Book: Madeleine Plays: A Wife-Watching Romance

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His stomach was swamped with heat, jealousy, arousal, bursting forth inside him like a perfect storm. His eyes darted from window to window in that apartment across the street, looking for signs of the man who had drawn Madeleine’s attention.

“Over there by the front door,” she whispered, almost in awe.

Hugo looked, and sure enough there was the tall, athletic-looking guy who so infuriated and antagonized Madeleine while he was stalking her in the bookstore, and yet made her secretly melt inside.

Something about him intimidated Hugo—the sheer physicality of the guy, perhaps. He must have worked out regularly, even concealed by clothes, it was clear he had a powerful physique. Yet Hugo’s intimidation wasn’t purely from his size, his apparent strength. The guy seemed tuned to stir Madeleine’s lust, his stylish clothes and wildly overlong hair lending him a kind of Byronesque romanticism that made bookish girls like her weak at the knees. The quiet affluence of his understated and yet unmistakable designer clothes, apartment, mannerisms all attested to the kind of man who had to represent the ultimate danger to a husband whose wife he sought.

A husband ought to be provoked into a furious rage knowing his wife even spoke to such a man. And yet Hugo felt a curious adrenaline fire within him, that Madeleine was not just talking, flirting with the man on a daily basis, but that she actively harbored a genuine schoolgirl crush on him. It felt to Hugo as though he was tightrope walking to let this happen.

The man was dangerous, and Hugo could see it now in the way that his wife seemed to glow to look upon him. She was so beautiful in her quiet longing for this other man—yet she also seemed a touch giddy about it, gawky, awkward in a cute kind of way.

“He looks like one of those guys from that vampire show you like.”

“I guess, a little.”

He looked back toward Madeleine, and was startled to see her on her feet and right next to him, that sexy glow about her turning almost feverish as she smiled suggestively. She turned to present her shapely rear to him, and then nudged his nearest leg aside so that she could plant her behind down between his thighs, sitting on the window seat in front if him.

“Touch me,” she said, almost whispered.

She wriggled back so she was lying back against his body, turning her gaze to the window and her crush across the street. Resting back against his shoulder, tilting her head so he could lean in and kiss her mouth.

Her breath was hot even before he connected with her, but as he kissed her, he could see how deeply she was breathing from the rise and fall of her chest, he could see how stiff her nipples were poking out from her breasts.

She was really on fire.

He reached around, cupping her breasts, scoping out those hardened little buds and the way her cleavage just seemed to perk up at the thought that her crush was just across the street, and her husband was now with her, touching her as she watched him.

Hugo felt her grab one of his hands now, guiding it down her smooth stomach and over the soft fuzz covering her mound.

As his fingers closed over her hot, tender folds, he found her already seriously wet.

She let out a long moan as he began to play with her.

“So he’s the one, huh?” he asked her, his hardness pressing against her as she sat lodged between his legs. “He seems like quite a specimen.”

Quietly sighing, gasping, she leaned back again, tilting her head to kiss his cheek.

“And you’re really okay for me to… watch him?” she asked, and he saw her fingers now swarming over his, her hand enclosing his between her thighs, and she was moving him, showing him where to touch, sharing the rhythm that got her off.

“I guess it’s a little hard to understand,” he said. “I guess I like the idea of watching you pleasure yourself as though I’m not here to affect things.”

“But thinking about me being with him?”

“Maybe. We’re married, we’ve been together for years, you’d be different with another guy, I think. I’d be curious.”

Breathing hard, she was tilting her hips now, this way and that, fucking his fingers as he penetrated her.

“But you’re not jealous at all, me watching another man, thinking about him? Isn’t it just plain wrong?”

He felt his hardness throbbing as it pressed against her lower back while she said those words, and he did actually feel the jealousy swirling around his belly—but also felt strong enough to control it, ride it like a surfer rides a wave.

“Sure, I’m jealous,” he conceded. “Nervous, scared, I guess. But even that adds to the thrill—it’s scared like on a roller coaster.”

“Scared of what?”

“I guess scared that you’d prefer the other man.”

“You know I’d never do that.”

“And that’s why I can handle you having a crush. I have a safety net.”

“A safety net.”

“I trust you.”

He brought his fingers up to his face, smelled the strong odor of her sex on them, then slipped them inside his mouth to sample her tangy flavor.

Across the street, the student apartment seemed emptier now, most of those remaining behind engaging in either drunken dancing or amorous embraces.

Down a floor, Hugo’s eye was drawn to that bedroom again—and he was not disappointed. The lights went on, and they saw The Crush head inside. Hugo heard his wife catch her breath as they watched him strip off his shirt, and the t-shirt underneath, to reveal an impressive frame that suggested he worked out, quite a lot, too. Abs, pecs, biceps to die for, or maybe to end marriages over.

“He must work out. You ever see him in your gym?”

“Why d’you think I joined?”

“Hmm. Naughty girl.”

Then off came the Crush’s pants, leaving him in merely a pair of black boxer shorts. Probably silk, judging by the rest of his appearance, though they could not tell from that distance. He crouched, and then stretched out on the floor of his room, apparently to do press-ups.

Hugo simultaneously coaxed Madeleine’s left breast and her pussy, both hands working to further her pleasure. There was an urgency in the movement of her hips, in her panting—but he didn’t want her to come yet.

She was unbelievably wet as he touched her, as she watched the tall dark stranger in just his underwear, stretching his muscular body in various positions as though warming up prior to a gym workout. He was certainly fit, certainly athletic. It made Hugo feel instantly more jealous, yet at the same time pleased that Madeleine did not just have a crush on any old guy.

And it was strangely exciting to know she must fantasize about that strong, beautiful body pressed against hers, her hands running all over his bulging muscles, wanting him to take her in some athletic, animalistic way.

That dark little place inside Hugo was curious to see Madeleine making love to such a body. Well, it was safe enough to fantasize.

“Watch him,” he said to her, as if he needed to ask, but at that she turned to kiss her husband on the mouth again, her right hand slipping behind his head, pulling his neck so he was compelled to tangle with her. She was tasting him, the slight lingering hint of her own juices on his lips and tongue, her eyes sparkling with the reaction to this strange compulsion in him for her to watch this guy she’d confessed to finding attractive.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” she said, a trifle breathless.

“Crazy about you, honey,” he grinned. “It’s so hot he’s got you all goose bumps and blushes.”

“You’re serious, you want me to watch him?”

“I’m serious.”

They watched the Crush doing his perfect press-ups, as though some unseen drill instructor was barking instructions from afar. Those muscles really working, flexing, pumping, as his board-like torso rose and fell. Could Madeleine imagine herself under him?

“What do you think about when you watch him?” he asked her softly, his mouth so close to her ear.

Her hand was pressing his up around her clit, where she was encouraging him to massage around her little button more than on it directly. But he kept slipping his fingers inside her when he could, if anything to wonder at just how wet she was while they watched this bronzed Adonis in his late-night warm-down.

She paused, not really comfortable fully opening up, perhaps. She said quietly: “I’m not sure I’m really thinking all that much when I watch him.”

He could tell she was worried about saying something that would hurt her husband. It was against everything normal in society for a wife to acknowledge her eyes were wandering to another man, even if her husband seemed supportive of the idea.

“You imagine being with him?”


“Running your hands all over his powerful body.”

She moaned, and wiggled her hips as though to explain away her moan as merely a response to his touching her, rather than her husband being suggestive about her fantasizing about a hunk across the street.

“Feeling his strong arms around you…”

“Oh… you’re a bad man, Hugo,” she groaned. “Wicked.”

“Maybe you feel something big and hard pressing against you as he pulls you against him…”

She was so wet, wetter than he remembered her ever being before.

He urged her up, and she didn’t quite understand what he wanted. Was he going to fuck her now? Guide her onto his hard cock? He held firmly onto her thighs, encouraging her up in a crouch, but preventing her from standing up the whole way, or jumping off the window seat.

He slid down, his body moving under hers, between her legs, but not stopping to allow her to sit on his prominent erection as it strained against his pants.

And then he was lying on the window seat on his back, staring up at her exposed pussy, pulling gently on her thighs to urge her back down, so that she could lay her sex over his mouth.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Watch him,” he told her. “Watch him and take it out on me.”



“Okay,” she said hesitantly. “But I want to see you as well. Take off your pants.”

He did as he asked, unbuckling his belt, yanking down his pants and underwear to reveal his hard cock to her gaze, which confirmed that he was enjoying himself as she watched her crush.

It seemed to make her relax. She sank down, allowed her searingly hot, dripping pussy to touch down against his mouth. She leaned forward, and it was awkward getting a good position to lap at her slick folds, but he found it, hands reaching up to grab her beautifully round behind, pull her down onto his eager tongue.

He felt her hands taking hold of his hardness, knew what she was doing, allowed her a brief taste of his cock. But then he broke off from her.

“I want you to watch him,” Hugo said. He felt her sit up, pumping him a few times before letting his erection go.

She lifted herself off him—unsure of this position, not to mention his request for her to look at another man, her crush, as she sat astride her husband’s face.

“You’re really serious?” she said, not for the first time. She shifted back, so she could see his eyes between her thighs, see that he meant what he was saying.

“I’m serious. Forget it’s me down here, if you like, forget it’s your husband.”

There was horror in her eyes, but also confused excitement. He could imagine a rush of questions were whirling around her head, similar questions to those whirling around his.

“You do remember I told you this guy hangs out at the bookstore sometimes?”

“I remember.”

“And my gym. That doesn’t make you jealous? You still want me to watch him?”

“I don’t know why,” he said, “but it’s hot. It’s forbidden, I guess, it’s risky. But I want you to feel unrestrained, liberated.”

She brushed her pussy over his mouth, giving him a little taste of her wetness, teasing him, in a manner that made Hugo wonder if she’d seen the gesture performed by a college student in that apartment over there.

“If you were watching a girl across the street, and I found out you had a crush on her, there’s no way in hell I’d let you look at her,” she said.

“I know,” he said.

“Just so you know. If you had a crush on a girl across the street, we’d be moving apartments.”

“I have a crush on you, that’s all I need,” he said, and she rewarded him with another taste of her sex, moving her hips slightly to stroke her soft folds over his face.

He hummed in pleasure as he tasted her tangy flavor.

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

She wiggled as she lodged his head against her pussy again, her hands touching gently against his chin as he began feasting on her. Then she was gyrating her hips to graze her wetness over his face, and he loved it, loved that she was in such an intimate connection with him.

He could worship her, even while she was imagining her own pure pleasure in the hands of another acolyte.

She remained silent, though, she felt uncomfortable providing her husband a commentary.

He broke off briefly, pushed down his head to free up some space in which to speak. “What’s he doing?” he asked. “Tell me what he’s doing.”

“He’s stretching,” she said. “Yoga, I guess. He usually does it before bed.”

“You like watching him doing yoga?”

“I like it when he’s wearing almost nothing, and he’s showing off his gorgeous body in front of the windows, sure,” she said, almost teasing him except that it was exactly what he wanted to hear.

She leaned forward again, and now he felt her take one of his hands, his right hand, and place it over his hardness. She wanted to watch him, just as he had watched her earlier. He did as she wanted, gripping himself, starting up a slow motion on his shaft, being careful not to go over the top and lose it.

It was a thrill to be in a position they’d never tried before, to be servicing her while she looked across at her crush, imagining that stranger between her thighs.

He couldn’t really see what she was doing from down there underneath her, but he could picture her watching, fantasizing as he indulged in the taste and scent and heat of her pussy.

Madeleine could not hold back. She surprised him by suddenly crying out, shuddering over him as he ate her, her come so profuse, her flavor saturating his immediate world.

Her orgasm was unmistakable—and it pushed him into an explosive climax of his own.

Afterwards, as they disentangled, Hugo saw that the light in the room that apparently belonged to her crush had been extinguished.

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