'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.'
He'd looked at her for a long while as she waited there, quite agitated, and then he'd picked up the phone and called his secretary, telling her to freeze all calls for the next one hour, that he had something he was working with his visitor and did not wish to be disturbed. And then they'd gotten into the rehearsal for her role, with him playing the role of her abusive husband while she slipped into the role of the submissive, suffering wife. He had done it partly because of the fact that he'd wanted to help her but also because of the fact that during his high school days and the first two years of higher education, he'd been involved in the drama groups and he'd loved it. Now, helping this lost soul see her way into the movie world was a dream come true for him and he would not pass it up.
The way she'd acted, slipping into the role of the abused, crying woman so effortlessly and naturally had been amazing, and even her tears had been real_ any sane person who'd heard that voice would have thought that she was at the point of death as she'd called his name over and over again, begging him to spare her, that he was killing her.
It had been so real . . . the bitch had really been there to set him up and record their small role play so that the tape could get to his wife and they could accuse him of aggravated assault and battery. Jesus! Adamma is a monster, he thought, and then he remembered what he'd told that Isabella bitch about the fact that she was such a talented actress; that she should pursue her dreams of getting into the movie industry. She was really talented, all right; the bitch. Oh, you have no idea how talented. The talent nonsense had all been a setup for him to fall into their trap; the fact that she'd mirrored his every desire, his every pastime, his hobbies and his interests, had all been a ploy to get him to fall for her charms so that they could hold him by the balls and then squeeze him out and then hang him to dry.
It was as if the girl had been coached by Adamma herself, because she was the only one that seemed to know him more than any other person in the whole world. She had him down to a T.
And it had worked. He was no fool; he knew that every fool in the whole world who listened to that tape would believe that he'd really beaten the bitch senseless; she even had the fake makeup bruises and the fake witnesses who had carried her to the car to prove that he had abused her. Adamma had won. She wanted something from him, and this tape, coupled with the fact that there was the heavy risk of scandal should the matter ever blow out in the open, and the possibility of a jail term hanging over him should there ever be a conviction, would guarantee whatever she wanted from him.
She had sent him an email, notifying him of the fact that there was nothing he could do to save his ass except to do what she asked of him. If he refused, then there would be heel on earth to pay for the act. And he knew that she was one tough cookie that would do exactly what she had said she would do to him.
He was even ready to do anything for that woman so long as the tape vanished from existence altogether. That was the handwriting on the wall for him to read; he was walking on a very thin rope and he knew it. Adamma knew it, and he knew that she knew that she now had the power to bleed him dry. And it was all because of the fact that he'd been trying to help the stupid young whore she'd foisted on him. God, the anger he felt against his wife was so strong he almost had difficulty breathing now. He really wanted to put his hand around her beautiful throat and choke her to death, until the very life had oozed out from her eyes.
Until those luminous eyes of hers turned blank, closing as if they had they had been turned off by some light switch.
That would teach her a lesson, all right.
Her impending blackmail was as unexpected as it was shocking, and though he had never expected it, he couldn't say that he was surprised that she could rise up to that height just in order to get back at him, he thought, just as his phone rang. The ID panel indicated that it was her, and he clicked on the answer button.
'Adamma,' he said; 'where are you?'
'I'm outside your office door. Your secretary buzzed me up but I had to notify you that I was already here. I am coming in.' Even as she was saying it, the door swung open and she stood there framed in front of the doorway, looking as if she'd stepped out straight from the pages of a magazine photo shoot. Her sleeveless azure Chanel jacket was tailored to fit her perfectly, and the matching Alexander McQueen skirt molded her trim waist and hugged the long length of her thighs; this was then topped with a huge pair of designer Prada sunglasses which masked her face, and there were loose tendrils of her slicked hair falling into her face. She looked ravishing.
As she came in, the scent of jasmine came wafting in like a cloud, suffusing the room with her fragrance. She moved with practiced, unaffected elegance towards her husband, and he felt the lump rise in his throat at the sight of her_ she never ceased to take his breath away whenever he saw her..
She was really beautiful, as were so many other women. But there was a way that she carried herself that made it seem as if she was some queen.
And that turned his insides to jelly whenever he thought of her.
'Darling,' she said in greeting as she floated forward and kissed the air around his cheeks. 'You look tensed up. Maybe you've been working too hard or you've been getting very little relaxation these days. Perhaps it will be a thing on point for me to book an appointment for you with my masseur.' She went to the big swivel chair behind the executive table and flopped into it, her eyes glued to the screen of the laptop which reposed on the polished desk.
Obinna watched her closely for any signs of malice, but there seemed to be none he could detect, though he knew that the woman was a seasoned expert at hiding her true feelings. 'Why are you here?' he asked her, and though she said nothing, he found it vaguely disturbing that she had occupied the chair he owned which often made him feel powerful whenever he was dealing with lesser men than he was in his office. He was now forced to settle himself on one of the visitors' chairs in the plush office.
'Well, darling, I have some good news for you,' Adamma began, her voice cool and devoid of any heat. 'Isabella has decided to let me handle the issues pertaining to the fact that you had abused her a few days ago when she'd come here to see you. I have already had her file a police report, and I've gotten my attorney involved in the matter. Has he called you yet? Well, that's not important.'
Obinna said nothing, and the only reason why he was barely restraining himself from saying anything was because he didn't want to say something which might lead him to do something he may regret. He looked at her, and her neck seemed almost to beckon to him: it was so beautiful, smooth, and flawless; what would it be like for him to put his strong hands on that lovely neck and squeezing until the bones snapped? The crazy fucking bitch deserved it.
Just reach forward, and then you'll have her neck, some inner voice was whispering to him. It will be so easy to throttle her.
'You and I both know that nothing had happened on that very day,' he said instead as he put his hands in between his laps and squeezed at them with his muscular thighs because they now seemed to have a mind of their own; they wanted to reach forward and do something that would make him go to prison for the rest of his life. At that moment he really hated her enough to want to do that.
Adamma flashed him a smile, revealing a row of strong white teeth. 'There is nothing you can say or do which will make you any less a monster than you are. You know that your arguments will not stand up in any court of law should this go the four walls of a court. So, what I came here to do is to offer you a lifeline for you to take and get out of this scrap you've got yourself involved in so that you can go back to your life. Now, my girl wanted to have your ass on a platter, but I had to persuade her to let you be in exchange for a substantial amount of money paid into an account in her name. Now, she's turned everything over to me to handle as I deem fit to handle same.
'What I want is very simple: right here in my purse are two documents which are in need of our signatures respectively. They are our divorce papers__ the terms of settlement for the wealth that belongs to us as a couple, and you're going to sign them; I already signed what I had to with regards to the papers. I know that your net worth runs in excess of over four billion, so all I will ask you to do for me in return for this scandal to leave you alone is one billion, all in stocks and convertible bonds, turned over to me by your lawyers, and then you and I will call it quits in our sham of a marriage. That's all.'
Obinna stared at her for a very long moment and she stared right back at him with those fathomless eyes of hers, her face composed into a mask of queenly indifference, and then he stood up and looked down at her with his fists balled at his sides. He really was at a loss for words for perhaps the very first time in his life. He'd been able to chain her down to his name in spite of the fact that they had been separated for so long it seemed as if they had never been together in the first place. That marriage certificate had been what he'd been able to use and bind her to his name, and he'd succeeded.
It had given him some modicum of control over her and that had been the reason why he'd not really been bothered with the fact that she'd chosen to be a free spirit and go her way; he could always call on her and she'd come running to him_ she had come to him several times as he'd deemed it fit to have her by his side when he'd attended public gatherings, to the adoration of the countless persons who were enamored with the glitz of celebrity life.
Sometimes he would take out the marriage certificate and then stare at to reassure himself that he still had it, that she was still his wife.
How could he have known that she'd been busy all these weeks and months, planning her coup? And now, it seemed like she'd succeeded. She was right after all; nobody in his or her right minds would believe him when he said that he'd done nothing to the bimbo_ the tape was too convincing, and the pictures would make the stomach of even the most seasoned of veterans roil with distaste. She had won. But still, he wouldn't give up without a fight.
'What if I don't sign the papers like you want me to?' he asked in the coldest, iciest voice he could muster. Terms of settlement, with everything the way she wanted it to be.
'Then you shall get ready to play a game for your freedom, my love, and I assure you that you can never win against me; not in this anyway,' Adamma replied icily, her face clenched shut with anger and cold triumph. 'I will leave here and you shall have your sorry ass arrested for aggravated assault and battery; there will be a court hearing which will garner the biggest publicity you cannot even begin to imagine. I will personally see to it that you hang for that crime you didn't commit. I will do it, my dear, and then when you're safely behind bars, I will have my attorneys file a petition for a divorce; it cannot be refused, that I assure you. So, what is it going to be?'
She smiled at him as she said these last words, and then she pulled out a sheaf of documents from her purse and pushed them across the glossy table to him. Relaxing back into her chair as if she had no cares in the world, she looked up at him expectantly. She could see him struggling with some inner demon within him as he glared down at her with eyes that were filled with anger and_ was that pain she saw in those eyes?
Obinna exhaled, and it seemed as if the fight had gone out of him. He now looked very tired, very defeated, is if he'd lost out on a battle. He picked up the pen on the table, glanced once at the papers to see where he was to sign beside his wife's neat appendage, and then he signed. There was a small tremor in his hand as he signed the documents, and he could feel the weight of something he couldn't quite fathom on his chest.
It was all over for him and this woman; this lovely, devilish, smart, infuriating creature who had affected him more than any other woman had ever affected him since the day he was born. Since his birth, nothing had ever been denied him; he had his choice of the flashiest cars, the most beautiful girls on campus during his school days; the best food_ nobody had ever dared to refuse him anything in his life. But this woman, this twisted creature with the face of an angel and a heart hewn out of granite, had dared to defy him; she had started it on that fateful night the Fates had sealed their destinies together by refusing to come and call on him like they'd agreed to do before he left Nigeria, and she was ending it now by forcing him to sign the papers he would rather fling of the window while he laid her down on this table and made love to her.
When he was signing the papers, he looked up, and he could see that she was watching him, and there was that look of happiness and cold triumph on her face which she'd always invariably adopted whenever she was winning. And now, it was obvious she knew she'd won him in this round, the woman had bested him.
'Thank you, my love,' Adamma said with the honeyed sweetness of a whore about to steal her customer blind. She stood up, her long fingers reaching to sweep one set of the signed documents into her bag. She then walked across the desk to him and laid her left hand on his cheek.
'Do not look so crestfallen, my dear,' she said, and there was a tinge of regret in her voice. 'It didn't work out between us, and this is the way it should be. But, do you know what I've done? I'll leave one set of documents here for you and then you can give it to my lawyer whenever you wish to. When you give them to him, then he'll file the petition for the dissolution of our marriage. It is all in your hands. You decide when you want our divorce to become official. Now, do I get one last kiss?'
Obinna looked at her, and there was this look of sadness he saw in her face which he could almost swear was genuine. Her arms were outstretched towards him in invitation, and she was there smiling at him, her face so impossibly stunning and beautiful, there was no way she could be refused, and she was smiling at him with such angelic sweetness that his chest almost contracted with pain.
He wanted to kill her; the pain and the urge to do so was so great that he wondered why he didn't reach out to her throat and strangled her to death. But how could he do that to this woman, with that shockingly beautiful face and perfectly toned body, this paragon of beauty who had chained him and millions of other men to her. What they had bound him to her like unbreakable iron bonds.
As his reason fled and his animal passion took over, he found himself covering the little distance between them in two strides. There she stood, with that small smile on her stunning face as she looked up at him in expectation, her breaths coming in shallow gasps, and it seemed as if she was waiting for him to take her.
And that was what he did. He pulled her to his chest none too gently, and then his mouth sought hers of its own volition, as if acting independently of him. Their lips connected, and it seemed as if the world had exploded into a blast of warmth and feelings as they kissed, their lips locked together, their tongues connecting as he forced her mouth open with his lips. He was breathing raggedly, as was she, and he knew that she wanted him just as he wanted her.
It was for the last time.
That realization jarred him thoroughly, so that he was pulling her in, and he was aware of his hands digging into her shoulders sharply. He must be hurting her, one rational part of his mind warned him, but the animal in him had taken over too strongly for him to notice. The kiss was strong, and brutal, but it was the way the condition had rendered everything. He was pulling at the buttons of her Chanel jacket, and she was struggling to free herself.
'Darling, you'll ruin my Chanel!' she gasped, but it was just a feeble attempt at being the injured woman.
'I'll buy you more of these rags!' he ground out fiercely as he pulled the material open, and to his greatest surprise her breasts swung free of the material. He stopped for a wonder-filled moment to stare at the perfect mounds, nothing covering them; she was wearing no bra. God, how he had missed those breasts! 'No bra?' he teased her.
She smiled saucily at him. 'If I had worn one I think you'd have ripped it off,' she replied, and her lips brushed on the tip of his nose. 'This has to be our very last tryst, so please be gentle.'
And after that there was no need for small talk. Obinna quickly rid her of her skirt to reveal a pair of sexy underwear that had him almost flipping his control. He was aware of the fact that he was fully hot and ready for her, his phallus straining against his shorts, but he had to be patient, for she was a dish made for the gods and not for men. He undressed, and as he did so he kissed her flat stomach, the very small downward triangle of dark hair that hid her heat from his view, her thighs, and even her feet as she helped him to pull off her sandals. Then she danced away from his reach, and there was a calculating look in her eyes as she took him in with her eyes.
'Take off your clothes,' she commanded in her cold, almost toneless voice which she'd used to drive him crazy with desire for her body. She was smiling at him now, and the smile was the embodiment of sexual desire, a pure animalistic desire that had her panting at the sight of him.
Obinna obeyed her, slowly, his eyes locked to hers in a silent contest of wills. He stripped off the top Emporio jacket, and then went the navy-blue shirt, and then he unbuckled his belt and let his trousers slide down his hips. He worked now with speed, and when his briefs were pulled down to his knees he jumped out of the Gucci loafers he'd worn to work that morning. His erection stood ramrod straight in-between his thighs, itching with passion, ready for the dish the heavens had showered down on it.
They smiled at each other, and it was reminiscent of the smile they used to share in the privacy of their bedroom whenever they were in the throes of passion. They knew each other only too well; they understood each other's need and the desires that were raging through them at that particular moment. They came together again, and this time, they were bare skin to bare skin, their bodies united in the ancient, timeless rhythm of sex and the union of two bodies.
They kissed, and Obi felt that she had never tasted better than she tasted at that particular time; he felt that her fragrant hair had never smelt better, that she had never been more beautiful to him than she was at that moment. He kissed her forehead, moving on down to her nose, and from there on to her lips, and to the curve of her neck, right before he connected with the erect aureoles of her nipples. She moaned and arched against him, her mouth breathing his name, her fingers curling into his hair, and he felt such great elation that she wanted him, that she wanted him to touch her the way he was doing so now.
He kissed her navel, and the taut muscles of her midriff shook at the touch of his lips against her flesh. His finger sought and found the soft mound of her sex, and he rubbed at the hot wetness of that feminine triangle, his erection throbbing with pain and torture as she twisted and whispered out his name without inhibitions. He loved the fact that she was a wanton she-devil in the bedroom, devoid of that iron control she always exhibited towards him, and the fact that she was moaning and calling him and running her fingers through his hair showed him that he still had something to hope for.
He pulled her down to the plush carpet, his fingers parting her wet sex; a rush of heady feminine heat hit his nostrils. His tongue flashed out, and then he took her into his tongue with his strong hands as he lifted her waist. He kissed her there, and she moaned, her hips twisting under the pressure of his hands while he stroked her core with his tongue, eating her out, savoring the fact that she could be enjoyable, that she could still relax and enjoy his touch.
Adamma drew his head up from her core, her eyes misted over with the force of her pleasure. She was panting, all wet and ready for him, and as their eyes locked together she felt a surge of power sweep through her. She knew that she had a hold over him, that she had the capability of driving him over the edge with her charms; she knew she was his whore right then, an object to be used for his satisfaction until he wanted no more of her. She had him, and she wanted him to know that she had him.
'Take me,' she whispered into his ear, her tongue licking at his lobe. She smiled to herself. Then she ran her fingers through his chest, her nails digging into the strong flesh of his pectoral muscles, before moving on down to his stomach, and then dipping lower to the dark hair that encircled his phallus. When she gripped him in her hand, she felt him shudder, and she knew that she could tip him right over the edge with one of her magic strokes as she had done to him severally. She kissed him on the lips and then she stroked him. He gasped and shuddered under her lips and held himself rigid, but she would have none of that withholding crap from him.
She slapped his back gently, and he sighed and relaxed, though the maleness of him stood hard as a rock in her hand, and stroked it with loving wonder. She then cupped his balls with her free hand and squeezed with a little pressure; before she let her wonder fingers slip down to the area between his sphincter and his scrotum. She massaged him there, and the joy she felt at his response was boundless_ it was a good factor that she had him in her grasp in the bedroom. It gave her a sense of power.
They were kissing, and Obi was only vaguely aware when she guided him into her heat, and he moved within her slowly, his hips turning from side to side so that he stroked the inner walls of her sanctuary, thus maximizing her pleasure. They clung together there on the floor, their bodies united in coitus, their breaths coming as a unit, their mouths glued together, and their fingers stroking and touching each other. She was stroking his hard, muscular buttocks, urging him in with the pressure of her touch to drive at her faster, and the pleasure was coming at them together. They were writhing on the floor almost as if they were on fire, their cries echoing into each other's mouths, the rhythm of their movement synchronized in the heat of their passion.
'Oh my God!' Obi moaned into her mouth; 'I'm about to cum.'
And he drove faster, his hips pumping at her with greater force, his muscles clenching, his right middle finger reaching down to stroke her clit, and he felt her gasp and rear up as if she'd been zapped with a thousand volts of electricity, the force of her movement lifting them up almost clear of the ground. At that moment they both looked into each other's eyes, and it seemed as if the breeze had stopped, as if the air had stopped moving in the room, as if the very essence of Time itself had stopped. It was as if they had communicated with each other, as if something silent and yet very powerful had passed between them; a current of unspoken emotions.
They came together, hard, their eyes rolling up, their muscles clenching and unclenching as the pleasure swept through them in a tidal wave that left them boneless as Obi's seed flowed into his wife in a gush, and then they collapsed down on the floor together. Their bodies were entwined, and there was their breaths coming together, their faces leaning into each other, their eyes fixed on each other's faces. They kissed and then lay back on the floor, though Obi made no move to withdraw himself from her and Adamma made no move to pull herself away from him.
They stayed like that for a few minutes without talking, and then they went at it again, this time more slowly, more languidly, enjoying the pleasure that they each had to offer the other, their fingers exploring each other, their lips licking and kissing at each other, their moves flowing seamlessly with the tune and the rhythm they had established with each other through the time they had been together as husband and wife.
They came together again, and then they cleaned themselves up and Adamma got dressed again. She seemed to move now with almost military precision and impatience as she donned on her clothes and ran a brush through her hair while Obinna watched her work at getting herself assembled back into the stunner she was. She applied a makeup brush of loose powder to her face, and then she did some finishing touches to her hair by wetting her palms with her saliva and then brushing same through her hair. She now looked more presentable than she'd been a few minutes ago.
'There, I'm right about done,' she said when she was finally finished touching up her appearance and flipping her compact makeup mirror shut. 'That does it.' She turned to Obinna, and the smile she bestowed upon him was as bright as a new day. 'We are done, my love. We have our last kiss. I have to go, but before I do that, let's see what we'll do about these divorce papers. I will keep one set of papers, and you can keep the other. I'm not in any hurry to file them with my attorney, so you'll keep one set and I'll keep the other. Whenever you feel you want to pay for the settlement, you can send them over to my lawyer; it's all up to you.'
Obinna said nothing because he knew that he had been bested at his own game by his own little wife who could make him rot in prison if she decided to have the details of his so-called assault on Isabella flashed before the eyes of the courts. He knew she had it in her to do it; he never for a moment doubted that she could make his life miserable if she so wished_ she was a mean, vicious bitch when she had to deal with a perceived enemy. Right now, he was that enemy she had to get rid of.
'Can't we continue the way we're doing without having to send these to the courts?' he asked. 'It seems so sudden for us to just end the marriage we had even though it was crappy. At least, we had our moments. You know that and I do too.'
Adamma smiled at him. 'I know we had our moments. Here's what's going to happen: I do not plan to get out of this marriage soon, but I had to have something which can give me an edge over you; I had to have something concrete that could make me walk away anytime I chose to do so without you pulling me back. You can't blackmail me anymore with the fact that I had once been a whore and a lap-dancer_ the story is everywhere already. But I do want my freedom, and believe me when I tell you that I could have killed you a long time ago just to have it. I had my chances, even on that night before we all went to the Igwe House for that charity crap, but I didn't because it'd have served me no useful purpose to do so. You know I can do it, and I had almost killed you at that motel we'd stayed at, but I chose not to. Your life was in my hands.'
Obinna knew that. He never doubted her for a moment, and that was the aspect of her character that almost had goose pimples popping out all over him. She had mind and the heart to it if she so wished, but she hadn't. That was a shock; they had been together on that fateful night and she'd wanted to kill him, but she hadn't. She had hated him enough to almost kill him, but she'd restrained herself. Why?
'So now I have to go, and I will keep in touch,' she continued in that cool, unfathomable voice of hers. 'See you around, and for the sake of hell, please do not be such a stranger to your children. Come around.' And with that she picked up the file that she'd chosen as her own copy, flashed him a smile that would have made a miser open up his purse strings for her, and then she flew out of the office with great speed without looking back at him for the last time. She would have regretted it if she had looked back.