Book: Madeleine Plays: A Wife-Watching Romance

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Madeleine looked insanely good with her face highlighted by startling lipstick, dark eyeliner and mascara. And the way that dress held her curves was a thrill in itself. For a moment or two she gazed down at the bed in front of her, as though wondering where she wanted her husband to find her when he returned home.

She drifted over toward the windows, resting a knee on the window seat as she leaned forward to prize apart two of the slats, and peer out across the street.

Hugo felt his blood stirring as he realized who she must be looking for.

He glanced down at his cell phone. It had been twenty minutes—she’d be expecting him to arrive very shortly. How could he escape the closet?

He sent a text message:

> Almost home. You warming yourself up for me, honey?

He saw her twirling a strand or two of her hair as she glanced down at her cell phone, reading his message, then back up to the gap in the blind made by her fingers. Could she see her crush across the street? Could she see Connor?

She was tapping out a reply, he could see it.

> Just getting started. Phone call from Lucy—couldn’t get rid of her.

Hugo couldn’t think of how to get past her. Could he get her so turned on, so caught up by touching herself that he could sneak out? He didn’t have any other answer—he felt the need to delay her, at least, distract her.

He texted her:

> Where are you, in the bedroom? Tell me what you’re wearing.

She replied:

> Yeah, I’m in the bedroom, looking out the window. Wearing my blue and green dress I got at Macy’s last week.

Hugo replied:

> Who do you see out the window? Connor?

Her reply:

> Yes, he’s home. On his own, though.

> What’s he doing?

> Lying on his bed, listening to music, I think. He has big headphones on.

Hugo suddenly remembered what she’d said to Lucy a earlier that evening: ever since I started teasing Connor a little through the window. Hugo felt he’d missed out on her telling him about that. Maybe it was time to see it for himself.

He sent a text stating firmly:

> I want you to pull up the blinds.

She replied:

> You want him to see me?

> Yes. Pull them up, now. I’ll know if you don’t.

He saw her pause, peering through the gap in the blind again. Something suggested to him that if Madeleine had teased Connor much through the windows, it hadn’t involved much exposure on her part. She glanced down at her cell phone again, as though checking his text actually said what she thought it said.

Then she reached up for the cord hanging down beside the blind, and hauled it upward, opening the room up to the street to a startling extent.

It made Madeleine catch her breath. He saw her suddenly turn away, and for a moment thought she must have discovered his position, made him. But she wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t focusing on the closet or the gap between the doors. She had just turned her back on the street, on Connor, a dazed smile spreading on her face suggesting that he’d spotted her, knew she was there.

Hugo couldn’t quite see out of the windows at the right angle to see Connor’s apartment. He texted her:

> Does he see you? Does he know you’re there?

She replied:

> Yes, he’s seen me.

Hugo felt his stomach fluttering, his hardness bulging. Was he really thinking about getting his wife to strip in front of the windows when her crush was watching? He was.

He decided to give her a chance—and perhaps himself more of a chance to get out of there. He texted her:

> Turn out the lights.

She did—stepping back to kill the bedside lamp, and the ceiling light. It left her only in semi-darkness at most—the light from the street flooding through the enormous windows meant Connor would still be able to see her, Hugo suspected. He could see her well enough, though the colors were leached out.

He had to be careful to turn the brightness down on his cell phone screen to avoid alerting her to him.

Madeleine sat on the bed facing the windows, hunched over her phone.

He read her text:

> There’s a lot of light from the street—he must be able to see me.

Hugo texted her back:

> Go back to the window.

He heard her quiet gasp at that, and saw her hesitate. Was she going to do what he asked? This thing would kind of fall apart if she didn’t.

He saw her hunch over her phone briefly, then she send her message.

> Yes, sir.

She picked herself up, and made the two steps back to the window in a very leisurely fashion. Nervous.

> Is he watching?

> Yes, sir.

> Remove your dress.

He saw her standing there, shaking a little. Should he have ordered her to drink a glass or two of wine before doing this? Well, he didn’t want to get her drunk, this wasn’t about humiliating her, this was about turning her on.

She hesitated, and now Hugo was beginning to regret this approach. Was this frightening her? Would this put her off?

He was about to type out a text telling her it was okay, she didn’t have to do this after all, perhaps she should close the blind again, play with herself under the bed sheets if she still felt like it.

But then he saw her step up to the window, knees nudging up against the edge of the window seat, and slip her dress off her shoulders, revealing the beautiful flowing shape of her back. She was still wearing a bra, white, simple, and now completely exposed.

She paused again. She might have been teasing Connor through the window for a while, but her delay now told Hugo she hadn’t gone this far before, hadn’t actually shown him anything. Hugo felt his heart rate quicken—was it wise encouraging his wife to strip in front of a man who had been flirting with her for ages, or, as Lucy had suggested, had been trying to pick her up? A hot young guy on whom Madeleine had developed a crush for months.

His reeling head and churning stomach suggested not—but the hardness between his legs said otherwise.

If she stripped in front of him now, would the guy take that as an invitation to keep going after her? He probably didn’t need an invitation.

Hugo caught his breath as Madeleine pulled her wrists out of the dress, and then pushed it further down her body, slowly easing it over her hips and her gorgeous behind, revealing the crack between her sweet round cheeks—but not a hint of underwear.

She had been telling the truth when she’d said she hadn’t worn any panties to work. Was she really going to do this?

She hesitated again with the dress half covering her behind, her hands sliding up to nervously clutch her waist before returning to finish the deed. Then Hugo caught a glimpse of the darkness between her legs before she turned, standing side-on to the window to allow the dress to fall past her thighs.

Her bared pussy was hidden from onlookers as she stooped briefly to push her dress over her knees and then stepped out of it.

She picked up her phone again from the window seat, and brushed her hair out of her face, tucking a strand behind her ear. She stood with her back to the windows, almost naked. Hugo could see the startling sight of her pubic hair nestled between her upper thighs. Was he really telling her to show it to him?

How much could Connor see? Hugo couldn’t gauge the angle from the closet, couldn’t even see Madeleine’s crush. He saw a light in an apartment a couple floors above the student apartment switched off. Were there others watching Madeleine’s display from across the street?

A text message came through to his phone:

> The dress is gone. What would you like me to do next?

That was it—no sarcastic ‘I hope you’re happy’ addition, trying to stir up his irritation for doing this to her—just an innocent prompt for her master.

He replied:

> I assume you’ve been telling the truth about wearing no panties today. But now you should remove your bra.

In the semi-darkness, he saw her cell phone light up when his text message arrived. He also saw her quietly flinch as she laid eyes on it. But instead of typing in an instant refusal, she stooped briefly to drop her phone back on the window seat.

Her hands brushed over her hips and her waist, then swept up to fondle her cleavage, her last moment or two of indecision, making Hugo imagine she must be going through her own dilemma—whether to comply with her husband’s wishes, whether to do this for real.

She could easily have done none of this and simply texted sexy little white lies back to her husband to report that she was removing her clothes. But though Hugo knew the temptation was there, he also recognized the glint in Madeleine’s eye that said she was excited by this—beyond excited. And she saw the opportunity that now presented itself, to expose herself for the benefit of her crush, who she knew full well was interested in her—with the full knowledge and approval of her husband. What if the opportunity never came round again?

Decision made, she reached behind her back to release herself from her bra, flicking the catch, then slipping one should strap and then the other over her shoulders. She held it over her breasts for a few moments, teasing herself with that final chance to stop all this, to cover herself back up, sight unseen.

Then she allowed her last remaining cover to fall to the floor.

> It’s done. Now I’m standing naked in front of the windows.

> Facing the windows?

> No, facing away.

> How do you feel?

> Scared. Excited.

> Is he watching you?

Hugo saw her glance over her shoulder, then utter a soft little gasp.

> He’s turned out his light, but I can see him sitting on his bed, watching me.

> I bet you’re turning him on. I bet you look incredible.

She looked over her shoulder again, and Hugo saw her gently rubbing her thighs together—she was turned on, no mistake.

Turning back to tap out another message in her phone.

> He’s taken his headphones off, and he’s taken his shirt and pants off. I can see him sitting there, there’s enough street light.

Hugo wished he could know how much Connor could see—but he assumed he could see enough.

He texted back:

> If you can see him, chances are he can see you.

In the half light, he saw Madeleine smile at that, a wicked smile.

Hugo sent her another text:

> Turn around.

Another flinch—real shock on her face this time. But she was turned on now, she was really buzzing. Her flash of shock melted into mild disbelief and then warm arousal.

She turned her head to look at her admirer once more, her hand stroking herself from her neck all the way down her chest, over one breast and down her stomach as though to check whether she was actually naked.

Then she brushed her hair back out of her face, and gently tilted her hips before ease herself incredibly slowly around, twisting on her toes until she was presenting her rear to her husband once again—and her full frontal self to the street and her half-naked devotee.

The way she moved, nervously but slowly, it looked like some kind of dance, showing off her body to her audience as though she was an exotic entertainment for a sultan or maharaja. In the streetlight flowing through Madeleine’s slightly-parted legs, Hugo could see her pussy lips beautifully defined for a tantalizing moment—and then she turned again, once again giving Connor only the rear view.

She stooped, grabbed her phone again.

> Are you nearly home? You’re driving me crazy.

He smiled.

>I like driving you crazy. Is he still watching you? I’m nearly home.

He was so turned on—the light was just enough to show Hugo what his rival across the street had probably seen. It took his breath away.

> He’s still watching me. I think he assumes I can’t see him—he’s sitting back against the headboard now, thinks he’s safe.

> But you can see him?

> Can’t see his face now. Could see him take off his briefs, though.

> He’s naked?

> And hard.

Hugo trembled a little.

> You like looking at him? He’s hard because of you.

> He has a nice cock. It makes me feel fizzy all over.

She was stroking her breasts, pinching her nipples, knowing she had two men hard at the thought of her.

> You better come home soon, or I’ll have to call him over.

Hugo knew she was joking, but with the evolution of this fantasy between them—and her embracing of it—there was always that glimmer of a chance that she’d one day say to hell with it, let’s do this. It kept him firmly and constantly on edge.

But he didn’t feel quite ready just now, as tempting as it was to urge her to go for it, beckon the guy over.

> Walking back from the subway. Like the idea of calling him over, but on this occasion I need to be inside you, can’t wait in a line.

She let out a little giggle at that.

> I’m so wet waiting for you. Hurry.

Still holding the phone, and this time unprompted, she turned back toward the window, and he could hear her sigh as she lifted a knee, slid forward on the window seat and now pressed her hands to the glass.

She was a goddess, a siren tempting men to their doom, the streetlight splashing a orange and blue cocktail over her smooth, bare skin as the eyes of her crush took in her beauty while her husband watched.

One hand still holding her phone as it supported her weight against the glass, Madeleine caressed her breasts, then Hugo saw her thigh tense, and she was lifting herself up to kneel in the window seat and then press her naked body against the glass.

God—any number of men would be able to see her shoved up against the window—Hugo was a little startled by her display. She was so shockingly naked—the world could see her breasts crushed against the glass, her bare midriff, those long smooth thighs—and her pussy glistening in its bare glory.

What a thrill to see her flaunt herself, though. That his wife could be driving any onlooker into a fervor, no doubt Connor among them. She breathed deeply, enough for him to hear, sounding as though she’d entered some kind of dream state.

Silently, he drew open the closet, and stepped out into the bedroom. His heart was thumping as though trying to wake the dead. He stole two, three paces around the bed, until he was by the door and able to give her the impression he’d just got in. Sure, it was wrong to lie to her, but maybe he wouldn’t need to say anything about being there all night, seeing her.

“Is he still watching?” he asked her, and smiled as he saw her jump.

“Of course,” she said, and he could see her face reflected in the glass, see her smile, and the unbridled joy it revealed made him feel unbelievably content. “He’s stroking himself while he looks at me.”

“I think he’s probably seen enough for now,” Hugo said, channeling his inner alpha male. “You’re mine now. Close the blind.”

She seemed to shiver at the knowledge that her man had come to reclaim her. Then she reached for the cord, and let down the blind, angling it so it continued to let in a little light from the street in the familiar washboard pattern, though eyes on the other side of the street would be denied.

“Don’t hurt me sir,” she said, and Hugo would have smiled at her put-on plaintive tone if he wasn’t so keyed up with desire. “I didn’t know I was being watched, I didn’t know there was another man hiding across the street.”

“Get on the bed,” he growled. “On your knees.”

She had a strange spark in her eyes, and for a split second a wicked smile flashed across her face before she hid it behind a respectful facade and moved to the bed. She wanted him, badly.

He let her wait, one minute, two minutes. Poised on her hands and knees, a goddess on all fours.

“Did you enjoy your little show?” he asked her.

“Yes, sir,” she said, putting on a meek little voice.

“You enjoyed showing yourself to him?”


Ridding himself of his underwear, Hugo climbed onto the bed, awestruck by her beauty, her curves, her raw sexuality.

“You ever been that far before when you were teasing him through the windows?”

“No, never.”

He urged her down, and she took his instruction, pushing herself flat against the bed, though tilting her hips up, parting her thighs slightly as he zoomed in on her, brushing his face against the back of her thighs before he came down to nudge up against her dripping pussy.

“You used to touch yourself while you watched him,” he said, breathing in that wicked scent, that spice of female arousal of which he could never get enough.

“He couldn’t see from the angle, and the way I had the blinds,” she said.

Hugo pressed into the hot flesh of her body, his face wedged between her thighs and her buttocks, running his tongue along the slippery groove of her pussy.

He moaned, and she shivered from the vibration of his voice against her sensitive flesh as he hungrily devoured her, his hands gripping the front of her thighs to pull her to his mouth.

“Oh my God…”

Madeleine let out a shrill moan as he ate her forcefully, taking what he wanted, thinking about how she’d gone to work without underwear that whole day, how she must have felt working among her co-workers knowing she had only that dress to cover her.

He massaged her behind as he feasted on her tangy juices, making her whimper softly as he sucked on her pussy lips, teasing them with his tongue.

After an appetizer came the entree. Hugo pulled himself up, straddling the back of her thighs, then rested his big hard cock against her behind, nestling it between her cheeks, feeling her heat around it and loving the velvet softness of her skin against it as he stroked her.

“Did it turn you on, knowing that he was watching you take off your clothes?” he asked her.

“Yes, sir,” she said softly, biting her lip as he used the tip of his cock to stroke her soaking pussy.

“You liked watching him pull out his cock while he watched you?”

“Yes, sir. It made me all wet.”

He slapped her behind playfully, though with a clear crack. “I thought you said I made you all wet.”

“You did, you made me strip for him.”

Hugo prized apart her cheeks and angled his cock down, then pushed forward suddenly, penetrating her, filling her, reclaiming her as his own. She gasped at his forceful entrance, but groaned, dipping her head as he gripped her buttocks and began to thrust into her, gliding easily because of copious moisture, despite the fact that her thighs were locked together by his.

“You’re such a bad girl,” he said. “I know you were thinking about fucking him.”

“Yes sir.”

She was reaching forward now, her hands clutching the edge of the mattress in front of her as he rammed into her, her body shuddering with every entrance. He was breathing hard, every intake marked by the scent of her sex and her perfume as he squeezed inside her, her hot pussy gripping him tightly, quivering around him.

“You think I stack up to him?” he asked her.

“Oh, yes,” she said, her answer blending into a series of moans as he pushed her thighs apart now, lifted her behind up to drive into her from an angle that shoved his cock right against her g-spot.

“You’re curious about what his cock would feel like inside you, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

“You can’t stop thinking about what it would be like. Actually taking that step, actually dating another man.”

She groaned, said: “I don’t need anyone except you.”

He pushed hard inside her.

“There’s a difference between needing and wanting. You want to see what it would be like.”

“Yes,” she said in a loud whisper.

“What was that? Tell me.”

“I want to see what it would be like.”

He was pounding her so hard now, both of them panting with every thrust.

“You want to see what what would be like?”

She was silent for a moment or two, just dealing with the powerful sensations of his alpha male treatment, his surprisingly athletic performance as he fucked her into the bed, her face shoved roughly into the pillows as he pierced her.

“I want to see what it would be like dating him,” she said. Then, a beat, and she added: “I want to see what it would be like fucking him.”

That admission sent her over the edge, and she was shaking, seizing up, and there was no way Hugo could hold himself back from the tide, her pussy clamping him so tight, drawing out his own orgasm and his come, sending an impassion through his body as his big hard cock erupted deep inside her.

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