5 comments/ 22310 views/ 9 favorites An Office Refugee Ch. 01 By: Spectre17 It was late and now I was pissed off, very pissed off. This bloody hopeless public servant needs to get a real job. The email came through at the last minute, totally moving the goal posts and now we'd need to rewrite the whole report, all 137 pages. The Report was due at the Department of Infrastructure in 48 hours. I'll need to burn the candle at both ends to get this completed in time. Thanks to Bill Minchin, the 'shit for brains' department head. We run a small sized firm that consults to local and state government on large infrastructure deals. We mainly deal with public consultation, which means "spinning the project" so the community feels that they are involved. I'd been at this game for more than 20 years so I shouldn't have been so surprised by the sheer, selfish incompetence of this public servant. No big deal, it'd happened before and the money was good. When I received the 'Sorry we forgot to mention' email, I stood at my desk and barked out, "Why don't you get a fucking real job, you stupid, dumb, pen pushing wanker." It was late and I thought that I had the office to myself. Well I was wrong, Zanire, the cleaner, had just turned up for work and she obviously heard my outburst. She rushed to my office door, looking rather concerned. "Mr. Johnstone, is something bad happening? Mr. Johnstone why is it you yell?" Zanire was a refugee, a recent arrival to Australia and one of my wife's projects. Teresa, spends a fair bit of time 'doing her little bit for the community.' Usually her involvement is limited to fund raising, lunches, auctions, dinners, and other assorted charity events. Recently, she seemed to be taking more of an active role with her newest venture, RefuCare. According to Teresa, RefuCare is a wonderful group of people that help Refugee's get a start in Australia. So my involvement? Give Zanire a job. Teresa begged and pleaded that I find employment for Zanire, so she is now our office cleaner working three evenings a week. Our firm only employs 6 staff including me, so this amount of cleaning was a fair bit of overkill. Teresa was happy, Zanire had a job, the office was clean, and I suppose everybody was a winner. As far as I knew, Zanire was a good cleaner, she didn't rifle through your desk. She was competent, honest and efficient. I was really only concerned for the security of the petty cash and that someone, anyone but me, empty the dishwasher. On the odd occasion I'd heard Zanire clunking around the office, I was polite with the usual pleasantries, aside from that I'd had very little interaction with her. Zanire, who is supporting her parents and two younger brothers, is a sponsored refugee from somewhere near the Congo. It could be Zaire, Botswana or Mozambique for all I knew. I'd never bothered to chat with Zanire much. Zanire looks a bit like a taller, chunkier version of Serena Williams. Her age could be anywhere from 20 to 35 and she is black, very black with huge pink lips that hide brilliant white teeth. You could say that Zanire is large, but she certainly isn't fat, more a strong, generous shape. She has long cornrow braids that are secured with a mix of silver and red beads. Aside from her large lips, the most noticeable feature about Zanire is not anything physical; it would have to be the array of chunky, silver bracelets that constantly jangle as she works. When Zanire is cleaning, I shut my door. So I apologised for my tirade of expletives that she'd witnessed. "Zanire, I'm sorry for the outburst, just a bad email." "It's ok Mr. Johnstone, email can't hurt much, I go back to work, you ok, nothing wrong." Zanire responded with her amusing sing-song voice. "No Zanire, nothing is wrong. It just annoys me that some of our public servants are totally incompetent and I can't believe that the Aussie tax payer is lumbered with the wages for these inept, bureaucratic morons. It now transpires that from his original commission he'd forgot to mention one small fact that now changes the entire emphasis of this report." I had no idea why I'd given Zanire such an explanation, it would have been more my style just to keep my head down and grunt something inane. "Mr. Johnstone, sounds like you talk about Zanire's old boss in Khartoum. He was one lazy public servant man. Always at his desk, doing nothing, bossing everyone. At night he often yell, 'Zanire get in here, blow job now.'" Gulping, I sort of stammered. "No Zanire, I didn't ask for a blow job, I was just yelling at the sender of this email that he should get a fucking real Job. I apologise if my outburst shocked you." How did our wires get so crossed? "Its ok, Mr. Johnstone, Zanire not shocked at all, I go back to work, but if you want blow job, just yell for Zanire. Zanire's old boss needed blow job as he was always stressed. He says blow job good for stress, and no good from wife." Zanire laughed to herself as she turned to leave. Fucking hell, I've got to relocate to Khartoum! I watched Zanire with a bit more interest as she left my office. She was actually quite pretty, in an exotic, African sort of way. She wore no make-up at all, her lips were thick, pink and luscious. Her charcoal eyes were large and doe-like, with a permanent sparkle. Her muscular body wasn't an hourglass shape, it was big at the top, with broad shoulders, round in the bum with strong, solid legs. She sort of sashayed a bit when she walked, with her chest forward, shoulders back, arse out, and lazy hips. I couldn't really determine if her tits were large and firm or soft and saggy. She favoured floppy sweaters that came down over her bum, framed by a loose belt around her waist. She wore leather sandals that showed off her surprisingly delicate toes with bright polish. I suppose if you bought her some decent clothes; shoes with a bit of heel and a perhaps a touch of makeup she would look quite striking. I guess the RefuCare budget doesn't stretch that far. Sometime later, Zanire opened my door and asked, "Mr. Johnstone, I go now, you want anything before I leave, coffee, beer?" Actually, I wouldn't mind a stress-relieving blow job just like your old Boss in Khartoum. "No thanks Zanire, I'm good. See you soon." I wimped out. Over the next day, visions of Zanire flooded my thoughts. What were her tits like? How good would it be to get my dick between those full lips? What would it be like having those bracelets clank and jingle as her hand moved up and down, stroking my dick? I didn't consider any consequences, just the fantasy of an office encounter with a willing Zanire. -*- Two nights later, I was just finishing the rewrite of the report for the Department of Infrastructure, when I heard the jangle of Zanire's' bracelets as she entered the office and collected the cleaning equipment. Buckets, mops, vacuums all clanked and whirred as she worked through the building. Actually I was hoping that she would come and say hello, I'd been a bit intoxicated by her attitude of boss/employee blow jobs. I'd had some pretty vivid fantasies about those lips around my dick. Zanire clanked and jangled into my office and said, "Mr. Johnstone, is it ok if Zanire vacuums your office? All this working late, you not give Zanire a chance to clean here." I looked up from my work and recognised the same Zanire style, big hoop earrings, braided hair, full lips, black leggings and that dreaded floppy sweater. After all my Zanire fantasies, her 'exoticness' had transformed into 'erotic-ness.' She had become much more than just a cleaner, or one of my wife's projects. She was this exciting wonderland that had gotten under my skin. "Give me 30 minutes Zanire and I'll have this report finished then you can do whatever you like in here." Thirty minutes later, probably to the second, Zanire returned. "You ready for Zanire now, Mr. Johnstone?" Shit, why did I have to read so much into that? Yes, I was definitely ready for Zanire. I'd been ready for two days. I tidied up the papers on my desk as Zanire vacuumed. She bent over the vacuum, pushing it backwards and forwards. I listened as her bracelets jangled, I watched as her braids bounced from side to side and I noticed that her tits were in fact, quite big. As she pushed forward the sweater stretched across her chest. There was an outline of breasts, not a pair of breasts, rather they were clumped together. I continued to fluff about at my desk, enjoying the sight. Zanire switched off the machine and started on the dusting. As she stretched, I could definitely see that her arse was chunky, shit it looked good. Kind of big and round, what the Americans would probably call, booty. The leggings were stretched tight across her backside. No panty line, does that mean she didn't wear any panties, or that she was wearing a G-string? She doesn't strike me a G-string girl, they're usually skinny and blond. There weren't any lines from a bra across her back either. Perhaps she was commando after all? It was amazing, the total rambling crap that was bouncing around my head. Zanire turned as I was pondering her underwear status. "Mr. Johnstone, you look fazed, you work much too hard. Let Zanire rub your shoulders." "No, its ok Zanire, I'm fine, it's all good now this report is complete, it just needs collating." You idiot! What an opportunity, just shut up and let her rub. "Mr. Johnstone, come on, let Zanire look after hard working boss, we pretend we back in Khartoum." Thank Christ, all was not lost! Shit, I could feel the beginnings of an erection already. Zanire actually swiveled my chair around so I was facing away from her and with gentle but strong fingers, she started to massage my neck and shoulders. The jangle of her bracelets was music to my ears. Her massage was firm and then soft, firm and then soft, her bracelets clinking with each squeeze. She bent forward and breathed in my ear. "You like Zanire's massage?" Those big, gorgeous, pink lips were millimeters from my ear, her warm breath was like some sort of exotic medicine. "Yes Zanire, it's wonderful," I sort of croaked, as the blood continued to rush south, away from my brain. Zanire kept rubbing and squeezing my shoulder blades and neck, pressing delightfully into the muscles around my collarbone. "Mr. Johnstone, we take off tie now?" She lilted in my ear. Not waiting for a response, Zanire removed my tie and loosened a couple of the buttons on my shirt. She slid her warm hands under my collar and continued her magic massage. She started to work down my chest and then back up to my shoulders. Each touch, each change in direction, was amazingly sensual, nothing like any massage I'd ever received. Her hands slid down my chest and then back to my shoulders. As her hands went lower, I could feel her very heavy breasts press against the back of my head. Wow, they were unbelievably spongy, yet firm as they nestled into my head and neck. My neck and shoulders felt great but the highlight was each time she slid her hands under my shirt and down my chest, her breasts pressed against me and I could feel her breath in my ear. She'd lightly scrape her nails up my chest and then slide her soft palms down. I started to melt and perhaps allowed a little sigh to escape, this was getting far too hot for this middle-aged consultant. "Zanire thinks you like this Mr. Johnstone, just what busy Boss needs." She dragged her nails up my chest and sharply pinched my nipples. I yelped and jumped, with the surprise. "Zanire sorry for that Mr. Johnstone, Zanire couldn't help herself," she whispered, nibbling on my earlobe. "Mr. Johnstone, you won't get cross, but I give you more stress relief?" Zanire swiveled my chair around to face her. Then her knee eased my legs wide and she reached down towards my crotch. Hello, I thought. This is looking good. Just relax and enjoy "Yes Mr. Johnstone does like the stress relief, he very hard. Zanire will look after that," she cooed as her hand pressed against my dick. The heat from her palm radiated through my pants. My belt was unbuckled, my zip came down and Zanire reached into my boxers and very gently extracted my dick. She now bent down and kneeled on the carpet. Her black hand looked so strong and exotic as it wrapped around me. I sorted wiggled my pants and boxers clumsily down to my ankles. "It's lovely Mr. Johnstone, Zanire has never seen a little white dick, it more pink than white. I like the knob on the end." Zanire wasn't really speaking to me, she was blowing these words over my dick as her fingers travelled lightly up and down my shaft. Given any other circumstance, the little dick reference probably would have me objecting, but I felt it wasn't little at all, in fact I doubt it had ever been so hard. She leaned forward at the waist and lightly touched her lips on the side of my dick, just below the knob. She gently rested her palm on the underside of my dick and worked her lips delicately down, grazing all the way to the base. Her lips would then feather back to the top, blowing warm breath as her head came up. Bloody hell, this was fantastic. I was willing her to open those full lips and gobble me whole. She continued this action with a dozen or so turns of her head, slowly and gently grazing up one side and down the other. Each time her warm breath blew across the more sensitive tip of my dick, it drove me totally nuts. No one had ever played with my dick so delicately and yet so bloody amazingly. Finally, Zanire stopped at the top, resting on the point of my dick. Her lips lightly nibbled, caressing the tight skin, it felt like an avalanche of tiny butterfly kisses. Zanire looked up at me with her sparkling eyes and sang. "Mr. Johnstone, you like?" She didn't want a response. Without taking her eyes off me, her bright pink tongue poked through her lips and just came in contact with the tip of my knob. She then slid her tongue down the underside of my dick, over the circumcision fold and down my shaft. Her head didn't move to either side so now my dick was pushing against her nose until her chin was in my thighs. As Zanire came up, she pursed her lips and blew more warm breath that chilled against the damp path her tongue had travelled. Warm then cool, absolutely fantastic! Zanire repeated the downward tongue slide, this time she turned her head and looked into my eyes, acknowledging the sheer joy. Without taking her eyes off me, she wiggled her tongue around the base of my dick almost at the top of my balls, poking and probing into spots that had never been poked or probed before. This was unbelievable! Previous blow jobs I'd received had included a lot more sucking and plenty of vigorous action, this was soft, generous and tender. Zanire raised her head, her eyes never leaving mine, she pouted and pushed her lips together into an exaggerated kiss. Then she pressed my dick against her bottom lip, like she was blowing across a bottle. I was just desperate for her to open her mouth and take me in. Very gently she moved her mouth from side to side, grazing her bottom lip across me. I contemplated just thrusting my hips forward forcing my dick into her mouth. Just as well I didn't as she extended the point of her tongue and began to lightly flick at my opening. "Zanire, this is incredible, I'm not going to be able to take much more stress relief," I stammered lamely. Zanire stopped flicking with her tongue, she looked up and smiled at me. With pursed lips, she held my dick still. Resting its weight on her pouty, pink, bottom lip. She didn't open her mouth or adjust anything, she simply tilted her head forward and in one slow movement, slid my dick gloriously through the kiss, into her encompassing mouth. "Shit Zanire!" I yelped as I gasped, jumped and squirmed all at the same time. Zanire quickly lifted her head back, a string of saliva joined between us, like a stray spider's web. "So Sorry Mr. Johnstone, I thought we miss my teeth." Zanire looked up with a frightened expression. "No, no teeth Zanire THAT was just so incredible when it went in your mouth, I just wasn't ready." I bent down and gave her a kiss, removing the spit from her lips and chin. "You want me to keep going?" She asked, smiling. "Perhaps it's best if we stop now and get back to work." It took Zanire a couple of milliseconds to realise I was joking. "Oh Mr. Johnstone, you such a kidder. I make you cum now. You cum for Zanire? Zanire wants to see white cum." "Well Zanire, I could never refuse a lady." "I show you special lady, I give you treat." Zanire rocked back on her heels and removed her big T shirt top. Underneath her breasts were squashed ridiculously into a cropped sports singlet. "You help Zanire?" She lifted her arms up. Suggesting that I could remove the tight singlet. I tried to assist, but somehow I managed to snag the undergarment in her cornrows. Zanire tugged at the singlet and flicked her hair, her generous breasts were swinging as she shook her head. What a sight! They were brilliant. Large, very soft, nothing at all firm about them, but they certainly weren't droopy, just big and squishy. I could tell, I had my hands all over them. "Zanire they're wonderful jugs that you have." Oops, perhaps not such a killer line. "Zanire's jugs are too floppy, Zanire needs a better bra," she said this as she playfully cupped both breasts together and teased her nipples. "Watch this, you watch what Zanire can do." Zanire lifted a breast, tilted her head forward, smiled at me with her eyes and kissed her nipple. This was a big, wet, smacking kiss that made her breast jiggle and quake. "Mr. Johnstone, he like my breasts, I show him something better. He not think too kinky?" Where the hell is this going? I questioned myself. This is one great refugee cleaner. Zanire grabbed at my dick and took a fair bit of it in her mouth. She was slurping and spitting and rolling her tongue, coating my dick. She popped it out of her mouth and spat on it and rubbed her spit all over its head. She sucked and plopped it out and spat on it again. There was saliva everywhere, over her face, her chin, her lips and my dick. I gazed quizzically at Zanire, she sang. "We need very sloppy, make much better noise, make more fun." I'm struggling to keep it all together. My dick is covered in spit, it's about to explode. I fight the urge to cum, I don't want to cum. Not yet. I have no idea what she is doing. I must hang on. Thankfully Zanire stops sucking, spitting and rubbing. Zanire, still on her knees, at my feet, sits up a bit straighter. With both hands under her chunky breasts, she raises them, offering them to me and says. "You slap Zanire's breasts." This was an instruction, not a question. I'm not really sure what she's getting at so I prod my dick towards her cupped breasts, jabbing at a very black nipple. "No not like that, like this." She lets one breast drop. With her free hand she slaps my dick quite firmly. There's an unbelievable wet 'splod' as my dick collides and springs back. She smacks again. The minor pain from the blows, melts into delightful pleasure as her breast, cushions and ripples with the impact. She continues to slap my dick against her breast. Getting faster with every beat. Her breast is jiggling and wobbling gloriously. She keeps it up; slap, crash, jiggle, wobble. Slap, crash, jiggle, wobble. Then, she swaps hands and alternates to her right breast. Slap, crash, jiggle, wobble. Slap, crash, jiggle, wobble. Then both breasts; 'splod', jiggle, wobble. This is amazing, it's noisy, it's sensual and it's great to watch. "Oh, shit Zanire, shit Zanire, I'm coming. Zanire, I'm coming." Zanire stops the slapping and squashes both her breasts around my dick, smothering the explosion of cum. I kiss the top of her head a million times as she muffles my creamy orgasm between her chocolate breasts. An Office Refugee Ch. 01 "You have no stress now." She smiles at me, releasing my dick from her breasts. Her cleavage thick with saliva and a couple of tubs of cum. She reaches for her singlet top and wipes up the mess. I kiss her properly for the first time, a heartfelt passionate kiss and a bone crunching hug to match. "I give stress relief anytime Mr. J." Zanire chuckled as she dressed. She stopped and looked at me with a thoughtful, almost pensive gaze. She continued. "Actually, can I call you Roger, I think we have reached a point where the expected office formalities are rather unnecessary? Zanire didn't wait for a response. "Firstly, I'd like to say, thank you. I enjoyed that very much and I'm sure that blowing the boss is a wonderful career move for a cleaner. Secondly, from the mess you made all over me. I can quite safely assume you also enjoyed the experience. We'll speak soon." Zanire collected her cleaning things. Smiled that huge white smile, and left my office. Leaving me to ponder, her new found English and what the hell had just happened. An Office Refugee Ch. 02 That night, I'd contemplated (more like, I'd panicked) how I was going to manage what had happened between me and Zanire. I'd received the best blow job ever. I had a severe case of 'adulterous guilt.' I wanted another blow job. Could I just ask for one? Was Zanire playing some sort of game? I didn't get much sleep. Being the coward that I am, I certainly wasn't going to come out with, 'Zanire, get in here, blow job now.' Perhaps a bit of old fashioned romance, perhaps a pay raise, perhaps threaten her with termination? Perhaps I could chicken out and see what Zanire does? I heard the front office door close and the jangle of Zanire's silver bracelets, I readied myself. Time to bite the bullet. I swallowed hard and stuck my head around the corner. "Zanire, can you come in here," my voice faltering. I stumbled on, "Our dalliance two nights ago was wonderful. However, I'd like to see if we can discuss the best way to move forward." Shit, this did sound like I was reading from a script. Stop, take a deep breath. "Zanire, before you start cleaning, can we have a chat?" "Yes Mr Johnstone, Zanire can talk now. Zanire talk to you anytime." That amusing sing song voice. A smirk appearing across Zanire's broad, dark face. Exasperated I asked, "Zanire, is that really you, why are you talking like that?" "Why Mr J, you don't like the way I speak? You don't like Sudanese girl?" Zanire, paused, looked at me and smiled, it was more than a smile, it was an all teeth and gums grin. "Stop it Zanire! Please tell me what's going on, why are there two Zanires?" With a more serious, almost melancholy expression, Zanire continued without the accent. She plonked herself in a chair and began her story. "OK, Roger, I'll stop messing with you. When we first arrived in Sydney, I applied for many positions that were more suited to my education and experience but, I couldn't even get an interview. Then RefuCare, suggested that I lower my expectations and try for more entry level positions." Zanire, paused, looked at me, as though she was uncertain how to proceed. We weren't dealing with my issues, but we were talking. Zanire continued. "So I applied for work in Retail, Customer Service, Tele-marketing. Anything that was on offer. I had no luck at all, it appears that Australians don't want to employ Sudanese refugees. Then one day I met your wife and she was so positive and so keen to help a poor Sudanese family that I thought I should act the part that she wanted me to play. So I became Zanire, the cleaner. I didn't mind, I finally had a job and playing Zanire the cleaner is fun." "Is Zanire your real name?" I asked, nervous about the reference to my wife. Zanire continued on. "Yes, Zanire is my real name. Don't look so dismayed Roger, I was happy to be working. I finally had some money and a small glimmer of hope that all Australians aren't racist Rednecks." "Is that what you really think? We are all racist?" "Well, perhaps 'racist' is a bit harsh, but Australians tend to pigeonhole and stereotype everyone who isn't white. Their ignorance blinds them, they are unable see more than what they're told to see." I was interested to hear more. Zanire was the first Refugee I'd ever met, let alone had sex with. "Zanire, the cleaning can wait, would you like a drink? Tea, coffee, a glass of wine, a beer?" "Yes, let's have a beer. We can save on the washing up." Zanire flashed that dazzling smile at me. As I walked off to the kitchen, my concerns about talking to Zanire had vanished. She was interesting and easy to chat to. However, I wondered how I could raise the question of us? For me, it was the elephant in the room. I returned to my desk, offering Zanire an opened beer, I skirted the issue and carried on. "So what education and experience do you have? I may be able to help find more suitable work." "Why you not like Zanire the cleaner?" She laughed heartily. "Zanire very good cleaner, Zanire such talent." I fed straight back to her. Now we both laughed. "I have a Bachelor's Degree in Business Management, and I've worked for more than 5 years in Marketing and Public Relations." "Well done, sounds impressive. What sort of Marketing and PR?" "Mainly in the wholesale sector, focusing on department stores and big box retailers." "So how did you become a refugee, how did you end up in Australia? Did you arrive in a leaky fishing boat?" I was keen to learn more. Zanire continued. "To cut a very long story, very short: We were visiting our Grandparents' village for a family celebration, when a rebel army stormed through and destroyed everything. We collected whatever came to hand and fled. Soon we were in a transitional camp with no papers and no way of proving our identity. I couldn't leave my family to try to get back to Khartoum. Fortunately, we had some money and we were able to buy Refugee status and apply to come to Australia. The whole journey took all our money and several years." Zanire, stopped took a deep breath and a big gulp of beer. "Zanire, surely you have friends? A life in Khartoum? Couldn't anyone help you?" Zanire shook her head and sighed, "Sudan is a mess, my family and I want to start a new life here." She looked away and took another sip of beer. "Zanire, why did you have sex with me?" Shit. Where did that come from? "You no like Zanire's blow job?" She laughed, flashing that toothy white grin. "Zanire, you're not making this any easier for me. It's not every day that a middle-aged consultant, like me, gets that sort of attention from an attractive young girl." "Roger, I'm just over thirty and it would be three years since I've had any decent sex. Your treat, the other night was fun, but it wasn't really proper sex." Taking a final slug from my beer, I blurted out, "Zanire, would you consider having proper sex with me?" Zanire, didn't respond, her head tilted and one eyebrow rose. Shit, this wasn't simple. "Zanire, you know what I mean! I have an overnight business trip coming up, would you please accompany me?" I rambled on, almost begging Zanire to say yes. "Can you get away? I'll pay for everything. Would you like to? Did I say Please, yet?" "Please, please, come to Melbourne with me." I really hadn't thought this through. "So Roger, you'd like to take this poor black girl on an 'all expenses' paid business trip but only if she agrees to have sex with you? Isn't this exploitation, just another racist fucking the refugee?" I gulped. Zanire laughed. She was laughing so much, I really didn't know what to do or what to say. "Roger, I'll help you here. Yes, I'd love to have proper sex with you. Yes, I can get away overnight and yes, I like it when you say, please." I leapt out of my chair, sprinted around the desk and kissed her as passionately as I knew how. I hugged and squeezed, probably a bit too tight. Coming up for air, she held me back. "Not a bad kiss Roger, but we do have one problem though. Well, two, actually." One, I don't have anything to wear and two, there is the small matter of your wife." Feeling a lot more comfortable and somewhat in control, I hugged her. "We can easily sort out the clothes problem, Sydney has plenty of shops. And, as for my wife, she won't know unless you tell her." Zanire pushed me back and looked me in the eye. "As if I'd discuss this with anyone. It would just further the crappy stereotypes you Australians have about refugees. And, as for fucking the boss, what a cliché." Then she cupped my face in her hands and kissed me. -*- Zanire had invested my money well, and the transformation was astonishing. Gone were the shapeless, floppy sweaters and cheap silver bracelets. Instead, Zanire wore a classic tailored suit. The skirt, a sensible length, finished just above her knee. The jacket, snug across her significant chest looked very professional. The cornrows woven into an impressive bun. The whole package suggested that Zanire was comfortable and confident in her own skin. Only her constant fidgeting showed how anxious she was. We had time for a quick drink in the business lounge before the flight. The captains of industry and marketing executives were slumped over their laptops or busy on their phones. They 'gawked' at this unusual, exotic African creature intruding into their sanctuary. To relieve Zanire's nerves, I discretely squeezed her hand and whispered. "Hold your head up high, you're as good as them. I'll get you a gin and tonic." Through clenched teeth, Zanire delivered the instruction: "Make that drink a very big one, I need it! Why did I ever agree to this?" I felt Zanire's discomfort. I was desperate to get her out of there, take her somewhere safe. Finally, we left the airport and relaxed in the privacy of the waiting limo. The tension evaporated instantly. I placed my arm around her shoulder and with a possessive squeeze I thought how wonderful she was. It couldn't have been easy for her. Australian women are still under-represented in business, imagine what it was like for a black, female, refugee in that environment? I desperately wanted Zanire to fit into this world, to be a part of 'normal' life here. I was eager for her to enjoy our trip and our first dinner. During the meal, I rambled on about cool climate Rieslings, slow waiters, and scallops that were marginally over cooked. But really, I just wanted to be alone with Zanire, she was special and I wanted to show her just how special she was. Thankfully, Zanire took the initiative and with an awful Mae West parody, she whispered, "Why don't you come up to my room and bring champagne?" We walked through the hotel reception, hand in hand. The look from the concierge desk was priceless. A black girl with a businessman. Probably a hooker and her punter? "Oh Roger, this room is wonderful, look at the size of that bed! This bathroom is incredible. Have a look at the shower, you could fit a football team in here. I don't think I've ever been in a room as big as this." Admittedly I'd gone all out and upgraded to a suite. The look of sheer excitement on Zanire's face was worth every cent. Zanire, bouncing around the room, like a child on Christmas morning, squealed, "Roger this is so much fun. The TV is huge, we can watch from bed. Not that we'll have time. Look at the size of these pillows! Imagine how many geese have died to stuff those? Look at the view, I can see all of Melbourne" Smiling proudly at her obvious glee, I said, "Zanire, go and have a shower. Have a bath. Enjoy yourself." It felt like several hours for Zanire to return. She emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and a fluffy white robe. I hugged her, drawing her body close to mine. Immersed in the scent of rose water and complimentary hotel toiletries, I kissed her nose, her eyes, her lips, her neck. I took Zanire's hand, leading her to the bed. I gestured towards an exquisitely wrapped package. "I bought you a present...open it while I jump in the shower." "You bought me a gift? You're so sweet. Zanire like Mr. Johnstone," she purred, with a big white toothy smile and an exaggerated flutter of eyelashes. After a quick shower and a thorough shave, I sat, wrapped in a towel, on the edge of the bed. I felt like a school boy as Zanire modeled my present, she was African strength cuddled in delicate lace. Zanire kissed me on both cheeks, the European way, and pushed me onto the bed. "You bought me lingerie, you wicked man." Zanire turned, raised a heel, and with her hands on hips she threw her head back, just like a fabulous chunky model on a catwalk. The assistant at La Perla said the 'dove-egg blue' colour would be quite complementary with dark skin, and she was right. Zanire looked gorgeous, the lacy boyshort panties fit snugly across her solid bottom, the spectacular bra displayed her breasts perfectly. Zanire raised the panties higher, exposing a generous, round buttock. She turned, leaned from the waist and with her hands on her thighs, she squeezed her breasts together, presenting them to me. "Roger, it's beautiful, I've never owned lingerie like this. Thank you so much." Zanire sashayed over to the champagne, her 'booty' looking mighty fine. She handed me both glasses, unwrapped my towel, and slowly ran her finger up the length of my grateful dick. She leaned forward and placed a baby kiss, on its tip. "It looks like something else enjoys new lingerie." Zanire smiled as she sat back, took a glass of champagne, and offered a toast. With the clink of glass, she sipped and said, "Here's to the start of happy days." "Yes, happy days." Zanire took another sip, wetting her lips, then she lightly kissed me. I could feel the warmth of her mouth and the sparkles from the champagne. "Can you feel the bubbles? I love that." "Yes Zanire, it's wonderful." Zanire unclasped her bra, the cups still holding her breasts as the straps fell from her shoulders. She slowly lowered the bra, folded it neatly and sank into the pillows. Gracefully holding the champagne, she dampened her index finger, she let a drip fall. With a seductive pout, she caught the champagne on her bottom lip. She looked so sexy, her pink tongue slowly drawing the champagne into her mouth. "Roger, we will have proper sex now. Together we will give Zanire the best orgasm ever." Wetting her finger, Zanire let another drop of wine fall. This time it splashed down a brown nipple. "I like the fizz of the bubbles." She quivered as the cold champagne splashed. Guessing at her intention, I licked her chilled nipple, tasting the effervescent wine on the tip of my tongue. Zanire let out an approving sigh, I'd guessed right. Cupping a breast, Zanire dribbled more champagne onto her other nipple. Mesmerized, I licked enthusiastically, devouring Zanire's breast along with the champagne. Zanire, dampened her finger with more champagne and this time she let it fall into her navel. Obediently I licked it up. Her body shivered, was it from my affection or from the jolt of cold champagne? Raising her hips, Zanire expertly slid off the pale blue panties and folding them neatly she commented, "You are good at this game, Roger." Propped up with pillows and with her legs crossed at the ankles, Zanire delivered the next drops of champagne to her trimmed mound, right at the top of her pussy. She quivered as the champagne leaked down amongst her folds. She squeezed her legs tightly, holding in the electrifying fizz. I maneuvered into position. Now that I was ready, I wasn't waiting for any more champagne. I buried my face in her thighs and my tongue desperately searched below. Zanire, responding, raised her hips, exposing just a bit more. As my tongue investigated, I could just taste her. A champagne cocktail of hot woman and French bubbles. Zanire wiggled her legs from under me. She bent her knees and placed a large pillow under her bum. She parted her thighs, and there it was! Glistening just for me, a chocolate and strawberry pussy ready to eat. Folding her hands behind her head, her generous breasts rising proudly, Zanire commanded, "Roger, More champagne!" "Yes, ma'am!" Guessing at her intention, I let one generous dollop of champagne splash against her opening. "It's cold, it fizzes. Quick, warm me up!" She gasped. Like a puppy, I flattened my tongue and licked. Big long licks, from the base of her pussy to the tip of her swollen clit. I kept licking until I couldn't taste any more of the fruity champagne. Her warm, womanly exotic flavor far exceeded anything the French could put in a bottle. She gently rocked her hips to match the rhythm of my licking, pushing forwards as my tongue brushed upwards. Collapsing when I reached her summit. I lapped at her pussy like a young Labrador with a bowl of milk. Affectionately, Zanire ran her fingers through my hair, cooing and purring with each lick. She encouraged me on. My pace quickened, I graduated from licks, to flicks with the point of my tongue. The big licks went up and down. The sharp flicks, from side to side. Zanire purred with the licks and yelped when I flicked. Zanire wasn't breathing, she was panting, her large mouth open, sucking in oxygen. She held my head and gripped my face until I was very still. She drove her hips up at me; forcing her clit against my tongue, my chin, my nose - Grinding against any resistance she could find. There was nothing delicate or gentle about these actions. She was aggressive and furious. Zanire wanted that orgasm now! "Yes, Yes, Yes." Zanire screamed. Her thrusts driving on. I reached under her hips; grabbing a big buttock in each hand, I held on as best I could. I squeezed her bum and with a rigid tongue I gave her lunges a focal point. Her hips, drove and ground, smothering my face. Her thrusts and pants quickened. This was all about Zanire and I held on, desperate not to let her escape. "Yes, Yes, Yes, I'm coming!" Zanire yelled again, and with a conclusive plunge I drove my tongue enthusiastically across her clit, then deep into her, as deep as I could go. She fought and bucked and wrestled and squealed. A noisy, feverish, hot, spasm erupted with a jolt and then silence. Zanire, held me still, her hands balled in my hair. I stayed motionless, allowing the orgasm to resonate through her body. A calm after the storm? Not likely, her thighs were pulsing, and her stomach heaving. I lifted my head, resting my chin gently on her mound, I was smeared with an ooze of her juice, our shared exertions. Feeling very pleased with myself, my eyes feasted. I loved how she glowed with delight. Her sexual joy, aromatic and exotic. Grins emerged from both of us – a job well done. Zanire chuckled, "Come here lover boy and let me clean up your face." An Office Refugee Ch. 03 I woke with a stale taste in my mouth, too much champagne and sex. A toothbrush and a cup of tea and I'd be as good as new. Extricating myself from Zanire's sleeping limbs, I quietly limped to the bathroom. Pointing my dick at the bowl, I was surprised it still worked. "You saw a lot of action, buddy, I'm glad you're ok." Zanire, stirred as the kettle boiled. "Morning, lover boy, how are you feeling?" "Sore and abused. How are you? Cup of tea?" "Tea would be lovely." I tried not to stare at Zanire's body that was casually sprawled across the bed. Her chunky curves so dark against the white sheets. This gorgeous lady had opened my eyes; I could see a generous woman, not a statistic, not an immigrant, a special person that I wanted to help. In many ways she was far richer than me. I opened the curtains, sunlight streamed in. A new day, a new beginning. Placing the cup of tea on the bedside table, I noticed the neatly folded lingerie, my present to Zanire. I recalled how fantastic she looked, all chocolate and dove-egg blue lace. Shame it didn't stay on longer. Wow, what a night! More than 10 hours in bed and around 5 hours sleep. Not a bad compromise, half sleep and half sex, half black and half white, one rich and one poor, me and this exotic beauty. "Roger, get rid of the towel and get back into bed." Zanire's breasts jiggled delightfully as she arranged the pillows and pulled back the covers, inviting me to join her. The sheet fell, and there she was. All of her, naked and mine. So strong and brown, warm and gorgeous. Sitting up with my tea, I recalled some of last night's activities. I'd never experienced such passion between two people. Yes, Zanire had taken the lead, she always took the lead. She was the master, I was the apprentice. I wondered where she learnt her skill. Her generosity and her passion? I raised my tea cup and with a silent toast, I thanked the unknown mentor. "Roger look at us, drinking our morning cup of tea. Like an old married couple. We can't have that!" She rolled towards me; her head on my chest, her thigh on top of mine. With a bent knee, she comfortably hooked an ankle between my legs. Zanire's dark palm slid down my chest until she found my snoozing dick. A gentle shake and a light scrape with a painted nail, my dick answered like a swimmer on the blocks. I could see where this would lead. "Zanire, we have about an hour before our first meeting, we need to shower and have breakfast." "Roger, don't be such a bore, I don't need breakfast. And there is nothing better after a night of sex than a long, slow fuck." The way Zanire said Fuck, was so exotic, more of a 'Fark' than a harsh sounding, Fuck. Zanire, an African Mae West. It didn't take long for me to agree that we could skip breakfast. Zanire's hand quickly roused a surprisingly, impressive erection. I snuggled in for a kiss, drawing Zanire's tongue into my mouth. I could taste my toothpaste, warm tea and a lingering flavour - remnants from last fun? Zanire rolled on her side, facing me. Her large brown breasts flopping into the crook of her right elbow. They moved sensuously with each gentle pull on my dick. Her tongue poked between her lips as she found my earlobe and nibbled. Yep, breakfast is over-rated. "Roger, I'm going to 'fark' you slowly, you will lie on your back and do nothing." Zanire's left hand dragged the sheets from our bodies and then immersed itself between her thighs. Her right hand continued to softly stroke my erection. "I'm going to 'fark' you like it's Sunday morning, you will forget about work and enjoy." I could hear faint squishes, her left hand busy in her pussy. "Do you think I'm ready to 'fark' you?" Zanire whispered in my ear. She removed her left hand and grazed her fingers across my lips, leaving a paste of her nectar. "You like that!" Zanire said, noticing how eager I was to devour the taste and lick my lips. Zanire brought up her left hand again and this time with her index finger she coated her own lips. I dived on her mouth, kissing, licking and sucking as much of her as I could, as fast as I could. Not breaking my kiss, Zanire rolled me on my back and straddled me. She pinned my arms above my head, her mushy, round breasts inches from my mouth. "Don't you move your hands, don't you move anything. I'm going to 'fark' you the Zanire way!" Zanire rocked forward, lowering her breasts to my mouth. Just as my tongue reached out for her nipple, my dick faintly nuzzled at the beginnings of her pussy. I eagerly arched my back, hungry to get inside. Zanire swung her breasts heavily, thwacking them to my face, surprising me into submission. "I told you don't move!" Zanire commanded, where was Mae West? Then lowering her voice to a purr, Zanire whisper, "Just lie still and enjoy." Now her plaything, I lay back and surrendered. With a "That's a good boy," she lowered her hips and without any intervention at all, she wrapped her pussy around the tip of my dick. I could feel the wetness and warmth radiate from her. Ever so slowly and gently she lowered her hips easing my dick deeper inside, her pussy swallowing until there was no more to take. Then Zanire paused. Yes, I was enjoying lying on my back, contributing nothing but an erection. My non-effort was rewarded with another "Good Boy" and a gorgeous white smile. I just gave in, qué será será. I didn't dare move a muscle. I was loving the soft damp heat of her pussy. Zanire searched my face, her brown eyes inquiring. She knew what was happening next, I had no idea. She looked at me, waiting for a reaction. Then astonishingly, her pussy contracted around my dick, as it squeezed she gradually raised her hips until she reached the top. I sucked in a big breath, trying not to wiggle or squirm. Zanire grinned as I grimaced with pleasure. The African Mae West cooed, "Be a good boy, don't move. I'll be gentle." Her muscles relaxed and she eased her way back down, once again all warmth and wetness. Just as I relaxed and enjoyed this indulgence, Zanire's abdomen flexed and another contraction snugged around my dick. Then the slow rise to the top and the release. Wow that is good, like a hand job wrapped in warm, wet velvet! Over the initial surprise, my brain was learning. Yes, there's the contraction. Now the slow squeeze upwards, milking my dick. She's at the top, her pussy relaxes. The warm, wet gradual slide down and the pause. Then another contraction and the squeeze up, we're at the top, relax and slide down. Pause, contract, squeeze, slide. I eased myself into the pattern, relishing in her skill. If this was the Sunday morning 'fark' I'd love to see what happens on Saturday nights! I guess Zanire thought that I was comfortable with her rhythm, she lifted the pace. I was struggling to hang on. Dangling on the edge, I was one milk away from exploding. The next squeeze up and I'd be gone! Gasping, I stammered, "Zanire, stop, stop, I'm going to come!" Zanire smiled, she knew what she was doing. She was enjoying the sexual agitation she'd created. Thankfully, with the next slide down, Zanire did stop and I could breathe. Big deep breaths. Excellent, the half time break? Zanire eased forward and offered her breasts to my mouth. I pursed my lips ready to kiss. Zanire had another plan. Gently swaying, her nipples barely grazed my lips. Zanire wasn't offering any respite at all. With her breasts swaying at a relaxed tempo, she started to slowly rock her body from side to side. Gone was the milking up and down, replaced with a rocking sway. As her torso straightened at the top, I could feel her full weight on me. A push and a squelch, she pressed down, urging my dick further inside. I felt ten feet tall and ten inches long. My breathing quickened as her breasts dangled and her hips gyrated, encouraging then demanding. My pulse raged and surged through my body. "Zanire. No, No. Too late, I'm gone," as I erupted inside her. Smiling, Zanire looked at me tenderly and said, "That was the Sunday morning 'fark', you liked it?" Not waiting for an answer, Zanire, climbed off and cupped her hand against her pussy, plugging my cum inside. Without spilling a drop, she sashayed to the bathroom. Her sexy, chunky arse disappearing from view. I sat up and reached for the tea, which was now cold. I looked at the time, we had just 25 minutes to get to our meeting. -*- "Sorry we're late Bill, bit of a struggle finding a taxi. Bill Minchin, this is Zanire Badawi, she is helping me with your Westlink Tunnel. I'd like her to sit in on today's meeting, just to observe and take notes. I trust that's ok with you?" Bill was still staring at Zanire, he'd barely acknowledged my presence. "Great to meet you Zanire," Bill said rather slowly and perhaps a bit too loud. "Where are you from, Badawi, that's not a common name? You are tall, are you visiting from the Islands?" Really Bill, if she was a plain white girl called Jane Smith, what would you ask? The Islands, what's that all about, what fucking islands? Zanire was right, Australians are ignorant. Fortunately, Zanire saved the day before I said something to this moronic Public Servant. She flashed a white smiled at Bill and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you Bill, I'm very interested in your Infrastructure project." Bill looked nervously at me. I remained silent, he may be a client, but he's still a jerk. Bill found safer ground. "Well, let's join the others in the Presentation Room. I hope the kettle is on?" Bill and his team bored everyone for the best part of an hour with their public servant language, it was all; stakeholders, hard facts/soft exposure, key media personalities, the usual bullshit that these guys talk when they're about to spend $500 million or so of the tax payers money. Bill prattled on, describing his ultimate match winner. He would win public acceptance for the tunnel with a special ground breaking ceremony. His idea was instead of the Premier, turning the first shovel load of dirt, he'd have Primary School Children digging at the tunnel entrance. What a stupid idea Bill, a group of 9 year-olds with spades. What are you building, a sand pit? Even worse, it could look like he'd conscripted Child labour from the Victorian era. Fortunately I kept my mouth shut. We were all kind of speechless, even dumbfounded. Bill turned to Zanire. "So, Mrs Badwada, what do you think of our ceremony?" The room turned, everyone looked at Zanire, glad that they weren't first to answer. I panicked, I shouldn't have dumped Zanire into all this. Zanire, paused. She looked at Bill. "Actually, it's Miss Badawi. I like the children idea. It's better than a group of Politicians wearing hard hats and 'High Vis' jackets. Perhaps you could use the children to help disengage the communities' objection to the project. Perhaps, the children could sit with the Premier and he could explain the benefits the tunnel will bring to their neighbourhood?" I could feel a collective sigh as everyone in the room relaxed, no one more than me. Bill paused, the wind spilling out of his sails, "Keep going, I'd like to hear more of your ideas." In the limo' on the way back to the airport, I hugged Zanire, I was so proud of her. "Well done today, I really wasn't expecting that 'bozo' Bill Minchin to ask anyone, anything. Usually he loves the sound of his own voice." Zanire looked at me, she didn't say anything. She smiled, not that big white smile, but a contented smile, like hearing a favourite song on the radio. I sat back, and enjoyed the comfort of the car and my wonderful Zanire next to me. "Zanire, I have a business proposition for you."