It was our first tryst outside the boundaries of friendship. Well, we've been friends for unnecessarily too long. It was all going to be over in couple of minutes, i thought as i swerved the Impala to a sharp left at a bend on the freeway.


We had everything all laid-out this time, 'cause unlike our previous meets we a'int gonna be friends but something more. And as i inched closer to the rendezvous--- one of his safe room on the outskirts of town, i can't help but fantasies on the orgy things that could possibly spawn from our secret meet.


Once at the rendezvous, i slammed down hard on the brake, honking twice before bringing the idling engine to a final stop with one final twist at the key in the ignition. That done, i took one final look at the rearview mirror, making sure there were no smudges on the makeup i had earlier made.


In a flying seconds, my knight in shining armor was out the door of the rectangular safe room, dressed in all-glory in his hallmark three-piece bespoke suit, glossy italian leathered loafer and IPS spitfire watch. His dark mop of hair was permed and combed straight back. And the most ravishing of his features---his dark-brown, penetrating eyes were radiant as ever, as he took me all in one clean sweep of those overbearing eyes.

As always my heart skips a beat. This was the effect this all-too-perfect man had on me. i'm a jumbled mess of a queasy feel and elation around him. Ain't it strange that someone can make you feel the both at the same time?

Wasting no time, he had the door yanked wide-open for me, turning an all-angelic smile on me. And before my brain could process it, he swept me off my feet with such knightly grace while also dipping his head to touch a tender spot on my neck.

"You're right on time. What kind of a woman does that?" He breathed against my neck.

"The kind that hates to make a man wait." I replied with a giggle.

"Very well then. You must know I hate to wait." That said, he trudged back in while I hung limply within the comfort of his arms.

The redolent fragnance of an incense hit me hard once we're within the secure walls of the safe room. And to further accent this, he had this little sort of surprise waiting for me. The room, big yet spartan was dipped by the soft, flickering glows of candles arranged in such a way that reminds me of a scene I've once seen in a movie.

"Who go out all the way to do this?" I asked, a little thrown-off by the decors.

"Any man will go out the way to surprise you, darling." He said with a smug look. "Enough of the talks!"

He closed the gap between us in one big stride, and struck swift as an asp, as he sealed my lips with his itching own. At first, it was a mild kiss, with our mouth moving gently in-sync. But as seconds blossomed into minutes, we tend to get a little eager and hungrier. His tongue fumbled deeper into my mouth gently but coaxingly. And needing no clap in the back, I responded by giving back all I've got.

In the moments that followed, I found myself leaning closer to him, taking the length of his full rich lips into mine, and like Oliver Twist wanting to be touched all at once. Unlike me, he held his ground, focusing all his attention on the massive massage on both our mouths.

"Take me all for yourself." I groaned into the kiss, knowing well I can't take it any longer.

Taking that up as a clue, he ventured further, dragging a hasty hands over my shoulders, down to the small of my back, and way up the ladder of my spinal column, where he located the zipper of my gown and unerringly dragged down the sliding tab.

With his eyes locked on mine, and our mouths moving in unison of their own accords, he had me swimming out of my gown in one fluid motion, and banked as an adept pilot would his flight at the sight of an obstacle from kissing to kneading. He scooped the length of my breasts in his deft hands, fiddling mercilessly away with both twin mounds of flesh.

My hormones were triggered off at once, my body going rigid as a doll's, as the first undulating waves of sexual gratifitication hit me hard. My teats stood on straight ends almost instantly, threatening to peer out the shut windows of my cupped, cottoned-bra. It was only a matter of time before they were definitely freed from the confines of my limited edition bra, as his guided fingers found the loops of my bra from behind. The twins cheered on shamelessly, itching for the callused-touch of his hands.

He took each eager twin in both his hands, rubbing the pad of his fingers over them in a seamless concentric circles. And the tender his touches over them, the harder they got. I was literally squirming all over with pleasure while the first wave of orgasm pulse through me. It was a familiar yet a stranger feeling, and got me almost doubling over in pure ecstatic joy.

He continued the pleasurable torture anyway, his tongue now lapping way down my groin, which was all bunched up in eager yearning, while his hands continued the gentle massage on the twin above.

Lost in the in-between---the place I can only reach through such joyous moment as this, I had little idea his teeth was sawing through my pants, nor any nuance whatsoever at the warmth that washed over me once his mouth was hovering right over my button. Before I could get my bearing back, he was lapping hard at my plate, making me moan out loud in pleasureable pain.
I grew wet on instant, shaking convulsively on the spot like I had suffered a seizure, while he took me close to the edge of another orgasm, through the pain he was inflicting on me with his tongue.

He took the pre-intimacy to a whole new level by dipping his middle finger into the soft tissue of my sex. I responded well also, grinding my moist sex hard against his skilled hand.

This went on for what seemed like forever, and its effect had me reeling and out of breath, as my mind had become jumbled from the good head I was having.

In no time, we were grappling at each other like our lives depended so much on it, shuffling the few paces over to the waiting embrace of the Queen's size bed. I watched lewdly from my position on the bed, as he shed every layers of his clothings, practically ogling over his manliness. The way his well-chiseled abs and pecs heaved like a pendulum ball was quite a sight. And the noticeable bulge at his groin had me running out of breath once more. He was such a great piece of art. A masterpiece.

In one quick motion, he shimmied out of his briefs, taking up the reins that was my breasts and straddling me with his six-foot-two frame. I felt the harsh sensation of penetration way before his cock struck between the wall of my sex. And once in, every building blocks of my defense came tumbling as I holloaed in joy.
He moved in precision with every thrusts; the tip of his cock rubbing at my core, while his hands fumbled around with my breasts. He gained on speed by the seconds, homing in on my core at the impossible rate of a mamba.

I funked deeper against the bed with each massive pound. My gearing wheels shifted places in time, to set me yet on a new stint of orgasm. The feelings bubbled over at some point, and I felt a new warmth washed over me as I came in syrupy squirt of cum.
Knowing well that I had come, he went on relentlessly, either of us unwilling to give up easily, as we traded blow for blow, and each thrust with a counter.

Long last, the momentum slackened a bit and he came undone and almost out of breath, pouring his hot lava into my worked mould.

Bleary, I stole a look at him. And that alone was the clue needed for me to know we're not done yet.

Much to my delight, he rolled me over in one swift motion of his hands, and had the table turned to my favour. Soon afterwards, the manntle of authority was placed on my tiny little shoulders and I bet I didn't flounder as I ride right on top him. I followed his every move, grinding hard on the length of his ramrod, which kept knifing head-on through my sex.

I moved in a rhythm so ethereal as much as it was ecstatic, making him feel the full force of the power at my beck. Making him feel the realest of sexual sensation. Making love to him in the one true almighty way.

I went on slow and steady, siddling to the silent hums of our love making. Dancing in tune to the moans escaping both our mouths. Lost in the mirth of joyous love-making.

I woke up to the feel of his hot breath against my face, entangled in the comfy webs of his arms. I had slept off after the long hard night. And I can still whiff at the lingering sweaty-smell of our bodies from the romp from last night. And worse, I felt my body ache all over.

Yeah, I have had my best sleep in years. But still, it was no lasting cure to the pains I felt in my joints. It was the longest I've had through the bulk of my life. And I'm guessing I had more orgasms than I've ever had through my entire span. Moreso, my best bet is I can't possibly shake the thoughts of last night from my head. Not ever!

I disentangled from his tending tentacles, propped myself up on my elbows in my attempt to get off of the bed. And once I'm half way out of bed, my eyes strayed to the nightstand, which seats my wedding band. I don't know how, but at the sight of it a smug smile crept into my features in the half-length mirror.

It was strange I knew it. Even wrong to feel no remorse after what I have done. But since I cared less, I padded into the privy, never daring a look back at the ring, or my perfect piece of art still tucked in bed.

The water from the showerhead landed down hard on my back in torrents. And funny enough, I wished the waters could washed away my sins. But for the most part, I wished it stayed forever this way if it was my only chance at fulfilling the dreams of the woman in me. And I bet you, I'll keep at it if this was my only shot at being happy.

Like most people, I knew I'm a sinner. But unlike many, I've got everything I've asked of life, except this one thing. I'm married to this mongul in town, but unhappy if anything. And for the most part of our so called union, I've been unable to get my man to treat me as a woman. He was all about business and not pleasure. And I guess as woman as I am, that's the worst of all torture.

So here I am fixing things up for myself. Being treated as a queen and seen for who I really am by another man. Well, you can go on and call me any names, but you'd better know I've learnt not to feel the brunt force of your critiscm. And I guess you should know better than to judge me, cause we're all SINNING.

Cross-dressing

I don't used to be like this. I used to be a plain Jane, dressed up like normal girls, act like normal girls, and hang out like most girls do. The only change to the script came couple years back, just when I was supposed to hit twenty-one.

Growing up for me has always been a tardy thing, that when I was nine or so, I thought I hit a growth spurt. While unable to keep it all in, I was forced to ask my Ma this million-dollar question one fine evening:

"Who created me, Mum? Is it God or did I just evolve from nothing like science folks believe?"

Caught off-guard, my mom stuttered out her own question. "Why do you even ask that question, pumpkin?"

"'Cos I think I'm different. I think I'm a Martian or something. I feel entirely different from the rest of the kids at school and in our neighborhood. I think something is wrong with me." I gushed out deliriously, feeling the rush of tears threatening to break.

My mom being her rose to the occasion, trying to calm me down and set me straight. But I couldn't listen to any more of her lame excuses, so I walked out on her that very day.

You can blame me all you want, but you wouldn't have possibly understand what it is to be me. You wouldn't understand how it is to feel inferior and insignificant wherever you go. You can't possibly understand what it was like for me to be just a scrawny, tiny, freckled-face girl amidst the host of Gigantaurus at school and home.

I thought my life was a living hell until when at twelve I started noticing something very odd in me. Like normal young adults, I had begun my 'womanly cycle' at age eleven, and that was indeed a relief. And for once then, I had the sinking feeling I was at least normal to some extent. But That little hope modest as it was came crumbling down when I see most of my friends protruding teats, and from there, full-blown breasts.

It never occurred to me as a dilemma. Never. I had it in mind then that it was normal. Believed mine will come only at God's pace and time. But when at seventeen, there was still nothing to show for it. Only then did I know there was a problem somewhere.

And to better my chances with others, I had to come up with a plan. I hid my infirmities well, and got myself a triple-padded bra, if there's ever one call that. This bought me some nice outings with friends and pals. And through all the glitz and cruise I always do forget my worries.

And as it is wIth most things, it did brought me sorrow one night. I was at a bash one day with some friends, when things started getting heated between me and some dude in a corner. He was a new guy in town with the 'Bread and looks', and he had seemed interested in me at first sight.

Guess I can be thankful for one thing. And that's; my attractiveness. Despite the midget statuesque and all, I can proudly say none of my so called friends could stand up to me in beauty. And that's where it ends. Beauty and nothing else.

And here's the catch, after frolicking and kissing for some time. Betcha know what youths do these days. He started getting physically involved with me, teasing my earlobes with the tip of his tongue, caressing my legs up to my thighs, and tracing a hand down my neck.

I was at once mesmerized by him. And I literally melt into him, aching for his soft-to-the-touch fingers to reach down to where it really matter the most.

And as if reading my mind, he lunged for my breast, stealing a hand inside my gown, to take hold of my breasts. And as if jolting from a trance, I reacted a bit harshly, kicking and thrashing at him. At that point in time did I know I had messed up everything for him. And the rising temperature dropped at once.

After that little indulgence of my impulse, I dashed out of there, screaming profanities on my way out like a rabid dog. I had thought I could act normal, lived normal and do things like normal girls do. But I had learnt the hard way there was a clear line between me and other girls.

I have had other awful moments at some point before that, mostly in the privy, or at times in the locker room, or even worse during our swimming classes. But that one night changed everything for me, as I began drifting away from social gatherings like a cloud. And my once devil-may-care spirit withered into nothingness. And was transformed into an introverted sucker.

But at twenty-one, I learnt to fight my fight the hard way. Learnt to make a lemonade out of the lemon life had dealt me. After sulking for years and withdrawing from the outside world for far too long, hoping I would grow a breast, I'm back again. Not as the old me, but as a better version of me.

So, if you see me in pants, bandanas, and boy's T-shirts, don't blame me. If you see me hanging out with boys, don't say a thing. If you see me playing hoops and and doing other manly things, don't you point a finger at me. Yeah.. I'm a cross-dresser, and I don't give a shit what you think of me. I don't give a flying Bleep if you agree with me or not. All I do know is, I'm done being a sucker for life. I'm done being ridiculed, so done with being gossiped on. And I guess if I don't fit into your world. I'm doing fine here with this new world of mine.

Though I can very much affirms to the saying that goes: "our very infirmities are blessings in disguise." I can as well scream Bleep THE WORLD! Bleep THOSE bitchy friends of mine! And more importantly, 'Who needs breasts when you got Six-packs abs?'

Assisted killing

My hands are stained with blood. And no matter how much I washed or scrubbed it off of my hands, it's always there to remind me of what I've done, what a monster I am. I'm a sinner. And the worst sinner of all. A true manifestation of hell in flesh. A murderer who killed his brother. A carrier of the mark of Cain.

But before you start pointing fingers at me or casting me hostile glances. I think you may need to hear me out first.

You must have heard of soldiers giving their comrades coup-de-grace on the battlefield. And may sometimes think, well, that's a fair thing to do.

Well, in my case I think killing my brother is also a fair thing to do. And I hope God in his infinite mercy can forgive my soul.

My brother Anthony had been beseted with an early offense of Alzheimer's at forty-two. And like it does happen in most cases with Alzheimer's, his memory was at first impaired. And as it progresses, his thoughts became jumbled, so as his speech and other things that came with human functionality. His conditions worsen at a rate that even top-notch doctors and clinicians found unexplainable. And with it, his world came crumbling down. He lost almost everything from his wife to his children and properties. And as if that was not enough, we both lost our mother during those hard times.

Withdrawn entirely from society due to his helplessness, he begged and prayed for his death, which wouldn't come.

Robbed of options, he was forced to make the bold move. He resorted to be flown from the wild west over to my side at Washington, D.C. where he would have his final wish granted.

And when he confronted me with the idea of assisted killing, I flipped, foaming in the mouth and telling him straight to his face there's no way in hell I would agree to that. I bet that was expected of any sane brother.

But after much consideration, and knowing that he had come from the deep West to Washington, where it was legal to carry out assisted killing to sign his death, I later agreed to this.

I know it was insane. But since I don't have much say in the matter. I agreed to the assisted killing of my brother, carried out at Washington General.

'Euthanasia', they called it. But I know deep down it was more than that. And ever since I can't seem to shake the thoughts of being part of the orgy ordeal. I can't help the pang of guilt that had since shrouded my soul. And I never think I could forgive myself.

So, blame me If you will. Cast the stone and lemme have all the dAmnAtion. I guess I'm worthy of it all.

As Electra watched her staggered to her feet, all bloodied and clobbered, she felt a feeling so strong and as well alien to her. Although alien and strange as the feeling was, she could place her finger on it and tell what it was. It was something she had known before. Something she had thought she was never capable of again. She had felt pity for her. And even Compassion. Traits she was not allowed to exhibit in her line of work. A weakness she was not supposed to show. She was a cold-blooded killer. An Elite soldier of the Special Ops. Code-named “Eagle claw”. And she had been programmed to pull the trigger first with no remorse or emotion.

And the worst thing of all was she had hesitated. After training her Magnum Firearm at her, ready to put her down for good, she had been unable to squeeze the trigger.

Hesitation equals death, she tried saying that mantra to herself over and over silently, willing strength into her hand and trying to steady her shaky fingers wrapped around the gun, yet she couldn’t afford to do it still.

She pried into her memory bank, trying to remind herself who she was, trying to remind herself she was the fearless Electra—the harbinger of death. She tried convincing herself that what she was about to do was right. That this was not her first time killing someone. Tried to make herself realize that the world needs less of this cockbag standing right before her. But still, her fingers wouldn’t move.

“C’mon get this over with,” The other lady, careening on her feet said through her teeth. “Are you getting cold feet, now? Don’t you have the balls, anymore? Killing machine, Is that not what you’re supposed to be?”

Electra felt her knees go weak from under her with those words. Felt hot tears welling in her eyes and brimming up to the surface. Noticed her body go numb. Sensed her grip slackening around the gun and watched it clattered to the ground. And for the first time in many years, she cried.

Sizing her up for some moment, the lady with the visible livid bruises inched toward the spot she was, wincing with every step.

Swooping down, the much older lady retrieved the gun from the ground, emptying its chambers with apt mastery.

“You think I’m the bad guy here?” She said feebly and further added. “Of course, I’m not. It’s just that you’ve been failing to see the bigger picture here. You’re nothing but a piece in a game you don’t even know it’s been played. Do you think I’m the enemy? No, they make me the enemy. They put a fucking target on my back. Sent several agents after me.”

“And why don’t you run while you can for your life?” Electra asked between sobs.

“I didn’t run because there are some cause I believe are worth dying for.” She returned, hobbling away from her side and toward the exit. “I just hope you see that soon.”

Then she was gone.

The Hour

The hour is near!

He’d come for me. Just like he did my father and forbears.

I can see his face through slitted eyes. It was like none I had ever seen before. His head, a pale rectangular box bobbed as he shuffled toward my bed. The orbs he has for eyes in the sunken sockets at the top of his head had no hue or color whatsoever and were void and lifeless. His mouth, wide and gaping was chocked full with a set of gleaming ivories that jutted out in uneven rows and columns. Even the nose that sat at the center of his head was a big triangle hollow.

I watched feebly as he inched closer with ghostly footsteps, shrouded in a dark, ominous mantle, with a crude, savage weapon of the sort—a sickle—dangling from his cane-thinned, silvered arms.

He’d come again for another soul to reap. And this time, it was mine.

I was alone in a hospital bed. I have been there for far too long. Growing wonted with the nauseous smell of antiseptics, the chaotic cross-hairs of IV lines and tubes passed into my body, the incessant hums, and beeps of the heart monitor behind me, and even the paper-thin robe stuck to my skin.

So much that I wouldn’t have asked for anything more at the moment.

I knew he’d come to herald me into a new world—an escape from pain, tears, and the sorrows of this world. But, the mere thoughts of what I was leaving behind make me want to cling to life. Makes me want to beg for additional time.

But he wouldn’t have it, or, would he?

My daughters and sons. My fair wife. My business. My friends and associates. Would they miss me? Would they remember me? Would they say a prayer for me after I am gone?

While I was preoccupied with these thoughts, he set to work with a gentle tug at my shirt, plunging his savage sickle into my heart.

The temperature of the room must have dropped and peaked at some point after that because I felt chilled and hot within the space of a minute.

In the moments that followed, I felt pain like I have never felt before. I felt hot tears prick the back of my eyes then raced down both of my cheeks as the crescent blade of the sickle carved deeper into my heart. I felt the unpredictable discharge of urine as my heart was being kebabbed on the inside.

No pain in the world could measure up to the one I felt at the time. Not even having your heart wrapped and strapped to a razor or barbed wire, then later heated over a grill like a piece of barbeque could compare to it.

At the same time this torture was going on, I saw my life flash right in front of my own eyes in a blur. Seventy years of living flew past like a carousel frame… The mistakes… The chances untaken... The thievery… The lies... The smiles... The unrequited love… The care ungiven… All compressed into a one-minute slide.

A one-minute slide? Is that all our living was worth?

The pain goes on and on until I could feel no more. Until my tormentor was satisfied with his work. Until I couldn’t struggle anymore against his hold. Until I couldn’t writhe and thrash in pain any longer.

Oho! The smell of death was rancid in the air.

With the little life left in me, I heard the machine behind me spike with a shrill sound. Heard the footfalls of running feet. Felt someone tugging at me. No. At my robe.
Heard the cacophony of strange voices:

“Can you hear my voice, Mr. Ayub?!”

“He’s not responding, doc!…”

“Oh, we’re losing him!..”

“Oh no, he’s flat-lining, doc!…”

“I'm gonna need a defibrillator…”

“Left A-C right away…”

“B-P is ninety over twelve…”

“Respiration's at eight…”

“Okay, I'm spiking him back now…”

“You go on and grab the backboard, nurse…”

This went on until it comes to a point where I couldn’t see, hear or feel anymore… And was gone.

“Oh, no! He's gone cold…”

“No palpable pulse detected, doc…”

“Time of death:23:00 hours. 25.10.2022.”

The angel of death


Danuta Wojcik had never for once imagined the end like this. Even though she had often seen the ugliest and most horrible of nightmares, she had never seen one real and frightful as the one she was currently in. And having defied and eluded death on several occasions, she hadn’t the slightest hunch death would catch up with her in the most unlikely way.

Guess, there’s a huge difference between seeing a nightmare and being in one.

She held onto the handrail desperately, watching as other passengers in the vehicle were tossed and flung obliquely through the bus, as it skidded wildly along the freeway that connects Mozdok, a town located on the left shore of Terek river with Vladikavkaz.

Heart thudding alarmingly fast in her chest, she tried not to look at the horror-stricken faces of the men and women assembled in the bus with her. Innocent souls who are condemned to share the same fate as her.

And no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to pray. Last time or not, she had decided a long time ago never to pray to a supposed Omnipresent Spirit, who has forsaken her in her darkest time. And watched her suffer at the hands of depraved men like Josef Mengele.

Earlier, when she had noticed the bus had lost its control, she had been thrown into a confluence of undesirable emotions and had gone through the different phases of what could be likened to the dying version of the five stages of grieving.

At first, she had been seized by fear. Her fears had lasted long enough until overshadowed by a sense of denial, so strong that she had tried in the early moment of the situation to deny the actuality of her plight. She had tried to believe everything will be alright, even when she knew otherwise.

Next, she had felt a strong feeling of anger. She felt angry at herself for leaving home. She felt angry at herself for leaving her twin sister behind at home to shop for groceries. She felt angry at herself that she hadn’t listened to her advice to delay her shopping until tomorrow.

The next phase saw her trying to bargain for her life. Then, she had been willing to do just anything to see the hour passes her. She had thought of every possible means to get a chance to see her children, and grandchildren, and most especially, her sister Leah once more. She had been willing then to reconcile with the God she had denied its existence for long.

After some time, she had been totally depressed. And along with her depression came her acceptance of the inevitable. At that point, she had grown too tired to try or fight for her life. And had made peace with herself, hoping and praying that her death would come fast.

While she waited for her death, she saw her own life flashed before her mind’s eye in a slide of vivid images. There, she saw every minute from her birth, to her deportation to Auschwitz in 1944, the horrors she suffered at the hands of the Third Reich experimentalists, the nightmares, her time in the Army, her wedding with the love of her life—Joseph Wojcik, up to the recent time. She saw herself shopping in the grocery store, and walking out to a fine, warm Mozdok evening.

The image of a blue, cloudless sky was what she last recalled before the bus rammed into an incoming car, and she was plunged into oblivion.

Anike

All her life, Anike had never felt an explosion of pain like this one. Nor had she been in a nightmare so real and vivid. And all she could do as the hand around her neck tightened, squeezing almost to the point of constricting the airflow in her windpipe, and as the other hand which was over her mouth flew to her cheek, leaving at its wake a stinging pain and a weal was succumbed to the strength of her assaulter and wished this was over soon.

As she laid there helpless and powerless, against the behemoth weight of the assaulter, she felt the knees pinning her legs in place shove even deeper against her laps, sending a ripple of pain through the whole of her lower body, and the violent ripping of her panties as the free hand that had slapped her face earlier slipped between her thighs.

While still in a half-daze, she felt the same hand yank her legs and thighs apart roughly, and hovered slightly above the juncture between her thighs for the briefest of seconds, before returning to its place over her mouth.

There seemed to exist a span of eternity between that moment and the next. And oddly enough in those dragging moments, Anike felt some sort of relief, that she appeared to have forgotten her plight and the gravity of her situation, and relaxed almost visibly at once.

But this illusion of relief never lasted any more than it began. And soon as she noticed the hand around her neck detached so swiftly from the spot around her throat, and find its way to her assaulter’s midsection, dragging down both pants and briefs in a haste, the implications of what to come afterward sank in.

And with this awful realization came the fortification of her will, the outright doggedness to make a final stance against her assaulter, and likewise, the prickly sensation in the corners of her eyes as the tears she had tried so much to keep at bay threatened to burst out.

Anike fought one last time with all her strength and resolve, clawing, biting, thrashing at her assaulter. She really tried and gave her all. But all these prove futile, and more or less, ineffective for the assaulter who was twice stronger and powerful. And could do little to stop him from parting her thighs even wider to the invasion of his bared manhood.

She resisted her assaulter for even much longer. But her resistance and strength melted as snow in sun the closer her assaulter’s manhood inched closer to the wall of her sex.

Anike flinched back on the tiny bed in repulsion as she first felt the head of her assaulter’s organ on the threshold of her sex. And by some luck, the doorway to her sex did its best to hold its own. But, its resistance was not quite enough and lasted no more than her very own. That it eventually caves in under the incursion of the thick, ramrod that was the fellow’s organ.

When the head finally found a way through, ramming and tearing violently through the protective membrane of her sex, Anike shook with tremors, and at the same time, let out a shrill cry, which was muffled by the hand over her mouth.

The pain became blinding and unbearable for her then. And a lightning shaft of pain shot through her midriff and spiraled in all directions through her body.

She hadn’t a breather from this, before her assaulter in a cruel, savage way continued with his mean torture at her middle, shoving his member deep down the narrow shaft of her sex.

And with every vicious thrust and shove, the pain she felt inside of her only multiplied and mushroomed. And as the intensity builds and the tempo increases, a white-hot pain scattered throughout her body, and with it the warm rush of blood down her thighs.

Through the excruciating pain and ghosting experience, all she could do was close her eyes, an instinctive act borne of defense mechanism as much as a sign of her irritation toward her assaulter and the ongoing act.

No! she can’t stand the sight of the horror of the moment!

Teary-eyed and weak already, she felt rather than watched as each massive pound and jab cut through her like a hot knife through butter, bruising and scraping the delicate inside of her sex.

Eyes still closed and already resigned to her sad fate, she took on the rough battering of her assaulter’s member with gritted teeth, shutting her mind against the spasm of pain and agony inflicted by the monster on top of her. And chosed instead to focus her attention on contemplating where things went wrong.

She thought back on when she had first known this monster of a man. He had been such a nice and decent man at first. And was regarded with so much respect by everyone in their house and yard, and even by next-door neighbors.

Uncle Gbade as he was called was a respectable young man worthy of the respect accorded him by both old and young on their street. And with a ready smile and genteel manners to go with it, he had been able to disarm almost everyone on their street, to the extent that he had been dubbed, ‘Gentle soul’ by everyone on their street.

But, as she thought back on all of it now, all she felt was deep remorse at the realization that all of it was nothing but a hoax, a perfect mask for the evil that lies underneath. So much for being a gentle soul!

And I was a fool myself to not have seen past the mask, she could not but agree sadly to herself, as she thought back on the events that had led to this one.
The signs and clues had been there all along. But she had been too blind to see them. And so are the red flags. That too was plain and manifest. But she had been too young to notice, too naïve to care.

The subtle side glances thrown her way when she goes to church on Sundays. The preferential treatment she got from him amongst other kids of the house. The tips and changes he had often told her to keep. All that she had missed, taking them for what she thought they were—mere gestures of appreciation. After all, such gestures from adults of the other sex had been no new thing to her. She had gotten them from everyone. Perhaps, because she was a respectful and diligent young girl. Or, because of the obvious fact that she was a teenage sexpot.

The slight touches, the frequent shoulder rubs, and advances passed at her when she entered his one-bedroom apartment after running his errands. She had even missed that, too!

Realization never comes early, nor regret any sooner!

Anike’s time in her own head was brought to a sudden end the instant the man on top of her shuddered violently as if suffering from an epileptic seizure. And being just a girl of thirteen, it took the feeling of liquid stickiness on her thighs for her to know that the spastic jerk from the man meant he had come and was done.

At the realization of this, she looked up at him from under hooded eyes and saw a satisfactory glint in his brown eyes and a mischievous smirk on his face. His work was finally done!

Anike was unprepared for what comes next. And felt his hand on her lap, even before watching it slip further down her thighs, skimming over the delicate region closest to her sex, and wiping off a tiny glob of his semen from its surface. Neither was she ready for the asp-like movement of that same hand, as it jerked away from under her thighs and found its way into her mouth.

Her first instinct as the fingers dipped into her mouth was to bite down hard on it till she drew blood. But having little strength left in her, she decided against such judgment, and choose instead to flow with the rhythm. Fighting was no use, anymore.

“Now, that’s a good girl.” He said with an even broader smirk, withdrawing his fingers from her mouth, and his body from atop her own slip figure moments later.

As the weight above her eases, Anike, drained and sore all over from the degrading act curled up dejectedly into a ball on the bed, sobbing quietly in a convulsive fit into her hands, now over her face.

It was over. But rather than feel relieved in the aftermath of the nightmarish experience, all she felt as she laid still on the bed was a throbbing pain in her heart at the thought of the damage done to her pride and the loss of her innocence, which had been stripped from her in the most unusual fashion.

Now, she will never be the same again!

Defeated, she heard the receding sound of feet as Uncle Gbade turned his back on her and walked straight into the adjoining bathroom, which was only around the corner in his room. And within a minute or so, she heard the soft pattering of shower water from inside the bathroom.

At the mere thought of him showering, and the realization that what was done can never be undone, silent lines of tears streamed down her cheeks.

It is done, she thought, sighing sadly to herself and admitting on the spot that she was now a part of the young girls, who have been made victims of rape by monsters like uncle Gbade.

[BRAZIL: OF SAND, BEACH, SOCCER, AND A VOICE.]

Earlier in the day.
The day was remarkably hot. Remarkably hot even for a typical summery July day in the tropical savanna climate of Rio De Janeiro, Brazil.

Of all days the sun could have chosen to shine its brightest from its heights and the weather blew its warmest, today must have been the worst choice of all for tourists, vacationists, and natives alike, swarmed here on the Balneario beach of Copacabana, Rio De Janeiro, Brazil.

For the men and women, young and old of different races and colors from around the globe, all of whom had decided to hang out here on the widely known Copacabana beach today, the sweltering temperature which was well over forty-five degrees Celsius and still rising was not only unusually too hot but had remained so for far too long. Too long that it had proven a huge deterrence to most activities on the beach.

So much that a great deal of the natives driven out of their homes onto the beach by the smoldering heat of the day had tossed their clothes and was either left scantily dressed in bikinis and trunks, or, have straw hats on their heads, and their sunglasses on to shield their eyes from the glare of the sun.

And the little few luscious, foreign sunbathers laid on beach chairs, reading from exotic magazines, had layers of sunscreen thickly spread on their bodies, and glasses of Tequila sunrises or Margaritas laying idly by their side.

While, the great many that remained either lay reposed under beach parasols in the company of friends or, were clustered around the edge of the beach, the breaking waves of the Atlantic lapping at their feet under the heat of the hot scorching sun.

But the weather hot as it was apparently so, was no hindrance at all. At least, not to the wildling lot of skiers and surfers, who braved the rolling waves of the Atlantic.

Nor, to Jonas, his friend—Maik, and the bunch of other young Cariocas, who played beach soccer, volleyball, and catch at different spots and angles of the four kilometers-long shore of the Copacabana beach, wading here and thereafter the ball over the powdery sand of the beach, and shouting at the top of their voices.

Jonas chased frantically but rather hopelessly after the ball from one player to another in wide circles and arcs, failing at his every attempt of tracking after the ball to regain possession of it.

He had lost possession of the ball earlier on in the game to a carrot-haired boy from amongst the Cariocas they were playing with. And had been made into the middle man in their little retrieval game ever since.

But, after twenty minutes or so of wild, frustrating dashes after the ball, with heart heaving arrhythmically in his chest, and his legs and joints growing heavy and leaden already, Jonas still had nothing to show for his troubles, but a river of sweat that glistened off his body at the touch of the sun.

And quite ironic enough, poor, unlucky Jonas had discovered in the first five minutes of his boring chase after the ball that neither he nor his friend, Maik stand a chance against the other six boys they were playing soccer with. And this was not owing to the obvious fact that the other kids were a head taller and brawny than himself or his friend.

But rather to the fact that they were playing the round-leathered game with these boys, who could literally play football from birth. Or, didn’t the saying goes; “every Brazilian kid is born with a ball at his feet.”

In any other game, we could have stood a chance. But in football, It’s a no-no! Jonas, who was never the type to give up at the first try had resignedly agreed to himself from the start.

And luckily so, Jonas was not in any way disappointed in his earlier assessment. The kids had thus far lived to his expectations while maintaining the long-enduring legend that every Brazilian is a born football player.

Their sleek touches, perfect ball juggling skills, and movements on and off the ball, their control and command of it, and the adroitness and intelligence with which they played the ball was unlike anything Jonas had ever seen since ‘The Matrix’. And had him marveling how kids his age could play soccer this good.

But despite his frustration at his vain attempt of recovering the ball from any of the kids, Jonas kept at his wild goose chase after the ball in good spirits, hopeful in the chances that one of the boys, most importantly, his friend Maik would lose the ball at some point in the game.

The torture of chasing after the ball under the red-hot sun went on for long for Jonas, who with the willful indifference of a twelve years old, and in the spirit of never giving up carried on still with his chase after the ball.

The burdensome chase, the sweat, and even the fatigue seeping into his bones and muscles, as a result, had mattered little to him. Worse still, he had considered every one of it as part of fun had with friends.

And besides, the stress and troubles that had resulted from it were nothing compared to the ones he would have faced on the off chance that he was attending summer school.

And what else could be worse torture for someone’s Jonas age, but school in summer?
It is for this reason and none other than this that Jonas has had to work extra hard in the last school session to best his previous woeful grade, and thus, earned the free ticket to go on summer vacation with his mum and friend in any country of his choosing.

Jonas had worked his ass off. But more than anything, his efforts had counted and he had avoided summer school.

Summer school was no fun, after all.
And when it was time to choose where to go vacating this summer, Jonas had had little problem deciding on where to go. Having seen the city of Rio in movies and on news cables countless times already, and falling instantly in love with the Carnivals, Samba, the cable cars, and the beach life, he had said outright to his mother that he wanted Brazil.

No more, no less!

And as fate would have it, it happened that his late father had indeed left enough fortune behind to cater for his vacation with his friend, and his mother.

So, rather than feel frustrated or crestfallen with the ways things were going so far, Jonas had felt rather unusually happy. Knowing he hadn’t traveled all the way from Germany to the Southern Hemisphere to mope or feel sad, but to have fun and live every moment of his summer vacation to the fullest.

And with this conviction to further fuel his passion and determination, he continued with his chase after the ball, racing from one player to player, like a dog going after a scent.

His efforts eventually paid off some minutes later, when Maik received a glancing pass, which he apparently had little trouble controlling from one of the boys.

Trouble only came for Maik when he intended to return the ball to the boy directly across from him, and lost possession of it after a miskick, which sent his feet slicing through thin air, and a spray of fine sand instead.

Jonas watched with a relieved and gleeful expression as the ball rolled over to him, taking his feet off the ground to control it with his instep in a complete show of finesse and victory.

But, however pleased he was with this fortunate break, he didn’t hold to the ball a moment longer, discharging it at once to the nearest kid, and staring flippantly as his friend, Maik tracked after the ball like a lost puppy.

At that moment, he hadn’t cared in the slightest that it was his friend chasing after the ball. Nor, did he care what he would have to go through to retrieve the ball back.

‘All is fair in love and war,’ is what they say, he mused. For all he cared, it could be his father chasing after the ball.

Jonas, with a thin, mock smile spread upon his small face watched his friend suffer the same fate as him in the minutes that followed, running in seemingly endless circles after the ball.

While standing there, enraptured by the sight of his suffering friend at the hands of the other kids, Jonas felt at first the rupturing of something from inside of him—something similar to doors tearing off from their hinges, then, a sudden presence on the edge of his subconscious.

In those moments, Jonas couldn’t tell if he was in a trance, asleep, dead, or even, alive. Nor could he tell if he had been transported into another world—a parallel dimension or universe, perhaps.

What he knew, however, is the presence he had felt earlier in his subconscious grew heavier and stronger by the seconds, until seeping into his consciousness and filling up the vacuum of his mind.

Before long, Jonas’s mind became overwhelmed by the presence, which not only drowns out every other thing, from sound to sight and sensation. But also made him feel alone and empty as he had never felt before.

“Hello, Jonas.” Jonas heard a scratchy voice called out to him.

Lost and unable to place where the sound was coming from, Jonas searched within the emptiness and solitude of his mind for its source. But found nothing, still.

“Are you there, Jonas?” The voice called again this time in a higher pitch and boom.

“Who are you?” Jonas tossed back a question in a shaky breath. Still, uncertain of which was stranger; hearing the voice, or trying to demand an answer from it.

“I’m just a voice in your head, boy.” Jonas thought he heard the faint rustle of a chuckle in the voice this time. “And from now on, you will do what I ask of you when I ask it.”

It became apparent then, that just when things were about making sense to Jonas, and he thought he had had it the worst, it was just only getting started.

This must be insanity, he thought. Or, what else could better explain the outrageousness of an unknown voice talking to him, and giving him orders.

“And why would I want to do that?” He asked, having decided he might as well have some fun chatting with Mr. I’m the voice in your head.

“Because I need you as much as you need me.”

“Need you? Tell me why I would ever have a need for you when I have never seen you before?” Jonas said with a sneer.

“Want to find out that bad? Then, why not get away from here to a silent place where you can meditate.”

Now, he’s making demands of me, Jonas thought unsmiling yet unangry, still not believing a bit in this strange, comical mental encounter.

“Meditate, you say?” Jonas forced out after some time, still very much doubtful.

“Definitely. Find a quiet place to meditate at once, and see for yourself.”

“And I am supposed to trust and hold you up on your words, right?” He demanded, not knowing what to believe anymore.

“Have some faith, Jonas. Will you?”

And just like that, the voice was gone, and with it the heavy presence in his mind, and the lid placed on his senses.

Seconds later, Jonas felt again a stirring in his consciousness and the reawakening of his senses.

{Need For Speed}

I have never in a thousand lives of me thought that there would come a time when I will need speed so much.

When you put into consideration the kind of person that I am and my personality then, it’s likely you understand what I mean by the statement above.

But, well I actually did.

When I said speed earlier, I don’t just mean doing 180 or 200 mph on an autobahn or an interstate highway. Rather, what I mean by speed is firing on all cylinders of a high-performance car, the kind you get to see only in a NASCAR race or on a Formula-1 circuit.

I want to believe you’ve gotten the picture of what I’m trying to paint above, ‘cause it’s only then you can probably get to understand just how much I needed speed on the 7th of August 2022.

I was returning to Ibadan after a 3-day visit to neighboring Osun state. By the way, I was not totally fine all through the two-and-a-half-hour road trip back to Ibadan. But I held my own just fine.

However, things began spiraling out of hand when I eventually got to Ibadan. After barely surviving a full-on onslaught of kinetosis—something I faced every other time on the rare occasions that I traveled, I had opted to complete the rest of my journey from Mokola to my residence—Apata Ganga on a bike.

I had made this decision in the hope that the gripping nausea and dizziness I was feeling at the time would wear off. And thankfully, it did after some time.

But it was replaced in an instant by a foreign sensation, even far worse. At first, I couldn’t place my fingers on what exactly was happening to me. All I knew at the time, however, is, that I felt queasy, hot, chilly, and sweaty simultaneously.

Strange? Yeah, I know that, too.

Things got no better fifteen minutes into the ride. Despite the gust of fresh air assaulting me atop the bike that windy Sunday, I was sweating buckets. And I felt a little edgy, too.

A whole five minutes passed before I finally figured out why I was feeling the way I felt, and for me to recognize all the sensations earlier as early signs of ‘the runs’.

Thirty minutes into the ride, I felt no better still. In fact, it takes bike pooling with another passenger to keep me from doubling over in pain and uneasiness behind the bike man.

Luckily for me, we arrived at Apata. Not that I know how or when as I had already lost track of time and space by then.

It was hard not to miss out on the things going on around me with all that was going on inside of me.

No sooner had the bike man killed the bike’s engine, before I jumped off the back of the bike, fished into my pocket for my wallet, and settled my fare.

It was right after I alighted from the bike and was walking the short distance to the junction where I will board the bike that will take me on the final lap home, however, that things reached a breaking point.

It began out of the blue with the loud grumbling of my stomach accompanied by a feeling of a strong presence pressing hard against my anus. Followed by the risings of goose flesh all over my skin, then, a fresh bead of cold sweat which broke from somewhere in my pores and slid down my back. And eventually, the sudden tilt of my world.

By the time I got to the juncture and was trying to flag down a bike, I have become extremely apprehensive so much so that I have begun to lose every sense of comportment and propriety.

The buttons on my snug-fitting Buba had all but gone loose. The drawstrings holding my Sokoto in place have been loosened a notch. Even the bag I was carrying on my person was now at my feet. All the while, I prayed fervently in my mind to the skies to hold this rain of shame about to fall a little longer… till I at least got home.

After about thirty seconds of praying, God came through for me, because a bike skidded to a stop in front of me and the young midget-esque man mounting the bike demanded where I was headed.

Without any reservations, I told him my destination straight away. In return, he gave a subtle slow nod which I took for a yes.

Having concluded in my mind not to bike pool on this occasion, I mounted the bike with one swift swing of my long legs, planted my posterior on the seat, and instructed him to get a move on with me as his only passenger.

My decision this time was spurred both by the urgent need to empty my bowels and the uncomfortableness and apprehensiveness I felt.

Economizing be damned just this once!

If I had felt any bad earlier, by the time we hit the road again, things went completely downhill. The apprehension I felt tripled. The sweat down the side of my face and the back of my neck now came in rivulets. Even, the force I felt pressing against my anus had intensified greatly, with the recent moiling of my stomach as a little add-on.

Just within brief minutes on the bike; I had hunched over for like three times, squeezed my face in pain five times more, and more so, thrashed and twisted a couple of times already. The last thing I couldn’t do while this silent war raged on inside of me was telling the bike man to fly and get me home pretty soon.

When I couldn’t take the pain any longer, I asked the bike man to stop the bike by a way bridge on the road.

It turns out the young man was indeed a gentleman, and deservedly so because he shut off the bike’s engine in no time, and parked by the curb without questions.

Seeing as he was cooperative, I had no difficulty relaying how I was feeling at the time to him and the dire need to go number two immediately… lest I do it on my body right there and then.

A true Guardian Spirit that he was, he quickly pointed to a path in the bush by a river and told me to go get my affairs sorted out in there.

Being an upstanding citizen all my life, I had to consider this for a moment. After which, I was instantly reminded of my current plight and why I had to do this in the first place.

At that moment, the sweat pouring off of me, and the tugging in my anus was at an all-time high.

Without any further deliberation, I took off into the bush, carrying my bag and the bottled water I had all along with me.

I had to slow down a bit by the time I got to the mouth of the path as there were vestiges of the activities carried out by people, who like myself have found themselves in a similar situation at one time lying around everywhere.

Treading cautiously around these human dumplings, I found a perfect spot in a corner, dragged down my Sokoto, crouched down, and got down into the matter at hand.

I was done within minutes. The reason for this not by a long shot, of course.

Feeling a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders now that I was done, I cleaned up with the bottled water I had carried with me earlier, tightened the drawstrings of my Sokoto, and strapped the bag to my back.

When I got back into the open some moments later, the bike man was patiently waiting on top of his bike, with both legs straddling either side of his bike.

On getting to his side, I thanked him profusely for his patience and humanness and got on the bike the instant he kicked the engine back on.

I got home five minutes later to the hurrahs and welcomes of my neighbors and friends.
The funny thing, however, is, that in all my recounting of my time in Osun, I never for once did mention this part of the account to any of my friends.

This practically means wherever you are reading/hearing this account from, you’re not just hearing it from the horse’s mouth, but you’re also reading/hearing this strange ordeal for the first time.

All in all, I hope you understand the reasons for every of my action, and wouldn’t fault me for any of them if you’ve ever been in such a situation yourself. And if you don’t, hell if I care what your opinion is.

But anyways, you can wait till you someday find yourself in my shoes to see if you would make better choices.

Please, read, enjoy and relate with this short personal account of mine.

Also, if you've ever had such experience before, please don't hesitate to share on this thread.

.From Yours faithfully,
Salahdin.

One day, a group of explorers traveled to the Mexican Riviera to explore a unique island. They had never heard of it before, but the locals told scary stories about it. The island was called "Dead Doll Island."

When the group reached the island, they found that it had an extraordinary atmosphere. There were old, shabby dolls hanging everywhere, attached to trees, poles, and even fences. Each doll was unique and had its own story.

One member of the group, who was a cinematographer, began shooting videos. He recorded how the dolls would flinch when it was windy on the island. His colleagues decided to help him and began taking pictures of the dolls. But they soon noticed that the dolls were moving and appeared to be alive.

After that, the group heard strange sounds they hadn't heard before. The island seemed to have a life of its own, something lurking in the depths of the island. They began to investigate the island more closely and discovered that it was cursed. In the past, there had been a girl who had been killed by her father. She was so attached to her dolls that when she died, her soul stayed on the island and the dolls became her new body.

The group of explorers felt fear when they realized that they were on an island inhabited by dead dolls that had been spawned by evil. They realized that they could now become part of this cursed place.

In the end, the group fled the island, but they would never forget their visit to island of the dead dolls. They left it in their memory as the most terrifying experience of their lives.

Salahdin

Well done

Been a long time

silverlinen:
Salahdin

Well done

Been a long time

Abi now boss. I'm sorry I ghosted on you.