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Kambaland Legs

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Village Elder
YEAR: The first decade of the third millennium

LOCATION: Somewhere in Kambaland

MISSION: To empty my scumbag cost effectively

In search of greener pastures and adventure, Stony lands in Kambaland. He works in the security industry, just like Pamba, only that he has neither a gun nor uniform. He is the night watchman in a small school, with pupils mostly harvested from the deep recesses and dark corners of the city. The school fees is dirty low; the owner, an Indian; the workers, fresh graduates in their first jobs; and the pay, not worth a mention. Just like Guka, Stony is eager to sample the reputed Kamba fruit.

A quick scan of the immediate environment reveals about three potential targets. One sells a small shop a short distance from the school. I think she is a maid-cum-shopkeeper, which means she knows money. I rule that one out since money was a very painful word to even think about. In this career, buying a soda, sometimes out of madness, would leave me in regrets for five to six months. That’s a story for another day. The second target is yet another neighbor who looks half momoish and is usually shabbily dressed- the kind you cannot tell whether she is a girl or a woman. I have no time to find out. I need relief as soon as possible. The third target is yet another neighbor who happens to be a slender tall girl. In terms of looks, she lies somewhere between not bad and will do. From my estimation, I can tell she has a model-like body, if you ignore the effects of poor feeding and drought. She also happens to be very talkative. I also make a casual observation that she has disproportionally long legs, a footnote that would remain etched in my memory for the rest of my life. We establish a rapport within no time. I discover she craves various goodies available in the school, and I am too eager to provide them. They range from bar soaps, books, metal boxes, t-shirts, firewood, blankets and all that. Remember I am in charge of security, and so I know every corner and cranny in the school. In fact I am more knowledgeable than the headmaster.

Fast forward two weeks later and I have laid all the ground work. It’s now time to ask her for a wet favor. I am surprised to discover that she is very straight forward. So much so that we even discuss the modalities of the clash. I want to go barefooted but and I don’t want to do a Kawambui too soon. I have not even tasted my first salary. Besides, I would not want her to conceive so that I can enjoy the benefits for longer. We soon agree on the venue, the science lab, which lies at the remote far end of the compound, neighboring their farm from the back. Time will be on Sunday at seven in the evening, when everyone else is in the dining hole with the teachers on duty. I make all the necessary arrangements, including securing a high density mattress from the store. I still cannot believe my luck. I wake up early on Sunday to make sure the lab is clean. I also take the time to do some planning and run a few animations of what I would do to her. I really want to maximize this opportunity. Remember, a thirsty man will fantasize about drinking an entire ocean.

I’m already crouching behind the lab at exactly 6.30 p.m., just in case our time zones are slightly offset. I stand there in anticipation for what seems like an eternity. I dread to think of what will happen if the mission backfires. All this time, I can feel my heart hitting on the back of my head. It doesn’t take long before a slim shadow appears from the direction of some stunted mango trees. My pupils widen to take in more light as I swallow a gulp of the now copious amounts of saliva welling in my mouth. As she comes close, I can smell the flowery scent of some not so common soap. She probably found it in the miscellaneous items I have been gifting her. I can tell she looks more beautiful with the red tight-fitting T-shirt. I can already visualize myself sucking her chest mounds. The only thing I cannot decide on is whether I should first pull the T-shirt out or simply pull it upwards. I am also having problems estimating how many micro-seconds it will take to undo her bra. She also has a pleated brown skirt with a flowery design. Although it is long enough to almost touch the top part of her knees, it still looks like a mini on her. Remember I told you she has disproportionally long legs, which by themselves are also disproportional because the thigh section is taller than the bottom half of the leg (am sure you get the picture). The sight of the short looking skirt gets me confused further because I now need to decide whether I will start by dipping my hand under that skirt or the red T-shirt.

I hold her by the hand as I guide her through the fence, check out the horizon for any possible interruptions, and lead her inside the lab. No word spoken so far, the anticipation seems to be mutual. I lock the door behind me with the flimsy latch, and back it up with a small bench. No time to waste. Still standing, I grab her by the waist and pull her towards me. The tities ram on my chest as she bounces backwards. Instinctively, I scramble my hand downwards and grab her from the bottoms. They are taut and firm, very firm indeed. What’s more, I can now make out the model-like shape that I have always suspected. Ladies and gentlemen, it is at this point that the likes of old monk collapse. But since I am not one, we shall proceed.

Things are getting really animated. The player mode is expert. No time for textbook procedures. She wraps her hands around my necks and almost hangs on me. I snake my hand beneath her T-shirt to reach the boobs. Unfortunately I can’t reach them because they are squashed against my chest. However, I can feel their smoothness from the sides. Lower below, my joystick is jammed in the constricted space between our touching thighs. I can already visualize the shape of her thighs in my mind. I stretch my hands behind her and pull up the skirt. I flip them downward again to clasp her bottoms. Heavenly! The feeling is heavenly. The smooth satin panties she has on accentuate the almost perfect mold of her bottom. Sliding my arms downwards, I can feel the firm rounded thighs thinning towards the knees. The next logical step is to arch my mid section backwards to create space for my hand between her crotch and my throbbing member, which I do swiftly. What I feel from the front section is indescribable. She almost has no hair, I can make up the contours of the valley where I am headed. I can also feel the wetness spreading upward, perhaps through capillary action. I will stop there out of consideration of the many joysticks that run the risk to suffering strangulation with inadequate lubrication.

A few moments later, I am on top of the beauty. I can tell I’m doing a commendable job judging from the number of bites I am getting on my chest. She is also half-talking half-crying, while breathing backwards at the same time. I am on the edge, which I’m sure she senses from the acceleration. She becomes even louder as I pack more power in every ram. Finally, as I am about to explode, she lifts her long right leg, wraps it behind my back, and heels my entire package from behind- pushing it a few centimeters below sea level. The feeling, friends, is a mixture of heavenly pleasure and acute pain alternating at a frequency of 1000HZ. It was so confusing my brain disengaged for a few moments trying to confirm whether I was still viable. It felt as if some superpower had decided to test their thermonuclear arsenal on Nairobi. Needless to say, what I emptied that night took me many months to replenish. Later, I became addicted to that heeling technique.

Ndila, I will never forget you. Those long legs.


Village Elder
good one.
i nearly jerked off to this shit.
you have really captured the anticipation you felt.
ndila wasnt moaning but purring.
kamba and the art of giving.
sijasoma mahali satin panties and that wonder bra that was squashing the damn small tits came off or they never did
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