I love shawarma. It was the love of shawarma that led me to catering school. I had made up my mind that ‘I, Apunanwu James’ wasn’t going to school anymore after failing my last GCE, the third I had written. But how would I have passed, when all through my visit to the coaching centre on my street, I was fucking our tutor’s landlord. It wasn’t that I meant to; it just happened. On that day when it first happened, I strolled into the centre’s compound and saw Baba Londoner, the landlord, lounging as usual in his padded cane reclining chair, drinking beer.
“Good afternoon, Baba Londoner,” I said, tipping my head.
He glanced in my direction and smiled appreciatively, “Apuna puna, I’ve told you to remove that Baba and just call me Londoner. I’m not that old o, just 56” he said jokingly.
“I know, sir,” I said shyly. “I’m just a respectful girl naturally.”
“Oya come and take,” Baba Londoner said, stretching three mint N1000 notes to me. I ran gleefully to collect the money.
You see, everyone knew that Baba Londoner had money; his story was a well-known one.
One day, after 30 years in London, he packed his things, sold off his assets and returned to Nigeria. He bought three buildings on our street: one a two-storey building with 25 one-room self-contained apartments, which he rented out to single young ladies. The payment for the rooms was monthly, and everyone knew it was to house the prostitutes who serviced guests at his second property. His second property was a stand-alone building popular as a short-time hotel with a BQ where the staff lived. The hotel was open 24 hours with two managers, one day, one night. The hotel had four cleaners in total, and during the day, two cleaners were available to clean up after guests in preparation for the next lodger.
The apartment building and the motel were side by side, and it was a very functional and lucrative model.
The third property, which was directly opposite the hotel, was his personal residence cum viewing centre. The fence beside the gate had a one-way viewing glass from where he could easily monitor everyone who came and went in the hotel, same with the apartment building. We all knew that Baba Londoner’s reclining cane chair, which was built to be comfortable enough for afternoon naps, like those relaxing, poolside chairs at hotels, was positioned perfectly to look through the glass. So, this was how he spent his days lounging while watching over his investment. It was so well-positioned that he could also see everyone who came into his compound.
Rumour has it that he kept a jotter to track the number of visitors who came to the hotel and how many hours each used. This was how he monitored his business from 7 AM to 7 PM each day, Monday to Sunday.
His residential property was a more tasteful affair. Not luxurious, just better than the apartment building for his ‘ashawos’. It was a four-flat property, so while he lived in the top front flat, he rented out the top back flat to a family of five. On the ground floor, the front flat was used as a primary school, while the back flat housed my coaching centre. This meant that every time I came into the compound, I had to pass by Baba Londoner in his perpetual chair. I didn’t mind seeing him, though. Whenever he was in a good mood, which was always, he would call me and say, “Apuna puna, fine girl, come and take.”
Some days, it was N2000, and sometimes it was up to N5000, but whatever it was, I would gratefully collect it. On my 18th birthday, when he saw me stroll in with my friends, he asked what the occasion was, and I said it was my 18th, my first official birthday as an adult. That day, he gave me N20,000 to buy myself a gift. Baba Londoner was nice like that. So, when I ran up to collect the Naira notes in my short pleated white skirt, I didn’t expect him to draw me in for a hug. I lost my balance and he ‘accidentally’ pulled me into his lap.
I am not a fat girl, nor am I tall, but I am well-rounded. My young firm boobs were a 34DD and my arse was larger than the average girl with plump hips. It was why I liked short pleated or flared skirts, it was to give my buttocks room to jiggle and roll whenever I walked. My legs also had a slight bow, which gave me a unique style of walking. My arse jiggle was quite legendary because Chibuike, my street boyfriend, only had to lean into my buttocks and grind a bit to cum. But we only did this when we didn’t have time for the real deal.
To be honest, Chibuike was not exactly good in bed – I’ve had better – but he was my current deal, and I was stuck with him. So, when Baba Londoner pulled me into his lap, I landed with a “oomph!”. I immediately tried to get up, but my fat arse didn’t let me rise easily. It also didn’t help that he held me in place with his right hand. Instead of releasing me, he said, “Let me put the money where no one would see it.”
He promptly rolled the money like a cigar and tucked it neatly down the cleavage of the sky-blue cowl-neck top I was wearing. I was not wearing a bra, and immediately his hand made contact with the sensitive valley between my boobs; my nipples went hard. I saw him glance at my hard nipples while pushing the money down further, but I was immediately distracted by a rod-like tool poking at my buttocks through my skirt. He suggestively grazed his hands on my nipple through the blouse, and my chest shot forward, trying to retain the electric contact.
“The money is not staying there, why?” he asked.
“It’s because there’s nothing to hold it,” I said.
He looked at me again and began to reach into the top to retrieve the money.
“How come there is nothing to hold it. With this your big ‘bobby’? Let me see.”
As he poked around inside my blouse, I kept trying to slide off because I was afraid someone else might come into the compound and meet us in such a compromising way, but his right hand still held me in place. The effect of that was me grinding into the rod, which I now realised was his huge dick. Baba Londoner was packing! All of this was running through my head when Baba Londoner grabbed a naked nipple and squeezed it lightly.
“Ha! Apuna, you’re not wearing bra. What of pant? Did you wear?”
My brain was empty at this point. I couldn’t think of anything else but the two fingers applying pressure to my nipple. When I didn’t answer, he flexed his hip and bounced me in his lap while still squeezing my nipple. He repeated the movement, and I bounced again.
“Apuna puna, you are not talking. Do your parents know you don’t wear bra and pant?” He asked.
He continued to bounce me in his lap and his dick grew thicker, yet he didn’t stop squeezing and releasing my nipple. I was in heaven. After a few more seconds of bouncing, his hand had left my waist to retrieve the money from my cleavage. He tucked the money haphazardly in the waistband of my white skirt before returning that hand inside my blouse.
Like a magnet drawn to metal, Baba found my second nipple in a quarter of a second.
“See, even your second nipple is hard,” he said pulling and squeezing the hard pebble that my nipple now was.”
I’ve always had sensitive nipples, which was why I didn’t like wearing bras. I liked the feel of them when I brushed on people and this was what had gotten me into this position.
“You are tormenting all those small, small boys with your nipples, that’s why you don’t wear bra.”
I was not capable of speech so I kept quiet and gave up trying to get out of his laps.
Still, Baba Londoner did not stop bouncing me on that hard dick. Instead, he was like a man possessed. His waist moved so expertly that my fat arse did not slide off his slim body. My right leg developed a mind of its own, and it spread of its own accord. I was now sitting almost astride him, facing the gate. My left leg was still on the floor, while my right leg rested between his outstretched legs on the chair. This meant that his hard dick was now lodged between my arse and was grazing my pussy lips. Even with the hard work he was putting in on my young body, Baba Londoner did not stop peppering me with questions.
“Apuna, how many of those boys are you fucking? This naked bobby that you’re carrying up and down means that you want someone to touch it. Have they been touching it?”
“No”, I finally stammered. “Only my boyfriend is fucking me.”
“Who is your boyfriend? That small yellow boy that follows you here sometimes?”
“Yes, he is the only one fucking me,” I confessed.
“That small boy, for this your big buttocks and hard nipples. Only him for Apuna’s puna,” he said, laughing.
I didn’t care that Baba Londoner was making jokes; the fire he had ignited in my nipples was burning hard. He had succeeded in pulling down the cowl neck of my blouse, and my boobs were exposed for all who came in to see. Thankfully, no one came in. Schools were on holiday, and it was right in the middle of the day, so foot traffic was scarce. Still, if anyone had looked, they would not see my nipples because Baba Londoner was no longer letting go of the nipples as he did before, he was simply increasing pressure and squeezing while bouncing my arse. I knew I was quite a sight as my arms hung uselessly at my sides and Baba Londoner still squeezed my pointed nipples.
All of a sudden, the pressure broke and I came.
It wasn’t anything massive or earth-shattering; it was just a tingling ringing that had me shuddering on Baba Londoner’s laps. The mini-orgasm was enough to bring me back to planet earth and Baba Londoner slowed his roll.
His right hand disappeared under my skirt as he asked.
“Apuna, did you cum?”
I was too ashamed to answer, but even worse, I was horny. The mini orgasm had awakened an appetite in me that I did not realise I had.
“Baba Londoner…,” I started to say.
“Apuna, your pant is wet,” he said in pretend shock.
“I didn’t know you have ashawo in you. No wonder you dress like a Jezebel, tempting everybody on the street,” he said while rubbing the wet part of my underwear.
“This your pant is not even a pant, just a G-string,” Baba Londoner started again.
I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I wanted Baba Londoner to fuck me.
To communicate, I knelt between his legs and started to rub his big dick through the light jogging shorts he was wearing. I stared at him, hoping he would get the message. Instead of answering me, he leaned back into the padded cane chair, raised his black singlet a little, dipped his hands into his shorts, and brought out the fattest dick I had ever seen in my young life. I squealed.
Leaning back properly allowed the dick stick up even more; it was straight and rigid like the coke bottle I used to fuck when I was 16.
He said, “You see that it is not all those small boy dicks you people are fucking up and down the street.”
When I tried to touch it, he swatted my hands away and said, “If you want this one, you have to give it respect, greet it well with your mouth. It is not your mate, so you can’t just – ” He was still in the middle of this sentence when I plunged my throat down on his cock and gagged before I could get to the base of the cock.
“Fuuuuuccck!” Baba Londoner screamed.
Without hands or any support, I had swallowed almost his whole cock down my throat, and as I came back up for air, I locked eyes with him and smiled.
Written by RiskySolar
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