What Her Husband Came Home to Find
One hour into the party and already Claude Baskin felt bored.
He held a wine glass in his hand and smiled perfunctorily at the numerous foreigners, fellow expatriates and wealthy Nigerians who paraded about the lavish ballroom. He exchanged casual chatter with several. He pretended to take interest in whatever conversation flirted his way, but really he was bored. He hated attending such parties. Hated the peremptory invitation cards his secretary often left on his table. Most times he ignored them and only preferred reading them when his closing hour at his office was due. Some he responded with an excuse, but there were inevitably some he knew he just couldn’t avoid. Not when you’re a senior conglomerate company executive.
He turned away from the crowd and sought a means of exiting the room. He so much wanted to be away from the laughter and music he was hearing. He wished he was back at his pad, sipping tea and maybe spending time with his wife Joyce. Recently they’d been going through a rough patch. It was just the same as been back home in the States; to think that he’d intended her coming here would ease things along. Much of it was his fault, hence why he was trying his damn best to placate her however she demanded. He would return from work and let her indulge her time with telling him how her day had been. It was either that or suffer another evening of silence until they both retired to bed. In the bedroom he would see about coaxing her to make love. That often used to work, but things have been different lately. There was no one to blame except him. He’d gotten dumb and allowed himself to get caught. Her only means of exacting revenge now was to remind him about it.
Claude Baskin was a tall, dashing-looking fellow at 46. He loved his wife, but sometimes thought of her too naïve and dull to be around. Where he would have loved her being outgoing, Joyce preferred instead spending as much time with herself than with outside company. Claude considered that an excellent reason why he’d opted for this job months ago and especially glad that she preferred the comfort of home than venturing out into the world, unlike him.
Claude walked into a dark corridor away from the party room and found a balcony with a view of the westward section of the compound. He still had his wine glass in his hand and he drained its content and placed it on the balcony. From here, the ballroom music wasn’t so annoying for his ears. He delved into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out a pack of Pall Mall. Claude inserted a cigarette between his lips before checking his pockets for a lighter. He was unaware of the man approaching him from behind. He turned his head when he heard footsteps and the man raised his hand as if declaring his harmless nature.
“Hi there,” the man stepped into the light for Claude to make him out. “You mind some company?”
He was a couple of inches taller than Claude with a slender frame. He had a headful of white hair and so too was his beard; Claude caught the mid-western twang in his voice. The man held a cigarette in his hand and set fire to it from drawing closer to light Claude’s cigarette. The man stood beside him as he blew a ring of smoke into the night’s air.
“Quite boring back there, ain’t it?” the man cocked a thumb at the direction of the party room behind them.
Claude nodded. “You can say so.”
“Oh yes, I do. Way too many party functions to attend, sometimes it’s hard keeping with all of them. I’m Jeffery by the way. Jeffery Boam.”
Claude shook his hand and introduced himself as well.
“You’re that new executive from that Atlanta-based company, aren’t you?” asked Jeffery.
“Can’t say I’m exactly new,” Claude said. “I’ve been here three months now.”
“Over here, you’re an older expat once you’ve survived six months. Plenty I know can’t hold on for three. No disrespect, though.”
“None taken. No one’s mentioned that to me before.”
“I knew your predecessor though. He was a very friendly fellow.”
“That’s what everyone’s told me already.”
They fell silent for a moment. Each man smoked his cigarette and enjoyed the evening breeze.
“I remember my first time coming here,” Jeffery mused. “Never thought I’d want to be anywhere else. Not even now.”
Claude looked at him. Jeffery gazed at the distant city lights, not minding his stare. Claude couldn’t comprehend what he’d said and reckoned it meant nothing to him. He couldn’t help but wish he were alone. He had been feeling better by himself instead of with company.
“You live on Colonial Drive,” Jeffery said. It was a statement, not a question.
Claude turned to him. “Yes, I do.”
“A lovely place for us expats. My Master is there right now, attending to business.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Jeffery smiled at him. “My Master. His name is Olu Shango. You met him by any chance?”
Claude shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’m familiar with the name,” he said, growing more irritated with the man’s presence.
“Don’t worry, you will. He knows plenty about you,” Jeffery puffed on his cigarette. “Matter of fact, if you ran to your car right now and speed to your place, you’ll probably be there in time to catch him.”
“What exactly are you talking about?” Claude turned to him.
Jeffery spoke his words carefully so Claude wouldn’t miss any. “My Black Master, Olu Shango, is in your home right now fucking your wife.”
Claude looked at him in numb disbelief. He thought of something to say but nothing concrete came to his tongue. He frowned as he looked at the man, wondering if he was delusional or something.
“No, I’m not crazy, Claude,” Jeffery said, as if reading his mind. “I’m dead serious here. Every word of it.”
“You’re lying,” Claude blurted. “Whoever you are.”
“Don’t believe me? How about you call home then. But I doubt she’ll answer.”
Claude wanted to do just that. He got his phone out of his pocket but then stopped and looked at Jeffery, still clueless regarding his words or not. The last thing he wanted was for this to be some elaborate prank that someone was actually putting on him. Jeffery looked at him and again caught meaning in his eyes.
“I’ll just step back a little from you,” Jeffery sauntered back into the dark corridor. “Take your time,” he said.
Claude turned away from him and dialed Joyce’s cell number. It rang and rang but switched to voicemail when no one picked up. Claude gave it a second try, feeling a rising panic in him as again he got the same result. He looked at Jeffery’s direction. Except for the burning tip of his cigarette, Claude could barely make out his shadow in the dark corridor. Claude still thought everything he’d said crazy, yet couldn’t stop the fear and panic suddenly gnawing at his mind. He cursed aloud when he tried Joyce’s number a third time and still she didn’t answer. Jeffery left the corridor and approached him, smiling triumphantly.
“I told you,” he said.
“Is this some crazed sort of prank you’re pulling?” Claude fought to hold his temper as he stepped toward him. Jeffery held his ground. “What the fuck’s going on here? Tell me.”
“I already told you what you need to know,” Jeffery said. “Time is ticking. Hurry and leave now, and you just might catch him at your place.”
Jeffery turned away from him after that and returned in the direction of the ballroom while Claude did nothing except watch him go. He threw the remains of his cigarette on the ground and crushed it with his shoe before leaving the balcony. He rushed toward the stairs, in the opposite direction of the ball room.
Claude came out into the lobby and from there hurried past the revolving doors of the building. He found the valet and gave the young man his car number while he burned with anxiety as he waited. He still gripped his phone in his hand. He tried Joyce’s number in the interim. His eyes blinked several times when the line got answered this time. Instead of her voice, what he caught was ragged breathing interspersed by a woman’s gasping cries. Anger rolled before his eyes as he recognized Joyce’s distinct voice. Claude couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It felt like he was in a nightmare, yet this was all real what he was hearing.
“Joyce!” Claude spoke into his phone. He looked about to make sure no one lurked by to hear him; the valet was yet to return with his ride. “Joyce! Joyce, speak to me, for God’s sake. What the hell are you doing?”
All he heard was his wife’s continued moans. “Awwhhh . . . Aaahhh . . . fuck! Fuck!”
Claude listened and heard a man’s grunting voice in the background. It was followed by a gale of laughter. He looked up and saw the valet arrive with his car. Claude motioned him to wait while he listened to the litter of voices coming from the phone. Then a man’s voice crackled humorously from the other end.
“What’s up, white boy.”
Claude heard the voice laugh at him and felt his anger boiling in his head. “Who the fuck are you? What are you doing with my wife?”
“Why don’t you come down here and find out. She’s waiting on you.”
The line went dead after that.
Claude looked at his phone and his feature colored with rage.
He pocketed his phone then went to his car. He dug out his wallet and gave the valet some money before getting into his Mercedes. He sped out the compound gate and from there gunned his vehicle into the highway heading for home. He was assigned a driver due to the nature of his job, but this had been a late evening event, he had arrived here with himself; Joyce had declined coming with him. Now he thought he knew why. Claude clutched the steering wheel hard as he drove. He heard himself breathing heavy like he was looking forward to a fight. He stomped on his brakes when he came to a traffic stop and almost ripped his bow tie off his collar before continuing with his driving.
Almost a half hour later, Claude drove into Colonial Drive, a suburban apartment housing situated in the south-west part of the city. Claude sighted two cars parked beside his gate. He screeched to a stop in front of his gate and flung his door open as he released himself from behind his seatbelt. He pushed the gate open and covered the distance between the gate and his front door while yelling his wife’s name. He came to his front door and grasped the handle and found it locked. He fumbled for his key out of his pocket. His heart was racing as he unlocked the door and entered the dark living room.
Joyce!” he hollered.
The light in the corridor past the living room was typically on. Claude went to the stairs and even as he bounded up the stairs, he heard his wife’s voice groaning louder. He got to the top landing and went in the direction of the master bedroom where his wife’s moaning voice was coming from; the door stood an inch open.
He pushed the door open and appraised the nightmare awaiting him inside.
“What the — ”
Claude barely had time to utter a gasp before a pair of hands wrestled with him. They grabbed his arm and jacket and pulled him away from the door. Claude looked behind him and saw two hefty-looking men in army fatigue uniform working at pinning his arms behind him.
His wife was pinned down on the bed with a black man on top of her. He was naked, and so was she. Her legs were raised high and all Claude could see, aside from her face, were the man’s hips and buttocks slamming down between her legs. Joyce had her arms wrapped around the sweaty man’s back. His arms were curled under her shoulders, rapid-pounding her hard. The bed shuddered against their fucking. Claude tried to pry himself loose but the men held him from budging. His listened to his wife’s whimpering cries that filled the room. The uniformed men forced him down on his knees. They shoved his jacket down his back as they pinned his arms behind his back while he continued to watch.
The black man was still earnestly fucking Joyce. They changed places on the bed and he had her backside facing him while he entered her from the rear. Joyce moaned from the onslaught. She stretched forward, clutching the sheets as the man pounded her ass. She persistently hollered at the man to fuck her harder. Claude felt sickened by everything. He didn’t want to be in the room anymore, except he couldn’t move.
The black man tensed up later and so too did Joyce before unleashing a climatic cry. Claude watched as the man grunted forcefully as he shot his seed inside her.
The black man pulled out of her and Joyce fell on her face. He tottered somewhat before regaining his feet as he came off the bed, sweaty all over. His cock swung like a wet pendulum between his legs. Claude couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s prick. The black man’s prick glistened with his wife’s pussy juice.
The black man came and couched before Claude. His prick hung lifeless down his crotch like a pendulum.
“How’re you doing, white boy. My name is Olu Shango. Master Shango to you. Welcome to my world.”
Shango pinched his cheek then laughed at his face. Claude knew from that moment his life would never be the same again.
Shango rose to his feet, still reeling with laughter at the pathetic look Claude had on his face. Joyce had now gotten off the bed. She raised one foot on the bed and felt her hand inside her pussy. She came off with dripping cum in her hand. Joyce walked past Shango and approached Claude who could nothing except look at her.
“Joyce,” he rasped. “For God’s sake, Joyce, why?”
Joyce knelt before him and kissed him as only a loving wife would. “I love you, darling.” She brought her cum-laced finger to his face and smeared Shango’s cum across his lips. Shango and his men burst into laughter.
“My gift to you, darling,” she said. “Now you know what it feels like when you broke my heart.”