Book: Madeleine Plays: A Wife-Watching Romance

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Five

Inside the front door, they were kissing, Madeleine dropping her bag without a care where it fell, pulling her husband to her, sucking his lips in between hers.

Hugo felt his hot jealousy from Madeleine’s eyeing up strangers on the train translate into raw passion, driven on by the thought of just how wet she was inside her jeans from fooling around in front of the innocent college guy.

Inside apartment just feet from the front door, his hands were feverishly pulling apart his wife’s coat, slipping it off her shoulders, sliding under her top to find her heaving breasts.

“Hey,” she said, her mouth curling into a smile. “Don’t you wanna watch first?”

“Oh, please,” he moaned, not entirely understanding what she was offering him.

She nodded, and he could tell she was concealing her own excitement. “Get in there,” she said in a conspiratorial tone, nodding to the bedroom.

Inside, he decided on a position on the window seat, rather than on the bed, from where he could see her but not touch her, at least initially. Maybe he just wanted to give her the space to display herself for him on the bed, without interruption. Maybe he wanted to see what the view might be for somebody watching from across the street.

When she entered the bedroom, Madeleine was looking stunning. She’d removed her jeans, and now wore merely a white tank top and pink and white cotton panties.

Making herself comfortable on the bed, he could see her face flushed pink, see her chest rising and falling with her deep breathing. She slipped her sandy hair tidily back over shoulders, and now peeled off one strap, then the other, before pulling down her top to reveal her glorious round breasts and those rock-hard nipples.

“You can see me okay?” she said, massaging her chest, stroking her nipples with movements specially exaggerated for her audience.

“Perfectly,” he said.

She smiled, and removed her top, and then she was lying back against the pillows, hands sweeping over her stunning curves, settling between her thighs.

Hugo could see her fingers slip under her little white panties, seeking out her heat, exploring her moisture.

She removed her underwear, and as she continued to touch herself, she angled her body so he could see everything.

So beautiful, the little sighs and gasps accentuating her breathing as her fingers glided over her chest, swept over her stomach and down her thighs, before drawing up over her mound and sinking into her soaking pussy.

“You like me watching, honey?” he asked her, seeing her fingers tracing little circles around her naked flesh, skirting over her clit, then either side of her deep red lips.

“Oh yes…” she moaned, her back arching as she briefly brought her hands up to swirl over her breasts again, grazing over her sensitive buds.

She was such an incredible sight—all that sensational smooth, clear skin, those trim lines and sweeping curves. Hugo casually considered what a waste it was that only he could see her like this. She deserved more attention than this. Deserved to be worshipped by more than just him.

That young guy from the subway would have been able to show her how truly exquisite she was. He would have produced a hardness worthy of her beauty, delighting her, making her scream, drawing out a killer orgasm before pumping her full of his seed.

Hugo felt his own hardness throbbing, and unzipped his fly to release the beast.

Why was that dark feeling of jealousy so thrilling to him now? That blackness inside him at imagining another man providing Madeleine with the kind of ride he might not be able to provide himself?

He couldn’t quite understand it. Perhaps it was the same reason that people went on rollercoasters, or sat in the dark to watch a scary movie. It made the nerves jangle, it quickened the pulse.

Made you realize you were alive.

Hugo was shaken from his brief daze by Madeleine’s increasingly desperate cries. Lying back against the pillows, one arm bend behind her head, she looked as though she was struggling for breath, fighting for oxygen—while her hand was stirring her pussy, her middle two fingers sliding up and down her slick groove and over her clit.

She shuddered, with one long breathy cry that seemed to expunge all her frustrations.

Then she relaxed, and glanced over at him, appearing to remember she was not alone.

“What are you thinking about, honey?” he asked now, hoping after his recent suggestions, she would be able to open up to him a little more.

“I’m thinking about you watching me,” she said, and he got the feeling she was suddenly getting nervous again. Then almost as though concerned she would dampen the tension in the air, she added: “I’m thinking how hard I’m making you, because you’re watching me.”

Hugo released his cock, and it was hard—cruelly so. He was so tempted to so out there, bury his face between her thighs, taste that slick moisture glistening on her folds. But he wanted to see more of his beautiful Madeleine, hear her fantasy.

“What are you imagining is happening to you as I’m watching you?” he asked her now.

She was blushing, but smiling, loving his attention, her fingers continuing to slip into her sopping pussy now, though her climax was passed.

“You’re watching me…” she moaned, caught her breath, and then rolled over onto her stomach, her hand reaching under her body to seek out her wetness again.

Hugo squeezed his shaft, pumped it, incredibly turned on, his heart pounding inside his chest at the thought of her imagining herself with another man as her husband looked on. He couldn’t dispel himself of the idea. What was wrong with him?

He said: “What am I watching you doing, honey?”

She only moaned, plunging those fingers into her wet pussy, shaking her head to get her hair out of her face, then sliding up one knee so that her husband could see her sweet flower again.

“Is he inside you, honey?” Hugo said, feeling himself figuratively walking along a sharp edge, over which it would be so easy to slip and fall. “Is he inside you while I watch?”

The words felt so wrong coming out of his mouth, seemed so dirty, so obscene, almost heretical. Contravening their marriage vows. But they seemed to drive Madeleine on to a new level, so she was writhing in the bed as though limbering up for a belly dance, her eyes screwed shut as she drove her fingers into her tight hole, and coaxed her clit vigorously.

“Is he fucking you, sweetness?” Hugo prompted again, wondering if she could even hear him over her plaintive cries.

Then she seemed to explode, as though snapping from his interrogation, distracted from her inhibitions by her increasingly athletic masturbation. She blurted out: “He’s fucking me…”

Hugo felt a depth charge detonate inside his chest.

“Does it feel good, honey?” he asked, feeling butterflies going wild inside his stomach at the thought of what Madeleine was imagining.

“Oh, he’s so big and hard…” she groaned, her whole body swaying back and forth while she touched herself, as though someone was actually pounding into her from behind. “And I feel so bad, fucking him.”

Hugo tried to imagine someone was actually there, kneeling up against her, driving his cock inside his wife—as though he was trying to shock himself out of this strange little kink he had picked up.

But Madeleine was so beautiful, the thoughts just made Hugo harder still. Thinking how exquisite she would look in a state of total sexual fulfillment.

Now she rolled over, spreading her legs as though to allow another man entry, though it was only her hands that moved there. Arching her back, her cries turned to little yelps, and she was getting close to coming again—so quickly after the last time.

Hugo gave in to temptation and stole across that short space, launching onto the bed towards his bare, sweet wife, diving between her thighs to bury his face into her wetness.

She was just too far gone to even think about what he was doing, so Hugo found her could really indulge in her, playing her like a musical instrument, teasing out the most wonderful sounds from her as his fingers played over her skin, delved into her wetness as his hot much focused on her clit.

“Oh God, oh God… I’m cheating on my husband…” she hissed, shocking and exhilarating Hugo simultaneously.

And then she was careening towards the edge, over which there was no turning back.

Her groans turned to yelps, and she was bucking as though it were a rodeo, her hands in his hair, gripping him firmly as she rode his face, and Hugo slipped his arms around her thighs, pulling her to him to force his mouth down on her burning clit.

As he delighted in the flavor of his horny wife, she came powerfully, her burning folds quivering against his mouth and lips as he sucked on her flesh and lapped at her juices.

*

Afterwards, she seemed a little shocked, and more than a little apologetic, that she’d said what she had while fucking his face.

“What are you talking about? I loved it,” Hugo was saying as she blamed her outbursts on getting worked up on that Subway train.

“You know I was thinking about you the whole time?” she was blushing again, still trying to catch her breath after a powerful orgasm, feeling a little awkward as though he’d caught her out.

It just wasn’t natural to fantasize openly about another man while making love with your husband. Hugo appreciated that.

“But not just me.”

“You were pushing me in that direction,” she complained, as he pulled himself up to spoon against her, and his rock hard cock seemed to evaporate any fears she might be having about his feelings.

“It was sexy,” he said. “I never usually get to find out about your actual fantasies. What really might get you going—”

“You get me going.”

“And so does the thought of some other guy’s huge cock pounding into you,” he said, pushing his body against her, crushing his own manhood against her soft, warm behind as though emphasizing his point.

“The thing that really got me going was the thought of you watching us,” she said.

The way she said “us”, rather than “me”, made Hugo tremble a little. It signified to him that Madeleine had genuinely been picturing herself as part of another couple that did not involve her husband.

She said: “You know that could never happen, right?”

“Right.”

“I kind of like opening up with you—about fantasies, you know?” she smiled. “But in real life, I’ll only ever be yours, Hugo Finnell.”

Hugo felt comforting warmth from her commitment to him, even if that dangerous little part of him deep inside felt a hint of disappointment that she might not ever consider pursuing one of her little crushes.

She moved slightly, subtly tilting her hips, and Hugo took the quiet invitation at face value and slip inside her, already so close to his end despite it being his first penetration all night.

He said: “You make me so hard, Madeleine Finnell. You’re my goddess, you know that?”

A sexy smile spread across her face as she moaned quietly, breathing slowly and deeply as he completely filled her with his hot manhood.

He pulled her to him, so she fit against his body as though she’d been made for him.

He whispered in her ear: “I want to worship you for the rest of my life.”

And as he came inside her, the orgasm powering through his body despite the glacial pace of their movement together, Madeleine was taken by surprise by another glorious climax of her own.

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