I needed no further encouragement. I discovered a fierce joy in working his cock; it made me feel like a goddess, like I held a secret that could bring a strong man to his knees. I clenched my own thighs together, the pressure building between my own legs, my swollen lips aching with a rhythm that matched my hand.
I tightened my grip and pumped him faster, my wrist a blur.
Suddenly, he let out a choked, guttural sound, part groan, part animal snarl. His whole body locked up, back arching, and then it came. Thick, hot ropes of pearly cum shot from him, splashing onto the tiles in a relentless, pulsing rhythm.
“Don’t stop,” he begged, his voice a ragged whisper as my hand worked his softening length. A final, thick pulse spilled over my fingers, followed by a slow, steady leak. I knew, in theory, what this was, but the raw reality of it—the sheer volume, the shocking force—was something else entirely. This stuff was a fucking fountain!
It was everywhere. A pearly splash on the tiled wall, a few glistening drops on the toilet bowl, a small puddle on the floor, and a sticky, warm coating on my hand. My curiosity, that wicked thing, got the better of me. I brought a finger to my lips and tasted it. Hmm. Not what I expected. A little salty, like the skin on roasted groundnuts.
“Felix, are you done yet?” Chinyere’s voice pierced the door, sharp with impatience.
He jumped as if he’d been struck by lightning. In a flash, he leaned down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m just cleaning up!” he called out, his voice straining for normalcy. “I’ll be out in a second!”
“Hurry up o!” my sister complained from the hall. “I want to pee!”
Panic lit a fire under us. We became a whirlwind of silence, grabbing wads of toilet paper and frantically wiping down every surface—the wall, the floor, the toilet—gathering all the evidence of our sin into a damp, sticky ball that we sent swirling down the bowl with a loud, guilty flush.
He gave me one last, desperate kiss on the forehead, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. Then, I slipped behind the shower curtain, melting into the shadows.
The sharp sound of Chinyere pissing into the toilet bowl cut through the silence. I held my breath, waiting for the flush, for the bathroom door to open and close so I could make my escape to my room.
But the flush never came.
Instead, my good-girl sister just… stayed there. Sitting on the toilet. Then I heard it—a soft, wet, squishing rhythm. Her breathing hitched, turning shallow and quick, little puffs of air escaping her lips. My God. The saint was fingering herself.
A wave of pure, wicked disbelief washed over me. I never, in a million years, would have pictured her doing such a thing. But then, I had just had her boyfriend’s cock in my hand, so I suppose we were all full of surprises tonight. I bit down on my lip, hard, stifling the hysterical laugh that was bubbling up in my throat. The irony was so thick you could choke on it.
*
My body still hummed for days after, a live wire buzzing with the memory. I’d wrung three, maybe four shuddering orgasms from myself that first night, alone in my bed, fantasising about Felix’s thick, demanding cock. The phantom of his scent, his weight, his taste, haunted me. I was a woman possessed, my hunger a sharp, twisting thing in my gut. I needed more.
A few evenings later, I found my sister preening in the hallway mirror. “So, you’re going out with Felix tonight?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“Yeah,” Chinyere answered, her voice distant as she smoothed down her dress. “We’re going to see a movie. Why?”
I painted on my most innocent, pleading look. “Could you… Would you ask him to drive me over to Edima’s house? Her mom promised she would bring me back later, I swear.”
We both had our licenses, but our mother had the family car. It took a little begging, a bit of strategic begging, but my goody-two-shoes sister finally relented. She agreed to ask him. And from what I gathered, Felix didn’t seem to mind the detour at all.
*
The inside of the car was thick with it—a raw, unspoken hunger that made the air feel heavy. We had just pulled away from my street, and the hum of the engine was nothing compared to the static buzzing in my veins. My dress, an old blue thing I squeezed myself into, was so tight I could feel the seam of the seat right through the thin fabric. It had ridden up, exposing a sinful amount of my thigh to the dim dashboard light. I had planned it that way. No panties to get in the way.
“So, where does this friend of yours live?” Felix asked, his voice tighter than usual.
I pointed a finger back towards Edima’s compound, now just a blur of lights in the darkness. “Right there,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Now keep driving.”
He gripped the wheel, the silence stretching for a street before he broke it. “Listen, Ngozi… about what happened…”
“Did I do it well?” I cut him off, not letting him finish his thought. I already knew the answer.
A low groan rumbled in his chest. “Yes. God, yes, you did. But that’s not—”
My eyes dropped to his lap, to the undeniable, hard ridge straining against his jeans. The sight of it sent a fresh, sharp thrill straight through my core. He was just as desperate as I was.
“I don’t want to hear ‘but’,” I whispered, leaning closer, letting my scent fill the space between us. “I want to do it again. I want you to fuck me properly. I want you to teach me everything.”
“Ngozi, no. This is madness,” he groaned, but his eyes were devouring me. “I am old enough to know this fire will burn us both. And your sister…” He threw Chinyere’s name out like a weak charm, a last attempt at a conscience. “We cannot have sex. That is a line I will not cross.”
“So we will draw our own lines,” I shot back, my voice a hot whisper. I was pissed; my body was screaming for him, ready to be ruined in the best way. But I was a strategist. “Forget sex, then. But a man like you shouldn’t have to finish his own business. Teach me. Show me how to use my mouth.”
He didn’t answer with words. The car roared to life and he tore out of our street. A few tense minutes later, he swerved into a driveway. A click of a remote and a garage door groaned open, swallowing us whole before closing behind us, plunging us into a silent, oily darkness.
“My place,” he said, the car engine ticking as it cooled. “My roommate is gone for the weekend. But listen to me, we have minutes. Chinyere thinks you ran inside and I am already on my way back.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt, the click echoing in the quiet. “Then stop wasting them. Kiss me.” He stared, wrestling with himself. I leaned closer, my scent surely filling the space between us. “I’m not asking for your heart, Felix. Just your mouth. Now.”
His lips crushed against mine, and when his tongue pushed into my mouth, I met it with my own, a hot, wet tangle that sent a jolt straight down my spine. The kiss was not the gentle, shy thing I imagined. It was hungry. My whole body was humming, every sense on fire. But the stupid, logical part of my brain knew he was right—time was a bastard, and we had none of it. I needed a proper plan, a way to get this man alone for a whole night, not just stolen minutes. But for now, I was determined to make every second count.
I pulled my mouth from his, my breath coming in short, hot pants. My eyes dropped to the massive bulge straining against his zipper, a silent testament to his need.
“Should I suck your dick?” I asked, my voice husky and direct.
His cock practically jumped in agreement. “Only if you want to,” he managed to gasp, the words thick with desperation.
Want to? God in heaven. The other girls in my class, the pretentious ones, they whispered about it like it was a chore, a nasty price to pay for a man’s attention. Those fools. To me, the thought of having that power, of taking a man so deep into my warmth that he forgets his own name… the idea alone was enough to make me wet. I craved the taste of him, the weight of him on my tongue. I was going to worship that damn thing like it was my personal god.
His hands went to his jeans, and with a sharp rasp of the zipper, he freed his cock. There it was, standing stiff and proud. Jesus Christ. It was just as massive as I remembered, maybe even more so. (Now, with sense in my head, I know the man was probably just average, maybe slightly above. But that night? To my young eyes, that weapon looked like it could start a war or end one, a solid piece of machinery that belonged in a factory, not my mouth.)
My own throat tightened. How in God’s name was I supposed to fit that thing past my lips, let alone dream of it stretching my tiny pussy open?
“Just… start with your tongue,” he grunted, his voice thick. “Treat it like a lollipop. Like a giant lollipop stick.”
Swallowing my fear, I lowered my head into his lap. I stuck out my tongue and dragged it slowly along the entire length of his shaft, from base to tip. A deep, guttural groan ripped from his chest as my tongue finally swirled over the swollen, purple head. I tasted the clear, sticky fluid already leaking from his slit. It was salty and sweet, and in that instant, I was a fucking addict.
He was hooked, too. We started slow, a dangerous, quiet dance. His hands stroked my hair while my mouth and tongue worshipped his dick, my fingers tracing the heavy, tight sac of his balls. But as the heat between us built, I grew bolder. I opened my mouth and took the head of his prick inside.
I could only manage about half of it, but even that much filled my entire mouth, stretching my jaws until they ached. The feeling was terrifying and incredible. It was a little scary, having that huge, living, throbbing thing shoved in my mouth, threatening my very breath. I was terrified I would choke, or that my teeth would scrape him. But mostly, it was just a raw, dirty, fucking thrill.
His hand, hot and possessive, slid up my inner thigh, pushing my dress toward my waist. As I took him deeper into my mouth, I shifted my hips, a silent and urgent invitation. His fingers, clumsy at first, then sure, found their way to my wetness. I guided his hand, pressing his finger right against the swollen, aching center of me. My entire body was screaming from that one spot.
The way Felix rubbed me, with my own slickness coating his fingers, was a different kind of fire altogether. It was raw and expert, making my own lonely sessions in the dark feel like child’s play. He worked my clit with a rhythm that was driving me out of my mind, each circle pushing me closer to a shattering edge. If this small taste was what the real thing felt like, then holy Christ, I was ready to sell my soul for it.
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