This story contains some adult content; as such, some discretion is advised.

Read at readers’ peril

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Hot winds blew harshly over the hot sands birthing dust devils and dust clouds in its wake. Tufts of weeds and shrubs and a handful of trees litter the large expense of the dry lands of northern Nigeria.

A caravan of army trucks moved in formation through the sea of sands at uniform speed raising a wall of dust in its wake.


‘I hate this fucking place’, Drake thought.

This same thought had run through his mind, every day of the three months he had been deployed to this god forsaken quasi-desert. Terrible place.

Little rain = No water

Bad roads = Bumpy rides

State of emergency = Next to zero social life…

‘I fucking hate this place’

Taking off the aviator sun glasses to look at his reflection in the visor of the Nigerian army grade Cherokee jeep drake could not help but sigh his discontent. His once smooth face was now riddled with rashes from the poor hygiene at the camp and there were a few scratches and scars from battle. Most recent of which he had gotten two hours ago when a bullet that grazed his left cheek bone and took a small section of his earlobe all in all, he was still a tall, dark and handsome bachelor whose smile had the few female army staff swooning.

Turning his attention from his face to the passengers sitting behind him in the truck, most of whom were fresh graduates from the defence academy responsible for moulding men into valiant warriors, he could not help but feel bad for them.

The company had lost quite a few brave soldiers today and a lot of them were rookies to life combat but the loss was no less painful. Looking at the truck filled with glum faced, mostly injured and weary men who sat quietly through the drive back to camp, Drake could only shake his head in pity.

“Cheer up boys! You are now blooded men of the Nigerian Armed Forces”. His thick baritone boomed through the truck. He looked at their pale faces through the rear view mirror, they were lucky to be alive.


The Intel that led them to the little village, that was far away from any major city, stated that the insurgents who were carrying out their message of hate and destruction were less than 40 with a few others in the neighbouring village. This Intel was grossly inaccurate.
From the minute the company of 100 men entered the village, they took heavy fire. At least 10 men fell before they were able to find cover and return fire. Drake’s experience in command and his understanding of the insurgent’s tactics kept his company from being totally routed even when they were outmanned (by at least 2:1) and outgunned (evidence of how well funded and prepared the insurgents were for their insane war).

After a desperate call for reinforcements, the company dug in and held their position. 90 minutes later, the company was running out of ammo and tolerance; thus, the only logical choice was a strategic retreat. Only problem though, was that the retreat would be on foot as all the trucks were riddled with bullet holes.

Infantry – with very little ammo – in hasty retreat against the assault of a mounted company, with a seemingly unending supply of ammo?

Drake thought it was a bad idea so he chose to fight to the bitter end.

His decision proved wise as shortly after his command, reinforcements led by Capt. James, a short and hard looking fellow with roughest voice Drake had ever heard, flanked the insurgents from the rear and saved the day. In the end, they recovered a village from the grasp of the vile insurgents and almost a tonne of ammunition found in their weapons cache.


Drake turned to the captain who saved his skin less than 3 hours ago. James as though he could feel Drake’s stare turned to his colleague, each nodded his acknowledgement of the other, a mutual respect for the other’s hard work and dedication.

3 hours later, after reports and debriefing at the dilapidated government secondary school building which served as base camp, Drake showered with a half full bucket water and was feeling somewhat refreshed. He had his dinner which was a bowl of porridge and a bottle of water.

Absence of social life meant he had nothing left to do than to gist with the men about the happenings of the day.

“I really fucking hate this place!!!” Drake, deciding against gisting with the men, headed to the hostel.

“Captain Drake, Sir!” a private reported before him.

“What?!” His face was a hardened mask of displeasure.

“You’ve been summoned to the Lt.Colonel’s office Sir!”

Less than 5 minutes later, Drake was standing rigid in salute in the office of the Lt. Col.

“At ease soldier”.
Her voice a slightly coarse alto that was a testament of the frequent barking of orders and strings of commands that her life as a soldier demanded.

Lt.Col, Abigail Danjuma was something of a celebrity in the Army. She was one of the few female ranking officers in the army, one of the youngest to make Lt. Col and also one of the five legacy officers in the army who are deserving of their rank and title.
Her grandfather fought in the civil wars of 1967-70 and he made a name for himself, her father represented Nigeria in the ECOMOG forces where he led his battalion during the tours to Liberia and Sierra-Leone, he retired a Colonel. Abigail, only 30 years, has been a Lt.Col. for less than 3 years and if office rumours bore a ring of truth, another promotion was around the corner.

All that aside, Drake could not get past the fact that she was the prettiest face he had seen in 3 months. Slim, tall and fair of skin – as only affluent northerners are known to be. She had big, expressive brown eyes and full sensual lips.

‘This girl should not be in the army’, Drake thought as he relaxed from his rigid position.

He had seen her on the parade ground in uniform and the bogus outfit could not stop her stop her small waist and accompanying wide hips and full derriere from messing with the minds of her subordinates.

“Sit”. She said as she produced a stainless steel water bottle and two cups from her desk drawer.

“I read James’ report”, she began, “You were surrounded by over 200 insurgents with superior weapons yet you held your ground for over an hour. In spite of the overwhelming odds, you only had 18 casualties and roughly 47 wounded… they’ll survive. Impressive”

“We were very lucky to have survived”.

Drake could not seem to take his eyes off her. She was graceful and looked tender yet her pretty face was hard and stern at the same time. That did not stop Drake from admiring her in the army green singlet and combat trousers she wore. He knew she was trying to be as comfortable as she could in the God forsaken heat that blanketed the village; still, he could not stop the rush of blood to his ‘little brother’.

He watched her pour two cups of what smelt like premium whiskey or scotch, watched as her dainty fingers screwed the cap back on the water bottle. His eyes trailed the curves and turns of her arm all the way back to her chest which bulged and strained the military grade singlet that it seemed like she needed to go up a size in her wardrobe.

‘Hot damn!!!’ he thought.

“Luck ehn?” She seemed amused at this response. “I suppose that too can be considered a part of skill”

Handing one cup over to Drake she lifted hers, “To luck and survival!” she toasted.

“To luck and survival!” he echoed and emptied his cup in one swallow.

Bad idea.


The drink burned and melted its way through every inch of his gullet till it nestled in his stomach.

‘SHIT!!!’ he thought as he heard her laugh at his misfortune, ‘What the fuck did I just drink?’

“Jameson Irish Whiskey, bottled 1998”, she said as in reply to the question she figured he had asked in his heart, “You will do well to drink with caution next time”. Her shoulders shook which, in turn, shook her well-above average mammaries as laughed at him.

Bottoms Up!!!

Drake, still recovering from the pain in his chest, settled to distract himself by studying the way her boobies swayed and quivered and jiggled in the snug confines of her singlet. His eyes followed almost like he was in some sort of hypnotic trance.

‘Is she… shes not wearing a bra?’ He thought as he furrowed his brows in his intense study.

“Up here Captain”, her coarse voice broke his train of thoughts. Her face, now devoid of any expressions, was a mask of stern warning. “My eyes are up here”.

“Sorry!” Drake apologised hastily. He looked into her eyes and thought he saw something there that was not the cold detachment she was famous for having.

“It’s nothing really. 3 months away from civilization will remove the civil in most of us. Here…” she refilled his cup, “Drink”.

Wiser now, he sipped carefully from his cup and a rich oaken flavour filled his pallet.


“Hehe!” she laughed, “That’s what premium scotch tastes like”.

“This is… it’s a great drink, a thing of beauty!”

“Yes. They get better with age”, She said with a smile, and Drake’s heart nearly jumped into his mouth. Just one smile and he came undone.

He unabashedly roved his eyes all over her body. Her face, her tender shoulders, her lovely looking breasts that seemed to defy gravity underneath the singlet.

‘Dear God!’ he thought.

“I agree!” he replied in a loud whisper.

“CAPTAIN!!!” she barked.

“SIR! YES SIR!” he hurriedly dropped his cup and rose to attention.

Abigail was shocked at the gall on the young captain. He had the audacity to ogle her in her office and even more shocking was the noticeable bulge that tented his combat trouser.

‘Hot damn!’ she thought.

Ever since her fiancé broke up with her because she would not quit the army 5 years ago, she could count on one hand the amount of times she had lain with a man, one of those times was with a retired General whose support she needed for her promotion. In the past 2 years, she not even had the presence of mind to pleasure herself, to speak even less of finding a man to grace her bed. This captain’s gaze had ignited a flame in a stove she had not stoked in a really long time.

‘Damn bastard!’ she cursed under her breath.

“Finish your drink and leave”

“Yes Ma’am”

As he emptied his cup he noticed a hitherto absent ‘stony pebble’ that peaked her breasts underneath her singlet.

‘Holy Moses!’ he cursed as he made up his mind.

“May I ask a question before I leave?”

She knew she should not let him linger, not if she still wanted to command his full respect come morning, yet there was a caged tigress within her that was fighting to be free, to run in the forests once more. Her weakened resolve and her curiosity got the better of her.


“Why are you still single?”


That was 15 minutes ago. Abigail could not explain exactly how she got to this point, but she knew that his question was the first point of unravelling for her. As unassuming as it was, it led her down a bottomless rabbit hole and now, as she panted and gasped in tandem to the ministrations of Drake’s expert tongue on her treasured lady parts, she would not stop falling anytime soon.

Of course, he was not the first man to perform such oral exertions on her; however none had ever done it with such gusto… such enthusiasm.

“Sweet Lord!!!” she cooed.

This bastard had a snake for a tongue it moved, swirled and wriggled in ways that she believed physiologically impossible.

Cunning Linguists…

“Oh God!!!” She could not help remember the words he said to her;

‘That man is a fool! I would’ve never let you out of my sight!…’

‘Why would anyone not want to have you as a woman?…’

‘Give me a chance to prove to you how much how much you mean to me…’

Her mewls came in desperate gasps of wantonness as she pulled his head closer and deeper into her core. She needed this. She needed a man in her life and Drake was proving his ability to fill the hole to she so desperately needed plugged.


She could feel something building in her core rising and threatening to explode.

‘You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen’

Those words coupled with the snake like tongue that ravaged her slick hole and the questing finger that conquered her sphincter, Abigail felt the build-up implode within her. She drew a long and sustained breath that was at first silent, then husky and then it was guttural.

“No more!” she begged. He had to stop, she needed him to stop, but he kept at the slick opening like a bear at a beehive. Her juices kept him energized.

“Drake”, she called to him in desperation and intense want, pulling him up by the ears to claim his lips wit hers.

“Abigail”, he had her on her back across the face of her hardwood desk, he could not seem to take his eyes off her. “Beautiful… You are beautiful”

“I need you”, she began, “I need you inside…”

Her words were stolen by the abrupt breach of her love hole, soaked and dripping the excesses of her wantonness, by Drake’s manhood.

“OOOOOH!” They cried in unison as they began the oldest dance known to man. It was a night of bliss and mutual pleasure for both parties involved.


Drake woke up to the feel of velvety warmth on his manhood.


There was a fair skinned woman who was smiling down at him as she slid down the length of his manhood. The minute he saw her breasts he remembered it all.
Lt.Col. Abigail Danjuma

‘I’ve claimed this one as well’, he thought as he reached for her hips to drive in his need for her as much as her body would allow.
A few minutes later they both tumbled down from blissful heights and basked in the ambience of post-coital glow.


“Yes Abigail”

“I wanna tell you something”

“Mmmn?” he dipped his head to kiss her once more before he had to find his way to his hostel.

“I think I’m in love with you…”


To be continued…


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