Interracial haitian stories
Read 12 free haitian erotic stories on AdultRead
My name is Karen Song Lee, and I'm a young Chinese-Canadian woman living in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I am happily married to a big and tall, handsome Black man named Jericho Cartier. While hanging out with my friend Nancy Chang in the City of Montreal, Province of Quebec, I was introduced to a young Black man destined to change my life forever. The movie was followed by a quick bite at a nice French restaurant in Montreal-Nord, and just like that, I was smitten with Jericho. Jerome bent me over the kitchen counter, spread my ass cheeks wide open and smeared butter all over my asshole. I loved it when Jerome pumped his cock deep into my ass.
I've got a thing for Haitian guys, being sinfully sexy fellow francophone types, and Jean-Luc was just what the doctor ordered. Let's just say that I needed my back scratched and Jean-Luc not only scratched it good and proper, the brother helped me make up for lost time. I had gone a while without getting laid, ever since my relationship with a Hindu guy named Singh ended because his ultra-conservative Indian parents didn't want him dating a pernicious, freaky Arab chick like me. I like dark-skinned men, Arab guys just don't light my fire, so when I met Jean-Luc, I became determined to have him. I hadn't gotten fucked properly in ages, and Jean-Luc definitely helped this Arab chick make up for lost time.
Even though my father Washim Abdul-Bari is wealthy and powerful, thanks to our family's civil engineering company, Abdul-Bari Tech, he couldn't fully shield me from the racism and xenophobia that pervade every aspect of life in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. I was born in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia but as an Arab woman with an MBA, a fondness for Black men and a fierce, sharp mind, I no longer belong there. If, a year from now, the Canadian government ships me back to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to be slaughtered, I will not renounce my love for Arthur, my newfound respect for Christianity or my fondness for the friends I made in Ottawa.
"Edgar, You don't know what it's been like, trying to take care of our son and running things without you," my wife Chiyoko "Chi-Chi" Tanaka-Magloire said to me, tossing aside her briefcase full of legal documents. "Going to borrow this one a lot, I'm afraid, they tell me that the professors barely use these expensive books they expect us to buy," I said pleasantly, and this time, Chiyoko actually smiled at me. "I like your style and confidence, Edgar, I want to be a lawyer even though my family tried to push me into nursing," Chiyoko said, and I saw an intensity in her eyes that wasn't there before.
I went there that Friday night looking to buy a few things and I ran into this black chick named Ophelia something or other. There's this Hijab-wearing Somali Muslim chick named Amina who works at the same grocery store and I tried to holler at her. My shift in visual preferences and bodily responses started when my relationship with this black chick named Hannah Jane didn't work out. Tina is even better at the whole female domination thing than my on-again, off-again girlfriend Hannah Jane, and that's saying a lot. The way I see it, I need a normal-looking and reasonably pretty chick to go to places like the mall, school events, movie theaters and restaurants with.
I'm the six-foot-tall, brown-skinned and dark-eyed Afro-Persian beauty you can't take your eyes off as I stride through the Boston University campus. Clad in my long blue winter jacket over dark blue jeans, my hair covered by a fashionable White hijab, I look hotter than most of the bare-headed Infidel chicks you see walking around downtown in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. A blond-haired White guy freezes while I lock eyes with him. A tall, blonde-haired young White woman chews on her pencil while trying not to gawk at the African lion sitting twenty feet from her computer terminal. Her eyes swivel in the direction of the Black scholar that sits alone, oblivious to the world around him as he reads.
They'll walk right past the law firm of a successful Aboriginal man like my father and showcase instead the drunken Metis lout on the street corner, and proclaim him to be representative of ALL Native people. I honestly thought no one could, until I met Vincent Jacques Desmond, a big and tall ( at least six-foot-four ) young Black man of Haitian descent I met while visiting my brother Scott at his apartment at the University of Montreal. Walking around the city of Montreal and the Concordia University campus with Vincent, I met quite a few people from countries outside the European Union and they were friendly, warm and inviting.
They didn’t want him to grow up to be like the majority of the young Black men of America and Canada. The sisters at the University of Toronto didn’t like studious, church-going Black men. One day, Lucien saw his ex-girlfriend Jasmine Saint-Preux, a tall Haitian sister with a big butt, walking around with Roy Regis, a chubby white professor he recognized from the MBA program at University of Toronto. Upon seeing Lucien, Jasmine started fawning over Roy in the manner of Black women who thought dating white men was a step up. Anupama wasn’t like other Indian students he ran into at the University of Toronto. Before he met her, Lucien didn’t think Indians could be friends with Blacks in Toronto.
If a Muslim woman wants to go out, dress sexy, party and have a good time, her family might kill her for that. In hindsight, I feel sorry for all those White women who join a religion they don't truly understand based on lies told by them by the Arab guys and Black Muslim men who seduce them. A tall, handsome young Black man named James Guillaume walked into the Catholic Charities office one fine Monday morning. Like every woman at the office with the exception of Monica, the butch lesbian security guard from Securitas, I was impressed by James good looks.
La belle province has a complex history with its immigrant population, and the fact that non-Whites have way more offspring than French Canadians do has a lot of people worried about tomorrow's Quebec. While living in the City of Gatineau, I met this chick named Roseanne Tremblay, and much to my surprise, we really hit it off. My folks were shocked to meet her, since, well, I hadn't introduced them to a young lady since Esther Jean, a Haitian chick I met at church during my freshman year at Carleton University. When I finally graduated from Carleton University with my bachelor's degree in Accounting, one fine day in June 2016, my sweet Roseanne was by my side, along with my parents.
The patrol supervisor who responded was this older, chubby and big-bottomed white chick named Karen Saint-Pres. Karen Des-Pres came and fixed my car and I was really thankful, man. Immigrants from Africa, Asia, the Middle East and Latin America outnumber white men and white women in the City of Toronto, Capital of the Canadian Province of Ontario. I swear white women from Quebec have big butts, man. I was admiring the hell out of Karen's big white ass as she bent over the car hood, fixing things. The sexy older French Canadian chick from Quebec leaned down and began sucking on my eight-inch, uncircumcised black dick. I pulled the sexy older white woman's hair and spanked her big white ass while thrusting my dick deep into her snatch.
Once Sondra found my cock she gripped it tight and then whispered in my ear "Mmm, I've missed your cock Michael." She began to lick my ear softly and kiss my neck while her hand caressed my swollen shaft. Sensing her victory, Sondra put her lips over the head of my cock and sucked on it gently, groaning softly as it disappeared in her mouth. I leaned my head against the car as I felt Sondra's mouth envelop my cock once again. As I came to my senses, Sondra was still on her knees, gently stroking my aching cock, licking up the last drops of cum that leaked from the head.