Copyright 1999 by Stormbringer
Revised 2008, Rewritten 2025
Note: Previously "My Wife and the Black Gardeners"
The hum of the lawnmower vibrated through the glass as Jenny
stared at our two Black landscapers, her lips pursed. “I don’t trust those
people,” she said, arms crossed under her pink terry cloth robe, barely
containing her full breasts.
I traced her lean legs with my eyes, up to her tousled reddish-brown
hair. At thirty, twenty-five years younger than me, Jenny had the body of a
woman in her prime—curves honed by hours of yoga and a golden tan from
sunbathing in a string bikini beside our pool. She didn’t work, and we had no
kids, so her days were spent sculpting herself under the Pennsylvania sun. But
today, her gaze was fixed on Mark and Jerome, her jaw tight.
I sighed, adjusting my tie. As president of a tech firm in
Philadelphia, I endured a two-hour commute six days a week, leaving Jenny alone
in our sprawling country estate. We’d met through her father, a church friend,
and married five years ago. She was a virgin then—shy, conservative, molded by
a wealthy, all-white private school and a family that kept the world at arm’s
length. Mark and Jerome were the only Black men she’d ever spoken to, and even
then, only when I wasn’t home and she had to.
“They’re just doing their job, honey,” I said, sipping
coffee. “Mark and Jerome are here one day a week. Mark’s been doing my yard
since before we met. They’re harmless.”
“Harmless?” She scoffed, turning to me. “They leer at me,
Charles. Always staring at my chest or my ass when I have to deal with them.
Last month, they caught me in my bikini by the pool. Their eyes—God, I couldn’t
face them for weeks. I won’t let it happen again.”
Her words stung. Jenny hated men eyeing her figure. In
public, she wore modest dresses; on vacations, one-piece swimsuits. Only here,
behind our towering wooden fence—built for her privacy, miles from
neighbors—did she wear bikinis. I didn’t like other men looking either, but I
brushed it off. “They’re just men, Jenny. You’re beautiful. Can’t blame them,
but I’ll start searching for another landscaper.”
She glared, unconvinced. Truth was, I’d seen her flinch when
Jerome worked shirtless, his Black skin gleaming with sweat, muscles rippling
under the sun. She’d called him “too bold” once, but her eyes lingered—a
flicker I couldn’t unsee. Raised to fear difference, she’d been taught Black
men were dangerous, yet something in her gaze betrayed a pull she’d never
admit. Not to me, not to herself. Maybe firing Mark wasn’t such a bad idea.
Outside, Mark rode the mower, his graying hair catching the
light. In his mid-fifties, he owned the business, steady and professional. His
new hire, rumor had it was recently released from prison, Jerome, younger and
cockier, trimmed hedges, his chiseled torso usually bare. Sweat traced the
veins in his arms, his shorts slung low. Jenny’s breath hitched—she thought I
didn’t notice. I remembered her muttering about him last week, how “savage” he
looked, but her cheeks had flushed, her voice unsteady.
Mark approached the glass door, wiping his brow. I stepped
out, check in hand. “Morning, Mark. Usual price?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, glancing at the pool. “Damn, that water
looks good today.”
“Shower’s open, but the pool’s for me and Jenny,” I said,
handing him the check.
He nodded. “By the way, we’ve got some extra work next
Wednesday. Mind if we come Tuesday instead?”
“Fine by me,” I said, planning on keeping him until I found
a replacement. “It’s our anniversary, but we’ll celebrate later. Have a good
one.” I returned inside, kissing Jenny’s forehead. “Gotta head to work.”
She grabbed my robe, her hand sliding to my groin, tugging
playfully. At five and a half inches erect—a rarity since surgery left me
impotent—she pouted when nothing stirred. “Charles, it’s been months. I’m
lonely. Talk to our doctor about getting some meds, for our anniversary,
please?”
I hated the idea of a pill, my career always trumping
desire, but her pleading eyes softened me. “Alright, honey. I’ll see the
doctor.”
She beamed. “I can’t wait.”
---
A week later.
Tuesday morning, our anniversary, I woke alone. Slipping on
swim trunks, I downed a Viagra and headed to the pool. Jenny lay on a towel,
white bikini clinging to her wet skin, nipples and pubic hair visible through
the fabric. Earphones in, she didn’t hear me. Empty margarita glasses littered
the ground—she’d started early. Her G-string bottom bared her tight ass, a bold
choice that stirred my cock for the first time in months.
She spotted me, swaying to the tiki bar, her hips rolling.
Pouring two margaritas, she slurred, “Happy anniversary, Charles.” Her eyes
were glassy, her smile loose.
“Drinking already?” I teased.
“I want today to be special,” she said, voice husky, her fat
nipples pushing out the thin bikini top. “To show you I love you. Did you take
the pill?”
“Yeah, and I think it’s working,” I said, feeling a twitch.
“Great,” she replied, eyes lighting up.
Then, shocking me, she knelt, yanked down my trunks, and
swallowed my penis. Her tongue swirled, lips tight, a hunger I’d never seen.
“Jenny, this isn’t you,” I stammered even as my penis turned fully erect for
the first time in months.
She pulled back, grinning. My thin penis bobbing before her
mouth. “It’s our day, Charles. Donna says Bill loves this. Relax.” She sucked
deeper, my knees buckling. It did feel good.
My phone rang. My secretary’s voice was shrill: “Computers
crashed, sir. We’re dead in the water!”
“Christ, I’m coming,” I snapped, hanging up.
Jenny spat out my penis, eyes blazing. “You’re leaving me
like this? On our anniversary?”
“It’s an emergency, honey,” I said, pulling up my trunks.
“It’s always an emergency,” she hissed, turning away.
I changed; my erection gone. Jenny was back on her towel,
earphones on, another glass empty. “I’ll make it up to you,” I shouted, but she
was asleep, sun and liquor taking her. Driving off, I cursed myself. I’d
neglected her, buried in work, blind to her needs. She wasn’t the same shy girl
I’d married—something was waking in her, and I wasn’t ready.
Passing Mark’s pickup, I’d forgotten they were coming today
and to look for a new landscaper. I dialed Jenny—no answer. A few more tries,
nothing. She was already pissed and wouldn’t be too happy if they caught her in
that tiny string bikini. This screw up was going to cost me. Then my assistant
called: a technician would fix the system in an hour. Relieved, I turned back, dialed
again, still unable to reach her.
At home, Mark’s truck sat on the lawn, empty. I crept to the
gate, peering through. Jenny slept face-down, bikini untied. Jerome knelt
behind her, oiling her back, his Black hands gliding over her golden skin. I
couldn’t believe what I was seeing, she didn’t even like talking to the black
man, but here he was with his hands on her skin.
Jerome’s hands kneaded her ass, thumbs grazing her G-string.
Jenny moaned, stretching, eyes closed. “Oh, Charles, you came back,” she
purred, thinking it was me. Mark stood nearby, shifting nervously, his eyes
darting between them. A client’s wife—this was risky—but his shorts tightened,
betraying him.
I froze, heart pounding. She thought I had returned. Why
wasn’t I stopping this? Shame, fear, or something darker held me. Jerome,
shirtless, his bulge obscene, smirked at Mark. Jenny stirred, but his hand
pressed her down, fingers slipping under her bikini, probing her wet slit. She
gasped, legs parting, her body begging.
Mark dropped his shorts before pulling his underwear down,
his thick cock sprang up, making me gasp in horror. It was only half-hard,
bigger than mine. “You’re gonna get us fired,” he muttered, but his hand
stroked himself, eyes locked on Jenny’s upthrust ass, glistening with oil,
white tan lines showing from her more modest swimwear. “Fuck it, been dreaming
of this since her bikini slipped.”
Jerome laughed, low and cruel. “White bitches like her
always want it, Mark. Raised to hate us, but see this?” He gripped his shorts,
outlining a massive cock. “Her pussy knows what’s up.” He peeled off his
shorts, freeing a foot-long dark black shaft, veins pulsing. Oiling it, he
ripped off Jenny’s G-string, untied her top, and rubbed his cockhead against
her dripping lips.
“I need it bad, Charles,” Jenny moaned, drunk and lost,
raising her rear up wanting it. “Give me all five inches.” Jerome grinned,
easing in, her pussy lips stretching. She gasped, “God, it feels different, so
thick—the pills making it bigger!” He grabbed her hips and pulled her up on all
fours, her heavy E cups swinging beneath her, nipples so erect they nearly
reached her blanket.
He fucked her with half his length, slow and deep, her moans
growing louder. She thrust back, hungry, and he gave more, her eyes snapping
open. “Charles, it’s… bigger… oh, God!” Her body quaked, her first orgasm
ripping through. Turning, she saw Mark, his cock in hand. “Charles, that Black
bastard’s watching!” When I didn’t answer, she looked over her shoulder and saw
Jerome, horror dawning. “No—no! What are you doing?” Yet her hips kept rocking,
chasing his cock, fucking him back, even faster now that she knew who he was.
“Thought I was your limp-dick husband?” Jerome taunted,
slamming deeper. “White pussy loves Black cock, don’t it? Your racist ass been
eyeing me, wanting this.” Jenny sobbed, fighting, but he pinned her, his shaft
buried, stretching her impossibly.
“Please, it’s too much,” she cried. “I’m married—I hate you
people!”
“Keep lying, bitch,” Jerome growled, thrusting harder, her
juices coating him. “Your cunt’s begging for my black seed.” Mark hesitated,
stroking faster, torn. “Mark, shut her up,” Jerome snapped.
Mark knelt, reluctant but aching, and shoved his cock in her
mouth. “Sorry, Mrs. Richardson, but you’re too fine,” he groaned, her lips
stretching around him. Jenny gagged, tears streaming, but her tongue flicked,
instincts taking over. Jerome pounded, his balls slapping her ass, each thrust
shaking her breasts, nipples hard as bullets. “See, Mark? White sluts turn
quick when they taste real men.”
Jenny’s muffled cries turned to moans, her body betraying
her hate. Jerome’s cock glistened, her pussy clenching him, orgasms
chaining—two, three, her screams vibrating Mark’s shaft. He fucked her throat,
her saliva dripping, while Jerome gripped her hips, bruising her pale skin.
“Gonna breed this racist pussy,” he sneered, resentment dripping from every
word. “Your husband’s done—this white pussy is black only now.”
Mark pulled out, cumming across her face, ropes of semen
painting her cheeks with thick white seed. His big black cock sagged quickly.
Mark grabbed the base and slapped her face with his heavy black meat. She
looked like she was about to complain, but then, Jerome spanked her, red marks
blooming, as she begged, “More—God, don’t stop!” Her racism crumbled, replaced
by raw need, her upbringing’s lies no match for Jerome’s dominance as she
finally received the satisfaction she’d been craving.
“Say it,” Jerome demanded, slapping her ass. “Who fucks you
better?”
“You,” she screamed, another climax shattering her. “Your black
cock’s everything—fuck my white pussy!” Mark, hard again, pushed his cock back
in her mouth, their cocks filling her, her body a trembling mess. Jerome’s
fingers invaded her anus, stretching her, Making her pull away momentarily, but
soon she was fucking him back again, body trembling as an orgasm approached.
“Ready for my nut, bitch?”
Jenny came alive, pushing up, not on birth control. She
struggled, wanting Jerome to pull out, but Mark shoved his ten-inch cock
further down her throat.
Jerome pulled her back into his shaft, thrusting forward,
balls deep. He threw his head and grunted. I could see Jenny’s eyes grow wide
in shock, pupils rolling up in her head in ecstasy as her orgasm broke.
Jerome pushed her forward, nearly burying her nose in Mark’s
sweaty crotch as she gagged over his thick black dick. He pulled out, long
strands of pudding thick cum flying across the curve of her back. There was so
much cum that I held out hope he’d pulled out at the last minute, but my hopes
were dashed when a steady white stream began pouring from her pussy to splatter
on the cement beside out pool.
They swapped, Mark’s cock now in her pussy, slower but
brutal, his guilt gone. Jerome forced her to suck him, her eyes widening in
shock when as she finally saw the monster that had hust been inside her, lips
straining around his extra girth, cum and her juices mixing. “Clean your racist
pussy off my black dick,” he mocked, pushing deeper, her throat bulging. She
came again, squirting around Mark’s cock, her body enslaved.
I watched, stroking my pathetic little white penis, harder
than ever. Their dominance broke me too—I was no man, not like them. My cum
dribbled, a sad drop, as Mark gasped, flooding Jenny’s womb with more black
seed, her body trembling from another orgasm. “Sorry Mrs. Richardson, but this
is some good pussy!” He pulled her back, keeping every inch of his black cock
inside her as he flooded her fertile womb with anther load of black seed. She
raised up sitting back on Mark’s cock just as Jerome came again, painting her face
and breasts, her body a canvas of their claim.
They swam naked in our pool after, Jenny serving margaritas,
her bikini gone, their cocks hard again. “Happy anniversary,” said Jerome
smirking, and clinking his glass to hers. He leaned down and kissed her
passionately, their mouths working. He pulled back, her eyes staring at his
with love and lust. His fat twelve-inch cock was sticking straight out again. I
hid, watching them take her again—Jerome on the diving board, her pussy
stretched as she rode him; Mark taking her ass, her orgasmic screams echoing.
Every hole was theirs, her racism burned away by lust.
Hours later, they left. I paid Mark, his smirk cutting me.
“Extra for hedge trimming,” he said, laughing. I’d funded my cuckolding. At
dinner, Jenny served leftovers, silent, a faint smile lingering, staring off
into space, daydreaming. “I changed my mind, keep Mark and Jerome,” she said,
voice low. “They’ve got the right tools—for the job.”
That night, in bed, she suggested twice-weekly visits with
the grass growing too fast. I cried, my wife theirs.
The End
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