March 4, 2024

Crazy Lenny: The Personal Training of Maid Jummy [Episode 15] (18+)


Home » Crazy Lenny: The Personal Training of Maid Jummy [Episode 15] (18+)

Crazy Lenny: The Personal Training of Maid Jummy [Episode 15] (18+)

Something was wrong. Alone in the darkened maid’s room, the voiceless concern was infectious. The tiled walls lined with pop posters and small shelves started to feel suffocating in the tiny space. As I stood there and tried to think, I noticed things I wouldn’t normally have. The portrait of the Savior was still turned away, a nightly ritual for her. A couple of high school-level English learning books and one in Yoruba.

The chunky white paperback of Adichie’s Purple Hibiscus, which I couldn’t believe she could actually read, but it looked used and earmarked. For some reason, there was also a pair of mostly-eaten twin bananas on a plate. Cravings, maybe.

The cold thrill of what I had done, the strange knot in my stomach at the weirdness and fear of fucking with the trajectory of my entire life — it had been a constant company at the beginning, but faded to background noise over the last couple of months. Now it was back with a vengeance.

I wasn’t afraid of being a father. Jumoke was the mother, a professional homemaker, and she would take care of the baby. She was born for the role. I figure out how to take care of them, somehow. I kind of already had a plan, foolish as it was.

I was afraid of my maid running away though, back to her village. I wouldn’t allow it.

The door creaked as I stepped out into the near-pitch of the laundry and kitchen area, hearing roaches scuttle across the floor and up the walls. A heavier scrabbling above me was from one of the rats that I knew cohabited the bones of our house. The first time I had confirmation of the fact was watching some late-night episodes of Sponge Bob Square Pants in our first-floor room in the dark.

I heard a scrabbling noise from the other side of the room and saw the shadowy shape of a giant freaking rodent on a desk. To my fascinated horror, it was gnawing on the neck of a spray bottle to get at the water inside. The next morning I checked out the lemon-yellow plant spritzer to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Yep — two fang marks right through the plastic.

That was Port Harcourt though. Live and let live, right? Same reason why I kept my room an air-conditioned icy 16 degrees centigrade — none of the creepy crawly things could survive in that kind of climate.

The bathroom door was mostly closed but for a crack of spilled orangish light. I could hear the spray of the shower emanating from within. I stepped up to the door and peered inside.

The maid’s bathroom was easily the shittiest room in our large mansion. A claustrophobic square cell of old tiled walls, it was barely big enough to fit in the only squat toilet in the house and an open basin with a little bucket to flush it.

A tiny sink with a wall-mounted mirror in one corner and a hose shower in the other filled the rest. This drain on the floor caught excess water and probably welcomed the roaches and other flying motherfuckers in.

At least it had a tiny vent window up high to keep the smell under control. I had never been in there more than to take an urgent piss after one of our fuck sessions — too dirty for me. A far cry from the five-star hotel-type bathrooms we had elsewhere in the house, although Mother complained about them being ‘a smidge too old fashioned and outdated’ for her taste. But somehow my secret wife made what she had work, and was always fresh and pretty for me.

Jumoke was standing there naked in front of the mirror, staring at her body. My maid’s ripening pregnant beauty was on display in all of its glowing glory. Her tits hung heavy in their fattened teardrop shapes; elongated nipples dark and so suckable.

The wild tumble of normally straight hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her youthful face was so exotically attractive, so different from the rich babes I was expected to chase. But Jumoke’s pregnant belly was the focus of her attention as she stood there, her hands draped over its bulging curve on either side.

She was carrying low. My woman turned to inspect it from her side profile and stroked it with motherly apprehension. But then a look of contented pride softened her features to see how her uterus jutted out so fully this early on like she had swallowed a little melon or something.

In the clearer light of the bathroom, the reality of our situation hit me again, but differently. She was really very obviously pregnant now. It felt like the growth to this state had happened fairly quickly, just over the past week or so.

Yeah, Jumoke had inevitably started showing early on with her lithe body and although I had foolishly dared her to flaunt it in front of my parents, they were too oblivious and self-absorbed to notice. But now?

Jumoke’s expression changed to one of sadness as she stared at her reflection. I hated seeing her look like that. What was going on?

Suddenly, it clicked in a rare moment of empathy for me. Now it wasn’t perverse fun and games anymore. Not for her.

I mean, I couldn’t read Jumoke’s mind but I had a pretty good idea what was going on in her pretty head. I knew that her feelings for me had been entwined with a heavy shroud of shame.

Her strict religious upbringing and the implications of our age difference had probably gnawed at the edges of her consciousness for a long time. Grappling with the fear of judgment, the weight of societal expectations, and the terrible uncertainty of her future.

My mind spun out of control, watching her like that. Maybe Jumoke was questioning whether her feelings were genuine or simply a fleeting, sex-filled escape from the challenges of her life. Maybe she questioned whether the love she felt was worth the risks it carried.

Now that Jumoke’s pregnancy had become truly evident, maybe the walls of her internal struggle were crumbling down. The shame she had fought to suppress was literally staring her in the face. The reality of impending motherhood reflects her deepest fears and vulnerabilities. Maybe she was torn between her love for me and the weight of the stupid choices we made.

I mean, shit, I wielded my power as her employer’s son to manipulate and seduce her into becoming my loyal slut. My bitch. My self-declared wife. In that moment, I really, truly felt for her.

But despite the concerns that my higher functioning synapses were firing, my hormones were increasingly inflamed by the sight of Jumoke’s growing, mesmerizing pregnancy being flaunted in front of me. With a pang of lust, I felt my low-swinging cock start to engorge and rise again.

Fuck, I was conflicted. I probably should have just given her space and had a heart-to-heart with her after school the next day, but I got harder and harder as I gorged on her with my eyes. Better judgment quickly started to fade. In the end, like always, I let my dick lead me into the bathroom.

Jumoke let out a little shriek as I pushed into the tiny chamber and shut the door, reflexively covering herself. She glared with narrowed eyes at me, hissing through clenched teeth in a raised whisper. “Chizzy! NO. You go now! Go sleep, I wan shower. You…CHH!” she snapped her tongue in a fury when she felt my big, hard dick poke her leg, raising her hand and threatening to give it a slap. “ENAFF!”

The room was barely big enough for the two of us. The shower spray was splashing wonderfully against my muscled back as I loomed almost head and shoulders over her petite frame. “Hey, hey hey!” I tried, placatingly. “Shhh. Sorry! It’s not my fault! You know I can’t control it! I was just worried about you.”

Jumoke’s expression softened to skepticism and incredulity. “You worry for me?” she frowned with the bud of her dark lip, the diamond glinting from the hand on her hip. “I worry for you my baby. Belly so beeg now, too beeg. You see!” she barked, holding her stomach for emphasis. “Sir and Madaam go find out soon, what we go do, Chizzy?” she pressed, near tears again. “You promise you care me…” she whimpered.

I could guess what was unsaid. All that awful shit I had been thinking, confirmed, and probably more. Like I was still a boy even though I had shown her I was a man. Still a student, a kid without a job who didn’t know shit about responsibility. Of course, she was right but I was determined to keep her.

I came closer, putting my hands reassuringly on her shoulders, the shaft of my big throbbing dick pressing against and sliding up over the curve of her belly as I gently embraced her.

It felt so good. She made an angry sound of opposition at first but stopped as my hands caressed her back with tender affection. I leaned in close to murmur my plan in its entirety near her ear. As I did, she fidgeted and pulled at the diamond ring on her finger, but slowly relaxed as the tension began to melt away.

“You…do that for me?” Jumoke whispered aloud, stunned.

“Yeah,” I promised. “You’re my wife, I love you.” Again, I meant it this time.

Jumoke crumpled into me, sobbing, but it sounded like relief. There in the shower, she confided all the shit I hadn’t cared about or wanted to know until now, about how she had been so lonely, and how it was just her, completely supporting her destitute parents and sister’s schooling back home.

How the heartless agency had controlled her life and she was so completely at the whim of my parents — and especially my cruel mother. She was terrified of us being discovered, which was now in her mind, imminent.

I kissed Jumoke’s head as I held her. There would have been a time when I wouldn’t have cared at all about her problems, like, just dismissed them as completely beneath me. But something had changed. She was changing me. I did care.

I promised Jumoke that from now on, I would give her almost all of my allowance. It wasn’t much to me, but to her, it was probably at least her monthly salary. To send home, use for the baby, whatever.

Jumoke threw her arms around my neck and cried out her love for me in her bad English, kissing me passionately over and over again as her belly pressed against my abs and my large cock, draping it over the top of her bump. I reciprocated, luxuriating in more love than lust for a change as our lips met. A new feeling for me.

When my sexy maid drew back, letting my cock slide back down over her stomach, my desires flared. I put my hands over the tautness of her pregnancy and smooth, warm skin, looking down at it with obvious hunger.

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Dr. Deolu Oniranu-Bubble

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