Chapter 35: Meeting his mom

Dinner with Dame Vivienne Wolfe, Nat’s mom, was more like an interview of a prospective suitor. She had longed for a for a suitable partner for far too long for her only precious son—one who fit into their echelon and social class. Her thoughts were always attuned toward marriage, imagining the wedding and her grandchildren, rather than viewing any of his girlfriends as just girlfriends; they were potential wives.

Nat had always been an explorative son. He had dated women from across the globe. Once, an Ethiopian girl—slender, tall, with a surprising curve of breasts, her face startlingly symmetrical like art. She had been nubile, a model who once placed in the top two at the annual Miss Africa pageant. Then, a Japanese woman, striking with sharp features, her hair a wavy blonde burnish, who held Nat as if he were her baby. She had appeared fifteen years older than him. His mother had feared a scandal.

His house, large and foreboding, was more than appealing to Zara. They passed the water fountain, the tall pine trees in the front yard, and entered the house where they sat opposite Vivienne at the head of the dining table. The dining set was intricately decorated with gold at the edges.

Lunch was a sous-vide rosemary lamb loin.

Vivienne cleared her throat. “So… I hear you’re into fashion design?” she asked suddenly between forkfuls. She wore a long, bone-straight wig and a white ball dress.

“That’s correct,” Zara said, sipping from her glass of water. She wore a red jumpsuit dress and heels.

“Interesting. How long have you been in the field?”

“A couple of years. I just launched my brand—ZaraTrue—a month ago.”

“Ah!” Vivienne glanced at Nat, who sat confidently in his all-black outfit, face unreadable.

“Impressive. Well, congratulations,” she said.

“Thank you.” Zara’s pleased smile gave her a subtle sheen.

“I see why you chose that dress. Good taste.”

“Actually, it was made by me. Delicately crafted and adorned with detail.”

“Quite the result of your effort. I like my outfits with a splendor of royalty and panache,” she said, pride tinged in her voice, raising her eyebrows in self-admired awe. “Something with an exotic quality, a unique je ne sais quoi, so to say.” She smiled.

“I must say, it’s exactly what you embody and showcase,” Zara replied, smiling back.

Vivienne held Nat’s hand briefly. He just sat eating, enjoying his meal while acting absent-minded.

“How did you meet this damsel? How was the belle extricated?” his mother asked teasingly.

They had, of course, met at a club, where she had worked as a stripper. Nat had convinced her it was simply defamatory balderdash—a usual jab at celebrities by haters. The question, however, hung in the air, threatening to reveal too much. Nat’s face had a look of worry. Vivienne observed patiently.

“We met at a conference,” he said casually. Zara looked shy, taking longer gulps of water.

“What conference?”

“A business conference.”

“And your parents?” Vivienne asked.

“They are late. I’m an orphan. I lost them when I was young,” Zara said calmly. A brief flicker of sadness passed over her face before she smiled and sipped her water.

“So sorry about that, dear.” Vivienne held Zara’s hand. Then, turning to her, she added, “Zara, I hope you don’t leave this man right here. And you,” she said, facing Nat, “don’t make this woman leave you. I won’t forgive you.” Her tone was both firm and playful, yet threatening in a teasing way.

“Yes, Mum,” Nat smiled.

“Right?” Vivienne looked at Zara.

“Yes, Mrs. Wolfe,” Zara said, smiling.

“Call me Dame Vivienne,” she said. “Don’t leave the high-sounding title undeserved for a woman of accomplishment like me.”

Dame Vivienne stood, holding her white ball dress so long it graced the floor,

Marabou feathers accenting certain parts.

“Come,” she instructed, leading them into the orchard garden. Her nostalgia garden, filled with the scent of sweet, colorful flowers and dotted with cobblestones, stretched before them. The chef served liqueurs.

“Cheers!”

They clinked glasses and drank.

“I called you here, Zara, to give you a tour of the grounds,” Vivienne said.

“It’s such a beautiful view,” Zara said, pleased by the breeze and the vistas of flowers ranging from hibiscuses to bougainvillea, lilies, and daffodils.

“Picturesque is the word. Who knows, I might house an elephant or a giraffe soon, just for the aesthetics,” Vivienne said with a laugh.

Zara laughed back, genuinely amused. She was amazed by how warmly she had been received, by a motherly figure so unlike the tension she had expected. There was a manic optimism, a love at first sight, a positive energy radiating from Vivienne. Their conversation flowed freely, full of calm and ease.

Zara felt fortunate to find such an amusing, welcoming mother. She wondered if it would have been the same had she known the truth about her past life.

Nat was pleased. He maintained a calm exterior, shielding his emotions, yet beneath it lay satisfaction—he had brought a woman home, and his mother would no longer pester him about marriage.

“We should see more often,” Vivienne told them.

“Mum, thanks for having us today. I really appreciate it,” Nat said, hugging her. She rubbed his back as he did the same.

“Thank you,” Zara said delightfully, placing her hands over her chest.

“But Mum,” Nat continued, “remember the conference I mentioned? I leave tomorrow. Zara’s coming with me.”

Zara widened her eyes, caught off guard at his assumption of her consent for what she didn’t ever know of. She almost asked “who’s we?”

“Well…you have fun,” she said and laughed.

Later, while they were leaving, she pulled Nat by the arm as though a thief who stole her necklace. “You better not ruin this,” she warned him.

Now as they drove off the estate, Nat chuckled lightly at the thought that he had already ruined her, beating her pussy to pulp every now and then making her scream things that were forbidden.

Zara, his deep-throat queen, his heartbeat, his WAP(wet ass pussy) wife.