Black Master SHANGO's Bride

Monica, a twenty-five year old white wife to an American embassy attaché was lying on a lounge chair in the backyard getting a tan. It was a hot Sunday morning and the everywhere in the city of Abuja was quiet in solitude as most inhabitants were either in their respective mosques or churches. Monica wore a pair of shades and bikini outfit which she only wore indoors; Tim easily got jealous and fumed at her whenever she took it along to the American club swimming pool for the other expatriates and local staff who often came by the club to relax with their wives and girlfriends, all of them looking for something to gossip about and ogle at. Tim was never comfortable showing her around, as he was nervous her beauty might captivate someone into coming after her and taking her away from him.

As it so happens, someone did already have his eyes on her since she arrived in the country less than two weeks ago. Monica was just as intrigued meeting him for the first time, and afterwards the both of them had scheduled clandestine meetings while her hubby went about his affairs. Her husband knew about her dealings with the strange man, and though he'd fumed customarily about it, in the end, there was nothing he could do about it. The strange Nigerian man had just about clipped his wings before he even got a chance, even Monica had been amazed and frightened and somewhat aroused at this.

While she lay there catching the sun's rays, listening through her ear phones at the rhythm and blues music playing through her iPhone, her eyes closed behind her shades as she struggled to find sleep, she was unaware of the sliding glass door of the kitchen pushing open and the man who came and stood beside her, gazing down at her. The man bent down and shook her arm; it was her husband, Tim.

"Monica," Tim called her name at the same time shook her arm. "Monica, wake up."

Monica's eyes came awake and she uttered a squawk sort of sound as she nearly fell off the side of the lounge chair. She pushed up her shades and was surprised and angry at the same time when she realized it was Tim.

"Tim," she took off her shades, boiling red with anger. "What the hell—" she wanted to holler curse words at him but stopped when she saw the frightened look on his face. He was looking back at the kitchen where he'd just stepped out from and then back at her. Tim was never the sort who got easily worried or even afraid. Something really must be up. "Honey, what's the matter?"

"You've got to leave, Monica. Right now," he spoke excitedly, took her arm and led her, practically dragged her back into the house. Monica fought against his pull but his grip was very strong. He led her up the stairs towards their bedroom.

"Tim ... for God's sake, what's going on? Please, honey, talk to me."

Up the stairs they went into their bedroom; only then did he release her. He went and opened the wardrobe and took out a travelling bag and threw it on the bed. Monica stood there with her iPhone and shades in her hands and watched him, confused as he started taking down her clothes from the wardrobe and haphazardly dropping them into the open mouth of the bag. He was breathing heavily and sweating and she noticed he was shaking with fright.

"You can't stay her any longer," he said to her. "I need to get you out of here ... out of the country as soon as possible."

Her first thought was there there'd been an explosion—a terrorist or militant attack somewhere, and right now the entire city was in the grip of panic. But that couldn't be. She hadn't heard such on the news. Or maybe whatever it was had happened not too long ago. She herself too was becoming frightened.

"Honey, please ... talk to me, what happened? Was there an explosion somewhere? Did somebody die? What're you afraid of? For God's sake, what the fuck's going on?"

"Be quiet, will you," he snapped, still ignoring her. "And don't just stand there mopping at me. Go get changed. Your flight's leaving in a few hours from now."

"My flight?" she gasped. Her hand pulled at her raven black hair like she wanted to tear them off their roots while trying to keep her sanity as it seemed Tim was trying to make her go crazy. She didn't realize that she'd been hollering rather hysterically at him, and he too was busy pushing open their closet drawers and taking out her underwear and dumping them into the bag till they were sticking out of it. Afraid of losing her mind, she fought for the bag and wrestled it from him. He looked at her somewhat angry that she would do such.

"Tim," she said to him coldly though calmly. "I'm not getting dressed, you hear me. Not until you tell me what the fuck you're frightened about!" she shouted.

That seemed to break through Tim's thoughts. He swallowed once then twice, before speaking. "It's the man, Monica. It's him. He wants you. I spoke with him on the phone not quite long ago. I told him there's no way I'm going to let him have you."

Monica fell silent, another gasp escaped through her lips as now she knew whom he was referring to. "He really ... he actually said that? That he wants me?"

Her husband nodded emphatically. He took out his handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped sweat off his forehead. "I told him to fuck off. He said he was going to come and get us. That was why I left the office and came here to get you. We don't have much time—for God's sake, go get yourself something decent to wear and stop standing there staring at me like some damn fool!"

She wanted to move, but couldn't. She was still baffled by his actions. "But honey, I thought ... I thought you and him were friends?"

Tim was hurriedly folding up some of her clothes that he'd stuffed into the bag when she spoke. He looked at her with amazement in his eyes and barked a brief laughter that made Monica nervous.

"I was never any friend to that ... that pompous bastard! Now quit asking me stupid questions and go do as I say and change."

Monica stared at him dumbly while he went on folding her clothes into the bag. Seeing there was no talking or making sense of his worries, she searched out a skirt and a summer blouse to wear and went into the bathroom to change. She looked at her reflection in the wall mirror beside the shower stall, holding the clothes in her hands like a maid servant, not knowing what to do with them. She couldn't help admiring her figure, rubbing her hand across her 36D-cup breasts and the lovely tan outline that showcased her bra. And to think that she was digging into her tanning and now she had to leave. She moaned to herself as she started putting on her clothes. Tim can be so insufferable sometimes. Monica worked as an Administrative Assistant back home in Texas while her husband spent months away here in Nigeria. It was the month of July and a good thing she had earlier put in for a four-week break off work to come here and be with him. A lot of times he'd complained rather petulantly about his work and just about everything: the tiresome hours he spent at the office, the boring visits from his other expatriate colleagues, the hapless locals, the country's mode of politics ... seldom did he have anything nice to say about the place. She felt like he was putting up a front for her. Like he wasn't really happy seeing her here with him and was working so hard to encourage her to return home. Where she an easy push-over, most likely she would have left the week after she arrived. And then what would she be returning home to? An empty house and nothing more since they didn't have any kids. Yet now the bastard has succeeded to get her to leave the country all because of him.

Finished wearing her clothes, she checked her face in the mirror one last time and opened the door just as Tim was about coming to check on her. They almost ran smack into each other as she closed the door behind her.

"I was wondering what was taking you so long," he said as he went back to putting some toiletries into her bag. "We don't have much time. You need to be out of here before he comes here looking for you."

"But Tim, whatever makes you think he would want to do such a thing?" she whined. "For God's sake, it's not like he's going to try and harm me, is he? He wouldn't dare do such a thing."

Tim finished packing her bag then zipped it up before turning to face her with a frustrated look on his face. "Look, Monica, we don't have time for this. Now just put on your shoes and let's got going. No more arguments."

Monica went and picked up her shoes and wore them on; what she really felt like doing was throwing them at him, tell him she wasn't going to be part of this silly mind game of his, and that she wasn't leaving. But she knew such wouldn't suffice, not with Tim. Already she could feel the onset of a headache pounding against her forehead. Usually what she needed was someplace to lie on rather than been here always. He carried her bag in his hand and took hold of her hand and propelled her out of the room, stopping to close the door before hurrying down the stairs; Monica missed a step and nearly fell had he not caught her.

They stepped outside and Monica flinched from the sun's heat that landed on her face. Tim closed the door and locked it then indicated for her to get in the car which was parked by the driveway. She slid into the passenger seat while he stowed her bag in backseat before coming to the front. He started the car and the Hausa mai-guard opened the gate for him. Tim drove towards the mouth of the street when suddenly he marched his brake as two military jeeps appeared in front of him, blocking his path, their sirens wailing. Monica looked at Tim as if this was all part of his idea.

"Tim, who are they?" she looked at him wild-eyed, pointing at the two black Land Cruiser jeeps with the city's mobile police logo emblazed on their side door. The front vehicle's passenger door opened and out stepped an official wearing khaki uniform and a pair of aviator sunglasses that gave his features a no-nonsense outlook. Monica's heart was drumming with trepidation as the man walked over to Tim's side and lowered his head to look at both of them. Neither she nor Tim said anything.

"Would you please turn off the car's engine, sir?" the man said it solicitously, though there was an underlining graveness to his voice to indicated otherwise.

Tim switched off the car's ignition. "I'm taking my wife to the airport. She's got a flight to catch and she can't miss it. Would you mind tell your boys to back off for me?"

The officer nodded as if he was going to do just that. Then he said, "Please step out of the car, sir. You too included, ma'am. My boss has urgent business to conduct with you."

"For Christ's sake, man," Tim spoke with annoyance. "I said that my wife has a quick plane to catch. Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"I heard you perfectly well, Mr. Simmons," the officer continued in his still calm manner. "My men will gladly escort you and your wife to the airport once you've met with my boss. Please, this can't wait. My vehicle is waiting to take us there. It won't be long." The man indicated at his car.

Tim wanted to complain again but Monica intervened and told him not to make a fool of himself than he already is. Best they go meet with whoever his boss is. Tim got out of the car as he saw there was no other way around it, so too did Monica. The officer took the car key from Tim, told him that one of his men would follow them in their car. At that moment, a junior officer from the second police vehicle stumbled out and came and took the car key from his senior officer who went and opened the door for Tim and his wife. Monica sat quietly beside Tim. They watched as the young officer slid into their car as the senior returned to the passenger seat. He looked behind at them, enquired if they were comfortable; Tim answered that they were. The driver started his car and they reversed back onto the main road and drove away from the vicinity.

Monica watched through her tinted window at the city as they drove past it. There were few people on the roads and few vehicles too and they all gave way for the two police vehicles as they blazed their siren while they cut through the traffic. Monica looked at Tim and wasn't surprised to see the scared look on his face quite evident now. He wrapped his hand with hers and they stayed like that for the remainder of the journey. Monica knew it was no use asking where they were being taken to—such an answer would come in due time.

They moved at break-neck speed, swerving through U-turns and breaking traffic red lights with abandon as they drove towards the area lush with government and upper-class homes known Miatama District. They pulled to a stop in front of a large gate and the driver blew his horn. Within seconds the gate came open and the three cars drove into the large compound and stopped in front of a black sleek-looking car. The senior officer alighted down from the vehicle and indicated Tim and Monica to do the same. They were shaking underneath as the front door came open and the officer ushered them inside.

He led them into the parlour where the man of the house awaited them. Tim swallowed his breath when he saw the man seated across from them in the living room, wearing a suit and smoking a cigar in one hand while in his other he held a wine glass. Monica recognised the man too. It was the same man who had been compelling after her affections. The same man Tim had since talked to her to steer clear from, and the same man whom he'd been hurrying to her away from.

Olu Shango.

************

Shango took a puff of his cigar, fixing Tim with a baleful stare. No one said anything while they stood there waiting for him. Thaddeus turned his sight on Monica and smiled. Tim seemed to cower in the room before him; there was no doubt who the real man was right now.

"How're you doing, Monica? Long time no see."

"I'm just as happy seeing you, Thad," she said; both of them fully knew there were few words to be said.

"You must be pretty tired. Why don't you rest on any one of the sofas," he indicated at one not too far from him. She thanked him and then went to the sofa he meant and lay down on it. She could almost sense the headache leaving her. He then turned his gaze back at Tim and this time he wasn't smiling.

"How're you doing, Tim, white boy?" he said to him. "My boys tell me you were hurrying to leave. Why and for what reason, white boy?" he smoked his cigar.

"I wasn't leaving anywhere," Tim said sheepishly like someone whose hand had just been caught in the cookie jar. "My wife, Monica, has a plane to catch and I wanted her to be on it."

"Hmmm. That sounds explainable. But what if she didn't want to go? Did you by any chance ask her if she wanted to? Knowing the impetuous type of fellow you are, it's obvious you never did such." Shango paused to sip his wine, then got up from where he sat. "Since you were kind enough to bring her along, how about we asked her, shall we?" he turned to Monica and smiled. "Monica, it's so nice seeing you again. I hope my boys didn't put you in any type of distress when they arrived at your home?"

She sat up. "Well, I was kind of frightened at first. I didn't know who they were. But knowing they came from you ... I guess I'm intrigued about whatever's going on."

Shango turned to look at her husband and grinned like a devil at him. "Aww, what a silly white boy you've been, Tim. How could you not tell your wife all the fine points of our agreement we spoke over on the phone earlier on. Such a shame."

Tim glowed red and looked down at his feet in embarrassment. Monica looked at him then back at Shango, speculating on whatever was going on between them.

"What's going on, Tim? What are you not telling me?"

"I'll tell you what he hasn't told you," said Olu Shango. He took one last drag on his cigar before turning around to a coffee table beside his chair and extinguishing the cigar on an ash tray then turned back to face them. "Your hubby, Tim, came to me with a problem. A rather pressing problem he wanted to make go away with much discretion and as swiftly as possible. I told him I can make such problem go away of course, but at a giveaway price. Can you guess what my price was, Monica?"

His eyes held hers in a firm gaze. It rattled Monica to stare back at him. She looked back at Tim who now was blushing so hard and didn't want to meet her stare.

"I don't ... I know nothing about any price," she replied Olu. "I know nothing at all about whatever problem he's having."

"I know you don't, Monica. A shame the things husbands keep from their wives. I will leave the fine details to him to tell you, but I'll let you in on my part of the bargain. What I want from him, quite simply, is you."

Monica brought a hand to her chest; her lips came open with startled surprise. "Me ... me?"

He nodded. "Yes, Monica, you. Your hubby here already signed the contract yesterday evening. Except this morning he wants to turn chicken on me." His face hardened at Tim. "But I'm not about to let that happen."

Tim came forward. "I told you Olu, I told you on the phone, let's keep her out of this—"

The senior officer who all the time had stood at ease at the parlour's entrance rushed Tim from behind. Monica yelled out to her husband but before Tim could take one more step towards Olu, he doubled over in pain as he felt someone strike the bottom section of his right ribs. The senior officer kicked the back of his knee, bringing Tim down to his knees. Monica wanted to come to him but cried in surprise when Olu's fist held her from making a move, turning her to face him.

"I've been eyeing you since you arrived here, Monica. I'm not about to renege on the deal I made with your wimpy husband here, and as long as you try not to fight, you'll see how much of a gentleman I really am."

Monica looked at him then at her husband whose features were grim with hurt while the senior officer stood three feet behind him, watching should in case he wanted to try something again, and then looked back at Olu, wondering whatever the outcome of today might turn out to be.

"Whatever it is you want from me ... I don't know what it is, but I'll do it. Just don't harm Tim, please."

Olu Shango smiled at her. "First, let's see what you can do. Get down on your knees. Go on."

Monica's heart was cart-wheeling in her chest with fright, but she did as he wanted and slid downward to her knees till her face was aiming at his crotch. She saw the apparent bulge there, like something thick and strong was trying to break through his pants. Oh my God, please tell me that's not his cock! She looked up at him and he smiled down at her.

"It's calling out to you, Monica," he said to her, pushing his crotch against her face. "Be a good white girl and unzip my fly and take my cock out of its hiding place, would you?"

Tim looked up at him and begged, "Olu, please ... you don't have to do this to her. She's my wife, for God's sake!"

"Shut up, white boy!" Shango snapped at him loudly. "Don't dare provoke me by entering into my conversation ever again. She is your wife, but she's my property now. So shut up and be a good white boy as you are, and watch."

Monica was trembling as her hands worked his pants and pulled down on his fly's zipper. She reached inside, feeling she was dipping her hand into a dark hole, and encountered his jockey briefs. She reached inside that one till she pulled out his semi-erect thick black snake. Her eyes grew wide at its size and she muttered another gasping sound.

"Oh my God!" she moaned.

Olu Shango threw his head to the ceiling and shook with laughter then turned to look down at her. "Don't worry, babe. It's not going to harm you. Not yet at least," he chuckled. Almost immediately his voice barked harshly at her. "Well, don't keep me waiting. Put those round lips of your to that cock and start sucking, slut!"