovered this about myself recently while fucking my girlfriend Yasmin in the ass during an impromptu anal sex session in the washroom. I am fucked up, I know. Yasmin and I were fucking, and I had my dick so far up her tight asshole, you couldn't tell where my Somali goddess ended and I began. We started doing it, and while I was drilling her asshole, the bitch farted. Right there on my dick. I kid you not, I felt a sudden puff of her on my dick, coming straight from Yasmin's anus. How do you like them apples?

My lady Yasmin Hussein and I might come from different worlds, but we're well-matched in just about every way. I was raised Catholic and my sweetheart was raised Muslim, but we don't let religious and cultural differences get in our way. I believe that Christians, Muslims and Jews worship the same Supreme Being, just in different ways. Why do people keep making a fuss over these differences? I guess I'll never know. Wherever we go, Yasmin Hussein and I attract a lot of stares. More than our fair share, I'd say. Honestly, I'd like to think it's because we're both tall, attractive and smart. I doubt it, though. Consider what happened the other day.

Yasmin Hussein and I went to our favorite restaurant after the movies the other day, Shawarma King, and we were chilling there while eating some delicious rice, potatoes and Kafta sandwiches when a pair of Somali guys walking in gave us the evil eye. I am a Haitian man and clearly not Somali, that much anyone looking at me can see. And the silver crucifix hanging around my neck attracted the Somali guys eyes like magnets to metal. Yasmin happened to be wearing a long-sleeved blue T-shirt, black dress and a modest blue hijab, articles of clothing which identified my sweetie as Muslim with a capital M. Yeah, the Somali guys weren't happy to see me with her.

Yasmin Hussein exchanged a look with them, and they muttered something among themselves in the Somali language. The fellas did not look happy. Yasmin and I ignored them and continued to enjoy our meal. The two guys left the place after their order came up, and one of them looked at me with anger and disgust on his face. Can you say player hater? I asked Yasmin what they said and she just smiled and told me that they were hating. Yasmin and I have been through this before. According to the rules of Islam, Muslim men are permitted to marry women of any religion, especially Christian women and Jewish women. 

Those same arcane rules state that Muslim women aren't permitted to be with men of other religions. Only a Muslim man may be with a Muslim woman. To hell with that rule, Yasmin said, and we exchanged a passionate kiss. I love my sweetie. Yasmin has a mind of her own and makes her own decisions when it comes to sex and love. I'm happy that she's with me. The other half a billion or so Muslim women out there are nothing like her. Most of them are good little Muslim ladies, peacefully and quietly waiting for Muslim guys to make up their minds and ask for their hands into marriage....AFTER having their fun with women of all shades and faiths, of course. Nice rule, isn't it? A more glaring double standard isn't to be found anywhere else, I swear.

After the restaurant, Yasmin Hussein and I decided to walk around town for a little bit. We crossed the bridge separating downtown Ottawa from Vanier, and made our way to this nice little wooded area not far from the bridge. It was dark, and Yasmin and I sat on a bench, talking and enjoying each other's company. While I was telling her about the expansion of the Sprott School of Business at Carleton University, Yasmin nodded sagely....and then, without warning, my tall, gorgeous Somali Hijabi girlfriend shifted on her seat and squeezed out a loud wet fart. I looked at Yasmin, shocked. Yasmin grinned mischievously, and I inhaled the fragrance of my sinfully sexy Muslim girlfriend's fart. A farting fetish fan's idea of heaven.

When passion takes hold of you, you just never know where it might take you. Slinking away in the dark, Yasmin and I made our way to the back of the nearby Loblaw's, and got it on between two oversized trucks. Hiking up her long traditional Islamic skirt, Yasmin revealed her thick Somali ass. My heart skipped a beat when Yasmin spread her thick ass cheeks wide open, revealing her asshole. I began kissing and fondling her butt, sticking my tongue into her asshole. Moments later, Yasmin let out a second loud, wet fart. I smiled with contentment while inhaling her womanly fumes. I'm in heaven, or Jannah, as my sexy Muslim girlfriend calls it!

Grinning, Yasmin told me to fuck her. I grinned, and continued licking her sweaty asshole while fingering her pussy. Soon I had Yasmin as wet as a puddle. I was stunned when Yasmin handed me a small flask containing Aloe cream, and told me to make good use of it. Happily I did just that, and lubricated Yasmin Hussein's asshole good and proper. Finally, when my Somali sweetheart deemed herself ready, I pressed my dick against Yasmin's asshole. Yasmin grinned and gave me the green light. I pushed my dick into Yasmin's ass, and gripped her wide hips tightly. And just like that, I began pounding my dick up my girlfriend's asshole. 

Yasmin Hussein moaned deeply and squealed in delight as I fucked her in the ass. I came, and almost at the same time, I felt a puff of hot air against my member. Yasmin farted on my dick when I came inside of her, flooding her asshole with her member. Yasmin squealed in delight as my cum filled her bowels, and much to my delight, Yasmin farted again. I pulled out of her, and then spun Yasmin around. As my Somali goddess looked on in surprise, I took her face in my hands and kissed her full and deep. I love this woman!

Yasmin kissed me back, and we looked into each other's eyes. I smiled at her, and was about to say something else when a voice startled the hell out of us. It was the store security guard, a chubby black dude, and his eyes widened like saucers when he saw us. Yasmin and I waved at him, and hastily readjusted our clothes. The dude's mouth flopped open and close like a fish out of water, and Yasmin and I laughed. Quickly we dashed through the half-empty parking lot, and walked to the nearest bus stop, laughing all the way. Yasmin winked at me as we boarded the bus. I smiled at her and shook my head. Dammit, I don't care if I have to convert to Islam. I'm going to MARRY that freaky Somali woman!!! 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 10



There is no sexual experience quite as intimate as fisting, ladies and gentlemen. I can definitely attest to that, though I wasn't always a believer. My name is Steve Salomon and I'm a big and tall young black man of Haitian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm a security guard by night and Carleton University business management student by day. Don't ask me when I sleep because I don't have an answer for you. And right now, I'm introducing my tall and curvaceous, sinfully sexy Somali-Canadian Muslim girlfriend Yasmin Hussein to the pleasures of fisting. 

My lady Yasmin is lying stark naked on our bed, her arms and legs bound by thick silk scarves, and her shapely thighs spread wide open. I've got her right where I wanted her, and we both knew it. I see a look of defiance on Yasmin's beautiful face and smirk while inserting my fist into her pussy. I've got a thick blue and white dildo embedded in Yasmin's asshole, and it's nicely plugged her. How about that? I've got a dildo the color of the Somali flag buried up a Somali chick's tight butt hole. Sometimes I amaze myself with my sexual wickedness. 

At long last, my favorite trash talker is silenced, for I've put a ball gag in that sweet but ever-annoying mouth of hers. As much as I love my sweet Yasmin, that mouth of hers gets on my last damn nerve at times. Somali women are beautiful and feisty, usually something I absolutely love about them, but sometimes a man needs his peace and quiet. Typically, in the bedroom, Yasmin Hussein likes to flash her dominant side. 

Typically, I just go along with Yasmin Hussein's bedroom antics because I am a horny brother and my Somali girlfriend's womanly curves are my weakness. The stuff I let her do to me boggles the mind at times. Yup, this sexy Somali diva has tied me up, spanked me, and even fucked me with a strap-on dildo. Another time, a while ago, Yasmin tied me up and fisted me. That's right, the Somali chick worked her entire fist up my shit hole, man. These days, though, I'm learning to assert myself in our relationship and be the dominant man that Yasmin needs me to be.

Earlier, Yasmin and I came home from her school, Algonquin College, where we watched a basketball game and as soon as we got there, I took her just the way I liked to. I grabbed Yasmin, put her on her knees and waved my long and thick, uncircumcised dick in front of her face. Yasmin looked at it hungrily. Grinning, I fed my dick to Yasmin's eager mouth, one inch at a time. Yasmin greedily sucked my dick, and I leaned back against the kitchen wall, relaxing and enjoying myself as my sexy lady sucked me off. Yasmin loves sucking dick and it shows. When we first started out, Yasmin had issues with my uncut dick since she's Muslim and all but now, she's gotten over it. This dick of mine has been in every hole in her sexy body. What can I say? I've got it like that.

After Yasmin finished polishing my dick with her mouth and tongue, I put my Somali Canadian Muslim goddess on all fours and gave her sweet, thick round ass a sound spanking. Yasmin yelped and shook her big ass at me, and I felt myself harden at the sight of all that Somali booty staring at me. I eased my dick into Yasmin's wet, hairy cunt and put my hands on those wide hips of hers. Bucking wildly, Yasmin pressed that thick ass of hers against my groin, driving me deeper inside of her.

One of the many things I love about my sweet lady Yasmin Hussein is how insatiable she is when it comes to all things sexually. I spanked her ass while slamming my dick into her pussy, and Yasmin absolutely loved every minute of it. After pummeling her cunt with my cock for a good while, I decided to switch things up a little. When I asked Yasmin how she felt about trying bum sex tonight, the kinky Somali sister was all smiles. Hell, I was doing some smiling my damn self as Yasmin spread her thick ass cheeks wide open, exposing a rather obvious target.

After applying some Aloe cream on Yasmin's puckered asshole, I pressed my hard dick against her anal cavity and asked her if she was ready. In response, Yasmin purred like a kitten and pressed her asshole against my dick. I smiled and pushed my dick into her asshole. What man doesn't like a woman who loves anal sex? In spite of the fact that both Somali culture and the Islamic social norms that influenced it frowned upon anal sex, Yasmin Hussein can't get enough of my dick in her ass. 

Recently, Yasmin and I discovered a new, naughty pleasure during our passionate sessions of bum sex. You see, there's something wonderfully naughty and pleasurable when a woman farts on a man's dick...while the dick in question is lodged up her asshole. Few women possess enough muscle control to attempt such a feat, and I'm happy to say that my sweet, wicked and kinky lady Yasmin Hussein is one of them. Yup, my woman likes to fart while I'm fucking her in the ass and I love it. Feeling that puff of hot air while my dick is buried so far up her ass you can't tell where Yasmin ends and yours truly begins. We're freaky and that's just the way we get down.

I fucked Yasmin's asshole thoroughly, burying my dick balls-deep inside of her and I delighted on hearing my lady's deep moans and screams. We had a great time, and then I pulled out of Yasmin and, after we rested for a while, I asked her if she wanted to try fisting. Yasmin grinned wickedly. What do you think her answer was? That's why I've got my entire fist in that wet, and surprisingly tight pussy of hers while a blue and white dildo plugs her wonderful asshole oh so nicely. Looking into Yasmin's eyes, I pinched her cheeks, almost causing her to spit out the ball gag in her mouth. Grinning, I asked Yasmin if she'd had enough. Panting, sweaty profusely, Yasmin nodded. Victorious at last, I smiled.

Yasmin and I went to sleep after showering together, and as soon as we returned to our king-sized bed, my lady was fast asleep. Yasmin Hussein, my tall and sinfully sexy Somali-Canadian Muslim lady love snores louder than anyone I've ever known. And I used to bunk with a lot of dudes at an all-male Catholic school in my younger days. I lay next to her, unable to sleep. I was too damn buzzed after fisting Yasmin, something I'd been meaning to try for the longest time. My lady and I are happy together, and it is my fervent hope that we always will be. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 11



You know you've got a good woman in your life when she sticks up for you even when you tell her not to. For real. My name is Steve Salomon and I'm a big and tall young Black man of Haitian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm in my final year in the business management program at Carleton University, and life just couldn't be better. It's largely due to my lady love, Yasmin Hussein. The Somali Canadian Muslim chick never ceases to amaze me. What do I mean by that? Man, I've got one hell of a story for you today.

The Capital of Canada is a mid-sized town that's grown too big for its britches if you ask me. When my family arrived in Ottawa from Cap-Haitien, Northern Haiti, a long time ago, there were very few immigrants out here. Save for the Chinese and other assorted Asians, almost everyone in town was White, with a few Blacks here and there. Fast forward almost two decades later and the City of Ottawa is teeming with Africans, Arabs, Chinese, Hindus and other ethnic groups I can only guess at. Not everyone is thrilled with Ottawa's growing diversity.

Lots of White Canadians no doubt long for the good old days when everyone in Canada was either White or Aboriginal, with the Aboriginals being trodden under foot by the ruthless policies of the Canadian government. Well, tough luck, White Canadians, the old days are over. Doubtless these politely bigoted shmucks aren't happy about the fact that we so-called visible minorities are reproducing much faster than European Canadians and we're changing Canada's demographics. 

What do I mean by that? Please look at a map of this country and see for yourselves. In every major City of Canada, from Toronto to Vancouver, from Ottawa to Montreal, from Edmonton to Calgary, people of color are either the new majority or they're well on their way there. White Canadians aren't breeding anymore. I guess too much hockey and beer must be affecting White Canadian men's sperm count or something. 

Small-town Canada and metropolitan Canada are becoming two separate universes, it would seem. Take my soon-to-be former supervisor Randall Wilson for example. He's a stocky, fifty-something White dude hailing from Red Deer, Alberta. Another small town in the middle of nowhere. The bozo is new to Ottawa and since he's a retired cop, the security company I work for promoted him to the rank of supervisor right after he got his Ontario security guard licence. Big mistake if you ask me but whatever.

Anyways, this goon is a racist, that much was obvious from the way he looked at me first time we met. Mr. Red Deer looked at me like he'd never seen a Black man before. I smiled politely at him while seething inside. We were NOT going to get along. Still, I made an effort to get along with Wilson since I wanted to keep my job. A while ago, I lost another security job because I got caught getting busy on someone's office desk with Yasmin, who worked as a cleaner in that building at the time. Yeah, I got a lot of red ink in my file at work because of that and didn't need any more trouble. That's why I put up with Wilson's bullshit. 

The old White dude is always harsh on minorities on the security team, whether myself or this chubby Indian dude named Majumdar, or that Chinese chick, Amy Chang. I noticed these things and took note of them, but felt powerless to do anything. In Canada, one thing you've got to realize is that racism is systemic. If you stand up to your racist boss or a racist colleague at work, they're not what you have to worry about. Oh no, you'll soon find yourself taking on the entire organization. Canadians are the most polite racists in the world but they're still racists. 

It doesn't help that a lot of different minorities don't stand up for themselves or criticize those who do stand up to White racism. I used to be friends with this Dominican chick named Samantha whom I met at Carleton University. This broad is originally from Brampton and for some reason came to Ottawa for school. Anyhow, I stood up to a bald-headed, heavily tattooed White guy who thought he could intimidate me and Samantha got pissed at me, calling me confrontational and quick to jump to conclusions and what not. Next thing I know this little bitch removed me from her Facebook friends list. Good. The last thing I need in my life is some brown chick who's an enabler of White racism.

Putting up with Randall Wilson's bullshit was starting to take its toll on me, man. And I thought I had no choice but to put up with it since the security company I work for doesn't take it seriously when a minority worker complains about the unruly behavior of a racist White guy. Last year, I worked at a warehouse in the Industrial Avenue area for a different security company and there was this other security guard there named Richard, and the old dude would tell racist jokes every ten seconds. 

I told Richard to quit this shit many times but dude never listened. Fed up with him, I complained to the security company's branch manager. Not a smart thing to do when you happen to be a Black male employee. I don't know why I was surprised that the middle-aged White male branch manager sided with the racist old White male security guard against the whistle-blowing Black male employee. Next thing I know, I got transferred out of that site, which is a nice way of saying that the company removed me and put me elsewhere. As far as I know, Richard is still working there, telling his racist jokes to all who would listen. I hate the bastard with a fiery passion. I hope he rots in hell. Seriously. 

Given these past experiences, you can understand my despair, ladies and gentlemen. The only person I confided in was my lady love, Yasmin Hussein. I told myself that I'd stick with this lame job until I graduated from Carleton University, then I'd get a better job with a bank or a big company. Let outdated and bigoted assholes like Richard and Wilson work lame jobs like security. As a university-educated young Black man with ambition, I had bigger fish to fry. Yup, I resigned myself to my fate and counted the days....

One Monday morning, I came to work and got one hell of a surprise. I saw Randall Wilson and the dude's face was red with anger and his eyes were filled with despair. He was being escorted out of the building by my co-worker, this security guard named Majumdar. I went down to the security office and the site manager, an old White dude named Danny Melvin, asked me to sit down. I had no idea what was going on, but the dude soon informed me. Apparently, there was an incident at work over the weekend. 

A traditionally attired young Black Muslim woman walked into the building, inquiring about work opportunities. Afterwards, she stopped at the Starbucks located inside the food court for coffee. While she was there, the young Muslim woman apparently ran into Randall Wilson, my former supervisor, and the dude flew off the handle when the young woman accidentally dropped her coffee on him after bumping into him. Randall got mad and started berating her, while wearing his security uniform, right in front of the Starbucks patrons. This did not go over too well. 

The Starbucks manager offered the young Muslim lady a free cup of coffee, which the young woman firmly declined. Angry and sad, the young Muslim lady asked to speak to security about the incident. Long story short? The young Muslim woman filed an official complaint against Randall Wilson. The building management saw the whole incident on camera, and called the site manager, who decided to fire Randall Wilson. 

Looking me in the eye, the site manager Danny Melvin asked me if I wanted the supervisor job. The one Randall Wilson just vacated. I smiled and pretended to hesitate. The old White man informed me that the security supervisor job came with a bump in pay. I'd be making seventeen dollars per hour instead of the twelve bucks I'm making now. Grinning, I shook Danny Melvin's hand and accepted the job.

That night, when I returned home, I shared the good news with Yasmin Hussein. My tall, curvaceous and sinfully sexy Somali girlfriend looked at me and flashed a demure grin. I saw a spark of mischief in her golden brown eyes. You're welcome, Yasmin said with a wry grin. A shudder passed through me as realization dawned on me. The security staff described the chick who got Randall Wilson fired as tall, curvy and brown-skinned, possible mixed-race or Somali. Who do I know fits that description?

I looked at Yasmin and took her hand in mine. Gently I squeezed my lady's hand, then brought it to my lips. I love you babe, I said, and an amused Yasmin kissed me full and deep. With that, we went to the bedroom and began making love. I sat Yasmin down on the bed and knelt before my Somali goddess. Gently I spread her shapely thighs and began licking her sweet pussy after inhaling her womanly fragrance. Worship me, Yasmin said in an imperious tone and I did just that.

Much later, after polishing her pussy with my mouth and tongue, Yasmin Hussein allowed me inside of her. I rubbed my hard dick against her cunt and pushed it inside. Sighing happily, Yasmin Hussein wrapped her arms around my torso and urged me to fuck her. I did just that, thrusting my dick deep into Yasmin's warm, wet snatch. We went at it until I came, and after that, I lay in Yasmin's arms, gently sucking on her breasts as she playfully raked her fingers through my hair. 

Looking into Yasmin Hussein's eyes, I told her I loved her. Giggling, Yasmin whispered that she loved me too. I love this woman something fierce, ladies and gentlemen. Yeah, my Yasmin is an amazing gal. Tall and curvy, sinfully sexy, with a big round ass, big lovely breasts and the face of an angel. Whether she's rocking a Hijab and traditional long Islamic feminine robe or a tank top, baseball cap and jeans, my lady always looks hot. 

Yasmin Hussein is real special to me, folks. I absolutely mean that. I love her but truth be told, Yasmin scares me a little bit at times. I'm going to marry this woman someday. And you KNOW I won't dare cheat on her. Why? Man, look at the shit she did to Randall Wilson, my former boss, whom she didn't even know! Piss off a Somali female and you're a dead man. Since I don't want to suffer an even worse fate than that bozo did, I'll be on my best behavior. Yup, this Haitian brother will keep calm and worship his Somali Canadian Muslim goddess. This chick saved my job AND gave me pussy on the same day. I'm so going to put a ring on it! 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 12



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 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, 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 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. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 13



As Salam Alaikum, dear friends and readers. Yasmin Hussein here. I'm your favorite tall and curvaceous, sinfully sexy brown-skinned Somali-Canadian Muslim cutie, and man have I got a story for you. The other day, I was walking through the Saint Laurent Mall in the east end of Ottawa with my Haitian boyfriend Steve Salomon when we ran into some old friends of mine from high school. 

Rabia Khan and Salwa Hassan are a couple of Somali chicks I have known all my life. We drifted apart after high school, though we definitely kept in touch through Facebook and Twitter. It had been ages since I'd seen these two. Not since the summer after our high school graduation, actually. I chose to study at Algonquin College and they went to the University of Ottawa. Anyways, I was walking out of Sears and headed to the food court upstairs when I saw two very familiar silhouettes. 

Excitedly I walked up to them, and recognized my two old friends. Happily I greeted Salwa and Rabia, and introduced them to my boo, Steve. They looked him up and down and I swear, disapproval rolled off them in waves. For they could tell that Steve wasn't Somali. The dude had Haitian written all over him. Clad in a red silk shirt, burgundy tie, dark blue silk pants and Timberland boots, Steve had just come back from an interview with a call center. My man was looking real good to me, but obviously Salwa and Rabia didn't approve.

If Steve picked up on Salwa and Rabia's sudden frostiness, he didn't let on. My boo was his usual confident, friendly self. I made small talk with Rabia and Salwa, then wished them goodbye before we parted ways. Steve and I caught the escalator leading up to the food court and Salwa and Rabia headed toward the postal office. Steve and I went to Manchu Wok and he ordered a plate of rice with potatoes, orange chicken and salty pork. Even though I consider myself super liberal, I'm still a Muslim woman. No pork for me. I ordered rice and potatoes, with chicken wings and a lemonade.

As we sat down to eat, I watched Steve as he all but devoured his plate. My man is an eater. I winced as he wolfed down several spoonful of pork. Steve saw me looking at him and asked me what I was wrong. I flashed a fake smile, told him everything was alright, and then resumed eating. As we ate, a couple of Somali guys walked by with two girls who were obviously not Somali. One of the girls, a tall, bronze-skinned and dark-haired gal, looked either Persian or Arab. The other looked Jamaican, either that or she was some type of Caribbean female. The quartet sat near us with their food, and began to eat. Just a regular foursome of twenty-something collegiate types, laughing and enjoying each other's company.

At some point, one of the Somali guys looked at me, saw Steve, and narrowed his eyes. I gritted my teeth and stared at him defiantly. Yes, I'm a Somali woman with a Haitian boyfriend. This Somali dude with his Arab girlfriend really shouldn't talk. He can't fault me for dating someone from outside our community, not when he's guilty of the same thing himself. He nudged his buddy, who looked up, saw me with Steve, and muttered something in Somali. Both guys shook their heads, then went back to laughing and talking with their dates or female friends or whatever. 

Steve Salomon looked at me, a worried look in his soulful dark eyes. What's bothering you Yasmin? he asked me in a serious, concerned tone. I looked at Steve, and flashed him a brave smile. Swallowing hard, I finally decided to fess up. I was frank with Steve, about everything. Salwa and Rabia's disapproval of our relationship. My discomfort with Steve's dietary habits, especially his fondness for pork, which I, as a Muslim woman, consider haram or forbidden. I'm sorry, I said at last, sighing deeply and looking into Steve's stunned eyes.

There was much I hadn't told Steve. I've been estranged from my family for quite a while. No, it doesn't have anything to do with Steve. My family and I stopped talking to each other long before I met Steve. Why is that, you may ask? I've always been the headstrong type, and when you're a Muslim woman, that can be seriously hazardous to your health. The Somali community in Canada is facing an internal struggle over modernism and traditionalism. I straddle both sides of the fence when it comes to my Somali culture and my Islamic faith. 

What can I say? I am a complex woman. I have many different sides to myself. I go out wearing a Hijab and a traditional long skirt, and I do carry my Quran in my purse. I also like to smoke, drink and party. I go to Masjid on Friday nights like a good Muslim sister. On Saturday nights I'm at the Honest Lawyer bar with my boyfriend Steve, wearing a tank top, baseball cap and short skirt, and chugging down Alexander Keith's beer like it's going out of style. I can recite Koranic passages about the importance of Muslim feminine chastity and purity. And I enjoy wild, kinky sex with my boyfriend Steve Salomon. Yeah, I've been leading a double life, as you can see. All this I shared with Steve.

When I finished my little spiel, Steve looked at me. In a calm voice, Steve told me he was sorry that loving someone like him was incompatible with my Islamic beliefs. As I looked on in shock, the big and tall Haitian man I called my boo, the person I cherished the most in the world, simply got up. Stunned, I asked him where he was going. Steve shook his head, and I noticed that his eyes looked moist. He seemed on the verge of tears. Steve said nothing, and simply grabbed his coat and left. Hurrying, he dashed across the food court and rushed down the escalators. And out of my life. I looked heavenward, stunned by this development. Why, Lord, why? 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 14



What's up people? Steve Salomon here. I'm a big and tall young black man of Haitian descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Up until recently, I considered myself the luckiest guy in the world. I'm close to completing my studies in the business management program at the Sprott School of Business of Carleton University. And I have, no, had the love of the most amazing woman ever. Yasmin Hussein, a tall, curvaceous, sinfully sexy Somali-Canadian Muslim cutie. We met under less than ideal circumstances at work, and totally clicked. 

For a while, we were together. This chick changed my life. I loved Yasmin more than I loved myself. How I miss my Somali goddess. Still, you can't have a love story when it's just one person in love. I love Yasmin, but I doubt that she loves me. If Yasmin did love me, she wouldn't have done what she did. Twenty four hours ago, my world was shattered into a trillion pieces. We were hanging out at the Saint Laurent Mall, and were about to have supper together at our favorite Chinese restaurant, Manchu Wok, when Yasmin ran into some old high school buddies of hers.

A pair of Somali chicks approached us, and Yasmin greeted them happily. I stood nearby, and waited a while for Yasmin to introduce me to them. I mean, if I matter to her, she'd introduce me, right? I kept my cool, watching the minutes tick by. Yasmin excitedly talked to the two Somali chicks in the guttural Somali language, and finally, ever so reluctantly, she introduced me to them. The two Somali broads, whose names I've forgotten, looked me up and down as if I were an animal at the zoo. They did not approve of my being Yasmin's man, that much was clear to me.

There's always tension between Yasmin and I when we run into her fellow Somalis. You see, the Somali community is mostly Muslim and there's some kind of rule against Muslim women dating men of other religions. Yasmin Hussein, the feisty Somali gal I fell in love with, seemed different from the other Muslim chicks I saw around Ottawa. This gal was smart, sexy and fiercely independent. Definitely a woman with a mind of her own. Yasmin wasn't the type to bow down to the rules of tradition or religion. At least that's what it seemed like at first. 

Lately, though, I felt like there was a growing gulf between Yasmin and I. You see, I'd never force my religion upon her. I consider myself a very liberal Christian. I don't feel the need to force my religion upon people. The way I figure it, there's only one God and I believe the same all-powerful entity or being is worshipped by Jews, Christians and Moslems. I think God is big enough for all of our Abrahamic religions. Naturally, many would disagree. I respect all religions, but to my eyes, there are some glaring double standards in the rules of Islam.

If a Muslim man is allowed to date and even marry Christian women and Jewish women, because they're People of the Book, why shouldn't a Muslim woman be allowed to marry a Jewish guy or a Christian guy? I discussed this with Yasmin Hussein many times. Even though Yasmin agreed that there was a lot of sexism in the Muslim world, she didn't dare question anything written in her people's holy book. 

The double standard in interfaith marriage rules for Muslim women and Muslim men was something that bothered her, but Yasmin would never speak out against it. I thought Yasmin was stronger than that. I figured that my sweet lady had a mind of her own, and would choose to be with me. Guess I was wrong. I sit in class at school, way up in Dunton Tower, which houses much of the Business School at Carleton University. My class is small, just twenty students, and we're discussing Business Ethics.

I didn't really listen. I sit close to the window, and from that vantage point, I can see much of campus and the surrounding areas. Prince of Wales. The Ottawa River. Even Baseline. My mind was a thousand miles from class that day as I thought of Yasmin Hussein, my gorgeous Somali sweetheart, and the love that we shared. I thought of the many times we had sex in risqué places, a specialty of ours. What can I say? Yasmin and I liked to live dangerously. 

Why, just last month, Yasmin came through for me in a major way. I had this racist asshole for a boss at my security company and Yasmin cleverly got rid of him for me. I ended up taking the sleazy bastard's job as security supervisor. I loved Yasmin something fierce. I could see myself walking down the aisle with her or whatever the Islamic equivalent is, get married and all that jazz. 

If only Yasmin Hussein wasn't tripping. For real. After all that we've been through, all the times we've been there for each other, I can't believe that the mere appearance of a couple of her Somali female friends who disapproved of our relationship would cause Yasmin to start tripping. Don't I matter to her? 

Forget the fact that I, Steve Salomon, am a Haitian-Canadian man and a Christian. Forget that Yasmin Hussein is a Somali-Canadian woman and a Muslim. Forget about our differences in ethnicity, color, culture and religion. Focus on the fact that we're a man and a woman, however different, who love each other. Loved each other. Why let other people come between us? Don't females realize that their female friends don't like to see them happy with their chosen man when they're still single? I thought someone as smart as Yasmin Hussein would be more savvy than that when it comes to this stuff. Guess I was wrong about her.

After class, I walked around campus aimlessly. Yasmin hasn't been by the apartment that we share. I guess she's staying with a friend. I suspect I'll hear from her eventually. I look at my cell phone, and on the wallpaper, I see a picture of Yasmin and I at Soleil Des Iles, one of our favorite restaurants, smiling. God I love this woman. I hope against hope that I don't lose her. Pray for us, folks. You've been with us thus far, dear readers. I hope Yasmin comes back to me. Keeping my fingers crossed. Peace. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 15



I'd lost the love of my life and felt like life wasn't worth living. And then along came Fate, forcibly reminding me through tragedy that one should never take one's loved ones for granted. You never know when you might lose them. My name is Yasmin Hussein, and I'm a young Somali-Canadian Muslim woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. What I'm about to tell you is a true tale of love and loss, tragedy and triumph. A dark day in the history of Ottawa, and a fateful day in my personal life.

My Haitian boyfriend Steve Salomon and I were feuding because he thought I could never accept him for being a Christian. Never mind that I'd broken one of Islam's most sacred rules by sharing my body and my heart with this charming, infuriating young man from another faith. Steve had lost faith in our relationship and I was heartbroken over losing him. After all we'd been through together, it seemed that our relationship was doomed. Unless a miracle happened, or something. 

On October 22, 2014, a day that will live in infamy in the minds of Canadians far and wide, I was in a Tim Horton's near the Ottawa library downtown, sipping coffee while trying really hard not to think about losing the love of my life. Try as I might, Steve Salomon's soulful brown eyes and fearless smile haunted my thoughts. Damn the Haitian bozo for capturing my heart and then shattering it into a trillion pieces. Damn Steve to hell for seducing me, rocking my world, forcing him to choose between him and my Islamic faith, and then discarding me anyway after I chose him.

I sat there, looking at my iPhone, wishing Steve Salomon would get over that infamous Haitian pride of his and call me, his Somali sweetheart. As if he'd get over himself that easily. I had gone to class at Algonquin College earlier and decided to duck out early. Thus I found myself in downtown Ottawa, Metcalfe Street to be exact, a heartbeat away from Parliament Hill, when The Event happened. I was sipping my coffee when I heard shots fired, and panic gripped everyone inside the coffee shop. What in hell was going on?

Later, I would find out that a crazy white guy from Quebec who converted to Islam decided to launch a one-man attack on Parliament Hill, and he left a courageous Canadian soldier dead before he was taken out by the authorities while storming the halls of Parliament itself. I'm glad the Canadian authorities took out this creep. Nutcases like him give Islam a bad name. I saw more police cars than I ever thought possible that day. Like everyone else, I was huddled someplace supposedly safe while all of downtown Ottawa was on lockdown, per orders of the Mayor and the Chief of Police. Doesn't get more official than that.

You got no idea what it felt like, trapped inside that little coffee shop downtown, surrounded by panicked and paranoid strangers. All of whom were looking at me funny because, well, when there's rumors about a terrorist attack, people always look at the Muslims. We're the first ones on everybody's list of suspects. And as a Hijab-wearing Somali gal who happened to be drinking coffee and eating an egg sandwich in the coffee shop that day, I was Muslim with a capital M. 

Later, when things calmed down and the police finished clearing the bloc and started letting people go home, I boarded the first bus heading to the east end from Mackenzie King Bridge, across from the Rideau Center. I grabbed the 95 bus and rode it to Saint Laurent Station, then decided to walk to the home that Steve and I shared in Vanier. I'd been staying at my friend Ayaan's place near Baseline Station since Steve Salomon and I split. Now, though, after the day I had, I wanted to go to the only place that ever truly felt like home.

I walked through the Saint Laurent Mall, and walked toward Donald Street. I was starting to relax somewhat, for this area of Vanier is full of Arabs and Somalis, my people. There's a mosque near the end of the street, and it's right next to a Lebanese Christian church. Who says Muslims and Christians can't get along? I was about a hundred meters from the Masjid and the Arab Christian church, walking up that hill, when I got accosted by a pair of gangly white guys. Although barely out of their teens, they glared at me with an age-old hatred in their blue eyes.

Terrorist bitch, one of them, a tall white dude with red hair, said angrily. He spat on the ground, and took a menacing step toward me. His buddy flanked me, blocking my escape. Even though I was outnumbered, a woman alone against a pair of racist bozos, I refused to bow my head or surrender. I am a proud Muslim woman and this means that I bow down only to Allah, the one true God. I looked at the two racist white dudes defiantly, and told them to go to Hell. I braced myself for what was to come. I'm a tall, curvy young woman and I've got some strength in me. If these two creeps thought I'd go down easily, then they definitely picked on the wrong woman.

Right before the two creeps could pounce on me, a loud masculine voice called them out. I looked up, and guess who I saw? Big and tall, dark-skinned, masculine and roughly handsome. A presence as uplifting as the sun clearing through dark clouds, bathing the world in its light. My chocolate prince. My Haitian king. My sweetheart Steve Salomon. Except that was nothing sweet about him as he told the two skinny white dudes that he would break their necks if they laid a hand on me.

The two pale bozos looked at Steve, then at me. Emboldened by the arrival of my sweetheart, I struck out, smacking the punk nearest me hard across the face. Stunned, the dude mumbled and turned beet red. As his buddy moved to interfere, Steve bodily slammed into him like a charging lineman tackling a quarterback. The fool went down like a sack of potatoes. As the one I just smacked rubbed his face, wincing in pain, I gave him something to cry out. Swiftly I lashed out with my foot, and got him right in the family jewels. The bozo doubled over and fell to his knees, moaning in pain.

Hello beautiful, Steve said to me, and my heart skipped a beat. My boo flashed me that fearless smile that I knew so well, and all the anger and frustration I felt toward my favorite infuriating, argumentative, charming Haitian dude melted like ice in the sun. My boo, I said happily, as Steve pulled me into his arms and kissed me. I hugged him tight, and then we walked home, hand in hand. Our apartment is near where Donald Street intersects with McArthur, right before the Loblaw's. 

Once we got there, Steve Salomon and I sat down and talked. My boo went on and on about how much he missed me and how sorry he was for what he'd done. Steve heard about that crazy shooter on Parliament Hill and how lots of white people in Ottawa were saying bigoted things about Muslims, and he was worried about me. Oh, the Christian dude is worried about the safety of his Muslim girlfriend. I was overjoyed to hear Steve say that but let him squirm for a moment. My fun, you know?

Grinning, I told Steve all was forgiven. Smiling, Steve told me he wanted to order me some food, and welcome me back into our home. I glared at Steve angrily. I love this guy but I swear, sometimes I could smack him for his foolishness. I just got home after days spent away, and my Somali pussy has gone without the feel and touch of his lips, his fingers and his magical Haitian dick for far too long. I'm hungry alright but not for food, I told Steve, and lucky for him, he understood what I meant.

Smiling wolfishly, Steve grabbed me and then practically ripped my clothes off. Groaning like the horny slut I am, I let go as Steve took control of me, laying me on the kitchen table, and burying his face in my boobs as he began fingering my cunt. I moaned softly as I felt Steve's fingers invade my pussy. Steve kissed a path from my tits to my thighs, and spread them wide. I'm hungry, Steve said, and began licking my pussy like a hungry man. Guess he missed me, eh?

I'd gone without my man's touch for far too long and Steve and I definitely made up for lost time. My sexy Haitian stud licked my pussy and fingered it until I cried out, and even then, he continued flicking his tongue over my clit and fingering my cunt until I came not once but twice. I shuddered and writhed, orgasmic for the first time in what seemed like forever. Steve grinned and told me I hadn't felt anything yet.

Moments later, I was happily returning the favor by kneeling before Steve and sucking his long and thick Haitian dick with gusto. I flicked my tongue over Steve's foreskin and pulled it back before giving his dick a long lick. I massaged his hairy, dark balls as I sucked his dick, and Steve moaned deeply. Guess I still got the magic touch. Steve looked at me through hooded, hungry eyes as my Hijab-covered head bobbed up and down in his lap. I'm real good at sucking dick. And my boo knows it. When Steve came, I happily drank every last drop of his seed.

Wonderful, I said, looking up at Steve while wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Steve grinned, and pulled me on top of him. He fastened his mouth to my left breast while gently caressing the right one. I straddled him, and swiftly impaled my cunt on Steve's hard dick. Steve continued sucking on my tits but his hands went elsewhere, roaming all over my curvaceous body. The Haitian stud gripped my hip with one hand and smacked my thick, round Somali ass with the other as he slammed his dick into my cunt. I giggled happily and kissed my boo full and deep while I rode him for all he was worth. Steve kissed me passionately, and we made love like this, roughly and passionately, as is our custom.

After going at it like this for a while, Steve put me on all fours and smacked my big brown butt while slamming his thick dick into my cunt. Yanking off my Hijab, my naughty Haitian stud grabbed my long, lustrous black hair and pulled my head back while fucking me roughly. I hadn't seen Steve get this aggressive in a long time. Guess he missed me more than he let on. I loved this side of him, though. Rough sex is totally my thing. That's why I backed that big ass of mine up, grinding it against Steve's groin. The Haitian stud fucked me real good until he came, and then we lay like this, stinking of our own juices, on the floor.

Welcome home my queen, Steve whispered into my ear. I looked at my favorite Haitian stud and smiled. It's good to be home indeed. That day, Steve and I swore that we would never let anything come between us again. I am a Somali-Canadian Muslim woman and I love my Haitian Christian boyfriend more than life. I absolutely mean that. Fate recently shocked me to my core and reminded me of what matters most.

When I was huddling in that coffee shop, surrounded by white Canadians who viewed me suspiciously because of my skin color and my Hijab, with a shooter on the loose, all I could think of was whether I'd ever hold my sweetheart Steve in my arms again. We're back together and I thank the Most High for His blessings. There's only one God and He's big enough for Jews, Christians and Muslims. No need to fight one another in His name. Steve and I love each other and we're going to be together until we die. I swear it. Wish us luck, though. We are going to need it. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 16



I know you missed me but get on your damn knees if you know what's good for you, Yasmin Hussein's stern voice echoed through our living room, and I obediently did as I was told. It had been a week since my Somali Muslim sweetie and I got back together, following a fateful encounter on the day when tragedy struck the City of Ottawa, Ontario. My name is Steve Salomon, a big and tall young black man of Haitian descent living in Canada's Capital, and I'm happy to say that my queen has returned to her kingdom.

Much has happened between my lady Yasmin Hussein and I lately. We come from different worlds, you see. I am of Haitian descent, as I stated before, and I was brought up in the Christian faith. Roman Catholicism to be exact. As for Yasmin, she is of Somali descent, and like ninety nine percent of all Somalis, my sweetie was raised in the Muslim faith. Sunni Islam to be exact. The thing about Islam is that it has many rules, and one of the strongest ones is that Muslim women aren't supposed to have relations with men of other faiths.

Sparks flew between Yasmin Hussein and I from the moment we met. I was working as a security guard for a fancy office building in downtown Ottawa. Working the overnight shift sucked, but the highlight of my evenings came from observing a certain tall, curvaceous, big-bottomed Somali lady who cleaned the building at night. I started talking and flirting with the tall, curvy Somali chick in the Hijab and long skirt.

Now, anyone who knows Somali women, or Muslim chicks for that matter, would tell you that if you're from another religion and you're trying to holler at them, it's a fool's errand. Yet when I looked into Yasmin's eyes, I saw beauty, lust, power and a barely contained wildness. Hijab and traditional clothes aside, this chick was a freak and something inside of me knew it. That's why I pursued her relentlessly, and eventually got her. Life hasn't been the same since.

Yasmin Hussein, my favorite tall and curvaceous, sinfully sexy brown-skinned Somali cutie sat on a high-backed chair in the living room of our Vanier apartment, smiling wickedly. Clad in a crimson bra, scarlet panties and a bright red Hijab, my woman looked amazingly hot. Something about a sexy woman wearing the Hijab and nothing else ( or a bra and panties ) simply turns me on. Stroking her bright red strap-on dildo, Yasmin Hussein looked at me menacingly. Suck me off, my lady ordered, and I did as I was told.

Kneeling before my lady, I began sucking on Yasmin's strap-on dildo with gusto, and Yasmin cooed softly while stroking my head. I love sucking Yasmin's dildo. And I do a good job of it because of one reason and one reason only. It's going up my ass later. This much I know for sure. With her thick, shapely thighs spread wide open, Yasmin Hussein looks positively inviting. I could smell her pussy from where I was, my mouth swallowing her dildo. 

Yasmin Hussein and I continued with our fun, and after making me polish her dildo with my lips and tongue, my bossy Somali goddess told me to get on all fours. Face down and ass up, Yasmin barked in a bossy tone, and I hesitated for a moment. Look, I'm a man alright and I don't roll over that easily, not even for the woman I love. Yasmin Hussein smacked me upside the head when I didn't comply with her orders fast enough, and I glared at her sharply. Do as I command, Yasmin said angrily. Swallowing my pride, I did as I was told.

I got on all fours, face down and ass up, and felt Yasmin Hussein get behind me. Her sleek hands reach for my ass cheeks and spread them wide open. Your ass is mine, Yasmin said softly, and then I felt her apply something cold and slick against my anus. Yasmin smacked my ass playfully, and I felt her press her strap-on dildo against my ass. Yasmin gripped my hips and began pushing her dildo up my ass. I groaned sharply as I felt Yasmin's dildo invading my asshole. Gets me every damn time. 

Yasmin Hussein began fucking me with deep, powerful strokes. Her strap-on dildo filled my ass, and I felt my dick harden in response. I couldn't help it. The male G-spot is located down below, and the strap-on dildo filling my ass was tickling it. Yasmin reached underneath me and began stroking my dick, and I sighed happily. Yasmin gleefully fucked me with the dildo, plunging her phallic toy into the forbidden depths of my asshole.

Man, before I met Yasmin Hussein, I used to believe that all of them Hijab-wearing Muslim chicks I saw walking all over the City of Ottawa were dull, boring and submissive. Not my fault, you know. My experience with these ladies was limited, to tell you the truth. What did I know about them? To me, they were these exotic and forbidden ladies from another faith, another culture, another side of the damn world. Well, after meeting, wining, dining and dating Yasmin, I now know better. 

Like the dominant Muslim chick that she is, Yasmin Hussein drilled my ass with her strap-on dildo. Shoot, Yasmin jammed that dildo so far up my ass, I felt like I was being split in half. I screamed like a madman, something which seemed to amuse Yasmin, for she laughed, smacked my ass and fucked me even harder. Yeah, my Somali dominatrix of a girlfriend can be sadistic and twisted at times. And you know what? I wouldn't have her any other way!

Yasmin Hussein and I had our fun, and my sexy Somali lady left me with a decidedly sore butt. We showered together, then went to bed. Fell asleep in each other's arms just like old times. Hard to believe that just over a week ago, Yasmin and I were sleeping in separate beds, hell, living in separate houses, all over the issue of our religious and cultural differences. We're past that now, though. At least I hope we are. We're an interfaith couple. A kinky and voluptuous Somali Muslim gal with a Christian boyfriend from the island of Haiti. And the world isn't ending. Peace. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 17



Face down and ass up, that's the way I like to pray. That's how we Muslims do it. I never gave much thought to how it must look, until someone very dear to me, who happens to from another faith, pointed it out. The things one never notices, eh? My name is Yasmin Hussein and I'm a young Muslim woman of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. 

I study accounting at Algonquin College, and live in Vanier with my boyfriend Steve Salomon. We're an interfaith couple living on the east end of our fair Capital, just regular folks with our ups and downs. Steve Salomon attends Carleton University, where he's studying business management. We're both close to completing our programs at our respective educational institutions, and we're slowly building a life together.

Steve Salomon and I have been through so much lately, as has Ottawa, the town we both call home. The death of a Canadian soldier in downtown Ottawa at the hands of a Quebec-born radical forever changed daily life for the people of the Canadian capital. As a Muslim woman, I cannot escape the suspicious looks I get from otherwise decent and normal Canadian citizens who now think of my faith as dangerous and radical. If they only knew.

Millions of Muslims call Canada home, and most of us are peaceful. I am a young Muslim woman of Somali and Arabian descent, and since I like to go out wearing the Hijab and a traditional long skirt, I get stared at. In the eyes of most Canadians, I will always be the cultural other. One of those Hijab-wearing women. An anomaly. Something different. I know this and I refuse to let it phase me.

When terrible hardship comes one's way, one tends to fall back on what one knows. I am a Muslim woman, that means that I submit to the Will of Allah, the one true God. I am devoted to my faith, and I believe the Creator of the Universe has good things in store for me, but these days, life is far from simple or easy. 

I am madly in love with a young man of the Christian faith. Steve Salomon, the big and tall, roughly handsome Haitian stud who stole my heart. According to the most sacred rules of Islam, a Muslim woman must not have relations with men of other faiths. I have broken this rule in the name of love. I love Steve Salomon and I wouldn't give him up even if you put a blade to my neck. Love is a powerful thing, ladies and gentlemen. A disease from which I have no wish to be cured. 

I read a few passages from the Holy Koran and then knelt down and prayed in the living room. It was the wee hours of the morning, the time of the first prayer. I rose from the bed I shared with my beloved, and gently kissed my sleeping lover Steve Salomon on the forehead before leaving our bedroom. I got dressed, grabbed my holy book and went to the living room, my designated prayer area, and prayed.

I was close to finishing my prayer when I heard a noise behind me. I turned around and saw Steve standing there, clad in his crimson boxers, and nothing else. My handsome Haitian lover stared at me, open-mouthed, eyes filled with surprise. I guess in all the time we'd been living together, Steve had never seen me pray. I sighed deeply, finished my prayer and then slowly rose to my feet. Good morning Stevie, I said warmly, greeting my lover with a hug and a kiss.

Steve pulled me into his arms, and took my face into his hands. That was beautiful, he said, smiling. I looked at him, and smiled as well. Steve looked me in the eyes and asked me how come he'd never seen me pray before. I bit my lip before answering. Shall I tell him the truth? I took a deep breath, then answered Steve's question as truthfully as I could. I told him that given all the problems our religious differences caused our relationship, I prayed in private. I'd come close to losing Steve after we had a nasty argument over our differences, and didn't want a repeat experience.

Steve looked at me, shook his head and a sad look crept into his handsome face. Your faith is part of you and I respect it more than you think, he said to me. My heart warmed upon hearing these words and I kissed him passionately. Steve smiled and told me that next time, we would pray together. I hastily agreed, and then, well, we went into the kitchen for breakfast. I swear, Steve must part Somali or something because when he said "let's make breakfast", he just sat his black ass down at the kitchen table and grabbed a book while looking at me expectantly.

Guys, I swear, they've got the same bad habits regardless of culture. I'm going to school this morning and I've got to make breakfast for Steve. Ha! Haitian guys, just like Somali dudes, sometimes need to be reminded that their lady is not their Houyo ( mother ). Steve busied himself reading the Ottawa Sun newspaper while I made us an omelet, and fried some halal hotdogs. I looked at Steve pointed as he put his feet up on the table. The burly Haitian flashed me a sheepish grin, and then took his feet off the table.

I watched as Steve went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of orange juice and two plastic cups along with ice cubes from the freezer. My way of helping out, he said with a grin. I rolled my eyes and smiled. Hey, at least he got us the drinks. That's more than the Somali dudes I grew up with would have done. In Islamic households, cooking and cleaning is the woman's duty. The men do, well, next to nada. Thank the Most High Steve's Haitian mother gave him some home training.

I was just done with the omelet and turned off the stove when I felt a pair of strong arms embrace me from behind. Steve hugged me tightly, and I felt his tongue on my earlobe. You look so sexy in the kitchen Yasmin, Steve whispered into my ear. I shuddered with excitement as my sexy Haitian lover caressed my big brown ass through my long, traditional Islamic skirt with one hand while his other hand stroked my breasts.

Oh Steve, I whispered hotly as my sexy Haitian stud grabbed me and then put me on the kitchen counter. Steve kissed me full and deep, and then proceeded to unbutton my shirt, thus freeing my breasts. I groaned softly as Steve sucked on my tits, and his hand slipped between my thighs. Steve's agile fingers darted into my pussy. Grinning, Steve remarked that I wasn't wearing any panties. I smiled wickedly, and kissed him. Steve continued fingering my cunt, and I cried out in pleasure as he slid three, then four fingers into my wet pussy.

A little while later, I was writhing and moaning on the kitchen table as Steve buried his face between my legs, eagerly licking my cunt. Slow down, I whispered, and Steve flicked his tongue over my clitoris, sliding his fingers deep into my pussy. I squealed in delight and urged Steve to continue, and my sexy stud definitely did not let me down. After licking my pussy till I cried out, orgasmic, Steve grinned wolfishly. Taking my hands, he pressed them against his long and thick, uncircumcised Haitian dick which he freed from his boxers.

Grinning, I got on my knees and sucked my boyfriend's dick with gusto. Steve sighed happily and stroked my Hijab-covered head as I sucked him off. I massaged his balls while going down on him. I sucked Steve off until he came. And when he did, instead of shrinking back, I braced myself for what was to come. Steve came, and his cum splashed across my face. Some of his semen even got on my Hijab. I sucked every last drop of cum out of his dick, until it went soft in my mouth.

Sighing happily, Steve pulled me up and kissed me full and deep. You're amazing, he said, taking my face into his hands. I smiled and hugged him tight. It's amazing how much I love this crazy, wicked and at times infuriating but always charming young Haitian man. After this delightful session of oral pleasure, we sat down and ate breakfast as if nothing had happened. I had to change my outfit before heading to school, though. Cum stains are hard to get out of one's Hijab, as I'm finding out. Steve walked me to the number nine bus stop, and waited till I got on the bus. I blew him a kiss and waved him goodbye. Wallahi I love this Haitian dude! 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 18



I probably shouldn't have done this, but I've been browsing through my Haitian boyfriend Steve Salomon's diary. Makes for truly fascinating reading, let me tell you. I just couldn't resist peering into my lover's mind and see what he truly thinks. If that makes me a nosy bitch, so be it. My name is Yasmin Hussein, and I'm a young black Muslim woman of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm a student at Algonquin College, studying accounting. Steve and I live together on Donald Street in Vanier, in the east end of Ottawa. Life is alright for us these days. 

After reading the first few pages, I was smiling because they were full of praise from Steve. My sexy Haitian boo lavished me with praise, calling me his "Somali goddess" and his "big-booty sweetheart". I was smiling from ear to ear until I began to read about Steve's criticisms of me. Phrases like "Yasmin takes too long in the shower" and "she needs to stop stealing my razors" littered the next pages, and I was nonplussed. What the fuck? Miffed, I continued to read, and grew angrier and more perplexed by the minute.

By the time I got to the passage where Steve Salomon, in his typical Haitian arrogance, made unflattering remarks about the way I smelled after coming home from the local gym without showering, I was boiling mad. I went to class and then came home. I was still simmering over what I read in Steve's journal. I love this man something fierce. I call Steve my Haitian prince in my most private moments. Is that what he truly thinks of me?

It always galls me, to hear men talk about women's imperfections. As if they're perfect. Ha! If I were to dish on Steve Salomon, I could tell you about his farting jokes, his nasty habit of pissing in the toilet and not flushing it right away, and the fact that he likes to hum when he has to go the washroom in the middle of the night. Dude always wakes me up with his nightly antics, and not in a good way.

I'm not a perfect woman, and I never claimed to be. I'm almost six feet tall, curvy, wide-hipped and big-bottomed, with golden brown skin, long curly black hair and dark eyes. I'm a chubby brown woman in a world that worships skinny white girls. Oh, and I also wear the Hijab half the time. It's not easy to be me. I gave Steve the best of me. To hear that he's dissatisfied angers me like you would not believe. When Steve dragged his ass home after a long day at Carleton University, he found me sitting in the living room, watching Swim Fan, one of my favorite movies. Hello babe, Steve hollered, and leaned over to kiss me on the lips.

You got some nerve, I said, shaking my head and staring at Steve through angry eyes. My favorite big and tall Haitian looked at me pensively. What's wrong sweetie? Steve asked. I pursed my full lips, and flashed him a smile a shark would recognize. Steve took a step back, and inside, I rejoiced. It's good to know I can still scare him from time to time. Steve grabbed the chair opposite me, never taking his eyes off of me, and then asked me what was up.

Without a word, I took the journal, and handed it to him. Explain this, I said angrily, looking Steve in the eye. My boo took a deep breath, and smiled at me. As I looked on, Steve flipped to the very beginning of the journal, and then pointed something out to me. "My Somali Romance by Steve Salomon", the title of a forthcoming fiction book written by yours truly, he said, grinning. I gawked at Steve, stunned speechless. I was NOT expecting that, ladies and gentlemen. 

Sorry for being a paranoid and nosy bitch, I said sheepishly, biting my lip and looking meekly at Steve Salomon. My favorite Haitian stud looked at me and shook his head. Nosy Somali women, he said, laughing heartily. I looked at him, still feeling deeply embarrassed for my latest gaffe. I had no idea Steve was writing a novel loosely based on our daily lives, or that he considered me his muse. Steve got up and went to the kitchen. He grabbed a gallon of orange juice and poured himself a cup. Damn, I really blew it this time, eh? Open mouth and insert foot, I guess. Steve ignored me and went to the living room.

Turning on the TV, Steve Salomon sipped on his orange juice and turned on CNN, where the middle-aged blonde newscaster went on and on about the Republicans standing poised to take over the U.S. Senate, which would result in a nightmare for current United States President and democratic party leader Barack Obama. Although I like Obama, I don't really pay attention to U.S. politics. Why is that?

Got our favorite conservative tyrant Stephen Harper and his Tory buddies to worry about here in Canada. These bozos hate immigrants, especially Muslims. Steve on the other hand has family and friends in the States and he's fascinated by U.S. politics. My boo watched television and continued ignoring me. What's a gal to do in this situation? Hmmm. Steve just came home and he's famished. There are no Shawarma restaurants or Haitian restaurants near the Carleton University campus, so he probably only had Tim Horton's since he left the house this morning. I know Steve really well.

That's why I went to the kitchen and took out the tasty traditional Somali dish I prepared earlier. Goat meat and rice, with Angelo bread, a type of Somali cornbread called Moofus, and last but not least, Beer Iyo Basal, which is essentially liver and onions. Steve loves meat and spicy food, and as a Somali woman, I am glad to hear that because spicy foods and tasty meats are delicacies where I come from. I took the food out the stove, and prepared the table. I could sense Steve's eyes on me, and knew he could definitely smell the food.

And now to entice him, I thought wickedly, as I "accidentally" dropped my keys, and bent down to pick them up. I should mention I had on a red tank top, black sweatpants, and a crimson headscarf. I heard Steve sigh from the living room and smiled, before slowly, very slowly, picking my keys up and rising. I turned around, and found Steve standing half a meter from me. I pretended to be surprised. Steve smiled wolfishly, and pulled me into his arms. Thought you were hungry, I whispered, grinning.

Steve kissed me full and deep. I'm hungry for you Yasmin, he whispered into my ear as he began undressing me. Feast on me, I said hotly, and Steve laid me on the kitchen counter and did just that. Steve kissed my lips, my neck and my breasts. His hand slipped between my thick thighs, and his fingers slid into my cunt. Steve kissed a path from my lips to my belly, and finally the space between my thighs. I arched my back and cried out as Steve began munching on my sweet pussy like a hungry man.

Having only been with Steve, I'm in no position to say whether all Haitian men are as passionate about eating pussy as my boo, but he's definitely got skills. Steve's tongue teased my clitoris as his fingers darted deep into my cunt, setting me on fire while probing the depths of my womanhood. Dude had me crying out in every last language I knew, from Somali to English, French and profane. Yeah, Steve definitely knows how to make a gal's toes curl. After eating me out and leaving me quivering and moaning in post-orgasmic bliss, Steve smiled at me and thanked me for breakfast.

I sat there, with my legs spread, naked safe for my headscarf, and looked at Steve. I honestly thought he was going to fuck me, but my favorite Haitian grabbed some food from the kitchen table and ate it. I watched as Steve grabbed some butter from the fridge and approached me with a weird grin on his face. Steve? I said hesitantly, not knowing what to expect. Steve grinned and without warning, applied a big glop of butter to my pussy. I gasped in shock, and Steve grinned wickedly, while freeing his long and thick, uncircumcised dick from his pants.

Yummy, Steve said, and kissed me tenderly before spreading my thighs further apart. Without another word, Steve thrust his dick into my cunt. Yeah, dude just shoved his dick into my butter-covered cunt. I wrapped my arms around Steve as he began pounding away at me. Never let it be said that my favorite Haitian stud doesn't know to improvise. I welcomed him inside of me, loving his odd mixture of roughneck and tenderness. 

Things got much hotter when Steve turned me around, smacked my ass and said he wanted a shot at my thick Somali ass. Bring it on, I said, and Steve laughed as I spread my plump ass cheeks wide open for him. Steve used butter to lubricate my asshole, and then pressed his hard dick against my backdoor. I licked my lips in anticipation as Steve pushed his dick into my asshole. Gripping me by my wide hips, Steve buried his big Haitian cock up my Somali asshole just like he said he would. I sighed happily as I felt Steve's dick fill up my anal canal. A man of his word, that's my boo.

Steve and I went at it, happily indulging in the pleasures of butt fucking. We had been at it for a while until, well, nature called. No, I didn't have to shit. That would have been awkward and messy. I farted instead. Yup, that's right I farted right on Steve Salomon's dick, as it was lodged up my asshole. I turned around and looked at Steve, smiling sheepishly. Oops, I blew it again.

Sorry I farted on your dick, I said, and Steve laughed so hard that, well, he squeezed one out too. That's right, my boo farted as well. Steve and I just laughed away all awkwardness, and continued fucking. Until he came, blasting my asshole with a torrent of hot, masculine cum. I cried out, squealing in delight as I felt Steve's hot cum flood my bowels. Maybe it's because as a Muslim woman I was taught that anal sex is dirty and forbidden, and I love breaking the rules, but I really, really love backdoor sex. And all that it entails. I pushed back against Steve, grinding my big butt against his groin. Steve sighed happily, and we remained locked in a tight embrace. 

Steve and I ate brunch much later, with the smell of his dick, his cum, my pussy and my ass lingering in the kitchen as we ate. While eating some of the tasty liver and onions I prepared, Steve slid his hand under the table, thrust a finger into my cunt and brought it to his lips. I love everything Somali, the Haitian stud said with a wry grin. I smiled, shaking my head in disbelief. I kissed Steve, amazed at the depths of this man's sinfully sexy wickedness. Even after all this time together, my Haitian stud keeps his favorite Somali woman guessing. And I wouldn't have him any other way.



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 19



As Salam Alaikum, dear reader. My name is Yasmin Hussein, and I'm a young Muslim woman of Somali descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. Today is one of the happiest days of my life. Why is that, you may ask? The answer is quite simple, really. I am graduating from Algonquin College with a degree in accounting. Sadly, in this most emotional of days, my family isn't there. 

Not because they don't know I am graduating but because they don't care. I'm not going to sugar coat things at this point. I, Yasmin Hussein, am an outcast in Somali Canadian culture. My own family has turned its back on me. You see, they've forsaken me because I fell in love with Steve Salomon, a handsome and sweet young Haitian man who happens to be of the Christian faith. For loving him, I am dead to my family.

On this day, where, surrounded by the smiling faces of my fellow grads, I yearned to see my parents and extended family, I felt more alone than ever. At least I did, until I saw my boo, Steve Salomon, flanked by his parents, and a few people I did not know. When I walked to the podium to receive my diploma from the school chancellor, a loud applause arose. All from the Salomon clan. I wasn't expecting that. Truth be told, it moved me to tears.

I had seen young men and women in caps and gowns receive their degrees while their families and friends cheered. I thought that when my turn came, the silence would be deafening. After all, I had no family in attendance. Well, on this day, I learned that family doesn't stop at blood. When I walked back to my seat, I saw Steve and his parents, waiving at me, laughing and smiling. I waved back at them, tears streaming down my eyes.

After the ceremony, we held a reception at the Salomon household, and I watched, amazed, as these people I once viewed as strangers treated me as if I were their own daughter. Hope you're enjoying your special day, Steve's Mom said to me. I smiled and nodded, then hugged the old Haitian lady fiercely. I thanked her profusely, and Steve smiled and nodded at his Dad, who winked at his son. That afternoon, I ate some truly delicious Haitian food, surrounded by people who clearly cared about me.

As I sat there, I watched Steve and his family. The Salomon clan was something else. What a wonderful people, I thought wistfully. I had met Steve's folks a few times before and their reaction toward me had been lukewarm at best. I bet good Haitian Catholic mothers don't expert their intelligent and well-behaved Haitian sons to bring home Hijab-wearing Somali Muslim girls. Not with so many Haitian Christian women around. Yet in spite of their misgivings, the Salomon's were throwing me a party and treating me with great kindness because they knew I loved their son Steve and that he loved me dearly. 

I am beyond touched by the kindness and generosity of the Salomon clan. As I sat at the dinner table before the sumptuous feast prepared by Steve Salomon's mother, the lady of the house, I felt moved. No Somali family would go to such lengths to please their offspring if they did not approve of the person he or she was with. Trust me on that one. Haitians are something else. After this emotional day, I was ready to eat but Steve's Mom said that we had to say Grace.

I watched as every person at the table, male or female, young or old, bowed their heads. Steve's Mom nodded at her husband, and Steve's Dad cleared his throat before saying Grace. Thank you God in Heaven for this meal and bless those who prepared it and bless Yasmin who is graduating today, the old man said, and then everyone at the table said amen. I heard myself say amen, much to my immense surprise. 

Understand that in the Muslim community, we don't pray over our meals. This is a largely Christian tradition. Not sure if the Jews pray over their meals but it is not something that Muslims do. After Steve's father finished saying the prayer, one of the shortest prayers I've ever heard, we began eating. I ate some delicious rice and chicken, with macaroni, and I washed it down with Pepsi and a type of lemonade-like Haitian tea. Good stuff. After the meal, we watched TV in the family living room.

Steve and I snuggled on the couch, while his Dad and Mom sat in separate chairs. We watched Boomerang on BET. It's a classic romantic comedy starring Eddie Murphy, Halle Berry and the always unforgettable Grace Jones. At home with the Salomon's, in the arms of my beloved Steve, I felt happy for the first time in ages. When it came time for Steve and I to head home, I hugged his Mom and Dad, and then we drove away. Your parents are awesome, I said to Steve, who smiled and nodded. They're amazing, he said, and remained quiet as we drove from Orleans, Ontario, back to our little spot in Vanier.

As soon as we got home, I changed out of my cap and gown, into something much more comfortable. A crimson tank top, blue shorts, and baseball cap. Hello stranger, I said sexily, as Steve stepped out of the shower. The big and tall Haitian stud smiled wolfishly at me, and I knew that I was going to get the D. Grinning, I got on my hands and knees and crawled toward Steve Salomon on all fours.

The Haitian stud stroked his long and thick, uncircumcised chocolate stick and waved it at me. I reached for it with both hands and stroked it. Fuck yeah, Steve whispered. Grinning, I licked the head of his cock and then began sucking it earnestly. It didn't take Steve long to cum. My boo confessed that he had been wanting to fuck me all day. You look hot in that graduation day cap and gown stuff, Steve said, and I winked at him appreciatively while going down on him.

After a while, Steve came and I happily drank his seed. I love the way my boo tastes. Once Steve got his nut, he told me he was hungry for some of my sweet Somali pussy. I smiled at him as I lay on the bed, legs spread invitingly. Somali pussy is the best, I said confidently, and Steve's eager nod told me that he most definitely agreed with that statement. I lay there, gently rubbing my lover's head as he buried his face between my shapely thighs. Eat that pussy, I said cheerfully, and Steve did just that.

A lot of guys treat oral sex as if it's just a preliminary but Steve treats it as though it's the main event. The Haitian stud worked his tongue and fingers into my pussy, and set my cunt on fire with his magic touch. I howled Steve's name in just about every frigging language I knew, including Somali, French, English and profane! A grinning Steve pulled me on top of him and impaled my hungry cunt on his hard dick. I wasn't expecting that but totally loved the deliciously hot pain I felt down below as Steve's thick Haitian cock stabbed my wet Somali pussy. 

Fuck me lover, I whispered, as I wrapped my arms lovingly around Steve's torso. A savage grin etched on his roughly handsome features, Steve kissed me full and deep, then smacked my ass as he thrust his big dick deep inside of me. I howled in pleasure as I felt Steve's length invade my cunt. It had been too long since my boo and I got our freak on. Three whole days. For a couple as passionate as Steve and I, it's almost an eternity!

Steve slammed his dick into my pussy mercilessly. This Somali woman loves rough sex and my boo was more than happy to oblige. Steve fucked me until I cried out for mercy, and then fucked me some more. Once all was said and done, I lay in my boo's strong arms. My voluptuously womanly form is covered with sweat, I've got Steve's cum dripping out of my cunt, and I feel pleasurably sore all over. I am a happy woman. 

Lying next to Steve in the dark, my mind drifted. I realize that I hadn't been too easy to deal with. As always, Steve was patient with me. Graduation day was approaching and with that threshold around the corner, I was nervously and anxiously reviewing my life. I am a young Somali woman. The daughter of immigrants from the Horn of Africa. Getting a college education is a big deal for me. I wish my family, the Hussein clan, could have been there but they've abandoned me. I don't need them. I am thankful that my boo, Steve Salomon, and his family, have made my graduation day extra special. When Steve graduates from Carleton University, I'm totally going to be there for him. Good night. 



Somali Queen In Ottawa Ch. 20



During our naked mixed-wrestling sessions, I tend to "accidentally" fart in front of my boyfriend Steve Salomon, for, ahem, competitive advantage. Works every time because my favorite Haitian stud is exceptionally vulnerable to the toxic fumes emitted by my thick, round and absolutely mesmerizing all-natural Somali woman's derriere. I'm wicked like that, what can I say? That's just the way I get down.

My name is Yasmin Hussein and I'm a young Somali-Canadian woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I recently graduated from Algonquin College with a degree in Accounting, and like many recent college and university grads out there in the Capital, I'm looking for work. I have sent out resumes and filled out over a hundred job applications both online and on paper. So far? Nada. Actually, less than nada. If I had nada, that would be something. 

I feel a bit envious of my boyfriend Steve Salomon, because he recently got a paid internship with McMillan, one of the top companies in the City of Ottawa. All thanks to one of his professors at the Sprott School of Business at Carleton University. I'm happy for Steve, truly, I am. I hope you believe me. I've never been the type of female to feel jealousy toward those who find success. I believe that my time will come. At least that's what I tell myself. 

Much has happened since I graduated from Algonquin College, to tell you the truth. I no longer work as a cleaner, I quit that job because I consider it beneath me. I have a degree from an accredited Canadian institution of higher education, I speak English and French fluently, and I have references up the yin yang, from former co-workers and instructors. By all rights, a person with my qualifications should be gainfully employed in the City of Ottawa. Unfortunately, that is not the case.

Steve Salomon is making twenty dollars per hour as a paid intern with the McMillan Corporation, and he gets to wear a tie and business casual clothing to work. Not bad for a guy who once used to borrow cash from me, eh? Heaven knows how much I supported Steve's dreams when he was just a rent-a-cop while studying business management at Carleton University. Never let it be said that black women, or Afro-Arabian gals like myself, aren't supportive of our men. 

I spend my days wandering the City of Ottawa, spending time at employment resource centers, and public libraries, looking for work. Sometimes I dress up, in a stylish white blouse and pantsuit, while I go job hunting. Got to look the part of the professional woman if you want to get hired, you know? At least that's what I thought. Someone forgot to tell me that as an educated young woman of color, I am seen as a threat by some and a socio-cultural anomaly by others. Oh, and there's also good old fashioned discrimination at work. What's holding me back? Take your damn pick.

At last, I finally got an interesting lead. Aria Farouk, a young Arab Christian woman working at the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce, told me that her bank's call center was looking for new employees. Bilingualism is considered an asset in such a field, Amina insisted, and I took down the number and address that she gave me. I called the number, and spoke to a lady at the other end. The woman put me on hold for ten minutes, and then she finally came back, and gave me an email address which I had for forward my resume to, to even be considered for the job.

I went through the process, and a day after I sent the email, I got a response. I was told to bring a copy of my resume to this address in the environs of Gloucester, Ontario. Not far from the Silver City movie theater, one of Steve Salomon's favorite places. It's where we go every Tuesday for date night. I showed up at this nondescript building, and walked in. In the lobby, I was greeted by a security guard, a middle-aged white woman with reddish brown hair in a dark blue uniform.

The security guard looked me up and down, and asked me to sit down. Then she went to her desk, called a number, and told someone that their "ten o'clock" was here. A few minutes later, someone else came into the room. A tall, attractive woman in her mid-thirties with black hair, dark bronze skin and brown eyes. Clad in a white blouse, dark gray silk pants and high heels, the gal looked real good.

Hello Yasmin I'm Noor, the woman said, extending a well-manicured hand for me to shake. I smiled and shook her hand, and then we walked past the waiting area, into a vast hall. We took the elevators to the third floor, and once there, Noor took me to her office. The place was small but tasteful. I looked at the walls, and saw that among her qualifications, Noor had a diploma in police foundations from La Cite Collegiale, and a bachelor's degree in sociology from the University of Ottawa. How does one go from studying sociology at university and police foundations in college to working at a call center? Ottawa is a strange place, man.

Noor told me about the CIBC Call Center, and about herself. Born in Egypt and raised in Montreal, Noor moved to Ottawa to attend university. While in town, she graduated, got married and began working at the call center. Good for you Noor, I thought, wondering why this gal felt like telling me her whole life story. While speaking, Noor accidentally slipped into Arabic, and apologized for it. I smiled and shrugged, and answered her in Arabic. You see, a lot of Somalis speak the Arabic language, the mother tongue of Islam, and I was no exception. 

Noor seemed pleased that I spoke Arabic, and at the end of the interview, the Arab gal smiled pleasantly and asked me when could I start. Right away, I said happily, and we shook hands. Noor gave me a few forms to sign, and made copies of my Ontario driver's licence, my social insurance card, and my health card. For human resources, Noor told me, and I nodded eagerly. I managed to keep my cool as Noor walked me to the elevator but once inside, I giggled and squealed in delight. Finally, I got myself a J.O.B. Thanks be to Allah, the Most High. 

I felt giddy with happiness as I walked to the bus station at Blair. Man, this was definitely a good day. The call center job pays sixteen dollars per hour to start. What's the best part? I'll get to wear stylish business clothes and have a cool work ID with my picture on it and the company logo. Just like all those overly proud and stuffy government workers I see walking around downtown Ottawa. How cool is that? Now, this isn't what I pictured myself doing when I went to Algonquin College to study accounting. Still, as I'll be helping people with banking transactions over the phone, my accounting knowledge will definitely come in handy.

I went home that day with a song in my heart. I called Steve, for I wanted my boyfriend by my side so we could celebrate good and proper. Know what the foolish Haitian stud told me? He couldn't come home right away to satisfy my womanly needs because he was busy with his corporate job. Ever since one of his managers hinted that Steve might be shortlisted for upcoming job openings, my darling boyfriend has been insufferable. I honestly think corporate Canada has gotten to Steve's brain. My boo has always been proud, but now he's becoming kind of a dick. Oh, and he's too busy to give me the D? Damn. I didn't see that one coming.

With my boyfriend away and my body wracked with horniness, what's a gal to do? I lay naked on the bed Steve Salomon and I shared, and pleasured myself. First I caressed and pinched my breasts, then I slid two fingers into my pussy. Slowly but surely, I found my "on" button, and turned it up to the max. I closed myself as I finger fucked myself. I visualized Steve's thick Haitian dick invading my cunt. Got my pussy all tingly. Still not sated, I took a dildo, dipped it in Aloe cream, and slowly worked it up my butt hole.

I was masturbating furiously, thrusting the dildo up my ass and my fingers up my pussy when a deep sigh caused my eyes to snap open. I hadn't even felt Steve's presence, yet there he was. My boo stood there, looking fantastic in a red silk shirt, black silk pants and black tie. I smiled at him, blushing because, well, Steve caught me masturbating. Typically, women catch men jerking off. Well, tonight, the shoe is on the other foot.

Don't stop on my account, Steve said, grinning. I smiled and spread my legs invitingly. Looking deep into Steve's eyes, I continued fingering my cunt. If you want it come and get it, I whispered. I swear, Steve must set a world record in speedily undressing and leaping onto the bed. I laughed and playfully tried to push him away as he came for me, naked and horny, a big Haitian craving my sweet Somali pussy.

Steve and I wrestled and this time I let the fool win, because, well, I wanted the D. I sighed happily as Steve put me on all fours, smacked my big butt and eased his big dick into my cunt. Welcome home, I whispered as Steve held my hands behind my back and pressed my body downward. Face down and ass up, that's the way I love to do many things, especially fucking. Steve pounded into me, slamming his hard dick deep into my pussy. We fucked just like old times, roughly and passionately, for that's our way of doing things.

Much later, Steve and I lay side by side, on a bed soaked with our juices. The bed reeked of semen and smelled like pussy, two most wonderful smells. Resting my head against Steve's chest, I told him about my day, and casually dropped the fact that CIBC's Call Center just hired yours truly. Congrats my love, Steve whispered into my ear. I smiled happily and I was about to tell him more about the job, but he started kissing my tummy and then buried his face between my legs. That's when I, um, forgot what I was about to say.