The Governor's Wife

by Liz Ardwall

O================O

WARNING: This story contains scenes of explicit sexual activity
between a young man and an older woman. The author does not
encourage nor condone the reading of this story by anyone
forbidden by law to do so. By continuing to read, you accept sole
responsibility for your action.

If you consider an interracial or generation-difference story to
be offensive, please leave now. The author doesn't want to hear
about it.

Please note the following story content codes:

hetero, interracial, cons, cuckold, preg, MF

SUMMARY: In 1910 Africa, a wife evens the score with her
philandering husband.

DISCLAIMER: This story is entirely a work of fiction. No
resemblance to actual persons or places is intended. Descriptions
of unprotected sexual acts are not meant to encourage the reader
to engage in unsafe behavior.

O================O

I heard Bakari, the senior butler, close the front door behind
Madame Van Genk. My goodness, I thought, if she knew, everyone in
the colony must know. How could he do that to me?

The wife of the Belgian attache - who was surely near the tail
end of the gossip trough - had mentioned in passing that it was
wonderful that my husband was able to get away into the country
as he did. Her dear friend, the wife of the German Consul (who
had her to tea twice a year) had mentioned overhearing that Arab
trader - the sleazy one, Sheikh Something-or-other, who used to
be a slaver before the Empire brought order to this place -
telling her husband (German men were bigger gossips than their
wives) that my husband, the Governor of the colony, was seen
motoring in the highlands in the company of the Countess.

That was the occasion when my husband had explained that his
overnight absence had been due to engine trouble. Poor Gerald had
stayed in a remote hunting lodge, with a company of rude men he
hoped I'd never have the misfortune to meet. Hah! I'd bet there
wasn't a white man for miles near where he and the Countess had
spent the night. How else to account for his generous grant to
her and her drunkard husband of a large tract of prime
coffee-growing land?

Gerald had always been overly impressed by titles. I had my
doubts that the Countess was genuine. Perhaps that tiny duchy she
claimed as home didn't even exist. I'd looked for it on Gerald's
map, but it was new, and only showed a big red splotch called
"Germany" now. Still, it was real enough to seduce my husband in
open view of the natives.

I had heard the tale before, from the wife of the Russian Consul,
an old friend of both myself and the Germans. "Alexandra," she
had said to me, "Herr von Zittau was saying ..." Those horrid,
scandal mongering Huns. Madame Van Genk's smirk was discreet, but
I'd seen Mademoiselle Des Champs, the French Consul's daughter,
tittering behind her fan when Gerald and I had walked into their
party two nights ago. I kept my head high, but my distress was
such that I could only pick at my dinner.

I'd hoped the embarrassment might be minimized, but I realized
now that was a lost dream. Although our passion may have
diminished, Gerald and I had two fine children back home in
England: our son was in public school, while our daughter stayed
with my sister in Kent. I had supposed that if my husband were
ever to stray, that he would do so with discretion, to avoid
scandal.

Now, Gerald had to be punished. He had to feel the shame and
scorn that I'd experienced after his notorious philandering.
During the afternoon and evening, I formed a plan.

The next day, after Gerald had gone to Government House, I told
Bakari to prepare the motorcar for my use; the open touring car
would be perfect for an outing on a nice, sunny day. My husband
never permitted me to drive in his company, but I was quite proud
of my skill and confident I could handle it.

I instructed the kitchen to prepare a picnic, and made certain
there would be ice to chill it during our outing. And in the
presence of several of the servants, I asked that the houseboy,
Kito, might come along to serve me.

I was confident that Kito would suit my purpose. He was young,
about 20, and I found his boyish appearance rather handsome, for
an African. He had an engaging smile and seemed eager to please.
Yes, he would do nicely.

I dressed fashionably, in my crocodile-skin boots and a
fawn-colored traveling suit with an ankle-length skirt. A frilly
white blouse completed my attire. I donned my long, white duster
coat; on my carefully coiffed blond hair I set one of my
husband's straw boater hats, tied with a gay, orange scarf.

Kito had supervised the loading of the meal and equipment into
the boot of the vehicle. Now he stood smartly at attention beside
the open door. His bright red waistcoat fastened over his flat
belly with a brass chain. Starched white trousers covered his
legs to mid-calf, below which he was barefoot. A crisp, white
half-sleeved shirt, open at the collar, set off his warm, brown
skin, the color of dark oak.

He smiled as I stepped into the car behind the wheel. Kito closed
the door and moved to the front of the car. Over the polished
yellow lacquer of the bonnet I watched him turn the crank; the
engine roared to life with the power of two dozen horses. Kito
scurried around to the other door to sit beside me. Between us,
the gear shifting lever rose from the floor to a polished walnut
knob. I engaged the transmission, and the car leapt forward;
behind, I saw a group of waving servants scatter to avoid a
shower of gravel.

I turned onto the road that ran past our compound - one of the
great benefits our civilization had brought to this primitive
land. As I drove rapidly along the well-packed surface,
occasionally dipping into a depression that caused my bottom to
levitate from the seat of the bouncing vehicle, I observed my
companion tensely clutching the seat with one hand and the edge
of the wind screen with his other.

"What fun!" I cried, hoping to cheer him.

"It is early, Mum," Kito said in a weak voice. "There is no need
to hurry."

I laughed gaily, and drove on. About a league from home, I turned
onto a more rustic lane. Although we rocked along the uneven
pathway, I was confident the sturdy motorcar could manage the
terrain.

Kito's expression was grim as we ascended by a spiral route to
the top of a hill, which I had chosen for it's commanding view of
the plain. I also knew that any activity atop the summit could
just barely be observed through my husband's field glasses. I
found a certain titillation in that thought, even though there
was little likelihood Gerald would come home to use them.

Kito sighed with relief when I brought the car to a halt beside a
smooth, white expanse of flat rock. He leapt from the car and
hurried to open my door. I alighted and told him to take the
folding table and chair from the boot and set them up on the
rock, where I would enjoy my repast.

While I took in the splendid panorama, Kito set the table,
covering it with a white cloth and placing some of my good china
and silver tableware. There was a wedge of soft French cheese, a
small vial of caviar brought home from our days in St.
Petersburg, and a tin of good English biscuits. An ice-filled
silver wine bucket held a split bottle of French champagne.

I seated myself in the chair. Kito stood in attendance at my
elbow. I showed him how to open the champagne, nudging the neck
away from his face before the cork popped out. Some of the foam
splashed onto the rock, but he deftly maneuvered the mouth of the
bottle to my glass and poured it full of the bubbling liquid.

As he set the bottle back into the ice bucket, I lifted the
glass. "To life!" I toasted, and quaffed a long swallow. Then I
took a biscuit, and spread some caviar on it, and savoured the
exotic flavour. Another biscuit was spread with the soft cheese.

After a moment, I lifted the glass again. "To pleasure!" I
called, and drank some wine and enjoyed another helping of the
snacks. I glanced at Kito, who smiled politely.

I looked out over the plain. In the distance, I thought I could
see our compound. Once more I raised my wine. "To getting even!"
I said, and drained the glass.

I set it down and nodded to Kito to refill it. When he had done,
I gazed out upon the countryside, feeling a bit lightheaded. I
lifted the glass and looked at Kito. "To your health!" I toasted.

Then I handed the glass to Kito. "Drink some," I said.

His brown eyes were wide; he looked at me, and then raised the
glass and took a swallow. Smiling, he set it on the table.

"Kito," I said. "It's such a lovely day. Why don't you make
yourself comfortable, and get out of these restricting, civilized
garments? Feel free, clothed by the breeze as when you were a
boy."

Kito stared at me as if I had lost my mind.

"Go ahead, Kito," I said. "Remove all of your clothing."

"But, Mum," he started to protest.

"Do it, Kito," I commanded, in the voice of authority that had
tamed an empire.

Kito set his face in a stoic expression. Item by item, he removed
the pieces of his uniform, folding each one neatly and laying it
on the bonnet of the car. Then he presented himself for
inspection - clad in a white cloth wrapped around his loins.
Under his civilized veneer, it seemed, was a remnant of
traditional attire.

I admired his slim, youthful body. His legs were well muscled -
it looked as if he was a practised runner. I supposed that, back
in his village, he had dashed about hurling his spear at fleeing
gazelles. I intended to stab his spear into my husband's vanity.

I insisted upon completion, "That, too, Kito."

"Oh, Mum," he whimpered.

I nodded sternly. He turned away and unwrapped his loincloth,
exposing the dark globes of his buttocks. He placed the folded
scrap with his other clothing, and then turned to face me. He
stepped forward, but not as close as before. His skin was
perfectly brown and smooth, without a scar or blemish.

My gaze was captured by his organ, covered with soft, black skin.
It hung over his dark sac of eggs and down his thigh, appearing
considerably longer than my husband's. Although Gerald's tool
would spring out like Jack-in-the-box to a respectable length
when ready for action, I was certain that Kito's shaft would fill
to a couple of inches more than I had ever experienced.

I looked Kito up and down. "You're a handsome young man," I said.

"Thank you, Mum," he said.

I took a biscuit and spread it with caviar and ate it. Then I had
some soft cheese, and took a swallow of the champagne. After a
moment, I looked at Kito and smiled.

I turned in my chair to face him, and extended my raised foot.
"Please help me remove my boots, Kito," I said.

Naked, he squatted before me, his eyes on my foot. With some
effort, he undid the knots and laces and removed one boot, and
then the other. I rolled down my stockings; Kito pulled them off.
He carried the items over to the car and returned.

"Help me up, please," I said.

He took my elbow and assisted me to rise. I swayed a bit, giddy
from the wine, or perhaps from my nearness to a naked man.
Steadying myself, I stepped toward the centre of the flat, white
rock and turned my back to Kito. "Come here," I said.

When he had moved closer, I moved my hand back over my shoulder
and indicated the row of buttons down the back of my blouse.
"Unfasten these buttons, Kito," I said.

I heard no sound, felt no movement for a moment. Then his fingers
began to fumble with my buttons. When they were undone, I
shrugged my blouse forward and down my arms. I turned and handed
it to Kito; he carried it to the car. While he was gone, I
unfastened and dropped my skirt. He took it from me when he
returned.

Beneath my outer garments, I had worn only a pale, silk slip.
While Kito folded my skirt, I let my last covering drop from my
shoulders and kicked it aside. When he turned to face me, I was
nude.

He stopped; I saw him take a deep breath. He stepped closer, and
took another breath.

"You are a beautiful woman, Mum," he said softly.

At 36, I hadn't yet gone to seed, but I was certain he'd seen
more athletic, well-proportioned young women in his village. Was
he just making polite flattery to his employer?

Evidently he was sincere. I watched as his dark cock stretched
and jerked. It began to levitate, pointing horizontally toward my
groin. Then it jumped upright and slapped against his belly,
reaching almost to his navel.

Gratitude for his tribute filled my heart. "Thank you, Kito," I
said.

His lust-glazed eyes roamed over my body; his pink tongue licked
his lips. Breathing faster, he took a step toward me. I held up
my hand to stop him. I intended to teach my young servant a few
new tricks before we got to the main event.

"Go and stand on the other side of the table, Kito," I directed.

Once more my compliant attendant, he went and stood opposite my
chair. I moved to sit down, and spread my legs open under the
table.

"Crouch down and crawl forward," I told him. "Lay your face on my
lap."

He looked at me with a puzzled expression, but proceeded to obey.
I spread some caviar on a biscuit, and felt his hands find my
feet. They wandered up my calves, and along the inside of my
thighs, moving at the top to the outside to grasp my hips. I felt
his shoulders brush my knees, and then his cheek rested against
my groin. I could feel his breath on my hip.

"Turn your face toward me, Kito," I said. "When you find
something there, lick it with your tongue."

I lifted the biscuit to my mouth. My teeth came together hard
when I jumped at the feel of his tongue slurping between the wet
lips of my cunt.

"Yes, Kito, dear," I said. "You sweet boy. Do that."

He dipped and licked, and licked again, taking to his task with
enthusiasm. I reached under the table to guide his head. My hands
rested on his short, wiry hair, feeling the slickness of some
kind of oily dressing. I urged his head forward a bit; when his
nose bumped my clitoris, I groaned with pleasure.

"There, Kito," I sighed. "Lick that."

His tongue swirled around my button, making me squirm on the
chair. Then he licked along my slit, and nibbled his lips on my
clit. I had never felt such excitement. My husband had never done
that for me. The thought crossed my mind that I wished he'd
betrayed me years before, so I might have discovered this sooner.

Kito's face moved from side to side, caressing my upper thighs as
he licked and nuzzled me. I could see where my fluids were
coating his chin. My hands roamed gently over his head; my palms
pressed lightly on his ears. My legs were spread wide, and my
feet could only touch the smooth skin of his knees.

My tissues became overwhelmed with sensation, and I began to
thrash about. Kito's hands held the chair steady; only his thumbs
brushed my thighs as I shuddered uncontrollably. I distantly
heard myself cry out; my mind went unfocussed under the
indefatigable ministrations of my African lover.

When I collapsed limply, Kito ceased his wild tonguing and simply
licked my inner thighs slowly and gently, first one and then the
other, keeping my body slightly trembling as I regained my
senses. I squeezed my knees against his shoulders and caressed
Kito's oily hair. I looked beneath the table and met his eyes and
smiled; I felt his lips stretch against my flesh.

"Oh, Kito," I sighed. "You were magnificent."

"Thank you, Mum," he said. "You were wild. The spirit of the
lioness was in you."

"Come out now, please," I said. "Stand up."

Kito stood opposite me; his face was wet with my juices. He
licked his lips. I watched his hard organ twitch, bouncing
against his belly, leaving little shiny smears on his brown skin.
He was ready for what I needed.

This would be my revenge upon my cheating husband. This lioness
would give the pride of Gerald Grenville an African son to tar
his illustrious family name. With his dusky complexion, the child
would forever remind him of that night of blatant dalliance with
the conniving countess.

"Kito," I said. "Go to the boot and fetch the blanket, please."

He grinned; I supposed he hadn't been quite sure of the next
progression, but the blanket cinched it. When he returned, I
suggested we spread it over the rock.

"No, Mum," he said. "It is good over there, on the soft grass."

I saw that he was right. We spread the fleecy wool blanket on the
grass. I had found it in the local market; woven into the fabric,
a tan antelope leapt across a rusty background. I lay upon the
beast and looked up at Kito's lean, brown body.

He dropped above me, resting on his elbows; then he lay upon me,
pressing his firm chest against my nipples. He nuzzled my neck,
while the length of his hard shaft slid along my slit.

I wanted him inside me. I reached between our bodies and grasped
his hot, firm prick. He raised his hips and I guided the head of
his spear to my wet and ready hole. I stirred the knob around my
opening, until the pressure of his hips forced it inside me,
making me groan with the feeling of being stretched. We watched
together while his long, black shaft slid into my slippery
vagina. With one voice, we sighed in bliss, "Ahhhh."

I could feel Kito's strong, young manhood filling my womb as my
husband had never done. Kito pulled his shaft part way back and
thrust it in again. I watched his eyes; his expression seemed to
change from the face of a servant to the demeanor of a man in
charge of the situation. He withdrew and drove his hard prick
home once more, making me groan with pleasure.

"Oh, Mum," he sighed, "you are so good. You are tight like a
young girl."

My heart warmed with his praise. I wondered how he knew about the
tightness of a young girl's pussy. Had he made love to a girl in
his village?

Into my mind came an image of Kito deflowering a 13-year-old
African girl. She cried out as his big, black cock tore through
her maidenhead. He stroked his long dick in her tight, young
cunt, stretching her virgin pussy. I moaned, feeling his big
shaft plunging into my own hole.

The vision faded, replaced by another: Kito's dark body lay atop
a creamy-complexioned, young white girl; she was the 13-year-old
daughter of those Belgian tale bearers. His fat cock pumped into
her; her narrow channel squeezed his organ, making them both
groan. She cried aloud as he buried his shaft deep inside and
blasted his sperm into her virgin womb, giving her a black child
to bring forth and show to her gossiping mother.

My eyes focused on Kito's brown face above my own. His big prick
was pulling out and shoving deep into my clutching vagina. My
lewd imagination had inflamed my lust; I felt a warmth grow in my
groin and flood over my whole body. I shuddered in ecstasy; my
clenching cunt gripped Kito's shaft as he shoved it deep inside.
I felt his cock throb and pulse as he pumped his seed into my
womb, planting the child who would ever after remind Gerald of
his African indiscretion.

We held each other tightly, until our breathing returned to
normal. Then we lay still together; Kito nuzzled my neck while I
licked his ear.

"Have you put a good son inside me, Kito?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, Mum. He will be a strong son."

"Do you think so, Kito? Perhaps we should try again, to be sure."

Kito raised his face above mine and smiled. "Yes, Mum," he said.
"We must be sure."

He began to move his hard organ inside me once more, stroking out
and in. His movement was confident; I was his woman now - the
bearer of his seed. His face wore a look of determination, but
his brown eyes were warm with affection.

I caressed his smooth back, reveling in the feel of his warm skin
against my flesh. Kito moaned with pleasure as he pumped his big,
black prick in and out of my tight, slippery pussy, pressing his
knob over a spot that gave me an exquisite thrill before he drove
deep into my womb.

He shoved his prick into me faster, more forcefully, building a
fire that spread through my groin. As we approached our climax
together, I knew I would release an egg to receive Kito's fertile
sperm.

As my ecstasy overcame me, I shivered and writhed beneath my
lover. His prick swelled within me; my vagina clasped him tightly
while I milked another flush of African seed from Kito's
throbbing cock, ensuring my triumph over my husband.

We lay together, savouring our bliss. Kito's body shielded mine
from the searing tropical sun, but I realized it was time to
return home. I pressed my hands against Kito's shoulders; he
pulled his soft, dripping prick from my satisfied pussy and rose
and stood beside me.

Kito helped me to my feet. We used the towel that had covered the
picnic basket to gently clean our juices from each other. Then my
naked, black lover helped me dress, tenderly assisting me to don
each garment. I sat in the chair while he squatted before me, his
dark cock hanging limp over his balls, and pulled on my stockings
and boots and tied the laces.

I watched as he wrapped his cloth around his loins, hiding his
manhood that had given me so much pleasure. He pulled on his
shorts, and then concealed his strong chest under the shirt and
waistcoat, completing his transformation into a docile servant
once again.

He packed away the remains of my picnic into the basket and put
it into the boot of the car. It was joined by the collapsed chair
and table, and finally the carefully folded blanket. Kito closed
the boot and moved to open the driver's door.

He assisted me onto the seat and went to the front to crank the
engine until it rumbled with power. Kito rushed to climb into the
passenger seat. I backed the car around on the flat top of the
hill, and carefully negotiated the narrow, spiraling path down to
the plain. I drove home cautiously, not wishing to alarm my
nervous companion. My mind dwelt on thoughts of what to wear to
dinner in the evening.

After a restful night, I had toast and tea with my husband on the
verandah before he departed for Government House. I had just
returned to my chamber, when I heard a tapping on my door.

"Come," I said.

The door opened, and Kito stepped inside and closed it behind
him. His white clothing was bright and starched; his waistcoat
was royal blue. Where it was exposed, his smooth, brown skin
seemed to glow with his youthful vigor.

"Will Mum want the car and a picnic today?" he asked.

I smiled at Kito.

Kito smiled at me.

"Not today, Kito," I said.

His face fell into a sober mask. I felt sorry for teasing him.

"Can you drive a horse and carriage, Kito?"

His face brightened. "Oh, yes, Mum."

"Today I will have lunch with the Russians, I think," I said.

"Yes, Mum," he acknowledged without enthusiasm.

"On the way, let us stop at the villa of the Italians," I said.

"I have heard that they have gone away to their country in the
North, Mum," Kito said.

"Well, let us make sure, Kito," I said. "If they are absent, I
shall rest for a while in the pavilion in their garden."

"Yes, Mum," Kito said, smiling again. "It is good to be sure."

Kito departed, and I turned to my wardrobe to choose my attire. A
colorful peasant dress caught my eye. Yes. For my morning out, I
would be a carefree country girl.

O================O

The end.

Read more of the author's stories at /~Ardwall/Stories.html