Category: Explicit

Te Amo

So it’s the 14th of February. Yada Yada.
Everyone seems to be writing bloody love letters! Lol.
Well, this isn’t a letter but decided to try out a short love story for you love junkies.



“Shh…” He held her tight in his arms, burying his face in her hair and stroking her arm. “Say no more baby. I understand” he whispered into her ear softly, a small, sad smile on his lips.
She shook her head slowly, tears streaming down her face, dampening his singlet clad shoulder.
“I forgive you Ibukun” he murmured, kissing her ear to her neck and up to her forehead. “I forgive you because I love you. It hurt but baby,I cannot go on without you.” His voice cracked and her hands shaking, gripped his arm tight.
She choked on her sob, shaking, trying to get a word out of trembling lips but he held a finger against her lips, silencing her.
“Let’s forget it all. Don’t explain. You cheated but I want us to make peace ok?”
He kissed her softly, tasting salty tears on her lips. He licked them. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”
He stroked her hair again and suddenly pushed her on the bed roughly.
He smiled serenely at her jerking body; smiled as she cried, foaming at the mouth, the poison she had ingested making a short work of her system.
Her kohl-lined eyes rolled back and her nails dug into the sheets as her limbs thrashed on the bed.
He studied the transformation on his wife’s face with absolute fascination, arms folded.
He sat beside her and stroke her tangled weave as she tried to moan through the pain. “We’ll get through this”
Slowly, her thrashing reduced, her limbs losing energy to continue that frantic movements.
He stroked her hair as he watched her seize movement.
He watched her die.

His smile broadened and he arranged her neatly on the bed, taking time to divest her of her clothing. Satisfied with his work, he jumped off the bed and rummaged through his drawer till he found what he was looking for. Dropping the found item on the bed, he unbuckled his trousers, pulling them down and off. He threw his singlet off his slim frame.
He climbed back in bed and with reverence, mounted his wife of three months.
Marital consummation.
The word floated in his head and he barked in laughter as he exercised his rights.
“We’ll make a baby. The baby you always wanted, we’d make one. Maybe a girl that looks like you…”
He talked to her, stroking her face, feeling her body stiffen beneath him.
He rode her relentlessly.
“We’d be happy together. All of us. They’d grow up to be doctors and lawyers”
His breath hitched as he was about to release his seed.
“You’ll love me! You’ll love me because I love you! My love is big enough!”
He squeezed her tight as his body spasmed, ejaculating into her.

A beautific smile on his face and he laid beside her, suddenly exhausted.
He exhaled deeply, hands tapping blindly till he felt the object he had dropped on the bed earlier. His fingers found the cold butt of the pistol and he smiled as he lifted it up.
He held her hand and dropped a tiny kiss on her palm.
“I love you…”
He raised the barrel to his head, feeling slight shivers run down his spine when the cold steel met his skin.
“I love you…”

He pulled the trigger.

Day 17

So it’s Monday and I know how we all love Mondays. Oh you didn’t get the memo? LOL. -_-
Yes, we love Mondays and I decided to write about something i tweeted last evening.

Disclaimer: Blame this shit on Caffeine.

So saw a Retweet about a Sex playlist and this shit struck me as funny. Apparently, some of you have songs you want to have sex to?
How does that work?
When do you put on the music or when is the right time to put on the music? I’m asking girls because guys don’t do that shit. (If you do, you’re gay, in which case, you’re a chic.)
Let me get this straight:
You and a dude all giggly and messing around, soon the play kisses get intense. You undress. Dude is ready to charge and you say “Hold on let me put on some music.”
You now put on some gay ass song with a gay-ass singer (Hey Trey) singing about sex and that shit supposed to be romantic?
If I were a guy, my erection would die instantly. I mean why the hell would I want to listen to some guy telling me he wants me to touch his body?
Or is it R-Kelly? What if the song you put is the guy’s fave song and dude FUCKING STARTS TO SING AND TWERK INSTEAD OF GIVING YOU SOME!!!!? WTF IS THIS?!!
Niggas be thrusting and shii and all of a sudden, a couple of other naked niggas appear and y’all break into a fucking dance. That’s what I think of when I hear ‘SEX PLAYLIST’.

How does that even work with quickies? Say he’s driving and suddenly feels the need to offload (It happens!). He parks the car and leads you into a bush.(It happens!) He’s tryna raise your skirt quickly because you’re wearing no underwear (IT BLOODY HAPPENS!) And all of a fucked-up sudden you say something like “Hold on, let me get my phone”
Mans would think you wanna put it off or something and you scroll to the Sex Playlist on your phone and click play?
If I was yo man, I’d leave your music-loving ass in that bush, walk to my car and drive off! I hope your music attracts some wild-ass animals to taste your MUSIC. LOVING. ASS! LET’S SEE HOW YOU’D LIKE THAT!

If I were to make up a sex playlist, I’d make it an Igbo traditional music. Have you heard the drums on them things? FAST!
I would expect the guy to pump in time or faster to that. Now THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.
But let’s be real, no sane guy would agree to shag to that cause his faggoty-ass don’t gat no rhythm!
That’s some hip-shaking music! That’s the way to conceive FUCKING CHAMPIONS! Hercules wasn’t conceived to bloody Akon singing ‘I just Had sex’ in the background!
If you ain’t gonna do some Igbo Heavy Metal, TURN THAT SHIT OFF!!!
Let us both scream and make our own music; well in my case, you scream in pain and I scream in laughter.

The only reasonable reason I see why you’d want to play music is so no one knows what you doing. In which case, I suggest you to just put on a bloody Christian song. But you wouldn’t would you? You can’t get your groove on with Akanchawa playing in the background can you? Because it would feel like Jesus is watching yo wide, naked ass, calling some next guy yo daddy. You dirry, dirry girl!
If you wanna mask the sound so bad, listen to Celine Dion. But is that possible? I mean one minute he’s pulling your hair the next y’all are hugging and crying, singing “Every night in my dream, I see you, I feel you…”

As I said in my tweet, If you have the time to put on music, the you really aren’t horny to be frank with your thirsty-ass self. I mean it’s  a NEED! Your body is SHAKING! LIKE GRRRRRRRR AMMA GRIND THIS GUY TO THE GROUND! AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR MUSIC AT THIS POINT!
Maybe after the 15th or 16th round when his weak-ass is near death, then you can play some music to revive him, Nahwhamsaying??

If you REALLY insist on a song, I’ll recommend one. Ladies, this song would tell your man exactly what you want. I recommend this STRONGLY.

Tie me Down by Concentus.

Tie Me Down and Fuck Me (Hard)
tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – and fuck me hard

come tie me down – bring the cuffs (At this point his sorry-ass better be working!)

come strap me in – and make me sin
come suck me dry – until i cry
come fuck me hard – until i’m sore (AHMEAN!!!!! PREACH!)

make me scream
make me bleed
make me scream
make me bleed 

tie me tighter
ride me harder
ride me till i can’t speak or scream

tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – and fuck me hard

come strap me down – bring the whip

come strap me in – and make me sin
come suck me dry – until i die (Ok. Pause. Dafuq…?)
come fuck me hard – until i bleed

tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – and fuck me hard

never foreplay
come on and tie me down – never foreplay (This right here is the bridge. THIS IS WHERE YOU GO FOR GOLD LIKE YOU IN DA OLYMPICS!)
come on and fuck me hard – never foreplay
come on and suck me dry – never foreplay

tie me tighter
ride me harder
ride me till i can’t speak or scream (HE BETTER OBEY DAFUGGING INSTRUCTION SISTAH!!!)

Wanna know the beauty of this song? IT’S FRIGGIN’ EIGHT MINUTES LONG! It’s long enough for a round! AND YOU CAN BLOODY PUT IT ON REPEAT!

If yo man runs outta the house clothes in hands once it starts playing, HE AIN’T MAN ENOUGH!
If he breaks up with you cos he thinks your preedy ass is psycho, HE. AIN’T. MAN. ENOUGH!

It’s that simple.

I am done.

Have a lovely Monday. I know I will…

Disclaimer: Blame this shit on Caffeine.
In case you didn’t see it the first time, bloody bat-eyes.

Pandora’s Box

Dionysus is back!
You know what that means.


He would sit up from the bed where he lay, watching the clock tick; each monotone like a hammer driving nails into every brain cell, puncturing it, pouring out the slithering juice of static into his nervous sytem.
One second felt like hours.
One hour felt like a day.
One day felt like a century.
This hadn’t been a feeling strange to him. Back then, he could get by just watching porn. The moans of the actresses seemed the only thing that could distract him for a short while. When the blood left his head and flowed south to his cock, he felt liberated from the voices forever tormenting him inside his head.

These voices never shut up.
They feel the need to analyse everything.
He found that the only time he could numb these voices was when he was doing something taboo. Something so stimulating and so wrong that it aroused dormant animalistic parts of the brain normally repressed by everyday life; repressed by society, religion & convention.
Those parts that are involved in the raw carnal expression of the human soul.
He found that it was only when he was high that he could actually control his thoughts and channel them to a particular direction. Sober, his thoughts were sporadic like the waves of the caspian sea but on drugs, they came out like water pouring from a tap.

Jeremy never liked what everybody liked. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was born sick, born with what the doctors called Asthma. This had caused him to spend most of his childhood in the hospital.
This, coupled with the tauntings of his siblings, making fun of him while he was sick and gasping for breath, made him develop a subconscious disdain for humanity at an early age.
The wickedness; the cruelty.
He saw this done to a child born blind, forced to live the rest of his days forever being less than his peers.
He saw this done to an innocent child born with HIV from his parents and dying at the age of 6.
He saw this done to someone born with a handicap and everyone pretending like they didn’t see the shriveled atrophied limbs, always keeping a grotesque plastic smile on their faces.
Even the way able-bodied people treated others like themselves.
Kill or be killed; take or be taken from…
All this made him loathe humanity and he swore he would never end up like them. He promised himself that he would do whatever it took to not end up like humanity.
He wanted to overcome humanity. To become larger than it.
To become better, more grandiose than it.
“Insecurity isn’t mine to feel. Fear isn’t mine to feel. I would do whatever it takes to not feel it. I will take whatever it takes to not feel it”.
This was Jeremys motto.
This is the secret code of anyone who ever created anything in this world.
They distance themselves from their peers, think in solitude and do something about their thoughts. Success is a lonely path filled with lots of distractions usually labelled as ‘friends’.
Jeremy decided to create a blog at the age of 13.
He called it Pandora’s Box, the title based on the myth. Whoever opened the ‘box’ would have seen something so maniacal and sinister that their minds would forever be scarred – they wouldn’t be able to return to how they were hitherto before they opened it.
He kept posting the most diabolical, evil content he could find on the web on that blog.
He also nested his writing ability with the blog, giving some pictures captions, writing short stories, uploading evil documentaries like the Columbine shootings, Ted Bundy, Charles Manson, and clips from horror movies as well as previews.
Five years later, his blog was getting so much attention with 105,932 hits, averaging 400 hits per day. The likes of Stephen king, Wes Craven, John Carpenter visited his blog. He got a deal from one of them and they used his story to make a blockbuster horror movie called Phantasmagoria. It stayed number 1 at the box office for about a month, something no present day horror movie can do. With this, the attention his blog was getting skyrocketed to about 20,000 hits per day. Also, with the money Jeremy got for the storyline of Phantasmagoria and the royalty paid to him, he became rich.

I said earlier that Jeremy never liked what everybody liked. He bought a 16th Century Gothic mansion, a Ferrari and got himself sexy female workers, hiring them basically for their looks not for their qualifications.
Right from the security team to the drivers, to the maids where girls dressed in sexy costumes to fill the role.
It all looked like a scene from a pornographic or a raunchy techno video.

His obsession with the occult grew as more people visited his blog. He had to keep the content interesting. He had to keep it new and if he wanted to do that, he had to delve deeper into the occult. He soon started organising costumed orgies in his mansion. Everyone gathered around in a room he called the ‘Sin Chamber’.
They all wore  masks.
The purple cape was optional, their genitalia exposed. What he did was burn a large dose of the hemp plant, letting it pass through the air supply as the orgy went on. This heightened their senses and lowered their inhibitions making them fuck like rabbits, groping, moaning like hungry wolves. He read somewhere that a room filled with sexual activity stored that energy and that room was a perfect medium to perform black magic.
Whether all this was fact or fiction, Jeremy had a strong belief in the occult so all this stuff was real to him. He performed certain rituals in the room when no one was around. He needed only his female staff to stand around him nude in the room as the ritual needed him to have an erection.
This was an agreement on their contract.
They were told they would be paid extra for ‘extracurricular activities’ if they ticked a certain box. Many of them ticked the box.
He claimed that these rituals gave him enlightenment. Enabled him to see beyond the normal scope. Whether it was true or not, nobody knows. He posted the orgies on his blog and still got more hits. People could only access the videos of the orgy if they were registered as premium users on his blog thus, generating even more income.
He was voted FreaKY Magazine Scariest Man Alive.
He now donned a mysterious look like the pope with a black/purple robe.
His obsession with the occult still grew deeper and that was when he took a trip to Mexico.
Like a junkie, even though he believed his room filled with the nectar and the aura of sexual activity gave him power, he still wanted more. A shaman sold to him a very powerful potent psychedelic plant. He burned it at the next orgy.

As the plant was burned, the usual wanton sex and the low moans had already begun although, something about the mood seemed darker. As the fumes permeated the air, the people started getting more violent and instead of moans, they were laughing so hard with tears rolling down their cheeks.
The men started thrusting harder, the women started scratching. As more smoke filled the room, wails were heard as punches started occuring; biting, kicking. They were rutting violently, tearing flesh off each others’ skins.
The drug leached their brains and one by one, they began to die of blood loss.
The ones that were still alive placed their index and middle fingers right through their eyeballs before banging their head repeatedly on the floor till they bled to death.
The whole room was covered in blood and dead bodies.
His next ritual was that he lay with dead bodies for 7 days straight, no food, no water. By the fourth day, the bodies started to stink real bad but that was of course, part of the ritual.
It was said that if he inhaled the stench of their rotten corpses, he would absorb part of their souls, ‘mana’ they called it. The whole ritual was to give him extra powers, clairvoyance, spiritual knowledge etc. The massacre also went on tape but it wasn’t put on his blog. It was sold to a very rich collector in Yugoslavia for a very high price. Nobody knew whether the rituals were working or it was just Jeremies strong belief in them but by then, Jeremy looked very sinister, like the Devil himself.
He had dark circles surrounding his eyes, a skin head and a thick beard like a knife. His voice sounded like a frog when he spoke, Very slowly and with every word and every syllable enunciated properly. He always looked people straight in the eye and seldom blinked, seldom moved his head but only moved his lips as he spoke. This was to put whoever was speaking to him in a sort of hypnotic trance. Who would have thought a sick asthmatic nervous child could go this far? People who made fun of him in the past were now scared shitless of him as well as in awe and admiration of him. This wasn’t enough though. His hatred of mankind made him want to destroy it.

The final ritual was that he sacrifice his phallus for godhood. If he did this, the ritual claimed he would be able to move through time, alter people’s perception with just his stare, cause a mass genocide with a snap of his finger and be impervious to any form of attack. He decided to cut his dick off, afterall, he had had sex with every woman he ever lusted for both for ritual & non ritual purposes. He had grown tired of sex. Darkness and the occult was more of a release for him than the 20 minute pleasure he felt from an orgasm. He recited his incantations, put the knife at the base of his dick and sawed it off, back and forth.
Unfortunately, he bled to death.
People got aware of his violent orgies, killing a total of 643 people. People who came to the orgies were never allowed to tell anyone so missing people came up in the news but nobody knew their whereabouts.
Jeremy was labelled the Scariest & Most Evil Man Ever by some.
A label he would have cherished if he were alive.
The greatest desire of any weak man on Earth was to make those who made him feel weak afraid and envious of Him.
A feat Jeremy achieved.


Dionysus is just one helluva disturbed dude.


Hey guys!
Today’s post was written as a gift to me by someone I’ll call M.
Yes, I’m keeping his/her identity safe.
Loved it a lot and decided to share.


They’ve got it all wrong.
Trust me, I know.
They say the lady in red, but nothing says “SLUT” like a strapless little black dress.
I’ve got to dress the part, you know; live up to my reputation. Black platforms heels, black fishnet tights, black dress well above the knee, raven hair.
The only concession I give to your misguided assumptions is blood red lips. I walk into a room, this time a friend’s father’s 70th birthday and they turn. All of them, men, and women, even the ones who have one type of genital but covet another. They can sense what I am; I ooze it, like a pungent odor. No, not sex, or even sexuality. It’s something far more nauseating yet just as glamorous. A lack of moral is what they sense in me. They know I’d spread my legs for every single one of them, not necessarily one after the other. They can sense that I wouldn’t mind choking on a penis or two or ten, lapping up a vagina, probably won’t even swat away a mobile phone used as an amateur video camera. As I walk around the room, champagne flute wedged between my fore and middle finger, the responses I get from you all is priceless. The opportunists are drawing closer to me, finding ways to intersect my path, a quick and easy ice breaker. I avoid them, deftly turning at a tangent just before they can approach. The thrill of the hunt is everything to someone like me.
Some of you shrink away as I approach, the disgust on your faces intoxicates me, and I stray a little closer than I should, close enough for my perfume to make you swoon in spite of yourself. Pitiful, even with your hate, you can’t help how your body betrays you and lusts after the abomination that I am. I pick the most disgusted out of all of you, the slightly older woman, probably 40 in the dress that sweeps the floor as she walks. She’s been clucking all evening, whispering and pointing at my ass. I’ve seen her fingers tighten around the ugly square glass tumbler that holds her alcohol free cranberry juice as her eyes linger on the swell of my barely clad breasts. I could seduce her, she’s halfway there already, but where’s the fun in that? I scan the room for her teenage son and make my way towards him. He can’t be older than seventeen. I catch his eye; my lips spread in a suggestive smile. He smiles back and walks towards me as his mother’s face, the template for half of the room contorts into a mask of disgust. Good thing you rich people teach your children assertiveness really early. As you all suspect, I’ll be spreading my legs open for him tonight, if I want it bad enough, in the backseat of his mother’s car just outside this house. I don’t really care what you think, but if it makes you feel any better, “It’s not his fault, it’s all on me.”
Does it really matter how many men and women I fuck? Not unless they’re your husband, or boyfriend or best friend or girlfriend or wife. Oh, in that case, it does matter to you. Perhaps I should apologize, but what good would that do? I have already slept with them, and if the opportunity presents itself again now that I know, I’m not exactly sure I would refuse. So I’ll oblige you and do the next best thing. I’ll rescind my ‘Fuck You’ policy and explain myself.

Trust me, it’s really that simple. I like the thrill of sex, and the chase before it. I love the way you watch me walk, and I exaggerate the roll of my hips just for you. My skin only tingles when you touch it, but never much as when you peel my slutty dress off me. My only pleasures are the anticipation of a new lover and no strings attached sex and no I’m not giving either up, for anything. In your world where religion and ‘morality’ and everything else scream love and monogamy, I have become vilified for taking what I want and not being a hypocrite about it. What I’m not really sure of is this, is it because I fuck or because I am a woman? I could travel the gender equality route, but I’m a simpler girl. I just want to fuck undisturbed. No, I wasn’t molested by father as a little girl, I just love to fuck. No, my first boyfriend didn’t break my heart by sleeping with my best friend, I shattered his by sleeping with his brother, and I still love to fuck. I don’t have an Electra complex, no hormonal imbalance or disassociative disorders or need to reconnect with my inner child. Are you even listening to me? I just love to fuck. It honestly is that simple.
I know I haven’t really been that helpful, and my explanation doesn’t really give you anything you can use to understand and help me. I apologize for that. It’s hard to get through to you too, you never listen.

There is one way you can help me. A way so ridiculously simple, that you’ll probably smack yourself for not thinking of it first.
Here it is:
See, I said it was ridiculously simple. If you see me coming, turn away, distract yourself with something else. Cross the road if you have to; just stay out of my way. I could have said leave me alone, but that is passive. Staying out of my way is something you have to consciously do every day. Leaving me alone is not enough; you have to actively keep what you cherish out of my way. Your son, your husband, that girl you’re secretly admiring? Keep them out of my way, and if you can’t do that, teach them to leave me alone. Because if he/she so much as smiles suggestively at me, I’m going to end up in their bed and we will be back where we started. I know you don’t want that, so you know what you have to do. One more thing, when you lie in your bed alone at night and finally let yourself fantasize about that person around whom you had to suppress your animalistic urges to tear your clothes off and fuck shamelessly; remember me, I’m living your hidden ‘ugly’ fantasies. 
I am without remorse, what you call a slut.




Phantompages here.
First, I’ll start with an apology to everyone. I should have talked about the handover of the blog HERE. Many didn’t know about my giving this blog to Eddie. Got tired of people complimenting me, thinking the recent posts were my write ups. Lol. They weren’t.
I hit a bad patch and had to step back.
Started blogging because I enjoyed writing first, and I wanted to share my work with people, second. I think I lost track of that. I put myself under a pressure of writing to please the readers. Forgot what it was like to write for the fun of it, good or bad. I became too obsessed with creating a perfect story. There are no perfect stories. I forgot this.  So, I had to step back.
A special thank you to Edwin who helped me keep the blog alive (even though he threatened to flog me for almost deleting the blog 😥 ).
Yes, I almost deleted the blog. What? It’s mine. 😛
We love you Eddie san! :* :*

If you’re still reading this and have not jumped to the story, good! I like people like you 😀
This story was written for me. It’s not perfect. It probably can’t be compared to some of what I’ve written. But it struck a chord within me as I wrote. I hope it does the same to you. If it doesn’t, maybe my next story would.
Be patient.

Enough talking, let’s dig in!


“…But i need to confirm from the Church first, Mrs. Jacques.”
She sobbed. “Padre s’il vous plait! Please! He’s only five. My only son. Please Father..”
He sighed. Sometimes doing the right thing wasn’t always the best option.
He got up from his seat and walked to the kneeling woman.
“It is ok Mrs. Jacques. I will do it” he said, helping her stand.
“Padre… Merçi! Merçi!”
He nodded absently. “Yes, yes. First, I must determine if he really needs one. Shall I call at your house tomorrow?”
She nodded vigorously, thin grey hair flopping on her pale, tears-streaked face.
“Come see him tomorrow”


“I will perform one but it would have to be in the night.”
“Yes Father”
“The things that would be needed, do get them Mr. Jacques.”
“I will”
“And Mrs. Jacques, do calm yourself down. You’ll be of no help in this condition.”
“I’ll try Father”
“Good. May God be with you two.”


“Lord have mercy..”
“Lord have mercy..”
“Christ have mercy..”
“Christ have mercy..”

Soft laughter..

“God, the Father in Heaven..”
“Have mercy on us..”
“God the Son, the Redeemer of the World..”
“Have mercy on us..”
“God, The Holy Spirit..”
“Have mercy on us..”
“Holy Trinity, One God..”
“Have mercy on us..”
“Holy Mary, pray for us..”
“Pray for us..”
“All Holy Saints..”
“Intercede for us..”

Soft Laugh..

“Be Merciful..”
“Spare us Oh Lord..”
” Our Father who are in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation,
“But deliver us from evil..”

Soft Laugh..
Choked sobs.

Save your servant..”
“Who trusts in you, my God..”

“Trust? Indeed..

“Let him find in you, Lord, a fortified tower..”
“ the face of the enemy..”

I’m no enemy.

“Let the enemy have no power over him..”
“And the son of iniquity be powerless to harm him..”
Save him please Lord; save him..
“We must complete the prayer Mrs. Jacques. Mr Jacques please, make sure she.. ”
“Yes Father please continue..”

Yes Father, please continue..
Harsh laugh.. 

“Lord, send him aid from your holy place..”


“And watch over him from Zion..”

Mama..Mama it hurts.. Mama! It hurts!

“Hold her! She must not go near him!”
“Vittoria! Calmez-vous! For Pierre”
“We must continue the prayer! Lord, heed my prayer!”
“And…and let my cry be heard by you..”


“Holy Lord, almighty Father, everlasting God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who once and for all consigned that..”


“..fallen and apostate tyrant to the flames of hell, who sent your only-begotten Son into the world to crush that roaring lion; hasten to our call for help and snatch from ruination and from the clutches of the noondayDevil this human being made in your image and likeness..”

Papa! Mama! 

“Strike terror, Lord, into the beast now laying waste your vineyard. Fill your servants with courage to fight manfully against that reprobate dragon, lest he despise those who put their trust in you, and say with Pharaoh of old: “I know not God, nor will I set Israel free.”

Harsh Laughter..

“Let your mighty hand cast him out of your servant, Pierre Jacques, so he may no longer hold captive this person whom it pleased you to make in your image..”

Paedophile! Wanna suck my cock Father? My cock is small, just the way you like it Father! Mama!

“..whom..whom it pleased to make in your image, a.and to re..redeem through your Son; who..who lived..lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever..”

Amen Father!

“Say Amen! Do not be distracted! Don’t listen to him!”

Amen cock sucker!

“I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, along with all your minions..”

You command nothing Padre! Remember Father Downing? He says hello!

“ attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our  Lord..”

Father Downing says he misses your sweet mouth! Did you enjoy sucking him off Father? Will you suck me Father..Father..Papa..Papa! Mama! It hurts! It hurts!





“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Aie pitié!”




“Hold her! Don’t let her go to him!”






“He’s breaking free Father!! What should I do!”
“Hold him down! Be his father! Don’t let him be free!”
















Lights out.


He lay under the bed shaking, rosary tightly claspsed in his fists.
“Padré..” the voice of the five year old boy called, somewhere far from his hiding place.
“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Holy Father hear my cry. Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplication…”
A door banged open and he started, heart thundering.
“Father…Father! You’re good. Oh you’re good!”
He shuddered at the voice, his heart breaking for the child who was being used so carelessly as a tool.
” God, by your name save me, and by your might defend my cause.”
The voice drew nearer, screaming obscenities in a loud voice; whispering pleas in the child’s voice.
“Father, I’m scared. Please help me. It’s too dark. Where is mama? Where is papa? Father? Father? FUCKING CUNT REVEAL YOUR SELF!”
He shook, forcing himself to murmur prayers.
“God, hear my prayer; hearken to the words of my mouth…” he swallowed, blinking to get the bead of perspiration off his lashes. He wiped his face with his robe.
” Our Father who are in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come”
The room door opened and he shut up.
He listened in silence to the feet of the boy walking into the room.
“Father…Here? Old man? OLD MAN! COME OUT YOU MAN WHORE!”
His heart thudded and he swallowed.
“Father…” the boy called softly, voice nearer.
He felt the slight depression above him on the mattress and he knew the boy was on the bed. He remained still.
“He’s not in here..” he heard the boy whisper softly.
He remained still.
Suddenly,  torch light was flicked on and thrown under the bed, illuminating him.
He gasped.
The face of the little boy peered at him, from above the bed, head upside down.
He stared in horror at the face of the little, eyes filmed over, tinged with blood, saliva dribbling unchecked from a gaping mouth, tongue lolling.
He shrieked and raised his rosary with shaking hands.
“In the name of the Father..and…Son…and..”
The boy stretched out is hand and with an iron grip, clasped his mouth shut.
“Tell me Father..” the gravelly voice of the boy’s occupant said “Do you fear Death?”


 Father Bromley left the dark house quickly, taking the stairs two at a time. He ran to his car parked outside the house and opened. He sat in, trying to calm himself.
It was a good thing the Jacques family lived in a secluded area.
He flicked the light on and looked at himself in the front view mirror.
Suddenly, he smiled.
“Well Father..” said the gravelly voice coming from his throat, “Let’s see what fun I can have with you”
His eyes flashed red in the mirror before they returned to their grey colour.
The new occupant of Father Bromley winked at himself, started the car and drove off into the darkness.


*set to In The End by Vanessa Carlton*

The keys black and white, like him and her.

His ochre skin glistened with sweat as he thrust into her, over and over. She arched her back into him, crying furiously as he took her. She wrapped her hand around his neck and squeezed, her wiry fingers compressing his windpipe with unnatural strength. Her eyes were sad, but they shone with a preternatural light as his thrusts intensified with the tightening of her fingers. He began to gasp as her body began to spasm under him and he buried himself deep into her, his outstretched arms  rested on flat palms on either side of her face. In a mindless lust filled haze, she bucked and was rewarded with a resounding snap. His head lolled and his arms gave way, his naked body collapsing onto hers. She wrapped her hands around his torso and cried softly, the relief of taking a life washing over her, silently savouring the warmth leave his body and the gentle weight that slowly grew on her as his blood stopped to flow and his limbs turned to lead.

It took ten minutes for his body to transmute from healthy ochre to a sickly ash and she laid under him through it all, arms wrapped around his neck, legs spread beneath him. With some effort she crawled out from under him, the smell of death upon her. It is just as it should be, she thought to herself, walking through the dimly lit belfry towards the little square of light cast by the moon through the stained glass window. The kaleidoscope of colours bathed her pale skin in the glorious hues, a mockery of the blackness she was inside. Her youthful skin, milky white in spite of the years she spent in the desert sun, playing away the beautiful concertos that she had longed to play in the darkened halls with beautiful high ceilings. Her breasts blue and yellow from the light cast by the robes and cherubic face of the Christ child, they had stayed small as they were when He first fondled them in that back alley, when he made her spirit soar and her skin flush with light and her womb bloom with his seed. Her flat belly was the cream of the sheep that lay beside the manger, the fertile pudgy sheep that bowed its head in adoration of the child. Hers would never rise, never. He’d taken that from her because she took his seed away from him. The only thing that continued to thrive was her raven hair falling to her plump buttocks, hiding the scars of her trysts with Him as He prod her over and over, every season she sook him out to lay with her.  He’d obliged her each time, but he forbade her to look upon his beautiful face, bent her over and took her, sinking his claws into the small of her back and raking deep gouges that took a year to heal. He thought he was punishing her, but she knew better, he was the only one who could hurt her and pain was better than the numbness she felt.

He would ask her to play for Him wherever they met, in a crowded market or a dingy slum or an upscale hotel. It never mattered to him how many would die after. It never did.

“I have missed my violin, Tana.” He would say. “Play me a little piece? I want to hear if he has been tuned and oiled like you promised.”

She would play, from mournful to joyous, from jubilant to brooding, astute to languid, and they paused  where the music carried. Young, old, beautiful, juvenile; it didn’t matter to Tana Brooks’ violin. They would stop in their tracks and gather around her, transfixed by the sounds her bow wrought. He would disappear into the mist as he always did, smiling at his creation. She would play as long as they wished her to, minutes, hours, even days. She would tap out melodies that reminded suited business men of their childhood dancing to folk songs and they would dance in helpless abandon while she cried for now she was so in tune with the violin she could see the deaths that would come for them. Eventually they would all get sated with her and as a swarm they would disappear to their deaths and leave her with the burden of being judge and executioner. And she would disappear until, her scars healed and compulsion drew her to seek Belial again.

“Doh! Doh! Doh!” came the melodious whisper from the aged piano in the corner. Tana shook herself from her reverie and noticed the light was much stronger now; she had stood there for hours. She turned to the sound and a smile parted her lips. Ashy and stiff, he perched naked on the tiny stool that faithfully stood beside the crumbling piano hidden in the darkened corner of the room, his frozen fingers picking notes of a child’s lullaby. His neck jutted out an angle and his glassy eyes stared into the dark but he didn’t need to see the keys to play. She stood in the light and watched in awe as his skin regained its lustre and his joints became fluid once again, his neck slowly inching its way back up, righting his head full of curly hair. She saw it every other night, but each time he rose from where they had coupled and healed, it awed her over again. He turned his now straight head at her and smiled ruefully, seguing from the jaunty march he had been playing into a languid waltz. Play with me, his eyes pleaded.

Tana picked her violin from where she’d laid it by the window sill and tightened the frogs. She tested a few notes ensuring her notes rang true to his, and plunged herself into the music; following his lead, complementing his dips and shoring the silences between his transitions. They played so beautifully, two angels of death, harbingers of doom, cursed by their chance meetings with Lilith and Belial to wreak death in all they did. She played the half tones that her heart had longed to sing and the dirges she couldn’t play at the funerals of all the people she’d loved from afar and watched slip into darkness and he played the grand hymns he had dreamed of subsuming himself in at the cathedral where he had grown up, on the colossus of an organ behind which he had prayed for eighteen years tightening screws and waiting for his turn to glory in its melodies. Lilith found him and cursed his eyes to stay forever open and his hands to freeze in death each time he ever played for another’s entertainment, she’d taken all he cared for away from him on a petulant whim.  She was his salvation and he her companion, the perfect waltz, the girl on the violin and the boy on the piano.


This piece was written in 45 minutes as an imagined sequel to the  epic Girl On The Violin (read it here) set to the haunting song In the End by Vanessa Carlton. Our boy on the piano is none other than Johnny Depp. I hope I did justice to Tana Brooks. Shalom.

Guilty Pleasures

Phantom P: Since my mind is closed for repairs, i wont be able to write much for now! That being said, my ever ready co-writers would be filling in for me with their pieces. From the mind that brought you ‘Swan Song’ and ‘Black Maiden’, Ladies and Gents, Bamidele Newton!

Newton: I wanted to write this as a poem but couldn’t get my head around the lines.



So I write it the way I feel and right now all I really need is a priest to confess to, but unfortunately I’m no catholic. I was brought up believing that only God can forgive sins, but it so scary that He is so big and far off, the idea of an anonymous person seems so real and better; so let me do it the proper way.

“Father I have sinned”

Then I can get to tell him all I had done. And he tells me to do penance for my sins and literally my burdens are lifted from my shoulders and I am free. After I’m gone, the priest sits down and recounts my story he is bound by confidentiality not to tell. But how can he keep such story in his head and not go insane? Even he could not believe the story even though it dripped with sincerity and truth. To avoid losing his mind over this he wrote my story in his journal. Later that year, by mistake, that journal got into the hands of someone who told someone who later told another someone the things I did that night and since it has become public knowledge I want to sue the church and the priest for breach of confidentiality.
Now I stand in the witness-box in court, having just been examined by my counsel. I am being cross-examined by their lawyer and he asks me one question “What happened before the confession?” My counsel shouts “Objection my Lord “On what ground?” asks the judge “This is not in issue my lord” and their counsel says“My lord but it is relevant”
“Objection overruled, witness you have to answer that question”
Then and there I Knew my life would never remain the same.
“Let me start from the very beginning” I say.

Monday 24th, January 2008
On this day I was still married and I can still tell that, I was happy with my marriage. The only problem was that I got married to a “stiff board”. Nothing I did on our matrimonial bed ignited any fire within her; it was like making love to the bed. Correction, even the bed would have groaned. Not my wife. In this age of sexual orientation and experimentation, all we did was the archaic and forgotten missionary style. That is what you get for marrying a virgin, but since I got satisfied. I didn’t think of it; she was the money bag in the house after all. She gets a fat cheque eery month and to her credit. she is a very good and loving wife.
My life changed, when on this day I got to work and I found out that the management had deemed it fit to change  my secretary who was over 50 years of age and who reminds me constantly of my wife with someone named Susan who I believed would be as inefficient as the common name she bore. The first sight I had of her was my doom because she was bent over on my desk with her behind facing the door, and by jove, she was wearing the most flesh hugging skirt I had ever seen! With a dangerous slit going up to her thighs, Jove that was the longest, freshest piece of leg I had seen and all I could think of was taking her there and then. Maybe I had groaned or made a noise because she turned around and I was assaulted with the sight of heaven and my heart stopped beating in my chest.
“I am Susan” she said, “Can I get your suit or would you prefer coffee first?”
And since then I had to walk around the office with a bag in front of me to cover my constant disturbance. She psychologically assaulted me in every way you can imagine until all I could think of was having sex with her. All that was keeping me was the opportunity; either fate wanted to take a shit on me or just wanted to fuck me, it presented me with a bizarre opportunity.

3rd of May, 2008.
Because we had to work late into the night, we were the last in the office building. By then, she was just like the girl of your fantasy you would not meet. We were in the elevator about to leave when there was a power outage; convenient. The last thing I rationally remembered was she holding my hands in fear of the dark and I held her close to soothe her fears. The things she did to me that night are things I can’t say in public because it would offend public morality. After that day nothing mattered anymore, we did it anywhere and everywhere. It didn’t matter as long as the opportunity presented itself. Sometimes I had to take official matters out of the state and I would make sure she went along so she could please me in ways I had never imagined possible. I couldn’t get enough of her! She called me sometimes in the middle of the night, asking me to come over to her house. It was dangerous and risky but it excited me like crazy. She called my phone when she knew my wife would be in earshot and told me dirty things she was doing to herself. It was like introduction to heroine and I just got hooked on it. She was all that mattered and I was ready to give up all for her sake. I changed my will and most of my personal things were put in her name I was not in love people, I was way past love. I worshipped the ground she walked on. Things were fine until she got pregnant and wanted to move into my matrimonial home with me. All these while, my wife and I had been cohabitating under the same roof with no intimate moments between us. I knew bringing in Susan into the house would  be asking for trouble and I tried talking her out of it but she would not listen. Then I thought and weighed it, sex and a good life with my wife, and even though the former was more tempting, I picked the latter and broke everything with Susan going back to my boring prude of a wife.

24th of December, 2008.
I was with my wife having dinner when the door bell rang. I got the door and without a thought, opened up. The next thing I knew, I was shoved into my house and there i was, staring into the empty eyes of a double-barreled gun. The holder was one tall brutish looking man; three other men strode in and last to come in was my worst nightmare and by jove, was she sexy! To cut the long story short my wife was raped brutally and killed in my presence. “You left me for your wife. Now that she is dead, would you marry me?”
“Father I have sinned. I married the woman who killed my wife.”

The court was stunned into silence.


Hunter Hunted

There he was lurking in the shadows outside the G-spot. The G-spot was one of the most prestigious clubs in Amsterdam, granting audience only to the most elite and the richest in town. It was way past midnight but he needed money so he waited in the blistering cold. People had started leaving the club but he hadn’t found the right victim yet. Most came in groups but he was looking for someone alone so his task would be easier.

At About 3:16am, he had finally found his victim. She was a girl in her early twenties, dressed in all black, short sleeves just a little beyond the shoulders with the words ‘Eat Me’ written in pink, black trousers and black boots. She had the physique of an athlete. She was leaving the club alone, walking on the streets with no vehicle. What attracted him though was her bag. A huge bag hanging on her left shoulder.
‘That would be enough to feed me for a week!’
She had walked a considerable distance away from the club when he came out the bushes, ready to make his move. He was making his way towards her from behind, taking brisk steps with nothing but a kitchen knife as the weapon of fear.. She was chatting on her Blackberry laughing out loud, distracted by the person from the other end, not sensing the attacker coming from behind.

He grabbed her neck from behind, knife on the other hand, the sharp end pressing on her waist.
‘ Put the phone in the bag and hand it over’ he whispered with menace.
She panicked and dropped her bag. ‘Please! don’t hurt me!’
‘Just shut up and put the bloody phone in the bag! Oh and that watch, Take it off!’.
She handed the items to him and he unzipped the bag to be sure.
Fear gripped his heart at what he saw.

Inside the bag was a caucasian head, mouth wide open, wide-eyed in death, like he had been strangled before his head was cut off. Before he could run, she kneed him in the balls then went behind him and gave him a sleeper hold.
He passed out..

A splash of cold water on his face brought him back to reality. He had been tied up hanging with his arms above his head, exposing his shirtless torso. She pierced him with her eyes.
‘Hmph! You just picked the wrong lady to mess with’ She disappeared into the shadows and he tried to make out where he was.
A sock in his mouth silenced him. She rolled up a metallic table to his full view. His heart skipped a beat or two. On the table were very sharp tools having mean-looking curves and edges that sent chills up his spine. He could also identify injections.
‘You think this is a movie asshole? Pick on the loner girl and you get what you want?’
She carved a vertical line in the middle of his chest with a scapel.
He jerked and moaned in fright heightened by the pain.
‘You think I’m just some pussy you could fuck with huh ?’
She put her index finger inside the hole in his chest digging into it. She licked the blood off her fingers, spitting it in his face. She opened an ominous looking jar that sat on the table. Inside it were termites. She opened his trouser and poured the insects into his pants. They feasted on his balls and thighs, each bite like the stab of a needle.
Tears rolled down the sides of his eyes as he groaned in pain, unable to cry out. ‘Awwwwwww, don’t be a cry baby’
She carried a hammer and placed a nail in front of his right eye.
‘This would only hurt a bit’
The nail went in, blood splashing on her face.
‘Come on, stay still!’
The nail had just entered halfway, his head moving left and right trying to avoid the hammer. The hammer landed on his forehead, on his nose breaking it till she finally Hit the nail, burying it deep into his eye socket with each swing on his face spilling more blood on hers. She rubbed the blood on her face giving her a more evil look. She took the sock out of his mouth and laughed as he wept and screamed in agony, the fear in his soul robbing him of his ability to speak clearly. ‘Pl, Plee, Pleeasssee!!!, I’m Sorry!!’
‘No you’re not. You are not sorry for anything. You would just say anything to get out this situation!’
‘No mooore, pleeeassse, noo morre.’
Ha!, I’m just getting started!’

She picked up a drill from the table,switching it on, causing him to grimace. She made a hole on his side, the drill shattering a rib. She pulled it out and did the same for the other side, blood rolling down his waists.
He let out a scream, painful to hear.
‘Cry baby. But you are the tough man, picking on a lady in the night! Hmmmmmmm, what next?’
She scanned the table looking for the next object to play with.
‘Yes!!’ She picked up a shears from the table with jagged blades.
‘Stay still or you would just make the pain worse.’
She aimed at his nipples and CLAP!, the left one fell to the floor, then the right. The pain became so unbearable, he began to lose consciousness.
‘Don’t you pass out on me now tough guy!’
She carried some smelling salts and put it under his nose.
His face wrinkled to life at the smell.
‘Just kill me now, pleeaasse’
‘There there, I’d soon be done with you.
She picked up two tasers and placed them on his bleeding sides, the shock clotting the blood creating keloids. She also did this on both severed nipples..

‘And now, the Finale! Asphyxiation!!’
She carried a very long thin sharp metal from the table.
‘Wouldn’t you consider my performance breathtaking?’
She kissed the sharp end of the iron and then pierced his chest, aiming for his lungs. She punctured it, pulled the metal out blood gushing on her. Her eyes were closed and she wore a smile on her face as the blood bathed her from head to toe, dripping on the floor from her ends. ‘Breathe! Breathe!’
He was inhaling but oxygen couldn’t enter wasn’t retaining.
‘Breathe! Goddamit!’

A maniacal laughter came out of her like a possessed little girl.
He took his last breaths, slowing down with each inhalation till his soul finally fled His body, His mouth and eyes wide open. She cut him down from the ropes and he fell to the floor.
She lifted his head and cut it off with a long, sharp knife. She pulled his head away from his lifeless body, holding it from the hair on His head.
‘Imma add this to my collection of body parts. Hehehe…’


The Suya Butcher

They should have known.
All of them.
But lets face it, most Nigerians are too blinded by their poverty to notice anything.
The Suya Butcher, Nwobu Bobby Gerald-Richman. Yes, he was an Igbo man selling suya. A fresh Igbo dude, muscular chest like Randy Orton and the V shaped alpha male look; Not Johnny Bravo with skinny legs but with firm thighs as well. The dude was always smiling too, and that’s just the problem. Best suspect them folks that smile too much. There’s something sinister, very fucking evil about them. Runaway from them while you still can.

The Suya Butcher frustrated by the way things were in ‘THIS FUCKED UP COUNTRY!!!’
He screamed cracking the mirror in his room with just his thunderous masculine voice. The Suya Butcher Bobby was chiselled to perfection. He carried no weights. All he did was a special exercise routine: Two sets of ‘Diamond Push ups’ He called it them. Diamond Push ups involved placing your two hands together in the diamond shape( Like Jay Z’s Dynasty Sign,). You place them flat on the floor, and then go down-up as done in a normal push up exercise. It chiselled his chest which was previously man boobs. Gynecomastia they called it in the medical field.
Anyway, this strengthened Bobby, motivated him to be determined in his workouts.

Bobby did this routine everyday, 100, 100, two sets of Diamond Push ups. His chest was chiselled, looking like one of them Spartans in 300. He had no 6 pack abs, just a very flat ab and hair covering it up to his chest like Shawn Michaels. Not happy with the rounded hair God gave most Nigerian men, he decided to relax chest hair. This gave it a more foreign look, like he was a mixed breed, maybe Barbados and Nigerian blood combined.

This caused Ladies to stare lustfully at Gerald Richman, making his suya even more desirable to the female folk. Some would buy just to flirt with him!
Bobby went bald early so he decided to wear a trademark skin cut. He however never cut his facial hair so it grew from his ears down to his neck, swallowing his whole cheeks leaving his lips like a red/brown passage way that opens and closes without control.. After a while, when he looked at the mirror and was not satisfied with the jagged beard common to most Africa men, he decided again to use the magical relaxer. When he was done, his facial hair looked like someone from the States. He only cut it once in six months because it was way too fresh, like the mane of a cub.

Bobby always smiled and this attracted his customers. He went to a private school in his country and studied a course called Management Information Systems (MIS). He studied Engineering previously but failed woefully in his first year as did most of his mates. Like Dominos, they all fell away from Electrical Engineering and switched to MIS. So the class was filled with crooked students, the most crooked set both male and female.
When you fail, it hardens you, awakening a hunger in you. This was how the MIS students were. None of them read for they believed in cooperation, determined to just get that degree, Fuck the knowledge. Bobby graduated and he didn’t even know what the course was really about. Frustrated, after having served his God forsaken country in Abuja, he went back to Lagos unemployed. He was unemployed for six months and one day, Bobby snapped.

Bobby always had a high libido. His only form of entertainment was watching Porn. Bobby enjoyed voyeuristic pleasure from perusing these ‘Works of Art’ as he called them. He would get a boner and this motivated Him to seek real women. It awakened a desire in him, a natural male hunger repressed by the shackles of society in the average man. Bobby escaped those chains, a common characteristic of someone insane. A genius or of course, a serial killer. Bobby was ready to lay any kind of woman, slim, fat, young, old, saggy, firm; any kind!.

His first victim was a fat girl, weighing 220kg. Her skin had a fresh,brown cholocate hue, soft and shiny. She was the daughter of a enator in the State. He met her at a suya spot. She was eating at her table when Bobby came in after parking his car outside the Inn. As Bobby entered, She stared at him, getting excited. She pretended she didn’t see him, chewing faster so as to distract her from her lustful thoughts.
“N300 beef, N200 Kidney” Bobby told the mallam. Whilst he was waiting on his order, he heard a voice coming from the other side. It was Tiffany’s.
“Why don’t you have a sit?”.
There’s something about overweight women that give them a certain confidence; a certain character trait of being a liitle too assertive, too aggressive as compared to normal sexy ladies. They do this to protect themselves of course from the image in the mirror. They loathe themselves so much then take it out on the world, acting like they know it all, seen it all, with a certain cockiness that if you were a patient observer, you’d see contradictions in what they said and what they did. They were not as confident as they appeared to be, Just trying to repress the subconscious pain society inflicted on them for being obese.

Bobby dragged a seat from underneath the table and sat down, a sly smile on his face. When he came closer to her, she got even more excited.
“Do you want one?” she asked to distract her from her raging libido at the moment.
“Yeah! Thanks!”
“I’m Tiffany.”
“I’m Bobby.”
He took a stick from her suya and chewed.
“This suya is a little rubbery.”
She laughed like she was getting tickled. The kind of laughter girls give guys when they like them. They laugh at your jokes that aren’t even funny!
“As in, very rubbery!” She said laughing hard.
They were having a good time, laughing at nothing in particular.
Bobby’s suya was ready and he was about to go.
“How about you come to my house? Its just a five minute stroll from here.”
“I don’t know about that o!”
He was just playing hard to get.
“Come on! Its just gonna be you and me! My father’s away and not coming back till Sunday! Nobody is around and there’s always light at my place!”
She had this way of speaking that classified her as rich. What did you expect? Her father’s a freaking Senator!

They got into his car and in seven minutes, got to her house on the Island.
It was a mansion with five cars parked in. They entered the house and with a press of buttons, activated the lights and A/C. She turned on the 3D 80Inch Samsung TV. ”
They’re showing Salt on MnetHD. Want to watch?”
They put on the 3D specs and watched, enjoying the effects from the Bose Surround Sound System.
After twenty minutes, Tiffany quipped “Hey, I got the the new Transformers movie!”
The movie wasn’t in Nigeria yet but her father had called a friend, who called a friend, who knew a friend, and BAM! Magic! She got the movie. The power of being in the Government.

She put it on and turned off all the lights giving the room that cinematic feel, the lights from the tv, illuminating the room. They ate Bobby’s suya as they watched. After about ten minutes of watching, Tiffany said,
“Hey, I know how I could make this better!”
“You’ll see! I’ll be right back!”
One thing about fat girls also is that they were always eager to please in a kind of desperate way!
She came back; pink light from the TV flashing on the top part of her body.
She was holding something but Bobby couldn’t really see what. She came closer and sat close to him, rubbing her thigh on his.
She was holding a bong.
‘How the hell do you get a bong in this State?’ He thought to himself.
The power of Government.
She placed some freshly cropped green marijuana; stemless, fluffy and healthy marijuana, into the purple and gold bong.
Primo shit!
He watched as she sucked and blew smoke out from her mouth and the Tv reflected a green light on the smoke giving it a surreal effect.
The smell was like nothing Bobby ever smelled.
‘The weed I buy smells like shit!’ He thought to himself.
The power of Government…again!
It smelt like a freshly mown lawn with a hint of apple flavour.

“Here, Imma light you up.” Tiffany said. He placed the bong on his mouth. Clack! Clack! The lighter moaning. It finally came on and she lit the Magic Weed. The gurgling sound came up again and Bobby was already taking the plant into his lungs. He blew out the smoke, coughing a little. He could already feel the subtle effects of the weed just from his first drag.
The Clarity!
He took about 6 inhalations before he realised he was really messed up. Tiffany by then had been laughing uncontrollably. The kind of laughter that gave painful stitches.
Everything slowed down and they felt like they were in the Transformers movie itself, part of the Director’s team, creating the scenes with their minds, merging with the characters, feeling them in first person watching them in 3D.

Bobby’s sexual urges was heightened and so was Tiffany’s. They had eaten the Suya halfway and then Bobby went for the kill. He kissed Tiffany ferociously while she took her clothes off. He admired her big, soft breasts. She took her skirt off and her thighs were joined together making her legs look like one long vertical genitalia. Bobby undressed, already hard and she spread herself for him,ready for entry. Bobby entered her missionary style and the first penetration made her moan hard like she had already cum.

Bobby was enjoying the sound but it got a little too loud and it started to piss him off. He improvised and decided to act all kinky and was eating the suya while he was thrusting her. This was so he could maybe also get it into her mouth to reduce her moans. He took a handful and put it in her mouth and her sounds lowered. He got so carried away by the sensations of sex, pounding away non-stop, he hadn’t realised she had stopped moaning.
He looked at her face and he was shocked…

Her eyes were bulging out, tears rolling out from the sides. Her mouth was filled with suya and spurts of yellow saliva dribbled down her chin.
She had choked!!!
‘Oh My God!
She Has Choked!
She Has Fucking Choked!!!
Bobby walked back and forth, hands rubbing his bald head in pandemonium about what to do. He picked the remote control, pressing all the buttons hoping to hit the light. He turned off the AC, turned on heavy rock music and it took him 35 seconds to find the OFF button.. ‘I’m gonna wake the neighbours! I’m gonna wake the neighbours’ he thought, heart racing. He finally found the switch to shut it off, then the switch to the light.

He looked at the body and it was even more grotesque looking, her face puffed up from the choking. Her legs were still spread wide open and he felt a sudden kick in his penis.
“Bobby, what is wrong with you?” He asked himself.
“But I haven’t done anything. It was a mistake! Let me call the cops. What am I thinking?? That’s fucking jail! For LIFE!! Bobby calm the fuck down!”
He took deep breaths tried to regain his composure. He looked at her spread-eagled body, this time, eyes Fixed and he got a hard boner. The attraction to the dead body that lay in front of him was both disturbing and at the same time, arousing.
‘Bobby, you are not a fucking necrophiliaci! Snap out of It!’
He paused.
‘Its Thursday. She’s the only one around till Sunday’
She had dismissed the security team because she valued her privacy.

He found himself feeling her up, touching her and felt an alien feeling within. A combination of emotions creating an unknown feeling.
Guilt. Pleasure. Pain. Fear. Joy. Power. Hate. Love. Control.
“I’m alone. She’s alone till Sunday. But what of her phone? Oh My God!! What of her phone! Bobby, Calm down!
You are alone Bobby. All alone and you can enjoy any fantasy you want. Isn’t this what you always wanted ? A life-like doll you could control, ravish totally and desecrate?”
He got violent.
He began moaning as he mutilated dead Tiffany’s private member.
“She’s dead. She can’t feel a thing.”

The act and the will to do the act energized his insanity. He had the freedom to do something wrong. Something considered a taboo.
Something so sick.
Nobody was watching!
Oh! What you could do when no one is watching.
His face glowed with a sinister.
By this time, she was barely recognisable.
His gory work gave made him ravenous.
He picked a suya and ate it like an animal.. The suya had finished and a sardonic thought flashed in his head to eat her.
He looked at her again and suddenly stopped seeing the bloody pulp she was. He saw meat.
He took a Bite of Her left Breast, blood dripping from his mouth like a vampire feeding.
He didn’t enjoy it.

Bobby decided there and then that He was gonna eat the body to get rid of the evidence.
Great idea!
He went to the kitchen and carried a very sharp long knife and began his serial killer initiation.
He cut her into bits and pieces ready to cook her on their grill machine.
He started with a chunk of flesh from her thigh. He grilled for about 35 minutes, cut a bit of raw onion and tomatoes then had a bite.
He dug in revelling in his new found dietary choice.. By the end of Thursday, he had finished eating her two legs, the remaining parts, stored in the refrigerator.
Friday, he had eaten both her arms and was surprised her phone hadn’t rung.
It must be her loneliness that made her invite him over in the first place. Saturday, he ate her torso.
Only her head was left.
He carried a mallet from the kitchen and smashed her head to little pieces spilling her brain on the marble floor. He packed it and threw it in the grill. He ate the brain and it kinda tasted like shrimps!
Sunday morning by 4:30am, he got some fuel from the generator house and burnt the house down.

Tiffany’s father came home to see his house burnt down. They later discovered blackened bones from the fire but surprised they didn’t find a skull. They later discovered it was Tiffany’s body. It wasn’t till about 3 months later that Bobby started His suya business.
Nothing he had ever experienced in his life was this exhilarating.
Frightening. Wrong. Pleasurable. Disturbing. Magical.

His next victim was a hooker. A very fine hooker. They arranged to meet at a motel and after having sex with her, he snapped her neck. It was a small motel so they hardly had guests. He also killed the overweight owner of the motel. He left both of them in Room 13. The Room he checked into. He played owner, alloting rooms to guests, just two guests anyway, collecting their money and giving them rooms, except room 13 ofcourse. He got a barbecue equipment and was selling a ‘Special Suya’ in the motel. People bought and enjoyed it, not knowing it was human meat. He packed the two bodies to his car wrapped in a big black nylon normally used to dispense refuse. He placed it in the boot of his Honda and was making his way back to his house at night, almost midnight. Police stopped him along the way and with just a smile and little ego stroke,
“Officer! Well done O”
“Bros, You get something for us?”
“Oga, nothing for now O, but I dey always pass this area. I go surely see you again another day.”
“No Wahala!”
With this, he was allowed to go. He carried the bodies to his room. He decided to sell his car and buy a deep freezer, grill, a sharp knife and a shovel. This was how business started.

He sold Suya at the front of his house, N300 for a stick. It was worth it. Big and tasty, the meat having a secret unique taste customers couldn’t quite fathom.
From a fat person, he could get like 15 grand after selling all pieces including liver and kidney. Slim, he could get like 8 Grand. He was making a profit because he didn’t need to pay for the meat, unlike those mallams who had to buy goats, cattle, chicken for their business. He got his free and it was the only quality Suya Spot in that area so people patronised.

He became a big time Suya guy, employed some workers and told them his secrets getting them to sign a Confidentiality Agreement before they could work for him. He threatened to kill their children if they ever spilled his secret.
They kept quiet.

This was how Nwobu Bobby Gerald Richman became the Suya Butcher, selling people to people.
He became a multimillionaire.

The End


“Forgive Me Father, For I Am Sin”
The Father thought he had heard him wrongly or perhaps, he made a mistake in his speech.
“Son, what is troubling you?”
“I Am Sin” He said again.
“We are all sinners and we have fallen short of the Glory of God, but He gives us a chance to repent from our sins”.
“SHUT UP FATHER!! I am Your Sin.. Your Sin Father!”
He felt a sharp pain in His belly. Butterflies.
His heart quickened.
“What do you mean by that son… My sin…” He tried to sound composed and unperturbed by the outburst of the person on the other end of the confession stand..

“Pastor, I see the way you look at me..” The voice coming from the other end had changed to that of a woman.
“… I know the way you look at me Pastor. Your lust…”
“What is this Madness! Who Are You??” His heart was beating so fast he thought he was gonna have a heart attack.
” I am your lust for Sister Rebecca. Your lust…”
He never told anyone about his attraction to Sister Rebecca but he had sexual fantasies of the Nun.
“Pastor, Pastor,… I know You want to fuck me don’t you Pastor! You want to fuck my wet pussy.. Don’t you Pastor..” The Pastor felt a feeling of shame and embarrassment within and tried to open the confession door to see who was on the other side but it was sealed shut.

The voice changed again, still feminine but this time, more assertive. He recognised the voice! It was from Helen… A supermodel that came to his church. She was always in a skirt that showed a bit of thigh, enough to get blood pumping in your crotch area.
“Pastor, you know you want me. You want to raise my skirt up, rip my panties apart and fuck me all night long.. Don’t you Pastor? I know you have magazines of me in your house and you have your way with your self when no one is watching. I know because I am your Sin!”

….Its time for offering. You are not giving to me but to God, your Father in Heaven so that He could bless you and reward you…
This time, It was his own voice reciting those words although coming from the other side.
“What is the meaning of this??” tear filling his eyes.
“I AM YOUR GREED Pastor! Your greed! You know and I know that God does not need anybody’s money. YOU DO! YOU FUCKING DO! You are a LIAR PASTOR.. ADMIT IT!”
“No! No! I’m Not! I am just following the protocol…”
This time, the voice had become deep; masculine; Evil.

The door barged open and he could feel heavy wind on his skin.
He couldn’t breathe because of the overwhelming fear in his heart. It felt like a hand was gripping tightly on his neck; suffocating him. He fell to the ground and was crawling out of the confession room, not having the courage to look at the facade of the evil tormenting him. Laughter was coming from behind him, transitioning from a man laughing to a woman,to a child, to a malevolent being.

Tears flowed down his cheeks as he urinated in his pants, still crawling on his hands and knees.
“I repent… I repent… Please…”

The wind stopped and everything seemed back to normal. It took him a while to gather the courage to look behind him.
It was empty. Nothing there.
His body was quivering like someone with Parkinson’s disease. He poured himself some Communion wine and took large gulps to calm his frayed nerves down. He took deep breaths and his racing heart lowered its rate. Before He could gather up his thoughts and rationalise what happened, he saw two women sitting near the entrance of the church making out. One, dressed as a nun and the other, a white sleeveless dress with red skirt.
They were kissing ferociously, squeezing each other, moaning as if possessed. They ripped each others clothes off and started ripping pieces of flesh from each other’s skins. They didn’t notice the Pastor transfixed by what he was seeing till he mistakenly kicked the bottle of wine and it shattered on the ground.
They paused then looked at each other then turned at the same time to look at the Pastor..

He was in complete shock when He saw their faces.
He recognised them!
It was Sister Rebecca and Helen.
Suddenly, He knew it wasn’t them; just the Evil around toying with him. This was not what shocked him. What shocked Him were their faces. Their eyes, pure black like the 8 ball of a Snooker game. They had already clawed pieces of flesh from each others faces and they had deep red marks. Tribal Marks like the Nigerians called it on their faces. Before he could react, the two demons disappeared and appeared right in front of him!
He fell on the shards of glass from the broken wine bottle, piercing his back in several places.
He screamed!
A force, not the girls ripped his robe off leaving only a crucifix on his neck. He couldn’t move.
“Pastor… Pastor…You want my wet hot pussy don’t you? DONT YOU??” Rebecca started sucking on his penis, his body stuck still to the ground.
Even with the fear and the commotion happening around him, he couldn’t resist the natural boner that came from stimulation of his member.
When he became less flaccid, Rebecca stopped sucking, and Helen sat on him.
“THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT PASTOR!! Ahhhhhh! Yes! Pastor! FUCK ME HARD! Yes!!. Aaaaa! ooooh Yes…”
“Noo!!!!!!” the Pastor yelled.
“God save me from this!!!!!!”
“GOD IS NOT HERE!! YOU CHASED HIM AWAY” Rebecca replied…with the evil masculine voice again.
“This is your lust! Your curse!”
“Noo!! Forgive Me Lord! Nooo!! I repent… Pleeassee…”
“Yes!! Yes!! I am a fraud!!! I am a sinner! Pleeaassee!! Oh Pleeasse!!”

With his admission, they both disappeared. The Pastor laid there, semen sliding down his erect phallus to his pubic hair.
A broken man.
He was in shock.
Unfortunately, the Pastor didn’t recover from the shock of what he experienced.
He was later transferred into the asylum.
All he says now is “I’m a Sinner..I’m a Sinner” repeatedly in a monotone with a blank face; Staring into space; mind forever locked on the scene on the rutting women.



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