Qatar Woman For Haitian King

Honestly, the last thing any man wants to do is piss off a woman who's got his dick in her mouth. "I'm sorry sweetie," I said sheepishly, and Samira resumed sucking my dick, going as far as flicking her tongue over my dick head while sliding her finger into my asshole. For some reason, this got me real hard, man. Samira saw that and fingered my ass some more.

After sucking my dick so well she had my head spinning, Samira climbed on top of me. I barely rolled a condom on my Johnson before she impaled herself on my dick. "Fuck me," Samira said in a commanding tone, resting her hands on my shoulders and began riding me real hard.

I planted my hands on Samira's hips and thrust my dick into her pussy. Gently, I stroked her beautiful face but she batted my hand away. Locking eyes with me, Samira grimaced, her intense gaze doing all kinds of things to me even as her tight cunt gripped my dick. "Stop with the love-me-tender crap and give me that black dick," Samira snapped, and I gulped before doing as the lady demanded.

Gripping Samira's hips as hard as I could, I slammed my dick deep inside Samira's cunt, fucking her roughly. The harder I fucked her, the louder Samira screamed. Glaring at me, Samira narrowed her eyes. "Grab my throat," she said, licking her lips in anticipation.

I hesitated, but only for a moment. Some chicks like the rough stuff, and Samira seems to be one of them. If that's what she likes, who am I to refuse her? I grabbed her by the throat, and held her down while slamming my dick deep into her cunt. "Yes please just like that," Samira squealed, and I buried my face between her tits while fucking her.

At some point, I put Samira on all fours, and really put it to her. Time to show this feisty Arab mama how we get down in the Caribbean. I spanked her big brown ass and thrust my dick into her cunt from behind. "Harder please," Samira said breathlessly, and I happily obliged her. We went at it until we lay, exhausted, having collapsed on the bed in a sea of our own juices.

"That was fucking hot," Samira said, smiling as she lit up a Lucky Strike cigarette. I did not know that she smoked. Hmmm. We just lay there on the bed, talking and laughing. Samira is not a cuddler, and swears like a sailor sometimes. I don't know why I'm surprised by all this. There's more to all of us than meets the eye. We all have our hidden sides and Samira, the demure and shy Hijabi has an alter ego that's a vulgar slut, and proud as fuck. I'm delighted to discover that.

Thus it came to be that I embarked on a passionate relationship with Samira Zeidan, the foxy gal from Qatar. This chick was harboring a lot of secrets, man. Back in Qatar, she was married to a guy named Tariq Al-Thani, a distant cousin of the ruling family of Qatar. Apparently, the marriage didn't work out and after obtaining a divorce, Samira fled to Canada, supposedly to take up higher education. The truth is, she didn't want to come back to Qatar. Both her family and her husband's clan blamed her for the divorce.

"I want to make a life for myself here," Samira said, looking at me with an odd look on her pretty face. I've never been much for pillow talk but something about Samira captivated me. I wanted to hear more about her hopes and dreams, and learn more about the world she left behind. Typically, after I bang a chick, I want to get the hell out of there, not stick around and chit chat. What can I say? This broad was different.

"You're brave and smart and you'll do just fine in Canada," I said to Samira, as I gently pulled her into my arms. Samira smiled and looked at me, gently tugging at my chest hairs. As I would later learn, this gal likes to mix pleasure and pain, and she likes to give it and receive it.

"Gabriel you've already got me in bed no need to butter me up," Samira said, laughing as she gently patted my groin, causing my dick to spring to hardness once more. I smiled at her, and gently licked her earlobe. Cupping her pretty face in my hands, I looked into Samira's eyes. "I actually give a damn about you," I said firmly, and then I kissed her. Although I sensed some hesitation on her part, Samira kissed me back passionately. We resumed making love again, this time until dawn.

The next morning, around eleven, Samira and I woke up in each other's arms, and we had breakfast at a quaint little restaurant on nearby Bronson Avenue. The place was packed with people, so we got a seat around the back which thankfully afforded her plenty of privacy. "I could get used to this," I said to Samira as I bit into the omelet and cheese sandwich on my plate.

Samira looked at me, smiled faintly and shook her head. Clad in an old Navy sweatshirt, blue sweatpants and a faded gray Hijab, Samira looked good. Makeup free and natural totally work for her. "You should be warned, monsieur Salomon, that I am quite a handful," she said in a warning tone.

I laid my hand on Samira's thigh under the table and she shot me a look. I knew she was repressing a smile. "I like a handful," I said, then I kissed her. And I meant every word. We began seeing each other in earnest, learning about each other's cultures and ways. Just like a regular couple, we spent as much time together as possible.

This strange, quirky and fascinating young Qatari woman I've fallen in love with has many different sides to herself. Samira is the kind of chick who will impulsively walk into a porno shop with me and buy up enough sex toys to start her own porn company, and then she'll go home and freak out about missing her evening prayer. A foxy mama who carries both the Kama Sutra and the Koran in her purse. What have I gotten myself into?

Must be love, I guess. For I began learning about Islam, and Arab culture, not to impress Samira, but because I honestly wanted to learn. Samira's interest in Haitian culture stunned me. You see, she already speaks French and my parents native tongue, Haitian Creole, is a direct offshoot of Parisian French. My sweetie is learning Haitian Creole at a geometric rate.

"Mwen kontan we ou," Samira would say to me, smiling, as I showed up at her dorm for a visit. Translation? Oh, it's Haitian Creole for "I'm glad to see you." Her Creole is far better than my Arabic. I'm still learning basic words and phrases at this point while Samira is capable of carrying on full conversations. This gal is really something. When I finally introduced her to my parents, they were fascinated by this lovely young lady who was friendly, cordial, and spoke Haitian Creole almost flawlessly. They loved her immediately, for they could see that we truly loved each other.

On May 17, 2014, exactly one year after we met, Samira Zeidan and I got married in a small, private ceremony at City Hall. My family and friends attended, as did quite a few members of the Islamic Student Association from school, many of them close friends of Samira's. The ceremony was performed by Imam Nasir Adewale, a Nigerian Muslim preacher at whose mosque I took Shahada a few months ago.

My darling wife, Samira Zeidan-Salomon and I are lawfully married before God and Man now, and I filed for her to become a permanent resident of Canada. Can't have immigration troubles hanging over my wife's head now, eh? That just won't do. Our attorney told me we can expect a favorable decision in the matter. We're happy together, and have a baby on the way. I thank the Most High for His blessings.