He had arrived in her country. The flight had taken nine hours and fifty minutes non-stop via Brussels Airlines and he was tired. Stepping from the air-plane onto the hot, sun drenched tarmac, she was standing there waiting for him. She was wearing a green Irun dress cut from the most gorgeous silky satin with dark Ran-ban sunglasses. She was beautiful and more. They hurriedly got through customs and into a waiting taxi. 'One World Village Guesthouse, please driver', he said. They were booked there for twenty-eight days. He could extend his visa when the time came, if needed, by getting his passport stamped at the Immigration Office.
They got to the guesthouse and he paid the driver on getting out. Booking into the guesthouse they were shown to their room. It was a double room with a toilet, fridge and parlour. The view overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. He decided to take a shower before they went out to eat. MacDomaro was the place to eat, she had told him. They offered local and international dishes.
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They had met through a dating site online. Chatting daily which turned into weeks and then months. Exchanging photographs, she had told him that she lived with her Mum and Step Dad and siblings. Because she was the first born, she had to do all the chores around the house, cook, wash, get her brother and sisters ready for school, fetch water and always tired and ready for bed early. She was a Muslim by birth, but did not told with it, although she carried out her prayers and kept to Ramadan.Wrote about her granny and where she lived and also told him about her grandad and how he died fighting for his country's freedom. She even wrote and told him that she was still a virgin. Then one day, she wrote and told him that she was in love with him. He wrote back and said that he was too old for her. She put up a good argument about age not meaning anything if you had found the one you loved. They exchanged email addresses and mobile numbers at this point and would carry on that way. He thought it would be for the better if she was that serious about him.
One particular afternoon, having got home, he logged into his computer and went to his emails. She had sent him a couple of photographs of herself completely naked with the caption, 'It's yours when you want it'. Having already got undressed to take a shower, he quickly masturbated is cock until it was hard and stood up proud. Taking a photograph, he sent it to her. Knowing that she would not answer until later that evening after she had finished all her chores. Later that evening her reply was waiting for him. 'Wow I love that. Can't wait to be on your bed. Can't wait for that to be inside me'. He wrote back. 'I would be so gentle when we make love together. Slowly kiss your neck, breasts, stomach, pussy. Lick and play with your clit, sliding in and out with my tongue and fingers until you are so moist that you beg me to stop. Slide my cock into your moist pussy, moving in and out until you cum my love'. 'I love that big dick. You're driving me crazy. You making my pants wet already'. Wow honey! I can't believe you'll do all that. You'll kill me then. I won't want to miss that', she replied. She sent him another photograph of herself. 'You look gorgeous. I want to curl my lips around your nipples and lightly flick my tongue over them, making them hard in my mouth until they ache. Slide my tongue deep inside you and drink from your loving cup', he wrote. 'Wow honey. I don't think I can sleep today. I'm already in the mood. Wow I love that', was her reply to him. So. their relationship blossomed over the internet.
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'Could I order the food? Only I would like you to try one of our traditional dishes', she asked. She ordered Benachin for them both, a popular dish that is prepared in one pot and consisted of rice, vegetables and meat that is cooked together. After they had eaten he had paid the bill and on the way back from the restaurant to the hotel, she held onto his arm, happy in the fact that she now had a man in her life, who loved her and would look after her. Holding hands, which was frowned upon in her country, but she did not care. Together, dancing barefoot in the sand.
Back at the hotel room, you stand resting your palms against the glass door and let me help you out of your tight jeans. My fingers resume their trail up your legs. You shake with anticipation. When my fingers push up against your panties, you feel the wetness of your desire soak into the fabric. I tuck my fingers under the wet fabric and between your throbbing lips. You gasp loudly and squirm. My fingers find your clit and massage around it. I work my other hand up the front of your black shirt and into your dark blue, lace bra, finding your nipple with ease, my finger and thumb squeeze your nipple as I speed up the rhythm of my fingers in your matching panties, which you had pulled up tight over your shaved pussy and buttocks. You pant as the pressure builds. Then suddenly, you gasp out loud as your moist pussy can no longer stand the pleasure and your cum starts to flow down your legs. They moved to the bed and she came to him for warmth. She moaned and moved softly. He placed his hands on her beautiful round buttocks. Her movement was rhythmic and after some minutes she began moving faster, jumping on top of him, while he held onto her. Their hearts, the drums, their breathing the bass. Like a body drowned, he seemed to float gradually upwards, as though from some unconscious depth, towards the surface which was the room. He was tired. They both drifted off to sleep, their bodies entwined.
