His hips began to pump harder, his thrusts into my mouth becoming more frantic, more demanding. The pleasure from his fingers was a dizzying distraction, but I focused through the haze, sucking him with a desperate greed, determined to take all of him.
“I’m coming!” he growled, his voice thick and strained.
That was my cue. I wanted all of him, every last drop. I took him deeper, my mouth a tight seal around his shaft. His whole body turned to stone, his back arching, his ass lifting off the cracked leather seat. Then it hit—a hot, salty rush flooding my mouth, thick and bitter. I swallowed it down without a second thought, greedy for it, my throat working to take every pulse. It was less than before, but the power of it, the sheer intimacy, made my head spin. He is inside me now. For real.
As his spent, softening dick slipped from my lips, his fingers, which had never really stopped, dug back into me with a new purpose. The shock of it sent me spiralling. My own climax ripped through me, violent and endless. It was a seizure, a convulsion that stole my breath and blurred my vision. I ground myself against his hand, my sticky cunt milking every last shudder from the earthquake he started inside me.
When the world finally stopped shaking, I was boneless. I reached for his finger, slick with my own mess, and cleaned it with my tongue, tasting our sin. We dressed in a heavy, breathless silence. My body felt weightless, like I was floating on a cloud of pure satisfaction. He leaned in and we kissed again, slowly, deeply—no longer just a boy and a girl, but partners in a delicious crime.
*
The drive back to Edima’s house was short, just three plots down the road, but the air in the car was thick with a new tension. He finally broke the silence, his voice low and confessional. “I’ve never… done that before.”
I turned in my seat, looking at his sharp profile. “What, exactly?” I asked, a sly grin playing on my lips. “Never had a girl’s mouth on your cock? Or never had your fingers deep inside a wet pussy?”
“Both,” he admitted, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Your sister… she’s the only one. And you know how she is about… everything.”
I was genuinely shocked. This man was twenty-four, with a proper job at a tech company and a face that could make a nun reconsider her vows. He was a fucking masterpiece, and my sister had him on a celibate leash. As he pulled up in front of Edima’s house, I gave him a wicked smile. “Well, have fun at the movies o,” I purred, stepping out of the car. “Who knows? Maybe tonight, my good-girl sister will finally decide to open her holy legs.”
*
Dinner with Edima and her parents was a special kind of torture. The egusi and pounded yam sat in my stomach like a guilty secret. Sitting across from my best friend, the words were burning a hole in my tongue. I wanted to spill everything—the grunting in the dark, the feel of Felix’s skin, the whole sticky, glorious mess. But that secret was mine alone. I pictured Chinyere’s heartbroken face if she ever found out, and I locked the truth deep inside me.
Later, tucked away in her room while her parents were glued to a Nollywood film downstairs, we fell into our old rhythm. Edima pulled a well-worn foreign magazine from its hiding place under her bed. We flipped through the glossy pages, giggling at the near-naked men and whispering the explicit stories aloud. But my mind wasn’t on the paper. It was back in that car, replaying every filthy detail, and a familiar, hot excitement began to coil low in my belly.
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I closed the magazine and looked her dead in the eye.
“Edima,” I began, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “Tell me the truth. Do you ever… touch yourself down there?”
She didn’t even blink. A loud, relieved laugh burst out of her. “Jesus Christ, Ngozi! All the damn time! I thought I was the only one with a demon in my pants!”
The tension shattered. We collapsed into a heap of helpless laughter, the kind that comes from sharing a delicious, shameful truth.
The laughter finally died down, leaving a thick, charged silence in its wake. The air in the room felt heavy, like just before a storm. I looked at Edima, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“So… do you want to?” I asked, my voice a low, husky thing I barely recognised. “Right now?”
“Together?” she whispered, her eyes wide, a little scared, a little thrilled.
I just gave a single, sharp nod.
“Okay.”
There were no more words. In a frantic, silent dance, we peeled our clothes off— then bras, then panties—until we were both completely bare, skin against the cool cotton of her bedsheets. We lay side-by-side, and after a hesitant moment, our hands found each other, fingers lacing together. With our free hands, we began to touch ourselves, the only sound our quickening breaths.
“How… how often do you do this to yourself?” Edima managed to ask, her voice tight.
“Every single day, like it’s my job,” I confessed without shame, my own rhythm steady and sure. “Sometimes, if the feeling is too strong, two or three times.”
A shaky, relieved sigh escaped her. “Me too.”
We started side-by-side, but that soon felt too distant, too polite. A raw, curious hunger pulled us up until we were sitting cross-legged and facing each other, a silent agreement passing between us. Now we could watch.
God, Edima’s body was a revelation. She was built like a delicate little doll. Where I had curves, she had sleek, sharp angles. Her breasts were small, perfect handfuls with dark, stubborn nipples that stood at attention. A neat, tiny triangle of black hair sat above her pussy, but the lips themselves were surprisingly full and swollen, a stark contrast to her slight frame. I could see the slick, pink inner flesh peeking out, already shining with her wetness. I had never stared at another girl like this, and the sight of her, so openly lost in her own pleasure, sent a fresh, sharp bolt of lust straight through me.
“Oh, Ngozi…” she choked out, her voice strangled. “I’m… I’m coming.”
“Don’t you dare finish without me,” I gasped, my own movements becoming frantic.
In a final, desperate act, she hooked a finger deep inside her cunt, her other hand a furious blur on her clit. I mirrored her exactly, feeling her hungry eyes devouring the sight of my own splayed open sex. Our cries hit the air together—a sharp, shared release that shook us to the core. It was fucking incredible.
“Blood of Jesus! That was… incredible!” Edima gasped, her chest still heaving.
A wicked, satisfied smile spread across my face. “Me too. I’m so glad we did that.”
“I’m glad you’re my friend,” she whispered, and she meant it.
We moved slowly, the magic of the moment lingering on our skin as we pulled our clothes back on. The walk home was a blur, my head still buzzing. The house was silent and dark; Chinyere, the saint, still hadn’t dragged her pure self back from her useless date.
I fell into my bed, the sheets cool against my hot skin. But the memory of the day—the thrill of Felix, the new secret with Edima—was a fire in my blood. My hand slid between my legs again. My pussy was already tender, a little sore from the day’s activities, but the ache was a delicious reminder. I worked my fingers over my swollen clit, thinking of it all until my back arched off the bed and a sharp, silent cry was torn from my throat.
What a fucking day.
*
That Saturday afternoon, Chinyere was getting ready for her movie date with Felix. My saintly sister, in her endless mercy, actually turned to me and asked, “Ngozi, do you want to come with us?”
A pang of guilt, sharp and quick, shot through me. “Sis,” I said, laying it on thick. “I shouldn’t intrude on your date. I don’t want to be a problem.”
Chinyere waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s just a film.”
*
I don’t remember a single thing about that movie. The cinema was practically empty, a dark, cavernous temple for our secret. The seating was me, then Felix, then my sister. They held hands like the good, God-fearing couple they were supposed to be.
Meanwhile, my own hand was busy playing a much more interesting game. I slowly traced the shape of his growing hardness through the rough fabric of his trousers. It was unbelievably naughty, a thrilling electric current running up my arm. The man was rock solid, a trapped animal straining against his zipper. I wasn’t trying to make him finish there and then; I was just stoking the fire, getting him ready for what I had planned for him later.
When Chinyere excused herself to the bathroom, I didn’t waste a second. My hand dove into his open fly, my fingers wrapping around his hot, stiff cock. I gave it a firm, possessive squeeze.
He groaned softly, and his own hand shot between my legs, pressing his palm hard against my pussy through my jeans. The friction was delicious.
Leaning in, my lips brushing his ear, I whispered the real plot of our movie: “Try and touch her. Go on. Slip your hand under her skirt. I bet that holy girl lets you do anything you want.”
When Chinyere settled back onto the seat, Felix played it cool, letting his hand drop onto her thigh as if by accident. My holy sister, the one with a Bible verse for every occasion, didn’t even flinch. My own hand was busy, subtly tracing the hard line of his cock through his rough jeans. I watched, my blood heating up, as his fingers began a slow, deliberate crawl up her skirt. She shifted, but didn’t stop him. So there we were, a perfect, filthy triangle: his fingers disappearing under her underwear, and my hand working him over his trousers, both of us touching what belonged to her without her having a clue.
After the movie, Chinyere made a flimsy excuse about unfinished homework. My guess is that she was rushing to her room to finish what Felix had started with his wandering hands. I asked Felix for a ride to a friend’s place, and he agreed a little too quickly.
The moment his car door shut, sealing us in our own private world, I turned to him. “So, did you at least make her come?” I asked, my voice dripping with a vulgar curiosity.
He shrugged, focusing on the road. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
A wicked idea seized me. “I want to taste your finger,” I giggled, the sound dark and low. “Is that too strange for you?”
“Be my guest,” he said, a slow, complicit smile spreading across his face as he lifted his hand from the gearshift. I took his index finger into my mouth, sucking it deep, imagining it was his thick dick. And there it was—a faint, musky tang I knew wasn’t mine. The taste of my sister’s secret excitement flooded my mouth, and a wave of pure, unhinged lust crashed over me. I thought I was going to lose my mind right there in the passenger seat.
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