At the beginning of February, I happened to visit Kigali. I had always been told that these babes have full tanks of El’Nino and that they have the longest twin towers.
A friend of mine Gatare who was a truck driver asked me to go with him on one of his trips to Rwanda. I was very delighted to go with him and he assured me that I would drool right from the border to the city centre.
I remember we got into Rwanda through Kagitumba border, to the city centre, as we cleared at the immigration office; I spotted some not so juicy babe who was chewing gum like it was sugarcane.
The way she kept moving her tongue in and out made me imagine her licking me. I was immediately turned on. I walked to her and asked her to help me with some of the information on the form I did not understand.
She told me her name was Chantal and she was coming from a business trip from Kampala. She was using the jaguar bus and I convinced her to use our truck since it had some extra space and would take her straight to her home.
Chantal willingly accepted and immediately boarded our truck. Since we were all using the front seat, she sat very close to me. Her warm succulent thighs turned me on. We had reached somewhere around Rwamagana when the truck ran out of fuel. There was no petrol station nearby, so my friend Gatare had to rush and bring some fuel from a petrol station which was about sixteen kilometres away, leaving me and Chantal in the truck.
I held her close to me, and she rested her oily hair on my chest. I blew warm air into her ear and pushed my rough tongue deeper to taste her bitter wax.
“Ouch, Hyena that’s so ticklish,” she said, almost into tears. “Ok Chantal let me do it somewhere else where it won’t feel ticklish,” I suggested. I went down on my knees, pulled her kitenge up a bit, pushed her mother’s union on the side and rubbed my tongue on her long twin towers. “Hyena ibyo simbishaka,” (Hyena I do not want that) she said as she moved her pot closer to my lips. I rolled her long twin towers on my tongue, and warm slimy juices flowed out of her wide Kandahar.
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“Prudence, prudence,” she said. I did not have any idea of what she was saying until she pulled out a packet of condoms from her handbag. Next time you are in Kigali, do not ask for condoms they do not have a single idea of what condoms are, just ask for prudence plus.
Anyway, I rolled on the condom and made her sit on me like I were a chair. Both of us faced the same direction and she held the steering like she was driving the truck away.
Her Kandahar felt warm and fresh and the position in which she was seated allowed me to have deeper penetration. We were humping ourselves roughly that we finished at the same time. The expansion and contraction of her Kandahar muscles turned me on the more.
I immediately rolled on another prudence plus and stared jazzing her. “Cherie, oranyikira igituba ibyo simbikunda,” (my darling you are killing my pot I do not like that) she said.
I then stopped jazzing her, “komeza,” (continue) she said while rubbing my whopper roughly against her twin towers. “But I thought you do not like that?” I asked.
“Wowe uri specialie,” (yours is special) she said still jazzing herself.
Gatare had already brought the fuel. He opened the door, found us seated on the driver’s seat, “sorry,” he said as he banged the door and went away.
I pulled out my whopper and told Chantal to dress up very fast. When we were done, I called Gatare and we drove off. I fingered Chantal from Rwamagana to Kigali but she was not getting her orgasm. She kept pushing my fingers deeper and deeper but it seemed not to help.
When we reached a place called Remera, I booked a small hotel room and we shagged ourselves to satisfaction. Too bad, up to now I have never heard from this woman. Chantal in case you read this, let us meet anytime on this very page.