Njideka gave herself one final glance in the mirror, tilting her head with satisfaction. “Ah-ah, see fine woman!” she murmured, flashing a confident smile at her reflection. At 45, she was serving looks that could still make heads turn—no be small thing! She pursed her full, glossy lips, checking her lipstick—”Tulip Passion”—the perfect pop of colour for her rich, cocoa skin.
Fifteen years of marriage, two beautiful children, and life had blessed her with curves that refused to quit. True, her body wasn’t as taut as it was in her university days (those ones that knew, knew!), but time had been kind. The extra weight? Please! They had settled in all the right places—plumping her already generous bosom, rounding out her butt, and softening her thighs just enough to make her even more “jiggy-worthy.”
Her clothes hugged her a little tighter now, especially her “jeans and fitted blouses,” but Njideka wasn’t complaining. If anything, the added curves made her feel more womanly and delicious.
The only problem? Her husband acted like he was blind because how else could he not notice this “package” standing right in front of him?
These days, the man was practically married to his laptop—”If that machine could cook his meal, he’d forget my name completely!” Their bedroom life? Non-existent. Once upon a time, they used to tango like newlyweds, but now? It was a miracle if she got his attention once in a blue moon.
And it wasn’t like she wasn’t trying! Ah! The way her body had been craving fire these past few years, she could have set the bedsheets ablaze with just her fantasies. But each time she brushed against him with “intentions,” or let her wrapper slip just a little too low, he’d chuckle like she was telling jokes. Jokes?!
She’d read all about it—how women hit their sexual peak in their forties, how the hunger could turn a saint into a temptress. And oh, she believed it. Every night she lay there, her skin humming with need, her mind replaying scenes that would make a pastor drop his Bible. A strong, throbbing man on top of her? “God when?!” A hot, eager mouth between her thighs? “Chei, my body is ready!”
But instead? Silence. Loneliness. Frustration thick enough to slice with a knife.
Njideka had discovered her escape like so many others in these restless times—online porn and the sweet, private release that came after. It didn’t take long for her to find her weakness, the kind of videos that made her mouth water and her thighs slick with desire: big, monstrous cocks, the kind that made a woman’s body sing.
Raised in a strict, “no-nonsense” Nigerian home where sex was whispered about like a crime, there was something wickedly thrilling about fantasising over men who were blessed like stallions. The sheer audacity of it—imagining one of those thick, veined destroyers pushing past her lips, stretching her throat, or worse (or better?), splitting her tight pussy open, plunging into depths no man had ever reached.
Her mind raced with the fantasy—those relentless, punishing strokes, the way her body would clench and tremble as she came again and again, until she was nothing but a shaking, gasping mess, melted into her sheets. These days, it was the only thing on her mind when her fingers danced between her legs, her moans swallowed by the moonless night.
And now, after years of being neglected by her husband, she stood in front of the mirror, gripping the edges of the sink. Her reflection stared back—bold, defiant, alive with a hunger she could no longer ignore. The question clawed at her throat, demanding an answer: “Abi, you get the liver for this?”
Did she have the courage to surrender to another man—to finally know what it felt like when a man with big cock took control? No, scratch that—love-making wasn’t on the menu tonight. She didn’t want soft whispers or gentle touches.
She wanted fire. She wanted a man who’d drive her straight to heaven’s gate and leave her screaming in Igbo. A man who’d fuck her like Lagos traffic—relentless, unforgiving, and with no chance of escape.
The mirror didn’t blink. Neither did she.
Truth be told, she would be over the moon if that man just let her wrap her lips around that mighty cock of his. That was her deepest desire, her guilty pleasure—nothing thrilled her more than sucking dick and gulping down every last drop of cum.
For years, she had tried to ignore the hunger, but the craving was too strong now, too urgent. She needed to feel a thick, heavy cock stretching her lips, filling her mouth until her jaw ached. And oh, the bigger, the better!
She imagined it—the way it would pulse in her mouth, the salty-sweet taste of precum teasing her tongue before the real feast began. Then, the explosive release, rope after rope of hot, creamy jizz flooding her throat, thick enough to make her swallow in greedy gulps. Just the thought of it now had her pussy throbbing, wetness pooling between her thighs.
Could she really do this? If not tonight, then when? This was her moment—her chance to finally indulge in the pleasure she had denied herself for so long. Opportunities like this didn’t come twice. And she wasn’t about to let this one slip away.
Njideka’s world usually revolved around Akwa, Anambra State—a quiet, leafy town where her husband built his real estate empire, one property at a time. But today? She was deep in the electric heartbeat of Victoria Island, Lagos, a dazzling 500 kilometres away from home.
The month of May in Lagos was a different kind of fire—not the scorching Anambra sun, but the kind that pulsed with energy, ambition, and the relentless hum of generators blending with ocean breeze. For Njideka, it was a thrilling escape from the familiar.
By day, she was a sharp marketing manager for one of Nigeria’s biggest telecom giants. But this week, she had stepped into the spotlight at the country’s largest telecommunications event, rubbing shoulders with industry titans and tech disruptors. Her presentation on digital growth? A triumph—even if she had started with knees shaking like garri in a sieve.
By the time she left the stage, the nods and murmurs of approval told her everything. Lagos had tested her, and she had owned it. Now, all that was left was to enjoy the city’s vibrant chaos—at least until her flight back to Anambra.
When Njideka got the email confirming her spot at the conference, she nearly danced right there in her office. This wasn’t just business—it was a golden ticket to steal a few days for herself in Lagos, the city that never slept (or stopped honking).
After years of juggling boardroom strategies and teenage dramas (because raising two teens in Nigeria required the wisdom of Solomon and the patience of Job), even her husband had waved her off with a grin. “Abeg, go and enjoy yourself before those Lagos people reset your brain with their rush-rush lifestyle!”
So, she did what any savvy Naija babe would do—she turned a work trip into a “small-small vacation.” Instead of rushing back to Anambra, she booked two extra nights at the White Orchid Hotel, where the air smelled like fresh linen and quiet luxury. No early morning school runs, no “Mummy, where’s my uniform?”—just her, a plush robe, and room service that actually remembered her pepper preference.
Her company didn’t mind. “Madam, just land on Monday with fresh ideas, no stress!” they had said. So, with her return flight pushed to Sunday afternoon, Njideka had a mission: to soak up Lagos like garri in cold water—slow, sweet, and satisfying.
She could barely contain her excitement—two whole days in Lagos, all to herself! She had told everyone back home she’d be sightseeing, indulging in the hotel spa, maybe even splurging on some shopping at the Mall. But deep down, a far more thrilling idea had been simmering, setting her nerves on fire.
What if…?
The question had haunted her since she first heard about the conference. What if she finally gave in to the curiosity that had been gnawing at her for years? What would it feel like to touch another man, to taste him, to surrender to something wild and forbidden? Lagos was the perfect place—vibrant, anonymous, pulsing with possibilities. And now, the moment was here.
Would she dare?
The golden hues of dusk spilt across the Lagos skyline as she stood by her hotel window, gazing at the glittering stretch of Victoria Island. The city was alive, electric, just like the restless energy humming inside her. This trip had already been more luxurious than she ever imagined—her suite was a palace compared to her apartment back home, with a bed so large she could get lost in it and a bathroom fit for a Nollywood star.
But there was one thing missing. One experience.
Her heart pounded.
*Could she really go through with it?
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