Book: Madeleine Plays: A Wife-Watching Romance

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Lucy was right, of course, although they had to get through a leisurely post-lunch coffee first, with Lucy’s mother feeling no need to rush.

On the subway home, Madeleine gave Hugo the kind of semi-amused look that said clearly she was feeling frisky after their lunch discussion, and she wasn’t going to let it go. The train carriage was almost empty, though not so empty that people couldn’t see them—so Hugo tried to dampen his own feelings.

They were both standing up, despite there being plenty of seats available. It was as though sitting would somehow spoil the energy now running through them both.

Holding onto a handrail to steady himself against the rocking motion of the subway train, as Madeleine held on to him, her sweet cherry-vanilla perfume dominating his every breath, Hugo was finding it difficult to maintain his restraint.

Madeleine wasn’t making it easy. She leaned up to whisper in his ear: “That guy over there keeps checking me out.”

She stepped back to register his reaction to her revelation, a mischievous expression on her pretty face as she tried to read him. Madeleine allowed her coat to fall open a little, and he could see a hint of her hard nipples even though her layers of clothing.

She was teasing him, trying to provoke him after he’d been so calm about her acknowledged flirting with Fabian and Connor.

But he remained calm, saying only: “Is that right?”

She was fooling around with her long dirty blonde ponytail, as though being coy. He could see her steeling glances down the carriage, and tried to fend off his own curiosity to avoid overtly gazing at the object of her claims.

Madeleine leaned into him again, tilting her head up to breathe into his ear again: “He’s so obvious.”

There was that faint tinge of pink in her cheeks that so clearly suggested her arousal that it made Hugo feel a little light-headed.

He gave into the curiosity, made it appear as if he were trying to look outside, to work out where they were in relation to their destination, to conceal his glance down the carriage.

Sure enough, there was a guy sitting halfway down the carriage who was, from time to time, quite blatantly gazing down the train in Madeleine’s direction. A little younger than them, Hugo would have said—maybe even as young as 21, 22. Clean-cut, slightly preppy dress sense. A college guy out without his frat buddies. Could have been one of the guys in the apartment across their street.

Hugo felt his pulse quicken a little as he turned away, keeping the guy just about in focus at the corner of his eye, as the guy quite clearly looked Madeleine up and down.

Madeleine seemed to give him a slight pose, allowing her coat to open again so he could check out her figure, her top riding up to offer the tantalizing glimpse of flesh, her feet pushing herself up onto her tiptoes to show off her shapely legs as bound in skin-tight jeans.

He leaned in to his wife’s ear now, whispering: “You’re such a dirty girl.”

Hugo paused a moment before disengaging, inhaling her scent, enthralled by her. For a beat, he wondered just how he had ever won her affections. She was the kind of pretty girl he’d seen on the subway when he was a student here, and had lusted after from afar, accepting he would never walk someone like this home.

But this beauty he had married.

Hugo felt a sudden craving to collapse to his knees and worship her—perhaps bury his face between her thighs, and bring her to orgasm with his mouth.

Yet she was cautiously looking down the carriage at another man.

Madeleine grinned as she saw her husband looking subtly down at his young rival.

“Isn’t he sweet?” she whispered. “We should take him home.”

Her eyes blazed, but Hugo felt himself struggling for breath, a jolt of surprise shooting through his insides, even as his loins stirred with warmth.

She could see his reaction to her suggestion, and silently smiled at her own success. Hugo tried to downplay his emotions, temper his response to her provocation.

Trying to beat him, push him into jealousy, she whispered into his ear: “I bet he has a heavenly cock.”

But while Hugo felt a dark flutter of jealousy inside, he was beginning to associate that feeling with the warm fizzing of serious arousal and the unbridled hardness of his manhood that went with it. Jealousy—however softened it had become from his years of a trusting relationship with Madeleine—was becoming a thrill. It seemed to pierce the easy routine of their coupling, light the fire under them.

“He can’t take his eyes off you,” Hugo whispered into her ear, adding: “I’m not surprised.”

“Kiss me,” she replied. “Claim me.”

She pressed herself up against him, quietly gasping as she felt his hardness through his pants. Inhaling her sweet scent with every breath, he drew her lips to him, hand gently but firmly supporting the back of her head. He felt her melt as his mouth connected with hers, felt her tremble as he tenderly teased her with his tongue, sucked a little on her bottom lip.

“Now he’s jealous,” she grinned as they finally pulled apart.

“Envious,” Hugo corrected her. “Jealous is what I feel when I hear you talking about his cock. Envy is what he feels seeing I have such a hot babe for a wife, wishing he could march up here and just take you away from me.”

He kissed her again, and this time his hand was opening her coat, finding its way to her breast, his fingers closing around her flesh, fingers finding her stiff nipple through her blouse.

And the college guy down the end of the carriage could see all of it.

Hugo could feel his wife shiver at the thrill—and somehow he felt a kind of echo of that shiver himself, from the clear realization: she was getting off on showing, on teasing this guy, on being the center of attention for two horny men.

The train slowed for the next stop, and Hugo pulled back, one hand moving to the nearest hand rail, the other falling by his side, withdrawing from Madeleine in case people got on at the next stop who might pass judgment, disapprove of this PDA.

Madeleine looked at him with an expression that was part disapproval, part amusement, and the remainder pure arousal. She nodded at him as though pointing out that the fact he had felt the need to disengage because they were stopping at a station was clear evidence that what he was doing to her was out of line.

But she was so obviously getting off on this. It was so thrilling to watch, Hugo thought.

A few people stepped off the train, but as they waited, no one new entered the carriage. Doors closed, and they were easing away from the platform again. Other than the college guy, there was an old couple that wasn’t even facing them, and that was about it for their carriage.

Hugo and Madeleine stepped together again, and this time she slipped her coat off her shoulder and pushed out her chest as though demanding his hands. Showing off for her audience, she moaned as Hugo placed his hand against her flesh, squeezed her.

He leaned into her, his mouth close to her ear to whisper: “I think you’re right.”

One of her eyebrows bobbed upward.

“I think you’re right he has a big cock. I think you’re making it rock hard, and it’s huge…”

Madeleine blushed furiously, and as if to distract from it, poked him sharply in the stomach. “You’re just being ridiculous.”


He kissed her again, this time a little more theatrically, whirling her around so that she could see over his shoulder as they kissed. Perhaps see the monster she had created in the chinos of the young man at the other end of the carriage.

Madeleine squealed as she felt her husband’s hand now snaking up underneath her top, creeping toward her cleavage. Her squeal made the college guy sit up and almost completely give the game away that he was watching every move the couple was making.

He whispered: “How does it feel making two guys hard at once?”

She glanced down towards the other man, a little awkwardly as Hugo slipped his finger under the top of her bra, to touch the velvet stiffness of her nipple. College guy was doing his utmost to avoid looking, but every once in a while they caught a flick of his eyes.

Hugo turned her so she could watch over his shoulder, and his hand now dropped out of her top, his fingers wandering over her belt and down past her fly to seek out the heat between her thighs.

She gasped. “Hey,” she whispered sharply, but did not stop him from nestling his hand between her legs. Even through the thick denim fabric, he could feel the intense heat, and perhaps did not merely imagine a hint of dampness there.

She breathed: “I’m going to have to change my underwear when we get home.”

He smiled, said: “You should have worn a skirt. Could have shown him how wet he’s making you.”

“How wet you’re making me.”

“It’s not just me, though, is it?”

Madeleine looked him in the eyes, analyzing him again, scrutinizing his own face, his eyes, for any sign that he was setting a trap for her, that he was actually displeased with her reaction to the situation.

Then she gave a slight affirmative nod of the head.

“I should get off at the next stop,” he teased. “Leave you to it. I could get the next train.”

That made her giggle, but he saw her squirm a little, thighs rubbing together, and knew she was tingling at the thought of chatting up the young man free from the oversight of her husband.

“We’re almost at our stop,” she said dismissively.

“You should get his number.”

“You should stop teasing, or a girl could end up thinking you’re serious,” she said with a wry grin, but her hand now pressed longingly at his crotch, taking in the shape of his erect cock, wanting it for herself.

He whispered: “I’m always serious,” but smiled at her, so she wasn’t entirely sure whether he was or wasn’t. To be honest, he wasn’t certain himself.

The train slowed, and sure enough it was their stop. Madeleine virtually dragged her husband from the carriage, hissing through clenched teeth that people would soon start thinking she had bladder control problems if they didn’t get home.

As they descended the stairs, pushed through the turnstyle and stepped onto the darkening street, she asked him: “When did you turn into such a complete pervert, Hugo Finnell?”

He shrugged, said: “Probably about the time you realized you’re an exhibitionist, Madeleine Finnell.”

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