For Persian Iranians, I hope that you can tolerate my decision to make a erotica surrounding one of your festivals. Thank you.

 And I also have to personally apologize to Not Phil, this story inspirer, where the initial gone way off course into another story.

But alas, please enjoy.

Inspired by Not Phil

Thanks to the website

And the website

The night is long, dark and calm.

I am sitting in my Persian carpet that I brought with me from Iran, it is the only memorabilia that reminded me of my origins, a son of an oil sheikh with a loving family, an identity that became a memory for 24 years after I immigrated to the Netherlands and later came out to them.

I hardly heard of them after that, the only letters that I got from them is the condition in some of my family, including my mother.

But like them, they never heard of me after that, the only letters that I sent to them is the response of the condition in some of my family, especially my mother.

She died 3 days after I sent my last letter.

Now I am celebrating the Shab-e Chella with only Phil, my love of my life for 17 years, reciting a Hafez poem, Faithful Lover (translated by Daniel Landinsky).

The moon came to me last night
 With a sweet question.

She said,
 “The sun has been my faithful lover
 For millions of years.
 Whenever I offer my body to him
 Brilliant light pours from his heart.
 Thousands then notice my happiness
 And delight in pointing
 Toward my beauty.

 Is it true that our destiny
 Is to turn into Light

And I replied,
 Dear moon,
 Now that your love is maturing,
 We need to sit together
 Close like this more often

So I might instruct you
 How to become
 Who you

Phil and I met when we were university students, both of us majoring in plant biology. The details about our love would be off course from this segment.

Except for 1, the time when Phil and I know there is a life-long spark between us.

It came by our first session as a dominant (me) and a submissive (Phil), involving nothings but ropes, words and any advice that we could get from the BDSM club.

Phil, unbounded from the restraints and drinking water, express surprise about his submissive feelings, given that he never really been abused, he is just a person that who gets aroused by getting degraded by people, especially me.

But he will never be a slave, and I never forced it upon him. And with our jobs involving travelling around the world 48 weeks a year studying the flora of the habitats, our chances of playing naughty are very limited.

Sure, studying plants are our lifelong dreams. But now, with the calm night, both of us can take off the clothes of a biologist and a biologist, and wear the clothes of a dominant and a submissive for once.

After he finished the poem, I closed the book he’s reading from and approached my tied up husband, kissing him for his ability to be as dramatic even when he’s bound.

As a reward, I feed him a huge mug of fruit juice, mixed with pomegranates & watermelon with crushed peanuts, pistachios, almonds & cashews, Phil has got even more aroused after drinking it.

The pouring forced him to drink in 1 go, the only time where I stop is the time where I might spill the juice to the carpet, giving him time to breathe and drink quickly.

“Babe, this is the only chance. Next time, lick the juice out from the carpet.”

My threat worked, and he drank it like a champ.

Putting my mug aside the table, I stood in front of him and let him worship my dick. During that time, I recited another Hafez poem, Ghazal 51 (translated by Shahriah Shahriahi)

My eyes drown in tears, yet thirst for but one chance
 I’ll give away my whole life, for Beloved, but one glance.
 Be ashamed of Beloved’s beautiful eyes and long lashes
 If you have seen what I have, and still deny me my trance.
 O traveler, leave these city gates behind and go back
 Tread the same path, and towards my Beloved you’ll advance.
 With such shortage of love, I submit to my fate
 That drunken gypsy’s love is now my circumstance.
 The aromatic flowers, the perfume of that hair
 Is only a sample from my Perfumer’s fragrance.
 O gardener, like the breeze, do not drive me away,
 You water your flowers with my tears’ assistance.
 Ordered me to drink much from my lover’s sweet lips
 And healed my sickened heart by taking such joyous stance.
 The one who taught Hafiz, how his ghazals enhance,
 Is none but my silent friend, with a sweet parlance.

With much struggle of Phil using only his mouth to pleasure my dick and my hand pushing his head into making my dick buried inside his mouth, he is rewarded again with a flow of my sperm.

Then…I released him from his bounds and both of us are now on a bed. I would have want a follow up, but we need to converse more energy to preparing Christmas. The only reason where I even managed to let Phil join this action in the first place is because he wanted to experience bondage with me again.

On the bed, holding both of my hands to Phil's (leaving his dick stood up as a lighthouse) I thought about my family, whether we may meet, eat and laugh again.

I sigh for my identity, and I breathe. Thinking of the presents that I might gift to Phil’s nephews.



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