Thank You Ch. 2

Teetering over to the toilet in her high heels, Lydia lifted her dress and sat down for nearly 5 minutes, trying to calm herself down.

* * * * *

Once Lydia felt she was composed enough to pull her dress back up and confront what awaited her for the rest of the night, the stunned married woman flushed the commode, washed her hands and splashed some cold water on her cheeks. Looking at her face in the mirror, Lydia couldn't believe how shell-shocked she had gotten by the accidental sight.

"Grow up Lydia," she told herself. "You're 41 years old for goodness sakes...you've seen plenty of... those!"

Yet, as the relentless image of Kwame dangling manhood replayed in her mind, Lydia knew deep down, she hadn't ever seen anything quite like that before.

Putting on her most confident face, Lydia bounded out of the bathroom and casually made her way down the hall towards her bedroom where the young exchange student was perched on the side of the Benson's bed, lazily flipping channels on the remote.

Flinching slightly when he saw Lydia walk into her own bedroom, Kwame started to stand up as he smiled and thanked the older woman for a chance to see what premium cable had to offer.

"Oh... don't get up on the count of me," Lydia told Kwame, as she made a beeline for her walk-in closet. "I'm still gonna be a second or two...go ahead and watch for a while...I have just got to find a more comfortable pair of shoes to put on...I'll be right back."

Holding her breath, Lydia's mind was a complete vaporlock as she passed by Kwame on the bed until she reached the safety of her huge closet. Sucking in a series of deep breaths, the first thing to cross Lydia's mind was a horrible realization. The image of Kwame sitting there on the edge of the mattress flipping TV channels with the remote caused Lydia's temples to pound.

"OH NO," Lydia mouthed out loud, remembering where that TV changer had been two nights earlier. "God... the smell... he must... oh... no... shi... uummm... dammmittt... maybe he won't notice...geezzzusss!"

Fighting to kick her heels off as the awful realization flashed like blazing neon in her head, Lydia tried her best to stabilize her focus to find a comfortable pair of shoes so she could farrot Kwame back home.

Just as she was about to reach up on the shelf for a different pair of shoes, Lydia caught a side profile view of her body in the full length mirror at the back of the closet. Tired of having to hold her breath for the past 6 hours in the tight blouse and skirt she had decided to wear out for the evening, Lydia decided to do a quick wardrobe change as well, while Kwame was occupied watching TV.

In no hurry to confront the teenager and see if his expression showed he knew what was lacing the handle of the remote in his hands, Lydia peeled off her blouse and skirt and dropped them into the dirty clothes hamper beside her.

Standing in the privacy of her walk-in closet, in nothing but her brassiere and girdle, Lydia saw the pair of jeans and sweater she wanted to wear laying on the floor where she had taken them off a few days earlier. Seeing the tennis shoe box resting at the top of the shelf that would go perfectly with the jeans, Lydia sighed, knowing at least she'd be more comfortable for the quick trip to run Kwame home.

Trying her best to shove the reality of what was now most likely coating the young man's channel surfing hand, Lydia strained on her tippie-toes as she attempted to reach the box of shoes several feet above her.

Just as Lydia was able to dig her cheery red fingernails into the side of the glossy cardboard box and start pulling the tennis shoes down to her, the side of the shoebox tipped the box beside of it, which in turn tipped another and another until the chain reaction caused dozens of pairs of footwear to rain down heavily on top of the stunned, half naked woman.

Shrieking loudly when the scattered pairs of flats, pumps, sandals and slippers started pouring down on her shoulders and head, Lydia felt embarrassed and helpless as she became buried to the knees in her own designer footwear collection.

* * * * *

Sitting on the edge of Lydia and Jefferey's bed, scanning through the nearly 150 channels the Benson's DBS system had to offer, Kwame fidgeted with his nose, trying to figure out what the vaguely sweet and sour fragrance was that wafted around him was.

When he heard the shuffling thuds and female shrieks from Lydia's closet suddenly jar his attention, Kwame instinctively lunged off the side of the bed to see what had happened.

The sounds of Lydia's high pitched voice buzzed in Kwame's ears as he neared the entrance of the closet. Thinking the older woman had fallen, when Kwame turned the corner and innocently looked inside, he was relieved to find that Lydia was still safely perched on her feet.

As he took in the oddly humorous sight of dozens of mismatched pairs of shoes scattered in every direction around Lydia's body, gradually the rest of the picture in front of Kwame came into sharper focus.

"Jesus God," the Kenyan teenager mouthed, seeing the white woman standing there in stunned silence, wearing nothing but a lacy white brassiere and a knee length, cream colored girdle.

As a normal and curious 18 year old, Kwame Noel had seen his fair share of naked women in the various magazines that got passed around. He had also fucked several of the girls from his neighborhood back in Kenya, and since his arrival in the States, he had hooked up with two of the other African exchange students he had met at UMBC. But the sheer disbelief of standing directly in front of a wealthy married woman, who was twice his age, was something completely off the charts for the young man.

* * * * *

The gravity of what was happening didn't register in Lydia's head until her eyes wearily dropped to the floor in embarrassment and she saw the tube-like bulge straining the front of Kwame's dress slacks. Pulling her arms closer to her bosom, Lydia awkwardly tried covering her near nakedness, in the process causing even more shoes to fall off her shoulders and down to the floor.

Sensing Lydia's unsteadiness and totally confused and numb himself, Kwame started backing out of the closet even though he never allowed his eyes to detach from the sight of the nearly naked woman in front of him.

Subconsciously feeling the fabric covering his groin strain outwards from his shameful erection, Kwame instantly lowered his hands down to his crotch in an attempt to cover the evidence of his arousal.

All that gesture ended up doing however was drawing more attention to the protruding front of his pants. Lydia's eyes widened and the erect buds of her large nipples poked noticeably out from the front of her satiny brassiere as she fixated on the young man's growing genitalia.

* * * * *

Ever since his plane touched down at Dulles International Airport back in August, bringing Kwame from Nairobi to America to start college, he had grown accustomed to, and often energized by, the strange vibes he picked up from American women's stares.

Like a kid in a candy store, Kwame was nervously enthralled with the 'walking on eggshells' posture that the women he met, young and old, had whenever he went out on his daily travels. He was so far out of his natural comfort zone however, that he never gave a thought to acting on his hormonal temptations, satisfied in quenching his teenage lust for those untouchable objects with his hand whenever he felt the built up need for release.

What he was currently staring at now, a half naked and married white woman standing face to face with him in her bedroom closet, was something simply to mind-blowing to be real.

Even though Kwame's rational mind was totally off balance, his animal instincts were working perfectly. The tangible scent of Lydia Benson's fear and fascination flooded Kwame's primal radar as the happily married woman openly stared at his hidden manhood as if she had seen a ghost.

Half naked and fixated on the African teenager, Lydia looked as if she had been turned to stone as she watched Kwame take several steps backwards even though he kept his eyes shamelessly trained directly on her body.

Sensing he was about to politely excuse himself from the awkward situation and allow Lydia the much needed time and privacy to gather herself, for a reason she would never understand or forgive herself for, Lydia weakly blurted out the word, "Stop".

A lingering shroud of silence filled the cluttered closet as the two people from completely different worlds and cultures, stared at each other with a connection of primal curiosity.

* * * * *

Seeing the woman's blue eyes well with tears, Kwame was torn between his genuine concern for Lydia's confused mental state and his own libidinal curiosities. Raised to respect his elders and to fully appreciate the institution of family, the last thing Kwame wanted to do, in light of all the Benson's had done for him, was to enable Lydia to be unfaithful to her husband. On the other hand, the sight of a nearly naked woman standing only a few feet in front of him, nearly paralyzed with fixation on his body caused every nerve ending in Kwame's rock solid body to sizzle with potent lust.

Torn between exiting stage left to give Lydia some space or striking while the sliver of opportunity was there, Kwame simply stood his ground and watched where Lydia's eyes latched upon.

"Do you want to see it?" Kwame asked with blunt innocence as he lewdly tapped the ridge growing inside his slacks.

Feeling his body rumble like an engine when Lydia's head tilted up and down, Kwame nervously took a few steps forward, wrapping his long black fingers into his zipper as he neared the spot where Lydia was standing.

Nimbly forcing the zipper down, Kwame blindly reached into the hole and dug out his half erect endowment, letting it spill free from his fly with a meaty thud against his thigh.

Watching it swing like thick ebony pendulum from his crotch, Lydia shivered intensely as the young boy proudly displayed his manhood for her to see.

"Do you want to see me rub it?" Kwame asked pointedly, shivering a little himself when he saw Lydia shake her head up and down once again.

His dark fiery eyes burning a hole through Lydia's pale, exposed body, Kwame flexed his fingers and wrapped his soft meaty grip around his huge, uncircumcised penis, massaging it to its full, ungodly length.

Kwame could see Lydia's pupils dilate like blue marbles inside their sockets until his rapidly blood filling cock was as long as Lydia's forearm and as thick as a can of Coke.

Taking another step towards the petite blonde, Kwame kept his prick tightly wedged in his palm as he dutifully kicked several of the shoeboxes out of the way so that he could get closer to Lydia's quivering body.

As Kwame nudged away the heap of fallen shoes surrounding the older woman, the young exchange student got a clear of the Lydia's pantyhose clad legs, watching intently as her knees knocked together in unadulterated understanding of what was forthcoming.

Once Kwame was within arms length of Lydia's frozen frame, it was as if the young African boy possessed some sort of mystical or religious power, causing the happily married woman to meekly drop to her knees, bowing in hushed splendor at the feet of the now cocksure teenager.

Standing with his legs spread wide above the starry eyed blonde, knowing everything he had ever lusted for in his short life was about to come true, Kwame felt a coursing sense of power, that he never thought was possible, rage through his body. Watching the way Lydia Benson's icy face stared at his manhood with glazed disbelief, Kwame brazenly rolled it between his fingers until he saw the first drop of saliva seep out of the side of Lydia's mouth and dribble straight down her chin.

"She doesn't even know what to do with the thing," Kwame laughed to himself as Lydia's lack of sexual confidence bleed through.

Gently patting his left hand down on top of Lydia's head, Kwame petted the woman's angelic blonde locks as if she were a good dog at his feet. Swinging his mammoth cock towards Lydia's cheek with his right hand, Kwame's 11 and a half inch girth came out of Lydia's blind spot and smacked her hard, causing the married woman's face to quiver under his virile presence. Snaking the head of his jet black erection over her ear and through the right side of Lydia's hair, Kwame got goosebumps feeling Lydia's warm breath on his genitals as she whimpered for air.

Massaging Lydia messily strewn hair for several moments, Kwame finally decided to see if the married woman at his feet was actually ready to cross the line of fidelity. Rocking his hips back slightly, Kwame swung his crotch around so that it was positioned right in front of Lydia's face.

As the tangible weight of Kwame's phallic spear bounced and bobbed in front of Lydia's stunned eyes, the Kenyan teenager grabbed his pride and joy by its trunk like base end aimed it for the oval target of Lydia's small mouth.

Just as Lydia played her hand, parting her lips slightly in a clear show that she wanted to accept the boy's cock into her mouth, something teasingly evil snapped inside Kwame's mind and he pulled his cock back at the last moment, causing Lydia to grasp nothing but thin air with her mouth.

Feeling a sadistic sense of satisfaction warm his body when he saw Lydia wantonly open her mouth only to grasp air, Kwame knew that the older woman had surrendered to him completely.

Reaching down with his rock solid arms, Kwame wrapped his hands tenderly around Lydia's bowing torso. Gently scooping the petite woman up into his clutches, Kwame turned with Lydia's shaking body in his arms, to make his way out to the Benson's marital bed...

To Be Continued...