Irene's Blossoming

I was losing my wife. I couldn't stand still, so I confronted her. Although I didn't mean it to end up that way, soon a strong argument had taken shape. All I wanted was to put some sense in Irene's head but it was pointless.

"Dwayne always dreamed of having a son," Irene said at a given moment.

One single sentence was enough to unleash all my fury. Who cares about his dreams or desires? Irene was my wife, not his. After a while, it was all about unloading my frustration.

"Do you think that he loves you? Do you think that he cares for you, as I do?" I viciously said. "You're just a prize to him, a white slut with whom he can have fun and brag to his friends later. Is that what you want to be for the rest of your life? A slut who gets pregnant by a black guy she hardly knows?"

Irene still tried to contain herself but I could see hate in her eyes, "I never wanted to be in bed with him. You're the one who was obsessed by it."

"I never asked you to get pregnant. I never asked you to take his filthy cum. You did it because you wanted to, because you're a slut!"

All the anger and frustration I had repressed since I had learned my wife was pregnant was finally coming out. It felt good. My words were hurting her, humiliating her as she had done to me. I could see it in her eyes.

For a moment, I thought my wife was going to cry, but she was much stronger than that.

"That's right. I'm a slut. I love my black boyfriend and his big black cock. Did I ever tell you how big he is? It's huge! He can brag to whomever he wants because I'm his," Irene challenged me. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. Her tone was provocative. If it weren't for the hatred in her eyes, I could almost think that she was trying to arouse me. Her reasoning was increasingly vicious and hurtful, "I'm his since the first moment he touched me. Take a good look at yourself... at your little dick. Did you really think you could compete with him?"

I wanted to fight back, but all I could do was insult her, "Fucking cunt!"

Irene didn't stop, "Now I'm pregnant... his child. It takes a real man to knock up a woman. I'm so proud for carrying his baby."

Irene touched her belly, a genuinely gentle and loving gesture in the middle of so much hatred. Her mouth opened, as if she was going to continue her speech, but her mind changed. There had been enough abuse already. Then she left and I didn't see her for the rest of the day. The following day, when I got home, I found her there, waiting for me with her bags packed.

"Dwayne asked me to move in with him," Irene simply said.

There wasn't any hate or anger in either of us, only sorrow. I wanted to tell her to stay, but my pride was too strong to allow me to ask.

For months, my fantasy had granted both of us pleasure and fun but it had derailed. Had it all been an illusion and a big mistake? Now that she was pregnant by her lover, he would be a lasting presence in her life forever.

Irene left and I knew it was for good. I felt devastated.

15.

Irene was gone. After sharing my life with her for more than twelve years, I didn't know what to do. All I knew is that I still loved my wife and I missed her. I convinced myself that the best way to deal with my wounds would be to let her go and move on. So, from then on, I tried to avoid anything that could remind me of Irene. Still, it was only a matter of time until I would meet her again...

One day, I was walking on the street when I saw her from afar. I should have immediately turned my back from her and gotten out of there before she could see me. Instead, I sought a hiding place, from which I could safely observe her. No matter how much it could hurt me, I wanted to see her and know how she was doing.

Irene was beautiful... more beautiful than ever. As mild and predictable as they could be, the changes on her reminded me that her life had also moved on after our break-up. Her lovely red hair was longer and she was wearing a long, maternity dress. Underneath, Irene exhibited a huge and proud pregnancy belly, very close to giving birth. She looked like a mom, a happy mom, and I wished that baby could be mine. In fact, for a moment, I felt as if she was still my wife. But then, out of nowhere came her black companion to meet her, thus breaking my spell.

They held hands and continued their path side by side. Apparently, there was nothing in common between them, but both their postures demonstrated fulfillment and satisfaction for being with each other. Irene grabbed his muscled arm, a possessive gesture, as if she didn't want to leave any doubt to the passersby that they were together and her baby was his. The black guy was younger, bigger and stronger than me. He was more physically fit to protect Irene and satisfy her needs. No wonder my wife preferred him over me.

After following them for a few seconds, I walked away resigned to the knowledge that Irene belonged to another man now.

Only one last step was necessary to close this chapter of my life: the divorce. Many times, I thought about it, however, I didn't go through with it. Maybe some part of me wished to maintain one last, faint glimmer of hope. Occasionally, I imagined Irene knocking on my door with the divorce papers in her hand. At these moments, I wished never to see her again. Anyway, I would give her the divorce if she wished, but I wasn't contacted by her or by anyone on her behalf.

For months I tried to deal with my wounds. It was hard, in the beginning, but time heals everything and soon Irene became a memory.

One day, at the supermarket, an attractive blonde woman approached me. Her name was Bea, one of those acquaintances from my past that I avoided ever since Irene and I had broken up. Bea took the initiative to come talk with me. The first contact was pleasant, so I didn't push her away. After shopping, we went for a coffee together and this led to another meeting the next day. Bea kept showing interest in being with me and we became much closer than we had ever been before.

At this point of my life, all I sought was peace and quiet, exactly the opposite of what Bea could give to me. Bea was a married woman with two children. But most importantly, she was Irene's boss and a good friend of hers. If the plan was to stay away from anyone who could remind me of Irene, hooking up with Bea was a bad idea.

Anyway, it felt good to receive the attention of that woman, whom I had always felt physically attracted to. My confidence with her grew. One day, I tried to kiss her and she didn't reject me. It seemed like that Bea wanted me as much as I wanted her. With her, I remembered the pleasure and the thrill of flirting and seducing a woman other than my wife. The more often I spent time with Bea, the more distant and forgettable my past seemed to be. Soon, I would know her body, her skin, her moans... Although our relationship had no future, Bea was slowly becoming part of my life.

Then, one day, someone knocked on my door. It was Irene.

16.

Only one reason seemed plausible for Irene's presence in her former house: the dreaded divorce. I searched for the infamous papers in her hands or a suitable briefcase, but she wasn't carrying any.

"I just wanted to know how you were doing," Irene simply said. "Can I come in?"

I welcomed her in and we chatted. Just like the day she left our house, there wasn't anger or bad words.

We were both behaving as if the person before us was only a vague acquaintance. There was an invisible barrier between us. I hadn't seen her for eighteen months, but it felt like eighteen years.

The signs of her pregnancy were completely gone and she seemed in great shape. Irene looked like a different woman. Her red hair was longer than ever and she kept it loose and smooth, which made her appear much younger. The skirt was short and daring. Although I knew Irene's body very well, when she sat in front of me and crossed her legs, it was hard not to stare at them. Her make-up was less conservative and more refined, without masking her natural beauty.

The blossoming I had been witnessing before our break up was complete. Irene had become a gorgeous woman, unattainable for the common mortal. Underneath those clothes and self-confidence, there was still the same body I had known for years. But now it seemed much more alluring and desirable than ever before, entirely out of my reach.

We both talked about our recent lives and, slowly, the ice began to melt. Irene spoke about her new role as a mother, conveniently avoiding any mention of Dwayne or any other awkward subject. No matter how much time had passed or how different she looked on the outside, I could still see the woman with whom I had fallen in love in the tender way she talked about her child or in the way she smiled.

Irene also wanted to hear news about me. I couldn't tell her about Bea, even if I wanted to, although that was the most exciting thing that had happened to me since our break up, but, surprisingly, she seemed to already know about it.

After circling around the subject for a while, Irene bluntly said, "So... you have been seeing Bea..."

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. Was she trying to confirm a suspicion or did she know the facts? Bea was a married woman and I didn't want to put her in a difficult spot. Noticing my discomfort, Irene added, "She told me... We confide this stuff to each other."

Irene and Bea had always been good friends. But it seemed unbelievable to me that Bea would share this kind of information with her friend.

"She asked my permission... to see you," Irene continued as if it served as a justification for her knowledge.

"What did you answer?" I dared to ask.

"I said no... I told her you were mine," she outrageously said. For a moment, we kept silent, staring at each other. Then, Irene's expression opened in a big smile and the gravity of her words was lost in a friendly laughter. "I was joking... I didn't say that to her, obviously. I'm sorry," she added.

It was probably just a small joke to break the ice between us, but I couldn't help myself from thinking that, maybe, she really meant it. Maybe she was feeling jealous of Bea... Maybe she wanted me back...

Irene didn't disclose her hidden intentions, if there were any. For all purposes, she only wanted to know how I was doing. However, her visits didn't stop with that first one. In fact, it quickly became a regular routine for Irene to visit me at our former marital home. Rapidly, my recent interest in Bea faded away and Irene reentered my life. Although we weren't back together, I began seeing her as my wife again.

Then, one day, Irene casually said, "Dwayne and I don't live together anymore... and we haven't for quite some time." It was the first time she had mentioned him in our conversations.

I excitedly welcomed the news but concealed it from Irene. Instead, I subtly tried to explore more, "So... you broke up..."

"We still see each other... often," Irene clarified.

How could I have thought otherwise? Dwayne was the father of Irene's child. Anyway, despite the dismay and jealousy caused by her last words, I couldn't help myself from feeling a new hope. Irene had reentered my life out of her own initiative and, maybe, this could be the start of a new beginning for us.

My enthusiasm had its ups and downs. There were times when I felt that Irene was trying to resume our marriage. However, whenever I tried to take our proximity one step closer, she always stopped me and made me feel as a friend; a good friend, but only a friend though. The seemingly duplicity of her behavior was torturous. This gorgeous teaser was playing with me. Irene was both familiar and unknown; she was simultaneously my wife and the woman I had never had.

I desired her more than anything, so, one day, I tried to kiss her. Irene allowed my approach and our lips touched for a brief moment. But then she took a small step backwards and her hand, against my chest, prevented me from following her.

"Do you still fantasize about me and other men?" she surprisingly asked.

Irene's question caught me off guard.

"Now, I do... Again," I cautiously replied. I had never had these fantasies about Bea, during our short lived relationship. Only Irene, my wife, could awaken this desire in me and make me feel this way.

Irene's question could have been just a test. After my answer, she could have knocked down the door on her way out and left my life for good, knowing that I hadn't learned my lesson. This would make sense...

Indeed, Irene would leave in a minute. But before she left, she smiled at me and asked, "Do you want to go out with me this Friday night?"

An emotional flood of excitement and happiness overwhelmed me after hearing her words.

"Yes," I instantly replied.

Irene noticed my happiness, for sure. Her last words encouraged me even further, "I have missed you..."

17.

Irene picked the restaurant. Much to my surprise, it was the same place where my wife and her lover had been on their first date. Although I had never told her that I had spied on them that evening, Irene's choice didn't seem innocent. Maybe she knew that I had been there before...

Irene was gorgeous with a short and youthful pencil skirt. When I first saw her wearing it, I fell in love with her all over again.

After a few weeks of advances and setbacks, Irene was no longer treating me like a friend, although we weren't behaving as husband and wife either. There was romance in the air, something natural and fresh. Irene was flirting with me and using her sex appeal and lovely personality to conquer me back. I gladly let myself sail in the ocean of her charms.

At one point, our hands touched and I realized that Irene was wearing our wedding ring. Maybe she had never stopped wearing it and I had just realized it. But seeing that precious band around her finger seemed like a good omen. Irene noticed my reaction, I was sure of it. She didn't say anything, but the affection evident in her tender eyes warmed me inside.

Later, my hopefulness grew, when Irene invited me to her apartment.

"What about your baby?" I nervously asked realizing that I was touching an uncomfortable subject.

"Don't worry... It's all taken care off for this night," Irene replied. Only later I would realize the full meaning of these words.

The apartment had been rented just for Irene and her child. It was comforting to see that there was no sign of her black companion ever having been there. The farther away she was from him, the more confident I felt about having my wife back.

Irene led me by hand to her bedroom. A few seconds later, we were kissing passionately on the bed, physically resuming our marriage. I was lying on my back and she had climbed on top of me. It had been hard to notice the stunning woman that Irene had become and not be able to touch or feel her anymore. When she guided my hands to her lustful thighs, it felt too good to be true. When she seductively took off her clothes and I saw a sexy black bra cupping her breasts, it felt like a dream. I couldn't believe I was in bed with such a gorgeous woman.

Everything had been flowing naturally and lightly, obeying no predetermined script... But my wife had made additional plans for that night.

Irene was opening my pants when, suddenly, I heard noise coming from inside the apartment. A few seconds later, I noticed that someone was at the entrance of our room.

My wife quickly assured me, "Relax... He is my guest tonight."

Before my mind could focus on the intruder, Irene had resumed her hot kisses and we kept making out before this disquieting presence who silently observed us from a few feet away. I didn't need to be told who that person was. Until that moment, I had thought that this was supposed to be a romantic night between two reconciled married people. But Irene's plan also included the man by whom she had gotten pregnant; the man that had taken her from me.

This time, I wasn't spying from afar or hiding behind a door. My cuckold condition was exposed for my wife's boyfriend to see. At least, I could feel Irene's body brushing against mine, smell the perfume on her skin and feel her soft hand touching my hard-on inside my clothes.

For a while, I had my wife's attention concentrated entirely on me, despite the other man's presence. For once I knew the feeling of being observed by a third party. Irene lowered my pants and underwear, and caressed my penis before her lover. It was so easy to let myself go with her wishes...

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she whispered to me approving of my condition. Irene had me pinned under her body and my hands hadn't moved away from her legs, as if I were too bewildered by this situation or too afraid of letting her go. Then, while she stretched her arm towards him, Irene called, "Dwayne..."

The black man approached the bed, an uncomfortable and unwanted presence for me. There were no words between us. Any attempt to speak in that moment would be awkward and ridiculous. We were both there for Irene, period. Without being asked, the black man began taking off his pants right in front of her. My eyes took refuge in my wife, who watched her black lover undressing. After a few seconds, she looked at me and our eyes met. My wife was silently communicating that it was time for her to leave me for him.

Irene knelt on the bed before the black man. All the regret and disappointment I had felt, due to his presence there, disappeared the moment she began unbuttoning his shirt and her hands touched his muscled chest. My wife paused and stared at his naked torso for a couple of seconds. Irene was a goddess, powerful and desirable beyond measure, but, in that moment, she was the one who seemed to be worshipping his body. Then, Irene kissed his chest. It was both tender and lustful. I could feel the affection she had for him in the air. An old, familiar feeling called jealousy dominated me and I felt as if something had just been broken inside me. Despite the pain, I didn't wish Irene to stop. At least for one more night, she was still my wife, and I desired to see her being taken in the way she deserved.

Still lying in the bed, half naked, I felt bound by the sight of my wife's actions. I didn't dare to move, afraid that any movement from my part could be misinterpreted.

Irene looked back at me and took my hand. Guided by her will, I left the bed and stood up next to her black lover. Irene sat on the bed between us. My gaze took shelter in her face. I didn't know how to act or where to look. It felt so much safer to simply do what Irene wished me to do. My stare didn't leave my wife even when, from the corner of my eye, I sensed her pulling down her boyfriend's underwear. Then, her right hand took hold of my penis and her touch felt desperately good.

Irene looked upwards right in my eyes but said nothing. Instead, I witnessed her gaze moving to my crotch firstly and then to the crotch of the other man. Then, she looked back at me. I knew what my wife desired, so I mimicked her behavior. I looked down at my crotch and then to the huge cock next to me.

My erect penis was as hard as it could be, the proof of the arousing effect that seeing my wife touch another man had on me. I already knew that it was small. But when I looked to my right, this smallness seemed to attain a new dimension. Irene was holding her boyfriend's black cock with her left hand. It was mostly flaccid still, but his manhood already greatly surpassed the size of my full hard-on. I felt like a small boy before a man. My inadequacy felt like an open invitation for the black man to take my wife at his will. I couldn't compete with him.

Irene took my hand and invited me to sit next to her on the bed. Once again, I obeyed her hoping to observe my wife touching her black lover from a closer position, although this lower position made me feel awkward and embarrassed due to the fact that his cock hung right in front of my eyes.