Good Wife Pt. 01

For Carlos—a twenty years old uneducated immigrant—being Mr. Kesling's gardener was, in general, the most ideal temporary job he could have found; having to trim the hedges and mow the lawn and clean the pool were easy enough tasks, and the wage was more than decent. There was only one problem with the job: Mrs. Kesling.

Carlos fished leaves and suicidal bugs out of the pool with a large net, while Mrs. Kesling sunbathed on a lounge chair a few feet away; and Carlos' gaze could not stay away from her for longer than a few seconds.

She was wearing only a barely-there g-string; he watched her rub sunscreen on her skin often, paying particular attention to the more tender areas of her body. The heat of the scorching sun was nothing compared to the warmth that rose in his body, whenever he met the sight of her oiled-up, sweaty body on the lounge chair, legs slightly spread.

Connie Kesling was a twenty-three years old English major and wannabe writer; a tall, slim, athletic blonde, stunningly beautiful, and perfectly aware of the effect her good looks had on other people, especially men.

Carlos, overwhelmed by the heat—and perhaps subconsciously inspired by the tall tales of porn—took off his shirt; he might not possess the most perfectly shaped body, but, he did have toned arm muscles and a flat stomach with discernible abs.

He smiled, slightly embarrassed, when Connie raised her head and he sensed her green-hazel eyes, hidden underneath the dark shades, scanning him with an increased interest; she spoke not a word, simply lay back down and rang the bell sitting on the glass table by her side.

Without any delay, the maid, Rachel, rushed out of the mansion carrying a tray with a new batch of cold margaritas; Rachel poured a glass coated with salt and lime juice, set the blender next to the glass, and hurried back inside.

Connie had a long sip, then lit one of her long, slim Davidoff cigarettes—after placing it in a long, black cigarette-holder. Thus she remained smoking and drinking, her glance moving from the sky to Carlos and back to the bright blue sky. She polished the first glass of margarita off and instantly, almost mechanically, poured out a new one, from which she took a long hit.

She remembered reading about Hemingway always having a drink in his hand; or, of Fitzgerald drinking his words away in Paris during the '20s. She drank again, the combination of the strong margarita and the scorching sun slowly getting to her head, making her lightheaded and gently dizzy.

A few of her short stories had appeared in literary magazines, but, that was predominantly due to her husband's—a business mogul and highly influential man—connections to the literary world; when her first story had been accepted by a widely circulated, and well-respected, literary journal (after heavy pressure put to the editor by her husband), she had been dead-certain her career would skyrocket; instead, there had been no reaction whatsoever.

Connie attributed the lack of reaction to the world's, at its current crumbling state, unwillingness, and incapability, to accept the drunken escapades of a rich woman; never did it ever cross her mind that she, like most of her peers in the creative writing classes she attended, was simply a crafty wordsmith, equipped with all the proper techniques, but, in possession of no actual talent.

She had another long swig of margarita, her mind occupied with only two thoughts: her masterpiece in progress that would shake up the very foundations of literature, and the gardener's/pool-boy's naked, sweaty torso.

Carlos put all his effort in concentrating on the task at hand, forcing his gaze to remain fixed on the pool, when Mrs. Kesling rose from the lounge chair, put on her high-heel platforms and walked—slowly and purposefully wiggling her ass exaggeratingly—towards him.

"What an awfully hot day, huh?" She asked playfully, standing right next to him.

"Yes, ma'am," he responded, a faint tremor in his voice, whilst desperately trying to fish out some drowned bugs from the middle of the large pool.

"Why don't you take a small break, then? You don't have to work so hard!"

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and with the corner of his eye observed her long legs, her shoes toning her calves astonishingly. "But, I have more work to do; Mr. Kesling does not pay me to take breaks."

"Mr. Kesling is out of town," she touched his shoulder and ran her fingers, gently, across his upper arm. "Which means, today, I'm your boss; and I order you to take a break. I don't want you to suffer a sunstroke, or anything."

"It's..." he sighed heavily; what was the purpose of refusing? She'd insist, until he gave up. "Alright, but, only for a few minutes; I do need to clean the pool."

"Fine, fine, just for a few minutes," she replied, faking resignation. "You've got quite the work-ethic, you know."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, gratefully. "I'm doing my best."

"You're nothing like the gardeners we had prior," she continued, when she sat on the lounge chair, crossing her legs high and calling Rachel for a second margarita glass. "You can go now," she addressed, scornfully, Rachel, who remained still for a few seconds inquiringly staring at Carlos, who was still standing up, not knowing what to do with himself.

"Here," she offered him the glass, "have a sip. It'll do you good; rejuvenate you," she smiled widely and brightly.

"I never drink at work, ma'am," he said, holding the glass as if it was a burning piece of metal. "In fact, I never drink."

"Oh," she exclaimed, her eyebrows arched. "Well, just one sip won't hurt you...what's your name again?" He told her. "Right," she snapped her fingers theatrically. "Well, Carlos, just one sip; it's rude not to drink for a toast," she said and clinked her glass on his. "To you and your work-ethic," she smiled, giving him a suggestive glare, then choked down half the glass.

Carlos, reluctantly, had a tiny sip; he did enjoy the sweet, fruity taste, but, to his virgin liver, even that tiny sip of the strong cocktail (Rachel, upon her mistress' request, was making it far stronger than a "normal" margarita) was enough to set his stomach in turmoil.

"It's quite strong," he remarked, still holding the glass, afraid of moving a muscle.

"Yes, it is," she nodded, then patted the soft pillow covering the lounge chair, "come sit here, next to me. I hate seeing you standing up. After all, this is your break; you're supposed to relax."

"I'm okay, ma'am, really, I don't..."

"I insist," she interrupted him; obediently, Carlos sat, stiffly.

"So, tell me about yourself, Carlos," she said after a few moments of awkward (from Carlos' side) silence, and touched, tenderly, his upper arm.

"There's not much to tell, ma'am," he whispered, his gaze fixed on his drink; he couldn't stop himself from stealing glimpses of her firm breasts, her thin torso with the faintly protruding collar bones, her flat stomach that did not form a gut even when she was seated. "I'm just searching for a better life," he finally continued, after she encouraged him by means of caressing his arm and shoulder blade.

"Well," she said, leaning closer to him, purposefully pressing her breasts against his arm, "there's bound to be more than that; we all have a story to tell, Carlos."

"Not me, ma'am," he said rigidly, barely breathing, as she leaned even closer, trapping his arm between her large, round breasts. "As I said, I'm just looking for a better life."

"So, what's your big dream, then?" She continued, smiling at him seductively, her lips inches away from his. "You don't want to be a gardener for the rest of your life, do you?"

"All I want, ma'am," he said, trying not to engage in eye-contact, "is to work, and be able to afford a better life for my family...when I do have one, that is."

"Uh-hum," she hummed, running her fingers along his chest, slowly driving them lower, along his muscles. "That's...very nice, Carlos; a caring, affectionate family man. I must admit, I find it to be...really hot."

"I don't know," a lump in his throat almost caused him to choke; her fingers slipped inside his jeans, tickling his crotch. "I don't think that's a good idea, ma'am," he muttered with difficulty, her hand wrapped around his hard cock.

"Your nice, thick cock seems to disagree with you," she offered him a wide smile and brushed her lips against his.

"What if..." he was breathing heavily, words hardly able to exit his mouth any longer, "Rachel could come out...your husband, if he finds...out about..."

"You worry too much, Carlos," she kissed him softly on the lips, while stroking his cock inside his jeans. "Fred is somewhere in Southeast Asia; he'll never know."

She climbed on his lap, pressing her breasts on his face; she quickly unbuttoned his pants, grinding herself up against his crotch. Carlos remained stiff, his heart pounding hard in his chest; she squeezed her breasts together, effectively trapping him in between them.

Unable any longer to restrain himself, yet still horrified of the potential consequences, he planted long kisses on her sternum. Connie moaned, dry-humping him nice and slow.

She put her lips on his neck, kissing and licking his sweaty skin; "just so you know," she whispered in his ear, "if you come before I tell you to, I'll tell Fred you raped me."

Carlos immediately stiffened and a freezing shiver numbed his spine.

"Don't worry," she said, again blowing in his ear, "you're going to enjoy every minute of it."

She knelt down and helped him out of his jeans and boxer shorts; his hard, thick cock jumped out and she chuckled in joy. Without wasting any time, and with her eyes fixed on his, she gobbled down his cock, taking it deep in her throat, licking the pink head of the cock gently.

With one hand she rubbed and squeezed his shaven balls, while with the other she caressed his chest and stomach, driving her nails across his skin softly. Carlos leaned on his elbows, unable not to stare straight into her tantalizing eyes, as she sucked on his cock furiously, her moist, full lips wrapped tightly around his cock, taking it all in, resting her chin on his balls for a few moments, until she choked and gagged, then went, gradually, all the way back up to the tip, gave it a good, long lick and a kiss, then back she went into swallowing him whole.

"Hmmm," she smiled, when she buried his cock between her breasts, without ever breaking eye-contact, "you like that, don't you?" She licked her lips slowly, bouncing up and down, tightening the grip of her breasts around his cock.

"Slow down, please..." he said heavily; his cock already pulsating, he could feel the sweet release of orgasm approaching fast.

"It's not time, yet," she bit the corner of her lips, then swirled her tongue around the head of his cock.

"Please, Mrs. Kesling, I can't..." he panted, desperately trying to occupy his mind with other thoughts, yet, nothing came up, as the grip of the incoming climax was too tight.

"This is a one-time bonus, because I really do like you," she said and flicked her fingers on his balls, hard.

The pain was immense, Carlos groaned and leaned forward, reaching for his aching balls; however, he was not edging anymore. Connie returned to sucking his cock, quickly forcing the blood once again to rush through and maintain the erection.

"Well," she said, getting up on her feet and sliding out of her g-string, "it's time for you to do something for me," she sat next to him, legs spread wide. "It'll also give you time to recollect yourself," she winked meaningfully.

Carlos, hesitantly, went down on her; he kissed and sucked her pussy lips and clit, his tongue at first hesitantly emerging out of his mouth, moving circularly around the aroused clit. He tasted her, it was sweeter than he remembered from his childhood sweetheart and current girlfriend—and whom he was one day hoping to bring over from their home country.

He titillated the clit with his thumb, rubbing it rapidly, and his tongue penetrated the moist cunt; he licked fast and furious, flapping his tongue, first sideways, then circularly. Her loud moans caused more excitement inside of him; with the other hand, he fondled her ass and legs, desperate to keep both hands occupied, to avoid reaching for his hard, throbbing dick.

"Fuck," Connie groaned, "keep at it, just like that; fuck, yes!" Her voice grew louder, her soft moans turned into yelling.

Rachel'll hear us, Carlos thought in terror, she'll come out, see us...call Mr. Kesling. And I'll be fired, at best...Carlos was horrified of his employer, for he had heard the tales from people in his neighborhood; Mr. Kesling had not made his fortune by employing exclusively legal methods. Besides, he recalled some gang members, living in the same block as he, discussing how they never even approached Mr. Kesling's mansion, despite knowing of the riches hidden within it.

It was the retaliation the thieves were terrified of, and so was Carlos, as Connie's screams turned even louder and she squirmed under his licking and clit-rubbing; she grabbed him from the hair and pulled him closer to her, his nose now buried in her dripping pussy, as her legs trembled and her stomach contracted.

Abruptly, she pushed his head away and a fountain exploded in his face, showering him with her sweet-tasting juices; Carlos remained frozen, her juices dripping down from his chin, as Connie let go of him and leaned back on her elbows, panting heavily.

"That was a very decent performance," she said, after having regained, somewhat, her breath. "Hope you're ready for round two," she winked, licked her lips seductively, and grabbed his still-hard cock.

She bent forth and took him, again, in her mouth; she sucked him again—she seated, he standing up—and took his balls in her mouth, too, licking and sucking them loudly and passionately.

Carlos raised his gaze to the sky, unable to look at her working on him and, at the same time, withholding himself from reaching a climax. However, it was soon over; he looked down and saw her lying down on the lounge chair, staring at him hungrily, mouth half-open and legs spread wide, feet touching the marbled floor.

He had no options; he didn't exactly want to climb atop her, but, he did nonetheless. For a moment, he simply stood there, positioned above her, his cock pointing at her eager pussy, yet, he made no motion towards penetrating her.

"What are you waiting for?" She whispered and pulled him, with both hands, from the ass closer to her; their bodies met, her breasts squashed against his chest, her heavy breaths landing directly into his ear.

He needed no guiding; he pushed his cock balls-deep inside of her with one swift, rapid move. Her moans grew louder, as he pounded, at first slow, fearful of coming too soon.

"Faster, big boy," she commanded him. "If I wanted to make love, I'd wait for Fred to come home; I want you to fuck me."

Hesitantly, he obliged; pushing his cock deeper into her, feeling her body tremble under his with every hard thrust. She was too tight, her wet pussy wrapped around his cock like a tight-fitting glove; he feared each thrust would be the one to do him in, the one that'd cause him to climax and effectively ruin his life.

He managed to restrain himself, letting his mind wander—as much as possible—back to his girlfriend still living in their small, rural hometown, too many miles away; it was for her he was doing it—thus he told himself, at the least—and for a chance to keep his job so he could eventually bring her over and together start anew.

She crossed her legs around his waist, pushing him as deep in as he could go; her mind had already been blown by the first orgasm and now she was eager for the second. He kept going at it, finally finding a rougher rhythm, and the thickness of his cock was opening her pussy up wider.

She kissed him passionately, thrusting her tongue down his throat, sucking and biting his lips. He did not respond as warmly, at first, but, quickly, he lost his inhibitions and kissed her back, his fingers buried in her hair, pulling them softly.

He cupped her breasts, twisted her erect nipples; she moaned and squirmed under him, he was growing more thrilled and enraptured, as his cock throbbed harder now. There was almost no time, he'd soon come and it'd be over for him; she said nothing. She simply panted heavily, as he sucked on her breasts, licking and biting her nipples.

Still inside her, he was trying to lower his pace, clinging on to the final moments of his edging, wishing to last a little while longer, despairingly waiting for her signal.

"Holy fuck," she howled, her entire body shaking from the climax.

She exploded around his cock, he felt the contractions of her body; he pulled out and she squirted hard. She remained still, as she lay on the lounge chair, heaving with a wide smile.

He groaned, when she reached down and stroked his cock; guiding him by the penis, she made him get up on his feet and pulled him towards her. She took him in her mouth, sucking her juices off of him.

"Now," she looked up at him enthralled, "you may come."

He jerked off furiously, feeling relieved for it being almost over; she opened her mouth wide, close to his pulsating cock, licking its head.

It didn't take him more than half a minute; he exploded, shooting several streams of hot cum on Connie's face, and in her mouth. When he was done, his knees nearly buckled and the world, for a brief moment, went completely dark.

Connie sucked his cock clean, squeezing the last drops out. She lay back down, licking the cum off her lips and swallowing it down.

"That was quite the ride, huh?" She winked, gathering the remaining cum up from her face with her finger, then sucked it off, without ever breaking eye-contact.

"Yes, ma'am," Carlos nodded, breathing heavily.

"Okay, your break is now over," she dismissed him with a gesture, after having poured a new glass of margarita. "You can go back to work."

"Yes, ma'am," he took a short bow. "And you won't..."

"No, I won't tell Fred anything," she replied apathetically, taking long sips of her margarita. "Just, be sure to drink plenty of water today; and do take a couple of vitamins, too...I want you in perfect form tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am..." he got dressed hurriedly, at first not comprehending the implications of her last words.

It only dawned upon him, when he resumed his attempts to fish out the remaining leaves and drowned bugs from the pool. He threw a quick glare at Connie, who was again wearing her shades, sunbathing and draining down margaritas, and his heart pounded hard in his chest, to the point he feared he'd collapse right there and then.

He didn't; his work day was over. Rachel gave him a queer look, when he went in to wish her "good afternoon", but, said nothing. He returned to his small apartment on the other side of town, drank two glasses of cold water, and hopped into the shower.

* * * *

It was late at night, he was watching some comedy show on the television and eating leftover pizza, dreading having to go back to work the next day (and thinking of his girlfriend sleeping peacefully and oblivious in the bed they shared since they were 17), when a loud, demanding knock on his door nearly gave him a heart-attack.

Carlos opened the door reluctantly, his blood pumping rapidly through his veins, without removing the chain; from the opening, he saw a tall, robust man standing there, dressed in black, his neck covered in tattoos up to behind the ears.

"I'm here at the behest of Mr. Kesling," the man said dryly; he held a large kitchen knife, upon which the sole light of the hallway reflected menacingly.