The journey home was always something I dreaded. It was long, draining, and filled with frustrations I could never escape. First came the wait for the bus, a cruel ritual that sometimes stretched into hours as the driver refused to move until every seat was filled. By the time we finally left, I was already restless, only to be trapped in traffic that crawled at a snail’s pace for hours on end. I often wished I could just stay back in school, but with the hostels being locked up, I had no choice but to leave.
This was my fifth year in university, yet somehow I was still stuck in my third year. Thanks to yet another ASUU strike, it looked like I’d be wasting even more time in the same level. The thought of repeating another year left me bitter and exhausted. I was tired of it all, tired of the system, tired of school. Sometimes I daydreamed about dropping out completely and finding something else, something better, to do with my life. But I knew my mother would rather bury me than see me leave school without a degree.
She was another reason I disliked going home. I loved her, deeply, but I always suspected she had children just so she could have people to send on errands. The woman was relentless, always finding something for us to do, always demanding, always moving. As I sat in the bus staring at the endless line of cars, I whispered a quick prayer that the government would just grant ASUU’s demands soon, so I could return to the relative freedom of school, where at least no one was constantly asking me to fetch, carry, or clean.
By the time I finally arrived home, it was five twenty-eight in the evening. I had left school at ten that morning, expecting a three-hour journey, but it stretched into a grueling seven hours. My body ached, my clothes were damp with sweat, and every bone in me screamed for rest.
‘Welcome back, oko mi,’ my mother said warmly as soon as I stepped into the living room.
‘Good evening, mummy,’ I greeted, bowing slightly.
‘How was your journey?’
‘Stressful,’ I replied bluntly.
‘Pele.’
‘Thank you, mummy.’ I dropped my bag heavily on the floor and sank into the couch.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘So why didn’t you come home earlier, ehn? The strike started a whole week ago, and your sister came back immediately.’
I rolled my eyes, already tired of the questioning. ‘Mummy, I had things to do before leaving school.’
‘Things like what?’ she pressed.
Before I could answer, my sister walked in looking surprised. ‘You’re back?’
‘Yes, I’m back.’
‘I thought you said you weren’t coming,’ she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
I remembered clearly the phone call the day ASUU declared the strike. She had asked me when I was coming home, and I told her outright that I wasn’t. I meant it, too. But then NASU joined the strike, and the hostels were shut down, leaving me stranded. ‘Well, I changed my mind,’ I muttered.
‘You changed your mind, or you had no choice?’ Tola smirked. She always had a sharp tongue and a clever comeback for everything. Just like our mother. Standing at five foot seven, she was only slightly shorter than me. Slim, dark-skinned, and with features so similar to mine, people often mistook us for twins. A comparison she despised.
I stood up and grabbed my bag. ‘I’m going to shower and sleep,’ I announced as I made my way toward my room.
‘Won’t you eat something first?’ my mother called after me.
‘I’m not hungry,’ I said flatly, disappearing into the hallway, too drained to care about food.
I disappeared into my room, peeled off my dusty clothes, and stood under the shower until the water ran cold against my skin. By the time I dried off and collapsed into bed, exhaustion swallowed me whole. Sleep came instantly.
When I finally woke up, it was hours later. The room was dark except for the faint glow of my phone charging on the nightstand. Outside, the crickets hummed, and the air had cooled. I heard my mother’s voice drifting in from outside. She was talking to someone about fuel scarcity.
I checked the time: 9:40 p.m. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that all I had eaten that day was breakfast and some tasteless snacks on the bus. Groaning, I dragged myself up and started pulling on a shirt. Just then, her voice carried clearly into my room:
‘Don’t worry, my son is back from school now. He can help you get fuel in the morning.’
I froze. My mouth dropped open. WTF? I thought bitterly. I hadn’t even been home for a full day, and she was already signing me up for chores. worse, for someone else’s chores. Usually, I at least got a day or two of peace before she remembered I was her full-time errand boy.
Shaking my head, I pulled the shirt over my head and went to the kitchen. I dug out some food from the fridge, shoved it into the microwave, and waited, yawning and rubbing my eyes. The aroma of warm stew and rice filled the air, making my stomach growl again. Plate in hand, I carried my food to the living room.
My sister was sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. One of her K-dramas was playing, all dramatic music and long stares between two characters. I sat at the dining table, unlocked my phone, and scrolled through TikTok while shoving spoonfuls into my mouth. Seven minutes later, my mum came in.
‘You’re awake,’ she said casually, settling onto the other couch.
I ignored her and kept scrolling. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her glance at my sister.
‘Why didn’t you wait for me before starting the show?’ she asked.
‘I was waiting,’ Tola replied without looking up, ‘but you were taking forever.’
‘I was talking to Mr. Akeem. He said he queued for petrol for two hours, only for them to stop selling just before it reached him.’
‘Wow, that’s sad,’ Tola murmured, eyes still glued to the screen.
‘I hope NEPA doesn’t take light. I already told him that Tade will help him buy fuel tomorrow morning.’
I dropped my spoon. ‘Why did you tell him that?’ I asked, irritation bleeding into my voice.
‘Why did I tell him what?’ she asked innocently.
‘That I’ll buy fuel for him.’
‘And why not?’ she shot back.
‘Because, what if I’m busy?’
‘Busy doing what?’ Her eyebrows lifted like she already knew the answer was nothing.
I clenched my jaw. ‘You need to stop making me do chores for other people. I don’t like it.’
She sighed, leaning back like she’d heard this speech a thousand times. ‘You don’t know that when you do good for your elders, children will do good to you when you are older.’
I rolled my eyes. The old guilt-trip proverb. She used it every time, like a shield I could never break. ‘He seemed fine handling it himself. Why involve me?’
Her face stiffened. ‘He’s a widow like me. All his children are abroad. He only came back to Nigeria six months ago. I just want to help him.’
‘But you’re not the one helping,’ I muttered. ‘I am.’
‘And I gave birth to you, so it’s the same thing.’
I shook my head, exasperated. Her logic was a maze I had no energy to walk through. Instead, I went back to my phone and shut her out.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of knocking.
‘It’s time for morning devotion,’ Tola’s muffled voice came through the door.
Dragging myself out of bed, I joined them in the living room. We prayed, sang, and read scripture for nearly an hour before my mum started dishing out chores like a general giving orders.
‘Tola, go and peel beans so we can make akara.’
‘Tade, go and buy fuel. When you come back, wash my car.’
My ears perked up. My mother’s car was her prized possession, and she rarely let me near it. Maybe this was finally my chance.
‘Can I take the car to buy fuel?’ I asked, barely containing my excitement.
‘Absolutely not,’ she said without hesitation. ‘You can take okada.’
The excitement drained from me instantly. She pressed money into my palm, then added, ‘Go to Mr. Akeem’s flat first. Collect his jerrycan and money so you can buy his fuel too.’
I groaned inwardly, dragged myself into clean clothes, and stepped out into the compound.
Our house was a rented property, two long two-story buildings facing each other with a wide concrete courtyard in between. Eight flats in total, filled with families who often knew far too much about each other’s business. Of all of them, only three households had cars: my mum’s, the Okoros’, and the so called Mr Akeem whose car was parked opposite ours.
Dragging my feet, I headed toward his flat. His door was right across from ours. I raised my fist to knock, planning to be as curt and unfriendly as possible. If he thought I was rude, maybe he’d stop accepting my mother’s “volunteering” of my services. If he needed someone to buy fuel for him, he should’ve brought his kids back from abroad.
I was just about to knock again when the door creaked open.
My jaw nearly hit the floor when the door opened. For days, I had been picturing a bald, potbellied, cranky old man, probably short and grumpy too. Instead, standing in front of me was the complete opposite. He was tall, easily six feet, with a shock of silver hair and a well-groomed beard to match. And abs. Actual abs. I, a twenty-four year old, dragged myself to the gym at least three times a week, and all I had to show for it was my bubble butt which, honestly, I didn’t mind. But still. This man was carved like he had stepped straight out of a Greek myth. Shirtless, with nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, he looked like trouble. Gorgeous, impossible trouble. Triton had somehow moved into our compound.
‘Excuse me?’ he said, pulling me out of my gawking trance.
‘Oh—good morning, sir. I… uh… I’m here for fuel. I mean, to buy fuel. For you,’ I stuttered, heat rushing to my ears.
‘Ah, you must be Mrs. Salako’s son.’ I nodded quickly. ‘Please, come in. Let me grab my wallet.’
His flat was the same layout as ours, but his furniture was simple, bachelor-like. Nothing fancy, but neat. He came back with his wallet, pulled out a thick wad of cash, and handed me twenty thousand naira.
‘I hope this isn’t a bother,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to impose.’
‘Not at all. Always happy to help,’ I replied, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched.
He smiled faintly, passed me the jerry can, and I left. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way his chest caught the light, the definition in his stomach, the fact that men like him existed outside of movies. it all lingered in my mind.I felt my cock stir at the thought.
Thirty minutes later, I was back with his change and his fuel.
‘Wow, you’re back sooner than I expected. Was there no queue?’
‘There was,’ I said, flashing him a smile, ‘but I have my ways.’
He smiled back, and something in my chest did a little flip.
After changing clothes, I set about washing my mother’s car. Normally I’d rush through it, but that day I gave it the kind of attention usually reserved for detailing services. I set my speaker in the corner and played music loud enough for me to feel it but not enough to annoy the neighbors. I wore my favorite red shorts, the pair that clung just right and hugged my bubble butt, my one claim to fame.
Every few minutes, I found myself sneaking a glance at Mr. Akeem’s door, hoping he’d come outside. He didn’t. When I finished, I went inside my room and stationed myself by the window, peeking out every time I heard footsteps in the compound. But still, no sign of him.
Not that day. Not the next.
By Friday afternoon, I was restless. I was sprawled on my bed when I finally heard his door open. I leapt up, nearly tripping over myself to get to the window. There he was, in a flowing white jalabiya and palm slippers, looking impossibly hot. He walked casually to his car, got in, and drove off. My pulse was still racing long after he was gone.
I jumped into the shower, scrubbed myself down, and went through my skincare routine with extra care. Afterward, I slipped on a white tank top and those same red shorts. I didn’t know why, but I needed him to see me in them.
‘Where are you going?’ my mother asked as I passed through the living room.
‘Outside,’ I said.
‘Outside where?’
‘The compound.’
She gave me a long look. ‘Is that not your sister’s short knicker?’
‘No, it’s mine.’
‘Why is it so short? It makes you look like a girl.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Mummy, please. The weather is hot.’
My sister strolled in just then, gave me a once-over, and shook her head.
‘The yansh God was supposed to give me, he gave it to you,’ she sighed, collapsing onto the couch.
‘Abi o,’ my mum chimed in. ‘You that you are a girl don’t have yansh. But Tade that is a boy now has yansh. What does a boy need yansh for?’
If only they knew. That yansh was my selling point. Guys at school never missed a chance to whisper compliments when no one else was around. Even my ex once swore it was his favorite part of me, before he cheated, of course.
I ignored them both and went outside to wait. At quarter past two, his car pulled in. My heart jumped. I walked over as he parked.
‘Welcome back, sir,’ I said quickly.
He smiled, recognition flashing in his eyes. ‘How are you, Tade, right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thank you for the other day.’
‘Don’t mention it, sir.’
I glanced at the back seat and saw several bags. Without waiting, I opened the door and grabbed them, two in each hand. I carried them to his flat and stood by the door until he unlocked it. I stepped inside like I belonged there.
‘Thank you so much,’ he said warmly. ‘You’re such a responsible boy.’
I blushed. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Please, help yourself to something in the fridge before you leave. Soft drinks, beer, anything you like.’ He disappeared into his room, leaving me in the kitchen.
I chose a can of Fanta, popped it open, and leaned against the counter as I sipped. That’s when he reappeared, this time in shorts, shirtless again.
My breath caught. His chest was smooth, sculpted, perfect. His legs were strong, covered in dark grey hair. And his shorts hung low—too low—revealing just a hint of pubic hair at the waistband.
I nearly choked on my drink.
‘Oh, I thought you left.’
‘Uhm… I just wanted to know if you needed help with anything else.’
‘No, I’m good. I was just about to make lunch. You could join me if you want.’
‘Yes, I will,’ I replied, my voice coming out a little too eager.
I lingered in the kitchen as he moved about with easy confidence, reaching for spices, stirring, chopping. It felt strangely domestic, as though I was keeping my man company while he made lunch for the two of us. My eyes kept betraying me, tracing the slope of his shoulders, the flex of his arms, the shimmer of sweat that caught the light as it slid down his chest. I desperately wanted to lick it off, but all I could do was watch it run down his chest and into the hair jutting out of his shorts. My shorts began to tent, and I realised I needed to get out of there.
'I need to go?' I squealed.
'Already?'
'Uhm, yeah, I just remembered there was something I needed to do for my mum.'
That's a shame. I thought you were going to have lunch with me.
'Maybe another time,' I murmured, rushing out of his flat.
I locked the door behind me as I entered my room. I was now completely hard. It felt like my cock was about to explode through my shorts. I went into my bathroom, took down my shorts and began stroking my shaft. I was already leaking precum. I closed my eyes and imagined Mr Akeem in his kitchen, wearing those shorts. I could still smell him as I stroked.
'Mr Akeem,' I groaned. Mr Akeem, fuck me.
I used my free hand to rub the cum on my tip. My body was shaking, and I realised I was ready to cum. I pushed harder and faster, trying to stay quiet. But I wanted to cry out his name: 'Fuck me harder, Mr Akeem.' I whispered to myself. A second later, I was shooting ropes of cum all over my bathroom floor.
I cleaned myself up and collapsed on my bed, still trembling. That release had been intense, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted the real deal. If only wishes were horses.
Over the next week, I made sure I was always around whenever Mr Akeem needed help. Carrying things, fixing small chores, even just keeping him company, anything that gave me a reason to stay close. Each time, I would retreat to my bathroom afterward, pull down my shorts, and finish what my imagination had started. My mother kept praising me for being more responsible, convinced I was finally maturing. If only she knew my real agenda.
One afternoon, the house was quiet. My mum was at work, my sister out with friends, and I was stretched on my bed in nothing but my boxers. The power had been out for hours and the heat was unbearable. Sweat rolled down my temples even though I had just showered.
Then I heard a door creak open. Curious, I got up and peered out my window. It was Mr Akeem. He wore the same shorts from that day in the kitchen. My pulse quickened. I tugged on a pair of shorts over my boxers and went outside to meet him.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I greeted, sliding onto the stool beside him.
“Good afternoon, Tade. How are you?”
“I’m fine, sir.”
“And your mum?”
“She’s well. At work right now.”
“That’s good.”
I hesitated before speaking again. “Sir, can I ask a question?”
He tilted his head. “Go ahead.”
“Do you work out?”
He let out a deep laugh, the kind that rumbled in his chest. “That caught me off guard. You’re not the first one to ask me that.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. I used to go to the gym with my son back in the States.”
“Do you still work out?”
“I do. I haven’t joined a gym here yet, but I set up a small space for myself.”
I leaned forward, pretending to sound casual. “Can you train me? I’d like to have abs like yours.”
He gave me a long look before answering. “I can do that. Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready right now,” I said quickly.
He seemed to weigh my eagerness, then finally nodded. “How about I just show you what I have for today? If you’re still interested, you can start joining me after.”
“That sounds good,” I replied, hardly able to believe it worked. My whole body buzzed with excitement. I just wanted to be close to him again, to breathe him in before the memory of his scent faded.
When he rose to his feet, his shorts slipped lower on his hips. A glimpse of coarse grey curls peeked above the waistband, and the outline of his cock was visible through the thin fabric. My throat went dry. I would give anything just to taste him.
He led me into his house and down the hall to a room filled with gym equipment.
“This is where the magic happens,” he said with a grin.
I chuckled, though my eyes lingered on his body. Magic indeed. Only the gods could have crafted something like him. He began explaining the purpose of each piece of equipment, but my attention was divided between his words and the musky heat radiating from him.
I already knew what most of the equipment was for, but I wasn’t here to learn. I was just glad to be this close to Mr Akeem. His musk lingered in the air, thick and intoxicating, and my cock was already beginning to stir in my shorts. I just needed a little more, something to hold onto, before sneaking back home to finish myself off.
My eyes fell on the bench press. I walked toward it casually.
“How much can you bench, sir?” I asked, pretending to be curious.
“On a good day maybe eighty. On a bad day, sixty.”
“Wow,” I said, eyes widening. “I find that hard to believe.”
He smirked. “Want me to show you?”
I nodded, trying not to look too eager.
He loaded the barbell with weights, stretched out on the bench, and began pressing. With each lift, his muscles flexed and his pecs twitched, veins rising against his skin. His shorts had slipped lower, revealing even more of his pubes, and my cock throbbed in response. Ten controlled reps later, he set the bar back in place.
“That was… very impressive,” I said, my voice a little too shaky.
“Thank you,” he replied, rising from the bench. Sweat glistened down his chest, trailing toward the waistband of his shorts.
“Can I try?” I blurted out.
He chuckled. “You want to lift this?”
“Okay, maybe not the whole thing.”
“Let’s start with fifteen.”
He swapped out the weights, and while he went to grab a cloth, I quickly slid into position on the bench. He returned as I pretended to struggle through five reps, though it was lighter than I let on.
“Not bad at all,” he said. “Impressive for a first-timer.”
I forced a nervous smile. “I’ve… done it before. A long time ago,” I explained, hoping he wouldn’t question it.
He raised a brow and stepped closer. I sat up, and suddenly my face was level with the bulge in his shorts. The grey curls of his pubic hair peeked above the waistband, and I had to swallow hard to keep from staring. My chest tightened. I just needed a little more.
“You know what, Tade?” His voice dropped.
I looked up, heart hammering. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face unreadable.
“I’ve been watching you. I see the way you steal glances at me.”
My breath caught.
“You’ve been begging for my attention, shaking your tight little ass around me.” His words sliced through me, both thrilling and terrifying.
I froze, trying to form a denial, but he went on.
“The other day, I was fixing the generator when I heard someone moaning my name. Imagine my surprise when I looked through your window and saw you, stroking yourself raw, calling out for me like I already belonged to you.”
Heat rushed through my body. I had forgotten how close the generator shed was to my bathroom window. How could I have been so careless? My chest pounded so violently I thought it might burst.
“Does Mrs Salako know her son is a slut?”
The word hit me like a slap. I slid off the bench and onto my knees. “I’m so sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me. It won’t happen again. Please don’t tell my mother.”
“Please, sir,” I begged, my voice cracking. “My mum mustn’t know. I’ll do anything. Just… forgive me.”
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and pressed his thumb against my lips before sliding it into my mouth.
“You’ve been so good to me these past weeks,” he murmured. “Helping out, running around…though we both know you were only doing it with an ulterior motive.” He smirked as my lips closed around his thumb. “I’d say you’ve earned yourself a reward. How about I give you a taste of what you’ve been working so hard for?”
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, tugged them down, and freed his cock. Thick, heavy, and veined, it swung forward with his balls hanging beneath, full and tight. For a moment I froze, unsure if this was a trap, unsure if he was about to mock me. But then his hand closed around the back of my head and pressed me into him.
The musk hit me instantly. Male, raw, intoxicating. My hesitation vanished. I grabbed his cock with both hands and shoved it into my mouth, eager to taste him.
He was hot and thick on my tongue, veins ridging the shaft as I sucked from base to tip, swirling my tongue over the tip. My hand slid down to his balls, rolling and squeezing them gently while I worked his length. I looked up, lips wrapped around him, and our eyes locked. His gaze was molten with lust. He had accused me of throwing myself at him, but the hunger in his eyes told me he wanted this just as badly.
I worked my head faster, taking him deeper, my tongue mapping every throbbing vein. A guttural groan ripped from his chest, and his hands clamped onto my skull, driving me forward. He hit the back of my throat in one brutal, perfect stroke, my nose crushed against his pelvis.The pressure stole my breath, but I didn’t care. If I died here with his cock down my throat, it would be worth it.
He used me like that, thrusting hard, balls smacking against my chin. Precum dribbled into my shorts as my own cock strained, desperate to be touched. He moaned louder, his thrusts growing erratic. I could feel him swelling inside my mouth.
“Ahhh, Tade!” he groaned, his voice cracking.
The hot, sudden flood of his cum hit the back of my throat. I managed one swallow before he pulled out, leaving my chin slick and dripping. He staggered back, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.
He extended an open palm. “Spit.”
A sharp pang of disappointment burned through me, I had wanted to savor every drop of him, but I obeyed, letting the thick, warm load fall into his hand. A smirk formed on his face. He lifted me onto the bench with an effortless strength that stole my breath.
“Take off your shorts.”
I stripped them away, and my cock sprang free, glistening with precum, twitching in the open air. He stepped between my legs, spreading them wide, and dipped his fingers into the cum he’d collected. Slowly, deliberately, he smeared it over my hole, rubbing it in until I was slick.
“You’ve got a pretty little hole,” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he licked his lips. He pressed a finger in, twisting gently, stretching me inch by inch. My cock throbbed, leaking onto the bench.
A second finger slid in, then a third, his motions slow but deliberate, working me open. His cum coated my walls as he pushed deeper, stretching me until I gasped.
It felt incredible, but I wanted more. Needed more.
“Put it in.”
low chuckle. “What was that?”
A whimper escaped me. “Please… put it in.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying, Tade.” His voice was teasing, a deliberate torment. “You have to use your words.”
I swallowed, the words thick and desperate on my tongue. “Please… put your cock inside me.”
A slow, triumphant smile crossed his face. “Good boy.”
In one fluid motion, he pulled his finger out, leaving me achingly empty. His hands gripped my thighs, and he pulled me down the bench until my hips were perched on the hard edge.
He spat on his hand, rubbed it over his cock, then slid it into my hole, pressing in slowly, inch by inch, until I was completely filled.
“You’ve been dying for this,” he murmured, his voice rough against my ear. “Haven’t you? Dying to get my cock inside you.”
I could only nod.
He pulled out almost all the way, then rammed back into me with a single, sharp thrust.
My breath locked in my throat, the sensation a shockwave that radiated through my entire body, leaving me trembling.
“I said,” he repeated, his rhythm stilling, “you’ve been dying to have me inside you. Haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
Again, the withdrawal, the sudden, brutal re-entry that made me see stars.
“Yes, what?”
The correction was a sob. “Yes, Sir!”
“Good boy.”
Then he began to thrust, not with force, but with a deep, rolling rhythm. The motion was hypnotic, each one stretching me open more completely than the last.
You are so fucking tight, Tade," he moaned, his voice ragged. His hands locked onto my hips, and he drove into me with a force that stole my breath. Each slam went deeper, harder. Sweat dripped from his chest and splattered onto my face like hot rain.
"Mr. Akeem... fuck me..." I gasped, the words tearing from my throat. "Fuck me harder."
He paused, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, a brutal and perfect stroke. "You sound exactly like you did in the bathroom," he growled. "Does this feel as good as you imagined?"
"It…it feels better."
"You like my cock don't you?"
"Yes, Sir. "Yes, I like your cock."
"I can tell by the way your hungry little hole is swallowing me whole."
"Please don't stop."
"I want you to play with your cock like you did the other day."
I grabbed my cock and began stroking. His thrusts mirrored my strokes. I felt myself about to burst.
“Oh fuck, I am going to cum.” I announced.
“Don’t cum until I tell you to, understand?”
I wasn’t sure if that was possible but I nodded in agreement. I slowed down my strokes in hopes to delay my orgasm. But he kept pounding me harder and faster. Fuck! Oh my God,” I cried.
“Mr Akeem. Oh fuck Akeem! Harder please! I moaned
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out.
Oh shit,” he moaned
I felt his cock twitch inside me and I knew he was close.
I resumed stroking my cock faster.
“I want to cum,” I begged.
“Not yet. Just a few more minutes.”
He buried his face in my neck. “Tade, your hole feels so good,” he whispered, his breath hot on my skin. “I don’t want to come out. Can I just remain like this?”
I was close. Dangerously close. And his whispers were making it impossible to hold on.
“Please.” I begged. His abs were pressing against my cock. I couldn’t wait any longer.
"Fucking tight," he gasped. "You're taking it so good."
He slowed down a bit and asked “can I fill you up, Tade?”
“Yes please.”
He tensed. Grunted.
“Go ahead Tade, cum for me while I fill you back up.”
That was all I needed to hear. The moment his warm load flooded into me, a tremor ran through my hand, and jets of cum shot from my cock. He held me there, pouring himself into me until I completely full, and the last drops from my cock spattered onto my chest.
He remained inside me till he went soft.
I couldn’t lie, that was the best sex I have ever had.
Mr. Akeem and I fucked almost every day after that until the strike was called off and I had to return to school. I started coming home during every break; it didn't matter if it was only for two days. I would be home, ready to be filled up by Mr. Akeem.
