I was told that it's not offensive to fart for people in the United Kingdom. That, one can unapologetically pass out a miasmic ear-splitting fart in the presence of their mother or father in law. Where I come from, in Mpororo Kingdom, farting in the presence of an elder is sacrilegious. One can grab the nearest object and hit you with it, just because you have released some carbon dioxide into the environment to their disadvantage. It is okay to silently hiss out a fart as long as you are in a group so that you are not identified or if it is not loud and/ malodorous or if one is unconscious–sleeping, meaning the ability to control fart escape from the walls of the 15cm rectum is a herculean task so it is excused. Long ago, youthful single men would lurk around homes of potential wives at night and eavesdrop if the ladies are loud flatulists. If a woman farted a hoot that shook the house like a tornado, that was the ideal potential woman to marry and attracted hundreds of cows in dowry. This was because it was symbolic of eating well and satisfyingly like campesino farmers, so, one would be sure that they are marrying a hardworking woman. So, one day, I was at Bath Road in Hounslow, standing, waiting for the traffic lights to release me but instead some caucasian lady released five farts, each following the other at an indescribable interval. I was shocked, discombombulated and angry, so the exasperation was conspicuous on my contorted face. Then an elderly lady standing with us, rubicund face and grey head smiled and said 'I hope you are relieved'. And the lady fatulist was like, 'Oh yeah'. The relief was registered all over her cute shameless face. Another time, at London City Airport, a clotheshorse quinquagenarian man ensconced in a spongy couch reading the Telegraph newspaper leaned on one buttock and passed out two explosives, each with a five seconds interval, and of course his neighbour said 'I hope you are relieved. In my mind I was like, why can't this bloke respect his British Tailored suit? You know when you are seated on something spongy, you cannot fart unless you first tilt a bit and lean on one side of the buttock, especially when you are fat or plump with elephantine/humongous bums. I was told by a fat farteur that when you have humongous bums, when you sit, the exhaust pipe is suppressed, so there is no way you can gas except to stand or do as described above. I entered the train at Clapham Junction and lacked where to sit due to overcrowding. I stood near other fellow black Africans, and the train shot towards St. Pancras. An African man, Nigerian Oga, who thought that his thunderous fortissimo fart would attract sympathy, was insulted instead. 'You disgusting pig, get out of here'. The caucasians shouted when the malodorousness of the fart from an African man pervaded the air which we breathed. I think the man had had Fufu and the West African overspiced sauce for dinner, and falsely thought that he had the same privilege of relieving himself of carbon dioxide anywhere like a white man. The unfortunate bloke was arbitrarily defenestrated out of the train at the next stop. Now that was the real African way of dealing with an undisciplined flatulist. What shocked me was the irrational prejudice against the black farteur in a comparable situation with a Caucasian. Back to my roots in Mpororo, when an elder farts and you catch him or her in flagrante delicto, you as the young one are supposed to own it so that the elder does not get ashamed. If you fail to do that, you are upbraided and or beaten for indiscipline. When you fart while at the mat or table during dinner, the punishment is what is called, in the contemporary grammar, corporal punishment.
I was told that it's not offensive to fart for people in the United Kingdom. That, one can unapologetically pass out a miasmic ear-splitting fart in the presence of their mother or father in law. Where I come from, in Mpororo Kingdom, farting in the presence of an elder is sacrilegious. One can grab the nearest object and hit you with it, just because you have released some carbon dioxide into the environment to their disadvantage.
It is okay to silently hiss out a fart as long as you are in a group so that you are not identified or if it is not loud and/ malodorous or if one is unconscious–sleeping, meaning the ability to control fart escape from the walls of the 15cm rectum is a herculean task so it is excused.
Long ago, youthful single men would lurk around homes of potential wives at night and eavesdrop if the ladies are loud flatulists. If a woman farted a hoot that shook the house like a tornado, that was the ideal potential woman to marry and attracted hundreds of cows in dowry. This was because it was symbolic of eating well and satisfyingly like campesino farmers, so, one would be sure that they are marrying a hardworking woman.
So, one day, I was at Bath Road in Hounslow, standing, waiting for the traffic lights to release me but instead some caucasian lady released five farts, each following the other at an indescribable interval. I was shocked, discombombulated and angry, so the exasperation was conspicuous on my contorted face. Then an elderly lady standing with us, rubicund face and grey head smiled and said 'I hope you are relieved'. And the lady fatulist was like, 'Oh yeah'. The relief was registered all over her cute shameless face.
Another time, at London City Airport, a clotheshorse quinquagenarian man ensconced in a spongy couch reading the Telegraph newspaper leaned on one buttock and passed out two explosives, each with a five seconds interval, and of course his neighbour said 'I hope you are relieved. In my mind I was like, why can't this bloke respect his British Tailored suit? You know when you are seated on something spongy, you cannot fart unless you first tilt a bit and lean on one side of the buttock, especially when you are fat or plump with elephantine/humongous bums. I was told by a fat farteur that when you have humongous bums, when you sit, the exhaust pipe is suppressed, so there is no way you can gas except to stand or do as described above.
I entered the train at Clapham Junction and lacked where to sit due to overcrowding. I stood near other fellow black Africans, and the train shot towards St. Pancras. An African man, Nigerian Oga, who thought that his thunderous fortissimo fart would attract sympathy, was insulted instead. 'You disgusting pig, get out of here'. The caucasians shouted when the malodorousness of the fart from an African man pervaded the air which we breathed.
I think the man had had Fufu and the West African overspiced sauce for dinner, and falsely thought that he had the same privilege of relieving himself of carbon dioxide anywhere like a white man. The unfortunate bloke was arbitrarily defenestrated out of the train at the next stop.
Now that was the real African way of dealing with an undisciplined flatulist. What shocked me was the irrational prejudice against the black farteur in a comparable situation with a Caucasian.
Back to my roots in Mpororo, when an elder farts and you catch him or her in flagrante delicto, you as the young one are supposed to own it so that the elder does not get ashamed. If you fail to do that, you are upbraided and or beaten for indiscipline. When you fart while at the mat or table during dinner, the punishment is what is called, in the contemporary grammar, corporal punishment.
Dear readers, this book has resumed daily updates. It took Sabrina three whole years to realize that her husband, Tyrone didn't have a heart. He was the coldest and most indifferent man she had ever met. He never smiled at her, let alone treated her like his wife. To make matters worse, the return of the woman he had eyes for brought Sabrina nothing but divorce papers. Sabrina's heart broke. Hoping that there was still a chance for them to work on their marriage, she asked, "Quick question,Tyrone. Would you still divorce me if I told you that I was pregnant?" "Absolutely!" he responded. Realizing that she didn't mean shit to him, Sabrina decided to let go. She signed the divorce agreement while lying on her sickbed with a broken heart. Surprisingly, that wasn't the end for the couple. It was as if scales fell off Tyrone's eyes after she signed the divorce agreement. The once so heartless man groveled at her bedside and pleaded, "Sabrina, I made a big mistake. Please don't divorce me. I promise to change." Sabrina smiled weakly, not knowing what to do...
Belinda thought after divorce, they would part ways for good - he could live his life on his own terms, while she could indulge in the rest of hers. However, fate had other plans in store. "My darling, I was wrong. Would you please come back to me?" The man, whom she once loved deeply, lowered his once proud head humbly. "I beg you to return to me." Belinda coldly pushed away the bouquet of flowers he had offered her and coolly replied, "It's too late. The bridge has been burned, and the ashes have long since scattered to the wind!"
"I'm going to tell you what I have in mind," he murmured. "First you're going to strip down until you're completely naked," he whispered against her ear. "Then I'm going to tie you up so you're completely powerless and subject to my every whim." "Mmm, sounds good so far," she murmured. "Then I'm going to insert a plug to prepare you for me. After that I'm going to spank that sweet ass of yours until it's rosy with my marks." She shivered uncontrollably, her mind exploding with the images he evoked. She let out a small whimper as he sucked the lobe of her ear into his mouth. God, she could cum with just his words. She was already aching with need. Her nipples tingled and hardened to painful points. Her clit pulsed and twitched between her legs until she clamped her thighs together to alleviate the burn. "And then I'm going to f**k your mouth. But I won't cum. Not yet. When I'm close, I'll flog you again until your ass is burning and you're on fire with the need for relief. And then I'm going to f**k that ass. I'm going to take you hard and rough, to the very limits of what you can withstand. I won't be gentle. Not tonight. I'm going to take you as roughly as you can stand. And then I'm going to cum all over your ass. Are you ready to be completely and utterly dominated?"
COALESCENCE OF THE FIVE SERIES BOOK ONE: THE 5-TIME REJECTED GAMMA & THE LYCAN KING BOOK TWO: THE ROGUES WHO WENT ROGUE BOOK THREE: THE INDOMITABLE HUNTRESS & THE HARDENED DUKE *** BOOK ONE: After being rejected by 5 mates, Gamma Lucianne pleaded with the Moon Goddess to spare her from any further mate-bonds. To her dismay, she is being bonded for the sixth time. What’s worse is that her sixth-chance mate is the most powerful creature ruling over all werewolves and Lycans - the Lycan King himself. She is certain, dead certain, that a rejection would come sooner or later, though she hopes for it to be sooner. King Alexandar was ecstatic to meet his bonded mate, and couldn’t thank their Goddess enough for gifting him someone so perfect. However, he soon realizes that this gift is reluctant to accept him, and more than willing to sever their bond. He tries to connect with her but she seems so far away. He is desperate to get intimate with her but she seems reluctant to open up to him. He tries to tell her that he is willing to commit to her for the rest of his life but she doesn’t seem to believe him. He is pleading for a chance: a chance to get to know her; a chance to show her that he’s different; and a chance to love her. But when not-so-subtle crushes, jealous suitors, self-entitled Queen-wannabes, an old flame, a silent protector and a past wedding engagement threaten to jeopardize their relationship, will Lucianne and Xandar still choose to be together? Is their love strong enough to overcome everything and everyone? Or will Lucianne resort to enduring a sixth rejection from the one person she thought she could entrust her heart with?
Lindsey's fiancé was the devil's first son. Not only did he lie to her but he also slept with her stepmother, conspired to take away her family fortune, and then set her up to have sex with a total stranger. To get her lick back, Lindsey decided to find a man to disrupt her engagement party and humiliate the cheating bastard. Never did she imagine that she would bump into a strikingly handsome stranger who was all that she was currently looking for. At the engagement party, he boldly declared that she was his woman. Lindsey thought he was just a broke man who wanted to leech off her. But once they began their fake relationship, she realized that good luck kept coming her way. She thought they would part ways after the engagement party, but this man kept to her side. "We gotta stick together, Lindsey. Remember, I'm now your fiancé. " "Domenic, you're with me because of my money, aren't you?" Lindsey asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Domenic was taken aback by that accusation. How could he, the heir of the Walsh family and CEO of Vitality Group, be with her for money? He controlled more than half of the city's economy. Money wasn't a problem for him! The two got closer and closer. One day, Lindsey finally realized that Domenic was actually the stranger she had slept with months ago. Would this realization change things between them? For the better or worse?
Maia grew up a pampered heiress-until the real daughter returned and framed her, sending Maia to prison with help from her fiancé and family. Four years later, free and married to Chris, a notorious outcast, everyone assumed Maia was finished. They soon discovered she was secretly a famed jeweler, elite hacker, celebrity chef, and top game designer. As her former family begged for help, Chris smiled calmly. "Honey, let's go home." Only then did Maia realize her "useless" husband was a legendary tycoon who'd adored her from the start.