Salwa Taher of Saudi Arabia

The sun rose over the City of Paris, France, bathing the City of Lights in its golden haze. Salwa "Sal" Taher stretched luxuriously on the king-sized bed in the master bedroom of her rented townhouse in the plush Neuilly-Sur-Seine neighborhood. The young woman yawned, and then got up, and stood in front of the mirror, wearing only a coy smile on her lovely face. Pure satisfaction was etched on her features, and with good reason.

After a night of passion during which Sal got very little rest, there were dark circles under her eyes. Sal felt pleasurably sore all over, her curvy body still tingly from all the fun and wicked things she'd done with her lover. Thankfully, she only had one afternoon class at the Sorbonne campus of the University of Paris. Morning classes quite simply weren't her style. Sal liked to wake up for Fajr prayer, and then she went right back to snoozing. Nothing else was waking up early for...

Sal glanced outside the nearby window, and admired la belle cite. The City of Paris was covered in a fine sheen of snow, and Sal, who hailed from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, land of the burning sands, shivered inwardly. As much as she loved living in Europe, she'd never get used to the snow. The cold seemed unnatural to her, a woman who was native to a land that had never known frost in the past ten thousand years...

Sal closed her eyes briefly, remembering life in her homeland, which had its own beauty in spite of the social restrictions that both men and women faced, due to the strictest interpretations of Islam's rules. Sal missed the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, its simplicity and beauty, the sturdy but decent, honest people. In Paris, France, things were different. She had far more freedom in this place, sure, but like women the world over, she had to seek opportunity while weary of pitfalls...

Sal remembered her early days in Paris, which seemed like a different world compared to Saudi Arabia. The people, the weather, the way Frenchmen and women mingled freely, and the absence of the Mutaween or religious police, enforcer of rigid gender-based apartheid, all this seemed strange yet wonderful to her. Paris seemed like a dream come true, and then she learned better...

Like all cities, Paris is home to all kinds of souls, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. Sal met many fellow Muslims there, people from places like Somalia, Algeria, Morocco, Kuwait, Kenya, Nigeria, Indonesia, Pakistan, and so on. She attended school at U of P and also went to meetings of the local Muslim Scholars Association. At school, Sal made friends, and enemies. Some of the French students were openly hostile to her, simply for being a Hijab-wearing Muslim woman from the Middle East. Others were so friendly, they seemed almost heavenly. Paris was a mix of the angelic and the devilish, and Sal hastily learned to discern between the two. Loneliness continued to plague her, until a certain young man came into her life, three years ago...

"Sal, reviens au lit, come back to bed," a sleepy male voice called out, and Salwa smiled but did not turn. Instead, she watched as a certain big and tall, dark-skinned young man sat up on the bed, stark naked, and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Marcel Duchene yawned, and then fixed his gaze on Sal...and that's when he paused. The voluptuous, bronze-skinned and raven-haired young woman, originally from the City of Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, was definitely a sight for sore eyes...

"Nah, come to me," Sal murmured, and she then proceeded to ensure that Marcel, a handsome and charming but stubborn Haitian stud, complied with her demand. She 'accidentally' knocked a hairbrush from the lower shelf of the dresser in front of her, and then bent down to pick it up. The effect was immediate, for if Marcel had one weakness, it was a thick round ass, and Sal's was definitely one of the best that he'd ever seen...

"Come here, ma belle," Marcel said, as he pulled Sal into his arms. Giggling, the young woman tried to get away, but strong arms wrapped themselves gently but firmly around her, preventing her escape. Marcel kissed the back of her neck and sniffed her raven hair, which smelled great even before she did her morning routine. Marcel's hands went from Sal's waist to her buttocks, and she licked her lips as he gave her thick ass cheeks a firm squeeze.

"Hmm, Habibi, is every man from the island of Haiti addicted to big girly bums or just you?" Sal asked, and she turned around, facing Marcel. The brother smiled, and playfully slapped her ass, then took her face into his hands. Sal looked up at Marcel, who, at six-foot-four, was exactly one foot taller than her. Like so many women from the Heartland of Islam, Salwa Taher was short, curvy, dark-eyed, dark-haired and bronze-skinned, seemingly soft and sweet but hardy, as befitting a daughter of the desert.

"Hmm, I'm one of a kind," Marcel replied, and Sal grinned, and stood on her tippy toes, planting a wet kiss on his full, succulent lips. Sal tasted Marcel's morning breath, and did not care. Passionately they embraced, and then began making love. Marcel lifted Sal up, causing her to squeal. He smiled and proceeded to caress her breasts, teasing her by flicking his tongue over her erect nipples. Sal held her breath as Marcel spread her thick thighs, and then knelt before her.

"Um, uh," Sal managed to croak out, before Marcel buried his face between her legs and began eating her pussy. Sal felt a bit self-conscious because she hadn't showered yet, but Marcel definitely did not care. The brother ate her pussy like a hungry man, teasing her clit with his tongue and sliding his fingers into her, twisting them this way and that, causing Sal to squeal in delight. The young woman went wild, her body shuddering with pleasure as her lover worked his magic on her...

"Just relax and enjoy, Habibti," Marcel paused to say, and Sal nodded hastily, closing her eyes as her lover did his thing. Later, he bent her over the nearby sofa, and as she expected, he proceeded to worship her ass. On all fours, Sal moaned softly as Marcel slid a finger into her butt hole even as he continued to give her pussy a serious tongue lashing.

"Hmm, I want to taste you," Sal said, for she was eager to return the favor after Marcel made her pussy squirt, time and again, and made her scream so loud, she was sure her neighbors heard her. Marcel nodded as Sal grabbed his dick, which was long, thick and dark. Like many men from the Caribbean and Latin America, Marcel was uncircumcised, something which Sal, as a Muslim woman, initially found strange, but quickly got over. Indeed, she found his 'hooded' dick quite fun to play with...

"Dammit, Salwa, you're killing a brother," Marcel cried out as Sal tugged on his ball sac while fellating him, greedily. Marcel watched as the young Saudi Arabian Muslim woman, who seemed so prim and proper when he met her during his first year at the University of Paris suck his dick like there was no tomorrow. When Marcel had enough, he had to basically pull Sal off of his manhood, because she simply refused to let go.

"You belong to me, handsome," Salwa said as she practically pounced on Marcel, and he tumbled on the carpeted floor, surprised by the curvy, diminutive beauty's fierce strength. Sal climbed on top of Marcel, and impaled herself on his dick, sighing deeply as he was finally embedded within her. Marcel smiled and bucked his hips, thrusting into her, and Sal began to scream, loving the feel of his hard, throbbing manhood inside of her...

"I can't get enough of you, and your killer derriere, ma Cherie," Marcel said, as he put Sal on all fours, and fucked her like this. Sal screamed passionately as Marcel fucked her with wild abandon, slamming his dick into her. She gave as good as she got, grinding her ample derriere against her lover's groin, driving his dick deeper inside of her. The two lovers continued to fuck and suck well into the latter part of the morning, only stopping when exhaustion finally claimed them...

Salwa Taher, born in Saudi Arabia to a family of Judicial Clerics, sighed happily as she sat at the table with her lover Marcel Duchene. The Haitian stud had truly outdone himself this time. After they finished making love, she went to shower, and meanwhile, he went and got breakfast for them at a small nearby café. Sal and Marcel feasted on a breakfast composed of omelets, buttered bread, oat cakes, and overly sugared coffee...plus pita bread.

"Merci pour ce dejeuner de roi, thank you for this royal breakfast," Sal said, in passable French, and Marcel took her hand and gently kissed it, then winked at her while sipping his coffee. Looking at the handsome young man sitting opposite her, Sal smiled, feeling pure contentment. To many more days like this one, the young woman thought. Instead of worrying about the future, about the world she left behind and would eventually have to return to, she decided to enjoy the only thing she knew for sure, the day she was currently in.