Chapter 6: Infidelity Revealed

Mark jerked awake, and his book fell from his lap onto the floor. Groggily awareness came back to him. He had fallen asleep in an armchair waiting for Angel to return home.

He glanced at the clock and sleep slipped away as he saw that it was 2am! Irritated he wondered why Angel hadn't woken him when she had come home? He picked up the book, and headed for the bedroom.

She had gone to her philosophy circle meeting this evening. She had arranged for one of the other wives to drive her home, but seemed to be coming home later and later each Tuesday these days.

He opened the bedroom door to find their bed empty!

Startled he looked around. There was no sign of her things. Surely she was home. He checked the bathroom, then their daughter's room. Not that he expected either of them there as their daughter had been sent to the private boarding school out of town. He was still not comfortable about that but he has seen the Africans circle like hungry wolves whenever they took their pretty daughter to the shopping mall. Perhaps it was best. He sighed.

Then pulled his thoughts back to his wife. Where was she? He checked the study room, and walked back through the villa. He checked on Robert, their two-year old son who was sleeping the deep sleep of the exhausted. Two acres of garden within the villa was more than enough to keep his inquisitive nature busy.

He returned to their living room.

No Angel!

A sudden dread clamped around his heart. Had she been in an accident? Africa was a dangerous place, and the roads were one of the main dangers. Here in Harare's prosperous Greendale suburb at night the roads were generally quiet. But it was easy to imagine the other dangers, two-legged danger lurking in the shrubbery to take advantage of unwary passers by.

Especially pretty white women.

A deeper tightness settled in his stomach, at the thought of his beautiful wife being hauled into bushes and held down while sex-starved Africans had their way with her.

The employment practice of employing African men in the factories of Harare for eleven months at a stretch before allowing them to go home to their families had the unfortunate side-effect of having eight men in the city for every woman.

Men who went without relief for eleven months were men ready to seize any opportunity that came their way.

He hesitated. He could not call for help, as he already knew the telephone was not working tonight. He checked it just to be sure. He bit his lip at the thought of leaving Robert asleep in the villa on his own, but if Angel had been involved in a car accident or needed help...

He ended the hesitation and snatched up his car keys.

Outside her opened the villa gates, drove the car out, then carefully locked them. He looked back for a moment at the darkened villa. Robert would be safe, he was sure of it.

It was time now to move. He jumped back in the car and drove over to Borrowdale. There were few street lights among the leafy winding roads that criss-crossed the suburb.

He kept a sharp eye out for signs of an accident, for signs of a car having driven off the road in the dark.

It seemed only minutes before he was at the villa in which the philosophy circle met. To his surprise the gates were wide open, and there were no signs of any security guard.

He drove through the gates and up the long drive. There was no sign of life in the villa, but he needed to make sure his wife had left, who with and when. Only then could he be certain what had happened and where to look.

He stepped out of the car and bounded up to the front door and knocked.

The silence seemed deep as he waited for a response.

He knocked again, to no more effect.

He stepped back and looked across the front of the villa. Darkness engulfed it. What had happened to Angel?

He hesitated again. Each window had the usual ornate burglar bars across them.

He decided to walk around the large villa. To search for any signs of life, for anyone who might be able to tell him what had happened to his wife.

Behind the villa a light shone from a curtained room. Mark strode towards it. Perhaps someone was awake. He noticed a light breeze push at the curtains and realised that the window was open.

He walked closer suddenly aware of the impropriety of approaching a bedroom window late at night. Particularly that of a man he did not know.

He paused for a moment dithering.

There was a grunt from inside the room.

The grunt was followed by a muffled feminine squeal.

Mark's heart leapt into his mouth. His ears seemed more alert, straining to hear more from within the room.

The soft slap of flesh on flesh broke the silence.

Slap, slap, slap came the repeated sound of one body striking another in the timeless sound of lovemaking.

Mark was frozen in place.

There were more deep heavy grunts, matched by excited squeals of a woman in the heat of lust.

He had never witnessed others involved in lovemaking before. Imagined it enough time, but never seen it. In his relatively sheltered life and love of Angel he had not strayed. Had not 'partied', or been to a sex show.

The sounds of excited passion escaping from that curtained room had him frozen in place. Behind that curtain a couple were indulging in an lustful bout of lovemaking! "Ooooh. Oh, Oh, Oh, Ooooooh!" Excited wails were escaping a woman to match the rutting thrusts of a male behind that curtain.

His cock hardened in his trousers listening to the passionate bout taking place just a few feet away. Behind a light curtain, and those protected barred windows a couple were indulging, a perfectly proper activity in their own home.

He struggled as to what to do. He wanted to be sure Angel was safe, but could he interrupt a husband and wife in such activity. No wonder no one had answered his knock.

"Sweet, so sweet and tight." Mark was startled to recognise the voice as belonging to an African man. The strong dialect came across. He wondered with surprise that he would speak English in such circumstances.

"Squeeze, my cock... Oh yes, like that, squeeze down on my cock as I slide out and relax when I thrust in. Oh, yes you sweet tight little angel just like that!"

Mark's ears perked up and his eyes widened. Surely that was coincidence! Any man might call his wife an angel in a moment of passion.

"Twist your ass, slide it around, rub your soft white curves back at me, that's it, that's it honey, just like that. Ahh... ohh. Angel, you are getting so good at this."

A feeble muffled whimper came in reply.

Mark's heart was in a clamp. His guts had knotted. His breath caught in his throat. Her had said Angela again! He was African, but had talked of her white cheeks.

Getting so good? What was that supposed to mean?

Was it his wife behind that curtain?

Was his wife being mounted and ridden by an African man?

Was this a regular occurrence?

It couldn't be!

Impossible!

Was this chap running the philosophy circle black? His wife had said nothing about that!

The rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh seemed like thunderclaps in his ears now at the thought that it might be his wife being fucked on the other side of those curtains.

More whimpering excited squeals broke through his thoughts.

He took a step forward.

Was this why his wife had been coming home later and later each Tuesday night?

He took another step towards the open window. If he could just pull back that curtain he could find the truth.

"Easy girl, just like that, that's it, that's the way, that feels good... Ahhh"

"Oh, oh... ooooh. Oh!"

Hot breathless feminine gasps came in reply.

Heavy male grunts of effort sounded through the curtain.

Mark raised his hand towards the curtain and froze in hesitation.

If he was wrong, it would be a gross intrusion!

If he was right did he want to see his wife being mounted by a black man?

His heart pounded, his stomach heaved, his hands twitched.

Grunts, slaps and squeals came from behind the curtain.

His betraying cock strained his trousers.

He made one more step forward and flicked the curtain aside.

A big heavy black body seemed to dominate the room beyond. Behind and above the white woman beneath him the black bulk seemed to dwarf her as he held down and rode her.

Swallowing tightly, his eyes dropped to the shapely tanned full white thighs splayed wide apart to give access to the African male rutting between them. The soft curvy bottom was high in the air, as if in invitation to be used, and a black man held that bottom close as hips ground and thrust.

Black hands clasped around a slim waist, and a flawless white back strained and curved as shoulders were lowered supporting a beautiful white face turned towards him was crushed in soft pillows.

Mark's heart stopped.

His wife's eyes stared back at him, but did not see him.

Her eyes were glazed over and blank, as the African behind her humped and ground between the spread shapely thighs of his wife.

Emotions and feelings swept over Mark as he witnessed the scene. The African mounted and enjoying his wife was a surprise. He looked much older than Angel's 34years. Probably 45 years old. His wife had spread her legs not for a young fit attractive African, but for an older middle aged African. A man heavily built, though taller than her.

He watched as cheeks of a black bottom flexed and tightened, and thrust into the upturned and presented curvy derriere of his lovely wife.

He stared in disbelief as his wife switched that derriere, circled it and ground back against the thrusting African.

"Good girl, that's the way, keep squeezing my cock."

Mark watched his wife's thighs quiver. Her bottom flex and circle as she gave pleasure to the African who had his cock buried deep inside her.

Mark's hand holding the curtain started to shake; as the realisation took hold that another man's cock was embedded deep inside his wife. That tight little channel that had been his own for 17 years had another man's cock buried deep inside it!

Another man taking his pleasure of his lovely wife's body!

A black man!

He watched stunned as the African behind his wife leaned forward and with one hand reached for and grasped the full, jutting breast of his wife, a black hand stroking and caressing the soft white orb.

He watched mesmerised as another man enjoyed the firmness and feel of his wife's breast.

The man's dark hips ground and thrust crushing the soft roundness of her white derriere.

Then he came erect, and paused for a moment, and turned.

Mark ignored him, conscious that he had been spotted, but he could not turn his gaze away from the sight of the thick black log that had been partly revealed as it slid out from his wife.

It was so thick!

He struggled to comprehend the thickness of cock that had been up inside his wife. No wonder she had semi-comatose as he rode her!

The African spotted the white face at the window and turned in surprise.

As he did so more of his cock slid from kneeling, supine white woman.

Mark swallowed in disbelief at the length of black cock that had just slid out of his wife.

"Oi! What are you doing!"

Mark was stung by the voice of the gruff angry African.

"That's my wife!" His voice sounded feeble, as he struggled to get the word outs.

The African turned further, and more of that cock slid out of his wife. It seemed never-ending!

Angel kneeling on the bed was oblivious to anything other than the exquisite sensations between her legs. The withdrawal of the pleasure giving log was keenly felt. She had not noticed her husband's arrival. She was so close!

So close to another heart-shattering orgasm.

She pushed back at Igwe, seeking to recapture more that wonderful member inside her. Circling her hips and clasping at his cock with her inner muscles seeking to draw it back in.

Totally oblivious to the building drama she gasped in effort.

"Ohhh. Don't tease. Fuck me," pushing up onto her elbows she thrust back recapturing six inches of hot throbbing gnarled cock.

"Ooooooh... do it... do it." her hips jerking.

A red veil seemed to rise over Mark as the shock give way to anger!

This was his wife!

His Angel!

The woman he loved and cared for begging another man to drive his cock up her!

The eroticism evaporated into hot anger, and he wailed his grief.

He stamped his feet to release the hot overpowering anger that threatened to burst his soul.

Rage ran through him like a tidal wave.

He launched himself at the window, grasping and pulling at the iron security bars. Their solidity defied his efforts as he sought to haul them free so he could hurl himself through the window at the man fucking his wife on the other side.

"How could you do this?" He howled at Angel, the woman he had seen grinding her hips back and thrusting back eager for that black cock to be back inside her.

"I love you!"

Tears burst from him, as despair rose to combat with his anger.

He had been faithful. All these years he had been faithful, trusting and supportive. These last months since his wife's breakdown, he had nursed her, cared for her, nourished her soul as well as her body, and she had rewarded him like this!

Spreading her legs for another man!

A black man!

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

He had looked after their children, kept the worst from them.

Sat beside her bed as she fought malaria.

Sat patiently with her as her rants and raves at the injustice of life surged through her.

Mastered his own pain at her seemingly casual disregard of his love for her.

Recognised that her returning mental illness was symptomatic of behaviour. That he just needed to be patient, comforting, and understanding, and all would work out in the end.

He had helped her find Margaret, the clinical psychologist. The finding of her had seemed like a miracle in the middle of darkest Africa. Had sat with Angela through counselling sessions, helped her along the road to recovery.

Now a black man had his cock up his beautiful wife. A black man was enjoying and relishing her shapely body as he took his own pleasure in Mark's wife.

What had it all been for?

He shouted his anger into the dark African night, releasing the pressure building up inside him. He found himself stamping up and down in a raging uncontrollable stomp.

Inside the bedroom an alarmed Angel had finally realised what was happening. She clung in fear to Igwe, as her enraged husband seemed to be clawing at the very bars of the window.

She had shook with concern at hearing her husband's howls of anger and grief. What had she done? She hadn't realised her husband still cared so much! Igwe's strong arms around her shoulders were a comfort. Their warmth and strength a comfort, and she cuddled into him.

"I didn't. I hadn't." her voice was trembling. "I didn't know..."

"Ssh. Shush. It's alright he won't get in."

Igwe stroked the trembled, frightened woman. Holding her close in his arms. He enjoyed the feel of her soft, feminine, frailty trembling in his arms. So it was her husband out there was it! His own cock throbbed even harder at the thought.

A white man discovering his pretty white wife had given it up to an African.

He could hardly blame the man, if Angela had been his woman, and he had found her sleeping with another man without his permission he would have killed them both.

Not that he minded his women sleeping with others. It just has to be as Igwe directed, not on their own initiative.

"I should go. Yes, I should go and talk to him."

"Not now, he will not listen, give him time to calm down."

Angel looked up at Igwe. He was strong, unmoved by her husband's ranting and raving.

" Don't worry. I love you." His hand stroked the softness of her cheek. His head dropped and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"I love you," he said again as his head rose. His eyes searched her hers. He saw fear and confusion, and adoration in those eyes.