Kyng Kooba's A Kenyan in My Wife - Chapter 1. 2010
A fantasy Interracial sex story
monsterp1@yahoo.co.uk
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In June of this year my family and I spent a two week, luxury vacation in Kenya. It proved, as you’ll find out, to be an unforgettable experience. My wife Kirsten and I have been married eleven years now and I guess you could put us down as your typical white, British, middle-class couple. We of course have our daughter Poppy who is five and plans for a bigger family eventually. Both of us travelled all over Europe together in our early twenties but our determination to see Africa was one we had been saving for a special occasion. A popular tourist resort on the coast of Kenya, Malindi offers all kind of sun-drenched activities from great beaches to wonderful food and evening entertainment. From our experience you can certainly add white, wife fucking to that list. Kirsten can testify to that!
I should say at this point that neither of us had ever done anything like this before. That said, prior to our trip, we had been going through a rocky spell in our relationship. My wife is a lovely woman and a terrific mother to Poppy. She is thirty-five with dark hair just past her shoulders and a stunning hour-glass figure. Toned, shapely legs combine with a 32dd all natural bust that is the envy of many of her friends. With not only a great body Kirsten is a well spoken, stylish and alluring lady with a dry sense of humour. Nevertheless, in December of last year I began an affair with one of her very attractive friends. Her name was Sanja and she was a pretty young black woman whom Kirsten had known for years. I put my indiscretion down to the usual reasons: booze, boredom etc. Certainly no excuse and when my wife found out she was devastated. I had hoped in my darkest moments that she had some idea. That she suspected I was cheating on her but no, it was a complete shock. For a time we lived separately, Kirsten and Poppy taking the house while I stayed at a nearby hotel. I don’t mean to make excuses. What I did was unforgivable but perhaps it was my wife’s conservative nature that drove me to it. Despite her figure she had always been so unwilling and strangely shy of showing off her body. Or of experimenting in the way I wanted too. Deep down maybe I yearned for a trophy wife and Kirsten had never fulfilled that potential.
In May we got back together. Kirsten seemed to have forgiven me which in someway made me feel worse. Having almost lost my family it didn’t seem right that I get off ‘scott free’. As for my wife. She just wanted to put it behind us and after only a month she decided we needed a break. A holiday to forget and build bridges again. Poppy was not due to start back at school for another month and I had plenty of leave from work. For years Kirsten had been interested in Kenya: the culture and lifestyle. It seemed a good a time as any to realise our dream of seeing Africa together. After some research Malindi seemed a good destination with an excellent choice of resorts and family services. We booked, packed and set off for an unforgettable experience.
Our two week holiday began June 12th. The first week went fantastically well and our grand Four-star had excellent facilities for kids and fantastic coastal views. A long, golden beach in front of the seafront was shared with the pubic but there was a smaller, private stretch five minutes walk away. Kirsten loved Malindi from the start, drawn into the culture. Right away she set about buying presents for her family and a few things for the house. Poppy adored the beach which was were we spent some time almost every day. At night we ate and listened to authentic, live music either at the hotel or one of the beachfront restaurants. We even began having sex again. Only once, during the first few days did she open up about the affair with Sanja. Saying that she thought about my cheating a lot. Sneaking around behind her and how it had made her feel. Especially as she took her marital vows so seriously.
During the first week I was amazed by the number of white women I saw parading on the public beach with often heavily muscled black men. There was usually quite an age difference but I had read of western women travelling to Africa for sex. British, German and French females aged from their forties right up to early sixties seemed most prevalent. Kirsten found the regular sights slightly amusing but to me it was exciting. Dangerous even. There was something erotic in seeing such interracial couples together. Chatting, holding hands, or even flirting openly. The type of man was not only saved for those prowling the beaches. Several employees, I noticed, seemed to have very close relations with some of the women staying at the hotel.
At the centre of the private beach was a small bar made of wood and painted white. It had a Canapé and a number of chairs and tables outside. During the day they served food and drinks for hotel patrons only. Literally a stones throw from the water, the bar had become a gathering point for sunbathers. One of the two men who worked there was a very handsome Kenyan man in his late 40’s. He was lean with dark skin and thinning grey hair. An earring on one side and a short beard. Whenever I saw him, either serving drinks at the bar or working in the main hotel restaurant he was always smiling. A wicked, flashing grin that promised entertainment. Naturally, he seemed very popular with tourists and was, as much as I could tell from our first week, sleeping with several women from our hotel.
My suspicions about this intriguing male were confirmed by another British couple called Rick and Joanne. Both were in their early fifties and had been coming to Kenya for twenty years. Importantly they occupied the room right next door to us. Joanne was a friendly, shapely woman with a well kept figure and full, round tits. With her hair dyed blonde and cut short at her chin, she was pretty, if a little rough around the edges with deep blue eyes and inviting, full lips. From the first few days of our stay we got on well and both she and her husband took a shine to Poppy. We ate breakfast together almost every day and Kirsten was interested in hearing the best shopping spots from her new found friend. Rick, a engineer from Bradford England, also seemed very pleasant and told me on the quiet how beautiful he thought Kirsten was. How lucky I seemed. There was nothing to suggest that either of them were swingers.
On the fourth day I had left Kirsten and Poppy on the beach and wandered off with my camera. Away from the clutter of hotels and noise I followed the seafront, crossing several rocky alcoves which yielded a fantastic sight that open into impassable, native jungle. After an hour of taking pictures I started heading back towards the hotel. The time alone gave me time to reflect on my life, my relationship with my wife and our time so far in Africa. It struck me how comfortable she seemed here and now, having dreamed of visiting Kenya for so long Kirsten was finally able to say she had been. The masses of souvenirs and trinkets she had in our room was testament to that. As I approached the shape of the hotel I noticed a secluded walkway and path, hidden from the main beachfront. Not many visitors ventured around this area and there was noticeably more litter cast about including several cream filled condoms that lay discoloured in the sand. Deciding to explore and hearing voices from ahead I followed the path around the back of a hill and into a small concealed alcove. There, in the shade of a wooden shelter were a gathering of people. I was immediately confronted by the figure of Joanne and another blonde woman I had seen around the hotel. Both were topless, stripped down to their bikini bottoms and danced to an old radio. To their right sat two white men, one of them Rick and sprawled leisurely on a form were three black men. One, grinning broadly was the barman I described earlier. A lump stuck in my throat. Both ‘wives’ were giving the black men a lap dance. Feeling intrusive I hastened to turn. Suddenly, Rick saw me and waved me over. I approached, slightly embarrassed. As Joanne wriggled her ass in one mans face she gave me a wink. Quickly Rick introduced everyone by name and invited me to take a seat. The other woman was called Elaine and the grinning black barman, Ebamu or ‘Eddy’ as he liked to be called. I watched as he laid back, a cigarette between his lips watching the girls performance. Both women had big tits that was for sure and tanned rolling bodies. The three black men exchanged chatter in their native language and were not afraid to touch. While watching this I remained in a trance. It seemed so erotic that Rick would enjoy his wife being ogled so openly. Then suddenly I was beset by guilt. Guilt over my affair and what Kirsten would say if she saw me here. I backed away, Rick giving me a nod as I left, stumbling on the sand.
A fantasy Interracial sex story
monsterp1@yahoo.co.uk
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In June of this year my family and I spent a two week, luxury vacation in Kenya. It proved, as you’ll find out, to be an unforgettable experience. My wife Kirsten and I have been married eleven years now and I guess you could put us down as your typical white, British, middle-class couple. We of course have our daughter Poppy who is five and plans for a bigger family eventually. Both of us travelled all over Europe together in our early twenties but our determination to see Africa was one we had been saving for a special occasion. A popular tourist resort on the coast of Kenya, Malindi offers all kind of sun-drenched activities from great beaches to wonderful food and evening entertainment. From our experience you can certainly add white, wife fucking to that list. Kirsten can testify to that!
I should say at this point that neither of us had ever done anything like this before. That said, prior to our trip, we had been going through a rocky spell in our relationship. My wife is a lovely woman and a terrific mother to Poppy. She is thirty-five with dark hair just past her shoulders and a stunning hour-glass figure. Toned, shapely legs combine with a 32dd all natural bust that is the envy of many of her friends. With not only a great body Kirsten is a well spoken, stylish and alluring lady with a dry sense of humour. Nevertheless, in December of last year I began an affair with one of her very attractive friends. Her name was Sanja and she was a pretty young black woman whom Kirsten had known for years. I put my indiscretion down to the usual reasons: booze, boredom etc. Certainly no excuse and when my wife found out she was devastated. I had hoped in my darkest moments that she had some idea. That she suspected I was cheating on her but no, it was a complete shock. For a time we lived separately, Kirsten and Poppy taking the house while I stayed at a nearby hotel. I don’t mean to make excuses. What I did was unforgivable but perhaps it was my wife’s conservative nature that drove me to it. Despite her figure she had always been so unwilling and strangely shy of showing off her body. Or of experimenting in the way I wanted too. Deep down maybe I yearned for a trophy wife and Kirsten had never fulfilled that potential.
In May we got back together. Kirsten seemed to have forgiven me which in someway made me feel worse. Having almost lost my family it didn’t seem right that I get off ‘scott free’. As for my wife. She just wanted to put it behind us and after only a month she decided we needed a break. A holiday to forget and build bridges again. Poppy was not due to start back at school for another month and I had plenty of leave from work. For years Kirsten had been interested in Kenya: the culture and lifestyle. It seemed a good a time as any to realise our dream of seeing Africa together. After some research Malindi seemed a good destination with an excellent choice of resorts and family services. We booked, packed and set off for an unforgettable experience.
Our two week holiday began June 12th. The first week went fantastically well and our grand Four-star had excellent facilities for kids and fantastic coastal views. A long, golden beach in front of the seafront was shared with the pubic but there was a smaller, private stretch five minutes walk away. Kirsten loved Malindi from the start, drawn into the culture. Right away she set about buying presents for her family and a few things for the house. Poppy adored the beach which was were we spent some time almost every day. At night we ate and listened to authentic, live music either at the hotel or one of the beachfront restaurants. We even began having sex again. Only once, during the first few days did she open up about the affair with Sanja. Saying that she thought about my cheating a lot. Sneaking around behind her and how it had made her feel. Especially as she took her marital vows so seriously.
During the first week I was amazed by the number of white women I saw parading on the public beach with often heavily muscled black men. There was usually quite an age difference but I had read of western women travelling to Africa for sex. British, German and French females aged from their forties right up to early sixties seemed most prevalent. Kirsten found the regular sights slightly amusing but to me it was exciting. Dangerous even. There was something erotic in seeing such interracial couples together. Chatting, holding hands, or even flirting openly. The type of man was not only saved for those prowling the beaches. Several employees, I noticed, seemed to have very close relations with some of the women staying at the hotel.
At the centre of the private beach was a small bar made of wood and painted white. It had a Canapé and a number of chairs and tables outside. During the day they served food and drinks for hotel patrons only. Literally a stones throw from the water, the bar had become a gathering point for sunbathers. One of the two men who worked there was a very handsome Kenyan man in his late 40’s. He was lean with dark skin and thinning grey hair. An earring on one side and a short beard. Whenever I saw him, either serving drinks at the bar or working in the main hotel restaurant he was always smiling. A wicked, flashing grin that promised entertainment. Naturally, he seemed very popular with tourists and was, as much as I could tell from our first week, sleeping with several women from our hotel.
My suspicions about this intriguing male were confirmed by another British couple called Rick and Joanne. Both were in their early fifties and had been coming to Kenya for twenty years. Importantly they occupied the room right next door to us. Joanne was a friendly, shapely woman with a well kept figure and full, round tits. With her hair dyed blonde and cut short at her chin, she was pretty, if a little rough around the edges with deep blue eyes and inviting, full lips. From the first few days of our stay we got on well and both she and her husband took a shine to Poppy. We ate breakfast together almost every day and Kirsten was interested in hearing the best shopping spots from her new found friend. Rick, a engineer from Bradford England, also seemed very pleasant and told me on the quiet how beautiful he thought Kirsten was. How lucky I seemed. There was nothing to suggest that either of them were swingers.
On the fourth day I had left Kirsten and Poppy on the beach and wandered off with my camera. Away from the clutter of hotels and noise I followed the seafront, crossing several rocky alcoves which yielded a fantastic sight that open into impassable, native jungle. After an hour of taking pictures I started heading back towards the hotel. The time alone gave me time to reflect on my life, my relationship with my wife and our time so far in Africa. It struck me how comfortable she seemed here and now, having dreamed of visiting Kenya for so long Kirsten was finally able to say she had been. The masses of souvenirs and trinkets she had in our room was testament to that. As I approached the shape of the hotel I noticed a secluded walkway and path, hidden from the main beachfront. Not many visitors ventured around this area and there was noticeably more litter cast about including several cream filled condoms that lay discoloured in the sand. Deciding to explore and hearing voices from ahead I followed the path around the back of a hill and into a small concealed alcove. There, in the shade of a wooden shelter were a gathering of people. I was immediately confronted by the figure of Joanne and another blonde woman I had seen around the hotel. Both were topless, stripped down to their bikini bottoms and danced to an old radio. To their right sat two white men, one of them Rick and sprawled leisurely on a form were three black men. One, grinning broadly was the barman I described earlier. A lump stuck in my throat. Both ‘wives’ were giving the black men a lap dance. Feeling intrusive I hastened to turn. Suddenly, Rick saw me and waved me over. I approached, slightly embarrassed. As Joanne wriggled her ass in one mans face she gave me a wink. Quickly Rick introduced everyone by name and invited me to take a seat. The other woman was called Elaine and the grinning black barman, Ebamu or ‘Eddy’ as he liked to be called. I watched as he laid back, a cigarette between his lips watching the girls performance. Both women had big tits that was for sure and tanned rolling bodies. The three black men exchanged chatter in their native language and were not afraid to touch. While watching this I remained in a trance. It seemed so erotic that Rick would enjoy his wife being ogled so openly. Then suddenly I was beset by guilt. Guilt over my affair and what Kirsten would say if she saw me here. I backed away, Rick giving me a nod as I left, stumbling on the sand.