Madeleine Plays (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book Two of the Madeleine Trilogy

by Max Sebastian

  She shook her hair over her shoulder, and lay on her side, one hand sweeping all over her body, her hips, her thighs, checking out the strange feeling of the stockings on her legs, and the sensual silk that covered her sex.

  “So you had a good time tonight?” Hugo asked her.

  “I did.”

  She teased him as he gazed at her, rubbing her fingers over her mound, over her concealed pussy, pulling the thin material tight against her so he could see the depression, the outline of her lips. She revealed more flesh, a hint of soft blonde down, as the soft silk sank into her lush vale, became a mere string for her to press into her tender folds, dazzling her audience with her pink flower.

  “Is this what would have happened if you’d gone home with him?” Hugo asked her.

  She laughed, moving around on the bed to end up on her back, her thighs parting, her hand pulling aside her panties to reveal all to him.

  “I’m not sure he would have given me the space to do this,” she said, two fingers slipping into her pussy, spreading her moisture over her lips.

  “He wanted you so badly—I could tell.”

  Madeleine sighed as she touched herself. “I could tell as well,” she said, looking at him with that sexy hint of danger in her eyes. “When we were dancing, he was pressing against me.”

  Hugo felt a ripple of irresistible jealousy course through his veins, intricately linked to the exquisite warmth of arousal. “You felt it?”

  She looked at him, and he could tell she was examining him even more than he was examining her after their experience, her leisurely display allowing her plenty of time to assess him while her fingers danced over her pussy, checking he was really okay about this, really interested in hearing of her experience.

  She nodded at last, said: “He was a big boy.”

  Hugo swallowed involuntarily as a jolt of surprise pulsed through him. He hadn’t expected such a revelation from her, though now it came he saw that it had been unavoidable. If he was questioning her, how could she not say?

  Blushing, she recognized the sensitive nature of what she’d said, the potential for offense. Some men—plenty of men—would be offended by the idea of their wives pressing against another man, of course, with the thought of his large size adding insult to injury. Hugo had never had doubts about his size, but the point of his wife having these experiences was that it was different, unlike what she had with her husband.

  “Are you sad you’ve come home with this, and not that one?” he asked, slipping his own rigid manhood out of the fly of his boxers, loving her response as he revealed himself to her, the lustful smile spreading across her face.

  “Not in the slightest,” she said, biting her lip, then shuffling forward to the edge of the bed as though for a better look, gently gyrating her hips to tempt him over.

  Hugo took the hint, and moved to the bedside, dropping down onto the floor before her, his hands curling around her nylon-clad ankles.

  “You could have, you know,” he said. “I wouldn’t have stopped you. As long as you told me about it afterwards, I’d have been happy.”

  She smiled broadly. “I don’t think I was ready,” she said, then a wicked look stole over her face and she added: “I did have an extra dance with him, though.”

  Hugo found himself chuckling at his wife’s admission. There was something darkly alluring about the idea that his pretty wife had this mystery about her, that things might not always be quite as straightforward as she presented them at first.

  What had happened during her final dance with her older man? Anything could have. She knew her husband was no longer watching…

  “One last dance, huh?” he said, trying not to show his emotion, not wanting to project any response that might discourage her from pursuing her insatiable desires.

  She gave a small nod, cautious, still assessing his reactions for any hint of danger. “He caught me as I was coming out of the bathroom. Tried to persuade me to stay longer.”

  Slowly, Hugo slid his way along the rough nylon covering her left leg, inhaling her scent, appreciating her stunning beauty while calming himself, refocusing his thoughts.

  “So you danced with him again? No wonder you took so long.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. He wanted you to go home with him?”

  “Yes.”

  Reaching her thigh, where her surface temperature seemed to rise considerably, along with the spicy scent of her arousal, which drew him inexorably in like some powerful gravitational force.

  She was so wet. Even before he arrived, he could see how deliciously turned on she was by this whole experience. Her eyes burned with her memories of the evening. All that attention from other guys on the dance floor—guys who had no marital duty to praise her, all lusting after her, circling like sharks. The older man who had taste and style, desperate to take her home with him. The hint of an opportunity to actually go home with him—take a brief no-strings step out of the mundane existence of her marriage and fall into the arms of another man.

  Giving in to temptation, Hugo dived in to draw his tongue along her soaking groove, tasting her tantalizing tangy flavor, indulging in the proof of her powerful arousal.

  Madeleine groaned long and low as he lapped at her juices, his nose nestling in her soft golden down, his tongue teasing her sensitive flesh, stirring the kind of feelings in her womanhood that she’d been craving all night.

  Hugo placed his hands gently on her body, teasing apart her pussy so that his tongue could reach deeper still.

  “You could really tell, then? That he was bigger than me?”

  Dwelling on this point, Hugo felt he was really messing with that nugget of fear and jealousy that continued to reside inside his chest, but it only seemed to enhance the counterbalancing emotions, the excitement, the arousal.

  “That last dance,” she said, pulling her panties further aside as though to help him, though she didn’t really need to. “I was rubbing against it.”

  Hugo felt his hardness pulse inside his boxers. He responded with hunger, burying his face in her sex, sucking on her tender lips, penetrating her with his tongue.

  “You felt him up?” he asked her, a touch breathless.

  She seemed to catch on to the way her words were affecting him, driving him on as he made love to her with his mouth. Eyes blazing, she said: “We were dancing so close. He had his hands on my hips, pulling me in to him, I could feel him on my stomach.”

  “Uh-huh?” Hugo prompted, without losing contact with her for a moment.

  He kissed around her clit, inspiring a sharp inhalation from her, then her hands were coursing through his hair, tightening around him, pulling him to her so she could guide him perfectly to where she needed him.

  His tongue snaking around her clit as he heard her say: “I turned away from him, but he pulled me back against him, and I could feel it against me…”

  He felt her whole body shiver as she said slowly: “So hard… so big… so hot…”

  He stood up, feeling something innate, powerful, primordial inside him spurring him on, pushing him to assert himself, reclaim what was his.

  He hauled himself up, reveling in the look of uncertainty and trepidation on his wife’s pretty face—she seemingly suddenly nervous she’d gone too far, pushed him past breaking point, deeply upsetting him by such explicit references to another man. He grabbed her, hands planted on her hips, turning her, shoving her—brutal, selfish, animalistic.

  Madeleine gasped, and then her features broke out into a broad, blazing smile as she saw that he wasn’t angry, wasn’t upset—he was spectacularly turned on.

  She allowed herself to be manhandled, her body pliant to his wishes, even trying to preempt them and position herself off the bed as he wanted, up on all fours, her shapely rear toward him, her glistening rose-red pussy framed by her pale flesh and the stark black of her suspenders.

  A last nervous glance back at him, like a gazelle watching for its predator, and he
was on her, pouncing, falling on her, his arms sweeping over her, pulling her in, his huge, pulsing, searing column piercing her, plunging forcefully into her, filling her entirely.

  Oh, she knew her husband had nothing to fear about his size. When he was this hard, he took her breath away. It had been fun to tease him, though. Certainly provoked the right response.

  “You think it would be like this? If you’d gone home with him?” he asked her.

  “Oh yes...” she sighed. Such a melodic, exquisite sound.

  “I know there’s no way he could have resisted you. He’d be inside you as soon as he had you alone.”

  Hugo thrust into her powerfully, glorying in just how erect these strange thoughts made him. The beautiful blonde angel so tight as he squeezed inside her, his long, thick manhood splitting her cheeks as he entered her, his abdomen slamming against her behind as he pounded her.

  “I bet he’d fuck you like this,” Hugo declared, his voice raised over the cacophony of her moans, the f-word sounding strange coming out of his mouth, but so wonderfully filthy.

  “Oh fuck yeah...” she yelled, but then added: “Maybe it would even be harder.”

  Hugo stepped up his effort, pounding her harder, knocking her breath out of her body with each impact, her body writhing and oscillating so gracefully as he rocked her with each hit.

  “Oh harder than that...” she cried, whimpering a little from the intensity of his penetration though she was pleading for more.

  “Like this?”

  He put everything he had into ramming her, knowing he was sacrificing his staying power to fulfill her need for the most monumental pounding she’d ever received.

  Afterwards, they simply collapsed, settling into an intimate embrace, Hugo spooned around Madeleine, continuing to breathe her in as the lingering sensations continued to ripple around both their bodies, echoes of their colossal passion bouncing around inside them.

  As Hugo found himself failing to get to sleep, he was thinking that role-play was not going to be enough any more now that they’d tasted a hint of what reality could be. And he decided that to truly appreciate the beauty of his wife’s sexuality, he really was going to have to set her free.

  Fifteen

  Midweek, Madeleine had to meet one of her new authors in Baltimore, with the meeting scheduled fairly late in the day so she could take him out to an evening meal.

  Hugo knew she’d be late back, so took his time getting home after work, and decided on a Dominos pizza for supper.

  Madeleine had met with a load of authors as her small press project began enticing submissions, but only a few of them had included evening dinner, and this was the first one where she had to go out of town. Usually, the authors came to New York to see Madeleine.

  It gave Hugo butterflies knowing she was having dinner with an author—even though he knew it was strictly a business meeting, he also knew how she flirted with her authors at those book signing evenings, and over dinner it was going to be one-on-one.

  This evening, he couldn’t help but imagine a phone call from her, laced with excitement, whispering a request to let her stay with her author a little longer, perhaps even overnight.

  It was about 10 pm when his cell eventually rang.

  “Hey,” he said, putting the phone to his ear as he relaxed back in the sofa. He could hear the constant clattering of the train in the background. It amused him that the confirmation she was on her way home came as a faint disappointment—not because he didn’t desperately want her home, but because he’d wanted her to enjoy herself in another city, taking advantage of the kind of freedom most wives simply did not have.

  “Hey,” she replied. “I’m on my way home—probably two hours away now.”

  “Meeting go well?”

  “Yeah, it was good. Feel pretty good about this one.”

  “You have some wine at dinner?”

  “Not much,” she giggled.

  Hugo smiled, recognizing the leisurely way she was forming her words—the influence of alcohol. He said: “You should get a little sleep the rest of the way. Not like you’ll miss your stop.”

  “I am way too buzzed to sleep,” she said. “I wish you were here.”

  “I wish I was there too,” he said. “Train crowded this evening?”

  “No. It’s just me and a couple of guys.”

  “That’s good, you can relax. Hate it when the train’s too full.”

  Then Madeleine said in hushed tones, “One of the guys keeps looking at me.”

  Hugo pushed his pizza out of the way. He said, “You worried, honey? You want to find another seat in a different car?”

  But she said, “No. I like it. He’s cute.”

  Hugo caught his breath. He said, “Where is he sitting?”

  “Maybe 30 feet away.”

  “He’s facing you?”

  “Yes. He’s sitting in one of the single seats on the other side of the aisle. I think he can see up my skirt,” she said, almost a whisper.

  “What are you wearing under your skirt?” Hugo asked, his voice suddenly husky as he felt the heat of arousal blooming inside him.

  “A pair of gray panties—nothing special.”

  “I bet they look pretty special on you, honey.”

  “And a pair of black hold-ups with fancy lace tops.”

  “You weren’t wearing stockings this morning,” he said, testing her. Was she role-playing? Or was she telling the truth? There was no doubting she was on the train. Sure, She might have been sitting there in a pair of jeans, rather than a short skirt. There might have been no one in the train car at all other than her.

  “I got a ladder in my nylons,” she said. “I had to find something at short notice.”

  “Are you going to give him a show?” Hugo felt butterflies fluttering around his stomach.

  “I want to,” she whispered. “My skirt is really riding up. I guess he can see I have hold-ups on. Probably my underwear, too.”

  “You’re a bad girl, honey.”

  “You feel bad that he can see my underwear, sweetie?” she asked. “Does it make you jealous?”

  “Uh… no, honey,” he said, though it wasn’t completely true. The way his stomach flipped over attested to that.

  “Not even if I tell you the guy has his eyes all over me?” she said.

  He chuckled. “Sounds like you’re having fun. Are you sure he can see anything? He might just be staring off into the distance—you know, unfocussed.”

  “Oh, he can see me,” Madeleine said quietly. “He’s watching me rubbing my thighs together, he’s staring at the tops of my stockings.”

  “You’re so beautiful, honey. I’ll bet he can’t take his eyes off you.”

  Hugo heard his wife let out a long, gentle sigh. She said: “I wish you were here to watch me, sweetie. See me stroking my thighs, running my hands over my sexy stockings…”

  Now it was his turn to let out a sigh, longing to be there on the train, to see her.

  “Is your cock nice and hard?” she whispered now.

  “As can be,” he replied.

  “Mmm…” she purred. “I think my audience is the same. He keeps shifting in his seat. He’s uncomfortable in his pants all of a sudden. Probably because he’s watching me opening my legs… my fingers slipping between my thighs… over my pussy…”

  “Is he a college guy?” Hugo asked her.

  “No. Older. Older than us—a businessman. Fortyish, I’d say. Very handsome. Makes me want to smile at him.”

  “He’d like that.”

  Madeleine let out a little giggle. “Well,” she said. “He definitely knows I’m onto him now. He’s gone bright red.”

  “Are you touching yourself, honey?”

  “Oh yes,” she moaned quietly. “I didn’t realize how wet I am. My panties are soaking. I bet our friend can see. Gray cotton is hardly good at keeping a secret like that.”

  “Is he watching you?”

  “Now he is. He looked away for a mom
ent or two after I smiled at him. Now he’s back.”

  “You like that he’s watching you, honey?”

  “I love it. I’m making two sexy men hard right now,” Madeleine moaned. “You dare me to take off my panties?”

  “I dare you.”

  “Hold on.”

  Hugo heard some fumbling. The phone moved somewhere, presumably while his hot little spitfire removed her underwear so that a stranger could see her pussy.

  “They’re off,” she said, returning to the phone. “Our friend is looking at my bare pussy. Watching me touching it.”

  He heard her moan, heard her labored breathing. Was she faking it? Was she putting on the whole thing?

  “I’m so wet, honey,” she said between deep breaths. “I feel so dirty, a complete stranger is watching me playing…”

  “Does it feel good, honey? As good as you’re making me feel?”

  “Listen…” she said, and after a brief pause, he heard the phone being moved again, the microphone crackling and roaring as though he was listening to a gale.

  Then he heard a sound he thought at first was somebody chewing—before it dawned on him what it really was.

  His wife’s finger stirring inside her hot, wet little pussy.

  “Did you hear it?” came his wife’s voice at last.

  “Yes,” he breathed. “You know, I really thought you were kidding. Putting on an act.”

  Madeleine laughed. “You’ve seen me put on a few acts,” she said quietly. “I thought we could take it up a notch. God, if I was acting, I wouldn’t be dripping all over the seat…”

  “So there really is a businessman watching you?”

  “He’s as hard as you are thinking about him watching me.”

  Hugo gripped his rigid cock, picturing the scene, wishing he could see her for himself. The jealousy nagged at him, but somehow merely heightened the burning rush of arousal he felt.

  “He’s doing something,” Madeleine whispered now. Then he heard her quietly gasp. “Oh God… he’s pulling it out.”

  Hugo felt his heart beating in his chest, every pump somehow separate, suddenly syncopated instead of its regular rhythm.

  “It’s big,” she whispered. “He’s looking at me now, he’s stroking it... It seems so wrong… Are you still there, honey?”