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Somali Femdom For Haitian Boyz

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If there is anything more delicious than a hot plate of thick and juicy Somali female ass in the morning, then honestly this brother hasn’t discovered it quite yet. Hungrily I munched on my lady Fartuun Ibrahim’s sweaty butt hole, sticking my tongue deep inside and tasting her bum like only an ass man can. I’ve always been a butt man and I don’t apologize for it.

“That’s it, Pierre, eat my ass just like that,” Fartuun whispered as she sat on my face, her thick butt cheeks smothering the hell out of me. Sitting on my face like a queen on her throne, Fartuun rode me hard, and I inhaled the scent of her cunt and asshole as she smothered me.

Face-sitting, also known as queening, is somewhat of an acquired taste, ladies and gentlemen. You either love it or you don’t, there’s really no middle ground. When I broached the subject with some male friends one night at Oliver’s Pub at the Carleton University campus, some dudes swore by it and others seemed really turned off. To each his own, I guess.

After riding my face with that sweet, thick and juicy ass of hers for a good while, Fartuun and I switched things up a bit. “Now I’m ready to fuck,” Fartuun said, licking her full lips sexily, and we exchanged a kiss before my sexy lady assumed the position. I watched, thrilled beyond measure, as Fartuun got on all fours, then shot me a suggestive wink.

“Oh my,” I said, smiling from ear to ear as I gently caressed Fartuun’s big brown butt. I rolled a condom on my dick, and my seven and a half inches were hard and ready. With a swift thrust, I eased my dick into Fartuun’s cunt and a gasp escaped her lips, followed by a happy sigh.

“Harder please,” Fartuun said, and as you can imagine, I was more than happy to oblige. pendik escort I lightly spanked Fartuun’s big butt, loving the way it bounced up and down as I thrust into her. A sharp squeal from Fartuun, and I grinned wickedly, smacking her ass harder as I fucked her.

My lady is sweet and sexy in every way but she does love the rough stuff in the bedroom. I’m all about making Fartunn happy, so I’m more than happy to oblige her. If rough sex is what she wants from me, then it’s exactly what she’ll get…and then some!

Gripping Fartuun Ibrahim’s wide hips tightly, I thrust into her with all of my might, and my lady’s squeals of delight were sweet music to my ears. Grasping her long, curly black hair in one fist, I pulled on it and slammed my dick into her cunt. What did I get for my efforts? More happy squeals and groans from Fartunn, followed by a happy sigh. I made her cum, and she screamed my name. It was a good day and a good lay.

“That was frigging hot,” Fartuun whispered to me as we lay side by side in my bedroom. I smiled and shrugged, then kissed my lady on the forehead. Glad she had fun, because I had fun too. Truth be told, I came home mad tired after working eight hours on the overnight shift at my security job downtown, and I wasn’t sure I’d be up to par, so to speak. No danger of that with this lady. I swear, one look at Fartuun, as she greeted me at the door in a bra and panties, and my flagging energy levels were magically revived!

I’ve wanted Fartuun Ibrahim’s sweet ass from the moment I first laid eyes on her. I was walking around the Saint Laurent Mall, the most crowded public spot in Ottawa’s east end, when I spotted a beautifully tall, curvy lady with a mesmerizing derriere walking maltepe escort out of the post office and up the escalator leading to the food court.

I’ve got a serious weakness for six-foot-tall girls with big butts, and like a bloodhound smelling prey, I followed the lady in question up the escalator. I got a closer look, both front and back, and definitely liked what I saw. Tall and curvaceous, with a smoking hot body that even her traditional Islamic long skirt couldn’t hide, her pretty face framed by the Hijab, this lady was something else.

For some reason, perhaps sensing my eyes on her, the lady in question turned around, and I gasped when those chocolate eyes met mine. “Hello brother, are you in my sociology class?” the lady asked, and I smiled sheepishly, and could only nod, for I have unpredictable bouts of boldness and shyness, and it makes encounters with the opposite sex quite awkward at times.

“Um, you do look kind of familiar,” I said, and the lady smiled at me. From her features, which seem Afro-Arabian to me, I could tell that she was at the very least part Somali. Like many guys in the immigrant communities of Ontario, I’ve got a thing for Somali girls but since they usually stick with guys from their own cultures, I haven’t truly pursued one. Until now.

“You’re the one who put Professor Kensington in his place last week in class,” the Somali-looking gal said, and I smiled, for I totally recalled what she was talking about. I’m a business major at Carleton, and I’m required to take at least one humanities elective as a graduation requirement. I took sociology, figuring it would be an easy grade but the Professor, an old white dude who clearly doesn’t like outspoken minority kartal escort male students, turned out to be quite a dick.

“Dude was insinuating that inner-city minority youth are naturally inclined to crime and that’s just not true,” I said, and the Somali gal smiled, then did something completely unexpected. She extended her hand toward me, looked me in the eyes and introduced herself.

“I’m Fartuun Ibrahim,” the lady said, and I smiled and hesitantly shook her hand. Look, if you know anything about Somali culture or Islamic social norms, you’d realize that some conservatively attired Muslim ladies, the ones sporting the Hijab and traditional Islamic long skirt, don’t shake hands with males because that’s a no-no where they come from.

“Good to meet you Fartuun, I’m Pierre Magloire,” I said, and thus, we were formally introduced. That’s how it all began, ladies and gentlemen. Fartuun and I come from different faiths and cultures, but sparks flew between us right then and there. I mustered up the courage to ask Fartuun to join me for lunch, and the lady happily acquiesced. Got the ball rolling, and it was smooth sailing from there.

When people see us, they tend to stare at Fartuun Ibrahim and I. For we’re very different. I was born on the island of Haiti and my parents, Gina and Jean-Paul Magloire moved to Ontario, Canada, in the fourth summer of my life. We’ve been living here ever since. Canada is our home, and we cherish it with every fiber of our being.

My sweet Fartuun was born in Toronto, to a Somali immigrant mother, Sagal Omani, and a Yemeni Arab father, Saleh Ibrahim. The tall, majestic gal who stole my heart is Afro-Arabian, ethnically speaking, and like me, she is proudly Canadian. I was raised Christian and Fartuun’s parents are Muslim and not thrilled with her choice of mate, but they can’t stop us from being together. We love each other, and this wonderful country, the only place where a love like ours is even remotely possible.

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