domesticatedbymuslim

[domesticatedbymuslim]

🦢 I’m back ! 🤭

[domesticatedbymuslim]

I’m back after a well deserved break. Missed all my lovely followers. I have a new story coming your way! Xoxo 🤍🍓

[domesticatedbymuslim]

Xoxo 💗

[domesticatedbymuslim]

1 year ago:

He had pursued her unrelentlessly. From the moment he spotted her in the skimpy skin-tight pink dress at a West Hollywood bar a year ago, he knew it was she who he wanted to lay claim on.

She would be the one he would mold into a perfect Muslimah, a pious wife and a devoted mother. She would be the one he would subdue and change forever. In a way, he almost felt bad for her, because she had no idea how her life would change forever. He stared at her from across the bar, his eyes fixed to her every movement — like a tiger watching his kill.

Maybe it was her delicate looking jawline, or maybe it was her slender collar bones, like those drawn on by the most skilled artist. Or maybe it was her swan like movements and demure nature, and then it hit him…. for a brief moment their eyes locked. Her eyes were intoxicating, filled with exhilarating depth he was able to recognize. They were filled with pain, indirection and the yearning to be given the opportunity to be allowed to fulfill her true purpose as a subservient wife and loving mother. She was a special woman and it was she he would convert. He felt protective over her, jealous, angry even…. she didn’t belong in this place.

He was a Muslim warrior, he grew up too fast after his father and mother were killed in a bomb blast in front of him. He had to bear more burdens than a guy his age should’ve. He had worked hard for his reputation and status. He was a well known figure in the Islamic community and gave charity and donations to local mosques, Islamic centers and fitness gyms. Everyone knew him, the guys at the butcheries to the brothers at the car dealerships. His Muslim brothers would drop anyone that wronged him. He always got what he wanted. And today he knew what he wanted.

He confidently put his virgin drink down as he smiled and walked across the floor towards her thinking ……in a year from today, her entire personality, viewpoints, perspective — to her very religion and first/ last name would change.

Present Day:

His buddies picked him up on their shoulders as everyone vehemently fired AK-47s into the night sky shouting and howling in celebration, he was a married man today. The night had drawn to a close and his friends whistled him towards the house where his hard earned prize waited…ready to be claimed, body and soul.

[domesticatedbymuslim]

[domesticatedbymuslim]

Islam is a religion of gender dichotomy, men and women have their defined established roles. There is no confusion and blurred lines between roles as we see in the western cultures.

A man’s role in Islam is to lead, conquer and spread the seed of Islam. He ensures that his children stay protected, guarded, fed and disciplined so he can raise strong warriors and princesses of Islam. He ensures that his wife’s beauty and softness is seen only by him and hidden from everyone else by guarding, protecting and instilling the values of modesty through the Abaya on her. He does this not to enslave her, but to protect her dignity, modesty and uphold HIS reputation in society so that he is not ashamed to step out of the house.

A women’s role in Islam is also very important. Everything begins and ends with her. At her whim, wars can be started and relinquished, home can be made or destroyed. A women seldom does not know the power of her femininity and submissiveness. Without lifting a finger, she has complete control over her husband’s emotions, decision making, well-being and health. She is the foundation of the family, keeping the children and her husband well fed and strong. Bringing peace, happiness, delicate charm, softness and sensibility into an otherwise chaotic world.

It is only fair to keep her hidden and subdued, as she can be easily claimed by another, thus shattering the very foundation for the family her husband worked so hard to build. This picture shows a strak contrast and heterogeneity of how a Muslim man carries himself vs. how a Muslimah carries herself. There is no “shoulder to shoulder concept,” as in the western society, a women’s and man’s place is well defined by Islam. Accept it ☝️

[domesticatedbymuslim]

Salam alaykum sister. What makes you attracted to Muslim men ? 👳🏽‍♂️ ☪️

Introspectively, my attraction to Muslim men stems from two distinguishable variables that I am able to discern.

The first one being that I’ve always been drawn to that which I “shouldn’t” or “couldn’t” have due to various societal and cultural barriers.

My culture and religion tells me that Muslim men are dangerous, vile, and driven by lust, power and hunger. That Islam is the root of evil with an agenda to spread and annihilate. My conscious also tells me that Islamic laws forbid transgenderism (I’m only going to speak from a transgender POV, since I do not identify with other components of the LGBTQ+ spectrum).

Islamic law forbids and condemns my existence and furthermore MY OWN culture and religion forbids Islam and Islamic men in general. These two scenarios work counterintuitively in drawing me towards THAT which I should not pursue because of the “taboo”.

In a way, I’m subconsciously affirming my existence and VALIDITY through the sheer fact that Muslim men ARE attracted to me despite me being transgender. Because they’re drawn to me, I’m indirectly challenging Islamic fundamentals by the sheer fact that I’m attracting devout Muslim men towards me.

As I stated prior, my own religion condemns Islam because of the atrocities the Muslims committed against the founding fathers of my religion. By being attracted to Muslim men innately, I’m also subconsciously challenging my OWN religion due to the unfairness that my own God bestowed upon me during birth by not making me a cis-girl. My battle with my God is an old one. It is a mental battle filled with revenge, hatred and hopelessness at the fact that my God turned my life into a drama and deprived everything I COULD have been if I were born a girl.

I cannot begin to explain the mental struggle, depression and praying I’ve done since my adolescence that I would wake up one day and be a girl. How many times I prayed in the temples and churches before sleep that I would one day wake up from this nightmare and be a girl. A girl that would have been a perfect wife, caring mother and a nurturing caregiver to her family. All this was taken from me because of what my God did to me.

By being attracted to Muslim men, I’m subconsciously seeking revenge against my own God while also proving that Muslim men CAN and WILL be attracted to me DESPITE what Islam says about me. It is how I justify my own affliction.

The second variable is the fact that I’m drawn to toxic masculinity. I’ve grown up watching movies in which Muslim men kidnap, rape, impregnate and forcefully marry girls from my religion and how these girls are then disowned by their parents for being “marked” by these dangerous men. As I stated prior, being with Muslim men is very taboo and off limits in my culture and religion. The reason I’m drawn to toxic masculinity is most probably because I’ve been deprived from expression of my OWN femininity during the crucial developmental stages of my life all while KNOWING deep down that my soul and mind have always been that of a girl.

I grew up in a culture and country where patriarchy was also very prominent. Traditional male and female gender roles were very much well defined in the culture and in fact submissive women are highly praised and deemed marriage worthy. Women are taught to cook, clean, raise children and be housewives from a very young age by their mothers.

I envied that I COULDN’T play the part of being a submissive, demure and obedient girl that should have also been groomed to be a perfect housewife and mother. I grew up seeing this but could never partake in it, my hopes and dreams were taken from me so young. I felt that I was bound to be in a prison that I could not escape from for something I did in my past life to deserve such a pathetic life now. I had suicidal tendencies as my only way out of this unjust world.

As I became a teenager and into my early adulthood, all my friends have always been cis-females. I saw how my friends wished for materialistic gains such as: money, big weddings, expensive rings, clothes and fancy houses. While the only thing I ever wished for was to be deeply and madly in love with a man that would treat me like his wife. For all I cared, our wedding ring could have been made from wood as long as it was given by him. All I wanted was to love him unconditionally despite our differences, raise our kids, spread his lineage and serve as a rock to our little family.

I never cared about money, houses and clothes. These were all shallow things. I knew our money would be for our home, our kids and future. All I ever wanted and cared for in this world was a traditional family. It hurts me to this very day, that 95% of the men population in this world that I could have been an ideal wife to will not even look at me because of what’s between my legs. It hurts me to see these men struggling, being used and cheated on by those who have no intention to love them.

This is why I’m drawn to whatever the society deems as “toxic masculinity”. Because I genuinely respect and look up to men. I understand my role and purpose in this life, it’s the least I can do. I cannot give the man a child, I may not even be their choice in marriage…. But the least I can do is serve my purpose when I can.

Of course Muslim men and Islam by default personify the ideals of what traditional gender roles are between a man and women. How women should be covered, coveted and protected and the man should be the bread-winners and display ghayrah. These are ideals I could see myself in. This is why I’m innately drawn to Muslim men because they make me feel like a women I have always been deep down with my complex emotions.

They just sort of get me… it’s not an attraction based on their lust and desire for what’s between my legs. Rather they are attracted to me for my hyper-femininity, submissiveness, which is basically the language of my soul and mind. That’s what make me who I am as a women. I like that I can use my submissive, demure and feminine nature and turn that into my strength to attract Muslim men who understand what THEY crave deep inside, which is to dominate and control (as is their instinct). The relationship I have with Muslim men is primal and very innate. It has nothing to do with what’s between my legs.

[domesticatedbymuslim]

He bought me this beautiful abaya from his homeland! He says I must learn to wear it out in public and slowly when I’m used to it, he will introduce me to the niqab, which will cover my entire face. He says women are not meant to be seen or heard by stranger men, it brings their values down. He says soon he will take me to his country and marry me there, where even the law will make me cover up. He says I will not be able to leave the house without him and make any decisions or own property. I’m a little scared …. but I love him so much 🥺😭!

[domesticatedbymuslim]

He wants me to in full sleeves and modest clothing even at home. He tell me he cannot focus on his tasks if I have too much skin showing. I am only allowed to wear his favorite panties and bra when I’m in bed with him. However, He allows me to uncover my head and let my hair out UNLESS his friends are coming over to watch a football match. When he has his friends over, I’m not allowed to leave our room, no matter how long they take. It makes me appreciate the smaller things in life… like reading a book or painting my nails 💅 🤗🤭.

[domesticatedbymuslim]

The Baby Shower

I was going to his niece’s baby shower, a function that would exclusively be attended by women only. I had pleaded for weeks and obeyed him diligently to be allowed to attend and wear my fancy shawl instead of a niqab. He had reluctantly obliged, but obliged nevertheless. Such was my life now, it seemed imagined. Like secrets kept at 4th grade slumber parties, about trying on mom’s makeup or bra without her finding out. It doesn’t seem it would be the true shape of the world. That’s a hangover from an extinct reality… that appeared to be drifting further and further away as I found ways to survive in his country.

I jumped in surprise as Yusuf entered the room behind me, I was not expecting him home from the gym so soon. I watched him through the mirror as he hung his workout equipment behind the door. His wife beater drenched in sweat, he single-handedly whisked his wife beater off, his hairy chest heaving up and down from his hard breathing.

I fumbled to wrap the shawl tighter around my head and neck. Making sure my arms, neck and hair remained covered. My body tensed as I watched him approach behind me, his bare chest and muscles bulging and glistening in the dim light of the room. He looked at me through the mirror, our eyes locking briefly. I smiled at him shyly and looked down quickly pretending to adjust the rings on my fingers.

I felt his big hands grab my hips and pull my body into him. My heart beating in my throat, feeling his engorged and hard erection nudging at me. “Wallahh you look breathtaking….did you get ready for me habibti?”, he said biting his lips, his eyes smiling mischievously. I felt his hands move from my hips and wrap around my waist and stomach. He slowly made circles around my belly button with his thumb. I timidly looked at his reflection in the mirror, our eyes locked again, “I was getting ready for Zainab’s baby shower, it’s today”, I said softly my voice breaking. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively, his eyes becoming stern.

He turned me around effortlessly, one arm wrapped around my waist to ensure my body remained pressed into him. I put my hands on his hairy chest, his pecs still glistening with sweat. With his other hand, he lifted my chin up so that my eyes looked directly into him. “Have you lost your mind hayati ? Were you actually going to step out of my house showing your beauty and MY body to the entire world?” He said loudly and sternly.

I looked up at him shocked, tears welling up in my eyes. “But Yusuf you had promised last week that….”, I started, my voice breaking halfway through the sentence. “ITTAQILLAH, DO NOT EVER put yourself on display, you do not want to see the worst side of me habibti, I promised to ALLAH you will only receive love from me, wallahi DO NOT test my kindness”, he growled his voice thundering of the four walls.

Tears rolled down both my eyes as Yusuf unwrapped the shawl and tossed it aside. I stood silently, as Yusuf removed my long flowy maxi dress underneath. The dress fell to my ankles, revealing my matching nude bra and panties underneath. He raised my chin up so that my watery eyes met with his menacing glare. “You were two thin garments away from this magnificent view, a stupid shawl and a dress — EASY access”, he smirked in disbelief his eyes locked on my cleavage.

“But I….”, I started timidly. He came down rapidly and covered my mouth with his, cutting off my feeble attempt to explain myself . His tongue parted my lips and worked its way in my mouth. He devoured me with a deep kiss. I looked into his eyes helplessly, my hands gripping on his strong biceps to catch myself from falling as he backed me towards the bed mere inches away. I accepted my fate as I felt the bed side hit my legs. I fell back onto the bed on my back before Yusuf had the chance to throw me onto the bed. His body was heavy, and he was pressing down onto me with full force. He hungrily continued to kiss me as I struggled to catch my breath to breathe and push him back to alleviate the weight of him.

His eyes briefly locked into mine, the look of awe and helplessness embellished into my eyes. He pulled back, unlocking his lips from mine and shifting his weight slightly. I gasped for air, as I struggled to catch my breath, Yusuf had moved to my neck. His thick beard scratching the soft of my neck as he kissed, suckled and lightly bit my neck. I heard him growl and grunt as he grabbed my swollen breasts from under the bra and plopped them out. I noticed my nude color bra had changed to a darker color due to being drenched in his sweat. I flinched at the firmness of his grasp, “Yusuf….”, I gasped, “please….”, I said absentmindedly as my hands wrapped around his broad shoulders and legs involuntarily opened underneath him.

Yusuf lowered himself to my breasts, wrapping his mouth around my puffy nipples. My eyes rolled back as I felt him swallow my boobs. He was being gentle, making love to them. I looked down at him amazement, he caressed and sucked my breasts, milking them with his mouth and tongue. His tongue probing my areoles at the same time. He looked up at me, from this angle he looked like a lion enjoying his kill. I felt fire forming in my pelvic floor and inner thighs.

Yusuf worked his way back up to my neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and bite marks along the way. I stared blankly up at the ceiling as I felt him shift his weight to the side to lower his boxers, unleashing his manhood. With the same hand, he grabbed one of legs, lifted it and pinned it to the side, stretching my legs painfully apart to their limit. He lowered his hand again as I held the position, and pulled my panties to the side. Like a deer caught in headlights, I laid there under him, limp and helpless. I tasted his sweat, the smell of his body, his pheromones, his sweat soaking my body, his weight pressing me down— immobilizing my mind, body and senses.

I prepared my body and mind to be invaded by him. My grip around his biceps tightened as I felt the tip of his manhood pressing against my hole, threatening to fill my insides. “F*CK”, he growled loudly in my ears, still buried in my neck. I flinched, my hands shooting up involuntarily to cover my face anticipating a strike.

“ASTAGFIRULLAH…. give me control and RESTRAIN me ALLAH TA’ALA”, he shouted as he raised himself push-up style from on top me. He looked down and examined my bruised neck and lips, red nipples, smeared lipstick, running mascara, destroyed foundation. His sweat dripped on my face and glistening boobs, now red as plum on my fair skin.

I stared blankly at his sweaty hairy chest, avoiding his stare, perhaps in shame of how he was seeing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of his manhood, dangling fully erect at 9 inches between his legs, covered in veins, and thick as my wrists, twitching and dripping with pre-cum. My eyes widened as they quickly darted away and I turned my face to the side, towards his hairy arms, which had locked me under him. My legs were still open to receive him, dangling to the side. “Habibti…”, he said in disbelief, with guilt in his tone. His tone triggered waves of buried emotion, my eyes flooded with tears again. I turned to my side, still locked between his arms, and scrunched up in fetal position as I sobbed uncontrollably. The truth was, no matter how much Yusuf tried, how gently he made love to me, how much he promised to raise kids together, how much he promised to grow old together……he had stolen from me everything I had ever known. He had ripped me away from my loving family, my country, my reality, my identity and the part that hurt the most…. my individuality, integrity and down to my very body.

He had broken me enough to induce a complex feeling unbeknownst to me, a feeling that caused me to yearn for him, my captor, to come home safely and to protect me, because I’d rather him feast on me than men on the streets waiting their turn — he used my fears to establish my need for him. He induced feeling that caused my body to betray me and send waves of orgasms convulsing through my body every time he mounted me, despite feeling broken and dead on the inside — he used my body to betray my feelings for him.

I cried, because I was scared I could never love him. I cried, because how could I raise his children born of r*pe and trauma? Was it possible to fall in love with my subjugator? He unmounted me and laid behind me spooning me, kissing the back of my neck. “Take a shower and get dressed appropriately baby, I’m gonna drop you off at Zainab’s,” he said giving me a small nudge. I shook my head between tears. “Don’t make me repeat myself…. unless you want your friends coming to your baby shower in 3 months”, he said sternly moving his hands to my belly and rubbing it.

[domesticatedbymuslim]

Muslimah Etiquettes

I seldom get questions asking me, “how to be a proper Muslimah?” In order to be a proper Muslimah, a women (cis or trans), must become the product and extension of her husband’s and Islam’s discipline. She must understand the art of being demure, silent, subservient, subordinate to the almighty ALLAH SUBHANAHU WA TA’ALA first and second to her Husband. When she carries herself how she would in front of her husband in the world around her, she will exude elegance, femininity and modesty beyond all belief.

Despite being fully veiled, a proper Muslimah will turn eyes of all men and women because of her softness, frailty and divine feminine energy. For this reason, she should take extra precaution to ensure her visage is not up for display for lustful eyes and jealously.

Some tips you can follow in public:

Ditch revealing clothes. Change your wardrobe to flowly shawls and stoles. Cover your face with a face mask if you’re not a niqabi.

Occupy as little space as possible while sitting, standing or walking. Decrease the distance between your strides.

Speak only when spoken to. Don’t speak in front of any man, nod and say as little as possible if you can.

Do not shake hands with men. Greet men by nodding and greet women by hugging them or embracing them shoulder to shoulder. Do not shake hands with anyone.

Keep your gaze lowered, do not hold eye contact with men. If you must look at them, only do so for a quick second and then avert your gaze.

If a man is blocking your path, simply wait for him to move away. Do not invade his space. If a women is blocking your path, it is ok to kindly ask her to move and give her a warm smile and say “thank you.”

Do not attempt to walk faster or in front of men in public. Rather, slow down, take a deep breath and stride behind them. The fundamental rule of Islam is that a man’s eyes should never be on your back in prayer, in sitting or walking.

Avoid walking through groups of men or walking into a room filled exclusively with men. Stay in female only spaces.

Avoid harsh movements with hands or arms. Develop a whimsical, dance like and elegant way of hand movement and body positioning.

If fellow women are in need of assistance with their children, holding something or anything appropriate, offer to help them.

Always walk on the side away from the road by default. If the street is narrow and you must cross path with a man, hug the wall and allow him to pass.

[domesticatedbymuslim]

Hello sister

Your blog has great stories and I love your posts !

1st : are these photos the real you ? Cuz you look so beautiful.

2nd : are your stories real ? Cuz I'm from Iraq and I don't know if they have foreign trans women in our country.

P.S. I'm a trans woman as well , just living in the closet unfortunately.

As-salamu alaykum sister, I hope you are safe and well!

1.) Yes, those are my photos. Thank you for the compliments 😘

2.) Yes, majority of my stories are real, such as the truck stop, meeting my boyfriend (Denali) and the Iraq trip (Baqia) and others contain segments of real life scenarios that my boyfriend “Yusuf” and I enact in our daily lives or during role plays.

My trip to Iraq was from a standpoint of a foreigner transgender women (myself) visiting the country. By no means did I have a safe time there, as I highlighted in very descriptive detail of the “Baqia” story. I would not recommend any transgender women to visit alone due to sexual harassment and ra*pe. The reason why I write about my stories is because it helps me cope with the mental trauma that I have faced throughout my life… since younger years. It’s my way of confronting what has happened, by sharing it with others.

[domesticatedbymuslim]

Is this a trans muslim tradwife blog?

this is a domesticatebymuslim blog…. clearly

[domesticatedbymuslim]

Loved my soft glam today 🖤❤️

[domesticatedbymuslim]

Tumblr is now putting “Community Labels” on my writing and stories as well 🤦🏻‍♀️. This takes the fun out of writing, creativity and self expression. Very unfortunate to see this kind of policing happening on writing blogs where writers can’t even share their stories freely. Tumblr has truly hit an all time low. What a shame.

[domesticatedbymuslim]

🖤

[domesticatedbymuslim]

tonight, the stars have my lips, and the moon has my heart 🤎