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A Different Show of Gratitude
1
Trembling in fear, Mieke allowed her driver, Nkosi, to usher her away from the angry mob that had gathered outside the shelter and aid shop. She did her bit for local charities, helping the poor, but there were so many that tough choices had to be made, here in Cape Town. She had not thought to live through such mayhem again, she and her husband of thirty-five years, Adriaan Pienaar, selling their winery, up-state, and moving to the Cape and judging the timing of the sale just right.
“Thank you…thank you, Nkosi,” she managed to smile, over trembling lips, as he held the door of the car open and she settled in the cool of the interior, the smell of leather strong. She felt shaken by events of the morning and gave voice to her feelings. “I’m glad that you were nearby…”
“I look after you, lady….it is my job,” he smiled thinly at the woman before him.
Nkosi closed the door on her and stepped round the front of the gleaming Range Rover, the tan upholstery stark against the maroon paintwork. He had other jobs, took what he could get in a fractured economy, but he always favoured this one above all others, driving both the woman that he saw seated behind him, and her husband, about the city and waiting for them until some event or other was over. They went to and from the gated community they lived in, and he called in for work at the large single storey house with its curved Dutch-style gables, gardens and swimming pool set in a sunny but sheltered place. They, and the people they had as neighbours, could afford to live their lives just as they wanted here.
He called her ‘lady’ and she did not seem to mind; never said anything of it. Mieke was a slender woman, tall and graceful in her movements, loose limbed and he knew her to be a dancer, had seen her do that once and had never forgotten the sight of her coming alive, shaking off what held her back at other times. Now, as he flicked her a glance in the rear-view mirror, he took in the boss woman’s lightly tanned skin. It complemented the dress that she wore, a soft vermillion red that went so well with that shock of long and impossibly blonde hair, the fringe covering her forehead and giving her a girlish charm. He had taken it all in as he had guided her away and to the car, saw her lined face creased with worry and felt for the first time her grip on his hand, her shameless reliance upon him, the short heavy stick in his other warning off anyone who tried to get close.
He’d averted his eyes as she slipped onto the rear seat of the car, had to step up to do so and he’d taken in slender thighs, tanned skin, their tended softness and healthy glow. He’d not missed, either, how her breasts were shaped by her dress, a necklace nestling on her breastbone, the skin slightly wrinkled.
His boss lady was old, going on sixty or so, but she had an allure that always made him look forward to driving her, making such conversation that she would start. What had he to really say to a woman of her background and undoubted wealth? At least she did not ignore him and acted as if he was of little or no consequence; had him know his place.
Many in the country, he heard and knew, couldn’t let go of the old ways.
“I take you home, lady…you have had enough of this,’ he ventured and catching Mieke’s eye in the rear-view mirror. She pursed a smile and nodded, met his look for an instant.
“I’m so glad you were there to help me…” she admitted again, uncertain of the effect the confession would have on him.
Yet his answer was only too direct. “I wanted to do that, lady…make a difference to you.’
“You have…”
“Then I am happy….” She wouldn’t see it. One hand moved to shove at the swell in his pants, to ease the strain of seeing her shaped by that dress, the sight of her thighs as she had gotten into the car. For once, he would let his hunger for the woman outweigh any scruples he clung to, delusions even, about her even getting close to being taken by him
Mieke wondered on what she felt was a different look of his eyes upon her. Nkosi’s face was like that created by an artist for a comic strip film, flawless and unlined; flat and with the penetrating gaze of dark eyes under thin brows; his cheekbones smooth and undefined, his cheeks somewhat hollow; his lips full and Nkosi’s chin square.
He moved with an athletic grace for a man taller than she was, his undoubted strength to be seen in strong arms and a broad chest. The man was always immaculately turned out, in a white short sleeved shirt, black slacks, and shoes polished; his short crinkly black hair needing no attention. Nkosi was rarely seen to smile and had, instead, an appraising look upon her; but he remained polite and as she remembered, now, as he drove her assuredly back to her home, he had been overly attentive in seeing that she had not been hurt by the jostling mob or struck by some of the hard objects thrown in their direction but not aimed specifically at them.
“We were in the wrong place…at the wrong time, back there, Edirne Escort Nkosi, and you saved me from a nightmare,” she now told him as her home was to be seen through the gates of the compound that closed off the roadway that stretched out before them, palm trees lining the route and softening the outlines of the homes they passed..
She had leant forward to touch his shoulder as if to affirm her gratitude.
“It is what I am here for, lady…”
He saw her nod and smile; flick away her hair as she again sat back; the seatbelt that had shaped her already unfastened as he slowed to a stop. He knew, then, that he wanted more from this woman than words of thanks. To pursue her, in the ways that he now felt, as she was helped from the car might bring his time as her driver to a sudden but only too pleasurable end.
He wanted to taste and go with this white woman, if he could.
2
“May I stay a while?” she was dismayed to hear him ask.
“Why, Nkosi, do that…I am home.”
She was disconcerted to feel his presence so close to her, then the gradual realisation that his looks upon her, as he drove home, had quite a different purpose from simply one of concern for her safety.
Nkosi leaned over and put his hand on her face before he drew her to him. Mieke lost all sense of time or instinct to move out of his reach, deny what his stilled look upon her now aroused, the welling up of a gripping sensation in her belly and tightening in her throat. He was coming onto her, and she was taken by the raging impossibility of it happening.
“You are safe now, lady…” he said in his deep, authoritative voice. “I make you feel that way…promise.”
She failed to keep him from tugging his shirt off his body
“You shouldn’t be here…” she groaned, lost at the sight of him, Nkosi’s body so sleek and his muscles toned, perfection to her sight, even if their behaviour would plunge them into an abyss of pleasure that defied every rule that had kept the likes of them apart for decades. But young people, now, had not been burdened by the restraints of the Apartheid years. They would not be bothered by the conflict of emotions that possessed her now; at the sight of him of who they were and their backgrounds, and what she knew would follow.
She heard the persuasive lilt in his voice and felt his touches to her body before their lips touched and she breathed in his heat, the raw smell of him. Every nerve ending in her brain, in her body, seemed to flare as his lips covered her mouth and she could taste the sharp rawness of his tobacco; a taste that the gum, she had seen him chewing as she was taken under his protection, failed to take away. Their lips moved over each other and then his tongue pressed until she parted them, gripped his skin out of longing and dismay that she was succumbing to the very idea, let alone acting upon what she felt, a hungering need to satisfy what she had imagined thus far; her driver’s big black cock thrusting into her body; just the thought of it making her feel warm and her pussy cramping; the first flush of moisture to be felt as she was held to him. Nkosi pushed up against her belly and she shuddered.
What he had she wanted to feel between her legs, against naked skin, then in her. She wanted to let go, taste a forbidden fruit for the first time.
Nkosi led her through the pass gate set into the boundary wall that screened the garden from the driveway, her faltering steps as they neared the back door and the pool house a sign of her uncertainty. She did not want him in the main house, to be taken on a bed in there.
“By the plunge pool…in there!” she commanded, not using his name. That room, so useful in the cooler months of what passed for a winter on the Cape, would serve their purpose.
“Okay, it is not important where…lady.”
“I guess there’s going to be only one way for us to find out,” she answered, dismayed at how easy it was to say it. His fingers tugged on the zip of her dress, and she felt it slide down her back, over her spine, the touch in itself strangely erotic. Without a pause he pushed the dress off her shoulders and over her hips, knelt to drag it away before she was made to turn. ‘Nkosi?’
His face was pressed to her belly as his hands tugged down her high waisted nicks, his nose soon brushing over her bush before his tongue pressed into her, licked the camel-toe of her pussy.
‘I love what you got, lady…’ he was heard to say against her skin.
“And you’d better show me what you’ve got.”
He trailed kisses over her belly, clamped her nipples in his lips as he moved and before he joined her in tugging at his belt and shoving his trousers and pants down over slender hips.
“You’re…you’re unreal..” she groaned, her voice trembling as his penis finally sprang free, a trail of black hair running up to his belly button. From his groin sprang a long, thick, still flaccid penis, the weight of his sac making it look almost as long as that shaft of dark meat. What he would bring to her, Edirne Escort Bayan into her body, was massive; so much more than she took from Adriaan, blessed as he was.
“Oh my god,” she said in a low whisper. “Go slow…go carefully with me!”
‘To begin with lady…but you bring me so much,’ he kissed, his hands on her naked buttocks as he drew her against him, and she pushed her hands over his buttocks then over his hips until she could claim him; feel his girth as she began to tug and jerk on him. A feeling of aberrant lust overwhelmed her, was heightened by what she had been through, and he had taken her away from. He had saved her from being injured.
Her protector would become her unexpected lover.
3
She shuddered on feeling him brush against her, as if in a dance, his hands gripping her buttocks as he mimicked the act of fucking her, his penis sliding over what had become her wet pussy lips. She needed to know of him, to be fucked by this well-hung guy; a strong, beautifully made young black man with a long dick and the lustful look of his eyes on her body; her skin so pale against his; her body so old and creased with thin stretch marks and age lines when compared to him; his glorious perfection to her sight and now touches.
“Lert me hold it?” she asked, her voice breaking, but Nkosi moved away; slipped out of her clamping hold on him.
“In a moment…perhaps, lady.” Nkosi delighted in what he now wanted to claim; her perky breasts that he had seen shaped by that dress she’d been wearing, with their darker than expected areolas and stubby hard nipples. “Lie down…lie back for me…lady…please?”
His smile was a brilliant white against his ebony skin. She would soon be in thrall to him, in another place entirely and her body claimed by her driver, and of today, protector…for…for as long as she allowed it.
“Like this?” she asked as Nkosi knelt between her legs, and she took his cock in her hands and began to stroke it. It had remained flaccid, his seducing words belying what she felt, but it responded to her clamping tugging caresses upon it. She held it halfway down the shaft and the end sagged over her fingers, twitched as she stroked. It became thicker and firmer. “I…I cannot take it all in my mouth…no, I can’t!”
“Try, lady…I will not force it…”
Shivering out of dismay for what she was to do this first time, she hesitantly closed her mouth over the head and drew her lips over it. She did this a few more times and then licked the underside. She then began to take more and more of it into her mouth while stroking its base, squeezing it rhythmically. She gasped and choked, had taken too much and felt the domed head of his penis touch the back of her throat. She shivered, felt fearful of what she had succumbed to, and that Adriaan never sought to prolong. She began to work it in and out of her mouth, what he brought and sought of her devasting any remaining control that she clung to..
In less than an hour or so ago, she had been saved from a marauding gang of troublemakers. Now, here she was, working her driver’s penis with her hands and mouth, all of it a prelude to having this young man plumb her body.
“It…it is different, yes?” he groaned, reaching down to grab her breasts and to tug on her nipples as he leant over her and she worked him with her mouth and hands. He had to be her first black dick. “Go on…go on…I am not ready yet!”
“Neither am!” he heard her mumble. Mieke ran her tongue all around his tip then licked her way down to his balls and kissed, then sucked on them. Her free hand held them while she ran her tongue over his scrotum.
“Damn it, lady! You really like my black cock…don’t you?” She moaned affirmatively and returned to bobbing her head up and down his erection. He interlaced his fingers in her hair and tugged as gently as her working on him allowed. He had felt the pressure building in his belly and prick, wanted to fuck her and not lose it in her mouth. “Let me in!”
Nkosi pushed on her shoulders, then bent to take her breasts in his mouth, one hand clamping on round flesh as his mouth worked on the other, he then switched, all the while his fingers prodding into her or slicking Mieke’s pussy’s lips.
Adriaan sometimes fucked her on the mats they now lay on.
“I’ve got rubbers in my pool bag,” she offered, pointing at the row of pegs fixed to a gnarled length of driftwood, bleached almost white by the sun and immersion in the sea..
“Yeah, sure….I don’t think they’d fit me. Take all of it this one time…”
“So, you don’t have any?” she gasped through his working of her body with his fingers, unable to still their progress.
“No, lady…I did not plan for this,” he relied. “That is why this moment is so special….I want to feel you around me.”
She shuddered out of certainty and looked at his lengthy cock jerking in front of her. How could she possibly deny him his ways of doing it with her, safe sex be damned. “Then don’t cum inside me.”
“I Escort Edirne will try not to…lady, but I want you so bad.”
His agile fingers tweaked her nipples, then one as the other griped his penis and tapped it against her pussy’s lips, slid over them. She saw how it arced out from his toned, flat belly, its size and thickness like a deformity on a slender man.
Nkosi pressed, enough to be wedged to the edge of her moist heat and began to slide his hands up and down her thighs, pushed slowly into her.
“Go slowly…go slowly!” she groaned, writhing on the mats as Nkosi pushed her legs wider and displayed her wet pussy to dark hungering eyes. He ran his thumbs over her puffy lips and her billowing folds, tugged on them with his lips and slicked his flickering tongue over their length. Her untrimmed brown bush was thick above her mound, she had not trimmed it for a while, but he teased her by tugging on it with his fingers and lips, stretched the skin in wanton ways before he poked two long slender fingers into her soaked entrance.
He made no move to kiss her, simply held his face close to her lips and shared in their breaths. To kiss him would be intimacy that went beyond what she wanted from these moments of unrehearsed, and spontaneous, fucking with a man who had saved her from unknown dangers in a place she had always felt safe.
“Go on…go on!”
Mieke shivered on feeling the stretching caress of this man’s penis, the destruction of once ordered ways. She pushed restraining hands to his chest even as Nkosi began to thrust in slow teasing movements, to push deeper and withdraw, to ease her open. Mieke undulated her hips, tried to clamp her muscles on this invading flesh.
His penis was slowly and certainly opening the way to his full penetration, and his fingers joined this silent tormenting of her body, provoked shuddering rushes of longing coursing through her body as this silken skinned man teased apart her labia. She shivered as he pulled out of her, felt bereft, as his fingers resumed in their mesmerising ways of pleasing her, of him enjoying her submission to him; their roles reversed. He was the master now.
“You okay, lady?” he asked, his teasing breaths on her lips before he brushed fingers over them and had her taste her pussy’s juices.
It defied all that she had ever shared in with a man, or Adriaan. “Yes….yes…oh yes!”
She pushed up her hips to meet once more his fingers, soon buried in her body and his palm brushing over her mound, Nkosi working them around, then in and out. She moved her hips to press against his fingers, felt him drag his long thumb over her hood and exposed her clit. She felt on fire, scrabbled her feet on the bed to enable her to lift her hips from the mat; gripped his shoulders or slid them over his body and teased the hard bone at the base of his spine. In her wantonness, she pinched her nipples and shook unknowingly, as if in a trance, as she was overwhelmed by the searing rush of her orgasm. She opened her eyes to see his mahogany hands massaging her pussy, which triggered another.
She tasted again. Nkosi’s hand was wet with her cum.
“Fuck me, Nkosi,” she pleaded as his hands moved over her skin.
He knelt between her legs, and she could glory in his body before taking his straining dick and rubbed it against her pussy. It quickly hardened enough as Nkosi ran its length against her clit. Mieke shuddered as she felt again the large, hooded tip brush against her pussy’s lips, part them before he thrust into her on one long, seemingly unending, stroke, her soft gasps of dismay followed by a yelp as he seemed to reach her limits and kept touching her there.
“My first time…with a woman like you…like you…you feel so good,” she heard him groan. “I fuck with you, lady…”
She no longer cared what they said to each other in pursuit of the act. She wanted it to happen, now….enough of the preambles.
“Yes…” was all she chose to say in reply. Nkosi pushed in and withdrew, repeated this several times until he was sure she could take him by means of these mini thrusts. She moaned on feeling him buck his hips, to flex his shaft and stretch her, this way than that. She moaned, gripped his slender butt cheeks and pulled him in deeper. “Fill me…go on…fill me!” He kept pausing, some way into her and made mini thrusts. “Deeper, Nkosi…go on…please!”
“Yes…miss,” she heard him reply, not out of deference but to tease her.
He knew that the thickest part of his prick was now inside the white woman’s cunt, and he felt her muscles contract around him. He kissed her breasts, squeezed on them and took each in his mouth, contorted his heaving body to do that. He would fill up this woman and enjoy the moment, the one and only time that he would get his way with her, or she would allow him in.
Mieke clung to him now, her hands on his head and shoulders, one sliding down his back and caressing his bucking hips. She could take no more; knew that he had gone deeper than any man had done before and that he was fucking her slowly, deliberately so, to make sure she could bear this invasion of her slender body. Touching herself, she felt this young man’s outrageously thick penis brush against her fingertips as he tamped her with a variety of strokes and movements of his hips.
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