Irene's Blossoming

That moment of relief was quickly replaced by more worrying. Now, that they were in my sight, the idea of being caught spying on them didn't seem as unimportant as before.

I sank in my seat and observed them walking towards his car. It was located halfway across the parking lot, in the opposite row from where I was sitting. They got in the vehicle and then, without seemingly hesitating, as if they had it all planned, they kissed. From where I was standing all I could see were two silhouettes blending, but I knew that it wasn't a kiss on the cheek as I had seen a few days ago. Irene was allowing her date's tongue to explore her, I was sure of it. It seemed all so simple and easy, maybe too easy. Who knows if that was their first kiss? Who knows what else my wife has been doing with him without telling me? I felt the jealousy inside of me but I wasn't mad. In fact, I realized that I was cheering for him. I wanted him to break the last efforts of resistance of my wife. Then, they broke contact and I could see, once again, two distinct silhouettes inside the car.

For a while they talked, nothing more. They chatted for a long time. People were leaving the restaurant and emptying the parking lot. I was nervous with the idea of becoming too exposed. Slowly, I also began noticing what appeared to be signs of agitation on Irene's part. She seemed to be constantly looking around and moving over her seat. One suspicion came to my mind: was she looking for me? Did she know that I was watching her? I sank even more in my seat, a self-preservation reaction. If she knew I was there, then that earlier kiss might have been a way to tease me. In that case, it meant that Irene was playing the game fully aware of its rules. I was in her hands. However, despite my aroused thoughts, nothing had prepared me for what was about to happen. At least, not on their first date...

Once again, their bodies moved closer to each other and they were kissing. It lasted only a few seconds. Then, Irene took one last glance around, her silhouette leaned towards her male date and her shadow completely disappeared from within the car. I could no longer see Irene, at all. For a moment I was in denial; I thought she was after something that might have fallen on the floor, but there was really only one plausible explanation for what I was, or rather wasn't, seeing. He leaned backwards in his seat and I imagined his eyes shutting in pleasure as my wife took his huge black cock in her mouth for the first time.

Back and forth, my mind shifted from a state of denial to amazement. Stunned by the moment, I looked around as if it wasn't possible to be the unique witness of that incredible moment. Irene, my wife, was giving head to a black guy in a parking lot. Reality was emulating my most audacious fantasies. Was that really my wife and not just a lookalike? Where was her shyness?

I had never told Irene what I knew about his huge cock. Many times I felt tempted, but I had always imagined her in awe and delight the moment she realized it for the first time. I didn't want to take from her that astonishing moment, even in the beginning when my fantasy seemed completely impossible. That big black cock was my present to her, my best present ever. A gift she was unwrapping at that moment.

After a minute or so, that felt like a lifetime, I saw Irene's shadow re-emerge; the car started and they left at last.

I should have followed them right away, but I didn't. I was frozen, still concealing myself in my seat, trying to fathom the meaning of that moment with my cock swollen inside my pants to the point of almost being painful. When I finally reacted, it was too late and there was no sign of them.

When I arrived home, I was prepared to see Irene waiting for me, but she wasn't there. Her date wasn't over yet. So I waited.

9.

I was waiting for my wife to come home, knowing that she was on a date with another man. It wasn't a dream or a fantasy any longer; I was living it. Who knew what they could be doing at that very moment? Now that Irene's innocence had been lost, everything was possible. As far as I knew that black, hung guy could be fucking my lovely Irene at that exact moment, giving her what she never had and making her feel what she had never felt before. Would she think of me then? Would she remember me?

There was noise outside; I thought it could be she... but it wasn't. I was dying in anticipation for the moment my sweet wife would cross our apartment's door. Would I see a new glow in her eyes when she got home? From that day, I could never again say my wife was conservative. Would she hide from me what had happened in the parking lot, like a cheating wife? Would she be naughty and openly detail her date to me? Would she tease me?

I heard noise outside again, this time followed by the sound of the lock of our apartment's door. My wife was back. I didn't want to look too eager, so I waited for her to come to me.

"How did it go?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"It went well," Irene cautiously replied.

I searched in her hair, her make-up and her dress for any sign of mischief. Everything seemed in order. I approached her and kissed her as we use to do when one of us arrives home. Her body felt unusually stiff. Was she trying to judge what was on my mind as I was doing with her? Was she afraid?

"Did you go somewhere else after dinner?" I asked. It was almost midnight.

"We took a walk afterwards."

Only a walk, I wondered?

"Did he give you a ride back home?"

"Yes," she casually said.

Irene wasn't giving me anything, so I let her take a shower and waited for her in bed. Her plain answers were making me question what I thought I already knew.

Only, when we were both lying together, did she begin talking.

"I don't know how to say this..." Irene began. There was a moment of silence, as if she was expecting me to make it easy for her. "Something happened... Something more than dinner, or coffee or taking a walk... I pleased him with my mouth."

Irene's last words came out in a rush, as if she had decided it was best to face my reaction as quickly as possible. Her eyes were set on me, waiting, pleading for a response, any kind of response.

I didn't know what to say. Her bluntness and sincerity had both disarmed and aroused me. So, I bent over her, gently secured her head with my hands and kissed her, this time much more passionately. My hard penis was pressing against her thigh. This was my way of showing her my consent. And it was enough for her...

Suddenly, all her anxiety and nerves poured out in a stream of words, "I can't believe I did it. I never thought... I left home sure that nothing would happen. Everything was under control... then he kissed me in the car and put my hand inside his pants... I didn't reject him... I knew what he wanted from me... Before I knew it, he was pulling it out and saying, 'Suck my cock, Irene.' Those words... I couldn't believe he was saying those words to me. He meant it! So I did it!"

Then, my wife stopped, seemingly tired, as if saying those words had been a giant task. Again, she was waiting for some reaction from me, but this time her mood seemed different. Irene still seemed anxious, but no longer due to fear or doubt. I was trapped inside her words and she could feel it.

"Is it over?" I asked.

"No," Irene said lightly. Her assuredness was growing fast. "We went to his apartment."

"Yes," I said in approval.

I instinctively reached for her pussy and gently rubbed it over her pajama. Irene moved my hand away and showed me some discomfort. Then she said, "He is big. You won't believe how big and thick he is. It's unbelievable. I never thought..." Words were coming out of her mouth with growing enthusiasm and then abruptly stopped.

I teased her, "I told you before. Black guys have big cocks."

Irene didn't bother contradicting me, "Oh, he is big alright. Huge! I never thought they could be so big."

My wife was showing awe, amazement and joy, all at once. Now she knew what is out there. I wouldn't give her to just anyone. Irene is special, so she deserved something special too.

"Did you fuck him?" I asked to my wife.

"Oh yes," she confessed with pride.

"Irene..."

"Yes..."

I couldn't hold myself any longer, "Suck my cock, Irene."

My wife smiled due to the reference to her episode with her lover. Her expression was showing pure delight. I had never talked like that to my wife. But now, I was sure that she was ready to appreciate it. And she was, indeed. Irene positioned herself and exposed my hard penis. For a moment, she just stared as if she was trying to comprehend how her black lover could have so much when I had so little. Now she knew what is out there. I felt as if I had never been nude in front of her.

"Is it small?" I asked trying to lead her to say what was on her mind.

"Yes," Irene replied smiling. "But I love you."

Then she took my penis in her mouth and she serviced me willingly. It didn't take long for me to ejaculate. My cum fell on my belly, much to my disappointment. I wanted Irene to take it in her mouth, but I needed it to be out of her initiative. She wasn't ready, yet.

There were no more questions, no more words that night. We cuddled and fell asleep together.

Next morning, I woke up feeling my wife agitated in bed. Irene was holding her cell phone in her hand as if something bad had happened.

"He sent me a text message," she said.

"What does it say?"

"He wants to be with me again," Irene said in distress. "What do I do?"

I was surprised by her reaction. Then I realized that, in her mind, her sexual encounter had been nothing more than a one-night stand, something to remember forever but never to repeat.

"Do you want to be with him again?" I confronted her.

No matter what she thought would happen afterwards, Irene knew too well what she desired.

"Yes, I want to be Dwayne's secret girlfriend," she said.

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. Irene wouldn't be as clear if she didn't know I would grant her wish.

10.

The old Irene was gone. My wife no longer repressed her fantasies and desires, resigned to do what society expected from her. On the outside, she was still a respectful, modest woman. But secretly, she was enjoying black cock from a younger man. And I was her cuckolded husband, happy with the wife I had.

For the first time, Irene was indeed in charge. Sometimes, I still sensed a small spark of doubt or indecision in her. In those cases, I subtly intervened, not making her mind up for her in this or that way, but assuring her that I wanted her to make her own choices. Irene learned fast. So, occasionally, whenever they wished and found themselves in the mood, my wife and her lover met in private to materialize their sexual relationship. We didn't know how long this adventure would last: maybe a few encounters, maybe more... That wasn't important.

Her lover didn't know of our arrangement. He must have thought that I was a wimp, not competent enough to prevent my wife from screwing around behind my back. Little did he know that I knew all about their trysts and that, in fact, Irene was deceiving him and we were using him, much like he was using her. This deception was the price he had to pay to fuck my Irene.

Slowly, we adjusted our sex life to the new reality. Rituals were created.

Watching my wife getting dressed for her dates was one of those rituals. Irene's lingerie evolved, reflecting the changes inside of her, and became much more sexy and suggestive. However, she always saved the initial exhibition of these new intimate garments for her secret dates with Dwayne.

"I bought this for my boyfriend. Do you like it?" she used to say while she was dressing for her date.

Irene took special pride in using the word 'boyfriend', probably because of the "forbidden fruit" nature of the term.

"I love it," I always replied.

Then, Irene used to stimulate my jealousy by saying as she looked approvingly at herself in the mirror, "I can't wait to see the look on his face when he sees it."

It was all about him and not me.

On another day, also before one of their meetings, Irene showed me her freshly shaved pussy. This was a nice surprise. She used to tend her pubic hair, but she had never shaved it bare.

"My boyfriend said he likes it this way. He asked me to try it for him," Irene teased. All I waited was to lay her in bed and feel her smooth skin against my face as I licked her. I tried to do it, but she didn't let me. "No. This is for him. You can feel it tomorrow," she playfully said.

Often, Irene laughed after these little games of ours, expressing the enjoyment that she felt with them.

Later, after arriving home, my wife always took a shower before meeting me in our bed. Then, she shared some of the details of her dates. Her comments were never an objective account of what had happened. I realized that not knowing everything was often much more exciting for me. Instead, Irene enjoyed toying with my jealousy and the strong arousing effect it had in me.

"Today, he asked me to dance for him... like a real stripper," Irene said once.

I wanted her to dance for me too, but I it would be pointless to ask. At those moments, she never complied with my requests. I couldn't touch her pussy. I couldn't fuck my own wife after her dates. That was the price I had to pay for sharing Irene with such a hung guy. But I knew, if I were patient, that she would reward me later, sometimes when I least expected.

"You do realize I have a boyfriend, don't you?" Irene teased me in another occasion. "He is so manly and strong. He is having sex with me... your wife. Aren't you jealous?"

"Yes," I answered in awe; a pointless response because she knew quite well what I felt.

"I danced for him. Then he fucked me," my wife said. "I had his cock in me. Whenever I have him inside of me I feel so full and stretched. I love the sensation!" Her hand touched her pussy over her pajama and she continued, "I can still feel him inside... I never thought they could be so big and thick. But he is so patient and amazing... and it feels so good... I'm so lucky..."

Now, Irene knew what was out there. I could be the best husband in the world, but I could never match her boyfriend in bed. Now she had someone else to equate me with and the comparison wasn't kind to me. Now she knew how small her husband was. For the first time, Irene knew me altogether. And, if I couldn't give her what she deserved, then she knew that she was allowed to search for it elsewhere.

"Is he better than me?" I asked. I wanted to know how confident and bold my wife had become and how honest she dared to be.

For a moment Irene stood silent, pondering about her answer or trying to read my mind. Then, she replied without wavering, "I love you so much... but I wouldn't have a boyfriend if he wasn't much better..." Then, Irene winked at me, lessening some of the cruelty of her words.

Hearing my wife describe how good she felt was extraordinary. I thrived upon her enthusiasm and genuinely desired her to have the best experience possible. Her pleasure was my pleasure, even if she was getting it from another man.

"Do you ever think of me when you're with him?" I dared to ask once more.

"Sometimes..." she teased me. Then, not content with our current tone of conversation, Irene whispered in my ear, "But when he lifts me in the air with his strong arms and his cock is inside of me, I feel him and only him. At those times, he is my man."

My wife's words were outrageous but I knew she meant them, all of them; never before she had said so much with so few words.

That night, before falling asleep, Irene added one last thing, "I just wish you could see me."

Yes, I desperately wanted to see her too. I had committed myself not to try to persuade my wife and let her have her own choices, but this new desire was too strong to contain. So, one day, I asked her to have one of her secret meetings in our apartment.

"What about you?" Irene replied showing some distress.

"I'll be hidden."

"I don't know if that's a good idea..." she said. There was reluctance in her eyes. My wife knew perfectly what I was looking for: an opportunity to watch her with my own eyes.

"Bring him to our bed," I dared to say.

For a moment, there was a glitter of enthusiasm in her eyes. She was attracted to the naughtiness of it.

"What would I say to him?" she asked and I instantly knew that she would do it.

"Tell him that I'm away on a business trip. Tell him it's safe."

"I'll tell him that I want him in my bed..." Irene said in her playful tone.

"Yes..."

If there was still any reluctance in Irene from then on, she masked it too well. Our adventure was taking a new step.

11.

Irene wanted to lock me in the second bedroom so that her lover couldn't catch me in the apartment. I couldn't agree with that, of course. In addition to changing the sheets and hiding all the signs of my presence there, Irene's behavior on the day of her date was much more modest. There was a different kind of tension in the air this time.

That late afternoon, when she left for her date with her lover, Irene switched off the lights and left me behind in the dark. Then, I placed myself by the window and saw my wife enter her boyfriend's car. It would be less dangerous if they didn't meet outside our building, but I trusted Irene's discretion. Besides, she enjoyed playing the unfaithful wife part.

We had it all planned, nothing could go wrong. However, I had a small surprise for Irene, something that I had planned without her knowledge. I fetched a package I had concealed from her. Inside, there was a full-length mirror, which I purposely placed in our bedroom, facing the bed sideways.

The initial idea came to me a couple of days before. I knew that Irene and I wouldn't have the chance to communicate with each other. So, I had the idea of a mirror, a big mirror, where she could watch herself with her lover. That way, she would be able to see what I was seeing and maybe realize what I may be feeling. I didn't know if all of this would make any sense later... but it wouldn't hurt either. So I went forward with the idea.

Then, I waited, in the dark, by the window, a torturous wait. Jealousy and anxiety were high... as was also my arousal.

My excitement peaked when I noticed their car approaching outside, it manifested itself as a mix of the earlier arousal accompanied by fear. I headed for my hiding place and waited a while longer. The door opened. There were voices. They were inside. The dark surrounding me was disturbed by light coming from one of the other rooms. For a while, the silence was only interrupted by indistinct sounds. They were faint but I could feel they were coming from closer and closer. Then, there was a long period of silence, broken by low voices that seemed to come from our bedroom. Irene had taken her boyfriend there, our intimate place, our sanctuary, just like we had planned. They were probably getting comfortable in the bed where we sleep every night.

I wanted to leave my dark corner and peek outside. But the fear of being caught was too strong. I had to use my head and be patient. So, I waited... I don't know for how long. Troubled thoughts haunted me. Something was happening between my wife and the black man, I was sure of it. But I was missing it. All that plan and wait would be pointless because I was missing it all. Then, I heard a moan, a female moan. This time, it wasn't an indistinct sound. It was a perfectly clear moan. I couldn't wait any longer. So I stepped out of my hideout.

In bare feet, I cautiously walked to the door of my room and peeked outside. Everything was dark, except the light coming from the bedroom where Irene and her companion were supposed to be. I could hear sounds coming from there. They were both there, I was sure of it. Their door was slightly ajar, allowing me to approach their room without being seen. The dark surrounding me would conceal me from their light accustomed eyes, as long as I wasn't too greedy and went too close. A second moan coming from my wife encouraged me to proceed. So, carefully, I looked inside.