Alan laughed at his wife, and the fact that he was standing in the bedroom doorway with his dick hanging down as he hadn`t even thought about putting any clothes on, such was their ease at home. Secondly, his wife could swear as good as any builder he had ever met. When working out in the field the word Fuck was used as easily as hello, as most situations they had found themselves in could only be described by using the F word.
Doing as she had asked him he wandered back into their bedroom, found a T-shirt and some track suit bottoms and descended to the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, mug in hand, by the time Angie came downstairs to join him. Angie looked good, as she always did after a long night of screwing. Her face was still slightly flushed, and her nipples were little pebbles pressing against the thin material of the Led Zeppelin T-shirt she was wearing over short running shorts that showed way to much leg for that time of the morning.
Pouring herself a mug of Coffee from the machine on the counter she asked him, “What? What the fuck are you staring at Alan? If you think you are going to bend me over that kitchen table and fuck the living daylights out of me…….” She paused dramatically then added, “Well your absolutely fucking right!” Angie then hooked off her shorts and T-shirt, bending over the table with her breasts squashed against the pale wood.
Robert was behind her in seconds. He stroked himself quickly to hardness then guided his cock into the warmth of Angie’s slit. Alan noticed that she was very wet, so she had apparently been playing this little scenario over in her mind as she prepared the bedroom for their guest.
Robert did all the things he knew she loved to illicit a climax as rapidly as possible. He varied the tempo, depth and angle of his thrusts. Leaning forward he slipped a hand around one of her breasts and pinched her nipple. This he knew was a sure-fire way to bring on her orgasm, and he wasn`t wrong. Angie writhed about on the table and actually murmured breathlessly, “Harder Alan!”
Alan increased the pressure on the hard nub between his thumb and forefinger and Angie nearly screamed, “Fuck! Fuck yes!” as she shoved herself violently backwards against each thrust of Alan`s hips. Angie was going to come soon, that was apparent, and Alan hastened the arrival of that orgasm by sliding his other hand around and rubbing two fingers speedily over her extended clitoris.
Angie exploded. Her head flew back as her back contorted almost painfully. Alan felt her vaginal muscles contract around his cock and her fluids leaking down onto his scrotum.
Angie was still shivering slightly as Alan spurted a significant load inside her, which caused another violent flexing of her entire body followed by another gush of fluids to soak his balls.
As Angie lay panting on the table she muttered, “Fuck! Now I have to clean the fucking kitchen as well!” Alan couldn`t help but laugh, and this earned him a playful punch in the arm from his wife. The next punch was stronger, and intended to hurt as he added, “Well you better hurry up as this room stinks of sex!”
They were both chuckling and trying to pull up their respective shorts and trousers when the doorbell rang. Alan and Angie shared a look of horror as Alan told her, “Get the air freshener while I go and let our guest in.” Alan checked to make sure there were no tell-tale stains of spunk on his trousers before trying to be as casual as possible walking down the hall and opening the front door.
Alan`s face creased into a frown when on the step he didn`t find a twenty-three-year-old Syrian girl, but a forty-year-old overweight man in a cheap, shiny brown suit and crumpled shirt and tie. “Yes?” he asked trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone.
“Dr. Baldwin?” The man asked in what Alan thought was a Liverpudlian accent.
“Yes!”
“My name is Davenport from the British Home Office. Do you know a Hameed Mahmoud and his sister Ayla?” As he spoke he brandished a laminated card in Alan`s face.
“What is this about Mr. Davenport?”
“Mr Mahmoud has informed us that you will take responsibility for his sister Ayla whilst she is a guest here in our country. Ayla is due to start a three-year nursing course at Carshalton hospital starting on Monday May 22nd. She is awaiting a place in the nursing quarters attached to the hospital, but in the meantime she will stay with you, and you will provide her with accommodation and anything else she may need in that time. Is that correct?”
“That is correct. I don`t know Ayla personally, although I did meet her very briefly many years ago, but Hameed I know very well. We worked together when I was with Doctors without Borders in Syria. In fact the man saved my life. So yes, I will take responsibility for Ayla. Do I have to sign something to that effect?”
“That won`t be necessary Sir. We have your details on record and knew of your connection to Mr. Mahmoud, so this is just a formality so to speak.” With that he waved at a car that was parked blocking the drive to Alan and Angie`s house.
The back door of the car swung open and a thin man in an equally cheap, dark-blue suit climbed out followed by a woman in a smart grey pant suit, a grey hijab covering her hair. The dark-blue suit man retrieved a large suitcase from the trunk of the car, and the woman took it before walking up the drive.
Mr. Davenport and the woman crossed at the midpoint of the drive and Alan watched her dip her head differentially as they passed each other. Alan studied her as she approached. Quite tall at around five feet nine or ten. A nice figure in the obviously made to measure grey suit. A pale pink blouse beneath it was buttoned to her throat. Surprisingly she wore nice black shoes with a three-inch heel. Then she was stood before him and spoke in perfect, unaccented English, “You are the doctor who my brother helped in Syria. I remember you. I saw you from afar many times, and a few times we met.”
Alan looked at her pretty face with dark, soulful, brown eyes that had been highlighted with the dark black mascara that was very popular in Middle Eastern countries. A small nose, high cheek bones, and full lips painted a bright scarlet. Ayla would definitely break a few hearts in her life that was for sure, she was stunning. As the car pulled away from the end of the drive Ayla unwrapped the hijab from around her head and shook her head so that her ebony hair flowed out onto her shoulders.
“Can I come in?” she asked politely.
Only then did Alan realise that he had been staring at her, frozen in place.
“Yes. Yes. Of course,” he blustered grabbing her bag to hide his embarrassment. “You must be tired after the flight. Come through to the kitchen and meet my wife Angie.” Alan was sure that he detected a brief flash of disappointment on Ayla`s face when he mentioned Angie, but it vanished so quickly that he wasn`t sure it had been there at all.
Ushering her before him he left the bag in the hall and called out “Angie. Ayla`s here!”
Angie walked from the kitchen still wearing the rubber gloves she had donned to clean the table and surrounding area that they had used so erotically only a few minutes prior to Ayla`s arrival.
When Ayla saw Angie her face broke into a broad grin, “I remember you nurse Angie. You were also in Syria. All of the other children said you were so kind that sometimes they played sick just to spend some time with you. You are very beautiful!”
Angie blushed at the compliment and replied, “Well thank you. You have also grown into a very pretty woman. Hameed must be very proud of his little sister. How is he by the way?”
Ayla`s face turned sad. “He is alive. That is all I can say. He was wounded badly about a year ago, and now can only walk with the aid of a cane. Plus he lost a part of his arm, so it is difficult for him to work as a doctor. I think that is the most agonising thing for him.”
“Oh my God!” Angie and Alan said almost simultaneously.
After that the trio were silent, each lost in their own memories of Hameed. Then Alan remembered his manners and asked, “Would you like coffee or tea? Water? Or I think we have Coke as well.”
“Coffee would be fantastic. Thank you!”
The three sat at the kitchen table sipping from mugs of coffee. Ayla told them how hard Hameed had worked to get her accepted for the nurses visa programme. He had also had to bribe a few people in Syria so as they didn`t block her travel.
Alan remembered Hameed telling him that he came from a wealthy family when they had shared a contraband bottle of whiskey during a lull in the fighting. As the booze took its effect Hameed had told Alan that the family had converted their wealth into Gold at the onset of the civil war and smuggled it to a bank in Dubai. Apparently that wealth had now been used to facilitate Ayla`s escape to the UK.
As if reading his mind Ayla reached into a small handbag that hung from her shoulder. She withdrew an envelope similar to that which Hameed’s letter had arrived in. Alan saw his name printed carefully on the front in block capitals. Ayla handed him the thick envelope. Inside was a wad of notes, “Two thousand pounds,” Ayla announced, “To cover any costs you may have during my stay.”
Angie gasped and Robert slid the envelope back to Ayla, “There is no need for any payment. Without your brother I probably wouldn`t be here, so if anyone should be paying, then I should be paying him. You are welcome to stay here as long as you want.”
Angie finally found her voice and said, “Come on Ayla. Let me show your room. Alan take the bag please.”
The couple showed Ayla into her room. Explained where the bathroom was, and then left her to unpack as they went back downstairs. Once back in the kitchen Angie said, “Fucking hell Alan she`s gorgeous. We will have to put a minefield around the house to keep the boys away.” Then she grabbed his dick roughly as she continued, “And you can either keep this in me, or your pants. Understood?” Alan nodded frantically until she released him from her grip.
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