Escapades of Miscalculation 

 

My friend Amina called me late afternoon. She sounded rushed and a little embarrassed. She had locked herself out of her apartment again and left her spare key with a guy she used to talk to months ago. She asked if I could go collect it for her because she was stuck at work on the other side of town and would not finish until late. Simple favor. No drama. I said yes without thinking twice. I wrote down the address, grabbed my bag, checked my reflection once, and left.

The building was quiet when I arrived. Clean lobby. Soft lighting. I took the stairs to the fourth floor because the lift felt too slow. I found the door and knocked once. A man opened it. Tall. Neatly dressed in a simple black shirt and dark trousers. Polite smile. The kind of face that looks trustworthy at first glance. He looked at me for a second longer than necessary and said, “You must be Amina’s friend. Come in. The key is on the counter.”

I stepped inside. The apartment smelled like expensive cologne and clean laundry. Everything was tidy. Almost too tidy. He closed the door behind me with a soft click. I stayed near the entrance, already planning to grab the key and leave. He walked to the kitchen, opened a drawer, and came back holding a single key on a plain metal ring. He held it out toward me.

Then he stopped.

His eyes moved over my face, down my dress, along my legs, and back up again. The polite smile faded into something more focused and quieter.

“You’re not who I expected,” he said.

I frowned. “Amina sent me. She said you have her spare key.”

He tilted his head slightly, still holding the key between us. “Amina told me she was sending her cousin. She did not mention you would look like this.”

Something in his tone made the air in the room change. I reached for the key. He did not let go immediately. Our fingers touched. He kept looking at me like he was adjusting a plan in real time.

“Stay for a drink,” he said. It was not really a question.

I should have taken the key, said thank you, and walked straight out. Instead I heard myself answer, “One drink.”

He nodded once, as if that settled it. He poured two glasses of dark wine and handed me one. We sat opposite each other. The conversation started normal. Work. The city. How long he had known Amina. Small, safe topics. Then it shifted without warning. He asked what kind of men I usually said yes to. He asked if I liked being told what to do or if I preferred to stay in control. He asked how long it had been since someone made me nervous in a way that felt good instead of uncomfortable.

I answered more honestly than I planned. The wine was stronger than it tasted. The room felt warmer. At some point he stood, took my half-finished glass from my hand, and set both glasses aside. He held out his hand. After a short pause I took it.

He led me down a short hallway into the bedroom. No rush. No rough movements. Just quiet certainty. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me to stand between his knees. His hands slid under my dress, up the backs of my thighs, and stopped when his palms met bare skin. He realized I was not wearing underwear. A low sound left his throat.

“Amina really miscalculated who she sent,” he said

He did not ask for permission after that. He turned me around, guided me forward until I was bent over the bed, and pushed inside me in one slow, deep stroke. I gripped the sheets. He fucked me with steady thrusts, one hand firm on my lower back, the other reaching around to rub my clit in tight circles. The pleasure built fast. I came first, shaking, pressing my face into the bedding to stay quiet. He followed soon after, finishing inside me with a quiet, controlled groan.

He stayed still for a moment, still buried deep, then pulled out carefully and stepped back. He picked up the key from the side table and held it out to me again, calm, as if we had only discussed the weather.

“Tell Amina she owes me a better explanation,” he said.

I fixed my dress with unsteady hands. My thighs felt slick. I took the key, walked out of the bedroom, and left the apartment without another word. The door closed softly behind me.

I was halfway down the stairs when my phone vibrated. Amina

“Did you get the key? And please tell me you didn’t go inside. That man is not who I thought he was. Call me as soon as you can.”

I stopped on the landing and stared at the message. The key was already in my bag. His cum was still inside me. And Amina’s warning had arrived far too late.

I still have not replied.

Catch up on the previous confession:https://www.naughtykenya.com/i-went-back-for-answers/