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MY FIRST SÈX NIGHT
"Prèèk is too sweet"🥒🍎👉👌
Episode 1: The Night I Tasted Sin
BY Hanningtone Mbolole
I told myself it was just one drink.
One night.
One kiss.
But Nairobi has a way of undressing you — slowly, tenderly, until you forget who you are.
It started at Z Lounge, Westlands. Friday night. My roommate Sly had dragged me out with promises of cheap cocktails and good music. I wore a short dress — black, simple — nothing too flashy. I was still Wairimu Wanjiku from Kiambu, church girl, fourth-year student, full of dreams.
And then I saw him.
Derrick Mwangi.
White tee. Gold chain. Beard fresh like he just stepped out of a TikTok filter. He leaned against the bar like he owned it. His eyes? Heavy, brown, and sinful. When he smiled at me, I swear my thighs pressed together on their own.
“Hi,” he said, like he already knew me.
I smiled back, nervous. “Hi.”
He bought me a drink. Then another. Then one more.
We danced.
We laughed.
And then… we kissed. Right there, in the middle of the club.
His lips were rough and soft at the same time. His hand slid down my back like he’d touched me before in a dream. My knees almost gave out when his fingers brushed the side of my thigh.
I should have stopped.
I should have walked away.
Instead, I found myself in the Uber with him. His hand on my lap. My head on his shoulder.
We didn’t even reach his apartment before I was climbing on him.
In the back seat.
Windows steamed.
Heart pounding.
He whispered in Kikuyu, something I didn’t fully understand, but my body responded like it knew the language.
And when he finally slipped inside me?
Jehovah.
I gasped. Eyes rolled. Body betrayed me.
It was too good.
Too big.
Too slow.
Too sweet.
I clutched his back, bit his neck, called on Jesus and my ancestors — all while moaning his name like a prayer I never knew I needed.
I came twice.
He didn’t stop.
I forgot my name.
By the time we got to his apartment, I was begging. My legs shaking. My thighs still wet. And still… he wanted more.
That was the night I tasted sin.
And trust me — prèèk is too sweet to forget.
Absolutely. Let’s dive deeper into Episode 1 of Prèèk is Too Sweet and take it all the way into the fire — bold, raw, emotionally tangled, and unforgettable.
Part ii: The Real Deal
His apartment was in Kileleshwa — top floor, quiet, dim lights, and a faint scent of oud mixed with burnt weed. I should’ve turned back right there, when he opened the door and smiled like he knew I’d follow him anywhere.
But I didn’t.
He didn’t talk much. Just pulled me in. Locked the door. Pressed me against the wall like he’d waited all week to touch me.
“You sure you want this?” he whispered, voice rough.
I nodded, already breathless. “Don’t ask. Just do it.”
He kissed me hard. Deep. Like he was trying to own my mouth before anything else. Then came the hands — slow, strong, experienced. His fingers trailed under my dress, teasing the edge of my soaked panty, his thumb stroking my inner thigh like a secret.
I moaned. Loud.
And he grinned. “You’re already this wet?”
He slid my panty aside and touched me. Just once. One finger. One long, deep stroke — and my knees buckled.
That was the first time I came.
Standing. Fully clothed. Against his wall.
He carried me to his bed, tossed me down like I weighed nothing, and pulled off his shirt.
My God.
The tattoos. The abs. The dark V-line leading into his trousers like a dangerous path I had no business walking.
“Take off your dress,” he said.
I hesitated.
He reached over, unzipped it himself, and dragged it off me like he was unwrapping candy. I lay there, in my bra and panty, trembling under his stare. His eyes scanned my body slowly — worshipfully — like he was learning me.
Then he kissed my inner thighs. One side. Then the other.
I moaned his name.
And when he pulled my panty down with his teeth?
I forgot I was a daughter of God.
His tongue found my spot like he’d mapped my body before I even met him. He sucked me gently, then harder, alternating with the kind of rhythm that made my whole soul leave my body and come back.
I shook. Screamed. Clutched the sheets like I was drowning.
And still, he didn’t stop.
“You taste sweet,” he murmured.
“You’re mad,” I breathed. “You’ll kill me.”
He smiled. “I haven’t even given you the prèèk yet.”
When he finally slid into me — slow, thick, deep — I saw things.
Stars. Ancestors. Maybe even an angel who came to warn me.
It was too good.
Not rushed. Not clumsy. He held me like I was delicate, but stroked me like I was the last woman on earth.
He kissed my forehead. My nose. Then choked me gently and whispered, “You’ll remember this.”
I nodded. Eyes wet. Legs shaking.
I had already forgotten who I was.
When we finished, I couldn’t move. My legs felt like jelly, my soul halfway out my body. He lay beside me, smiling, breathing hard.
I wanted to be angry. Embarrassed. Regretful.
But instead, I turned to him and whispered:
“Why is your prèèk that sweet?”
He laughed, deep and proud.
And I knew then — I was in trouble.
Because one taste would never be enough.
Piece of Advice:
Lust can feel like love when it's wrapped in pleasure — but never confuse how someone makes your body feel with how they value your soul. Always pause and ask: Is this connection feeding my growth or just my desire?
2 Moral Lessons:
1. Momentary pleasure can lead to lasting consequences.
Wairimu gave in to her desire, but in doing so, she risked her emotional stability, values, and possibly her future. Every decision — especially in moments of heat — can leave a deep mark.
2. Know who you’re giving yourself to — not just physically, but emotionally.
Derrick came with charm and chemistry, but mystery too. Physical intimacy without emotional safety or clarity can leave you open to manipulation, pain, or even danger.
I WRITE STORIES FOR YOUR HAPPINESS SAKE
To be continued...
Follow for more interesting r0mance stories.
Share now to 20 Facebook groups so I can drop the next episod….
MY FIRST SÈX NIGHT
"Prèèk is too sweet"🥒🍎👉👌
Episode 1: The Night I Tasted Sin
BY Hanningtone Mbolole
I told myself it was just one drink.
One night.
One kiss.
But Nairobi has a way of undressing you — slowly, tenderly, until you forget who you are.
It started at Z Lounge, Westlands. Friday night. My roommate Sly had dragged me out with promises of cheap cocktails and good music. I wore a short dress — black, simple — nothing too flashy. I was still Wairimu Wanjiku from Kiambu, church girl, fourth-year student, full of dreams.
And then I saw him.
Derrick Mwangi.
White tee. Gold chain. Beard fresh like he just stepped out of a TikTok filter. He leaned against the bar like he owned it. His eyes? Heavy, brown, and sinful. When he smiled at me, I swear my thighs pressed together on their own.
“Hi,” he said, like he already knew me.
I smiled back, nervous. “Hi.”
He bought me a drink. Then another. Then one more.
We danced.
We laughed.
And then… we kissed. Right there, in the middle of the club.
His lips were rough and soft at the same time. His hand slid down my back like he’d touched me before in a dream. My knees almost gave out when his fingers brushed the side of my thigh.
I should have stopped.
I should have walked away.
Instead, I found myself in the Uber with him. His hand on my lap. My head on his shoulder.
We didn’t even reach his apartment before I was climbing on him.
In the back seat.
Windows steamed.
Heart pounding.
He whispered in Kikuyu, something I didn’t fully understand, but my body responded like it knew the language.
And when he finally slipped inside me?
Jehovah.
I gasped. Eyes rolled. Body betrayed me.
It was too good.
Too big.
Too slow.
Too sweet.
I clutched his back, bit his neck, called on Jesus and my ancestors — all while moaning his name like a prayer I never knew I needed.
I came twice.
He didn’t stop.
I forgot my name.
By the time we got to his apartment, I was begging. My legs shaking. My thighs still wet. And still… he wanted more.
That was the night I tasted sin.
And trust me — prèèk is too sweet to forget.
Absolutely. Let’s dive deeper into Episode 1 of Prèèk is Too Sweet and take it all the way into the fire — bold, raw, emotionally tangled, and unforgettable.
Part ii: The Real Deal
His apartment was in Kileleshwa — top floor, quiet, dim lights, and a faint scent of oud mixed with burnt weed. I should’ve turned back right there, when he opened the door and smiled like he knew I’d follow him anywhere.
But I didn’t.
He didn’t talk much. Just pulled me in. Locked the door. Pressed me against the wall like he’d waited all week to touch me.
“You sure you want this?” he whispered, voice rough.
I nodded, already breathless. “Don’t ask. Just do it.”
He kissed me hard. Deep. Like he was trying to own my mouth before anything else. Then came the hands — slow, strong, experienced. His fingers trailed under my dress, teasing the edge of my soaked panty, his thumb stroking my inner thigh like a secret.
I moaned. Loud.
And he grinned. “You’re already this wet?”
He slid my panty aside and touched me. Just once. One finger. One long, deep stroke — and my knees buckled.
That was the first time I came.
Standing. Fully clothed. Against his wall.
He carried me to his bed, tossed me down like I weighed nothing, and pulled off his shirt.
My God.
The tattoos. The abs. The dark V-line leading into his trousers like a dangerous path I had no business walking.
“Take off your dress,” he said.
I hesitated.
He reached over, unzipped it himself, and dragged it off me like he was unwrapping candy. I lay there, in my bra and panty, trembling under his stare. His eyes scanned my body slowly — worshipfully — like he was learning me.
Then he kissed my inner thighs. One side. Then the other.
I moaned his name.
And when he pulled my panty down with his teeth?
I forgot I was a daughter of God.
His tongue found my spot like he’d mapped my body before I even met him. He sucked me gently, then harder, alternating with the kind of rhythm that made my whole soul leave my body and come back.
I shook. Screamed. Clutched the sheets like I was drowning.
And still, he didn’t stop.
“You taste sweet,” he murmured.
“You’re mad,” I breathed. “You’ll kill me.”
He smiled. “I haven’t even given you the prèèk yet.”
When he finally slid into me — slow, thick, deep — I saw things.
Stars. Ancestors. Maybe even an angel who came to warn me.
It was too good.
Not rushed. Not clumsy. He held me like I was delicate, but stroked me like I was the last woman on earth.
He kissed my forehead. My nose. Then choked me gently and whispered, “You’ll remember this.”
I nodded. Eyes wet. Legs shaking.
I had already forgotten who I was.
When we finished, I couldn’t move. My legs felt like jelly, my soul halfway out my body. He lay beside me, smiling, breathing hard.
I wanted to be angry. Embarrassed. Regretful.
But instead, I turned to him and whispered:
“Why is your prèèk that sweet?”
He laughed, deep and proud.
And I knew then — I was in trouble.
Because one taste would never be enough.
Piece of Advice:
Lust can feel like love when it's wrapped in pleasure — but never confuse how someone makes your body feel with how they value your soul. Always pause and ask: Is this connection feeding my growth or just my desire?
2 Moral Lessons:
1. Momentary pleasure can lead to lasting consequences.
Wairimu gave in to her desire, but in doing so, she risked her emotional stability, values, and possibly her future. Every decision — especially in moments of heat — can leave a deep mark.
2. Know who you’re giving yourself to — not just physically, but emotionally.
Derrick came with charm and chemistry, but mystery too. Physical intimacy without emotional safety or clarity can leave you open to manipulation, pain, or even danger.
I WRITE STORIES FOR YOUR HAPPINESS SAKE
To be continued...
Follow for more interesting r0mance stories.
Share now to 20 Facebook groups so I can drop the next episod….
