WARNING
EXPLICIT CONTENT: Do Not Read If You Are Holier Than Thou
A few weeks ago, I attended a homecoming party in Nakuru. Mike, an old friend of mine had returned home after completing his studies at an American university. I thought of going with a plus-one but then that stuck out as not-so-good idea. There were obviously going to be plenty of quality women there so the best option was to go with buddies to sarge with. I took my two pals Pato and Alvin
Of late I’ve been enjoying peacocking at glamorous events. This is where you do outrageous things or wear flashy outfits to attract women, For this event, I thought of the best way to do it other than just wearing a cool suit but for a while I couldn’t come up with a great idea. Then it hit me – a flashy car. My big bro runs a car hire company so I asked him for a Mercedes, knowing that he would rent it to me at a discounted price. Unfortunately, all flashy cars had been rented out for the weekend. He was only left with a Probox and his personal car, a brand new BMW X6 which he never really allowed anyone touch. He bought it four months ago after several years of hustle and he loved it like his own son,
However, the good Lord was with me. After a few hours of negotiations with my bro, he let me have the car for a day. It was unbelievable. Apart from the car that I took a Njoki Chege lookalike to a date with a few months back, I had never driven another flashy vehicle.
It was a day party so we left Nairobi at 8 in the morning on Saturday and arrived at Nakuru at 10.
However, hitting on women at the party was a cash-and-burn mission. I spent most of the time flirting indiscriminately with both old and young women to no success. All the ladies had unbelievable standards and the sweet ones were with their families . By the time evening arrived, I had only gotten one number.As the sun set, most of the guests were leaving so we jumped back to our vehicle and drove off, amidst disappointments and rejections.
Thirty minutes into our journey, we were flagged down by gun-totting police officers who had set up a road block. They didn’t seem like traffic police to me so the only logical reason was that they were looking for some criminals or smugglers.
I pulled over the car and proceeded to roll down the window as a female policewoman approached. I stilled, my hands clenching on the steering wheel. The hard smack of her boots on the hard tarmac caused me to wince. As she got closer, her eyes met mine. For a moment they seemed to sparkle, as if searching for something in my gaze.
“Wewe kijana, hii gari kubwa ni yako kweli?”, she asked
I had been told that in such situations, it helps to remain calm but that’s easier said than done. Composure abandons you and fear seizes hold in your chest first. It clamps gently to the top of your heart, like a vice made of rubber, Then you really feel it. Your stomach churns. Your throat closes. And you swallow, desperately trying to avoid the dryness and hoping that when you open your mouth, a confident clear voice will emerge.
“Ndio officer…ni yangu.” I answered.
What had I just said? It was a risky answer. She looked at me keenly again, narrowing her gaze on me before asking all of us to step out of the vehicle. She then called two of her colleagues who thoroughly searched us plus the car before allowing us back in. I could swear my heart was about to burst. I hoped none of my buddies had weed or any kind of drug on them and luckily they didn’t. Only Alvin was super drunk but the cops didn’t seem to realize
“Mumetoka wapi vijana?’ she asked again?
“Tumetoka bash nakuru” Pato answered.
“Nyamaza! Sijakuuliza wewe.” She lashed out at Pato
She then whipped out a notebook and pen before issuing out an order:
“Wewe mwenye gari, nipatie jina yako, number yako na number plate ya gari.”
I gave her all of my details before she allowed us to drive off. Despite my friends assuring me it was nothing, i was worried. Why had she taken my details? Was there going to be a court case?
After arriving in Nairobi, I dropped my friends in tao before returning the car to my bro and taking a matatu back home, I slept not long after because I was tired from all the dancing
On Sunday I woke to find a Whatsapp message from a strange number
“Habari mkubwa. Mimi ni ule madam niliwasimamisha jana. Pole sana. Tulikua tunatafuta wezi fulani.”
Mkubwa? Wow. She must have really believed the car was mine. But what struck me was her profile pic. In it, she was in miniskirt, sitting on a bed and those thighs…….mane those thighs were mightier than those of Cleopatra and Lady Macbeth combined. Her body corded with powerful curves, her facial expression was a bit savage and remote but inviting. It set my heart pounding in both fear and arousal. The fear I could handle, it was the arousal I had problems with.
I wanted to stop chatting with her but she kept going….question after question. Soon she switched to flirt mode. She was thirty years old, over five years older than me. It was awkward. But she just didn’t stop
For the next week, she would tell me goodnight and goodmorning everyday, without fail. It was clear that she was obsessed. She wanted me to ‘lala ndani’. Just not inside a jail cell but inside her. Maybe she liked me but most probably she liked the fact that I was ‘probably rich.’ .
After two weeks of trying to avoid her, I finally fell for the temptress. On a Friday afternoon,she asked me what I was doing. I told her I was going to grab some lunch. Apparently she wasn’t on duty that day. She asked me to go over to her place in Komarock so that she could cook for me. I lied that my car was a t the garage but she must have felt I was playing. As I was about to put my phone back in my pocket, she sent me a picture of herself sitting on a sofa, wearing only a t-shirt. She had a finger in her mouth. Unbelievable!. She was teasing me
“Hata hii haiweei kufanya ukuje?” she asked
I don’t know how I found myself in a matatu. All I know is that an hour later, I was at her place. Despite the complex directions she had given me upon alighting from the matatu, I hadn’t taken a wrong turn, not even once. That was the power of punani
As she opened the door, I looked at her, swallowing tightly at the look in her eyes. They were darker than normal, glittering with some emotion that made heat sweep through my body, made my arms tingle. She was quick. She locked the door behind me and turned to kiss me. I kissed her back..
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The warmth of her calloused fingertips (hard from gripping guns), the brush of her thumb on my bulging crotch area had a sobbing breath of need escaping my throat. Her tongue peeked out, swiping over me as we both groaned. The sounds were hot, hungry, filling the interior of her well-arranged sitting room with a tension that tightened every cell in our bodies.
Black people say ‘f***k the police’ but I was literally about to f***k the police
Her eyes flared with hunger. Arousal heated further within her, probably searing the already moist depths of her inner womanhood. My hand couldn’t help but sneak to her uncovered jewel while we were still standing. Then I took off her t-shirt before I began unclasping her bra, slowly. Her knees weakened as each fastening came loose, exposing more of her the sleek skin of her boobies. She shook her head, wanting to close her eyes, to escape the power i suddenly held over her.
“Feel me, dear,” i ordered her as i felt the moisture spill between her thighs. Feel me? How could she do anything but feel me? I pushed her to the sofa then pounced on her, . It was too intense. A broken cry escaped her throat as she arched to me, feeling her breasts throb, her clit swell. Her hands gripped my arms as i braced myself above her, my expression pulling into an impatient grimace as i stared down at her..
My hand steadied her, but all i could think of was having it run over her body, stroking her, soothing the fires burning in the very depths of her belly. I had never been so crazed with arousal. No, this wasn’t arousal. It went even beyond lust. It was a compulsion, a hunger that tore through me, making its demands nearly irresistible
My voice was grating. She was exciting my senses in ways i could have never imagined. I was needing her now with a ravaging hunger i couldn’t dispel.
Full thighs. That was all it had taken from her to destroy any self control i might have had. I wanted to shag her hard and deep and without mercy.
Her hands went to my waist, clawing at my shirt as she jerked it from my trousers, desperate to touch me, to taste me. She wanted to run her fingers down my chest, test the hard packed muscles of my abdomen, loosen my jeans and see if my ‘D’ was as thick and hard as it felt.
I lowered my head to her neck, my lips trailing down the side of it, my breath hot and heavy against her flesh. Her hands flattened against my skin, her fingers curling against the heat of it, her senses overloading with the feel. I jerked against her, a pure primal growl issuing from my throat as her hands trailed down to my abdomen, then to the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers moved to the wide belt buckle, her gaze locking with mine as she slid the leather of his belt through the metal loop.
Her face flushed, her eyes glittered with stark, unabashed lust. My hands flattened at her mango-like boobies, before pulling her tighter against my chest as i suckled gently at her neck, then licked over it with a rough growl of pleasure. Damn, how good she tasted. The scent of her body infused my senses. It was female, hot and dark, captivating
She moaned due to a morass of conflicting sensations that swept through her body like a tidal wave of impressions, swamping her beneath their force.
Her hands clenched at my forearm as it stretched across her chest, my hand holding her other shoulder, keeping her still as I prepared to enter her She gritted her teeth and begged me to take her, begged me to ease the need that seemed to only grow rather than lessen…
I reached for the CD pack, tore through it like the Incredible Hulk and wore one. I held her still, her hips raised, opening her for me, giving me access
No time was wasted. I didn’t wait to claim what i believed was mine. ‘Mrs. Officer’ barely had time to draw in a breath before she felt the thickness of my erection pressing against her cunt. I buried my manhood in her punani. In other words. She whimpered beneath the onslaught, her hands rising to grip my waist, her blue nails biting into my flesh as the feel of my ‘D’ seemed to sink into her cells. She moaned,……again and again
Her hands then gripped my head as I slammed. Her sexy thighs rocking against me. My lips moved to her ear, my tongue swirling around it sensually as she fought for breath. EVevrything was magical
I could feel my ‘D’ stretching her, the muscles of her cunt both protesting and welcoming the thick intruder, clamping on it as the sounds of moist suckling flesh filled her head. She was too wet, too aroused. Her juices coated her thighs. The moans blended with the pleasure.
The agonizing pleasure seared through our bodies, electrifying nerve endings, taking both our breaths as the sensations piled, one atop the other, drowning us in their force.
10 minutes…..minutes……and at the 30th minute, she couldn’t take it anymore. The big ‘O’ had arrived. .
Deep, hard blasts of orgasms shot in all directions in the ultra-tight channel, triggering another tremor, another explosion that left her gasping, fighting for breath as she collapsed to the seat
Mine followed seconds after. It was nearly as brutal in its intensity as hers. She could only cry out in pleasure as my body settled on her
I had conquered law enforcement. I was now the real don. The real sheriff. Salute!!!
Kiambu is the Land of the Wealthy. Not the hotbed of the holloi pollois. Hence the derisive word ‘Kiambu Mafia’. This is where power came from. And,somehow,where power stays. Some of the MOST powerful and influential people in Kenya came from-and still come from-The Mighty Kiambu. So,for a lot so powerful,and dizzyingly wealthy,privacy is a very important matter. Rich folks hate to have their little dirty acts aired allover the place. Along with their blithe,barely-dressed girlfriends. So,most of these clubs operate on a huge private banner. They’re secluded clubs. And you only get to access them IF and ONLY if you can prove to be harmless and not a 007 agent.
Kiambu is super cold. And if you’re planning for a bonky night out,you’d better bring along some warm clothing with you. In Kiambu,you don’t just throw on a loss t-shirt and a short and hop into your car for a night out. You’ve gotta dress up and dress warm. Especially if you’re planning to stay out long. Gotta beat the cold even as you down the coldest Tusker on the menu.
Like I said earlier,if there’s one place where married men,all with their bulging tummies and graying hairs take their girlfriends,it’s along Kiambu Road. There,they’re assured that NOBODY can see them and that their wives,most of whom are crazy,career women,won’t totter into the club at 2am to find them caught up in the throes of passion with these young damsels. Kiambu Road clubs are the havens of sexual mischief. And the number one hotspot for all things romantically illegal. Check it out. 
Forget the tackiness you encounter in your local home pubs. Where half of the revelers are either petty thieves or inebriated whores grinding on the floor. Along Kiambu Road,one thing reigns supreme : Class. Here men and women arrive with all the manners they can possibly muster. And then,once seated on some classy chair,ask for some real exotic drink and act all cultured and slitzy. But don’t blame them… They come from wealthy backgrounds. And for some,even Elizabethian aristocratic homes. Being classy is all they know, really.
Owing to how they carry themselves around,you’ll be lucky to find a Naija tune tearing up these clubs. Or some real booming Jamaican hits. All they play here is some really boring even dreary music. Because,really,most of the people who party here don’t even care. Nobody even pays any attention to them DJs anyway. So he’s free to play whatever crap he feels like playing. And boy,can they abuse this privilege.
You’ve gotta be well-endowed (financially,of course) to afford a smooth night along Kiambu Road. For starters,you’ve gotta have a car. Coz accessing some of these clubs,hidden in the bushes and forests and silent roads,can be taxing. And if you’re driving, and afforded to find your way to a club hidden between thickets,surely you can afford a huge bill. Beers here don’t come for 170 Bob. Kama club za kwenu. You’ve gotta part with like 240,250 Bob or even 300 bob for a single freaking beer. But what choice do you have?! You chose the life.
In most cases,except in the noisy,poorly-constructed clubs in Kiambu tao,along Kiambu Road,most people you’ll find there are rather too mature and others,ummm,plain old. Here,you’ll meet a club littered with folks over 35 and above. Most of whom are buddies who just came out to hang out and act aloof together. Hence the boring music. You won’t find the place teeming with 20-something year olds. Not unless it’s a special occasion. Or a bring-your-side-bitch-out night.
Everyone in these clubs is Kikuyu. And is talking Kikuyu. To everyone. And even the waiters and waitresses are Kikuyu to their poop. I ain’t saying you won’t find an occasional Luo waiter, Kamba waiter here and there. Am just saying that the level of Kikuyuism in these clubs is so high,you want to choke on your beer. But then you remember how expensively you bought it.
It goes without saying…
For people like these,you can be assured that the Parking lot will be fuller than Bro Ocholla’s Facebook inbox. There’s almost never any parking spot left here. Cuz everybody arrived with their car. And not just car,huge eye-popping machines…
Nothing is ever complete in Kiambu land without a good dose of some good old nyama choma. Oh, don’t they love it! These blokes. All that matters for a regular party goer in Kiambu is nyama. And a lot of it. You’ll see them arrive in the club,bellies hanging and all,toying with their car keys,and the first thing they’ll want to know is, ‘Kuna nyama tayari!?’ Meat,here,is a life and death issue. Really.
