Confessions of a taxi driver 3: misbehaving momo

Baba Toto

Village Elder
#1
Disclaimer: Fictional story so don't bother fact checking.
Read part one and two.

The voice at the other end of the line belonged to bibi ya mheshimiwa. I knew that she would be calling in favours after disposing of Cindy on my behalf. At least a debt to her was better than a debt to a street pro. She wanted me to go over to her house in the afternoon. I was curious why.
I arrived at her Parklands house for the second time and the watchman talked to me as if I was already an employee - polite but condescending, as if to tell me he was a grade above me. Watchmen are real idiots. I was polite back because you never know when someone will save your bacon.
Bibi ya mheshimiwa kept me waiting for an hour in the hot sun. I didn't complain and when she came out, she was with her skinny bodyguard. They got into the back of my taxi and she barked instructions and directions in the tone of one who is used to giving orders. 'Kwanini hamchukui Range ? Hiyo gari ni tamu !' I asked in a jovial tone. 'Listen, young man, the reason we are here is because I need discretion. If you are going to keep yapping, you can f**k off. These poor people have no sense.' She angrily addressed both the bodyguard and I in one sentence. I locked my mouth and threw away the key.
Over the next six hours, we drove to various mansions scattered in prime estates. I only recognised one of the addresses which belonged to a government minister. She was constantly on the phone talking to people with titles she respected, from her tone. I stitched together a tale of an extremely wealthy opposition widow trying to switch to the government side. You can learn alot when you listen.
In the evening, I dropped them off and she paid me 10k. I was over the ferking moon. She asked me to return after two days and we repeated the same routine. I realised why she needed discretion when we encountered a bunch of journalists camped outside one house. As I quickly drove off, not one of them noticed my beat up taxi.
On Saturday, she asked me to pick her up around 7 pm. When I got there, she came out alone. I didn't ask anything but from the strength of her perfume and the shortness of her dress, I knew this was personal. We drove to an address in Hurlingham and pulled up to some very imposing gates. The security guys had the look of ex-cops or ex-GSU from the way they quickly checked the car and let us in. We were in serviced apartments, the kind where all manner of secret deals go down. I drove as instructed to one of the apartments and parked inside the garage. She told me to leave the car there and go outside the compound. She gave me 3 K for 'lunch' or dinner as its called in these posh places.
Before I left, I noticed that there were many trees growing between the house and the fence. The village boy in me calculated and schemed. I walked to the gate and knew she was watching. I asked the guards if they wanted cigarettes and when they said yes, asked them where the nearest shops were. This would buy my entry back in. I bought a higher priced brand and returned. We stood outside the gate for half an hour and smoked while chatting about our jobs. People tend to be relaxed around taxi drivers. 'Aki niko na hangover ya keg.' I complained. Various cures were suggested until someone said the best thing was to sleep it off. 'Nitalala wapi ?' I enquired innocently. 'Si kwa gari yako.' Someone replied. I thought about it for half a minute and agreed.
Instead of going to the car, I crept between the house and the perimeter wall. I clambered up the tree like a monkey. I hoped to get a view of the shenanigans going on in the house but what I saw nearly made me fall. The curtains were wide open and the lights, though dim, were sufficient.I took out my phone to record for 'educational purposes ' or blackmail, making sure the flash was off.
Lying face up on a massage table, was a fully naked bibi ya mheshimiwa. She was glistening with baby oil from her wrinkly face, through to her saggy tits all the way down to her cellulite laden legs. Her legs were obscenely splayed and her shaved pink gash was leaking juice rapidly. Standing on her side was a jet black Ben 10 with huge biceps and a flat stomach. I must have missed foreplay because the show had progressed quite far. One of his hands was clamped on her nipples and was twisting each in turn quite viciously. Three fingers of the other were hooked in her hole, stroking furiously. After five minutes, he smacked her clit so hard, I heard the thwack sound and his other hand increased speed. All the while, I could hear his deep bass voice growling obscenities so vile, I thought she would slap him. Instead, he kept slapping her between her legs and his speed increased to a blur.
Suddenly, I heard the most bizarre sound, like a baboon with its balls caught in a trap. She arched her back so high she was balancing on her curly weave and heels only. A clear jet shot out of her and sprayed between her legs. She bucked up and down and several smaller jets flowed. I was so shocked I fell backwards off the tree.
I landed with a thud and the wind was knocked out of me. I must have broken my ass bone. I crouched low and listened. It seems no one had seen me. This was too close a call so I decided to leave the compound and wait. I found a small kiosk and spent an hour chatting to the female owner while drinking soda with those cheap cakes they all sell.
When she called, I walked slowly back and found her waiting quietly by the car. The rudeness must have been slapped out of her because she didn't say a word all the way home. She gave me an envelope with cash and walked gingerly to the door. This was someone who had been hit with the grandmother of thresholds.
As I drove off, I held the phone in one hand and watched the video. I won't lie, I had a semi hard on. I would have to go through K street and hook up with one of my pro customers for relief. Suddenly, I felt as if someone had hit me across the face with a book. I suddenly realised why that voice, the jet black face and bloodshot eyes were familiar.
It was the late mheshimiwa's bodyguard !
The one who was hunting down Cindy on K street !
The one who executed my would be kidnappers !
Triple double shit.
 

mswazi

Village Elder
#12
Disclaimer: Fictional story so don't bother fact checking.
Read part one and two.

The voice at the other end of the line belonged to bibi ya mheshimiwa. I knew that she would be calling in favours after disposing of Cindy on my behalf. At least a debt to her was better than a debt to a street pro. She wanted me to go over to her house in the afternoon. I was curious why.
I arrived at her Parklands house for the second time and the watchman talked to me as if I was already an employee - polite but condescending, as if to tell me he was a grade above me. Watchmen are real idiots. I was polite back because you never know when someone will save your bacon.
Bibi ya mheshimiwa kept me waiting for an hour in the hot sun. I didn't complain and when she came out, she was with her skinny bodyguard. They got into the back of my taxi and she barked instructions and directions in the tone of one who is used to giving orders. 'Kwanini hamchukui Range ? Hiyo gari ni tamu !' I asked in a jovial tone. 'Listen, young man, the reason we are here is because I need discretion. If you are going to keep yapping, you can f**k off. These poor people have no sense.' She angrily addressed both the bodyguard and I in one sentence. I locked my mouth and threw away the key.
Over the next six hours, we drove to various mansions scattered in prime estates. I only recognised one of the addresses which belonged to a government minister. She was constantly on the phone talking to people with titles she respected, from her tone. I stitched together a tale of an extremely wealthy opposition widow trying to switch to the government side. You can learn alot when you listen.
In the evening, I dropped them off and she paid me 10k. I was over the ferking moon. She asked me to return after two days and we repeated the same routine. I realised why she needed discretion when we encountered a bunch of journalists camped outside one house. As I quickly drove off, not one of them noticed my beat up taxi.
On Saturday, she asked me to pick her up around 7 pm. When I got there, she came out alone. I didn't ask anything but from the strength of her perfume and the shortness of her dress, I knew this was personal. We drove to an address in Hurlingham and pulled up to some very imposing gates. The security guys had the look of ex-cops or ex-GSU from the way they quickly checked the car and let us in. We were in serviced apartments, the kind where all manner of secret deals go down. I drove as instructed to one of the apartments and parked inside the garage. She told me to leave the car there and go outside the compound. She gave me 3 K for 'lunch' or dinner as its called in these posh places.
Before I left, I noticed that there were many trees growing between the house and the fence. The village boy in me calculated and schemed. I walked to the gate and knew she was watching. I asked the guards if they wanted cigarettes and when they said yes, asked them where the nearest shops were. This would buy my entry back in. I bought a higher priced brand and returned. We stood outside the gate for half an hour and smoked while chatting about our jobs. People tend to be relaxed around taxi drivers. 'Aki niko na hangover ya keg.' I complained. Various cures were suggested until someone said the best thing was to sleep it off. 'Nitalala wapi ?' I enquired innocently. 'Si kwa gari yako.' Someone replied. I thought about it for half a minute and agreed.
Instead of going to the car, I crept between the house and the perimeter wall. I clambered up the tree like a monkey. I hoped to get a view of the shenanigans going on in the house but what I saw nearly made me fall. The curtains were wide open and the lights, though dim, were sufficient.I took out my phone to record for 'educational purposes ' or blackmail, making sure the flash was off.
Lying face up on a massage table, was a fully naked bibi ya mheshimiwa. She was glistening with baby oil from her wrinkly face, through to her saggy tits all the way down to her cellulite laden legs. Her legs were obscenely splayed and her shaved pink gash was leaking juice rapidly. Standing on her side was a jet black Ben 10 with huge biceps and a flat stomach. I must have missed foreplay because the show had progressed quite far. One of his hands was clamped on her nipples and was twisting each in turn quite viciously. Three fingers of the other were hooked in her hole, stroking furiously. After five minutes, he smacked her clit so hard, I heard the thwack sound and his other hand increased speed. All the while, I could hear his deep bass voice growling obscenities so vile, I thought she would slap him. Instead, he kept slapping her between her legs and his speed increased to a blur.
Suddenly, I heard the most bizarre sound, like a baboon with its balls caught in a trap. She arched her back so high she was balancing on her curly weave and heels only. A clear jet shot out of her and sprayed between her legs. She bucked up and down and several smaller jets flowed. I was so shocked I fell backwards off the tree.
I landed with a thud and the wind was knocked out of me. I must have broken my ass bone. I crouched low and listened. It seems no one had seen me. This was too close a call so I decided to leave the compound and wait. I found a small kiosk and spent an hour chatting to the female owner while drinking soda with those cheap cakes they all sell.
When she called, I walked slowly back and found her waiting quietly by the car. The rudeness must have been slapped out of her because she didn't say a word all the way home. She gave me an envelope with cash and walked gingerly to the door. This was someone who had been hit with the grandmother of thresholds.
As I drove off, I held the phone in one hand and watched the video. I won't lie, I had a semi hard on. I would have to go through K street and hook up with one of my pro customers for relief. Suddenly, I felt as if someone had hit me across the face with a book. I suddenly realised why that voice, the jet black face and bloodshot eyes were familiar.
It was the late mheshimiwa's bodyguard !
The one who was hunting down Cindy on K street !
The one who executed my would be kidnappers !
Triple double shit.
Swafi!
 

Giggz

Village Elder
#15
Disclaimer: Fictional story so don't bother fact checking.
Read part one and two.

The voice at the other end of the line belonged to bibi ya mheshimiwa. I knew that she would be calling in favours after disposing of Cindy on my behalf. At least a debt to her was better than a debt to a street pro. She wanted me to go over to her house in the afternoon. I was curious why.
I arrived at her Parklands house for the second time and the watchman talked to me as if I was already an employee - polite but condescending, as if to tell me he was a grade above me. Watchmen are real idiots. I was polite back because you never know when someone will save your bacon.
Bibi ya mheshimiwa kept me waiting for an hour in the hot sun. I didn't complain and when she came out, she was with her skinny bodyguard. They got into the back of my taxi and she barked instructions and directions in the tone of one who is used to giving orders. 'Kwanini hamchukui Range ? Hiyo gari ni tamu !' I asked in a jovial tone. 'Listen, young man, the reason we are here is because I need discretion. If you are going to keep yapping, you can f**k off. These poor people have no sense.' She angrily addressed both the bodyguard and I in one sentence. I locked my mouth and threw away the key.
Over the next six hours, we drove to various mansions scattered in prime estates. I only recognised one of the addresses which belonged to a government minister. She was constantly on the phone talking to people with titles she respected, from her tone. I stitched together a tale of an extremely wealthy opposition widow trying to switch to the government side. You can learn alot when you listen.
In the evening, I dropped them off and she paid me 10k. I was over the ferking moon. She asked me to return after two days and we repeated the same routine. I realised why she needed discretion when we encountered a bunch of journalists camped outside one house. As I quickly drove off, not one of them noticed my beat up taxi.
On Saturday, she asked me to pick her up around 7 pm. When I got there, she came out alone. I didn't ask anything but from the strength of her perfume and the shortness of her dress, I knew this was personal. We drove to an address in Hurlingham and pulled up to some very imposing gates. The security guys had the look of ex-cops or ex-GSU from the way they quickly checked the car and let us in. We were in serviced apartments, the kind where all manner of secret deals go down. I drove as instructed to one of the apartments and parked inside the garage. She told me to leave the car there and go outside the compound. She gave me 3 K for 'lunch' or dinner as its called in these posh places.
Before I left, I noticed that there were many trees growing between the house and the fence. The village boy in me calculated and schemed. I walked to the gate and knew she was watching. I asked the guards if they wanted cigarettes and when they said yes, asked them where the nearest shops were. This would buy my entry back in. I bought a higher priced brand and returned. We stood outside the gate for half an hour and smoked while chatting about our jobs. People tend to be relaxed around taxi drivers. 'Aki niko na hangover ya keg.' I complained. Various cures were suggested until someone said the best thing was to sleep it off. 'Nitalala wapi ?' I enquired innocently. 'Si kwa gari yako.' Someone replied. I thought about it for half a minute and agreed.
Instead of going to the car, I crept between the house and the perimeter wall. I clambered up the tree like a monkey. I hoped to get a view of the shenanigans going on in the house but what I saw nearly made me fall. The curtains were wide open and the lights, though dim, were sufficient.I took out my phone to record for 'educational purposes ' or blackmail, making sure the flash was off.
Lying face up on a massage table, was a fully naked bibi ya mheshimiwa. She was glistening with baby oil from her wrinkly face, through to her saggy tits all the way down to her cellulite laden legs. Her legs were obscenely splayed and her shaved pink gash was leaking juice rapidly. Standing on her side was a jet black Ben 10 with huge biceps and a flat stomach. I must have missed foreplay because the show had progressed quite far. One of his hands was clamped on her nipples and was twisting each in turn quite viciously. Three fingers of the other were hooked in her hole, stroking furiously. After five minutes, he smacked her clit so hard, I heard the thwack sound and his other hand increased speed. All the while, I could hear his deep bass voice growling obscenities so vile, I thought she would slap him. Instead, he kept slapping her between her legs and his speed increased to a blur.
Suddenly, I heard the most bizarre sound, like a baboon with its balls caught in a trap. She arched her back so high she was balancing on her curly weave and heels only. A clear jet shot out of her and sprayed between her legs. She bucked up and down and several smaller jets flowed. I was so shocked I fell backwards off the tree.
I landed with a thud and the wind was knocked out of me. I must have broken my ass bone. I crouched low and listened. It seems no one had seen me. This was too close a call so I decided to leave the compound and wait. I found a small kiosk and spent an hour chatting to the female owner while drinking soda with those cheap cakes they all sell.
When she called, I walked slowly back and found her waiting quietly by the car. The rudeness must have been slapped out of her because she didn't say a word all the way home. She gave me an envelope with cash and walked gingerly to the door. This was someone who had been hit with the grandmother of thresholds.
As I drove off, I held the phone in one hand and watched the video. I won't lie, I had a semi hard on. I would have to go through K street and hook up with one of my pro customers for relief. Suddenly, I felt as if someone had hit me across the face with a book. I suddenly realised why that voice, the jet black face and bloodshot eyes were familiar.
It was the late mheshimiwa's bodyguard !
The one who was hunting down Cindy on K street !
The one who executed my would be kidnappers !
Triple double shit.
Waiting for blackmailed or is ulimiss kula"mbembe"
 

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