17/05/2025
After 10 rounds, shey na me this woman wan kill
Chioma stood in front of her husband, Okoro, with a look of both disappointment and amusement. Wrapped in her vibrant yellow wrapper, she crossed her arms and eyed him up and down, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Okoro, on the other hand, looked sheepishly at the ground, clutching the towel around his waist, unsure of what to say.
"Okoro," Chioma began, her voice firm but not unkind, "how many times do I have to tell you? You need to be stronger if you want to keep up with me."
Okoro’s face flushed with embarrassment. "Chioma, I try my best. But you know I’m not as strong as you. Besides, isn’t love about more than just strength?"
Chioma softened her gaze, but she couldn’t resist teasing him a little more. "Love is important, yes, but I need a man who can handle me. You’re always so tired, always saying you can’t go another round. This marriage isn’t just about love; it’s about passion too!"
Every day, it seemed like Chioma would find herself in the middle of the roadside, chasing after Okoro, who was desperately trying to escape her demands. "You think you can run from me, Okoro? I’m not done with you yet!" she would shout, grabbing his shorts as he attempted to flee in the dead of night.
"Help! Help! This woman wants to kill me oooo!" Okoro would scream, his voice echoing through the neighborhood.
Neighbors and the landlord would come out, rubbing their eyes, only to find Chioma dragging Okoro back to their house. The scene became a nightly comedy, with people laughing so hard they’d clutch their stomachs.
"This is a nightly show!" the landlord would chuckle. "Okoro, you need to toughen up or hire a bodyguard!"
Okoro’s nightly escapes became the highlight of the neighborhood. People would stay up just to see if tonight would be the night Okoro finally outran his wife, or if Chioma would drag him back home, laughing all the way.
But Okoro was not amused. He was tired—tired of the constant running, tired of the jokes, and most of all, tired of not being able to satisfy his wife. One day, as he sat in the corner of a bar, nursing his bruised ego and aching body, an old man approached him. The man had a twinkle in his eye and a knowing smile on his lips.
"My son, I hear you’ve been running from your wife," the man said, leaning in closer. "But I have something that will help you. Take this medicine, and you’ll be the lion of your household!"
Desperate and willing to try anything, Okoro took the medicine. That night, he felt a surge of power like never before. As soon as Chioma hinted at another marathon, Okoro met her challenge with an energy that shocked her. Round after round, he kept going, until Chioma started screaming—not in pleasure, but in panic.
"Ahhh! Okoro, it’s too much! Please, I’m begging you!" Chioma cried, crawling to the fan in the corner of the room, desperately fanning herself while opening her legs to cool off. "I’ve never felt this kind of pain before! God, save me!"
She was panting, sweating, and completely out of breath. For the first time, Chioma found herself running away from Okoro. She raced into the bathroom and locked the door, peeking out through the keyhole with wide eyes. "Is this the same man I’ve been chasing all these nights? How did he turn into a beast?"
The next day, Chioma was a different woman. When nightfall came, she would begin to tremble, and as soon as Okoro looked at her with a smile, she’d fall to her knees, pleading. "Okoro, please, let’s rest tonight. I promise I’ll be good. No more chasing you, I’ve learned my lesson!"
Okoro, now the king of the household, would just chuckle and say, "Ah, Chioma, but I thought you wanted more rounds? We’re just getting started!"
From that day on, the roles were reversed. It was Chioma who now had to keep up with Okoro, and the neighbors who once laughed at Okoro’s nightly escapes now couldn’t stop laughing at Chioma’s sudden humility.
The landlord, grinning ear to ear, would say, "Chioma, be careful what you wish for! You’ve created a monster!"
But the story didn’t end there. Okoro, enjoying his newfound strength, decided to take things even further. He began to experiment with different exercises, making sure he could keep up this new level of stamina. He wanted to prove to Chioma and the entire neighborhood that he wasn’t just a weak man running from his wife.
One evening, as Chioma sat nervously on the edge of their bed, she noticed something different about Okoro. He was more confident, more assertive. It was as if he had completely transformed. When he approached her with that familiar smile, Chioma didn’t wait for him to make the first move. She quickly wrapped herself in her wrapper and declared, "I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight!"
But Okoro wasn’t about to let her off so easily. "Not so fast," he said, gently pulling her back. "You wanted a strong man, didn’t you? Now you’ve got one!"
Chioma gulped. The tables had indeed turned. The hunter had become the hunted, and now she was the one running for cover. As she backed away slowly, Okoro laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that echoed through the room.
"Remember, Chioma, you asked for this!" he teased, as she scrambled to the bathroom, locking the door once again.
From that night on, Chioma was a changed woman. No longer did she boast about how Okoro couldn’t keep up with her. Instead, she became the model wife, always eager to please and never again daring to challenge her husband’s strength.
The neighbors, who had once been entertained by Okoro’s nightly escapes, now found themselves amused by Chioma’s sudden submission. "Ah, the mighty have fallen!" they’d say, shaking their heads in disbelief.
And so, the couple’s dynamic changed. Okoro, with his newfound confidence, became the lion of his household, while Chioma, once the fierce and demanding wife, learned that sometimes, it’s better to be careful what you wish for.
The lesson was clear: in the game of love, it’s not always about strength or weakness, but about balance, understanding, and knowing when to hold back.
And as for Chioma, she never again asked for more rounds—unless, of course, she was ready for another sleepless night.
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