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Confessions of a girl slut 8
Sissy ‘wife’ to a Turk
I mentioned in a previous confession - where I first had sex with a black stud in Berlin - that I had been seeing an Arab guy so now I want to set that down too on record!
I moved to Berlin fifteen years ago, partly for the culture - great music and opera and cheap! - and partly for the sex scene. I thought that as a sissy if there was so much going on, then there must be a lot of sex for sissies. If there was, I found it difficult to source. Much to my surprise, there was no really developed tgirl commercial scene. No bars and clubs really except a few very low key affairs in various out of the way places. There was the famous KitKat club but to gain entry to that you had to be in some kinky gear. (Of course, I went there in rubber doll gear and had a great time.) The truth is that Berlin is so open and accepting that tgirls are seen as part of the rich variety of life, rather than a ghetto. So, in fact, you could be in a perfectly ordinary restaurant or bar and there would be tgirls. Integrated and accepted.
But how to meet men?! I signed up to a few German contact sites specifically for tgirls. But there was virtually nothing in Berlin! It was all the remote little towns and cities of Germany where tgirls were generally deeply closeted. I found that any encounters I had were through UK sites with guys on holiday or there on business. It wasn’t a famine but it wasn’t great either.
Then, on one of the German sites, a Turkish guy in Berlin contacted me. He was very upfront. Muslim men are expected not to have sex with a woman until after marriage; he was 30 years old; and needed sexual relief. He wanted sex on the simplest of terms - basically cum and go. He knew Western women had a freer attitude to sex but his attempts to find a German woman had come to nothing. Hence, he had joined a trans site, feeling that someone who looked like a woman could satisfy him. Now I must say something a little controversial about Berlin - despite being a very open and friendly and accepting city, it too had issues with the number of Turkish immigrants. Basically, they lived separate lives. They had their own communities and their own restaurants. There was very little evidence of interplay between the German and the Turkish community.
So, he was still a virgin at the age of thirty. He had only ever masturbated to find sexual relief. All this made me a little nervous about meeting him. It sort of imposed responsibility on me - I felt I was doing it for the tgirl community, recruiting as it were another straight man to that community of men who really appreciate the sexual services of a sissy.
I dressed quite conservatively, definitely downplaying the slut aspect which always formed a part of my look at that time. Actually, it was just about the only look I projected at that time! Straight guys love sluts who put out, never say no, and give them what they want. And don’t ask for payment. A free whore - what could be better?
I downplayed my makeup too. I didn’t go for the brightest of red lipsticks or garish eye shadow. I looked like a pretty ordinary woman, all in all. But hoped I was an attractive one.
I half-expected a no show, given his inexperience, his lack of English, and German that was not even as good as mine and I was not fluent by any means. But we had managed to communicate. I knew that essentially all he wanted was uncomplicated sex. Well, he did show up and was better looking than his photograph had suggested. It had looked rather like a bad passport photo where he presented a stern, unsmiling face. But he was tall, dark, fit and handsome. He definitely gave rise to some fantasies of mine of submitting to a dominant Arab Master. He had dressed for the occasion in a suit, shirt and tie with highly polished shoes.
He was nervous, of course, but then so was I. I didn’t know whether I should take the offensive or wait for him to do so. In fact, he did though not in an overtly sexual way. He asked me to stand back from him while he took a seat. He was sizing me up. He asked me to pose, to turn around, to lift my skirt, show him my bum, lower my panties. He avoided my sissy clit. I didn’t mind that. I felt more feminine knowing it was tucked away in a gaffe and didn’t show. I felt like a piece of meat being judged - which I loved! I also felt that a Dom/sub dynamic had been very quickly set up.
The inspection over, he got up and moved in on me, forcefully kissing me deeply while his hands explored my ass. And not just my ass but my stockings and and suspender belt. He especially liked the straps of the belt and their chrome fittings to the stockings. To be honest I think he was more turned on by my feminine accoutrements than by me! But when all was said and done, I am a fetishist for certain types of feminine lingerie and so, it seemed was he.
Now he pushed me to my knees and I knew what was expected of me. He unzipped and out came his cock which was exceptionally large, veined, hard and cut. Rather roughly, he grabbed me by the back of my head and pulled me into him. There was no slow buildup but instead a strong thrust all the way in. Experienced as I was, this was still a lot to take and I did gag and splutter a bit but pro that I am I took it all and built a rhythm with him. But I feared that at this rate he would shoot all too soon. He was moaning and sighing and muttering in his own language. I had no idea what he was saying but the manner of his saying it was clear - he was verbally abusing me and quickly approaching orgasm.
He must have sensed that and luckily didn’t want this entirely new and exciting experience to be over in just a few minutes for he suddenly pulled out and then reached down and pulled me to my feet. And it was back to passionate kissing and mauling of my ass and stroking of my stockinged legs. And then I was unceremoniously pushed to my knees again and it was back to cock sucking but this time he let me dictate the speed and the depth and I quickly went to work on it on my terms - I used all my cock sucking skills and went at it with real intensity but making it slow and sensual. The moaning continued above me as did the muttering. I worked on every aspect of that cock, using every trick in the book. After perhaps five minutes of this, I took a break by working on his balls - another new sensory experience for him. He let out such a gasp but showed impressive self restraint by not cumming.
I recall all this action so clearly even now, so many years later, but I am getting bogged down in the detail so I’ll abbreviate this somewhat so that I can get to the real point of this story. From the cock sucking we moved quickly on to him fucking me. I was in doggy position on my sofa, he thrusting behind me. Again there was little preparation or finesse so I cried out in pain as he thrust to the hilt. I felt I should really have to educate him on sexual techniques but I soon felt the erotic nature of this approach. He was using me, basically as a cum dump, and I loved it. And he came with a roar and fell on top of me.
I expected him to zip up and flee but he adjusted himself, adjusted the suit and the tie (he had not even removed his jacket), sat on the sofa and and patted the seat cushion beside him for me to sit down. Then in his imperfect German he told me just he much he had enjoyed it and that one of the reasons he had enjoyed it so much was that I had behaved like a muslimah. I asked him what he meant and he told me that Muslim women are supposed to be obedient, dutiful, essentially submissive, passive, accepting the authority of the man. I had been all these things and more. I told him that all this was very natural to me and that he had been assertive and dominant in a way the majority of the men I saw were not.That those men were if anything far too polite and almost tentative in their approach while I actually wanted to be submissive to a dominant male.
Well, he was delighted with this and we chatted on and on about it until he asked me if I would see him again. And not just once more but regularly. I was really rather taken aback. He knew from one fuck that I would be good for regular sessions? Yet I was flattered and, not only that, I had just had the best sex since I had arrived in Berlin almost a year previously. I said yes with alacrity and then he came up with the idea that I should be his Muslim wife. What a day! The best fuck I could recall, followed by a marriage proposal! Again I agreed. And then he said, ‘Now make me a meal.’
And I did. And he stayed on and on, occasionally giving me orders for refreshments and attending to his every need.
He was entirely serious about me being his wife. It started with similar evening sessions two days a week until he had virtually moved in! Well I felt was like that. I think at its height it was four evenings a week. Occasionally, it would include a Saturday or a Sunday afternoon. He did not stay the night which was a relief as I have no idea how I’d manage to keep my wig on in bed or if I could sleep with my false tits every single night, never mind the problems in the morning of maintaining the illusion of total femininity. One of my basic principles is that a man must never see me as anything but a dressed sissy.
And a few weeks into it, he appeared one evening with a parcel and gave it to me with great pride and ceremony. I opened it and found inside a carefully folded mass of black cloth. Cheap black cloth - something synthetic. I was puzzled but he took it from me and spread it out and now I saw that it was traditional female dress. He explained that the dress was the hijab and asked me to take my dress off and put it on. As soon as I took my dress off and before I could do more, he was on me again and as ever, loving my lingerie. He broke off to say that from now on I must wear only black lingerie and that it should be the most feminine I could find. He made it clear that he wanted bows and ruffles and the every essence of femininity in everything I wore. And then he let me put on the dress, showing me how to put the top to cover my wig.
The hijab seemed to me to be shapeless, voluminous and then I realised that that was the exact point. It was designed to be excessively modest, to cover up the female form. It was totally unsexy and yet… I knew that underneath I was dressed in expensive, sexy, Western lingerie and that soon I’d be buying more and more and the very sexiest and most totally feminine that I could afford. Then he explained the other piece of material - the niqab. A few adjustments and it was in place. A veil covering the face, showing only the eyes.
Now I was a muslimah! I looked at myself in the mirror and felt myself becoming more and more submissive as I looked and stared. Then to my alarm, he said, ‘Now we go out!”.
‘There is no way I can go out in this!” I said. He grabbed me by the arm and glared at me. It was the first sign of anger I had ever seen from him. He had been dominant. assertive with me but never angry. I was alarmed. Staring harshly at me, and still holding me in a vice like grip, he wagged a finger at me and said, ‘You must never but never, disagree with your husband, or ever say NO. That word does not exist for you.’ And I lowered my eyes submissively. And out we went. I expected to be told to walk a few paces behind him but he was modern enough not to demand that! It must be said that a few people did stare but then I thought that this part of Berlin had no visible Turkish community - that was to the west - so that a Muslim couple was a fairly rare sight. I felt strangely protected, not just by my ‘husband’ but by the clothes themselves. I began to understand why even free- thinking Muslim women wanted to retain this modest, traditional dress. I think he was just testing my obedience because that was the only time I appeared in public in Muslim dress.
So the new routine was that before he came to see me I would put on my sexiest lingerie, and then my traditional dress and veil. He would arrive and I would stay dressed like that until I had fed him and made him comfortable. It never occurred to me to ask him if hijab and niqab were always worn indoors as well as out. I just assumed it was. Anyway, when was ready, he would strip me down to my lingerie and we would make passionate love.
It took me to new levels of submission and I began to think that I was totally happy with this way of life but… there began to be a certain monotony about it all. It began to pall and I started to think of ways of ending it. A little fear held me back though as he had created a new reality for himself first and foremost as well as for me. But the same must have happened to him too because the visits became less and less regular which was a relief to me.
And then came the evening when he announced that he was getting married - the following week - to a nice Turkish girl. He tried to explain that the cultural differences between us were difficult whereas this girl had been brought up within the culture and would do by nature and instinct what I had to work at. I never saw him again. It’s probably the closest I ever came to a Master and slave reality and I did learn more about myself by going through with it.
When it was over, I actually did a fair amount of research and found that muslimahs had far more rights than he ever let me know! They could divorce their husbands for example - and their rights went back centuries to times when Western society treated all women as shit. I wondered whether he had invented his own rules and regulations and that they would not be imposed on his new bride. Maybe he had exploited my lack of knowledge for his own ends. I admired him for it. And he had given me a lot of satisfaction being such a submissive ‘wife’. But it was with some relief that I went back to being the sissy slut that nature and instinct had decreed for me. I still have a series of photographs he took of me dressed as a muslimah. And when I look at the black blob that I was, my sissy clit gets stiff.
Sissy ‘wife’ to a Turk
I mentioned in a previous confession - where I first had sex with a black stud in Berlin - that I had been seeing an Arab guy so now I want to set that down too on record!
I moved to Berlin fifteen years ago, partly for the culture - great music and opera and cheap! - and partly for the sex scene. I thought that as a sissy if there was so much going on, then there must be a lot of sex for sissies. If there was, I found it difficult to source. Much to my surprise, there was no really developed tgirl commercial scene. No bars and clubs really except a few very low key affairs in various out of the way places. There was the famous KitKat club but to gain entry to that you had to be in some kinky gear. (Of course, I went there in rubber doll gear and had a great time.) The truth is that Berlin is so open and accepting that tgirls are seen as part of the rich variety of life, rather than a ghetto. So, in fact, you could be in a perfectly ordinary restaurant or bar and there would be tgirls. Integrated and accepted.
But how to meet men?! I signed up to a few German contact sites specifically for tgirls. But there was virtually nothing in Berlin! It was all the remote little towns and cities of Germany where tgirls were generally deeply closeted. I found that any encounters I had were through UK sites with guys on holiday or there on business. It wasn’t a famine but it wasn’t great either.
Then, on one of the German sites, a Turkish guy in Berlin contacted me. He was very upfront. Muslim men are expected not to have sex with a woman until after marriage; he was 30 years old; and needed sexual relief. He wanted sex on the simplest of terms - basically cum and go. He knew Western women had a freer attitude to sex but his attempts to find a German woman had come to nothing. Hence, he had joined a trans site, feeling that someone who looked like a woman could satisfy him. Now I must say something a little controversial about Berlin - despite being a very open and friendly and accepting city, it too had issues with the number of Turkish immigrants. Basically, they lived separate lives. They had their own communities and their own restaurants. There was very little evidence of interplay between the German and the Turkish community.
So, he was still a virgin at the age of thirty. He had only ever masturbated to find sexual relief. All this made me a little nervous about meeting him. It sort of imposed responsibility on me - I felt I was doing it for the tgirl community, recruiting as it were another straight man to that community of men who really appreciate the sexual services of a sissy.
I dressed quite conservatively, definitely downplaying the slut aspect which always formed a part of my look at that time. Actually, it was just about the only look I projected at that time! Straight guys love sluts who put out, never say no, and give them what they want. And don’t ask for payment. A free whore - what could be better?
I downplayed my makeup too. I didn’t go for the brightest of red lipsticks or garish eye shadow. I looked like a pretty ordinary woman, all in all. But hoped I was an attractive one.
I half-expected a no show, given his inexperience, his lack of English, and German that was not even as good as mine and I was not fluent by any means. But we had managed to communicate. I knew that essentially all he wanted was uncomplicated sex. Well, he did show up and was better looking than his photograph had suggested. It had looked rather like a bad passport photo where he presented a stern, unsmiling face. But he was tall, dark, fit and handsome. He definitely gave rise to some fantasies of mine of submitting to a dominant Arab Master. He had dressed for the occasion in a suit, shirt and tie with highly polished shoes.
He was nervous, of course, but then so was I. I didn’t know whether I should take the offensive or wait for him to do so. In fact, he did though not in an overtly sexual way. He asked me to stand back from him while he took a seat. He was sizing me up. He asked me to pose, to turn around, to lift my skirt, show him my bum, lower my panties. He avoided my sissy clit. I didn’t mind that. I felt more feminine knowing it was tucked away in a gaffe and didn’t show. I felt like a piece of meat being judged - which I loved! I also felt that a Dom/sub dynamic had been very quickly set up.
The inspection over, he got up and moved in on me, forcefully kissing me deeply while his hands explored my ass. And not just my ass but my stockings and and suspender belt. He especially liked the straps of the belt and their chrome fittings to the stockings. To be honest I think he was more turned on by my feminine accoutrements than by me! But when all was said and done, I am a fetishist for certain types of feminine lingerie and so, it seemed was he.
Now he pushed me to my knees and I knew what was expected of me. He unzipped and out came his cock which was exceptionally large, veined, hard and cut. Rather roughly, he grabbed me by the back of my head and pulled me into him. There was no slow buildup but instead a strong thrust all the way in. Experienced as I was, this was still a lot to take and I did gag and splutter a bit but pro that I am I took it all and built a rhythm with him. But I feared that at this rate he would shoot all too soon. He was moaning and sighing and muttering in his own language. I had no idea what he was saying but the manner of his saying it was clear - he was verbally abusing me and quickly approaching orgasm.
He must have sensed that and luckily didn’t want this entirely new and exciting experience to be over in just a few minutes for he suddenly pulled out and then reached down and pulled me to my feet. And it was back to passionate kissing and mauling of my ass and stroking of my stockinged legs. And then I was unceremoniously pushed to my knees again and it was back to cock sucking but this time he let me dictate the speed and the depth and I quickly went to work on it on my terms - I used all my cock sucking skills and went at it with real intensity but making it slow and sensual. The moaning continued above me as did the muttering. I worked on every aspect of that cock, using every trick in the book. After perhaps five minutes of this, I took a break by working on his balls - another new sensory experience for him. He let out such a gasp but showed impressive self restraint by not cumming.
I recall all this action so clearly even now, so many years later, but I am getting bogged down in the detail so I’ll abbreviate this somewhat so that I can get to the real point of this story. From the cock sucking we moved quickly on to him fucking me. I was in doggy position on my sofa, he thrusting behind me. Again there was little preparation or finesse so I cried out in pain as he thrust to the hilt. I felt I should really have to educate him on sexual techniques but I soon felt the erotic nature of this approach. He was using me, basically as a cum dump, and I loved it. And he came with a roar and fell on top of me.
I expected him to zip up and flee but he adjusted himself, adjusted the suit and the tie (he had not even removed his jacket), sat on the sofa and and patted the seat cushion beside him for me to sit down. Then in his imperfect German he told me just he much he had enjoyed it and that one of the reasons he had enjoyed it so much was that I had behaved like a muslimah. I asked him what he meant and he told me that Muslim women are supposed to be obedient, dutiful, essentially submissive, passive, accepting the authority of the man. I had been all these things and more. I told him that all this was very natural to me and that he had been assertive and dominant in a way the majority of the men I saw were not.That those men were if anything far too polite and almost tentative in their approach while I actually wanted to be submissive to a dominant male.
Well, he was delighted with this and we chatted on and on about it until he asked me if I would see him again. And not just once more but regularly. I was really rather taken aback. He knew from one fuck that I would be good for regular sessions? Yet I was flattered and, not only that, I had just had the best sex since I had arrived in Berlin almost a year previously. I said yes with alacrity and then he came up with the idea that I should be his Muslim wife. What a day! The best fuck I could recall, followed by a marriage proposal! Again I agreed. And then he said, ‘Now make me a meal.’
And I did. And he stayed on and on, occasionally giving me orders for refreshments and attending to his every need.
He was entirely serious about me being his wife. It started with similar evening sessions two days a week until he had virtually moved in! Well I felt was like that. I think at its height it was four evenings a week. Occasionally, it would include a Saturday or a Sunday afternoon. He did not stay the night which was a relief as I have no idea how I’d manage to keep my wig on in bed or if I could sleep with my false tits every single night, never mind the problems in the morning of maintaining the illusion of total femininity. One of my basic principles is that a man must never see me as anything but a dressed sissy.
And a few weeks into it, he appeared one evening with a parcel and gave it to me with great pride and ceremony. I opened it and found inside a carefully folded mass of black cloth. Cheap black cloth - something synthetic. I was puzzled but he took it from me and spread it out and now I saw that it was traditional female dress. He explained that the dress was the hijab and asked me to take my dress off and put it on. As soon as I took my dress off and before I could do more, he was on me again and as ever, loving my lingerie. He broke off to say that from now on I must wear only black lingerie and that it should be the most feminine I could find. He made it clear that he wanted bows and ruffles and the every essence of femininity in everything I wore. And then he let me put on the dress, showing me how to put the top to cover my wig.
The hijab seemed to me to be shapeless, voluminous and then I realised that that was the exact point. It was designed to be excessively modest, to cover up the female form. It was totally unsexy and yet… I knew that underneath I was dressed in expensive, sexy, Western lingerie and that soon I’d be buying more and more and the very sexiest and most totally feminine that I could afford. Then he explained the other piece of material - the niqab. A few adjustments and it was in place. A veil covering the face, showing only the eyes.
Now I was a muslimah! I looked at myself in the mirror and felt myself becoming more and more submissive as I looked and stared. Then to my alarm, he said, ‘Now we go out!”.
‘There is no way I can go out in this!” I said. He grabbed me by the arm and glared at me. It was the first sign of anger I had ever seen from him. He had been dominant. assertive with me but never angry. I was alarmed. Staring harshly at me, and still holding me in a vice like grip, he wagged a finger at me and said, ‘You must never but never, disagree with your husband, or ever say NO. That word does not exist for you.’ And I lowered my eyes submissively. And out we went. I expected to be told to walk a few paces behind him but he was modern enough not to demand that! It must be said that a few people did stare but then I thought that this part of Berlin had no visible Turkish community - that was to the west - so that a Muslim couple was a fairly rare sight. I felt strangely protected, not just by my ‘husband’ but by the clothes themselves. I began to understand why even free- thinking Muslim women wanted to retain this modest, traditional dress. I think he was just testing my obedience because that was the only time I appeared in public in Muslim dress.
So the new routine was that before he came to see me I would put on my sexiest lingerie, and then my traditional dress and veil. He would arrive and I would stay dressed like that until I had fed him and made him comfortable. It never occurred to me to ask him if hijab and niqab were always worn indoors as well as out. I just assumed it was. Anyway, when was ready, he would strip me down to my lingerie and we would make passionate love.
It took me to new levels of submission and I began to think that I was totally happy with this way of life but… there began to be a certain monotony about it all. It began to pall and I started to think of ways of ending it. A little fear held me back though as he had created a new reality for himself first and foremost as well as for me. But the same must have happened to him too because the visits became less and less regular which was a relief to me.
And then came the evening when he announced that he was getting married - the following week - to a nice Turkish girl. He tried to explain that the cultural differences between us were difficult whereas this girl had been brought up within the culture and would do by nature and instinct what I had to work at. I never saw him again. It’s probably the closest I ever came to a Master and slave reality and I did learn more about myself by going through with it.
When it was over, I actually did a fair amount of research and found that muslimahs had far more rights than he ever let me know! They could divorce their husbands for example - and their rights went back centuries to times when Western society treated all women as shit. I wondered whether he had invented his own rules and regulations and that they would not be imposed on his new bride. Maybe he had exploited my lack of knowledge for his own ends. I admired him for it. And he had given me a lot of satisfaction being such a submissive ‘wife’. But it was with some relief that I went back to being the sissy slut that nature and instinct had decreed for me. I still have a series of photographs he took of me dressed as a muslimah. And when I look at the black blob that I was, my sissy clit gets stiff.
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