WHORE Of BABYLON (Episode 8)

Previously on Whore Of Babylon…

*

All through my narration, none of the two men listening to me interrupts. They listen, their attention rapt. It feels good, immensely satisfying to have someone – people who are paying attention to me. Being the talker that I am, I spare no information, and by the time I am done, the two men look like they could use some rest.

Amobi is the first person to get up from his seat. He stretches, releasing some knotted muscles evident in the cracking sounds they make.

Just as I was getting to the end of my narration, NEPA had struck, ceasing the light and plunging the room into darkness. And now, Amobi moves to a mantelpiece from where he picks up a torch and turns it on. The sudden illumination causes me to flinch reflexively and blink my eyes at the bright visual intrusion.

“Let me go and have a bath. It was a pretty long travel today,” Mandy says with a yawn, a certification of him being really exhausted.

He gets up from the sofa, collects the torch from Amobi and heads in the direction of the inner room. I follow him with my eyes, my gaze on his broad back until he vanishes behind the overhanging curtain and then Amobi clears his throat, bringing my attention back to him.

“So you want me to kill Sage?” he says, his grave voice coming to me from the darkness.

I blink again, startled by the seriousness of his tone and the bluntness of his statement. Kill?! I had never for once thought of having Sage killed. Actually, I had never for once thought of what I wanted to be done to him. Even if I had, I am certain killing him wouldn’t be an option I’d consider.

“No,” I say hesitantly at first, waving my right hand at him. Then my resolve strengthens and I reiterate in a firmer tone, “No. No. No. That’s not what I want. That’s not what I want at all.” This time, I’m sure of what I am saying. “I just want him to pay dearly for what he did to me…but he shouldn’t die.”

“That’s good,” Amobi says with a knowing cadence to his voice, as though he’d tested me and I’d passed, “because I had no intention of killing anyone. We teach lessons, not cut lives.”

I can hear him adjust his weight on the sofa, and with a low, guttural tone, he orders for me to come to him. There’s something seductively primal about the order, and without thinking, I get up from my seat. It is very dark in the parlor, so I clumsily bump and hit my legs against things as I make my way to where he is seated.

He grabs my hand, the one I’d kept in front of me as I feel my way through the darkness, and pulls me to him with a gentle force only a soldier can pull off.

“I missed this.” He spanks me lightly on my derriere and sets me down on his spread-out thighs. His colossal dick is already hard and jabbing impatiently at my ass. I grind my butt on it with a little jig and lean forward to plant my lips on his.

Reaching into my shirt with his right hand, he begins to play with my nipples while we keep on kissing. He kneads my clothed derriere with the other hand, causing me to grind some more on his crotch with more zeal. Our animalistic moans are muted as our lips are still locked together, tongues dueling and fighting for dominance.

Then I pull off of him and trail my fingers down his body to his knickers, reaching into them to caress his very hard member.

“Mmm, you never disappoint, Colossus,” I whisper into his ear, still fondling my priced treasure.

Amobi is one of the thickest men I have ever been with. With a 7 incher, he isn’t exactly long, but the girth alone can make any size queen weep with joy. I caress his dick for a while, using the precum he is leaking as lubrication before writhing down to my knees. I pull down his shorts and the whiff of his soaped skin drenches my nostrils. Now caught up in my heightening desire, I dip my head into his groin and begin the struggle to take the monster into my mouth.

It has always been a futile one, this struggle. No one can successfully deepthroat this man. I should know, I’ve tried.

Suddenly, a beam of light hits me on my face.

Mandy.

“I see Sage is being taken care of.” He gestures at Amobi’s dick sticking up shamelessly from his shorts.

“Mandy nke a sef,” Amobi grunts in an irritated tone while moving to adjust himself, dislodging my jaw from his member.

“Hian! What have I done?” Mandy claps his hands dramatically, looking at me like he expects me to give him an answer.

I should answer you after you interrupted something you didn’t want to give? Mscheww!

“Oya o, since you both don’t want to talk to me again, lemme go and sleep.” He turns round in the most theatric manner and walks back toward the room with a chuckle. At the door, he turns back to me. “You should speak to Francis,” he says. “As a psychotherapist, I’m sure he’ll willingly answer all the questions you might have.” With that, he turns and steps into the room.

I get up to hold Amobi, and together, we walk towards the other room.

***

“Oga o, how far na?” Iliana says from the other end of the phone. “You won’t believe what I’m calling to tell you.”

“Ife is around?” I respond.

“No, not that. Although, she is on her way as we speak. But that’s not it.” I hear her greet someone on her end, and then she comes back to me. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, I am.” I shoot a quick glance to my side, where Amobi is snoring heavily. Last night was a marathon. At a time, I almost passed out while we were going at it. That is the downside of having sex with a soldier; your ass becomes a Boko Haram suspect.

As for Mandy, I am yet to see him, seeing as I am yet to surface from Amobi’s room. Perhaps he is in the guest room, also snoring away. A fleeting image of his morning wood straining against his boxers darts through my mind’s eye, and I luxuriate in the mental picture for a moment.

“So two guys just moved into the room opposite ours.” There is an enthusiastic tone in her voice and I am suddenly curious.

“Okay, so…” I urge.

Amobi stirs a little, turns to my side of the bed and drops his very bulky hand over my midriff. With a huff of irritation, I reposition his hand and bring the phone back to my ear. “What’s with the excitement?”

“I think they are gay. The Dennis guy seems quite nice, and his partner, Mitchell –”

“Wait a minute – partner?”

“Or perhaps boyfriend – I really can’t say for now. The Mitchell seems very reserved and acted almost bitchy toward me when I made the mistake of greeting them as per new tenants and potential neighbours o. I have suffered. And to think –”

“Wait, hold on biko. Small, small, let me process this.” I get up from the bed, put on my slippers and head for the sitting room.

I cannot use gist and wake this soldier up. Ike adiro m.

“Firstly, let’s get back to the bit about them being partners or perhaps boyfriends – how do you know they are together?” I am settling into a sofa in the sitting room. Seconds later, I hear the creaking sound of a door and it becomes apparent to me that Mandy is awake also.

“I don’t know. They just give me couple vibes,” Iliana replies. “They seem very close, and I don’t know how right this is, but because the Dennis guy isn’t feminine per se and the Mitchell is – he is just like you but a little bigger. So it kind of makes sense that they should be partners.”

I know she shrugged after saying this.

“Tell me more about Dennis.” There’s a sly smile on my face.

Mandy walks into the sitting room and plops himself on a seat, acknowledging me with a nod of his head.

I blow a kiss to him and return my attention to Iliana, trying not to be stirred by the sight of how absolutely gorgeous he looks in the unforgiving light of the morning.

“Shut up, harlot,” Iliana rejoins with a short laugh. “How goes the Sage thing?”

So after sex with Amobi last night, he’d agreed to help me take care of Sage. The plan is to nab him off the streets to a secluded place, where he’d suffer some manhandling before he’d be made to know why he is being roughed about. Then he’d be made to call me – if I can’t see him physically – to apologise, and then he would call my mother to take back all he’d said to her about me.

All these are to be done before the end of the week.

“Hmm,” Iliana heaves, clearly processing it all. “Okay o. Let me go and wash now. When are you coming back?”

“Right after I do one thing.”

I end the call and turn to face Mandy, who is sipping the coffee he’d earlier made and simultaneously chatting away on his phone.

“Can I have Francis’s contact now?” I say, intentionally cutting into his phone conversation.

He turns to me, and his smile is there. That one I hate to love.

Written by Delle