At forty years old, Sylvia Price was feeling stronger sexual urges than she had ever felt in her life. Unfortunately for her, her sixty year old husband, Jack, was either unwilling or unable to do anything about alleviating them, having only two interests in life -- making money and spending it to maintain the house and, especially, the garden. He was really good at the former, and the childless couple had more money than they could ever need. To accomplish the latter, he used some of that money to hire the best people he could, which included the new man who had started work in the garden that morning.
People came in every day to do the housework and cooking and everything else about the house, so Sylvia had nothing much to do but gossip on the phone, watch soap operas and read stories on Literotica. While doing that last thing, she usually played with her clit and used a dildo, even though she was well aware the real thing was vastly better. On some days her favorite toy, even while reading about George Boxlicker and one of his many lady friends, couldn't coax out an orgasm and, coincidentally, the day the new man started working there was one of those days.
As Sylvia looked out of the second story bedroom window, she saw him digging no more than thirty feet away. Her husband had decided they needed a row of rose bushes below that window, and the first assignment of the newly hired gardener was to dig up the ground in the assigned place and plant them. It was a warm day, and he had removed his shirt so he could swing the pickaxe better while breaking up the ground preparatory to the planting.
The gardener's muscles rippled under his ebon skin, and Sylvia thought how she would have a much better use for all that energy he was expending. When the young black man straightened up, she noted his broad, muscular chest and thrilled to the imagining of it lying above her, pressed against her nipples, which had become erect from the sight. Her erotic thoughts about George Boxlicker were replaced by those about the shirtless man.
It was late morning; she knew Jack wouldn't be home for at least six hours, and she fantasized about having the big studly man spending a good part of that time with her in her bed, instead of wasting his energy on her husband's stupid rose garden. Abruptly, she realized there nothing stopping her and him from doing just that. Since the cleaning staff had finished their work and left, she was the only one in the house, and would be until the cook came by at four PM. Sylvia didn't remember the new man's name, but she knew it was included in the papers on the small desk where she did what little paper work was needed to keep the household running smoothly.
After learning his name was Michael Carpenter, Sylvia removed her bra and changed her blouse to a tight and clingy jersey. She had big, luscious breasts with nipples that would stand out through the thin fabric, and she knew it and wanted Mike to know it too. Panties would just get in the way, and hers were wet anyhow, so she took them off and put on a pair of tight shorts with nothing underneath. When she looked in the mirror, Sylvia saw a cameltoe, which was what she wanted Mike to see too. She was ready and eager, and she prepared the bed before going back to the window, opening it, and looking down at the object of her lust as he wasted his energy on her husband's dumb garden.
"Mr. Carpenter? Can you come up here, please? I need some more information for your W2 Form."
Mike looked up and appreciated the delightful view above him. The lady of the house had dark hair and a pretty face, and he could see the swell of her full breasts under her thin sweater. "Yes, Ma'am," he responded, and picked up his shirt to put it back on. The work was hard, and spending a little time with his employer's hot wife seemed like a much better thing to be doing, even though he expected the pleasure to be no more than a visual one.
Sylvia was not that pessimistic. Looking had been fun, but she had a lot more in mind than that, and she went downstairs to begin luring the man she hoped would provide it. Before going to the back door to let him in, she stopped to get a cold beer, and handed it to him when she opened the door.
"You look like you could use something cold to drink," she told him, rolling her shoulders to let him get a good look at her breasts as they swayed under the thin cloth of her jersey. "Follow me; we keep all the paper work upstairs."
As he followed the lady of the house up to the second floor, watching her big, beautiful booty swaying inside the tight shorts and thinking of her unfettered breasts, Mike began hoping his pleasure would be more than visual. He had often heard his homeys as they bragged of their sexual escapades with rich white women, and he had never known whether they were telling the truth or not. Either way, his hopes rose, as did his cock, when she led him into what was obviously her bedroom, and noted how the bed had the covers turned down, as if waiting to be put to use.
"Is this the right Social Security number?" she asked, showing him the form Mike had completed the previous day.
"Yes, that's it, Ma'am," Mike replied, after checking the card in his pocket. More and more, he believed the query had just been a subterfuge, but he wanted the lady to make the first move.
"That's good. I just wanted to make sure. Do you want to rest a bit before going back to work?"
Mike was certain that resting was not what the sexily plump white woman had in mind, especially when she ambled over to the bed, sat down near the head and looked expectantly at him. He walked over and sat beside her, his leg almost pressed against hers. She smiled and turned to face him, leaning in more closely and placing her right hand on his leg. Seconds later, that same hand was lightly squeezing his cock, which had become almost fully erect by that time.
Sylvia was highly elated at what she felt under the faded blue jeans. Although familiar with the myth of the hung black stud, she didn't really believe it, and still didn't, but the thick organ under her fingers would have been evidence of its truth. She was unable to wrap her hand around its girth while it was still within his pants, and wanted to make the attempt after it had been exposed. Sure she would not be rebuffed, the horny housewife unzipped the fly and unbuttoned the waistband of the young man's pants. She believed, correctly, that his cock would have been too big and stiff to pull free without practically undressing him.
This did not present a problem because, when Sylvia started to tug his pants and underwear down simultaneously, Michael raised himself off the bed so they could be pulled down to his knees. His cock sprang up, long and thick and hard; Sylvia smiled lewdly at the sight and leaned over and started applying her tongue to the head. It had a velvety texture and a pleasant, rather salty taste from his sweat. She started licking in concentric circles, lowering her face until the end was nestled between her lips.
