Friday, December 25.
Dear mother,
Nothing thrills me more than seeing beautiful families coming in and out of places like supermarkets, churches, restaurants, etc. It’s Christmas and everyone’s happy. I love their happiness. I thrive off it.
The contortion of a face has always amazed me. How does a face go from jollity to sheer agony in a matter of minutes?
Look, the father carries the daughter in the air in pure happiness. He was throwing and catching her as if she weighed nothing. I could almost look through the little girl’s eyes as she ascends the air and then falls to the waiting grasp of her father. Not once did she imagine that she could fall down and die. The look on her face was that of trust. Pure trust like that in the bible with Jesus Christ and his miracles. Trust is such a massively given word that weighs absolutely nothing. Once broken it can never be repaired. The mother swooned as her loving husband showed his love by pecking her on the cheek in the sight of everyone. He had no secrets hidden in the darkest part of a cupboard. He is the pure of heart. Blessed are they for they shall see God. Some people won’t, I’m afraid. Theirs is an appointment with the devil.
I have the privilege of working with people. Day after day from dawn to dusk. I crave to be with them, that’s why I got a job in a super market as a security officer. I meet different kinds of people with different kind of characters every day. This has given me perspective in the way I look at things.
I said to my dead mother yesterday that I must write about my life. But I must think first before I write. It is an odd idea for a person like me to keep a diary. I was never one to write. I had no reason to. Until now.
Upon reflection, I have realized that my life has been embellished with lies from start to finish. It has become such a defining pattern for me that it has moved beyond the boundaries of sin. I believe that is why I must tell the truth in this short diary. I owe it to my mother who has raised me right. If my diary falls into your hands and you open each page to view what you’d describe as horrors, don’t presume to judge. With a rational mind, read it from the beginning to the latter end. Perhaps then you might understand the truthfulness in my motives. I am entirely responsible for my sins. I blame it not on anybody. I have lived my entire life in a perpetual state of acceptance.
So I stood this day, by the entrance to the supermarket. I am an asset to the company. The manager has told me this countless times. That’s why I’m being paid well above anyone else in my field. All the customers love me and I love them in return. Some could say I’m the face of the super market. People see me and think, “What does this man have to offer?” then they step into me and are satisfied. But then there are some, scavengers and crows, who waits to eat off the face that I am. They have it all, mind you. From the fanciest cars to the finest clothes and above all else, they look entirely happy. No matter how rich they become and how much wealth they amass they are not satisfied. Those rich amorous women in their fancy cars who want the thrill of their lives. My mother did raise me right and that is why I look to myself alone to deliver justice for their unknowing husbands and pure hearted children.
One stared at me. To her, she believed me to be handsome. Oh, she walked towards me and shook my hand.
“Have a nice day,” I said with a smile that seemed to be plastered to my face.
But viola! She left something behind in my hand. That clever snake, she played the old trick. There in my hand was a piece of paper containing her contact. Oh, I will call. She most definitely will have the time of her life.
Yours ever, evermore.

Thanks for reading. The story will unfold in the comment section below. but I'd love your support if you got the book directly from the publication platform in the link below
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/872598

LightQueen fattprince

Saturday, December 26
Dear mother,
I was closest to the clock in my little cell of an apartment. It was almost six. I had called the contact, given her an address and patiently waited for her to arrive. Don't judge me. Please don't. I am not a home wrecker. She came to me. Yes, she did.
It's the season not for jollity but for death. For death indeed has its season. The amorous woman would be with me soon. I closed my eyes to recall her voice as it called mine sexy. It was a horrible voice. Like the screeching of blade on steel. I am proud that I am the caretaker of justice. Justice that is served hot in the dead of night.
Tick tock went the clock. The hands were perfectly vertical like a blade. It was six o'clock sharp and the sharpness was telling. I heard the honking of her car on the driveway. Finally, she had come. I quickly checked the room to make sure my small apartment was presentable then I put on my mask of cheer and opened the door. There she stood, the horrible crooked hag. I was enchanted and bewitched at how her mind worked. She was looking me up and down. Possibly eating me up already. Her hunger was insatiable, impatient, a dying need to commit adultery.
"I trust the journey was okay," I said.
"Oh yes. Yes it was," The voice said.
"Do come in."
My room looked like a shrine with the many candle lights littered everywhere. In the flickering light her body was sensuous. She pulled down her robe not even waiting for me to lock the door. Out of decency, I quickly rushed to lock the door. While in the process of latching close the seventh bolt, I felt her fingers round my waist.
"Ah," She purred.
I turned to look at her. Her eyes were a pool of black. Her body's unclothedness was revolting. I had to hold back for my sake. But I knew the part that I had to play, and play I did.
“Tell me,” I said with a low voice. A voice so low, it seemed to drone on and on. “Tell me, what it is you so desire?” My lips were very close to her neck. I could feel the throbbing of bodily fluids flowing through her artery.
“I-I want…” she stammered. She looked me in the eye. “I want you.”
“Really?” I said. “And what is it you want from me?”
“I want—I need your hands touching me.” She held my hands and placed it on her waist. She drew it lower and lower until it lingered close to her precious flower. “Ahh…” she sighed.
I closed my eyes, my lips close to hers. I nibbled her ear lobes tenderly and watched in pleasure as her body trembled as if racked by a shivering cold.
“Is that all you want?”
“No!” she screamed. She looked at me with eyes wide and wild. I began to ponder what manner of life she’d been forced to endure for so long with her husband that had left her so insatiable. She drew me close to her. So close in fact that every part of my body was crushed on hers. So close that I could feel every wisp of her breath on my face.
“I want you. Every sensual part of you. I want you to make me yours.” She grabbed me and kissed me longingly. It seemed I was sucking the slime off slobbering maggots.
I drew her apart. I didn’t force it so that she would not detect a trace of reluctance. I was already sexually thrilled by the prospect of what I was about to do.
The weather was cold and dry. I moved the hag to my bed room where a big bed dominated the tiny space of the Spartan apartment.
The hag climbed the bed and curled on it like a snake. She looked at me with those black eyes and watched as I slowly undid the button of my shirt. Being ever the seducer, I undid the buttons slowly. Letting her eyes linger on my hairy muscle toned chest. She licked her lips with pleasure. I reached the hag and held her face between my hands, glorying in the ugliness that radiated from those features and wondering how contorted they would become any moment from now. She desired pleasure and I was to introduce her to the pleasures of desire. Desire in all its salacious forms. She clung to me, her hands on my chest. She began slowly to kiss and then caress each nipple with her tongue. She opened her eyes and made a little gasp as though astonished by something quite unexpected and beautiful. I felt her body tremble. She couldn’t possibly be going into orgasm, could she?
“You are so perfect,” She whispered against my ear.
I couldn’t say the same. There was indeed, a limit to my lies. In answer, I brought my face to hers and kissed her until her mind couldn’t form words any longer.
She brought her hands to my shaft and began to stroke it erotically. She suddenly separated the kiss with a touch of a finger to my lips. She began slowly to UnCloth me. I let her take the lead. She took off my jean trousers completely and threw it as far away as she could. Then she placed me on the bed. That blood soaked bed. But how was she to know under the dim candle light that the bed was soaked with the blood of others before her. She sat on my abdomen and began to rub her kitten against my abs. she began moaning with pleasure. She grabbed my hands and placed it on her privates. It was deep, warm and dripping wet. My fingers were all but sucked inside.
“Oooh,” She moaned.
Then she mounted me and used her hands to slip me inside her. Once she had every inch of me in hers, she began to slowly rock her hips on my pelvis. As she moved, she let out low soft sounds from the bottom of her throat. It seemed to resonate with the rhythm of the movement of her hips on mine. I opened my eyes and tried to mentally separate myself from the scene
. Her vagina was warm indeed, but then it was also ice cold from one too many sins. I was not her first and definitely not her last. But I will be. Oh, I surely will. My erection grew larger and harder not at the figure riding atop me, but as the prospect of my baleful intentions began to unfold in my imagination like light bursting through the gloom of a tunnel. I felt I was about going beyond simple sexual pleasure and towards something divine. And then I felt her arrive at her pinnacle. She fell down hard on my chest. Her strength well spent. She was asleep almost instantly and I let her be so. I went to the bathroom and sighed as the shower washed away every grime, sweat and sin. I toweled myself until my skin was raw red.
The sex was hot and heated, but it was just that. Moments later, I looked from where I sat in the darkened corner of the room. Where tiny traces of candle light could not penetrate. There she was, sprawled on the bed. She was asleep. She had no idea that her hands and legs were chained to the bed like Davinci’s drawing of the Vitruvian man. But soon she would wake up and then her smiling face would give me the pleasure of contortion. Sometimes, I believe that God put each of us in this world for a reason. The balance of good and evil should forever be maintained. It is my job to ensure that the balance is maintained. Yes, I find insane pleasure doing it, but I believe that anything worth doing is worth doing well.
Don’t condemn me; remember that I am only too human.
Yours ever, evermore.

Next comes the torture scene. but I'll post that tomorrow so stay with me to the very end

I dey your back as always bro

FOLLOWING

Sunday, December 27.
Dear mother,
Am I a bad man for choosing to punish others? To take them into account of their wrong doings? Even God punishes others, but does that make him a bad God? His worshippers throng to him by the multitude in obeisance to the mention of his name, while death lies deep in the darkness peering. Long he stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting and pondering the names he should touch and those he shouldn’t. I have no fear of death as I have no fear of God. We would all die one day. But one day is a day too many. Some people who call themselves the emissaries of the most high, who sit at the front row seats and kick off the service with the opening prayer, they, in fact are the sick sinners. But then as death begins to reveal himself to them in age, they call upon his face and truly change their ways. But I reckon it’s the telling of senility on their brains. How can a man be born again? To leave their appointment with the devil and come to be with you in paradise? I will not allow it. Imagine living in a heaven filled with sinners. Because trust me, once a sinner always a sinner. And sinners are the pioneers of destruction.
Why do people struggle when they are about to die? They would die one way or another. No one lives forever. So why panic when it surely wouldn’t help? I make it my business to make sure that these appointments are kept sooner rather than later. Why bother postponing the inevitable? People always say that we live today then die tomorrow, but tomorrow is today and today is tomorrow.
I heard the rattling of chains; I looked towards the hag then looked away. I was busy reading The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe, and I must say, Edgar is quite the word smith. I heard a low moaning cry then followed by the furious clanking of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes. I had to listen to it. Each sound was its own music. In order to enjoy it more, I put down my book and listened. I didn’t dare breathe. I didn’t want to interrupt the precious stream of sound.
When the struggle wore out, I picked up my book and began to read aloud. Much to the misery of my audience.
“The eyes was open. Wide, wide open. I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it distinctly all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it. It chilled the very marrow in my bones. I could see nothing else of the old man’s face or body, because I had directed the lantern’s ray precisely upon the vulture’s eye…”
Loud shrill screams suddenly burst forth from the throat of the chained form. It puzzled me for an instant. It was as if the book had come alive. I came to my feet and advanced towards the hag. Her eyes was fixed on mine. It was pleading. She tried struggling again but knew it to be of no use. I went to my drawer and drew out an old box from the bottom drawer. The box contained a long gnarly piece of wood. It was roughly sharpened to a point. I pried open the box and brought out my instrument of torture. I went to the kitchen and cleansed the wood with salted water in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
Then I moved towards my room to the woman chained to the bed. I opened the door ever slightly, making sure it made the peculiar squeal that announced my entry.
I advanced towards her with an evil glint in my eye. She tried struggling again and again and again. Her unclothedness was revolting. But that feeling was exactly the response that I needed from her. I trailed the wood on her bare flesh. From the tip of her toes to her knees, her thighs, the wood lingered on her navel for a while. I could see that despite the horrors that were being committed, the woman was beginning to get aroused.
From somewhere far away, I could hear the barking of a dog. It echoed against the dark empty street.
I travelled my wood through her plump breasts and on her throat, it lingered yet again. I watched as she squealed when I applied pressure to that spot. She thought that I was going to kill her there and then. Oh, she had no idea…
Then without warning, I plunged the wood deep into her instrument of sin. The wood met flesh, soft and raw, and made a satisfying squish as the tip sank deep enough for blood to flow. A harsh stifled yell filled her lungs and escaped into the farthest reaches of my brain, creating a chemical reaction that was equal in strength to an orgasm. I twisted the wood in my hands, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper. Her skin was tearing to shreds as the wood rotated, the sound of her muscle and nerves being gouged growing louder, Louder, LOUDER! Then, without warning, I jerked it as deep as it could possibly go, applying all the strength I had to my hands. I felt tired by the sheer effort of the exercise, but it was gratifying. Oh, it was…
Her legs and the bed sheets were dripping with blood. She lay there, unmoving, silent. Was she dead? I placed my ear next to her nose and listened. I could hear her panting softly. I looked at her on the bed and knew that my work was far from over.
Within an hour, I’d plunged the sanctified wood into the deep reaches of her privates till blood flowed from them. It gave so great a pleasure that I found myself reaching the pinnacle of sexual satisfaction. I looked towards her and found out that she no longer struggled to be free. But she could not die. No, she couldn’t. Not whilst she could still create more and more memories for me. For as Aristotle said, “Memory is the scribe of the soul.”
Yours ever, evermore.

Wednesday, December 30.
Dear mother,
Today is New Year’s Eve. I wish I didn’t have to enter another bloody year on this earth. But if I choose not to, my position would be left vacant. But I would so long to be with you again. Wherever you are. I’m beginning to find what I do too pleasing for comfort. I have loved with a love that was more than love. That was more than desire. It was I fear, sin. Sometimes I feel I am becoming like them and need to be punished myself. But you are there and I am here. I feel this to be a portentous sign that you and I shall soon be reunited.
The day is ever brash and forever angry at us. It punishes us, punishes our land. It screams and cries and with its tears, wets our land. Perhaps it’s a sign, like one of the many preacher’s prophecies that the end is near. But I’ve always known that. My life is littered with clues to that. I believe myself and others like me to be the panacea that rids the world of infidelity. Though my philosophy may be challenging to most, but like gods, I cannot live my life to the dictates of mortals. There are many like myself. This much I have said. But for the sake of anyone reading this, they should know how I am what I am.
I was born pure like most. People always said I had admirable features. I didn’t care so long as it was a compliment. People always seemed to put fine people on a pedestal vis-à-vis the ugly. They didn’t give credence to the gems buried beneath the supposed ugly people. I could forever list out cogent reasons to support this but I am not here to debate. I am here to give reasons as to why I am what I am.
I am a security officer in a supermarket. It’s quite lowly. I do not complain. I was never born for it. I graduated successfully, applied in successful companies and my acceptance into those companies would have been the beginning of my success. But there was one condition. One condition I could never consider. I was expected to sleep with the bosses at the top who happened to be all females. I did not have reservations about doing this as a result of religious inhibitions. I was not exactly a believer myself. I just did not like to be used. But my opinions were never taken into consideration because I was never offered a job. Because I chose not to satisfy their sexual fantasies. Because I chose not to encourage their infidelity.
Hence my admirable features became a curse. So I throw a question at God, is it a crime to be born fine? In fact I could not get a decent job no matter how hard I looked or how ugly I tried to look. I scarred myself, yes I did. But that did not change a thing. It was always ever the same thing. A curse! Alas I had to take a job in a super market. The manager happened to be a woman as usual but bless my soul, she was old and graying. Every hour drew her nearer to her grave. So I’ve worked there and been afraid to leave ever since. I am not angry at God. I picture it to be a sign. He was calling me to do what I do. People always undermined me and what I did, but sometimes it’s the very people who no one imagines anything of who do the things no one can imagine.
I looked towards the chained figure on the bed. I had starved her since then and now she truly looked like a sack of bones. There she was, a bony figure on the bed with each gleaming rib ridges on her chest. She was not sensual in any way. She looked exactly like the hag of fairy tales. I had kept her alive with little drops of water every day and night. I made sure I saw to her punishment. And she screamed and screamed. Sometimes I feared she would be heard but I sometimes wondered why a nosy neighbor had never stopped to knock. Perhaps they believed I was doing amorous deeds. Which ironically, I was.
Finally, by the beginning of the New Year as the fireworks lit up the sky, I looked to the features of the dying woman. I could see that she heard the sound. Perhaps, she strained to see it. But she won’t. In fact, she won’t see the New Year. Oh, dear mother. Dear, dear mother. I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good. But this I must do. This I must do mother, for the greater good.
“Please. Pleeease,” She wheezed. She really didn’t have the voice to speak. I looked directly into her face until I had captured every detail in my mind. I leaned so close to that face and breathed in the smell emanating from her. It smelled of fear. But why fear? All that we see or seem is nothing but dreams within a dream. So we live in a looped spell, an intoxicated dreamer.
“Sleep my dear, sleep, for dark days lie ahead,” I said. Then I placed my fingers around her neck and squeezed.
Yours ever, evermore.

I hope you enjoyed reading this.

tobstarizhia:
LightQueen fattprince

Thanks for the mention

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