(more of my fiction) Following the international business conference in Dubai, my former Western mal

(more of my fiction) Following the international business conference in Dubai, my former Western male identity simply ceased to be. My Muslim master told me that I didn’t need to worry about it any longer, and so I simply didn’t. I bowed my head and nodded, a smile on my prettily made-up face, and accepted his authority to make all decisions regarding my life going forward, as it should be. I had arrived at the conference as a married man, at least nominally heterosexual, having never really closely examined my own sexuality nor my spiritual beliefs. Simply another Western male cruising on auto-pilot through his own life, never truly understanding what was missing, until he demonstrated to me how my life could be complete in every way. He had this unmistakable air of Alpha Male authority about him. I was taken by that from the beginning, even though I didn’t understand what it meant. My own mind was awash with feelings, unbidden thoughts and newly awakened desires. The touch of his hand actually gave me goosebumps that first time, and still does today. As it it were the most natural thing in the world, he simply took charge of me, and I followed. He taught me about his culture and religion and how these influenced his business dealings and outlook on the world. It did not dawn on me until hours later, after meetings and conversations and dinner, that I had been in his sights all along, that I had value to him and not merely as a business acquaintance. As he explained later, I was an unpolished gem, my true nature and needs hidden away, just waiting for Him, put in his path by the will of Allah. He led me by the hand that first time, into the elevator that would take us to his palatial penthouse. That act alone, being led by the hand by a man, a man who had sexual intentions for me, was enough to make my thoughtful mind turn off. The force of his will was inesapable. I was fascinated by this man, enthralled by him, and the thought that he wanted a deeper and more physical relationship with me thrilled me to my core. In the back of my mind, I thought it would simply be a dalliance, a one-time thing, when-in-Rome, a chance of a lifetime to live out a sexual adventure. What I could not have known, and yet what I am now most thankful for, is that this would be the last time in my life that I would wear male clothing. The suit, the starched shirt and tie, the proper Western business shoes, all of it – when they came off of my body that night, I never touched them or anything like them ever again. There in his room he seduced me. We stood by the window, the lights of Dubai twinking below, and he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. My clothes fell away. Deeply in his power, I did not object as he began to speak to me using feminine pronouns and delicious little possessive nicknames. I felt like a girl. He told me that I was a girl, to him. In comparison to him, I was truly female. It was all so overwhelming. In the twilight, he kissed me until I melted into his arms, then guided me to the bed and made love to me. For the first time in my life, someone made love to me. It was tender and loving, hot and passionate. He ruled my body. I accepted his authority over me, over and over again, whimpering into his shoulder has he took me, sobbing joyously as he had me on all fours, panting and begging for more as he had me on the bathroom countertop. Hours upon hours of serving him, pleasing him, offering myself to him, being taken again and again. He claimed every last ounce of my male-sex virginity, every bit of it. My head spun, thinking of how I had gone from not even mildly curious about sex with a man to becoming his insatiable pleasure toy. Night turned to day turned to night. He told me not to worry about the conference, about my return flight, about my former life. I was so deeply in his thrall. He kept my mind filled with new visions of femininity, of obedience, of opening myself to the light and truth of Islam. He kept my body wracked with pleasure, and he took his pleasure from my moaning, twisting, straining body, again and again, with great relish. Night turned to day again and only then did I notice that my clothes were gone. It was no matter. After bathing I covered myself in a beatiful caftan, feeling so desirable for the first time in my life. He supervised me, seeing that I dressed appropriately, and then others joined us in the suite, Arab men and women. They spoke in Arabic and I did not understand them. I merely sat in my chair, covered in my flowing and feminine caftan, gazing at him adoringly, still dizzy with pleasure. Later the women helped me with my makeup for the first time. He had simply cupped my chin, kissed me until I grew weak, and told me to accept it and obey his wishes. I did and was grateful. I have no idea how many days passed until I was once again outside the hotel room and in the sunlight. I was a new person. I was now a muslimah, glowing with femininity and obedience. My life now had purpose. -- source link

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