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Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - an excellent presentation, a straight flight to Abuja, presentation, skinny jeans and very tight shirts, Russian clients, bruises and bloody wounds, about how ecstatic the sex was, little sex dungeon, torturous images appeared inside her head.

“That’s an excellent presentation! Well done both of you,” Mr Ababio’s voice resonated in the small room used for the presentation. Sarah was beaming with smile, while kelvin simply nodded acknowledging the compliment. The presentation was over and they did great. Sarah was eager to tell kelvin how proud she was about how he handled the presentation effortlessly. He was gone before the class ended. She looked for him everywhere she thought he could be but kelvin was nowhere to be found. She decided to call him but his phone line did not connect. She was angry with him at first that he couldn’t even wait so they could congratulate each other. Her anger turned into fear. She feared something bad had happened to him. She decided she was being unnecessarily paranoid, after all kelvin was an adult and was capable of taking good care of himself.

“We have a deal” from an unknown number was the text that sent kelvin out of the class. He knew what the deal was about and who the person was. He rushed off in his car and hoped traffic would allow him get to the airport in time. He took a straight flight to Abuja.

To stop herself from thinking about kelvin, Sarah searched her bag for the journal so she could pass time with it. As she rummaged through her bag to retrieve her reading glasses, she remembered how torturous her dreams had become. Visions and images of kelvin were gradually taking over her senses and she knew she had to do something about it. She hadn’t figured it all out yet. “But this infatuation has to come to an end,” she said aloud to herself as if she was making a personal pledge.

Entry 6
I didn’t bother about furthering my education even though money was not the issue. I was too busy partying and getting high to think of that, besides, my clients always wanted me available whenever they needed me. I started wearing skinny jeans and very tight shirts although I didn’t really like them. One of my clients, Mrs Vladimir a divorcĂ©e from Russia was particularly turned on by it. She suggested we always play dress up before getting intimate. Sometimes, she will have me dress up as a school teacher or a doctor. My most embarrassing experience was when she dressed me up as a baby, she made me wear adult diapers just for the kicks. Although I was uncomfortable with her sexual behaviour, those were small prizes to pay compared to the dollar alerts I got on my phone. She particularly liked me and even asked me to marry her. I laughed it off telling her she was crazy. I should have been more careful because of what the others told me about their own Russian clients. They got anything they wanted at any cost.

I really should have known better. Who would blame a 23-year-old who thought he was having the time of his life.

    ---------The end-------

Entry 7
My mind is numb and my body aches so badly. She wouldn’t stop. Mrs Vladimir had a sexual appetite comparable to those of animals, she was simply insatiable. The last time she invited me, she introduced drugs into our sexual acts. It was my first time and it knocked me out. When I woke up, there were bruises and marks all over my body. It never occurred to me in my wildest imagination that she was sadistic until she made me beat her badly with bruises and bloody wounds before sex. I got my highest pay from her that day, she kept gushing about how ecstatic the sex was. Soon, the beating and drugs became a regular part of our relationship. I really wanted to stop but there was little it I could do because she was the financier of my very expensive lifestyle.

--------The end-------

Sarah turned the next page and found it blank, the one after it was also blank and she feared she might have come to the end of the journal. She scanned the remaining pages thoughtfully until she came to a page which read “DON’T”.  It was a simple poem which was written in red ink. The handwriting looked tired compared to the previous notes she read. She found herself deep in thought as the words of the poem left her heart racing.

Don’t think I didn’t see you staring at me
Don’t even feel like you are the one stalking me because I am the stalker
Don’t try falling for me, because for you I have long fallen
Don’t come too close because you may not like what you see
Just don’t love me because I hate what I have become.

It was as if the words spoke directly to Sarah as she rehearsed them over and over again. She checked the date of the entry and saw that it was years ago. She would have sworn the writer was talking about her. She liked the simplicity of the words and wondered for whom the poem was written. So she turned the next page and was happy to find that there was another entry. She adjusted her glasses and continued.

Entry 8
All my dreams were coming true; my first trip outside the country was in a private jet all thanks to Mrs Vladimir. I got the first class treatment I always dreamt of. Her guards were at my beck and call, I felt like royalty. I took lots of pictures and updated all my social media pages. The comments and likes I got were triple what I had ever gotten in time past. Messages came in sporadically that I even had to turn my phone off. My host was quiet throughout the entire trip. She gazed at me with such intensity that something told me all wasn’t well. I dismissed it and decided to enjoy the moment. I dozed off and woke up in the most luxurious room I have ever seen in my entire life.

The covers were silk and purple while the pillows were as soft as baby skin. I turned and cuddled the duvet. My eyes were half open when she walked into the room stark naked. “Ah! I see you are awake!” she said with a slur to her words because of her Russian accent.  “Wall-cam to Russia!” she began dramatically, swirling and gesticulating as she spoke about her home. I thought I was in a dream. She came closer and pulled me to my feet kissing me passionately. She ordered her guard to bring me food while she let me lay on the bed. Her hands caressed my body while her eyes willed me to respond. I didn’t respond to her touch because I was tired from the long trip. Her countenance changed but she didn’t say anything; instead, she served me some food and walked away.

That was the last time I saw the luxurious comfort of a bed. I was put in a small dark room with a single bunk bed. The only time I was allowed out was when Mrs Vladimir wanted to satisfy her lust. The softness and gentleness in her voice were all gone. She would shove me to the ground and hit me repeated with a police baton before having her way.  Often times, I was locked up in the “THE SANCTUARY” with her for long hours. The sanctuary was her little sex dungeon. The room had no bed or any place of comfort; instead, belts, whips and different costumes hung on the wall from corner to corner. Her favourite was the handcuff which she often used to secure me to a pole before beating me mercilessly while she moaned in pleasure. If I resisted in any way, she would call her guards to beat me up and feed me with drugs until I was too nub to resist her. I did despicable things with her to avoid her wrath. I was simply her sex slave.

I should have guessed her sexual abnormality because of how aggressive she became whenever we were having sex back in Abuja. Although I felt a bit concerned, I just thought she was really crazy about my moves. Mrs Vladimir was a sick woman who needed help and I was her unfortunate victim with no hope of escape.

I lost a lot of weight and all the biceps I frequently showed off in handless shirts and fitted T-shirts were all shrunken. I was feed enough to keep me alive and active for my host. These were the darkest days of my life. I wished for death but it was as if I was doomed to live for eternity.

      ---------The end--------

Big tear drops fell on the pages of the journal as Sarah struggled to keep her emotions in check. She had become so emotional toward someone she didn’t know jack about. She sniffed and wiped her nose with her handkerchief. Her heart felt heavy as torturous images appeared inside her head. Her tear drops had left a mark on the page smearing the ink that was used. She cleaned it gently and flipped over to the next page.

Entry 9
The time I spent in Mrs Vladimir’s dungeon was long enough for me to think of the folly of my ways. My life flashed in front of me and I realized I had made a huge mistake. I had always convinced myself that I didn’t have a choice. But I soon realized I could have made a decision not to follow that path, even though my aunt was the instigator of everything. I should have said something to my mom who was always genuinely concerned about me.

I was too blinded by material things and money. My thoughts were clouded with the desire to show off my status and appear successful to my peers.

I am too tired to think or write…. I am overwhelmed.

      --------The end-------

Kelvin stared hard at his uncle and wife as they waited for him in front of the airport. He wasn’t eager to see them but he knew he had to. He moved slowly on purpose until he got to where they were standing. His uncle who was leaning on a cane for support looked hard at him before acknowledging his presence. “Kelvin my boy, how are you?” he asked. “Fine uncle, aunty you look good,” kelvin said wanting to end any conversation his uncle had in mind. His uncle took the cue and entered the car before beckoning to them to do same. The trip to the house was in silence although there was tension in the air. Nobody dared say anything for fear of the unknown. Every building in sight brought memories back; it was like another walk through memory lane.


                                            CLICK HERE TO READ EPISODE 2

Written by:
Hope Obamwonyi

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Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - an excellent presentation, a straight flight to Abuja, presentation, skinny jeans and very tight shirts, Russian clients, bruises and bloody wounds, about how ecstatic the sex was, little sex dungeon, torturous images appeared inside her head. An African Literary Blog
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