Sweet kiwi

Three years have passed since we arrived in New Zealand.

We don't need anyone in our lives. We might as well have gone to the Siberian tundra and been happy. My wife Mila, like me, values peace and quiet in the family above all else. We live for today. We create little celebrations for each other and together enjoy our crazy antics.

New Zealand is precisely the country for hermits like us. The entire country has only one real metropolis, Auckland, from which we escaped as soon as the first opportunity arose. I found a job online, and my wife focused on setting up our new home. We settled

in a small town and immediately became local "celebrities" simply because we deny ourselves no pleasures. Well, except for drugs, which we have never tried on principle and don't want to touch. A bicycle and a kayak bring more pleasure than cocaine and marijuana.

So, what made the modest Kiwis pay attention to us?

We didn't fit into their norms of behavior. This situation wasn't new to us. Some couples can spend their whole lives in the missionary position. We refuse to understand puritanism after the age of 18; our style is to try everything in time and to live for each other. We got married on that note. For our honeymoon, we traveled around Europe and marked with our juices more than one hotel, beach, restaurant, train, library, and even the central square of a small Czech town, where, in front of the astonished local youth, Mila gave me a blowjob and, seeing I was about to come, quickly turned around, lifted her skirt, and obediently offered for the injection two holes ready to receive the cock. Mila considered wearing panties under a skirt in summer as much a manifestation of puritanism as sunbathing in a swimsuit. Unsurprisingly, we had to pay for a night in a neighboring town a second time, where we had to hastily retreat.

That's how the local "Kiwis" got to know us. We met some on a conditionally nudist beach (they were clothed, we were not), where the bravest tried to look us straight in the eye when I started looking at a neighbor's wife and my cock stood up as if on command. Others began to recognize us in a restaurant after Mila "accidentally" spread her legs, and then we laughed together at the stretched faces of surprise (men) and indignation (women) of the Anglo-Saxons. I almost lost my license after staring intently at the wife of the local police chief. Well, she was a beauty, a local stunner! A blonde in a 70s style with a full bust and playful eyes. She looked at us provocatively. It was even unclear what interested her more—seeing lust in my eyes or jealousy in Mila's. But what she didn't expect to see was lust in both male and female eyes. This isn't playing around with a police baton. For the local public, such a hint was something new. Or not new, but at least a forbidden fruit for a town of about 5,000 people.

Online, we accidentally met a girl from the Philippines who was looking for a caregiver job in some English-speaking country. A crazy idea came to our minds. We hinted that she would have to work as a "sitter," a "stander," and a "layer." She didn't understand at first, started sending copies of her diplomas and references from some teachers and grandmothers. Then we simply sent a photo where Mila was sitting on me, clearly not on my knees, and a second photo was of my cock. We wrote that she would have to sit with it or like the girl in the photo. She didn't answer for two weeks. Then another Filipina wrote to us and said she saw our address when her friend indignantly showed our "pink portrait" to her friends. It's a good thing we covered our faces in the photo. The Filipina sent her photo. Pretty, all rounded like that, looking like a teenager but with some sadness in her eyes. The Filipina's name is Rosa. Her family is huge—a ton of brothers and sisters. Even though we understood the purpose of our invitation, we wanted to help her humanly, so we settled on three thousand a month, a free flight, and help with paperwork to stay in New Zealand.

We didn't even think she would come out to us at the airport. We thought she would disappear forever in the crowd of illegals. She came out. Standing frightened in the waiting area, as if she had been stripped and placed naked in front of everyone. I tell Mila: "You go." Mila approached her and timidly touched her shoulder.

— Are you Rosa?

— Yes. And who are you?

— I'm Ted's wife (that's me, my name is Fedya), my name is Mila.

— And where is Ted?

— He's here too.

Mila called me over. Rosa, though pretending not to be scared, had pupils that dilated when I approached and took her hand.

— Hello.

— Hello.

— How was the flight?

— Good. Can I call home from somewhere to say I arrived and that you met me?

— Of course.

I gave her my mobile and dialed the international line. From her chattering, polyglot Mila understood that her family was like an army platoon, with about a dozen brothers and sisters. And it seemed Rosa hadn't told anyone what kind of job she was invited for. Rosa looked about 18, though from her documents we knew she was already 23. Short, with short black hair and a typical Polynesian face, like a beauty from a Gauguin painting. You could see large nipples through the thin fabric of her light T-shirt. Mila and I at some point both glanced at those beads and exchanged looks.

— Well, shall we go?

We tried to speak English so Rosa wouldn't worry about incomprehensible speech.

— Rosa, do you understand why we invited you?

I saw in the rearview mirror Rosa silently nod.

— Have you ever traveled somewhere like this before?

Rosa shook her head side to side.

— Rosa, by any chance, are you still a virgin?

Again, shaking her head in different directions.

We were silent the rest of the way home. Rosa only occasionally glanced out the window. The whole way, I felt her gaze on me. As if she was studying me. Trying to understand if we would hurt her? Brave girl. We arrived. I took the suitcase and carried it ahead of the women into the house.

We entered the house. Mila dropped her dress, under which she never wore anything else, approached Rosa, and said calmly, as if she weren't standing in her birthday suit:

— Ted will show you your room and the house, and I'll go take a shower. I'm waiting for both of you there.

Rosa raised her eyes and asked me what she should do.

— Let's go upstairs, your room is there. You can rest, you can sleep, the journey was long.

— I'm not tired.

— Well, okay. You can take a dip in the pool.

— I can't swim, and I don't have a swimsuit.

— You don't need a swimsuit here, and I'll teach you to swim.

We went upstairs. We gave Rosa the best large bedroom, with a view of the bay and all necessary furniture, including a huge wooden bed in a rustic style. She would have a lot of work to do, so we had to provide her with such rest that the work would be a pleasure.

Rosa entered and smiled for the first time all day.

— This will be my room? The whole room?

— Yes. Why does that surprise you so much?

— You probably miss them already.

— Yes, very much.

— You can call home as often as you want, but try not to even hint at why we brought you here.

— Of course. It would be a great shame for my family if anyone found out.

I hesitated. Indeed, you can't tell anyone about such an offer. It's private life. Especially when it's a private life unlike others.

— Well, to the pool, the shower, or will you rest?

— No. I want to start work.

Rosa looked intently into my eyes as if asking with her gaze where to begin. I silently took off my shirt and shorts. It's immodest to describe one's cock. Well, maybe it's a bit thicker than many, maybe sometimes I felt spirals in women or reached the uterus, but personally, I thought it was no different from those Mila and other girls had tried and told me about.

Rosa looked at it with surprise for a few seconds. I even thought maybe she really was still a virgin. But then she came to me, knelt down, and started first stroking it with her hand, then touched it with her lips. How she touched it! Precisely touched. Didn't swallow it like a cow an cucumber, didn't gnaw it like a rabbit a carrot, but rather touched it like a bee touches a flower. With a nimble movement of her tongue, she licked the shiny drop (that drop was already about two hours old, from when I saw Rosa at the airport). She ran her tongue gracefully to the testicles, circled them with movements resembling a butterfly's flight, and returned to the tip of the cock to take it in with her full lips, folded in such a way that in the dark, you could mistake them for a vagina. Rosa smoothly drew my cock into her mouth.

At first, it seemed to me this girl had no teeth at all. My wife Mila was a specialist in her field, but she could also grab and bite when needed. Rosa was the complete opposite. She was simply created to bring men pleasure with her lips. If there were a championship for blowjobs, Rosa would unquestionably ascend the podium. She sucked my cock like no one else. She lived with my cock in her mouth. The cock dove so deep into her mouth that I began to think I was riding it down her deep throat. It couldn't last long like that. I felt a mountain stream roar within me, ran an orgasm through my body, and splashed into Rosa's mouth so that she only had time to shudder from surprise. There was nothing left to swallow because all the semen went straight through her throat.

Rosa, as if washing the cock with her lips, licked it for another minute until I took her head and lifted her face.

— Where did you learn to do that, enchantress?

— I won't tell.

— You're just scaring me. Tell me right now, where did you learn that. It even worries me. Maybe I'll send Mila to that school.

All his emotions could always be seen on his face. If it was fear, it was animal fear; if joy, a child's joy. When he turned 18, yellow stains began to appear on our bed. I was n then. One night, I woke up because the bed was shaking. I saw him jerking his cock with his hand. This happened several times. I understood what he was doing but pretended to be asleep. One day, I felt sorry for him and put my hand on his jerking little hand.

— Girl, you don't just do it well; it's as if you were reading my thoughts while doing it.

— Guys, I don't get something. I didn't even wait for you.

Mila appeared in the doorway, vigorously drying her blond hair falling to her shoulders.

— Well, Fedya, didn't feed the guest and already making her work?

— Milka, Rosa took up the work herself.

— Already came without me? And I'm in the shower rubbing my clit, waiting for you. Cheating.

— Milka, don't scold. You know I have enough for both of you and some left over.

— When will you calm down?

Rosa listened to this strange argument in surprise. Above her lip was a white speck of dried semen, but with it, she looked even more attractive.

I stepped over the shorts lying on the floor, picked them up, and put them on a chair. Mila, like a cat, circled the motionless Rosa, took her from behind by the waist, and began stroking the lower part of her stomach. Then one hand reached up to her breast, and the other gently slipped into Rosa's panties.

— Rosa, undress. We have our own world here; we only dress when we go somewhere. Get used to it.

Rosa began to pull off her T-shirt. She did it so elegantly that I wanted to turn on music.

— Rosa, Mila, wait.

Rosa stopped. I went to the center, quietly turned on music, and turned to the girls.

Rosa continued her striptease, but now it was an elegant spectacle set to Vivaldi. Rosa's breasts were truly luxurious. Huge burgundy nipples on chocolate skin. Shaped like small watermelons with the tops cut off. Rosa truly lived up to her name. Luxuriant dark hair falling below her shoulders, a beautiful Asian face with full lips, a large forehead, and cheekbones. I looked at Rosa and imagined her standing on the Miss Universe pageant stage, where such different, dazzlingly beautiful best daughters of their nations gather. Rosa would take a worthy place among those beauties.

Mila winked at me from behind Rosa's shoulder, still stroking her stomach. I approached Rosa, hugged her and Mila standing behind her, and, slightly squatting, slipped my long-standing cock between Rosa's legs until I felt it touch Mila's leg. There was no more fear on Rosa's face. She lowered her eyelids and slightly rolled her eyes. I took the elastic and slowly pulled her skirt and panties down. My hands slid over her velvety dark skin. Rosa's slightly fuzzy pubis came into view, behind which was a magnificent clitoris, sticking out and somewhat resembling an opened mussel. Behind it began lips as full as those that had recently embraced my cock. I bent down to let Rosa step out of her clothes. She carefully lifted her shapely legs in neat high heels. Raising my head, I touched my lips to Rosa's clitoris. It was unbelievably large, somewhat similar to a man's glans at the end of a cock. I licked it several times, smoothly running the full length of my tongue and touching it with the tip. Rosa lazily spread her legs wider and threw her head back onto Mila's shoulder.

— Fedya, well, try the new one. Which hole will you start with?

— Don't ruin it so vulgarly.

— You can't be ruined; you'll fuck her like a dog a bitch anyway.

— Milka, be quiet.

It's worth noting that Mila had to go through a lot in her not-yet-30 years. Born in a small town. From her school photos, a smiling girl with big blue eyes looked at me. She was an angel in the flesh, loved by the whole town. But she didn't want to stay there. After 9th grade, she went to the city to study to be a seamstress. Had to live in a dorm, and there the first tears were shed when drunk guys from the neighboring block climbed into the room at night and took Milka's virginity. The guys were jailed, but the case gained such wide publicity that Milka couldn't walk through the town in peace. Either the mother of one of the guys spat on her back and cursed after her, or friends of those guys shouted "whore" at her and threw beer bottles at her.

Living in the city became unbearable, and she didn't want to return to the village. And then she listened to a friend's advice, who called her to work as a housekeeper in Turkey.

Milka went to Istanbul by steamship. At the pier, she was met by the owner of the house, as he called himself. He took her passport "to look at" and then gave it to the police only three years later, when Milka almost killed one of her clients, took a gun, and with hidden money reached Ankara to the Ukrainian embassy.__P_