Saudi Milf & Blac Scholar

My sweet Amina I want you to fart on my face and also fart loudly during anal sex, my boyfriend Tyrone Ferguson said calmly to me as we sat cozily inside the Caribbean Sensations Restaurant in the east end of metropolitan Ottawa, Ontario. Located on Montreal Road, the place is small but absolutely wonderful.

I'm really fond of Caribbean food and have been coming to this quaint little place for a while now. The owner, a kindly forty-something black lady with a charming French accent, makes the most delicious food ever. Seriously, the food is something to write home about. I introduced Tyrone to Caribbean food last month, and now we're both addicted to it.

Tyrone Ferguson and I are addicted to each other as well. Two souls from opposite sides of the globe. We simply can't keep our hands off of each other. Passion is a powerful thing, ladies and gentlemen. It keeps getting us in trouble, though. Like that time Tyrone and I got caught having sex by some bozo at the Saint Laurent Mall. Thanks to my quick thinking, we got away before security could get to us. Still, Tyrone doesn't know when to quit. We can't keep having sex in public spaces, seriously.

Wow, I said, sipping on my lemonade while eyeing my plate of delicious white rice with brown bean sauce and goat meat. My name is Amina Alzahrani and I'm a young Saudi Arabian woman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I study bio-medical engineering at the University of Ottawa, and my boo, Tyrone Ferguson, is from Buffalo, New York. He transferred to Carleton University's MBA program from Buffalo State College. We first met in Buffalo, New York, and later ran into each other at Billings Bridge Mall in Ottawa. We've been together ever since.

Tyrone Ferguson and I love each other, and we have a passionate relationship, but it's not without its challenges. I'm a Muslim woman and Tyrone considers himself a lapsed Christian who's flirting with agnosticism. I'm from the Yanbu region of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, and Tyrone hails from upstate New York. We're from different worlds, to say the least. The fact that we're still together after everything the world threw at us is a miracle, I think.

Tyrone means a lot to me. I love this man something fierce, but the stuff that comes out of his mouth sometimes stuns me. I smiled politely at Tyrone, who flashed me a wicked grin, and touched my knee under the table. Usually, I like this sort of thing. The other patrons in the small Caribbean restaurant, all of them black folks, minded their business instead of staring at us.

The fact that Tyrone and I, a black man and a hijab-wearing Arab woman, are dining together in this black-owned and operated restaurant didn't seem to bother the owner or the other patrons. We were just another couple dining, that's all. Nobody stared at us or made us feel unwelcome. That's part of the reason why I like Caribbean cuisine and the beautiful, friendly people whom it originates from. They've got diversity among themselves, and don't make someone like me feel unwelcome. I wish other Canadians would emulate them.

Not the time and place dear, I replied to Tyrone Ferguson as politely as I could. The bastard slid his hand between my legs, and I cursed the fact that on this wintry December afternoon, I had chosen to wear a traditional long skirt, in the cultural tradition. Tyrone ignored the smoldering anger in my eyes or my pursed lips and worked his hand up my skirt, to the space between my thighs.

Oh, I said, sighing happily as Tyrone's fingers slid into my cunt. Um, I wasn't wearing any panties. It snowed last night and for some reason, it feels warmer outside after a snowfall. Alright, who am I kidding? I'm a freaky bitch who only wears panties on her period, and that's the damn truth. I willed myself to stay calm, refusing to give into Tyrone's sweet pressure. The bastard slid two fingers into my cunt and twisted them inside of me.

I gritted my teeth and looked into Tyrone's eyes, maintaining my poker face...albeit with great difficulty. I, Amina Alzahrani, am a woman of strong will. I refuse to give in. Beads of sweat pearled on my forehead, and I found myself feeling heat that had nothing to do with the blazing temperature inside the restaurant. I generate my own heat, down below, and Tyrone knows exactly how to get at me...

Fortunately for all involved, Tyrone and I were sitting at the far end of the restaurant, away from prying eyes. I took a deep breath, looked into Tyrone's eyes and grabbed his hand, pulling it away from me. I'm going downstairs to freshen up, I said, all seriousness. I got up, and walked to the stairway leading to the backroom downstairs. I could feel Tyrone's eyes on me. I turned around, flashed him a grin, and disappeared from view.

Five minutes later, Tyrone Ferguson joined me downstairs, and we got busy in the cool, dark room. We kissed passionately, and then did our thing. I sat down on a pile of dusty boxes, hiked up my traditional Islamic skirt, and spread my thighs invitingly. Tyrone buried his face between my legs, and licked my sweet pussy. I cried out in sheer pleasure as Tyrone fingered my pussy, licked my clit and probed me like only he could.

Tyrone licked me good, and then got ready to ease his hard dick into me. Let me taste you, I whispered, and Tyrone stared at me, a surprised smile on his handsome face. Happily I knelt before my chocolate prince and worshipped at his altar. I sucked his big ole dick with gusto, and licked his big hairy balls as well. Something about the way a man's balls smell and taste just gets me hot. I doubt I'm the only woman who feels that way.

I sucked Tyrone's dick until he came, and then, happily, I swallowed every last drop of his cum. Fun and tasty as usual, I said with a grin as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Hell yeah, Tyrone replied, and was about to say something else when approaching footsteps interrupted us. A burly middle-aged black dude came down the stairs, and glared at Tyrone and I, stunned by what he saw. Mezanmi, the old black dude said, and promptly turned tail and rushed back up the stairs.

Not again, I said, rolling my eyes as Tyrone and I hastily readjusted our clothes, and then left the restaurant. The older black dude we saw downstairs was talking animatedly to the restaurant owner, and his eyes went wide when he saw us. Thanks for your hospitality, I said to the lady, who nodded hesitantly. Delicious food we loved it, Tyrone chimed in. Laughing, we made a dash for our car, which we parked across the street from a nearby strip club. Good times, I said, laughing, to Tyrone, as we sped away.