I take a pair of my best underwear, and I sniff it to make sure it smells good before I put it on.
It smells like how I would normally smell after sex and I have no qualms with this. I wear my gown, the black one that grips my bum good, the same one which Ahmed says spurred him to propose to me. My best gown.
The drive to work has me bombarded with varied lines of thought. How do I proceed with my plans? I speed along the Lekki-Epe express and I avoid traffic by being just ahead of every other person.
When I get to my destination, Austin is not cleaning the entrance to the duplex- that is my place of work, like he always do. This is the first needle to the bubble that is my plan. I begin to panic and I can feel my pussy walls clench tight. Frustrated, I hurry up the flight of stairs that lead to my office. I find my door wide open and Austin is inside, wiping the table off.
“Good morning, ma“, he says upon noticing my presence. I ignore his greeting and fling my handbag on the cushion in the room.
.
My office is clean, always. There is no great view but I have a small window from where I can look down at traffic. I painted the walls white and at one corner I have a cabinet, with a flower vase beside it. On the east wall I have a painting, a Monet impression, I am very proud of.
What makes me happier is that in this moment, I am the earliest to the office which means that my plans can proceed unhinged.
Austin is cleaning with a mop now. I see the veins that crisscross his arms as he wipes the floor. His strength needs no testament, needs no glorification, it just is, an innate quality like the many qualities I have.
“Shut the door“, I say to Austin.
“Okay ma“, he responds. He squeezes the mop dry, and then he starts taking his items out of my office.
“Foolish boy“, I say. “There are mosquitoes outside that’s what I mean. Who said you should stop working?“
The look on his face is priceless. I can see his throat move when he swallows his own spit.
He pulls the door shut. When he is in, I proceed with the work on my desk but I can feel his eyes on me as he mops the floor clean.
“Did you clean under this table?“, I ask him, sternly.
“Eh?“, he replies, with a daft look on his face. I am beginning to see chinks in his armor.
“You dumb fuck!“, I yell. “Did you clean under this table?“
“Yes ma“, he stutters.
.
“It’s not clean. Come and clean it again. Use a rag to wipe the floor not that mop. I want to see my reflection in the tiles“.
He takes a rag from amongst his items by the door and he dips it in water from the bucket he uses to mop. Then he gets on his knees and looks at me one last time, his eyes defiant, before going under the table.
The fish has swallowed the bait.
“Hope you’re cleaning it well“, I ask.
“Yes ma“, he replies. I wait and wait, nothing. What is wrong with the men of this generation? Beads of sweat break on my forehead and the muscles of my pussy are so relaxed, my parties must be soaked by now.
“Clean under the chair“, I say, opening my legs apart so that he has a clear view to what lies between my legs.
“But ma?“
“Shut up, Austin. Do you want to be sacked? Clean under my chair!“
I can feel him between my legs now, I can see the top of his head from where I am cooped. The motion of his head, the movement of his arms, how close he is to everything, makes me shudder with excitement.
Yet he has not taken the incentive.
“Clean it well o“, I scold.
“Yes aunty“, he replies. Aunty? Aunty??? This piece of shit is not even worth my time.
Just when I am about to give up and kick him out of my office, I feel his tongue on my pussy.
To be continued…
Written by Dear Mac.
