Rishavni referred to him only as ‘The Help’. The generic, gender-neutral term pandered to her husband’s chauvinistic worldview, and she suspected that it had never occurred to him that The Help might be anything other than a dowdy, middle-aged woman. As long as their large house was spotlessly clean when he returned from his highly-paid job in the City, Rishavni’s husband had little interest in who was responsible for its immaculate condition or even the excessive cost of the service he paid for.
Neither did her husband question Rishavni’s need for The Help to visit every weekday. Maybe he put the daily visits down to the onerous task of cleaning their vast house’s seven bedrooms, six bathrooms, and four reception rooms. Or perhaps he knew that since his wife was disinclined to immerse herself in housework, a daily cleaner was a necessary expense if the house was to be kept to his exacting standards. Whatever the reason, her husband’s lack of interest suited Rishavni perfectly.
The Help arrived late each morning, undressed, and lightly oiled his naked, muscular body in the shower. Then, he would begin his tasks in the lounge as Rishavni watched from the sofa, her knees tucked under her bottom and a glass of cold white wine in her hand. She loved to watch his toned naked body and innocent young face as he worked, reminding her, as it did, of the lover she had known before she was compelled to marry her cold, distant husband.
Rishavni liked that The Help didn’t speak. From the moment he arrived to the moment he left, he went about his business without uttering a word. Occasionally, he acknowledged Rishavni with a bashful smile when he noticed her admiring his firm pecs or broad, tanned shoulders. But otherwise, The Help was seemingly oblivious to her presence as he silently carried out his mundane chores.
Rishavni loved watching The Help’s glistening muscles expand and contract as he stretched to dust the chandelier, his tight, smooth glutes and long, thick penis only inches from her face. And when he vacuumed and mopped the marble floor, the sight of his heavy, hairless scrotum swinging between his broad, toned thighs quickly made Rishavni wet.
When The Help’s cleaning took him to the bedroom, Rishavni would invariably follow. Sitting in a chair, she would touch herself under her sari as she watched him straighten the bed, secretly recalling the many times he had fucked her in it. Sometimes, the cleaning would stop if Rishavni couldn’t wait a moment longer to have him inside her, but self-restraint and the promise of a more exhilarating fuck elsewhere in the house usually prevailed, and Rishavni allowed him to continue his work undisturbed.
After The Help put the day’s laundry into the machine, Rishavni would undress in the bedroom, allowing her sari, blouse, and underwear to fall to the floor as The Help gave the unused guest bedrooms and en-suites a ‘light touch’ clean. Then he would return downstairs, where he would find Rishavni in whichever room she had decided to be fucked in that day.
Often, it was the dining room, and Rishavni would frequently lie naked on the edge of the long dining table, eager for The Help to reach the room on his cleaning round. When he entered and saw the curvy older woman lying waiting for him, he would stop what he was doing and quietly move between her legs, kneeling on the floor, before using his tongue to pleasure her expertly.
It didn’t take long for Rishavni to cum when he did. The Help could read her body’s every nuance perfectly, skillfully acting on each gasp, twitch or whimper to elicit the maximum pleasure as Rishavni squirmed under his careful ministrations.
The Help allowed Rishavni to forget her many imperfections: the saggy breasts, the stretch marks on her round belly, and the dimples on her thighs that seemed to become more pronounced with each year that passed. Instead, the young man’s unconditional worship of her fifty-one-year-old body took her back to her youth, and it seemed as though the long years of her loveless marriage were purged from her mind with every orgasm he teased from her desperate, shaking body.
As The Help rose from between Rishavni’s thick, quivering thighs, his lips wet from her orgasmic juices, the effortless way he would take her, slipping his long, hard cock between her labia before slowly and dreamily fucking her for what seemed like hours, quickly made her forget the feelings of guilt her infidelity fleetingly brought.
Even when he came, The Help was silent. Only the pulsing of his cock and the warm wetness Rishavni felt dripping down her cleft told her that he had cum inside her. But when he once more dropped to his knees between her wide-open legs, clamping his lips to her leaking pussy, The Help’s tongue always ensured no trace of his mess remained for Rishavni’s husband to discover in the unlikely event that he wished to fuck her upon his return from work.
