It was a little much for her, perhaps, after her recent orgasm. She hopped off him, giggling, and almost wrapped her body around his head before kissing him from an angle Hugo had never kissed anyone before, almost upside down.
Tasting herself as she kissed him, as she nibbled on his lips, then full-out fucked his mouth with her tongue. Not squeamish at all about her flavor. There was something undeniably sexy about that.
When she crawled over him again, she wasn’t stopping until she had his big hard cock between her legs.
“You have such a big cock,” she purred. “My husband would be so jealous to find out.”
“Jealous, or envious?” he chuckled.
“Probably jealous more than envious… but then he has a big enough cock as well,” she laughed.
He reached down, and lifted his cock up to touch the searing heat of her flower, stroking her with his obscene hardness, coating his end in her copious juices. Madeleine moaned, and perhaps for a moment forgot where she was, what their scene was about.
Then she remembered. She was straddling a man who was not her husband. He was about to violate her, penetrate her with his fully erect cock for the first time, making it full, proper, cannot-be-denied adultery.
At least in their scene, anyway. And they had to keep to the fantasy, or else this wasn’t a proper dress rehearsal.
Madeleine paused, and looked over her shoulder at him with a note of caution in her eyes. It was a difficult moment for her to keep in character—she gazed at him momentarily as though asking her husband for permission, wherever he was being kept.
But Hugo was not her husband in this scene, he was Connor.
If she ended up sleeping with someone else, and her husband wasn’t in the room, there would not be any final power of veto.
Hugo said, “You okay? Want to stop?”
Perfectly light tone of voice, nonjudgmental, relaxed and reassuring—telling her it was okay if she wanted to step back, temporarily or completely.
She gave a nervous smile, and Hugo saw her getting back into the role, realizing she needed to work through this kind of scenario if she wanted to actually do this some day.
“You feel so good,” she said. “But I’ve never… not before… not while I’ve been with Hugo.”
Hearing his own name, treated in the third person, someone emphasized the fact that in this, he was not here—her husband was waiting at home, assuming that his wife was innocently hanging out with her best friend.
“Of course,” he said. “But we don’t have to do this now, if you don’t want. You want a break? We can chill out a little.”
She hesitated, then shook her head.
And she wiggled her behind, forcing his end inside her.
“Oh God…” she breathed, feeling just the tip inside her. Facing away from his head as she thought about what was happening—she could easily have been imagining it was Connor penetrating her, violating her wedding vows.
Then she eased down on his shaft, letting him take her weight, making him gasp at the tightness, the heat of her pussy.
Hugo moaned, as much from the thought of this momentous milestone—his wife taking another man’s cock inside her pussy for the first time as a married woman, even if it was simulated—as from the physical bliss of entering her.
“You’re so wet,” he said, trying to keep in character, trying to avoid saying he couldn’t remember when she’d been quite this wet before.
“Oh God, you fill me up so completely,” she breathed, for a moment just sitting there, still, feeling him inside her. Imagining being stretched by another man, but a cock she’d never felt before.
She leaned back a little, placing her hands behind her on his stomach to support herself, then slowly, as though unused to his size, she began to move, slowly rocking her hips back and forth, her stomach undulating as though she were belly dancing for some Arabian prince.
“You’re so big,” she said, “so hard…”
Leaning back further, her hands on the mattress either side of his shoulders, her golden hair sweeping down to brush his face, her movement on his cock accelerated, eased by her abundant wetness, so she was bouncing up and down on him, his hands holding her waist to support her.
“Fuck…”
He let her use him for a while, feeling a little startled at everything that was happening, at just how sexy his wife was in this game, in the way she was taking what she wanted, forgetting her inhibitions, emerging from the shy, downhearted girl afraid to even talk to her husband about sex—into this glorious goddess showing him exactly what she wanted.
Yet what she really wanted was another man right now. That was yet another dark thrill as Hugo lay there, dazzled by the beauty of his wife in the role of insatiable adulteress. He had to be Connor in this fantasy. He had to know how she would be with the other guy, what he could expect if she did actually go for it.
How did Connor make love?
He was young, chiseled, and unafraid to go after someone like Madeleine even while she was in the sanctity of her workplace. He wasn’t the type to simply lie back and let her take him, use him like some inanimate object.
Hugo grabbed a hold of Madeleine, pulling her to him in a powerful bear hug, piling his cock into her one last time before wrestling her onto her back. She squealed, apparently delighted, as he manhandled her, forced her down.
“My turn,” he said. “You’ve had enough time to get used to cheating on your husband.”
She caught her breath at the word cheating, though in their little game, it was a perfectly appropriate word to use for what she was up to—in her head, fucking a strange young man from the other side of the street, while her husband waited at home under the impression she was innocently cheering up her best friend.
Holding her down with one hand, he kissed her mouth hungrily, and held a strong hand down between her legs, forcing two fingers inside her, feeling how incredibly wet, how sensationally hot she was down there.
“You know how bad you are?” he said to her as he lifted off momentarily.
“Very bad?” she grinned, loving his new attitude.
“Cheating on your poor husband.”
“I’m sure he’d be happy to know I was doing this,” she said.
“But you’ve hidden this from him.”
“Maybe I’ll confess as soon as you’re gone.”
“Then it’ll be too late. He wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
“No. But I think that he likes having a naughty wife. So even if I am bad, once I tell him, I’d make him so horny, I’m sure he’d forgive me.”
He kissed the side of her neck, loving the softness of her warm skin, the gentle perfume she wore, the way she jostled her hips in response to his fingers as they squirmed inside her soaking pussy.
He pulled away from her, and as she looked up at him with her entire face a question mark, he reached for her hand, and pulled it up to his crotch, to the brutally hard cock waiting for her.
“Mmmm…” she said. “How is it that you’re using that thing on me instead of all the hot girls you always have running around your apartment?”
She stroked him slowly, her fingers closed around his shaft to form some kind of makeshift sheath. He dipped his fingers back between her legs, seeking out that heat again, coating his fingers in her juices before bringing them up to his face, breathing in her aroma, slipping his fingers inside his mouth to taste her again.
He said, “Because I’ve just found out how much better it is to fuck a beautiful woman looking to fool around on her husband.”
Madeleine lifted her head, craned her neck to reach him, put the tip of his cock inside her mouth.
She moaned at having him there, her lips stretching and curling into a broad grin even while wrapped around his girth.
Hugo channeled his inner Connor, and lifted his knee over her chest, carefully straddling her, the end of his manhood never leaving her lips. Then he was over her, the alpha male, letting her suck on him a
little while, one hand caressing his thigh as the other gripped his shaft. He gently rocked back and then forward, gently fucking her face, though allowing her periodic breaks to recover from the massive object stretching her lips, so she could trail it around her face.
Hugo felt powerful, placing his hand in her hair as she closed her eyes and took him in her mouth, the other hand reaching behind to stroke her thigh and cup her mound. Fucking her face, gently but to his own rhythm.
His inner Connor wanted more. He pulled back, urged her over onto all fours, and then he was holding her beautifully round behind, parting her knees a little, placing the tip of his cock to her entrance and then easing inside her again.
“Oh Jesus…” she wailed as he thrust into her, his hands clasping her waist as she clung to a bunch of pillows as though to keep herself from being pounded into the wall.
She seemed to collapse into the bed as he pounded into her, taking his force, absorbing the energy of his powerful desire, adoring this different kind of lovemaking, that she didn’t normally see from her husband.
He was just about holding on as she now shivered and bucked under him, her eyes closed to imagine her new lover filling her, ready to blow inside her.
His body was zinging with electric energy and he felt the little jolts in the base of his swollen cock that spoke of the imminent arrival of his orgasm. Whether she felt him throb inside her, he wasn’t sure, but Madeleine somehow sensed he was near, and now pulled away from him.
“You can’t come inside me,” she said. “I’m not sure my husband would be happy about that.”
He nodded, then was a little surprised as she scootched between his legs, sliding down on her back. She sat up to grab his cock, pumping on him, forcing him to mark her with his seed.
Hugo felt his climax boiling up, and then he was coming, his white oil bursting forth to splash all over his wife’s pretty face, her neck, her bounteous breasts and hard nipples. Dripping and dribbling down her smooth skin, Madeleine embraed his emissions. She rubbed his purple helmet all over her face, her cheeks, her chin, her jaw, her neck, even as he continued to spurt his cream over her..
Beautiful, messy Madeleine. Sticky with another man’s come.
Hugo couldn’t help but kiss her, thinking to hell with it, his lips sliding over hers, sucking on her, even with his syrupy fluid all over her, slick and salty.
“Oh God, that was amazing,” she said, looking up at him, impressed at how he had surprised her with his sudden forcefulness.
He collapsed next to her on the bed, and they recovered their breath.
But breaths regained, Madeleine was telling him he would have to let her alone for a while—he would have to head off, head home. She could not spend the night with him, not this first time with him, this first time cheating on hubby.
Hugo, feeling his natural self returning, felt a little unsure about what she meant him to do. Would he actually leave the hotel, head home?
“I’m tired anyway,” she said. “I wouldn’t be any fun company tonight. We could do this another time.”
“Of course,” he said.
He pulled himself up from the bed, leaving her to swaddle herself in the bedding, drained of all energy. He pulled on his clothes, and left her apparently sleeping—feeling strange to be vacating that luxury room at such a late hour, fleeing in the night.
Twelve
He found himself leaving the hotel and it was the middle of the night. Feeling confused, dejected somehow, descending in the elevator to street level, walking out of the entrance lobby onto the street, feeling out into the hum of people on Times Square, his vision swamped by the chaos of neon jarring and flashing from every available building to call his attention to this Broadway musical or that consumer brand.
What was her plan? Was she going to spend the night by herself, thinking about what had just happened?
Should he just get in a cab and head home?
His loins throbbed gently from the contentment of recent use—God, what a wild Date Night she had engineered. She could have done it so much simpler, too, by just inviting her husband out to a hotel, telling him they were going to imagine he was another man. Instead, she had lulled him into the belief that she would be sleeping over with Lucy, that Date Night had been canceled—and then made him think she might actually have called up Connor for a secret encounter, only the text had gone astray.
Well, maybe Madeleine did need the rest of the evening to herself to think about everything, to catch up on her rest.
He walked around Times Square, marveling at the sights as though he was merely a tourist. The extraordinary panorama and the multitude of other late night revelers proved a distraction for five, maybe ten minutes before his mind started wandering back to that room in the W hotel.
What was she doing in there? What was she thinking about? Was she asleep already? Had she drifted off to dreams of being taken by her crush from across the street?
Or was she lying awake, making the decision to actually cross the line, the line they’d both been thinking about for so long now?
To sleep with a man who was not her husband.
He checked his phone at least every minute, perhaps even only ten seconds apart sometimes. There was nothing from Madeleine. Did he call her? Should he send her a text message to check she was okay? What if she was asleep, and he woke her up?
What did she expect him to do? Wait for her in the bar?
Fifteen minutes out, he decided she must have fallen asleep. He was a little disappointed she hadn’t called or messaged him. He found himself missing her company, more than anything. This was supposed to be Date Night—their night to be together, to celebrate their rekindled passion, and more than anything spend time with each other, no distractions.
It had been an incredible experience, but God, he missed her. He’d left her mere minutes before, and now he missed her.
Was this going to be how he’d feel if she was out on a date with another man?
*
Eventually, he just hailed himself a taxi.
In the close confines of the cab, even with the smell of old leather seating and the incense or air freshener the driver appeared to like, Hugo kept catching the scent of sex on himself, the lingering evidence of their lovemaking.
It only took him until 23rd Street to figure he’d made the wrong decision. He shouldn’t have left her—or at least, he should have stayed at the hotel, outside her door, down the hallway, down in the lobby, the bar, wherever. Even hanging out in Times Square, in the Starbucks across the street.
She could very well feel insecure after what they’d just imagined. Maybe she’d call him, any minute, in floods of tears and he’d be downtown, a taxi ride away. She’d think he’d fled the scene, perhaps angry that she’d booted him out, or that her act had been so true to the fantasy of her having an affair with her crush this time.
Past 14th Street he finally sent her a text. Simple, straight to the point.
> You okay?
His heart in his mouth, he hit the send button.
After that, he had to wait to see what she would say in reply. He tried to reassure himself by thinking he’d done everything he could to keep her happy—she hadn’t told him what she wanted before he’d left, and certainly hadn’t afterward.
At last, her text came back, and though it made his pulse accelerate a little, it wasn’t initially helpful in determining what she expected of him.
> I’m fine, thanks. Had such a wonderful time. Disturbingly good, actually.
Staring at her message, he dwelled on the word ‘disturbingly’. It made him think she was considering how genuinely hot the idea of sleeping with Connor was.
But what did she want him to do now? Continue his journey home? He sent another text, but still refrained from actually asking what she wanted. He didn’t want her to feel pressured.
> I’m glad. You were so unbelievably hot tonight, can’t stop thinking about you.
The wait for her reply
was not quite so long this time.
> I can’t stop thinking about you either. But I feel bad because even though he wanted this, I did it without my husband knowing.
Hugo was a little taken aback at this. She was still role-playing? Still imagining he was Connor?
He couldn’t help smiling. She’d really gone for this theme of adultery that evening. It hadn’t been anything they’d really talked about before—but now that Hugo had seen it for himself, there was something strangely attractive about the idea.
How could he possibly find the idea of Madeleine actually cheating on him attractive?
It was kind of sexy having a hot wife who got caught up in the whole temptation of another man, but couldn’t find a way to break it to her husband. Hugo had always thought it would be a break of trust for Madeleine to go behind his back—but somehow, if he knew she wasn’t doing it out of spite, out of any kind of malicious intent, but because she just wanted something for herself, to experience that thrill of the forbidden, the illicit encounter, somehow that wasn’t so bad.
And if it really turned her on, the secret encounter, then it turned Hugo on, too.
He’d told her she could play around with other guys, after all. He’d made it clear that he wanted to know about it when it happened, but the important thing was he’d given her the green light to play around. So what, now, was the harm in her pursuing a little fantasy of cheating on her husband behind his back?
Hugo found himself thinking: if he ever discovered she’d cheated on him, well, not only would he have to forgive her based on the things he’d been telling her to do—he might even find it a thrill to find out.
Maybe he was going genuinely crazy.
Returning to his role as faux-Connor, Hugo texted her back:
> You don’t have to tell your husband if you don’t want to, you know. If you’re not ready.
Back came her reply:
> I’m sorry, but he’s too important to me. I can’t really believe what I’ve just done. He said he wanted me to be with another guy, but his one condition was that I tell him.
Madeleine Plays (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book Two of the Madeleine Trilogy Page 12
