A Tale of Amara - Sex Stories

A Tale of Amara

this story is set in modern day Nigeria. A TALE OF AMARA Have you ever witnessed the death of love? Amara had seen it at least three times. The first time, she was only 13. She was young, innocent and in the cusp of femininity. As the last of four kids (younger than her youngest sibling by 5 years), Amara was always considered a baby, many a times they forgot that she was not too young that she could not read the hidden meanings of their cryptic sentences, or think hard and long enough on their senior jokes that she could not figure it out. While her elder siblings were all in university, her parents drew swords fashioned with words and they dueled ceaselessly. Things were said to her hearing, things that should never have been heard, at least not by one so young. When her parents divorced, she was the least surprised; I mean, what 13 year old would be surprised when big words like, “Philanderer” and “Despicable” were tossed around like chocolate on Valentine’s day. Who would stay surprised when the dueling duo ended their fights not because they were done with the quarrel but because the fighters ran out of steam? Well, Amara was not surprised, if anything, she was happy. No more fighting. The second time, she was 17. Her boyish hips and budding breasts grew and filled out. She grew tall and beautiful save for the random spots of acne, pimples or black heads on her face. While she was neither the prettiest nor tallest of the three girls in her family, her sisters resented ...

... her for some reason. Try as she might, she could not place a finger on it. She always assumed it was because she had chosen to stay and take care of her father when every other sibling went with their mother. Yes, for four years she had lived a life of relative luxury, it had been no bed of roses either. Their father was a strict task master whose gifts were as legendary as his wrath. Like any other strict Ruler would, Amara was given a set of rules to follow. Of the many rules and laws, three stood unshakable: No staying out after 8:30 pm. No cigarettes or alcohol till after she was super old like maybe 20. No lies. These laws were simple enough to follow, and for the most part, she did. However when she was 15, she managed to break all three on the same day. She went out with her friends and somehow, alcohol and cigarettes were shared and she’d gotten home late. He tried to be considerate and didn’t ask why she’d gotten home an hour after her curfew, he only wanted to know why she stank like a brewery. Her reply was that someone had poured some drinks on her. He laced her diminutive, swaying body over his thighs, dragged her shorts and panties down and shined her derriere but good. Her sit-spots were so bruised she couldn’t sit properly for most of the weekend. Even at 17, it wasn’t beyond him to lace him across her thighs and shine her heart shaped, bubble butt if she steps out of line. Her sisters knew this, yet they insisted that she was “living the life”. But I digress... ...