42nd Avenue – The Sexcapades of Pamela: Caught in the Act

My name is Pamela Jr., I be confirm Olosho just like my late mum. My mum died of HIV after several money ritual attempts on her life. As a core girl, am here to talk about my daily activities. My stories can be pathetic but I don’t want your sympathy, most times, I get what I deserve. Anyways…

It was a very cold day cold Friday night and all I longed for was to have a strong male body in bed to keep me warm. It was a desire I could have satisfied by a mere snap of a finger at one of my numerous male admires in my street. But I knew they could not afford my fee, and God knew I needed money. So, I had to defy the cold, harsh weather to hawk my wares on the street. Clad in a brief black silk gown that stuck to my body like a second skin, cut so low that my boobs popped out with the nipples straining importantly against the fabric of the dress. I walked down Allen Avenue, my hips swinging. The gown left several inches of my thighs exposed. It was an unusual dress for such a cold weather but it was certainly one of the best with which I could advertise my physical attributes.

Luxurious cars – Bentley, G-Wagon cruised by with magestic ease, while some of the woman scurried after some of the car that slowed down. The race for the cars that stopped was very competitive, quite maddening.

I moved further down the road away from the scowls and the arrows of envy from the other women threatening to shoot me down. They knew I was infinitely more attractive than them and so could easily get a client though I wasn’t in the mood for such competitions. All I wanted was a rich guy with an enormous dick.

Shortly after, an elegant black car halted before me and the man behind the wheel signaled to me.

The rear light of the car showed that it was a G-wagon Benz.

“Evening, young lady. In search of fun?” the man asked flashing me a beautiful smile.’

“Em… actually, I’m on business,” I replied matter of-fact.

“Oh, well fun, business… we’re speaking the same language. Why not come in and keep my company for the night?”

I hesitated for a little while and when I spoke my voice was calm and cool, giving the hint that I was not a desperate and cheap sexpot.

“It will cost you a fortune” I replied.

“Then you must be a good in bed.

“Two 200k for the night” I said determinedly.

“Oh come on, we’ll both have our share of the exquisite pleasure.”

After several minutes of haggling, I agreed to follow him for the night at N100,000. He paid me on demand, before starting the car.

Two hours later, after some night crawling, we were struggling together on his bed, stark naked. I looked at the throbbing lance he was clutching, eleven glorious inches and for an instance; I could see no possibility of ever admitting such a length of rock.

Nonetheless, a quiver went through me and I shuddered and gasped. In a while we were all over each other and in time his thrusting became fiercer and faster and I found I was lifting my hips to meet his at a furious rate, but I managed to keep his rhythm.

Every muscle in my body began to contract with a sweetness no words can describe.

Suddenly, a female voice cried out with surprise and agony. It was the man’s wife.

“What the hell is going on here?

“Oh Tunde…” In the heat of the moment we had no seen or heard her enter the apartment and the bed room.

Panic stricken the man bounced off me and I jumped out of my garments. I escaped from the apartment into the cold dark night. What a bitch of a life this is…