DAVID, 20s, gets off the rickety danfo bus. He’s a lean young man with a cute, handsome face.
A boy hawking soft drinks attempts to draw his attention.
David ignores him, ambling on, craning his neck in search of something. Or someone.
He arrives at the junction where he spots his quarry.
There she is – MRS CHIKA, late 40s – standing by a stool under a massive umbrella, selling roasted plantain and ground-nuts.
David inspects some Nollywood home video CDs for sale, laid out on a mat, though in truth he’s spying on Mrs Chika.
Mrs Chika is wearing a loose-fitting red dress that reaches her knees. The dress – despite how roomy it is – fails to hide her amazingly curvaceous figure – a set of large, firm breasts, and buttocks that shake so vigorously it’s almost as if she’s dancing every time she walks.
Mrs Chika packs some plantain and ground-nuts into a polythene bag, hands it to a customer, and collects money from him. She thanks him with a smile. A very beautiful smile. Perfect dentition.
David is so mesmerised that for a time he forgets himself and gawks. Thankfully, he’s able to gather his wits soon enough.
He reaches into his suit jacket and removes a fat envelope which has a rubber band tightly wrapped around it. He lifts the corner-flap of the envelope and peeks.
Satisfied, he returns the envelope back into the inner-pocket of his jacket, and then resumes his faux interest in the Nollywood movies on the mat while patiently waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
LATER THAT NIGHT…
Mrs Chika arranges her stool, bowls, benches and other items, at the corner of an abandoned stall.
She folds her large umbrella, ties a rope around it, and dumps it among the rest of her stuff.
She picks her handbag from the dilapidated table, rummages through for her phone.
She pauses… Pulls out a fat brown envelope, confused. She removes the rubber-band, opens it. Her brow furrows. She stares around – no one’s watching.
Gently, she pulls out the envelope’s contents – a bundle of cash. She counts it. 20 grand.
There’s a piece of paper packaged with the money. She unfolds it and reads: “I am a great admirer of yours and I would really love to talk to you. Please call my number…”
Mrs Chika re-reads the note. She stares at the money, suspicious. Is this some kind of a joke? In this recession, who is foolish enough to hand out money like this just because they want to talk?
She stuffs the money back into the envelope, pushes the envelope roughly into her handbag, and saunters off to catch a bus home.
AT MRS CHIKA’S ONE ROOM APARTMENT…
Mrs Chika is wearing a wrapper, which – unlike the red dress – does justice to her body, exposing the true extent of its voluptuousness.
She checks on her children and husband. They’re asleep on the only available bed in the apartment. There’s a small space carved out for her, at the right side. Her husband is at the extreme left.
Mrs Chika quietly exits the house.
Once outside, she opens the note from the envelope. Dials the number in it.
It rings for a long time.
She’s about to give up when David’s voice answers.
‘Hello?’ Mrs Chika says.
‘Who is this?’ David asks.
‘Are you the one who put money in my bag?’ Mrs Chika challenges.
‘Hey! You called!’ David’s voice lightens.
‘Please, why did you put money in my bag?’ Mrs Chika presses.
‘Because I wanted to get your attention,’ David says.
‘And you couldn’t just talk to me?’
‘You’re always busy. Besides, it’s money not poison. It can’t be that bad.’
‘What do you want?’
‘You don’t trust me?’ David chuckles.
Mrs Chika shrugs. She realises he can’t see her, so she voices her reservations:
‘You can’t just put money in someone’s bag for no reason.’
‘You’re right. What I want is for us to become very good friends.’
Mrs Chika isn’t surprised by this. She has the perfect response for men like David:
‘I’m a married woman, so please, don’t go there.’
‘What does being married have to do with being friends?’
Mrs Chika keeps mum. This conversation is starting to get on her nerves.
‘I can give you lot more than 20 grand,’ David offers.
‘So, because you have money to waste, you think you can buy me?’ Mrs Chika fumes.
‘That’s not what I meant.’ David lets out a frustrated sigh. ‘Ok. I’m sorry I offended you. Believe me, that wasn’t my intention. How about this. How about we meet tomorrow and you hear me out. I promise, everything will be clearer afterwards.’
‘I have work tomorrow.’ Mrs Chika declines David’s offer.
‘Then I’ll buy everything you have to sell tomorrow. Just meet me at your stand in the morning.’ David tries again.
‘Good night,’ Mrs Chika says curtly and cuts the call. She stares at her phone in disbelief and mild disgust. The strange things one comes across in this Lagos. Wonders shall never end.
She retreats into her home.
Early that morning, Mrs Chika, in a T-shirt and a figure-hugging cotton skirt, lingers by the abandoned stall.
Her stool and other items haven’t been touched. She’s clearly not here to work.
She checks her wristwatch.
Her phone rings. She picks it.
‘You came. Good.’
She shouldn’t have, but the curiosity…
She stares around.
‘Where are you?’ she inquires.
‘The white Range Rover across the street,’ David says.
Mrs Chika searches. She sees it. Money on wheels.
‘I’m inside,’ David adds.
‘You’re inside?’ Mrs Chika sounds doubtful.
‘I swear, I’m not going to kidnap you.’ David laughs. ‘Hurry up.’
Mrs Chika hangs up. She crosses the road to the other side. Walks up to the Range Rover’s passenger door. She tries the handle – the door opens. She enters.
As soon as Mrs Chika gets a good look at David’s grinning face, she laughs and claps her hands in that dramatic I-don’t-believe-it fashion.
‘You?!’ she says.
‘Good morning, ma.’ David has a big grin on his face.
‘Oh, my god. Deji, right?’ Mrs Chika tries to remember his name.
‘David, ma,’ David corrects her amiably.
‘David! Eh-hen – David.’ Mrs Chika laughs some more. ‘No wonder you were able to put the money in my bag, because I was wondering… You came to buy plantain from me yesterday, nau.’
‘Yes. You didn’t recognise my voice on the phone.’
‘I know o. Sorry. But I gave you my number since.’
‘A month ago, yes. I lost it.’
‘Why didn’t you just ask me for it yesterday?’
‘Well, I wanted to make things interesting.’ David chuckles. He gestures at the glove compartment. ‘Open it.’
Mrs Chika does so. An envelope sits snugly inside. She brings it out. It’s way bigger than the last one. She opens it. Money.
’70 grand. That should cover your sales for today, plus plenty change,’ David says.
Mrs Chika stares at David in surprise. She smiles, a little nervous.
‘This boy… Thank you.’
She stuffs the envelope into her handbag.
David starts the engine.
‘Let’s get something to eat,’ he says.
AT DAVID’S FAMILY MANSION…
Rich architecture. Expensive, polished furniture. A seemingly endless ceiling with a mural that depicts an otherworldly setting.
Mrs Chika stares around, floored.
David stands behind her. He pulls out his smart phone, focuses the camera on her gloriously fat ass. He especially loves the faint outline of her panties.
When he’s done taking pictures surreptitiously, he pockets his phone.
They settle on the sofa.
David places their take-out on a small table in front of them. They eat and chat.
‘So, this is where you live?’ Mrs Chika says.
‘You’re sure you’re not one of those Yahoo-Yahoo boys?’
‘No, I’m not,’ he tells her.
‘But I always see you entering danfo. Now you’re driving a Range Rover.’
‘Well, I have my father to thank for that. This is where he stays when he’s in Lagos. The car belongs to him.’
‘I don’t understand how someone can have access to all this and deliberately choose to suffer.’
‘Living a modest life isn’t suffering,’ David explains, smiling. ‘I only use my father’s money when I need something really, really bad.’
Mrs Chika chuckles. She wipes her oily hands with a serviette.
‘I don’t know why you’re laughing,’ David says.
‘It’s funny nau.’ Mrs Chika dumps the serviette and fixes David with a sombre look. ‘David.’
‘Shey you know I’m old enough to be your mother? That’s number one. Number two, I’m a married woman. Number three, you can’t pay me to sell myself to you – that’s prostitution, and I’m not a prostitute.’
‘You’re going about this the wrong way.’
‘This isn’t about sex.’
‘Na so.’ Mrs Chika doubts that very much.
David pulls the briefcase sitting beside the sofa and places it on his lap. He opens it. It’s filled with money.
Mrs Chika’s eyes widen in shock. Christ, what is she looking at?!
‘I love taking pictures of women who look like you. Your body shape. I pay them well so they can pose for me,’ David explains.
‘You want to take pictures of me?’ Mrs Chika sounds baffled.
‘Don’t worry, your face won’t show. You’ll be wearing a mask.’ David taps the money in the briefcase. ‘This is five hundred grand. All I’m asking for are pictures, nothing more.’
Five hundred what?! Mrs Chika stares at the money, then at David. He’s actually serious!
‘Pictures,’ she says.
‘And nothing more?’
‘How many pictures?’
‘As many as I want.’
Mrs Chika stares at the money again, contemplative.
Slowly, she begins to warm up to David’s request. After all, it’s only pictures. Pictures are harmless… Aren’t they?
Still, she knows what David is asking for isn’t the sort of thing a married woman should consent to.
She also knows that the money David is offering isn’t the sort one just dismisses. Right there in that briefcase is more money than she’s ever owned in her entire life! There’s so much she can do with it, so many important things her family needs.
‘Or should I make it a million?’ David says.
‘Ah-han, David!!’ Mrs Chika almost screams.
‘This is money o, not water. Or are you fetching the money from somewhere?’
‘You have to understand: money isn’t a problem for me. Before the end of today, my family would have made back times a hundred of this,’ he says.
‘Can I ask a question?’ Mrs Chika says.
‘Is this what you normally do with your money? Spend it on women like me just to take pictures?’
‘Among other things.’ David shrugs. ‘Everybody has a fetish – a fantasy they want fulfilled, and some people are more willing to pay for it than others.’
Mrs Chika regards David with both amusement and astonishment. He maintains a smile. She sighs, turns away, and admires her surroundings.
‘Let me think about it,’ she says.
‘No problem, ma.’ David nods.
IN THE GUEST ROOM…
David sets up film lighting equipment and a couple of cameras on tripods. He looks excited.
Mrs Chika enters the room from the bathroom. She’s wearing a red satin underbust corset, matching black bra and panties, black stockings with suspender belts, and black heels.
Her matured hour-glass shape is out of this world.
David stares at her thick, shapely thighs, her massive breasts, her wide hips, and instantly he gets a stiff hard-on. He doesn’t even care if she sees it.
Mrs Chika catches her reflection in the tall mirror, and even she is amazed at how sexy she looks.
‘You look amazing,’ David tells her.
‘Thank you.’ She appreciates the compliment.
‘The mask is over there.’ David points at the bed.
Mrs Chika picks up the intricate mask and wears it.
David presses the button of a small remote control. A smooth R&B song fills the room.
He gets behind one of the cameras.
‘Ok. Relax and pose,’ he instructs.
Mrs Chika can’t quite believe what she’s about to venture into.
Over the course of David capturing her awkward poses, Mrs Chika becomes all too aware of his raging erection.
Often times, he grabs the base of his dick while snapping her, and she gets a glimpse of the thick imprint his cock makes on his shorts. Clearly, he’s enjoying himself, and why not? After all, this is his fantasy fulfillment.
Mrs Chika chastises herself every time her eyes deliberately wander to his crotch. It’s not that she’s particularly attracted to it; it’s just something one can’t really ignore.
David approaches her with a camera.
‘I want you to give me your sexiest pose.’
‘I don’t have any “sexiest” pose,’ Mrs Chika informs him.
‘Of course you do. Just loosen up. Allow your sexuality to take control.’
‘Biko, I don’t know what that means.’
‘Let me show you.’
David moves behind her, puts his crotch on her ass, and dances softly.
‘You want me to dance?’ Mrs Chika asks.
‘I want you to free yourself,’ David says.
He places a hand on her hip and helps her sway to the beat.
Soon after, he moves that hand to her pelvis.
Mrs Chika flinches.
‘David!’ she warns.
‘Just do as I do,’ David commands.
As David grinds on her ass, he rubs her inner thighs with his fingers.
Mrs Chika reluctantly twirls her waist in accordance to the pushes and brushes from his crotch.
His dick, pressing on her buttocks, and his fingers working barely an inch above her pussy, cause her some discomfort.
That discomfort slowly morphs into pleasure, and soon enough she forgets all about her reservations, her husband, and even the important role she plays at her local church.
‘Like that,’ David says. He steps away from her and clicks his camera. ‘Yes, that’s very good.’
Mrs Chika puts more energy into shaking her buttocks.
David glides all around her, clicking his camera in a frenzy. He soon pauses behind her and focuses his camera on her gyrating ass.
‘I need more fire from you,’ he mentions.
Mrs Chika gives him an odd look. She’s dancing her hardest. What more does he want?
‘Wait.’ David unhooks her bra. Her big breasts pop forward. They don’t drop down, flabby, pointing south as expected; instead they stand firm, fat, succulent, nipples aimed forward, like the breasts of a teenager.
Mrs Chika stares at David like he’s suddenly gone mad.
David pulls the bra off her, tosses it aside, holds her breast and fondles her nipple.
‘David!’ She breathes in sharply.
‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I’m an artist.’
David leans, latches his mouth onto her nipple, teases the fat bud with his tongue, grazes it with his teeth.
Mrs Chika gasps.
David grabs her butt-cheek, spanks it.
‘Dance,’ he orders.
She moves her hips energetically, watching helplessly as he devours her breast.
After some time, David moves away and takes pictures of her heaving breasts.
‘You’re so beautiful. Hold your breasts.’
Still dancing, Mrs Chika clutches her tits together. They look like two massive melons.
‘Wonderful! You see what I’m saying? Let your sexuality take control.’
A couple clicks later, David decides to switch things up.
‘Ok, lie on the bed and pose. Set your ynash well. I want it to puff out.’
Mrs Chika gets on the bed, on her side, arching her back and shooting out her ass in the process.
‘Fuck.’ David squeezes his dick.
Mrs Chika notices it’s bigger now. She shudders.
David reaches for her breast. Squeezes. Pulls her nipple roughly.
Mrs Chika groans.
‘It’s not enough.’ David stops taking photos of her. He stares around.
Mrs Chika wonders what he’s looking for. And what does he mean by “not enough”?
David goes to the bottom drawer beside the bed and retrieves a pair of scissors.
Mrs Chika raises her eyebrows. What does he need that for?
He comes to her. Opens her legs.
‘What are you doing?’ Mrs Chika asks.
‘Wait first.’ David slices her panties clean, from under, exposing her pussy.
‘Ah!’ Mrs Chika shifts away from him, shocked.
‘Relax.’ David pulls her back to him by the thighs, spreads her legs even further apart, and brings his mouth down to her pussy! His tongue flicks on her clit.
‘Oh, my god, David! Stop it!’ Mrs Chika grips his shoulder, ready to push him off.
‘Ma, please, just relax. Trust me.’ David drives his middle finger into her pussy. He thrusts gradually.
Mrs Chika stares down at him in disbelief, trying to fathom why she isn’t doing more to stop him. A hot slap to the face, perhaps!
David adds another finger to the mix. His tongue later joins the fray, sucking her swollen clit.
Mrs Chika clamps her jaw, fighting back her moans. She clutches the bed spread.
Eventually, she crumbles, tilting her head back and moaning out. Her fingers dig into David’s shoulders. Her clit sizzles from his probing tongue.
David raises her right leg higher. Shifts it farther away from her left leg. He gives her inner thigh a long, sensual lick, nibbles the tender area, then returns to her pussy.
Mrs Chika writhes. She’s losing her mind!
David spends almost a minute eating her out and finger-fucking her. Her pussy expels juice after juice. She twists her waist, sighing, hissing, crying out…
And then suddenly, he stops. Just like that. No words. No explanation. He simply picks up his camera and snaps Mrs Chika as she struggles to recover from her orgasmic high.
‘Ok. We’re done,’ David says.
Done? But… How? Mrs Chika stares at him, stunned to her bones.
David shuts down the music. He begins to pack up his stuff.
Mrs Chika glares at him, not in the least happy. She’s a human being, susceptible to certain physical stimulation. How can David touch her breast, suck her pussy anyhow, and then leave her high and dry?
She wants to voice her disapproval passionately, but then she remembers her stance on prostitution. The last thing she wants is to look like a hypocrite. Plus, considering all she’s allowed him do to her, this is probably for the best.
Grunting, she gets off the bed.
‘Is something wrong?’ David asks, genuinely concerned.
‘No, nothing,’ Mrs Chika lies.
‘When you change, I’ll take you home.’
‘Ok,’ she says grudgingly.
LATER THAT NIGHT, IN THE GUEST ROOM…
Mrs Chika, under the covers. She’s wearing a short Victoria’s Secret nightie, courtesy of David.
She tosses and turns, unable to sleep. Her whole body is alive, the desire to be fucked surging through her like electricity in a live wire.
Her mind keeps going back to the afternoon, to David sucking her breasts, lapping her pussy and subsequently throwing her world out of kilter.
Her hand descends to the heat between her thighs. She presses a finger on her aroused clit. Her pussy is so wet. So in need of a big, strong dick.
She can’t remember ever being this horny, not in a very long time. These days, she barely has sex with her husband. Maybe once in two months. Or five months.
Her almost, nonexistent sex life has never been a problem… until today.
Mrs Chika stares at the door, considering her next move.
She needs release – the type that masturbation can’t give her – and her salvation is just next door.
No, she can’t. She should close her eyes and force herself to sleep…
Yes, she can. She should go to David and … well, throw herself at him…
Frustrated, Mrs Chika gets up, snatches her phone from her purse and marches out of the room.
IN DAVID’S BEDROOM…
David, in bed, shirtless. A laptop sits on his lap. He’s editing some of Mrs Chika’s pictures.
He gets to a juicy one – Mrs Chika, lips parted, eyes down, holding her big breasts and pinching her nipples – and his dick hardens.
A knock on the door.
David looks up.
The door opens. Mrs Chika pokes her head in. Smiles.
David returns her smile. Waves her in.
She shuts the door behind her.
David methodically takes in the swell of her breasts, the flare of hips, and he suppresses a hungry groan. He remembers tasting the sweet nectar of her matured, married pussy and he grows even harder.
He sits up, using the laptop to strategically hide his erection. She doesn’t need to see him in his state of arousal. The last thing he wants is her thinking he’s going to jump her like a rabid horny teenager. She’s still his guest and she must be respected as such.
Mrs Chika settles down next to him.
‘You can’t sleep?’ David inquires, concerned.
‘In fact, sef, I don’t know.’
‘Hope it’s not the mosquitoes. I told Bode to spray the room this evening.’
‘No, it’s not the mosquitoes.’
‘Anyway, I’m sorry I couldn’t take you home today. Sleeping in a stranger’s house must be a bit uncomfortable.’
‘It’s no problem. It was the bank’s fault.’
‘Hope your husband understands.’
‘Don’t mind him. He’s probably watching ball or sleeping.’
‘Well, at least you called him about the whole picture thing, so he’s aware you’re still here.’
Mrs Chika carries a shy, guilty look.
‘Well… Not really.’
‘You didn’t call him?’ David is a tad surprised.
‘Abeg, small-mindedness would have made him say no, and it’s a lot of money. I’m sure he won’t mind when he starts enjoying it.’
She sees the picture of herself holding her breasts.
‘Hmmmm. Na wa o.’
‘Yeah. It’s beautiful,’ he comments.
‘Thank god, my face isn’t showing.’
Mrs Chika shifts to get a better look, and in doing so, effectively presses her breast on David’s arm – an act designed to seem innocent. Her nipple snaps to attention. Her inner thighs dampen.
‘Show me another one,’ she says.
David presses the arrow keys, swapping pictures on the screen.
Every once in a while, Mrs Chika giggles and makes comments, using any and every opportunity to push out her chest and rub her nipple against David’s arm.
Finally, David plays a video of him fingering Mrs Chika and munching her pussy.
They watch in silence.
David glances at Mrs Chika’s breasts. He discerns her fat nipples pushing hard against the fabric of her nightie. Damn, she’s so aroused.
Mrs Chika curbs the urge to touch herself, digging her fingers into the mattress. What kind of torture is this?
In the video, David steps away from Mrs Chika and takes pictures of her while she trembles on the bed, climaxing.
‘It’s like that was your first time,’ David says.
‘Hmmm?’ Mrs Chika wrenches her eyes from the video.
‘Your husband doesn’t suck you?’
She shakes her head. They hold each other’s heated gazes.
‘What about other men?’ David asks.
‘I’m a married woman. There’s no other man.’
‘So, I’m the first person to suck you.’
She nods then returns gaze to the laptop.
The video ultimately ends, at which point Mrs Chika isn’t sure about her next line of action. She’s horny as hell, but despite all her attempts to lure him, David isn’t taking the hint.
She doesn’t know how to be direct when it comes to this kind of thing. Usually, her husband initiates sex – it’s been that way for 29-plus years. No matter how much she wants it, she waits until he makes the first move. If he’s taking too long, well, she has her subtle ways of remedying the situation, nudging him into action. But this is David, not her husband. How does she go about demanding sex from a boy young enough to be her son without looking like a cheap prostitute? A boy who – if she’s being honest – she’s just getting to know for the first time?
‘You know what I think?’ David says.
‘We should make another video.’
Mrs Chika’s heart picks up pace.
‘Another video?’ she says.
‘Yeah. Right now.’
‘You want me to start dancing again?’
David drops the laptop on the side-table.
Mrs Chika catches sight of his impressive bulge. My mouth waters.
David retrieves the familiar intricately designed mask from the drawer and offers it to Mrs Chika.
‘This time, you have to strip naked,’ he says.
Mrs Chika hides her excitement.
‘Ah, David… I don’t know.’
‘Trust me, it’ll be fun.’
Mrs Chika plays her reluctance well. She needs to convince him that she’s not that type of woman.
Eventually, she collects the mask, wears it, gets up and peels off her nightie while David sets up a couple of cameras at different angles in the room.
Once he’s done, he takes off his boxers.
Mrs Chika stares at his dick: long, thick, with a slight upward curve. Just the type she needs on such a chilly night. It’s a good thing he can’t see the expression on her face.
‘You’re stripping too?!’ She feigns surprise at his nakedness.
‘Yeah, sure. We’ll dance together.’
David feasts on Mrs Chika’s fat, erect nipples – those lovely big breasts. His eyes cloud with intense desire, and without meaning to, he rubs his dick.
‘I hope you’re not planning something.’ On the contrary, she hopes he is. She quite enjoys the way his fist runs up and down his smooth, turgid cock-shaft.
‘Ah, Ma, don’t you trust me again?’
David presses a key on the keyboard of his laptop and a bouncy Hip-Hop song permeates the air.
Mrs Chika gets right down business, waving her hips, shaking her buttocks. Her big standing breasts bounce along.
David watches her keenly.
She turns around, backing him. He admires her quaking thick ass and groans.
Soon, he approaches her and presses his crotch on her ass. His dick sinks between her magnificent butt-cheeks.
Her excitement triples. She grinds on him, slow, left-right, up-down. His massive erection feels like iron. She wonders what will become of her pussy if he fucks her with his big dick? Will it ever be the same? Will she still enjoy sex with her husband, who is nowhere near David’s size?
David grabs one of her breasts. Moulds it. Pinches her nipple.
She moans, her knees buckling:
‘David nau. Stop it. It’s only dance we’re supposed to be doing.’
‘Ma, wait first.’ He covers her other breast, squeezing to his heart’s desire. He brings both breasts together – two succulent melons, plays with them, pulls on their nipples.
‘Oooh, David…’ Mrs Chika complains.
She doesn’t stop him though. Instead, she spreads her legs a bit, arches her back, and puts more power into her grinding.
David lets go of her breasts. He dances low until he’s squatting, and then he runs his tongue along the soft flesh of her buttocks, palms them. He nibbles hungrily.
Mrs Chika gasps.
David rises, wedges his dick on her ass.
‘David, you’re a bad boy.’
‘Thank you, ma.’
He places his hand on her back, encouraging her to lean her upper body forward.
‘Bend,’ he orders.
She repeats the process. Lower. Her buttocks bounce on his crotch in line with the beat of the song.
David methodically manoeuvres his dick, putting its large head against the soaked lips of her pussy.
Mrs Chika’s heart thuds so fast, breathing becomes an arduous task. All it takes is one slight shake of her ass and the bulbous head of his dick penetrates her pussy. She gasps, grinds some more, and more of him slides in.
Oh, he’s big! Huge! Even with all her wetness, his entry isn’t smooth.
David clutches her waist and pushes the rest of him in.
Mrs Chika cries out. She grabs hold of the bedpost with both hands.
David pulls back slowly and rams forward sharply.
‘David, you’re fucking me!’
David maintains steady, firm thrusts. He squeezes her wobbling buttocks.
Tears run down her cheeks.
‘David! David, my god, you’re fucking me!’
‘I know, ma. Are you enjoying it?’
‘Oooh, David! Stop nau…’
‘Is it not sweet?’
‘Ok, ma, I’m stopping.’
Lies. In fact, his pace increases, and on top of that, each time he thrusts forward, she shoves her ass against his crotch.
‘David, you’re not stopping!’
David swipes her buttocks. She yelps.
‘I’m stopping ma!’ He grabs her fleshy hips. Fucks her harder.
‘Oh, god, I’ve stopped!!’
David’s turgid dick throbs as he explodes inside Mrs Chika, unleashing his warm load. Her legs judder. She squirts hard.
‘Oh, my gooood!’ Thankfully, she’s close enough to the bed, so she collapses on it instead of the floor.
David is glued to her. He’s still thrusting, emptying everything he has to offer.
They pant. David slowly pulls out his semi-erect dick. Mrs Chika’s pussy convulses, squirts a little. She moans.
David falls on the bed, next to her.
Mrs Chika keeps her face away from him so he doesn’t see the gratified smile on her face. She pulls off the mask. Tosses it aside.
‘I don’t think I can walk again.’
‘Don’t worry, ma, you’ll soon be able to walk.’
‘I told you to stop fucking me.’
‘You should have stopped.’
‘It’s my dick. Sometimes, it misbehaves. It won’t happen again.’
Mrs Chika hopes it will. She almost chuckles at his ridiculous excuse.
They spend the next couple of minutes lying in silence.
Mrs Chika gradually sinks into the warm embrace of sleep, her eyelids drooping.
She feels something on her ass – David’s hand – and turns to face him, all thoughts of sleeping gone. He’s staring at her expectantly, rubbing his rejuvenated monster dick.
‘Again?’ She’s not faking her surprise. One round – that’s all she gets from her husband, and then he’s snoring away. She never complains. One round is good enough for her.
‘It’s Ok. This time, you don’t have to dance.’
He nudges her to lie on her back.
‘David, this one that you want to fuck me anyhow this night…’
David grabs her melon breast, squeezes, and covers its thick nipple with his mouth.
Mrs Chika bites her lower lip, caresses his head.
David squeezes her other breast. Her eyes flutter shut.
‘You’re not answering?’
His mouth switches to her other nipple.
‘You didn’t ask me any question,’ he says. He kneads her breasts harder, devouring nipple after nipple.
He puts his hand between her thighs, which she widens, and thrusts two fingers into her pussy.
‘David… Oh god…’
She rocks her ass. He fingers faster.
‘Or, don’t you want my dick?’ he asks.
Mrs Chika wraps her hand around David’s fat rock-hard dick, caressing it.
‘It’s very big,’ she says.
‘Yes nau. Specially designed for women with big breasts and big ynash.’
Mrs Chika manages a small chuckle.
David crawls on top her. She opens her legs. His dick homes in on her drenched pussy like a vengeful North-Korean missile and slides in.
She groans, grabs his ass.
He doesn’t waste any time. His fists keep his upper body elevated. His thrusts are swift and firm.
She moans out garbled words. Her eyes plead with him to fuck her harder.
He anchors the crook of her left knee, leans lower, thrusts slower. It’s sweeter this way. She moans louder.
Her world spins. She claws his back with her fingers. Thankfully, her nails are nonexistent.
He packs her hefty jiggling breast in his hand, kneads it, sucks her nipple. She moans something in Igbo, her roaming hands on his back urging him on.
A little while later, he swaps breasts. He adjusts his hips and switches gear, his dick digging deeper, rubbing on that G-spot. Now, he’s got her speaking in tongues.
He rises to his knees, elevates her legs – holding them apart by their ankles, and resumes thrusting hard. He watches her beating breasts. She clutches his waist.
They’re panting, moaning – crotches slapping, grinding – and in the middle of it all, Mrs Chika’s phone rings.
David recognises the ring-tone.
‘Ma! Your husband is calling you!’ He lets go of her ankle and grabs one of her whacking breasts.
‘Let him call!’ Mrs Chika pants.
‘Ok, ma! Yes, ma!’
‘I shouldn’t stop this time?’
‘Don’t stop fucking me!’
Not long, David pulls out of her. He forces her to back him. She bends low – breasts pushing against the bed – and tilts her ass in the air.
David spanks her buttocks. They jiggle in the most amazing way!
‘Oh, god, so beautiful…’
He spanks them again.
‘David, nau…’ Mrs Chika moans.
David holds her waist and shoves his dick into her pussy. Immediately, he’s clobbering her buttocks with his pelvis, slapping her ass on occasion.
Mrs Chika flicks her waist to his benefit. She clutches the bedspread for dear life. Her eyes well up. David’s dick is hitting the right spot, and each time she tries to articulate how wonderful it makes her feel, all that comes out of her mouth is gibberish – an odd mix of Igbo, English and some Alien language.
Her phone rings again – her husband. David imagines the man sitting in the room, watching his wife getting fucked real good, and it turns him on even more.
Soon, David can’t take any more of Mrs Chika’s big, sexy buttocks bouncing on his dick. He raises his head, sinks his fingers into her ass and with a loud cry succumbs to his primal need to release. His dick fires his milky essence in a mad hissing rush.
‘Take it, ma! Take it!!’
Mrs Chika wails, trembling.
David shakes like a leaf in a terrifying winter storm. Best orgasm ever.
Mrs Chika drops on the bed, panting.
David falls beside her. He caresses her ass.
She stares at him, glowing. Touches his flabby, hefty dick.
‘This your dick…’
‘Ten over ten.’
‘That’s not fair. It should be hundred over ten.’
‘Ok. Hundred over ten.’ Mrs Chika chuckles.
Mrs Chika drags her perspiring body into his waiting arms.
‘The way you’re behaving, I know you’re going to fuck me again.’
‘In the morning, yes. And why not?’
‘Won’t you let me go back home to my husband and children?’
‘Of course, I will. But first you must chop this plantain before you leave. Then we’ll fix another date for you to come over and spend the night.’
David squeezes her buttocks possessively.
‘This ass doesn’t belong to your husband anymore. It’s now officially mine.’
Mrs Chika doesn’t object. That’s what happens when you get fucked by a good dick. Suddenly, everything its owner spouts becomes law. You exist to indulge his every whim. You’re at his mercy.
She closes her eyes to sleep. She can’t wait for the morning to come.