THE JAILBIRD (Episode 12)

THE JAILBIRD (Episode 12) ®18 SNVL
©Aaron A.A

Baaba lives in a secluded residential area within Achimota.
She lives on the tenth floor of a beautiful ap@rtment block, and as Chris rides in the elevator with her he feels a little uneasy because the whole place reeks of the aura of wealth.
He wonders how a prison officer can afford such a place, but he refrains from asking her.
The elevator doors dings open, and he follows her out unto a lush corridor that has paintings on the walls and red carpeting on the floor.
There are artificial plants in exquisite glas-s pots along the corridor.
As they begin to walk towards a door at the end of the corridor Baaba links her arm throu-gh his.
There is an inscription on her door; it is black cursive writing on a gold plate.
Ap@rtMENT 20
She takes a card out of her bag and swipes the security gadget beside the door.
There is a beep, and its red beeping light turns to green and the door cli-cks open.
Chris follows her into the spacious and exquisitely-furnished interior.
The curtains are of the highest quality.
The living-room area is a show of sheer wealth from the imported rug to the bar area to the gadget systems.
He can see tall glas-s that forms French Windows opening out unto a lovely balcony.
She puts on the lights as he stands looking around him with obvious discomfort.
She gives a little laugh as she stands gazing up at him.
My father is rich, Chris. He bought this ap@rtment for me. I’m an only child, and my mother died when I was seven. Daddy remarried, and now lives in Germany. I’m all alone here. He wanted me to join him, but I chose to stay in Ghana. He comes down twice a year to visit me, and I have the option of visiting him twice a year, but I rarely do.
He looks at her and smiles wanly.
I see. Beautiful ap@rtment.
plea-se make yourself comfortable. Will be with you in a jiffy.
She puts on the gigantic Samsung Curve HD television, and then she disappears throu-gh another door.
With the air-condition providing a cool atmosphere, Chris sinks into a comfortable seat and tries to watch a Premier League game.
He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he remembers is Baaba standing over him and shaking his arm gently.
He opens his eyes and looks at her.
She has changed into a short white dress, and bent like the way she now as she shakes him awake, he can see the creamy t©ps of her brea-sts, and he sits up quic-kly.
She steps back with a smile, and he notices that the dress st©ps just short of her p@n-ty line, and that her well-formed th!ghs and legs are ba-re.
Wake up, sleepy head. Lunch is re-ady.
Wow. Did I sleep that long?
She chuckles gently, S-xily, and takes his hand, and begins to walk, dragging him behind her, and his eyes feasts on her astounding figure and her gently-undulating mounds.
No. Had some food on the cold. Warmed it for you. Hope you don’t mind.
Chris takes his eyes off her with an effort.
Five years without a woman, and finding his best friend now almost married to the love of his life has done something to him, and he fights down the de-sire that is ripping throu-gh him.
Her dining-room is an offshoot from the living-room area, and once again he is struck afresh by its beauty.
She makes him sit at the head of an oval-shaped glas-s table, and serves him the best banku and okro stew he has tasted in years.
The goat meat in the stew is a delectable edible delight that makes love to his taste buds.
He eats two ba-lls of banku whilst she sits near him with her chin in her palm gazing at him with her eyes glazed over with a mixture of happiness and sadness.
Finally, he sits back and belches so loudly that both of them bur-st out laughing.
That is the best food I’ve tasted in years, Baaba.
Thanks. And I love the way you’ve eaten everything. When a woman’s food is destroyed like that by her man, it brings great happiness.
Her man? Chris raises his eyebrows at her, but she just chuckles and begins to clear the table.
He helps her, and later he dries the plates as she washes them in the beautiful kitchen.
They return to the living-room, and she asks him if he wants a drink.
He declines because he is very full. He accepts a glas-s of water as she mixes quinine water and Baron de Campos wine.
He sits in the chair and watches the football match. She stands at the hall looking at him, sipping her drink quietly.
Her face is without expression, and she ba-rely speaks to him.
After a while she drains her cu-p and moves slowly towards him.
She stands just in front of him, blocking his view of the television.
He slowly puts down his glas-s of water, and looks up warily at her.
He sees that herl-ips are slightly p@rted and we-t, and she is breathing quic-ker, her brea-sts moving gently with the depths of the pas-sion she is feeling.
He notices that she might not be wearing any bras-siere beneath that dress, because her n!ppl!s are taut and sticking out of the dress.
Her eyes are glazed with pas-sion, and he sees that she is trembling slightly.
And then she begins to sway slowly in a sort of S-xy dance, moving her hands first throu-gh her hair, mussing it up, and gently down to cu-p her firm brea-sts.
Her eyes are half-closed as she sways with her h!ps, turning round slowly, and then placing her hands on her knees, her bu-ttocks now outlined by her dress, s£dûçt!veand pliant, and then she begins a slow twer-king grind that takes his breath away.
Chris feels himself going almost breathless.
Five years of ha-rd labour in prison, without a visit from the woman he loves… and now this!
And she is a very beautiful woman.
The front of his trou-sers is distended as he struggles to breath.
She straightens slowly, and still with her back to him she pu-lls the stra-ps of the dress off her shoulders, and slowly she pu-lls it down, and it settles around her feet.
She is wearing a furious G-String that expo-ses the twin mounds of her derriere, and then she turns slowly and faces him.
She looks into his tortured eyes, and slowly she pu-lls down the p@n-ties and kicks it off her right foot.
She stands there, bronzed, beautiful, delectable, irresistible!
Her brea-sts are proud, her figure straight out of a fantasy, her curves electric.
With a gr-unt he blasts off the seat, and she meets him halfway.
Theirl-ips grind together in a k!ssso fierce that she tastes a dint of blood in her mouth.
She m0@n s as hisl-ips blaze a trail down her throat and his hands maul her pliant brea-sts.
She takes his right hand and plants it between her legs.
He feels her heat and moistness.
His hvge b©dy trembles as he squee-zes her bu-ttocks with his free hand.
His t©p comes off, and her hands feverishly work at his Zi-pper, ripping it down and dragging out his engorged member.
She pu-lls it between her legs and it care-sses her jade gate.
Hisl-ips sear down on her taut n!ppl!s, and she gr-unts with plea-sure de-ep in her throat.
She gr-abs his angry shaft and ru-bs it against her moist heavenly entrance.
She pushes him ha-rd , and he falls on the seat.
She straddles him, planting hungryl-ips on his, gripping him and hoisting herself up slowly as she prepares t
o settle her diamond slit on his pin.
The realization hits him that in a second he will be inside her, and there will be no turning back.
Chris grips her shoulders and suddenly fli-ps her first to his left, and then he pu-lls himself from un-der her.
He gets off the seat and sits dejectedly on the floor.
He is still trembling as he reaches for his glas-s of water and drinks hungrily, thirstily.
She sits up in the seat, her eyes searing into him.
She is still arou-sed, still unfulfilled and greatly in nee-d of him.
Chris? What’s this? What’re doing?
He gets to his feet and stands with his back to her.
Sorry, Baaba. I can’t.
(in a tearful whisper)
Why? Is it because of Effe?
Chris shakes his head.
No, Baaba. I’m not the same man anymore. Five years ago I would’ve made love to you gladly. I was a bad boy, Baaba, before I went to prison. I cheated on Effe, and I had no scruples. Five years ago I would’ve made love to you without a shred of guilt.
plea-se. Don’t do this to me. Love me. Make love to me, Chris, plea-se.
He turns then.
She is still lying on the seat, n!ppl!s still taut, legs still enticingly spre-ad open.
I promised myself, Baaba, that the next time I made love it will be with meaning. When we make love it will be because I want to spend the rest of my life ma-king love to only you, and no other woman. When I make love it is going to have a meaning, not just using a woman’s b©dy to slake off a lvstful thirst! I’ll never do that to any woman again.
(in a taut whisper)
Chris, plea-se. St©p this. I nee-d you. My b©dy nee-ds you. I’ve waited a long time for this moment, to feel you in me. I fell in love with you, Chris. plea-se, don’t spurn me.
He takes her hands.
Baaba, forgive me. I’m a jailbird, and I’m so confused right now. My life has taken a nosedive, and I don’t know what is going to happen. I won’t make love to you simply because you’re there and available, or that we both feel like it. I want it to have a meaning. I want to make love more than you, but I’m putting that p@rt of my life behind me. If I make love to you in the future, it’ll be because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. plea-se, un-derstand me.
She snatches her hands away from him and sits up.
She reaches for him desperately, dra-ping her arms around his n£¢k, crushing herl-ips blindly at him.
He gr-unts and pushes her away, stepping back and getting up quic-kly.
She stands up with a cry and runs desperately away from him.
Oh, Lord! He spurned me! He spurned me, oh dear Lord!
Baaba, no, plea-se wait! Baaba!
She disappears into the kitchen.
For a moment he contemplates going after her, and then he thinks it is best to leave her to cool down and get over it.
He sli-ps into his shi-t, pours himself more water, and as drinks it she comes back from the kitchen.
She is holding a broad-blade knife with a sharp ti-p in her right hand.
She is glaring at him, and her face is a grimace.
He sees that her eyes are very red, and her hair is standing straight like hackles.
She speaks, and spittle flies out of her mouth.
(seething with fury)
You b******! You f***ing b******! Spurn me, would you? You f***ing stupid b******!
Chris is so shocked that for a moment he cannot move as he stares at the girl who had been so tender and so loving a minute ago, now looking like a character from a horror movie.
Hey. Baaba!
(foaming around the mouth)
You b******! You f***ing b******! Spurn me, would you?
Suddenly she comes tearing across the room at him at incredible speed, screaming shrilly, the knife raised.
She is like a woman possessed. She gyrates and slashes at Chris with the knife viciously, screaming all the while!
She tries to cut open his throat and che-st and stomach!
Chris only survives because he is an expert in GojuFist, and knows how to defend himself.
However, he is completely shocked by the changed Baaba so much that his movements are slow, and a downswing strike Baaba has launched almost buries the ti-p of the knife in Chris’ eye, but he brings up his arm just in the nick of time, and the knife buries itself de-eply in Chris’ arm.
He screams with pain, and pushes Baaba.
She falls back, and the knife gets stuck in Chris’ arm.
He pu-lls it free and holds it as blood spurts from his arm in bur-sts.
It is a de-ep horrible cut, and he stares at it in horror.
(angrily, shocked)
Damn it, Baaba! What’s wrong with you? You could’ve killed me!
Baaba’sl-ips are drawn back from her teeth in a snarl, her eyes red and wild, her hands bent like claws.
There is nothing S-xy and alluring about her now, even though she is still n-ked.
She looks like a wild animal as thick spit drools off her mouth and falls down on her brea-sts.
(in an animal growl)
Spurn me, would you? b******! f***ing b******!
She picks up a glas-s flower pot by the armchair, rushes forward, and crashes it down on Chris’ head.
Chris shouts with pain as glas-s sha-rd s rain on him, and blood spurts from a cut on his forehead.
Suddenly she turns and runs straight at the glas-s that forms the French Windows that lead to the balcony.
(screaming fearfully)
Baaba! Nooooooo!!!
She crashes into the glas-s with a growl, and she falls unto the balcony in a shower of broken glas-s!
Chris screams with fear.
Baaba is lying lifeless in a shower of fragmented glas-s.
Her face and b©dy are cut in a million places, and she is bleeding all over her n-ked b©dy!
(shocked, stunned)
Oh, God! No, no, no!
She is lying still as if she is dead, and she is bleeding all over!
Fresh Trouble For Chris! What do you think?

JAILBIRD continues…. plea-se like and

NEXT (episode 13)

PREVIOUS (Episode 11)