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.

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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...

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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
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