Hugo was impressed that this central tenet of his fantasy had registered with her so firmly. He replied:
> Maybe your husband would be okay with not knowing right away, as long as you tell him eventually, when you’re ready.
He thought she might read a little more into this statement than just that it was a line from her role-play boyfriend. It was kind of like a new policy statement from her husband, too. A new policy based on the realization that though they were sharing this fantasy of Madeleine sleeping with another man, Hugo’s version was a little different from hers.
While he wanted to watch her taking full enjoyment of strange cock, perhaps her version of the fantasy focused on the forbidden part of an adulterous encounter. The secrecy, the independence, the game of keeping things away from hubby’s eyes. She liked playing the naughty wife in more ways than just physical transgression of the wedding vows.
Jesus, the whole sexual fantasy thing seemed so fluid, so changeable.
Another text came through from Madeleine:
> Maybe. But this time, I have to tell him right now. Thanks for a lovely time, Connor. Have a good night xx
He replied simply:
> You too xx
That text exchange left him feeling slightly nervous, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.
By the time the cab pulled into their familiar street, and he saw up ahead the entrance to their apartment building on one side of the street, and the entrance to Connor’s apartment building on the other, Hugo felt a cold suspicion that he’d just given his wife permission to actually cheat on him.
Jesus, that was such a big step, so much bigger than merely the prospect that one day she might sleep with someone else with him watching. This new anxiety stemmed from a further loss of control—and yet he wasn’t feeling he’d made a mistake. He didn’t want to change his mind.
On the way up to the apartment, he reassured himself with the thought that if this didn’t work, then they’d move on. It couldn’t break their trust, could it, when he’d given her permission?
*
When he got back to the apartment, he sat himself down on the window seat to see the guy they’d Christened Mr. Portly playing around in his apartment with a little beagal-cross puppy. The guy seemed to have accepted the new addition to the household now, the cute little thing seemed to be house trained. The college students in the apartment above were currently out, so far as Hugo could see. For once. Connor’s apartment was also dead to the world.
He wasn’t really concentrating, his tired mind reeling a little from everything that had happened.
How long was he sitting there? Perhaps he even drifted off for a little while. He jerked awake to the sound of a key sliding into the lock of their front door, and the thing opening.
Madeleine.
“Hey!”
She was all smiles as came in, and he was instantly up on his feet, pulling her to him for a long slow kiss, swamping him in the clean scent of a recent shower. She’d changed out of her slutty evening wear, which somehow disappointed Hugo a little, though she looked lovely in a loose cream top and tight jeans. Her make-up had been reapplied after her shower, but subtly this time, almost trying to make it seem as though she wasn’t wearing any.
“God that was amazing,” he said as they broke apart at last.
She was grinning like a minx. “It was, wasn’t it?”
“You should get some kind of acting award—I got the real feeling you thought you were with Connor in that hotel room.”
He could see she was wearing a black bra, her cleavage nicely on show with her low neckline, despite her attempt at a casual dressed-down appearance.
“I guess at times I found myself thinking it,” she said, her tone half-apologetic, as though she was going to get in trouble for fantasizing about another man.
Hugo felt his manhood stirring at the thought that she might have lost herself that evening in her pretense of an adulterous affair with Connor.
She said, “You were pretty into it yourself, weren’t you?” And her hand had found its way to his loins, pressing against his growing hardness.
“I’ll say.”
“In fact, I’d even say you were getting off on the idea that it was actually Connor there making love to me.”
Madeleine quietly squealed as she felt his shaft throb at the ideas she was implanting in his head, and her pretty face broke out into another of her enormous smiles, her eyes glinting with the knowledge that she’d confirmed her husband was turned on by the idea of her sleeping with another man.
Hugo could only shrug, he could hardly deny it.
Madeleine laughed, and then pulled back from him, moving through to the bedroom in a clear hope that he would follow. She was lying on the bed as he got there, like some Middle Eastern harlot wanting to entice a Sheikh into bed.
“Would you really have done all that on a first date?” he asked her while moving up alongside her on the bed, his fingers finding their way up her leg, adoring her smooth skin, those irresistible curves.
A shrug herself. “I don’t know. It would depend on how the date went, I guess.”
He kissed her neck, breathing in the soft scent of her perfume—one of her regular fragrances this time, not a new one designed to dispense with normality. As he tasted her clean skin, he enjoyed the warmth of her body,
He tasted her clean skin as he enjoyed the warmth of her body, the sight of her exposed flesh.
“So how was it for you?” she asked him softly. “I assume it didn’t put you off this whole fantasy of yours.”
“It didn’t,” he said. “I love the idea of you starting dating again, maybe finding a guy who drive you so wild you have to get a hotel room, maybe even the first night.”
She laughed. “You know it must be every married woman’s dream to have a secret permission slip to go out and sleep with whoever she wants, guilt-free. And here you are telling me I’m living that dream.”
“I like making your dreams come true,” he smiled, and leaning over her shoulder, kissed her long and slow, sucking gently on her bottom lip, as she reached to stroke his cheek, and he cupped her breasts, his fingers teasing her stiff nipples.
“I just find myself thinking it’s too good to be true - there’ll come a point when you’ll decide it was all a bad idea. But that hasn’t happened yet.”
“I don’t see why it should,” he said.
She lay back as he moved to slip the button on her hot pants, then haul them off over her hips and those smooth thighs, past her knees, calves and the little white socks covering her feet.
Then he was dropping her little pile of denim on the floor. Kissing his way up her legs, loving the feel of her skin on his face, the way her scent strengthened as he ventured up her thigh.
She was highly aroused again, he could tell. Her hips shifted awkwardly as his hand gently closed over the front of her panties, finding out just how wet she was.
“You were so hard when you were imagining me with him,” she said, becoming a little breathless.
“It was from the way you were responding to the idea.”
Tracing two fingers along the line of her pussy, which was covered by the soaking black cotton of her underwear, he kissed his way down her stomach.
Madeleine was impatient, slipping her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, urging him to take them from her.
“You were so wet,” he said, peeling her panties down over her thighs, her knees, her shins. And then he was kissing his way up her inner thigh, seeing extraordinarily wet she was again. “Much more than normal.”
“Did that make you feel bad? I think I’d get so jealous if you were responding that way to another woman. Even just the thought of her.”
He smiled, hovering over her dewy folds, sampling her bouquet like a connoisseur swirling red wine around his glass. “I didn’t feel bad. Jealous, sure, but not in a bad way.”
“Not in a bad way?”
She groaned as he began to
nibble on her labia, loving how his senses were saturated by her flavor, her aroma, her sighs and moans, the heat and softness of her most intimate parts.
“It’s not a negative experience if you embrace it,” Hugo said. “I think to myself that this is all an experience I am giving you—even if it was Connor sleeping with you, it would still be something I have given you.”
She gasped as his tongue coursed through her pussy, and up to her clit. “Careful,” she said, then dropped a little joke. “I’m still a little sore from… from him…”
Her little joke made Hugo groan, feasting his eyes on the pink folds of her pussy and how puffy and red she was. Imagining that it was another man that made her this way made his heart jump a few beats.
She lay back and allowed him to take his fill of her sweet nectar, but not so long that he made her come again that way.
After a while, she was up on her hands and knees, presenting her delectable rear to him, allowing him to take her and drive his hard cock straight into her with the full animalistic power of his need to reclaim her—even from merely the idea of another man.
“Oh fuck…” she hissed, her breasts shaken with every thrust he took, her hair swaying, her well-used pussy squeezing him as he buried it inside her time after time.
Both of them panting, sweating, pulsating with wave upon wave of sexual energy as Hugo made her his. His huge erection was so slick with her juices that there couldn’t be any way she was in pain, even if she’d been sore before.
She came harder than he’d ever seen before—harder than she’d ever seen before—all red-faced and straggly hair, beads of sweat mottling her brow, mascara running, breasts quivering, hips shuddering as she let out a great scream.
Then he was coming inside her, pitching himself forward, holding her tight, locking his twitching shaft deep within her as he finally let himself go, feeling his burning seed coursing through his full length before pumping out inside her.
Afterwards, it took a long, long time for their breathing to get back to anything that resembled normality.
He asked her, “So you think you’d want to do that for real some time? With Connor?”
“I might want to,” she said, then added: “But I’m not sure I actually could with Connor.”
“Not so keen on him any more?”
“Too keen, maybe,” she said, her words fanning the flames of exquisite jealousy inside him.
Thirteen
She already looked pretty hot coming in from work—all made up, wearing a pretty summer dress that showed a lot more of her thighs than she’d ever show back in Boston.
“It gets better?” he asked her, only half joking.
“You do want me to make an impression, don’t you?”
“Of course. And you would in that.”
“Oh, you wait.”
She beckoned him to follow her through to the bathroom, and he was obedient like her pet, though his eyes were planted firmly on her shapely behind tucked into that dress as they went.
A small pile of black clothing lay on the counter beside the sink, making Hugo feel certain she’d planned this. Part of her build-up for a man who just adored to watch her.
Checking out her glorious curves in the mirror that made up the entire wall above the counter, she flashed Hugo a minx-like grin and dragged the dress up over her hips and waist to reveal a pair of pink lace underwear that her husband would ordinarily have taken to be a special ensemble for sex. Yet she was intending to wear something different tonight.
Hugo perched on the side of the bathtub as she peeled the dress off, up over her head.
Then off came her matching bra, and down came those panties to reveal the tidy patch of golden hair covering her mound. Hugo felt a little giddy to see it. How far was she going to go this evening? She knew where her husband stood, knew what his fantasy was now. She knew that if she really wanted it, she could go as far as she wanted—sleep with another man, if she desired—and he would be supportive.
Naked, she looked stunning. Any man would go some length for the chance to see her like this.
First item on the pile, black with straps hanging off it—she unfolded it and held it across her waist. A garter belt, something Hugo couldn’t remember her ever owning before. She fastened it around her waist, then revolved it around her body to get it into the right position.
“You’ve been shopping,” Hugo said, trying to sound casual, relaxed.
“You like it?” she smiled at him in the mirror.
“It’s pretty wild.”
He couldn’t help but notice, as she turned to look at him for real, just how hard her nipples were. She was getting off on this, dressing up for her husband, dressing up for their night out.
Next, she slipped on a pair of black and emerald silk and lace panties, which went on over the garter belt, over the suspender straps dangling down to her thighs. Hugo knew from glimpses of pornography what that meant: easy to get them off without taking off her stockings and suspenders. Then, a bra to match her panties, binding in her breasts, slipping the straps over her shoulders, checking it was all in the perfect position for the evening.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her.
She smiled. “Nervous, I guess,” she said, now turning toward him, leaning back against the counter, then hopping up to perch her behind on the edge, where she could shuffle in order to put on her stockings. She had to remove her shoes first, but then she was stretching out the thin nylon, balling it up before lifting her knee to roll it onto her foot, up her slender shin, over her knee and up most of her thigh. The other one followed. Hopping down to connect up the suspenders with the stockings.
Jesus. Hugo felt his insides on fire. Madeleine was wearing stockings and suspenders. Clothing designed for pretty much nothing but sex—and therefore so very sexy.
Would another man get to see her like this?
Hugo had never seen a real woman in actual stockings and suspenders before, he realized. It was so powerfully erotic, bringing up memories of 90s porn magazines he’d borrowed while a teenager. So very luxurious, decadent, and somehow completely, wonderfully immoral.
She checked herself out again in the mirror, turning to gauge every angle, and to Hugo she was disturbingly calm. Had she worn this kind of thing before? For someone else in her past?
Sure, he had those niggling questions as to why she’d never worn this kind of thing for him before, be he’d been together with her to know full well the answer: she’d always been far too self conscious about her body to wear this kind of thing, whether or not she suspected it would be a turn-on for him. These days, though, her confidence was at incredible levels—and this outfit was full testament to that.
Different shoes this time, a larger heel. Not quite stilettos, since they were intending on dancing that night, but sexy all the same. When shoes hiked up a woman on her ankles, it forced her to stand in a way that pushed out her curves magnificently—the feminist’s nightmare, perhaps, with insinuations it was purely for a man’s benefit, but it really did emphasize her femininity, and those scintillating curves.
God, she looked incredible.
A final application of lipstick, a shake of her head and a ruffle of her hair, and she was a sultry vision of seduction. She could have been a high-class call girl, a model, a movie star. But she was his, and they were about to go show her off on the dance floor.
Her little black dress was back out in the bedroom, hanging in the closet right by the door, ready and primed for use. She had to wriggle to get it down her body, it was so tight. The hem came down to her upper thighs, only just below the level of her stockings. It was going to be easy to see those later on, when they were dancing. The neckline was so low it barely covered her bra, revealing more cleavage than Hugo saw most nights.
She was ready to go, and her husband was almost drooling, he was so openly gaping at her attire.
The word wow just didn’t seem to cut it.
*
The fact t
hat it was already late as they headed out the door seemed all kinds of bad. This wasn’t when civilized couples went out, not when they’d been married five years.
As she climbed into the yellow cab in front of him, Madeleine merely raised her leg and Hugo could see that she was wearing stockings, rather than hose, her dress was so short. It made him involuntarily shiver to see, to think they were embarking on a journey that could, if things went the way they hoped, result in Madeleine exploring some serious boundaries.
He could tell that she was nervous, too. She trembled a little, but she was also talked more than usual.
“She’s moving in on Wednesday—can you believe it?”
“That’s fantastic.”
“I can’t believe it. It’s going to be great—we can just hang out, like we used to. It’s weird to think she’ll be a student again.”
Talking about Lucy was a great distraction for her, it seemed, though all the way to the club she was glancing up through the windshield at the road ahead, those eyes scouting for the signs they were getting close to their destination. Hugo could read the excitement and anxiety in her pretty face, the street lights flowing over her as they moved..
“I think she’s ready to start dating again,” she was saying. “She needs some distraction from Greg…”
“I’m sure she will when she’s ready.”
“Oh sure, when she’s ready. But I’m just saying. You need to keep your eye out for eligible bachelors, Mister. I’m not sure the bookstore crowd is quite the right type for her.”
“Judging by Greg, her type isn’t the right type for her.”
“I guess.”
They pulled up at the street just down from the entrance. His hand was shaking a little as he handed the fare to the driver.
It was still too early for a line to build up outside the club. They were nodded inside by the bouncer, whose eyes strayed all over Madeleine, making Hugo feel a flicker of pride and exhilaration. She was absolutely gorgeous, and she was locking her arm in his.
A drink at the bar steadied their nerves. A strong drink, as it turned out, and Madeleine was ordering.
Madeleine Plays (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book Two of the Madeleine Trilogy Page 13
