Eva Mazza - Sex, Lies & Stellenbosch

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! How much more of this do I have to take? She tried to compose herself. She was hoarse when she did eventually speak. “How do you know?”

“I told you. My boyfriend rubs shoulders with celebrities and wealthy businessmen. His colleague was invited there by one of the clients whom he had represented. He asked Leonard to tag along. It was the client’s way of saying thank you to Ron. Look, this is extremely confidential. Leonard would be really upset if he knew I’d told you about this club. He told me in confidence. It’s completely under the radar, and it’s owned by top-notch businessmen◦– men his firm solicits, relies on, for business. Use this information to make an informed decision about your husband, Jen, but please, I beg you not to say anything to anyone about it. No one must know that you know, including John.”

It was nine at night and John had eaten nothing the whole day. No wonder he was so drunk. He staggered from his chair towards the kitchen to make himself a sandwich when the doorbell rang. Who the fuck can it be at this time of night? If it was Lee again... He opened the door. Frankie stood at the threshold wearing a translucent dress with nothing on underneath. Her Louis Vuitton overnight bag hung from the crook of one arm. Lee bought her a piece of Vuitton luggage every year for her birthday. John knew because Jen had told him this ad nauseam.

“I’ve come for the night,” she purred. Her tone changed. “You’ve been drinking! You smell of whisky and your dick’s hanging out of your pants.”

John, too drunk to be embarrassed, shoved John-John back inside his pants, slurring as he struggled to zip up his zipper. “Lishen, Frankie, as much as I’d love to fu…ck you the whole night through, I’ve had a crrrap day. I haven’t eaten and I haven’t shlept and pleash don’t forget that my wife shaw Patty giving me a blowjob.”

Frankie laughed. “That’s why I’m here, to remind you that sex with Patty is nothing in comparison to sex with me, you cheating son of a bitch.”

“We did not have sheeex,” John slurred. He watched as she sauntered passed him and dropped her priceless bag on the entrance table.

Frankie laughed uproariously. “Okay, Mr President.” She grabbed his hand and placed it on her crotch. “Feel this. You don’t expect to do nothing about it, do you?”

He grabbed her arm and twisted her around. He held both her arms up against the door and pushed up against her, trying to recover his balance. He whispered in her ear, “My wife’sh hurting. Have you no fuck…ing shame?”

Then he released her hands and walked to the bar to pour another drink. “Make me shome shupper,” he ordered. She bent over to get some clothes from her bag. “Nah,” he said, “make my shupper naked.”

Frankie was only too happy to oblige. John knew she loved the idea of domination. Still in stilettos yet naked except for her translucent shift, she opened the refrigerator and looked inside.

John watched as she bent over to get the salad from the fridge. He knew that she knew that he was watching her. Fucking tease! John could not resist her.

There was a crash. He had pushed the fruit bowl off the kitchen counter onto the floor. He sat her on the edge of the countertop and nudged her legs open with his head and ran his tongue up her thigh, pressing hard into her flesh with his hands. He was bruising her, but he knew she loved the sensation of pain and pleasure. His tongue reached her as his hands did and she arched her back and allowed him to do as he wanted. John was an expert. If anyone could attest to this, it was Frankie. His desire to please her intensified her pleasure and, after she had climaxed, he slid her backwards across the counter to make room for himself. His mouth was on her breast and he entered her with such force that she screamed in ecstasy. He slammed into her several times and then it was over. He remained inside her. “How am I shupposed to get rid of you? You are shublime.”

Frankie’s response was a satisfied smile.

“I want to keep you locked up. I’d have you as my shex shlave and do things with you twenty-four-sheven. Lee’sss lucky.”

Frankie kissed him on the mouth long and hard.

“There’s nothing like marriage to ruin one’s sex life, isn’t there, John?” She climbed off the counter. “Thanks for the reminder! I’d better turn on my phone. Lee may be trying to get hold of me.”

John watched her leave the room. She had a hot body and she knew it. Her legs were the longest of any woman he had ever seen. She had beautifully shaped calves and her thighs were free from cellulite and stretch marks. Her breasts were naturally big, and she showed them off as often as she could. As she walked away from him, he watched how they moved, mesmerised.

“Yourshhh have to be the mosht inviting set of mammary glands I’ve ever come across,” he called at her. She turned to show them off.

He heard her shout from the lounge, “According to your wife, Patty’s boobs are real.”

John laughed. “I never kish and tell.” Frankie returned with her phone in her hand, laughing. “After last night, you’re more of a show-and-tell kind of a guy!”

John ignored her. “My wife can be quite a bitsh about you, Frankie. She says the reashon why you only had one child ish because you are vain, and you didn’t want to get stretch marksh and sagging boobsh.”

Frankie’s phone was beeping a slew of messages, but she ignored them. “She’s right. I was lucky enough to have escaped them with Clive. There’s no way a second sleepless, demanding baby could be any compensation for losing my sex appeal.”

“Well, Jen’sh body ishn’t bad for a woman who hash carried two children.” Frankie nodded in agreement. “I offered to pay for her boobsh, but she said the push-up bra does the job jusht fine.”

Frankie made him coffee while he made a simple salad of lettuce and tomatoes with slices of avocado on each plate. “Maybe you should tell her the truth,” she said mockingly. “That you’re a boob man and the push-up bra isn’t doing it for you.”

John’s tone was defensive. “My wife ish exactly what I want from a wife. She’sh gorgeoush.”

“She is pretty,” Frankie said.

“There’sh no denying that she’sh not like you and Patty. Women like you are made for shex.”

Frankie laughed at him. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“It’sh the truth.” John gulped down his coffee. “You girls love your Hollywood waxes and showing off what’sh on offer. How are we supposed to say no?”

Frankie wasn’t listening to him. She was listening to her voice messages. He carried on cooking, lightly oiling the frying pan and allowing the salmon to sear on each side. He ground black pepper and salt and squeezed some lemon over the fish.

He plated the food, but Frankie was in the passage, on the phone.

Fuck that , he thought, I’m starting without her . He scoffed down his meal ravenously. He had just finished when Frankie walked in, ashen. Panic was written all over her face.

“What’s wrong?” John asked, sounding completely sober.

“That pathetic wife of yours tried to get hold of me tonight! She was depressed and needed a shoulder to cry on,” Frankie mocked. “My phone was off, so guess what she did?”

“Hey, Frankie, Jen’s been through a lot. Don’t be so heartless.”

“Defend her all you like, John, but we’re about to be exposed for the adulterous couple we are.”

“What do you mean?”

“She phoned the house and asked for me. I’m supposed to be with her, John!”