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.”
“You should.”
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.
“Expressive?”
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.”
“Maybe.”
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.”
Two
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 regu
larly, 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 seeme
d supportive of the idea.
“You imagine being with him?”
“Possibly...”
“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.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“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.
Madeleine Plays (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book Two of the Madeleine Trilogy Page 2
