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TORMENTS AND PLEASURES

You know what they say about the past? They say let it go and forgive yourself. But there is nothing in this past that seems like there is a need for forgiveness. I’d rather live it all over again.

I used to know a Sam. Sam had that smile that seemed to say: I’ve got your back. He was a weirdo that kept a decent 9-5. He was taken and I was single. Who wants a relationship? It would have only complicated things. We were okay with the amazing climax we could reach every time we hooked up.

Forgive me, but this is not a poem. It’s an erotic encounter of a memory that still causes a stir deep down inside of me. On a cold November night in 2010, Sam came over for the weekend as usual. I was struck anew by his gorgeousness as he walked into my space like he owned it. He was 6ft tall and weighed about 70kg. He had brown eyes and an infectious smile. His deep, rich voice always made me helpless when he spoke. His lips were madly soft and they gave amazing head.

I made him noodles just the way he liked it, not too soft and with the eggs half done. He drank a glass of water and then curled up beside me on my student bed.

Then he began to tell me a story. About his sexcapades in the university. He told me about a particular beautiful girl, Jennifer. He spoke of her long legs and smooth skin. He spoke of how he kissed her brown skin and made her nipples erect with just one touch. He made tiny sounds behind my ears, mimicking how Jennifer moaned to his touch.

Damn! I had no business getting wet. I should have been mad at him for talking about his past with another woman in my bed, but fuck it. This little tale turned me on. It made me want Jennifer in bed with us. Sam would take a deep breath and kiss my neck. He would touch my inner thigh and chuckle when I arched my hips closer to his dick. He spoke of dipping his fingers into Jennifer’s honey-pot and making her lick the juice off his fingers. He spoke of the dirty things she would say to him to get him hard.

It was a total waste of time fighting the thoughts of another woman in Sam’s arms. I just wanted him to finish this nasty story and bury his head between my legs. I was burning everywhere his breath touched. He was going into the details of how he rammed himself into her from behind. I swear, I thought he was talking about doggy style, until I felt his fingers in my butthole. Gently, from two fingers to three. I was very wet and the slippery juice had found its way to my butthole. My honey pot was boiling over from all the excitement of someone else getting rammed.

He gently cupped my breast in one hand while the other fingered my butthole. It didn’t matter if he wanted to do my butt or my pussy, I just wanted him inside me. Deep enough to cause me to bite into my pillow so that my neighbours wouldn’t hear me cry with the helplessness of the pleasure. But he wasn’t in a hurry. The more I begged him to fuck me, the slower his strokes became. I broke free from his embrace and begged him to please just fuck me and stop talking. He pushed me up against the window frame and knelt between my thighs.

The moment his tongue touched my clit, I let out that caged sound of a wounded animal. I would have loudly cursed and given up my inheritance if I had any. He licked every juice till it was dry enough for him to thrust deep enough to make me cry. He had no business with love making, we were the fuckers, and the sex wasn’t good if all you did was smile. The tears remind you of pleasures you can’t explain. Thrusting deep into my wetness, he said nothing until the deed was over. I held on to my window frame for life. I prayed the house would not fall on us.

With every thrust, Sam would ask me if I could feel him inside me. He wanted me to acknowledge his power over my body, and indeed, there was no will power to pretend with when every part of my body had pledged allegiance to him. At some point, I couldn’t feel my legs anymore and I can swear to you that in those moments, I couldn’t remember if it was Friday or Sunday.

Some people will not understand how these things happen, how stories that should make you angry turn you on. But someday, you’ll have the experience and I hope you’ll write about yours.

Written by Melita

About shakespeareanwalter

Walt Shakes(@Walt_Shakes) is an award-winning Nigerian writer, poet and veteran blogger. He is a lover of the written word. the faint whiff of nature, the flashing vista of movies, the warmth of companionship and the happy sound of laughter.

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