Merry Wives of Master Shango , livre ebook

Title Page
THE MERRY WIVES OF MASTER SHANGO
Damien Dsoul



Publisher Information
The Merry Wives Of Master Shango
published in 2015 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Damien Dsoul 2015
The rights of Damien Dsoul have been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.



Dedication
To Gregg and Amy Govern
My favorite Boston couple.



Book One
Chapter One
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 Friday morning and 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 their lecherous eyes 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. Most times he preferred keeping her indoors, out of sight from the world.
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 they’d met and conversed briefly while her hubby went about his affairs. Her husband knew about her meeting the strange man, and though he’d fumed customarily about it, in the end, there was little or nothing he could do about it. The 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 pair of shades as she clamored for 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 barked 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 sudden annoyance. “What the hell-” she wanted to holler curse words at him but stopped when she saw the frightened look on his face. He turned to look 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 harshly, 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 pair of 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. Right fucking now!”
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 anything of such on the news. Or maybe whatever it was had happened only seconds 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 for a charity organization 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 get 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.