Why did you cut your hair?

What am I going to run my hands through?

I didn’t let my hair grow out for you. You’ll be fine. Get here first.


What are you doing?

Shhh… Stay.

It’s 9.21pm and by now, it’s easy to tell that I do not have good intentions

towards your body. This silk Hermes scarf that reminds me of Paris, its fit for your

right hand. What are you doing? Is the question you ask when I secure your right

wrist. You know. I don’t know why you bother with being coy. Lyon is the orange

scarf that secures your left wrist. Marseille is the scarf that holds your left leg. My

eyes trace the distance between the two of them. 2 hours and a bit by train. 10

minutes by slow, deliberate kisses from the crook of your arm, via your

sidesthrough your waist, right down through your hip right down to your leg.

X is the shape your body forms when I secure Lagos – the black silk neck tie I

have in a sailor’s knot around your right ankle.

I laugh. Like I do when the moment is supposed to be awkward. I laugh when I’m supposedly not supposed to. Fuck that. I have you at my mercy now. This is an identical moment to the ones you have with your man. You like it, your nails grazing his back and your power over him is obvious. But no, you love it even more when A Man takes you. It’s why even though you’re tied up, blindfolded and helpless; you love it. You act like you don’t but I know you do. You squirm and make those purring noises of discomfort. But you love it. I know this because you moan when Istanbul brushes against your left nipple. Istanbul is a multicolored feather that reminds me of the Holi.

It drives you crazy and you moan. You hate it; losing control like this. It’s a change

from how you subtly dominate him and he doesn’t even know it. But it’s amusing

to me and I chuckle just to aggravate you further. Your man is reverent and

worships at the temple that is your body. Fuck that, I’ll just flick Istanbul lightly

again and again, as I please, against your clit. You draw and writhe against the

holds of Paris and Lyon. Viva la France! I say under my breath.

I’ll need to change the sheets.

Monday is going to chuckle and say Oga is a naughty man from the stains you’ve made on my sheets. But I’ll wait. I’ll wait till you beg for it. You need to be filled. I know you do. But every man before right now has carelessly plunged into your depths without bottoming out in the nadir of who you are.
Say it, I whisper. It’s right on the tip of your tongue. Just do it. But no, the last vestiges of your control quiver as I run the pink feather from your right knee, via the inside of your thighs up against your mound. I chuckle as you shudder. It’s amusing how your flesh shakes and quivers.
Say it, I chuckle.

Fuck me.

Prague is the ice against your clit as I lick lightly on your left inner thigh. I want more conviction in your voice as you say these things. I want you to say it louder. I withdraw both ice and tongue; and blow. The warm air causes you to shiver. Say it.

Fuck me, please
Hahahaha. The desperation in your voice is too amusing, abeg. No, you don’t mean it, I say. Fuck you, Jibola stop torturing me and fuck me dammit.
So feisty, I groan. It’s so much fun, this torture and teasing. But my body craves to be pleasured as well. I free Paris and Lyon but Marseille and Lagos are still splayed. Your hands, like a barnacle, clasp around my neck. And you dig your nails into my back. Weird how, it courses as pleasure down my spine.
Your breath catches as I fit just enough in. I look at your face, like a coke bottle with beads of sweat all over. Just the tip, I say, Ewinot pen you. We laugh together and you call me a bastard. I delve in to the hilt and you cut off mid-sentence. It’s the look on your face that makes me laugh again. I hope it’s not your cum-face, but you prove me wrong; drawing blood and holding me tighter. And you squeal, making me wish I had ear-muffs.
I thrust round and round. It’s a dance, and I’m swaying to an unheard soukous rhythm, coaxing more and more pleasure out of you. You whimper and say things only you can understand. It’s how I know it’s just begun.


It will be a long night.