Hugo cleared his throat. “Uh… I’m here.”
“I’m going to sit with him.”
There was movement again, he heard his wife’s breathing, and then her voice off-microphone, in the distance: “Mind if I sit here?”
Hugo felt his stomach rolling over, the butterflies rampaging through his intestinal tract. What was she doing? What if it was too much? What if he wanted her to stop? She was on a train, miles away. No way he could get to her.
“I’m sitting opposite him,” she whispered into the phone now. “Are you there, honey?”
He gulped.
His wife was sitting opposite a man with a raging erection poking out of his fly, wearing no panties, her pussy soaking, her chest heaving.
Hugo had never felt more alive. His cock was rock hard, throbbing with need.
“I’m here, honey,” he said.
“I want to touch it, sweetie. I want to know what it’s like. It’s so hard…”
Hugo stroked his rigid shaft, feeling more than a little breathless. He felt so very vulnerable, so completely powerless. What if he said ‘no’, and Madeleine refused to bow to his command? There was something profoundly sexy about the thought of her as such an independent, bright young woman, though.
“You want to, honey?” Hugo asked her.
“Oh, yes,” she sighed. Then she said, “Nobody needs to know, sweetie. He’s a stranger. I don’t even know his name. He doesn’t know mine.”
Hugo stood up, his phone pressed firmly to his ear, his head whirling, yet no discernible thoughts emerging from the fog of his brain.
“There’s no one around,” Madeleine whispered. “What d’you think, sweetie?”
Hugo didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t cheating if it was consensual. It wasn’t infidelity if he knew. He wasn’t going to lose Madeleine—their bond had never been stronger. And the bottom line was: he wanted his wife to be fulfilled. That flicked of pure happiness in her was priceless.
“Go ahead, honey,” he said.
“You know I love you more than the world?” she whispered.
He heard her say something away from the microphone, and then the phone was moving again, and there was the sound of Madeleine breathing over the dull clatter of the train, and then she was laughing and cooing, and Hugo got the sense that she had another man’s cock in her hands.
He heard her kissing someone—or something.
“Mmmph…” she said, her mouth full, before he heard her withdraw whatever it was, and say: “I love it.”
Hugo felt his cock throb. He felt as though the base of his stomach was filled with heavy, hot metal.
But then he heard her laugh again—such a clear, innocent, joyous sound—and he never wanted it to stop.
Anything to make her that happy.
“Oh sweetie,” she said at last, “It’s so big and hot and hard…”
There was the sound of friction, of kissing, of Madeleine moaning while her mouth was full, of wet flesh on flesh, rhythmic, regular. A low growl, a male groan of satisfaction that made Hugo feel a strange blend of nausea and excitement. How far was she going to go with this?
He heard her release her stranger’s cock, and then there was a fumbling sound.
“Still there?” she said, gasping for breath. “I’m pulling open my shirt. This is gonna get messy.”
There was more heavy breathing, urgent now, the pace quickening.
“Oh God, he just came all over me,” she said. “I’m going to have to go clean up. I’ll see you at home, honey.”
*
After the call, Hugo felt strangely light-headed.
It was only a blow job, wasn’t it? That was hardly anything.
He poured himself a glass of scotch, the alcohol burning his throat but loosening him up a little as he awaited Madeleine’s return. While he waited, the television was on, but he didn’t focus on it at all, didn’t even notice what was on.
As he waited, he mulled over the evidence as to whether her phone call had been real, or yet more role-play. She did have a real gift for role-play.
What a thrill it had been. His jealousy had been real, but it wasn’t just excitement he felt alongside it. For some reason, he felt a huge weight lifting off his shoulders—and it took a little while before he understood that it was guilt evaporating, guilt of a man who had been unsure whether he was good enough for his wife ever since she’d descended into her own version of Hell.
Allowing her the freedom to play with other guys made him feel he was no longer restricting her from experiencing the joys of life. Right or wrong, it felt like absolution from his inner guilt.
Hugo felt the hardness returning to his own cock as Madeleine texted him to let him know she’d pulled into Penn Station. Then, another to tell him she was getting off the subway, walking down their street. He was pacing like a caged tiger by the time the front door finally opened, and there was Madeleine.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said.
“Hey,” Hugo tried desperately to keep calm as he laid eyes on her pretty face—and the saucy clothes that looked nothing less than hooker-chic right now.
His wife dropped her briefcase by the door and removed her jacket, to hang it up on the coat stand in the hallway. It left her in a white shirt unbuttoned sufficiently to show a black bra, and a scandalously short skirt that showed off her lace-top stockings to full effect.
“There is no way you wore that to your business meeting,” Hugo said, leaning back against the doorway through to the kitchen.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Madeleine was grinning like a minx as she slowly walked toward her husband, unbuttoning her shirt, pulling it off and letting it simply fall to the ground. “I got runs in my nylons—I had to change.”
“Runs in your stockings wouldn’t have been as shocking to your fellow passengers as that skirt.”
Madeleine shrugged, “I was feeling playful.”
Hugo saw her lick her lips as she laid eyes on the hardness straining through his pants, and it made him wonder if those lips had truly been around someone else’s cock earlier that evening.
Now she reached behind her back to spring the catch on her bra, which she also allowed to fall to her feet to reveal her sweet, pert breasts peaked by stiff little nipples.
“Are you hungry?” Hugo asked her, as he often did when she came home late, though she’d never come home late looking quite this hungry before.
“Are you going to feed me?” she asked, and reached under her skirt to slip her panties down over her thighs, shimmying her body a little to allow them to drop to the ground.
Hugo noticed how wet her panties were, the pale gray cotton dark where her moisture had seeped—not just a spot, the whole crotch.
“Of course,” he said as she approached him now. “I just didn’t know if you’d already had something on the train.”
There was fire in her eyes as she said, “Oh, I had something on the train. But I still have an appetite.”
She reached up to kiss him, swamping him with her cherry-vanilla scent, his hands falling naturally onto her soft, smooth butt as she pressed herself to him. Her kiss was so sweet, but he was distracted by her fingers fumbling with his belt, forcing open his pants, pushing them down to the floor.
“Mmm…” she purred. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
Hugo felt her hot stomach pressing against his rigid cock now, as she leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Go sit on the bed.”
She followed him through to the bedroom, seated him on the edge of the bed facing the windows, and sank down on her knees between his thighs, taking his manhood in her hands.
“You know,” she said, kissing the tip of his cock. “I never had two in one day before.”
“Could become common,” he said with a groan as she bobbed down on his shaft, enveloping his sensitive flesh with her wet heat.
“It’s hard to believe how lucky I am sometimes,” she grinned.
He watched her sucking his cock, and thoug
ht about how she’d been doing this to a complete stranger earlier that evening. He wished he’d seen it, wished she’d decided to FaceTime it or Skype it, though the reception was always crappy on those trains. It was quite a view, to see her naked other than her sexy stockings, head buried in his lap. It must have been irresistible on the train.
The way she leaned forward and upward to reach his cock made it easy to see her glistening pink pussy. She was so beautiful, from any angle.
His imagination started to fill in the scene, adding details, changing the decor. He was suddenly picturing the interior of a train—the Acela Express, mostly empty on a midweek evening back to the city. A pretty businesswoman on her way home, feeling frisky, playful. Gently stroking her pussy through her underwear while semi-aware that the older businessman facing her might be able to see her.
Calling her husband to warn him before drifting over to kneel between the businessman’s thighs, accepting the hard flesh he offered her.
He pictured his wife going down on another man in the middle of a public train car.
Madeleine flashed him an impish grin, taking his cock out of her mouth to spread his clear pre-come over her cheeks and lips. She said, “Are you thinking about it? Me on the train?”
He nodded.
“I think you’re harder than I’ve ever seen you, sucking your cock,” she said in disbelief. “Do you really think I was going down on that guy on the train?”
Hugo felt the penny drop. “You weren’t?”
Madeleine smiled, and suddenly pulled away from him, hopped up and dashed out of the room. When she came back, she was holding her briefcase.
Confused, her husband watched her withdraw a banana from the case.
“You faked it,” he said in barely more than a whisper.
She grinned broadly, and now sat down between his thighs again, this time taking the banana as though it was a penis, to demonstrate her trick from the train.
“You really would have let me do that?” Madeleine said. “It would’ve turned you on this much?”
Hugo took a deep breath, waiting for her to get angry, to accuse him of thinking her worthless.
“Well…”
“When you thought I was actually with another guy—were you jealous at all?”
“Of course I was,” he insisted, not sure how he was going to get out of this.
“But you liked it?”
“I don’t know. I guess. I just like thinking of you… in that way. Being so sexual.”
“You don’t worry that if I was with someone else, I’d leave you? Lucy said that might happen.”
“I guess there’s that risk,” he said, swallowing, his throat feeling so dry. Feeling a little strange that Lucy was apparently advising her in these matters. “I just don’t think it’d happen. You didn’t marry me for the sex.”
She was silent a moment, and he was suddenly worried she’d decide he wasn’t showing her respect, or she’d accuse him of not really loving her, if he could imagine her with other men.
He tried to soften the impact of any anger, conceding, “I guess it’s just some kind of weakness.”
She looked up at him, and he watched her sharp, bright eyes examining him. Then she said almost in awe, “I don’t think it’s a weakness. I think it shows a real confidence… underneath.”
Madeleine was looking at him suddenly so seriously. As though it was the first time she was taking all this on the level—previously, it had all been a little light-hearted fun, she had been teasing him, making fun of him, even.
Suddenly, it was real; she had confirmed that her husband could handle this. She looked shocked, her pretty eyes wide, mouth open in a round “o” shape as enlightenment flooded through her.
She said, “You know you’re right, don’t you?”
“Right?”
“I didn’t marry you for the sex,” she smiled, but blushed. “I mean it was always good…”
“Was good,” he nodded.
“You know what I mean. Is good.” She grabbed his softening cock now, kissed it. Now it was her turn to take a deep breath, before she said:,“What I was saying was, you were right to say it would never happen. Leaving you. I could never cope without you.”
Hugo felt his insides thawing.
Madeleine smiled, reminding him just how exquisite that expression could be. She said: “When you have a conference away from here, or you’re meeting a client in some godforsaken city on the West Coast, I don’t get to curl up next to you at night, I can’t stand it.”
Hugo found himself smiling now. It was nice to be wanted. It was pure reassurance against his number one fear in all this, to hear her say she couldn’t do without him.
As if to underline the sentiment, Madeleine added: “Even though it’s just a day or two, I only feel right again when we’re together.”
Hugo urged her up onto her feet in front of him. He leaned forward and down to kiss her soft stomach.
“I love you so much Madeleine,” he said, breathing in the sweet scent from her skin, stroking her with his face as he kissed his way up to the lower slopes of her breasts. “I ‘specially love it when you’re turned on, when you come.”
“You turn me on, you make me come,” she insisted.
He smiled, “Is it so terrible that I’m curious to see someone else make you come?”
Calmly, he took one of her stiff nipples into his hot mouth and sucked, and then the other.
“No,” she said, thrusting out her chest, spurring him on to devour her breasts. “It’s far from terrible. It was a shock when you first said that was your fantasy. I mean, I don’t think I ever thought you wanted to end things between us, but—”
“But you thought I wanted another woman?” he smirked.
“You have to admit, from the outside it does kind of seem unfair—I get to sleep with other men, but you don’t get anyone but me.”
“It’s not unfair—my fantasy is watching you, your fantasy is being watched. Seems pretty balanced to me.”
“Lucy thinks you must have some kind if trauma in your past you’re just working through. I wonder if I was that trauma. What happened.”
“What happened happened. I can’t really say it didn’t change me. I know I don’t ever want to go back to that place—but having been through that, I know how strong we are.”
“You think if we hadn’t gone through that, you’d still be having this fantasy?”
He fondled her breasts, held them, as though weighing them. He kissed his way underneath them, around them, taking in their softness, their pert shape.
“I don’t know. I know that ever since you started getting sad, I started feeling guilty that I was the cause—”
“Oh no—”
“And even if I wasn’t the cause, that if you’d married someone else, perhaps they’d have kept you back from all that despair.”
“That’s ridiculous, you can’t feel guilty—”
“It’s a fairly common response to depression in a loved one. I felt guilt, but then when I thought of you enjoying yourself on that train… and it seemed so very real... Well, all that guilt went away.”
Madeleine let out a little moan as he began to kiss his way down her stomach again, this time slowing down as he ventured near her mound.
He could smell the dark scent of her arousal as he reached her tidy little patch of pubic hair, see her moisture lining her pussy lips.
“You know,” he said, and she gasped as the back of his hand brushed over her searing hot pussy, “maybe I’m just going through some kind of weird phase. But we should have some fun with it—it’s not serious. It’s just fooling around.”
“It could get serious,” Madeleine said, shooting him a warning glance.
“Only if we don’t communicate properly,” he said, leaning down and turning his head in a slightly unnatural angle to touch his lips down to the top of her pussy and her clit.
Madeleine moaned, and ran her fingers through his hair.
&
nbsp; Sixteen
They talked about it, but nothing happened.
They made love and imagined that Madeleine was with someone else. It still made Hugo seriously hard, but it wasn’t taking that terrifying step toward reality.
It was seriously difficult to take that step, as it happened.
“Maybe we should just get super drunk,” Madeleine said, as they were both already sipping a quiet glass of white in front of the TV one night. “Then we’d have the courage to actually go out and do it?”
Hugo chuckled, but beneath the surface, he felt that undercurrent of icy fear. What if they did get steamingly drunk? Maybe they would be able to finally go through with it, The Fantasy, which neither of them could stop thinking about these days, but neither of them could initiate.
It was all very well being bold, and talking about doing it—but it was quite another thing to actually go out there and do it.
Even when Madeleine was flirting with her co-workers, suddenly now that they were both talking about taking the very real step of having her sleep with another man, she felt an invisible barrier limiting that flirting process.
One evening, she revealed that her personal trainer had got a little too personal—but rather than embracing it as she was permitted to do, she found herself frightened, and scampering out of there to return to the safety of her husband at home.
“He wasn’t the right guy,” she said.
Hugo shook his head, though he was rock hard after hearing how the guy had accidentally-on-purpose brushed his hand over her pussy during their last session, even if it was protected by her gym outfit.
“He’s not your type,” Hugo said. “Athletic, sure, but he’s got no class whatsoever.”
She smiled at that hidden complement.
“You think it’ll ever happen?” he asked her, actually thinking to himself that he would be okay settling for fantasy-only, since at the end of the day the whole thing had turned Madeleine into a confident sex goddess, it wasn’t merely about the actual act of her being with another man.
She said, “I think it will, some day.”
*
Another Date Night. It was something that had lapsed as a regular event as the Fall rolled on toward winter, with either of them, or both of them, finding their schedules all booked up. It didn’t disappear completely, however.
Madeleine Plays (A Wife-Watching Romance): Book Two of the Madeleine Trilogy Page 16
