Yachting with the Oligarch
- 3 years ago
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Yachting With The Oligarch - London Penthouse free porn video
Asha had gotten settled at Artur’s 220-square meter, or 2,369 square-foot, two-floor penthouse apartment in the West Brompton SW10 section of London. It had three bedrooms and 3½ bathrooms.
The decor was basic at best. Asha had mentioned as much to her beau, the English Premier League footballer from Angola. She meant it only as a general observation.
The 5’11”; 176-pound midfielder took it to heart. The next day, an interior designer arrived.
“Babe this is Kitty. Kitty meet Asha,” Artur said with his Angolan accent. “Get whatever she wants. I gotta get to the gym. Love you, babe!” He kissed his brown-skinned paramour who had a cool jewel undertone.
“Love you too,” Asha said.
Asha, who had worked extensively in tranny porn, looked at the raven-haired, pale bitch wearing red-rimmed glasses. “So, what’s up?”
“I’m here to make sure the furnishings meet your desire. What theme do you have in mind?”
“Uhhhh. I don’t know,” shrugged Asha.
“Do you use Pinterest or Houzz?”
“I have Pinterest,” the client confirmed.
“Let’s take a look. May I,” Kitty pointed towards the kitchen bar.
“Sure.”
The interior decorator took a seat and pulled up the app on her 12.9-inch iPad Pro. She propped it up on the on the counter with the flexible cover. “What kind of colors do you like? Are you interested in earth tone or maybe bright colors?”
Asha closed her eyes for a moment. “I know what I don’t want.”
“What’s off limits,” inquired Kitty.
“Burgundy. My mama’s house was all burgundy and it was so country. I hated it!”
“Got it. No burgundy.”
They laughed.
“My mum had terrible style too. So I understand,” the vendor expressed empathy to win her client over. “This space is awesome. Just looking at it, I would paint the walls a light gray and do bright accent walls in every room. What do you think of that?”
“Perhaps. I like African culture,” Asha opened up.
“So something rich. Various browns et cetera, right?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s what I want.”
“One second.”
Kitty tapped the screen and typed a phrase. She showed Asha different design ideas. After two hours of laughing, conversing, sipping malbec, & touring the apartment, she had a great idea of how to please this customer. “Alright, Asha! It was great meeting you. I’ll email you a mock-up by Wednesday.”
“Sounds good,” Asha remarked.
The 5’8”, curvy brown-skinned vixen walked upstairs the master suite that inhabited the entire floor. She started a bath in the spa tub adding shea-infused bath minerals to the water. It was 2:09 p.m. in London so it was 6:09 in Cali. Asha knew Lola was an early riser. So, she got in the warm water and placed an audio call using the WiFi.
“Hey, bish,” beamed Lola.
“Bish,” Asha drew out the expression.
“What’s up? How’s London. How is that African dick?”
“Gurl, it’s great! Let me tell you I said his apartment lacked character. And this motherfucker had an interior decorator show up today.”
“Ah shit, gurl! You hit the jackpot!”
“He’s so sweet! I really like him.”
“He seemed like a good guy on the yacht.”
“How are things with you,” the transsexual from Mississippi inquired.
“It’s all good, girl. I’ve gotta go in to the studio today. There’s an amateur guy I’ve been recruiting.”
“Oh wow! Good prospect?”
“Totally. I think it could be a good series.”
“What kinda series if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind at all,” the hal-Thai, half-Black ladyboy stated. “Black high-powered exec buying ghetto tranny streetwalkers.”
“That’s an instant hit,” Asha confirmed. “You know they be liking our phat asses.”
“Yeah,” laughed Lola. “You can take the man out of the projects, but you can’t take the projects out of the man.”
“You right, gurl!”
“I always am,” giggled Lola.
“How’s Karel?”
“He’s fine. He was here over the weekend.”
“You pulled the ultimate coup with that billionaire.”
“I was fortunate,” agreed Lola. “But he is rather amazing.”
“I feel you, sis!”
“I gotta get ready, sweetie! Call me later. Okay,” Lola requested.
“Sure will,” Asha replied.
Asha leaned back as the bubbles covered her 40DD titties. She stroked her soft clitty stick as she thought about the time she’d watched the bulky, brusque Macedonian fuck her mixed breed friend.
Karel’s blocky hairy body was plowing into Lola’s light brown suppleness.
“Fuck me,” Lola had yelled.
“Hell yeah, bitch! You’re mine,” the oligarch had claimed.
“Yes I am!”
“I love this tranny pussy!”
“It’s all yours!”
“Damn right! You’re my tranny bitch!”
Asha had shouted, “Fuck her sissy ass tranny pussy, white boy!”
“I am a man,” Karel retorted as he thrust with each syllable.
“Yes you are, baby,” whined Lola.
Asha stopped just short of cumming. She stepped out of the tub and drained it. She did not dry off with a towel. Instead she massaged her curvaceous body with baby oll locking in the moisture. She slipped into a light pink sateen robe and went downstairs to the kitchen. She poured another glass of the Argentinian wine. Then, she pulled up a food delivery app on her phone.
She ordered a 10-ounce broiled hanger steak with veggies and coleslaw for Artur. For herself, she chose a chef salad and a serving of potato knish that included ground beef & onions resulting in a savory combination.
The food arrived. Asha put into the oven which she set to warming mode.
A few minutes later, Artur entered the flat. “All you have to do is fire her,” he spoke into his phone. There was a pause. Asha saw him nodding. Then he spoke up again. “We don’t owe her anything. If she’s not doing the job, fire her. Pay for her ticket back to Angola!” Another pause as the soccer player listened. “Silvia! I’m not going to keep talking about this. Fire her or deal with it.”
Asha looked on. She was extremely interested, but tried to play it off.
“Do I have to come out there and do it?” Artue put the phone on speaker as he pecked his seductive beauty.
“It would be nice,” nagged the woman. “You know to see your k**s too.”
“So I’m a bad father now,” he snapped.
“No! I’m not saying that, Artur. But they miss you.”
“I’m there almost every weekend when I’m not playing. What more do you want?”
“Forget it. I’ll fire her.”
“Good.”
“Bye,” the former Miss Angola said.
“Rough talk,” Asha nestled up to her athlete of a man.
“Yeah! Stupid shit!”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“It’s not your fault. She has a big house on an estate in the country. She is so fucking annoying at times.”
“I know, sweetie. You hungry? I got you a steak.”
“Great!”
As the evening progressed Asha and Artur wound down.
Artur was relaxing as he streamed video on Netflix.
Asha returned downstairs. “Daddy!”
“Oh my fucking god,” Artur’s eyes bugged. “You look hot!”
“You like,” she jiggled her big titties.
“Hell yes!”
Artur paused the program and stood up. “Let’s go upstairs, sexy!”
Asha knew that the red heart-shaped pasties and lavender Andrew Christian jockstrap would send Artur into overdrive.
And it did.
Artur spanked the cheeks in the top floor master suite. “Look at that ass!”
“You like it!”
“I love it, baby.” the Angolan man declared.
“It’s your,” she shook her tail.
“Yes it is,” he salivated.
Arrur spanked the corpulent booty.
Asha cooed and whined. She sucked his sizable dick while he played with her gigantic fake tits.
Artur said, “Get on your back!” He mounted her.
“Oh my god,” she wailed. “It’s so big!”
The footballer proceeded ignoring her pleas. “Give me that tranny pussy! Let Daddy fuck it.”
“Yes, sir,” whined Asha.
Artur pushed his generous 9¼-inch cock into her.
Asha dug her long, pointy, lime colored nails into his strong, manly back. “Fuck me!”
“Yes, baby! Take this big African dick!”
“Yes, sir! This is your ghetto ass!”
“Ah shit! I love it!”
“You love fucking my tranny ass?”
“God yes,” he wiped sweat from his brow.
Artur fondled her silicone boobs as he pounded. “You love me?”
“Yes, sir! I love you!”
“Oh fuck, baby!”
“Cum for me. Cum, Daddy,” she encouraged him.
“Ah yeah! I’m gonna get you pregnant!”
“Yes, baby. Do it!”
“You gonna be my baby mama.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Arrrrghhhhh,” Artur yelled as his dick busted a fat load.
“Oh my god,” cooed Asha. “I love you!”
“Love you back,” the athlete huffed.
The decor was basic at best. Asha had mentioned as much to her beau, the English Premier League footballer from Angola. She meant it only as a general observation.
The 5’11”; 176-pound midfielder took it to heart. The next day, an interior designer arrived.
“Babe this is Kitty. Kitty meet Asha,” Artur said with his Angolan accent. “Get whatever she wants. I gotta get to the gym. Love you, babe!” He kissed his brown-skinned paramour who had a cool jewel undertone.
“Love you too,” Asha said.
Asha, who had worked extensively in tranny porn, looked at the raven-haired, pale bitch wearing red-rimmed glasses. “So, what’s up?”
“I’m here to make sure the furnishings meet your desire. What theme do you have in mind?”
“Uhhhh. I don’t know,” shrugged Asha.
“Do you use Pinterest or Houzz?”
“I have Pinterest,” the client confirmed.
“Let’s take a look. May I,” Kitty pointed towards the kitchen bar.
“Sure.”
The interior decorator took a seat and pulled up the app on her 12.9-inch iPad Pro. She propped it up on the on the counter with the flexible cover. “What kind of colors do you like? Are you interested in earth tone or maybe bright colors?”
Asha closed her eyes for a moment. “I know what I don’t want.”
“What’s off limits,” inquired Kitty.
“Burgundy. My mama’s house was all burgundy and it was so country. I hated it!”
“Got it. No burgundy.”
They laughed.
“My mum had terrible style too. So I understand,” the vendor expressed empathy to win her client over. “This space is awesome. Just looking at it, I would paint the walls a light gray and do bright accent walls in every room. What do you think of that?”
“Perhaps. I like African culture,” Asha opened up.
“So something rich. Various browns et cetera, right?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s what I want.”
“One second.”
Kitty tapped the screen and typed a phrase. She showed Asha different design ideas. After two hours of laughing, conversing, sipping malbec, & touring the apartment, she had a great idea of how to please this customer. “Alright, Asha! It was great meeting you. I’ll email you a mock-up by Wednesday.”
“Sounds good,” Asha remarked.
The 5’8”, curvy brown-skinned vixen walked upstairs the master suite that inhabited the entire floor. She started a bath in the spa tub adding shea-infused bath minerals to the water. It was 2:09 p.m. in London so it was 6:09 in Cali. Asha knew Lola was an early riser. So, she got in the warm water and placed an audio call using the WiFi.
“Hey, bish,” beamed Lola.
“Bish,” Asha drew out the expression.
“What’s up? How’s London. How is that African dick?”
“Gurl, it’s great! Let me tell you I said his apartment lacked character. And this motherfucker had an interior decorator show up today.”
“Ah shit, gurl! You hit the jackpot!”
“He’s so sweet! I really like him.”
“He seemed like a good guy on the yacht.”
“How are things with you,” the transsexual from Mississippi inquired.
“It’s all good, girl. I’ve gotta go in to the studio today. There’s an amateur guy I’ve been recruiting.”
“Oh wow! Good prospect?”
“Totally. I think it could be a good series.”
“What kinda series if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind at all,” the hal-Thai, half-Black ladyboy stated. “Black high-powered exec buying ghetto tranny streetwalkers.”
“That’s an instant hit,” Asha confirmed. “You know they be liking our phat asses.”
“Yeah,” laughed Lola. “You can take the man out of the projects, but you can’t take the projects out of the man.”
“You right, gurl!”
“I always am,” giggled Lola.
“How’s Karel?”
“He’s fine. He was here over the weekend.”
“You pulled the ultimate coup with that billionaire.”
“I was fortunate,” agreed Lola. “But he is rather amazing.”
“I feel you, sis!”
“I gotta get ready, sweetie! Call me later. Okay,” Lola requested.
“Sure will,” Asha replied.
Asha leaned back as the bubbles covered her 40DD titties. She stroked her soft clitty stick as she thought about the time she’d watched the bulky, brusque Macedonian fuck her mixed breed friend.
Karel’s blocky hairy body was plowing into Lola’s light brown suppleness.
“Fuck me,” Lola had yelled.
“Hell yeah, bitch! You’re mine,” the oligarch had claimed.
“Yes I am!”
“I love this tranny pussy!”
“It’s all yours!”
“Damn right! You’re my tranny bitch!”
Asha had shouted, “Fuck her sissy ass tranny pussy, white boy!”
“I am a man,” Karel retorted as he thrust with each syllable.
“Yes you are, baby,” whined Lola.
Asha stopped just short of cumming. She stepped out of the tub and drained it. She did not dry off with a towel. Instead she massaged her curvaceous body with baby oll locking in the moisture. She slipped into a light pink sateen robe and went downstairs to the kitchen. She poured another glass of the Argentinian wine. Then, she pulled up a food delivery app on her phone.
She ordered a 10-ounce broiled hanger steak with veggies and coleslaw for Artur. For herself, she chose a chef salad and a serving of potato knish that included ground beef & onions resulting in a savory combination.
The food arrived. Asha put into the oven which she set to warming mode.
A few minutes later, Artur entered the flat. “All you have to do is fire her,” he spoke into his phone. There was a pause. Asha saw him nodding. Then he spoke up again. “We don’t owe her anything. If she’s not doing the job, fire her. Pay for her ticket back to Angola!” Another pause as the soccer player listened. “Silvia! I’m not going to keep talking about this. Fire her or deal with it.”
Asha looked on. She was extremely interested, but tried to play it off.
“Do I have to come out there and do it?” Artue put the phone on speaker as he pecked his seductive beauty.
“It would be nice,” nagged the woman. “You know to see your k**s too.”
“So I’m a bad father now,” he snapped.
“No! I’m not saying that, Artur. But they miss you.”
“I’m there almost every weekend when I’m not playing. What more do you want?”
“Forget it. I’ll fire her.”
“Good.”
“Bye,” the former Miss Angola said.
“Rough talk,” Asha nestled up to her athlete of a man.
“Yeah! Stupid shit!”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“It’s not your fault. She has a big house on an estate in the country. She is so fucking annoying at times.”
“I know, sweetie. You hungry? I got you a steak.”
“Great!”
As the evening progressed Asha and Artur wound down.
Artur was relaxing as he streamed video on Netflix.
Asha returned downstairs. “Daddy!”
“Oh my fucking god,” Artur’s eyes bugged. “You look hot!”
“You like,” she jiggled her big titties.
“Hell yes!”
Artur paused the program and stood up. “Let’s go upstairs, sexy!”
Asha knew that the red heart-shaped pasties and lavender Andrew Christian jockstrap would send Artur into overdrive.
And it did.
Artur spanked the cheeks in the top floor master suite. “Look at that ass!”
“You like it!”
“I love it, baby.” the Angolan man declared.
“It’s your,” she shook her tail.
“Yes it is,” he salivated.
Arrur spanked the corpulent booty.
Asha cooed and whined. She sucked his sizable dick while he played with her gigantic fake tits.
Artur said, “Get on your back!” He mounted her.
“Oh my god,” she wailed. “It’s so big!”
The footballer proceeded ignoring her pleas. “Give me that tranny pussy! Let Daddy fuck it.”
“Yes, sir,” whined Asha.
Artur pushed his generous 9¼-inch cock into her.
Asha dug her long, pointy, lime colored nails into his strong, manly back. “Fuck me!”
“Yes, baby! Take this big African dick!”
“Yes, sir! This is your ghetto ass!”
“Ah shit! I love it!”
“You love fucking my tranny ass?”
“God yes,” he wiped sweat from his brow.
Artur fondled her silicone boobs as he pounded. “You love me?”
“Yes, sir! I love you!”
“Oh fuck, baby!”
“Cum for me. Cum, Daddy,” she encouraged him.
“Ah yeah! I’m gonna get you pregnant!”
“Yes, baby. Do it!”
“You gonna be my baby mama.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Arrrrghhhhh,” Artur yelled as his dick busted a fat load.
“Oh my god,” cooed Asha. “I love you!”
“Love you back,” the athlete huffed.
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