Date: Thu, 28 Jul 2011 21:54:51 +0200
From: Penelope Silversmith <penelope.silversmith@gmail.com>
Subject: My Family in Haiti Part I

My Family in Haiti Part I

By Penelope

Warning: If your under 18 or it is illegal to read this, then don't--go
elsewhere.

Author's Note:

This story is the property of the author. It can be downloaded for personal
reading, pleasure, or sending to a friend, but if you wish to re-post them
on your own site, please contact the author for permission.  Copyright 2011
Penelope, All rights reserved

Please mail to penelope.silversmith@gmail.com if you have any suggestions
or comments.

I am a 42 year old Canadian woman who has worked in Foreign Aid overseas
for many years. I chose this path because I decided early in my career that
I did not like the cold Canadian winters. I also realized when I was quite
young that I prefer the company of women, especially exotic women. Young
exotic women to be precise. Working as I have been in developing countries
gave me lots of opportunity to indulge in my particular tastes. Here is one
such instance.

I have never been considered pretty but I am 5 foot seven inches tall, and
I am trim and in good shape. Some think I look masculine but I prefer to
say I have strong features. My nose is large, I am pretty lean and
muscular, and I rarely wear make-up. My breasts are small, about 34B and I
have brown hair which I keep short and easy to maintain.

The Aid organisation I worked for at the time was quick to respond to
earthquake which devastated Haiti recently. After the search and rescue
teams had given up hope of finding anyone alive I was sent in at the head
of a team to manage the distribution of food and shelter to the devastated
population.

There is no law which says that Aid Workers must suffer like those they are
helping. My first objective in arriving in the wreck Port-Au-Prince had
become was to find decent accommodation. I was able to find a comfortable
securely walled villa in an undamaged part of town. My next priority was to
set about finding staff to look after the house.

I asked my driver Lucien to send word out that I was looking for a live-in
housekeeper. The pay was $50 per month, but more important was that it was
a live-in position: meals and accommodation would be provided for the
successful applicant and her family. I made it clear that only single women
need apply and preference would be given to women with daughters.

Within a day there were literally hundreds of candidates beseeching Lucien
for the job. I left him to make the preliminary selection, with
instructions on what I was specifically looking for. Lucien had shortly
whittled down the number to four women, all in their mid-thirties and all
handsome in their own way. These I met. One I just did not like. Another
seemed to me to be too educated for what I had in mind. And the remaining
two passed the test and were invited back for a second interview with their
children.

Of the two remaining I preferred Noemi, partly because of her family. She
had three daughters 9, 11 and 13. They were all good looking children. They
appeared scrubbed and clean and were quiet and on their best behaviour
during our interview. Clearly the woman had instructed them well. I shook
hands with the girls, asked them a couple of questions in my passable
French, and then announced myself satisfied. I asked Noemi to return later
that day for a final interview.

Noemi was a tall woman for a Haitienne, about five foot eight inches. She
was dressed in a sarong type skirt and a cheap t-shirt. Her head was
wrapped in a scarf typical of many African and Haitian women. She wore
cheap flip flops on her feet. She was mulatto, her colour more cafe-au-lait
than black. Her nose was flat and her lips wide and her face round. She had
some slight premature wrinkling as a result of her difficult life, but she
was still attractive.

I came around the desk in front of which the Haitian woman was standing. I
perched myself there and looked at Noemi for a long time without
speaking. Then I began in my basic but understandable French.  `You are
here because I am ready to choose you for my housekeeper.' I told her.
`Yes Madame.' Noemi answered.  `You understand, my dear that there are many
hundreds of women who would like this job.'  `Yes Madame, I will be
grateful if you choose me. You will never regret this.'

I nodded and told her that she had better be telling the truth, and that I
expected to be obeyed. Noemi quickly replied that she would, always.
`Good.' I told her.' And I expect your children to do the same. And to be
sure we will begin a small test. If you do not agree with anything I ask,
then simply walk out that door. Otherwise stay and obey. Is this agreed?'
`Yes Madame, it is agreed.'

I stood up and told her to bend over the desk. She hesitated slightly and
then deferred.  `You understand Noemi I like Haitienne women.` I said and
used my hand to caress her round African buttocks. I put my foot in between
hers and pried her feet apart so my hand could better caress the area
between her legs. I then reached down, lifted up her sarong and placed my
hand on her pussy.

I was not surprised she had no underwear on. This is common among poorer
Haitian women as underpants are a luxury item and more important they just
get in the way when a woman needs to squat on the ground to pee.

I felt her full kinky haired bush. It was warm and soft to the touch. Noemi
did not move or resist. I parted her thick labia and I pushed two fingers
in between her pussy lips and deep into her vagina. Her tunnel was already
moist and accepted my fingers easily. I pushed in and out of her hole a few
times and she gasped involuntarily, but said nothing. I pulled my fingers
out and smelled them. She had a strong, earthy but not unpleasant smell to
her. I put my fingers under her nose and then pushed them into her
mouth. She began to lick my fingers unbidden.

Emboldened I proposed she stand up and I took her place on the desk. I
lifted my own skirt up, put my heels on the edge of the desk and spread my
legs. I had no underwear on either and my pussy was open wide. I have a
pretty furry bush because I see no reason to shave. My clit is average size
as far as I can tell. My labia are quite large and stick out even when my
legs are closed.  `I need you to clean me Noemi.'  I told her.

Without any hesitation she leaned down and put her lips on my crotch and
began lick my pussy energentically. My pussy was already dripping wet as
her long tongue snaked in, licking my meaty slit from top to bottom. I held
her head and leaned back and directed her mouth onto my throbbing clit. I
was instantly in the throes of a strong orgasm and my vagina began gushing
clear fluid as it often does when I cum.

All women produce a mucus-like fluid when they orgasm. Some more than
others. Nature put me on the extreme edge of the scale. When it first
happened to me as a teen I was hugely embarrassed because I thought I had
peed. I was forced to wash my bedclothes in secret in case my mother found
out. Lucky for me I was seduced by an older woman who helped me overcome
the awkwardness that accompanies puberty. She was in awe of my unique
talent and loved to lick up my discharge. She taught me it was not pee at
all. In fact it is a clear fluid which is ejected by the female prostate
gland. Depending on my level of stimulation I can eject as much as a cup at
a time. And under the right conditions it can squirt to a distance of
nearly half a foot. Perhaps that is one of the reasons I always preferred
women sexual partners. By and large they loved my messy squirts. The few
men I had relations with were less than overwhelmed.

Satiated for the moment I ordered my new housekeeper to take a towel and
dry me off. She did so quickly and obediently. I had one more test for her,
and I turned around, kneeling on the desk and used my hands to spread my
ass cheeks.  `Leche mon cul.' I told her (crude French for lick my ass).

She did not hesitate and buried her tongue into my sphincter. I could feel
a second orgasm coming on and so I eagerly rubbed my clit and up and down
as Noemi licked and sucked on my ass. Her tongue was warm and wet, my
fingers rough and urgent. I came again this time panting with the exertion
and I could feel the cum dribbling down my leg. I ordered the woman to wipe
me off again and then stood up, and smoothed my skirt. Noemi stood in front
of me, eyes downcast and expressionless, waiting my further instructions.

I told her that I was satisfied with her obedience and I would be pleased
to welcome her as my new housekeeper. She wrapped her arms around my waist
and buried her head in my lap, sobbing with gratitude.  `Merci Madame,
Merci!' She said over and over again.

I gently pushed her away. I told her she and her family could move into my
house right away. I reviewed some of the rules and duties, and pointed out
to her that the house contained three showers and I expected her and her
children to use them and to clean themselves daily with soap and water.
`Yes madame.' She answered.

Noemi and her family moved in the next day. I did not see much of them,
only Noemi occasionally as my work schedule was quite full and I could
spend little time at home.  A few days later I arrived home after a very
busy day in the refugee camps. I was dirty and sweaty and I fixed myself a
drink and jumped in the shower. An hour and several drinks later I was
clean but horny as hell. I called for Noemi to bring me some ice and
soda. She had been getting ready for bed.  She wore her sarong tied above
her breasts and her turban was absent.

I was sitting on the couch in a t-shirt and clean panties. I asked the
woman to come close and kneel down in front of me.  'Get undressed.' I told
her.  She slipped off her sarong in one movement and kneeled before me
naked. I considered her bare body, without her clothes she seemed
thinner. Her skin sagged in places, and her breasts, once large and full,
were now flat with large nipples and aureoles.  I reached out for one of
those dark tips the size of a grape and pulled her to me. When I drink I
get more dominant and her submissiveness excited me.

I pulled her on top of me, wrapped my legs around her and kissed her hard
on the lips. She kissed back very hesitantly. My pussy was now on fire and
I was desperate for release. I rolled over on the couch so I was on top,
pulled off my underpants and straddled Noemi's head. I lowered myself on
her face, splitting my gash wide open and rubbing myself on her mouth.
`Your tongue, woman. Give me your tongue.' I urged her.

She began to lick my gash and I took a large nipple into each hand and
began to squeeze and knead them. I was pushing so hard to get her tongue
deep in my hole I noticed I was nearly smothering her. I had a powerful
orgasm and squirted cum on her face and on the bed. I made Noemi clean it
up and fix me another drink. I dismissed her, finished some reports and
went to sleep.

I should describe the house and the domestic arrangement. It was a large
bungalow built of cement with a high wall around encircling the property
with two entrances.  One was a double steel door for cars and the other a
single steel door for pedestrians. The house was whitewashed, like most in
the neighbourhood. The property contained a house, a pool and a garden full
of lush tropical plants. The house had been built by a rich Haitian, which
likely meant he was a criminal of some kind – hence the security. It had
not been kept up, the pool was empty, the garden overgrown, and it had not
yet been upgraded with air-conditioning. That is why I had been able to
rent it quickly and for a reasonable price.

The house was divided into my quarters and servants quarters, in such a way
that unless I went looking I would rarely see the family I had
employed. Noemi was always around during the day, cleaning and tidying. I
had instructed her that when I was in the house she was to bring me
breakfast lunch and supper at fixed times. Mostly I ate alone in the living
room or dining room. In truth I had not intended to spend much time in the
house and to use it to billet some of the staff I would be bringing once
the relief effort got under way.

As my experience in Third World Countries should have told me, things
rarely go according to plan. Until the airport was fixed, we could not
bring more supplies. And until we had supplies we could not really
work. The result was that I had much spare time and could stay at home and
devote myself to getting to know my housekeeper and her family.

To be continued...