The word that best describes Natasha Peters this morning is not “sexy,” “hot” or “romantic.” The word is FEAR. GM had left a note in the hotel room before he died of local sex enhacing induced erection. The note says: “Natasha, you have crucified me between two thieves”. The room service guy had picked it up before dialing the last number on the call log on Mr. Dakwo’s phone; it was Natasha’s. It had rung for a long time without any response. So the attendant called his manager who later called the police to report the case.

GM was confirmed dead in the hospital when the MD was called, who had insisted the body be moved to a hospital and that no one talked to anyone. It was after then that Natasha now picked her phone to say she was on her way.
Now, Natasha had been invited to meet with the MD and a police inspector. This, they’d said was necessary to protect the image of the GM, the company, and of Natasha Peters. As she stands shivering and weeping before the Policeman and the General Manager, she is swearing that she was never with him, that she was in her room all night with two of her friends…. A jittery Dickson is speechless, sitting on a chair beside the MD. There is another young man in shirt and trousers, with pen and papers. Natasha was told he is a journalist, but he looks more like a village teacher than a press man.
The issues are clear: Real Stories are to be replaced with fake but believable ones. GM died in a hotel room (of erection). No, Mr. Dakwoi died of heart attack after official management meeting that dragged into the night. Clear?
All nod. Natasha only stared blankly. How many managers were at the meeting? The press man writes down. “Where exactly, conference room?” he asks.
“Yes” answers the Managing Director.
“Was I there?” Dickson asks. Natasha throws him an angry glare. Of course, you were there with pen and pencil, fool.
“Your position in the company would warrant that you were there.”
“I told my wife I was…going to church.”
“And you went where?” asks the MD.
“Will she come to the police station to say that? Or to the press?” the police man says. Dickson is confused. “My wife is trouble.”
“But won’t your pastor say he didn’t see you in church for Men’s Fellowship night vigil?” the cop questions. Natasha nearly laughs.
“Mr. Dickson, did you go to church last night?”
“Yes, sir.”
Natasha sighs. Praying to two angels with big boobs, right?
“I think we should tell the truth”, says Dickson.
“The truth will not set you free this time,” says the inspector. “Because you sound as if you neither slept at home or in church. Let’s move forward please.” Natasha’s stare this time is piecing.
“I was…” he tries to say but the Policeman cuts him short.
“The second issue is the note GM dropped. What does it mean? Ms. Natasha Peters, what does it mean to you?”
“Honestly sir, I don’t know.” Natasha says.
“Were you with him last night?”
“No sir, I was with…” Dickson frowns, and then turns his eyes away from Natasha. “I was at home.” She concludes.
“With?” asks the MD.
“My friend.”
“You always sleep together?”
“Not all the time, she comes once in a while.”
“What should I write?” the journalist asks?
“Wait, young man.” The MD shuts him up.
“I think it’s better to find a way to take Natasha out of the story.”
“Yes, we will keep this note off. But for the real story, I will really want to know what went on between GM and Natasha,” Says the cop. “Who are the two thieves?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” the manager stands. “Let’s just forget about the note, can we?”
“No, sir,” The police man says. “We can make the public not see it, but we can’t forget it. This is a murder case.”
“No,” MD retorts. “It could be suicide.”
“Yes” Dickson supports. The inspector looks at both of them, “Are you the two thieves?”
“I beg your pardon?” Dickson reacts. The MD only smiles. Natasha joins him and for the first time, feels relieved and relaxed. The fear had waned off. She might have no reason to be afraid after all, either the note is forgotten or not. At least she has an alibi. And now for the first time since the news got to her, she feel horny again. Which of these young men could satisfy her urge? Not Dickson of course, it would take him another one week to get his sperm thick for another good sex. She stylishly loosens two top buttons from her shirt to reveal more of her cleavage. The police man seems to notice. He turns away shyly. The Managing Director gets impatient.
“Are we making any head way, Inspector?”
“Sure,” the inspector says.
“What do I write?” the irritated pressman says again. “We have to do a release before other pressmen get the story.”
“That’s true,” the MD concurs. “Now, I got to get back to work. I will leave you and the press guy to work out things, and then let me know what we will tell the world, especially the wife….Emmm, Ms. Peters, let’s go.” Natasha moves without hesitation.
“No,” objects the Inspector. “She has to go with me…to the station.”
“Why?” the MD seems irritated. “I called you here to help so as to avoid all these Police Station wahala.”
They argue for a while and then the Managing Director succumbs. Natasha follows the Inspector, but not to the Station. They drive out of the city, a long ride during which all intensions are made clear. The threat that follows is unnecessary because Natasha is eager to have her 305th sex in her journey of one million. It happens almost immediately in the hotel room in Kubwa as the door swings open. The man seems to have the key to the room so they didn’t consult any reception or make any payment. A bottle of 501 gin soon follows them to the room, though Natasha had in the car requested for a Red Label. The poor officer can’t afford it?
Natasha is on top of the inspector whose body is fully charged up. His sense of security had flown away.
“Would you have sex with uniform on? That’s disrespect to the Nation.” She mocks.
“My penis is not in the Force.”
“Never the less,” Natasha says, unbuttons his shirt and drops it on the floor.
“No baby, hang it on the door, its dishonoring to my nation.”
“Oh, ok” she says sarcastically and stands to hang his Uniform on the wardrobe’s door after yanking off his badge and hiding it in the wardrobe.
The Policeman is stark naked as she gets back. She goes on him again, and massages his sex organ.
“This was all GM wanted?” she said. The police man thinks deeply and then smiles.
“Really, I see. Now give it to me, sweet angel. But please, don’t crucify me.”

They both laugh and the caressing begins to produce erotic sounds.
“I know you are innocent…yes, you are innocent,” the policeman is screaming when Natasha licks his dirty scrota.
“You mean in the real story?”
“Stop talking,” he shouts at her like he does to the prostitutes his colleagues usually raid and bring to him from Wuse Zone 4. “I want to come on top.” He asks as well as he turns her over by force.
“Yes sir, Oga at the top.”
“Officerrrrrrrrr.” She screams when Inspector plunges his oversized rod into her medium-sized vagina. It lasts over an hour, three rounds and then a deep sleep for another five hours.

…Keep a date next week!

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