Point Of No Return Ch 04

When I awoke the next morning with Silvia snuggled against my body I felt grumpy. I had one of those nights where her mind was too active to sleep and suddenly became aware of a dampness in my briefs. I darted a hand down to my groin. My boxers were drenched in sperm. My wife awoke at this moment and touched my pajama pants.

"Another wet dream?" she softly asked me.

I sighed in embarrassment, as I debated whether or not I should tell her. "I'm afraid so."

"You look horrible," she said, tactlessly.

I went to the bathroom to clean up the mess, still stunned by what had occurred, and slid a fresh pair of briefs on. Silvia entered, back to me, peeling off her shirt, panties and bra. I watched her divine form step into the shower. I admired her perfect peach of a behind as she tested the temperature of the water.

She stepped under the flow of the water, letting it soak her long, blonde hair. I watched her rubbing the water all over her exquisite body, her movement slow and sensual--like she was in the early stages of something sexual. She sighed and closed her eyes as one of her hands dipped down between her thighs. A paranoid part of me wondered if she might have been inspired to touch herself by the memories of her boss.

Then I saw her smile and felt as though she was mocking me. So I decided to prepare breakfast. When she entered the kitchen 15 minutes later, I was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee and a tablet in front of me.

Immediately I noticed her makeup. Smokey eyes, a darker blush, and the brightest red lipstick I had ever seen over her pale white skin, untouched by the sun's kiss. Her long blonde locks cascaded down her back. The neckline of her blue dress wasn't overly deep but it still offered the observer a generous glimpse of her large breasts. A loose black jacket and black high heels completed the ensemble -- the first time I remembered her wearing stilettos for work. Black, very high, enough to make her legs seem even more shapely. A classy French manicure from the nail salon, perfectly smooth legs and underarms from the spa, and a fresh haircut from the stylist. Gazing at her, the overall effect of her alluring attire was sophisticated and classy - but absolutely sexy. I doubt she went into this much trouble on our wedding day. I was starting to get jealous again.

"Is everything okay, baby?" Silvia asked taking a coffee. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, it's okay," I told her sullenly.

"What did you dream about?" she inquired.

"I can't remember," I replied - a little too quickly. Even to me, it sounded lame. I sat down across from her.

"Guess what today is." My wife was smiling at me over her cup. Today was circled in red on the calendar.

"Hmmm... Monday?" I smiled back, having a small idea but enjoying this small game.

"Yes but no." She stuck the tip of her tongue out at me. "It's X-Day."

"Oh." I nodded slowly. "Already?"

"Have you been doing something you shouldn't?"

"Me? Not a chance." I promised. "I've been saving it up, believe me."

"I hope so." Eve sighed softly. "Tonight I want to make a baby."

"Me too, honey." I reached across the table to hold her hand.

X-Day meant ovulating day. We had been trying to get pregnant for months and she was taking fertility pills. In theory, I should abstain from jerking in the hopes of increasing our chances. That night I was going to make love to my wife and fill her with as much sperm as I could.

"Do you like my new dress, honey?" She suddenly asked me.

I nodded and swallowed involuntarily.

"You look gorgeous," I replied truthfully.

Indeed, she was breathtaking in her tight black dress, and her bright red lips. How on earth did I get so lucky? She, without a doubt, was hotter now than when I met her.

"I brought it up yesterday, remember?" she informed me, and demurely added: "I'm sure a few other men will have a good, long look today as well."

"Sure." My suspicious mind immediately went to dissecting everything about her.

Then I understood. Over the weekend I noticed my wife was extremely stressed from her job. On Friday, her boss informed her she was about to be promoted and had taken on way more responsibilities at work. Understandably, she took things too personally when I related her unplanned work lunch with her boss to a test we both had agreed upon after I fantasized about her with another man. We got into a pretty harsh fight in which I was the instigator. She said that I couldn't stand my cuckold fantasies becoming real, and apparently, she was going to play hard with jealousy.

"Did you masturbate yesterday while I was gone?" she suddenly asked me.

"What?" I bluffed, chuckling. Her stare was relentless. It felt like she already had the answer to the question.

"The pictures in your hard drive. Me with my ex's." She looked down at his hard prick in her hand and stroked it twice.

"I don't know what are..."

"Goodbye, honey. Who knows... Maybe your pic collection will grow soon," she told me, standing in the hall ready to leave and I was racked with one heavy sob. My breath caught in his throat. My legs trembled when I saw her leaving and a devilish smile crept across his beautiful face.

Depending on traffic, my wife had almost an hour's commute between her home and the NGO office. When she entered, her friend Heather looked at her differently. The busty redhead wore a zip-up leather dress so scandalous that only her natural elegance put it into the realm of fashion. Silvia heard whispers from the other tables. She turned and saw James Tremblay smiling at her, and she knew what this meant. Her heart dropped. Two male colleagues were walking by when they asked, "How was your Friday lunch, Silvia?"

"Get a fucking life, you idiots," Heather said.

They laughed and walked away.

Heather smiled widely at her. "Let those idiots talk. It will blow over in a few days."

"The damn rumors milling here can't seem to accept that maybe, just maybe, I didn't fuck my way up to the top." Silvia knew how archaic the patriarchal system was that treated men and women so differently. But all that rationalizing didn't take the embarrassment away.

"Mr. Okusanya macho man attitude didn't help," Heather added. "He 'casually' mentioned your Friday date several times."

"Who does the git think he is?!" Silvia was fuming when she threw her purse on her desk. I don't understand where he takes his confidence from..."

"Big black dick confidence, and I'm not going to lie to you: he has every reason to be arrogant," she giggled and winked at her friend, which made her only more frustrated.

Silvia stayed in her room for most of the day. She timed her coffee breaks when she knew everyone was around, sneaking out to get something to drink and then back into her room. But most of the time she stared at the empty word document in front of her. Blocked. Memories from Friday lunch with her boss filled her with anxiety - but also with a strange, aching desire. As much as Silvia would have liked to blame alcohol on her lapse of judgment, she was fairly certain it was her boss' attractiveness who was to blame. Her ovaries were aching too, it only happened when she was ovulating which usually coincided with an increase in her sex drive. So when she had to go to Okusanya's office for an unscheduled meeting, she told herself that she must give him a piece of her mind.

She opened the door when he was already coming out to greet her and prepared herself for the inevitable: two kisses on the cheeks, one hand on her waist... and Silvia, docile but firm, controlled that things did not go beyond the limits she had tacitly set.

No man could exude that amount of confidence. But her boss did and she felt her furious resolve fraying in his presence. Tall and strong, Idowu Okusanya was a mountain of a man, there was something about his sheer presence that commanded the attention of everyone around him.

"Good morning," he said, his grave voice was that same deep rumble that had haunted her fears and fantasies for the last weekend. Then he gestured to the chair. "Sit, please." He moved it back by less than an inch, a chivalric gesture that contrived to make her blush. He carried himself with a poise that belied his size and wore his expensive suit with the ease of someone whose entire wardrobe was full of bespoke clothing.

"You're looking particularly fetching this morning," he murmured, and his eyes slid down to her chest. My wife made the mistake of looking down, just in case she'd missed a button. She hadn't. Her perception of time slowed to a crawl as he evaluated her charms and sexual desire hammered through her body. "How lovely your dress is." His black eyes did to her as if she was stripped naked while his gaze hummed over her bare skin. The feeling remained, leaving her on the knife's edge between fear and pleasure. Still, try as she might, she couldn't keep her eyes off him.

"Thank you," she muttered.

"I was rather disappointed you left so quickly after our last meeting."

"My husband was waiting at home," she answered. Everything in this office made her feel small. It was large and airy, furnished with what looked like African antiques.

"Paul is a very nice man," he said. "He doesn't mind his wife going out for lunch with her boss, does he?"

"Why did you call me?" she asked irritatedly.

"I have a surprise for you," her boss said. "Office number 2 is yours." She remembered the floor plan with Office 2, the best one in the new wing, its huge size, its position next to the Management Office, its wonderful views... It meant far more than just a physical space, it indicated her new position in the NGO. Okusanya perceived every hesitation and took advantage of it to gain ground.

Silvia was no stranger to being groped. But this wasn't some drunken idiot inexpertly fondling her ass on a dare. This was her powerful boss slowly and deliberately sliding his hand along the inside of her thigh, watching her face intently as his fingers reached the gusset of her panties, moist with sweat and perhaps something else. His smirk widened a fraction as he ran one thick digit along her cleft and her lips parted around a gasp.

For a brief moment, she forgot entirely where she was and what she was supposely doing. Okusanya's presence eclipsed everything else. She was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. He smelled of cologne and cigar smoke, and she could see the play of light in his eyes as he studied her reactions.

She squirmed nervously as her ovary ached again. She felt her arousal growing and her face flushing as her temperature increased slightly. And it was doing things to her subconscious that she did not want to acknowledge.

"Come closer," he said.

The way he ordered was so relaxed, as though he was only making conversation. As though telling people what to do was a normal part of his life and someone might disobey hadn't ever crossed his mind.

Silvia swallowed and tried to steel herself. She placed her hands on her boss's chest and pulled away firmly but without violence. "If something like this happens again, I will resign."

Her boss smiled in disbelief, but her gaze left no room for doubt. Okusanya seemed to be torn between her excited libido and her common sense, and he finally let go and motioned her toward the table.

"You're so ingrate... come on, let's get on with what we have pending."

The budget meetings were decisions outside the responsibilities she would assume in her department, but Okusanya was taking her opinions into account, and Silvia saw how her influence in the NGO was expanding. This made her feel, in addition to gratitude, a disturbing sense of debt.

Okusanya announced a work lunch for the next day with Ahmed Adejuyigbe, the brother of the president of Yorubaland board to negotiate the project. "Make yourself pretty, you know..."

"Are you expecting me to seduce him?" It was a simple joke with no ulterior motive, but she immediately regretted it.

"I think that's a great idea... That knitted dress you brought a few days ago would be ideal, it fits you like a glove."

Silvia was surprised by his shamelessness but said nothing. They worked for an hour and a half more, but she couldn't concentrate. When the meeting was over, my wife hurriedly gathered up her papers and stammered a clumsy excuse, claiming she was in a hurry. She headed towards the door, feeling Okusanya walking close to her, and he quickly closed it.

She took refuge in her office, feeling his heart beating wildly. A knock on the door startled her.

"It's me," Heather announced.

Her best friend was ghostly pale with freckles, striking sea-glass blue eyes, and reddish long hair. Heather was a very liberal person. She wore designer clothes and flaunted her privilege, campaigned for causes she believed in, participated in marches and protests, and even blogged online about making the world more equal. Her Facebook feed was so predictable, the latest trend would always take over her feed for a week and then disappear never to be seen again.

"Come in," Silvia said.

"How's hiding going?"

"Swimmingly."

Her friend smiled, handing her a coffee.

"Thank you." Silvia took a sip with trembling hands.

"Alrighty, spill already," her friend demanded. "Trouble in paradise?"

My wife blinked in confusion.

"Trouble in...what?" she repeated. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Heather rolled her eyes. "It means that when the girl in the sappiest, most adorable relationship looks like a kicked puppy, it's probably relationship drama," she said. "Are you pregnant?"

"No," she managed to say. "I mean... Not yet."

"Not yet? The solution could be the same as mine, honey." And then she laughed. Silvia almost choked on her drink.

Once Heather's biracial baby was born, people began to question her about the mysterious details of their lifestyle. Heather relayed a factious story about his husband's inability to procreate due to a low sperm count. Supposedly, they went to a fertility clinic where her egg was accidentally inseminated with the wrong test tube of sperm. It seemed this weird story convinced both of their families, but they may have been too uncomfortable to question.

"You never told me what is your dark secret for keeping things spicy in the bedroom," Silvia said.

"You know what your husband would like?" Heather asked.

"What?"

"He'd like it if his wife was a bit more of a slut."

Silvia stiffened at the crass expression.

"Paul's not like that," she said.

Heather started chuckling. "My dear," she said, gazing into her eyes. "They're all like that."

The day passed with a false normality in which we both tried to prove who would give up first. She kept me informed about the plans of the new department he was going to lead. However, her comments on WhatsApp were imbued with a certain calculated ambiguity that I interpreted as a ruse to make me think she had an affair with Okusanya. I was convinced she expected another reaction from me and I wasn't willing to give it to her. Neither of us was willing to give in and the game had become a kind of competition between the two of us.

However, there was something that worried and excited me simultaneously. Silvia had gone from being passive in the face of my persistent insinuations about open marriage to adopting a very different role. Now she was the one creating situations in which ambiguity generated more sexual tension than any explicit declaration or shared fantasy.

When I got home there were no lights on, and I was surprised that Silvia hadn't arrived at that hour. While I tried to find an explanation, I discovered her on the armchair, cross-legged, absent-mindedly scrolling through her phone. I stood at the door, admiring her. For a moment, I forgot about our test and reveled in the girl I fell in love with, in the woman she had become. A soft tenderness invaded me and I wanted to wrap her in my arms.

A shadow of worry, perhaps sadness, clouded her gaze. I sat down next to her.

"A bad day?"

"Neither better nor worse than others." Her evasive response surprised me.

"How so?" My insistence made her feel pressured and she turned to me. "What's happening?"

"Nonsense, NGO stuff... too much work." Her expression seemed so studied that my tenderness disappeared.

"And Okusanya? Won't he give you a hand?"

I heard her sigh, like someone who gives in to unwanted evidence. Once again I had let her down.

"Less than he would like." She changed position with a slight violence.

"But... more than you'd like?" I felt sick acting this way, but I couldn't stop myself.

"You have no idea what I want." Her anger was evident, I regretted having said that nonsense.

"Did he bother you? I was joking..."

"He didn't bother me, and it wasn't a joke, but it's the same." Her tone expressed disinterest in me, it was calm and caustic.

"Why do you think I don't know you?"

"Isn't that the point of our... test, or whatever you want to call it? To find out what I want?" She answered.

"I thought you were trying to show me that I'd be scared to see you fucking someone else."

Silvia made a gesture of annoyance.

"I've never talked about fucking, I just bet that you wouldn't be able to see me with another man. But I see that you're going for it... I see that I have a free hand." Every sentence fueled a bonfire that threatened to turn into an uncontrolled fire.

"You've never needed my permission, honey."

Suddenly, the bitterness turned to irritation; she got up and headed for the door.

"Well, that's good to know."

She left the room and I resisted the urge to follow her and apologize. I wanted to be done with it, to admit that I had behaved like an idiot, and go back to the way things were...

But I didn't.

Ten minutes later I heard her fussing around in the kitchen and went downstairs. I deliberately walked past her without saying anything and went to the bedroom to dress the pajamas. I began to slip into the abyss of bemoaning the fact that my wife had been unfaithful. I searched through the laundry basket, looking for evidence, and pulled out Silvia's panties. My feelings alternated between abject depression and wanton lust. Her fluids had dried into an obvious yellowish stain, but the odor remained unmistakable, intoxicating. I found myself masturbating frantically in the bedroom as I held Silvia's soiled panties pressed to my nose. As I came, I knew that this intense sexual experience was addictive, and not one easily dismissed.

We had dinner pretending to be normal, I mentioned some work-related issues to her, which only elicited a few monosyllables. I felt frustrated, I wanted to end it, but my attempts to break the silence were met with cold hermeticism.

Although we didn't mention the test again, the way we made love during our X-Day reflected the intensity of the tension and excitement caused by our challenge.

"Lie down," she whispered.

There was something foreign in it, something unknown. Silvia was never this direct about making love. Her fingers found the tip of my cock and she pressed it until it slipped into the hot wetness of her core. Her lips parted and she drew in a breath. My vivid, sordid fantasies had me hard enough for the downward motion of Silvia's pussy on my cock as she started riding me like I was the last male on the planet. There was a deadly need on her face as she rode me up and down like I was a dildo.

My hands wandered up to her breasts and caressed them. I stared at her face, my mind racing at what could be running through hers. Was she here with me? Or was she somewhere else? With someone else?

She was using me, using my dick. I wasn't a person, I was just a piece of male flesh, a warm male body that she'd fuck until the itch in her pussy was scratched. Until she'd found what she craved... the release that the feel of Okusanya's hands had promised.