Hafida the Moroccan

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Hafida the Moroccan
This is the story of my ex-wife, Hafida, whom I had married following a
trip to her small home town in the south of Morocco. After reading this,
you may think I’m being spiteful, but what the hell! She was no saint

We had only been married a few days when I found her arguing vehemently
with her younger sister, Amina. Now, if Hafida is a quiet, seemingly shy
girl, then by comparison, Amina is a mouse! I was very surprised then,
when I found them engaged in a heated argument! I managed to quieten them
down, but only by threatening all sorts of mayhem. Hafida stormed out of
the room, muttering and swearing, leaving me alone with the younger sister.
Amina motioned me to sit down, and then, using her best (very broken!)
French she managed to relate to me the reason why I had, at forty two,
managed to marry her sister, an extremely beautiful twenty four year old
Arab girl.

The cause of the argument was that Hafida had confided in Amina and had
told her that she had married me solely to get out of Morocco, and get a
European passport. She intended to leave me and find a nice young Arab guy
once she had obtained said passport. Amina, apparently, had grown to like
me in the three weeks I had been staying with the family, and was outraged
that her sister was using me so badly. Needless to say, I was shocked by
this revelation, but even so, as I thought the situation through, I was
still getting quite a good deal! Hafida, apart from being heart stoppingly
gorgeous, is also, believe it or not, a great cook! I had popped her
cherry on our wedding night, had witnessed her sexual awakening and had
benefitted in no small measure from her ever increasing curiosity and
sexual appetite!

It would be five years before she qualified for a passport, so I would
be getting my money’s worth, so to speak! I could, I reasoned, live with
the knowledge that I was just a pawn in her game! I also had a lever, an
edge, as they say! If I divorced her, she would be shipped back home to
Morocco, and her plans would come to nothing.

Knowledge is power, they say, and I now was well armed. Logic is not
all though. Deep down I knew I felt angry, betrayed. Very flatteringly,
Amina told me that had she known Hafida’s plan before, she would have told
me, and that she would have married me. These girls have a much different
attitude to marriage than Western women. Hafida, she reasoned, was not
only being a cheat, but was also depriving her of something beneficial.
She had apparently, called down Allah’s curse on her sister for deceiving
me in the sacred ritual of marriage, so sparking a furious row!

A week later we were boarding the bus and heading for Europe. I had
told Amina to say nothing to anyone, and, after I explained that Hafida was
tied to me for at least five years to get her passport, and that I had no
objection to Hafida’s scheme, she shrugged her shoulders and agreed to tell
no one what she had told me. She said I was mad to let Hafida use me like
that, but she agreed to remain silent.

The journey from Hafida’s town to London, is quite a lengthy affair.
First the bus, or maybe a ‘bush taxi’ to Agadir, then an internal flight to
Casablanca, and if you are lucky, an onward connection the same day to
London. We, however, were not. Lucky, that is. We missed the London
flight by half an hour. There was nothing for it but to book into an hotel
and get the flight the next afternoon. This time we were lucky. A rather
comfortable and not too expensive hotel had a room, and we booked in.

I was rather relieved. Most hotels in Morocco are shabby flea ridden
things, charging a dollar a night, with all the cock roaches you can manage
or two hundred dollar a night extravaganzas! This hotel, however, was
clean, modern, and at ten dollars a night, cheap too!

We spent the rest of the afternoon shopping at the nearby airport mall,
buying suitable clothes for Hafida. A jalaba is not the warmest item of
clothing in the world, and February in Europe is somewhat chilly!! We also
bought some, shall we say, ‘more adventurous’ under wear for her, to
replace the rather frumpy plain stuff she usually wore. Hafida was
delighted and in high spirits when we returned to our hotel. She was now
kitted out as she thought a woman should be. Western style clothing,
including bikini briefs, thongs etc., plus matching bras, some blouses,
skirts (all ankle length) and a couple of pairs of shoes with modest heels.

The ‘trying on’ session back in our room was quite something! It was
lovely to witness her c***d like enthusiasm and excitement as she unwrapped
and put on each new item. As I watched her I couldn’t help thinking about
Amina. It could have been her beginning a new life with me, reaping the
material benefits that her commitment to me would have brought her.
Instead, it was Hafida who was harvesting the crop that deceit had yielded.

Looking back, it did seem a shame that Amina’s honesty had not been
rewarded, but there again, who’s to know if that honesty was real, or was
she just as hollow as her sister? I can tell you, however, that Amina
married a local man, and remained with him (being mother to at least two of
his c***dren) for as long as I knew the family.

Enough of the semantics though! You want to hear about something else,
right? Right! And so you shall!

About seven thirty that evening, we went to find the restaurant, me
dressed in jeans and a ‘t’ shirt, whilst Hafida looked stunning in a cobalt
blue, gold embroidered jalaba she had begged me to buy for her just before
our wedding. Again I was pleasantly surprised. Reasonable (plain and
simple) food at reasonable prices. And, unusually for a Moroccan owned
hotel, wine! Waiters in monkey suits seated us at a corner table, took our
order, and presented us with a wine list.

Now, Hafida, being a typical small town girl, was not used to all this
at all. Not only was she being waited on, but waited on by men! This to
her was a revelation! At home, she and her sisters served family and
guests alike, so having people bring her food and generally run around
after her was quite an eye opener. As for wine, it was something she (a
Muslim girl from the deep south of Morocco, remember?) had heard about, but
had never seen, never mind tasted! When the waiter brought us a bottle of
what was undoubtedly a cheap French table wine, she stared wide eyed at it.
I poured her a glass and motioned her to try it. She very hesitatingly
sniffed it then sipped at it. She winced a little as she swallowed. Cheap
and cheerful is the most generous description of it, but it had a very
fruity initial taste to it.

Apparently she liked the stuff. Either that or she considered drinking
wine a necessary western social skill that she must acquire in her bid for
European citizenship! She downed a couple of glasses in quick succession
and another couple during the meal. Needless to say, by the time we had
finished, she was a little worse for wear, as they say! In fact as we
stood up to leave the restaurant, she swayed and stumbled, motivating both
I and the waiter to make a grab for her arms to prevent her from falling

We made our way to the lobby, Hafida supported on one side by me, and by
the waiter on the other. A bellboy took in the situation, and pressed the
call button on the lift for us. When the lift arrived, the four of us
squeezed into it, Hafida giggling drunkenly. In the conservative south of
Morocco, she had never been touched by any males other than her father, or
brothers. Here she was now, hemmed in by men, all of them in close
physical contact, and none of them her father or brothers! I suddenly
realised that Hafida’s giggling was also probably due to the fact that
whilst the waiter’s left hand was supporting her by holding her left
forearm, his right arm was curled around her waist. Not only was this
outrageously forward, but was his right hand actually under her breast,
touching one of those delicious (and forbidden to him!) tits of hers?? And
why was the bellboy’s face so red? Could it be that in the close confines
of the lift, he was embarrassed because his penis was rubbing against the
lady’s thigh, and his erection was causing a bulge in his uniform trousers?

All this was plainly visible in the reflection from the mirror like
steel doors! Whilst I was standing behind Hafida, I could see over her
shoulder, witnessing the events unfold as we travelled slowly up the
building, in much the same manner as the waiters hand was travelling slowly
up and over Hafida’s chest! Now, it is a well-known fact that Moroccan men
consider westerners to be the scum of the earth, and the women who consort
with them to be no better than whores. The two hotel staff, it seemed had
this opinion of us, and so were treating us accordingly! The lack of
respect they felt revealed itself in the gentle abusing of Hafida, whilst
I, her husband stood next to her! I could hardly believe my eyes. Surely
they must know I would be aware of what was going on? Or did they think I
was as drunk as she was? Suddenly, pictures of Hafida being sexually used
by these two flashed through my mind! My imagination, always strong, was
working overtime! I could see, in my mind’s eye, the waiter thrusting into
Hafida, using her, satisfying his lust with the body of the westerner’s
whore! I could feel my own cock stirring, my heartbeat increased just a
fraction as an involuntary reaction to the erotic situation. An arrow of
guilt shot through me, but, its sting was suddenly blunted by the knowledge
that I was the victim of Hafida’s scam, that my betrayal of her would be no
more than rough justice! My cock hardened further as I contemplated the
situation! But what to do? What would happen if I did nothing? Would
they continue? Where would it all stop?

I looked at my young wife. Her eyes were darting from the waiters hand,
(which was now holding her right breast) to my face. I smiled at her as
though I had seen nothing, as though all were well with the world and
nothing untoward was happening. She in turn shot a glance at the waiter,
who simply stared back at her, the stony look on his face seemed to defy
her to say or do anything! The lift’s control panel was just beside my
right elbow. Behind the bell boy. The floor indicator showed us to be two
floors short of our destination. A fit of daring overtook me. Pretending
to scratch my head, I raised my arm, brushing against the button.
The lift stopped. ‘Oh!’ I exclaimed. ‘I hope we’re not going to be stuck
in here for long….’ Hafida stared at me. So did the bellboy. I think he
had seen what I had done. ‘It will not be long Sir….this often
happens….a few minutes at most….’ Came the reassuring response from the
waiter, his left hand releasing Hafida’s arm and dropping down to fondle
her left thigh. She said nothing. On the shiny door, the picture of his
left hand as it curled around her thigh and moved up towards her pussy,
sent a hot shiver up my spine. She squirmed slightly as she felt his
fingers through the thin cloth. They were gently probing, testing her
sense of resistance, putting her drunken sense of morality on trial.
Hafida was found guilty. She said and did nothing. She never even tried
to move away from his touch. Her eyes closed. His hand pushed between her
legs, gathering up a handful of the blue cloth as he cupped and squeezed
her pubic mound in his palm.

‘Are you alright my dear?’ I asked innocently. ‘I think the wine is a
little more than she expected…’ This to the waiter who was now slowly
massaging Hafida’s pussy through the thin material! ‘Yes Sir, It often
happens when someone is not used to it.’ Did I detect a little sarcasm or
accusation in his tone? ‘It’s just as well you were here to help me with
her! I couldn’t have managed her by myself.’ I said, moving my right hand
down to her belly, just inches from the waiters. He quickly shifted his
hold, leaving Hafida’s pussy free for me to stroke! The bell boy was
aghast! The waiter eyed me with suspicion. I grinned at him. He did not,
however, let go of her right breast! Hafida kept her eyes closed! If she
was aware of what was happening, she showed no sign of it.

I could hear her breathing. Quick and shallow. I ran my index finger
up along her pussy, pausing at the top to give her clitoris a little rub.
She trembled ever so slightly. The waiter and I both keyed up by the
situation and aware of every tiny sound or motion, exchanged glances.
Again I grinned at him. I moved my right hand, once again taking her arm.
He immediately put his hand on her pussy, his fingers gently massaging her
through the gown. The lift jerked into life. Someone higher up had
pressed the call button.

We completed the journey to our floor, and when the lift doors opened,
the waiter and I manhandled the now fairly limp Hafida down the corridor to
our room. I noticed that the waiter took every opportunity to get a quick
feel of her whenever he could. I just let him get on with it! ‘Could you
get the key out of my pocket?, I asked the bellboy. He hesitated but did
as I asked. As he felt for the key, his eyes took in the bulge in my
trousers that matched his own!

We almost dragged poor Hafida through the sitting room and into the
bedroom. The waiter passed Hafida’s left arm to the bell boy, and to my
surprise, took her feet. We lifted her onto the bed, the waiter staring
down Hafida’s jalaba between her legs. One of her sandals fell off. We
all looked at it as it hit the floor. The atmosphere in the room was
electric! The waiter knew that there was a sexually oriented opportunity
for him, but it was obvious he could not see how to exploit it.

It was now or never. If I did or said nothing, they would have to
leave. Did I want to push the situation to its (almost) obvious conclusion?
Inspiration hit me. I fumbled in my pockets as though looking for a tip
for them. I ignored the loose change that both the bellboy and myself knew
lay in the bottom of my pocket. ‘Just a minute, I must find some
money…to reward you for your help….’ and with that I hurried into the
sitting room, leaving them alone in the bedroom with my prostrate wife. I
stopped outside the door and peeped back into the room through the gap
between the door and the door post. The waiter had wasted no time. He had
his hand up Hafida’s dress, and it looked as though he was finger fucking
her. The bellboy, his right hand in his pocket, was furiously masturbating
as he watched his friend take advantage of drunken Hafida. As I watched,
the waiter lifted up her jalaba to show his young college Hafida’s
depilated pussy. He had moved the crotch of her thong to one side and was
sliding his middle finger in and out of her. It was shiny with her juices.

Hafida moved slightly, her eyes remaining closed. Was it my
imagination, or were her legs were spread just a little wider? Her head
rolled to one side and she opened her eyes. With a moan she tried to sit
up, her right hand feebly trying to push the waiters hand away. He raised
a finger to his lips, and ‘shushed’ her. She stared at him. Her eyes
travelled from him to the bellboy, then down to her dishevelled clothing.
She whispered something to the waiter, I did not understand the Arabic, but
her tone was urgent. It didn’t need a genius to work out she was telling
him to stop. No scream of indignation, no appeal for help, just a demand
that they not be caught!

‘Won’t be a minute….’ I called out to them. ‘….can’t find my
wallet! Shall I call room service for some coffee? The waiter looked
around towards the door. A half smile on his face told me all I needed to
know. I think he had realised I had left them alone intentionally. ‘Thank
you Sir, that would be very nice.’ he replied, unzipping his pants and
freeing his wedding tackle! I couldn’t see it, but Hafida could. She made
a small squeaking sound and her eyes opened wide. Very wide! The waiter
moved onto the bed beside her. He took her hand and placed it on his cock.
She took hold of it and he lay down beside her, turning on his side so she
could masturbate him. ‘OK….’ I thought ‘….if you don’t mind, then I
don’t either!’ As he turned, his cock came into my view. Now, the only
erect penis Hafida had ever seen until now, was mine. Five inches long and
about an inch and a quarter wide, with a slightly thicker head to it.
Nicely proportioned, I’ve always thought, if not so big. The waiter,
however, had been cast in a different mould! His was huge! Nine inches
long at least, I would guess, and as thick as a baby’s arm! His knob end
was the size of a duck egg, and his balls were the size of a Jaffa orange!
No wonder she had stared wide eyed at it! This guy was equipped like a
porno star!

Surprised as she obviously was by this turn of events, Hafida’s true
colours began to show through. She stroked the fleshy monster, with no
(apparent) thought of fidelity to her new husband, her eyes wide and
sparkling! Her face wore an expression of nervous excitement, though not,
as yet, devoid of anxiety. She was still worried about being caught.
‘Shall I tell them to bring the coffee in….what shall we say….about an
hour?’ I had lowered my voice to a more, shall we say, conspiratorial
level! The waiter grinned at the bellboy. ‘That would be very convenient
Sir, thank you very much!’ His next words were to Hafida. Not speaking
Arabic, I could not understand him, but she looked over to the doorway,
disbelief on her face! ‘Shall I bring a towel in? Or maybe you prefer
tissues?’ I called again! The delight in the waiters voice when he
replied, was all too obvious to us all! ‘Whatever you prefer Sir, if you
are joining us, that is….’ ‘Of course! Wouldn’t want to miss an orgy!’ I
walked into the room, grinned at Hafida, dropped my trousers and sat on the
end of the bed. Hafida just stared at me open mouthed!

Too intoxicated to respond quickly to the situation, she just sat there
holding the waiters huge cock in her right hand! Her jalaba was hiked up
around her waist, her knickers, (one of the thongs bought this morning)
were pulled down onto her thighs, and the waiter had his right hand between
her legs, his middle finger in her pussy! ‘Well, well Hafida, looks like
you’ve got a couple of new friends! Hope you’re feeling horny!’ She went
bright red, mumbling incoherently. ‘I think the jalaba should go, don’t
you?’ I asked the waiter. He spoke to her. She let go of his cock and
lifted her arms above her head, the look of disbelief still etched into her
face! ‘You let them do this?’ she asked me, when her jalaba cleared her
face. ‘No dear, you let them. Looks like you had it all in hand, so to
speak!’ Slowly her drink befuddled mind worked out that I had seen her
wanking the waiter. And that she had not objected to him putting his dick
in her hand, or to him fingering her pussy!

Sitting there without her jalaba, she looked a picture. Her dusky skin
in sharp contrast to the brilliant whiteness of her lacy bra and her thong.
Her long black hair hung down her back, providing a dark backdrop to her
blushing face! The waiter tugged at her panties, sliding them down her
legs and over her feet. With a grin he tossed them to the bellboy,
increasing the boys acute embarrassment, and his erection! ‘Your turn
son….I think you should have her bra as well as her pants….come on,
join the party!’ I said to him. Hafida grunted something in indignation,
but nevertheless, the boy was at her side in a flash, his hands quickly
pulling the flimsy straps from her shoulders. His breathing fast, his face
slightly flushed and his hands trembled. Hafida’s breasts, (34b) small but
firm and solid, popped into sight. No sagging matron this! A week ago she
had been a virgin, her firm young body was in peak condition. Her brown
nipples were hard and pert. Despite the fact that she was sitting on the
bed, her belly still looked flat and hard. Only a dead man would fail to
get excited! And the three males in the room were all very much alive!

The bellboy, kneeling beside Hafida, leaned over her shoulder and
unclipped the bra. It fell into her lap, the straps still around her arms.
The bellboy slipped it off them and with a sheepish grin, handed it to me.
‘Put it with her knickers!’ I told him. It was his ears turn to go red.
Her knickers were in his pocket, and the bra joined them in a trice!
Hafida protested loudly, but the waiter snapped a word at her, and she shut
up immediately! This guy was well in control of things! I stripped off my
shirt, and the waiter, taking his cue from me, also shed his clothes.
Hafida couldn’t take her eyes off him. It was obvious to her now, that she
was going to be fucked by at least one of us, if not all of us, whilst the
others watched.

The prospect of having to accommodate the waiter’s massive cock was
obviously upper most in her thoughts! She watched his shirt come off,
exposing a brown, well-muscled body that had a light covering of black
hair. This guy was no stranger to the gym! Muscles rippled as he bent to
strip off his pants. When he stood up, he was a picture of athleticism.
His penis stood proudly at forty five degrees to his belly. Long and
thick, it seemed to be looking directly into Hafida’s staring eyes! His
big hairy balls hung bull like between his legs, large and round. The
promise of a sticky flood emanated from them. The bellboy was still fully
clothed, standing next to the bed, seemingly in a trance. I motioned to
him to undress. In a flash he was naked! His cock, much to my relief, did
not put me to shame! Thankfully it was about the same as mine, maybe even
a little thinner! The waiter spoke again, and the bellboy knelt on the bed
again, next to my young wife. She took his cock in her right hand and
began to work it up and down the boy’s shaft. He moaned in appreciation of
the attention! The waiter gently pushed Hafida backwards, and began to
suckle on her tits. Now this, I had discovered very early on our wedding
night, was Hafida’s weak spot, as it were! Suck on her tits and her pussy
flooded! She was putty in my hands after that! His mouth on her nipple
and his finger deftly working her pussy, the waiter had reduced Hafida to a
sexually charged bag of nerves! It was obvious she was ready for sex,
(pussy juice was trickling down her thigh) but it was equally obvious she
was very apprehensive about the situation in general! ‘Too bad’, I
thought. ‘You’ll just have to take what comes, won’t you my pretty little
shyster!’ The waiter turned to me. ‘You want….’ he left the question
hanging in mid-air. ‘No! No! I want to see that big beauty in action!’ I
laughed! ‘You first!’

Hafida looked positively panic stricken as he moved his left knee
between her thighs, pushing them apart so he could kneel between them. He
hooked her legs over his elbows and lifted them high, putting his hands
next to her shoulders. Hafida said one of the few words of Arabic I
understand. ‘Astafirullah!’ (God forgive me….) and closed her eyes. The
waiter leaned forward a little, bringing the head of his big cock into
contact with Hafida’s anus. I winced at the thought of him trying to get
that monster in her bum! However, he just adjusted his position slightly
and it nestled between her labia. It hung there for a second like the
sword of Damocles! Here was Hafida’s come uppance for her deception of me!

He lowered himself an inch or so. His knob spread her pussy lips apart,
coming into contact with her inner labia. He paused then clenched his
buttocks, so forcing the big head into her tight hole. There was a
definite ‘OH!’ from my wife! He pulled back a little, the now slick head
of his big cock coming into view for a split second before he pushed it
into her. She grunted as she was stretched wide. My deflowering of her
was almost inconsequential to this!

A Muslim girl’s body is the strict domain of her husband. Sex outside
of marriage can, and often does, mean death in some cultures. Morocco is
not one of them, but we were all eligible for five years in prison! Hafida
now had five inches of a total strangers cock in her. I reached for the
cell phone in my trouser pocket, and quickly took a snap of the two of them
coupled together by his big dick. I had her. Any argument from her now,
and I could blackmail her into compliance. That moment suddenly seemed to
be nearer than I had thought. Hafida placed her hands on the waiters chest
and tried to push him off! He was having none of that. He barked two
words at her. She stopped struggling. Her eyes filled with tears. None
of this impressed our well-endowed hero though! Having got his cock into
her, he was determined to fuck her! He spoke again, this time softly,
reassuring, cajoling. She shifted her hands to her knees. She was holding
her own legs up now, her face red with the effort of taking this guy’s
massive penis, and no doubt, with self-pity!

The bellboy and I had a grandstand view. Hafida’s pussy was stretched
to the limit, forming a tight ‘O’ around the waiters thick shaft. We stood
watching the pair on the bed. We both had our cocks in our hands,
masturbating as we watched him arch his back slightly and clench his
buttocks again. Hafida noisily sucked in a lungful of air as he pushed his
big dick right on into her. All nine inches or more of it. Until his
balls were resting on her backside. It must have felt as though he’d got
his arm in her! Slowly, he started to withdraw. Almost all the way out,
until we could see the rim of his knob. His shaft was shiny with her
juice. He pushed back in, all the way in one stroke, and then began to fuck
her. Only slowly at first but with ever increasing speed until he was
pumping furiously. Then suddenly he stopped. He slowly withdrew, the big
head slipping out of her now gaping hole. He quickly re positioned it,
then eased himself back into her, resuming his enjoyment of her with long,
steady, slow strokes.

Hafida’s ooooh’s and aaaah’s (a sure sign an orgasm is building in her!)
kept time with the waiters thrusting buttocks, and after a minute or so,
she was continually moaning loudly, her orgasm fast approaching. The
waiter thrust his big cock all the way home, gritted his teeth and shot his
load, deep into her. Hafida wailed out in a mixture of orgasm and horror!
This guy had not only had sex with her, bringing her to orgasm, but had
inseminated her as well! A double whammy!

Rolling off her, the waiter grinned rather sheepishly at me, and spoke
to the bellboy. The lad’s response was to leap onto Hafida! He missed the
mark a couple of times, ignoring her wailing, and then he was in her! In
one thrust he slammed into her, and started pumping furiously. To my
surprise she almost immediately started ‘ooh’ ing and ‘aah’ ing! The
orgasm brought on by the waiters huge tool pumping her, was being
revitalised by the bellboys furious fucking! Hafida, it seemed, was one of
those lucky females who had the ability to enjoy ‘multiple orgasms’!
Continuous orgasmic pleasure for minutes at a time, for as long as someone
was fucking her! Sure enough as the boy was screwing his eyes up, and
squirting his baby gravy up her, Hafida was squeezing him with her thighs
as she too hit the top! What a fabulous session!

My cock was straining for action, so I dived in as soon as the bellboy
moved out. What a mess! She was dripping goo as I squelched
enthusiastically into her sopping hole. How it had changed! Gone was the
tight girly pussy, replaced by a softer, wider, woman’s cunt! The waiter’s
giant cock had transformed her hole forever. I pumped for a minute, my
cock seeming to hardly touch the sides of her pussy, then added to the

Whilst the bellboy and I had been busy with Hafida, the waiter had also
been busy. He had seen my digital camera on the dressing table, and had
snapped a few of the scenes that Hafida and whichever one of us was busy
with her, had presented! He handed me the camera, and without so much as a
‘by your leave’ to Hafida, rolled her over onto her stomach and, grabbing
her hips, heaved her up onto her knees, in the ‘doggy style’. He then
slipped his still hard cock between her dripping labia, and turned to face
the camera with a big smile on his face! Hard to resist!

I clicked happily away as he hauled my sobbing wife into various
positions so he could be seen as the star in her debauching! After a few
minutes of this, he sat up, and spoke to Hafida. Instead of her usual
compliance, all he got was a mystified stare. He looked over at me. ‘You
no show her how to suck?’ he queried. I shook my head. ‘Hell, we’ve only
been married a couple of weeks! Hadn’t got round to it yet!’ His face lit
up in understanding. ‘So not fuck long? She ver’ tight! Nice, like
virgin!’ ‘She was….until you shoved that huge thing into her!’ I
retorted. ‘No worry! Only young! She tight again in morning! I show her
how to suck, yes?’ He asked with a more than hopeful expression on his
face. ‘Go ahead! I’ll take the pics!’

He spoke gently to her. Her frown and snorted reply didn’t hold much
promise of ‘oral’ pics, but his voice dropped a little, slightly
authoritarian, threatening maybe? She tentatively took his penis in her
right hand and dipped her head. The pink tip of her tongue appeared and
she gingerly touched it against the big head of his cock. She looked over
at me. ‘You bad man. Make me bad girl. You go Hell. Me too.’ I’d made
her a bad girl? Funny, looked to me like she’d jumped on the path to Hell
with both feet, no assistance from me needed! ‘You can always go back home
to your family….’ I said quietly. ‘….you don’t have to come to Europe
with me….’ She scowled at me. ‘I’ll send you a copy of the
pictures….as a souvenir!’

This was make or break time. How would she react to my threats? She
stared at me for a second or two, a little time being needed for the
implications of what I’d just said, to sink in. Then her shoulders dropped
a fraction, signalling acceptance of defeat and her head dropped to the
waiters fleshy monster. I’d won! She given in! ose and her across her
lips. With hesitation she ran her tongue along her top lip, trying the
taste of semen for the first time! She glanced up at him, and a shadow of
a smile flickered across her face. ‘Is all men want? To make woman
sticky?’ She had the idea! And summed it up neatly too!

The youngest amongst us was also keen to make a woman sticky. His cock
stood rigidly to attention, his face pink with excitement. The waiter
issued another order, and Hafida bent to her task again! This guy had
magic in his voice! She obeyed his every word! This time with no
hesitation she took the young bellboy in her mouth and began to give him
his first, and her second, blow job! The waiter spoke urgently to her, and
a second or so later, the bellboy’s body shook, and Hafida coughed and
gagged as she followed the waiters instructions to swallow the semen being
shot into her mouth. Lifting her head, she looked at me and said, ‘Your
friends enjoy your wife, yes? You no sorry they do all this with her?’ Her
tone was half accusatory, half questioning. ‘No my dear! In fact it’s
quite a turn on to see you performing! Especially as you’re so good at
it!’ Her eyes lingered on mine. She was trying to work out if I was being
cruel, or just telling the truth!

The next morning saw our return to the UK. It was a very quiet flight
for me. My lovely new young wife just sat next to me, never saying a word!
Was she remembering the events of the previous evening, or was she
contemplating the future? I didn’t ask.

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