Discipline

A long black studded belt with a golden buckle.

Tunde’s frail hands shakily made for his golden buckle. Bola couldn’t help the thin feeling of pride swimming through her chest. Tunde craved what she could give. She knew she was good. Good for pleasure, she had traded pleasure for more pleasure since 16. Jewels, shoes, even a car. Bola wasn’t a prostitute, she just never refused gifts. Father always said “you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”. Everything was a gift growing up, the gift of food, of shelter and of water. Father provided each of these gifts in return for obedience. “You must obey. Obey to the punctuation mark”. “Honor thy Father so thou shall live long”.  Everything was a gift, a privilege, obedience was why you remained with food and shelter although were many children who didn’t (even male ones!)

She grew up wishing those mornings father left he wouldn’t return. Praying to God for those cars to run into ditches and explode. Father never did, and Father was a disciplinarian. Discipline was a long black studded belt with a golden buckle after 11 bottles of beer. Father was a drunken disciplinarian.

She was a woman; she existed to please and serve other men. Father never let her forget, he was greatly troubled, he had no heirs or male sons. Even his youngest girlfriend of 24 just had a pregnancy scan. A girl child, He considered begging her to abort. 7 female children, he had wronged the gods.

Tunde struggled with his long black studded belt with a golden buckle; normally she would push him backwards so he could fall on the bed. She would then unbuckle the belt with her teeth while giving him a good look of her dark full breasts at the same time. She would throw her long weave back and lean over and taking him into her mouth, forming o’s with her fingers and wrapping them around his penis. She would trace her tongue down his shaft and look him in the eye.

Not today. Today she felt faint. Faint from the black studded belt father used for discipline.

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