Recently I got a call from a Tanzanian company, requesting certain parts and equipment for their factory operations outside the coastal capitol city of Dar es Salaam. The company spokesman told me that the chief executive officer and his number one buyer would be coming over to the states within the next month. This presented a problem. You see, since my business is so competitive worldwide, there’s been a long standing an under the table agreement that when a client comes in from overseas, our company supplies female companionship to these big shots from abroad. But, with business in a slump, and our capital running low, I knew I couldn’t afford the high class companions which my East African guests would expect.
At first I figured that a bit of investigative digging might be in order. Through a friend in a noncompetitive industry, I discovered that only the chief executive officer, a Mr Ngoro, would be needing a woman--preferably a white woman. The buyer was a very devout Muslim who did not believe in extra-marital relations for religious reasons. Okay, one down! But that still left me with a problem.
Now my wife, Carol, and I both knew, from the girls we used before, that black African men, especially East Africans, had a reputation for extremely large cocks which worked in our favor as we tried to find some interest in some of the “less expensive companions.” The only problem being that these “less expensive girls” were either really dumb, really ugly, or totally lacking in the social graces. We couldn’t find one girl who fit the bill the way we hoped. In fact the best we could expect was some plain Jane with big teats whom we hoped would keep her mouth shut.
“Great,” I finally griped. “We’re so close to a Tanzanian contract that we can taste it, and the best we can find is a second-rate Elly Mae Clampett who’d rather not be seen in public with blacks.”
“Listen to me,” Carol said. “I have an idea. Nobody knows how important this is more than I do. Let’s skip the cost of the agency girls and spend that money on wining and dining both the Tanzanians."
"Honey,” I sighed. “You’re beautiful and smart, and I love you, but we still have the quandary of how to handle overnight companionship for our CEO guest.”
“Just leave that to me,” Carol suggested straightforward. “On the day the men arrive, you won’t introduce me as your wife. I’ll be just another round-heeled secretary from the temp agency. The client gets laid. We get a half a million dollar contract, and nobody needs to know the truth but you and me.”
“I don’t like it,” I replied. Was I jealous? Of course I was. Carol and I had been married for seven years, since we were both in our twenties, and now we were both in our thirties--I’m thirty-six and Carol is thirty-two. We have two children ages four and three, and needless to say I wasn’t too thrilled about giving my brown-blond haired wife up to some hotshot African CEO.
“Do you see any other choice?"
"No. Damn it! You’re not going to do it.” But I could see from the look on her face that I was going to loose this argument. Suddenly Carol’s interest had peaked at the prospect of actively getting into the unofficial service end of our business. “A half a million dollar contract!” Those were her last words, and I knew I’d lost.
On the day of CEO Jawal Ngoro’s and buyer Phillipe Mugo-Maringa's visit, Carol took more care getting ready for work than usual. Her hair was shining from a beauty shop touch-up, her make-up was applied perfectly, and she was dressed in sexy black suspenders, seamed stockings, black knee length skirt with a daring split to the thigh and yellow silk blouse without a bra. I could clearly see her prominent light red-brown nipples showing through the translucent silk. She topped off the ensemble with a black scarf which didn’t hide a thing, in fact her scarf called attention to her see-through blouse.
Mr Ngoro and Mr Mugo-Maringa arrived at our office dead on time. Both were very handsome black men. Mr Ngoro was the youngest of the two, being in his late twenties, but I clearly saw that he was superior to his companion in a fashion which I had at first perceived as strictly business. To top it all off, Mr Mugo-Maringa insisted on my calling Mr Ngoro “Sir,” as if I were inferior to both of them. Sitting at her desk, pretending to type, my Carol looked at Mr Ngoro with undisguised admiration. Jealously I wondered if he’d noticed her look as well, but I decided to get down to business. The three of us went into my office, and, knowing that she couldn’t stand being left out, I called Carol in to take notes. She positioned herself so that her split skirt revealed a good length of stocking clad thigh. Her gorgeous legs were always her finest attribute, and I got an instant hard on with her blatant display to Mr Ngoro. While Mr Mugo-Maringa's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Still Mr Ngoro just smiled calmly. But as we laid out the plans for the equipment sales, I noticed that mentally Mr Ngoro was beginning to lay out plans for Carol. I sent her out for some cool drinks, while we discussed the deal. Jawal Ngoro said that he would be willing to go back to his hotel to think about it, but, if he had a woman with him for the night, it might influence his decision . By then I had changed my mind about Carol staying with him, and I offered to call up my most reliable and most expensive agency, but Ngoro stopped me by saying, "How about your secretary, Carol, would she like to spend the evening with us?"
I explained that Carol was married, but he insisted, "I hope that doesn’t change things. I like Carol very much, and she appears to be attracted to me. She has a very lovely body, don’t you think, Phillipe?" Mr Mugo-Maringa sighed in a disapproving way. “She’s very lovely, yes.”
I went out to see Carol and put it to her, adding that I didn't think it was such a good idea, but immediately she went back into the office and thanked Mr Ngoro for his kind offer. Carol agreed to go out with them for the evening providing I came along with them. Now that surprised me. Mr Mugo-Maringa suggested that I bring my wife along too, but I said she was staying with a friend for a few days. Carol giggled, surprised at my lie. We arranged to rendezvous with the two men later that evening. I told them that I’d pick up Carol at her home, and then drive over to meet them at their hotel.
Like an excited child, Carol dressed for the evening. As always, she looked divine, wearing a little black party dress over skimpy undies and sexy garters and stockings. Then I noticed her G-string thong was so tiny, it crept right up her crack. God, my hard on became painful. She’d gotten herself all done up for her first black African; so I made sure she had a good supply of condoms in her bag as I thought that after Jawal Ngoro fucked her that night, he probably would want to have a go at her in the morning as well. Needless to say, I both wanted to put that thought out of my head while I entertained the strange thrill of my wife being taken by this particular East African man. I was bothered. I just couldn’t figure out which way.
We met the two black men at their hotel, and I drove to the expensive restaurant which Mr Ngoro had chosen. Carol sat in the back seat of the car with Mr Ngoro, while Mr Mugo-Maringa road up front with me. I could hear her giggling as he asked her if her husband minded her being out on her own. Looking directly at me in the rearview mirror she said, "What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, besides, he's a bit of an old duffer anyway. A woman needs more than a man like him."
They all had a good laugh at “her husband’s” expense, and I joined in for appearances. As we drove on, I heard Carol sigh. I glanced round to see Mr Ngoro kissing her. Her legs were wide open and his black fingers had dropped furtively between her white thighs. We nearly had an accident as I swerved into the oncoming lane, and Phillipe Mugo-Maringa admonished me to concentrate on my driving.
Once we’d reached the restaurant, and had gotten seated--with the help of a picture of Ulysses S. Grant, I might add--Carol became very excitable, especially when Jawal nibbled on her ear lobe. About an hour and possibly five rounds of drinks later, Mr Jawal Ngoro surprised the hell out of me by openly handing me Carol’s damp panties to look after. My wife was luminous, her skin flushed and her eyes shined as Jawal continued to finger her underneath our table. I could tell that while Mr Mugo-Maringa was displeased, Mr Ngoro had become delirious with sexual excitement. As for Carol, well, she’d gone into heat.
