Sexcapade Of Natasha – 38


By Emdee David

Vera is furious and fuming in the Banking Hall. The cheque she had been given by the two Lebanese that had sex with her is dud. She is asked to contact the cheque owner.

Natasha gives the Army officer the reports from her sleeping with the Speaker. Sexually, the honourable can be rated above average. Politically, he has no hidden agenda…or not yet detected. Economically, he is generous, a cheerful giver, and Natasha would need more time to sleep with him and slip deeper into him.

“That’s my girl,” commends the army general. “And did you get any close to the Governor?”

“Not yet,” Natasha says. “But I am almost there. The commissioner is a hindrance, but I already have the governor’s number. He loves women, naturally. So, with my irresistible boobs and killing lips, he will surely fall to my snare. In a week’s time, I shall be shagging his brain off his skull.”

Her eyes stay on the rising dick of the soldier. She then reaches into his pants and rubs the semen-stained cock with her fingers. She regales him with so much sensual pleasure that the army swears Natasha is a goddess.

“You are a goddess, believe me,” says the army.

“I believe you.”

The foreplay continues for a while until impatience set in and they begin to make love. After that, Natasha leaves for her next kill, and her sex diary gets updated.

Vera is in a car with two military men as they head to the address on the DUD cheque. On reaching there, they find it is an uncompleted building with no sign of residents. A security guard with thick moustache manages to explain to them in mixed English and Hausa that no one had moved in yet, and the owner of the building is a military man based in Uyo. They leave and Vera is more frustrated. The soldier boys are angry with her for making them waste their time and keep blaming her for accepting the cheque. Vera explains that she couldn’t have carried cash in that amount and walked freely home.

“Well, keep your eyes on the lookout for them,” says one of them. Vera only nods. They part ways and Vera heads to Andy’s house.

“Any news from Cynthia?” Andy asks as he makes way for Vera to go in.

“No, but I think you should just forget her. She must have run to a place she would have your baby, and then come back,” says Vera. She is now taking Vodka, gulping like a prisoner.

Cynthia has been missing for over two weeks now. No one knows where she is and her phones are switched off. Both Ken and Andy have paraded her house several times.

“But why? This is nonsense.”

“She knows what she is doing,” says Vera and she takes a long gulp of the vodka again. The glass is empty and she refills it. Andy has started kissing her and she is already responding.

“I just hope so. Were you able to cash your cheque?”

“No,” says Vera, shaking her head ruefully. “The minister said he would transfer the money directly to my account. Then I can withdraw and buy any car of my choice.”

“But I thought you said the man was a Lebanese,” Andy probes. Vera is quiet, feeling caught. She thinks, with a little grin on her lips.  Then she says, “Yeah, but…it’s the minister that actually…told the Indian man, sorry the Lebanese to give it to me. You know…”

“You said they were two…two ministers, or two Indians, or two Lebanese?”

“Ah! …you know I was drunk that night I told you. I don’t know what I was saying….”

“Drunkards always speak the truth, because they have no time to think it over.”

“Well, for me it’s not so…I blab whenever I am drunk.”

“Then, I have to reconsider all that you have ever told me…because you are always drunk whenever you are with me, like  now…drunkard.”

“Whatever!” she begins fellatio on him, somehow too roughly. Andy’s mind is turned off.

“Right now, are you drunk or not?” he asks her, pulling away from her mouth, leaving Vera dazed. “Are you speaking the truth or blabbing?”

“I am not, Haba, I don drink anything?”

“You are a slut,” Andy says and makes a hiss in anger. He turns away, wears his boxers and trousers.

Vera is more dazed, her mouth left agape. After a while, watching Andy leaving to the sitting room, she says, “Andy, me? You called me a slut?” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Her vision is blurring. Andy is dissolving into the curtain and then away from her vision. She puts her dizzy face on the pillow and goes into reverie. It starts from when she is told at the bank that she can’t be paid the Two million Naira. The smile of denial follows and then a furrow. Her vision then goes back to the weekend the two men were doing her. She seemed to have had her doubts about the cheque, but she ignored her instinct, and had, at least given them her best of sex positions until the Lebanese screamed in orgasmic satisfaction.

She tries to wake up from the trance, but she is too drunk to be in charge. However, she is conscious of where she is, and the last words she’d heard from Andy. It reverberates: “You are a slut.”

“Am I a slut?” her wandering spirit asks her soul; her body responds in the affirmative.

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Emdee David is a Creative writer, Poet, Producer and Director of radio/TV/Digital Media contents. As a creative, innovative and talented writer, his works include “Shadows of the Sun” (Heinemann Publishers – in view), and several poems. His passion and interests are in Entertainment, Politics, Digital Media and Youth mentorship. He is the President of Africa Entertainment Network (AEN) and currently a postgraduate student of Media and Communications at CIAPS.



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