International Flavors Pt. 01

And then that became my fetish, and pretty soon there were ladies from all over the world, that were presumably walking around the office or restaurants and bars in town with my DNA in their hair, on their bras or panties, or on the sheets of our respective beds. They couldn't get enough, and neither could I.

But, it was inevitable. All this lasciviousness was going to have some negative consequences as well. At first, through sheer luck, that didn't seem to be the case, but now, I was juggling two and three women at a time, and after last night, Luna had been added to the list of balls in the air.

I don't think I was an asshole about it. They were all single. I was fastidious about that. I wasn't about to do to anyone else what the Director of Marketing had done to me. And it wasn't that I ever pretended to be exclusive with any of them. They all knew that we were just having fun, and at first, they were all good with the sport fucking nature of our relationships. But that was starting to change.

It all started almost two full years ago with Ming-huá Lu, the Chinese analyst/consultant with whom I took up a torrid affair. Ming-huá started showing up in my office, ostensibly seeking my assistance with client outreach, but when she wasn't aware that I could see her, I often caught her staring my way with a look of sheer yearning painted on her face, so I knew she wanted much, much more from me than just some help with some of the customers.

Ming-huá was a tall, extremely thin, dark-haired beauty, with almost no breasts to speak of. In their place, she sported big, brown areolas with tiny nipples on her flat chest. There was a submissive quality to Ming-huá's lovemaking, and though she was quiet and reticent in bed, she could be brought to ecstasy more easily than any woman I think I've ever known.

Because she was so slender and her pussy so tight, Ming-huá was constantly reminding me with these nearly inaudible and passive moans of delight just how big my dick felt when I was penetrating her, and only a few minutes of fucking was certain to supply her with multiple orgasms.

I took immense pleasure in pummeling Ming-huá until I very nearly wore her pussy raw, and because she was so timid and subservient, she never told me if what I was doing to her was painful in any way. If it was, she must have enjoyed it nonetheless, because the one thing she clearly couldn't disguise was her orgasms. Thus, I played up the role of being the dominant, Western male when we slept together, and I cannot remember an evening in bed when I did not make her cum at least six times.

But after a month and a half of nearly constant sex, Ming-huá suddenly disappeared. She sent me an email a few days after leaving to apologize and explain that she'd accepted a new job in D.C. I was, needless to say, disappointed, but not for long.

Next came Katarina Lopez, the Chilean account coordinator, who seduced me only two days after Ming-huá left to accept a government position with the NTSB. Katarina was everything that Ming-huá was not -- buxom, boisterous, and bawdy. She had long, straight brown hair that featured blonde highlights, as well as these huge, fake tits and an ample, round buttocks on her voluptuous hourglass frame. Tucked into the top of the cleavage between her big tits, she sported a little diamond piercing.

Katarina also loved wearing sexy lingerie to bed, and I loved her for doing so. When I was able to peel away her sexy panties or tiny thongs, I was delighted to find a thick brown, but well-manicured bush hovering above a clitoris that, I swear to god, was twice the size of Ming-huá's nipples.

It took very little stimulation to bring that gargantuan knob out of its hiding place, and when I inevitably did so, it stood at attention like the bulbous head of a cock, except that it didn't have a shaft upon which to sit. The very sight of Katarina's clit got me hard instantly, and when it did, that huge, pink pearl provided me with two primary options to maximize pleasure for us both.

First, I would suck it into my mouth and Katarina would instantaneously go berserk, screaming so loudly that I was certain she was frightening either her neighbors or mine, despite the considerable distance we each lived away from either group.

Then, after I had brought her off with my mouth at least once, I would kneel between her legs and spread them wide so that I could bump my firm prick up against that fat clit of hers while I watched my glistening cock sliding in and out of her Latina sex. Seeing her arousal soak her lush bush and watching her huge tits shake around her glittery piercing as I slammed myself into her always rushed me to a quick climax, and each time I would shoot another massive load from her pubic mound to her big, round areolas, and then later on, when she started to ask for it, on her exotic, gorgeous face.

But like Ming-huá before her, soon Katarina, too, was gone, having been transferred back to our offices in Santiago. But even before she left, I had taken up with another beauty - Caitlynn Dunham.

Caitlynn was a financial auditor, born and raised in England, but now living in New York, who had been subcontracted to perform an audit of our financial recordkeeping and accounting practices. Then, after she had conducted her investigation of our systems, she began a training session for the implementation of new protocols that she had developed for the accounting department.

I was charged with working with her on that training. In all, she spent about seven weeks in the office. We slept together once about a week before Katarina left to go back to Chile, and then for the next month and a half, we fucked practically nonstop.

Caitlynn was a stunningly beautiful blonde with soft, lush hair that fell to about the middle of her slender back, and the most gorgeous gray eyes and plump, pink lips I've ever seen. In terms of her body, she fell about halfway between Ming-huá's tiny tits and Katarina's huge ones, a set of 34Cs, if my skills didn't betrayed me. But what stood out about her medium-sized breasts, both literally and figuratively, were these hard, erect nipples. When Caitlynn got excited, you had better pay attention, because those pointers could put your eye out!

She was five feet eight inches tall, with (again, my estimate) a 23 inch waist and 36 inch hips. On the one hand, Caitlynn was all California, beach-beauty chic. She maintained a completely bare pussy, adorned only with a silver piercing of her clit hood and a series of elaborate tattoos from her fingertips to her shoulder on her left arm and from her ankle to her thigh on her right leg. And she had another piercing on the right side of her mouth just above her upper lip.

But she was also British and had attended the London School of Economics, so I found that wonderfully elegant and sophisticated accent of hers and her elite academic background so beguilingly refined, educated, and maddeningly sexy that I swear I got a boner every time she said, "Good morning, Jason."

Caitlynn was the one woman who, above all the rest, seemed to be fixated on my cumshots. She told me more times than I can count that I shot more spunk than any man she'd ever been with. I couldn't bring myself to confess that I was pretty sure the size of my output came from several bottles of supplements, but facial cumshots became a regular part of our lovemaking, and to this day, the visual memories of Caitlynn's absolutely stunning face painted with one of my massive loads can produce an erection in me faster and harder than just about anything.

But more than that, Caitlynn was different from the others, because I am fairly certain that we were both failing in love with each other. Still, I think we each lied to ourselves about the feelings we each had. Other than Sheila, I have never met anyone that inspired more heartfelt passion within me. I'm not referring to sexual desire, but rather to the urgency and intensity of some emotional bond between us. More than once in the throes of lovemaking or in the afterglow that followed it, I wanted more than anything to tell Caitlynn that I was falling in love with her.

But I was still wounded, still scarred from my failed marriage, and something within me inhibited any honest expression of heartfelt affection. I was afraid of being hurt again, and especially fearful that my ardor for Caitlynn might be unilateral.

Still, there were moments when I sensed that it was not, almost knew that the affection and tenderness that I felt toward Caitlynn was reciprocal, that it screamed for release within her as much as it begged to be expressed by my heart and my soul.

I suppose this sounds pretty corny, almost even blasphemous, considering the debauchery of concluding every one of our sexual encounters by my painting Caitlynn's face with a massive cumshot!

But more than any woman that I have ever known in my life, when she asked me to unload on her beautiful countenance, I got the distinct impression that Caitlynn was offering up something much more substantial and significant to me than her beauty and its wherewithal to serve as a receptacle for my spunk.

I truly believe that she was trying to tell me that she was eager for and desirous of my seed, as a symbolic gesture suggesting her complete acceptance of me -- every part, every fiber of my being: mind, heart, body, and soul -- and that taking my ejaculate, rather than being some crude, depraved act, was an expression of love.

More than even that, I sensed that we were soulmates, meant for each other in some deity's grand design. But if that was true, for some reason, the right moment -- the symbiotic alignment of the stars that could have brought us together forever through some kind of divine intervention -- never materialized. Whether there is such a thing as a deity to effect that intervention is for someone far smarter than I to decide.

All I know is that we both knew from the beginning that Caitlynn's time in California was limited and that pretty soon her contract would be up, and she would be back in New York or wherever she was hired to go next. And so, it just never happened, and far too soon, Caitlynn was gone, and even though we stayed in touch with each other and engaged in some pretty amazing phone sex for a while, she wasn't around for the real thing.

And when that happened, our fate was sealed. Once you have debased yourself by reducing your capacity to communicate with another human being into nothing more than the superficial need to find sexual release, to achieve long distance orgasms, it becomes almost impossible thereafter to express feelings of the heart.

I don't really remember when or why the phone calls stopped, but I got the feeling that we both just gave up, came to some mutual acknowledgement that things just couldn't work out between us, and that "this is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper." After almost two months of a torrid sexual relationship and another two months of trivialized phone sex, I had to find someone to take Caitlynn's place.

And despite my sincere feelings of sadness and loss, that didn't take long. The next girl on the scene was a Californian by birth -- a lovely brunette by the name of Mercedez Pequeño, but Mercedez's parents were both Costa Rican, and so she, too, had an exotic appeal, like so many of the other women I've already mentioned. Besides, she was drop-dead gorgeous.

Mercedez didn't actually work for my employer, but instead for our sister company FoodSafe that offered food safety audits, but I had been assigned to mentor her, as she was new to the company and had been hired to oversee their training programs, just as I had been for OccSafe. Like clockwork, the day that Caitlynn went back to New York, Mercedez called to make an appointment to come to visit me in my office.

That was, to put it succinctly, a nice surprise. In many ways her body was similar to Caitlynn's, though her breasts were a bit bigger, but instead of the creamy white skin and blonde locks of my British beauty, Mercedez had a rich, coffee complexion, and long, lush, dark-brown hair. But Mercedez was, like Caitlynn, very well educated -- having attended school at Berkeley -- and in consequence was quite sophisticated and cultured.

Since she was new to town, I hospitably invited her to join me the following Saturday night to hear a band at a hip, little club just up the road, and she did not hesitate to say "yes." I think she was appreciative that I had taken an interest, not only in her work performance, but also her social life, and so, considering that she had moved to the area all alone -- didn't mention having a boyfriend and claimed she didn't know a soul here -- she was really grateful that I was willing to show her around.

Of course, I was willing to show her a lot more than that. We slept together a week after that first date, and Mercedez was an enthusiastic and energetic lover. But then I found out something about Mercedez that put her into a category all her own. She absolutely loved anal sex, and after she asked me to take her in the ass the first time, that became a staple of our lovemaking.

But Mercedez hadn't been completely honest with me, and three months after we started our relationship, her boyfriend from back at Berkeley appeared on the scene, and I was soon relegated to my former status as her work mentor -- a resource she consulted on less and less frequent occasions the longer said boyfriend hung around, while he no doubt sampled the same round and inviting backside that I had enjoyed for a few months. After a while, I never saw her again.

I guess I was disappointed, but my disappointment didn't last long, and since our relationship didn't so much involve an emotional attachment as it did a physical one, I got over Mercedez as soon as another woman seduced me.

The next relationship was probably an unwise decision from the get-go. That's because Magdalena Oleksyszyn, or Lena, for short, was the company's Director of Quality Assurance, one of a handful of executives with the power to hire and fire. It didn't take me long to determine that I was playing with fire when I was playing with Lena.

Lena was Polish by birth, but had come to the U.S. during the Lech Walesa-led anti-Soviet Solidarity union protests against the Polish Communist regime in the 1980s, when she was just over 20 years old, right after graduating from the University of Krakow.

After she arrived, she married an American citizen and remained so for perhaps 20 years until their divorce a decade ago. Together, she and her ex-husband had a grown son. When I took up with her, she was 50 years old, 16 years older than I was, though she was quite a handsome MILF for her age.

Though Lena didn't have the taut and toned body of the younger women I had been bedding since my divorce, like Fitzgerald's Myrtle Wilson, "she carried her surplus flesh sensuously as some women can." There was no doubt that Lena could clearly carry a lot more than that.

She had long, brunette hair, though it was dyed with red highlights, these really thick, dark eyebrows that gave her face an intriguing appearance, as well as stunning, blue eyes that bore into your soul when she spoke to you in her thick, Eastern European accent. Despite some thickness about her mid-section, her plump rump and fat tits seemed tailor-made to jiggle in seismic waves when I pounded her pussy. So, for the next four months, that's what I did, a lot.

But the thing that really stood out about making love to Lena was this strange but adorable habit she had of moaning obscenities in Polish when we fucked. Though she coyly refused to tell me exactly what she was saying, I soon began to recognize that she was often screaming the same four words over and over again.

A month or two after our affair flamed out, I befriended a Polish-speaking professor at the university in town who, when I did my best to sound out the phrase, told me that what Lena was probably repeating was "pieprzyć moją mokre cipki!" or "fuck my wet pussy!" I don't know why she chose not to say that to me in English, but, whatever the reason, I came to realized that I was apparently obeying the imperative, even if I didn't know how or why. After all, she was my superior.

Then one night after we had been sleeping together for almost four months, my overheated sex drive got the best of me. It wasn't as if I had pledged myself to Lena exclusively, and I seriously doubted whether she had done any such thing for me. Yet at the same time, I wasn't stupid enough to tell her when I dipped my wick elsewhere.

But one evening I was having a drink at the bar in a pub near my home when a modestly plump, but pretty brunette with big tits -- who looked at least a little bit like Lena -- sat down next to me and struck up a conversation. Before long, we were back at my place, and as the night ended, I was titty-fucking her until I shot a big load all over her face and neck.

This was an enjoyable, but ultimately forgettable one-night stand, and as I hadn't even learned the woman's name, I thought little of it. We were both just sport fucking.

As it happened, the following weekend at Lena's place I repeated the same lewd act with her, and after similarly shooting my cum between her breasts, I thanked her with what I thought was an appreciative, but throwaway line, "Oh baby, I really liked fucking your tits again!" Apparently, the earlier evening with the unnamed woman at the bar had left an indelible stamp upon my psyche, because I had never tit-fucked Lena before that night, so I knew it the moment the words left my lips. I was in trouble.

"Whaat you mean, again? Whaat thde fockar you talkeenk about, Jazon? Whose deets have you been fockeenk? 'Cause beforre donight you surreas hell verren't fockeenk mine! You haavent been fockeenk thdem, an, geese what? -- you won't be fockeenk thdem ageen! Not do mention, any odher darrt of mee! Now, geet thde hell aut of irr!"

I tried unsuccessfully to explain myself and, in so doing, win my way back into her good graces, but she wasn't having any of it, and when she banished me forever from her home, I was certain that I would be similarly banished from the workplace the following Monday morning.

But that didn't happen. I suspect that attempting to get rid of me could only have alerted the other bosses to our affair, and I don't think that Lena wanted that affair to become public. For the next month, she just glared at me whenever she saw me in the office, and then after another period of time, she just ignored me. Pretty soon, she took up with a rich attorney, and shortly after that time, I realized that I was off the hook.

I wish I could say that I had learned my lesson -- learned to keep my dick out of the office pussy, but I was just too horny to do so, and, as I said earlier, the talent pool was just too deep to ignore.

The next beauty on the docket was another Mexican woman Nicky Kapamas, a slender wisp of a lady -- except for her tits -- who like Luna had both European and Mexican parents. Her father was of Greek descent and was an athlete who participated in the Olympics in the 1980s as a member of Mexico's soccer team.

Her mother was a former model, whose career was brought to an abrupt end due to the very real threats made by the drug cartel in Culiacán, her hometown, against the modeling agency with whom she was contracted. She quickly gave up her career, and instead chose to marry Nicky's father and settle down to raise a family, three beauties that included Nicky and her two younger sisters, Cassandra and Anastasia.

Nicky had an amazing body. She was only 5 feet 3 inches tall and had a rail thin frame with a 22 inch waist and 32 inch hips, but she had chosen to enhance her 30 inch tits into D cups that sported large, protruding dark-pink areolas. Despite her augmented breasts, she still weighed just a hair over 100 pounds.