EXTRACT FOR
A Pervert In Africa
(Anna Mann)

His meetings had gone exactly as planned, discussions during the day, but the real business and agreements confirmed each night in the back room of a private club, sharing a case of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and surrounded by stunning, scantily dressed and very expensive working girls.

Tim had fucked them of course, that wasn't going to detract from the pleasure of his real goal while in Africa. And even if he did suspect that the small titted, slim waisted girl he'd selected was faking it, he was quite happy to pretend that his larger than average white cock was making her moan.

Keep the customer happy he thought as he pulled out and laid a thick rope of creamy cum across her polished ebony back. The African girls certainly knew how to make a man happy and feel like a king. He'd fucked whores in Spain, and Italy, and Dubai, and without fail they had all seemed jaded. It wasn't so much attitude, more demeanour, they looked tired and a little bored, and that always detracted from his pleasure. But these African hookers really made him feel like they were loving every second of his fucking, like it was the best cock they'd ever had.

Maybe they are more appreciative he reasoned, after all, the vast majority of the population that were a darker shade than white lived with one foot in abject poverty. Maybe when a white guy gave them half a year's money just to shove his little willie in their musky black holes, they responded with genuine gratitude?

Whatever the reason he welcomed the enthusiasm, and even asked his slim date for the night if she wanted to go on an actual date the following evening.

Her smile had been blinding, and the following evening he had picked her brains, then banged her senseless before slipping away in the morning to drive toward the east of the country and the border with lawless Mozambique. Tim had left her asleep and smiling, easing his conscience with a big fat tip he placed on the night stand as consolation for the shattered illusion of commitment that he had spun around her the previous evening.

He had no intentions of getting tied down, he was young and virile, he had money behind him and a good job that sent him to far flung locations... why the hell would he get tied down when the world was his oyster? And besides, he had a plan for the day, based on information gleaned over the pillow.

"Only the poorest people use those buses." she had told him. He referred to her as she because he hadn't cared enough to memorise her name. She'd told him it was Zulu, or Xhosa, or Swazi. Who gives a fuck he had thought at the time.