The Governor's Wife

by Liz Ardwall

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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.

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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.

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The end.