The door creaked on its rusty hinges. I stopped, held my breath, and listened, my heart beating wildly against my chest. Except for the chirping sounds of crickets and the scratching noise of a rat in the discarded heap of old, unused household items under the stairwell, all was quiet.
I exhaled, relieved. Then I waited a few seconds before I cracked open the door a bit more as quietly as its rusty hinges would allow. I picked my shoes from the old worn out ‘Welcome’ foot mat, which was missing all the letters except W and E, and removed from the keyhole my key, the clinking noise of its bunch making me curse under my breath. Once I had safely slid in through the crack, I turned to push the door back shut.
“Where are you coming from?” Olumide’s deep voice held me in my tracks.
It was dark but I could make out his tall, lean frame on the the only couch the sitting room boasted of.
“Where are you coming from?” the repeat question echoed in the dark.
I stood, quiet, my mind raging with thoughts of slipping right back out of the door. If I could just turn around … Olumide’s swift movements kicked my escape plan out of my head. Within a split second, he had rushed forward and was pinning me to the door, the jotting edge of the metal doorknob in my back sending searing pain up my spine. I shivered violently, dropping my shoes and keys by my feet on the floor.
“Madam, I asked you a question. Where are you coming from?” he bawled, his face just inches away from mine. His breath reeked of alcohol and cigarette.
I blinked back tears. “Please, Olumide!”
“Please what? Where did you go to? That’s all I need to know.” He pinned me even tighter to the door, pushing his body into mine, with his hard, lean muscles brushing against my thighs.
“You’ve been drinking,” I stalled. “Can we have this conversation tomorrow?”
He laughed, a mirthless evil laugh I scarcely recognised. Then looking squarely at me, he asked, “Did you fuck him?”
I flinched and turned my face away but with his hands roughly on my jaw, he turned it back to face him. “Answer me! Answer me! Did you?”
“Is that not what you always wanted?” I shrieked, growing bolder. “That is what you wanted, eh? For your wife to fuck your rich friend so that you can get the contract . Well, I did. I fucked him and it felt good.”
I felt the sharp pain on my right cheek before I realised I had been slapped. His face contorted with rage, he tightened his hand around my neck and shoved me to the floor. Then he stretched a long leg over my limp body and another and walked out of the house.
When he returned an hour or two later, it was with a woman I didn’t know. She looked like one of those models I had seen on the cover of magazines, tall, dark and lithe, with just the perfect amount of flesh in the right places. She swayed her hips gently when she walked and talked with an interesting lisp.
I watched them both – the model and my husband – from the floor where I still lay in a heap. They kissed, caressed, fondled, and stripped each other of their clothing, all the while giggling like kids and moaning as if I wasn’t even there. They moved, hands entwined, to the narrow corridor leading to the bedroom, our bedroom, just the one in the house. Then suddenly, Olumide turned and walked towards me, his long, thick cock dangling in front of him.
“Get up!” His voice wasn’t so harsh anymore but he was giving me an order I dared not refuse, so l obeyed and followed him and the model into the bedroom.
There, he continued to caress the model, nibbling and suckling on her nipples, circling, and kneading her breasts, and rubbing his fingers all over her clit. I stood, watching, shocked at first, then confused, not sure what to do. Like he was reading my mind, my husband took my hands and placed them on the model’s firm hips.
She smiled and looked directly at me through hazel contact lenses. Silently, she began to undress me, and when she was done, she kissed me long and hard, biting on one lip after the other. It lingered – this kiss – doing indescribable things to me. Her tongue left tickling wet patches on my skin as she traced every crevice of my body, including my dripping wet lips below. Just as I was about to reach orgasm, she stopped abruptly and moved like a cat to the dressing table across the room, swaying her bare hips seductively, occasionally turning to make sure I was following. I was, like a lamb to the slaughter. I wanted more. Sitting on the table, she spread her legs before guiding my hand to her wet pussy. My gentle, slow and steady rubbing of her clit fetched a sharp cry from her.
Olumide, who had all along stood watching with a wicked grin, joined us at the table. The model wasted no time in taking his long shaft in her hands and guiding it inside her. Her breasts heaved up and down to his fast, almost violent thrusting.
“Yea, fuck me!” she screamed, steadying herself on the table with her hands as his thrusting became more violent.
She screamed louder as her pleasure reached a climax. But he wasn’t done yet. He pulled out of her and pulled me to him, kissing and groping with such urgency it left me breathless. Still groping, he turned me around so that I stood leaning into the model and with my back turned to him. While the model reached for my pussy and slid her fingers inside me from the front, he slid his cock in from behind, making sure its entire length entered me with each thrusting and shoving. I whimpered. The pain matched the pleasure I felt. I never felt so much pain and pleasure at once before. His hands moved from my hips to my back and ended up in my hair, grabbing a chunk and pulling my head back forcefully. Thrusting away till my knees bucked, he groaned and moaned. He then held me close from behind, his cock now limp against my thighs, and whispered in my ears, “I love you.”
“ I didn’t fuck him,” I replied, turning to look at him. “Your friend, I didn’t fuck him.”
“I know, darling! I know,” he sighed and drew me even closer to him.