Wiki ya Harusi
"Marrying the youngest sister. The three thick older sisters insist on 'preparing' him for the wedding night. The preparation takes all week. By the wedding, he's exhausted—but expertly trained."
I'm marrying Fatuma.
The youngest of four sisters. Sweet, slim, innocent. Her family approved the match—but her three older sisters had conditions.
"We must prepare him," they said.
I didn't know what preparation meant.
I learned.
The sisters are thick.
All of them—it's genetic. Fatuma escaped somehow, stayed slim and delicate. But her sisters? Zainab is forty-four, the eldest, enormous and commanding. Maryam is forty-one, softer but just as substantial. Hadija is thirty-eight, the youngest of the thick ones, curved in ways that defy description.
They run the household.
They've decided to run me.
"The wedding is in seven days," Zainab tells me.
I'm in their family home, officially for "pre-wedding rituals." Fatuma is sequestered with the women, preparing for the ceremony. I'm supposed to be with the men.
I'm not.
"Seven days to make sure you're worthy of our sister."
"Worthy how?"
"Our father is dead. Our mother is frail. We raised Fatuma ourselves. She's innocent. Precious. She deserves a husband who knows what he's doing."
"I know what I'm doing—"
"You think you know." Zainab circles me like a predator. "We'll make sure."
Day one: Zainab.
She takes me to a private room after dinner—everyone else thinks I'm sleeping, preparing for tomorrow's rituals.
"Our youngest sister deserves perfection," she says. "I'm going to teach you what that means."
"Teach me how?"
"By showing you." She starts undressing. "What a woman's body looks like. How it responds. What it needs."
"Zainab—"
"Undress." It's not a request. "Lesson one begins now."
Her body is overwhelming.
Massive breasts that have nursed children and still look powerful. Belly cascading in folds of dark flesh. Hips that could block doorways. She's twice Fatuma's size, twice her age, twice everything.
"This is what our family's women become," she says. "Fatuma is young, slim. Give her years. She'll grow."
"I love her how she is—"
"You'll love her how she becomes." She pushes me onto the bed. "Now. Show me what you know."
I show her.
My mouth on her, my hands exploring every curve. She critiques my technique—"slower there," "harder here," "don't neglect the belly"—until I'm following orders like a soldier.
"Better—much better—now inside me—"
She's tight despite her size. Wet, burning hot, clenching around me while I thrust.
"This is how you take a woman—not the fumbling you were planning—real satisfaction—"
She comes on me three times before sunrise.
Then she dresses, becomes respectable again.
"Day one complete. Tomorrow, Maryam continues your education."
"All week?"
"All week." She kisses my cheek. "By the wedding, you'll be worthy."
Day two: Maryam.
Different style—softer, more exploratory. She teaches me patience, endurance, reading a woman's body.
"Fatuma will be nervous on her wedding night," Maryam says, riding me slowly. "She needs gentleness first. Intensity later."
"Like this?"
"Exactly like this—slow—building—oh—"
She comes quietly, shaking, and I'm not allowed to release until she's had four.
Day three: Hadija.
The youngest of the thick sisters, the closest to Fatuma in age. She's fierce, demanding, nothing like her sister.
"Fatuma seems delicate," Hadija says, pushing me onto my back. "But we're all the same underneath. She has our mother's fire. You need to be ready for it."
"Ready how?"
"By being exhausted." She mounts me. "When a woman has fire, she can burn through a weak man in minutes. I'm going to strengthen you."
She takes me five times that night.
I barely survive.
Day four: All three.
"Mid-week assessment," Zainab announces.
They bring me to a large bedroom—all three sisters waiting, all three already undressed.
"We've been training you separately. Now we see how you handle... complexity."
"All three of you? At once?"
"Fatuma may seem like one woman. But she contains multitudes." Maryam beckons. "Consider this practice for a lifetime of marriage."
They use me for six hours.
One on my mouth while another rides me, the third directing. Then rotate. Then all three at once, thick bodies pressing from every direction.
"He's lasting longer—" Zainab observes.
"His technique has improved—" Maryam agrees.
"But can he finish all of us before dawn?" Hadija challenges.
I finish all of them.
Barely.
Days five and six: Intensive training.
Each sister takes a session, drilling specific skills. Zainab on power. Maryam on tenderness. Hadija on endurance.
"The wedding is tomorrow," they tell me on day six.
"I'm exhausted—"
"You're prepared." Zainab kisses me. "Our sister will have the wedding night she deserves. Because we made sure of it."
The wedding day.
Fatuma is beautiful—slim, delicate, everything her sisters aren't. I watch her through the ceremony, thinking about what's coming.
Thinking about what her sisters taught me.
The wedding night.
Fatuma is nervous, as Maryam predicted. I'm gentle, as trained. I read her body, as Zainab taught me. I last as long as she needs, thanks to Hadija's endurance drills.
"How do you—how do you know exactly what to—"
"I was prepared."
"By who?"
"By people who love you."
She comes four times on our wedding night.
More than she expected, more than she dreamed. By dawn, she's glowing with satisfaction.
"Your sisters were right about you," she murmurs.
"Right about what?"
"That you'd be perfect." She curls against me. "They always know."
A year later, Fatuma has grown.
Pregnancy, then motherhood—she's becoming thick like her sisters. The family trait emerging.
"My sisters want to see you," she says one evening.
"For what?"
"Refresher course." She smiles. "They say a husband needs ongoing training. To keep up with a changing wife."
"All three of them?"
"All three." She kisses me. "I'll be with my mother and the baby. Take your time. Learn everything."
The sisters are waiting.
Thicker now, hungrier. A year of imagining me with their sister has stoked something.
"Fatuma sent you," Zainab says.
"She said you wanted—"
"We want to make sure you're still worthy." Maryam pulls me toward the bedroom. "Marriage is easy at first. It's the long term that requires skill."
"Advanced skill," Hadija adds, already undressing. "Lucky for you, we're excellent teachers."
They teach me all night.
And the next time Fatuma grows. And the time after that.
Some families share recipes.
Some families share wisdom.
My in-laws share... preparation.
And I'm the most prepared husband on the coast.
Thanks to Zainab, Maryam, and Hadija.
The sisters who make sure I'm always worthy.
Of their sister.
Of all of them.
Forever.