Somali Hijabi Cleaning Ladies Ch. 02

What's up, people? My name is Marc Aurel, and I'm a Haitian-Canadian businessman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I work for the Canadian government, and these days, life simply couldn't get any better. Not easy for a brother to get a good job in this town, even with an MBA from an accredited and highly ranked Canadian university. I do what I can, though. Can't let the haters get to you. Got to believe in yourself, educate yourself and power on through. It's the only way to go.

Working hard towards a goal is an admirable thing to do, but one must always make time for the simple pleasures of this life. That's why I'm taking my sweet time seducing the latest Somali cleaning lady in my office building. Amal Bashir, the fifty-year-old newcomer from Mogadishu, Somalia, is something else. Tall, dark-skinned, curvaceous and lovely, with a thick heart-shaped ass that I couldn't help but notice even though Amal had a traditional Islamic skirt on.

I want some of that, I thought to myself as Amal Bashir walked by pushing a cleaning cart on my floor late one night. What is it about them Somali women and their mesmerizing butts? I swear, Somalia must be a booty factory or something! I really must visit that country someday. Um, nope. Since I don't want to get beheaded by some religious nutcase, I think I'll just stay here in Canada and enjoy the local Somali booties, oops, I meant local Somali beauties.

Now, when dealing with a Somali lady, especially one who wears the hijab and dresses conservatively, there are certain elements to consider. Women like that don't respond to your standard flirting, so you must be discrete, respectful and careful when dealing with one. Amal Bashir is a newcomer straight from Somalia, and Canada must seem like a strange, different place to her. As an immigrant myself, I can kind of relate to what she must be going through. That's how I'll reach her, I thought to myself.

That's why, the next time I saw Amal Bashir at work, I made sure to politely greet her, and let her see me with a copy of the Koran in my hand. Upon seeing me holding the holy book of her faith, Amal looked at me pensively. The lady asked me if I was Muslim. I hesitated, and then sincerely told her my well-rehearsed line. I find the Eurocentric lies of mainstream Christianity offensive and want to learn the truth, I told Amal, with some anger in my voice.

Amal smiled, and said Masha'Allah, and then told me that if I had any questions about Islam, I could ask her. I nodded, and voiced my anger at Eurocentric Christianity essentially forcing people to worship white male authority figures, and depowering people of color with their lies. Amal nodded and said that she totally agreed. The Son of Mary, a Holy Messenger of Allah was considered a person of color in Islamic teachings, Amal assured me.

For at least half an hour, Amal and I sat there, talking. We discussed the religion of Islam, the fate of people of color in North America, racism in the City of Ottawa and the challenges facing immigrants in the province of Ontario. The two of us seemed to have far more in common than I previously imagined. And now to close the deal, I thought.

I looked into Amal's lovely eyes, and asked for her number. So we can discuss Islam further, I was quick to say. I saw hesitation in Amal's eyes, and tried to look as innocent as possible. Yes, look into my eyes lady, I thought. I know women, and how to fool them when it suits my purpose. That's how I turned the previous Somali cleaning lady, Fatima Jawari, into my sex slave. I had fun with the lovely young Somali gal, and after turning her out, I got rid of her. What can I say? I like a challenge, but grow bored after victory. Lots of men feel the same way, I think.

Amal Bashir sighed, and then, whatever soul searching she was doing while looking in my eyes must have been fruitful, for she finally told me her number. I grinned, and punched it in my Blackberry. Wallahi I'll be in touch, I told Amal with a gentle nod. Amal smiled, and then excused herself, for she had to get back to work. I nodded understandingly, wished her well, and then went back to my office. Game, set and match, I thought, smiling victoriously.

Look, every man reading this knows, getting a gal's number doesn't automatically lead to anything, much less getting into her pants. Amal Bashir and I had to do a little song and dance before we got there. If we got there, I mean. That's the thing about the game of seduction, you just can't be sure how long it will take. Depends on the person, the place, and a variety of other factors. Too many to list here.

For the next couple of weeks, Amal Bashir and I would meet on a nightly basis, and little by little, the Somali MILF got more comfortable with me. Got to wear them conservative Muslim ladies down, that's the only way to go. We would meet in my office and talk, and sometimes I'd offer her some food which I'd order from the nearby Shawarma place. Eventually, Amal got comfortable enough with me to meet me outside the office, a small but decidedly significant victory in the long game I was playing with her.

It was during one of those late-night heart to heart talks that I saw the lovely Miss Amal Bashir's weakness. What am I talking about? The lady's Kryptonite. Her one vulnerable spot. That which, when fully exploited, will have her in my bed with her legs spread. Amal told me about her former husband Ali, the dude who apparently left her for a white woman named Margaret. As you can imagine, I was all ears.

With anger on her beautiful face, Amal Bashir told me about Ali, her wretch of a former hubby, whom she caught in bed with Margaret, their landlady at the apartment that they shared in Vanier. You poor thing, I said as gently as I could, looking into Amal's moist eyes and trying hard not to smile. Every black woman's nightmare is to be left for a white woman. When such a doomsday scenario occurs, the lady in question becomes quite vulnerable to both suggestion and manipulation. Any port in a storm and all that.

Amal had tears in her eyes by the time she finished telling me the story of how her husband Ali divorced her to be with Margaret, a fat white woman who didn't even follow the beautiful religion of Islam! I got up from my chair and gently put my arms around Amal. Now, as someone who chases ( and routinely beds ) Muslim women for fun, I'm well aware of their cultural taboos. Touch-me-not is standard operating procedure between Muslim women and males whom they're unrelated to.

Still, there are certain moments in this life when we've got to put the religious and cultural stuff aside and remember our common humanity. I put my arms around Amal Bashir to comfort the weeping lady in distress, as any man worthy of the name would do. Ask any man, we hate watching women cry. I'm sorry my dear I couldn't help it, I said apologetically, looking into Amal's tear-filled eyes. I held my breath and waited. I thought Amal would go all Islamic on me and tell me that I was crossing the line and all that jazz...but instead, what the gorgeous Somali did stunned me.

Amal Bashir looked into my eyes, and then, without warning, the lady grabbed my face with a force that surprised me, and kissed me. That's right, folks, this hijab-wearing, long-skirted, totally prim and proper Somali Muslim lady, this Hooyo ( mama ) straight from Somalia, made the first move. How do you like them apples? Caught me by surprise, that's for damn bloody sure.

I looked at Amal, and saw a depthless passion in those eyes of hers. I smiled and so did she. Without a word being spoken, we began making love. Right here in my office. Impromptu, I know, but I've never been the type to hesitate in the face of unexpected opportunity. Do you honestly think I was about to turn down some delicious Somali pussy? Hell no to the power of ten, seriously!

Amal's passion surprised me, but I was more than happy to keep up. I laid the sexy Somali MILF on my desk, pulled down her skirt and was pleased to discover that the pious Muslim gal had no panties on. I forgot, Amal said, somewhat apologetically. I smiled and shrugged, and then buried my face between her thighs. Time to go muff diving, I guess.

I inhaled the sharp scent of Amal's womanhood, and grinned, then I began licking her pussy. I licked her cunt with gusto, taking my sweet time as I pleasured her. I was a bit saddened to discover that Amal had been "modified", as per Somalia's ( and various other predominantly Muslim nations ) barbaric practice to supposedly curb feminine sexual desire. What a bunch of retards if you ask me.

The female vagina is one of the most beautiful things in existence, and the fact that so many bozos in African, Arab and South Asian countries think it's okay to modify it in any way offends me. Now, I'm not a feminist or anything. Hell, I'm a manly man who believes there are clear differences between men and women, what the world expects of us and how things are supposed to be. I just find some people's cultural and religious practices irksome, that's all. Especially when it's women who always have to carry those burdens. Funny how these things seem to work out, eh?

Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yeah. I was telling you about Amal Bashir and I getting busy in my office. I gave the Somali lady's modified pussy a good licking, and then gave her the fucking she so richly deserved. Amal haltingly told me that she hadn't had sex in almost a year, not since she left her former husband Ali. Well, this Haitian brother was more than happy to help a Somali sister out, you know?

Amal returned the favor by getting on her knees and sucking my dick. Damn, this older Somali broad sucked my dick so good, the gal left me weak in the knees. When I came, Amal Bashir eagerly drank my cum. After finishing, Amal wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The Somali MILF looked up at me and smiled. Taking Amal's hands into mine, I pulled her to her feet. Fantastic, I whispered, and kissed her.

I could taste myself on Amal's sweet, full lips and I loved it. Playfully, I pushed her back on the desk. Amal sat there, and spread her thighs invitingly. The sight of her, a half-naked, gorgeous Northeast African woman clad in a bra, panties and hijab, turned me on like you would not believe. And I most definitely wanted to get some of that...

That's why I raised Amal Bashir's thick, sexy legs in the air, resting them on my shoulders. I was ready to fuck her. Go ahead, Amal hissed, and I took that as my cue. I eased my hard dick into Amal's cunt. The Somali MILF closed her eyes and licked her lips as I began fucking her. And just like that, we began banging right there in my office.

Man, the things that came out of Amal's mouth as I fucked her made me blush, and I'm a fairly wicked dude. The Somali gal screamed obscenities in English, French and the guttural Somali language, and told me to fuck her harder. I pounded away at Amal, slamming my dick into her cunt like there's no tomorrow. I plowed in there like a miner drilling for gold, delighting in Amal's passionate screams.

To really spice things up, I turned Amal Bashir around and put her on all fours. I looked at her thick, round and brown-hued Somali ass. Hot damn, see what I told you about Somali women's asses? Shoot, I got so turned on that I kissed Amal's ass. The Somali MILF giggled and told me to stop fiddling around and fuck her. Who am I to go against the lady's wishes?

After mercilessly pounding away at Amal Bashir's cunt, I was close to blowing my load inside of her. And then Amal turned around, and shot me a wicked look. The next words out of the sinfully sexy Somali MILF's mouth almost caused me to pass out. Amal winked at me and told me that she wanted me to fuck her in the ass. Once I picked my jaw up from the floor, what do you think my answer was?

Look, it's probably been said that guys in unexpected situations think with their dicks, and that's fine by me. For I was totally down with fucking Amal's ass now that she told me she was into it. I put the mature Somali woman on all fours, and watched as she spread her big butt cheeks for me, ready to get fucked. I inhaled her booty funk, and since I'm a freaky dude, I licked Amal's asshole anyways.

After polishing Amal's asshole with my tongue, I was ready for her. Amal told me to fuck her ass and be quick about it. I nodded, and took some Aloe cream I had in a nearby drawer and applied some on her anus, then applied some on my dick as well. I put my hands on Amal's wide hips and worked my dick into her asshole. Amal squealed as I penetrated her, and then laughed and told me to keep going.

See? That right there is one of the many reasons why I'm addicted to Somali women. I see them all over Ottawa. Doesn't matter if I'm at the Rideau Center or Billings Bridge, the Silver City theater or Bayshore Mall, the Algonquin College square, the Saint Laurent Mall, the University of Ottawa campus, the Carleton University campus, or even downtown Ottawa's Business Core itself. Somali women are everywhere in the Canadian capital. I like the conservatively attired ones with the hijabs and long skirts. The idea of seducing them, corrupting them and bedding them turns me on like you would not believe.

Thanks to Amal Bashir, my dream of fucking a Somali Hijabi in the ass was finally coming true. The big-booty Somali MILF's magnificent derriere swallowed my dick whole. I went balls deep, man. On the first damn try! Amal might look and act like a prim and proper, hijab-wearing Muslim lady but this gal was definitely no stranger to anal sex. This much I could tell. I've fucked enough women up the ass to know such things...

Speaking of ass fucking, it's highly recommended that before you fuck a woman up the ass, you ask the lady in question to cleanse herself with water and soap, or through an enema. I just wish Amal Bashir and I had heeded this bit of advice. What do I mean by that? Well, I fucked Amal's asshole with gusto, filling her hole with my dick. Amal's screams really turned me on, and I got really wicked while banging her.

Seriously, I smacked Amal's big butt and even yanked her hijab off her head, grabbing a fistful of her long and curly, naturally smooth Somali woman's hair. Amal screamed even louder than before, and I rammed my dick even harder up her asshole. Yeah, we were having some wicked fun together, Amal and I, when the unthinkable happened.

Look, there's no easy way for me to say this, so I am just going to say it. Amal had a bit of a mishap. The bitch crapped all over my dick, alright? Man, my dick was black when it went up Amal Bashir's asshole, and it came out...brown. I pulled out of her, winced and barely stopped myself from swearing. It smelled awfully bad, man.

Amal Bashir looked at me sheepishly. Ever the gentleman, I told her not to worry about anything. We went to the nearby washroom, and cleaned ourselves up. I wished Amal well, and then we parted ways. I returned to my office, and sprayed on some perfume. I also sprayed almost every inch of the office with the Febreze Air Freshener I bought last week. What a night, I thought to myself as I resumed my work. I never saw Amal Bashir again. Too damn, because the Somali goddess was an unforgettable piece of ass in every way.