ADVISORY: This story is clasified as erotic fiction. Any resemblence to real characters or events is purely coincidental.
It didn’t take much cajoling for Dickson Opondo, a fast-rising investigating journalist, to get Nairobi Women Representative Kamene Kyallo’s home address from DCI boss Matthew Ako. The man in charge of the Directorate Of Crimimal Investigations was a big fan of Opondo’s work.
“Make that woman talk okay?” His sharp stare sliced through the journalist like a laser beam.
“She will.” Opondo was confident.
“You should have been a police officer, not a journalist.”
“Ha ha. I might just consider changing careers in future Mr. Ako.”
“Call me Matt.”
The DCI boss liked to be referred to as Matt. His colleagues called him Matt Ako, a name that didn’t sound so nice when said quickly. It sounded like the things men liked to stare at on Instagram and in the streets.
Opondo was a convincing man. As an investigative journalist, he was eager to make a name for himself like his idol Kamau Pevu, who had now switched to politics. He was of the opinion that Kamene’s reluctance to answer Ako’s questions might have something to do with the DCI boss being too tough. Opondo was keen on taking a softer aproach.
Ako normally didn’t share investigative work with journalists but he figured that Opondo might have better luck getting some of the more routine questions answered. The Women Representative was being cagey with details about her brother’s death. She had refused to talk to the police and insisted that she should be allowed to mourn in peace.
Kamene Kyallo lived in a modest stucco-walled mansion in Kitisuru. There was a kidney-shaped swimming pool in the back and a play area for her kids, both of which were getting a lot of use given the nice though very warm weather.
The politican’s watchmen made fun of Opondo’s vehicle when he arrived at the gate.
“Unajua hutu tududu kama twako hatuonekangi huku kiurahisi.” The tall one spanked the car’s bonnet as he inspected it. “Gari kama hii unafaa kuendesha tu Eastlands.”
“Ningewapea chai lakini sasa munaongea mbaya.” Opondo shot back.
‘’Unaona kama sisi tunakaa watu wa chai kweli? Huku sisi tunakula vitu mzuri mzuri. Changa changa hiyo chai yako ununue nayo gari mzuri.”
‘’Sawa. Nionyesheni penye nitapark gari basi.”
They continued laughing as they directed him to a tight spot under some avocado trees where he could squeeze his Toyota Vitz. Opondo did as instructed and walked towards the front door of the mansion. He was still feeling a little queasy from observing the autopsy.
The official cause of death of Kamene’s brother was blunt trauma to the back of the head that cracked the skull and caused massive blood loss. It didn’t take a medical degree to figure that one out. But now it was on the record. It was also on the record that, given the severity of the wound, and the angle of the blow it would have taken to inflict such a wound, the odds that it was an accident or suicide were ruled out.
The death was officially labeled a homicide.
Who killed Mutua Musyoki and why were still questions to be answered. Some murders went unsolved forever. Opondo hoped that wouldn’t be the case here.
He climbed up the flight of creaking wooden steps that led Kamene’s door and rang the doorbell. He heard footsteps inside then the door opended slightly and the politician peered out at him.
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Opondo… James Opondo.”
“Oooh… I’ve heard about you. The investigative journalist right?”
“Yes!”
‘What do you want?”
“Ms. Kamene, I was at the Medical Examiner’s Office this morning with DCI boss Matthew Ako and…”
Kamene looked him up and down then nodded.
“Ooh… with Matt Ako? I hate that man. So, has he sent you?”
“No, but I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about your brother,” Opondo said. “I promise not to take up too much of your time. Please? Just give me a few minutes.”
Kamene thought about that while she gnawed on her lower lip. It took a few moments of thinking and gnawing then she pulled open the door and gestured him in.
“Thank you,” Opondo said.
His eyes scanned her as he walked in. She looked much shorter in close view than she did on TV. There was no change in the overall beauty though. The way her ochre skin, tiny waist and Jupiter buttocks appeared on TV and newspaper pictures echoed her appearance in person.
He shot glances around the house too. It was just as charming on the inside as it was on the outside. Part of that was by architectural design, though Kamene had to be credited with a lot of the style. The place had a simple elegance.
Opondo very much admired it. He turned at the sound of the door closing behind him and smiled at Kamene.
“This is a nice place,” Opondo said.
Kamene nodded. “Thanks. Can I get you something to drink?”
“A beer will do.”
“You people drink on the job nowadays?”
“If you are talking about ‘we’ journalists then the answer is ‘no’ but if you are talking about ‘me’, a journalist, then the answer is ‘yes.’ I do drink on the job.”
‘‘Interesting. I like your choice of words.”
Shrugging, Kamene circled around him and disappeared to the kitchen to get two cans of Tusker from the fridge before returning and plopping down on the sofa. She normally wore figure-hugging dresses but she had opted to wear a T-shirt and shorts around the house. She looked good either way.
“Have a seat,” Kamene said.
Opondo nodded and joined Kamene on the sofa. He took his notebook out of his pocket and flipped to a new page. “I’m very sorry about your brother, Ms. Kamene.”
“Thanks.”
“Were the two of you close?”
“Off and on,” Kamene said.
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
Kamene took a moment before answering, “Couple of weeks ago.”
“Did he mention if anything was wrong?”
“Not really,” Kamene drank her Tusker. “He said he was thinking about looking for a new job.”
Opondo scribbled that down. “What did he do for a living?”
“He was a prison warder at Dinyahaga,” Kamene responded.
The official name of the place was Kirimino Maximum Security Prison, but just about everyone called it Dinyahaga… a Sheng reference that originated from stories of how men were banged by fellow men in there.
There are two issues that plague every government: prison crowding and budget woes. As a solution to both, Wakora Investments, a company owned by a local billionaire built Kenya’s first privately funded and owned prison, which the state then rented. It had been touted as the wave of the future and an important partnership between the government and the private sector.
The project had been successful enough that Wakora Investments and others were negotiating to build more prisons in other counties like they were a fastfood franchise. Opondo wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea or not, but it had a lot of support with sate representatives eager to save a few bucks here and there.
“How long had he worked there?” Opondo opened his Tusker can too and sent some of the alcohol down his throat.
“Since it was established,” Kamene said.
He nodded. “So, about three years. Did he ever mention wanting to leave before?”
“No,” Kamene said. “I thought he liked it there. The pay was good, and they offered nice benefits. Actually, I was surprised when he said he wanted to find a new job.”
“Did he say why he wanted to leave?”
Kamene shook her head to signal a ‘NO’.
“Do you have any idea why your brother might have wanted to talk to me?”
That made Kamene perk up a little. “What do you mean?”
Opondo took a deep breath and released it. “Just before your brother was killed, I got an email from someone named Mutua Musyoki. He didn’t leave a number for me to call, and he didn’t say what it was about … just that he wanted to see me. Then he was killed.”
“Oh my God,” Kamene whispered. She looked up. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know,” He said. “The two things could be completely unrelated.”
She eyed him skeptically. “But you don’t think so.”
“No,” Opondo admitted. “I don’t. It’s just a hunch and I could be wrong. But I think there is a connection. So I’m going to look into it.”
“This can’t be happening,” Kamene muttered. She looked up.
Tears were starting to well in her eyes. “Mutua and I weren’t always close, but he was still my brother, you know? I did love him very much. He’s really gone, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Opondo replied softly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh G-god,” Kamene stammered. The tears started to fall, and once they did it was like a dam breaking open.
“Could you please hug me? Just a little”, she badly needed to be comforted.
“Sure.” Opondo agreed.
She was practically choking on her grief. Her entire body shook from the pain. It absolutely broke Opondo’s heart to see a person hurt that much.
He opened his arms, offering comfort, and without any more urging than that Kamene fell into them. Opondo hugged her tight, murmuring wordlessly, stroking her soft black hair as she wept for her dead brother.
When the cloudburst of tears finally subsided and Kamene started to sniffle, he gently pulled back and held her at arm’s length. The woman looked so vulnerable.
He sensed that she needed more from him, much more. The two of them stared at each other for the longest time then he reached up and brushed the tears from her cheeks. In answer she breathed a little heavier.
Feeling an almost magnetic pull forward, Opondo leaned in and brushed Kamene’s lips with his. The kiss started off a bit awkwardly at first but Opondo was patient, understanding, giving Kamene the time to get comfortable. It wasn’t long before Kamene’s mouth opened under his with a sureness that made him whimper. The kiss came to a slow, delicious end. He pulled back, feeling a twinge of guilt over what just happened. Both of them were breathing hard.
“I’m sorry,” Opondo whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why did you?” she asked.
Kamene studied his bodily features. He wasn’t normally the type of guy she slept with. He was slim. He looked like a man who worked so hard and forgot to eat. She loved muscular men with pretty faces. In the past, she had fished several such men out of social media and let them bang her senseless. She was single after all. Her divorce with her South African husband had made headlines just six months earlier.
Should she dismiss him? Had he crossed the line?
As she thought about it, Opondo brushed an errant strand of jet-black hair away from her face. “I couldn’t resist you. To be honest, you have always been my favorite female politician. I have always crushed on you.”
“Well.. it’s good to be honest.”
“I have to be honest too. I have always liked the eloquence and attention to detail in your investigative pieces.”
“Thanks,” Opondo blushed a little.
Awkward silence followed…
Making a rash decision, but the only one he could, Opondo pulled Kamene to him and kissed her again. There was nothing awkward about it this time. Her lips parted eagerly under his.
Kamene purred hungrily and Opondo found that very encouraging. He slid his hand over her booby and gave it a gentle squeeze, caressing the soft mound through her skimpy T-shirt. She sighed between kisses.
“That feels so good,” The Women Rep told him.
Opondo was glad to hear that. He wanted nothing more than to make Kamene feel good, to ease her pain … if only for a few, fleeting moments.
Breaking free of the kiss, he helped her out of her T-shirt, lifting it over her head and tossing it aside. He was delighted to find that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The fewer obstacles between him and her luscious globes, the better. And Kamene’s globes were indeed mouthwatering masses of flesh.
He cupped the left one as he bent forward to kiss her again. The warm, smooth mound felt so good in his hand. He squeezed and fondled the tit, using the pad of his thumb to coax her nipple firm.
The Women Rep muttered breathlessly between kisses, arching her back to offer up even more of that soft flesh.
It was an offer Opondo could not refuse.
Bending down, he lowered his mouth to her booby. It felt even softer under his lips. Impatient fingers twisted her hair into knots as he licked and sucked, his lips and tongue existing solely to bring her pleasure.
Opondo dragged his tongue over Kamene’s little pebble of a nipple before taking it into her mouth again and sucking it. He moved from booby to booby, sparing neither of them. In no time Kamene was squirming on the sofa with an obvious itch between her legs.
He shoved his hand down the front of her shorts. Though he was a little disappointed to learn she had panties on, that disappointment was short lived. He rubbed her slit through the crotch of her panties. Even through a layer of cotton he could feel how wet the politician was for him.
With a mouthful of tit, Opondo teased her punani with the tips of his fingers. Kamene gasped and moaned under his deft touch, hips rising off the sofa to meet his incessant caresses. The want in her tone was unmistakable.
Opondo kissed Kamene’s lips again then slid to the floor, kneeling in the small space between the sofa and the coffee table. He pulled off her shorts and cast them aside like he had her T-shirt. She lifted her big bumper up off the sofa just enough for Opondo to yank her panties down then off.
Kamene stared down at the investigative journalist. His eyes were indeed doing a thorough investigation on her body. His lips parted slightly, tongue poking out, eyes glassy with desire, then spread her thighs.
She had a neatly trimmed thatch of dark hair covering thick, meaty folds of woman-flesh. The musky scent of her arousal filled the air like incense.
Pushing forward, Opondo playfully kissed and nibbled along Kamene’s inner thighs until he practically had his face in her lips-of-the-south. The warm, wet heat radiated against his cheeks. He savored the rich, earthy smell for a moment then closed the gap between him and her pussy. He lapped at her folds, gently, delicately, finding those places that made her groan the loudest in approval then ravishing them.
“Yes … oh … yes,” The Women Rep rasped.
Opondo tossed her legs over his shoulders, pulling her down on the sofa a little so he could more easily get at that brimming honey pot. He dipped into her over and over again, pushing his tongue in deep, kissing and even nibbling on Kamene’s puffy, pink punani lips until she was breathing in shallow, ragged gasps.
Thighs quivered on either side of Opondo’s head as he probed thick, fleshy folds with his tongue in search of the hard button hidden somewhere within. When the politician groaned, he knew he had hit his mark. He probed his tongue around the firm little nub then pressed his lips to it, kissing and sucking it. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling hard, but it didn’t break the journalist’s rhythm.
He pummeled Kamene’s thick bead, working it over like a speed bag, until her thighs closed in around his face. She came with a deep moan, butt rising off the sofa.
Opondo kept his mouth pressed against her cunt until the last spasm faded then lifted his face from between her legs. He resisted the temptation to wipe off his mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at her.
The Women Rep gave him a warm, thankful look.
But then Kamene’s lips started to quiver and tears fell once again. Opondo quickly gathered the naked woman in his arms and held her while she cried.
‘‘I am about to head to a meeting. But I want you to please come back tomorrow and do this to me again… and much more.” Kamene whispered.
“Sure. What time?” Opondo was as excited as an adolescent.
“4 o’clock in the evening.”
He would still be at work at that time but he found himself saying “I will come.” He had to. When you are summoned by your crush, you can’t say no.
With her facing in the opposite direction, she let out an evil smile.
‘FOOLISH MAN!’, a voice sounded off inside the Women Rep’s head.
Her tears weren’t real. She had him right where she wanted—trapped. She had imprisoned him in the place between the thighs. It was the place where no man could think clearly.
What Opondo didn’t know was that Kamene was indeed responsible for her brother’s death. Since he was getting closer to figuring out who did it, she knew she had to tame him.
She had already succeeded.
Tim
at 1:29 am
Great read! Awesome story!