Every night (except when there is no light), my phone would light up with Omolara’s face, her lips already parted, her eyes heavy with hunger. The moment our screens connected, our hands would wander—hers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, mine gripping my thick, throbbing cock as we spun filthy, sweat-drenched fantasies about Ginika and Tamara.
Sometimes, I’d paint her a picture of Tamara bent over the office copier, her skirt hiked up, that perfect, round Yoruba jiggling as I pounded into her from behind. “She’s so tight, babe,” I’d growl, stroking myself harder. “Fucking her like this—rough, like she’s been begging for it. Her moans are so loud, the whole office hears. She cums so many times.”
Other nights, Omolara would take the lead, her voice dripping with lust as she described Ginika in some dimly lit club, her massive, heavy breasts bouncing as she grinded against me. “You can’t even wait to get her home,” she’d whisper, her fingers working furiously between her thighs. “You tear her dress open right there in the corner, pin her against the wall, and suck her nipples like you’re starving. She’s so wet for you, juice—dripping down her thighs as you fuck her raw.”
But then… things got even hotter.
Omolara stopped just watching the fantasies—she joined them.
Now, our stories turned into full-blown orgies—Tamara riding my cock while Ginika smothered my face with her juicy thighs, Omolara kneeling between my legs, taking me deep into her throat as all three of them took turns ruining me. “Three-girl blowjobs,” Omolara would moan, her hips bucking against her own hand. “All of us on our knees, fighting over who gets to taste you first.”
Despite our nightly sex chats dripping with desire, Omolara and I were dying—pure, uncut frustration. Three years together, and we had never gone more than a week without tearing up the sheets. But now? Months of nothing but empty beds and clenched fists. The closer her move to Port Harcourt got, the slower time crawled—each day stretching, taunting me with how badly I needed to bury myself inside her and release all this pent-up madness.
Yet, somehow, I survived. My days? Spent drowning in Ginika and Tamara’s teasing presence—their laughter, their lingering touches, their sinful bikinis clinging to curves that haunted my dreams. My nights? Spent on video calls with Omolara, her voice thick with lust as she whispered exactly how she wanted to watch me ruin them both.
Then—finally—the night before her flight arrived.
“Ungh!” Omolara’s moan was raw, desperate, as she tilted the camera down, showing me three fingers deep in her dripping pussy. My own grip tightened around my throbbing cock, as I growled, “Then, with you and Tamara watching, I pin Ginika down—straddle her chest, squeeze my cock between those perfect, heavy breasts—”
“And then I throw Tamara onto the bed next to you!” Omolara gasped, her hips bucking wildly.
My hand froze mid-stroke. Wait—what?
“And what do you do to her?” I demanded, voice rough.
Omolara’s breath hitched, her thighs trembling. “I climb on top of her face—oh god!—” Her words dissolved into a broken moan, her back arching as pleasure ripped through her. “I—I can’t believe I’m saying this!”
“What happened?” I begged, my voice thick with desire, my fingers digging into the sheets.
Omolara’s breath hitched, her hips rolling slow and sinful against nothing as she painted the picture for me. “I lower myself onto her tongue—ah, God!—and she…fuck!* She licks me, until I’m screaming—screaming!—”*
And just like that, as if her words alone had pushed her over the edge, Omolara exploded. Her back arched like a bow, her thighs trembling as her climax ripped through her, wild and untamed. “God! God!” she cried, her voice breaking into a moan so deep it vibrated in my bones.
“Wow,” I grinned, already itching to replay the video of her unraveling—her dark skin glistening, her lips parted in ecstasy, her body a masterpiece of pleasure.
When she finally floated back down, chest heaving, she turned to me with those eyes—the ones that could make a saint sin. “Is that really something you want to do??” I asked, my voice rough with want.
She bit her lip, mischief dancing in her gaze. “I don’t know. But it sure is sexy to think about.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, my mind already racing with filthy possibilities.
We whispered our “I love yous”—soft, sweet, but loaded with promises of tomorrow’s wickedness—before surrendering to the night, dreams filled with tongues and sweat.
****
The entire day before Omolara arrived, I turned into a woman possessed—scrubbing every inch of the apartment like my life depended on it, stocking the fridge with enough jollof rice, suya, and chilled chapman to feed a wedding party, and finally clearing the battlefield of PS5 games that had colonized my living room floor. Abeg, a man must impress his queen.
Even Ginika and Tamara got in on the action, baking cupcakes and arranging a vase of fresh hibiscus flowers like they were welcoming royalty. Which, let’s be honest, they were.
Then—finally—after weeks of aching and waiting, my phone buzzed at 4:55 PM.
“Baby, I have landed.”
My heart damn near exploded. I flew down the stairs, jumped into my car, and broke every traffic law on my way to the airport.
And there she was.
Ah, Omolara.
Standing at the curb, surrounded by three suitcases. After two hours crammed in a plane, any other person would look like tired, but not her. Loose clothes hugging her curves just enough to tease, no makeup because her skin was already golden perfection, hair in a simple ponytail swaying like palm leaves in the breeze. Chei!
I parked crooked at the yellow curb, barely remembering to kill the engine before I was out, my feet moving before my brain could catch up.
Then—her voice:
“Hey, babe, I….”
I didn’t even let her finish before I yanked her into me, our lips crashing together. She tasted like home—like peppermint and strawberry lip gloss and all the nights I’d spent dreaming of this moment. My hands dug into her waist, pulling her so close I could feel her heartbeat against mine.
We kissed like we were trying to make up for lost time. Like the world would end if we stopped. Like—
“Oga, abeg shift your car before we tow am!”
Airport security, those joykillers, were yelling, waving their hands.
Reluctantly, I pulled back, but not before stealing one last nip at her bottom lip.
“Welcome home, baby,” I growled.
Traffic out of the airport was its usual special kind of hell—bumper-to-bumper, horns blaring, bus drivers shouting “Oya move!” like the road belonged to their great-grandfather. But today? I no send. Because Omolara was right beside me, her thigh pressed against mine, her perfume—something sweet and spicy like zobo mixed with vanilla—filling the car. Just her presence had my blood running hot.
“So, how long until we reach your place?” she asked, voice dripping with mischief.
“With this traffic? Maybe thirty minutes,” I groaned, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
“Ah-ah, I can’t wait that long,” she purred, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my thigh. Then—oh God—her hand slid higher, nails scraping lightly through the fabric of my trousers.
“I missed you,” I breathed, my cock already hardening under her touch.
“Mmm, two months is too long,” she murmured, her fingers making quick work of my zipper. “See how your body misses me?”
“You no even know the half,” I gritted out, trying to focus on the road as her warm, delicate fingers wrapped around me.
Then—heaven help me—she bent over, those full, sinful lips parting, and took me deep into her mouth. Ah! The heat, the wetness, the way her tongue swirled just right—na magic be this? After so long without her, it felt like my soul was leaving my body.
“Omolara…” I groaned, fingers tangling in her hair as she sucked me like her life depended on it.
She didn’t stop. Not when the traffic crawled, not when a traffic officer glared at us, not even when I came the first time, my hips jerking as I spilled into that wicked mouth.
“You taste so good,” she whispered, licking her lips before diving back in.
By the time we pulled up to my apartment, she’d drained me twice, and her own arousal was practically leaking through her dress. I didn’t even bother parking properly—just killed the engine, yanked her out of the car, and carried her inside like a man on a mission.
“Ehn, where are you carrying me to?” she giggled, nipping at my neck.
“You will see,” I growled, kicking the door shut behind us before tossing her onto the bed.
Her dress rode up, revealing those thick, glorious thighs—my own personal paradise.
“There! Now get naked while I go grab your bags from the corridor. Tour later,” I commanded, my voice rough with hunger.
Omolara bit her lip, mischief dancing in her eyes, before slipping under the covers with a giggle that sent blood rushing south. I stepped back into the hallway, only to find wahala waiting for me.
Ginika and Tamara stood there, eyes bright with curiosity. “She has arrived?” Tamara asked, bouncing on her toes like a kid at Christmas.
“Can we meet her?” Ginika purred, her hips swaying slightly—that dangerous, I-know-what-I’m-doing sway that had tortured me for weeks.
For half a second, I almost played the gentleman.
But then, remembering the nights Omolara and I had spent whispering about them, aching for them. The way Ginika’s cleavage teased every time she bent over. How Tamara’s lips looked wrapped around a straw. The tension. The frustration.
No.
“Of course,” I said, grinning like a man with a devil on his shoulder. “Come inside.”
The moment they crossed the threshold, I reached for my shirt and yanked it off.
“Ikenna…?” Tamara’s voice wavered, her eyes locked on my chest.
“She’s just here,” I said, kicking off my shoes. By the time we reached the bedroom door, my trousers were on the floor.
“What are you doing?” Ginika hissed, but her gaze dropped lower—and stayed there.
I didn’t answer. Just pushed the door open.
And there she was.
Omolara, stretched across the bed like a feast, naked, golden skin glowing in the low light, her curves a masterpiece. Her eyes darkened when she saw them, a slow, wicked smile curling her lips.
Game time.
I hooked my thumbs into my boxers and let them slide down, slow, giving Ginika and Tamara their first real look at what they’d been missing. The sharp inhale from Tamara. The way Ginika’s tongue darted over her lips.
I finally climbed into bed beside my girlfriend. Our lips crashed together. Omolara moaned into my mouth, her tongue dancing with mine like she was searching for buried treasure. I rolled onto my back, making sure Ginika and Tamara had front-row seats to this show.
Omolara’s fingers—soft but wicked—trailed down my stomach before cupping my balls with a possessive squeeze. Ah! My body jerked. In retaliation, I let my fingers march up her toned stomach, tracing the curves of her waist before claiming the sweet, heavy weight of her breasts. My other hand? That one was on a mission. Down past her navel, through the neatly trimmed garden at her thighs, until my fingertips met the slick, swollen heat between her legs.
“Damn—” Ginika’s voice.
Omolara and I broke our kiss just enough to glance back. Ah-ahn! There they stood—Ginika and Tamara—frozen in the doorway. Their hands were clenched together, their lips parted, their chests rising and falling. Fear or desire? The way Ginika’s pupils had swallowed her whole eyes told me everything.
We didn’t speak.
Instead, Omolara’s fingers wrapped around my shaft, her grip teasing, just tight enough to make my toes curl, just loose enough to leave me begging. Then she rolled onto her side—her breasts spilled into my face like ripe mangoes begging to be tasted. I didn’t hesitate. My lips closed around a stiff nipple, sucking hard enough to pull a gasp from her throat.
And then—movement.
From the corner of my eye, Ginika’s hand slipped between Tamara’s thighs, palming her through her trousers like she was trying to put out a fire. Tamara bit her lip, her hips jerking forward in silent demand.
The air in the bedroom was thick with the scent of raw desire as Omolara and I moved together like waves crashing on a beach. Our bodies glistened under the dim light, skin sliding against skin as we teased each other to the edge of madness. My fingers played between her thighs—her heat poured over them, slick and eager, telling me everything I needed to know.
With a wicked grin, she spun around in one fluid motion, settling into reverse cowgirl, her round, perfect round ass pressing against my hips. Now we had the perfect view—Ginika and Tamara frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, lips parted, caught between shock and hunger.
Omolara’s hand wrapped around my throbbing length, guiding me to her entrance, where her arousal dripped like fresh palm wine. She hovered just above me, letting me feel the teasing heat of her, so close yet not close enough.
“I can’t—I mean, we shouldn’t be—” Tamara stammered, her voice trembling.
But abi, talk is cheap.
Before she could finish, my hands locked onto Omolara’s hips, and with one fierce pull, I filled her.
“OH FUCK YES! FINALLY!” Omolara screamed, her back arching as she took every inch of me, her tight walls clenching like she never wanted to let go. Her hair tumbled forward in wild waves, clinging to her sweat-slicked breasts as she began to move, rolling her hips in slow, sinful circles.
Ginika and Tamara? Chai! The poor ladies couldn’t handle it. Their breaths came fast, their cheeks flushed—but when Omolara slammed down on me again, moaning like a woman possessed, they broke. With a nervous squeak, they scrambled back, the door clicking shut behind them.
“Aww, looks like we lost our audience,” Omolara pouted.
I gripped her waist tighter, grinding her down onto me as I smirked. “For now, maybe. But did you see how they were staring? They were this close to joining us.”
Then—plot twist—my fingers found her clit, stroking in tight little circles just the way she loved. She gasped, her rhythm faltering, so I took control, slamming my hips up into her with a force that made her shriek.
“FUCK! Yes, just like that—”*
Her head twisted back, lips brushing my ear as she whispered, voice dripping with lust: “I can’t believe it… Those two are even hotter in person than they were on the computer.”
Her tongue flicked against my earlobe—quick, wet, wicked—before she pulled away with a devilish grin, rolling onto her back and spreading her thighs like a feast.
With a grin, I crawled between her legs, my hands gripping her waist like she might disappear if I didn’t hold on tight. Then—one deep thrust—and her back arched off the bed, her nails clawing at my shoulders as I buried myself inside her, sweet mother of mercy.
We fucked all damn night. No shame, no breaks, just sweat-slick skin and loud moans. Omolara came first—screaming my name like a prayer—then me, then her again, until we lost count. We kissed like starving people, laughed between gasps, and at one point, I swear, she cried a little—her body shaking under mine.
By the time we collapsed, the sun was peeking through the curtains, and we didn’t wake up until 2 PM.
Then, reality hit.
“Eh! Why this room hot?!” Omolara groaned, kicking off the tangled sheets.
“NEPA has played us again,” I muttered, wiping sweat off my forehead. “But they promise light by next week.”
We stumbled into the shower, washing off the night’s evidence—her thighs still trembling, my hands still greedy—before I finally got to show her my second home: the pool.
“You go first,” I said, smirking.
She rolled her eyes but obeyed, swaying down the stairs in that brand-new g-string—her first ever—and oh sweet Jesus, the way it clung to her spectacularly round butt? I nearly fell to my knees right there.
But the real surprise? Ginika and Tamara.
After last night’s “performance”—and their dramatic exit—I thought they’d show up covered head-to-toe.
Boy, was I wrong.
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