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The Truth about Abacha's Death || πš‹πš’ πš‚πšπšŽπš™πš‘πšŽπš— πšƒπš˜πš˜πšŒπš‘πš’



8 JUNE, 1998.

ASO ROCK VILLA.

“Please come forward, Fatmeh.”

The young woman obeyed. She was beautiful and her eyes reflected intelligence and character.

Sani inched close to her, his fingers trailing across her face, down her lush arms ... And into the contours of her breasts. They were large and firm. 

He clasped her head and eased a shimmering gaze into her eyes. She looked too good to be suspicious. A tingling sensation racked his groin, and his pupils contracted. He should take this slowly. "Show me what you have to offer, Fatmeh," he said, sinking back into the sofa, "in an artistic way."

The woman bowed, then danced in front of Sani. She pulled her shawl, shed her robe and swung her hips.

He salivated as his muscles turned weak with desire. Fatmeh's set of lace lingerie was a string bikini that left little to the imagination. 

She smiled on seeing the effect of her charms. “You like what you see, General?”

“Oh yes!” Sani replied, his sight blurring off. “Come closer and continue to strip for me.”

Fatmeh edged towards the sofa, wiggling along. Both lingerie came off leaving her unclad.

Sani sank deeper into the sofa and raised his hands to grab the beauty unto himself, but she patted them down. She plucked the string from her legs, holding it across his face, while he groaned with lust.

In a seductive dance around the sofa, she kept the string hovering over him, and stroke his face with her breasts, causing Sani to swallow hard. She was behind him now, and his eyes were contracted shut. It was time. Catch him unawares.

With a sleight of hand, she wrapped her string over his throat. Twisted it from left to right. Leaving the expiring General to struggle to gain hold of it, his veins popping out of his head. 

It sank into his skin, drawing blood. Sani now understood it was a garrotte covered by a band of lace. But his understanding came late. 

As his vision blurred, Fatmeh’s smile turned into a hateful rictus. “You won’t be able to steal money and play god over people’s lives ever again, you bastard!”


MEET THE AUTHOR:
STEPHEN TOOCHI lives in and writes from Lagos, Nigeria. He's an entrepreneur, a writer, salesman, and freelancer who has crafted engaging contents for websites and personal blogs. His works which cut across several genres of literature have appeared in local and international literary magazines and journals.

He loves weird travelling, doting on Yemi Alade and beans in any form. When he's not writing or working, he's either reading, listening to music or receiving rejection mails. Reach out to him on Facebook @ Stephen Toochi and Instagram @Toochi.Stephen.

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  1. This is beautiful. I read it, picturing every scene in my head.

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