The Reporter - Part 1 - Sex Stories

The Reporter - Part 1

... looked down to admire this brown-skinned beauty consume him. He lost himself in her deep cleavage that poured from her tight, white top and couldn't help but reach out and rip it open. "I would have taken it off for you, Flik, baby." "I know. Now get your bra off, I wanna see your tits." She slipped her arms around behind her, her chest even more prominent, and unclasped her bra as he watched her and wanked. He directed himself towards her mouth, reached his hand around behind her head, and entered her mouth. At first with gentle strokes, allowing her to suck and lick him at length. After the gentle opening though, he grabbed her hair and started to ram himself into the back of her throat; he hadn't fucked like this in a long time and he unleashed his pent up frustrations. She gagged but her eyes were smiling up at him, albeit tearily. "Oh yeah, you sexy Turkish bitch." As he felt his balls tighten, he pulled out and started wanking desperately. She was knelt in front of him, chest out, mouth open. "Cum for me, baby," she grinned. He let out a deep, guttural moan and obliged, letting his warm ropes of cum spurt out, spraying her pretty face and breasts. She looked up into his eyes, sexily collecting his juice in her fingers and bringing it up to her mouth. A brisk rap on the outer door wiped the easy contentment from her face. "My old man! Get dressed and open the door." She darted through to the back room. Flik quickly pulled himself together, before coming away from ...

... behind the stand and opening the door to his old mate. They chatted briefly, before Ayla breezed in all sweetness and light. "Get out, Baba, you frighten my customers," she said cheerfully. "Customers, plural? You no get any more with the door shut, girl." "Well, I was closed for lunch, but seeing the sad state of your friend here, I treated it as an emergency case," she joked. His heavily accented English erupted from deep in his chest, as he took the bait, "She forget who own the barbers." "It's a hair salon, Baba!" She raised her eyes to the heavens in mock disgust, before placing a hand on each of his wide shoulders and planting a kiss on his cheek. Erdogan beamed, "She a good girl." "She is," Flik agreed, winking at her in the mirror. "You better finish him off, girl," he directed at Ayla, before adding, "then we go for a drink, Flik." *** Erdogan had come over from Turkey as a barber and maybe that was why his hair was always so impeccable. He was in his sixties, with dyed, black hair, slicked back in carefully precise rows. He took off his heavy sheepskin jacket, which must have been in fashion when he first arrived in the UK, and sat down heavily in his chair. He looked at Flik over his black, heavy-rimmed glasses. "So, what this all about, boy?" "Can't I just show up and meet an old friend without arousing suspicion?" "I no see you in near a year and you tell me you been missing me." He played with his bushy mustache between his fingers. "Stop, Flik, before I get all ...