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Complementarity
Always on the lookout for masculine characters!
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2016
- Location
- Italy (I'm fluent in English, tho)
I was born in France in 2157 and I’m a trained concubine. I’m only one of the many genetically engineered specimens, bred and recruited at an early age by Zawaj inc., a Saudi corporation who trafficks women, training them to become the perfect wives for Muslim men around the world.
They say I’m going to become the third wife of Omar Al-Maghribī, a Moroccan small businessman in search for an exotic addition to his harem. I’m terrified at the notion, yet my body aches every time I have a look at the picture they gave me, portraying the manly, bearded stranger. Part of my code is composed of mare genes and as I approach Heat, they are overpowering my rational thinking. I don’t want it, I really don’t… but I need a man to mount me.
A fire traversed my body, flushing my cheeks, my lips, my nipples and my plump labia. I crawled on the bed, feverish, leaving a trail of vaginal juices that escaped from my soaked pussy. The mere pungent scent of Moroccan testosterone in the air was driving me insane with lust and I couldn’t control myself. I clutched the sheets tightly and my legs began to spasm wildly, as I felt a rigid, hot member brushing against my tight cunt.
A couple of strong hands turned my petite frame around and dropped me on the bed. In front of me: Omar, heaving on his knees, between my spread legs. His thick cock kept jolting as he unbuttoned the white shirt he was wearing, looking down at my curves. I covered myself the best way I could, but he ripped my arms away from my chest, then violently squeezed my boobs as if he was trying to pop them, which pushed me to dig my nails into his hairy thighs.
"I've always wanted to inseminate a white chick. I'm going to plant my Moroccan seed in you". Omar said, as he grabbed my hips and lied on top of me, lining up at my entrance. He wanted to sire a child that night and he was going to make sure that happened no matter what. My only role was carrying his brown babies to term, and I could be nothing more than a white broodmare among his concubines. I knew that I had already lost to Omar and his kind, so I surrendered to his passion, which was slowly penetrating my moist core, slowly pushing deep inside of me.
I thought his manhood couldn't possibly hurt more, but as soon as he lifted my legs up on his shoulders, he forced his dick so far, I could feel the pain of his cock hitting, or possibly piercing through my cervix and into my womb. With each deep thrust of his muscular body, he evoked a sense of dominant masculine energy, yet I did everything I could to avoid looking at his cocksure mug: I felt completely submissive to his strength and authority.
His face contorted in satisfaction while Omar kept pushing, faster and faster, rougher and rougher, balls deep, relentlessly assaulting me, making sweat bead our bodies in the torrid evening. His breathing became jagged, his thrusts more erratic, tensing up every single fiber of his body, and finally, his rock-hard dick twitched violently within me, accompanied by an animalistic, uncontrollable roar. My legs spread wide and my pussy contracted spasmodically, gobbling down a dozen copious gushes of thick, cloudy semen, heavy with aggressive north African sperm. My mind got hazy and confused, lost in the sensation of the many, burning rushes of seed striking my womb.
When Omar collapsed on top of me, I tried to pull myself away to let his seed spill out, but he laughed: "You never give up. I'm not either. I'm gonna stay here to make sure you keep those swimmers in there. I own your pussy now. You’re one of my women now, hubibi". I resented him for what he had done to me, but my body was telling a completely different story. I knew that some of him had gotten through the cervix already, as I could feel leaking.
After five minutes of panting and holding himself inside, he finally pulled out. He held his hand on my lower abdomen, smiling fondly "My little Moroccan child is growing inside your white womb right now, inshallah. Do you feel it? Now go back to the concubine quarters, I need to sleep".
They say I’m going to become the third wife of Omar Al-Maghribī, a Moroccan small businessman in search for an exotic addition to his harem. I’m terrified at the notion, yet my body aches every time I have a look at the picture they gave me, portraying the manly, bearded stranger. Part of my code is composed of mare genes and as I approach Heat, they are overpowering my rational thinking. I don’t want it, I really don’t… but I need a man to mount me.
A fire traversed my body, flushing my cheeks, my lips, my nipples and my plump labia. I crawled on the bed, feverish, leaving a trail of vaginal juices that escaped from my soaked pussy. The mere pungent scent of Moroccan testosterone in the air was driving me insane with lust and I couldn’t control myself. I clutched the sheets tightly and my legs began to spasm wildly, as I felt a rigid, hot member brushing against my tight cunt.
A couple of strong hands turned my petite frame around and dropped me on the bed. In front of me: Omar, heaving on his knees, between my spread legs. His thick cock kept jolting as he unbuttoned the white shirt he was wearing, looking down at my curves. I covered myself the best way I could, but he ripped my arms away from my chest, then violently squeezed my boobs as if he was trying to pop them, which pushed me to dig my nails into his hairy thighs.
"I've always wanted to inseminate a white chick. I'm going to plant my Moroccan seed in you". Omar said, as he grabbed my hips and lied on top of me, lining up at my entrance. He wanted to sire a child that night and he was going to make sure that happened no matter what. My only role was carrying his brown babies to term, and I could be nothing more than a white broodmare among his concubines. I knew that I had already lost to Omar and his kind, so I surrendered to his passion, which was slowly penetrating my moist core, slowly pushing deep inside of me.
I thought his manhood couldn't possibly hurt more, but as soon as he lifted my legs up on his shoulders, he forced his dick so far, I could feel the pain of his cock hitting, or possibly piercing through my cervix and into my womb. With each deep thrust of his muscular body, he evoked a sense of dominant masculine energy, yet I did everything I could to avoid looking at his cocksure mug: I felt completely submissive to his strength and authority.
His face contorted in satisfaction while Omar kept pushing, faster and faster, rougher and rougher, balls deep, relentlessly assaulting me, making sweat bead our bodies in the torrid evening. His breathing became jagged, his thrusts more erratic, tensing up every single fiber of his body, and finally, his rock-hard dick twitched violently within me, accompanied by an animalistic, uncontrollable roar. My legs spread wide and my pussy contracted spasmodically, gobbling down a dozen copious gushes of thick, cloudy semen, heavy with aggressive north African sperm. My mind got hazy and confused, lost in the sensation of the many, burning rushes of seed striking my womb.
When Omar collapsed on top of me, I tried to pull myself away to let his seed spill out, but he laughed: "You never give up. I'm not either. I'm gonna stay here to make sure you keep those swimmers in there. I own your pussy now. You’re one of my women now, hubibi". I resented him for what he had done to me, but my body was telling a completely different story. I knew that some of him had gotten through the cervix already, as I could feel leaking.
After five minutes of panting and holding himself inside, he finally pulled out. He held his hand on my lower abdomen, smiling fondly "My little Moroccan child is growing inside your white womb right now, inshallah. Do you feel it? Now go back to the concubine quarters, I need to sleep".