An Arab Man and a Gay Sharmota


It started out as an English project while I worked on my Masters at Oxford. I came there from Los Angeles on a Fulbright scholarship to study self-identified sexual orientation among internet users. As a bisexual, I always questioned the idea that people could be born liking one gender other the other and stay that way forever. By analyzing stories and personal ads on the internet, I hoped to prove my thesis.

I saw a pattern over and over in the internet advertisements for gay sex posted by Arabs in the UK. More often than not, those Arab men identified themselves as straight, instead of bisexual. I attributed this to cultural taboos that prevented them from admitting their same-sex attractions, and arranged to conduct several interviews to verify this hypothesis.

So there I was in a conference room of the Oxford English Department waiting to interview a few dozen “straight” Arab men about their sex lives and their attitudes towards sex. I dressed formally, in a button down shirt and slacks. In retrospect, I should have worn jeans.

My first interview was with Michael, an undergraduate lad in Oxford who was born and raised in London. His parents had come over to the UK form the UAE, and they had strived to Westernize him. During the interview he kept indentifying himself as straight, and kept describing times he topped both men and women. As is standard in this type of academic research, I had to repeat my questions with different phrasing a few times to make the results more valid.

This repetition annoyed him a bit. “You keep asking me if I’m gay, bi, or straight, even though I keep telling you I’m straight. Don’t you believe me?” he asked.

“Sorry,” I said, “I’m just trying to make sure. It’s my methodology.”

He put a hand over the paper I was writing on. “Look, I can hear it in your voice every time you respond to my answers. You don’t think I’m straight.”

He had got me. Chalk it up to a lack of practice, but I didn’t hide my doubt very well. I mean, the guy could list time after time when he fucked men. How about he be straight. I tried to patch things over. “It’s just that in standard English, we call a man bisexual if he fucks both men and women.”

Michael laughed. “Bitches get fucked, men don’t. There’s nothing gay about fucking a male bitch, even if he some dick and balls there.”

This comment offended me. I decided it was time for him to realize he was talking to an LBGT individual. Sure, it would compromise my data, but it was worth it to make him view gay and bi men with more respect. “I’m bisexual, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Why are you?”

“You have sex with both men and women?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“You are always the top?” he asked.

“I’m a top with women and an oral bottom with men,” I explained.

“An Çankaya Escort oral bottom? What is that?” he asked.

With a sigh, I said, “An oral bottom sucks cock, but does not give up his ass.”

At that point, Michael wore a cocky grin, “My sharmotas always give up their asses if I want them. You must have never been fucked by an Arab man.”

“I haven’t … but what does that have to do with anything?” I responded.

The light bulb went on in his head. “So, you are bi, because you are not gay yet.”

“I beg your pardon,” I said.

Michael got out his phone and showed me a video of a woman masturbating. “She is one of my bitches. Does watching that woman alone make you hard?”

“Yes,” I said.

Without warning, Michael groped my crotch. “You’re telling the truth.”

I pushed his hand away. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“I was just trying to make sure. It’s my methodology,” he answered. Then he kissed me possessively. At first I resisted, but with his hand behind my head and his tongue forcing himself into me, I yielded. As soon as he felt my resistance wane, he slipped a hand down my pants to enter the crack between my ass cheeks. I was a bit disappointed when he failed to finger my rosebud. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he promised. Then he left. I could hear him say something in Arabic to the other undergraduate men waiting in the hallway for their interviews. They all laughed at his joke.

Well, any attempt to get data that day was shot. Each Arab lad that came in didn’t even bother to sit down or answer my questions. He just French kissed me and groped my ass. After the first few. I gave up and went to close the door. The man who had just left the room put his hand on the door to keep it open. He was stronger than me. He said something in Arabic to the dozen or so men still waiting for their turn. All it took was a glare from him to get me to step back.

I didn’t even ask the rest of the men questions. I didn’t sit back down either. I stayed standing to give them better access to my backside. Now, in addition to getting groped there, I got a hard smack on each cheek by each man. The guard at the door stayed at his post after all the men finished and until Michael came back.

“I don’t even have to make sure this time. I can see you tenting from that treatment,” he said. “Now that you’ve had Arab men, I bet you 10 pounds you can’t cum from watching a woman alone.”

I was ready to prove him wrong. “You’re on.”

The guard joined us inside and closed the door. Michael removed my pants and underwear without even a “by your leave”. Then he started the video of his woman masturbating and put the phone on the table for him to watch. “Shoot your sperm for her,” he Keçiören Escort commanded.

There I was, desperately jerking my White dick in an attempt to avoid shame in front of this lad a few years my junior. I only humiliated my self more. The 16 minute video ended without me cumming. It ended with me soft. “What can you expect after I was just sexually assaulted a few dozen times,” I said in my defense.

“OK. I’ll give you all evening to recover,” he offered. “I’m having 3 women over at my flat this evening. Be there at 7 pm to prove you aren’t a gay bitch now. Double or nothing.” Then he wrote his address in my notebook and left with his fellow Arab.

I was at Michael’s home by 6:40 pm. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed. Michael let me in. He was already naked. The three women, all of them young with hourglass figures, were on the bed wearing lacy things. There where three perfect women in the room with me, but all I could star at was Michael’s zeb. It was fucking huge and pointing straight up. It was a few shades darker than his olive skin, making it all the more alluring.

“You’re early,” Michael said as he closed the door. “You must be eager for my manhood.”

“I’m eager to fuck your women,” I retorted. “Oh, and happy to prove that you are a bit gay when we have man on man sex.”

“We won’t be having man on man sex,” Michael said as he disrobed me, taking command of my body with each article of clothing thrown to the floor. “Man on man sex is sinful. Having four wives is not. You will become my fourth wife tonight.” Then he slapped me six times on my ass.

At that point, I had had enough. Wearing just my boxers, I opened the door to flee. Several Arab men were waiting outside for me. There was no escape. “Your buddies?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “They want to make sure my wedding night goes smoothly.

At this point I should tell you that I’m your typical twink. Michael, on the other hand, had the muscles of an underwear model, and the slim waistline of one too. So you can imagine how easy it was for him to get me tied up and on the bed spread eagle. My boxers were still on, but that was about to change.

He took out some scissors and proceeded to shred my boxers as I wore them. While he threw out the resulting rags he told me, “You will never wear boxers again. Boxers are for men. You are now a sharmota. Tomorrow, I will buy you lacy underwear to wear every day. We will shop together for it in this neighborhood, and you will make it clear with your body language as we shop that you are my bride. I want everyone to know that you are mine.” I was surprised when he slapped my balls. “You understand?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

He slapped my balls three more times. Etimesgut Escort “Yes Seedi,” he corrected.

“Yes, Seedi,” I repeated.

What followed was a night of methodical sexual domination. Each woman in turn got on all fours with her muff over my face so I could see Michael breed it. He had plenty of stamina. It took a couple of hours. I could hear the women moan in ecstasy the entire time. Michael alternated between growling, bragging about his manhood, disparaging my own package, and describe the life I would have as one of his wives. Then, at long last, it was my turn for breeding.

I knew it would hurt when he entered my ass. I was a virgin there, and he was thick as a beer can. I also knew that it wasn’t my place to protest. My new husband scooped out his jizz from each of my cowives and lubricated my boicunt with it. The fluids from all four spouses were now inside of me. I felt connected with my cowives in a way that went far beyond anything I could feel from entering them with my tiny dick. I was like a sister to them, bonded by our common top.

I screamed a bit when Michael entered me. He covered my mouth with his to silence me. There would be no words between us. Our only communication would be with his zeb and my ass. With rough fucking, his zeb told me that he would always dominate me. By relaxing to open up for him, my ass told him that I would always obey. This lasted a long time before Michael whispered in my ear, “I’m close.” He didn’t have to tell me what to do. I know what a man likes when he is close. I remember what I liked at times like that back when I was a man.

I squeezed as hard as I could on his zeb with my ass. That made things rougher. That gave me more pain and him more sensation. That gave me the gift of his powerful Arab sperm. Michael pulled out and showered without untying me. Staring at the ceiling, I felt his seed drip out of me. My cowives slept the night in that bed with me. Michael spent it in his own bedroom. I still wasn’t untied. I still hadn’t cummed. Without him in the room, my dick remained soft.

The next day we went shopping for lacy underwear as promised. I never did go back to my own flat. Michael’s friends moved all my stuff into his. Months later, I told my family that I was staying at Oxford for a PhD, because I loved the school so much. In reality, I stayed so that I could remain Michael’s wife. That was 10 years ago. I’ve never fucked a man in my life. I haven’t fucked a woman in a decade. Nor Have I been fucked by a non-Arab man in that time.

Michael would invite Arab friends over from time to time to use me. Each Christmas break, we holidayed abroad in a hotel room. He always set up appointments with Arab men to breed me during those trips. I’ve seen the Pyramids, the Burj Khalifa, and the Makkah Clock Royal Tower.

I couldn’t delay getting my PhD any longer. I earned it last week. Michael wants me to move back to the US and get a high power job to support the family. He told me to post this story and announce that I’ll be available to serve Arab men in my new home starting this summer. Feel free to contact me if you want to make arrangements.

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