The Live-in Nurse and My Wife

Introduction:
It started with a really bad skiing accident. I broke my leg in several places and tore most of the ligaments holding my knee together. I was put in a hip-to-toe cast–a rotten souvenir of our vacation. On our return home, I found I needed a live-in LPN to take care of me. It had to be a strong man, since I am about 200 pounds myself and needed to be lifted from place to place. We also had to make a temporary bedroom for me downstairs, since I couldn’t manage the stairs. Being somewhat preoccupied with my own pain, I left it to my wife, Donna, to pick the LPN.
Somewhat to my surprise, she picked Tyrone. He is a tall, very well built, very dark African American. I was surprised because I always thought Donna was somewhat prejudiced and fearful of black men, and I didn’t think she would be comfortable with one in the house.
Our house is constructed in such a way, that with me taking over the downstairs family room, there really wasn’t any other place downstairs where it made sense for Tyrone to stay. We have an upstairs guest bedroom next to the master bedroom, and Donna put Tyrone there. I was in my wheelchair at the foot of the stairs as Donna led Tyrone up the stairs. She was wearing a very tight pair of white short shorts, high cut on her ass, and the lines of her thong were clearly visible underneath the fabric of the shorts. Tyrone, following her, essentially had his face even with her ass, and I could see him taking it all in. Donna seemed to walk slowly, and with a slightly exaggerated swing of her hips.
I got extremely jealous, particularly as I realized that they would soon be out of my line of vision and, if Tyrone did, in fact, try any funny business with my wife, I wouldn’t be able to defend her.
I needn’t have worried for her safety. They were hitting it off quite well. I heard much laughter, watched them as they walked by on the upstairs hallway, as Donna gave Tyrone the “tour” of the upstairs.
Donna is a blond, blue-eyed bombshell. A southern girl, she has always liked to flirt and be admired. I have encouraged her to wear clothes that accent her generous breasts, tight waist, round buns, and shapely legs. That day, in addition to the white short shorts, she was wearing a tight, sleeveless pink tank top that barely contained her breasts. As he followed Donna in the upstairs hallway, I could see the massive bulge in Tyrone’s pants, even from the distance of my downstairs wheelchair.
Tyrone was a good practical nurse for me. He could lift me easily, was friendly and outgoing, and hard not to like. The problem was that I had competition for his services. Donna was constantly near, and asking him for “help” with one thing or another. She decided to dust the corners where the walls meet the ceiling, and to change the ceiling light bulbs, and dust the ceiling fans. For each of these tasks, she stood on one of our kitchen stools, and asked Tyrone to stand underneath, steadying her by holding her ankles. His big black hands easily gripped and circled her calves. I watched him, as they moved from place to place.
I watched as he would shift his grip on Donna’s legs, and, most of all, I watched his eyes as they worked their way up my wife’s thighs and devoured her crotch and ass–all on magnificent display for him. She gave him other jobs as well, or would closely supervise his care of me, often “helping” to lift me, and in doing so, usually giving an eyeful of her breasts or waist as her shirt would hike up or down with the activity of moving me.
She was very friendly with Tyrone, even more than her usual flirtation with other men. I could see from the moment he joined us, that there was a palpable sexual charge between the two of them. I was intensely jealous, but at the same time quite turned on watching my wife carry on like this. She looked absolutely radiant, and watching another man getting so turned on by her added to her allure.
For dinner our first evening together, Donna changed her clothes, which I thought unusual. She wore a white, see-through skirt that exposed her legs and ass through the translucent material. She had also changed panties. She now wore a skimpy red string bikini that was clearly visible under the dress, accenting the succulent curve of her bottom. She also changed from the tank top to a red-fitting blouse that dipped sharply in the front, exposing breasts that seemed to be competing with each other for exposure and attention.
Throughout the meal, Donna kept jumping up to refill Tyrone’s wine or water glasses, to put extra portions on his plate, even to help put his napkin in his lap, leaning over him with each of these tasks, giving him good views, gentle touches, and the sweet smell of the perfume she doused herself with for the occasion.
Throughout the meal, Donna kept commenting on what a tremendous appetite Tyrone had, and how he could eat so much, and yet keep such a trim waistline and muscular physique. She asked him for advice on “working out,” and he agreed to be her “coach” and “personal trainer” in the days ahead.
Usually an LPN does light household chores, like the dishes, but Donna insisted on helping Tyrone in the kitchen. Again, I watched and listened from the dining room as they laughed and played with dish suds, and with drying and putting away dishes. Donna continuously needed Tyrone’s help to lift her to put dishes away on the upper shelves of the cabinets, help she has never needed in the past. As she moved about the kitchen, her skirt would swirl, and her legs and ass seemed to dance under the wispy material.
We watched TV in the evening. Confined to my wheelchair, I couldn’t join Donna on the sofa, where she likes to cuddle. But she invited Tyrone to join her there. I kept watching our of the corner of my eye, as she would play with her foot against his torso, lean over and touch him, or jump up and down to give him (or me) snacks or refills on drinks. When doing these serving errands, she invariably would “block his view” by standing directly in front of him, with the TV behind her. Her legs would be slightly spread, and the light of the TV behind her made an incredibly sexy view of her legs underneath the material.
That night, as Donna kissed me goodnight, I asked her what was going on with Tyrone, and tried to xpress to her my jealousy, but also to let her know that I was also turned on in a strange way by the whole thing. She told me that she was having trouble controlling herself. That she had never felt more sexy. She said that Tyrone was the fulfillment of a longtime fantasy that she had had about a black man, and that my presence but incapacity to do anything but watch added immensely to the turn on. I told her how helpless I felt with her and Tyrone upstairs and me not able to get up the stairs. With that, she gave me a long kiss, then leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I know.”
I watched her walk up the stairs, this time the sashay of her hips a show intended exclusively for me.
I watched as she knocked on Tyrone’s door. She said, “I just wanted to check if everything was all right, and wish you goodnight.”
She stepped in his room, but only stayed for a few minutes. I watched as she left his room, waved down to me, blew me a kiss, and went to our bedroom.
The next morning, Donna began her “training” under Tyrone’s coaching. They were both dressed for the occasion. Donna was in a leotard that barely contained either her breasts or her ass. Tyrone was wearing Lycra bike pants, and clearly had nothing on underneath. You could see the outline of a snakelike cock held up in quite a display of male equipment. I could only watch, as Tyrone put Donna through the paces of a really good workout. He would hold her legs as she did crunches and stretches, and often position himself so her mouth would be inches away from his cock as she went through repetitions.
So far, I was purely a passive spectator. Now, as the first lesson ended, I suggested that a good workout should end with a shower and a massage, so I told Donna to go up and take a shower and for Tyrone to set up our exercise mat in front of me, and told him where to get massage lotions and oils. As we waited for Donna, I told Tyrone that he was doing a great job, and how much Donna and I both liked how much he was fitting in to our home life. I said that I thought Donna would like the massage more if he took off his shirt and put some of the oil on his chest first so it would glisten. He smiled at me, as he took off his shirt, squeezed oil into his hand, and rubbed it on his torso.
Donna finally came down. She was wearing her private, tanning bathing suit–a G-string bottom and tiny top that leaves most of her breasts and ass exposed. I could see her open admiration for Tyrone’s muscled body. As Tyrone watched, she came over to me first and began kissing me. Tyrone watched as my hands squeezed my wife’s bottom, ran up and down her waist, and worked her breasts. With a last kiss, she broke off from me, and placed herself face down on the exercise mat at my feet. Tyrone then kneeled over her and began a long, sensual massage. He paced it perfectly, starting with her feet and ankles, taking time to massage her fingers and hands. He worked her neck and shoulders, and moved slowly down her back.
Finally, the prize was that beautiful bottom aching for attention. Straddling her backwards, Tyrone sat lightly on her back, giving me an unobstructed view up my wife’s long beautiful legs and crotch. I watched his black hands and arms as he worked her thighs. His dark, masculine chest glistened with oil, a startling contrast to the whiteness of her bottom and thighs, also soaked in oil. I found some lotion, and began masturbating myself while watching.
He leaned down, and for the first time, I saw another man kiss my wife. Not on the lips however, but a first kiss that started with his long, red tongue playing at the top of the cleavage of my wife’s ass. He raised himself on all fours on top of her, the only point of contact, his tongue, her ass. He was really good, and she was really enjoying it. His mouth attacked her bottom, sucking, licking, penetrating, and she squirmed and rose to meet him, thrusting and wiggling, a shiny mess of oil and saliva.
Donna rolled over and they were in a sixty-nine position with Tyrone on top. He continued licking her, now plying that powerful tongue in the folds of her womanhood, as she peeled down his Lycra pants, allowing his huge cock to pop free. I have never seen my wife so obsessed, so completely wild, as she sucked the black monster dangling over her. All the while, she moaned and hummed with pleasure, vocalizing her ecstasy in a way I had never heard.
Both were lost in the enjoyment of each other’s bodies, and I was beside myself with excitement as well. They rolled around, exploring each other, playing, kissing and licking–her breasts, his chest, black and blonde, pink and dark. She guided his cock into her, wrapping her legs around his waist, as he pounded away at her. She begged him not to come in her, and, ever the gentleman, he didn’t. When it came time, he withdrew, and doused her chest and neck with a huge quantity of cum, much more, and pulsing out much harder than any orgasm I had ever had.
Tyrone went up to take a shower. Strangely, I hadn’t actually cum yet myself. Donna walked over to me and straddled me sitting in my wheelchair. She began kissing me, and I fondled her cum-covered breasts. She arched toward me, and, again, much to my surprise, I began licking and sucking the cum from her breasts and neck, having an earth-shattering orgasm myself in the process.
I am not yet recovered from my accident. But Tyrone has found a place in our home. I think we are going to try to let him keep “his” bedroom next to ours, and keep him on as Donna’s exercise coach. We are both looking forward to his great nursing care.
Proudly signed,
Willing Wimp

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