WHORE Of BABYLON (Episode 24)

I pull shut the zipper of my sandals just as the door squeaks open. Still in that bent position, I watch as Iliana silently shuts the door behind her; her movements are deliberate and strained as though every pull on her muscle aches.

She hasn’t even looked in my direction.

I cannot imagine how stressful it must have been for her to escort an emotionally distraught Ife to the park, for the second time in less than two days.

We had tried convincing Ife to make the trip tomorrow or even the day after that, so that she can use the time to pull herself together, put together her thoughts (because how do you tell your parents that your sibling was murdered by some homosexuals that he planned to have sex with?) and generally be in a better frame of mind. But she had insisted.

According to her, the sooner they get Tosin buried, the better for everybody’s state of mind. I guess for some people, funerals do mark the end of anguish and the beginning of a new reality.

“Feeling okay?” I ask as I sit up and look at Iliana.

At least, she is not teary any longer, which is good. She just needs some sleep.

She nods in response to my question. Taking in my appearance, she arches a questioning brow.

“Babe, someone has got to feed,” I respond to her unspoken question. I push myself out of the chair and grab my bag from the small cupboard beside the bed where Mitch had dropped it some hours ago. “My account is red and I know how things are with you. Sage is dead. We can’t do anything about it, but I sure can do something about my impending penury.”

Her face crumples and I hold my breath, waiting for her to argue against it, to demand I stay in and observe some sobriety in honor of the dead. Not like that will ever happen, whether I am broke or not. I believe in life moving on especially in the wake of a death. I do not know how I will be if someone beloved to me died, but I certainly am not sure I will put my life on hold because of such a loss.

Iliana’s countenance clears as her face registers understanding, and I see a flicker of gratitude in her eyes even.

So, the babe sef no get money.

I drop on the bed next to her to hug her briefly. “We’ll be fine, okay?”

She nods.

Then I get back up on my feet. “All this sad news can sha take someone’s sexy away. How do I look?”

I do a quick spin for her.

She chuckles before saying, “Smothering.”

I place my right hand on my chest and let out a fake gasp to show appreciation for her acknowledgement of my vanity. “You say the kindest things.”

“Who is this person?” Her tone suddenly sharpens, becomes almost interrogative.

“Chief Ferdinand. You know him, abi?” I glance at my wristwatch. I have thirty minutes to be at Tropicana Villa hotel.

She shakes her head and draws her knees up so that her chin is resting on the caps. Her eyes are looking up at me with a solemn expression.

“Well, he’s one very local but rich dude like that. He talks too much, but whenever we are shagging, I just close my eyes and ears and focus on the money.” I chuckle at my joke, but she doesn’t respond to the mirth.

“Be careful,” she says instead. Her voice is grave, the words heavy.

I don’t need to be psychic to know why she said this. The reality of Sage’s death is still very present.

I return to her side on the bed and wrap my arms around her. Her body is taut, like she is fighting to control herself. With my hand caressing her hair in slow strokes, I whisper in her ears that I’ll be fine and that she never needs to worry about me.

It will be tough, I know this. The memory of what happened will linger for a while and the effect of its scary deposits will make themselves known in the things we used to indulge in freely without having to think twice about.

***

Chief Ferdinand sounded very excited when I called him, wanting to hook up. And when he set up the meet to happen in the Tropicana, I felt a stir inside me as I recalled the last time I went there to see him – specifically the guy I encountered towards the end of my visit. That huge, dark guy who I found fucking Chief Ferdinand and who had been brazen enough to call me “akwuna ndi Enugu.”

He had insulted me, and I had promised myself he will give me the D.

He’d seemed pretty interested then. I hope he still is. If he isn’t, I’ll just make Chief coerce him into fucking me. Whatever way he plans on doing that is none of my business. I must have that guy’s dick.

As I approach the hotel’s lobby, I think of the past few days, wondering if all that craziness has rubbed off my appeal. Against my better judgement, I pause to look my reflection on the automated sliding glass doors leading into the reception. Except for eyes that demand more sleep, I look pretty much the same. Offhandedly, I adjust my skinny jeans at the waist and then walk into the reception over to the bespectacled receptionist.

“Room 125,” I say.

She looks up at me, her professional smile in place.

“Is the occupant expecting you?” she says, her hand reaching for the phone.

“Yes. He is Chief Ferdinand.”

Understanding registers and she takes her hand away from the phone and gives me the directions. Chief must have informed her of my coming.

It doesn’t take long to locate Room 125. Using the iron knocker that is hinged on a silver plate, I rap twice on it and almost immediately, I hear approaching footfalls on the other side.

The door swings open seconds after and Chief Ferdinand is there standing with only a white towel wrapped around his waist, his body still dewy from a recent shower.

“Zikora m!” he exclaims with a grin, making to embrace me with all that wetness.

I push out a palm, halting the move.

“I’ll still wear this cloth to go home, Chief. It cannot be wet biko.” I step into the room.

“Ngwanu, kiss me na,” he says with a chuckle as he shuts the door behind me.

I acquiesce, planting a quick kiss on his wet, stubby cheeks.

The room is bigger than I’d imagined, certainly bigger than the last one Chief and I fucked in. There is a short passageway from the door to the main room that can comfortably house two of the shack Iliana and I live in. The passageway is carpeted in red, a rug that stops at the edge of the wall where the room itself begins. The red-coloured curtains are thick with embroideries of gold. There’s a big red dressing table with a mirror mounted on it to the left; two red seats with golden crusts dotted on the upholstery flank the king-sized bed on both sides. The bed is covered in plain red sheets that look ruffled up, an indication that Chief had been lying on it.

This room should kuku be called the Red Room.

Just then, I hear the flush of the toilet, the quick rush of water, and moments later, the squeaky sound of a door opening.

It’s not just Chief and I that are in here, I realize with some irritation.

I am about to turn to say something really wrathful to the man when Mr. Akwuna Ndi Enugu steps out into the room. He is initially toweling his hair, which is cut in a punk style, but gives a start when he sees me and hastens to wrap the towel around his naked torso instead.

So, this man has been busy, I think to myself, unsure how to feel about this.

I find myself wondering how many times he has been a guest at this hotel, clearly entertaining somebody else’s desires and not mine.

In spite of myself, a strip of jealousy streaks through me and I suddenly feel the strong urge to stomp out of the room.

Better respect yourself, my inner voice warns. What is he, your boyfriend? No. So, behave and fuck for the money you came here to get.

So, instead I move over to one of the seats and settle down. I suddenly find myself feeling a bit self-conscious with the presence of the other guy in the room.

“You know JBoy na, right?” Chief says by way of introduction.

“We’ve met,” I say, not looking at the guy but feeling a stirring in me that tells me he is looking at me.

“After that last time we saw,” Chief continues, “I calling you plenty time but you no pick. What happen?”

I look up at him. His towel is now loose around his expansive waist, looking like the slightest movement will cause it to fall and reveal a pecker I am in no hurry to behold.

“I didn’t see any missed calls. When did you call?”

He looks up to the ceiling with his index finger placed on his lower lip. Then his eyes fall on me again. “I no remember. Beht I miss you, Zikora m. Let me clean this water on my body so I can hold you. Ka m jide gi. Chai!”

In a single movement, my fears come to be. He is standing in all his inglorious nakedness directly in front of me, toweling off the beads of water on his body. I urgently need a distraction, so I take my eyes off him and let them wander a bit until they fall on that hunk of a guy, who is now seated on the far end of the bed, doing whatever on his phone.

Maybe you should start with him first. After all, this has always been the plan.

I rise and start to walk toward the bed when I feel Chief Ferdinand’s hands wrap tightly around my waist from behind, a stubbly chin resting against the nape of my neck, and I resist the urge to groan in exasperation.

Will I be great in peace today?

Just think about the money.

I turn around in his arms and place my hands on his shoulders. I bring my lips closer to his face (and truth is, the closer you get to these older men, the uglier they seem), and suddenly our lips are merged, even though mine stays firmly closed, restricting the invasion of his tongue.

Biko not yet. Let me mentally prepare myself.

I let out a moan when his kisses find their way to my neck and his tongue trails its way to the back of my ears. He doesn’t just kiss this part of me, he slobbers on them, washes every inch with an expertise I’ve come to be fond of and I start to feel myself react genuinely to his touch.

He pulls my shirt up over my head and then plants his mouth on a nipple. My knees buckle as desire arcs through me, and he holds me upright, close to him.

My God, how could I have forgotten what a pleasure master this man is?

My head is thrown back and my eyes are shut as small gasps of pleasure escape my lips intermittently.

And then, suddenly, my mouth is covered by the warmth of another mouth, one that immediately sucking on my lips, its tongue probing and poking, clouding my senses momentarily.

I can still feel Chief’s stubbly chin grazing my chest as he licks and sucks and bites and flicks my nipple with his tongue.

So, the person kissing me is –

JBoy!

My body tenses momentarily as I realize that Mr. Akwuna Ndi Enugu has joined in on the fun, and that this is shaping up to be a threesome.

Hian!

This will be a new one for me. In all my sexcapades, I have never been in anything that doesn’t involve me and one other partner. I do not know the first thing about pleasuring two men at once and I certainly have no intentions of being a third wheel. The plan was to fuck Chief, then this other guy. Not fuck Chief while fucking this other guy!

They must have noticed my sudden tenseness because they both stop. I open my eyes to find Chief Ferdinand looking at me with some confusion.

Inukwa this man. You are confused? Did you tell me it will be a threesome?

“He know you are coming and tell me he want to fuck you,” he says, looking slightly stricken that I might not want this. “So I say he should stay after he give me small massage.”

Small massage, eh? That’s what getting fucked is now called? This Igbo man be wilding.

“If you’re not interested…” JBoy starts saying.

“I am interested,” I say sharply, causing him to smirk at me.

I kick off my sandals and clamber into the bed. I pull Chief in, pushing his head back to my waiting nipple. JBoy settles down behind me, his hands cradling my sides as he claims my mouth in a lip-lock, our tongues dueling for dominance.

I feel great. I feel powerful. I feel worshipped.

And then, Chief starts talking!

“JBoy will fuck you well. Him can fuck eh. You will see, Zikora m. Chai. Itoka! This ya nipple is just deliciousing my body.”

Why won’t this man just shut up and suck nipple!

Soon Chief is between my legs, sucking my dick and I have the tree trunk that is JBoy’s dick in my mouth. His dick is as thick as a beer can and as long as a regular-sized candlestick. I try my best to take it to the hilt, but no matter what, it’s futile. I slobber all over the shaft, making sure to make use of as much saliva as my mouth can produce, squeezing and running my closed palms over it as I gag and suck. From the guttural moans he is giving, I have to be doing a pretty good job.

This goes on for a few minutes before he pushes Chief gently away from my dick and flips me around. He raises my lower back into an arch and dives in between my ass cheeks.

I swear, his tongue is so long and large, it feels like a small cock is going up inside me. My moan is rich and loud and carries with it all the different sensations I am feeling.

Chief is in a corner of the room, rummaging through a small bag, and soon returns with a bottle of scented lubricant and condoms. He hands them all to JBoy, and for a millisecond, I wonder what the plan is. As a threesome newbie, I do not know how this is supposed to go.

Chief gets back on the bed and positions his head directly between my parted thighs such that his erect dick is in my face. As his warm lips wrap around my semi-hard shaft, I go down on his, moving up and down on his dick as he sucks mine too.

When I stop feeling JBoy’s tongue digging into my hole, I cast a quick glance behind me to see him applying the lube on his sheathed cock. It looks bigger, almost deadly standing at full attention behind me and I start getting a little jittery. As if sensing my impending recoil, Chief strengthens his suction on my dick and the resulting ecstasy causes me to barely take note of JBoy’s fingers penetrating my chute.

He props himself up behind me once again and I feel the head of his dick poking at the entrance of my dilated, well-lubed hole. I stop sucking Chief’s dick and stay positioned with bated breath. I push out against his insertion and grit my teeth as a stab of pain slices through me upon his entry.

In all this time, Chief is still blowing me; he would suck my balls for a while before going back to my penis. To distract myself from the pain I am feeling as JBoy’s thrusts gain momentum, I take Chief’s cock in my mouth and resume sucking with much vigour.

This goes on for awhile, three of us entangled, with JBoy inside my asshole, Chief’s cock inside my mouth, and my cock inside Chief’s mouth.

Then Chief breaks apart from me. Still lying on his back, he slips out from under me and spreads his thighs, a clear invitation for JBoy to transfer his dick from my ass to his. JBoy obliges him, slipping out from inside me in a move that makes me whimper with slight protest, and then starts feeding his dick to Chief.

Oh church!

Now it makes sense why Chief handed him the lubes and condoms. He had no intention of topping me – which, in all honesty, is totally fine by me.

JBoy directs me to lie beside Chief, in the exact same position. No sooner had I done that than he plunged his dick deep into me. I let out a loud cry that Chief immediately silences with his mouth, whispering rubbish into my slack lips.

“Nwayo, JBoy,” Chief chides him. He is playing his fingers around my nipple. “You know he is very fragile. Go small-small.”

JBoy eventually cums while fucking Chief. Moments later, I cum in Chief’s mouth as he sucks me, and Chief cums hands-free as JBoy continues digging into him, even though he had climaxed.

What a wawu.

I go in to shower first. I have no intention of staying any longer, before they will initiate another round. That JBoy looks like he’d be equal to the task of wrecking my anal walls. Both him and his monster dick can rest for a very long time. I’m done fantasizing biko.

After I am done, Chief and JBoy go in together.

Perhaps they’re together? As in dating?

The thought sits for a bit, and then I dismiss it. What is my own?

“Chief, my money,” I holler as I comb my hair after slipping back into my clothes. “I am leaving now.”

He opens the bathroom door and gestures at me. “Gimme my phone there, it is in the table near di bed.”

I locate the phone and hand it to him.

“You are sure you don’t want to stay small?” He looks up from his phone with a hopeful expression.

I nod.

Three minutes later, just as I am slinging my portable bag across my torso, I hear the familiar beep of a text message and check to see that my account balance has increased by fifty thousand naira.

I smile broadly, plant a kiss on Chief’s cheek as he still fiddles with his phone at the bathroom door, and saunter out of the room, my hole twitching with delicious ache at every stride I take.

Hopefully this money will numb a lot of those aches.

I am soon downstairs and crossing the lobby when I hear someone call my name.

“Sizi! Ikem!”

I turn around, feeling that instinctive annoyance I get whenever someone calls me my native name, a rush of emotion that short-circuit their way to startle when I see who it is.

Mark.

Written by Delle