CLASSIC TALES: Mr.Hyena abandons Juma prayers to shaft ex-bonk mate
Today let me share with you what happened in mid-2020. On the hot Friday, as I was leaving my cosmetics shop for Juma Prayers at Old Kampala mosque, a ‘Cindy’ look alike passed me.
The moment I saw this babe, I felt something sharp spear through my heart and later through my shafting system. I somehow forgot that I had to attend the Juma prayers.
She was putting on a loose skirt that clearly showed her bum doing the kapapala dance. They got my whopper to react by saluting hard as if I had been imprisoned with Bobi Wine with a naked woman.
Despite putting on a disdasha (our Moslem kanzus), I felt like jumping at this babe and bonking her from the street. But I kept my cool. I immediately cancelled my drive to Old Kampala mosque and ran after her.
Upon catching up with her, I introduced myself before telling her how I wanted us to be friends. “What kind of friends?” she bluntly asked. I replied saying, “Adam and kawa…..Kintu and Nambi kind of friends.” “Excuse me,” she said and moved on, leaving me in suspense.
I once again trailed her and demanded to know why she turned me down. “It is absurd that you don’t remember me and yet I remember you from A to Z,” she said. I immediately feared she could be one of Yasmine’s spies. “Remind me who you are….i don’t clearly recall you.” I said before apologizing for not remembering her. “Hyena, don’t you remember me, Amelia?” she said. “Aren’t you married to a Chotera bitch called Yasmine?” she stunned me. People, this babe truly knew me.
So as to save time, I pretended to have remembered her but in actual sense my medulla oblongata wasn’t totally recalling her. I then apologized for all the wrongs I did. After that, I accompanied her to wherever she was going. On our way, we stopped at Club Vol-Vet and she ordered me to pay 5k entrance fee, something that I instantly did.
Once we entered, I ordered drinks and splashed out dime as if I had kept the keys to Bank of Uganda. With Amelia drinking all kinds of beer and Beckham gins, she told me of how she was the naïve girl I bonked way back in Natete. “Then how did you come to Kabalagala?” I wondered. “Munange, the floods made life complex for me,” she replied. As the day got dark and darker, Amelia bragged that she is a Mombasa class lady. “So if you desire to access my Kandahar, you will have to pay,” she assured me.
At first, I thought she was kidding until she bent down, picked some dustsamples and swore, “Over my dead body, you will not shaft me without paying.” Since I was anxious to bonk her, I asked her how much it was worth and she confidently told me 200k, to which I begged her to reduce it to 80k.
On hearing my 80k proposal, Amelia unzipped me, pulled out my whopper and said, “Do you expect me to let you put all this in me for the second time for only 80k? Increase it to 100k or else you leave it. After all, Kandahar’s never go bad.”
By that statement, I immediately gave her the 100k that she demanded. “That is good of you…..i will now give you anything you want,” she joyfully assured me. My desire to compensate the 100k led us to the Comprehensive Hotel lust opposite the club.
Once in the room, Amelia pulled my head between her legs. I smelled the sweet scent of her Kandahar. It smelt so good, the kind of Kandahar I imagine Karitas has without warning; I directed my fingers to the zenith of her Kandahar and mounted a thorough inspection of her already wet Kandahar. “Ohhhh Hyena, I am dying,” Amelia moaned as she lay at the edge of the bed spread-eagled, exposing her hairy meat.
The redness of her hairy meat explained it was ready to be swung. I therefore condomised my whopper, moved between her legs and kind of knelt as my legs remained down. I slowly directed my Mr. Boneless to its rightful destination and in the 13th minute, Amelia started screaming and trembling like she was demon possessed. Partly due to the much swinging force, her Kandahar discharged el-nino samples.
We then crumbled from the bed onto the floor. While on the floor, Amelia took control. She got on top of me and rode me, cowgirl style. She jazzed me like a frog about to jump. In the 17th minute, I couldn’t hold onto my magma anymore. I held her tightly and gashed out over 150 ml of magma.
Without warning, she pushed me aside, pulled off the CD and began buffeting on my seemingly tired whopper. People, Amelia did it even more than I expected. She was good at what she was doing. She buffeted on it like it was a Kikomando or something of the kind.
Due to the brilliant lubrication of her saliva, accompanied with the friction caused by her teeth, the whopper saluted again, moreover in her mouth. She re-condomised it and positioned herself for a doggy, giving me the autonomy to ride her like a Bajaj Boxer motorcycle. After minutes of that style, she demanded we do it standing. I took her knee joints into my elbows and worked her forth and back as the Kandahar lovability flowed all over my shafting system with sweat and flu pouring out of my body and nose respectively.
“Ohhhh….ashhhh….Mummmmyyyy….ahhhh,” Amelia moaned beforewrapping her arms around my neck. She also nearly wrapped her legs around my tiny bums. At that point, tears of joy were popping out of her eyes. Prior to finishing, Amelia crumbled to the floor and as she bowed down, over 200ml of el-nino was also rushing out of her Kandahar. Our post-romp breathing was like we had just out-run Usain Bolt and Asafa Powell. We then took a short rest. Afterwards, we saw each other off and she promised to visit me again.
Till then, I remain Yours Truly, The Mighty Hyena.
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