0 comments/ 56066 views/ 2 favorites Madonna: The REAL Girlie Show Ch. 1 By: alexander tzara AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a fantasy based on Madonna's public persona. It is in no way intended to defame the character of the real-life Madonna Louise Ciccone. *** Want to hear a true story about how Hannah and I fucked Madonna? "Yeah, RIGHT!" you're saying, "In your dreams, pal." And, I don't blame you one iota for doubting such a preposterous claim. I sometimes find it hard to believe myself. I've lost count of the number of times I've rolled over in bed, waking from a half-dream, and gazed deep into my pretty Californian wife's blue blue eyes and she's just smirked back 'cause she's known what I'm going to ask before I even ask it. I guess I must just have this bemused "did I really just win 6 million pounds on the lottery?" expression plastered over my face. "What is it, honey?" she'll ask, humouring me as she playfully twists strands of silky red hair around her finger. (Hannah's always playing with her hair - not in a nervous way, you understand. It's just this cute little habit she has.) "Have you forgotten how to speak, is that it? Has your tongue ran off to London to see the Queen?" She's a real smartass, sometimes, my wife. I love her for it. I'm English - born and raised in Oxford - and so Hannah takes every opportunity she can get to wise-crack about the British weather, dreary soap operas or our dear monarchy. She seems to think it winds me up but I just think it's funny. I'm second-generation Irish, so I'm sure you can imagine that my Royalist sympathies don't run too deep. "No, listen!" I'll say. "I need to know. I've not just dreampt all this have I?" "Dreampt what, babe?" she'll giggle. "Don't tease me, Hannah - you know what I'm talking about. Did it really happen that night? Did I really fuck Madonna?" "Yes, you did, honey," she'll say, patting my head like I'm some little lost puppydog. "Really? So, I've not just finally gone completely fucking insane like your weird old Uncle Jasper?" "Oh, well now, I didn't say that." "And, she really... you know... she really went down on you?" My wife usually moans a little at this point, her cheeks flushing red and her eyes getting all kind of misty and distant as the memories flood back. "Oh, my God, yes she did." "Tell me again," I'll whisper, snuggling into the warmth of her body. "Well, I was just sitting there butt-naked on that cold hard chair and she got down between my knees and she was kissing the inside of my thigh and you had your hands on my breasts and... and then she just did it, without any build up whatsoever, she slid her tongue inside. I can't believe our daughter has a poster of this woman on her wall. Jesus Christ, Joey! She licked my pussy. Madonna licked my pussy." By this point I'm laughing out loud in glorious disbelief. You can almost imagine me hurling bundles of ten pound notes up into the air and watching it shower down on us like snowdrops. "So, all that other stuff really happened too?" "Uh-huh. All of it." Then Hannah'll get this real serious look on her face and kind of chew distractedly on her hair. "Look, baby, I need you to do something for me. I need you to lick me. Right now," she'll say as she's pushing my head down under the covers. And when she switches off the bedside lamp I know that in my wife's mind it's Madonna's face down there buried between her sweet thighs, Madonna's nose pressed into the fragrant mound of red hair, her tongue running up over Hannah's vulva, parting her labia and slipping between the soft folds. And when my wife curls her fingers in my hair, tightening them into a firm grip, she's imagining Madonna as the black-haired siren we once knew, or the peroxide-blonde Goddess that writhed in the 'Justify My Love' video or maybe even the sensuous soft-curled Rodeo Mama of today. "Uh, yeah. That's so good," she'll whisper, "I want you to lick my clit now, honey," and she may as well be whispering, "I want you to lick my clit now, Madonna," cause in Hannah's mind it's the popstar's tongue that's swirling around her engorged bud, flicking softly over it so she shudders and sighs. And, when Madonna sucks my wife's clit in between her lips and tongues it roughly, Hanna arches her back and squeezes at her own pretty little breasts, pinching the long red nipples between her fingers, the honey of her arousal flooding out over Madonna's mouth and chin. *** My God, it was wicked while it lasted, that little episode in our early marriage. Madonna was this debauched Tasmanian devil-woman that just whirled into our lives for two weeks and then was gone - away on some other raucous adventure with God-only-knows who. But, that was cool as far as we were concerned. Hannah and I have never really been the bitter "oh, how could she just forget us like that?" types that always come out of the woodwork whenever some fireball young thing strikes it lucky and hits the big-time. She had her mission in life and we had ours. For one brief moment in time our destinies brought us crashing together and then we were spiralling off in opposite directions like fragments from a meteor collision. I wouldn't for a second want to swap what I have with my wife and daughter for Madonna's glamorous popstar lifestyle. It's never really been my bag, that whole fame thing, but I guess that's exactly what Madonna Louise Ciccone always fantasised about. It's the dream that filled the void in her life when she was just this awkward melancholy little mid-Western kid who cried herself to sleep every night over a mother that died too young and a daddy who just didn't understand. *** Still not convinced by my story? Of course, I wouldn't expect you to just take my word for it - it's way too 'National Enquirer' a tale to be true: a lowly immigrant New York cab driver and his student wife have wild sex sessions with the biggest female pop icon in the world. Nice story, buddy, but that kinda thing just doesn't happen in the real world. Right? Well, here's the money-shot, my friend. We've got the whole thing on film. Yes, you read that right. I've just sat watching it with Hannah, for the first time in 20 years, and it's incredible. That Pamela and Tommy Lee wedding video thing doesn't have a leg to stand on compared to this, believe me. The last time we saw our little movie was about a week or so after we shot it. We sat down, all four of us - myself, Mr DiPrima (I'll give you the low-down on him later), Hanna and Madonna Louise - and we watched it in the dark, projected up onto that big white screen that Luigi had through in one of his back rooms. Every once in a while, naughty little Miss Ciccone would get this wild look in her eye, getting herself all turned on as she watched our three pink bodies thrusting and writhing on the screen, sticky with love-making, and she'd lean over to Hanna, clutching a clump of her silky red hair in her little fist and she'd French her so sweetly at the same time as she was pulling my hand up under her cute black leather skirt into the furnace between her legs. After about half an hour of this, my wife had that skirt hiked right up around Madonna's waist and was tickling her fingernails through the future pop-star's thick black pubic hair as I slid two slippery fingers in and out of her sex. From this point on, I noticed that old Luigi DiPrima was more intent on watching our impromptu live sex show than he was his precious movie. I guess he had all the time in the world to study that in close detail after we left but what he had before him right now was a blink too long and you might just miss something deal. As the film flickered to an end, Luigi swung his chair around and hit a switch on the wall, illuminating the room in a cacophany of tacky multi-coloured flashing disco lights. Ordinarilly I would have collapsed on the floor in laughter at the sheer inappropriateness of the display (we were kind of stoned, to be honest) but Madonna had already sunk down onto her knees before me and was pulling my jeans down over my hips. My cock sprang up, bouncing against her chin. "Well, look at that, Mr Cabdriver," she laughed, clasping hold of it. Hannah got down beside her and ran her tongue seductively up over the shaft, leaving behind a glistening trail of saliva. She looked up at me as Madonna sucked the head between her soft red lips into the wetness of her mouth. "Fuck her face, Joey," she whispered, turning to carefully unlace Madonna's black leather top. "You're a strange little wife, aren't you?" I said to her, sliding my cock deeper into the warmth of Madonna's mouth. Hannah laughed out loud and Madonna mumbled something which I couldn't make out. I could feel every syllable, though. "Don't speak with your mouth full, Emmy," said my wife, smiling as she drew Madonna's top open. "My friends call me Emmy," Madonna had announced that first day we met in the Autumn of 1980. For two weeks my wife and I were her friends, so we called her Emmy. Emmy was now bobbing her head back and forth against me, trailing her beautiful lips over my cock. I reached down and stroked my fingers through her thick black hair, watching the colours dancing over her face as I rocked my hips rhythmically. I could feel her tongue swirling over me. She lovingly stroked the shaft, drawing my foreskin right back. She'd told me a few days earlier she'd never had an uncut cock in her mouth before. She seemed intrigued by the novelty of it. By now, my wife had pulled Emmy's top off, freeing those glorious naked breasts. Madonna breathed deeply in through her nose, her nostrils flaring. Her cheeks seemed to suck right in as she took my erection deeper into her mouth. Letting go of my shaft, she stroked her fingers up over her smooth, toned stomach (you could tell she'd been a professional dancer) and circled them sensuously around the nipples that were already jutting out thick and hard. She shivered and I could feel the tip of her tongue swirling deliciously around my cock. By this point, Hannah had crawled up behind her and was gently kissing, licking and biting her pale neck and shoulders, tickling her hands softly round her waist so that goosepimples rose up all over Emmy's body and those small dark areolas tightened right up, the long dark buds swelling out till they looked like they could burst. I felt light-headed, like I was floating in some erotic dream. Crazy lights flashed and spun around the room, and right in the corner old Luigi DiPrima sat intently watching us. The last time we'd all been together he'd been so intent on capturing a good quality recording of the events that he'd probably not really been able to fully enjoy the sight, sound and scents of his three young friends lost in carnal exploration. Madonna opened her knees further and drew up her leather skirt, revealing the thick mound of black hair that glistened from her arousal like dew-covered grass in the morning. Right in the center, the pink folds of her pussy seemed to breathe, gently opening and closing as little drops of moisture trickled out like teardrops. My wife stroked her hands round Emmy's waist, over her stomach and upwards to her breasts. She cupped those glorious globes, caressing and squeezing them as she licked her tongue all the way from Emmy's shoulder to just behind her ear. I could feel my heart beating madly. Everything in the room seemed so bright and vivid to me as my breath grew deeper and stronger. I twisted my fingers in Madonna's hair and she looked up, kind of smiling at me with her pale blue eyes. She slid her middle finger down between the glistening folds of her labia and slipped it into the entrance of her pussy, circling it around inside, then drawing it out all wet with her honey. She drew me right out of her mouth, then, and for a moment I could see a trail of saliva from her lips to my cock, that snapped as she drew her face away from me. She brought her finger up to just under her nose, allowing it to linger there so she could breathe in her sexual scent before sucking it deep into her mouth. "Hmnnn, my pussy tastes good," she said, looking up at me with those wild temptress eyes. "Yes, it does," I said. "Do you want me to lick it for you, Emmy?" She shook her head. "I want the old man to do it." She lay back, unfastening her skirt so it fell right open, leaving her completely naked. Old Mr DiPrima looked kind of shocked and a little afraid but Madonna twisted her head around to smile at him, gesturing with her finger for him to join us. He clambered down off his perch and shuffled awkwardly towards us, blinking as the crazy discotheque lights fluttered and danced around the room. "Have you ever licked a woman's pussy, Luigi?" she asked. Mr DiPrima shook his head. "Nope, I never did do that, Emmy." "Well, I think you should be allowed to eat caviar at least once in your life," she said, giggling madly. I smiled at my wife and she smirked back, lowering herself down so that she was straddling Madonna's face. Madonna reached up, unzipping Hannah's skirt so that it fell away from her on to the floor. The singer reached her arms back, so that her breasts were thrust right out, and stroked her hands up the backs of my wife's legs, sliding them up onto her ass and cupping Hannah's pretty little buttocks. She lifted her head up towards the mound of soft red hair and brushed her lips over my wife's labia. "You've got a beautiful cunt, Hanna," she purred, "so pretty and fragrant." She breathed deeply in through her nose, savouring the scent. My wife beamed, her whole body seeming to glow with feminine pride as she reached out to fondle Emmy's breasts. I could feel my throat tightening with emotion. Hanna looked so beautiful that I felt like I could burst into tears of sweet sorrow right there and then. Mr DiPrima got down on his hands and knees and crawled between Emmy's thighs, his backside thrust comically up into the air. He seemed utterly intoxicated by the sight of Madonna's sex gaping right there before him. I don't think he'd seen a woman's parts that close up in a long long time. He coughed politely and raised his head, blinking over into Madonna's face. "So, how should I... uhm...? How do you like it done?" Emmy laughed out loud at that. "Just imagine you're a hungry cat," she instructed. She demonstrated just what she meant by arching her neck upwards and lashing her tongue in a long sweeping movement over Hannah's tender labia. Hannah sighed and arched her back, thrusting her pretty little breasts out towards me, as she pinched Emmy's nipples hard between her fingers. Luigi nodded and buried his face between Madonna's thighs, licking noisily at her pussy. "Oh, yeah, Luigi! I think you've finally found your calling in life," she moaned. I stood entranced, watching the old man eat Emmy's cunt as she happily devoured Hannah's. My wife's eyes soon flickered sleepily shut. I could tell she was about ready to explode as she squeezed and twisted Madonna's nipples. Emmy drew her face back, using her fingers to poke and stroke at Hanna's pussy and clit, maintaing a steady rhythm that was obviously driving my wife wild. The singer looked over at me, her cheeks flushed red with arousal. "Well, don't just stand there playing with you dick, Joey. Get over here. Stick it in my mouth. Fuck my tits. Do something!" My wife groaned, her breasts rising and falling dramatically. "Oh God, lick me Emmy, please," Madonna pulled her wet fingers from Hannah's pussy and buried her face between her thighs, lapping noisily with her tongue. I straddled the singer, lowering myself onto my knees so my balls tickled over her abdomen as I slid my erection between her soft breasts. Mad light flashed and spun around the room, causing our shadows to dance erotically over the walls in many many colours. Hanna registered my presence through half-shut eyes and reached out for me, stroking her fingers over my cheeks and running them through my hair as I squashed Emmy's tits together either side of my cock. Our faces moved instinctively together and we kissed, our lips and tongues exploring, tasting, communicating as I writhed back and forth on top of Madonna, fucking her warm breasts. Behind me Luigi DiPrima slobbered like an old dog - obviously taking great pleasure from his work - and my God, he must've been doing a good job, cause I could already feel Madonna's body trembling beneath me. Her tits jiggled like jelly as I thrust my cock between them. "Oh, fucking hell!" My wife suddenly arched her spine, her red hair spraying out behind her as she threw her head back, her face contorted into a grimace and her whole body pink and glistening with sweat. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she squeeled, falling back onto the floor, where she lay panting and shuddering, playing distractedly with her breasts and staring dreamily up at all those colours floating over the ceiling. She slowly looked over into my eyes, smiling as she stroked a hand down over her pubic mound, stroking two fingers delicately through her soft red hair and downwards into her cunt. I thrust hard between Madonna's breasts, feeling the tingling in my balls as the fire began to erupt between my thighs. Madonna's whole body was tensed up ready to explode. She was watching my face, her lips trembling and eyes wild with intensity. "I wanna see you cum, Joey. I want you to spray it over my tits. Squirt it into my face." The words seemed to tip her right over the edge. She screamed, doubling up beneath me and I immediately felt the sperm shoot up through my cock as the climax ripped violently through my body. I groaned and gripped the shaft, showering thick cream out over her tits, splashing it up onto her face. "Oh, that was so fucking cool," exclaimed my wife. She giggled and rolled herself onto her side. "The poor girl's drenched, Joey." As I knelt there, panting and gasping for air, I watched globs of milky white cum trickle down Madonna's cheek, over that cute little beauty spot just above her lip and into her mouth. "No more, Luigi, please. You're going to kill me with that tongue," she moaned, looking back at Hannah and reaching an arm out towards her. My wife crawled unsteadily towards us, gazing in fascination at Emmy's sperm-splattered face. She kissed me softly and then turned her attentions towards Madonna, smoothing my milky ejaculate into the singer's heaving breasts and lowering herself down so she could lick her face clean. Madonna giggled. "You're tickling me, Hanna." "Sorry." "Does that taste good?" My wife nodded and their mouths moved together, lips connecting, tongues penetrating. I rolled over onto the floor, resting my cheek against Emmy's warm belly, feeling it rise and fall slowly, watching contentedly as she and Hannah passionately kissed and stroked each other's bodies. And, that was the last night my wife and I spent with Madonna Louise Ciccone and old Mr DiPrima, although I guess we must've replayed it a thousand times since then in our fantasies. *** Never did tell you how this whole thing began, did I? Guess you're just going to have to wait till chapter two for that, my friend. It's 7.32. The birds are singing out there in the garden. It's time to wake Hannah from her debauched dreams so she can drive our daughter to school, and I can crawl into bed and wait patiently for her to return. I've decided that this afternoon, she's going to be Madonna Louise and I'm going to be the head sales rep from her new line of intimate bedroom toys, 'Justify Your Love'. I'm pretty sure she's going to want to have a hands-on demonstration of our biggest seller, 'Miss Ciccone's Italian Stallion'. Haha. And, so this is where I must politely ask you to leave. Some things between a husband and wife are private. *** Send me your feedback, please. Madonna: The REAL Girlie Show Ch. 2 AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a fantasy based on Madonna's public persona. It is in no way intended to defame the character of the real-life Madonna Louise Ciccone. * * * * * Hannah and I were just so pleased for Madonna when she started going places with that band of hers. She always said it would happen, and did it ever! What was her first big single? 'Holiday' was it? That was kind of a fun disco thing, I suppose. I had to laugh, though, when she brought out that 'Like A Virgin' song. Hahahaha. Yeah, right, SURE, Madonna! You know, I always thought that she'd called herself that as some kind of ironic joke because she was such a little devil in the sack. It was only years later I realised it was her real name. To be honest, though, I always preferred her earlier stuff, anyway - those new wave rock songs she demoed before she got signed up. Don't you just hate it when people say that? It's like saying "I know more about her than you do. I've been her biggest fan right from the start". But in this case it's true. I really liked her rock stuff. I always was more of a punker at heart, which is how I ended up dropping out of University in 1976 and flying out to New York to check out the scene that was happening at this sleazy little club on the Bowery called CBGBs. I watched all the bands there: Patti Smith, Talking Heads, Television, Blondie, The Ramones, Richard Hell and The Voidoids. And that's where I met Hannah Fitzpatrick, a fiery red-head sex-bomb that claimed to be a porno star and threw a glass of Jack Daniels in my face two minutes after introducing herself. But, that's a whole other story. You don't need to know about that. You want to hear about how Hannah and I ended up getting jiggy with Madonna Louise Ciccone. Well, here's a little background first. When she first came out to New York, after she finished her dance scholarship at the University of Michigan, Madonna was in this new wave band called The Breakfast Club with her boyfriend, Dan Gilroy. I think at that time she and Dan were living in some converted Synagogue out in Corona, Queens. She'd been studying dance with the choreographer, Pearl Lang, and working different jobs - the Russian Tearooms, glamour modeling, a donut shop in Times Square - but then she just decided to pack all that in, shack up with Dan and become a rock star. That was her new thing. Can you believe, she actually started off playing drums? Don't know if she was any kind of Keith Moon but the Breakfast Club certainly played quite a bit around town, so she must've been passable. Of course, being Madonna, she soon argued her way to the front of the stage, into the lime-light where she belonged. We didn't meet her till later on, though - 1980. By that point she'd split with Dan Gilroy and was really struggling for money. She was in this tight little ska band, Emmerson, with an old boyfriend from Detroit - this cool black kid called Steve Bray, who later went on to co-write some of her early hits. Emmy was a fine little band - real British 2-Tone type stuff. We saw them play a couple times. Steve was there on drums and Madonna sang and played guitar. I've still got tapes of some of those early songs: 'Do You', 'Hothouse Flower' and 'Laugh To Keep From Crying', which was really more of a Pretenders kind of thing. At that time, Madonna was so poor she was sleeping rough in this dingy place, several stories high, called The Music Building, where bands used to rehearse and record, or whatever. It was right outside there that I first laid eyes on her. It was a cold but vivid Autumn day and the whole city had this golden hue over it. I like days like that, when everything seems so clear and crisp and bright. When you breathe out, your breath lingers in the air like mist. Anyway, I'd just not long parked my yellow cab down this side-street so I could eat my sandwich, listen to the radio and read my book (probably something like 'On The Road' or 'Dharma Bums'), when there was a tap on the window. "Hey, you awake in there?" I glanced out the window into the evil grin of this real bad-girl bit of skirt with pale blue eyes and shoulder-length raven hair. I noticed she had a cute little beauty spot just above her lip that reminded me of that painting Hannah still has of a buxom Elizabethan courtesan. "Why you got the door locked, pal?" she asked, pulling at the handle up back. "I want a ride." She obviously enjoyed the inuendo of this and her lips curled up at the corner as she leaned in towards me, crossing her arms so that her breasts squashed up together in such a seductive way it couldn't possibly have been accidental. "I'm on my break," I said, biting into my sandwich. "Do you know who I am?" she persisted. Her eyes smouldered as she stared at me. The intensity was actually a little unsettling. "No, I can't say I do," I said, brushing breadcrumbs from my lap. "You will," she said, reaching her arm in the window and holding it regally out before me. I didn't know whether she expected me to shake it or kiss it. I shook it, firmly. The girl laughed. "That's a forceful grip you've got there, Mr Cab-driver. And you look so... so... English. I'm Madonna." "Pleased to meet you, Madonna. Now, do you mind? I'm trying to read here." "My friends call me Em. That's short for Emmy." I nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Madonna." I turned the page of my book and bent back the spine so it'd stay open resting against the steering wheel. "Oh, you think you're so European, don't you? Well, I've been to Europe, pal. I was in the Patrick Hernandez Review in Paris. Ever heard of him? 'Born To Be Alive'?" I said nothing. She leaned in closer, so I could smell her fragrance - an arousing combination of exotic perfume and her own female scent. "Do you think I look like a ballet dancer?" she asked. "Probably not in these clothes, right? Well, I am. I'm an excellent dancer. I studied at Alvin Ailey's studio." I was trying to ignore her but there was something about the girl's arrogance that really made my loins tingle with excitement. Hannah's got that same radiant self-confidence, which is why I fell for her so bad. "I'm an actor too," she continued. "Ever heard of Stephen Lewicki? Well, I've got the lead part in his new film - 'A Certain Sacrifice'. It's gonna be huge." "Good for you," I said, a little more sarcastically than I'd intended. 'Look, darling, whatever it is you're trying to do here, it isn't working. I'm not starting this cab till I've finished my sandwich and read to the end of this chapter at the very least." Out of the corner of my eye I could see her stiffening, ready to explode. I heard her breathe in deeply through her nose, obviously opting for diplomacy over the theatrical foul-mouthed tantrum she really wanted to lay on me. "I love dancing and acting but my band's the number one thing. Have you heard of us?" "No. I'm sure I will, though," I mumbled. She ignored my retort. "We're called Emmerson." "But friends call you Emmy?" She laughed out loud at this. "Aha! So, you were listening," she purred. "Come on, baby, just let me in will you?" She nodded down at my book. "I'm sure Jack Kerouac can wait. My appointment can't." I sighed heavily. "Hell, just get in if it's going to shut you up for two seconds," I said, flicking open the lock at the back. I hurled the remains of my sandwich into a nearby trash bin, folded over the page in my book and stuffed it down the side of the seat. "Can't I ride up front with you, Daddy?" she giggled, swinging a big bag up into the cab and getting in beside it. "Don't push your luck. Where are we going?" Madonna gave me an address in Manhattan. "My friend has a penthouse suite over-looking Central Park," she said "It's so beautiful." I was impressed. This girl knew people with money. I wondered what she was doing living out in this neighbourhood. I started up the cab, pulling out of the side street and edging my way into the line of heavy traffic. "Hey, who's that little cutie," she said, pointing at the photograph of Hannah I had taped to the dashboard. "Is she your girlie-girl?" she teased, tickling her finger over my earlobe. "Cut that out," I said, brushing her hand away. "She's my wife." "Oh, yeah," she said, staring at my wedding ring. "Hey, what's her star-sign?" I shrugged my shoulders. "Don't you even know your wife's star-sign? What sort of a husband is that?" "Aquarius," I said. "Really? Water-carrier? My rising sign's Aquarius. I think I'd like to meet your wife. What's her name?" I just laughed and said nothing, watching her intently in the mirror. I'm sure if Hannah had been sitting where I was she would have done the same. This girl was fascinating. One of my wife's favourite hobbies at the time was collecting "fascinating girls". She was going through one of her little erotic odysseys, exploring all her Sapphic desires with a succession of striking women that she picked up in various clubs around the city. Sometimes I was allowed to watch. "What you thinking?" Madonna asked, brushing her hand over my shoulder. I shivered, feeling that little spark of energy you sometimes get when someone touches you. She was waiting for an answer but I just smirked and shook my head. "Oh, I can see you're the silent mysterious type," she said, rising up and pulling at her skirt, giving me a tantalising glimpse of her pale thigh. "I guess you must be a virgo - always keeping your cards close to your chest. My moon's in virgo. I like having things close to my chest too." She smirked and brushed her hand over her breasts, pulling her little black top tight over them so I could see her nipples sticking out thick and hard through the material. "So, where's your moon, Mr Cab-driver?" I spun the wheel sharply and accelerated, overtaking another yellow cab. "In my trousers, where it belongs." It was a terrible joke but that really cracked Madonna up for some reason. "Well, isn't that just a shame?" She sat silently watching me for a while then leaned over and pulled something out of her bag. "I feel like we're old friends now," she said, "You're almost like a brother to me, so I'm sure you won't mind if I get changed back here." "What do you mean?" "I'm doing a little acting job for old Mr DiPrima and he likes me to dress a certain way." She lowered herself below the level of the window and began lifting up her tiny black top. I coughed and looked away. "Baby, I don't mind if you want to watch me. What's your name?" I swallowed and glanced over at the mirror. "Joey." 'That's not very British. You should be called Jeremy or Rupert." I shrugged my shoulders. "So, anyway, why are you getting changed there in the back of my cab? Couldn't you have done that at home?" She shook her head. "Not everyone's as understanding of my relationship with Mr DiPrima as you are, Joey." Madonna was looking right into my eyes in the mirror. She lifted the little black top up over her head, revealing the beautiful globes of her naked breasts, the nipples jutting out long and red from her small dark areolas. She smiled, shaking her black hair over her shoulders, and striking a glamour model pose. "So, what do you think, Mr Cab-driver?" "Uhm... they're very nice," I mumbled. I could feel my cheeks flushing. "Nice? Nice? These are GREAT tits, Joey. Look at them!" she laughed, jiggling them for my benefit. "Yes, you're quite right. They are incredible... uhm... breasts," I said, nodding thoughtfully. "And, if you don't put them away soon you're going to cause an accident and get us both arrested." "Oh, you Brits. You're all so... so..." she frowned, trying to think of the appropriate word, "...STIFF. Isn't that how you'd describe yourself, Joey? Wouldn't you say you were stiff?" She pulled herself forward, leaning over into the front of the cab and gazing down at my lap, her hair tumbling over me. "Oh, my!" she exclaimed as my erection twitched in my trousers. "I think I may have done some irreparable damage to your Great British reserve." She giggled madly at this and sat back in her seat, fastening a shiny black leather bra, that accentuated her cleavage, and had crude peep-holes cut into each cup for her nipples to poke through. It looked utterly erotic on her. Madonna was a dark, decadent dream-woman straight out of your most debauched fantasy. It was obvious, from the way she flounced and flaunted her semi-nakedness right here in broad daylight, that she didn't know the meaning of the word "inhibition". "What exactly do you do for old Mr DiPrima?" I asked. "I act out whichever naughty little scenario he's got cooked up in that dirty old man brain of his," she said, laughing. "Does he pay you?" "Of course. You don't think I drive all the way out there just for the kicks do you? I mean he's sweet but I can think of more fruitful ways to spend my afternoons." "So, you're a call-girl?" She was slipping her skirt down over her hips. "No, Joey. You've not been listening. I'm an actress. I play a role and Mr DiPrima films me. The poor old fool thinks he's some kind of Alfred Hitchcock. It's artistic." I smirked and she smacked the back of my head, amused despite herself. "Well, yeah," she said, pulling the skirt off over her boots. "I'm sure he jerks off all over me as soon as the film comes back from the lab but that's his business, now, isn't it?" "Aren't you afraid he'll sell it to some pornographer?" "Ah, you don't know Luigi DiPrima. He's an honorable man, Joey. He wouldn't do something like that. It's not in his nature." I pulled up at a set of traffic lights and looked back over my shoulder, instinctively glancing down at her lacy red panties. I could clearly see her thick black pubic hair through the translucent material. Madonna was watching me. She ran a finger softly over the crotch of her panties and kind of giggle-snorted as the shock registered on my face. "And what about you, Mr Cab-driver?" she asked "Are you gonna jerk off over me too when you get home tonight?" I could feel my cheeks flushing again. "I'm married." "Uh-huh. I'm sure when your sweet little redhead falls asleep you'll be banging the salami into the wee small hours." She chuckled and reached into her bag, pulling out a tiny black leather miniskirt. "No." I turned to look back at the road. The light had already changed. Some idiot behind started beeping their horn madly at me. I gave him the finger (it's only common courtesy in New York) and took off. "Oh, sure, Joey. So, some chick climbs into your cab, flirts with you like crazy and starts flashing her tits at you and it doesn't give you the urge to spank the monkey when the lights are out and the wife's happily snoring into your armpit?" "Hannah doesn't snore." "Aha! So, we have a name finally. Joey and Hannah. You sound like such a lovely couple. What would Hannah think if she knew Madonna Ciccone was here in the back of your cab in a peephole bra and lace panties? Would she be jealous? Is she a fiery redhead, Joey? Would she start a vendetta against me?" "I think she'd like to be sitting right there beside you," I said, eyeing her steadily. "That so?" Madonna didn't flinch. "My wife likes girls." Her lip curled up just a little at the corner. "Really? And, are you going to tell her about me, Mr Cab-driver?" "I may do." "What will you tell her?" Madonna was slipping the leather miniskirt up over her legs. "I'll tell her that you have nice breasts." "GREAT breasts," she corrected, lifting her buttocks off the seat so she could pull the skirt up over her hips. "I'll tell her that you have incredible breasts and an interesting dress sense," I said, cheekily. Madonna reached into the bag and pulled out a black leather jacket, which she slipped on. She looked stunning. I shook my head. "I think your friend is going to have a serious cardiac arrest when he sees you in that outfit." Madonna smiled, looking kind of pleased with herself. "It has crossed my mind but I'm sure that old devil will outlive the pair of us. He's from good strong Italian stock, just like me." She began to button up the jacket. "And by the way, don't think I haven't noticed you changing the subject here, Joey. We were talking about your wife. What you gonna tell Mrs Cabdriver when she asks what we got up to here in the back seat?" "I'm going to tell her the truth." "Oh, really? And, what's that?" I raised a hand, like I was testifying in court. "I'll tell her that nothing happened between us in the backseat of my cab." Emmy seemed to pout just a little at this. "I guess not. You're such a nice English lad, Joey." I watched her in the mirror for a moment, my heart hammering in my chest as I made my decision. I edged out of the line of traffic and pulled down into a sleazy side-street, spinning the car round and halting next a building that was obviously the back-end of some cheap and nasty restaurant. A greasy looking middle-aged chef stood smoking a cigarette in the doorway, steam billowing out around him from the bowels of the kitchen. I turned to look at Madonna. My heart felt like it was going to batter its way right through my ribcage. "What the hell's going on here, Joey?" she said, more bemused than pissed off. "I'm going to tell Hannah that I asked you to sit up front with me." "Oh, are you, now?" Emmy stared deep into my eyes with that wild look I'd get to see several times over the next couple of weeks. "And, IS that what you're asking me?" I nodded, breathing heavily through my mouth in an attempt to steady my nerves. "Yes. Will you get in the front with me?" "Ok." She pushed open the door and swung her legs out, pausing to frown at me. "If you drive off when I get out, I'll throw a boot right through your fucking window." "You're such a delicate thing, aren't you?" Madonna laughed, got out of the cab and nudged the door shut with her hip. Her soft skin glowed like gold in the Autumnal sunlight. The chef in the kitchen doorway gave her the old up-and-down as she brushed her hands over her buttocks, smoothing the black leather over her ass. "Damn! Whatever it costs, I'll pay it," he hollered. "I'll get a loan if I hafta." Madonna smiled sweetly and flipped him the bird as I pushed the passenger-side door open. She climbed in beside me and kissed me on the cheek. I could smell her scent up close and it was wonderful. "Let's go, Mr Cab-driver. I don't want to be too late for the old man. He worries about me." I pulled away from the side-street and worked my way back out into the line of traffic, gazing straight ahead at the road. Madonna brushed her lips over my cheek, breathing in my Cologne. "Well, here I am, Joey. Don't you even want to look at me?" I turned and glanced into her pale blue eyes, then slowly followed her gaze down towards her chest. She had her arms crossed over her stomach, her hands hidden inside the jacket, surreptitiously pinching at her nipples. "Do I frighten you?" she asked, her lips curling into a wicked smile. I shrugged, my cheeks flaring red again. "Oh, come on - why are you scared of a silly little thing like me?" I laughed, feeling kind of self-conscious. She was staring hard at me, waiting for an answer. "'Cause I think you must be some kind of succubus." She giggled at that. "Well, I'm familiar with the 'suck' part." She was tickling her fingers up over my leg. "I'll tell you who I really am, Joey. I'm Medusa. I have supernatural powers. Did you know my head can turn a man to stone?" My stomach was tight with anticipation and dread. "Yeah, I'm sure it can." "Would you like a demonstration? You can just sit there and watch me turn you to stone - inch by inch." Her hand was edging up over my thigh. "Oh, look - it's already happening and I haven't even started yet." Madonna: The REAL Girlie Show Ch. 2 My cock was swelling right up before us, poking uncomfortably against my clothing. She fixed me with her "Medusa" eyes and snarled like the fabled Gorgon. "I'm gonna suck you to within an inch of your life, Joey," she growled huskily, as her face began to move towards my groin. "Oh, Jesus." My hand was actually shaking on the steering wheel. "You don't know how badly I want that," I mumbled, "but I just can't do it." Madonna sat up, staring at me in disbelief. "Excuse me?" "I can't do it." "Is there a problem down there?" She drew her hand from my lap. I laughed loudly and she glared at me. "No, I mean, I don't want to cheat on Hannah," I said. Madonna looked thoughtfully down at the photograph of my wife. "You're such a tease, Joey. I thought maybe you had an open relationship. Doesn't she fuck other guys?" "Never," I said. "How do you know?" "I told you. She likes girls." "So, she's allowed to fuck other girls but you're not?" I shrugged, feeling exasperated. "Sometimes I am but only if we discuss it first. Our relationship's based on honesty." Madonna sighed, her brow furrowing. "Well, that's nice, Mr Cabdriver. So, why exactly have you hauled me up front like this?" "I like you. I like you a lot." "And?" "And, I think Hannah would like you." She ran a hand back through her hair, brushing it away from her forehead. "You're confusing me Joey." "She doesn't mind me looking at girls - watching them, I mean... watching them dance or strip or... or touch themselves. She likes me to describe it to her. It turns her on." "Oh." Madonna reached a hand out towards Hannah's photograph, tickling a finger over my wife's face. Her tongue peeked out of her mouth, flicking up over the beauty-spot above her lip like she'd suddenly noticed it there in her peripheral vision and wondered what it was. She smiled to herself and turned to me, her eyes smouldering. "Well, aren't you the dark horse, Mr Cabdriver? Just what is it you and your sweetheart want to see?" I blinked at her, shrugging my shoulders. She drew open the jacket and I saw that her nipples were sticking out like rockets through the peep-holes. I'm sure the guy three cars in front must've noticed that. "I've shown you my boobies already." She flicked her thumbs over the buds so they wobbled enticingly. "And you've had a naughty peek at my underwear, bad boy." She playfully jerked her skirt up, revealing her lacey red panties and the barely concealed mound of thick raven-black hair. "What more is there to see?" she purred. "Just tell me what to do, Joey, and I'll do it for you." I nodded slowly. "I want you to play with yourself through your panties." Madonna chuckled loudly at my sudden bluntness. "Well, I like a man who knows what he wants." She leaned in towards me and drew my face towards hers, stealing a kiss that I felt in my legs. I pulled back and she laughed, sliding a hand inside her jacket to touch her breasts. "I'm sure your wife won't begrudge us one little kiss. We are only human." Her other hand stroked up the inside of her thigh, causing goose-bumps to rise up all over her legs. "So, you want to watch me touch myself through my underwear, do ya? Does that get your cock hard, Mr Cab-driver?" She glanced down at my lap, her eyes widening in mock disbelief. "I see that it does." She breathed deeply in through her nose and sank back into the seat, touching two fingers to the crotch of her panties and caressing them up over her mound. "How does it feel?" I asked, my voice low. "Really nice." She was tracing the shape of her pussy through the lacey material. "Are you turned on?" "Uh-huh." "How turned on?" "I'm really wet, Joey. I can feel it in my panties." I rested my hand on her knee, fixing my face with a serious priest-like expression. "And how did you get so wet, my child?" I teased, easing into the role of sexual interogator. "You must confess all your sinful thoughts to Father Joey so I can decide your penance," "I don't know. You just got me real hot. It's the way you look at me. I really thought you were gonna take me to some motel room and fuck my brains out." She squirmed on the edge of the seat at the thought. "Oh, Christ, yeah. I wanted to do that the minute I saw you, Emmy. Maybe one night Hannah and I will come and pick you up. We'll drive out somewhere and have an adventure, the three of us. I think she'd be willing to share me with you." "Yes. I'd like that." She was staring at the picture of my wife, her fingers stroking up between her labia. "Do you like girls, Emmy?" She nodded, distractedly. "Uh-huh." "Why do you like them?" She shivered as her fingers slid up over her clitoris. "Girls are pretty and soft and they taste... uh..." Her knee was trembling. "They taste wonderful." "Do you like eating pussy?" She kind of frowned a little, as though that was a silly question. "Of course. Don't you?" "Yes, I do." "I prefer men, though," she mumbled, her fingers circling over her clit. "I love feeling a man's body warm and hard against me. I love having his cock slide deep into me, filling me up. Will you do that for me one day, Joey? Promise me you'll do that. Promise you'll slide your cock into me - slide it into my pussy." "I promise," I said, my stomach tingling with excitement and dread at the sound of the words as they left my mouth. I hadn't even considered what I was saying, just answered instinctively. Madonna pushed her hand down the front of her underwear, sliding a finger into her sex with a sloppy sound. "Oh, God. I'm so wet, Joey." 'Take off your panties," I said. Emmy nodded and lifted her hips, sliding them down to her knees. The thick black hair around her pussy glistened with her honey. "Give them to me," I said. Madonna gasped, her breasts rising and falling beneath the leather jacket as she pulled the lacey red lingerie off over her boots. She dropped them into my lap, and immediately slid her hand back down between her thighs, rubbing her fingers over her labia, circling round her clit with a slippery sound. "I want my wife to be able to smell how aroused you were." I lifted her panties to my face and breathed in her sexual scent, feeling intoxicated. "I think she's going to be very impressed," I said. "Hannah likes bad girls." "Tell me," groaned Emmy, writhing on the seat. "Tell you what?" One of her hands now openly pinched at her nipples as the other stroked rhythmically between her thighs. The leather skirt was hiked right up around her waist. "Tell me about our adventure." "Oh. Ok. So, Hannah and I pick you up in the cab," I said. "It's late - well after midnight. My wife's had a few drinks, so I'm driving. You can taste the Jack Daniels on her lips as she kisses you, slipping her tongue into your mouth." Madonna groaned, her eyes flickering shut. "Oh, yeah." "As I drive I'm watching the pair of you necking and fumbling and getting all sticky in the back seat. You're all feverish with hunger 'cause Hannah's fingers are playing mad games under your skirt and you can smell her arousal. Her scent fills the whole car, Emmy. Can you smell her?" I tickled Madonna's panties under her nose and she breathed in, her cheeks flushing red with excitement. "Uh-huh. She smells so good." "Yes, she does. You've already started pulling open Hannah's top, kissing her throat, groping for her breasts. She has beautiful pert little breasts, Emmy. I think you'll like them." Madonna nodded, her eyes tight shut. "I do. I love them. They're so pretty." I smiled at her - the way she was getting all caught up in the fantasy. "You kiss your way down to Hannah's breasts, licking and slobbering over them, sucking her nipples into your mouth." "Mmmmn." "She curles her fingers in your hair, pushing you lower." Madonna shivered, sliding two fingers briefly inside and drawing them out all slippery with her honey. She began smoothing this up around her clit, getting herself all lubricated. "And, so you kiss your way down over her belly, tearing her panties open so that her pussy is right there before you, all wet and pink..." "Uh-hmnn..." "...lapping your tongue up over it, sliding it into her hot silkiness, tasting her in your mouth." Madonna absent-mindedly licked her tongue out around her red lips, moaning and writhing. "The car stops abruptly and you look up, your lips and chin glistening. You realise that I've driven us out to a secluded garage lock up - a multi-story car park, several stories high. It's dark and moody, only a flickering neon light to luminate the vast room. We're the only people there, and so we clamber out of the car, Hannah stripped and flushed with arousal. We lift her up onto the bonnet of the car, her head back, thighs thrust wide apart as she squeezes her breasts tight. I push your face between her legs and you begin to lick her clitty, lapping your tongue noisily over her hot bud." Madonna groaned, her breath quickening as the climax neared. "I grab hold of your hips, pulling your butt back towards me and hiking that slutty little skirt way up so I can see your creamy buttocks right there before me." I tickled a finger up the inside of Madonna's soft thigh, watching in fascination as her whole body shuddered. "Hannah is pulling at your hair, thrusting her cunt up into your face. You hear the sound of my zip and feel my hand stroking up over your pussy." Madonna's finger flicked hard rhythmically back and forth over her clit. "Ohhhhh. Touch me there," she whispered. It was all getting too much for me. I could hardly keep my eyes on the road. I just couldn't hold off the temptation any longer. I reached my hand over and touched my fingers to her labia, sliding them up over her silky sex. "Uhhhhh." Madonna arched her back, thrusting her breasts out. "I draw your butt right back towards me, pulling your legs apart as your tongue swirls over Hannah's clit." "Ymhhh." She clutched furiously at her clit. "And, then you feel it - the head of my cock touching your soft lips, pressing into the entrance of your pussy." I slipped my fingers inside her labia like it was my cock, and felt the tightening of her muscles. Her sex felt so hot and slippery around my fingers that I just had to slide them deeper. Madonna's breasts quickly rose and fell as she gasped for air, her muscles tensed right up just hanging on for that final burst of energy to rip right through her, devastating her body like an atomic bomb. "You feel Hannah's fists tightening around your hair and I grab hold of your hips, slamming your buttocks back against my body, my cock sliding deep into your cunt, filling you up." I thrust my fingers right up into her and she exploded, buckling violently forward, her juices squirting out over my hand. She squeeled, dropping her head forward onto the dashboard and began laughing uncontrollably as I drew my wet fingers from between her thighs. "Oh, fucking hell, Joey. What did you just do to me? How you gonna explain that to your wife?" I looked down at my hand, all sloppy with Madonna's fragrant honey. "Oh." *** AUTHOR'S NOTE: please remember to vote for chapters 1 & 2 of this story and email your feedback, so I know what you thought of them. I plan to set a future chapter in an underground Sex Club. If there's anything you'd like to see Madonna do there, I'm happy to listen. You can read 8 more of my stories here on Lit, posted under the name "Roger Simian" Remember to have fun. Madonna: The REAL Girlie Show Ch. 3 AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a fantasy based on Madonna's public persona. It is in no way intended to defame the character of the real-life Madonna Louise Ciccone. * * * * * By the time I got back to the modest little loft where my wife and I had been living for the past 3 years, I felt like I was going to explode. The way Madonna had climaxed right there in the passenger seat, squealing and writhing on my fingers, had driven me wild with anticipation. As soon as I pushed open our door I could smell the paints and turpentine. Hannah had the windows drawn wide open but that never seemed to help much. I smiled when I saw her. She was down on her hands and knees on a huge cushion, splattering dark blue paint from a brush onto her most recent canvas. Her white panties peeked at me from beneath the long paint-splattered man's shirt she always wore whenever inspiration struck (which could be any time of day or night). "You're back early," she said, without bothering to look round. I didn't say a word in response - just moved up behind her, kissing her neck and smoothing my fingers over the soft peachy cheeks of her ass. She shivered. "Hey, what's got YOU all fired up, loverboy?" I reached an arm around her, covering her mouth with my hand and pressed my teeth into her shoulder, gently biting into the pale flesh, causing her to moan softly. Hannah instinctively dropped her head forward and her fiery hair fell into the fresh oils that she'd splattered across her canvas (she was currently exploring her fascination with Jackson Pollock). "Oh, shit," she giggled. "Look what you made me do. That'll take days to wash out." She shook her head like a wet dog, splattering paint across the room as her hair swung out around her. I reached my arms around her waist, cupping her breasts through the material of the shirt and drawing her up on to her knees so that my stomach was pressed into her back and my erection nudged against her buttocks through our clothing. "You're rock hard," she exclaimed, laughing loudly but with a real excitement in her voice. I could feel her nipples hardening against my palms. She pushed herself back against me. I reached for the buttons of the shirt, fumbling to unfasten it. Hannah helped me with the last two and I pulled the whole thing off over her shoulders and arms, hurling it across the room. I reached around her waist, caressing her warm stomach and taking her breasts in my hands, flicking the hard nipples with my thumbs, brushing my lips up over her shoulder. Hannah let out a soft appreciative moan and I smiled to myself. I drew back, tickling a fingernail right down her spine then snatched her panties down. She gasped, excited and started turning her head to look at me but I mischievously nudged her and she fell forward, her hands splattering down onto the canvas, splashing paint out over her belly and breasts. "Well, thank you," she giggled. I grabbed hold of both legs, drawing them back and apart so I could see the soft wisps of red hair and the pink glistening folds of her sex. My wife shivered, arching her back, expectantly, as I noisily unzipped my trousers, dragging them down to my knees along with my shorts so that my erection sprang up, bouncing over her soft thigh and nestling against her moist labia. "Oh yeah, babe, fuck me," she groaned. I took my cock in my fingers and guided the head up towards her pussy lips, slipping it between the pretty folds and sliding it deep into the silkiness of her hot centre. Hannah fell forward so her arms smudged across the canvas and her forehead dropped forward, her hair a mess of sticky oils - yellow, green, blue, red. She attempted to push back against me, wanting more of me inside her but I gripped hold of her hips, holding her steady. I snickered to myself and smacked my palm against her right buttock with a slapping sound. "Hey, you!" she said, shocked but laughing. "That's for not looking to see who I was," I said, laughing as I stroked my fingers softly over her shoulders. "How far were you going to let me go before you checked?" "And who ARE you?" she asked, giggling as she slid right back onto my cock so I was buried deep inside her. "The post man." "Oh, I see," she purred, "Special delivery." We began to fuck like that right there on top of Hannah's painting, building to a steady rhythm of slippery thrusts and strokes. And, that's when I told her about Madonna. "I met a girl in my cab today, baby." I drew back so my cock was only just inside her, the head resting right at the entrance of her vagina. Her moist labia seemed to quiver around me. She stiffened, like she was unsure how to respond. "Oh, really? Is this what's got you so horny? Did you fuck her, honey?" "No." I slid my erection deep back into the warmth and she moaned, despite herself, her fingers moving automatically to her clit. She sighed. "I've been with so many girls these last few months that I guess I don't really have the right to ask that, huh?" she said, quietly. "You do have the right, baby, and no I didn't fuck her." I reached my arms around her waist and drew her up so she was on her knees again. I stroked her breasts lovingly and kissed her shoulder. I could feel her nipples thickening against the palms of my hands. Her neck was flushed, deep red. There'd been a hint of hurt or jealousy to Hannah's voice just then that had cut into me but her body betrayed her arousal. "Describe her to me." I breathed in the scent of my wife's hair. "Kind of Italian looking, with dark hair, blue eyes - sort of pretty in a way but she dresses like a real slut." "I guess you liked that, though, honey." "Yeah." "What's her name?" "Madonna." She laughed at that. "So did Lady Madonna go down on you, Joey?" "No." I nibbled gently on her ear, moving my hips back and forth as I slowly fucked her. Hannah pressed her buttocks back against me, her fingers circling her clit. "Did you touch her?" "Yes." She moaned, her breasts rising and falling in my hands. "Where? Her breasts? Does she have big tits?" There was a gentle mocking tone to her voice now. I kissed her cheek and smiled. "They're not huge, kind of medium sized. They're nice. I think you'd like them." She nodded. "And?" "And, no - I didn't touch them." My wife's sex was so wet now that I could hear little slippery sounds as we moved against each other. "Where DID you touch her, babe? Did you touch her pussy?" She groaned at the thought of this. "I put two fingers inside her." "Oh, yeah," she mumbled, grinding her buttocks back against me. "What did it feel like?" "It felt incredible, Hannah - so silky and warm. She was really wet." "Did you make her cum?" "She made herself cum. I suppose I helped." Hannah turned to look at me, kind of embarrassed by what she was about to ask. "Did you... uh... you know. Did you wash your hands... afterwards, I mean." I kissed her soft lips, thrusting as deep as I could into her warmth. I could feel her muscles tightening around me, sucking me in. She was staring at me, waiting for an answer, her blue blue eyes getting all glazed over and dreamy looking. "No, I didn't." "I want to smell her, Joey," she moaned. "Oh, God, I can't believe I just said that." "It's ok, " I whispered, bringing my hand up towards her face. She closed her eyes and breathed Madonna's sexual scent softly in through her nostrils, her fingers rubbing hard over her clit. "Oh, wow." Her lips fell open and she licked her tongue out over my fingers. "Can you taste her, Hannah?" "I think so - kind of, yeah." She sucked my fingers into her mouth, swirling her tongue and working her head back and forth like it was a cock. I was building up the rhythm of my thrusts - fucking faster and deeper. I reached my free hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out Madonna's silky red panties. I brought them up towards my wife's nose and watched her face, waiting for a reaction. Hannah's brow wrinkled a little, like she was puzzled by something. She breathed deep in through her nostrils and her eyes opened wide. "I brought you back a present," I whispered, drawing my fingers from her mouth and pushing her forward so that she slipped into the sticky multi-coloured mess of oils. She lay there giggling, one arm and both breasts squashed up against the canvas. I slid my shaft deep into her wetness and she clutched for Madonna's panties, drawing them up to her face, burying her nose in the crotch and inhaling. I think the scent of another woman's cunt must be my wife's favourite smell (although I'm sure she'd say, "Ysatis by Givenchy," if you were to ask her in polite company). "Oh, fuck me!" she squeeled. "Fuck me! Fuck me, Joey!" I could feel her fingers nudging against my cock as they rubbed furiously at her clit. I pretty much had my full weight resting against her, which seemed to be the only thing that stopped us skidding right off the canvas onto the carpet, covering it in thick unsightly splodges of oily paint. She was panting and mumbling into the silky underwear by now. "I can smell her cunt, I can smell her cunt." "She wants to meet you," I whispered. "She wants you to suck on her nipples. Would you like that, baby?" Her body shook beneath me as the climax thundered towards her like a herd of wild horses. "Oh, shit, yessss." My body was slapping up against her buttocks. "Do you want to lick her pussy?" "Uh-huh. I want to lick her cunt. I want to suck on her clit and... and, I want to... I want to watch you fucking her, Joey. I want to see you slide your cock into her wet pussy." I groaned loudly, right on the point of ejaculating. "You want me to fuck her?" "Yesss." "You want to watch? You want to watch me fucking her?" "Uh-huh. I wanna see your face when you cum... when you squirt your cum inside her. And after... and afterwards I wanna lick her pussy... lick your cream from her pussy. Uhhhhhh!" Hannah squeeled out and I thrust deep into the wetness. My whole body shuddered violently against her as the sperm spurted out of my cock, shooting into the warm depths of her cunt. "Oh, my God." I rolled off onto my back, panting and sweating as I smoothed my hand up over my wife's leg. Hannah crawled up over me, grinning and smearing me with oil from her paint-smudged breasts and belly. "You're such a bad boy," she giggled, kissing me full on the lips. "I'm gonna hafta bathe in turpentine all night to get this off." "I think it suits you," I said, streaking a dollop of vibrant green over her left breast. "My pretty painted lady. And, just look at the wonderful artwork we created together." I nodded, smiling, down at her canvas, which was now just a muddy shit-coloured mess. Hannah stared at it. "Oh, crap. That was for my project." "Nevermind. Why don't we go see a band tonight?" She snorted, smudging a splodge of red over her nose with the back of her hand. "Oh sure, looking like this?" "Yeah, why not? I think you look totally New Wave, like that. You can say it's what all the kids are wearing in London this summer." She shrugged, amused. "Ok. Who's playing?" "Madonna," I said, grinning. "Aha! Now, I see," she said, scooping paint from between her breasts and splattering it all over my face. "Well, we'll need to get your New Wave warpaint ready too, honey," she giggled, pinning me down as she reached for her paintbrush, plunging it deep in the lurid yellow palate. To Be Continued... * * * * * AUTHOR'S NOTE: remember to vote for chapters 1, 2 & 3 of this story and email your feedback, so I know what you thought of them. I plan to set a future chapter in an underground Sex Club. If there's anything you'd like to see Madonna do there, I'm happy to listen. You can read more of my stories here on Lit, posted under the name "Roger Simian" Have fun. alex x