Chapter 10: Weekend with Omari & Boys

The next morning, Sylvia was still asleep, her body heavy with exhaustion. Abuba lay on top of her, his head resting on her lower belly, and his hips were positioned next to her head, which was turned toward his crotch. His limp penis was still in her mouth, and she was unconsciously sucking on it, as if in a trance.

In her dream, Sylvia imagined she was sucking on a pacifier like a baby. It felt comforting, almost soothing. The repetitive motion lulled her deeper into sleep, the act so far removed from reality that her mind accepted it as normal.

But then, the dream shifted. She found herself in a crowded marketplace, still sucking on the pacifier, but now she was surrounded by people, dark skinned African people. She looked down and was suddenly struck with terror—she was stark naked. In her dream, she had forgotten to put on any clothes before stepping out into the busy market.

Panic set in as she realized her vulnerability, and she could feel the eyes of the crowd beginning to focus on her. The whispers started, then the pointing fingers, and finally, people began to approach her, their intentions unclear but unmistakably invasive.

Sylvia’s heart raced as she woke up and realized the time. In a panic, she pushed Abuba off her and scrambled to find clothes, her mind fixated on the 15 minutes she had left before 9 am. But as she reached for her clothes, Abuba sat up on the bed, calm and composed.

“Oh, Sylvia, didn’t I tell you yesterday?” he said, his voice gentle. “Since today is Friday, I asked Principal Tuwme to give you the day off, so you can rest and recuperate until Monday. He said okay. I don’t need to go to work until 10, so let’s have breakfast together.”

Sylvia’s panic began to subside, replaced by a mix of relief and confusion. The rush of adrenaline still coursed through her, but the thought of not having to face the world today brought a small sense of comfort.

Then, she realized naked, went and grabbed T-Shirt, then, was going to put on underpants, but Abuba stopped, her stay only wearing T-shirt, Abb’s little daughter don’t wear panties. You’re just fine. Sylvia was in dilemma, didn’t want this, but she also didn’t want to lose her only friend, only person who hasn’t hurt her, ‘but I’m so embarrassed. Maybe, I should wear underwear. Abuba looked really disappointed, ‘well, I guess your white buttock, ya, too good for to show to this old negro, African negro, right?’ ‘No no, not that ... I mean ... Okay, it you like it, I will I will remain this way ... okay? She was blushing, had hand over crotch, to that, Abuba said ‘not if you cover like that’, I mean I just want us to be like with my old ddal, she wasn’t like that, she didn’t mind showing her little boji to her daddy.

Sylvia, still flustered from her sudden wake-up, hurried to cover herself, grabbing a T-shirt to wear. As she reached for a pair of underpants, Abuba’s voice stopped her. “No, no,” he said softly, “Daddy’s little daughter doesn’t wear panties. You’re just fine as you are.”

A wave of embarrassment washed over her, but the fear of losing the only person who hadn’t hurt her kept her from arguing. “But I’m so embarrassed. Maybe I should wear underwear,” she muttered, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Abuba’s expression darkened slightly, disappointment evident in his eyes. “Well, I guess your white buttocks, yeah, too good to show to this old African negro, right?”

“No, no, it’s not that ... I mean...” Sylvia stammered, her face flushing crimson. “Okay, if you like it, I will ... I will remain this way ... okay?”

She stood there, one hand instinctively covering her crotch. Abuba shook his head gently, “Not if you cover like that. I just want us to be like I was with my old daughter. She wasn’t shy about showing her little pussy to her daddy. Only a pervert would think that’s sexual.”

Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She felt a deep sense of humiliation, yet also a desperate need for approval, for connection, no matter how strange or uncomfortable the situation had become.

Sylvia’s thoughts swirled in a chaotic storm as she stood in the morning light coming through the cabin window. The events of the previous night flooded back, each memory tinged with a growing sense of dread. It all felt so wrong—the way he had tied her wrists and taken control, giving her a shower as if she were a helpless child, but a child in bondage. Then, the oil massage, making her remain on her hands and knees, vulnerable and exposed, his hands roaming over her body, kneading her flesh with a mix of tenderness and possessiveness. He had pushed her to the brink of pleasure, forcing her to ask for permission before finally letting her climax, humiliating her further by making her call him “daddy” and referring to herself as his “little girl.”

But what haunted her most was the way he had made her suck on his limp penis like it was a pacifier, a grotesque imitation of innocence. Now, in the clear light of morning, the reality of what had happened began to sink in. Every detail became sharper, more unbearable. The kindness she had clung to now felt like a deceptive veil covering something far more sinister. Yet, despite everything, a profound sense of confusion rooted her in place.

Abuba had been the only one who hadn’t hurt her with violence, the only person who hadn’t treated her with outright cruelty. He had been kind, gentle even, in his own twisted way. He had become her lifeline on this desolate Aprico Island, the only friend she had in this nightmarish place. But now, that friendship was entangled with something dark, something that twisted her emotions and left her feeling trapped.

Her heart raced as she grappled with the realization that she couldn’t reconcile the two sides of him—the tender caregiver and the man who had subjected her to such degrading acts. She felt a deep sense of betrayal, but also a gnawing fear of losing the one connection she had left. What would she do without him? Who would she turn to? The thought of being completely alone in this hostile environment was terrifying.

Now, here he was, asking her to wear only a T-shirt, nothing below, just like a little girl, he said. The absurdity of it struck her like a cold slap. She felt the familiar sting of humiliation rising again, her cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and anger. But that anger was quickly drowned by the overwhelming sense of powerlessness. She couldn’t afford to alienate him, not now. If she defied him, if she refused, what would happen? Would he turn against her too? Or would she be left utterly alone, defenseless in a place where everyone seemed eager to exploit her?

Her thoughts churned, each one pulling her deeper into a pit of despair. The rational part of her screamed that she needed to stand up for herself, to break free from this disturbing dynamic. But the frightened part, the part that had been beaten down by fear and isolation, kept her silent. It whispered that she couldn’t afford to lose him, that she needed him to survive, no matter how twisted his kindness had become.

Sylvia’s hands trembled as she stood there, caught between the urge to protect herself and the desperate need to hold onto the only lifeline she had. She felt the tears welling up, but she swallowed them down, forcing herself to comply, to do what he wanted, even if it meant sacrificing another piece of herself.

As she hesitantly dropped her hands from her crotch, exposing herself just as he had asked, she felt the last remnants of her dignity slip away. But she couldn’t let herself think about it, couldn’t let herself dwell on the depths to which she had sunk. All she could do was survive, even if it meant becoming someone she no longer recognized.

Abuba, who had been so kind to her in his own way, was now revealing a disturbing aspect of his nature. Sitting on dining table chair, he called to her, “Come to daddy, daddy’s little gal,” his voice a mix of gentle command and affectionate longing.

Reluctantly, she stood and walked over to him, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. When she reached him, he patted her buttocks, his touch tender. “Oh my, daddy’s little gal has such a soft, big bottom,” he murmured, his hand lingering on her flesh. Then he cupped her hairy vulva. “Oh, all grown, all these hairs. You’re a woman now, aren’t you?”

Sylvia stood still, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and deeply conflicted. Her body tensed at his touch, but she remained silent.

“You should say, ‘Yes, daddy,’ do babytalk, like a little gal you are,” he instructed, his tone gentle but insistent.

Swallowing her pride and her discomfort, Sylvia whispered, “Yes, daddy,” her voice trembling. She realized at that moment that Abuba had a psychological problem, a deep-seated trauma that had twisted his perception of reality. Perhaps losing his daughter, seeing her beaten to death by the police, had shattered something inside him.

A wave of sympathy washed over Sylvia. She understood what it was like to be physically fine but internally damaged, hiding a secret disability—in her case, her Hyper-Libido Disorder. And here was this man, this 60-year-old kind man, who was treating her like his daughter, perhaps clinging to the memories of when she was his little gal. He was trying to recapture something lost, something that had been taken from him in the most brutal way.

As she looked at him, she felt a profound sense of sorrow and empathy. She pitied him, this man who was so broken by his past that he couldn’t separate reality from his need to relive those memories. Sylvia’s pity for Abuba was justified, but it only scratched the surface. His affliction ran deeper than the grief over his daughter’s death. She might have seen more if she had been more observant.

He had spoken to her about an unsettling experience involving his older brother, and how he masturbated him. Abuba described how his order brother had squeezed his anus around his little finger—”little finger,” meaning he had been a small, helpless child at the time.

Sylvia didn’t have to wait long to realize just how deeply twisted this seemingly kind old man was. Abuba spoke to her in a tone that was both relieved and proud, but there was an undercurrent of something more unsettling. “Sylvia, I just realized all the welts are gone. Thank God. I really thought they were going to beat you to death like they did to my daughter. But you—you did so well. You endured and survived. I’m so proud of you.” As he spoke, his hands found their way to her buttocks, squeezing them with a familiarity that made Sylvia’s heart race with discomfort.

“T-thank you, Daddy. All thanks to you. I owe you my life, daddy,” Sylvia replied, her voice trembling. She meant it—every word. Without Abuba’s guidance on surviving the whipping, they would have continued to beat her, perhaps until she died, his intervention when those five boys had played their ‘games’, they were planning to do terrible things to her all evening until mid-night they said, and the healing oil he’d used to soothe her wounds, she knew she would be in a far worse state—perhaps even dead. She couldn’t deny that he had kept her alive, and for that, she was genuinely grateful.

Abuba’s smile was warm, almost fatherly, as he looked at her. “No, that’s what Daddy does for his girl,” he said softly. As he spoke, he bent down and placed a kiss right on her pubic mound, right at the start of her crevice. The gesture was so casual, so unthinking, that it sent a shockwave of confusion and revulsion through Sylvia’s body. She flinched instinctively, but Abuba acted as if it were the most normal thing in the world, like a father kissing his child goodnight. Sylvia didn’t know how to react—she forced a weak smile, her mind reeling from the unsettling mix of gratitude and horror she felt.

Then, Abuba chuckled softly and said, “How about your muffins? I used to call my little daughter’s ‘little muffins,’ but I guess that doesn’t quite fit, huh? No, those are more like melons—yeah, that’s what I’ll call them. How about those melons? Why don’t you lift your shirt up and show me. I’m sure all the scars are gone by now, but we need to make sure. Can’t have any scars on those nice melons.”

Sylvia hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lifted her shirt, feeling it slide up over the soft curves of her large breasts until it rested just below her shoulders, exposing her bare chest to him. Abuba’s eyes gleamed with approval as he leaned closer.

“Nice ... so nice,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. He reached out, his hands warm and slightly roughened from years of labor, gently cupping her breasts. His fingers traced over the soft skin, moving in slow, deliberate circles, as if he was ensuring every inch was unblemished. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, sending a shiver through her body. “They’re all healed up, good as new,” he said, more to himself than to her, his touch lingering as if savoring the feel of her.

Sylvia felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her, her face flushing hot as she stood there, shirt rolled up to her shoulder, rest of her body exposed and vulnerable under his hands. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the casual way he spoke, left her feeling small and humiliated, her mind reeling from the conflicting emotions swirling within her.

Abuba’s voice took on a tone that was both soothing and commanding as he said, “Daddy’s little girl, why don’t you turn around and bend over? Reach back and spread your bottom cheeks for daddy. Let me see if your poophole has healed properly.”

Sylvia’s heart pounded furiously in her chest, each beat echoing like a drum in her ears. The request was beyond anything she could have imagined, something so humiliating that it felt like a bad dream. Her mind raced, scrambling to process the words as her body tensed with shock. “No, daddy, it’s okay ... I think it’s fine,” she stammered, her voice quivering with fear and disbelief.

But Abuba’s expression didn’t soften. His voice remained firm, though still laced with that underlying gentleness. “No, don’t disobey your daddy, sweetheart. Go ahead. Don’t turn this into another one of your sexual fantasies. Daddy is only concerned about your health. Your poophole needs to heal properly so you won’t have another accident like you did on that street yesterday.”

Sylvia’s face flushed with deep embarrassment as the memory of yesterday’s humiliating incident came rushing back, the shame wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket. Her hands trembled as she hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned around, her body moving as if in slow motion. She bent over, the vulnerability of the position making her feel small and exposed.

With trembling hands, she reached back, her fingers brushing against the soft skin of her bottom. The act of spreading her cheeks felt like the ultimate surrender, her face burning with shame as she exposed herself to Abuba’s gaze. The room felt unbearably quiet, the tension thick in the air as she held her breath, waiting for what would come next.

Abuba’s hands, rough yet surprisingly gentle, made contact with Sylvia’s bare skin. His fingers traced the delicate curve of her buttocks, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. The sensation was foreign, her muscles tightening instinctively. As his hands moved lower, she could feel her body tensing, her rectum contracting in response to the unsettling touch. Her breath caught in her throat, a mixture of fear and discomfort gripping her as she realized the intimate nature of his examination.

To her utter horror, Abuba didn’t stop there. She felt his breath against her exposed skin, and then, shockingly, he pressed his nose against her anus, inhaling deeply. The act was so surreal, so beyond anything she could have imagined, that for a moment, she couldn’t even process it. Her body stiffened, every muscle in her body tightening as she fought the urge to pull away. But she felt paralyzed, trapped in this degrading position.

Abuba’s breath was warm against her, his nose pressed firmly into her most private area, as if he was savoring the scent. He inhaled again and again, the sound of his breathing loud in the quiet room, each breath sending ripples of shame through Sylvia’s entire being. She couldn’t believe what was happening, the reality of it too horrifying to fully grasp. Her mind screamed in protest, but her body remained frozen, locked in place by the sheer weight of her humiliation.