The Misery Of Mutinta

The Misery of Mutinta – episode 13

Episode 13

The husband found me lying innocently on my small mattress with an ugly-looking night gown.
He didn’t utter any word but stared on at me for some seconds before he drew close.
I woke up when I felt a hand gently tap me on the shoulder and I opened my eyes.

“Baby its me,” he whispered. “Its me baby,” he repeated.
I already knew what he wanted so I didn’t waste time in pulling my p-nt and positioning myself adequately for him.
He entered from the front as usual and started thr-sting like a typical he-goat mating a she-goat.

But then as he gradually approached the point of no return, the door to their master bedroom gently creaked open and the husband froze with fear and paused abruptly in the middle of his thr-sts.
He was lying in-between my legs when the door opened and madam walked out of the master bedroom room and towards the toilet.
The lights were off so everywhere was dark except for the torch madam brandished.
The husband motioned to me to keep silent which I obeyed.

He hurriedly withdrew himself from me and quietly wore back his boxers.
Madam walked straight to the toilet and pushed the door open. The door opened but there was no one in,side.
The husband saw the opportunity and slid back into the master bedroom.
After some seconds, my madam closed the door and returned to the bedroom.
I listened attentively as madam asked her husband where he had gone and the husband replied that he had gone to the balcony to bring in his clothes.

After that, everywhere became silent again.
But then my instinct told me that madam must have decoded what happened even though she didn’t voice it out.
It was the question she asked me the next day that sent my heart and entire body quivering a new…
“My husband came to your room last night, didn’t he?” My madam asked peering suspiciously into my face.
“Madam No,” I lied hotly.

It was very unthinkable for me to accept such ugly truth not to talk of voicing it out.
“Your husband never entered my room,” I added.
“Can you swear by the name of God that my husband never came to your room last night?” she continued.
“Madam I swear, Uncle never came to my room, I swear.” I replied.
“Its alright, let’s watch and see,” she concluded and walked back into their master bedroom leaving me standing alone in the kitchen and battling with my unsettled conscience.

I was surprised when my madam’s husband came back in the evening with new clothes that he bought for me.
It was quite unusual and very unexpected.
Madam’s face grew long and vilified from anger and disenchantment.
She couldn’t hide her bitterness.
She hissed, sighed, banged the door, frowned her face and all-what-not just to register her annoyance but the husband ignored her.

Extremely vilified, she lost her temper.
“Stupid man!” she bawled. “You’re not ashamed of yourself? No, tell me, are you not ashamed of yourself? Common housemaid? That’s what’s turning your head. Because of this small girl of a b—–d you no longer know your wife!” Madam sparked.
“Don’t insult me,” the husband warned calmly but sternly. “I said don’t insult me,” he repeated.

“And if I insult you what will happen?” madam countered. “No, tell me,” she continued. “If I insult you what will happen? IMPOTENT MAN!”
The last insult was too much for the husband to bear.
He lounged ferociously at his wife and landed a thunderous slap on her left cheek.
The sound of the slap jolted me and left me staring at the couple with fear, confusion and awe.

Even though I was partly happy that madam was at last tasting a piece of her own cake, I was scared of the uncertainty and the possibility of the transferred aggression that could turn towards me.
“Hwwwr,” my madam cried out in pain and fought back, scratching her husband all over with her long sharp nails.
Irritated by his wife’s effrontery and aggression, the husband continued his assault with aggressive ferocity.

His slaps turned into blows and his wife into a punching bag and me into a spectator.
“Sir please komulekelela biyo ,” I pleaded in Tonga on my madam’s behalf. “sir please stop beating her,” I continued.
The husband ignored me and the fight continued.
“You will kill me today,” my madam cried. “You must kill me today,” she continued. “Whether you like it or not, you must kill me today!”
The husband continued the beating as the wife held tenaciously to his trouser.
The children were sleeping in the master bedroom so they didn’t hear what was going on.
At long last, the husband and wife became tired and the fight came to an end…

For days madam’s face remained swollen and she and her husband didn’t speak to each other.
He stopped eating madam’s food.
The gap developing between them further strengthened my affair with the husband.
Night after night he sneaked into my room and enjoyed my honey pie.
There were days he came back earlier than usual when madam wasn’t around and we did it freely all over the house.
I knew I was playing a very dangerous game but then I  was only doing all I could to survive.


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