My name na Alhaji Musa, i be 48 years old Proper Hausa man. I get this small provision shop for one quiet mixed street for Sabon gari Kano Radda. Bread, milk, pure water, Indomie, egg, sugar, small small things like that. Morning till evening I dey inside, sweating, smiling, collecting money. People like me because I no dey cheat and I dey always greet “Ranka shi dadé.” But truth be say, inside me dey empty since my wife Fatima die two years ago as she dey try born our first son. One week she dey laugh with me, next week she just… gone. House too quiet now. Bed too cold. I no marry again. Just dey hustle.
For this street plenty married Christian women dey. Their husbands dey travel, dey work late, some even get side chick wey dem no know. One regular customer wey catch my eye na Sister Agnes. Igbo woman. 33 years. Smooth dark skin, full lips, eyes wey always look like person wey never sleep well. But her body… chai. Her boobs big and heavy, the kind wey dey stretch blouse and still stand like dem get mind of their own. And her yansh? That one na the main problem. Big, round, the kind wey dey shake small even when she just dey stand. Women for street dey whisper “Na real?” but me I know say na real see the stretch marks na. She get two boys Chinedu 8 years, sharp boy wey like ball, and Emeka 5 years, the one wey still dey cry if NEPA carry light.
Agnes husband na deacon. Brother Chukwudi. The man dey travel Abuja every week. Agnes dey come my shop more often these days. Small small things. Sometimes pure water wey she get plenty for house. Sometimes bread. She go greet, “Alhaji, good afternoon,” with that soft voice.
One hot Tuesday like that, she come. Blouse wey tight small on top, wrapper wey tie tight behind. I dey bend down to pack Indomie for her when my kaftan shift. The heavy outline of my prick just show. I quick stand up make she nor see say Oga don stand.
She clear throat. “Hmm… Alhaji, the price of sugar still the same?”
I scratch my head. “Ah, yes… still the same. You no buy last week?”
She laugh small, look away. “I forget. Life dey scatter person memory these days.”
I pack the things. Our fingers touch when she dey pay. She no remove hand quick. I feel small heat. My prick twitch inside kaftan. I cough. “Your husband don come back?”
She shake head. “Still Abuja. Church work, e say.” She pause, then add quick, “The boys dey fine sha. Chinedu score 98 for Maths.”
“Good, good,” I say. But inside me I dey think say this woman no dey fine. Her eyes dey tired.
Another day, rain just stop. Shop almost empty. She come buy milk. One customer enter, buy cigarette, disturb small. As the man leave, Agnes sigh.
“I… I don tire small,” she say, voice low. “House too quiet when the boys sleep. Sometimes I just sit for parlour dey look wall.”
I no know wetin to say. I just nod. “Life hard sometimes.”
She look me for eye. “You sef, Alhaji. Since your wife… you dey manage alone?”
I shrug. “I dey try.” Awkward silence again. Fan dey blow. One fly dey buzz for corner. She adjust her wrapper. I see how the cloth stretch on her yansh. My mouth dry.
She smile small, shy. “You strong o. All this load you dey carry every day. Your… your kaftan dey tight for chest.”
I laugh, but my ear hot. “Na work. You sef… you look… nice today.”
She bite lip. “Nice? Hmm… thank you.” She quick pick her nylon. “I go come tomorrow.”
As she waka out, her yansh sway. I swallow. Prick don hard proper. I adjust kaftan quick before next customer come.
Days dey pass like that. Small small. One evening she bring small cake from church women meeting. “For you, Alhaji. Make you taste.”
I taste am. Sweet. “Walahi, this one sweet. You make am?”
She laugh. “No o. But I fit learn if person teach me.”
We talk about her boys. Emeka fear of darkness. How she dey leave light on till he sleep. I tell her about my late wife, how she use to cook tuwo better than anybody. Small laugh here. Small silence there. One time my phone ring wrong number. We laugh about am.
Another afternoon, sun dey hot. She bend down to pick pure water from low shelf. Her yansh push out proper. Round. Heavy. I just stand there like mumu, staring. She turn quick, catch me. My face burn.
“Sorry… I… I wan arrange the stock,” I lie.
She stand up, face red small. “Hmm… it’s okay. I understand.” But she no vex. She just look down, smile small. “Alhaji, you dey make me feel… seen. My husband no dey look me like this again. Since the miscarriage… e just… forget it.”
I no push am. One customer enter buy match. We change topic quick. But the tension dey there. Thick.
One cloudy day, rain dey threaten. She come. We talk long. Almost 25 minutes. No customer. She stand close. Too close. Her boobs almost touch my arm.
“Musa…” she use my name without Alhaji. “Sometimes for night, after prayer, I just dey lie down. Body dey hot. I no know wetin dey do me.”
I swallow. “Agnes, if you ever need to talk… my back room dey cool. No judgment.”
She touch my hand small. Soft. Then quick remove am like fire burn her. “I… I go think. This thing no good but… hmm. I no know.”
She rush out when small rain start. I stand there, heart dey beat. Kaftan tight. I know say this fire don start to burn proper. And e go hard to quench.
Two days after that cloudy day wey Agnes touch my hand and run, the rain fall heavy for morning but stop by 1pm. Everywhere cool, ground wet, air sweet with soil smell. I open shop like normal but my mind dey scatter. I arrange the same pure water pack three times, eyes always on the door. My big Hausa prick dey half hard already inside my light blue kaftan. The thick outline dey show. I adjust am but e no calm. I just dey remember how Agnes yansh push out when she bend, how her voice shake when she talk say her body dey hot.
Around 2:25pm, Agnes enter. She no even greet proper first. She just stand there, breathing fast. White blouse wey hug her heavy boobs tight, nipples already pointing small from the breeze. Green wrapper tie extra tight behind, her massive yansh stretching the cloth. One customer still dey inside buying cigarette. Agnes wait, shifting leg to leg. The man finally leave.
She lock the door herself before I even move. “Alhaji… Musa. I no fit pretend again.”
I swallow. “Agnes, you sure? Your boys… your husband…”
She cut me. “Hmm… I don leave them with Mama Ngozi. She go watch them till evening.” She pause, look ground. “If I think too much, I go change my mind. Make we just… go inside.”
We enter the small back room. Fan dey blow. Mattress dey there. As curtain close, small awkward silence catch us. I scratch my beard. She dey look the mattress like say e go bite her.
“I… I never do this before,” she whisper. “Not since I marry.”
I step close. “We fit still stop…”
She shake head quick. “No. Kiss me first.”
I pull her. Our lips meet. Messy at first. Teeth knock small. Then e deep. She moan into my mouth. My hand squeeze her heavy boobs through blouse. She gasp. I open buttons fast, her boobs bounce out. Big, full, dark nipples hard. I suck one strong, biting small. Agnes body jerk.
“Ewo… Musa…”
She pull my kaftan. My thick long Hausa cock spring out. Almost 9 inches, very thick, veins everywhere, big cap shining. Agnes eyes wide. “Chineke! This one… e big o. I dey fear but…”
She hold am with two hands, stroking clumsy. I pull her wrapper and pant down. Her big round yansh bounce free. I squeeze am hard. Her pussy already dripping. I rub my dick cap on her wet lips, teasing.
She beg, voice shaking. “Abeg… no torture me. Put am.”
I push her on mattress, open her legs. First thrust hard. Half my cock enter. Agnes shout: “Ahhhhh! E tight! E dey tear me!!”
I push again. Full length. Deep. She cry out. “Chineke m ooo!! E deep!!”
I start pounding. Strong. Kpai! Kpai! Kpai! Her big yansh bouncing. Heavy boobs shaking wild. I hold her waist, fucking her missionary with power.
“Wallahi! Your pussy sweet die!” I groan.
Agnes shout in Igbo: “Ewooo! Harder Musa! Kwaa ya!! Fuck me!! My husband never do me like this!! Destroy this pussy!! Ahh Chineke!!”
I go faster. Deeper. Her juice dey splash. Suddenly she stiffen. “I dey cum! Ewooo!!” She squirt hard hot water shoot out, wetting my belly and mattress. Body shaking like leaf.
I no stop. Flip her doggy. Her massive yansh up. I slap am pa! pa! pa! Red mark appear. Then one heavy thrust, full length inside. Agnes scream into pillow: “Ewooo! E deep pass!!! Chineke m ooo!!”
I hammer her relentless. Balls slapping her clit. Pulling out almost full, then ramming back with force. Her yansh shaking violent with every hard penetration.
“Ya Allah! Kai na! Wallahi!!” I groan in Hausa, sweat dropping on her back.
Agnes dey cry moan: “Kwaa ya harder!! Fuck me like animal!! Ewooo Musa!! My yansh! My toto!! I dey cum again!!”
She squirt second time, juice everywhere. Legs weak but I hold her waist, continue pounding. Room full with wet skin sound and her Igbo shouting.
After long time, I flip her back missionary, legs on my shoulder. I fold her small and hammer down with full weight. Deep. Brutal. Fast.
She shout: “Chineke! I go die!! Harder!! Kwaa m!! Fuck me till I scatter!! Ewoooo!!”
Third squirt. Body vibrating uncontrollable. I groan loud: “Wallahi! I no fit hold!! Ya Allah!!”
I bury deep and release hot thick Hausa cum pump plenty inside her, overflowing, running down her yansh.
We collapse. Breathing heavy. Bodies sweaty. Small silence. Then she laugh small, tired laugh. “Musa… my leg dey shake like say I run race. I never squirt like this in my life.”
I stroke her yansh. “You sweet well well.”
She rest small on my chest. Then she sit up quick. “Chineke, the time. I go soon go pick the boys.” She clean up fast, adjust clothes with weak legs. Before she leave, she turn. “This… we go do again?”
I nod. “Anytime you ready.”
She sneak out. I open shop, still smelling her. My kaftan wet small. I know say this thing never finish. E just start.
Written by Anonymous
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