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My Wife and the Black Gardeners by Stormbringer

"I don't like being around those people," said my wife, Jenny. She was standing at the window, watching our two black gardeners mow the lawn. She was wearing a short terry cloth robe and her curly brown hair was touseled prettily. I ran my eyes from her lean legs, up to her large breasts bursting from her robe. My wife had just turned 30 (25 years my junior) and still had the figure of a girl ten years younger. She didn't work and we didn't have any children, so she spent her days exercising and sunbathing by our pool, wearing only a teeny string bikini. I am the CEO of a successful technology corporation located in Philiadelphia. We are very well-to-do, with a large house in the country and a giant back yard. My wife was the daughter of a close friend, who had introduced us at church. She was ultra shy and conservative and I had taken her virginity on our wedding night almost five years ago. She wasn't used to being around people having grown up in a close knit family, and attended a wealthy private school with a small class size. Our gardeners were the only black men she had ever met. "Oh come on honey, Mark and Jerome are nice guys. They work hard and besides they're only here on Wednesdays," I said. "I just don't trust them," she replied. "They're always staring at my breasts and rear end whenever I have to talk to them. Once they even caught me in my bikini and I thought their tongues would hit the floor. I was so embarrassed, I couldn't look at them for a month." My wife didn't like men looking at her body. When in public, she dressed ...

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