Midweek, Madeleine had to meet one of her new authors in Baltimore, with the meeting scheduled fairly late in the day so she could take him out to an evening meal.
Hugo knew she’d be late back, so took his time getting home after work, and decided on a Dominos pizza for supper.
Madeleine had met with a load of authors as her small press project began enticing submissions, but only a few of them had included evening dinner, and this was the first one where she had to go out of town. Usually, the authors came to New York to see Madeleine.
It gave Hugo butterflies knowing she was having dinner with an author—even though he knew it was strictly a business meeting, he also knew how she flirted with her authors at those book signing evenings, and over dinner it was going to be one-on-one.
This evening, he couldn’t help but imagine a phone call from her, laced with excitement, whispering a request to let her stay with her author a little longer, perhaps even overnight.
It was about 10 pm when his cell eventually rang.
“Hey,” he said, putting the phone to his ear as he relaxed back in the sofa. He could hear the constant clattering of the train in the background. It amused him that the confirmation she was on her way home came as a faint disappointment—not because he didn’t desperately want her home, but because he’d wanted her to enjoy herself in another city, taking advantage of the kind of freedom most wives simply did not have.
“Hey,” she replied. “I’m on my way home—probably two hours away now.”
“Meeting go well?”
“Yeah, it was good. Feel pretty good about this one.”
“You have some wine at dinner?”
“Not much,” she giggled.
Hugo smiled, recognizing the leisurely way she was forming her words—the influence of alcohol. He said: “You should get a little sleep the rest of the way. Not like you’ll miss your stop.”
“I am way too buzzed to sleep,” she said. “I wish you were here.”
“I wish I was there too,” he said. “Train crowded this evening?”
“No. It’s just me and a couple of guys.”
“That’s good, you can relax. Hate it when the train’s too full.”
Then Madeleine said in hushed tones, “One of the guys keeps looking at me.”
Hugo pushed his pizza out of the way. He said, “You worried, honey? You want to find another seat in a different car?”
But she said, “No. I like it. He’s cute.”
Hugo caught his breath. He said, “Where is he sitting?”
“Maybe 30 feet away.”
“He’s facing you?”
“Yes. He’s sitting in one of the single seats on the other side of the aisle. I think he can see up my skirt,” she said, almost a whisper.
“What are you wearing under your skirt?” Hugo asked, his voice suddenly husky as he felt the heat of arousal blooming inside him.
“A pair of gray panties—nothing special.”
“I bet they look pretty special on you, honey.”
“And a pair of black hold-ups with fancy lace tops.”
“You weren’t wearing stockings this morning,” he said, testing her. Was she role-playing? Or was she telling the truth? There was no doubting she was on the train. Sure, She might have been sitting there in a pair of jeans, rather than a short skirt. There might have been no one in the train car at all other than her.
“I got a ladder in my nylons,” she said. “I had to find something at short notice.”
“Are you going to give him a show?” Hugo felt butterflies fluttering around his stomach.
“I want to,” she whispered. “My skirt is really riding up. I guess he can see I have hold-ups on. Probably my underwear, too.”
“You’re a bad girl, honey.”
“You feel bad that he can see my underwear, sweetie?” she asked. “Does it make you jealous?”
“Uh… no, honey,” he said, though it wasn’t completely true. The way his stomach flipped over attested to that.
“Not even if I tell you the guy has his eyes all over me?” she said.
He chuckled. “Sounds like you’re having fun. Are you sure he can see anything? He might just be staring off into the distance—you know, unfocussed.”
“Oh, he can see me,” Madeleine said quietly. “He’s watching me rubbing my thighs together, he’s staring at the tops of my stockings.”
“You’re so beautiful, honey. I’ll bet he can’t take his eyes off you.”
Hugo heard his wife let out a long, gentle sigh. She said: “I wish you were here to watch me, sweetie. See me stroking my thighs, running my hands over my sexy stockings…”
Now it was his turn to let out a sigh, longing to be there on the train, to see her.
“Is your cock nice and hard?” she whispered now.
“As can be,” he replied.
“Mmm…” she purred. “I think my audience is the same. He keeps shifting in his seat. He’s uncomfortable in his pants all of a sudden. Probably because he’s watching me opening my legs… my fingers slipping between my thighs… over my pussy…”
“Is he a college guy?” Hugo asked her.
“No. Older. Older than us—a businessman. Fortyish, I’d say. Very handsome. Makes me want to smile at him.”
“He’d like that.”
Madeleine let out a little giggle. “Well,” she said. “He definitely knows I’m onto him now. He’s gone bright red.”
“Are you touching yourself, honey?”
“Oh yes,” she moaned quietly. “I didn’t realize how wet I am. My panties are soaking. I bet our friend can see. Gray cotton is hardly good at keeping a secret like that.”
“Is he watching you?”
“Now he is. He looked away for a moment or two after I smiled at him. Now he’s back.”
“You like that he’s watching you, honey?”
“I love it. I’m making two sexy men hard right now,” Madeleine moaned. “You dare me to take off my panties?”
“I dare you.”
Hugo heard some fumbling. The phone moved somewhere, presumably while his hot little spitfire removed her underwear so that a stranger could see her pussy.
“They’re off,” she said, returning to the phone. “Our friend is looking at my bare pussy. Watching me touching it.”
He heard her moan, heard her labored breathing. Was she faking it? Was she putting on the whole thing?
“I’m so wet, honey,” she said between deep breaths. “I feel so dirty, a complete stranger is watching me playing…”
“Does it feel good, honey? As good as you’re making me feel?”
“Listen…” she said, and after a brief pause, he heard the phone being moved again, the microphone crackling and roaring as though he was listening to a gale.
Then he heard a sound he thought at first was somebody chewing—before it dawned on him what it really was.
His wife’s finger stirring inside her hot, wet little pussy.
“Did you hear it?” came his wife’s voice at last.
“Yes,” he breathed. “You know, I really thought you were kidding. Putting on an act.”
Madeleine laughed. “You’ve seen me put on a few acts,” she said quietly. “I thought we could take it up a notch. God, if I was acting, I wouldn’t be dripping all over the seat…”
“So there really is a businessman watching you?”
“He’s as hard as you are thinking about him watching me.”
Hugo gripped his rigid cock, picturing the scene, wishing he could see her for himself. The jealousy nagged at him, but somehow merely heightened the burning rush of arousal he felt.
“He’s doing something,” Madeleine whispered now. Then he heard her quietly gasp. “Oh God… he’s pulling it out.”
Hugo felt his heart beating in his chest, every pump somehow separate, suddenly syncopated instead of its regular rhythm.
“It’s big,” she whispered. “He’s looking at me now, he’s stroking it... It seems so wrong… Are you still there, honey?”
Hugo cleared his throat. “Uh… I’m here.”
“I’m going to sit with him.”
There was movement again, he heard his wife’s breathing, and then her voice off-microphone, in the distance: “Mind if I sit here?”
Hugo felt his stomach rolling over, the butterflies rampaging through his intestinal tract. What was she doing? What if it was too much? What if he wanted her to stop? She was on a train, miles away. No way he could get to her.
“I’m sitting opposite him,” she whispered into the phone now. “Are you there, honey?”
His wife was sitting opposite a man with a raging erection poking out of his fly, wearing no panties, her pussy soaking, her chest heaving.
Hugo had never felt more alive. His cock was rock hard, throbbing with need.
“I’m here, honey,” he said.
“I want to touch it, sweetie. I want to know what it’s like. It’s so hard…”
Hugo stroked his rigid shaft, feeling more than a little breathless. He felt so very vulnerable, so completely powerless. What if he said ‘no’, and Madeleine refused to bow to his command? There was something profoundly sexy about the thought of her as such an independent, bright young woman, though.
“You want to, honey?” Hugo asked her.
“Oh, yes,” she sighed. Then she said, “Nobody needs to know, sweetie. He’s a stranger. I don’t even know his name. He doesn’t know mine.”
Hugo stood up, his phone pressed firmly to his ear, his head whirling, yet no discernible thoughts emerging from the fog of his brain.
“There’s no one around,” Madeleine whispered. “What d’you think, sweetie?”
Hugo didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t cheating if it was consensual. It wasn’t infidelity if he knew. He wasn’t going to lose Madeleine—their bond had never been stronger. And the bottom line was: he wanted his wife to be fulfilled. That flicked of pure happiness in her was priceless.
“Go ahead, honey,” he said.
“You know I love you more than the world?” she whispered.
He heard her say something away from the microphone, and then the phone was moving again, and there was the sound of Madeleine breathing over the dull clatter of the train, and then she was laughing and cooing, and Hugo got the sense that she had another man’s cock in her hands.
He heard her kissing someone—or something.
“Mmmph…” she said, her mouth full, before he heard her withdraw whatever it was, and say: “I love it.”
Hugo felt his cock throb. He felt as though the base of his stomach was filled with heavy, hot metal.
But then he heard her laugh again—such a clear, innocent, joyous sound—and he never wanted it to stop.
Anything to make her that happy.
“Oh sweetie,” she said at last, “It’s so big and hot and hard…”
There was the sound of friction, of kissing, of Madeleine moaning while her mouth was full, of wet flesh on flesh, rhythmic, regular. A low growl, a male groan of satisfaction that made Hugo feel a strange blend of nausea and excitement. How far was she going to go with this?
He heard her release her stranger’s cock, and then there was a fumbling sound.
“Still there?” she said, gasping for breath. “I’m pulling open my shirt. This is gonna get messy.”
There was more heavy breathing, urgent now, the pace quickening.
“Oh God, he just came all over me,” she said. “I’m going to have to go clean up. I’ll see you at home, honey.”
After the call, Hugo felt strangely light-headed.
It was only a blow job, wasn’t it? That was hardly anything.
He poured himself a glass of scotch, the alcohol burning his throat but loosening him up a little as he awaited Madeleine’s return. While he waited, the television was on, but he didn’t focus on it at all, didn’t even notice what was on.
As he waited, he mulled over the evidence as to whether her phone call had been real, or yet more role-play. She did have a real gift for role-play.
What a thrill it had been. His jealousy had been real, but it wasn’t just excitement he felt alongside it. For some reason, he felt a huge weight lifting off his shoulders—and it took a little while before he understood that it was guilt evaporating, guilt of a man who had been unsure whether he was good enough for his wife ever since she’d descended into her own version of Hell.
Allowing her the freedom to play with other guys made him feel he was no longer restricting her from experiencing the joys of life. Right or wrong, it felt like absolution from his inner guilt.
Hugo felt the hardness returning to his own cock as Madeleine texted him to let him know she’d pulled into Penn Station. Then, another to tell him she was getting off the subway, walking down their street. He was pacing like a caged tiger by the time the front door finally opened, and there was Madeleine.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said.
“Hey,” Hugo tried desperately to keep calm as he laid eyes on her pretty face—and the saucy clothes that looked nothing less than hooker-chic right now.
His wife dropped her briefcase by the door and removed her jacket, to hang it up on the coat stand in the hallway. It left her in a white shirt unbuttoned sufficiently to show a black bra, and a scandalously short skirt that showed off her lace-top stockings to full effect.
“There is no way you wore that to your business meeting,” Hugo said, leaning back against the doorway through to the kitchen.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Madeleine was grinning like a minx as she slowly walked toward her husband, unbuttoning her shirt, pulling it off and letting it simply fall to the ground. “I got runs in my nylons—I had to change.”
“Runs in your stockings wouldn’t have been as shocking to your fellow passengers as that skirt.”
Madeleine shrugged, “I was feeling playful.”
Hugo saw her lick her lips as she laid eyes on the hardness straining through his pants, and it made him wonder if those lips had truly been around someone else’s cock earlier that evening.
Now she reached behind her back to spring the catch on her bra, which she also allowed to fall to her feet to reveal her sweet, pert breasts peaked by stiff little nipples.
“Are you hungry?” Hugo asked her, as he often did when she came home late, though she’d never come home late looking quite this hungry before.
“Are you going to feed me?” she asked, and reached under her skirt to slip her panties down over her thighs, shimmying her body a little to allow them to drop to the ground.
Hugo noticed how wet her panties were, the pale gray cotton dark where her moisture had seeped—not just a spot, the whole crotch.
“Of course,” he said as she approached him now. “I just didn’t know if you’d already had something on the train.”
There was fire in her eyes as she said, “Oh, I had something on the train. But I still have an appetite.”
She reached up to kiss him, swamping him with her cherry-vanilla scent, his hands falling naturally onto her soft, smooth butt as she pressed herself to him. Her kiss was so sweet, but he was distracted by her fingers fumbling with his belt, forcing open his pants, pushing them down to the floor.
“Mmm…” she purred. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
Hugo felt her hot stomach pressing against his rigid cock now, as she leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Go sit on the bed.”
She followed him through to the bedroom, seated him on the edge of the bed facing the windows, and sank down on her knees between his thighs, taking his manhood in her hands.
“You know,” she said, kissing the tip of his cock. “I never had two in one day before.”
“Could become common,” he said with a groan as she bobbed down on his shaft, enveloping his sensitive flesh with her wet heat.
“It’s hard to believe how lucky I am sometimes,” she grinned.
He watched her sucking his cock, and thought about how she’d been doing this to a complete stranger earlier that evening. He wished he’d seen it, wished she’d decided to FaceTime it or Skype it, though the reception was always crappy on those trains. It was quite a view, to see her naked other than her sexy stockings, head buried in his lap. It must have been irresistible on the train.
The way she leaned forward and upward to reach his cock made it easy to see her glistening pink pussy. She was so beautiful, from any angle.
His imagination started to fill in the scene, adding details, changing the decor. He was suddenly picturing the interior of a train—the Acela Express, mostly empty on a midweek evening back to the city. A pretty businesswoman on her way home, feeling frisky, playful. Gently stroking her pussy through her underwear while semi-aware that the older businessman facing her might be able to see her.
Calling her husband to warn him before drifting over to kneel between the businessman’s thighs, accepting the hard flesh he offered her.
He pictured his wife going down on another man in the middle of a public train car.
Madeleine flashed him an impish grin, taking his cock out of her mouth to spread his clear pre-come over her cheeks and lips. She said, “Are you thinking about it? Me on the train?”
“I think you’re harder than I’ve ever seen you, sucking your cock,” she said in disbelief. “Do you really think I was going down on that guy on the train?”
Hugo felt the penny drop. “You weren’t?”
Madeleine smiled, and suddenly pulled away from him, hopped up and dashed out of the room. When she came back, she was holding her briefcase.
Confused, her husband watched her withdraw a banana from the case.
“You faked it,” he said in barely more than a whisper.
She grinned broadly, and now sat down between his thighs again, this time taking the banana as though it was a penis, to demonstrate her trick from the train.
“You really would have let me do that?” Madeleine said. “It would’ve turned you on this much?”
Hugo took a deep breath, waiting for her to get angry, to accuse him of thinking her worthless.
“When you thought I was actually with another guy—were you jealous at all?”
“Of course I was,” he insisted, not sure how he was going to get out of this.
“But you liked it?”
“I don’t know. I guess. I just like thinking of you… in that way. Being so sexual.”
“You don’t worry that if I was with someone else, I’d leave you? Lucy said that might happen.”
“I guess there’s that risk,” he said, swallowing, his throat feeling so dry. Feeling a little strange that Lucy was apparently advising her in these matters. “I just don’t think it’d happen. You didn’t marry me for the sex.”
She was silent a moment, and he was suddenly worried she’d decide he wasn’t showing her respect, or she’d accuse him of not really loving her, if he could imagine her with other men.
He tried to soften the impact of any anger, conceding, “I guess it’s just some kind of weakness.”
She looked up at him, and he watched her sharp, bright eyes examining him. Then she said almost in awe, “I don’t think it’s a weakness. I think it shows a real confidence… underneath.”
Madeleine was looking at him suddenly so seriously. As though it was the first time she was taking all this on the level—previously, it had all been a little light-hearted fun, she had been teasing him, making fun of him, even.
Suddenly, it was real; she had confirmed that her husband could handle this. She looked shocked, her pretty eyes wide, mouth open in a round “o” shape as enlightenment flooded through her.
She said, “You know you’re right, don’t you?”
“I didn’t marry you for the sex,” she smiled, but blushed. “I mean it was always good…”
“Was good,” he nodded.
“You know what I mean. Is good.” She grabbed his softening cock now, kissed it. Now it was her turn to take a deep breath, before she said:,“What I was saying was, you were right to say it would never happen. Leaving you. I could never cope without you.”
Hugo felt his insides thawing.
Madeleine smiled, reminding him just how exquisite that expression could be. She said: “When you have a conference away from here, or you’re meeting a client in some godforsaken city on the West Coast, I don’t get to curl up next to you at night, I can’t stand it.”
Hugo found himself smiling now. It was nice to be wanted. It was pure reassurance against his number one fear in all this, to hear her say she couldn’t do without him.
As if to underline the sentiment, Madeleine added: “Even though it’s just a day or two, I only feel right again when we’re together.”
Hugo urged her up onto her feet in front of him. He leaned forward and down to kiss her soft stomach.
“I love you so much Madeleine,” he said, breathing in the sweet scent from her skin, stroking her with his face as he kissed his way up to the lower slopes of her breasts. “I ‘specially love it when you’re turned on, when you come.”
“You turn me on, you make me come,” she insisted.
He smiled, “Is it so terrible that I’m curious to see someone else make you come?”
Calmly, he took one of her stiff nipples into his hot mouth and sucked, and then the other.
“No,” she said, thrusting out her chest, spurring him on to devour her breasts. “It’s far from terrible. It was a shock when you first said that was your fantasy. I mean, I don’t think I ever thought you wanted to end things between us, but—”
“But you thought I wanted another woman?” he smirked.
“You have to admit, from the outside it does kind of seem unfair—I get to sleep with other men, but you don’t get anyone but me.”
“It’s not unfair—my fantasy is watching you, your fantasy is being watched. Seems pretty balanced to me.”
“Lucy thinks you must have some kind if trauma in your past you’re just working through. I wonder if I was that trauma. What happened.”
“What happened happened. I can’t really say it didn’t change me. I know I don’t ever want to go back to that place—but having been through that, I know how strong we are.”
“You think if we hadn’t gone through that, you’d still be having this fantasy?”
He fondled her breasts, held them, as though weighing them. He kissed his way underneath them, around them, taking in their softness, their pert shape.
“I don’t know. I know that ever since you started getting sad, I started feeling guilty that I was the cause—”
“And even if I wasn’t the cause, that if you’d married someone else, perhaps they’d have kept you back from all that despair.”
“That’s ridiculous, you can’t feel guilty—”
“It’s a fairly common response to depression in a loved one. I felt guilt, but then when I thought of you enjoying yourself on that train… and it seemed so very real... Well, all that guilt went away.”
Madeleine let out a little moan as he began to kiss his way down her stomach again, this time slowing down as he ventured near her mound.
He could smell the dark scent of her arousal as he reached her tidy little patch of pubic hair, see her moisture lining her pussy lips.
“You know,” he said, and she gasped as the back of his hand brushed over her searing hot pussy, “maybe I’m just going through some kind of weird phase. But we should have some fun with it—it’s not serious. It’s just fooling around.”
“It could get serious,” Madeleine said, shooting him a warning glance.
“Only if we don’t communicate properly,” he said, leaning down and turning his head in a slightly unnatural angle to touch his lips down to the top of her pussy and her clit.
Madeleine moaned, and ran her fingers through his hair.