An Office Refugee

That night, I'd contemplated (more like, I'd panicked) how I was going to manage what had happened between me and Zanire. I'd received the best blow job ever. I had a severe case of 'adulterous guilt.' I wanted another blow job. Could I just ask for one? Was Zanire playing some sort of game? I didn't get much sleep.

Being the coward that I am, I certainly wasn't going to come out with, 'Zanire, get in here, blow job now.' Perhaps a bit of old fashioned romance, perhaps a pay raise, perhaps threaten her with termination? Perhaps I could chicken out and see what Zanire does?

I heard the front office door close and the jangle of Zanire's silver bracelets, I readied myself. Time to bite the bullet. I swallowed hard and stuck my head around the corner. "Zanire, can you come in here," my voice faltering.

I stumbled on, "Our dalliance two nights ago was wonderful. However, I'd like to see if we can discuss the best way to move forward." Shit, this did sound like I was reading from a script. Stop, take a deep breath. "Zanire, before you start cleaning, can we have a chat?"

"Yes Mr Johnstone, Zanire can talk now. Zanire talk to you anytime." That amusing sing song voice. A smirk appearing across Zanire's broad, dark face.

Exasperated I asked, "Zanire, is that really you, why are you talking like that?"

"Why Mr J, you don't like the way I speak? You don't like Sudanese girl?" Zanire, paused, looked at me and smiled, it was more than a smile, it was an all teeth and gums grin.

"Stop it Zanire! Please tell me what's going on, why are there two Zanires?"

With a more serious, almost melancholy expression, Zanire continued without the accent. She plonked herself in a chair and began her story.

"OK, Roger, I'll stop messing with you. When we first arrived in Sydney, I applied for many positions that were more suited to my education and experience but, I couldn't even get an interview. Then RefuCare, suggested that I lower my expectations and try for more entry level positions."

Zanire, paused, looked at me, as though she was uncertain how to proceed. We weren't dealing with my issues, but we were talking. Zanire continued.

"So I applied for work in Retail, Customer Service, Tele-marketing. Anything that was on offer. I had no luck at all, it appears that Australians don't want to employ Sudanese refugees. Then one day I met your wife and she was so positive and so keen to help a poor Sudanese family that I thought I should act the part that she wanted me to play. So I became Zanire, the cleaner. I didn't mind, I finally had a job and playing Zanire the cleaner is fun."

"Is Zanire your real name?" I asked, nervous about the reference to my wife. Zanire continued on.

"Yes, Zanire is my real name. Don't look so dismayed Roger, I was happy to be working. I finally had some money and a small glimmer of hope that all Australians aren't racist Rednecks."

"Is that what you really think? We are all racist?"

"Well, perhaps 'racist' is a bit harsh, but Australians tend to pigeonhole and stereotype everyone who isn't white. Their ignorance blinds them, they are unable see more than what they're told to see."

I was interested to hear more. Zanire was the first Refugee I'd ever met, let alone had sex with. "Zanire, the cleaning can wait, would you like a drink? Tea, coffee, a glass of wine, a beer?"

"Yes, let's have a beer. We can save on the washing up." Zanire flashed that dazzling smile at me.

As I walked off to the kitchen, my concerns about talking to Zanire had vanished. She was interesting and easy to chat to. However, I wondered how I could raise the question of us? For me, it was the elephant in the room.

I returned to my desk, offering Zanire an opened beer, I skirted the issue and carried on. "So what education and experience do you have? I may be able to help find more suitable work."

"Why you not like Zanire the cleaner?" She laughed heartily.

"Zanire very good cleaner, Zanire such talent." I fed straight back to her. Now we both laughed.

"I have a Bachelor's Degree in Business Management, and I've worked for more than 5 years in Marketing and Public Relations."

"Well done, sounds impressive. What sort of Marketing and PR?"

"Mainly in the wholesale sector, focusing on department stores and big box retailers."

"So how did you become a refugee, how did you end up in Australia? Did you arrive in a leaky fishing boat?" I was keen to learn more.

Zanire continued. "To cut a very long story, very short: We were visiting our Grandparents' village for a family celebration, when a rebel army stormed through and destroyed everything. We collected whatever came to hand and fled. Soon we were in a transitional camp with no papers and no way of proving our identity. I couldn't leave my family to try to get back to Khartoum. Fortunately, we had some money and we were able to buy Refugee status and apply to come to Australia. The whole journey took all our money and several years."

Zanire, stopped took a deep breath and a big gulp of beer.

"Zanire, surely you have friends? A life in Khartoum? Couldn't anyone help you?"

Zanire shook her head and sighed, "Sudan is a mess, my family and I want to start a new life here." She looked away and took another sip of beer.

"Zanire, why did you have sex with me?" Shit. Where did that come from?

"You no like Zanire's blow job?" She laughed, flashing that toothy white grin.

"Zanire, you're not making this any easier for me. It's not every day that a middle-aged consultant, like me, gets that sort of attention from an attractive young girl."

"Roger, I'm just over thirty and it would be three years since I've had any decent sex. Your treat, the other night was fun, but it wasn't really proper sex."

Taking a final slug from my beer, I blurted out, "Zanire, would you consider having proper sex with me?"

Zanire, didn't respond, her head tilted and one eyebrow rose.

Shit, this wasn't simple. "Zanire, you know what I mean! I have an overnight business trip coming up, would you please accompany me?" I rambled on, almost begging Zanire to say yes. "Can you get away? I'll pay for everything. Would you like to? Did I say Please, yet?" "Please, please, come to Melbourne with me." I really hadn't thought this through.

"So Roger, you'd like to take this poor black girl on an 'all expenses' paid business trip but only if she agrees to have sex with you? Isn't this exploitation, just another racist fucking the refugee?"

I gulped. Zanire laughed. She was laughing so much, I really didn't know what to do or what to say.

"Roger, I'll help you here. Yes, I'd love to have proper sex with you. Yes, I can get away overnight and yes, I like it when you say, please."

I leapt out of my chair, sprinted around the desk and kissed her as passionately as I knew how. I hugged and squeezed, probably a bit too tight.

Coming up for air, she held me back. "Not a bad kiss Roger, but we do have one problem though. Well, two, actually." One, I don't have anything to wear and two, there is the small matter of your wife."

Feeling a lot more comfortable and somewhat in control, I hugged her. "We can easily sort out the clothes problem, Sydney has plenty of shops. And, as for my wife, she won't know unless you tell her."

Zanire pushed me back and looked me in the eye. "As if I'd discuss this with anyone. It would just further the crappy stereotypes you Australians have about refugees. And, as for fucking the boss, what a cliché."

Then she cupped my face in her hands and kissed me.

-*-

Zanire had invested my money well, and the transformation was astonishing. Gone were the shapeless, floppy sweaters and cheap silver bracelets. Instead, Zanire wore a classic tailored suit. The skirt, a sensible length, finished just above her knee. The jacket, snug across her significant chest looked very professional. The cornrows woven into an impressive bun. The whole package suggested that Zanire was comfortable and confident in her own skin. Only her constant fidgeting showed how anxious she was.

We had time for a quick drink in the business lounge before the flight. The captains of industry and marketing executives were slumped over their laptops or busy on their phones. They 'gawked' at this unusual, exotic African creature intruding into their sanctuary. To relieve Zanire's nerves, I discretely squeezed her hand and whispered. "Hold your head up high, you're as good as them. I'll get you a gin and tonic."

Through clenched teeth, Zanire delivered the instruction: "Make that drink a very big one, I need it! Why did I ever agree to this?"

I felt Zanire's discomfort. I was desperate to get her out of there, take her somewhere safe.

Finally, we left the airport and relaxed in the privacy of the waiting limo. The tension evaporated instantly. I placed my arm around her shoulder and with a possessive squeeze I thought how wonderful she was. It couldn't have been easy for her. Australian women are still under-represented in business, imagine what it was like for a black, female, refugee in that environment?

I desperately wanted Zanire to fit into this world, to be a part of 'normal' life here. I was eager for her to enjoy our trip and our first dinner. During the meal, I rambled on about cool climate Rieslings, slow waiters, and scallops that were marginally over cooked. But really, I just wanted to be alone with Zanire, she was special and I wanted to show her just how special she was.

Thankfully, Zanire took the initiative and with an awful Mae West parody, she whispered, "Why don't you come up to my room and bring champagne?"

We walked through the hotel reception, hand in hand. The look from the concierge desk was priceless. A black girl with a businessman. Probably a hooker and her punter?

"Oh Roger, this room is wonderful, look at the size of that bed! This bathroom is incredible. Have a look at the shower, you could fit a football team in here. I don't think I've ever been in a room as big as this."

Admittedly I'd gone all out and upgraded to a suite. The look of sheer excitement on Zanire's face was worth every cent.

Zanire, bouncing around the room, like a child on Christmas morning, squealed, "Roger this is so much fun. The TV is huge, we can watch from bed. Not that we'll have time. Look at the size of these pillows! Imagine how many geese have died to stuff those? Look at the view, I can see all of Melbourne"

Smiling proudly at her obvious glee, I said, "Zanire, go and have a shower. Have a bath. Enjoy yourself."

It felt like several hours for Zanire to return. She emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and a fluffy white robe. I hugged her, drawing her body close to mine. Immersed in the scent of rose water and complimentary hotel toiletries, I kissed her nose, her eyes, her lips, her neck.

I took Zanire's hand, leading her to the bed. I gestured towards an exquisitely wrapped package. "I bought you a present...open it while I jump in the shower."

"You bought me a gift? You're so sweet. Zanire like Mr. Johnstone," she purred, with a big white toothy smile and an exaggerated flutter of eyelashes.

After a quick shower and a thorough shave, I sat, wrapped in a towel, on the edge of the bed. I felt like a school boy as Zanire modeled my present, she was African strength cuddled in delicate lace. Zanire kissed me on both cheeks, the European way, and pushed me onto the bed.

"You bought me lingerie, you wicked man." Zanire turned, raised a heel, and with her hands on hips she threw her head back, just like a fabulous chunky model on a catwalk.

The assistant at La Perla said the 'dove-egg blue' colour would be quite complementary with dark skin, and she was right. Zanire looked gorgeous, the lacy boyshort panties fit snugly across her solid bottom, the spectacular bra displayed her breasts perfectly. Zanire raised the panties higher, exposing a generous, round buttock. She turned, leaned from the waist and with her hands on her thighs, she squeezed her breasts together, presenting them to me.

"Roger, it's beautiful, I've never owned lingerie like this. Thank you so much." Zanire sashayed over to the champagne, her 'booty' looking mighty fine.

She handed me both glasses, unwrapped my towel, and slowly ran her finger up the length of my grateful dick. She leaned forward and placed a baby kiss, on its tip.

"It looks like something else enjoys new lingerie."

Zanire smiled as she sat back, took a glass of champagne, and offered a toast. With the clink of glass, she sipped and said, "Here's to the start of happy days."

"Yes, happy days."

Zanire took another sip, wetting her lips, then she lightly kissed me. I could feel the warmth of her mouth and the sparkles from the champagne.

"Can you feel the bubbles? I love that."

"Yes Zanire, it's wonderful."

Zanire unclasped her bra, the cups still holding her breasts as the straps fell from her shoulders. She slowly lowered the bra, folded it neatly and sank into the pillows. Gracefully holding the champagne, she dampened her index finger, she let a drip fall. With a seductive pout, she caught the champagne on her bottom lip. She looked so sexy, her pink tongue slowly drawing the champagne into her mouth.

"Roger, we will have proper sex now. Together we will give Zanire the best orgasm ever."

Wetting her finger, Zanire let another drop of wine fall. This time it splashed down a brown nipple.

"I like the fizz of the bubbles." She quivered as the cold champagne splashed.

Guessing at her intention, I licked her chilled nipple, tasting the effervescent wine on the tip of my tongue. Zanire let out an approving sigh, I'd guessed right.

Cupping a breast, Zanire dribbled more champagne onto her other nipple. Mesmerized, I licked enthusiastically, devouring Zanire's breast along with the champagne.

Zanire, dampened her finger with more champagne and this time she let it fall into her navel. Obediently I licked it up. Her body shivered, was it from my affection or from the jolt of cold champagne?

Raising her hips, Zanire expertly slid off the pale blue panties and folding them neatly she commented, "You are good at this game, Roger."

Propped up with pillows and with her legs crossed at the ankles, Zanire delivered the next drops of champagne to her trimmed mound, right at the top of her pussy. She quivered as the champagne leaked down amongst her folds. She squeezed her legs tightly, holding in the electrifying fizz. I maneuvered into position. Now that I was ready, I wasn't waiting for any more champagne. I buried my face in her thighs and my tongue desperately searched below.

Zanire, responding, raised her hips, exposing just a bit more. As my tongue investigated, I could just taste her. A champagne cocktail of hot woman and French bubbles.

Zanire wiggled her legs from under me. She bent her knees and placed a large pillow under her bum. She parted her thighs, and there it was! Glistening just for me, a chocolate and strawberry pussy ready to eat.

Folding her hands behind her head, her generous breasts rising proudly, Zanire commanded, "Roger, More champagne!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Guessing at her intention, I let one generous dollop of champagne splash against her opening. "It's cold, it fizzes. Quick, warm me up!" She gasped.

Like a puppy, I flattened my tongue and licked. Big long licks, from the base of her pussy to the tip of her swollen clit. I kept licking until I couldn't taste any more of the fruity champagne. Her warm, womanly exotic flavor far exceeded anything the French could put in a bottle.

She gently rocked her hips to match the rhythm of my licking, pushing forwards as my tongue brushed upwards. Collapsing when I reached her summit. I lapped at her pussy like a young Labrador with a bowl of milk. Affectionately, Zanire ran her fingers through my hair, cooing and purring with each lick. She encouraged me on. My pace quickened, I graduated from licks, to flicks with the point of my tongue. The big licks went up and down. The sharp flicks, from side to side. Zanire purred with the licks and yelped when I flicked.

Zanire wasn't breathing, she was panting, her large mouth open, sucking in oxygen. She held my head and gripped my face until I was very still. She drove her hips up at me; forcing her clit against my tongue, my chin, my nose - Grinding against any resistance she could find. There was nothing delicate or gentle about these actions. She was aggressive and furious. Zanire wanted that orgasm now!

"Yes, Yes, Yes." Zanire screamed. Her thrusts driving on.

I reached under her hips; grabbing a big buttock in each hand, I held on as best I could. I squeezed her bum and with a rigid tongue I gave her lunges a focal point. Her hips, drove and ground, smothering my face. Her thrusts and pants quickened. This was all about Zanire and I held on, desperate not to let her escape.

"Yes, Yes, Yes, I'm coming!" Zanire yelled again, and with a conclusive plunge I drove my tongue enthusiastically across her clit, then deep into her, as deep as I could go. She fought and bucked and wrestled and squealed. A noisy, feverish, hot, spasm erupted with a jolt and then silence.

Zanire, held me still, her hands balled in my hair. I stayed motionless, allowing the orgasm to resonate through her body. A calm after the storm? Not likely, her thighs were pulsing, and her stomach heaving. I lifted my head, resting my chin gently on her mound, I was smeared with an ooze of her juice, our shared exertions.

Feeling very pleased with myself, my eyes feasted. I loved how she glowed with delight. Her sexual joy, aromatic and exotic. Grins emerged from both of us – a job well done.

Zanire chuckled, "Come here lover boy and let me clean up your face."