Working as a journalist overseas is filled with excitement, danger, and — in my experience — very hot sex.

Although I missed out on marrying, having kids, and putting down roots like my childhood friends, I’ve lived life on the edge, willingly entering war zones to get the story, and sometimes putting my life at risk. That intensity is what makes fucking both a necessary form of temporary relaxation and a passionate, intense, and sometimes danger-filled experience.

One of my first real stories was about human trafficking in Southeast Asia. I went there on my own as a freelancer looking to find a story to sell, and I was scared as hell, though I made sure not to show it. When I got to my hotel, I immediately got in touch with my fixer, a local guide who would give me advice and act as a translator.

Mali looked almost boyish at our first meeting, and I didn’t think of her as anything but a colleague. On my first night at the hotel, however, she came to my room to discuss putting me in touch with some rescued victims. She had nixed my plan of posing as a potential customer, telling me that it was too dangerous and that it was her job to keep me safe. Now she said that it was also her job to make me as comfortable as possible.

Letting down her long black hair and boldly kissing me full on the mouth, she transformed from an all-business fixer to a woman. At that moment, the only problem I needed her to fix was the growing erection in my pants. Mali pushed me into a chair and knelt down in front of me. I undid my zipper and offered her my cock, which she didn’t hesitate to hungrily lick and suck. To my utter excitement, she alternated between doing this and gently sucking my balls. I came with a force I hadn’t felt in months, filling her perfect mouth with an ample serving of come, which she swallowed with pleasure.

Being British and thus exceedingly polite, I knew I had to reciprocate. I threw Mali on the bed and pulled off her clothes to devour her soft, wet pussy, making her sigh with pleasure. Her nipples were totally erect and her hands gripped the bedsheets. “Richard, you’re making me come,” she moaned, which got me hard again. Mali’s body shook with orgasm as waves of pleasure overtook her, and she ground her pussy against my face until finally she was through.

Mali kept me comfortable and satisfied for my entire trip, and the reporting from that freelance job gave me my big break: traveling on assignment to the Middle East for a prestigious news outlet. My photographer, Belinda, and I had our own security detail, but we still found ourselves in some very dicey situations. When we attempted to cover the ongoing protests, we were shot at and ended up running for our lives. Belinda, an attractive blonde who had done her best to make herself inconspicuous during our travels, gripped my hand tightly when we found refuge in an entryway on a side street. Sirens blared and shots fired all around us. I had a hunch that tear gas would be next, so I hurried us along till I could kick open the door of an abandoned souvenir shop and barricade us inside.

Belinda had fear in her eyes, but behind that I could also see desire. “If we’re going to die, let’s go out with a fucking bang,” she said, pushing her body up against mine. I really couldn’t argue with that, so we quickly moved aside our clothing until the necessary parts were exposed. Standing in a doorframe, I grabbed Belinda’s small waist and pushed myself inside her. She was tight and gasped in surprise, but as I pumped in and out of her at a steady pace, she relaxed and encouraged me to fuck her even harder. I shoved my hands up her shirt until I could palm her large tits and pinch the pert nipples I had glimpsed through her blouse on more than one occasion. Letting go like it was my last fuck on Earth, I exploded inside the heat of her pussy. By the time we straightened ourselves out, the gunshots had subsided, and we smiled at each other, happy to be alive and feeling slightly awkward about our sudden intimacy.

There’s nothing quite like receiving death threats from drug lords to make you want to go into hiding, and that’s what I had to do for a short period of time when a story of mine was published. The safe house was in a major European city, and as soon as I arrived I felt like I could breathe for the first time in months. Avital was a fellow journalist taking refuge, and her long, dark curly hair and a body that could rival a supermodel’s caught my eye immediately. We started screwing at every opportunity — in stairwells, in our bedrooms, and once inside a pantry closet, gasping and stifling our grunts while other refugees talked and dined just feet away.

The night before I was getting ready to go back to the U.K., we said our last good-byes on the balcony of her room. With her hands gripping the railing and her perfect bottom pushed out, I had full access to her pussy and arse. That night, she was open and willing and accepted me in both orifices so easily that I knew this was a new level of pleasure for her, too. Alternating between the tight grip of her ass and the easy softness of her cunt, my cock enjoyed the best of both worlds. Her reward was a creamy river that pooled in the crevice between her buttocks and dripped down the back of her thighs.

I was hesitant to leave the next morning, but I knew there was no way I’d make it in this place, even with a woman this beautiful by my side. Besides, there were still many more adventures — and women — to be had.