Hello Everyone. I’m putting up the last part of the series today. Do enjoy and don’t forget to drop your comments.
She turned. The man wasn’t wearing a mask like most of the men there. His face was painted like the Joker’s and he had a broad grin on his face. She regarded him through her mask, he looked unique, his body was firm, not like most of the men present whose bodies had gone to seed and his concept of the Joker was really impressive.
He reached out and stroked her face, leaning forward ever so slightly, he whispered, ‘Come dance with me.’
He didn’t start fondling her like most men there were doing. He just held her, their naked bodies swaying to the music.
She could feel his erect penis pressing against her, and her body quickly responding to him. When he asked if she wanted to leave the room with him, she nodded eagerly. He led her across the room, passing couples engaged in different sexual activities, up the stairs and into a dimly lit room.
“Princess, I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.’ His voice sent a thrill through her. “Are you ready?”
She could feel his eyes probing, asking. She nodded, sliding her hand down till she was holding his hard member. She ran her hand up and down, slowly till she heard his breathe catch.
“Slowly baby.” He withdrew from her and stalked to a bureau drawer in the room. He opened a drawer and brought out a white bag, poured some of the contents on the bureau surface and bent over to sniff some of it. When he was done, he offered her some but she declined.
“Come on Princess, I need us to be on the same wavelength.”
She hesitated. On their way to the party, she and Zainab had already downed a potent concoction that Zainab referred to as her secret weapon. By the time they got to the party venue, she was already feeling the effects as all her inhibitions were slowly trickling away. Before she knew it, her legs grew a mind of their own and took her towards him. The first hit filled her with a surge that made her burst into laughter. He drew her up into his arms and kissed her.
He touched her in ways she had never been touched. With each thrust, she felt the pleasure build up, colors dip and dance before her eyes. She heard him say, “Oh Baby. I’m gonna cum.”
She felt him put his strong arms around her neck, squeezing tightly as he thrust away wildly. He was squeezing her so tightly and she began to flail. She tried to grab his hands, to get them away from her neck but instead, her hands seemed to just caress his instead of wrenching them off her neck. The colors began to swim and dip. Faster. She tried to speak and failed. The colors drew closer; they swam before her eyes as though taunting her. They were the last things she saw.
Like a book strewn carelessly by the roadside, its pages open so that any passerby who cared could take a look, she lay by the roadside just beside Mama Aboy’s akara shack, one leg crossed against the other as though someone had tried to make her posture less wanton, her nudity less shocking. It was the eleven year old Aboy who found her body when he came to sweep that morning and for more than 60 seconds, he stood, transfixed as his eyes wandered up her thigh, then he let out a loud scream.