Point of No Return

[Thanks to Madelinemasoch for her edition]

We woke up very late the next day, in the hotel room. My head hurt and my mouth was extremely dry due to too much alcohol. Silvia wasn't much better and while she took a long cold shower I remembered what happened the night before with a different perspective.

I was amazed and disturbed that my wife had allowed herself to be carried away in such a way that, now, seemed totally vulgar to me. With a deep sense of shame I took a shower while Silvia dried her hair.

We went down to the beach. It was early for lunch and too late for breakfast. Neither of us had the mood for a big lunch so we shared a sandwich and settled in by the sea. I never got tired of watching my wife, the sort of woman that might appear on a magazine cover. Her wavy blonde hair was brushed behind her shoulders, showing off her elfin face and heavy freckles. All of it made her seem so innocent and sweet, but I knew what lurked under the facade: Silvia was a good, obedient girl and, of course, she was topless, as a black stranger ordered her.

More than ever, my dear wife was creating her customary effect on the male half of the local population. I thought I saw mocking smiles where there were none; I identified insistent looks and, finally, I decided to abandon this attitude that was making me so nervous.

There was a small refreshment stall just a few feet from us and I decided to buy some drinks. Once at the bar, I ordered a bottle of beer and looked innocently to Silvia. I discovered three dark colored guys clustered around her on the prowl. Her attitude revealed she wasn't in the slightest bit fazed by the unsolicited attention of these three young black males who stared at her full, naked breasts before eyeing up the rest of her body. I had seen my wife get hit on many times but I had the feeling that, since yesterday' meeting, things started to move into a territory I would seldom see on all those earlier occasions. I assessed my own feelings. I had been so excited that I had not realized just how much my stomach was churning. Then, Silvia caught me looking at her, and something in my expression made her smile.

Luckily, the last two days of vacation passed quickly and eventually those thoughts did not bother me too much.

Soon we returned to the daily routine.

Our apartment complex was of your typical upscale unit variety, with a covered parking and an eclectic group of residents. We were married for five years and had both found good jobs. We had recently decided to start a family and we were very excited with the idea of having children. I worked at a fast growing software company. It wasn't just for the money. I liked the job. One Friday in mid-september I returned home very late. An impromptu meeting with office partners was unnecessarily extended until nine at night. When I got home it was twenty to ten. I felt terribly tired after a week that was especially tense and full of decisions. As soon as we finished dinner, Silvia suggested that we go to bed, aware of my tiredness. I fell asleep instantly.

Hands on my belly woke me up from my sleep. I looked at the clock on the small table: it was 1:00 p.m. Silvia was caressing me, pressing my nipples with her nails... those games that turn me on so much but that night they produced in me a pleasure that was more mental than physical. I turned to her and tried to reciprocate by massaging her breast. I immediately felt the hardness of her nipple but my body barely responded. Silvia noticed my lack of erection.

"Whoa, whoa... I'm going to send you to the other bedroom and call my black stud to comfort me."

Like a flash of lightning, my head cleared in an instant. It was the first time that Silvia took the initiative in one of our fantasies, incorporating nuances that had never appeared before. Our sex fantasies were always threesomes, but this time Silvia proposed a new idea: she was in charge, she excluded me from the scene and was left with her black stud.

"Black stud" was also a new concept. My wife and I are very honest with each other, so early in our relationship she shared with me about her strong attraction to black men. My dick reacted immediately and I continued the story:

"Are you going to leave me there, in the other bedroom, while you fuck?"

She pouted.

"And what should I do otherwise? Now you are meek and I need a good fuck."

That simple phrase was a release of adrenaline in my body.

"And when he gets here, are you going to tell him I'm home?"

"Yes. You'd open the door and bring him to our bed, cuckold."

A new discharge of conflicting emotions dominated me when I heard in her mouth, for the very first time, the word "cuckold".

"What did you call me?"

"Cuckold. Your wife needs a hard cock and since you're weak, I must look for it somewhere else."

I couldn't see her eyes in the darkness but it wasn't difficult to imagine her expression. Excitement overwhelmed me. I couldn't get a sentence together, but she continued fantasizing.

"Tomorrow morning, you'll go out to buy some croissants, make us some coffee and orange juice and you bring it to us in bed. But call ahead in case he's fucking me... I wouldn't want to get caught in the middle of a good fuck."

My cock was about to explode... it was more than I expected from my wife that I considered prude... until very recently. Now she had the reins of a wild fantasy in which she placed me not only as a cuckold in a role of meekness and submission, of humiliating servility before the man who fucked her. I tried to improvise, get out of my stupor, and encourage her to continue revealing her deepest desires.

"You don't like being fucked with the door closed..."

"Only ajar but still, knock before entering." She replied immediately as if she had the image very clear in her mind.

"Then I could spy on you."

"Don't even think about it... if I see you I'll tell my black stud to throw you out."

My heart skipped a beat and a shock of pleasure shook my entire body. I tried to prolong the moment. I couldn't hold it any longer and I positioned myself between her legs, while Silvia hugged me with her arms and thighs and continued speaking without further hesitation.

"And while we have breakfast you prepare the jacuzzi for us..."

She had managed to erase any vestige of fatigue from my body, I was about to explode in a violent orgasm. Although I didn't want to finish so quickly, the inevitable happened. I cum on her wet and warm sex without being able to control it.

"Oh, my boy. It seems like you have forgotten how tired you were, huh? And who's going to fuck me now? Just tell me." It was a sweet, soft reproach, but also a slight humiliation. I was trying to compose a response when she interrupted my thoughts. "I'll have to fix it myself."

It drove me crazy to watch her masturbate. When I noticed how she moved her hand towards her pubis I sat up until I reached the light on the table and turned it on. Her face was the purest expression of lust and sensuality I have ever seen, her fingers moved delicately between her open thighs. I knelt at the foot of the bed to watch her while she was masturbating.

"Not only a cuckold, but also a voyeur." Her words hit me, I narrowed my eyes and my mouth could only manage to pronounce, "Yes, yes..."

"Cuckold... bastard... you're a voyeur... you like to watch your wife masturbate... and being bred by a black stud."

I just said, "Yes," or nodded while my eyes did not leave her sex. My right hand grabbed my penis and I began to masturbate.

"Is this what you'd look like if someone fucked me?" Silvia raised her legs, dominated by the pleasure she was causing herself.

"Yes, honey. And when he cums inside you, I want to fuck you right away."

Silvia stretched like a cat when she heard this and murmured something unintelligible. "Come here, honey," and she made me approach her chest on my knees. I imagined what she wanted and I continued masturbating in front of her beautiful face, while her words turned us on more and more.

When I saw the beginning of hers orgasm, I exploded, dropping dense jets to her chest, face and mouth, which she collected with her tongue and her fingers.

I looked at her, exhausted, sweating, stained with semen, beautiful. Her agitated breathing raised her breasts stained with semen. She lazily moved her hand to her nipple and collected a drop of sperm that she brought to her lips and slowly savored.

"You look like a whore," I said and she smiled with her eyes closed. I was ecstatic looking at her and then I said it. "Someday, I will see you like this, in this bed, after your lover is gone."

She opened her beautiful eyes and looked at me deeply.

"You're crazy, my love."

"Crazy for you."

There was a long silence. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was seeing her bare, stripped of all her defenses, right down to the core of what she was. I reveled in it, but then the moment passed, my senses came back to me, and I realized what we'd all just done. Guilt washed over the pleasure, blunting it. The two of us sat in total stillness, processing what happened. But things wouldn't be the same after this.

I was caught off guard when she added: "You wouldn't stand for it." She was still thinking about what I had said! "I don't think you could stand seeing me with another man."

"I would die of pleasure," I replied.

"You don't know what you're saying, honey. It's only a fantasy. We have a good time, but don't confuse things." Her serene, almost serious tone alerted me. Silvia was returning to her senses. I tried to give my words the same tone, almost solemn, she had used.

"I trust you and I want to see you fuck with other men. I want to share you, I want you to look into my eyes while your black studs penetrate that tight and warm pussy that has been only mine. I want to see how you take big black cocks in your hands and enjoy the difference. I want to see how you kneel in front of your black studs and give them oral sex like only you know how to do... and look into my eyes while you do it."

I was silent and waited. Silvia still had her eyes closed but her breathing had changed.

"Do you want me to behave like a..."

"Like a whore, yes, I want you to be my whore." I was scared by what I had just said and I waited for her response.

"Repeat it," she said briefly and I wasn't able to guess what emotions were behind. It was a risky bet, but I did it.

"I want to see you act like a whore, and I think you want it, too. I know that what is attractive for you are black, hung men. I know your pussy is getting wet just thinking about it... but your fears, prejudices and catholic education prevent you from recognizing it." I took a deep breath and, faced with her silence, I continued. "For once try to be free, totally free... free of shame, of reproaches, of guilt, free of saving your reputation, free from your conservative education. Just tell me what you're feeling now."

Silvia was silent for a moment, as if she were thinking about what to answer.

"You wouldn't stand for it," she simply said.

"Test me."

There was another dense, endless silence. I didn't know if we'd taken a big step forward or damaged something beyond repair. I was still next to her, on the bed, looking at that beautiful, enviable body. Her eyes were locked on mine, trying to figure out if I was serious, although she already knew it.

"And why do you think I would want to do such a thing?" She asked me.

"Deny it. Tell me that the idea doesn't excite you and I will never talk to you about this again." I was sure that she would not lie to me, but I also hoped that the option of not discussing the topic again, even if it was only as a fantasy, was not in her plans. She shut up and withdrew her gaze from mine. She was cornered.

"It turns me on, of course. But don't you realize the risks? What if we find a psychopath? What if I fall in love and leave you?" Without realizing it, she had placed herself in the next step which was equivalent to taking for granted the main postulate: that she would fuck with other men. "Do you really think I'm capable of sex with the first black guy I meet?"

"I believe that in the right circumstances, with the right person and the right preparation... you would fuck other men."

For a time that seemed eternal, Silvia was thinking about her answer. I endured the silence. Suddenly, she looked me in the eyes and took a deep breath.

"So... that's what you really want? I still think you couldn't stand to see me fucking another man."

"You're wrong."

"You couldn't take it."

"Test me."

She tried to start talking but stopped, suddenly her eyes lit up, a wicked smile appeared on her lips and told me, "Okay, I'm going to test you."

The following silence left me without resources and she noticed it, she lengthened it to savor her triumph and at the end she said, "I'm going to prove to you that you can't stand not knowing, not controlling, not being the director of this story. I'm going to prove to you that this is going to drive you crazy. You won't be able to last more than... fifteen days. Is that okay?"

"Fifteen days of what? You still haven't said what the test is," I argued.

"The test has already begun, if you accept it."

I was taken aback, but nodded my head.

"What if I pass the test?"

Her eyes once again acquired that sensual, debauched expression.

"If you pass the test, honey, maybe you'll have already gotten what you want from me. Who knows?"

We spent the weekend at home. I couldn't help but make some allusion to the test that I had planned and about which I barely had any information, as I wanted to know more, but Silvia seemed to enjoy frustrating my curiosity.

The week passed with a certain tension floating in the air. I did not want to give in to the pressure that Silvia was trying to exert on me and that is why I avoided asking her, pretending to be disinterested that I did not have at all. On Friday mid-morning my cell phone rang in the middle of a meeting: I received an SMS that I didn't open until half an hour later, at the end of the meeting.

It was from Silvia and it said, "I'm having dinner with Idowu, don't wait for me at the gym."

Silvia worked at Ayuda Inmediata, a Spanish NGO dedicated to development aid in Africa, and they obviously appreciated her as she received substantial raises every year. Idowu Okusanya was one of the CEOs, the typical researcher transformed into an executive, egomaniacal, vain, arrogant and sexist. The typical benevolent sexism: comments about women that seem positive in tone but connote inferiority to men based on fragility and need of help and protection.

What the hell was Silvia doing with such a specimen?

In her defense, I had to admit, Idowu is a sight to behold, tall and muscular in all the right places.

Perhaps some NGO matters are required... no, it didn't make sense. Then it dawned on me: the fucking test. Was Silvia trying to play the jealousy card? She certainly could be. She was naive enough to think I would fall into the trap. So I briefly answered, "Sure."

There was no answer. At half past seven I phoned her, but she hung up on me. I waited, but she didn't respond the second time either. At eight thirty, I left the office and went home.

It wasn't there, I looked at the cell phone without finding any new message. I reread her text. How long did she plan to stay after dinner?

I had to admit that if Silvia was trying to make me nervous, she had succeeded. I was uneasy, but I tried to play along. I told myself that she intended exactly this: to make me nervous, to make me doubt her. I smiled and armed myself with all the confidence I found in myself, but my body was tense nevertheless.

The ringing of the cell phone startled me: it was Silvia. I picked up and chose my most neutral tone of voice.

"Hello darling," I responded.

I heard the typical sound of a busy place, perhaps a restaurant.

"Hello honey, you got my message right?"

"Of course, and you received mine."

"I'll be a little late, you go home and I'll call you later." There was a silence in which I tried to choose the right phrase to show her that I wasn't buying her trick but I didn't have the chance. "By the way, Idowu just asked me about the January congress. You tell him, okay? Kisses!"

I didn't even have time to answer as I immediately heard Idowu's pompous voice, acting like a 'friend'. I listened to him almost without understanding and I answered him briefly, promising more information.

"You give it to your girl, since I have her around every day."

Idiot! That cretin thought he could talk about Silvia as 'my girl' and treat me like I was his subordinate just because she worked at his company.

I tried to dispassionately analyze the situation, I noticed in me all the signs of anger, fear, insecurity... My head was working two hundred percent imagining alternatives, thinking that Silvia, in order to test me, could be getting into an unpleasant situation.

Idowu did not miss the opportunity to proclaim his conquests. He talked about his flirtations as if they were games. His sweet courtesy, his gallantry with women, revealed desire, superiority... no respect. For him, women were inferior, weak, whimsical and willing... always willing.

I already knew how he looked at Silvia, at some convention we had crossed our gazes after catching him undressing her with his eyes. My own wife had told me about the insinuations that she had had to resolve with diplomacy in her beginnings in the NGO.

In short, Silvia was an ungotten, desired prey and that, for Idowu's overdeveloped pride, was something he did not handle very well. I knew it wasn't going to stop there.

The unease I felt was unbearable... I imagined her having to endure his advances, as I assumed that he had become emboldened and that he would no longer leave her alone.

That's when I questioned everything I had proposed to Silvia... if I felt that way over a simple lunch, how would I react if she slept with him?

"Not with him, not with him," I told myself, but if this was a test, I had to face it. I had to break down my doubts, my fears...

Silvia had just turned 29 years old and I was not yet 40. Our age difference was noticeable. I was in good condition: physically I was in shape, and there was no trace of the beer belly that was so common among my friends. But the gray hair and the incipient crow's feet gave away my age. I was successful with Silvia and it fed my vanity and my illusion of eternal youth. And she was more beautiful than ever. She maintained an enviable figure, her body had developed in the best possible way, her flat stomach, her hard buttocks, her short but beautiful and firm chest... and her face... her sensual mouth and those deep eyes, capable of disarming me with just a look... She was very aware of her power over men and sometimes I have seen her use it to get a table in a restaurant, when I had already failed in the attempt. She was in her prime, at the peak of her youth.

I put all my doubts, my fears, my complexes on the table... and I imagined her accepting those impertinent gestures from Idowu with other people's women. I imagined her in a restaurant accepting Idowu's assaults, those crude tactics that he had shamelessly displayed in front of everyone with the wife of a recently promoted employee: a hand on her shoulder to reinforce a joke, a play with her fingers on the woman's thigh, knowing that she would never make a fuss, especially not with her husband's boss.

Would Silvia accept this siege because of me?

Desperation began to appear in me, I wished I had never told him all that, I wished... A new image appeared in my mind. I saw Silvia entering a hotel with Idowu, taking the keys to a room while the employees cataloged her as a slut, being kissed in the elevator while they went up to the floor, and finally allowing herself to be undressed by Idowu.