A Brief Time of Rest at Home

Zaid steered his big opulent Range Rover though the city traffic. Sure, it was a little ostentatious, but (dammit!) Zaid had done VERY WELL for himself as the owner of three shops. How was it wrong if he showed off a bit now and then? Sure, a few white racist Britons still bristled at the site of a chocolate black Somali immigrant piloting the sort of aspirational vehicle that they could never own, not even in their wildest dreams. But they did not matter.

Zaid steered the beautiful beast into the driveway of his large home, the home he had let Jamilia pick out when they still had only their first four children - two born in Somalia, and two in England. Since inhabiting the gorgeous home, Jamilia had given him two more beautiful dark Somali children. They were now the parents of six children, the two oldest just about ready to launch out on their own.

Zaid was 50 and Jamilia 51. He felt as virile as he had ever done. His chest was packed with muscles, his forearms seemed to be made of tense steel cables, and his shoulders were wide and intimidating. It was a regular occurrence, as he strode the city streets, for white christian men to step aside for him, practically cowering. But today, he felt more virile then ever! Hadn't he, since committing himself to his new path, shot three massive Muslim cum loads into willing white women? First, he had fucked his fine-assed, blonde shop assistant Judy, but not to the point of cumming in her needy cunt (though she begged him for it!). Then, twice he had put his powerful, long black fuck-pole into the mouth of 19-year-old (previously Arab-bred) Abi. Two more incredible orgasms. And yet, as he considered this, he knew he was not truly spent for the day. His balls had recharged themselves, and had another fine, available piece of white fuckmeat happened to have walks behind his Range Rover, he knew that it would end up with him boning her in the back seat of the vehicle, right there in his own driveway!

"No!" Zaid spoke to himself. "No, it is Jamilia's house! I will never shame her this way. Never in our car or at her house. She must be respected as the holy Muslim lady she was, and to be treated always with the utmost respect."

He remembered his vow to keep all of his extra-curricular sexual shenanigans secret. Then, a thought occurred to him. He pulled down the visor of the car and took a good look at his face in the mirror there. There it was! Plain as day!

His face bore the biggest grin. His conquests had made him a little too deliriously happy! It was a true "shit-eating" grin. It was the grin of the cat who had caught the mouse, or the dog who had finally caught the car. Jamilia would take one look at it and suspect that he had done something. He peered into the vanity mirror on the back of the visor. He practiced frowning. No, that looked so artificial. He practiced a neutral face. Better, but not great. His wife would suspect something from any of these faces.

Finally, after five minutes of practice, he settled on a muted version of the original grin, grabbed his business briefcase, and strode into his beautiful house.

Jamilia had dinner ready for him, and she was pleased to see that he was right on time. Zaid's wife was short, not much over five feet in height, a bit round, but carrying less weight than anyone she knew who had borne six babies in her womb. She dressed neatly if not showily, and took great care in her personal fitness. Her dark hair remained on her head, with only a strand or two of white hairs now visible at age 51. Any normal man would find her quite sufficiently attractive. Zaid certainly did, but we have already been told of his problem: his wife, being beyond child-bearing years, no longer was interested in sexual intimacy with her husband. Hence, the entire purpose for this story -- to chronicle Zaid's adventures and exploits in the cavities, the holes, the cum-vessels of as many white women and he could manage. His "body count" was already sitting at two, after only one day of trying.

"Damn!" he thought silently. "White women are so ridiculously easy to own! If only I'd acted earlier on this! No worries; I shall make up for lost time.

When he gave his wife a loving marital greeting, she did indeed notice his unusually large grin. She made a note of it, and only pondered it a bit later. First, she served up the delicious dinner to Zaid and the four children who remained in the house at that hour. The two eldest lived in dormitories at university. It was a rich family time, and Zaid was almost able to forget about what an amazing day he'd had. But he couldn't hide the spring in his step, the extra look of hope and gladness on his face. Jamilia didn't know anything, but she definitely guessed. If she was honest, she had been waiting for this. It was neither unexpected nor unwelcome.

She mused to herself: "What if he IS shagging the odd white woman here and there? He well deserves it! And without doubt, the white christian women deserved to serve her strong husband's glorious, long, black Somali cock. They deserved to be impaled, used, commanded, controlled, humiliated, pounded, gagged, opened up, spread, manipulated, farmed, enslaved ... and of course, pleasured by all of this! They would perhaps feel a bit of shame and rebuke themselves in the odd moment alone, they might feel a breeze of christian guild and shame waft by their consciences ... but that's all it would be. Just a transient feeling until they saw their black Lord again, and dropped to their knees to serve and please him as he saw fit.

No, she though, he fully deserves this. But she also vowed to herself not to ever allow Zaid to know that she suspected, even if her suspicions were fully confirmed by evidence at some point. She would let him have his fun. It was his entitlement as a black Lord among a society of willing, need, wet, slutty white cunts. And she knew he would handle himself well in every regard.

In this way, peace and tranquility continued to reign in the household and marriage of Zaid and Jamilia.