Tashanasha - Eveely's Dirty Spot

I live to hear these words from Daddy

daddied in public

We were waiting for the train and I was being incessantly pouty because he wouldn’t let me go to the other side of the city to retrieve a pair of boots I keep at the office. They’re super sexy and I wanted to wear them, but we had plans and no time to rearrange our commute. His logic was sound, but being told no still made me feel a wee bit petulant. 

He tolerated it for a bit, but then he gave me The Look. You know the look I’m talking about. It’s also called the Careful, Young Lady look, or the You’re Pushing It look. Whenever I’m on the receiving end of it, I get squirmy and immediately feel tiny. I buried my face into his chest. I do that a lot when I’m in trouble or being chastised; I leaned into him as if snuggles were going to save me from a spanking. I mumbled sorry into his shirt and he said, “sorry, what?” I hesitated, not expecting him to prompt me in public, even though the subway platform was mostly empty. “Sorry daddy,” I said. I felt myself starting to throb.

On another day, we were in Zara and I couldn’t decide between two tops. I really wanted them both. I help one up, stared at it longingly, and looked at him. “I can have both?” I asked. I expected either a yes or no, but he said, “How do you ask permission for something?” My eyes widened. The store was busy enough that it would’ve been easy to be overheard. People pushed past us every couple seconds. 

“But we’re in public,” I protested.

The look on his face made it very clear that he didn’t care.

“May I have both, please?” I whispered. He didn’t make me call him ‘sir’ or ‘daddy’, but I still felt like I’d been reminded of my place.

I got to have both tops.

When he daddies me in public like that, it’s always a pleasant surprise. It pulls me out of whatever distracted headspace I’m in and anchors me. Goes without saying that it’s hot as hell, too. I’m still getting used to being mindful of my behavior outside of the bedroom. It’s not that I forget I’m his submissive when we’re out and about; I just don’t usually make a conscious effort to behave like his submissive when we’re not behind closed doors.

It’s a good thing, then, that he’s there to remind me of exactly who and what I am.

He’s there to remind me that, no matter where we are, I remain firmly under his thumb.

Jennie Discovers Her Path

Copyright ©2018 Warren @ MyDirtyHeadspace.tumblr.com

Jennie Does a Good Deed

This was a rare opportunity, and Jennie could not believe her luck. For so long she had been looking for ways to support the immigrant and refugee communities in Atlanta. And now a group called the Islamic Solidarity Committee was calling for Christian volunteers to open their homes to African immigrants for a week of interfaith goodwill.

Jennie knew that her husband would never agree to such a thing, but he would be gone for two full weeks for work and need never know.

Still it was very daunting to do such a radical thing. To make arrangements, Jennie arrived at a tiny mosque on the outskirts of town and was offered coffee by a sublimely beautiful woman in her 20s, perhaps Asian or Arabic, who set out all the details and put Jennie completely at ease.

It was understood that there would be just three females in the house, so there were no particular issues with modesty.

The Committee would choose a single person suitable for Jennie’s home, from a country where English was a primary language, such as Ghana or Nigeria. Although supporting refugees was important, they thought it best to start with immigrants of good character. Jennie couldn’t suppress her enthusiasm. She confided that she found Islamic men and women quite compelling, and saw this short period without her husband there as a perfect opportunity. She saw this beautiful Muslima in front of her and imagined entertaining a similarly pretty, black woman in her home for a week. And since her husband was away, they could simply share the main bed, recognizing of course, that a strict Muslima woman would be exceedingly modest even among other women. Despite her certainty that there would be no hint of anything sexual, the very idea of sharing her marital bed with a strange woman was making her pussy wet, and she hoped that the pious woman before her couldn’t smell her sexual scent.

Jennie decided she would ask for special leave from work for that week, to dedicate her time to the visitor. And perhaps surprize the kids. The youngest two would be away at school camps anyways, so it would only be the girls at home.

As Jennie headed back to the car, Fatima spread her legs and ran her fingers up the inside of her dress to caress her bare puss. She rang her contact to confirm the booking. All would be ready for Monday morning - Jennie would be a particularly easy mark – just the idea of having a Muslim or Muslima in her house was getting her aroused – and practically begging to be dominated. Fatima took a few minutes to bring herself to a sublime orgasm visualising the delicious scene at Jennie’s home.

A Stranger Arrives

At 11am, a yellow taxi cab pulled up at Jennie’s place. She was made up and dressed like she was going to church – mid-length brown button-down skirt, pretty pink top, stockings, and, uncharacteristically, stilettos. Busying herself just behind the front door, she jumped at the loud knock. Her heart was pounding with excitement, but when she opened the door, it started to pound even harder.

In front of her was a large black man, maybe 30, in a cream suit and an open white shirt, towering almost a foot over her, a suitcase by his side. In a distinctly African accent he said, through his broad smile, “As-Salaam Alaykoom. Hello my dearest Jennifer. I am Mohammed Abeasi, recently arrived from Ghana, come to sojourn with you this week. I am so grateful for your abundant hospitality”.

Jennie stared at the beautiful man in front of her. Built like a quarterback, Mohammed simply smiled at the woman’s state of confusion. “May I come inside Jennifer, as it is exceedingly hot out there?”

“Oh of course! Come in! Come In! Can I offer you a cold drink? Coors? Oh stupid me! You don’t drink alcohol. I’m sorry.”

“Dearest one, though I am Muslim, I am not so strict in some respects, as Allah has generously given me a higher calling which allows me to bend some rules. I would be most happy to drink your American beer.” Jennie raced into the kitchen, almost tripping on her heels, grabbed a bottle from the fridge and a pint glass, pouring a perfect beer with a professional ½” head, to her own amazement. She came back out and realized that Mohammed was still standing, so she placed the glass on the dining table and ushered him to a seat.

Jennie stood next to him as he drank the brew straight down. She felt somehow privileged to stand rather than sit in Mohammed’s dominating presence. It was a strange feeling. As if he was the master of the house and she was merely a servant. And it felt… liberating.

“Do you have a guest room for me, dearest one?”

Jennie was struck dumb. She had expected a woman to share her bedroom. She’d even made room for the female guest’s clothes. The spare room was full of junk – no one could sleep there. She’d have to take the couch. “You’ll be sleeping in the main bedroom upstairs.” Mohammed thought quickly – this was far better than expected. “That is most generous of you, dearest one. Perhaps I could put my clothes away, insha-Allah, and have a short rest before lunch.” Though framed as a question, it was as if Mohammed was taking charge, and he was already out of his chair without waiting for Jennie to respond.

Jennie accompanied him up to the main bedroom, opening the doors to the kids’ bedrooms and pointing them out, before showing him where to put his clothes. Embarrassingly, she had arranged to share her underwear and hosiery drawers, expecting a woman. He seemed completely unphased, though in fact he was taking careful note of the types and approximate sizes of everything he saw. With Jennie still in the room, he opened his suitcase on the bed, and brought out and hung up a sparse but exquisite set of clothes. A few pairs of boxer shorts were neatly placed next to Jennie’s panties, and 3 pairs of socks took pride of place next to her pantihose and stay-up stockings. A Koran went on the bedside table, and the closed suitcase went into the wardrobe.

Without waiting for Jennie to leave, Mohammed took off his suit jacket and hung it up. Then he took off his shoes and immediately after that, before the embarrassed Jennie could make her way out of the room, he removed his suit pants. He was facing away from Jennie, his muscular butt tantalizing her sight. But her focus was on the reflection in the mirror, which clearly showed the impression of his enormous cock stretching his underpants, though still far from erect. He pretended he was not watching her face in the mirror, as the deep brown circumcised head of his penis popped out of the top of his underpants, his growing hard-on extending the length to 10 then 11 then 12 inches. Jennie had seen so many bbc’s on Tumblr. And yet, nothing could prepare her for the real thing. She had to fight hard not to squeeze her nipple or pull up her skirt and finger her raging sex. And the gorgeous man in front of her seemed to have no idea that he was exposing his huge member to her in the mirror. Indeed, he had to fight just as hard not to let on that he was relishing this game.

He turned around and feigned shock as he saw Jennie blushing in front of him. “Oh, Allah yaghfir li (Allah forgive me), I had not realized that you are still here, dearest one”. He looked slowly down at his underpants, making sure that Jennie’s eyes followed to take in the thick 3 inches now poking out the elastic and the 9 inches and huge balls clearly visible inside his pants below. He stretched the elastic over his rampant cock in an act of supposed modesty, if anything, making his huge cock look even more imposing. 

Jennie staggered and nearly fell, as Mohammed jumped forward and caught her, a hand on her buttock and the other at her upper back. He steadied her before stepping back. “I think dearest Jennifer you should lie down”. Again not a question but an expectation. Immediately he began to unbutton her skirt.

Jennie stood mute and immobile as this stranger bent down and undid every button from the hem to the waist until the final button allowed the skirt to fall at her feet, revealing that, due to a dare on Tumblr, she was wearing a pair of dark stockings, black suspenders… and no panties.

A tear ran down her cheek at the terrible shame she was bringing on herself. Mohammed looked at Jennie’s cleanshaven sex, her clit unmistakably inflamed. He paused for a moment and then used his right foot to push her left foot out a foot, before moving his right hand between the folds of her pussy lips to test her wetness. He lifted his hand to her nostrils, forcing her to recognize her own cunt was giving him permission to molest her. He undid the buttons of her blouse and pulled it off her shoulders letting it fall on top of her skirt. Her bra did little to hide her painfully erect nipples. He reached behind her with his right hand and deftly unclipped it, dropping it from her shoulders so it had nowhere to go but the pile of discarded modesty on the floor.

Jennie was worse than naked – she was undressed for sex, her legs apart, her nipples aching, a drip of cunt juice slowly sliding down her thigh toward her slutty stockings, as she stood in her husband’s bedroom before a huge black man, a complete stranger.

“Free my cock Jennifer. I, as a Muslim, am Allah’s servant. You, as a Christian, are Allah’s whore. Do you understand?” Jennie nodded. Muhammed forced her to her knees. She made no move, so he grabbed her by the hair and tilted her head up toward his face. With his other hand, he slapped her face. Hard! No one had ever done that to her. It stung terribly. She feared what would happen next. And yet, his brutal assault seemed so… right! “Pull down my pants, whore, and worship my cock!” Jennie slid his underpants down, to release the enormous cock which stood straight out and hit her face. She pulled the pants past his hips and allowed them to fall to the ground. She gingerly reached for the gigantic almost black phallus with both hands. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen or felt. She wrapped her fingers around it, unable to enclose its girth with one hand. How different it was from her husband’s little white excuse for a penis. She breathed in the rich manly scent of the wonderful black weapon in her hands, and kissed it lovingly, before stretching her jaw as wide as she could to get the cockhead into her mouth. It was a struggle just to do that, but once it was in her mouth, Mohammed lifted her chin so her eyes met his. “Relax and do not struggle dearest one.”. He held the back of her head in his enormous hands and pushed his cock to the back of her throat. She immediately started to gag and cry, struggling in vain to breathe. Then, when he pulled her head toward his belly, she understood instantly that her life was his to take or spare. His forearm-thick penis forced its way into her throat and did not stop until his belly mashed up against her nose and his balls rested against her chin. He watched her struggles, feeling her throat involuntarily squeeze his cock as she tried to retch and breathe. 10 seconds, 20 seconds, 30 seconds. Jennie’s lips began to turn blue and Mohammed gently pulled back, his drool-covered cock leaving her throat and mouth, as she gasped a huge desperate breath.

She looked up at him in fear, her mascara streaking down her teary face. He smiled gently. “Good Girl!” And forced his cock back down her throat again. This time he slowly fucked her face, pulling out 8 inches and forcing it back in, without letting her breathe, again pulling out completely after 30 seconds, for her to gasp a lungful of air. “Cum for me Jennifer.” Mohammed pushed Jennie’s right hand down toward her naked pussy. As she started to rub her clit, he pushed back into her mouth and down her throat. Somehow this time Jennie managed to breathe through her nose, as he face-fucked her and she masturbated more and more frantically. She was so close! So close! Suddenly he was face-fucking her fast and she couldn’t breathe anymore. Her lips were crimson edging toward blue. And she was masturbating furiously despite her impending asphyxiation. And she came. How she came! An explosion. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably. Mohammed pulled out of her throat and mouth. She breathed. She screamed and rammed her fingers into her cunt. She openly wept like a child. She came again. Jennie had never felt anything like this before.

Mohammed picked Jennie up and lay her on her back on the bed. Jennie knew what was to come. She was about to be raped by a god. By Allah’s black emissary. She instinctively knew that there would be no preparation, foreplay. That her vagina, which had never felt more than a 1 inch thick, 5 inch pecker since before her marriage, would be torn asunder by a black truncheon thicker than her wrist and as long as her forearm.

He loomed over her as he lifted her legs and stretched them up out and back, her stiletto heels on either side of her head, where he held them using his right arm. With his left hand, he positioned his rampant cock at the tiny entrance to Jennie’s vulva, and forced the bulbous head in about an inch as it stretched the opening far beyond anything she’d felt since childbirth. She was a virgin again or may as well be. Now he was pushing. The pain was excruciating. There was no way he could fit. And yet he sunk further. 3 inches. The head was inside. He lunged hard and Jennie cried out as he somehow forced more in. Was he in all the way? She looked down between her spread thighs and gasped. At least 7 inches of his cock was still outside her body. But there was no more room!

Mohammed withdrew a few inches and pushed hard, jamming several more inches into her insanely stretched pussy. Jennie looked down again and almost died. Four inches were still outside her body. Already so full. Impossible. He withdrew a few inches and slammed into her. She felt his huge black balls hit her buttocks and his belly hit her exposed clitoris. She could not believe that his full 12 inches were all inside her.

He didn’t wait for her to adjust. But neither did he fuck her with long hard strokes as she might have imagined. Instead, he twerked a couple of inches back and forward, slamming hard and fast on the in-stroke. They say you can’t feel much deep inside your vagina. They obviously had never had Mohammed inside them! Her cervix was alive as his cock massaged back and forward over it. At the same time, his fat cock was constantly pressing and rubbing her g-spot. It had been less than a minute, and she was building up to something she’d never felt before – she knew that she couldn’t cum unless she was masturbating. And yet something enormous was building inside her. Each time he slammed in, she groaned louder. Suddenly her hands were at her tits and she was squeezing both nipples hard, hurting them, and shouting “Oh My God! Oh My God!” And then she came, screaming. As he continued to pound her cervix, Mohammed grabbed her hair and slapped her face. “SAY Allahu Akhbar! SAY IT!” She continued to cum, the sting on her face, the pain in her nipples which she continued to torture, just intensifying the orgasm. She’d heard those words before, on TV, by terrorists. It meant ‘Allah is Great’. Mohammed slammed into her over and over. She squeezed her eyes closed. In rhythm to his unrelenting attack, she repeated “Allahu Akhbar” over and over. And she was cumming again! And so was he! Pumping globs of hot semen directly into her fertile womb, bathing her white infidel eggs in pure black sanctified Islamic semen. Her eyes popped wide open to look deep into his dark brown eyes. So good. So incredible. At last! Allahu Akhbar.

o no linette stop doing that