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English My Young Indian Lover

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Part 1​

It was his eyes I noticed at first, big, dark brown, and kind. And then his skin. He was an Indian, but much darker than most Indians I had seen around my city, a lovely deep dusky color. He was 19 and in college, trying to make a bit of money in his spare time. And he posted a flyer through my door offering to do gardening and odd jobs. I needed a gardener, so I called him, and he turned up on his bike.

I was in my early 30s back then (this was quite a few years ago now) and I had been married for four or five years. My husband’s job sometimes took him abroad and this time he was going to be away for several weeks.

It was early summer and everything was growing fast. We had a big garden, very private and secluded, and I couldn’t do it all myself.

I liked this young guy, so we arranged for him to start a couple of days later. But the garden wasn’t the only thing in need of attention. I had always had strong needs since I was quite a young woman. I am fairly uninhibited, and I was very experienced even before I met my husband.

Now, with my husband away, I was really missing it. It was a warm summer, and the toys I kept in the drawer by my bed weren’t enough. A friend of mine, over coffee, noticed I wasn’t happy.

“What’s got into you?”, she asked.

“Nothing at all, for quite some time”, I replied. She smiled sympathetically.

He was very polite and very shy. He called me, ‘Madam’ that first time, and it took a couple more visits before he relaxed with me. Even then he still called me ‘Madam’, but it became a bit of a joke between us.

The Indian boy old me about himself that he still lived with his parents, and they seemed to be quite strict with him. They kept him hard at his studies and didn’t like him socializing much. And it turned out that he had never had a girlfriend, not a proper one that he went out with regularly.

I liked to work alongside him in the garden and as we got friendlier, I noticed his eyes sometimes wandering over me. Once when he thought I wasn’t looking, he reached down to his crotch to make himself more comfortable.

Oh, that was nice, I thought, and I began to have ideas. He worked in shorts and either a vest top or an open shirt. As I said, it was a warm summer, and the way his muscles moved under his beautiful dark skin, and the light smell of sweat on him, were doing things to me that would probably have shocked him if he had known.

Then I started wearing tight tops that showed my bust off, and either a short skirt or high-cut shorts. I even thought of wearing a bikini. But I didn’t want to frighten him off. But he stayed shy. Of course, I was an older woman to him. I realized that if anything was going to happen, I had have to take the initiative.

The next afternoon, I told him he could finish earlier than usual. I left him to tidy up a few things and went up to the house. I always made fresh fruit juice with ice for when we’d finished. But today I added a shot of vodka to each one. Just a little, enough to loosen us both up.

I had already made some other preparations and by the time he came into the kitchen, I was ready with the iced drinks. I changed into a very thin, tight top, a short skirt, and nothing else at all.

As usual, the Indian college boy slipped his shoes off at the door and came in barefoot. He was wearing a loose shirt, open all down the front, and his usual pair of gardening shorts. When he saw me, his eyes went straight to my chest and he did a double-take. But I quickly told him to come in and sit down. Then I gave him his juice.

While he sat at the table, I moved around and was doing a bit of this and that. And once, I reached over very close to him and brushed a breast against his cheek, as if by accident.

He chatted a little nervously with me. But I could see just what I had hoped for, a very nice bulge in his shorts.

After a few minutes, he loosened up a bit, and I guessed the vodka was getting into his system. I came around behind him and felt his shoulders with my hands.

Then I said: You’ve been working very hard. Your shoulders feel tense. Let me do something about that. Come with me.

Before he could say anything, I drew him to his feet and led him out of the kitchen and upstairs into my bedroom. I put a chair out, and a bowl with massage oil.

Then I said: Sit down now and slip your shirt off.

He said: But, madam..

I shushed him.

I said to him: You’re a very hard worker. I couldn’t manage all this without you, and I just want to give you a little treat. Now, sit still and don’t say anything.

His shirt came off, and I oiled my hands and stood behind him. Then at last I got to do what I wanted to do ever since I first saw him. I ran them over his lovely dark Indian skin. I have had a lot of practice at massage and I was pretty good at it. Now, as I worked into his shoulder muscles, I saw the pulse in his neck beating hard and fast.

I was standing behind him, so when I paused for a moment and stripped my top off he didn’t see. My hands went to his neck. Then I turned his head to one side and drew it gently back until his cheek rested on one bare breast.

“Oh, madam”, He breathed.

But I shushed him again. The vodka must have been working because he kept still and didn’t speak, even when I turned his head the other way onto my other breast.

I leaned forward over him and ran my hands down over his chest, while both breasts made a cushion for his head. He was breathing hard and fast now, and the bulge in his shorts was even bigger. I made sure to run my fingers over his nipples and gave each one a light tweak. He breathed sharply, but he didn’t resist.

Now, I thought and came and stood in front of him, with my finger on my lips. And he saw my bare chest, my nipples hard and erect. He gasped and stared at them.

I let him look, and then slowly and deliberately, I unzipped my skirt, let it fall, and kicked it aside.

If he hadn’t run away by now, I thought he wasn’t going to. I thought I was going to get what I wanted. Then I took hold of both his hands and pulled him to his feet. Then I knelt in front of him, undid his shorts, and pulled them and his underpants down to his ankles.

I will never forget that first sight of his bare cock, stiff as a rod, springing up so close to my face, very dark and very beautiful. The bush of black hair was above it. The smell of a young man was coming out of it. Then I took it in both my oily hands, running them up and down, caressing it, and then I bent and took it in my mouth.

Oh, the first taste of him! The salty, the man taste. He took a deep shuddering breath and his hands came down onto my head, his fingers tensed, gripping my hair. I slid the head in and out between my lips and swirled my tongue around it. I knew I could easily make him come that way, and I hoped that soon I would.

But I didn’t want that for him right now, not his first time with a woman. I wanted to pleasure him fully, to give him my body and to feel his pulsing sex deep between my legs. I could tell he was already close to orgasm, so I took his cock out of my mouth and held it firmly below the head, not moving, until his breathing slowed a bit.

Then I pulled him down to kneel in front of me, and then, on the floor beside the bed I shared with my husband, I lay back, spread my legs wide, pulled him down over me, and took his rod in my hand, guiding him.

For a moment or two, I rubbed it over my hot, wet lips, and then my beautiful, beautiful Indian boy pushed down with his hips and in one movement slid his long dark cock deep into my swollen and slippery flesh.

As soon as he was inside, his instinct took over and he began to thrust, and all the muscles inside me tensed to grip him. It had been years since I have had a man in there who wasn’t my husband. The wickedness of what I was doing, the smell of his sweat, the sight of his naked dark-skinned body between my white thighs, and his rigid cock moving inside me, almost drove me out of my mind.

It was a good size, long enough to fill me, and my muscles tightened onto him while I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts. I was dripping with my own sex juice, and I was in ecstasy. Then I reached behind with both hands and dug my fingers into his buttocks, all hard muscle, pulling him in as far as he would go.

I was twisting and writhing with pleasure, greedy for his cock, greedy for his whole lovely body between my legs, his sweat and passion. He fucked me and fucked me without stopping until I couldn’t hold back any longer. I was coming, coming all over his rod, and before I’d finished he was arching his back and moaning, his cock inside me pulsing, filling me with his thick, rich cream.

“Oh, madam”, he cried, “This is so bad. You are a married woman. Soooo bad..”

Then I said: Yes, I know. But I love it so much. Do it again. Please, please do it again.

And he did. He fucked me again, slower this time, but just as relentlessly, stroke after stroke driving deep into me. We were both gasping and trembling; and he came again, deep inside me, both our hearts hammering. We were slippery with sweat by then and for a couple of minutes we lay like that, not saying anything. I don’t think either of us could believe what had just happened.

But I hadn’t had anything like enough. After so long waiting, and so much frustration, I was still hot for him. Then I rolled him off and got him onto his back.

I said: Darling, you mustn’t leave a lady all unsatisfied.

He gasped: Oh no, madam.

I knelt across him, straddling his hips. Stuff was running out of me. His dick was still half erect, he was a teenager after all. I held it and caressed it until it was hard again, a dark, beautiful spear of flesh. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, and I pulled the skin back from the head, leaving it completely naked. Then I held it upright and lowered myself onto it.

A thrill went through me as I saw his Indian cock penetrate my white body. I took hold of both his hands and guided them to my breasts. Then as he fondled them I started to ride him, my clit rubbing against his wiry hair. His hands were all over my pale breasts, kneading them, touching and pinching my hard nipples.

I threw my head back and circled my hips so that his cock stretched every part of my dripping sex hole even while the muscles in there gripped it. I rode his spear, and the friction of his hair on my clit was bliss.

My next orgasm came quite quickly, almost taking me by surprise. The one after that seemed to go on for a long time until I wondered if it would ever stop; and the last one left me laughing as I collapsed, shaking all over, on top of him.

We held one another for a time, and then I kissed him from his throat all the way down over his belly and to his cock, taking it in my mouth again, tasting now of his seed and my juice. I mouthed and tongued it, and it grew hard again. His fingers were in my hair, gently this time, caressing.

Then I made my mouth into a second sex hole, lips, and tongue all over him. The smell of him was in my nostrils, and after a while, he gave a little cry and I tasted his warm sperm as he came, one more time, into my mouth. When he’d finished, I brought my face up to his so he could see me swallow it.

We showered together then, kissing under the falling water. I was very, very happy. We made up a story about his bike getting a puncture, to explain why he was a bit late getting home. I wouldn’t let him go until he’d promised to come back soon and do some more gardening.

A couple of days later, I ran into my friend again.

“You’re looking a lot better”, she said. “Something going on?”

I replied: I’ve been doing some gardening. It takes a lot of energy, but I feel wonderful afterward

So, that’s how it all started. I could tell you more, but I am not sure if you’ll be interested. If you’d like me to, you can let me know by writing to me here.

Please be honest, but respectful.
 
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Part 2​

After the first time, I made love with my young Indian gardener, I couldn’t wait for his next visit. I thought about him all the time, how his skin and muscles felt under my hands. The smell of sweat on his body after he’d been working hard. The taste of his cock, and how good it felt when he penetrated me deep.

But I knew he was still shy, and a beginner. So I had an idea. He had texted me almost as soon as he got home. He was really worried because he had cummed inside me without any protection. I reassured him that I used something to stop me from getting pregnant and that there was no risk.

But I thought it was so sweet and considerate of him to worry about that. When of course it was me who had made it happen. I felt very tender toward the gardener and wanted him even more. In bed at night I caressed myself, remembering his lovely dark body, and how it looked between my legs.

He came round again not many days later. When he arrived, he was very shy and could hardly look me in the eye. But he was smiling and I could tell he was happy to be back.

“What shall I get on with today, madam?” he asked.

I smiled back.

“Today, we are doing something a bit different,” I replied. “I am going to teach you some new gardening techniques.”

He looked at me with a question in his big brown eyes.

“Come with me,” I told him.

I led him through into the conservatory. It was another sunny day, and although I had the blinds drawn to make it completely private, it was very warm. I had prepared it.

There were soft cushions on the couch, iced water and glasses, and a tray with some things on it. He looked around and I saw the pulse already beating in his throat.

The gardener was in a t-shirt and shorts. I was wearing a very thin fitted top with nothing underneath, and a loose skirt that stopped above my knees. Then I put my hands on his shoulders and kissed him lightly in his mouth. He smiled, nervously, and rather tentatively rested his hands on my waist. I could already feel the desire in him. But we were going to take it slowly.

Then I moved my hands down to his chest and found his nipples under his t-shirt. As I began to play with them between my fingers and thumbs, I said –

“I think you are very beautiful. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last time. You can have me again today, I promise – everything, like last time. But I want to teach you some things first.”

“Oh, thank you, madam. I have been thinking about you too. So much.”

“When I was a very young woman,” I told him, “I lost my virginity to a much older man. He was more than twice my age – older than I am now. I was with him for quite a long time and he taught me so much, and I’d like to do the same for you.”

“Oh yes,” he replied – “Oh, please.”

“Do you like me touching you like this?”

“It feels so sexy.”

I could tell it was exciting for him. Men often don’t realize how much pleasure their own nipples can give them – if their women know what they are doing.

“Don’t you want to touch mine?” I asked, “Just like I am touching yours?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He’d been looking down at my breasts where they swelled under my top. Of course, my nipples were hard and showing through the tight fabric. Then he laid his hands on my chest and began to pinch and tease them. He seemed to know just how much pressure to use to give me that sensation that women love – almost, but not quite, pain, a delicious thrill.

The hotline from my nipples to my clit was live and firing and I could already feel myself getting wet between my legs. Then I gently lifted his t-shirt and he raised his arms for me to take it off. Ah, his skin!

Then he did the same for me. My breasts longed for his hands, and his hands went straight to them and started to caress them. I could easily have stripped the rest of my things off and just spread my legs for him and begged for it. But I had planned something else first.

“Do you know what the sexiest things are about a man?” I asked him.

“Tell me,” he breathed.

“His kindness. His gentleness. The way he cares for his woman. You already have all that. You won’t ever have much trouble getting women to give you sex, believe me.”

“Thank you, madam. I don’t want another woman. I want to learn how to look after your garden. I’ve never had such a good teacher.”

I laughed, very lovingly.

“Look what I’ve got here,” I said.

On the tray was a small bowl with some thick sugar syrup I’d made, and I’d mixed food coloring into it. Very deep red – almost black. Beside it, is a small artist’s paintbrush.

“Paint my nipples,” I said.

Then I handed him the brush and the bowl. He looked at me, and then he dipped the brush in the syrup and carefully, delicately, painted one nipple. I swear the nipple throbbed, and I felt a rush of desire. Then he did the other one.

I stood there like some kind of tart with my breasts out on show to the world. I felt twice as naked, with my whore-red nipples standing up, so erect. He looked at them, his eyes shining.

“Suck them,” I told him.

Then he put the things down, knelt in front of me, and took a breast in one hand. Then, ever so gently and lightly, he touched the tip of his tongue to the nipple and began delicately licking the syrup off it. The second one, he took into his mouth, sucking and tonguing it. My breasts had never felt sexier. My heart was racing and everything below my waist wanted me to lay down there and then beg for his cock, and I had to tell myself, “Not yet.”

He painted me, and mouthed me, several times more, my heart hammering – he must have felt it – until I said, “I want something sweet too. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

Then he stripped off his shorts and stood there, naked. Of course, his cock was erect, hard and dark and beautiful. And there was already a drop glistening at the tip. Then I peeled his foreskin right down, exposing the head, and took the brush and the bowl. I watched how his cock throbbed as I slowly spread syrup all over it.

I started to touch it delicately with the tip of my tongue, here and there, light as a butterfly, sometimes on the shaft, sometimes on the bare head. And then I licked it very slowly up and down, and around and around, tasting the salt of him through the sweetness; and he shuddered and breathed deep and caressed my hair.

“Lie back on the couch,” I told him.

I took more syrup and anointed his cock again. This time, I made my lips into a tight round hole and pushed it through them into my mouth. Slowly and luxuriantly, I moved my mouth up and down. My tongue was pressing into his rod, salivating with the sweetness of the syrup. He was breathing fast now. He was almost on the edge. But I took his cock out of my mouth again and put more syrup on it.

“What I’d really like,” I told him, “Is some cream to go with my syrup. Do you think you have some for me?”

He was moaning as I bowed my head to take him in my mouth again. Now I was ready to take him deep. I lowered down onto him, came up again, did it again, and again, each time taking in a little more of his beautiful dark Indian sex until the head was pressing against the back of my mouth.

I kept it there, letting him feel the pressure on his rod. And then I went down even more and he slipped right into my throat. The whole of his cock was in my mouth now, right up to the base, as I sucked and mouthed and dribbled saliva. Then his body tensed, and his hips lifted to meet me. He was fucking my throat, the whole bare head of his cock pressing into it.

Gasping, I came up for air, went down on him again, and let him thrust into my throat. Twice more I had to come up, dribbling all over him. And then, as his cock slid in one more time, he cried out, and his cream came spurting. I managed to keep him in there until he’d finished. And then I came up gasping and choking, coughing everything out of my mouth and throat all over him.

I can’t tell you all the things we said to one another then. He was dazed, amazed at what I’d done. But I was still unsatisfied, and desperate, starving for his young dark body. Then I invited him to take my skirt off. He needed to learn how to undress a woman, and it seemed like a good place to start.

After it had fallen to the floor, all I had left on was a very, very narrow thong that didn’t so much cover the lips of my sex as separate them. It was my turn to lay back on the couch.

“Give me the brush and bowl,” I told him.

It was quite difficult to write on your own skin, upside down. But I managed to use the brush and the syrup to write below my navel: “This way in” – with an arrow pointing down. Then I handed them to him.

“What are you going to write on me?” I asked.

He grinned shyly at me and took the brush. First, he painted my nipples again, and my navel. And then above what I’d written, he put, “Gardener.”

I made that into “Indian Gardener’s cock.”

So the writing, below my tart-red nipples and navel, said, ‘Indian Gardener’s cock This way in ↓’

He was hard again – very hard – and I desperately wanted him. But first, I pulled off my thong, opened my legs, and told him to look at what I was showing him.

What I was showing him was everything. Then I took his finger and touched it to each part of my wet and swollen sex, showing him just how I liked to be touched and caressed. He looked, and he touched, and I just knew he was going to be able to tend my garden really well.

I asked for one more thing. He took the brush again, dipped it in the syrup, and very carefully painted my clit. Ohhhh, the rasp of the brush on it! And his eyes, and his delicate dark hands.

“Lick it off,” I begged – and he did, slowly and tenderly. And again, and again, and again, until I just couldn’t bear it for a second longer.

“Darling, please, please, fuck me now. I need you so much.”

I spread my pale legs as wide as I possibly could, offering my lovely Indian boy everything. Then he came to me, his cock hard and pulsing, and I saw it point at my flesh and then slid in and I felt it penetrate me, deeply, all of it.

My muscles clamped onto it. He pushed hard into me. I lay back with my arms above my head, just looking at that dark-skinned teenager thrusting again and again between my thighs and feeling his rod in me, seeing that dark sex fucking, fucking mine.

Then my thighs caught fire and the fire ran all through me and I was coming and coming all over him, and he came too and emptied all his warm sperm into my belly.
 
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Part 2​

Whenever my teenage Indian gardener came around, we didn’t get our clothes off straight away. We still got on with the gardening, though only for as long as we could keep our hands off one another.

I remember one time. We were working in the greenhouse. It was a very hot, still, sultry day, and the greenhouse was like a sauna. He was stripped down to his shorts and I was in a very thin, strappy, low-cut dress that was clinging to my curves.

As we worked, we chatted. That was one of the really lovely things about him. It wasn’t just about the sex, he was really nice to be with and to talk to. He was telling me about his family, and especially about his grandmother. She seemed to dote on him and used to tell him what a lovely young man he was going to be, and how they’d have to find him a nice girl to marry so he could start his own family.

I said, “I bet you know some nice Indian girls already. I see them around. There are some real beauties.”

“But, madam,” he answered, “I don’t want a nice Indian girl. None of them have beautiful white bodies like yours.”

He was losing his shyness with me, which wasn’t surprising, after what had already happened between us.

I said, “I wonder what your grandmother would say about me if she knew I was spreading my legs for you?”

He looked at me, a bit nervously. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he’d thought of something.

“You know, don’t you?”

I said. “Tell me. Tell me what she’d say?”

“Oh, madam”, he said, “I don’t want to offend you.”

I put down what I was doing and went over to him. I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

“Darling,” I said, “Just tell me. I won’t be offended. Promise. Tell me. I want to know.”

He hesitated. Then I leaned into him, pressing a breast against him. I felt his heart beating fast.

“Tell me.”

Then he said, very shyly, “She would say you are a bitch, madam, for doing the things you do with me.”

When he spoke that word, it set something off inside me. A thrill went through me. ‘Enough gardening for today,’ I thought.

I could tell he was aroused, too. I thought, “It excites you to say that to me, doesn’t it?”

Then I started to run my hands over his chest and shoulders.

“A bitch?” I said.

“Me, a bitch? Well, perhaps my husband would say the same. And tell me the truth, haven’t you ever thought of me that way?”

He didn’t reply. I went on.

“I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve thought of myself like that. And you know what? I like it. It excites me. Aren’t you a lucky young man, having your own hot, willing bitch to play with?”

He was breathing faster now, and his heart was pounding. I put my arms around him, pressing my breasts against his chest.

“Your bitch. Say it.”

He didn’t reply, but his fingers dug into my back. Then I bit him on the shoulder quite hard.

“Say it.”

He whispered, very low, urgently, “My bitch.”

“Your white bitch.” (Bite)

“Oh, madam. My white bitch.”

“Your hot white bitch.” (Bite. Bite.)

“My hot white bitch.”

And then he kissed me hard, one hand behind my head, forcing my mouth onto his. The other hand was on my bottom, pressing my belly into his groin, onto the swelling of his already hard sex. I was suddenly desperate. Then I pulled away from him, knelt down, tore his shorts open, dragged them down his legs, and forced his long, dark rod deep into my mouth. At the first taste of it, sweaty, and salty, I started to salivate, I was dribbling all over him.

I could hardly believe it. I, a married white woman, kneeling in the dirt, my mouth stuffed full of a teenage Indian boy’s dark cock. Then I thought to myself, “You bitch. You cock-hungry, cock-sucking bitch.”

Then I sucked and mouthed him as hard as I could for a few seconds. Then I let go and stood up. I pulled one arm out of its shoulder strap and pulled the top of the dress down to expose one bare breast, the same on the other side. The dress was clinging to me, soaked in sweat, and I had to pull and tug to get it down over my hips. I heard a seam rip, got it off, and kicked it aside.

I wore nothing underneath. His eyes were burning with lust. Naked, I stood in front of him. Naked, I turned my back to him and got down on my knees and elbows, my breasts down in the dirt of the floor. My thighs were wide, my hips raised, everything wide open for him.

“Please,” I begged, “Please, this bitch is in heat. She needs to be mounted. Mount her, now. Fuck her. Fuck the bitch.”

“Yes,” he gasped, hoarsely. “Yes, yes.”

He came down over me, his hands in the dirt on either side, his chest and belly against my back. For a moment, I felt the end of his rod sliding around my lips, and then it found my wet hole, and Ahhhh! It was in me, thrusting deep, pushing through my tight muscles, driving and driving into me again and again.

We were dog and bitch, joined at the sex, he was mounting me, fast and hard, over and over, with no stopping, and no mercy. Then he drove in one more time and stayed deep, crying out, as he emptied himself, so far that surely he was filling my womb. He came out of me, gasping, and knelt behind me. I started to get up but he put a hand on my back, pushing me down again.

“Stay there, bitch,” he said. “I haven’t finished yet.”

Rough fingers ran over my back and shoulders, down under my belly, smearing the sweat with dirt. He groped at my chest, pressing and squeezing my dirty breasts in his dirty, beautiful hands. Something trickled down my thigh.

Then he was on me again, and I braced myself as his cock speared me once more. He fucked me strongly again, calling me his bitch, his white bitch, his fuck-bitch. I knew this was just for him. Now he was using me, fucking his bitch’s body just to slake his own lust. I was trembling with the raw sex of it, with my own desperate hunger.

Then he came into me again, making deep, rough animal noises. When it was over, he rocked back on his heels and watched as his semen leaked out of me.

He stood up. I was shaking. I hadn’t been able to come like that and I was ready to burst. Somehow, I got to my feet. I leaned back against the bench, planted my feet wide, and pushed my chest forward. My thighs were streaked with his seed.

“Please,” I sobbed, “Please, this bitch needs to come. Please do it to her again. Make her come.”

His rod was still standing up. He stood between my legs, all his slim, dark, Indian body, hard with muscle, glowing with pleasure, wickedly beautiful against my flushed white skin. Then he rubbed the end of his dusky cock over my lips, teasing them, teasing my clit, as I gasped and strained with my needs.

Then it slid slowly inside me, my teenage Indian lover’s cock. He rocked to and fro, pressing his body into me. The rasp of his hair on my clit was a lovely torture. Little flashes of electricity began around the tops of my thighs. They grew, spread, and joined up until everything was one storm of sex.

I held onto him tight because I couldn’t stand up on my own anymore. Then I was coming and coming, over and over, squeezing him tight inside me, until at last it was done. I collapsed into the dirt, shaking and sobbing.

He crouched down beside me, talking to me very gently, caressing me. When I could look it up, I saw that he was crying too. Then we kissed away each other’s tears.

And then, it sounds mad I know, we just started to laugh, and once we’d started, we couldn’t stop, until we were aching with it.

It had grown very dark while we were doing all this. Suddenly, there was a flash and a loud crash of thunder. Then the patter of rain on the roof quickly grew to a roar. It was a real downpour.

He pulled me to my feet and dragged me outside, onto the lawn in the pouring rain. In seconds, my hair was plastered to my skin and we were both drenched. Still laughing, we danced together in the rain, clutching each other. Fortunately, no one can see into the garden, they’d have thought we were crazy.

It only lasted a couple of minutes. When it was over, we grabbed our clothes from the greenhouse and ran up to the kitchen where we toweled each other dry.

I thought we’d finished, but he dropped his towel, put his hand on my chest, and pushed me down on my back on the table. As he lifted and parted my legs, I saw he had an erection again. Well, I was pretty much helpless and happy to be, so there wasn’t much to be done as his dark rod found my hole again.

Then he fucked me, slower and much more gently this time. His eyes were warm and loving and his face full of joy. Me, a bitch? I thought. Oh, yes… I’ll be your bitch, my darling, for as long as you want me.

He finished with a long, shuddering orgasm. Then he knelt down, and with my legs over his shoulders, he brought his mouth to my sex, mouthing, tonguing, pressing his lips to mine. His tongue slipped in and out of me, round and round over my lips, caressing my clit. And yes, I came, gently, beautifully, completely, all over my lovely dark-skinned lover’s face.

I wrote this story on behalf of a female reader. Any girls interested in some steamy online or real fun where I make you cum thrice without any doubt until your spine shivers with pleasure, are free to message me here.

Feedback on the story is most welcome.
 
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Part 3​

This is part 3 of my story.

Whenever my teenage Indian gardener came around, we didn’t get our clothes off straight away. We still got on with the gardening, though only for as long as we could keep our hands off one another.

I remember one time. We were working in the greenhouse. It was a very hot, still, sultry day, and the greenhouse was like a sauna. He was stripped down to his shorts and I was in a very thin, strappy, low-cut dress that was clinging to my curves.

As we worked, we chatted. That was one of the really lovely things about him. It wasn’t just about the sex, he was really nice to be with and to talk to. He was telling me about his family, and especially about his grandmother. She seemed to dote on him and used to tell him what a lovely young man he was going to be, and how they’d have to find him a nice girl to marry so he could start his own family.

I said, “I bet you know some nice Indian girls already. I see them around. There are some real beauties.”

“But, madam,” he answered, “I don’t want a nice Indian girl. None of them have beautiful white bodies like yours.”

He was losing his shyness with me, which wasn’t surprising, after what had already happened between us.

I said, “I wonder what your grandmother would say about me if she knew I was spreading my legs for you?”

He looked at me, a bit nervously. He didn’t say anything, but I knew he’d thought of something.

“You know, don’t you?”

I said. “Tell me. Tell me what she’d say?”

“Oh, madam”, he said, “I don’t want to offend you.”

I put down what I was doing and went over to him. I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

“Darling,” I said, “Just tell me. I won’t be offended. Promise. Tell me. I want to know.”

He hesitated. Then I leaned into him, pressing a breast against him. I felt his heart beating fast.

“Tell me.”

Then he said, very shyly, “She would say you are a bitch, madam, for doing the things you do with me.”

When he spoke that word, it set something off inside me. A thrill went through me. ‘Enough gardening for today,’ I thought.

I could tell he was aroused, too. I thought, “It excites you to say that to me, doesn’t it?”

Then I started to run my hands over his chest and shoulders.

“A bitch?” I said.

“Me, a bitch? Well, perhaps my husband would say the same. And tell me the truth, haven’t you ever thought of me that way?”

He didn’t reply. I went on.

“I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve thought of myself like that. And you know what? I like it. It excites me. Aren’t you a lucky young man, having your own hot, willing bitch to play with?”

He was breathing faster now, and his heart was pounding. I put my arms around him, pressing my breasts against his chest.

“Your bitch. Say it.”

He didn’t reply, but his fingers dug into my back. Then I bit him on the shoulder quite hard.

“Say it.”

He whispered, very low, urgently, “My bitch.”

“Your white bitch.” (Bite)

“Oh, madam. My white bitch.”

“Your hot white bitch.” (Bite. Bite.)

“My hot white bitch.”

And then he kissed me hard, one hand behind my head, forcing my mouth onto his. The other hand was on my bottom, pressing my belly into his groin, onto the swelling of his already hard sex. I was suddenly desperate. Then I pulled away from him, knelt down, tore his shorts open, dragged them down his legs, and forced his long, dark rod deep into my mouth. At the first taste of it, sweaty, and salty, I started to salivate, I was dribbling all over him.

I could hardly believe it. I, a married white woman, kneeling in the dirt, my mouth stuffed full of a teenage Indian boy’s dark cock. Then I thought to myself, “You bitch. You cock-hungry, cock-sucking bitch.”

Then I sucked and mouthed him as hard as I could for a few seconds. Then I let go and stood up. I pulled one arm out of its shoulder strap and pulled the top of the dress down to expose one bare breast, the same on the other side. The dress was clinging to me, soaked in sweat, and I had to pull and tug to get it down over my hips. I heard a seam rip, got it off, and kicked it aside.

I wore nothing underneath. His eyes were burning with lust. Naked, I stood in front of him. Naked, I turned my back to him and got down on my knees and elbows, my breasts down in the dirt of the floor. My thighs were wide, my hips raised, everything wide open for him.

“Please,” I begged, “Please, this bitch is in heat. She needs to be mounted. Mount her, now. Fuck her. Fuck the bitch.”

“Yes,” he gasped, hoarsely. “Yes, yes.”

He came down over me, his hands in the dirt on either side, his chest and belly against my back. For a moment, I felt the end of his rod sliding around my lips, and then it found my wet hole, and Ahhhh! It was in me, thrusting deep, pushing through my tight muscles, driving and driving into me again and again.

We were dog and bitch, joined at the sex, he was mounting me, fast and hard, over and over, with no stopping, and no mercy. Then he drove in one more time and stayed deep, crying out, as he emptied himself, so far that surely he was filling my womb. He came out of me, gasping, and knelt behind me. I started to get up but he put a hand on my back, pushing me down again.

“Stay there, bitch,” he said. “I haven’t finished yet.”

Rough fingers ran over my back and shoulders, down under my belly, smearing the sweat with dirt. He groped at my chest, pressing and squeezing my dirty breasts in his dirty, beautiful hands. Something trickled down my thigh.

Then he was on me again, and I braced myself as his cock speared me once more. He fucked me strongly again, calling me his bitch, his white bitch, his fuck-bitch. I knew this was just for him. Now he was using me, fucking his bitch’s body just to slake his own lust. I was trembling with the raw sex of it, with my own desperate hunger.

Then he came into me again, making deep, rough animal noises. When it was over, he rocked back on his heels and watched as his semen leaked out of me.

He stood up. I was shaking. I hadn’t been able to come like that and I was ready to burst. Somehow, I got to my feet. I leaned back against the bench, planted my feet wide, and pushed my chest forward. My thighs were streaked with his seed.

“Please,” I sobbed, “Please, this bitch needs to come. Please do it to her again. Make her come.”

His rod was still standing up. He stood between my legs, all his slim, dark, Indian body, hard with muscle, glowing with pleasure, wickedly beautiful against my flushed white skin. Then he rubbed the end of his dusky cock over my lips, teasing them, teasing my clit, as I gasped and strained with my needs.

Then it slid slowly inside me, my teenage Indian lover’s cock. He rocked to and fro, pressing his body into me. The rasp of his hair on my clit was a lovely torture. Little flashes of electricity began around the tops of my thighs. They grew, spread, and joined up until everything was one storm of sex.

I held onto him tight because I couldn’t stand up on my own anymore. Then I was coming and coming, over and over, squeezing him tight inside me, until at last it was done. I collapsed into the dirt, shaking and sobbing.

He crouched down beside me, talking to me very gently, caressing me. When I could look it up, I saw that he was crying too. Then we kissed away each other’s tears.

And then, it sounds mad I know, we just started to laugh, and once we’d started, we couldn’t stop, until we were aching with it.

It had grown very dark while we were doing all this. Suddenly, there was a flash and a loud crash of thunder. Then the patter of rain on the roof quickly grew to a roar. It was a real downpour.

He pulled me to my feet and dragged me outside, onto the lawn in the pouring rain. In seconds, my hair was plastered to my skin and we were both drenched. Still laughing, we danced together in the rain, clutching each other. Fortunately, no one can see into the garden, they’d have thought we were crazy.

It only lasted a couple of minutes. When it was over, we grabbed our clothes from the greenhouse and ran up to the kitchen where we toweled each other dry.

I thought we’d finished, but he dropped his towel, put his hand on my chest, and pushed me down on my back on the table. As he lifted and parted my legs, I saw he had an erection again. Well, I was pretty much helpless and happy to be, so there wasn’t much to be done as his dark rod found my hole again.

Then he fucked me, slower and much more gently this time. His eyes were warm and loving and his face full of joy. Me, a bitch? I thought. Oh, yes… I’ll be your bitch, my darling, for as long as you want me.

He finished with a long, shuddering orgasm. Then he knelt down, and with my legs over his shoulders, he brought his mouth to my sex, mouthing, tonguing, pressing his lips to mine. His tongue slipped in and out of me, round and round over my lips, caressing my clit. And yes, I came, gently, beautifully, completely, all over my lovely dark-skinned lover’s face.

I wrote this story on behalf of a female reader. Any girls interested in some steamy online or real fun where I make you cum thrice without any doubt until your spine shivers with pleasure, are free to message me –

raghavsharma10022001@gmail.com

Feedback on the story is most welcome.
 
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