Jacob’s Trouble: Chapter 2, MERCY

Due to demand from my readers, I will be publishing 4 more chapters of my Polygamy apocalyptic erotic novel Jacob’s Trouble here on my blog, before the book goes into print.

For those who missed chapter one of this epic erotic polygamy story, where 7 women are on a race to win the heart and love of Jacob Moor, you can read the first chapter on the link below…

CHAPTER ONE: JOY-LINDA

I have written many books I have never published, but this is without a doubt my most favorite work, I put my heart and soul into it.

This story came from the depth of my soul…

It’s a story of real womanhood, how it was once back thousands of years ago, but now adapted into the modern 21st century, where each chapter is dedicated to 7 very different women, from very different walks of life, who fall in love with one man, as they tell their gripping stories in the first person, from an erotic point of view…

I dedicate this chapter to my sweet daughter Ama Chaniya Offeh

Enjoy…

Chapter 2: Mercy

“You don’t have to talk about the abuse Mercy. I completely understand if you don’t want to. We can always skip to how you became the legal wife of Jacob Moor.” Deborah said to me as I sat in the chair. The make-up artist came over and started working on my face whilst another crewmember fixed the microphone onto my blue blazer.

“No, it’s fine Deborah. I would rather talk about it, because that weekend of my escape was my turning point. My husband is happy for me to talk about it, there are so many women out there who needs to hear this.” I couldn’t believe how fluent in English I had become in such a short time, and confident too.

“You are a strong woman Mercy. Please take your time, remember this is not an interview. It’s simply you telling your story.” Deborah reminded me.

There was no shame in my story. I was ready to say it all. I chose to start from the day my life changed unexpectedly. 

“If you lie there like a log next time, especially to an important client like that,  know that it affects your chances of staying in this country. He paid a lot of money for you. I can’t be having people demand refunds! Do you understand?” Crucial slapped me. Sometimes I didn’t know what was worse, his bad breath or the beatings from him. He slapped me again. I didn’t cry or make a sound, I just looked at him. When you get beaten so often, your silence becomes your strength.   

Sometimes it annoyed him when I didn’t react. He would lift his hand and tease me, if I didn’t flinch he would slap me so hard, if I flinched and begged him to stop, he would stop. He always beat me for the same reason, not performing for the ‘clients’. I took the beatings because I refused to act like I enjoyed being raped. I wanted the ‘clients’ to never return, but no matter how I didn’t perform, they would still come back, especially one of Crucial’s best friends, he came every other day. He would still tell Crucial that he wasn’t satisfied with what I did, he would demand I do more. I never did. I would wait for the slaps from Crucial, because it felt a lot better to feel the pain of the beatings than the pain of being forced to sleep with different men every day. I learnt that physical pain was sometimes  better than the pain in your inner heart and soul. 

This day Crucial was so angry, for hours he had tormented me. It was a new ‘client’ I had disappointed. A white man. Crucial had warned me not to mess this “deal” up. But I did. He walked to his drawers and took out a belt. He slowly folded it, looking at me, his eyes bloodshot. He was the ugliest man I had ever seen, his lips were always cracked, sometimes even bloody. I had never noticed his ugliness back in Ghana, maybe because back then he was just my Madam’s husband.  Now in United Kingdom he was Crucial, a totally different man, about to beat me with a belt. He had never used a belt before.

“You think you are so tough, ha! You don’t feel the pain anymore, ha! Stand up and bend over the bed, you stupid whore!” This time my silence had backfired on me. I should have cried. I walked from the corner of the walls I was trying to take refuge against, as he pushed me towards the bed. I fell to the floor, afraid of what was about to come.

“I said bend over the bed, let’s see how tough you are! Do you know how much money I am about to lose? Bloody refund!” He was slowly sharpening the belt with his cracked fingers, testing how strong or soft it was.

“I’m sorry. I will do better next time, I promise.” It was the first time I had ever apologised. It was the first  time I had begged to please a “client”.

It had been three months of living with Crucial. Three months ago, I thought he was to be my husband. The Crucial I had been told about by my Madam in Ghana was a God fearing man.  I was told I was coming to the UK to get married and live a good life. My Madam I was working for as a maid in Ghana had arranged everything for me, from my passport, to my visa and plane ticket. I was told a young man in the UK wanted a good cultured woman from Ghana to bring into the UK to marry. 

Moving to the UK was supposed to be the biggest miracle and breakthrough of my life. After my mother’s death when I was 14 years old, I had been moved from relative to relative and couldn’t complete my education because none of her relatives wanted the responsibility of looking after me. They all complained openly to me that my mother had conceived me in sin with a married man she worked for as a maid so they didn’t want to have to take up her responsibility of looking after me when she died. I had never met my father, but mother had told me he was a wealthy businessman who lived in Accra. When mother had fallen pregnant at fifteen, her mistress found out she was pregnant by her husband  so she had chased my mother away and threatened her never to reveal that the baby was her husband’s.  

My mother had never seen my father again and he never told him she was pregnant. After she had me, she couldn’t work as a maid again so she started selling vegetables at a market in Kumasi. She was able to send me to school till I was fourteen when she got sick and died. In fact during the last months of her life, our life had gotten a little better because she had found a good job and was able to rent us a bigger room. 

During the two years after her death I lived in five separate houses with different relatives. They all maintained that they couldn’t afford to send me to school. When I turned sixteen my mother’s friend Akos had came to my uncles house, my mothers brother where I had been staying for a month after her sister had told him she couldn’t look after me anymore. Akos had asked my uncle to have me come to her house for Christmas. She said she promised my mother before she died that she would look out for me. My uncle and his wife were relieved that someone turned up at their door looking for me, in fact they told Akos that she could keep me for as long as she wanted. 

That was when my life had changed, Akos had revealed to me who my father was. She said mother had told her before she died. She told me she had met mother when she started her new job a few months before she died.

I was very happy when Akos told me about my father. I couldn’t believe how my luck had suddenly changed. She had given me his name and showed me his pictures on the Internet. Akos had told me my Father was a CEO of a big company. She said she was going to take me to his offices in Accra. She said my mother had told Akos to take me to my father  after she had died and made her honour the promise. I couldn’t believe I actually had a father, a rich one. I imagined him accepting me, buying me clothes and taking me to school again. Deep inside I was afraid that maybe my father would reject me so I didn’t show excitement to Akos. 

“Don’t be scared Mercy. I will not rest till I have taken you to your blood, I promised your mother. You need to go back to school, your father is a rich man. Your father never knew you existed because his wife prevented your father from finding out. He will not deny you. He looks like an honourable man.” Akos had assured me we got off the bus in Accra.

Akos took us in a taxi to my father’s offices. When we got to his offices, we were denied entry by the woman at the reception. Akos had demanded to see him and made a scene. We were told my father had requested security to remove us from the premises. Two security guys came and escorted us to the gate, as Akos screamed at them, trying to resist, demanding to see my father. At this point I was not sure if this man Akos had told me about was truly my father.

As we stood outside the gate, Akos kept insisting that we were not going back to Kumasi until we saw him, Mr Mensah he was called. We sat outside in the heat all day waiting for him to come out. Then when Akos had seen him emerging from the building Akos had run to him. 

“Do you want me to call the police? Please leave my premises at once. I don’t see people unless they have an arranged appointment with me. I do not have a job to offer you!” He was about to get into his car. A very nice red car. I was to learn later that the car was called a Porsche.

Sorry sir, I’m not a beggar I’m not looking for your money or a job. This girl here, Mercy is your daughter…” Akos pointed at me, I had been standing at a distance outside the gate, shivering, even though it was scorching hot. She signalled for me to come. It felt like I was learning to walk for the first time, my legs felt numb. One of my plastic slippers was tied with a soft wire. My blue dress was torn at the side. Mr Mensah opened his mouth in shock looking at me walking awkwardly towards where Akos was standing. 

“Sir the maid who used to work for you years ago, her name was Edna. This is the daughter she bore for you.” Akos said, smiling awkwardly at him.

He closed his mouth, it looked like he was confused and didn’t know what to say. He looked at me again from top to bottom. 

“Sir this is your daughter, she is sixteen years old.” Akos continued convincingly to him.

“Edna…” Mr Mensah whispered, pating his lips with his index finger, as though he was talking to himself. “ Oh yes, I remember Edna. Where is Edna?” He asked. 

“She died sir, two years ago. And she told me to honour her death wish to bring her daughter to you. Please sir her life is very hard she doesn’t go to school anymore, please she is your blood. Look she even looks like you Sir.”

“Nonsense! Edna fled from the house and I never saw her again. Seventeen years later a strange woman and a girl claiming to be my daughter turns up at my company. Why didn’t you come here soon after her death? You must be scammers, get away from my property now, both of you!” 

“Sir please, hear me out. Edna did not flee she was chased away by your wife when she found out that you had impregnated her maid. She was threatened not to tell you. Please sir we are not lying do a DNA test and I assure you it will be proven that Mercy is your daughter…” 

“My daughter! Are you insane? What if she is your own daughter and this is a little plan to con me into giving you money. Now listen carefully, I’m not a fool to impregnate a maid. This girl is not my daughter and if you ever make an appearance here again you will be sorry!” He opened the car door.

“Sir please. Have you no mercy on your own blood. This is your child. Where does she go from here, at least help her, give her a start in life and she will never bother you I promise. She has not been to school since her mother died two years ago.” Akos had begged him, he had entered his car to drive off but she had stood at the door, blocking him from closing it. 

He looked at me, and shook his head. 

“Let her follow her mother’s footsteps and find work as a maid. What is she waiting for?” I couldn’t believe it.

My mother had always told me never to work as a maid, she wanted me to be a teacher and had worked very hard sending me to school.

“I will never work as a maid.” I had boldly said it out.

Akos looked at me with eyes of disappointment. “My mother told me never to work as a maid because men will take advantage of me.” I continued talking to Mr Mensah, ignoring Akos’ disapproval. 

 “Where is your mother today then? Why didn’t she leave you in a position where you will never need to be a maid like she was. Without school what are you going to do with your life? You think you are too good to be a maid  so your answer to life is going around finding rich men to claim as your father. I know the kind like you, you are the daughter of a maid but you think you are too good to be who you are born to be! You will never be more than who you are, and this is coming from a man you desperately want to believe is your father so you can live a life you envy. Foolish girl! Never come to my property again otherwise you will be sorry and that is a threat!” 

His words echoed in my mind for years after that day. When he had driven off disappearing into the streets of Accra, Akos had turned all her anger of that day on me. 

“He is right about one thing, you are a foolish girl Mercy!  I was negotiating with him on your behalf! He is your father, and he was going to accept you had you let me finish speaking to him. You have just destroyed your chances of a very good future you had!” 

“But he was denying he was my father, I don’t think he was going to accept me Aunty. You said he wouldn’t deny me. But he did, and suggested I become a maid, something my mother told me never to be no matter what.”

“Your mother was a prostitute Mercy…” Akos was looking at me shaking her head in disgust.

“What? I don’t believe you…” 

“Did she tell you what her ‘new’ job was? Did she tell you where she got money from for the new room she was renting. We both worked as prostitutes. Her relatives wants nothing to do with you because they found out she became a prostitute and believe her death was a result of God’s judgment. You have destroyed the only chance because of your big mouth. ‘ I will never be a maid. I will never be a maid!’ Do you want to be a prostitute then, like your mother?  I can’t take you back to my house because I can’t afford to look after you. I have my own problems.”

“I am sorry.” Was all I could say. “Please I will work as a maid, please find me a job. I don’t want to be prostitute. I will rather be a maid.” 

Akos had found me a job in Kumasi within a week of the day Mr Mensah the man who was meant to be my father had told me all I could ever be in life was a maid. It was the truth, and I couldn’t understand why mother had told me to never be a maid when she sold her body for money. I was in a position in life where I was better off as a maid, that was my only redemption because no relatives wanted to stay with me. Akos advised me to be obedient and never to speak back to my masters, like I had done to Mr Mensah. 

“Never ever raise your voice or answer back to your Madam. She knows your story and is very keen to have you. If you cause problems and she chases you, you are going in the streets. She has a nice house so if you behave yourself you will have a good life in her home. I have done my part.” Akos had advised before she left me in my new Madam’s house. 

Life in Madam’s house became very hard. She was strict and would often slap me if I got things wrong. I was not allowed to leave the house and she never paid me. She would say she was giving me nice food and a home to stay in. Her husband lived in the UK, and visited her once a year. 

I worked for her for six years till I was 22. On the visit of her husband after I turned 22, Madam told me that a breakthrough opportunity had arose for me to go to the UK. She said a man called Crucial who was a friend of her husband wanted a good grounded wife from  Ghana and her husband had recommended me. Madam made me attend a virginity test before she could go ahead with everything because she said the conditions of Crucial accepting me and bringing me to the UK to be his wife was that I had to be a virgin. Madam said I would go to the UK as a visitor then Crucial would marry me and I would be able to stay in the UK forever. 

I was excited to leave Ghana because there was nothing for me there, I had no family. I was nervous to meet Crucial but Madam had told me that he was a kind godly man with a good job and her husband would keep an eye on me. Madam’s husband had gone back first and within a month, my passport and visa had been sorted. I had thanked Madam for changing my life, and I asked her if I could see Akos to let her know I was going abroad but Madam said Akos had moved to Accra and she had lost her contact.

I was sad to leave Ghana without saying goodbye to Akos, but I was so happy to leave Ghana for good. I was going to me a married woman in the UK, maybe I wasn’t meant to be a maid after all, my mother had been right. I was going to be a wife with my own house. I couldn’t believe my luck and I couldn’t wait to meet my husband to be, Crucial. 

When I got to the UK I was welcomed by Madam’s husband who told me he would drive me to Crucial’s house. He asked me to give him my passport. When we got to the house, which was a flat above what was called a corner shop, to my horror, he told me that he was actually Crucial, and he said he was going to be my husband. I told him I would be no such thing and Madam would never approve but he said he had planned everything with his wife, because I was going to make them a lot of money and she was eventually going to join him in the UK. 

The first night in Crucial’s flat, in fact before it was even night, screaming and crying, I lost my virginity to Madam’s husband, Crucial as I was to know him in the UK. It was the most painful day of my life, it was the day I wished to join my mother wherever she was. Crucial had told me life could be worse if I became rebellious, because I had come to the UK to work not to play. 

“You really thought you were coming here to some fairly tail wedding, didn’t it sound too good to be true for you?” He had laughed. “You are a fucken maid, daughter of a prostitute. Rejected by a man you claimed was your father, no relative want to even be associated with you. If it wasn’t for my wife and I, where would you would be today? You would have died in the streets. But look at you, you are in England. Nothing in life is free foolish girl. I brought you into this country so you will pay your way to live in my house! You are my property!” He didn’t look or sound like the man who used to visit Madam in Ghana, the man I used to kneel in front of calling Sir. 

Life ahead was nothing I had ever comprehended. Each night Crucial brought home a “client”. He would instruct everything I had to do, and would tell me the consequences of not obeying, which was deportation to the streets of Accra. He would tell me that nothing was worse than being a homeless woman in Africa so I had to behave wisely. He had put me on the contraceptive pill,  and always instructed his clients to use condoms on me. I felt so dirty, and Crucial would mock me and say I was simply living my mother’s legacy and walking in her shoes. I would find myself wishing I was still Madam’s maid. It was far better than being at the mercy of her husband, or rather the lack it in another country. 

This day he was angry with me, beating me because he said a client who had taken me to a hotel had requested his money back including the hotel fee. He said his client had paid for an escort and all he got was a woman who just lay there and did nothing. 

“I said remove your pants and bend over the bed! Today you are going to weep. You think you are so tough.” I could tell he was serious. I had never felt so scared.

“I said I am sorry. Please give me just one more chance. I will perform. Call him again, I will see him and do everything you instruct me.” I begged him.

“Do you mean that?” He asked me, putting his hand which was holding the belt down.

“Yes. Just don’t beat me with that belt. Please.”

“Ok. Sit down. Listen, if you behave and do what you are told, I will let you go to church like you once asked me, you know, get a social life here and there. Would you not like that? If Crucial is happy, you could be happy too Mercy. The only way this client will let the refund go is if he has another night with you, and you deliver. He is a very wealthy British man and likes his girls just like you are, and is about to make us a lot of money! Do you understand that!” 

“Yea Sir.” I answered quietly. 

“If he takes you again tonight do deliver for me yeah. Suck his dick real good, pretend to cum when he’s fucking you, scream here and there, call his name, all that shit I keep teaching you, and I will get you a nice outfit, nice shoes, and will drop you to a cool church I know tomorrow. How about that.” 

“Okay. I can do it.” I could feel myself smiling inside, “Could you buy me a wig as well?” I asked him. 

“If you satisfy this old rich white bastard for me. You will have more than a wig when you come back tomorrow morning. And God will be waiting for you at church Mercy.” 

Written By Mary-Tamar was Jean Gasho

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