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.
Gradually, I began to notice a wish for intimacy. He complimented my looks around the house. When at home, I was always disentangled from my bra, which allowed my boobs to jump around underneath my transparent blue home top. I was always in my bumshorts, salaciously swaying my ass in the appreciation of the freedom home offered. From the kitchen down to the penthouse, I was not the type to let my beauty slide without expression.
Uncle Segun never stopped his appreciation of my frame. I noticed his consistent ogles, his perennial fixation with my backside, A few times I moved around the house, I could notice his stares down from the penthouse.
Curiously, my sister always shops, alone. She is the type to bombard her husband with expensive clothes, shoes and watches. What she lacks in sexuality, she makes up for it with generosity. On a particular day, she had gone shopping. It was on a Saturday, my work free day. Her husband and I were left alone. I was in my room, twerking ferociously to the latest hit songs in town. I heard a beep. It was my WhatsApp message notification. Uncle Segun had requested I brought a cup of wine. There was then the natural nudging of naughtiness. I wanted to savour that feeling of having my body ogled at by my uncle. Quickly, I readjusted my bum shorts. My top was transparent, leaving the outlines of my dangling boobs visible. I walked up to the penthouse with a bottle of wine. With flashes of smile, I placed the wine on the short table, with my ass directly in front of my brother in law. When I turned to take my leave, I noticed his boner standing straight from his boxers.
“Join me Yinka”
“Sir,…..what did you say”
“Join me. Am bored here”
I sat at the opposite chair. He asked me to join the drinking bazaar. I obliged. Few minutes on, as we chatted and drank, I got tipsy. Then my confidence soared. From light innocent conversations, our chats progressed to dirty, flirty ones.
What have you been doing indoors?
I laughed, then answered him
“Oh wow”, his face was shrouded in undisguised lust
“Yinka babe. Why not twerk for me?”, he continued
He gave me no chance to answer. Instantly, my sexy brother in law pulled me close. Overwhelmed by the grogginess of spirits, I pulled back a little. I then responded, with a mischievous grin
“Am I to dance to the music-less song of spirits?”
Instantly, I played the hit song I was dancing to earlier on my phone. Action time. I began to twerk ferociously as my tipsy in law looked on in undisguised lust.
In few minutes, he joined me, his bulging stomach grinding on my back as his groins grinded on my swaying ass. 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 fondling my boobs. I grabbed hold of his boner. As I held his dick and began to rub it sensuously, he let go of my boobs. I felt in charge again.
Soon, I went down and sucked him for minutes. I squeezed his balls and gulped his cock intermittently, enjoying his moans of appreciation. Each time he was about to cum. I paused, allowing him to go down before we restarted. Soon, I was naked. Still pushed to the wall, I then asked him to take me from behind.
With a fascinated look, he told me he didn’t know how to go about it. I smiled, holding his dick with my right hand and slowly guiding it in. He wasn’t thrusting. I had a solution. I lay him on the bed, then sat on his dick. I guided his dick and rode him gently, before increasing the thrusts. He was overwhelmed with glee. In minutes, he came.
We lay exhausted. He, flushed with excitement and satisfaction, began a short story
“Your sister has never satisfied me in bed. She is always complaining about being tired. She wants me to cum the next minute after I enter her. Her looks, shape and dress sense even compounds things. It stifles my sensuous sense”
As he said this, I moved closer and placed his head on my boobs. He sucked my nipples like a little baby. We fucked again. Later that evening my sister was back.
My brother in law and I continued our secret flings. These days, my uncle looks sharper and happier. He was contented with just the sex and the risks. I enjoyed each fling. He has continued to shower me with gifts. Two years on, I am 37, still unmarried, but now under immense familial and societal pressure. Sister Bimpe has told me to find my apartment if I do not get married that year. My sexy in law still enjoys our secret dates but like most men, his taste is always bound for change and new adventures….