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 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.

Sometimes, in the summer months, Rishavni would wait for The Help in the garden. When he came outside to sweep the patio and skim the pool, he would find her sitting naked on a luxurious sofa with her wine on a table beside her. Sometimes, Rishavni would just watch him work, gently masturbating as he leaned over the pool, scooping out the fallen leaves. Others, she would take a sip of her drink before kneeling on the sofa, her arms resting on the back and her legs splayed wide.

If he weren’t already hard, Rishavni would beckon to him to join her and suck his cock until it was twitching in anticipation of its daily release. Then, having pulled away and wiggled her wide hips seductively, Rishavni would tacitly invite The Help to move behind her and ease himself inside, enjoying his strong hands gripping her hips as he slowly increased the depth of his long, languid thrusts.

Rishavni loved feeling the cooling summer breeze on her wet slit as The Help silently fucked her from behind. Often, she closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the exquisite sensations emanating from her pussy as he stretched her with each slow, probing thrust of his hips.

If she were feeling dirty, she would reach back and spread her buttocks, implicitly inviting The Help to put his thumb in her anus as he fucked her. And if he saw a tube of lubricant on the table next to Rishavni, The Help understood that it would take more than a thumb to satisfy her that way. When, after several minutes, he eventually felt her relax, The Help would squirt a large globule of lube onto his glans and spread it along the length of his shaft. Then, after wiping his hands on a towel, he would press his tip against Rishavni’s opening and ease himself inside.

After a small gasp of pleasure as The Help cleaved her, Rishavni would softly moan as he nudged deeper, and close her eyes, remembering the many times that her lover had fucked her that way. As The Help effortlessly filled her with each deep thrust, the thirty-three years since she and her lover had performed the same lurid act seemed to dissolve in a few moments of exquisite and nostalgic pleasure.

Rishavni felt like she was eighteen and in love again. Willingly offering all of herself to a handsome young man, knowing he would do anything for her in return, gave her the validation her vacuous life and marriage never had. And when she felt The Help slam his hips firmly against her quaking buttocks as his climax neared, Rishavni once more felt desirable, knowing that he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. In those moments, they needed one another, and those brief seconds were enough to give her life a momentary sense of purpose.

Feeling his release gave Rishavni the greatest satisfaction of all. That her ageing body could still arouse a young man to the extent that he came hard and heavily inside her made Rishavni feel irresistible, and feeling his body tremble as her tightness brought him the ultimate pleasure was evidence that she still held some allure for men. When he went down on her afterwards, using his tongue to scoop his mess from her gaping depths, Rishavni briefly felt that her life was complete.

After they fucked, Rishavni would return to the bedroom to find her clothes neatly folded on the bed, and she dressed as The Help completed his chores downstairs. One fuck a day was sufficient, and the knowledge that The Help would return the following morning was enough to keep Rishanvi going for another twenty-four hours.

Around three o’clock, The Help showered, cleaned the bathroom, and left, picking up the usual two hundred pounds in cash from the hall table on the way out. Often, Rishavni wondered where he went and who, if anyone, he returned to. Did he have a girlfriend, blissfully unaware of what he did for a living? Or was he a university student funding his studies with the money from his work?

Rishavni knew nothing about The Help, not even his name. But of all the men she had ‘interviewed’ after they responded to her online advertisement, she was glad she had chosen him. For a few minutes each day, The Help reminded her of the woman she had once been and longed to be once more.

Only he could rekindle the fire of her youth and return her sense of self-worth, if only for a while.