Point of No Return

A gust of wind relieved the heat of the midday sun, then it extinguished and I waited. The murmur of the sea numbed my senses, I let myself go. I could fall easily asleep but I couldn't. I heard voices passing by, the laughter of children. It was hard not to stare when eye-catching men and women walked by. If someone smiled at me, I would smile back. The warm Caribbean breeze caressed my body. My almost naked body. My bikini was only an arrangement of three small triangles of pink cloth held together by gold chain.

We had heard about Roque coves when we were in Santo Domingo a few years ago. There was a little frequented one, next to Playa Tío Juan. Surely it wasn't as idyllic as we imagined but we decided visit it.

We arrived in a small, rented car, very early, we even thought we had gone to the wrong place because there were no other cars on the parking esplanade. Just a couple of bars and a complicated access descending from the top of the cliff. We found, lying on the ground, the sign that indicated the route. The descent was less complicated than it seemed. The view was incredible, a small virgin beach full of erect rocks from ancient landslides. We chose a nice place and by the time we had spread out the towels other people were already arriving.

"Stay here and sunbathe if you want, honey. I'm going to take a bath..., I'm roasting".

Paul got up and headed towards the shore. I lay there letting my body tan. We had just arrived at Dominican Republic and my pale skin gave it away. I was watching my husband dive into the water when a black man approached. His steps were slow, calculated as water cascaded down the swells of his dark shoulders, his broad and chiselled chest, his washboard abs, in obscene rivulets. Seeking my attention. He knew he had succeeded and finally stopped in front of me. My head craned up at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly in anticipation.

One of his hands went down to the curve of his buttocks where the tight fabric of his swimming trunks had stuck to his skin. I quirked a brow at his brazen act. The black man had to know he was attractive... He was in his forties but his athletic physique revealed that he took care of himself. I instantly regretted looking at him, as he noticed and stood in front of me.

"Nice bikini." He said, taking off his sunglasses, and a mischievous gaze appeared. I smiled pleased at the boldness of his statement. I had never met a guy as primeval, dominant and self confident. He was looking at me so blatantly that I didn't know what to respond... "Although you'd admit that, with the gorgeous body you have, you would look much better in topless."

"As you say?" I murmured, caught off-guard, and I made the mistake of looking up. His body was magnificent --not overly muscular, but perfectly shaped, dusky black, purely African. And the cock, revealed under the wet swingwear, was arresting, out of proportion. Its shape was becoming more defined and I tried looking away, but it caught all my attention. I was stunned.

"I mean, your tits seem round and firm under the fabric. But if you don't take off the top of the bikini, we won't know." He cackled.

I cleared my throat, snapping out of the trance. His eyes were busy raking over my form. The fabric was wet enough to show some of me.

"I'm not a topless fan, you know? I'd feel uncomfortable showing my breasts in public." I said, but my docile attitude obviously encouraged him. The truth is I wasn't thinking much about what I was doing. Why the hell did I try to justify myself instead of saying "fuck off"? What the hell did he care if I was topless or not? But, among all the questions that came to my mind, there was the most uncomfortable: why I was so excited?

"Have you ever been in topless?"

"No, I've never done it. Well... I have nice tits, but people don't need to see them, right?" I said, somewhat defiantly.

Usually, eyes that wander my body don't bother me in the slightest. Although flattering, they usually only receive a scowl from me. But for some reason, heat was rising, tickling all my body as I standed there, like a Venus statue, allowing him to peer his gaze at my body.

"True," he answered, still smiling. But surely when you put on makeup, you try to highlight your green eyes, am I wrong?" I nodded. "You have beautiful eyes and you like us to see them. You love feeling attractive. Is there something wrong with that?"

"It's not the same". I responded confused.

"Why? Look at those girls over there. Topless is something normal in this island." He paused, smiling, and concluded: "I want to see your tits."

I was speechless..., and terribly excited. I wasn't going to undress just because an stranger told me so... no matter how much it turned me on thinking about it... and no matter how much he looked attractive to me. "Why would I do that?"

It seems that I didn't sound very convincing, because he insisted.

"Because I saw your expression while I proposed it and you clearly want to please me. If what I'm telling you wasn't true, you would have told me to 'fuck yourself' instead of talking to me all this time. Don't you think?"

I bited my lower lip to stay silent, not wanting to respond to his taunt. I didn't understand myself neither.

"Well, yes..., but I don't think my husband would approve it..." I tried to settle. Had I said yes? Perfect, I had just recognized that I wanted to please him... His prideful smirk appeared once again, as he stared the glint of the two gold signet rings on my middle and ring fingers.

Then, I looked towards the shore and discovered that Paul had come out of the water and was standing looking at me. He seemed more expectant than angry.

"Oh, of course, your husband. You mean that idiot who is watching how a stranger is picking up his wife, right?" His voice took on a playful edge and my heart pounded.

"Well," I responded, laughing when I realized he had read my thoughts. "I'm afraid so."

"Honey, I'm wasting my time here... If you don't take it off now, I'll leave."

"No, wait..." I instantly regretted my own words. The last thing I wanted at that moment was for him to leave, but it was embarrassing to be so obvious. What seemed like an entire day passed, I looked at him and he, very firmly, insisted: "Show me your tits."

His voice made me shudder and ended up turning my body on. Glancing first left and then right, I put my hands behind my back and slowly unclasped the top of the bikini. I folded one cup into the other and, with a tinkling sound, the little scraps of fabric were thrown into my bag of beach-ware. Then I looked at my husband who was watching us. Expectant, motionless. I could feel my blush spreading upward across my chest and neck. I couldn't believe what was happening. So exposed. Completely vulnerable. I was undressing for a man I'd barely met. Embarrassment and arousal, two emotions causing a great internal conflict yet somehow made me feel proud and I sat upright, arching my back slightly, with my large, full breasts completely exposed.

The black man showed a triumphant smile and I keep still in front of him, internalizing my femininity and my place before a superior man.

"Good girl," he said and I nearly had an orgasm. "You have wonderful tits. Just as I imagined. The color of your nipples is even prettier than I thought." He wasn't only staring with lust; there was something darker, hungrier, hidden beneath his peering.

"Thank you." I answered stupidly and made absolutely no move to cover me. Looking directly into my eyes, he said, softly: "You've made me hard."

I looked down at his crotch and was able to corroborate it. It seemed to get bigger with each second. I gasped for a moment, then I found my voice.

"Certainly." I answered and I couldn't help but notice the huge size, bordering on the portentousness, that was hidden under the swimsuit.

"How do you feel? And try to be honest." He asked me. All of the bragging washed away, a look of benevolent empathy etched on his handsome dark features. Although a suspicious part of me imagined that it was a simple mask.

"What do you mean?"

"You like it, right? It turns you on knowing that I'm getting hard. Am I wrong?"

I nodded. I had rarely been so hot in my life. My nipples were erect, and, worse, that I was flushing like a virgin. But, instead of hiding, I tossed my blonde hair back and held my chin high.

"No, you're not wrong." I admitted. I don't know why that answer wasn't enough for me: "It turns me on that you're getting hard."

"Isn't it stupid to wear the top of the bikini here?"

I nodded again without thinking. His gaze remained fixed on my very naked breasts.

"You're right. It's stupid."

He leaned over me and brought his face close to mine to whisper huskily in my ear:

"This is all according to nature, babe. Don't be so embarrassed." He was caressing my left breast with his long, black fingers. I only answered him with a hitched breath and a small shiver as my eyes flutter shut for a moment. He chuckled. "I bet you've never been treated this way, have you, white rich girl?" I felt his thumb met my nipple slowly, teasingly, as it was more erect than ever. My head instinctively tilted backward in a slow exhale that masked a silent moan. His predatory expression shifted to a confident smirk. "He's a cuckold by instinct. It has been a long since you've been with a real man, right?"

"Yes". I whispered.

"Okay, beautiful. Then let's do something. You have to promise me that you won't wear the top of the bikini in this beach again."

There was no reason or need to make such promise. There was no point in doing it. But I felt that he was right and there was a dark, primal urge: I wanted, almost needed, to please that man.

"I promise." I answered without thinking.

We shared the most intimate gaze I had ever bestow on anyone. Like we were looking directly into each other's souls.

"Very well, honey. Let us men admire your beauty. Now I have to go, but remember your promise..." He kissed me on the cheek and left.

I was left half naked, not knowing what to do. What had happened seemed to take hours, though obviously could only have lasted a few minutes. My husband finally arrived. I expected some reaction, although I could not guess what it might be... He'd seen me flirting plenty of times over all our years together -- but natural but harmless flirting, never in such a strong, primal and intense. However, he seemed more excited than jealous:

"Did you have fun, baby?"

His slightly taut facial muscles told me she was feeling a similar but slightly different set of inner conflicts than I was.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't know what got into me. That guy came and suggested me to take off the top of the bikini."

"And that's why you took it off?" He asked me while siting close to me over the towel.

"Yes. I don't understand it either, seriously."

I'd been infatuated with the African American culture for quite some time since the advent of rapper '50 Cent'. I guess the hyper-masculine aura which surrounds rap artists appealed to my adolescent desires to rebel against the constraints of my parents and mainstream society. But there was something more. Women have been attracted to bad boys since the dawn of time and my sexual awakening was rooted in black sexual icons. Naked torsos, tattooed arms, narrowed eyes and cocky grins. It may be wrong or irresponsible or just plain stupid on my part. But I felt a thug can make this girl do things that no other man can. This dark fascination, however, waned dramatically once I grew older. It was a short-lived embrace... right?

"I didn't like how he was looking at you." His hand came up and wove itself into my hair, my eyes slipping closed at the comfort his closeness brought. I relaxed into his chest and laid down your head.

"And how was he looking at me?" I murmured.

"Like you were a piece of meat. He was a confident flirter, wasn't he?"

Without a doubt, although it didn't explain what had happened. I had always been a sexual person, although I'd not been slutty at college, -- just 'playfully promiscuous' as my friend Heather often called it --, and I did believe strongly in monogamy and the sanctity of marriage. Our love was stronger than ever, but six years of marriage had grown stale our sex life. Good sex, tender love making, although in truth, both of us were pretty conventional. My husband had a high libido but he wasn't really assertive in the bedroom, while I appreciated the gentlemen-like way he treated me I'd deeply crave a more dominant behaviour. In short, we were a healthy young couple who loved plain vanilla sex at any time we could fit it around our increasingly busy professional lives.

"Are you angry?" I finally asked.

"To tell you the truth, I don't even know how I am. I always wanted to see you in topless, but I didn't dare to ask... And now a stranger..."

"So you are excited."

Paul looked at me embarrassed and didn't even dare to answer. He tried to hide his erection - his precum seeping through his shorts and making a visible wet spot. Now, he was the one who felt guilty. I reached out my hand and placed it over the back of his in reassurance.

"Don't worry. You don't control what excites you. It doesn't depend on you... What saddens me is I didn't know. So..." I didn't dare to finish.

"What?"

"Nothing, forget it."

"We are being honest, Silvia, you can't stop now."

"I wonder," I said, staring at him, "if it turns you on that I took off my bikini... or the simple fact I did it because another man asked me to."

It took him so long to respond. And when he finally did, his gaze was fixed on the sand.

"I'm afraid so. I'm excited that you obeyed him."

A lump in his groin corroborated that version. I approached and kissed him. Very softly. And we shared a long, passionate kiss, and I finally told him:

"Well, if you're excited by my topless and my obedience, you're going to freak out." I said with a mischievous smile.

"I'm really intrigued. What...?"

"Before he left, he made me promise that I would never wear a top of bikini on this beach again."

"Are you going to spend the entire vacation in topless?" He replied with his eyes open.

"You know I always keep my promises."

I changed my position to have a full access of his cock..., a normal cock, like any other. With the audacity of an recently inflated ego, I grabbed it under the swimsuit and he trembled.

"Calm down."

I ran the moisture all over the glans, covering it almost entirely with my hand, I made a raid in search of his balls and he spread his thighs. While I masturbated him, my left fingers desecrated a virgin place, exploring, and sank deeper and deeper, reaching areas that no one had visited and provoking sensations that he had never felt. Unknown sensations of possession, penetration, abandonment, passivity and surrender.

"I love you." He moaned with her gaze lost.

"Moi plus."

"You're fantastic". He said with a broken voice while we hid the maneuver I was carrying out." If you meet him again, do you think he would try to seduce you?"

"No doubt about it," I replied as he trembled beside me.

"And what about you?" He asked me. "Do you want to be seduced by him?"

I smiled tenderly.

"We shall see," I replied, "It all depends on you."

His eyes rolled back in his head. There was no time to do much more, the tremors gave way to a thick, warm river of sperm that descended through my hand. A serene sensation of fullness enveloped him when a calm river of sperm began to flow from his penis.

Unexpectedly, as if I had touched a hidden spring, his erection deflated like a balloon and his dick was reduced to an infantile state. He shuddered and shook and then collapsed, physically and emotionally spent. No one said a word; no words were adequate. We lay in silence, looking into each other's eyes, we didn't need to talk, we both knew what our looks conveyed. We were clandestine accomplices of our unleashed, forbidden desire, guardians of our dark and morbid secret.

We cleaned up and returned to our formalities.

"Are you ok?" I said.

"Me? Yeah, great. I owe you one, honey."

"We should go home."

"Yes, it's time" He caresses my cheek.

We picked up our things and went back to the apartment. Both Paul and I knew we needed to have a serious conversation. Hand in hand we walk towards the stairs. He smiled at me, and I smiled at him, then he seemed to be dying. Two seconds later he managed to transform the expression of anguish into a mask of normality. I made myself believe it. By then, I already knew that our world had collapsed.