1 comments/ 5357 views/ 1 favorites Somali Hijabi Cleaning Ladies By: Samuelx Man, I know I'm going to Hell for this, I thought as I worked my dick up Fatima Jawari's deliciously tight cunt. The nineteen-year-old Somali Hijabi winced and looked up at me with innocent, doe-like golden brown eyes. Whispering gently, I asked her how she felt and Fatima assured me that she was alright. Good, I thought, and raised her shapely legs in the air as I worked my thick cock into her snatch. Nothing like nubile pussy, folks. It's addictive. In case you're wondering who this is, the name is Marc Aurel, and I'm a Haitian-Canadian gentleman living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I hold a Master's degree in Business with a concentration in Finance from the Sprott School of Business at Carleton University. I've long been a workaholic and a womanizer, and my dimwitted Quebecer ex-wife Deirdre Villeneuve left me and took our sons Elijah and Mathieu to Montreal with her. I visit them three times a month. Life isn't easy for me, as you can imagine. I work as an auditor for the Canada Revenue Agency and after my divorce, I started spending a lot of nights at work. I became familiar with the night shift workers at my office building downtown, and I've got a thing for the Somali cleaning ladies who work in the building at night. Fatima Jawari, a lovely gal who studies at La Cite Collegiale during the day and works at night, simply happens to be my latest conquest. Slow down, Fatima whispered, and I heeded her words as I continued fucking her. I had the sexy Somali gal lying on a thick wooden desk inside a storage room in the basement of the office building. In this secluded area, accessible only to security personnel and cleaning crew, Fatima and I had all the privacy we needed as we did our thing. About time, folks, seriously. I've been craving to get with Fatima for a while. At last, tonight, I finally got my chance. From the first time I saw Fatima Jawari, I knew I wanted her. Standing six feet tall, slim yet curvy, with golden brown skin, dark brown eyes and long black hair that she always tucks away under her Hijabs, Fatima was simply irresistible. The funny thing? This Somali chick didn't even seem to know how unbelievably hot she was. I wanted some of her Somali sugar, and became determined to have it. Now, when you're dealing with Somali women and you're not Muslim, things can get pretty tricky. You see, Muslim women are forbidden from having relations with men from other religions. It's in their holy book. Sounds unfair if you ask me, especially since the same holy book claims it's okay for Muslim men to marry women of any faith. Double standard much? You bet! You might be wondering how a thirty-nine-year-old brother like myself got within sniffing distance of Fatima Jawari's sweet Somali pussy. Stay tuned, folks. Every man's loss is another man's gain, remember that, folks. Fatima Jawari and I were acquainted at work and I flirted with her, but the shy gal never truly responded. One day, Fatima came to work with tears on her lovely face. Feigning concern while sensing opportunity, I approached her and asked her what was wrong. Fatima haltingly told me that her Somali boyfriend, Bilal something or other, left her for a white chick. Now, if you know anything about black women, whether Muslim or Christian, you know that the absolute worst thing a brother can do to them is leave them for a white woman. Fatima Jawari was distraught, because, well, she had every reason to be. I comforted her and assured her that she was beautiful. Bilal is a fool for leaving a Somali goddess like you for some white chick, I said, and gave her a hug. Fatima hugged me fiercely, and held onto me a moment too long. I smiled at her and told her I'd pray for her, then excused myself. I have to patrol the building, I said to her, somewhat apologetically. Over the next few nights at work, I was extra nice to Fatima, even going so far as to order her some food from the Shawarma King restaurant on Rideau Street, and sitting her down to inquire about her well-being. Fatima was in better spirits afterwards, and told me that she was thankful for my help. I looked at her and told her that a good Haitian brother like me would be remiss if I didn't help out a sister in need. Feigning altruism and kindness isn't easy, but a slick and experienced dude like myself can pull off the sincere look. It just takes some work, that's all. With females, man, the thing to remember is that you have to tell them what they want to hear. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Only then will they give you what you truly want, the P-U-S-S-Y. That's my standard operating procedure when dealing with the female of the species. In my lifetime, I've fucked quite a few of them. Black, White, Chinese, Arab, and some ethnicities I've forgotten about. The same rules apply. Fatima Jawari was hooked on my mixture of charm, slickness and kindness. Now all I had to do was reel her in. When a woman's been cheated on, and left for a woman of another race, she needs a man who validates her beauty. I was determined to be that man for Fatima Jawari. I set out to seduce her, and our nightly conversations turned into heated flirtations, which led to kissing, fondling and heavy petting. We were getting there, just not fast enough in my book. Still, I knew I had to be patient. Females cannot be accurately predicted, man. That's just a fact of life. My patience with Fatima Jawari was destined to pay off, ultimately. That much I knew. For in time, the sinfully sexy yet sweetly innocent Somali Hijabi offered herself to me. Ladies and gentlemen, I finally had my delicious plate of Somali pussy in front of me and it was a meal I was determined to savor. Before sticking my thick Haitian cock into Fatima Jawari's tight Somali cunt, I kissed her passionately and caressed those small, firm breasts of hers. As Fatima sighed happily, I spread her shapely thighs and gave her pussy a good licking. I had to take my time, and really work at it because, well, Fatima was different down there. Damn Somalis, they need to stop doing that barbaric "modification" shit to their women. Fatima Jawari was a bit nervous but before licking her pussy, I assured her that she had absolutely nothing to fear. Then I buried my face between her legs, and licked her sweet pussy like a hungry man. Soon I had Fatima squealing in delight, just like I knew I would. Once I had Fatima's engine revved up, the Somali sister practically begged me for the D. Who am I to say no to such a cutie? I put Fatima on her back, got her legs in the air and then shoved my dick in her cunt. The first thing I noticed upon sliding my hard dick into Fatima's cunt was how tight her pussy was. Damn. It has been a while since I fucked a gal who's under twenty. I fuck them all, ranging from eighteen to sixty. I banged a forty-year-old Saudi housewife named Afaf Mahmoud in Barrhaven, Ontario, last month. Before that, I fucked a plump Chinese chick named Vienna Chang up her ass at her dorm at Humber College in Toronto. My nine inches of thick, uncircumcised Haitian granite don't discriminate. Fatima Jawari proved to be a real screamer as I filled her cunt with my dick. Time to show little miss Somalia what us brothers in the Caribbean are working with. I swear, a lot of them Muslim broads are repressed, and it's only while living in the West that some of them are starting to freely explore their sexuality. I was happy to help Fatima explore, and after plowing her cunt for a good while and making her cum twice, I pulled out of her and shot my nut all over her pretty face. Sorry, but shooting my cum over a Hijabi's face ( while she has the Hijab on ) has been a fantasy of mine for years. Fatima shot me a look and I shrugged, telling her that it was an accident. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, then asked her how she felt. The lovely and cum-soaked Somali cutie Fatima Jawari was all smiles, telling me that she felt absolutely wonderful. Glad I satisfied the lady, folks. With them females, if you don't fuck them right, they won't return to your bed and they'll damage your rep among others of their kind. Sad but true. A lot of fellas haven't learned that lesson. Me? I always leave them pleasurably sore and smiling. It's a Haitian stud's trademark. Fatima smiled at me and asked me when she might see me again. Tomorrow night and don't wear panties this time, I whispered into her ear. Fatima's smile was all the assurance I needed. 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.