Before he left for work the next morning, Hugo stood for a moment, gazing down on the bed and the sleeping form of his beautiful wife. Had last night really happened? Had she really revealed a hint of a wild side to him? Or confessed about her crush? That she liked to watch him have sex in the apartment across the street?
Had she really made out with one of her friends at work?
This was Madeleine, the same Madeleine he had dated, had fallen for almost instantly, had married. The same Madeleine who had shown no sexual interest in anything for so long that he couldn’t remember. This prim, proper, pretty girl who lay before him as though it was just another Wednesday morning.
Had she really admitted fantasizing about a man who was not her husband?
And had he revealed that he found such a thing hot?
Hugo had to leave the bedroom before the tingling between his thighs became the kind of burning need that would make him late for work.
At work, he couldn’t stop dwelling on it. It felt unreal—halfway through the day, he started thinking maybe it was unreal. That it hadn’t happened.
As the morning wore on, he wanted to text her just to say what an incredible night it had been, just making love to her like that, time and time again before they’d collapsed asleep. But every time he picked up his phone, doubt froze his hand.
What if the cold light of day had made her ashamed of what they’d talked about while making love? What if she was embarrassed now, about revealing her secret to him? And what if she thought he was disgusting?
He was trembling a little on the way home from work, but along with the fear and the trepidation, the strongest thing he felt was hope: that the way they’d been able to talk about things, like never before, would continue.
He’d never heard from Madeleine about what she thought about during sex, about what her fantasies were. It seemed a strange thing after five years of marriage. How had he never been so curious as he was now about something like that?
He was also a little nervous that she hadn’t texted him once that day. Maybe she was just exhausted. Well, he hadn’t texted her, either, had he? Even so, his paranoia helped him imagine all kinds of bad scenarios.
He had to hope that things would pick up as they’d left them the previous night. She’d made a step past that old darkness, she was finally happy, and ready for a new era of sexual openness and exploration with her husband.
He wasn’t holding her back any longer from experiencing the pleasures of life.
Hugo was almost giddy with anxiety and excitement as he stepped off the subway, walked to their street, their apartment building, their apartment.
Opened the door.
Merely her voice and the ebulliently cheerful tone it projected was enough to make Hugo hard as a rock even before he really laid eyes on her. And she looked incredible in a simple summer dress, short enough to show most of her thighs, a gentle glow about her pretty face as though she’d been thinking dirty thoughts again.
“Good day at work?”
“Oh, you know, so-so.”
It was a little awkward to begin with. Hugo wanted desperately to talk about what had happened the previous night, and he sensed that Madeleine might be the same way. But it was a little embarrassing now. Had they both really revealed what they had?
They both ate supper as though nothing different had happened at all. Madeleine had cooked a wonderful meal of fajitas and salad, but Hugo didn’t enjoy it quite as much as he would normally.
The only sure-fire sign that anything was different was that the blind slats were no longer firmly closed—they were open sufficiently to see the apartments across the way.
At last, with food out of the way, Hugo glanced overtly at the building across the way, and said with a suggestive smile: “So how was your day off?”
“Good,” Madeleine grinned a touch bashfully.
“Have you been watching a certain somebody out the window?”
Hugo found himself thickening just to ask her that question.
She shrugged. “Only a little.”
He pulled himself up from the sofa, wandered over to the windows. There was no sign of anyone in the bedroom they’d seen the threesome in the previous night. One floor up, the college students seemed to be having what appeared to be the early signs of another party.
“They never seem to stop, those students,” he said.
“They are in college? They do study?”
“I’m not sure,” she said quietly, now pulling herself up from the armchair, following him to the windows, only making her progress much slower, more tentative, almost ready to flee if things went sour.
“They’re pretty well off, aren’t they? Trust funded, you think?”
“They’d have to be to be college students living in a place like that.”
“Your man must be fairly well off, too. Not home right now?”
Madeleine glided to his side, so close he could smell her sweet floral perfume. God, she was hard to resist.
She stared at the windows for a moment or two, and then looked at him as though to try to work out whether he was joking, whether he was being ironic, whether by the cold light of day he was actually happy for her to watch and fantasize about a man who lived across the street.
She said: “He went out for dinner.”
Madeleine blushed furiously, apparently knowing the details of her crush’s schedule.
Hugo felt a jolt of burning jealousy slide through his chest—and yet he saw the fire in his wife’s eyes at the mere thought of this crush, and it excited him.
“But you watched him for a while before he want out?” Hugo said, and now flashed her a mischievous grin, at once reassuring her it was still all fine, and also reminding her that he actually quite liked the idea that she had a schoolgirl crush that was stoking up her hormones like never before.
“Maybe,” she said, still blushing profusely, unable to lie to her husband.
Then, as if to distract from her embarrassment, she moved away from him, taking up position sitting on the window seat, leaning up against the wall.
“You’re very calm about it all,” she said.
He shrugged, still not quite knowing how to put his own feelings into words. “There’s no risk that you’ll leave me for him, is there?”
“Of course not.”
“So then. Maybe I just like the fact that this crush of yours gets you all horny.”
“And you are horny, aren’t you, honey?” he smiled.
“You’re a bad man, Hugo.”
“You are, aren’t you?”
“I am now.”
Her hands slid down her body, over her curves, a little too uncertain to be sensual. Yet the fact that she was entertaining ideas of displaying herself for him, of embracing his attraction toward her rather than merely laughing it off or scoffing at his complements, was irresistibly sexy.
“You like watching me,?”
“Maybe I should let you, then,” she said, pushing her knees up so that her flimsy dress rose on her thighs, and he could see so much of her smooth pale flesh—and then her purple panties.
Hugo took up position opposite her on the window seat, leaning up against the opposite wall some 10 or 15 feet from her.
“So… what should I do?” she asked, nervous, blushing, uncomfortable. So unbelievably sexy.
“Take off your dress.”
Hugo tried to sound strong, authoritative. Helping her to contend with her own uncertainty about this.
“You think anyone can see?” she whispered, hands hesitant as they clutched the hem of her dress.
He glanced through the blind, which was a little more open than perhaps was entirely safe. “Does it matter?” he asked, and felt a throb between his thighs as his blasé response prompted a quiet gasp from Madeleine.
Was this a step too far?
Then trying to reassure her, he said: “Those students are all too wrapped up in their party to notice you, I would think. And none of the other apartments have lights on.”
Madeleine was looking across the street with a mischievous glint in her eye that almost invited someone from the other building to look. Hugo felt his cock harden further, even before she slowly began to draw up the thin material of her dress to reveal her upper thighs.
Then she wriggled to get the dress past her behind, and her panties were now out in the open, though sitting side-on to the window would hardly allow witnesses much to see. Her husband had to keep himself from openly drooling.
“You asked for it, Mister,” she said, and he felt himself tingling all over as she continued to draw her dress up, unveiling her pale abdomen and shapely stomach, and then the bottom edge of an unmatched plain black bra.
She hesitated again, as though doubt had crept back in, and glanced out into the night again, checking for observers.
“God, you look amazing,” Hugo breathed, not even really meaning to vocalize his thoughts, though it was rewarded with another bashful smile from his pretty wife.
Emboldened by his words, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and the bottom of her dress, then suddenly whipped the garment up and over her chest and head, revealing her modest but exquisitely rounded breasts quietly enclosed in black cotton.
She said, “I’m not really sure what to do…”
“Relax,” he said, resisting the temptation to release his hardness, his hands quietly in his lap, pressing against his bulge, hiding the contact. “Do what you’d do if I wasn’t here—if the blind was closed like normal.”
“But you are here. And the blind’s open.”
“You want me to leave?”
She shook her head. Then she looked him straight in the eye, completely serious, and said: “Tell me what you want to see.”
Hugo felt his hardness throb. Was she asking him for general ideas on what he wanted her to do, or exact instructions? Was she asking him to tell her what to do? That was so unlike anything that happened in real life. Maybe it was something enticingly different for her.
He took a deep breath, and adding an edge of authority into his voice, said: “I want to see you touching yourself, Madeleine.”
He could see her swallow involuntarily, but then freeze up, like a deer in headlamps.
His voice a little softer, he tried a more detailed instruction: “I want to see you running your hands all over your body.”
Hugo was no expert on female masturbation, but he did have his recent experiences watching Madeleine pleasing herself to draw from. He cast his mind back, tried to remember how she’d done it, from start to finish.
“Start at your shoulders and stroke down your chest,” he said gently.
She offered him a warm, sexy smile, but turned her back to the windows, shielding herself from potential onlookers as she began to comply. Nevertheless her compliance gave Hugo a little tickle of pleasure. She was doing what he told her to. There was something delicious in that.
“Now down your stomach, and over your thighs…”
He could hear the quiet whisper of her hands sweeping down over her smooth skin as she fulfilled her instructions, her hands so graceful skirting over her curves, drawing his gaze with them as they flaunted her body for him.
“You look so beautiful, honey,” Hugo said, almost moaning. “You’re making me so hard already.”
That comment provoked a smile, and he even thought he caught the mischievous flicker of lust pass through his young wife’s face, her eyes slipping across to where he sat to see if she could detect this physical manifestation of his desire for her.
Her movements grew in confidence, her caresses becoming somehow more natural, fluid, graceful. More like how she’d been before, when she had no idea he was watching her.
“Take off your bra, Maddie. Show me your beautiful breasts.”
Her eyes widened for a moment at this sudden command from her husband, and she glanced across at him, mouth opening in mild shock as if she was about to raise objection considering the open state of the blinds. But then she seemed to reconsider—she wanted to do everything she was told.
She slipped the thin black straps over her shoulder, then reached behind her back to flip the catch.
Hugo felt the oxygen levels reducing as he watched her lean back against the glass, her full breasts so prominent on her chest now, so very bare, her nipples pointing up hard as bullets. Could anyone across the street see her? They had to know what she was doing, even able to see only her back.
“You’re so incredible, sweetie,” he sighed, though forcing himself to be loud enough for her to hear, and respond with the kind of brightness that demonstrated her growing confidence. “Feel those beautiful breasts of yours, squeeze your nipples.”
Now her hands were moving up to push her breasts together, her head turning to check herself out as she fondled her soft flesh, fingers nudging up against her stiff little buds, exploring their sensitivity, coaxing that glorious tingling energy out to ripple through her entire body.
She moaned at the feelings washing over her, and Hugo could see her hips fidgeting a little, as though the physical contact with her breasts was stirring electricity between her thighs, her erogenous zones connected by direct pathways that mean stimulation of her hard little nipples resulted in sensations within her pussy.
Then she was looking across at him, seeking further instructions, her expression almost pleading with him to allow her to touch herself between her thighs.
“So how long have you really been doing this while watching people across the street?” Hugo asked her.
“Weeks and weeks,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face briefly as she continued cupping and caressing her breasts. It amused him that she’d been shy about telling him the truth before.
“You kept that to yourself.”
“Well it wasn’t proper for a young lady.”
“I guess not. Young ladies get curious though. Is it just your crush who gets… frisky… while you watch?”
She shook her head. “There’s a young couple up from the students, who sometimes forget to close the curtains. Not very often, though. And the college guys.”
“They do more than just party?”
“They have a lot of girls round there.”
“Your pussy needs some attention, honey,” Hugo said, feeling so odd to be using such words with her, let alone going against his nature to act dominant with her. Yet she seemed to respond to it, she wasn’t laughing at him any more.
One of his own hands now drifted down to his crotch in tandem with Madeleine’s hand now slipping over her stomach to nestle between her thighs. Watching her cup her mound, then one finger rise to trace the hot, wet topography of her underlying pussy through the thin purple fabric of her panties, Hugo felt himself fully hard again—explosively hard.
“Can you see?” she asked, now looking over at him again with a more seductive look that showed her swelling self-consciousness.
“Of course,” he said. “I’m so hard watching you, honey.” He now unfastened his fly, releasing his manhood before her gaze, though his raised knee concealed it from the outside world.
A slight gasp and a bright beaming grin at hearing that, he saw her finger subtly slip under the purple lace of her panties, seeking out her hot little honeypot unrestricted.
“Do you like me watching?”
She paused briefly, but then nodded. “Yes,” she said softly.
“Has anyone from over there ever seen you?”
“No,” she said, certain as certain could be. “I keep the blinds virtually closed.”
He watched her body gently writhing and undulating with the steady, deep rhythm of her breathing as she now touched herself, uttering the kind of sensuous sighs that sent shudders through his whole body.
What an incredible sight she was—all that bare flesh, smooth skin, almost glowing as the sexual energy swept through her system. Her graceful curves taking his breath away every moment that she moved.
“Take off your panties, honey,” he growled now. “Let me see how wet you are.”
She gave him a little gasp and a playful look of mock-outrage, making him chuckle a little. But she did as she was told—hands landing on her hips, thumbs twisting under the waistband of her underwear, then as she lifted her butt, she pulled the scrap of purple over her thighs, down her legs and away.
He saw the little puff of soft hair on her mound, then she angled herself a little on the window seat, lifting the knee closest to him, and she was showing him everything—the scandalous pink petals of her pussy, glistening from her personal moisture.
Her glance in his direction now was dazzling hot and daring him to object. She didn’t need instructions to return her fingers to those slippery folds between her thighs, dancing around her clit, sliding between her lips.
“I never would have taken you for the voyeur type,” he said.
“Touché,” she said, that outer leg slipping down so that anyone watching her could have no illusions that what she was doing was in any way innocent. “I wasn’t to start with.”
Hugo found it both shocking and immensely thrilling to see her exhibitionist streak now beginning to emerge, his wife growing in confidence as she grew comfortable with the situation and the realization of her fantasy.
“You like watching the college students? I know you like watching your crush over there.”
“To start with I was a little horrified at what they were doing—and how public it all was,” she said. “But I guess I got curious. It was interesting. Different to what we’re used to.”
He felt his pulse racing as he watched her slide her fingers inside herself, and then on withdrawing them again, trace them up over her soft skin to spread her moisture even to her sensitive nipples.
“Interesting?” he prompted.
“It was different from us, from the way we did it,” she said. “Different from the way things were in college in our day.”
“We’re not that old!”
“We didn’t grow up with Facebook charting our every life moment.”
Hugo felt a little funny when she mentioned college, alluded to the fact she was having sex in college. He hadn’t known her back then—they’d met a few years after college. And even after so many years together, married for five, they had never discussed their sexual pasts. The potential for jealousy had left that subject off limits. Yet Hugo now found himself curious of what had come before him for his wife. What her experiences had been.
Perhaps he was now interested in finding out about her sexual past—it might even be a thrill to hear of her sexual coming of age, of the exciting times she’d had before.
Prodding a little, he said: “How d’you mean? How are they different to what happened in college?”
With one hand, she was stroking around her pussy, massaging her outer labia, almost teasing herself. Sitting there opposite him like that, Hugo couldn’t remember a time when her sex had been quite so explicitly exposed to him. She was stunningly beautiful, and the practiced, flowing movement of her hands over her flesh was quite breathtaking, almost hypnotic for Hugo.
She pressed her fingers either side of her slit, coaxing herself, her pink inner lips glistening a little with her dew, her middle fingers only occasionally dipping into her pussy itself.
Turning to gaze out of the window again, she said: “When they get going… the guys are always going down on the girls.”
“You like that they do?”
“I think so. I guess I should ask you more.”
Madeleine even blushed again, making him wonder if the modern student attitude to oral sex had somehow affected her more than she thought possible.
Hugo certainly enjoyed oral sex, and as Madeleine had emerged recently with her newly sensuous, sexy confidence, the thought of going down on her seemed to be ever more often on his mind. The previous night, he’d been surprised at how she had seemed to accept it, embrace it, rather than encouraging him to move on to the penetration, the “full” sex, as she might have in the old days.
Hugo turned to see the apartment across the way had changed in form—the lights were now low, which gave a whole different look to the place, made it seem somehow smaller, more intimate. The partygoers were drinking and chatting, while others were smoking in what seemed wrong for an indoor location. Hugo wondered what Madeleine had seen over there.
“They have a different attitude toward sex than we did, I think,” Madeleine said. “More open, more… expressive.”
Her fingers seemed to be taking on a life of their own, circling her sex and penetrating it, slowly, but building in intensity. It was as though the rest of her body was merely along for the ride, her chest slowly undulating as her breathing deepened in response to her manipulation.
She gasped suddenly, tilting her head back for a moment to suck in a sudden lungful of oxygen. Then she regained control, flashing him a mischievous grin by way of apology for interrupting their conversation.
She said: “I don’t know… it’s hard to explain. They’re just more confident, more passionate…”
“See,” she whispered, and they both looked across the street to see one of the bedrooms in the students’ apartment was now occupied by more than just coats. A male student was lying on his back, a pretty redhead sitting astride him, her skirt hiked up so he could access her. She wasn’t sitting astride his crotch, either—quite the other end.
Hugo felt a hint of envy, but that feeling quickly turned into desire, a craving to be performing the same kind of thing for his pretty wife.
“You like that?” he asked her. “That they do this kind of thing so much?”
She looked at him, appearing to silently debate the question in her own head. Then she nodded. “I think it’s nice. I guess… I guess I never thought people did that because they wanted to. But those guys over there really do seem to want to. It’s not just to please their partners.”
He said: “I guess the younger generations are more in tune with sexual equality, even than ours.”
Hugo heard Madeleine quietly moan now as she watched this couple across the way, the young red-haired woman casually sitting there astride her companion’s face, grinding her hips over him. He realized he could hear the wet sounds of her fingers slipping inside her. Was she imagining being that redhead?
A trifle unexpectedly, Hugo started feeling disappointed that Madeleine’s crush wasn’t currently over there. He was curious, about how she would respond to see him again while in the company of her husband.
“I don’t understand why you’re not angry about it,” she said.
“Why should I be angry?”
“When we were first dating you couldn’t stand the idea of me even looking at another guy.”
“When we were first dating there was every chance you’d want to stop dating me. We’re married now.”
Hugo heard her catch her breath, and felt himself tremble a little, his heart rate picking up. Madeleine’s crush was back from dinner,
“He’s there. I see him.”