tagInterracial LoveCaribbean Tales: Jamaican Wild Life

Caribbean Tales: Jamaican Wild Life

byAlwaysHungry©

The sound of birds intruded on my sleep. Vociferous birds. I definitely heard parrots, and as I gradually wakened, I found that I could hear a few other distinct species as well. I thought to myself how it was strange that their hullabaloo did not annoy me; if I were back in France, and had been awakened by barking dogs, I would have been in a high dudgeon. But here in Jamaica, I welcomed the sound of noisy birds.

I continued to lounge in my bed in a state of half-sleep, until I remembered what had happened the night before (which I have described for you in "Emma's Initiation.") Suddenly I was fully awake. There would be a change now in my relationship with Emma. I wondered for a moment whether Emma would regret our liaison, but after thinking for a moment, I concluded that she would not. She had gone into it with her eyes open, and with the apparent approval of Mrs. Hewitt, my gracious hostess.

I felt the daylight on my face, and opened my eyes just a little. The sun was just coming up. It would be an hour or more before Mrs. Hewitt would appear with my breakfast. I got out of bed, went to the sink to splash some water into my face, and then pulled on a T-shirt and some trousers to go outside into the yard.

The little forest of palms and fruit trees seemed otherworldly in the morning coolness, illuminated by the tentative rays of the arriving sun. The birds continued to make a cheery racket as they went restlessly from tree to tree. I followed them, idly inspecting the bounty of the lime and breadfruit trees, as I took stock of my situation in Jamaica. I had come to write a symphony in relative isolation. I had not planned to enter into an affair with a virginal young violinist.

I paused in front of a big Bird of Paradise plant. It was a voluptuous pink in color, and I began to imagine that Mrs. Hewitt's garden was a metaphor for what was transpiring in my life: an innocent garden of Eden, where I had been presented with temptation, and had promptly yielded. Emma was as innocent and as exotically lovely as the garden. Well, not quite so innocent after last night.

As if on cue, I heard Emma's violin. She didn't normally practice so early in the day. I suspected that she had awoken early for the same reasons that I had. She was playing the Mozart E minor again. I could hear that she had made progress. She stopped a few times to work on some problematic passages, and then played the whole first movement. Then the sound ceased.

A few minutes later I heard a rustling in the bushes near the broken section of the fence, and I saw Emma stepping over it from the adjoining property where she lived. She saw me and smiled broadly. She walked to where I was and stood close to me, looking up expectantly. I looked around to confirm that the lime trees would shelter us from prying eyes, and then I leaned down to kiss her.

I brushed my thin Gallic lips against her full, plump, Caribbean ones, and her mouth opened to allow me to dip my tongue inside. At the same time, her hands took my hips and pulled them close to her. I knew she was hoping to feel my hardness against her belly. I did not disappoint her. Her kiss became more passionate. I opened my eyes briefly to reassure myself that no one could see us, and then I allowed my hand to slip down inside her shorts and panties. "Yes, do that," she whispered, before once again engaging my tongue with hers. My hand traveled over her wiry pubic hair, and my fingers investigated her pussy lips, finding them parted and slick with her juices. I gathered some of the juice on my finger tips and traced a circle around her clit. Then, reluctantly, I stopped.

"Mrs. Hewitt will be coming soon with my breakfast," I explained.

Emma pouted, and then grinned. "May I come to see you afterwards?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes," I replied. "But give me an hour or two to work on my symphony first."

Emma nodded. Then she embraced me and laid her head on my chest. "Touch me one more time," she whispered, so I allowed myself the luxury of inserting two fingers into her pussy. "I like it," she said with conviction. Then I broke free from her, seized her by the shoulders, and pointed her in the direction of her home. She looked back over her shoulder and smiled, and then sauntered back along the path between the lime trees.

I returned to my little abode, and before long Mrs. Hewitt arrived with a plate of callalloo and saltfish. I felt oddly nervous with her. Even though she had, in so many words, encouraged me to deflower her young protégé, I still felt self-conscious about it, and to cover up my anxiety, I spoke more than usual, telling Mrs. Hewitt at some length about the problems I was confronting in my symphony, my concerns about maintaining motivic unity, and so on. She seemed to enjoy the conversation and betrayed no awareness that I was feeling a bit agitated, or that anything had changed in my friendship with Emma. In fact, Emma's name did not come up. Eventually Mrs. Hewitt excused herself, and I sat down to concentrate on my symphony.

I immersed myself in the work, and time went by quickly, until I heard a gentle knocking at my door. I thought at first that it might be someone that I was not expecting, since Emma had taken to just letting herself in the door as our friendship had developed. However, when I went to the door, it was indeed Emma. She smiled shyly and waited for me to invite her in, which I did.

Emma seemed hesitant and tongue-tied, now that we were dependably alone, so I took the initiative. I took her in my arms and kissed her teasingly, dragging the tip of my tongue lightly along her lower lip. She seemed galvanized by this, moaned aloud, pulled me close, kissing me aggressively. I opened my mouth wide and met her tongue with mine. I felt her hands groping for my cock through my trousers, so I brazenly pulled them down to my thighs and let my cock spring free. She gazed at it for a moment, fascinated, and then awkwardly bent down to try to suck it. I gently pushed her shoulders down, so that she understood that she should kneel on the floor.

My cock was jutting conveniently in front of her face now, and Emma wasted no time in taking it into her mouth. She no longer seemed awkward; she seemed to have a natural gift for sucking cock. I didn't think that I could feel so hard. I interrupted her, pulling free. She moaned in protest. "Emma," I said, "it's my turn."

I kicked off my trousers and led her to the bedroom. This time, without waiting for a cue from me, she began to disrobe, taking off her blouse and brassiere. This time, she made no attempt to hide her large, succulent breasts. Instead, she stood proudly before me and let me look. "Do you like them?" she asked. "I love them," I replied, and bent to take one of her nipples in my mouth. "I like it when you suck them," she whispered. As I turned my attention to the other nipple, I was aware that she was wriggling out of her shorts. I stood up and saw that she was wearing only a pair of sheer white panties.

I pushed her back on the bed, spread her legs and began to lick and suck her cunt through the panties. Soon they were soaked with her juices, and her hips and buttocks were bucking and contracting rhythmically. I paused to remove my shirt. "I want to show you something new, Emma," I said. Her eyes widened. "Let me take off your panties." She raised her hips to allow me to do so.

The daylight was bright in my room now, and I took a moment to admire her cunt. It was swollen and open, and the contrast between its pink interior and her jet-black pussy lips was exciting. I instructed her to lie on her side, and I lay down opposite her in the sixty-nine position. "Would you like to suck me some more, Emma?" I asked. "Oh,yes, Georges," she replied urgently, and I moved closer, offering my cock to her lips as I buried my face between her thighs.

Emma took to this right away, sucking me hungrily while rubbing her cunt against my lips and tongue, anointing my face with her juices. She tasted and smelled hotter than I remembered from the night before. We fell into a slow, erotic rhythm, lost in the twin delights of sucking and being sucked. Finally Emma broke it off.

"Georges," she said, "do you want to put it inside me?"

"Yes," I said tentatively, thinking about the problem of lack of contraception.

"Wait," she said, and got off the bed to retrieve her shorts from the floor. From one of the pockets she extracted a foil-wrapped condom, an American brand. She handed it to me expectantly. I looked at her, then opened it and rolled the condom on to my cock. Emma lay on her back, biting her lower lip, and spread her legs. I moved toward her and entered her. This time there was no resistance. Emma cried out in pleasure, and we began to fuck. I wanted to make it last. I lifted myself above her so that I might suck her nipples as we fucked. "Oh, Georges," Emma gasped, "I like it so much!" She tried to say more, but the sounds became inarticulate and I realized that she was cumming. I slowed my pace and drove my cock in as deep as it would go. Emma cried out in pleasure and her face broke out in a lovely smile. I paused for a minute, and then began to pick up the pace again. "Georges!" Emma said. "I want you to have your orgasm."

"Yes, Emma," I replied, and began to surrender myself to the sensation of her luscious cunt swallowing my cock. "I'm going to do it," I said, as I felt the approach of my climax. I held her tightly and fucked her deep and hard as my orgasm erupted.

We lay in blissful silence for a while, then I said, "Emma, may I ask you something?"

"Yes, Georges, anything."

"Where did you find a condom?"

"I got it from Natalie."

"From Natalie!?" Natalie was Emma's young friend with the big hoop earrings, the clarinetist from the United States.

"Yes, Georges," Emma said earnestly, "Natalie is very experienced with sex. She told me she brings some with her when she comes down here, in case she meets a boy she likes."

"Why did she give one to you?"

"Georges, Natalie is my friend. When I saw her this morning I told her that we made love. She knew I wanted to." Emma paused. "Did I do the wrong thing?"

I was silent for a moment. "No, I guess not, Emma. But let's not tell anyone else, OK?" I took Emma's hand, and felt her relax.

"I'm sorry, Georges. I guess it was a private thing. But Natalie and I confide many things in each other." Emma was warming to her subject. "Natalie has told me many things about the lovers she has had, and the things they did together. Natalie was the one that told me that a woman can make a man have an orgasm with her mouth." I silently thanked Natalie for that, thinking of my encounter with Emma the previous night. "You would not believe some of the things that people do in the US. Once Natalie had sex with two boys at once!" Emma paused to marvel at this. "Natalie was very impressed that we made love. She said you were quite a catch."

I remembered the afternoon when Emma had brought Natalie with her to visit, how Natalie had been somewhat ostentatiously flirtatious with me, when not giggling and gossiping with Emma. She did not strike me as the woman-of-the-world that she seemed to be in Emma's eyes.

During the week that followed, the subject of Natalie did not come up again. Emma had a steady supply of American condoms, which I assumed came from Natalie. Also, on Friday afternoon, Emma asked whether we might try it "dog style," which might have been at Natalie's suggestion. I didn't ask, and I felt that the "dog style" was a resounding success, so if Natalie were responsible, more power to her.

In the evenings I would wander through Mrs. Hewitt's garden and think. In this Caribbean paradise, the sun went down early, so I would try to take my walk right after dinner to catch what remained of the daylight. That particular night, I saw the Jamaican Hummingbirds, what they call the Doctor Bird, with their iridescent green bellies and festive streamer-tails. Once again I thought of Emma, who seemed beautiful in a specifically tropical way. Even though I was technically in the city, this little patch of yard seemed very rugged and exotic, and I feared I might somehow sully it with my jaded European ways, just as I had some misgivings about robbing Emma of her island innocence.

The following Wednesday, Emma came by in the afternoon and once again brought Natalie to visit. This time Natalie was a model of propriety. She asked me knowledgeable questions about the progress of my symphony, and even charmingly said, in a respectable accent, that she hoped it would be a chef d'œuvre, All in all, she made a much more favorable impression this time. When she and Emma were ready to leave, Natalie proposed that the three of us should have dinner together. I said it must wait for a few days, because I needed to go out of town in order to do a favor for my friend Sebastian, who had been responsible for finding me this island hideaway with Mrs. Hewitt so that I might write my symphony. Natalie said that she understood completely, and that we would have our meal after I returned. With a twinkle in her eye, she quoted the popular saying, Mangez bien, riez souvent, aimez beaucoup.

The next day, I rented a car in Kingston and drove to Ocho Rios to deliver some papers for Sebastian. I remained there for a couple of days to take in some local attractions. With a group of my fellow tourists, I spent an hour clambering up Dunn's River Falls, which cascaded down through a deliciously cool glade, sheltered by the Caribbean forest. There were indigenous ferns to inspect, and horses to ride. Finally I returned to Mrs. Hewitt's place in Sherbourne Heights near Kingston late Saturday night, and soon I was fast asleep.

I was awakened the next morning by Emma, who had taken the liberty of entering my guest house, wriggling under the covers, and sucking my cock. Conveniently, she had burrowed into the bed head first, and had thoughtfully removed her panties, so that I might bury my face in her cunt as she sucked me. We both seemed quite happy with this arrangement, because we both had lovely orgasms. Afterward, Emma snuggled up to me and said, "I missed doing these things with you. I think I'm addicted."

"Yes, it can be habit forming," I replied.

"May I tell you a secret?" asked Emma.

"Certainly," I said.

"I told Natalie how much I missed making love to you, and how much I liked having an orgasm. So Natalie taught me to masturbate."

"You had never masturbated?"

"I don't think that people... do that here. At least, I never heard of anyone doing it."

"Perhaps they just don't talk about it."

"Natalie said she loves to do it. She showed me how."

"She did it right in front of you?"

"She said we must do it together. She does it with her friends sometimes in the US. I was a little shy, but she showed me to do it and it was nice. I practiced it by myself later while I was waiting for you to come back." Emma giggled. "Natalie said boys like to watch her masturbate. She says it gets them excited."

I admitted that it probably did. I told that there was a special French word, voyeurisme. But then Emma reached for my cock and the conversation was interrupted.

The dinner party was set for Sunday. I got up early that morning and went out into the garden. The sun was not up yet, and there were still a few bats whizzing around. I gathered a few breadfruits from the trees, stowing them away for lunch in a little knapsack. Then I went back inside and worked on my symphony.

The girls arrived at five, dressed to the nines. Emma wore a fuschia-colored dress, made of some sort of satiny fabric. Her hair was in its usual topknot, but there was some sort of sparkled band around it. Natalie wore a cobalt blue skirt and a sky-blue blouse, and her somewhat outlandish hoop earrings. Her complexion was a few shades lighter than Emma's, and unlike Emma she was wearing eye shadow, one that matched her outfit. I was wearing a relatively mundane burgundy polo shirt with khaki trousers, feeling under-dressed. I was barefoot and they were wearing heels -- I wondered how they had managed to make it down the rugged trail from Emma's house. Emma deposited a platter of curried goat on the little table, and Natalie followed it with a plate of stewed peas and rice with pig's tail. Then, as an afterthought, the bottle of rum.

We were all hungry and set right to work on the food, slaking our thirst with rum as we went along. We were engaged in an interesting discussion of the school orchestra where Emma played violin and Natalie played clarinet. They were preparing for a performance of the Schubert Symphony Number 8, the Unfinished. Natalie was describing what it was like to play the opening theme, which she did as a duet with the oboe. She was quite articulate, and I felt that I had misjudged her after our first encounter.

Meanwhile, of course, we were drinking rum, and plenty of it. I was beginning to feel the effects, and I suspected that the girls were getting fairly bourré. I was reclining on my little couch, and the girls each occupied an armchair. One moment everything seemed dignified and serene, and in the next, things sort of went out of control.

Natalie was looking at me, flashing a brilliant smile, and then her dress was up around her hips, and her hand was on her naked pussy. I glanced at Emma, who was staring at me intensely as if to gauge my reaction to what Natalie was doing. Then I more or less involuntarily glanced back at Natalie, who seemed quite absorbed in her masturbation. When I looked back to Emma, she, too was displaying her pussy and stroking it with obvious pleasure.

In moments like these, alcohol is the enemy of careful, rational judgment. I pulled my trousers down, allowing my cock to burst free from its confines. Emma let out a little cry and lurched tipsily across the floor, steering an erratic course toward the rug before my couch, where she knelt in front of my cock and engulfed it with her mouth. Natalie, who navigated with a greater degree of finesse, came up behind Emma, and soon her hands found Emmas breasts and pussy. With a shocked expression, Emma gasped, "Natalie!" But she immediately realized that to raise a protest, she would have to abandon her sucking of my cock, which she was apparently unwilling to do. With her mouth once again full of my phallus, she offered no further resistance to Natalie's busy fingers.

I surrendered to the blissful sensations that Emma's mouth was bringing to my cock, my qualms drowned in Jamaican rum. I thought that I might cum soon, when Emma abruptly ceased her ministrations and scurried awkwardly to her armchair, bowling over Natalie in the process. She rummaged noisily through her purse for a moment, and then triumphantly brandished one of those American condoms. "Come on, Georges," she said urgently, indicating the bedroom as our destination.

Once there, Emma hastily shed her clothing and positioned herself on all fours on the bed. It appeared to me that she was requesting the "dog style." I quickly donned the condom, got behind her, and plunged my cock into her delectable pussy. Natalie sat on the edge of the bed and watched, teasing her clit all the while. From time to time she shot me a mischievous smile, which I noticed even though I was close to the point of no return. Emma came once, then twice, and still seemed to be getting more excited by the moment. Natalie gave her an appraising look, and then, with a wicked smile, swung around and positioned her pussy in front of Emma's face. I couldn't see Emma's reaction, but I felt her tense up, and it caused her cunt to tighten around my cock, adding a special thrill to the sensation that caused me to fuck her with renewed vigor. I felt Emma respond then, and I saw her head dip down between Natalie's thighs. That put me over the edge. Later, I thought to myself that Emma's horizons must have gotten perceptibly broader at that moment.

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