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From Africa With Love

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This woman has denied herself pleasure for years. That's about to change.

Miriam was Nigerian but had lived in London since she was eighteen. Now she was around fifty and a secondary school teacher. She had a son but had never married, and what made that remarkable was that she was deeply religious, to the point of having had grave reservations about having sex with me because we weren’t married.

We had met online through a dating site that was very proud of its squeaky-clean reputation and therefore attracted people like us: women with no racy past and no intention of acquiring one through a racy present and men prepared to play the waiting game in the belief that even the starchiest of human beings has needs and desires. She was a calm, motherly character but had a gentle sense of humor that hinted at a more fun person underneath.

Because I lived on the other side of the country, when I visited her, I had to stay at a guest house half a mile from her tiny house in Beckenham, and I used to go round at lunchtime and stay until after dinner. We would go for walks and pass whole innocent afternoons together, and her neighbors, whom she was very anxious not to excite, would have had little to report to the church elders, even if they or anyone else was interested.

I was just this respectable middle-aged white man who called on the black spinster and took her out, doing nothing more outrageous than holding hands.

But of course, as Charlie Rich said in that old country song, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors.

Miriam and I overcame her shyness one afternoon at the bottom of the stairs. The house was ridiculously small. It was a semi-detached place in gold brick on a quite new development where the people who owned the land must have done the planning, worked out the numbers and then figured out that they could make even more money if they just squeezed the size of the units.

So the space at the foot of the stairs by the back door was very tight indeed, and one day we found ourselves there, she heading up and I coming down after using the bathroom. It was the third day, so I was just over halfway through my little visit and the clock had started to tick more loudly.

Thrust together by an unscrupulous architect, we stood belly to belly and it was one of those moments when the air seems to crackle with sexual electricity. I could tell she felt it too because she gave me a slightly nervous look but didn’t budge.

We looked into each other’s eyes, unable or unwilling to break the spell, and I put my arms around her. We fell into a hug and for a terrible moment, I thought that was all it was going to be. But I converted the hug into a cuddle, rubbing her back with both hands and as she relaxed, her chest fell against my ribcage.

I leaned down and we kissed, gently and sweetly, lips to lips, before I moved a hand up to her neck and stroked her. Then her lips parted and my tongue met hers. Everything changed, as if we had entered another realm.

She was wearing a strange sort of wrap-around skirt that was almost transparent at one thickness but became opaque when doubled, as it was.

I fumbled with her breasts through her white shirt but something told me the skirt would be easier, so I found the button and started to unwrap her. To my relief and surprise, she didn’t object and soon the garment was on the floor and she was standing there half-undressed with a human wolf aiming to devour her.

“Shall we go upstairs?” I asked as pleasantly as I could. She looked deeper into my eyes.


She picked up her skirt and followed me.

Her room was immaculate and very feminine. It was a room just for sleeping in. As she had only lived there for five years, I concluded that those four walls had never seen any sex. Maybe she had permitted herself a little hand-induced orgasm from time to time. But again, you just don’t know. She wasn’t fighting me off and she was well aware of my intentions.

I unbuttoned her shirt and unhooked her bra and she stood there bravely with just her standard-issue smooth black Marks & Spencer knickers between her and nakedness.

“How about you?” she said, sitting on the bed. She watched like a parent as I undressed and seemed unfazed at the unaccustomed sight of my raging erection. As I joined her on the bed she smiled.

“John,” she said. “What a good looking man you are. Are you going to take my pants off?”

I pulled them down gently and carefully, still on my best behavior with this matronly African woman. She was beautifully black, her skin rich and glossy, with little dots of pubic hair.

She was short and full-bodied, with an ample, rounded bottom and big, shapely breasts. I felt like feasting on her.

I kissed her mouth and her hand descended to hold my cock. I sucked her nipples, which were firm and chewy, and she sighed with pleasure.

I moved down to her navel and poked my tongue into it, then kissed her all the way down until I was between her thighs, which were only slightly ajar. I pushed them apart and she co-operated. She wasn’t going to make any of the running as regards opening herself up to me, but she was waving me through when I asked the questions.

I pulled her labia apart and licked her beautiful pink cunt. The color was spectacular in the setting of her dark skin, which was some rich shade between mahogany and ebony, maybe walnut. In places, it reminded me of black cherries.

I licked and sucked her lips, slurping as she became wetter. And then I had a terrible urge to lick her arse, so I lifted her legs and attempted to get my tongue in there, but she resisted.

“Not now,” she said. “Please.”

“Next time?” I bargained.

“Okay,” she said. “Just fuck me now.” It was almost a whisper, this shocking invitation that had just escaped her mouth.

I lay between her legs and my cock found her lips and bobbed around there like a boat about to moor. I pushed in a little but got tangled in her fleshy seaweed. Ever the helpful adult, she felt around with her fingers and guided me into her dock.

I slid my excited white penis into Miriam’s innocently exotic, dark body and it was heavenly. I plunged in and out and she broke into a smile.

“John, this is so nice,” she said. “I’m a woman, and a very nice man is... doing me. Do it harder, darlin’. Bang me. Bang me.”

I stepped up the intensity and she grew more and more agitated, heading toward the distant memory of an orgasm. I thumped my body into hers and found myself dangerously close to cumming, so I used my fingers, first inside her, circling her elastic tube while my cock worked her like a piston, and then outside, on her clitoris.

Miriam’s face became a writhing sea of emotions as she looked for land and then spied it. She relaxed and banged me back, recalling some actions of her own from a time long-buried. I could see her welcoming her inner girl back from obscurity, urging herself to do this thing, this fabulous, despicable thing called fucking and cumming. Then she began to whimper and that turned into a stifled cry as she shook violently and her love juices flooded over my cock.

With Miriam safely home and wet, I abandoned by hesitancy and flung my cock into her, just banging her as she had wanted. I knew that now she wanted a torrent of my spunk and I gave it to her. My desperate dinghy crashed onto the rocks of our passion and I spurted and spurted, deep within her.

Miriam held me like a long-lost lover back from some war overseas. She smiled and laughed and held me tight, whispering sweet words of delight and relief, delighted to be back among the living, free of the shackles of respectability, with not just a man but a frowned-upon white man on top of her, inside her, filling her with his taboo seed.


It felt odd that evening to leave the house on my own, this woman and I having crossed borders together and now inhabiting the buffer zone that had kept us one step away from bliss. Now we lived in bliss, but for appearances’ sake, we had to spend the night apart.

I was back at her house at 10 the next morning and she had changed for the better. She was still in control of herself, but the boundaries had moved. We kissed and cuddled and I felt her all over.

“After lunch,” she admonished, pushing me away with a kiss on the nose. “Be a good boy.”

I managed to distract myself with the local newspaper and the radio as she made soup and then chatted about her friends, her son and her church, which I would be introduced to before I left.

We finished lunch at around one o’clock and I washed the dishes quickly, to remove any obstacles to the afternoon’s entertainment. Then I took her hand.

“It’s after lunch,” I smiled, and her eyes sparkled as I led her up the stairs. Today she was wearing a warm black cotton tracksuit, in which she managed to look casual and sporty, but which also reflected her new confidence and vitality.

“Now, where were we?” I said, pulling her towards me. We kissed long and slowly and my hands were inside the cotton cocoon, discovering immediately that she was wearing no bra and no knickers. The mysterious natural aromas of her body were intoxicating.

“You’re a very naughty girl,” I said.

“Washing day,” she replied. “Everything’s on the line.”

I pulled her top over her head and got to work on those sensational breasts, kissing and licking and generally adoring them. When I got down and pulled the bottoms down she turned around and wiggled her cheeks at me.

“Yes, remember what we agreed,” I said playfully, half expecting to be rebuffed.

“What was that?” she giggled.

“I’m going to lick your bum,” I said.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” she said, with just a trace of nervousness.

She knelt on the bed, as fine a sight as ever greeted a man’s eyes, with her breasts hanging low, her stomach rounded and womanly and her back arched in an athletic pose. Her brown skin glowed and she looked absolutely perfect.

I tore my clothes off and she watched me stealthily, then turned to face the front as I got behind her. But she couldn’t stop herself: she had to look, as best she could, craning her neck as my face descended to her buttocks and my tongue anointed her in a way she would probably never be able to tell anyone.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, and I knew that as she said it she would be thanking God for this and asking his forgiveness at the same time.

“That is so beautiful,” she sighed, forgiving herself and surrendering to the thrill of having her anus licked and loved, because I was sure she could tell there was love in this action.

I moved my right hand around and played with her clitoris, but she pushed it away.

“No need,” she said. “I’m nearly there already.”

I licked her devotedly, increasingly excited myself, and she started muttering in a high pitched voice.

“Ahh! Ahh haah! Oh God, oh damn! I’m cumming!”

Her whole body tensed as the orgasm gripped her, then she relaxed and gave an involuntary laugh.

“Stay there,” I ordered, and moved up closer, jerking my cock. It took only seconds for me to cum, jets of semen flying into her beautiful shiny crack.

And then it was over and we were watching the slow ebbing of a memory.

Miriam passed me a wodge of girly-style small tissues.

“Wipe me up,” she said quietly, and I found myself wiping this woman’s arse, gently but carefully removing my semen from her.

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