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Handle

By Freddy Sanya

Copyright Freddy Sanya 2017

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Table of Contents

Page 1

Page 2

Page 3

Page 4

About the Author

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Nneka glanced at her bedside clock. 11 p.m.

She wanted to be held by strong arms. She wanted the warmth of a man's body. She wanted Ben.

He should have been in bed with her. He should have been making love to her.

She swung her legs off the bed. None of that wretched loneliness this time. She had a quick shower and wore heavy makeup.

There was a time when she attracted attention like a beauty queen. Now, she was just a fragile version of that Nneka. Ben's absence had sucked out all her charm and elegance.

She slipped into a polka dot blouse and skin-tight jeans and checked herself in the mirror. Not bad.

She left the apartment and got to Laba Club in thirty minutes. Revelers trooped in to watch the hottest new artistes perform live. She avoided the cluster of girls at the club entrance and positioned herself at the gate.

It didn’t take long for the first guy to approach.

“How much for the night?" the guy asked her.

“How much do you have?”

“I have enough to keep you happy.”

“Good. Let's go.” Money wasn't an issue. She wanted muscle and energy.

The guy hesitated. "You don't have a price?"

"I do. But right now, I just want to have a good time."

He was probably in his late twenties. He looked strong and clean.

“You don’t want money?”

“Do you want me or not?”

She knew 'I just want to have a good time' sounded incredible to a guy soliciting a prostitute. But she wasn't a street girl. She was a marketing executive at Finley Insurance.

The guy walked away. Nneka didn't blame him. Too good to be true was the start of many rip-offs in town.

More guys approached. None pleased Nneka. One was too drunk. Another was too crazy. The rest were too arrogant.

A blue Lexus 330 stopped in front of her. “Get in,” the driver said. It was the first guy.

She got in. He drove off.

Righteous thoughts tugged at her. Am I sure I want to do this? What if he attacked me? What if he's a criminal?

She pushed out the thoughts. A little adventure won't hurt.

The guy drove to Venice Hotel. She had attended a conference at the hotel a couple of months ago. She liked the place.

They rode the elevator in silence and stepped into a spacious suite five minutes later.

Nneka slipped out of her blouse, took the jeans off and sat at the edge of the king-size bed.

"I'll shower," the guy said and entered the bathroom.

She sighed and lay on the bed. She had expected him to undress and make his move.

Waiting to make love always made her anxious. The actual intercourse didn't. She could have sex all day long and not worry a bit.

Something else caused the anxiety. Something that made her special among women.

She caressed her thighs. Could this virile stranger handle it?

Most of her ex-boyfriends couldn't. Ben could. That's why she married him.

The guy came out of the bathroom in boxer shorts. A pleasant perfume pervaded the suite.

Nneka made a mental note to take a long shower once they were done. Venice Hotel had beautiful perfumed soaps.

The guy went to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of Amarula. He filled two wine glasses and gave her one.

"Thanks," she said and took a sip.

"Do you like it?"

"Sure," she replied. The liqueur tasted like chocolate ice cream mixed with brandy. It was thick and sweet.

"Take off your bra."

"What?"

"Your bra. Take it off."

She tensed. "Why?"

She knew the question was absurd. They were there to hump each other. She had already discarded her blouse and jeans. But his words made her apprehensive.

Not the words, really, but the tone. It was deeper than she expected. Intimate. He spoke to her like they were lovers.

The guy sat beside her. "You said you wanted a good time, didn't you?"

She hesitated, put the glass of Amarula on a stool and unlatched her bra. I hope I don't regret this.

The guy stared at her breasts. Gazed at them like they were curious works of art.

She loved her breasts. Especially the pointed nipples that defied gravity. When she was single, she considered them assets in the dating game.

She didn't play that game anymore. And she wasn't keen on strangers admiring her chest. "Are you going to stare at me all night?"

He stripped and flung his shorts on the bed. His thing was bigger and longer than any she had ever seen. He put on a condom.

She slipped out of her panties and parted her legs.

She prayed silently as he entered her. God, let him handle it.

His first thrust was shallow, slow and tentative.

The second was deeper, faster and harder.

A series of quick thrusts followed. He kissed her neck, sucked her right nipple and kept thrusting.

She closed her eyes as they melted into each other. Moaning, heaving, licking.

The guy stopped. "Enjoying yourself?"

She wrapped her legs around him."Don't stop."

"Turn around."

She backed him and raised her hips. She wasn't fond of doggy style. Ben loved it. So she learned to accept it and eventually, climax with it.

Gripping her hips, the guy rammed into her repeatedly.

It took her years to realize that men had two different phases of love making. In the first phase, they cared about their partner's needs and took time to satisfy her. In the second phase, they expressed their lust with raw power, without caring too much about their partner.

That masculine power unlocked deep reservoirs of energy inside her. Energy she never knew she had.

As the guy continued to slam his rock-hard shaft into her, she felt the vibrations. Uncontrollable waves of energy washed over her and exploded in all directions.

She heard the guy gasp.

The waves ebbed.

Panting, she surveyed the damage.

The wine glasses had shattered. The bathroom door was on the floor, torn from its hinges.

She found the guy at the other end of the suite. She hurried over and checked his pulse. He had been tossed farther than most of her ex-boyfriends.

She took a bottle of water from the fridge and guzzled it. She could easily pay for the damages. And the guy's hospital bill.

She hadn't bothered to find out his name. No need to. He was only the first guy she had slept with since Ben died. She would sleep with many more. Until she found the one who could handle it.





















About the Author

Freddy Sanya's erotic stories, like African folk tales, have a touch of fantasy and the supernatural.

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