Lin and Amanda were sisters who ran a small bakery in Paramaribo, the capital of Suriname. They were of Korean origin but had lived in the US and spoke good English. The multicultural society of Paramaribo included large numbers of Indians and Chinese along with the blacks and a few white Europeans, mainly Dutch. And then there was me: British, silver-haired and conspicuous.
I had got to know the sisters when I was exploring the quiet residential streets of a punishingly hot, busy shopping area. It was a strange place to have a retail business, with almost no passing trade, and you could walk past their shop without noticing it.
The Korean girls, as I came to think of them, were intelligent and sociable and seemed to value my friendship. It’s not like we had that much in common apart from not really fitting into that rather aggressive society with its low standards of efficiency and integrity.
They were good at what they did and quietly proud of it. Lin was the chef, the creative half of the partnership, and Amanda, the worker behind the scenes and the smiling face out front. She was round and jolly and frequently wore a sheen of perspiration on her face as the tropical heat cranked up the kitchen temperature even more.
Every time I went to see them I had a little hug with each – and that’s what it was: going to see them. They knew as well as I did that I didn’t go there for the bubble tea that Amanda served and the exquisite little cakes that Lin produced.
They didn’t even want to charge me for anything. I had to insist on paying.
I went for the cuddles and the conversation. We talked about life in that peculiar, rather charmless country which, although positioned at the top of South America, considered itself part of the Caribbean. And that in spite of the fact that its coastline had no sandy beaches apart from one or two that had achieved almost sacred status as places where turtles waddled ashore to lay their eggs.
The rest of the coast was lined with mangrove swamps, which the conservationists and the traditionalists fought fiercely to protect, citing their anti-flooding and erosion properties, when people like me would have ripped them all out and made proper beaches to take advantage of the legendary Caribbean Sea.
Erosion? The rest of the world builds walls.
But back to the girls. They were both in their late 30s. Amanda had a teenage daughter, but Lin was essentially joint-mother. Neither seemed to have a boyfriend, and they didn’t speak of ex-husbands, although I suspected there was a very private south-east Asian sub-culture in which discreet social lives were conducted.
Lin was slim but not thin and had a tangible physical strength that I could feel when she hugged me. It was never a limp hug with her. She pulled me against her in a way that a polite British man wouldn’t dream of doing to a woman.
Lin was also more serious than her sister. She was fun but studious and had held positions of authority as a pastry chef in big hotels in the States.
Quite frankly, I couldn’t make up my mind. I would have liked to have sex with both of them, but I didn’t want to try it on with the wrong one and blow my chances with both. That was assuming one of them wanted that too. And only one of them.
Every time I went in there, which was probably once a week, I told myself I would do something about it, but I never really did.
And then one day I found them laughing and playful as I entered.
“Vic,” they chorused, and Amanda continued, “We were just talking about you.”
We exchanged banter for a minute or so before Amanda said, “What would you like to eat?”
As she said it, she glanced at her sister.
“I would like to eat you,” I said softly, hoping not to sound perverse, and sure enough they giggled and accepted it as just more banter. But it was out there now, in their memories, our memories, to be mulled over and scrutinized, analyzed and interpreted.
The conversation moved on to a food fair at a resort in the north of the city the following week, at which they would have a stand. I, of course, as the champion of their brilliance, promised to be there to lend support.
The next Monday I eventually found somewhere to park down the street from this new but not car-friendly resort and skipped up the wooden steps to where the action was, in a shady reception area.
Over in a corner, I saw their sign and could just make out Amanda, talking to some people. I waited until she was alone before going over. She beamed at me.
“Oh, Vic, thank you so much for coming,” she said, overflowing with traditional politeness and gratitude but obviously genuine too. We sat together and passed half an hour in light conversation. Lin was at the bakery, where they also lived upstairs, catching up with some work, and the daughter was at school, so Amanda was, by their intensive standards, free for the day, with just a bit of customer chat and selling to do.
I wandered around the other stands and then went to a nearby mall just to pass the time. I had arrived after lunch, and it finished at six. I had offered to help Amanda pack up at the end, and that is what we did as the sun went down and the mosquitoes came out to play. I spotted one landing on Amanda’s shoulder, and I smacked it dead. She looked at me with a slightly shocked but grateful expression. We sat together on the sill at the back of her little van, and she returned the favor when a little stinging devil appeared on my wrist.
“I’ll give you smack me, young lady,” I said mock-seriously. “I’m going to take you to my house and spank you.”
Amanda giggled and fluttered her eyelashes and smacked me again, this time on the thigh.
Half an hour later we were at my house, having a drink on the balcony and perfectly happy in each other’s company.
“Come inside,” I said, and she followed me into the sitting room. “Turn around,” I ordered, and she stood facing the sofa. I smacked her arse, and she turned to face me again, a spark of something in her eyes. I put my arms around her and pulled her to me, loving the deep padding of her stomach and the springiness of her breasts against my chest.
We kissed, and it was almost a relief after all that time of waiting. Amanda’s tongue lolled with mine, and she stroked my back happily as my hands roamed her landscape, squeezing her buttocks and moving back up to her breasts.
“Mr. Vic,” she whispered. “You are a naughty man.”
I slid my hand under her t-shirt and squeezed her left breast, then pulled the loose cup down and pinched her nipple.
Amanda’s hand moved down to my cock, and she began to feel me through my jeans. I abandoned her tits and got to work on her button and zip. Kneeling in front of her I pulled her jeans to the floor, and she stepped out of them. I repeated the process with her knickers and found myself face to face with her pubic area, shaved into a little arrow pointing downwards.
I buried my face in Amanda’s lap and sucked her clitoris. She gasped and parted her legs, and I licked her pussy. She was a little sweaty from the day, and her crotch was a steamy jungle of aromas from all that had been going on since her morning shower.
She knelt on the sofa, and I smacked her bottom. She whimpered and said “Okay.”
I spanked her again, over and over, and she said, “Yes” and “Yes” and “Oh yes.” Then she began to wail in that curious oriental way, a combination of fright and pleasure which I had always suspected was contrived. Chinese and Japanese girls seemed to enjoy being touched where they hadn’t given permission and railroaded into acts they shouldn’t be enjoying but were.
So it was with a loud, snivelling “Ah ha,” that Amanda greeted my tongue in her arse.
“Oh my God,” she whined. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing what I have always wanted to do,” I thought but didn’t say because I was too busy with my tongue between her buttocks. I let my licks do the talking, and they seemed to be making the point quite eloquently.
“Let me suck you,” she said suddenly, turning around and sitting forward to take my rampant erection in her mouth. She looked up at me as she did it and her eyes told me she had wanted this encounter as much as I had. She licked my shaft. She kissed my balls and ran her tongue as far into my crotch as she could manage.
“Take me into your bedroom,” Amanda implored, and I slapped her arse to direct her in there.
I pushed her onto the bed, and we both wrenched off our remaining clothes. She lay on her back.
“Are you going to fuck me?” she asked, mock-bashfully.
“Do you want me to?”
“What do you think?”
“Tell me, then.”
“I want you to fuck me, Vic,” she said boldly and pulled me down as I climbed aboard.
Amanda lifted her legs with knees bent as I plunged into her wet, expectant pussy.
“Beautiful,” she said happily.
“You are beautiful,” I countered.
“I’m fat,” she said dismissively.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I replied, tickling her anus. “Didn’t you notice how much I enjoyed licking your arse?”
“I love the way you say that,” she said. “My aaarse. You were licking my aaarse.”
“I want to lick your arse again,” I said, pulling out of her and manhandling her onto her front. She lay flat, defiant. I smacked her rosy, blushing buttocks.
“Harder,” she said quickly. I slapped her bottom as hard as I could and she yelped.
“Kiss it,” she ordered, and I gently, lovingly kissed her buttocks before parting them again and pressing my face into the cleft. I poked my tongue into her little rosebud.
“You want to get in there?” she asked eagerly. “Want to fuck my ass?”
“I don’t have any lube,” I said apologetically.
“Use my pussy juice,” Amanda said, taking my hand and guiding it into her vagina and then wiping it between her buttocks. “Do that four or five times.”
I did as instructed.
“Now get your dick wet,” she said, and made herself as open as possible, so I could lube my cock with her abundant natural stuff.
Amanda crouched with her knees folded beneath her and her arsehole utterly exposed. I pressed carefully but firmly against her hole and my cock popped in without difficulty. I plunged in and out of her, and she wailed with pleasure.
“Ah. Ah. Aaahh,” she said. “Deeper. Yes. Yes. Ah, I’m coming.”
And with that my plump Korean friend collapsed in a writhing heap on my bed, moaning softly. I knelt above her and jerked myself off, my cum spurting up her back, and I managed to serve a squirt or two into her crack.
We wiped up and lay in each other’s arms.
“God, Vic. I thought you were a gentleman,” she laughed.
“I thought you were a no-go area,” I replied. “Private property.”
“I am,” she said seriously. “But you are allowed access.”
