This work is copyrighted to the author @2019.  Diese Arbeit ist dem Autor urheberrechtlich geschützt © 2019. Please do not remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved by author.

codes: M+f+/ SM / humil / viol / caution / anal / nc

Note: This story is a bleak, dark tale, not for the squeamish. So if you’ve already decided to step into this puddle of muck, make sure you’ve got a pair of waders handy – Hip high if you can manage it – because you’re going to need them! Peace, brothers.

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WARNING:  This story delves into aberrant sex practices that might well offend you.  So if such topics offend you, do not read this story.  Some of the sex depicted is consensual, some not.  I don't condone it.  I'm not advocating it.  I may or may not even like it.  It's simply a fantasy, a product of my imagination, and thus, completely fictitious.

Before you read it, please note the following:

*If you are under eighteen, it is illegal for you to read this story!

*If you have a hard time separating fantasy from reality, do not read this story!

*If it's illegal in your jurisdiction to read non-consensual sex stories, don't read this story!

Support ASSTR: If you can afford to cough up a few bucks, the good folks who make this all happen would be much obliged.

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The Road to Brazzaville

(An Erotic Horror Story)

By

Hunsi

Book cover Picture

Click to meet Fedji & Sally:

/files/Authors/HumblePie/Pics/The%20Road%20to%20Brazzaville-.jpg

Fedji had his Norton M21 opened up full-throttle and leaning into the curve when he spotted a swirl of smoke rising up and out of the ravine that skirted the road. Letting up on the throttle he brought the old Army M21 Scout to a stop, then peddled the bike over close to the edge to see if the smoke and the fire was a result of some poor bastard having missed the turn.

Something that happened quite frequently along this rugged mountain pass that ran between Katabu and Abuja. Less so by the locals fortunately, but for those who came from elsewhere to visit the Kwiambana Game Reserve for the first time, the occurrence was more frequent than not.

And sure enough, not 20 feet down the mountainside he spotted the twisted, smoldering hulk of a gray Land Rover, and the body of the man who'd been thrown through the windshield and now lie dead on the ground.

Almost reflexively he dashed down the hillside to see if he could help, but quickly learned there was nothing to be done. The man with his head smashed in was dead enough.

It was a macabre scene to be sure, but when he spotted the gold Rolex on the white mans wrist, and the high end safari gear scattered about, he began to see things in a different light - one of opportunity!

And that opportunity was all right there scattered about at his feet, just ripe for the taking. Everything from Nikon D6 and other professional photograph equipment, to the Gold Krugerrand he saw scattered about on the ground.

Six, eight, twelve he counted, a fortune, enough money to upgrade his lifestyle quite a few notches, indeed.

Then too, there was the envelope folded inside his shirt pocket addressed to Jonathan Tyler. Inside he found a letter and a picture of a young lady dressed as a stewardess, and upon the back of that picture she had written, “Saturday, Lagos, Murtala International, Sunbelt terminal, Love, Sally Bates.”

To him, she looked pure gold. Fact is, anyway he chose to calculate it, that young blond, blue-eyed, American sweetheart who projected a mien as pure as the driven snow, made her as valuable a commodity to him as the Rolex and Krugerrand combined. Maybe more to the right people. All he need do is find them.

But that in and of itself was a tall order for a man who spoke only enough English to help a lost tourist find his way back onto the right road. Something he did a lot of as a young man while working the tourist trade in Morocco.

“Still, what little I knew worked for me then, did it not,” he asked himself, “So why not now?”

"Yes, why not," he answered himself in effort to further bolster his confidence. Besides, the "opportunity" was too rich to let pass.

So, without giving it further thought, he gathered up the picture along with the rest of his newfound riches and headed back up the hill before some uninvited guest discovered the looting.

Then after storing it away in the sidecar, he kicked the starter, lowered his bottle-rim goggles, and set out for Lagos with time enough to spare to set the trap to capture his riches.

---

Sergeant Kadata followed the approach of the Olive green Norton M21 through his binoculars as the rider approached the roadside check point guarded by is unit.

After signaling to his men to lower the boom, he took up position out front on the red clay road and watched as the rooster tail of red dust slowly began to ebb, and the whine of the engine was replaced by the backfiring, "popping" sounds of rapid deceleration.

Coming to a stop just an arms length away, the red, dust coated rider lower his goggles and unwrapped his scarf to greet the check point officer with a disarming smile.

"Papers," Sgt. Kadata asked, while holding out his hand.

"My name is Fedji Adebayo, but my friends, they call me lucky." The rider cheerfully replied, as he reached into the pouch where he carried his travel documents.

Sgt. Kadata eyed him cautiously as he did, mindful of the fact that a big man like Fedji could easily over power five of his men barehanded and not break a sweat. Not the sort of man he'd normally take lightly under any circumstance, and by the sound of his men anxiously rustling about behind him, it was obvious they were taking him quite seriously as well.

Still, despite the sheer physicality of the man, there was something Sgt. Kadata saw lingering behind Fedji's broad grin that spoke more to his honesty than deceit.

"They call you Lucky, do they?" Sgt. Kadata chuckled while taking note of Fedji’s name and his country of origin.

"Yes," Fedji beamed in reply, then pulling out one of those Krugerrand he'd found scattered about the dead man's feet, he flipped it up into the air for Sgt. Kadata to snatch.

"See, now you be lucky too."

"I-I-I," the stunned captain of the guard stammered, his eyes sprung wide like saucers. "Well now, I can see that I am a lucky fellow, indeed," he grinned wolfishly, then turning back to his men, "Lift the gate immediately and allow our guest to complete his journey to Lagos.

"Go in peace, my friend," he then said to Fedji, "and don't spend it all on the ladies."

---

He arrived in Lagos late, but already having mapped out the route he'd be taking in his head, the dark, unlit jumble of streets slowed him down not a jot.

As it was, he arrived at "The Pik kuil," The "Cockpit," before the fights were to begin. He found the Sjina man, (the Chinaman) sitting in the corner jotting down names and handing out tags to the farmers whose roosters would fight tonight to win them some money.

"Sjina Man, my friend, I need me some help." he said, sitting down beside him.

Obviously, he knew the man, at least as well as anyone could. The truth be told, the short, squat, slant-eyed, black and Chinese mixed breed didn't speak all that much. But when he did his message was always conveyed through an intermediary, one of the many he employed to stand by his side with a revolver tucked under their belt.

Yes, even in Lagos, cock fighting was risky business!

So it stood that out of an abundance of caution there was always a third party standing between if you wished to speak with the Sjina Man. Of course, it never hurt to show him the money first. Which was why he chose to flip yet another of those Krugerrand high in the air for the bodyguard, the intermediary, to catch.

"I need me a pair of wrist cuffs, and a length of chain by tonight."

Fedji sat back and watched the Sjina Man, the Chinaman, take hold of the gold coin and bit into it and examined it before putting in his pocket.

Then spotting a woman standing close in behind the Sjina Man dressed in a kimono like affair and a headpiece not at all unlike a burka, he reached out across the table and tugged on her sleeve. "I need me one of these too," he followed, then again reached in his pocket for another Krugerrand.

Again, the chinamen bit into the coin, then again put it in his pocket before having the woman escorted out.

She didn't return, of course, but the kimono-like dress did, as did the head piece stuffed in a bag that was placed on the table before him.

"One last thing," he then said as he pulled a fourth of the seven gold pieces he had left and flipped it up high so the guard had to reach out and snatch as he would a fly. "I need me some chloroform," he said flatly, pronouncing the word as well as any pharmacist, and as did the Chinaman when he leaned in close and asked if he wanted a 2 once bottle or 4! Clearly, the word, chloroform, was the one English word all the bad guys knew, no matter the language they spoke.

An hour later and thousands of dollars lighter, he return to his bike and stashed all he had come to buy in the sidecar, and then set out to find himself room at a local hostelry to clean up and ready himself for his meeting with Sally, the stewardess he was waiting to meet at the Sunbelt terminal in Murtala International Airport.

--

Chapter 2

Sluicing out his pound of Gold. . .

Walking up to the Sunbelt International counter to ask the agent where he might find the lounge for incoming flight # 423.

The agent, himself an Nigerian, couldn't have been more engaging. "Yes, my good man. You have come to meet a friend perhaps?"

"Yes, a woman friend, an American. Can you please point the way?"

"No, I do better. It's my time for Tea, so I take you there. Okay?"

"Thank you, my friend, that is very well of you," he replied as the two set out to walk the length of the terminal. And in the course of their walk, Fedji thought it best to share with the agent what troubled him about his upcoming meeting with Sally. That way by shaping the dialogue he'd be in control of it should something go wrong.

"You know, this lady I've come to see, I've not yet met. And as she is an American and I speak so poor English, I can only hope I do not offend her."

"Ah, so it's an acquaintance by mail, is it? Well not to worry. I'll be close by. I studied much English in school, so if she not understand you, I be there to help."

"Yes, thank you. Let us just hope she recognizes me," he followed, as they entered the lounge finding all the flight crew already gone, save one, Sally Bates. And, indeed, she did not recognize the man she'd never met!

"Sally, Sally, it is me, Fedji, Fedji Adebayo. I come to takes you to Jonathan."

"Why, where is he?"

"The photoshoot, like he say in his letter."

"Photoshoot?"

"Yes, yes, the elephants, they migrate in June."

"You're his helper, his friend?"

"Yes, he tell you in letter."

"Hum, well, I'm sure he did, but apparently that’s one letter I’ve not received as yet. No matter," she then brighten up, "I'll just gather my bag and you can show me to your car."

---

With her head tucked down low in the sidecar seat, Sally was shaking with fear and holding on for dear life as Fedji cut into a corner so tight that it felt to her like the forward momentum was going to send her sailing off into free space.

For whatever reason Fedji was obviously in quite a hurry. Like a race against time that started the moment they departed the airport, and continue on through the filth and decay she saw in the streets of the city. The shock and awe of it all sent Sally's imaginings amuck, her mind frozen in time, unable to respond to anything, much less the soot laden air that filled her lungs, and the moth that had splattered into a slimy green ooze upon contact with her teeth.

Pulling up in front the hostelry, she felt an overwhelming sense of gloom. The beggars, and the drunks lying comatose upon the walk, and the rats, as large as Chihuahua's, frightened her to a point beyond despair. The fact is, she was so lost to herself she scarcely felt the shaking, nor hear Fedji's voice asking, or telling, her something she couldn't discern.

But all that changed, like in an instant, the moment Fedji snapped the cuffs around her wrist.

Like a lunatic driven mad by her fears, she started screaming, “No, no,” with a wild-eyed look of a woman seeing herself surrounded by demons who were about to consume her.

But in a place like this where the wretched suffered such agony and pain, her particular act of madness wasn’t something anyone was likely to hear.

Once more, the screaming and the madness only grow all the worse once Fedji attached the chain, and then led her up a flight of steps and into a room, where an old woman waited to do what she had been paid to do. Dress her in that kimono and a burka-like headpiece he had purchased from the Sjina Man.

"Dankie, (thank you,)" he told the old woman while handing her a handful of Nigerian notes. Then upon her departure, Fedji stood back and assessed his treasure buried beneath the disguise. Covered from her feet to the top of her head, you could see nothing of her save the blue of her eyes wet with tears and fraught with panic peering out through the veil that covered her face.

"Kom, (come),” Sally," he said, again picking up the chain and led her back down the stairs. Five minutes later, with his treasure securely anchored by chain to the sidecar, he kicked the starter, lowered his bottle-rim goggles, and set out on the road to Libreville, Loubomo, Brazzaville, then if need be, down to Cuito, Angola, the heart of the diamond fields.

--

Chapter 3

Looking for hope in all the wrong places . . .

Fedji was flying down the road, throwing all caution to the wind. While he knew it was a dangerously reckless thing to do, drawing attention to himself like that, he did so anyway even though he knew it wasn’t necessary. The fact of the matter is, he knew her flight had a 5 day layover, and at this point in time, no one would even know she was gone.

Still, Fedji pushed on. Just two days on the road and they had already crossed the Border between the DRC and the Central African Republic, and with his old M21 Scout kicking up a red rooster-tail of dust, he already had Brazzaville in his sights.

Of course, traveling anywhere fast in Africa is a relative term you understand. With the sweltering heat and the ruggedness of the terrain, both man machine were always riding the thin line between success or failure.

Machines break, need Petrol, and men need rest and food and place to piss and shit and wash the pits when the smell throttles even them. Then add a woman to the mix, especially an hysterical woman who was screaming for help none stop the whole way long, and you’ve got yourself a unnecessarily hard journey, indeed.

Still, Fedji was nothing if not resourceful. To eat, he simply stopped at a roadside kiosk for coconuts, pan bread and Tilapia wrapped in a banana leaf. To clean up, he just pulled up to a roadside stream. All quick and efficient and smart when the last thing you wanted to do was alert people to the presence of the screaming, stark raving mad woman who was in the midst of being kidnapped.

Thankfully, bathing in a roadside stream usually went a bit better. That is if “better” means to you having to chain her cuffed hands to a rock and stick a bar of soap in her mouth to quiet the wildly struggling, screaming wild-eyed woman who was utterly consumed by madness.

But, truth be said, it wasn’t all that bad a job. After all, his priceless commodity - his blond, blue-eyed, American beauty – was nothing less than a work of art. Something that stirred the senses, not to mention his cock. Just as she would the wealthy magnate he was going to sell her to in exchange for his pot of gold.

And with Brazzaville now in his sights, he could almost smell it, and found himself endlessly thinking about meeting up once again with Tayo Obasi, an old friend, someone he’d known since his days selling Dates in a Marrakesh bazaar.

Of course, They were both just young men starting out back then, but through the years their friendship held to the point where each always made sure the other knew how to contact his friend no matter how far they wandered.

One can’t have more of a friend than that, now can you. But, before that time came, he had one final cleaning to do. Not because he couldn’t stand the stench a moment longer, but so Tayo could see the beauty beneath the dust and grime coated face when he first pulled up the veil. And, as luck would have it, he found a most ideal spot not a kilometer further down the road. A waterfall that looked so uncharacteristically pristine and pure.

Nonetheless, he still saw the battle coming, trying as he might to stifle that wild-eyed, screaming out-of-her mind lunatic curler up in the sidecar lying in her own piss.

“Damn,” he cursed himself, “this is going to cost me plenty.” Surely, no man in his right mind was going to pay a plug nickel for a woman who was completely out of her head no matter how beautifully wrapped the package.

So, pulling over he gave her a bar of soap and a long lead then pushed her into a waist deep culvert carved out beneath the falls and watched until that smelly, grimy, damsel in distress came out looking ever bit his pot of gold.

Then chaining her back up to a boulder next to the falls, he threw himself in beneath the falls to bring himself back from the wilds. And that’s when it happened!

A rock broke free from atop the falls and cascaded down along with the water and hit him square on the noggin, knocking cold and leaving a bloody three-inch gash on the top of his head.

It might have taken him hours, or minutes to regain his senses, he had no way of knowing. All he knew was that when he re-opened his eyes, who did he see? Sally, her face leaning in so closely with his, and in her hand, a blood soaked torn off piece of her kimono, tenderly attending to his wound. Once more, that wild-eyed look of a girl lost to this world was gone, replaced by the girl he had first met at the airport terminal three days ago.

It was as if her capture and imprisonment never even happened. “But how could that be?” he wondered. How could all the pain and suffering she had been made to endure, simply be washed from her mind?

“Or was it washed away,” he puzzled, “or had she simply found the means to bury it, or somehow transformed it into something else. Something that allowed her to sympathize with her captor for no reason other than to show she cared enough about him to stay rather than make a run for it.”

Still, whatever had happened to her, it really didn’t matter to him. All he could see was that shiny pot of gold smile, and soon to come meeting with Tayo, and how ready she appeared to be for it.

---

They arrived in Brazzaville that evening. A largely populated city on the DRC boarder, Brazzaville was nothing less a lawless state, a place where the bad guys were only out numbered by the thieving police. And it had been that way ever since a prolific vain of gold had been discovered just outside the city.

It was also a place where Fedji had to take great care to keep his treasure safely hidden away. So taking a moment, he stopped to do just that, burying her deep down in the boot of the sidecar where his duffle bag of had been stored, and now lay hidden in the jungle bush along the roadside.

Not wanting to keep her stored away in that sweltering heat for a dangerously long period, he immediate set out to find the first bar he could fine to ask where he could find the “Rooi Sitkamer” (The Red Lounge), and a person named, “Bhutto Ben Al.” The names that his friend Tayo had given him long ago, and for the safest of keeping, he now kept safely locked away in his head.

Pulling up to the first Bar he could find, he stopped to ask the bartender for a sniffer of Lotoko, a Mash whiskey, then while talking to him he managed to work in the names he was looking to find. And, as luck would have it, he not only knew where the “Rooi Sitkamer” was, but couldn’t stop raving about.

“Hay mann, you gots the mony, huh?” He chuckled. “You got the franc for the best Ashawo (whores) in all of Brazzaville? Well, Rooi Sitkamer has them all, mi Mann. Dutch, Nigerian, Italian, you name it. They ever got them a few of those rose cheek young Americans too. But know this, if you want a taste that white chicken meat, its going to cost you a bagful of nuggets just to get a whiff.”

Yes, he knew the “Rooi Sitkamer” well, as well as the fact that it was located but a mile away.

Fifteen minutes later, he was parked outside the Rooi Sitkamer, eyeing the line winding out the door and down the street.

Obviously the place was making the bucks, and with all the gold money circulating round town, he hadn’t a doubt they were making the kind of money he wanted for his blue-eyed, blond headed, American Sweetheart.

Walking in, he went straight to the bar and asked where he could find, Tayo.

The bartender remained tight-lipped, and instead of answering, signaled for security, which came in the form of three pistol toting, billy-club wielding brutes to escort him out. But when they approached, and he was prepared for the worst, whose voice do you think he heard calling out his name?

“Fedji! Is this you? My friend, how happy I am to see you,” Tayo said, obviously elatedly to see him.

“This my friend,” Tayo said to the other two security men. “I know him since a boy selling Dates in a Marrakesh bazaar.” Then turning to the bartander, “Nfuni, hand me a bottle. I’m going to sit and share a drink with my boyhood friend.”

So, Fedji sat and drank with his dear friend and told him about his cargo, his pot of gold that he wished to sell.

“She’s priceless, Tayo, priceless I tell you. The one in a million men will pay handsomely for.”

“I must see her, I must,”” he beamed in reply.

“Yes, yes, of course, you will see her, when I show her to Bhutto Ben Al.”

“Then we must go see him. Why don’t you go bring her in, we’ll take her to him.” Which Fedji did, though fearful as he was about what he might find when he dug her out of the sidecar. Would she the screaming, wild-eye, lunatic completely lost to this world, or would she be the sympathetic captive, identifying with her captor just as he had left her?

---

Buried as she was beneath the disguise, other than the sight of her radiant blue eyes shining through the slit in her veil, there wasn’t a whole lot of her to see. That is until Bhutto Ben-Al rose up out of his office chair and came about to stand behind her. Then in one swift move, he reached down and raised the hem of her robe up high up over her shoulders.

It was an assault upon her person and nothing less. A turning point from which everyone knew there was no return. But she didn’t go berserk as Fdji had feared, nor did all hell didn’t break loose. Instead, she just looked over at Fedji as if looking for reassurance, to make sure she wasn’t doing something wrong. And she looked no less stoic when he shoved a finger up her cunt while licking her face like a mama dog would in effort to soothe her pup.

“Remove her clothes!” Bhutto barked, and Tayo did, Then after giving her a final look over, he stepped back around his desk to open a safe. A minute more, and he had 2 gold bars sitting upon a scale atop his desk. “That’s 400 troy ounces, 25 kilograms of pure gold, take it or leave it,” he said, sounding every bit the syndicate crime boss who meant what he said.

But who was to argue. Not Fedji. All told, Twenty-five kilograms of gold was worth more than three-quarters of a million U.S. dollars. The proverbial pot of gold sitting at the end of the rainbow.

“I’ll take it!” Fedji said, then lit up with a ‘three-quarters-of-a-million’ dollar smile.

“Good! Now then, you bag it up,” he followed, tossing an attaché case his way. “And you, Tayo, take her to her room in Die Heuning Huis (The Honey House). But leave her clothes, she wouldn’t be needing them any longer.”

Fedji felt a certain sense of finality in his voice and the coldness in his comodity-like handling of the matter that left him feeling extraordinarily uncomfortable with himself. After all, she was a person not a milk cow, and the thought of them parading her around like some prized beast amongst the horde of men roaming the halls did not set well with him at all.

So, not wanting to leave it at that, he called out to Tayo as he was walking out the door. “Hey wait up, my brother, I want to go with you to say good-by.”

“Hey, man,” he then asked Tayo upon catching up. “What’s all this about? This some sort of marketing routine, where you parade her around naked to market the wears?”

“What? Me? Market the goods to these two legged flea infested rodents? No, these 5 Franc-a-fuck paupers are not fit to eat her shit. Where she is going, it’ll be her eating the shit, and gladely, just to escape the pain.”

“I don’t get it,” Fedji replied, sounding a bit agitated. She’s the absolute queen of beauty, so why take to a place like that?”

“Fedji, my brother, you were just paid a fortune for her, and you accepted that payment gladly, and now you act as if you’re insulted?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then why ask?”

“I don’t know, it’s just that, well . . .” he stopped mid-sentence unable to find the words.

“Just relax, Fedji,” Tayo cut in, mercilessly bring his agony to an end. “It’s just what comes when men who harbor resentment meet up with Americans. Men who have had enough of their arrogance, and their hollier-than-thou self-righteousness that they unashamedly put on demonstrable display. Men who know those Yankee self-indulgent pigs couldn’t last a day living as they do.”

So, yes, you can expect your priceless, faultless, do-no-wrong young American beauty is going to be bought down a notch or two. Hopefully not of so low as a beaten dog, grateful just for the opportunity to lick her masters feet.”

Fedji said no more. With his worst fears now run amuck, he found himself feeling like a animal caught in a trap he had himself created. A creation build upon his own selfish greed, and not caring a wick about Sally. A girl who in the end wanting only to please him, and nothing more.

---

When at last they had reached the entrance to the Heuning Huis (The Honey House), a pair of guard posted outside the entrance came up quickly to take possession of Sally. One of those jack-booted watchmen took hold of the chain that hung from her cuffed hands and held her fast, while the other took up a rawhide whip to beat her. Her back, her ass, until she was striped red and blue like the stripes on old glory.

Then opening up a nearby closet, he hauled out a yoke, the likes of which looked to have been recently used by an actual harnessed oxen. “Hold her while saddle her,” he told his companion, and then when she came to shoulder the burden they led her by the chain to the door of the bedroom suite then stopped to ring the bell.

“Your Excellency, Alhaji,” the guard in the lead called out. “Your beast of burden is here, and she wishes to be of service,” he called through to door, sounding rather rote, as if from a script to please the man inside. And then in response to his call, a fat, triple-chinned, ton of lard wearing nothing more than his sandals appeared at the door.

He was a hideous looking blob of a man to be sure. But it wasn’t the sight of the ghastly ugly man that disturbed his as much as did the matching pair of Mastiffs he was fighting to hold back. And should you wonder why, all you need do is look beneath where the visible sign of their arousal swaying like a dangling sausage just inches above the floor.

“Sir, would you like to use this beast, or would have me take it to the public service rooms?”

“No, just tie it to the post,” he said, pointing inside his room.

Out of curiosity, Fedji thought he’d have a look inside himself. And that’s when his whole world came unglued! Inside the room he saw another man with a whip, and an other girl on the floor with a dog riding her back. “What is this?” he spoke out angrily. “I was told this was a fuck house not a nut house.”

“And you,” he said to the fat man while poking him on the chest with his finger, “You’re a fucking madman who need be beaten senseless.”

But that didn’t happen. Instead, he turned and shouldered-up to the guard standing to his right. Then with that attaché case full of gold still in hand, he smashed the bloke to the floor, and then on the return swing, sent the other flyng against the wall.

Now, with both out cold, he again set his sights on that porky-pig in man form. With a snarled look of a man consume by anger, he knocked him to the floor. Then racing past, he chased the dog off and unharness the girl before carrying her back out the door.

“You fucking swine,” he biterly lashed out at that black tub of lard rolling around on the floor. “You’re the one who ought to be fucked by the dogs.”

“Now, I want you to take this gold back to Bhutto Ben Al and tell the fucker he can keep it,” he said, as he tossed that attaché case full of gold at the fat man’s feet.

“You just tell him I already got me all I’ll ever need. A woman, who cares about me. Something that slime ball Ben Al will never know.”

Then quickly he picked up Sally up off the floor and tossed her over his shoulder, and then just as quickly, he tucked the girl from the room up under his arm and dashed out the building to get to his M21 as quickly as his feet could carry him.

It took but a moment to get Sally back in the sidecar with the girl sitting on her lap, and an instant more to kicked the starter, lowered his bottle-rim goggles, and set out for his home in Abuja to raise babies, and back to work chasing off the Elephant poachers that haunt the Kwiambana Game Reserve.

And, of course, to live happily ever after. :)

The End

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