At 35, I was single and without the imminent prospects of marriage. Not that I valued the single life. I just had the ill luck of not being courted by the right guys. With many of my potential suitors, it was all about having sex with me and getting me pregnant.

With that, they believed my financial and professional successes would help me manage a child. But I was not ready for the single parent thing.

In terms of success, I was not too far away.

I was a logistics officer at the Fount Agency, a foremost logistics and haulage company in the heartland of the city. I enjoyed my professional engagements and gave in all I had to the job. I found ways to relax through dance and parties. My dress sense was also flashy and sexy.

The heartland of the city was the most expensive to live in. Lush and inured in elitist majesty and splendour, this suburb was the very one for the crème de la creme.

I was still a young lady finding my feet. So instead of going for broke and renting apartments that would gulp millions from my salary, I decided to find solace in my sister’s palatial abode.

Bimpe was my elder sister by ten solid years.  Born within the enclaves of our hometown in the village, she had, fortunately gotten married to a man who had gone on to attain entrepreneurial success in little time. Summarily, her husband, Uncle Segun was a billionaire.

Bimpe was the very summation of one overwhelmed with wealth and splendour. Despite being a billionaire through the sheer benevolence of her husband, she remained brash, rigid, and unfashionable.

She always appeared in free-flowing native wears that totally shrouded any tad of beauty she had. Her non-exercising and poor attention to lifestyle morphed her into a busty, round and shapeless woman. With just two kids after a decade of marriage, one would have expected a smart, sentient, suave elite draped in smart fitting wears to titillate her husband’s phallic fantasies. At 45, my sister looked 55, haggard and tired.

“Yinka, you are not getting any younger. When do you intend getting married for crying out loud?”, was her regular refrain

“Soon” was always my response. I was going to surely get married. But I wouldn’t allow marriage to morph me into sister Bimpe.

My brother in law, Uncle Segun, as a successful entrepreneur, was an incurable socialite. Tall, dark and handsome by a mile, he was urbane, cheeky and always effusive in his smiles. His graceful mien contrasted with my sister’s dull look such that I sometimes wondered how their paths met.

Uncle Segun and I had a very professional relationship. He was the very charming and friendly type. He was always around to engage us in banters. He chatted with me frequently and engaged me in household conversations.

Devil is calling you closely .

Madam don dey codedly dey use her own hands dey dog her grave Small small

I know say na tiktalk get this kain stories. No need to click, I have imagined how it will end up.

Nice write up

Apparently, he was not interested in the twerk but the grind. I got turned on as his fiery, strong boner crushed my ass from behind. We continued for minutes, buoyed by the dare devilry of alcohol. He turned me.

There I was, face to face with him. We kissed for few minutes, right there on the penthouse. He then lifted me off the floor and carried me for minutes straight to his bed, the same one on which he and my sister made love.

For a 48 year old, I marveled at his strength and agility. He dropped me on his bed, but I had to take charge. I stood, lifting him off the bed. I pushed him to the wall gently, then planted a kiss on his lips.

He was a bad ass kisser. He twirled his tongue with the rapidity and dexterity that got me struggling to stay afloat. He was fast, fiery and furious. He grabbed my right boob under the top with his right hand and fondled my boobs.

Our kissing continued. In no time, I puled down his boxers with my left hand as he continued handling my boobs. I grabbed hold of his boner.