She could tell he was as eager to come as she was. His hands squeezed her breasts hard before flipping her back around to face him. His hands were large, calloused, and thick, feeling rough on her soft skin. She hurridly unzipped his pants as he pulled his shirt over his head. She knelt to her knees and slid his black boxer briefs down to his ankles before grabbing his rock hard penis in her hand. She wanted him in her mouth. She wanted to suck him off. She needed him to come in her mouth. Licking slowly at first, he moaned and grabbed her hair. Working her way down, she took a breath and took him entirely down her throat. He trembled and pushed her head towards him before pulling her hair back and dropping to his knees. He nearly shoved her down and pulled her skirt up around her waist. There wasn’t even time to take her wet panties off. He pushed them to the side, took in her shaved pussy, and simultaneously slid his middle finger into her as he brought his watering mouth to her. 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.
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