An Office Refugee Ch. 03

I woke with a stale taste in my mouth, too much champagne and sex. A toothbrush and a cup of tea and I'd be as good as new.

Extricating myself from Zanire's sleeping limbs, I quietly limped to the bathroom.

Pointing my dick at the bowl, I was surprised it still worked. "You saw a lot of action, buddy, I'm glad you're ok."

Zanire, stirred as the kettle boiled. "Morning, lover boy, how are you feeling?"

"Sore and abused. How are you? Cup of tea?"

"Tea would be lovely."

I tried not to stare at Zanire's body that was casually sprawled across the bed. Her chunky curves so dark against the white sheets. This gorgeous lady had opened my eyes; I could see a generous woman, not a statistic, not an immigrant, a special person that I wanted to help. In many ways she was far richer than me. I opened the curtains, sunlight streamed in. A new day, a new beginning.

Placing the cup of tea on the bedside table, I noticed the neatly folded lingerie, my present to Zanire. I recalled how fantastic she looked, all chocolate and dove-egg blue lace. Shame it didn't stay on longer. Wow, what a night! More than 10 hours in bed and around 5 hours sleep. Not a bad compromise, half sleep and half sex, half black and half white, one rich and one poor, me and this exotic beauty.

"Roger, get rid of the towel and get back into bed." Zanire's breasts jiggled delightfully as she arranged the pillows and pulled back the covers, inviting me to join her. The sheet fell, and there she was. All of her, naked and mine. So strong and brown, warm and gorgeous.

Sitting up with my tea, I recalled some of last night's activities. I'd never experienced such passion between two people. Yes, Zanire had taken the lead, she always took the lead. She was the master, I was the apprentice. I wondered where she learnt her skill. Her generosity and her passion? I raised my tea cup and with a silent toast, I thanked the unknown mentor.

"Roger look at us, drinking our morning cup of tea. Like an old married couple. We can't have that!" She rolled towards me; her head on my chest, her thigh on top of mine. With a bent knee, she comfortably hooked an ankle between my legs. Zanire's dark palm slid down my chest until she found my snoozing dick. A gentle shake and a light scrape with a painted nail, my dick answered like a swimmer on the blocks. I could see where this would lead.

"Zanire, we have about an hour before our first meeting, we need to shower and have breakfast."

"Roger, don't be such a bore, I don't need breakfast. And there is nothing better after a night of sex than a long, slow fuck."

The way Zanire said Fuck, was so exotic, more of a 'Fark' than a harsh sounding, Fuck. Zanire, an African Mae West.

It didn't take long for me to agree that we could skip breakfast. Zanire's hand quickly roused a surprisingly, impressive erection.

I snuggled in for a kiss, drawing Zanire's tongue into my mouth. I could taste my toothpaste, warm tea and a lingering flavour - remnants from last fun? Zanire rolled on her side, facing me. Her large brown breasts flopping into the crook of her right elbow. They moved sensuously with each gentle pull on my dick. Her tongue poked between her lips as she found my earlobe and nibbled. Yep, breakfast is over-rated.

"Roger, I'm going to 'fark' you slowly, you will lie on your back and do nothing." Zanire's left hand dragged the sheets from our bodies and then immersed itself between her thighs. Her right hand continued to softly stroke my erection.

"I'm going to 'fark' you like it's Sunday morning, you will forget about work and enjoy." I could hear faint squishes, her left hand busy in her pussy.

"Do you think I'm ready to 'fark' you?" Zanire whispered in my ear. She removed her left hand and grazed her fingers across my lips, leaving a paste of her nectar.

"You like that!" Zanire said, noticing how eager I was to devour the taste and lick my lips.

Zanire brought up her left hand again and this time with her index finger she coated her own lips. I dived on her mouth, kissing, licking and sucking as much of her as I could, as fast as I could.

Not breaking my kiss, Zanire rolled me on my back and straddled me. She pinned my arms above my head, her mushy, round breasts inches from my mouth.

"Don't you move your hands, don't you move anything. I'm going to 'fark' you the Zanire way!" Zanire rocked forward, lowering her breasts to my mouth. Just as my tongue reached out for her nipple, my dick faintly nuzzled at the beginnings of her pussy. I eagerly arched my back, hungry to get inside. Zanire swung her breasts heavily, thwacking them to my face, surprising me into submission.

"I told you don't move!" Zanire commanded, where was Mae West? Then lowering her voice to a purr, Zanire whisper, "Just lie still and enjoy."

Now her plaything, I lay back and surrendered. With a "That's a good boy," she lowered her hips and without any intervention at all, she wrapped her pussy around the tip of my dick. I could feel the wetness and warmth radiate from her. Ever so slowly and gently she lowered her hips easing my dick deeper inside, her pussy swallowing until there was no more to take. Then Zanire paused.

Yes, I was enjoying lying on my back, contributing nothing but an erection. My non-effort was rewarded with another "Good Boy" and a gorgeous white smile. I just gave in, qué será será. I didn't dare move a muscle. I was loving the soft damp heat of her pussy.

Zanire searched my face, her brown eyes inquiring. She knew what was happening next, I had no idea. She looked at me, waiting for a reaction. Then astonishingly, her pussy contracted around my dick, as it squeezed she gradually raised her hips until she reached the top. I sucked in a big breath, trying not to wiggle or squirm.

Zanire grinned as I grimaced with pleasure. The African Mae West cooed, "Be a good boy, don't move. I'll be gentle."

Her muscles relaxed and she eased her way back down, once again all warmth and wetness. Just as I relaxed and enjoyed this indulgence, Zanire's abdomen flexed and another contraction snugged around my dick. Then the slow rise to the top and the release. Wow that is good, like a hand job wrapped in warm, wet velvet!

Over the initial surprise, my brain was learning. Yes, there's the contraction. Now the slow squeeze upwards, milking my dick. She's at the top, her pussy relaxes. The warm, wet gradual slide down and the pause. Then another contraction and the squeeze up, we're at the top, relax and slide down. Pause, contract, squeeze, slide. I eased myself into the pattern, relishing in her skill. If this was the Sunday morning 'fark' I'd love to see what happens on Saturday nights!

I guess Zanire thought that I was comfortable with her rhythm, she lifted the pace. I was struggling to hang on. Dangling on the edge, I was one milk away from exploding. The next squeeze up and I'd be gone!

Gasping, I stammered, "Zanire, stop, stop, I'm going to come!"

Zanire smiled, she knew what she was doing. She was enjoying the sexual agitation she'd created. Thankfully, with the next slide down, Zanire did stop and I could breathe. Big deep breaths.

Excellent, the half time break? Zanire eased forward and offered her breasts to my mouth. I pursed my lips ready to kiss. Zanire had another plan. Gently swaying, her nipples barely grazed my lips.

Zanire wasn't offering any respite at all. With her breasts swaying at a relaxed tempo, she started to slowly rock her body from side to side. Gone was the milking up and down, replaced with a rocking sway. As her torso straightened at the top, I could feel her full weight on me. A push and a squelch, she pressed down, urging my dick further inside. I felt ten feet tall and ten inches long. My breathing quickened as her breasts dangled and her hips gyrated, encouraging then demanding. My pulse raged and surged through my body.

"Zanire. No, No. Too late, I'm gone," as I erupted inside her.

Smiling, Zanire looked at me tenderly and said, "That was the Sunday morning 'fark', you liked it?"

Not waiting for an answer, Zanire, climbed off and cupped her hand against her pussy, plugging my cum inside. Without spilling a drop, she sashayed to the bathroom. Her sexy, chunky arse disappearing from view.

I sat up and reached for the tea, which was now cold. I looked at the time, we had just 25 minutes to get to our meeting.

-*-

"Sorry we're late Bill, bit of a struggle finding a taxi. Bill Minchin, this is Zanire Badawi, she is helping me with your Westlink Tunnel. I'd like her to sit in on today's meeting, just to observe and take notes. I trust that's ok with you?"

Bill was still staring at Zanire, he'd barely acknowledged my presence.

"Great to meet you Zanire," Bill said rather slowly and perhaps a bit too loud. "Where are you from, Badawi, that's not a common name? You are tall, are you visiting from the Islands?"

Really Bill, if she was a plain white girl called Jane Smith, what would you ask? The Islands, what's that all about, what fucking islands? Zanire was right, Australians are ignorant.

Fortunately, Zanire saved the day before I said something to this moronic Public Servant. She flashed a white smiled at Bill and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you Bill, I'm very interested in your Infrastructure project."

Bill looked nervously at me. I remained silent, he may be a client, but he's still a jerk. Bill found safer ground. "Well, let's join the others in the Presentation Room. I hope the kettle is on?"

Bill and his team bored everyone for the best part of an hour with their public servant language, it was all; stakeholders, hard facts/soft exposure, key media personalities, the usual bullshit that these guys talk when they're about to spend $500 million or so of the tax payers money.

Bill prattled on, describing his ultimate match winner. He would win public acceptance for the tunnel with a special ground breaking ceremony. His idea was instead of the Premier, turning the first shovel load of dirt, he'd have Primary School Children digging at the tunnel entrance.

What a stupid idea Bill, a group of 9 year-olds with spades. What are you building, a sand pit? Even worse, it could look like he'd conscripted Child labour from the Victorian era. Fortunately I kept my mouth shut.

We were all kind of speechless, even dumbfounded. Bill turned to Zanire. "So, Mrs Badwada, what do you think of our ceremony?" The room turned, everyone looked at Zanire, glad that they weren't first to answer. I panicked, I shouldn't have dumped Zanire into all this.

Zanire, paused. She looked at Bill. "Actually, it's Miss Badawi. I like the children idea. It's better than a group of Politicians wearing hard hats and 'High Vis' jackets. Perhaps you could use the children to help disengage the communities' objection to the project. Perhaps, the children could sit with the Premier and he could explain the benefits the tunnel will bring to their neighbourhood?"

I could feel a collective sigh as everyone in the room relaxed, no one more than me.

Bill paused, the wind spilling out of his sails, "Keep going, I'd like to hear more of your ideas."

In the limo' on the way back to the airport, I hugged Zanire, I was so proud of her. "Well done today, I really wasn't expecting that 'bozo' Bill Minchin to ask anyone, anything. Usually he loves the sound of his own voice."

Zanire looked at me, she didn't say anything. She smiled, not that big white smile, but a contented smile, like hearing a favourite song on the radio.

I sat back, and enjoyed the comfort of the car and my wonderful Zanire next to me. "Zanire, I have a business proposition for you."