Adaugo let out a ragged cry that bounced off her apartment’s bedroom walls.
“OH GOD… YES! YES! DON’T STOP!”
Her hips bucked furiously as she drove the thick dildo deep into her soaking pussy. With every thrust, her thumb found her swollen clit, circling it in time with the wicked rotation of the shaft as it dragged against that secret spot inside her. She could feel the blunt head of the dildo kissing the very mouth of her womb, and the sharp, almost painful pleasure made her toes curl, and her breath catch in her throat.
Her left hand worked her nipple with practised cruelty, pinching and rolling the tight bud between her fingers, the sensation shooting straight down to the fire building between her legs. Her eyes, half-lidded with lust, were fixed on the massive flat-screen television at the foot of the bed, the glow illuminating her glistening, spread thighs.
On the screen, a man was ruthlessly taking a light-skinned woman with full, bouncing breasts and waist beads jangling with every impact. He was behind her, his powerful thighs slamming against her round, firm backside, the force of his thrusts making the soft flesh ripple and quake. The woman’s face was a portrait of pure, unadulterated ecstasy, her mouth open in a silent scream.
Adaugo watched the scene with a hunger that gnawed at her very soul. She knew the real thing would be a thousand times better than the dildo she was now punishing herself with, but she was so close. Her breathing was ragged, her skin flushed with heat.
“YES! SHOVE IT ALL THE WAY IN! I CAN FEEL IT IN MY STOMACH! OH GOD… YOU’RE A HUNDRED TIMES BETTER THAN MY HUSBAND!”
Her eyes squeezed shut as the wave finally crashed over her. Her entire body seized, a violent, shuddering release that started deep in her core and radiated outward, making her legs tremble uncontrollably. She held the toy buried to the hilt, pressed hard against her cervix, as her body convulsed around the unyielding silicone. Her fingers tightened on her nipple, the sharp pain intensifying the overwhelming pleasure.
“Oh, heaven… so sweet… oh, that was glorious!”
Her hips continued to move in small, involuntary jerks as she slowly came down from the high. Her body was slick with sweat, and the air smelled of her own arousal.
When she finally opened her eyes, her gaze was drawn back to the screen. The man had pulled out, and the sight made her breath hitch again. His huge, dark shaft was covered in the woman’s creamy juices, glistening wetly in the light. It was a tool of pure destruction, and Adaugo was mesmerised.
“Make her yours,” she whispered to the screen, her voice thick with a depraved longing. “Turn her into your personal whore.”
The man began to stroke himself, his hand moving in a blur over his massive length. Then, with a guttural groan that seemed to shake the very walls of her bedroom, he erupted. Thick, pearly white ropes of his essence shot out, landing across the woman’s ass and the small of her back. Another powerful spurt reached between her shoulder blades.
Then, as if marking his territory, he angled down, coating the backs of her thighs, the crack of her ass, and the pouting lips of her own wet pussy.
“Ah… look at all of it,” Adaugo breathed, her fingers now lazily trailing through her own wetness. “Just covering her. God, I would give anything to feel that on my own skin. To taste it.”
She was changing. The woman who had once been a shy, conservative girl from Enugu was slowly dissolving, replaced by this creature of raw, insatiable appetite. It hadn’t always been this way. The journey to this moment had been a slow, insidious burn, ignited not by a sudden event, but by a casual conversation.
*
It had begun on a balmy Friday evening, at a chic bar in Victoria Island. She was with her best friend, Grace, for their usual happy hour ritual. Grace, a divorcee with a razor-sharp wit and an unapologetic zest for life, was the complete opposite of Adaugo in many ways.
They had been talking about the usual: work, the rising cost of living in Lagos, their husbands. But after several glasses of alcohol, the conversation had shifted, as it always did, to men and sex.
Adaugo had been married to her husband, Emeka, for seven years. She had been raised in a strict Catholic home, where sex was never discussed, and the idea of a woman’s pleasure was almost a taboo. Her university years at UNN had opened her eyes a little, but her experiences were limited to kissing and a few fumbling encounters that never reached the main event.
She had met Emeka during her second year. He was six years older, doing his MBA, and his calm, stable demeanour had felt like a safe harbour. Her parents had approved of him immediately, but insisted she finish her degree first. So, at twenty-two, with a fresh certificate in hand, she had walked down the aisle, her virginity a gift she had been told was the most precious thing she could offer her husband.
Her wedding night had been… fine. Painful, a little awkward, but over quickly. It was a duty, not the earth-shattering rapture she had read about in the romance novels she hid under her mattress.
And as the years of marriage to Emeka wore on, the pattern was set in stone: a quick kiss, the removal of clothes, five minutes of missionary, and then the sound of his snoring. He never touched her after, never asked if she was satisfied. She had learned early on that her own climax was her responsibility.
She would wait for his breathing to deepen, then slip her hand between her legs, silently chasing the release he never gave her, or she would retreat to the bathroom, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the heat building inside her as she brought herself to a quiet, lonely peak.
Emeka, like her parents, was a creature of tradition. He believed a wife’s role was to support her husband, run the home, and bear children. There was no room for experimentation, no deviation from the “vanilla” routine. To him, sex was a biological function, not an art form.
Grace would tell Adaugo stories of her bedroom conquests, stories from before, during, and after her two marriages that she swore would make a woman “count the stars in broad daylight.” She spoke of physical positions and acts that Adaugo had never imagined, let alone heard whispered about in the discreet conversations of married women.
Adaugo knew of the act of pleasing a man with her mouth, a duty she performed with more resignation than enthusiasm, finding the whole affair rather distasteful. So when Grace spoke of men who would worship a woman’s body with their mouths, of being taken from behind, of fingers exploring unmentionable places, of silk scarves binding wrists to a bedpost, Adaugo was shocked. Yet, with every detail Grace painted, Adaugo found herself leaning in closer. Her curiosity, once dormant, was now a roaring fire. Some of the more vivid descriptions would send a strange, unfamiliar flutter deep in her belly, a little tingle between her legs that she’d try to ignore by crossing her ankles.
During one of their long Friday afternoon gists, with the office nearly empty, Adaugo finally confessed the lack of fire in her own marriage. The spark, she said, seemed to have been doused with a bucket of cold water. Grace, ever pragmatic, listened intently before asking a question that made Adaugo’s eyes widen.
“Chidi, how big is Emeka’s penis?”
Adaugo looked away, her face filled with embarrassment. She mumbled, gesturing with her hand, “When I… hold it, I can only just see the head.”
Grace simply shook her head, a look of profound pity on her face. “Eyah. My dear, maybe what you need is a bigger engine to drive you to satisfaction.”
Adaugo’s brow furrowed with worry. “But wouldn’t it hurt? That thing… a big one… it sounds like punishment.”
Grace let out a soft, knowing laugh. “It might pinch a little at first, like a new pair of shoes. But you will adjust. In fact, the more you are… stretched, the sweeter it gets. A big cock will reach places your Emeka cannot even dream of. It will rub against your button, press that spot inside that makes you tremble, and when it knocks on your very core, it will help you reach a climax that will make you scream and forget your own name.”
Adaugo was horrified by the suggestion of infidelity. “But where will I find a bigger cock? I cannot, I will not, cheat on Emeka with another man. It is not done. What would people say?”
Grace leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you ever considered a toy? A dildo?”
Adaugo gasped, her hand flying to her chest. She shook her head vigorously. Her own experience was limited to her own fingers. She had seen pictures in magazines and on the internet, and a few wilder friends from her university days in Nsukka had shown her theirs, giggling over bottles of stout, but she had never touched one, let alone used one on herself.
That Saturday night, in their modest flat in Surulere, Emeka rolled over in bed. He pinched her nipple absent-mindedly for a few seconds, his touch more functional than passionate. He then rubbed his finger up and down her slit until it was just moist enough for his purpose. Without a word, he swung his leg over her prone body, shoved his manhood into her, pumped in and out for what felt like less than a minute, and released his seed inside her with a shuddering sigh.
“Oh God, that was wonderful!” he exclaimed, his duty fulfilled. He rolled off her and, within moments, his breathing deepened into a loud, rattling snore.
Adaugo lay there, her body a battlefield of unfulfilled need. A burning, aching emptiness pulsed in her core. As Emeka’s snores grew louder, she slowly slid her index finger into her wet pussy, working it in and out, her thumb finding her clitoris. She rubbed in tight circles, chasing a release that felt like a fading echo, until a weak, shivering climax finally washed over her.
It was a poor substitute, like eating dry garri when one craved a feast of pounded yam and egusi. As she finally drifted off to sleep, a single thought echoed in her mind: Maybe I should get one of those toys.
*
The following week, she swallowed her shame and asked Grace for guidance. Where does one buy a dildo? How big should it be? Grace gave her an address in a bustling, less-respectable part of Yaba, near the motor park, and told her to ask for the biggest one they had.
It took Adaugo three days to work up the courage. On Thursday after work, she told Emeka she was going for a church meeting. Her heart pounded like a talking drum as she navigated the busy streets, feeling as conspicuous as a prostitute in a cathedral. The adult store was tucked between a hairdressing salon and a supermarket.
As the only woman in the dimly lit shop, she felt the weight of every male gaze. The men looked her up and down, their intentions clear, their thoughts an open book. A young clerk with a sly smile and roaming eyes asked what she wanted. She stammered, her voice barely a whisper. He pointed to a display case.
Following Grace’s advice, she asked for the largest. The clerk produced a monstrous, ten-inch rubber dildo. He tried to sell her lubricating oils and some questionable-looking porn movies, all while his eyes seemed to undress her.
She paid quickly, avoiding his gaze, stuffed the brown paper bag into her handbag, and fled the shop and the area as fast as her legs could carry her, praying she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew.
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