The Awakening Ch. 01

This story was published briefly many years ago, in full, by my writing alter ego, AgVaniva. Its time to do it justice in full. So here is a short prologue, and initial chapter to set the scene, and outline the two main characters; a married couple from the UK, Jane and Mike.

For anyone wanting a quick thrill, I'd suggest skipping this story. Its a slow burn. It focuses on a wife's emotional torment when faced with the ultimate temptation; a gorgeous, charming, hung black man, intent on making her, his. There's no degradation, or humiliation involved. This isn't a cuckold story. Its more of a tale of the long and winding mental, emotional and physical road to infidelity.

Its the story of a a vow. And a woman, torn between the gentle, safe and caring husband she loves dearly, or her ultimate temptation; a man who offers her the sexual liberation and awakening she has craved but been denied, all of her married life.

** Please note. The story is written from Jame's perspective using first character POV.

** Chapter two will follow shortly once edited.

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The Prologue

After four months of careful planning and a lot of subtle hint dropping, my hard work had seemingly paid off. The trail of crumbs had included a swimsuit catalogue left on the coffee table.... my insistence on watching Cocktail three times over the holidays, even though I'd never liked Tom Cruise, and finally buying a few bottles of expensive dark rum. Jamaican rum... the expensive kind.

And so like any wife whose husband unwittingly walked into all the sweet traps she had set for him, I was thrilled the moment that he showed me his 'surprise'; the reservation email for an all inclusive, two week break at an exclusive adults only spa in Jamaica. So of course, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him, full of faux surprise at his incredibly, sweet and thoughtful gift. But then, that was typical of the man I had married twenty three years before. The man I adored. Handsome, protective, perceptive and gentle. Mike was charming, sweet and had always been attentive and kind. He was a great father, a respected manager at work, a great provider, a good friend and a tender and caring lover.

When I told my friends, I was greeted with envious laughter, and more than a few catcalls and "Ohhhh honey!!" remarks. I knew why. We all knew the myth about black men. Of course we did. We also knew about the fabled Caribbean mandingos and 'Renta Dreads' from my friend Tanya, who had spent 2 weeks in Jamaica the year before last and had had an amazing time. She had us all in stitches on our regular girls night out, when she told us about her dancing with the handsome locals, and how it had driven her husband Nigel to distraction.... and erection. Tanya confided that he hadn't pounded her so hard in years and she actually came home sore. Sore but satisfied.

All the girls knew Nigel was 'hung'. So when Jane confessed that the locals made Nigel look distinctly average, I had to admit I was listening attentively. On the way home, as we shared an Uber, inhibitions loosened by a few glasses of red, she regaled me further as we snuggled up together in the back of the taxi.

"Honestly babe, they used to wander around in these tiny thongs or speedos all the time. They are just so brazen about it, and I mean, all of them are just beautiful. I dont know whats in the water over there, but their bodies are to die for. And they would strut up and down the beaches, and around the pool, showing off their massive bulges. And honestly, we all went a little crazy over them. OMG, I HAVE to tell you this. Every night, if we had the balcony doors open, we could hear them fucking on the beach. We used to watch them leaving the discos and bars holding hands, even the married girls. All with black guys."

"Oh my god, thats wild!" I exclaimed, giggling loudly.

She laughed, and nodded. "It went on ALL night. And promise me you wont ever say anything, because I know it made Nigel a little uncomfortable, but jeeeeeesus, some of those lucky bishes sounded like they were having a religious experience.

"Oh wow." Was all I could manage to reply. I was a little distracted, my mind far, far away. On a beach, imagining a symphony of awe struck sexual ecstasy carrying across the night. An envious, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Mike was snoring when I slipped into our bed beside him. I watched him for a few moments, debating whether to wake him. In the end though, I let him sleep. And the sour hollowness in my tummy returned. It was a dull ache, a physical reminder I had tried to ignore over the years. But that night, after Tanya's stories, I felt it a little more keenly. Possibly, even more so than those nights after Mike had made love to me, and we snuggled up tightly in each other arms. Feeling so loved and safe, but always accompanied by an unwelcome bedfellow. A quiet niggle that tiptoed around the edges of my consciousness. A niggle that felt like cruel disappointment. I loved my husband dearly. And yet, I knew how my body felt after we made love. Warm, glowing.... and yet... yearning for more.

I had erotic dreams that night. Tanya's tales seemingly fueling my nocturnal subconscious into providing the sexual encounter my body desperately ached for, but had been missing all these years. In my minds eye it was Mike... engorged and enraged from watching me dancing with a hung young stud.... carrying me to bed and claiming my body with long, deep, hard thrusts. A hand gripping my neck, gentle but firm. Fingers pressing expertly on my carotid artery making my back arch off the bed. My hips rising, meeting those savage, relentless strokes. But dreams have a funny way of blurring faces and rewriting the truth, because the stud who visited me that night felt so much thicker, and so much deeper than my reality had ever been.

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The present

The suite, and the resort itself, were perfect. Intimate, exclusive and just simply stunning. And as I slowly floated around the large, decadently decorated open plan space, in my bare feet, having kicked my sandals off the moment we walked in, my eyes widened. The lighting was perfect. Subtle, and stylish. And the view from the large hardwood deck, just a few strides from our enormous bed, with the brilliant turquoise water of our infinity pool, again lit so elegantly, framed by the brilliant night sky, made my breath hitch. It was exquisite. And so peaceful. The only sounds were the ocean gently lapping on a beach, lush palm trees swaying softly in the breeze, some exotic birds chirping their gorgeous song into the warm night air.... and my husband quietly instructing our personal concierge where to place our cases.

After he had thanked and tipped the butler, I skipped into his arms, and draped my soft curves against him. Wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him tenderly, my long fingers softly stroking his stubbled cheek, I couldn't have been happier, or more in love with you. My brilliant, sweet, kind and generous Mike.

"Happy babe? Did I do well?" He asked with a confident smile.

"Oh my gawd, baby. Come and look at the view. Its all just, perfect. Thank you." I gushed excitedly.

I slid my hand in his, our fingers interlocking and we stepped out of the suite into the night, standing on the edge of the deck. Gazing around. Which is how we spent the next hour. Curled up together on our lovely daybed, gazing out. Limbs entwined, chatting and making plans for the next few days. I could tell Mike was tired from the flight and the long private taxi transfer to the resort, but my ever-so-slightly petulant look of disappointment at his suggestion of an early night must have stung a little, which is why he folded so easily. Giving me that warm, resigned smile, a soft chuckle, and finally a nod of his head to which I clapped and jumped up and down, before kissing his cheek, and hurrying off to our gorgeous ensuite bathroom.

"I wont be long, baby. Just want to make myself look beautiful."

The warm jets of water felt wonderful as they rained down on me. Closing my emerald eyes and letting my head fall back, as I ran my hands through my thick mass of coppery curls. The lush warm water cascading down over my voluptuous shape for a few long moments until I'd had enough, and stepped out of the spacious walk-in shower. Half turning and reaching for my thick, luxurious robe, I paused. My reflection in the full length mirror running along one of the marble walls staring back at me. Head tilting back and forth, as I swept my gaze slowly over my full, hourglass body. Appraising each and every curve.

And as I looked at my naked self, a memory began to form in my mind. A memory, of a drunken, flirtatious conversation with a handsome, and much younger, black intern in Mike's employ at one of their company Christmas parties. A vivid memory of a cocky young buck taking an opportunity whilst his boss was preoccupied across the crowded room, to introduce himself to his wife. It had started so innocently. The polite introduction, a wide smile, a gentle hand shake. But I sensed a hunger there too. I saw the sparkle and desire in his eyes, so it wasn't a surprise when his tone changed. It didn't take him long to drop the respectful, dutiful employee facade and show me his true intentions. His patter moving swiftly through the gears, as he expertly probed my defences, assessing my reactions for any signs of unease. And every time he saw what he perceived to be a 'green light' from me, his words would become even more daring, and direct. He was young, maybe twenty six, or twenty seven, but he was good. He chose his words carefully. Intended to intrigue, beguile and seduce, not to offend.

I will blame the combination of several large glasses of a very lovely merlot; his low, deep voice and dark, soulful eyes for any 'green lights' I may have given him. And whilst I cant be sure they were fully or deliberately intended, I also wont deny that I was almost certainly giving off some rather dangerous subconscious signals, as I was somewhat intrigued by this younger man and enjoying his attention. We both knew it wasn't going to go anywhere. At least, I knew that, but nevertheless the conversation had certainly evolved into a rather charged and intense shared moment. The kind of cerebral interaction where a woman would have to carefully consider just how much she revealed to her partner, if asked. The kind of moment that could easily become just another harmless but arousing secret she kept locked away inside her vault, of a time when another man had tempted and aroused her.

And so while his advances would always be doomed to fail, foiled by the imminent return of his boss; my husband, to my side, he did leave me with a parting gift. A lingering look, and a whispered, unexpected compliment that I have never forgotten;

"Your husbands coming over, so I'll bid you goodnight." He murmured softly. The hint of disappointment evident in is voice. "But let me just say this before I go. Every man in here knows youre one of THOSE women, Jane. The ones that don't just turn heads, but cause whiplash. The kinda woman that is so ripe, as to be obscene."

I smiled. But my gaze and focus were already returning to Mike at that point as he made his way through the throng of dancing bodies to our table, with a knowing, slightly amused smirk on his face. My young admirer's slightly over-the-top flattery not quite hitting the mark this time and the proximity of my beloved was cooling my ardour.

But then he leaned closer. His full, soft lips brushing the soft pink shell of my ear. Murmuring in that deep bass voice of his, six words that made my tummy flutter for some unknown reason:

"Women like you... built for black."

And with that, he straightened, giving my husband a brief nod, and an empty smile, and walked slowly from our table, leaving me sat there, stunned and flustered.

Had he been a more poetic creature, he might have whispered that I have been blessed with a body which can only be described as a constant ripple of heaving flesh and curvature. That undulates with the most gorgeously asymmetrical contradictions. Even the faintest movement, turn, or shift of weight leads to a graceful commotion of full figured voluptuousness. I continue to sway in soft echoes for a full heartbeat even after my centre of gravity has stilled. My shapely, natural 34HH breasts strain with a luxuriant, decadent weight, moving in nonchalant separation from my slender waist and flared hips that cascade so generously below the glorious valley of my heaving décolletage. And it was that separation which was the real majesty of my luxurious and rubenesque proportions; the heady contradiction of such a slender back and flat stomach to complement and accentuate the heaving, rippling fleshy contours which rose and fell in such beautiful symmetry, above and below those flat planes.

I'd blossomed early but as the years went by, and as age, child birth and hormones thickened my curves, my body developing into a carnal, meandering journey of powerful, latent female sensuality. Beginning with a thick, long and luxuriant mane of auburn curls. Framing my large, shimmering, teal eyes. Calm, and wise, but quick to reflect my thoughts, feelings, moods or emotions. A small, cute nose, above two sensuous, soft, full lips, often curling into a curious smile. A neck, elegant and proud, which swept down to my heavy, glorious breasts. They were bountiful and buxom, ripe and full, despite their weight and size. Albeit with the merest hint of tear-drop to their shape. Their delicious fullness, falling away like a sheer shelf to offer shade and shadows across a smooth, toned stomach and abdomen, without even a gram of fat or slack skin to be seen. That soft expanse of smooth flesh eventually blooming into wide, child bearing hips, topped off by a firm, full and peachy rump that rippled and swayed and undulated in defiance of the law of physics.

A contented smile danced across my full lips. The soft lighting in the bathroom only made my light, milky skin appear even paler. Wicked green eyes full of sparkle and mischief, blinking back at me. And as I looked at myself, a delicious ripple of anticipation washed over me. Seemingly triggered by the memory of that singular conversation all those years ago, and those final six words he whispered in my ear with my husband only feet away. It was just one brief, fleeting attempt at seduction out of a countless collection of other attempts over the years. All, long since forgotten about. Only, one conversation had obviously not been forgotten. It was seemingly etched in my memory banks. So why was that? And why did that memory decide to show it itself so clearly, now?

Of course, deep down, I knew the answer. It was blatantly obvious given the island we had just flown into. A gorgeous Caribbean island, full of gorgeous, ebony skinned Caribbean men. The airport workers, the hospitality staff, the drivers, the hotel porters. Even our ever so polite and respectful concierge had a predatory glint in his eye as he shook my hand in the reception. For a girl from the picture perfect, obscenely white, upper class, thatched-roofed perfection of the Cotswolds in leafy Dorset, with limited interactions with many people of colour, it left me with a heightened sense of self awareness. A distinct feeling of being an outsider in this little piece of paradise, with my pale, alabaster skin, soft green eyes and auburn hair. And of course, according to one young, charming black man, a body built for an island full of black men. And they had already noticed. The hungry looks as we disembarked, collected our luggage and headed off to our hotel, was the validation to those young man's words.

And my god, did it feel wicked and delicious and ever-so-slightly dangerous, all at the same time. So as I slipped on a lacy bra and panty set I'd brought, which I had to admit, made my full breasts look stunning under the low cut, slinky black dress which draped across my voluptuous body like sin, I realised I felt more alive in that moment, on that island, than I had done, for more years than I could remember. So with one final spin and look in the mirror, cursing the long shower I'd taken, as it had made it almost impossible to tame my hair in the steamy room, I headed out of the bathroom, sidling up slowly behind Mike, wrapping my arms around his, and whispering in his ear that I was ready for dinner, and the start to our amazing Jamaican experience.