By Emdee David
Natasha is having the fun of her life in Geneva, Switzerland, a place she has always dreamt to be. Her Facebook page and Instagram are filled with pictures she’d taken at very nice and attractive places. The inconsolable Ken is staring at one of them from his Ipad, the one she took at a beach in a colourful bikini which emphasizes her buttocks and her salacious breasts that even the blind could feel without seeing or touching. The anger in Pastor Ken if obvious while lying down in a bed of a hotel he has chosen to hide and cover his shame. The sexy photo turns him on. He is having an erection. He is almost done with a full bottle of brandy, a habit he had quit over 20 years ago.
“Jezebel,” Ken screams as he opens another photo where Natasha stands beside some white men who held different parts of her body in a swimming pool. This is killing him. He stands up and walks around the room, confused, angry, horny and lonely.
He picks his phone and searches for a number to dial. He has not called or spoken to anyone since the Saturday his wedding ceremony was squashed by an absentee bride, the runaway bride. His phone had been switched off. It’s a week now but it all seems so fresh to him. Where had he gone wrong? Is God punishing him for the “little” sin he’d committed before been committed to the Almighty and His vineyard? His mind flashes back to the tail end of that Saturday. He had been driven to the hotel he had booked for their horny moon with his dream wife, Natasha Peters. Cynthia and Vera were there to console him, along with his best man, parents and a few elders of his church. All later left except Cynthia and Vera who helped him move his things to a new Hotel late that night. Cynthia assured him everything would be fine, he would overcome the public shame and come out triumphant. She also left her number just in case he needed anything. Now he needs something and so he dialed Cynthia’s number. It barely rings before she picks.
“Can you come? ” Ken says into the phone.
“I can cum if the rod stays strong for a long time. And who the hell are you?” Cynthia’s voice grows from sexy to sadistic.
“It’s me, Ken.”
“Oh, Pastor…” says an excited Cynthia, but she is interrupted.
“Can you come over, now?”
“Yes, yes, but where is that?”
“Same hotel I moved to that night?”
“Oh, you still there? Thought you must have gone back home…”
“Come now before I die.”
Ken is wearing only a pair of boxers as Cynthia comes in, her revealing top and short skirt not helping matters at all. From his look, he is drunk but still strong.
“Why would a woman travel on her wedding day?”
“Is that why you called me?”
“No, no, I’m sorry.” He apologizes and sips from his brandy. He
sits on the bed. “Sorry to bother you, I… I… I… just need a company. I thought I was gonna die.”
“I know what you need, and you really need to die” Cynthia says, and Ken’s eyes widens in fear. “French death, I mean,” Cynthia adds while she pulls off her bra and gulps from his glass. Her skirt doesn’t need any labour to give way. It is the type for a “quickie.” She wears no panties, and not any tight. Ken begins to laugh, seeing her nakedness and especially the big, dark, erect nipples.
“Are you ready?” says Cynthia, “I am all for you. Eat me, and die.”
“I hate that word.” Ken says but Cynthia’s hands are already working on his nipples. She nibbles his earlobe and then blows a warm breeze into his ears.
“French death, I mean.” She says, and helps his boxers off his waist. Ken giggles and Cynthia joins him.
“You got condom here?”
Ken shakes his head. Cynthia pulls out a colourful pack of perfumed Condom from her purse and throws it to Ken. He grabs it and tears it off with his teeth. The scent of it is seductive. Ken comes alive and begins to suck Cynthia’s nipple.
“Should we be doing this?” says Ken when Cynthia rubs his testicles.
“You called me, and I am here. Or should I go?”
“Common, not what I mean.”
“Then be a man.” She turns and lays her back to the bed, her legs she lifts up and beckons with her middle finger for Ken to come hither. And indeed, the anger and frustration of the failed wedding disappears. He smiles and calls Cynthia “baby”. Cynthia laughs lovingly and calls him “honey”, and then thinks within her, when this one that, brother pastor?
He climbs her and begins to thrust hard. She screams and asks for more.
“Harder, harder…” she shouts, and he gives it to her – harder, so hard that Cynthia begins to cry as she was climaxing. He joins her in the process – climaxing, and crying. He jerks so hard that Cynthia feels his hard manhood on her womb. She screams the more and holds him tightly. He wraps his hands around her neck as he presses his waist harder into hers.
“Oh baby,” he exhales. She exhales too, longer than his. He tries to pull out of her, but she pulls him back from his buttocks. “Not yet, honey.” He collapses on her, and then he feels the pleasure of her raw, warm juice.
“Did the condom break?’ he thought. “Whatever!”
He sleeps off and dreams of Natasha and himself at the beach…in Geneva.