2 comments/ 17524 views/ 9 favorites Laetitia Casta Pt. 01 By: FrenchCasanova Edited by Robert Reams My name is Alex. Some years ago, when the international career of the top model Laetitia Casta was starting triumphantly, I happened to witness these extraordinary events. My story begins in the heart of Africa, in the region where the Maasai tribes live. I have the task of assisting the Italian maestro photographer Federico Bertolucci, during the dauntingly hot photo shoots. We were sent to shoot a promo for swimsuits - in a desert, a hundred miles from the nearest beach! If you Google, you will find the pictures. Well... those that made it out of Africa! The French demoiselle is stunningly beautiful in these magazine spreads. The crew and I have the task of setting up the camp and checking the gear. The site is in a rueful state, totally without proper lodging facilities. One of the rented RVs for the top models has been ditched because it broke down on the way here. Arriving in the Maasai village, we are greeted by many large smiles. The warmth of these people strikes at your heart; that unsettling feeling that you receive more than you can ever give back. If they had known that top models only care about themselves, they would have been more careful... Laetitia Casta's world is inhabited by princesses that would poison each other's lipstick! The missing RV really torments the maestro, because one of the young ladies will have to share her space. And this cannot happen! Who would share lodging with a viper? The camp must be reorganized; a few of us will have to sleep in a tent. My tent was pulled right out of Second World War surplus. Hence, we work hard to prepare everything. Having finally put everything in place, I walk to the village with my own camera, under the hottest Sun I have ever felt. I see first hand that the stories about the Maasai are true. They are a tall and strong people. I feel surrounded by giants! Am I a Hobbit with normal feet? Even the women are taller than I, and I am not an average size man! It is on that film that I capture the most interesting events: kids playing with home made toys, old men talking in the shadow of one of the two trees in the village -Shadows are an illusion- the heat and blazing light are constant. My forehead flows like the Nile River under a thousand suns. The Maasai do not mind it; I envy their thermal serenity. I have to slow my pace, much slower than theirs! Walking is sluggish on the hard, dusty soil. It is hell for photography: shooting in bright light with so many highlights, then moving again, interludes of minimal effort trying not to sweat too much! After I have spent half an hour touring the village, my boss calls me back to camp; the deities have arrived. I am so excited to see my first real top model. Not the ordinary model used for cheesy newspaper adds. Their personal assistants follow them. I could fall in love and marry any one of these girls! Like haughty Helens of Troy, any one of them could start a war with her beauty. I think I can rest in peace now! I meet Laetitia for the first time when the producer makes the presentations. I observe her for what seems hours. It is as if she is a master's painting and I am at the Louvre. What a splendid young woman. The intense sun does not diminish her beauty. Her lightly coloured clothing makes her feel at ease in the heat. The outfit barely touches her skin, only lightly masking her delicate curves. She is charming, seems almost accessible to the common man such as I. My heart skips a beat when her tantalizing lips smile at us. My fool of a heart thinks I am the one she is smiling at! I had first noticed her while preparing a mannequin shoot in Photography class. We were assigned to reproduce the set up from a magazine spread. Though I perused a myriad of magazines, only one image burned into my heart. Standing, sitting, lying in the middle of a bed of roses, or emerging from a bath surrounded by muscular men, Laetitia, the torrid French top model, was the only Mademoiselle I fantasized about. - Photo shoot - Night passes; the photo shoot preparation begins early in the morning. A colleague gathers a few Maasai men to surround Laetitia. I position the reflectors according to the maestro's orders. Laetitia looks straight into the lens. A few minutes later, she changes her station and so do I, reorienting panels, like my eyes following the girl of my dream. Now she lays on the ground, surrounded by tall black men, her light skin tone contrasting sharply with the Maasais' pitch-black skin. As the maestro commands me, I skip past Laetitia to remove rubble. That is as close as I will ever get to her. Worst, she does not notice me. In her final pose, she is gazing off in the distance; supported six feet in the air by the big charcoal arms of four Maasai warriors she is looking far away Oh! I wish I could be one of them! Words fail to describe how it would feel to hold such a prodigiously curvy carnal woman. I imagine I am the warrior holding her bum, warm and barely covered by the tight bikini. Her pussy lips are so close I can smell her floral essence. Better: holding her upper body, caressing her hair and mostly peeking at her neckline. What a view, her two large breasts scarcely enveloped in a bikini. I would see her aureoles through the thin material, her nipples standing tight. That characteristic shadow down the middle of her boobs would complete the scene. Passion jutted from Laetitia. * * * A short break is called. Refreshments for everyone! A make-up artist rubs the dust from her lightly tanned skin. She heads to the improvised changing room, changing bikinis behind a simple white drape supported by four five foot piles. I wish I could infiltrate that cotton booth. I would put my hands delicately on the bikini, exploring every square inch of her body, one by one, twice if necessary. The top of her naked shoulders, her delicate neck and her perpetual smile would be the only gifts visible from outside the booth. Inside, I kiss the girl of my dream. My strong hands would skim her spine north to south, sending a myriad of sparkles through Laetitia. With one swift move, I lift her in my muscular arms. "It is only a dream Alex", she whispers. "It should not be a dream, Laetitia. You should be mine!" Backing up a bit in the cramped space, I take a better look at this dream. I admire her breasts: so generous, so in harmony with the proportions of her body. She has the hands of time ticking in her favour; she is young. Laetitia is always smiling as if her beauty could never diminish. I kiss her again with spirit, cupping her left breast as I drop to my knees, taking a gulp of it and of its twin nipple. With inspiration, I aim for her mons veneris. Then, my triumvirate makes contact: fingers, lips and tongue operate between her thighs. She exhales, eyes closed, savagely gripping the wood posts of the booth, yearning for more. "Stay with me forever Alex." My fingers are tactile antennae, searching for hot spots. They circle round and round her tits, other secret places. Mutual delight fills our bodies. Eyes shut; we give ourselves to each other without haste. In a dream, we have eternity to fondle. Any bystander would see Laetitia's silhouette stretching out and curling I toy with her heated lock. Her melodious moans now have effervesced from our secluded stand. Under the influence of my tongue and a few well-placed fingers she whispers soft words, some of them dirty. Even though I am on my knees, we are equals in this bubble of lust. Time. Laetitia grips my agile fingers. Stops. Laetitia drips. The producer's whistle brings me back to reality. The sun really whacks me in Kenya! Time stops. Her heaving breasts make the most amazing shadow on my smile. Come on, this only happens in reverie. We get back to work for some time. I actually am on my knees in front of Laetia, posing a light diffusor. She is wearing a new red brick bikini. Her sexy assistant removes the shoulder straps; the top stays up, but only thanks to her large bosom. Surrounded by twenty Maasai dressed as warriors (actually shepherds!), she holds a spear, not mine! When the drums start, she turns, as if in a trance, dancing, Maasai men left and right of her. Laetitia seems extremely happy executing the traditional dance. All the men, Maasai, crew, and I are as pleased as could be. The dancers are jumping as high as possible, causing a very delightful reaction in Laetitia's breasts. The cheerful group chants at the top of their lungs. Laetitia, or more precisely her generous characteristics, become the object of my blazing attention. I would have kept shots of this scene for myself, but I have to hold the reflectors. The hustle and bustle of the job is not the only thing getting my attention. Laetitia's body overflows with sensuality. Sincere pleasure in her performance shares her face with covert sultriness. The jumping, the strong physical exercise close to powerful men vitalizes her. I am not only a photographer in training. I am also training my eye for the X-rated cinema of my dreams. Each time Laetitia's feet touch the earth, a small dusty cloud rises around her delicate ankles. The contraction of her thighs and calves awakens passion in me. Animal passion. As the tries to reach the sky, her hair swivels around furiously. The clinking of the camera tries to glimpse what the maestro calls, "The revelation", God only knows what that means. Laetitia continues to jump up and down, and so do her luscious breasts, nearly leaving her bikini top on each ascent. The maestro may not be gay after all! The dance goes on and on. In the course of time, her arms lock to the spear, causing her sweet breasts to vibrate even harder. Almost out of the bikini! I wish I could put my hands on them! Reality is so much more exciting; I have completely abandoned my earlier fantasies. Her blue eyes exude sex; her level of excitement is also evident in her pointy nipples, pushing out hard under the top of the red bikini. I am not the only one enthralled. All we men talk among ourselves about the possibility of sleeping with the models, though Mastro Bertolucci has strictly forbidden fraternization and he has possession of all our passports, the ass hole! Some worry the locals might get the girls first! Gathongo Oloro, our translator, says he is very happy to be here! I guess most foreign women on safari are in their fifties, not as pretty as a pack of young top models who were teens just a year or two ago. Then, the maestro strikes gold, achieving perfect light, perfect shots. It's a lock for the day. My colleague and I pack up the equipment as the lovely girls head to their RVs. I get to eat canned food with the staff. The top models are in the chief's house for a small reception. - The Sun sets and the crew goes to the village for a ceremony. Placed in a circle, the tribesmen use signs to describe the dance they will perform. The men begin as I sit down, I feel dwarfed by them. They could all have been on a basketball team. Even the teenagers are taller than I! Tattoo patterns cover their skin as they all romp in the middle of our circle. Clapping with their hands and feet, they call the women. Some seem pretty warmed up and scream back at the men bawdily. The tom-toms set the rhythm. The night heats up. When the male dancers stop, they pick up some of the crewmembers, including me. So we join them. Gradually, the beat begins to surge strongly through our bodies. We get carried on without much pride. The pleasure is even greater for the Maasai, since I can clearly hear them laughing at our lack of talent! As I turn and gyrate in a crazy way that could seemingly send me to the nearest mental institute, I am that bad at dancing, I spot Laetitia. The men, stop in a line that places one man in front of every woman. Each man selects the woman before him as his dance partner. The torches flickers ever so gently Laetitia's face, golden and scarlet flashes across her body. Even in the dim faltering light I can easily see she is not wearing a bra under her flimsy ivory tank top. When I lay my green eyes on hers (what color), I know something special is happening. "Focus!" I say to myself. "Keep eye contact! Do not stare at her boobs; every guy does that. Do not!" "Hi Laetitia. I am Alex." "Hi Alex!" The heat of the dance, the heat of the night and the blazing fire have not rendered her sweaty or flushed like all the others. She is exceptional. My fingers touch hers and I feel refreshed. My heart quivers as we move around without rules. My smile grows and grows; I guess I could not look more stupid. The sort of stupidity any man feels near a beautiful woman. Every man present, black or white, is jealous of my luck; I do not want to screw it up. I try to waltz. Every man envies me; watches her body float in circles, dipping and swirling in my hands. I see only her expression of bottomless pleasure. Laetitia's mischievous hair bounces around her gorgeous face. She moves like fluid through the dance as she moves inside the circle. While I, clumsy and stupid, try to not step on her feet. The sultry meandering of her hips brings to mind a belly dance. Every man round us around knows that nothing holds her breasts in place. Holding her by my hands, I try not to look too often at her bust moving freely under the white shirt. She draws me closer like a magnet. The dim flickering lighting from the torches casts sensual shadows all over her body. Too soon, the final moment of the ritual nears, if you ask me. The deep V-neck of her white shirt reveals the gap between her lovely breasts as she raises her hands in the dance. The rhythm accelerates. We stomp our feet faster, thrust elevate our arms higher. Her jiggling breasts display their shining aureoles through the thin shirt. Laetitia's hot sexy body strikes all men, but tonight, let it be me! For me, she is an icon. For the Maasai, the contrast of her white skin, her glorious breasts, her hips wide enough to bare children and her cascading energy portray with the ideal wife. I see the lust, the heat in their eyes, the same as in mine when Laetitia's nipples peek through the thin top. All the women breathe out scorching euphoria like lionesses in heat. Laetitia is their queen. - Starry night - Later, in my mouldy tent, the night goes on and on. I am lonely like a hermit. I sleep, but not for long, my mind is still trying to wrap itself around my lucky dance with Laetitia. The moon illuminates my lonely sleeping bag through the myriad of holes in my tent. I cannot sleep. I cannot sleep without holding Laetitia in my arms once again. I take a walk outside, wishing I had my photo bag and tripod. I would have created magnificent night pictures of the landscape. The air is warm. As I walk, crickets talk to me like fellow travellers. After a few minutes I reach the outskirts of the village. I see the chief's big hut in the distance. The small house of the translator is the first one I pass. I know it because some crewmember has tacked up a cardboard with his name on it: "Gathongo Oloro - Translator". As I walk closer, distinct sounds come from within. The earthen walls made of earth would have normally concealed the sounds of coitus in process, but the savannah is a silent ear. In a shadow of the moon, I creep to an opening. Peeking through the small opening, I see the very dark skin Maasai of the translator's back, his powerful stature. His long sculpted legs make an upside down V to a swinging and contracted ass, apparently pushing in and out of a woman. To be honest, this guy is hard to match. Between his legs, hangs an impressive sac of balls that swings out and slaps back, against a white girl's pussy! - Interracial swing - My heart pounds because of cries of pleasure I hear. The "Oh, Oui!" are obviously those of a French lady. Could it be Laetitia? I do not know but I hear again loud and clear the "Oh Oui!" interspersed by rough breaths. Clearly, the white woman, whoever she is, is achieving great pleasure from Gathongo's rapid thrusting. I know all the female assistants and producers. One of them must have slipped from their private RV to have an exotic experience. My heart nearly stops at the thought that the woman might be she, Laetitia! Impossible! I have the imagination of a sexually aroused man who cannot shag. I cannot bear to look and not know who she is so I make up my own story with the glimpses that I see. Our tour manager, Isabelle Legrand, is a pretty and tiny woman. Usually sharp and stern, she is now getting it by a guy as black as the night. Just past thirty Isabelle wants a one of a kind experience in Kenya. Gathongo Oloro opens his door and sees the little woman with her reddish cheeks. A few wisps of her hair lay over her breasts, visible through her open chemisier. He looks her over greedily and draws her inside. The lonely lantern casts a shadow of her nice big tits on the wall. The French manager is eager to experience something different than her husband back in Paris. Gathongo's smile has a double edge: a response to her captivating loveliness. He also he looks forward to the to honour he knows he must bestow on every woman that knocks on his door at One AM. He draws her to him; slowly, one button at the time, he undoes her blouse, fumbles with her large breasts. Kisses complete her greeting to the translator's shed. She is anxious; it is her first time naked in front of a black man. Her delicate hands cautiously flicker over the ebony skin of his sculpted abs. They are two white butterflies skimming with great temptations. He turns her around. Together, they look in the small mirror. He is proud of his coming conquest; she trembles with anticipation. Her bust, free of restraint, falls gently into tempting curves. Gathongo whistles like with the fever of a teen. She finds him strong and intriguing, two more reasons to get going. "You are beautiful Isabelle. Esapuku Isabell sidai naleng," says Gathongo in his suave voice. The primitive cadence of is voice sends shivers racing through her. He kneels before her to remove her skirt. His large hands rest on her full childbearing hips. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath; it will not be the last one. When the big black hands contact her belly, the game is on. She pushes his head against her dewy pussy and asks him: "What do you think of me?" "Eyeunoto oloiborry enjarwatai. Exciting white girl!" While his tongue slips inside the French married woman, his hands rub her large breasts. He pinches her hard red nipples without asking for permission. A little shadow of a doubt tries to stop her and makes her want this even more. She pushes his head more tightly against her: her desire for the strong man does not fade away. "Lay down," orders the ivory white woman. She kneels right next to him and undoes his pants. Things are going so fast, too fast for the French manager. The white mom sees for the first time in her life a real black penis. She is stunned by its size and its weight; a small amount of fear catches her. Gathongo is pleased by the reaction of the soon cheating wife. Isabelle counts three hands before making the full length of the impressive summery member. He feels her fresh hands shake as she works his dick. She praises the Lord she will be able to fit it all! "J'ai hâte de te sucer, I am loving it!" "Nanu a-sheta o-sutua! I will fuck you all night Isabelle" Gathongo feels like she is taking an eternity to bring her lips to his manhood. Ms. Legrand's jaws open achingly and then, she gets the tip of her moist tongue on his penis's sensitive skin. The translator exhales his relief with power: she has not changed her mind and she will be unfaithful until he is done with her. While she paints his spear with her dribble, Isabelle is fulfilling a deeply hidden desire. Events, past ones and those to come, race in head as she sucks passionately this Kenyan man. She is more and more pleased to rub her nails up and down against the hard shaft. To possess such a large apparatus is something Isabelle could only dream of. It is real and it is arousing her more at every touch of his dark skin. Laetitia Casta Pt. 01 "Oh mon Dieu! Quelle belle grosse queue! Je ne veux pas savoir combien de femmes tu as pu te taper!" "I prefer too skip that question and take pride in satisfying you tonight." "Merde! Dans quoi me suis-je mis les pieds? C'est trop intense!" Time goes by fast and she decides to move to the next chapter. Her moist mouth leaves his hard pole and she swings over him. She feels like a bird of prey but her prey is much larger than anticipated. Will she be able to tame it? Isabelle casts a shadow over the muscular translator. He gets his hands on her hips, ready to lower them, but she bucks. A doubt keeps her from letting him enter her intimacy. "It's normal to be afraid sidai naleng." She is so close to him, but she cannot make the next move. He has to make it for her. His large but gentle hand caresses her soft cheek. Then, Gathongo grabs his penis while she locks her eyes to his. His smile reassures Isabelle and he slowly pushes his manhood through her pink lips. The rest is written in the sky and the French manager instinctively lowers her body onto his, forcing the largest penis she has ever encounter. She is pleased with the feeling and has completely forgot about her husband and her marriage. As she lowers her body on his shaft, the wide black head reaches new depths of pleasure. Gathongo is smiling: another one bites the dust. He knows what's going to happen has pussy opens with difficulty. Her sweet skin is getting redder in some place and she feels her rapid hearth beat in her temples. His large girth cock is pushing; she is trying to adjust to it, loosing her balance. Her breathing stops as the long penis finally rests fully in her womb, locked for eternity. "How do you say : 'Please go slowly'?" "Amonu shoma aa kiniy. You are not a endito anymore, but I respect your will." "Merci Gathongo. Ashe." She raises her white hips, letting his big engine breathe a bit between her thighs. His large penis head is rubbing wonderfully against her unusually expanded vagina. The slow pace is putting a lot of pressure on the African man. He wishes he could simply smash his body to hers, but she is not ready for it. Later tonight, she will be calling his name through the night like all white tourists do. Back in Paris, she will even whisper his name while her husband pounds her doggy style. But right now, Gathongo has to be patient and a caring lover. After some time, Isabelle gets accustomed to the irritation of her large black intruder. It feels great to rub her ass against his strong body. The young mother gets more confident by the minutes and enjoys it. From a curled and tortured position, she now exhibits her full and ample breasts to her Adonis. Isabelle rides him cowgirl style and he feels the mother's large white assets. Her breasts are almost swinging: she is still shy and makes her hips waves slowly against his black bone. Time passes; the impulses get more powerful and more fluid, like her clam. The whiteness of her skin contrasts with the chocolate palms holding her hips. Gathongo's instinct is activated when Isabelle's face flushes red in the middle of the night. With his strong arms he is helping her get more reach out of his manhood. He is so powerful she does not need to support herself. There is no more awkwardness between them. The latent fire burning in Isabelle is now a blazing inferno. She is determined to get more and more of this big black cock. "Putain de merde! Tu es le plus gros mec qui m'est jamais sauté!" "Nice punda mwanamke!" She is so tight! "I want to fuck you all night! Baise-moi comme un sauvage" "I will tombwa you eupe punda!" "Tape mon joli cul de blanche. Slap my white ass!" Gathongo does not wait for the magic word "please". He slaps her ass and the sexy white French mom asks for more. He turns her around doggy style. The translator now dominates her. If he had started this way, their night would not have lasted as long: Isabelle is cheating on her husband. Her heart, without the long preliminaries, would have tipped the balance the wrong way. In the dim subdued light, she is gripping to the only important thing: Gathongo's unusual big sex. Her hands try to grab anything to hold on, but the man's house is almost empty around her. The sexy French manager breathes heavily under the assaults; she is held firmly in place by the black man hands and his stake. His grin is as large as his penis, very large. Gathongo pounds her fiercely and Isabelle's face contorts because of his proud efforts. He grins because the knocks on his door in the middle of the night could only mean this: a lily-white French mother cheating with a strong Kenya translator in a remote village. That or an emergency and one could argue that the female taken tonight has that sense of urgency. African hands hold her immobile. She feels as if she is the centre of the universe. He holds her magnificent ass with his huge hands, imprinting her skin with bright red marks. Isabelle feels like she is the one and only desirable woman in Africa, maybe in the world. The interpreter hooks the white girl with his masculine shaft so deep that she trembles. She is truly the most blessed single lady awake in the village. She rocks her ass against his abs and he meets her with slaps of love. Her white ass cheeks glow even redder with the torch's light. She uses her little white fingers to rub his large black balls. He quivers from her expert touch, showing even more his gleaming white teeth through his smile. The intensity of his thrusts drives her face into the bed and compresses her breasts on the clean white sheets. Her body has occasional spasm and the snowy woman has trouble keeping with Gathongo's pace. The strong dark male uses his pelvis at the rhythm of a locomotive. She cannot believe she is doing this! Every time he fills her, her head hits the board. She pushes hard against it to protect herself and get her lover's phalanx right back inside. There is a first time for everything! Tonight, it is a big black bone trashing through her pink slit, overwhelming her senses. What a lion he is! She bites her lips, roars and pulls the sheets off the bed. What a lioness! Then. She releases them as her first orgasm hits her. It fades away too fast for her taste. The translator has not fully benefited and hence keeps screwing his delicate French gift. Soon enough, her buttocks hit his abs again. She is a treasure of energy ready to unleash over and over. Her rump is hitting on the black stranger's unique shaft, almost splitting her in half. That special feeling is growing in her again. While doggy style, her elegant pale calves rub against his raven thighs when he drills in her. Curled toes show the intensity of the moment. His assaulting Maasai body, sharp as if chiselled in rock, is doing the hard job now. Gathongo is getting dirty once again for the team. Their bodies meet with force. The sounds of her ass clapping against his muscles and their grunts echo in the hut. The translator's powerful arms turn the white married woman with grace and ease. Now spooning, his armour-piercing dick entraps her. The girl swings her derriere as close as possible to her hot lover. Gathongo has no trouble concealing his large and pointy bat at the deepest possible point of her moist abyss. At time it irritates Isabelle, the novelty of all this and his repetitive actions make for a great lay. They mix side by side for a long time again. Her skin is partially covered with erotic dew. He surrounds her with his large shoulders and she can feel in her ear his rapid breathing, like hers. She looks like a faire shivering from the black demon-god's desires and powers. The interpreter's hand caresses her large breast. She feels stress-free, finally in peace with her earlier decision. "C'est une nuit si belle." "It is an unforgettable night." "Je devrai garder le secret de ce si gros membre et de tes mains si habiles." "I will keep your secret to myself. I know you trust me. Mwanamke." "But it is only one night!" "One night is better than no night at all." Without pausing longer, he tells her to meet his hand down between her thighs. He speaks about his African spear, making up some fake traditions and tales about sex in his village. Gathongo's hand presses her fingers against her clitoris, slowly making circles around it. The tall black man keeps thrusting his dick in the white married French manager. White and translucent tears cover his dick, all signs of pleasures from both companions. "Move your fingers down and tell me what you feel." "I feel..." "What do you feel my mungu?" What she senses against her bare skin is the long and hard penis and a voice possessing her like a hypnotist's. "Describe it." "Je sens... ton énorme queue. Your... enormous dick." "My kubwa uume." "Yes... your kubwa uume." "What else Isabelle?" "I can feel my pussy burn. Les lèvres de ma chatte sont brulantes." "Your midomo are kuungua." "My midomo are kuungua and wet from you Gathongo!" "You speak very well Maa. One last question. How do you feel now?" Their bodies are glued together but Gathongo moves his ass back, undocking his prick from the French mom. At first, she thinks he is just getting more space to go faster but the translator get most of his shaft out. All is left is his large round head, almost outside. "Mais que fais-tu?" "Answer my question! How does it feel?" "What? To have your dick out for no reason at all? C'est chiant, merde!" "Really?" "My pussy is empty! S'il-te-plait, please fill up again!" While his hands caress and seem to overflow with her large boobs, her inner canal is feeling, all of a sudden, so lonely! He smiles for the thousandth time tonight. This girl is really his. "Fill it yourself, girl!" Then, he lays on his back, the French Ms on top of him. "Oh mon Dieu! I thought you were showing me the door!" This hell of a night keeps going on. She raises her ass so high, yet his dick is still in her. Ah she hoovers over him, she seems a foot higher than normal, but his hook is still grapple to her thigh pussy. Her face is contorted by the large piece of black meat inside her. She is on her knees and Gathongo's cock is now visible again when she looks down between her thighs. It is a thick baobab, shinning for the girl's passionate juice. Repetitively, she falls back on the translator's broad dick's head; letting him penetrate her sensitive flesh. The hut is an inferno; no priest would allow such vice and the couple does even think about the consequences. "Baise-moi sans lendemain!" She pulls her hair back as she rides him aggressively. This French cowgirl has her back arched and her pointy tits swinging. They are so large, and true to the Gods, they defy gravity. They do not fall pitifully. Instead, they wave gracefully even if the black man lunges the petite naked cowgirl. The red points of the breasts are witnesses of the white woman's increasing pleasure. She moans when Gathongo rips through her tight Made In France pussy. They cast large shadows on the wall. Theses should not exists since red-hot lovers like them exhibit intense radiation directly proportional to their lust. His dick dips from her juices. She is fucking a monster cock. They exist. She believes it firmly. She loves it too. The interpreter finds the French woman tight and bangs her harder. He holds on her hips and forces his huge dick in her. He rams her and gets his rod red hot. She tenses and the second wave of the night knocks her out. Orgasmic joy fills her body for some time and clouds her mind. She lies on his belly, compressing her boob. The Kenyan has a nice sight. Between her ass cheeks, Gathongo's manhood is covered with her white pussy essence. She is not conscious of it yet, but his dick has not softened a bit. "Taatanji, pii kule enjarwatai, tuchukanye. Mimi nitarenfre furahi! Now, fantastic milky girlfriend, turn around. I am going to make you happy!" She does not understand until he rolls her over like a doll. She is so light and dreamy that she looks like a doll. Her creamy legs open, her pussy is electrified at the simple thought that Gathongo will use his big black cock inside her until the sun comes up. Laetitia looses her mind Since the moment I saw the couple through that little hole in the wall, I was not sure of who was that girl. Gathongo was pounding her doggy style, I could only speculate. But now, she is facing me and there is no doubt that it is Laetitia Casta's pretty face illuminated by the torch. I just could not admit it! My beloved Laetitia is being pierced over and over by a huge black dick. Her enchanting beauty makes me want to fuck her too, but she is in thrall to the Maasai warrior. In real time now, I see Gathongo's tall lean body looms over her. Laetitia's calves rest on his strong shoulders. Damn! I see the full size of the Maasai's cock and balls. How could I ever compete with such equipment? Even when he gets completely out of her, that massive dick does not bow to gravity; it points firmly to the sky! Pearls of precum drip from the dark head, mixing with the top model's exquisite liquor. I would press my lips and my tongue there to make her cum! I clearly see the glowing red slit between Laetitia's widespread thighs. The translator-warrior's mighty assaults have not widened her tight pussy at all. I wish I had the courage to join them. I could get my white cock sucked. Or even better, fuck Laetitia's ass! The hut is filled with their lust and hotness but I feel empty, cheated. "Get your legs together. Palahala Laetitia mapenzi ingilia Maasai. Disobey at your risk..." "Oui mon chéri? What did you say, sweetie?" "You are my gorgeous asali and the Maasai I am... will enter in you." "Stop talking and fuck me!" she complains. He flips her over in Kama sutra position of the bandoleer. Laetitia has her knees wedged between her massive boobs and Gathongo chest. His pushing on her makes her breasts exhibit crazy round curves. His dick's fat head is rubbing against her soaking and burning slit. The top model cannot breathe easily now that the translator's weight is over her. Gathongo is at ease over the soft young woman. Her awaiting bald pussy is crying for his penis. She is so tight and so abandoned to him! "What ever I say, never stop," pleads Laetitia! "Baise-moi!" Her brunette hair is a crown on the bed. A few thoughts wrestle through her mind. What has she done with an unknown man, a black one? Can she live with this? Yes! No condom in the middle of the night; is it safe? No! Still, she is so excited. Her bruised pussy boils with expectation. Damp strands of hair stick to her temples. "What is he waiting for?" Her heart races and she decides it is time to restart the engine. Laetitia's trembling hand reaches the black's hard-on as Gathongo lowers to kiss her salty lips. He twitches when she makes contact with his dick, aligning it with her pussy. He rubs her clitoris, sending sparks over her body. When he feels he is right on the spot, he tells her: "Vamia Laetitia! I will invade you!" At once, his body falls on hers. His dick sinks directly into the deepest of Laetitia's pussy. At the speed of a free fall: her only response is a profound "Ah!" of pleasure-pain when Gathongo's body finally meets hers. She gulps again. Her pussy firmly grips his cock as if she were a teenage girl's having her first cock. She loves how the Maasai is wedged inside her, it aches a bit. She knows what to expect, that it only gets better and more enjoyable; she is not a black cock virgin anymore. "Keep going! Harder! Plus fort!" "Katika! Nje! Katika! Nje! (In! Out! In! Out!) You are kaza!" He chants his banging of the French top model for courage and vigour. She twitches under the impacts. She closes her eyes; her jaws tighten, waiting in lust. For now, his voice does not help bear the throbbing in her pussy. Agape, she pushes her legs up to breathe. It does not work but she loves all of it! The huge Maasai keeps pounding her, like a master. And master he is. For the first time in her life, the top model abandons herself to a man, trusting him completely. Laetitia pushes once more, releasing pressure to get a few breaths of warm Kenyan air. "The more you push, the more I like it!" The white girl tries to lift him, contracting all her muscles, in vain. Including the muscles of her pussy, constricted by his thrusting dick. Her tight path is stretched to the limit. Named "limit" because a myriad of tingling of love emanate. Laetitia cannot breath as much as she needs; she is loosing her mind while Gathongo tumbles in her without remorse. His large balls hit her ass. They are reservoirs full of potent seeds. The translator is dominating the girl on the old bed. Her face is flushed but she will never surrender. Not until another orgasm! He is working hard to get it done. First, his dark dick's head comes, almost, out of her pussy for a taste of fresh air. Then, he buries it in her sexy flat tummy. The sounds of lust and hard effort resonate in the hut. The body of the interpreter inoculates my favourite top model with African passion. "You... make... me... hmm... crazy... Fuck!" "Your uke is so tight! Mapendo!" The thick penis is dripping from Laetitia's juices. He thrusts in her vigorously; this marathon of sex is not over. She is wild and panting. She screams at him to never stop and to be the last man to ever fuck. She talks so much like all French girls do. He keeps going in and out of her slim and fit body. Each time, her boobs wobble in a fantastic way. When he slams inside the white girl, he shuts her pussy tight. Her thin pussy is explored like never before. For once, the explorer is not a white colon. First step of the exploration: repel the tightening pink lips. Secondly, immerse between her thighs. Finally, send electric shocks all over. Mister Gathongo Oloro takes his time. He does not know if it will ever happen again: he is making love to a top ten top model. She tries to rub her clitoris with her fingers but her senses are all ready overloaded. Laetitia is jerking around, breathless. The black Maasai reaches her lips with his. He looks like a gargoyle pouncing on a busty white angel. The bed is cracking from every hit Gathongo makes and that sound is not enough to hide those of pure ecstasy made by Laetitia. She is still compressed in every way by the massive black guy. He is over her and pushing her legs against her compressed chest and pushing that big black cock abysmally deep. Even though he sees her in agony, he knows she is in that place where nothing makes sense and where everything is pure sexual pleasure. "Aingwaa Gathongo Oloro! And you will remember my name forever!" "Fuck me!" "Eroro kekijaa?" "Fuck me!" "What's my name?" "Fuck... me... Gathongo!" "Why?" "Because... you have... a big black... cock... Oloro!" Laetitia screams her orgasms and wants him to fuck her relentlessly. For another time tonight, she feels the big wave coming back. For Maasai men like Oloro, you change sexual position when the girl has an orgasm. While doing the bandoleer, Gathongo holds Laetitia's feet with one of his large hands. She is like all white tourists coming to his village. They look for powerful men like him for a life changing experience. She is grasping his dick with her pussy when he gets it deep enough. He has his signal. The top model's hand is finally caressing her clit. I can see her chest breathing heavily and with difficulty. Her beautiful breasts are bulging from each side and are amazingly white compared to Gathongo's massaging black hand. They look at each other and kiss before the last act. Her lips are soft and salty from all the night's action., Gathongo's dick is ripping between her tightly locked thighs through like there is no tomorrow. He torments the pussy I will never fuck. He does it like any men would and should with a top model. His dark skins rubs against hers. He rubs his abs against her clit. She's long done thinking about the pros and cons. Her mind is lost into a swirl of bliss. His body shifts and he gets an extra inch of depth. Laetitia, her pussy already overfilled with his big black cock, has dementia. Laetitia Casta Pt. 01 She shudders, the orgasm seems to last an eternity. The heat, the position, the apnea, the black stallion, the monster cock, the Maasai experience, all make her loose her bearings. Her vision fades out. His overflowing white sperm gushes into the depths of her tight pussy. Gathongo implores God that it's not the last time. His rich sap mixes with her French nectar. The old bed gets its fare share of it as cum leaks from her pussy. Remarkable is not enough to describe the scene. The translator gets off Laetita, well not completely. His long cock is still hard and half hidden in her. At last, she breathes properly. As they spoon, Gathongo savours the moment: he keeps on sliding his prick in her pussy. The black god's dick is covered with white cum and the top model's tasty juices. He plays with her boobs; they are divine, nipples hard as ice in the desert heat. "Continue doucement..." Her voice is smooth as she thinks about the night. "Slowly?" "It's the most intense experience!" She dreads the moment he will pull out of her, forever. Her pussy is still pulsating from all the sexual tension. She fears she will never have as much fun with normal dicks. Could she be corrupted to black cock? For now, Laetitia only knows that she cannot rise to go back to her RV. Instead, she works her white ass against his large dick. The top model savours the last minutes of her adventure. Gathongo's dick is relaxing in her. He takes time to caress each part of her soft skin. She is feeling unusually cold and thirsty in this warm country. She strokes gently his drying cock, as if to prove it really happened. Her hand is so small compared to his massive shaft. She kisses him one last time. Then, the black master pushes her head to his large but soft cock. She knows what to do. Her red lips open like they did an hour ago. She sucks his dick clean of her own delicacy and his thick white cum. Laetitia's is so beautiful next to the Maasai's dusky. She slurps heavily; she is hungry for more as her tongue loops all over. Gathongo's cock hardens again. Unfortunately the dim light of the torch dies, leaving me blind. I have to leave the couple to their next round of lovemaking. As the sunlight comes back, I am in my tent, baffled. One thing is sure; Laetitia is now craving for more. Perhaps some day...