The Wedded Whore (Completed)

Chapter Eighteen

'Oh please, do not hurt me!'

The female voice sounded completely scared and terrified, as if she was faced with a killer who was about to murder her and use her corpse for one evil deed or the other. 'Oh my God! This is evil.'

Then there was the sound of something hitting against another, as something hard had connected with a skull. The female voice cried out again and Obinna winced as if the blows had been dealt to him. The beating and the pleas for mercy continued relentlessly for a few more minutes, and then sound static emanated from the radio, a signal that the tape had run out.

Leaning forward in his chair, he snapped off the tape recorder and wiped the sweat away from his forehead with the sleeve of his Christian Dior shirt. He had broken out in a cold sweat as the tape had played out, and the reason was because of the fact the events which had been wickedly recorded on that tape all sounded very real, not fake. And that was a very huge problem. Any police officer in the world would easily believe that crap; shit, he even believed it himself.

But he knew that it was false. Relaxing back into the chair, he closed his eyes as he felt the onslaught of a headache, his first since the beginning of the year. He tried to reconstruct the events of that particular day when he'd encountered the skilled whore that his wife had sent to him to entrap him. He remembered the tall, stunning bitch as she'd cat-walked her way into his office, wearing a knee-length, expensive-looking trench coat which she'd divested herself of the very moment she'd stepped into his office to reveal a pair of huge, high breasts a porn actress could only dream of acquiring in a surgeon's office which were encased in a tube top that was stretched tightly across the monstrous equipment she had on her chest.

She had very long legs that were left practically uncovered by the short nylon skirt she'd worn underneath the respectable-looking trench coat, and they were impossible not to look at. Even though she'd stated her mission as being to help Adamma in her charity work as an assistant, her body language said that she was there for a quick lay and some fast cash. Had it not been for the fact that he'd encountered Adamma, touched her and felt the magic of her power in the bedroom, he'd have been tempted to do something to the silly bitch.

Unfortunately she'd had a good head on her shoulders and she knew the stock market the way she knew how to do her daily makeup; she'd read all the books he'd read and her intellect seemed to be so thoroughly fired up, she seemed to be an inexhaustible supply of knowledge for everything he knew. It was as if he'd met his wife anew, but with Isabella he'd not felt the red-hot passion and the desire he had for Adamma, but he'd really liked her attitude in spite of the fact that she'd dressed as a hooker to come there and seduce him.

Though he'd refused to give her the cheque she'd come for, she'd acted nicely; too nicely. And he'd liked her goodness. Then she'd said, 'Do you think I can be an actress?' and she'd asked it with such shyness he'd been moved at her seeming naivety in spite of the fact that she was dressed up like the hard cash babes of the Lagos mainland who were all financial vampires, looking for whom to suck dry.

He'd replied truthfully, 'Yes, my dear, I think you can be one. You are very beautiful, very tall; you speak good English, you have a great head on your shoulders and you have a great body_ what's there for the casting directors not to love about you? Go and knock them dead, my dear.'

She had blushed so furiously he'd almost thought she'd faint from the praise. 'Well, here's the thing. I have this movie audition that I'd attended and the casting director had given me a script to look at and then come over to the studio this evening to work on it with him. Would you mind if I showed it to you and you gave me one or two pointers on what to do? I am completely clueless about scripts though they say I have great talent.'