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LUCY 1



JANETH RICE





PUBLISHED BY JANETH RICE



DISTRIBUTED THROUGH SMASHWORDS



COPYRIGHT 2019 JANET RICE



All rights reserved. No part of this publication maybe reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright owner.











































LUCY: EPISODE ONE

‘You have to fuck my pussy,’ she said gathering her legs to the bed and resting her head on her palms.

‘If you say so, your wish is my command.’

I then took up the hem of her gown above her groin and it was not surprising that she was naked. There were no underpants. Her belly was protruding so high that I was thinking that it could have covered her visual field while she was lying down. I brought my hands to her breasts which were now standing erect as a result of the progesterone.

As soon as she felt the touch, she told me that the sensation was a painful one. I immediately withdrew my hands and settled for the vaginal fluid. But there was confusion going on in my mind. Would I lie on top of her while sexing her since the protruding stomach would push me further away from on top of her and my cock would not find its way deeper into her pussy? If I asked her to turn over, where would she place her stomach as her weight might affect the fetus? She was still waiting for me to play my game while these thoughts were going on in my mind.

‘Honey, I am waiting for you to fuck my pussy,’ she said at last with impatience.

‘I don’t know the style I will give to you so that the baby in the womb will not be affected.’

‘And you claim to be a fucker? I have to lie on my side and then expose my pussy and asshole to you. You can now penetrate any of them or one after the other.’

It was then that it occurred to me that it was what I should have done. She lay on her right side and I maintaining the same position with her on the bed, threw in my cock and the vagina was warm to a satisfying level. As we went deeper and deeper into the pleasure, I did not remember that she told me not to touch her breasts and I had the two in my hands, squeezing them while she was just shouting like a cat. She did not remember again that she was having painful breasts and I then knew that the pleasure was greater than the pain.

As I was shedding my semen into her pussy, I felt first, an upsurge of intense pleasure, then a flood of shame preceded by total weakness all over my entire system. I rolled away from her body to the end of the bed.

After the first round of sex, she told me that the second round was going to be anal sex. She would change position by lying on her left side since the right side was now painful. She did and I took a cue from her and when my cock meandered into her anus it was as though every opening in her body had become larger, wider and more lubricated. It was easy penetrating her this time around. There was no need wetting either her pussy or asshole with saliva as before. Both of them were now on their own wet.

As I was fucking her asshole, she was groping for any part of my body to hold on to and in the process opening her mouth like a panting dog. At times she would bring my hand to her pussy and drag my fingers into it so that while I was slamming my cock in and out of her asshole I was at the same fingering her pussy, her clitoris becoming not only larger but also longer but not as long as either that of Lucy or Liza or that of any of their friends when they were sexually stimulated after taking their drugs to that effect. It was a mixture of feces, blood and semen that I saw on my cock when I withdrew it out of the asshole. I got up and sharply sat on the edge of the bed with my feet planted firmly on the floor of the room. I looked at her and it was apparent that the flesh on her face was swollen in a disgusting way. The smell of her vagina was slightly offensive. I looked into her pussy closely and I noticed that it had whitish substance that was nauseating. Her anus when I peeped at it was revolting and the smell was foul. The smell of the mixture of her feces, blood and my semen around my penis was gross. It was as though everything, everybody myself inclusive had in the room become extremely unpleasant.

I wanted to get up immediately and have a wash and stroll out of the room though with no particular direction in my mind to go but the consequence of that action was what restrained me. I was about dragging down her dress to cover the smelly vagina and the asshole of hers when she made a move to stand on her own. There was no point going further than that since she would be thinking that I did not want to see her nakedness which might be interpreted by her to mean that I had as a result of the pregnancy started avoiding her. And that was true. She seemed to be reading my mind.

Bringing her feet down on the floor she let her gown cover her nudity. Slowly propping up her two palms on the knees, she painfully rose to her feet. Squeezed between her protruding belly which seemed to be pulling her forward and her buttocks which appeared to be receding further away from back to front, she shuffled across the room to the corner where she kept her pee-bucket and bending on the right hand side of her waist instead of on her knees grabbed hold of the bucket. Rolling the downward hem of her gown up to her navel she placed the pee-bucket in the centre of the room and peed into it while sitting on it without caring that there was the second person in the room with her. After all, I was her husband. What had I not seen her do? She was farting and I knew she shat as well. There and then her behaviour became repulsive. But I held my peace. It was for better or for worse.

When she was through doing what she had of late known how to do best she rose with great difficulty holding her dress up to her navel, looked at me amused at the contortion which had formed on my face, spat beside her. She reached for a toilet tissue on the low table, unrolled a reasonable length, held it in between her thumb and the rest of her fingers, bent her trunk forward and stuck out her asshole and thrusting her right hand spirally from behind into the hole with her left hand still holding on to her dress, cleaned the anus. She straightened up again, separated her legs and positioning her buttocks as though she were sitting on the air, wiped her pussy with the tissue. Whereupon she put the unclean tissue into the bucket which I believed contained water. She left hold of the hem of her dress which she was holding up to her navel, bent down again on her waist and carried the pee-bucket and went out of the room. And I knew she was going to pour the waste into the ancient pit latrine that was about to cave in.

While the whole actions of hers were going on, I held my breath. She could have mistakenly spilt the waste in our one room apartment. It was then that I knew that it was not easy sharing a room with a woman especially with a pregnant one. A dog could be more decent! I was still stunned when she pushed open the door and seeing that I was still naked told me to dress up and get her water to go and have a wash. She then kept the pee-bucket in its place. She could use it again when the time arose. I laughed within me. The room had become both urinary and restroom and she could easily covert it to bathroom by bathing inside it. It would then become trinity but not the holy trinity.

I cleaned up and wore a casual dress. She came and sat on the bed leaning backwards with her two hands planted firmly in an inclined position behind her on the bed supporting the whole weight of her body on those hands.

Like a house maid that would be paid or praised or given both at last I made the water ready and told her so. She asked for her towel which was hanging across the top of the door. I brought it and she told me to hold it up for her. She asked for the soap she would use and while hanging the towel on my wrist I made for the soap.

‘What about my sponge?’

I equally provided that one. I was standing waiting for her next order when she told me to come and bath her.

‘Let’s go,’ I said with the soap and the sponge in the left while the towel was still hanging on my left wrist. I was about to lift the bucket of water by its handle when she asked me where I was going. ‘To the bathroom of course,’ I answered.

‘Which bathroom?’

‘Our bathroom,’ I said but realizing that the bathroom was what the occupants of the forty rooms in the house made use of said, ‘The compound bathroom.’

‘That bathroom,’ she said as if my comments were not worthy of her attention, ‘is dirty and moreover I don’t have the strength to go there now.’

I was thinking that she did not want to bath immediately; that she had changed her mind; that she would do that later. I voiced out my feeling, ‘Okay you will have a wash later?’

‘Why later?’

‘You said that you did not want to go to the bathroom now.’

‘So you want me to go and contact disease in the dirty toilet called bathroom?’

‘Not at all,’ I said sharply.

‘Then I will bath here and you are the one to bath me.’

What I was thinking had finally happened. She had converted the one room apartment into bathroom, urinary and restroom. I was right. That was the trinity I was thinking about. Dazed with unbelief I brought out the bucket to the centre of the room and asked her to teach me how to do it so that the water would not splash on to the floor of the room.

However, she surprised me the more when she told me that it did not matter. It could easily be moped up and the person to do it would still be me. I wanted to back out, to tell her that it was not proper for her to bath inside our one room apartment, but remembering my inner advice that she was carrying my baby, I gave in.

I quietly lay the soap and the sponge on the floor and placed the towel on the bed and went closer to her and she raised her two hands, an indication that I should remove her dress, which I rolled over above her head and the business began.

She told me to do it very well because when the baby finally arrived I would be the one who would be doing the whole domestic chores, bathing her and the baby. My response was a stony silence. She asked me to look for a cup and I immediately brought one and still maintaining my stony silence cast it into the bucket.

She then gave me a little lesson or would I say instruction on how to do it: ‘Dip the sponge into water to wet it. Rub the soap into the sponge. When it foams, move the sponge backward and forward, on and around my body while pressing it firmly. Be careful so that you will not splash enough water on to the floor. But even if you do you will still be the one to mop up the water from the floor.’

I started with the cleanest parts of her body: the upper parts, her chest, and her head and as I brought the sponge to her face, she shouted that soap suds had gotten into her eyes and that I must pour enough water into the eyes to remove the suds.

I was happy and frightened at the same time. Happy that it served her right because she should have known that it was not proper using our one room apartment as bathroom, restroom and urinary, I was frightened that that singular act which though was not deliberate could be interpreted to mean many things by her. I said I was sorry as I poured large quantity of water into her eyes to remove the suds. I kept saying sorry until she shouted that I should stop saying sorry and concentrate on the business of washing her body. With this, the case or what would have been family court case died a natural death. My final action was clean her body with the towel and mop up the floor.

After this I felt really satisfied and so did she for we chatted amiably until evening.

In a dream that very night I was on a bus that was travelling to an unknown place. There were four girls and one guy on the bus. The girls were all beautiful. The young man apart from me was the only male passenger on the bus. The young man started talking familiarly to me. He said that he knew me back in our university days which almost seemed half a decade now; he said that he knew that I was going to make it even against all odds.

Though I had never before seen that young dude the way he was talking to me made me associate him with a vaguely known imaginary image in our university days. After creating a version from his hitherto non-existing version I settled down to discussing with him in a more relaxed manner.

He asked me what I was doing now, whether I had built a house, married, bought a car. To each of his questions, I gave him the answer he would like to hear based on his knowledge of me in the past. Meanwhile, the four beautiful girls, one of whom appeared like a model, were talking happily about an event that was to come or the one they were attending at that very moment. The one that looked like a model was the central character. Everything they were discussing was revolving around her.

At regular interval the driver would pull up alongside, usually at a bus stop to carry more passengers. He continued this way until the white bus loaded to its full capacity. And the journey which seemed not to end kicked off in earnest. I glanced around the bus and noticed that more males had boarded the vehicle. While I was discussing with the young man who claimed to know me and everything about my future when we were still in the university, the four girls were talking about their recent trips to the United States of America and Europe. It was when one of them received a call and my acquaintance asked her whether it was ‘daddy’ that was calling that I knew that the young man was the only brother of the four sisters. They were going to a wedding ceremony which was to be held in their father’s house. They were almost late. But what surprised me was that one of the four girls, the one that was like a superstar model was the one that was to be wedded. And the wedding according to the call that came through had already started and the groom still had not come out.

I began to analyze the kind of wedding that wedding was- a wedding without husband or a wedding during which the bride was still searching for her groom. ‘What a wedding!’ I sighed.

As the six of us who appeared to be together, my connection or familiarity with the four girls made possible by the familiarization of their only brother with me, were discussing the rest of the passengers on the bus were mute and were listening to us. It was surprising to me that as the bus drove at very high speed for more than two hours nobody, none of the passengers offered to come down. I was confused as to whether they were also going to that wedding without groom or not. But one thing I knew was that I did not know where the bus was going and I myself had no destination in mind.

As the endless journey progressed I couldn’t resist looking lustfully at the girl who was very much like a model and as I kept stealing a look at her, I did not know when I told her that I loved her.

She replied immediately that she loved me too without a second thought. Hearing this, the five siblings conspiratorially looked from one to the other. They had achieved their objective without my knowing it. I had wanted to ask the driver to pull up alongside for me to get down but the air of importance I was feeling by discussing with these children of a rich father, the sweetness of the smoothness of the endless journey, the curiosity to know the end of the journey, the hunger to attend a wedding without groom, restrained me.

We were driven into a large compound that had Stamford Bridge as its equivalent in size. All the passengers were onboard when the bus cascaded to a stop in front of a white duplex that was a replica of what was the house of one Mr. Nwunenem in West Africa. As we stepped down from the bus the hitherto silent passengers broke into a loud laughter. They became voluble. I scanned the environment and it was beautified with flowers of different species everywhere. Without being asked to we moved in a single file into the building from which music, apparently the venue of the wedding, was blaring.

My male acquaintance on the bus had vanished. I searched for him with my eyes but I couldn’t locate him.

However, my lover on the bus came and interlocked her arm with mine. Arm in arm we marched in with her three sisters walking behind us with their faces beaming with happiness. As we were marching, I discovered that many invited guests carrying glasses of wine in their hands cheered us up. I looked up and saw a man standing on the balcony with his wife in our national costume. They could be the parents of the bride. The man, in senator’s suit with a black staff in his right hand and a wine glass in his left was listening to what a young man, that dude I met on the bus, who probably might be his son, was telling him. The wife with wrapper wound round her waist down her legs was adorned in a pink blouse. A starchy scarf wound round her head almost spirally pointed upwards.

While the man simulated anger in seeing me with his daughter without his permission, the woman told me to be bold in telling her daughter that I loved her and that I would marry her if she would allow me to stay with her. Afraid that I would lose the beautiful girl if I did not act immediately I told her that I loved her and that I was ready to marry her. The whole place erupted into a wild laughter.

The wedding then began in earnest. The girl had finally found a husband. The officiating ministers whom I was told left in anger because the groom refused to show up at the wedding were called to come back and do their duty. Immediately they were driven into the venue in a vehicle that was sent to go and bring them back.

As the wedding continued, more visitors came and the duplex could not contain all the guests. We moved downstairs and it became really an armada of wedding train. The officiating ministers asked who the parents of the wedding couple were. The parents of the girl I loved came and stood behind her without anybody standing behind me or offering to do that. A heavy silence that followed the vacuum was paused when two people I had never seen before- a man and a woman- came and stood behind me. Questions were asked and marriage vows were exchanged.

As I sat with my newly wedded wife after the marriage register had been signed I whispered into her ears that I was such a lucky man to have married her. She told me that it was as if it was her faith that worked for her. She said that immediately she saw me she fell in love. But she could not be the first to openly express her desire to me. She was like being on top of the world when I told her that I loved her.

I told her that I did not know when I expressed my feeling to her and that I did not know that she would accept my proposal. She turned her cheek and I gave her a peck. She then leaned on me with her head placed on my shoulder. I was about to take the girl into the inner room so that we would consummate the marriage when my wife shook me so violently that I sat right up on the bed, confused initially, but remembering that I had just been involved in a marriage that was never consummated became annoyed with her.

‘Are you not going to work?’ she asked, ignoring my countenance.

‘Today is Saturday,’ I replied.

‘Okay,’ she snorted.

I then became more annoyed for that interruption which happened at the critical moment in my dream-marriage. I looked at her. She had already backed the wall, her buttocks displaying the line that divided them into two equal parts on her gown. I lay back again. However as I was about to concentrate more on the dream of the night I heard a noise outside. It was full of hysteria and urgency. What could it be? Reluctantly I rolled on my right side and faced the door with my ears on end to catch a meaning or two from the hubbub. But it seemed as though my effort had been a useless one.

My wife, who appeared to be fast asleep, stirred up, lifted up her slender frame and, placing it horizontally across my trunk, prepared her ears and eyes to listen to the noise. We stayed thus for more than three minutes. In order to escape from the inconvenience of her weight on my trunk I told her that I wanted to go and find out what was happening outside. She lifted her body from mine. I gathered my feet on to the floor, pulled my trousers up to my waist and girdling the trousers with my black belt, made for my black shirt and slipped it on. I reached for a pair of flip-flops under the bed and slipped my feet into them, made for the door and opened it. In the meantime the noise now rose in crescendo.

Outside crowd had gathered and were pointing and looking. My eyes went straight to the groin of a naked man. I was surprised that his cock or half of it had been cut off. It was unbelievable. Nobody offered to help him. Nobody volunteered to call the police. The confused man was not any less a sorry sight than he was a gory sight. The remaining half of the cock which was almost the base was streaming with blood. The crowd was just watching him. Some even went closer as the man was telling the story as it actually happened. Others were with their camera phones capturing him. The pain could have been so severe that the man was not interested in who might upload his nude pictures to the internet or the social media.

I asked about three people questions of what really happened that made the man’s cock disappear or whether he was born that way which was unlikely as he would neither have been naked nor would his cock have been streaming with blood. One wriggled himself out of my way while the other slapped me so hard that I then began to think that I was wrong to have asked the question. The third person was busy with his phone capturing the naked man. It was when I asked the fourth person that I got an answer.

This man whose name was Paul had visited his lover, a married woman known as Vicenza. That was not his first time. They had been doing it for a very long time. Each time the husband was not around Paul would like Nicodemus sneak into the house of this man and have sex with his secret lover. He did not know that he had been noticed and reported to the husband of the adulteress.

On the night before that fateful morning the man had told his wife that he was travelling to Abuja on a sales trip. Already he had discussed with spies who would feed him with information as to the whereabouts of his wife with the lover. He was hanging out at one of the nearby joints when a call came through that Paul had as usual gone to fuck his wife. He instructed his informants to keep tight watch over his house till morning when he would disgrace his wife’s fucker. Spy network is a two way conduit. If Paul were smart enough he would have had his own informant who would have contacted him immediately and he would have left when contacted that there was fire on the mountain.

The two secret lovers were startled when the man threw open the door very early in the morning and in fury held the fucker by his penis and circumcised him the second time, but this time cutting off the foreskin entirely. It was when Paul’s penis had been cut off that he was allowed to run madly out shouting like a bull. Neighbors had gathered and were begging the furious man whose wife was fucked to release the part of the penis that had been cut off. The furious man said that he could not release the foreskin since it was now useless to the owner. The crowd told him that it could still be stitched up medically in the hospital. The man told them that he would tender it as an exhibit, that he would use it to prove whether he was guilty or not in the court of law. The crowd told him that the wrongly circumcised man needed to even if at least it was for fancy have his penis complete and the man whose wife was fucked replied that he had even put the cut off penis in a pot and was about to cook it and eat.

The man whose penis was cut off was now staring at his half penis, the enormity of what he did to himself or what was done to him becoming clearer. He might not fuck again and if he was married and had not had children another man would definitely be fucking his wife in order to raise children for him. And his wife had to ease her passion on another man. Judging by the golden rule and the law of Karma what the wrongly circumcised man was doing to his fellow man had boomeranged on him. It was a backfire. He was fucking his fellow man’s wife. Now other men would, and this time at his own volition, be fucking his wife. He no longer had penis. And he needed children. I reasoned that Karman was such a bastard. But it served him right. Was there no hotel around where he would have taken the woman to? But to ask that question was to answer it. What about the time I was sleeping with my neighbors’ wives? Was I not fucking them on their matrimonial bed?

In the meantime my wife shuffled her feet towards my direction and, shocked at the sight of the naked man whose penis had been divided into two equal halves, stood gazing at the man and half of his penis which was dripping with blood. When she had fed her eyes with enough of the stares at the man, she came and stood beside me. With her head drooping on my shoulder, she asked me what really happened. I told her the story as it was told me or so I thought. Her response was sighing. We stood thus until the arrival of the police in their Black Maria.

They first went to the man whose penis was cut off. He was talking with his eyes, ears and mouth open. After his explanation they told him to enter the vehicle. As he was stepping into the vehicle they made for the room of the man whose wife was fucked and handcuffed him and his wife and violently pushed them into the Black Maria. Another police officer came out with a black pot, probably the pot in which the half penis was being either cooked or fried by the furious man.

While the vehicle was pulling away many expressed shock at the dastardly act of a man cutting off a fellow man’s penis as others expressed incredulity at the immoral act of a sane man sleeping with a married woman, a wife of his fellow man on her matrimonial bed. It was a division of two camps one of which was for the cutter and against the fucker and the other against the cutter and for the fucker.





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