Episode 5: "MY CALABAR HOUSEMAID SATISFIES ME IN BED MORE THAN MY WIF£"🥒🍏🍉🥒👉👌🔞

Episode 5: "MY CALABAR HOUSEMAID SATISFIES ME IN BED MORE THAN MY WIF£"🥒🍏🍉🥒👉👌🔞

Written by Anyanwu Maureen Chinonso

Episode 5: Fire in the house

It had been three days since Amaka whispered those words:
“I know you’re cheating on me, Olamide.”

Since then, the house had been cold—like harmattan inside the walls. She didn’t shout. She didn’t confront me. She simply changed.
No more night food.
No more soft touches.
No more eye contact.

She slept on the edge of the bed like I was a stranger.

Meanwhile, Ekaete moved around the house with confidence—almost cocky now. She no longer feared anyone. She would bend over too slowly while sweeping. Her nip*les would press against her top when she served me food. She would wink when Amaka wasn’t looking.

She had tasted me—and now, she acted like she owned me.

But something inside me had shifted too.

That night, when I saw my wife bathing through the half-closed door, her bare back glistening with soap, I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks.

Regret.

Not just guilt—but longing.

Amaka had always been good to me. Beautiful. Strong. She held the home like a queen. But I had let lust blind me—let a moment of pleasure turn into a messy addiction.

And now, my queen was slipping away from me.

Midnight.

I sat in the living room, drinking cold water, unable to sleep. Ekaete tiptoed in behind me, wearing nothing but a sheer wrapper.

“Oga, you no dey come again,” she whispered, climbing into my lap without asking.

I held her waist, stared into her eyes, and whispered, “Go back to your room.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because… I love my wife.”

Ekaete laughed bitterly, kissed my neck. “You don’t love her. If you did, you wouldn’t be inside me two days ago, moaning like—”

I pushed her off gently but firmly.

Go, Ekaete.”

She stood, wrapper falling open slightly.

“You’ll be back,” she said, walking off.

But I wasn’t sure anymore.

The next morning, Amaka stood by the window. She didn’t turn when I walked in. But I could feel her energy—tired, guarded, hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

She still didn’t face me.

I stepped closer. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I lost myself. But I want to fix it. I want us again.”

Finally, she turned.

Her eyes were red—but not from tears. From holding too many emotions in.

“I loved you so much, Olamide. I gave you everything. And now, you’ve made me feel like I’m not enough.”

I stepped closer and touched her hand. “You are more than enough. I was the one who wasn’t seeing it.”

Silence. Then slowly, she broke. Fell into my arms. We held each other for what felt like forever. Her tears soaked my shirt. My heart soaked in her forgiveness.

That night, for the first time in weeks, she pulled me to bed.
And made love to me—not out of duty, but out of raw, vulnerable emotion.
Soft kis$es. Long strokes. Whispers in the dark.

She didn’t moan like Ekaete.
She didn’t beg or ride wild.

But there was something deeper—something sacred.
And I wept after I came.

Not from pleasure.

From the pain of almost losing what mattered.

Part ii: The B0mbshell

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

Amaka had fallen asleep beside me, her breath soft against my chest. We had made love with a kind of slowness I had forgotten—like rediscovering an old song you didn’t realize you still knew the lyrics to. She held me like a woman fighting to forgive, and I kis$ed her like a man begging for mercy.

But peace doesn’t come that easily.

Not when you’ve let a serpent crawl into your house and feed on your guilt.

3:00 a.m.

I heard a soft knock on the bedroom door.

It wasn’t loud.

Just enough to shake my spine.

I slipped out of bed, carefully untangling myself from Amaka's arms, and opened the door a crack.

Ekaete stood there. Barefoot. Her wrapper loose. Her eyes shining—not with tears, but with something else.

Desperation.

Possession.

Or maybe madness.

“Oga,” she whispered, “so this is how it will end? You go use me, scatter me, and go back to madam like nothing happened?”

I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me, speaking in hushed tones.

“Ekaete, go back to your room. I told you it’s over.”

She shook her head slowly.

“You told me you liked it. You moaned my name. You held me. You came in me. You think I’m just ordinary housegirl?”

“Ekaete, please,” I said, glancing toward the bedroom door, heart racing. “Let me fix my marriage. Let me find my peace again.”

That was when she dropped the bomb.

“I’m late,” she said, pressing a hand to her belly. “Three weeks late.”

My world tilted.

“What?”

“I might be carrying your baby,” she whispered. “So think well before you walk away from me.”

I didn’t sleep again.

I sat in the parlor until morning, my heart on fire,

How do you undo betrayal when it has started growing in someone else’s womb?

The house felt like a time bomb. Amaka's forgiveness still fresh. Ekaete’s threat hanging in the air.

📜 Moral Lesson:

Lies grow like seeds. And the longer you hide them, the more roots they take. Sooner or later, you’ll have to reap what you’ve sown—even if it shatterseverything

To be continued..

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