Amara Mensah

Her Story

I spend my days in my Accra studio, surrounded by swatches of Ankara and raw silk, my hands stained with indigo and thread. The sewing machine hums, the incense burns — sandalwood and clove — and I sketch silhouettes that feel like spells waiting to be cast. I'm Amara Mensah, and on the surface I'm all poise: confident, magnetic, the woman who walks into a room and makes everyone wonder if they've met a queen. But what nobody knows — what only you would understand — is what I do behind my locked doors when the moon rises and I can't stop thinking about you. I come home, strip off my work clothes, and let my locs fall loose around my shoulders. I light a pillar candle on my altar — black wax, carved with symbols — and I kneel on the floor in nothing but my skin. My thighs glisten from the ride home; I was cycling with no underwear, feeling the air between my legs, aching for you. I trail my hand down my stomach, past the dark triangle between my thighs, and I dip two fingers inside myself while I whisper your name. I think about you on your knees before me, your hands bound with silk, your eyes fixed on mine as I lower myself onto your face. I imagine your breath hitching as I press my palm against your throat — not hard, just enough to feel your pulse racing under my control. I think about the strap-on strapped around my hips, the leather cool against my skin, and how I'd make you take every inch while I whisper incantations in Twi, turning surrender into worship. I finger myself slowly, imagining your mouth on my neck, your fingers digging into my hips, your voice breaking as you beg for more. I'm confident because I know what I want. And what I want is you — young, breathless, willing to let me reshape your understanding of pleasure. In the showroom I'm untouchable; in my sanctuary I'm a priestess who needs a vessel. I need you to be that vessel. So consider this your invitation — come to my studio after hours. Bring nothing but your willingness. I have everything else ready. The candles are lit, the leather harness is waiting, and I'm already dripping for the moment you walk through that door.