#Blogfest: Breaking Free

#Blogfest: Breaking Free

#Blogfest 2:0, Day 4 – #30dayscountdownto2016

As usual, he came during the day. When everyone else is too busy working to understand what goes on in the big office.

No, I don’t work. Yes, I go to the office, I resume at 7:30a.m and close at 5:00pm. Yes, I’m paid huge sums of money. But no, I don’t work.

Or rather, I don’t consider what I do work. It’s more like hoeism.

Yes, I said it. I’m an office hoe. You know that category? The one that is called ‘office sex’ on those sites, yeah? That’s what I do. Only to me, it’s paid office prostitution.

No no, don’t think i enjoy it. I hate it, I detest it, in fact I loathe it! This life…this bondage. This living prison cell, but I have no control over this…

He smiles as he walks in. That mischievous smile, fueled by lust and an awakening in his groin.  His smile is gleeful, his expression shouts triumph, victory.

I steel my body against his touch. I’ve had enough, too much. I smile back a him, one laced with anger and pain, one showing only hospitality to his nasty desires. I’m used to the routine, why won’t I? It’s been my weekly activity for years. But today will be the last time I dance to his music.

I remember how it started-the interview that rainy Tuesday morning. I remember how my black pumps were kept on as he had his way. It was my only way to get the job. And I thought that would be the end.

And then my second day at the office. “You know what I want”, he stated flatly as if it had been part of our deal. I was shocked, but now it’s as usual as drinking water.

But not again.

I fell helplessly against him, and allowed him have his way. Till now, I still remember his grunts as he took his savage pleasure in my frail body. Yes, he tripled my salary. I earned even more than the directors earned. But no more.

Frankly, I don’t give two fucks about the money. After all, he’s treated me like a mistress, filling my bank accounts with more than enough funds.

As he whispers endearing words in my ears, the same ones he says every time, I’m grateful I’m against my desk. I arch my back, reaching for it.

My Saviour, My Deliverer. Shar’Dama Ka, I say within me, enjoying the flow of the Krasian word for deliverer. I’m going to set myself free today; surely, I have power over what goes into me and comes out. And certainly who derives their pleasure in me.

I chuckle a bit, managing to make it sound as a moan, stunned at what a little object can do. I imagine the headlines when they find out, ‘Office Worker Ends Game For Boss’ and the frantic search for me when it all comes to light. ’Worker disappears leaving boss in a state of deep sleep’.

My laughter turns to sadness as I think of his pretty wife and cute daughter. Barely a teenager, I can’t help but feel sorry for the daughter who would now live her life without a father. But then, it is probably for the best. A monster like him would know no boundaries, not even with his daughter.

He turns his back and starts talking while unbuttoning his shirt and removing his other items of clothing. This is my only chance. I pick up the weapon and aim it properly. I’ve timed it all to perfection, he’s slow at undressing, always wanting to ‘give me a show’.

Too bad I’m the one giving the show today.

Before I can have any rethink or feel sympathy for anyone who might be affected, I pull the trigger once…twice…thrice…five times. Until I see him fall down, so wounded that I know there’s nothing anyone can do to save him.

Satisfied, I pick up my bag and walk towards the door. At the point where I have to cross over his now lifeless body, I stop and stare at him. This man was once my only source of hope. I remember walking into his office, hoping and praying that I get the job.

Indeed, I got the job. But what a job it was.

I close my eyes and will all memories of him to be drowned in the deepest part of my mind. I want nothing to do with a dead man, not even memories. After all, who wants to remember memories of being a pleasure toy?

I shut the door firmly, against him and that world. Before anyone finds out what has happened, I would be on the flight to New York. A new name, a new life.

I’ve timed everything to perfection, I think again to myself.

And in the comfort of my Camry, the thought of being caught slowly creeps in. But then, even if I am caught, no prison would be as bad as the one I’ve just broken free from.

Written by Praise Oluwarinu, She blogs at inkedhearted

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