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pucksnsticksnhockeyboys · 5 years

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distraction

request: 28 and 55 with tyson jost pleaseee??? it can be both of them together or just one of them, thank you!

prompt: “Technically, this is illegal. But you look adorable, so I'll let it slide.” & “Anything for you, ‘cause you kinda scare me, not going to lie.” / numbers 28 & 55 off of this list with Tyson Jost.

summary: you find out your ex has been saying some unsavory things about you and Tyson helps to distract you.

warnings: none

word count: 2.5k

requested by: anon

If there was one thing you hated, it was liars. Another thing you couldn't stand was cheaters. Which is why you were so heated after you found out your ex was telling all of your mutual friends that you had cheated on him. With your best friend, of all people.

You were seeing red.

You had thought the relationship had ended on good terms nearly four month back. You simply realized that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, so instead of leading him on you broke with him. He had told he felt the same as you and you both went your separate ways.

Clearly, he had been lying about not being upset over the breakup, since you had just gotten off the phone with his sister. She had called you, and you sat in confusion listening to her yell at you for disrespecting her brother for all of forty seconds before you set the record straight. Then, you spent the next five minutes after the phone call ended contemplating the best ways to get back at him.

You were flushed with anger, storming out of your apartment with your best friend Tyson hot on your heels. He had been hanging out at yours for a movie before he had to leave the next day for a road trip when you got the call, and he was the one your ex accused you of cheating on him with. The very one you had a massive crush on and who you really wouldn't mind hooking up with, but you were not a cheater. No one knew about your feelings for Tyson, so there really was no romantic relationship between the two fo you.

“Where are we going?” Tyson asked, a hesitant grin shining through his confusion. He saw you get angry, and then curse out your ex, but you hadn't filled him in on what had gotten you so worked up so quickly. A glance over your shoulder told you he was checking to make sure your door was locked before making his way over to you by the elevator. You were almost mad enough to take the stairs, almost, but you were on the seventh floor and not everyone could be a professional athlete like Tyson.

“We’re going to kill my ex.” You spoke to him for the first time since the phone call as the elevator doors opened. Once you stepped in, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the back wall, allowing Tyson to push the button for the bottom floor. After doing so, he mimicked your position on the wall adjacent to you, with his arms crossed but less angry and more relaxed. You chastised yourself for the way your heart skipped a beat at how attractive he looked, even when he was grinning at you like he knew something you didn't.

“Technically, this is illegal. But you look adorable, so I'll let it slide.” He teased, and you stuck your leg out to kick him gently in the shin as a punishment for his comment, his only reaction a chuckle. If your heart had skipped a beat by him just being attractive, it was surely racing at his comment. You hated how easily he was able to distract you from your anger. “Can I at least know why we’re about to go murder him?”

“He’s telling people I cheated on him.” You confessed, not expecting how fast Tyson’s happy-go-lucky smile would drop from his face and a frown would take its place. You almost regretted telling him what happened, because the frown did not suit him as much as the smile. But he needed to know, since he not only was your closest friend but the rumor involved him—the tiny detail you had left out and were now dreading telling him.

“He’s a jerk.” Tyson commented and the juvenile comment almost made you crack a smile. Yes, your ex was a jerk, but you were focused more on trying to string together a way to tell Tyson the second part. You weren't sure how he’d react, and the idea of him getting even more upset had you shifting on your feet.

“That’s not all.” You mumbled, anger suddenly replaced with unease. It wasn't that Tyson was unnerving you, but you were so in your own head about how your recently realized feelings for him were going to change the dynamic between you. Tyson raised his brow at you in silent question, but you didn't notice with your gaze trained on your shoes. “He’s telling everyone I cheated with, uh, you.”

You waited for a moment, trying to gauge Tyson’s response without having to actually look at him. When you reached the bottom floor and the doors dinged open, he still hadn't said anything. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you finally lifted your gaze to his, only to be disappointed to see an unreadable look on his face. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a line as he studied you.

“Come on.” He muttered, grabbing your wrist and tugging on it, getting you to follow him out of the elevator and across the lobby. His hold on you wasn't all the necessary, you were certain you would follow him across the world if he simply asked.

“Now where are we going?” You prompted, following Tyson’s lead and climbing into the passenger side of his car that was parked outside your building. You didn't care much that he was taking you somewhere, you and him both knowing that you were far too annoyed to be sitting in your apartment.

“You’ll see.” Part of you was glad he started driving in the opposite direction of your ex’s place, you really weren't up for confrontation now that your initial surge of anger dissipated.

You watched as Tyson turn on the radio, recognizing it as being one the both of you know. He started to sign obnoxiously, exaggerating the pitch of the song and doing dances that made you giggle despite your horrible mood. You knew he was doing it on purpose, he always had a knack for knowing just when you needed cheering up.

He looked so adorable, turning to serenade you at every red light, that you couldn't help but join in for the next song.

“What’re we doing here?” You questioned, turning the volume down on the radio so he could actually hear you. You were facing out the window, watching the building he pulled in front of with amusement. It was a local ice rink, one that Tyson had taken you to a few times.

“We’re going to do something fun, and not think about your jerk of an ex at all. A distraction.” Tyson stated matter of factly, and you playfully rolled your eyes at him. It was no surprise to you that Tyson had an extra pair of his skates in the back, and you waited for him as he pulled them out. When you headed towards the doors, Tyson did something that was a bit out of the ordinary—he laced his fingers through yours, tugging you closer to him by your interlocked hands. You weren't complaining, but you were almost certain he could hear your heart thumping in your chest.

Now, it was no secret that you were not the best skater. Tyson had tried to teach you, but the lessons almost always ended you with on your butt and him laughing at you. So after Tyson had paid for your tickets and rented your skates—he didn't even let you think about taking your wallet out to pay for yourself before he was handing the cash over—you didn't have to ask him to help you lace up your skates.

“I’m going to embarrass myself in front of a bunch of families.” You groaned, holding your leg out as Tyson did up your skate. Your gaze was focused on the rink, seeing that there were dozens of people out there already. You watched a child whizz by, and you suddenly grew nervous, aware of just how much a fool you were going to look out there.

“We could get you one of the walkers to like that kid.” Tyson teased, gesturing to small child desperately trying to stay upright as her parents stood nearby. You knew you weren't going to look nearly as adorable as her once you got out there.

“I swear, Jost, if you ditch me out there like you usually do to show off your cool hockey skills, I will end you.” You threat fell short, the corners of your lips turning upwards and Tyson outright laughed at you. The sound was comforting, and you found yourself forgetting just why you had stormed out of your apartment just twenty minutes earlier. He had finished your skates and was doing up his own silently. When he finished, he was pulling you up out of your seat and you stumbled slightly. You weren't even on the ice yet and your balance was already off. “You better stay with me the whole time.”

“Anything for you, ‘cause you kinda scare me, not going to lie.” He teased and you moved to shove his shoulder playfully, but the action affected you more than him and he had to catch your waist to keep you on your feet. “Easy there, killer.”

Learning your lesson rather quickly, you kept your hands to yourself and instead opted to glare at him. He chuckled, leaving his arm on your hip as he led you to the edge of the ice. He stepped on easily, disconnecting himself from you as he skated two paces away before turning back to face you. Your grip was tight on the edge of the wall, feet planted just outside the rink.

“Come on, don’t you trust me?” Tyson teased, and by the grin on his face you knew he was planning something. You didn't think twice, responding out of instinct and honesty.

“Yeah, but—” Except you didn't get to finish, because suddenly Tyson had skated back towards you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest with your feet off the ground. And then he was setting you down on the ice just far enough that the wall was out of your reach. By then, your senses had come together enough for you reach a hand out and grip his forearm, not letting him get far. “What the hell was that for?”

“You were taking too long.” He said simply, a giddy smile on his face. You feigned offense at his comment, but you quickly had to turn all your attention to the skates sliding on the ice, making sure your feet didn't slide out from underneath you. Once you found your balance, you let go of Tyson’s arm. He had other plans, capturing your hands in his as he started to skate backwards, pulling you with him.

“You’re supposed to be nice to me.” You mumbled, using focusing on your feet as an excuse to hide you rosy cheeks from him. He was being extra touchy-feely today, and it was driving you crazy.

“I’m always nice to you.” Tyson grinned, to which you rolled your eyes, despite knowing he was telling the truth. He was the sweetest person you knew, which was one of the many reasons you found yourself in the unfortunate situation of falling in love with your best friend.

As you skated around the rink, Tyson kept his hands locked in yours and his gaze on you unless he was checking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't going to run someone over. It was nice, and it was a good distraction from what had started the whole afternoon.

But that was Tyson, he was your best friend. He always knew how to get your mind off of what was bothering you. You knew you still had to deal with the rumors that your ex was spreading, but that wasn't what was important to you currently. You were skating around with your best friend that made you laugh at every one of his dumb comments, the one who held your heart and was doing excellent work taking care of it. If he was fishing for your smile, which you knew he was, he was doing a good job.

“Would it really be that bad if people thought we were together?” Tyson’s question was so casual, and he wasn't even facing you when he said it. He was looking over his shoulder when he caught you off guard, so when he turned back you saw the seriousness in his eyes.

“People think I’m a cheater, Tyson.” You reasoned, watching with furrowed brows as his cheeks reddened.

“Yeah, no, I get that’s bad and we definitely have to make sure people know nothing happened between us yet—” He cut himself off when his brain finally caught up with his words. Your eyes went wide, searching for the meaning behind what he said.

“Yet?” You questioned his word choice and suddenly he was being shy. You were used to the goofy Tyson, so him suddenly hiding his face from you by looking down meant he had been thinking about the possibility of the two of you becoming more than friends. The thought had your heart racing and unable to string a coherent thought together, but when he tried to let go of your hands you just tightened your grip. His head shot up, his hopeful gaze meeting yours.

You couldn't hold yourself back anymore. You used your conjoined hands to pull yourself flush against him, only then dropping his grip to instead wrap your arms around his neck and bring him down into a kiss.

The kiss did not last long, at all, because when you pulled yourself to him, you did so with so much force your feet flew out from underneath you. Luckily, Tyson had already wrapped you in his arms so he caught you easily. You weren't hurt, but your ego was badly bruised when he let out a laugh at your expense.

“Shut up.” You groaned, dropping your head on his chest. Once his giggles died down, he moved one hand from around you to tilt your head up to face him. You face was bright red, but he was smiling wider than you’d ever seen him do, which was saying something.

“I think we need to work on your skating.” He teased, and before you had the chance to come up with a response he silenced you with another kiss, one that didn't result on you almost landing on your butt, no matter how much your legs felt like jelly. When you pulled away you were breathless, despite the kiss not lasting very long since you were aware of the families skating around you.

“You know, this was a pretty good distraction.”

#tyson jost #Tyson Jost imagine #Tyson Jost x reader #Tyson Jost imagines #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagines #colorado avalanche imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl #nhl imagine

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langdvnshepherd · 6 years

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Good For You ~ Part 2 (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

PART ONE (Part 3 linked at the end)

Summary: You’re a broke ass college student whose one night stand with the infamous Duncan Shepherd leads to the development of a rather interesting relationship between the two of you. — You thought your relationship with Duncan was nothing more than an arrangement. But when he catches wind that you’re seeing other people in the mean time, is that really all it is?

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: sugar daddy!Duncan, fem!reader, smut, oral sex (male receiving), jealous!Duncan lmao, dirty talk, rough sex, spanking, plot heavy obvi

A/N: Sorry this took forever, I wanted to work out all of the details before I continued this story! Let me know what you think, and what you want to see in the next part, because I have one more part planned to wrap this up if that’s something you guys are interested in! I have the main plot outlined, but I’m totally open to suggestions for other little scenarios! Also shoutout to @avesatanormalpeoplescareme for the inspo for this! It helped so much thank u I owe you my life.

The following months after agreeing to Duncan’s little, arrangement, per se had been going pretty great. Well, better than great actually. You were less stressed than you’d ever been. Working less hours at the coffee shop due to the continuous stream of cash flowing into your account had done wonders for that wrinkle in your forehead caused by the constant worry of trying to make rent. Not living paycheck to paycheck whilst simultaneously having some of the best sex of your life was a situation you’d never thought you’d find yourself in, yet here you were. You had acquired a new pep in your step, and you never wanted it to end.

Keeping Duncan happy was pretty simple. He’d fallen into a routine. The two of you met on Thursday nights, the same hotel and the same room. He always texted you beforehand, but it’s not like you weren’t already expecting it. A blacked out SUV arrived promptly at your apartment, and dropped you off at the front steps of the hotel. He’d greet you at the door, and have your clothes ripped off before you made it to the bed. You started to wonder if maybe he was married, that he had a wife and kids somewhere and that’s why he always insisted on meeting at the hotel. He assured you that he wasn’t, he just didn’t want his security team alerting anyone of the new role you now played in his life.

He wasn’t lying when he’d said he’d take care of you. Usually, your gifts were delivered to your apartment. A new laptop, a Birkin bag, Prada sunglasses, random all-inclusive weekend trips with your roommate, and anything Yves Saint Laurent made you probably owned now thanks to Duncan. The packages, regardless of their contents, always came with a delicately wrapped parcel of lingerie. Sometimes it was just a new pair of lacy panties, other times a full set complete with fishnet stockings and garter belt. He’d never told you outright that he wanted you to wear it when you were together, but you figured those were his intentions. It always got him going to see how beautiful you looked thanks to him and his money.

Other times, he would just slide you his black card and let you keep it for the week to do whatever you pleased. You were hesitant at first, not knowing what his limit was. But given that he had been supplying you with enough funds to pay your bills, you didn’t think he really had one. Still, you tried not to go too overboard. You’d get your nails done, change up the tone of your hair, maybe have a spa day or pick out a few new pairs of shoes for yourself, all at Duncan’s expense. You quickly found out that he couldn’t care less how much you’d end up spending, it was more of a kink for him than anything. The more, the better in his opinion. He was far more preoccupied by the way your ass looked in the jeans he’d bought you the week before than to worry about the charges on his account.

In the beginning, you’d felt dirty about the entire situation. It kinda felt like you were doing something illegal by allowing Duncan to buy you such extravagant things when all you were doing was fucking his brains out. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with the way your relationship worked, it was just something you’d only ever seen in movies and never once thought you’d be living out yourself. Turns out, Duncan was decent company. You always hung around for a few hours after fucking just to talk to each other for a while. Duncan would ask you about your classes and make sure you were taking care of yourself. He’d vent to you about the assholes that worked for him and you’d rant about your stupid professor that gave you a C on an essay you knew for a fact you’d deserved as least a B+ on. “I can get them fired if you want, you know. Got a few secrets of theirs up my sleeve that I’ve been dying to share,” he would joke.

“Oh yeah?” you’d laugh along, “You’re sponsors. Don’t think that would serve your family all too well now would it?”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

Having more free time away from work also meant that you also had more time to socialize with people your age for once. A few weeks ago, you’d met a guy at a party thrown by a fraternity your university. He was tall, hot, charming; at least that’s what you initially thought. You’d hooked up with him that night, and somehow he ended up with your phone number. He asked you out on a proper date, and you said yes seeing as there was no harm in giving it a shot. The entire night, all he did was talk about himself. Anything that came out of his mouth served no other purpose than to boost his ego, not that he even had anything to be proud of; his frat was notorious for being sexist pigs and it was beginning to be blatantly obvious. It was clear that he was far more interested in you than you were into him, but you kept him around. You only hooked up with Duncan once a week, so you needed someone to fill the gaps during his absence. He was tolerable.

With this new man in your life came a problem: every time he would fuck you, all you could think about was Duncan. The way his hands would roam your body like he knew every inch and every pressure point that made you squirm. The way his tongue felt gliding over your hips before dipping down to taste you. This guy had nothing on Duncan, and you knew it. He was rough, but not in the way that you liked. He didn’t care about your pleasure in any capacity; sometimes he pulled out without even bothering to make sure you finished too. As much as you hated to admit it, the only time you were even able cum was when your eyes were screwed shut, completely ignoring the boy on top of you and imagining it was Duncan pounding you into next week. There was just something about the way he carried himself and the fact that he had given you everything you could ever ask for that made every other man seem dull and bleak.

One particularly hot day, a Tuesday, you were seated at a picnic table in the courtyard on campus. Enjoying the sun, you figured you’d spend your break in between classes outside studying. Your exposed legs were perched atop one of the bench seat, on full display for anyone that walked by; your chest adorned with a see-through blouse that was unbuttoned a few more holes than what was considered appropriate. The beams that shone on you made your slightly sweaty skin glisten in an almost otherworldly way. Not getting to enjoy the rays for long, your tranquil state was brought to a halt when none other than your favorite frat boy made his presence known by tugging one headphone from your ear.

“What the fuck, dude?!”

“Hey dollface, whatcha up to?” he asked, clearly unaware that you were a bit preoccupied.

“Well, I was trying to study for my Global Politics exam. But it seems like that’s not going to happen with you sitting here,” you answered, clearly annoyed. He smirked and laughed as if you’d meant it as a compliment. Yuck.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to Chad’s party on Thursday night. It’s gonna be insane! He’s got basically all of Sigma Chi coming, so you know that some crazy shit’s gonna go down.” God, you really couldn’t stand to listen to this man talk. He’s lucky his cock was so big or else you’d have blocked his number by now. Thursdays were reserved for Duncan, so even if had any inking of an interest in going it was an automatic no.

“Sorry, I’ve got plans. I can’t,” you didn’t want him to press the matter any further.

“Oh yeah, like what?” he questioned, his hand moving to rest on the top of your bare thigh.

“Listen, I just can’t. Okay?” He didn’t move his hand from your leg. Instead he began to massage the soft skin on the inside of your thigh in a manner that was far too crude for the public eye. It was his poor attempt at trying to persuade you, as if his actions actually had any effect on you as of lately.

He continued to go on and on about this stupid fucking party, his fingers still kneading your skin. Not wanting to look at his face any longer, you rolled your eyes and tilted your head in the other direction. That was when you heard the deep, rich voice you’d recognize anywhere quickly coming in your direction. The voice that occupied your thoughts at all times, the voice that muttered those words that made you come undone in a matter of minutes.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as soon as you saw him. There, walking with the dean of your university, was Duncan fucking Shepherd looking as entrancing as ever. Even in this stupid fucking heat, he still looked like he just walked out of a fucking magazine. He was making his way through the courtyard chatting with the Dean of the university. Most likely, he was talking up some another sponsorship deal that would inevitably promote the Shepherd Freedom Foundation as he always was, but you didn’t have time to listen to what he was saying. Before you knew it, his eyes were on yours. They flickered with recognition before realizing the position in which he had just caught you in: sprawled out on a bench seat, short shorts, chest out, with some boy’s hand between your legs. He took in your form, his eyes lingering for a noticeable amount of time on your thighs and the way the boy beside you seemed to be getting a little too handsy. He looked angry, his eyes boring a hole into your skin and his lips pursing just slightly.

In an instant, he was back to acting like he hadn’t even noticed you in the first place. He carried on his conversation with the Dean and kept walking until he was out of your sight. What the fuck just happened? Was he actually mad? It sure as hell seemed like it. He’d never told you that you couldn’t see other people. Your relationship was an arrangement, not exclusive. You quickly removed the boy’s hand from your leg and threw your books into your bag. You had to get the fuck out of there before Duncan came back to confront you.

“Damn, leaving so soon? We’re still on for this afternoon though, right?” You weren’t really sure how you’d even caught his question with all of the anxiety flowing through your body from being caught red-handed with another boy in front of Duncan.

“Uh, yeah sure. Whatever. I’ve got to go. See ya.” Your brief interaction with Duncan, if you could even call it that, had left you with your panties soaked. If he wasn’t there to give you release, you had to make do. This impotent frat boy was going to have to work.

You never heard anything from Duncan after the incident at school. Maybe he wasn’t as bothered by it as you’d thought. Maybe it had just caught him off guard as much as it did you to see each other unannounced like that. After cooling down, you’d decided it wasn’t a big deal regardless. You were allowed to see other people just as much as he was. The sex and money were just that. You were friends at most. It still didn’t stop you from fantasizing about him the entire time during your hookup that afternoon.

Just as you’d arrived back to your apartment, you received a text from Duncan asking you to meet with him. It was only Tuesday, so that was odd. Shit, maybe he was mad. You quickly responded, and within half an hour the SUV was parked outside waiting for you. Climbing in, you were preparing yourself for the worst. Was he going to break it off? Was he going to yell at you? You honestly had no clue. When the driver passed the usual exit you took to get to the hotel, you grew confused.

“Excuse me, where are we going? You passed the exit for the hotel.” you stated.

“Mr. Shepherd has requested your presence at his residence this evening, Miss,” he retorted. This was new. Duncan’s never invited you over to his place before. You’d only ever seen him within the confines of the lavish hotel. Something was definitely going to go down, and you weren’t sure if you were more nervous or excited.

It didn’t Duncan but a second to greet you at the entrance of his apartment after a few hesitant rattles of your fist against the door. His face broke out in a slight smirk, satisfied that you’d agreed to come over on such short notice.

“Y/N, I’m glad you could make it. Sorry I couldn’t make a reservation at the hotel this late, and it was...urgent that I saw you tonight,” he stated. His manner was very composed, but somewhat cold. Yep. He was definitely mad. You didn’t say anything, you simply followed him further into the apartment. The exposed brick walls were painted a stark white, and sleek, black furniture littered the open space. A giant Keith Haring painting hung perfectly on the wall, and the kitchen was probably larger than your room for Christ’s sake. The entire apartment was dripping with wealth. He walked you to what was presumably his bedroom, also adorned with minimalist decor you knew cost more than all four years of your tuition.

“Care for a drink?” he asked without even turning to look at you whilst making his way over to the bar cart that rested in the corner of the room.

“Uh, sure,” your voice went up an octave as you tried to suppress the way his stoic composure made you so incredibly nervous and turned on at the same time. You took the glass from him and quickly threw it back. Alcohol was necessary for whatever he was about to say or do to you. Handing the glass back to him, his hands lingered on yours for a moment, relishing the feeling of your skin on his.

Sensing your timidness, Duncan moved his hands to grip you by the shoulder and brush your hair out of your face to try and calm you. As he tucked the loose strand behind your ear, his eyes caught a glimpse of a blue-ish purple shadow that adorned the column of your neck. You weren’t aware of this, however. It wasn’t until he took your cheek in his hand, ran his finger along the edge of your jaw, trailing it down slowly to firmly apply pressure to the bruise on your neck that you realized what he had seen. Wincing at the feeling of his thumb digging into the bruise, it dawned on you. Fuck. You had told your little frat boy you’d met with earlier that afternoon no marks, guess he really wasn’t good for shit. His eyes blackened, and his nostrils flared slightly at the thought of knowing someone else had done this to you, that someone else had been inside of you.

“Get on your knees.”

Out of instinct, you let out a chuckle. “What is this? A punishment? Because I fucked another guy? Are you jealous or something?” He only continued to stare deep into your eyes as you lashed out. He hummed in response before speaking.

“You can be a real fucking brat sometimes. You know that, Y/N?” he replied while moving his hands to his belt, beginning to undo the buckle. You hadn’t had time to notice the tent in his pants begging to be set free. “But no, sweetheart, this isn’t a punishment. Far from it, actually. Think of it as a reward.” Oh, he was definitely jealous. He just wasn’t going to admit it. And it was hot.

His words sent sparks ablaze inside of you. Reaching for the buckle yourself, you quickly made work of unzipping his dress slacks, grabbing both his pants and his boxers and letting them pool around his ankles in one go. You were now eye-level with his throbbing erection, small beads of pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock. Taking his member into your hand, you guided it to your lips and ran your tongue around the tip before partially taking him into your mouth a couple times. He hissed in response and shut his eyes tightly, pleasure already taking over him.

You withdrew him from your mouth completely and ducked your head down to lick a flat line from in between his balls along the underside of his cock to the tip, feeling the large vein that ran along his shaft brush against your tongue. He let out a shaky breath mixed with a strangled, “Fuck,” at the feeling. You smirked against him as you went back to alternating between small kisses and kitten licks along his head. Done with your teasing, he abruptly grabbed you by the back of your hair and eagerly forced himself down your throat. You gagged slightly as his cock brushed the back of your throat, Duncan finally letting out the moan he’d been suppressing. He couldn’t help but buck his hips into your mouth, only pushing himself further into you. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and slowly rolled down your cheeks at the sudden sensation of his movement.

Once Duncan was fully seated in your throat, you began to bob your head up and down along his cock. Setting your pace, you took him in your mouth as far as you could, pumping what you couldn’t with your hands. Your steady rhythm elicited a strong of grunts to fall from Duncan’s lips. He continued unravel and found it incredibly difficult to keep from pushing your head further down onto him each time.

“That’s it, take daddy’s cock. God, your pretty little mouth feels so fucking good when I’m fucking your face like this.” His praise caused you to moan against his cock, the vibrations making his knees shake slightly. He was beginning to lose his composure, and you knew he was reaching his breaking point.

Without warning, he ripped you off of him by the roots of your hair. Letting out a yelp, you looked up at him in anticipation of what he was going to do next. He peered at you with blissful eyes as he helped you off your spot on the floor. The hem of your shirt was over your head before you were back on your feet, your shorts and bra hitting the ground with an aggressive whack as he threw them to the side. Backing you up to the bed, he bent down and swept your legs out from under you, causing you to fall back onto the plush mattress. You backed yourself slowly up the bed, maintaining eye contact with Duncan and he quickly removed what was left of his clothing. He was still rock hard, his cock bobbing in the air as he made his way back up to you at the front of the bed.

You could feel his breath fanning across your body as he kept his head almost flush with your chest and made his way up to meet your face, supporting himself with a firm grip on your legs. He took in the mess he had made of you: cheeks sparkling with tears, lips plump from the events that took place only moments ago, hair in knots from his tight grip. Approving of his handiwork, he trailed back down your chest, leaving sloppy, open mouth kisses from the bottom of your ribcage down to the waistband of your panties.

“Were you wearing the panties I bought you?” he questioned, breaking the silence.

“W-was I what?”

“Were you wearing the panties I bought you when you fucked that boy I saw you with today?” You froze. His words paralyzed you. You couldn’t do anything but stare at him as your labored breaths caused your chest to dramatically rise and fall.

He smirked at the look on your face. Hooking his thumbs around the thin lace, he slowly slid your panties down your legs and dropped them at his side. You knew you were soaking wet by now, Duncan’s blatant rage and jealously at the thought of you fucking someone else only fueled the fire in the pit of your stomach.

“Were you this wet for him? Were you dripping for him like you are for me right now?” He ran his pointer and middle fingers through your slick, finally touching you for the first time that night. The simple touch made you jolt forwards and exhale loudly.

After a few more slow, antagonizing circles around your clit, Duncan removed his fingers from your core. He quickly gripped you by your ankles and flipped you over so you were lying face down against his bed, your cheek now pressed into his fluffy pillow. You felt one of his hands grab at your waist, raising your ass into the air and then using the other hand to press your chest back down onto the mattress so your body was arching forwards.

“I wonder if he knows what you really like? That you like to be thrown around,” he paused to rear his hand back and lay a firm smack against your ass that was sure to leave a bright red handprint, “spanked. That you cum harder with a hand wrapped around your throat.”

You finally felt the tip of his cock run along you ass down to your clit, preparing you to be split in two. Duncan chuckled before adding, “Fuck, did he even make you cum, Y/N? Or was he too caught up in himself to care about you?” His questions were rhetorical. It was all for his benefit, to prove that he was better for you than the little boy he had caught you with in the courtyard. An ego boost. A way to displace his jealousy. He was right though, and you knew it. Nothing compared to the times you had shared with Duncan. The frat boy you’d been seeing was just that, a boy.

With a swift thrust, Duncan buried himself inside of you. The pillow muffled your scream, but it was still loud enough to echo throughout the room. He pulled himself all the way out before slamming back into your aching cunt with a jealous force. He was determined to have you so full of him that you wouldn’t be able to remember the name of guy who you’d been screwing before him. His speed combined with the angle of your ass in the air made every inch of his cock fill you with ecstacy. Your moans were replaced with chants of his name. Combined with the sounds of his hips smacking into your ass and the sloshing coming from each thrust into your core, you were becoming unable to even hold yourself up in the air.

It felt like he had been pounding into you for an eternity, and you never wanted it to end. You felt your release winding up inside of you, causing your eyes to screw shut and your body to hold as still as possible in order to bring it on faster. Your moans became whimpers, and you gripped at his sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. Duncan sensed how close you were, and promptly pulled out before flipping you over once again to rest on your back.

He gripped the base of your neck and applied slight pressure as he entered you again and set his pace, only this time he was able to see your face. “Tell me, Y/N. Does he take care of you? Does he take care of this pussy like you know I can? Does he even have the means to make you feel the way I can?” Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as the words left his lips. It was almost enough to send you straight over the edge, but now quite.

“I need to know, love. Before I let you cum, does he take care of you like I can?” He took your leg and wrapped it around his wait so he could give your ass another hard smack and simultaneously hit your inner walls deeper and deeper.

“NO! He doesn’t make make me feel the way you do. No one does.” the words ripping through your lungs as you finally gained the energy to form something coherent. He was clearly pleased with your answer. Smirking to himself, he used the hand that was wrapped around your neck to pull you in for a kiss. It was sloppy and your noses smashed together, but it felt right. He dropped his head to your ear and moved his hand down to begin rolling your clit between his fingers.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Go ahead, cum for me. Daddy’s got you. You can let go.” He whispered as he placed hot, wet kisses over top of the hickey left by the guy he wanted to beat into oblivion.

With that, you were cumming. Hard. Duncan continued to fuck you through your orgasm, allowing you to ride every wave of pleasure that pulsed through your body. The way your cunt contracted around his cock brought on the start of his release in turn. His hips started to sputter and his eyes were screwed shut. He quickly removed himself from you before pumping his length in his hands a few last times. You felt hot ropes of his cum shoot up your belly and onto your breasts as his moans filled the room. The expression on his face was nothing less than a dream: mouth hung open, jaw tense, eyes rolled back like they were going to fall out of his head. Duncan immediately flopped back onto the bed, trying to recover from everything that had just happened.

After catching his breath, he propped himself up on one elbow and ran his fingers through the cum on your stomach before pressing two of them into your mouth to taste him. You eagerly accepted, wrapping your tongue around his digits to such them clean similar to the way you’d taken his cock earlier in the night. You couldn’t help but feel like the events that transpired from earlier today at school up until right now had changed things between you two. That the boy he’d seen you with triggered something inside of him that he’d perhaps been trying to avoid.

“What was that for?” you asked, hoping he’d clarify the reason behind his actions.

“Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you knew who you belonged to.”

PART THREE

Tagging:

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @venusxxlangdon @langdons-rep @ccodyfern @michaellangdong @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @wroteclassicaly @omg-hellgirl @aveiangdon @belusima

#Duncan Shepherd #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd smut #michael langdon x reader #jim mason x reader #hoc #ahs #my writing #mine

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kristablogs · 4 years

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What you need to know about converting your home to solar

Behold: the power of the sun. (Vivint Solar/Unsplash/)

If you live in an area with abundant sunlight—hello, fellow southern Californians—you’ve probably thought about installing solar panels on your roof to save on your electric bill. But with so much information, it can be hard to know where to start.

Look no further—start here

Between the different types of panels, financing, inverters, and other jargon, researching solar energy can feel overwhelming at first. That’s why I recommend starting at a solar quote comparison site like EnergySage, Solar-Estimate, or SolarReviews (the latter two are run by the same people).

Both EnergySage and Solar-Estimate act as educational resources and comparison shopping tools to help you field bids. I’ve been using EnergySage, which is chock-full of articles explaining the technology involved. You can also watch videos, look at their buyer’s guide, or start getting quotes. Their Solar 101 series of articles will help you understand the basics, and when you’re done, scroll through the site’s “Learn About Solar” sidebar to read even more articles that’ll give you a feel for the process.

To understand what your home requires, though, you’ll need to look up how much electricity you use. If your bill tells you the average amount of electricity you use each month, make a note of that, or calculate a quick and dirty average yourself. The more information you have on your usage, the more accurate an estimate you can get from installers.

Your energy usage will determine how many panels you’ll need on your roof. Too few, and you’ll still have to pay the electric company for whatever extra power you use. Too many, and you’ll waste money on panels you don’t need—though the electric company will give you credits for any energy you don’t use, should you one day need electricity from the grid.

Keep in mind your future use, too—EnergySage CEO Vikram Aggarwal says that if you plan on getting an electric car, for example, you may want to add a few more panels than you currently need. My neighbor did exactly that, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to rely on the grid for the increased energy usage his new car requires.

From there, you can call local installers directly or plug your information into EnergySage to streamline the process. “You tell us about your home, your bill, and we ask you if you have any preferences regarding equipment, quality, or type of financing. Based on that information, you’ll get quotes from half a dozen pre-screened solar companies,” explains Aggarwal.

Since these quotes contain a number of figures, including a “price per watt,” it’s a bit easier to compare each installer apples-to-apples—rather than just comparing the total cost of each installation that you might get from individual quotes. And, unlike some other solar comparison tools, you won’t have to share your phone number on EnergySage, which is a big plus if you don’t want unsolicited phone calls. (Both EnergySage and Solar-Estimate make money from installers, who pay a fee to list on the site.)

How to choose an installer

As with any big project, don’t just pick the first cheap quote that comes along. “Consumers should get three to five quotes from a mix of different kinds of solar companies to truly evaluate their options,” says Aggarwal. That way, you’ll get a feel for the average cost—pay special attention to the price per watt, which is your main point of price comparison—though it isn’t the only factor you should consider when selecting an installer.

When you find some prices you like, reach out to the companies and set up a visit to your home where they can create a more detailed plan. You may find that a slightly more expensive installer makes a better pitch for the project. My brother-in-law, for example, liked that his chosen company had a keen attention to detail and helped explain the process to him. Other companies he looked at were cheaper, but didn’t take as much care in helping him decide between products, or determining the most aesthetic way to run the conduit to the electrical panel. So don’t be afraid to get a few on-site visits under your belt before committing. (And make sure a company is licensed, insured, and certified by the North American Board of Certified Energy Practitioners—you can search their database of companies here.)

Different installers may carry or recommend different panels and inverters, too. (Inverters convert the direct current from the panels to alternating current for your home.) More-efficient panels are naturally more expensive, but may be necessary if you can’t fit enough lower-efficiency panels on your roof to cover your home’s electricity usage. If you have a large roof or lower usage, you can go with less-expensive panels. You can also choose between more-affordable inverters mounted to the side of your house and pricier, more-efficient ones that sit on your roof. A good installer will walk you through all your options, so you can make an informed decision.

The installer should also draw up the plans, get the permits, and install the actual equipment. So while the installation may be fairly quick, the start-to-finish process may take a few weeks to a few months, depending on your situation. Your installer should also tell you if you need to upgrade your electrical panel, which may be required for certain homes.

Payment and financing

You don't necessarily need to shell out a bunch of cash up front to get your home running on solar. (Alexander Mils/Unsplash/)

Paying for your system can feel like a minefield all on its own. There are a ton of options out there, but most of them boil down to two main flavors: you can own your system, or you can rent it from the solar company.

Owning the system

Buying everything outright is ideal, since you reap the biggest financial benefits. You can either pay cash, which requires a high upfront cost but nets you the largest long-term savings, or you can take out a loan, which costs a little more in the long run but doesn’t require as much immediate money. Considering a typical solar power system can cost upwards of $10,000, a loan may be attractive. Plus, with a loan, as long as your monthly payment is lower than your monthly electric bill, you start saving money on day one. Purchasing the system upfront means you won’t break even for a few years (though again, you spend less in the long run).

That loan can come from many places, too. You can go to your bank and get it rolled into your mortgage, open a new line of credit, or get a loan through the installer, Aggarwal tells me. Going through your bank may be cheaper, he notes, but may also require more paperwork than choosing the loan your installer offers. It depends on how much legwork you want to do.

Renting the system

Signing a lease, a power purchase agreement, or renting a system through other means is also common, but generally not as financially advantageous. You’ll pay less money, but you won’t get as many of the benefits. “Most of the savings are going to the leasing company,” says Aggarwal. “You may only get 20 to 30 percent.” It can also be a bit complex if you ever want to sell your home—the homebuyer also has to qualify for the solar lease and agree to take over the contract. If they don’t, you could lose that sale, be forced to buy out the solar panels, or deal with the headache some other way. You won’t have to worry about maintenance or repairs, though, like you would with a system you own. If you can’t afford to buy or finance your panels, leasing may be an option, but make sure you’re aware of the downsides before proceeding.

Crunch the numbers

You may be curious to know how long it takes before the solar panels pay for themselves (the moment your savings overtake the initial cost of the system), particularly if you’re buying them outright. This depends on the price of electricity in your area, the incentives available in your region, and how much sunlight you typically get, Aggarwal says. In California, where I live, electricity is 56 percent more expensive than the national average, and there aren’t any state incentives. But we get so much sunlight that Aggarwal tells me California’s average payback period is seven to eight years. Most solar markets, he says, typically see payback in less than 10 years.

That’s pretty good, because most systems are designed to last significantly longer than that. Most solar equipment is warrantied for about 25 years, but can last even longer before you need to replace them, Aggarwal says. The panels do, however, lose efficiency over time, so they may not produce as much energy once you get that far down the road. In addition, the installer’s labor warranty will likely be shorter, so you may have to do a little legwork if you encounter trouble between years 15 and 25, for example.

Finding tax credits and rebates

If you choose to buy your solar system, you may be eligible for a number of financial incentives. It can be hard to keep track of what’s available, though, especially considering the federal government has started to phase out tax credits for solar. For 2020, the current federal tax credit stands at 26 percent of the cost of your system. This isn’t a rebate, it’s a tax credit, which means it’s deducted from the taxes you owe next year. If you don’t owe any taxes, you won’t get a check in the mail. The credit goes down to 22 percent in 2021, then phases out for residential customers in 2022.

There are also state or local incentives, but these can vary by location. Aggarwal recommends checking out the Database of State Incentives for Renewables & Efficiency, or DSIRE, to see what’s available in your area. Your accountant may also be able to help you make sense of all this for your specific tax situation—so give them a call as you’re running the numbers to see what your final cost and savings will be.

0 notes

scootoaster · 4 years

Text

What you need to know about converting your home to solar

Behold: the power of the sun. (Vivint Solar/Unsplash/)

Look no further—start here

How to choose an installer

Payment and financing

You don't necessarily need to shell out a bunch of cash up front to get your home running on solar. (Alexander Mils/Unsplash/)

Owning the system

Renting the system

Crunch the numbers

Finding tax credits and rebates

0 notes

premimtimes · 5 years

Text

In the second report of a three-part undercover investigative series, FISAYO SOYOMBO exposes how the courts short-change the law, and the prisons are themselves a cesspool of the exact reasons for which they hold inmates.

Too many unforeseen obstacles had sprung up against me by the time I arrived at the gates of Ikoyi Prison, Ikoyi, Lagos, on July 12: I had had my most tortuous night in the police cell; I had been messed up by the typically ruthless Friday evening Lagos traffic; I had arrived under the cover of darkness, which wasn’t the plan. Even the few things that went well would later come back to haunt me.

Proceedings were well underway at Court III when we stepped into the Chief Magistrate Court, Yaba, Lagos, after my unlawful detention for five consecutive days at Pedro Police Station, Shomolu. It was a little afternoon — or thereabouts. A funny but very contentious matter was ongoing. The protagonist, a woman, was being tried for, allegedly, illegally selling a piece of land belonging to a former associate of hers. This woman — ostensibly in her late 50s or early 60s — claimed, vehemently so, that the complainant indeed owed her millions of naira in accumulation of unpaid earnings for executed projects. She sold the land because she had been instructed to, to defray the cost of her service, she said. But the prosecutor insisted otherwise, arguing that the sale was fraudulent. The woman, irritated and incandescent, embraced and perhaps enjoyed every window to have a go at the prosecutor. Once, the prosecutor got under her skin by scoffing at how two of her high-profile witnesses were deceased. “Excuse you!” the woman fired back in protest. “Are you suggesting I killed them? Is it my fault that you’ve been dragging me from one police station to another and from court to court for more than 10 years?”

The magistrate — a dark, soft-spoken, middle-aged man whose eyes often evaded the lens of his pair of glasses when talking — adjourned the matter, as expected. And after two or three other cases, mine was mentioned. His orders: remanded in prison custody, two sureties in like sum of N500,000 each, N150,000 to be paid into the Registrar’s account by each surety, sureties to be from father’s side of the family. Not long after, the court rose, to be followed by my preparations for a long and difficult journey to the prison.

PRISON WARDERS ASK FOR BRIBES RIGHT IN COURT

Before the authorities take my freedom away from me, the first thing they do is give me a final semblance of it by unfettering my hands from the handcuff, as is the custom. That was just before entering the dock. Minutes later, the same man who released the handcuff returns to hand me over to a policeman who, accompanied by Zainab Sodiq, the lady posing as my sister, leads me downstairs. First stop on the ground floor is the office of the prisons service. Manning it, comfortably sitting opposite the entrance, is a gun-wielding prison warder, legs waggling, whose shirt hangs loosely on the wall inside, leaving his trunk scantily covered by a singlet. Inside that office are three more warders. The next room is a holding cell — for momentarily detaining inmates until the arrival of the prisons bus that conveys them to Ikoyi. I expect to be led to the holding cell, but I am taken into the prisons office and encouraged to “take a seat”. What manner of magnanimity is this? I was wrong!

The three officers summon my sister. “You can have a look at that holding cell and see if it’s the kind of place a human being should stay,” one of them tells her with feigned sympathy. “Your brother can stay in our office but it will cost you N10,000.” My sister takes a moment to peep into the holding cell, then returns to bargain. The negotiating parties reach an agreement of N5,000, collected by the singlet-donning warder.

Money in the bag, the warders’ initial measured disposition turns happy-go-lucky; I notice the ease with which they regale one another with tales of similarly shady financial dealings. “The day Naira Marley was billed to be taken to prison, I was on this chair making cool money,” says one of them. “I made some good money, I won’t lie. Transfers were just going up and down.” Naira Marley, the hip hop artiste whose original name is Azeez Fashola, had been arraigned at a Federal High Court in Lagos on May 20 by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), on 11 counts of alleged Internet and credit card fraud.

A second warder describes how he facilitated the payment of N300,000 to a senior colleague of his in Abuja, by a man who wanted to ‘smuggle’ all his three children into the employ of the Nigerian Prisons Service (recently renamed the Nigerian Correctional Service) during a recruitment “some years ago”. Though unqualified, all three were eventually employed by the service. It suddenly dawns on the warder that an ongoing promotion exercise in the prisons service offers him fresh opportunity for corrupt enrichment. “Let me quickly call the man; he may be interested in a deal to facilitate his children’s promotion,” he adds, running his hand through his breast pocket for his phone.

‘IF YOU HAVE YOUR MONEY, YOU CAN NEVER SUFFER IN PRISON’

Seeing the lack of restraint with which they discuss acts of bribery and corruption, I approach them for guidance on the allocation of accommodation in prison. Apparently, it’s a high-wire fraud involving prison officials in court and those in the yard proper.

“You can get a cell for N30,000,” one of the warders tells me. “You can also get for N100,000 or N150,000. You can even get a N1.5million cell.”

“A million and five hundred thousand?” I protest.

“Of course!” he insists. “When Ayodele Fayose was remanded in Ikoyi Prison, what kind of cell did you think he stayed in?” Fayose, the immediate past former Governor of Ekiti State, was remanded at Ikoyi Prison in October 2018 at the start of his N2.2billion fraud trial initiated by the EFCC.

Another warder cuts in. “Don’t worry, you can never suffer in the prison yard,” he says. “As long as you have your money.”

Patience, a third urges me. “The warders at the prison have warned us off striking deals with inmates while still in court,” he explains. “They’ve told us to leave them to push their own deals when the inmates get to the prison. So, when we get there, we will hand you over to the warders you will negotiate with.”

EMERGENCY BAIL FOR SALE BY ‘THE MAGISTRATE’S MAN’ AND PRISON OFFICIALS

Minutes later, one of the warders — dark, mild-mannered and diminutive — walks up to me to ask if I’m making progress with my bail conditions. The question confounds me. Who makes progress on bail application within two hours of a court hearing?

“My lawyer is working on it,” I reply, “but it’s too early to know since it’s just a few hours ago we left court.”

“No, no; it doesn’t mean,” he says. “I have a lawyer in this court who will help you perfect your bail ‘today today’. In fact, you will not get to Ikoyi Prison at all; you will go home straight from here. He works in concert with the court authorities. I can call him right now and he’d be here any minute, if you want.”

Stunned and curious in one breath, I nod in the affirmative. In a matter of minutes, the lawyer, ostensibly in his late 40s or early 50s, shows up. He speaks in carefully considered and restrained patches, sporadically wiping the lens of his glasses with a silky piece of cloth.

“What exactly is your offence?” he begins, then proceeds to hearing my bail conditions. He assures me that the problematic components of my bail requirements would be waived, but the process would cost me money.

“Did the Magistrate order you to pay any money to the Registrar’s account?”

“Yes. N150,000,” I say in error. It should have been N300,000 — at the rate of N150,000 per surety.

“Okay, that’s no problem,” ‘Mr. John’, as he introduces himself, says. “Can you make everything N200,000?”

I tell J I can’t. That’s a lot of money. Fifty thousand naira on top of the N150,000 is a lot of cash. But he disagrees. “You see, I am very close to the Magistrate,” he says. “I am very close to the man; therefore, we will waive many of these bail conditions for you.” We haggle for a while: N180,000, N170,000, N180,000. We eventually settle for N170,000.

John takes a quick look at his watch; it’s a little past 3 pm. “Hurry and get the money. It’s almost too late already — why did you wait till this long?” he laments. “Today may or may not be possible. If you had mentioned it immediately the court rose, say around 2 pm, I would have been able to totally guarantee you that you would go home today without ever reaching the prison.”

We exchange numbers and I promise to call, but I never do (The plan, really, is to end up at Ikoyi Prison.). Instead, I fold my secret device and tuck it away carefully. Yes, I’d taped all the conversations held inside the prisons office in the court premises. The original plan was to put the device away before going to prison, then retrieve it afterwards. I had been told that there was literally nothing I wanted to smuggle into the prison that I couldn’t; I only needed to grease the palms of warders and they would fetch it for me. But with accommodation negotiations set to take place on arrival at the prison, I began to nurse the ambition of smuggling in the device outright at point of entry. This was not the original plan. But if it works out, I would more evidence of prison-yard corruption. If it fails, I’m doomed. Big risk, I know. But I do it all the same.

PHYSICAL PAIN IN EXCHANGE FOR DIGGING THE STORY

Sunkanmi Ijadunola, the Assistant Chief

The prison warders do not quite know what to make of me when they find a hidden device on me, a supposed inmate, during the routine search at the entryway shortly after an Ikoyi Prison bus conveying the latest inmates pulled over at the prison gate. After a second, more thorough search during which nothing else is found on me, they hand me over to the ‘Section’ — a position occupied by the most senior convict in a cell — of the welcome cell. As I would later find out, this was under strict instructions: no phone calls, no out-of-cell movement, no frivolous interaction with inmates.

Very early the following morning, Sunkanmi Ijadunola, the third most senior warder in Ikoyi Prison, sends for me. They had seen the videos; they’d extracted the memory card from the device and watched footages of the five prison officials demanding bribes from me and the court official negotiating a premature bail with me. Sunkanmi, as he is widely known, asks me to confess: “Who are you and what is your mission here?” But he was asking the question a few hours too late. I’d spent half of the night deliberating on what to expect in the morning. I had imagined that in the best scenario, some senior official would have been thoroughly mortified by the sight of their bribe-demanding colleagues captured on tape, and would be keen to convince me about helping to further unravel the bad guys in the system. I didn’t deceive myself, though: this thinking was more or less illusory. I’d also thought that in the bad scenario, I’d be handed over to the Police; and in the worst, I’d be extrajudicially executed. After several hours of carefully considering all possibilities overnight, I resolved that even if they held a gun to my head, I would not disclose my true identity. I knew once I did, that was the end of the story. After five excruciating, emotionally and psychologically destructive days in a police cell, I wasn’t prepared to ruin everything so cheaply.

Seeing I am unwilling to offer any useful information, Sunkanmi, the Assistant Chief, accuses me of plotting a jailbreak. “You’re here to understudy the prison security so that you can send the videos to your gang members outside,” he says. “You’re planning a jailbreak. Or you’re working for Boko Haram; you’re a Boko Haram spy!”

I do not flinch. Instead, I stick to the original storyline I’d preconceived to offer in the improbable circumstance that my cover was blown. At this point, Sunkanmi sends for a cane and orders me to remove my shirt and trousers, leaving only my singlet and boxer briefs. Then he descends on me. Three rounds of beating: the first with several lashes of the cane searing straight into my skin and leaving me with blood and blisters; the second in similar pattern, with my hands cuffed behind my back; and the last with a thick stick targeting the interior and exterior joints of my ankles, knees, hips, elbows and shoulders.

Still, I refuse to disclose that I’m a journalist. By enduring the beating, I succeed in buying myself at least another 24 hours of understudying the corruption seeping through the different layers of prison operations. Bearing the pain was worth it in the end; someone needed to expose the scale of criminal corruption going on in that prison.

Corruption-Laced Registration

The first benefit of enduring the pain is that I am still accorded the treatment of a regular inmate, therefore I am sent for registration and documentation. The documentation holds inside a building opposite the Assistant Chief’s office. It’s a fairly big office with a small inner room littered with stacks of ragged files and paper, plus a narrow, hollow, open cell to the left where awaiting-documentation inmates sit without much latitude to stretch their legs. The inner room is manned by a warder easily noticeable by the ungracefulness of his chemical-bleached yellow skin. A light-skinned, heavily-built woman-warder spearheads the documentation process in the major office, assisted by three convicts. The documentation is both manual and digital, but to avoid compromising the security of the prison, I’ll skip the details. Prison warders are themselves the biggest threat to prison security, but I won’t aid them.

In the very final stage, a convicted inmate tells me to step forward for my cash. The procedure is always that an inmate turns in his possessions, including cash, at the gate. At the end of documentation, the money goes to the records department, from where he can retrieve a small sum every time it is required for a specific purpose. Just before I collect mine, one of the three convicts — they’re easily recognizable in their deep blue uniforms — whispers some instructions into my ears. “You will give that woman N1,000,” he tells me, “then you can have the rest.” It’s standard practice, I soon find out. Every inmate who comes in with cash must give up some of it at every registration point in bribes demanded through proxy, but with the full knowledge of the receiving warder. It looks a small amount but by month end it could be some stash of notes in dubious earning. In my one week in that prison, there were 16 new inmates on the day with the least number of new inmates. On one day, there were 45. If only five had enough cash to forfeit N1,000, that’s N5,000 daily, amounting to a little below or above N100,000 — depending on the number of court sittings in the month. Numerous honest, hard-working Nigerians do not even earn that!

I give up N1,000 of my N7,200 as instructed, and I receive a slip indicating my new cell will be D2 — that is, Block D Cell 2. I ask to be given the outstanding N6,200 but the convict tells me the money will be handed over to the warder overseeing the block — a happy-go-lucky albino who seemed very popular among inmates. Six thousand two hundred naira quickly becomes N5,200. This fresh N1,000 deduction, I am told, is to guarantee nobody in the cell lays hands on me. Again, if five inmates forfeit a thousand naira daily, that’s another N100,000 in corruptly-earned money by month-end. This is more than thrice the national minimum wage approved by President Muhammadu Buhari in April, but which still hasn’t taken off five months after!

COVER BLOWN BUT TOO LATE TO CONCEAL CORRUPTION

My stay at D2 is short-lived. Two members of my backup team show up as planned. They had been unable to reach me but they assumed all had gone well so far. With the extra scrutiny around me, it doesn’t take too long before they’re found out. It leaves me with no option but to admit I’m an investigative journalist and to fully disclose my mission. I just couldn’t see them endure the pain I had. This was a watershed moment in the investigation, as from then on, the prisons service bends over backwards to put its best foot forward while also eliminating my exposure to all ongoing ills. I remember overhearing a prisoner say even a death-row convict should still have the sense of self-worth to ignore the beans that was served that Saturday morning; but in my eight days at the prison, the warders ensure that I do not come in contact with the food served to inmates by the prison. The authorities relocate me from D2 to the welcome cell, with strict warnings never to leave the cell on my own under any circumstance. Unfortunately for them, it was too little too late.

Before they knew who she was, one of my visitors had actually been made to pay a bribe of N1,000 at the prison gate before she could be allowed to see me, much like the setting at the police station. This wasn’t at the discretion of the visitor; it was no act of voluntary tipping. Rather, she was expressly asked to part with her money as a condition for access to me. On the surface, this looks a pittance, but not so when viewed in the context of the human traffic to the prison. On Saturday evening, I had managed to do a headcount of visitors: 18 of them in an hour. Do the math! This Ikoyi-visit corruption has grown in leaps and bounds, evidently; back in 2016, a N200 bribe gave a visitor access to an inmate. Not anymore!

Also, one of the few lawyers who visited me was nearly asked at the gate if he was willing to enter a deal to relocate me to a more enjoyable cell. “You look too clean for your client to be in D2,” a warder at the prison gate had told the lawyer, who, several years before his admission to the bar, had earned a reputation among colleagues for his clean shaves and bespoke suits. The warder waved the lawyer in, all smiles and niceties, and suspiciously keen to converse. Once a second warder turned up abruptly to announce the name of the client in D2, everything changed. The first warder slipped into jitters; his eyes became reddened, his face contouring into a frown. “You cannot sit there,” he said as the lawyer attempted to settle into a seat. “Come this way; remove your glasses; we need to thoroughly search you.”

N10,000 IS THE COST OF DELETING YOUR DETAILS FROM THE PRISON’S RECORDS

Until I was called to come receive my visitors, I made my every second in Block D count. Even before reaching the block, I knew I was on borrowed time. I was certain that it was only a matter of hours before I would have to reveal my true identity. So, in between registration, feeding and dispatch to D2, I mixed with inmates as often as I could. On one of those occasions, I overheard three inmates discuss a birthday celebration by a ‘Yahoo boy’ — Nigerian lingo for internet fraudster — in prison the previous week. “It was ‘lit’,” one of them said. A second, obviously the shortest-serving inmate of the trio, asked how some of the birthday items were smuggled in. “It’s the warders,” the third answered. “With N5,000 and above, most warders will help you smuggle anything you need into the yard.”

Elsewhere, I’d also run into a group of four inmates fielding questions from an inmate who was worried about the implications of his conviction. I was interested in it, knowing the consequences are long-lasting. Section 107(1)(d) of 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (as amended) states explicitly that no person shall be qualified for election to a House of Assembly if “within a period of less than ten years before the date of an election to the House of Assembly, he has been convicted and sentenced for an offence involving dishonesty or he has been found guilty of a contravention of the Code of Conduct”. A similar provision in Section 137 (1)(e) makes it clear that a person shall not be qualified for election to the office of President if “within a period of less than ten years before the date of the election to the office of President he has been convicted and sentenced for an offence involving dishonesty or he has been found guilty of the contravention of the Code of Conduct”.

“What’s your business with that?” one of the inmates fires, irritated. “We will delete your name from the records. There will be no trace of you. Nobody will have any evidence that you ever came here, so forget whatever the implication is. My brother’s friend did it before and it cost him only N10,000. I’ll link you to the warder who did for him; he will help you too, but that will only be after you have regained your freedom.”

SODOMY, BOOZE, SEX AND DRUGS… AS LONG AS YOU HAVE YOUR MONEY

While in prison, I’d exchanged contacts with an awaiting-trial inmate who had promised to reach out once he regained freedom. True to his words, he called on the day he exited Ikoyi Prison. Weeks after, I drove about 340km out of Lagos to meet up with him.

“I saw how you were beaten up in prison and I didn’t want you to suffer in vain,” he says as we exchanged handshakes, each sizing the other up for elements of trust. “I’m going to help you by giving you additional information to what you already have. But this will be a very brief meeting, and this will be the only time ever you’d see me. That’s the best way for me to stay alive, because I know these bad guys will come after me if they trace any information to me.”

He explains that the special accommodation mentioned by the prison warders in court, which I was shielded from seeing, is called ‘Nicon Luxury’. It’s an apartment where inmates pay between N20,000 and N50,000 for a night’s sleep, plus access to cigarettes, drinks, Indian hemp, drugs and girls.

“The apartment has air conditioners, good couches and mattresses; meanwhile, 118 inmates are packed like sardines into one room that should normally hold 30 inmates. Those at Nicon are not only political prisoners or people of influence; just people who have the money.”

He describes the unfair world that the prison is, with only the poor truly imprisoned while the rich live fine.

“There is a lot of impunity in the prison,” he says. “An inmate, so long he is rich, can have almost everything, even sex. Inmates sleep with prostitutes. If you want to have sex, just tell the warders. They will bring a girl to the Nicon Luxury for you, set the two of you up; you f**k, you pay. It’s that easy,” he reveals.

“There is free flow of drugs in prison, which is impossible without the facilitation or compromise of warders. You’ll find Colorado [a hard drug] in huge sale; I took it myself. I paid just N5,000 each time I wanted it. Tramadol and refnol are sold, too, but Colorado is the highest in demand.

READ PART ONE HERE: INVESTIGATION (1): Bribery, Bail For Sale… Lagos Police Station Where Innocent Civilians Are Jailed And Criminals Are Recycled

“Look at Vaseline, it is a very scarce commodity in prison but it is available at expensive rates for use in sodomy. At Ikoyi Prison, the powerful inmates sodomise the others, and it happens right under the nose of prison authorities. They know that these things happen. But, you see, the warders are the problem — because inmates do not have access to the outside world, and those coming from outside are screened from head to toe. Therefore, nothing can enter the prison without the knowledge of warders.”

NOTHING LIKE REFORMATION OR CORRECTION IN PRISON

Nurudeen Yusuf

Despite the signing of the Nigerian Correctional Service Act 2019 into law by President Muhammadu Buhari, to reflect the new thrust of inmate reformation and correction, Nurudeen Yusuf, a Lagos-based legal practitioner and human rights activist, says any prison reforms that doesn’t kick off with warders is an “absolute waste of time”.

“With the sex, sodomy and abuse of drugs at Ikoyi and other prisons, there can be no reformation in the prison system. Under the law, inmates only have a right to one stick of cigarette a day, but look at the sheer availability of drugs to them,” he says.

“For instance, we got a guy out of Ikoyi Prison through our advocacy programme; we paid his bail sum of N100,000. We were shocked that he was desperate to go back. In less than three weeks, he got himself sent to prison — because of the big life he enjoyed there.

Infograph: Inmate Life

“The prison world is like an animal world. Inmates who have access to drugs, money and gadgets use that power to oppress the others. You see prisoners who have access to phones, they can extort outsiders right from inside the prison. Many prisoners convicted for fraud and murder are rich, and they live a big man’s life in there. Prisoners make cash transfers from their accounts while in prison.

“While in prison, inmates are supposed to learn new hands-on skills with which they can earn legitimate income after serving their time. But many of the workshop centres are not functioning, even in Kirikiri Maximum prisons; no materials, no resources to work with.”

Yusuf says he has had clients who were sodomised at Ikoyi Prison but the warders turned a blind eye because the victims were suspected Boko Haram members. “These people are innocent until proven guilty in court,” he noted. “Therefore, sodomising them is criminal; and this happens at almost every prison in the country.”

Possible. A 31-page piece titled ‘Sodomy of Children in Maiduguri Prison and The ICRC Conspiracy of Silence’, released by imprisoned-for-life Independence Day bomber Charles Okah in March, details child prostitution, sodomy, abortions and even outright murder at the Maiduguri Maximum Security Prison, Borno State. Then Governor of Borno State, Kashim Shettima, subsequently set up a panel to investigate Okah’s claims, but its work was frustrated by Ja’afaru Ahmed, the Controller-General of the Nigerian Prisons Service and Sanusi Mu’azu Danmusa, the Maiduguri State Controller.

‘SET THE PRISONERS FREE, JAIL THE WARDERS’

Ikoyi Prison Warders

Prisons in Nigeria, exist to “take into lawful custody all those certified to be so kept by courts of competent jurisdiction, produce suspects in courts as and when due, identify the causes of their anti-social dispositions, set in motion mechanisms for their treatment and training for eventual reintegration into society as normal law-abiding citizens on discharge, and administer Prisons Farms and Industries for this purpose and in the process generate revenue for the government”.

The NPS continues to fulfil all these basic functions, bar two — identify the causes of misbehaviour, and kick off treatment and reintegration to society. Incidentally, these two are the most important of the lot.

Yusuf worries that prison sentence is turning a catalyst for more crime rather than the deterrence it was intended to be. “The implication is that inmates have no remorse over the offence for which they have been convicted,” he says. “They are willing to commit more crimes. They have just become terrors unto the society, either in prison or out of it. If you have money, you can live the life of a governor while in prison. The only difference is that you don’t have freedom to go out of the prison.”

My ex-inmate-friend sums it up more chillingly. “I was convicted for fraud but I left the prison knowing I was a better human that many of those warders,” he tells me. “You see those warders, they’re the ones who should be in jail. They’re far more fraudulent than I was. Their freedom should be in my hands, not mine in theirs!”

—

This investigation was published with collaborative support from Cable Newspaper Journalism Foundation and the International Centre for Investigative Reporting (ICIR)

INVESTIGATION(2): Drug Abuse, Sodomy, Bribery, Pimping… The Cash-And-Carry Operations Of Ikoyi Prison In the second report of a three-part undercover investigative series, FISAYO SOYOMBO exposes how the courts short-change the law, and the prisons are themselves a cesspool of the exact reasons for which they hold inmates.

#apc #buhari #corruption #EFCC #Fisayo Soyombo #icir #ICPC #ikoyi prison #investigation #Justice system #Naira Marley #Nigeria #PDP #police brutality #PREMIUM TIMES #The Cable #Undercover Reporting

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sheminecrafts · 6 years

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WhatsApp founder, Brian Acton, says Facebook used him to get its acquisition past EU regulators

WhatsApp founder, Brian Acton, who left Facebook a year ago — before going on to publicly bite the hand that fed him, by voicing support for the #DeleteFacebook movement (and donating $50M to alternative encrypted messaging app, Signal) — has delved into the ethics clash behind his acrimonious departure in an interview with Forbes.

And for leaving a cool ~$850M in unvested stock on the table by not sticking it out a few more months inside Zuckerberg’s mothership, as co-founder Jan Koum did. (Collecting air cooled Porsches must be an expensive hobby, though.)

Acton has also suggested he was used by Facebook to help get its 2014 acquisition of WhatsApp past EU regulators who had been concerned it might be able to link accounts — as it subsequently did.

“You mean it won’t make as much money”

The WhatsApp founders’ departure from Facebook boils down to a disagreement over how to monetize their famously ‘anti-ads’ messaging platform from Menlo Park.

Though how the pair ever imagined their platform would be safe from ads in the clutches of, er, an ad giant like Facebook remains one of the tech world’s greatest unexplained brain-fails. Or else they were mostly just thinking of the billions Facebook was paying them.

Acton said he tried to push Facebook towards an alternative, less privacy hostile business model for WhatsApp — suggesting a metered-user model such as by charging a tenth of a penny after a certain large number of free messages were used up.

But that “very simple business” idea was rejected outright by Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg, who he said told him “it won’t scale”.

“I called her out one time,” Acton also told Forbes. “I was like, ‘No, you don’t mean that it won’t scale. You mean it won’t make as much money as…,’ and she kind of hemmed and hawed a little. And we moved on. I think I made my point… They are businesspeople, they are good businesspeople. They just represent a set of business practices, principles and ethics, and policies that I don’t necessarily agree with.”

CANNES, FRANCE – JUNE 22: Chief Operating Officer of Facebook Sheryl Sandberg attends the Cannes Lions Festival 2017 on June 22, 2017 in Cannes, France. (Photo by Antoine Antoniol/Getty Images for Cannes Lions)

Still, it seems Acton and Koum had a pretty major inkling of the looming clash of business “principles and ethics” with Facebook’s management, given they had a clause written into their contract to allow them to immediately get all their stock if the company began “implementing monetization initiatives” without their consent.

So with his ideas being actively rejected, and with Facebook ramping up the monetization pressure on the “product group” (which is how Acton says Zuckerberg viewed WhatsApp), he thought he saw a route to both cash out and get out — by calling in the contract clause.

Facebook had other ideas, though. Company lawyers told him the clause didn’t yet apply because it had only been “exploring”, not yet implementing monetization. At a meeting over the issue he said Zuckerberg also told him: “This is probably the last time you’ll ever talk to me.” So presumably things got pretty chilly.

The original $19BN deal for Facebook to buy WhatsApp had been rushed through over a weekend in 2014, and Acton said there had been little time to examine what would turn out to be crucial details like the monetization clause.

But not doing the due diligence on that clearly cost him a second very sizeable personal fortune.

Regardless, faced with more uncomfortably chilly meetings, and a legal fight to get the unvested stock, Acton said he decided to just take the winnings he already had and leave.

He even rejected an alternative proposed settlement (without fleshing out exactly what it was) — saying Facebook management had wanted to put a nondisclosure agreement in it, and “that was part of the reason that I got sort of cold feet in terms of trying to settle with these guys”.

“At the end of the day, I sold my company. I am a sellout. I acknowledge that,” he also told Forbes, indicating that he’s not unaware that the prospect of a guy who got really, really wealthy by selling out his principles and his users then trying to claw out even more cash from the ad tech giant he sold to probably wouldn’t look so good.

At least this way he can say he took an $850M haircut to show he ‘cared’.

In August Facebook confirmed that from next year it will indeed begin injecting ads into WhatsApp statuses — which is where the multimedia montage Stories format it cloned from Snapchat has been bolted onto the platform.

So WhatsApp’s ~1.5BN+ monthly users can look forward to unwelcome intrusions as they try to go about their daily business of sending messages to their friends and family.

How exactly Facebook will ‘encourage’ WhatsApp users to eyeball the marketing noise it intends to monetize remains to be seen. But tweaks to make statues more prominent/unavoidable look likely. Facebook is a master of the dark pattern design, after all.

The company is also set to charge businesses for messages they receive from potential customers via the WhatsApp platform — of between a half a penny and 9 cents, depending on the country.

So, in a way, it’s picking up on Acton’s suggestion of a ‘metered model’ — just in a fashion that will “scale” the bottom line in Sandberg’s sought for ‘loadsamoney’ style.

Though of course neither Acton nor Koum will be around to cash in on the stock uplift as Facebook imposes its ad model onto a whole new unwilling platform.

“I think everyone was gambling… because enough time had passed”

In perhaps the most telling tidbit of the interview, Acton reveals that even before the WhatsApp acquisition had been cleared he was carefully coached by Facebook to tell European regulators it would be “really difficult” for it to combine WhatsApp and Facebook user data.

“I was coached to explain that it would be really difficult to merge or blend data between the two systems,” Acton said.

An ‘impossible conjoining’ that Facebook subsequently, miraculously went on to achieve, just two years later, which later earned it a $122M fine from the European Commission for providing incorrect or misleading information on the original filing. (Facebook has maintained that unintentional “errors” were to blame.)

After the acquisition had been cleared Acton said he later learned that elsewhere in Facebook there were indeed “plans and technologies to blend data” between the two services — and that specifically it could use the 128-bit string of numbers assigned to each phone to connect WhatsApp and Facebook user accounts.

Phone-number matching is another method used to link accounts — and sharing WhatsApp users’ phone numbers with the parent group was a change pushed onto users via the 2016 update to WhatsApp’s terms and conditions.

(Though Facebook’s linking of WhatsApp and Facebook accounts for ad targeting purposes remains suspended in Europe, after regulatory push-back.)

“I think everyone was gambling because they thought that the EU might have forgotten because enough time had passed,” he also said in reference to Facebook pushing ahead with account matching, despite having told European regulators it couldn’t be done.

Regulators did not forget. But a $122M fine is hardly a proportionate disincentive for a company as revenue-heavy as Facebook (which earned a whopping $13.23BN in Q2). And which can therefore swallow the penalty as another standard business cost.

Acton said Facebook also sought “broader rights” to WhatsApp users data under the new terms of service — and claims he and Koum pushed back and reached a compromise with Facebook management.

The ‘compromise’ being that the clause about ‘no ads’ would remain — but Facebook would get to link accounts to power friend suggestions on Facebook and to offer its advertising partners better targets for ads on Facebook. So really they just bought themselves (and their users) a bit more time.

Now, of course, with both founders out of the company Facebook is free to scrub the no ads clause and use the already linked accounts for ad targeting in both directions (not just at Facebook users).

And if Acton and Koum ever really thought they could prevent that adtech endgame they were horribly naive. Again, most probably, they just balanced the billions they got paid against that outcome and thought 2x [shrug emoji].

Facebook’s push to monetize WhatsApp faster than its founders were entirely comfortable with looks to be related to its own concerns about needing to please investors by being able to show continued growth.

Facebook’s most recent Q2 was not a stellar one, with its stock taking a hit on slowing user growth.

Three years after the WhatsApp acquisition, Acton said Zuckerberg was growing impatient — recounting how he told an all-hands meeting for WhatsApp staffers Facebook needed WhatsApp revenues to continue to show growth to Wall Street.

Internally, Acton said Facebook had targeted a $10 billion revenue run rate within five years of monetization of WhatsApp — numbers he thought sounded too high and which therefore must be reliant on ads.

And so within a year or so Acton was on his way out — not quite as personally mega-wealthy as he could have been. But definitely don’t cry for him. He’s doing fine.

At the Signal Foundation, where Acton now works, he says the goal is to make “private communication accessible and ubiquitous”.

Though the alternative e2e encrypted app has only unquantified “millions” of users to WhatsApp and Facebook’s multi billions. But at least it has $50M of Acton’s personal fortune behind it.

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technicalsolutions88 · 6 years

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