Madison Times: The further adventures of Chloe and Royce

By Douglas F Ingram

With the approach of her fortieth birthday, Chloe Murphy finds herself restless. She has a happy, stable marriage, and loves running the Madison Inn in Savannah with her husband, Royce, but she craves excitement and a break from the daily routine into which they have fallen. Guided by newfound friends, Chloe and Royce set out to explore their un

• Language: English
• Publisher: Douglas F. Ingram, Jr.
• Release date: May 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9780578336152

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Also by

Douglas F. Ingram

Cardinal Effort, a Generation X love story

Copyright © 2022 Douglas F. Ingram | facebook.com/cardinaleffort | douglasingrambooks.com

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Cover and title page illustrations by the incomparable Beth Little. Please visit her at daydreamdaredevil.com

Interior design by The Book Cover Whisperer: OpenBookDesign.biz

978-0-578-33615-2 Ebook

978-0-578-33614-5 Paperback

Printed in the United States.

FIRST EDITION

Acknowledgements

One: A Lot to Think About

Two: My One and Only

Three: Melissa and Ian

Four: Shutterbugs

Five: The Hourglass

Six: The Thirteenth of May

Seven: Shannon and Tony

Eight: Cassie’s Closet

Nine: A Mythical Creature

Ten: Diane and Saul

Eleven: Try to Have Some Fun

Twelve: Stormtroopers and Tattoos

Thirteen: Konrad and Lena

Fourteen: The Way It Should Be

Fifteen: The Dreyfus

Sixteen: Checking In

Seventeen: Checking Out

Eighteen: Sherry and Theo

Nineteen: Fallout

Twenty: Wrecked

Twenty-One: Tomorrow’s Agenda

Twenty-Two: This Isn’t Who You Are

Twenty-Three: Private Affairs

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

I owe a debt of

gratitude

to Arthur and Gwen, my internet friends from the UK, who shared their personal stories and advised me about the challenges and rewards that Chloe and Royce would likely experience during their early days in the Lifestyle. They took to calling themselves my deviancy consultants, and I couldn’t have completed this story without their help.

My good fortune continued when Lisa Messinger, the editor of Cardinal Effort, agreed to reprise her role for the sequel. I learned a lot from her the first time around, so I can only hope this book gave her fewer headaches and sleepless nights. It was a true pleasure to work with her again.

I’ve been a fan of the unique creations of my friend Beth Little for many years, and I am honored that she made time to work with me on the cover and title page art. To manifest the written description of an imagined idea into a visual representation takes a talent I can’t begin to understand, but she did it. Twice.

Kelly and Beth (a different Beth) volunteered to read along with me as I wrote this book, and I am thankful to both of them for their instant feedback. Hearing This is great! is welcome encouragement, of course, but I’m confused by this is even more helpful to an amateur like me.

Watching every Law & Order episode eight times or more doesn’t qualify me to take the bar exam, but does make me just dangerous enough to botch completely a real-life criminal justice scenario. I’m indebted to Meaghan Eustice, Esq. for taking a hard look at the crime and punishment storyline after the climax and consulting on a realistic outcome.

And last but never ever least, I want to thank my longsuffering wife, Terry, for listening to the endless minor tweaks to each and every sentence that follows. She went to bat for all of the women in this story and made sure I got them right, from their wardrobes to their words and motivations. I couldn’t ask for a better partner, and I will love you forever.

One

A Lot to Think About

At 10:38 a.m. on Tuesday, March 24 of 2009, the last of the Madison Inn’s guests checked out, and Chloe Murphy closed the door behind them. For four straight weeks, all six of the inn’s guestrooms had been booked solid for Savannah’s massive Saint Patrick’s Day celebration. It was great for business, but it had taken its toll on the Murphys. Chloe rubbed her sleepy eyes and went to the kitchen, where her husband stood at the sink, washing pots and pans from the morning’s breakfast service. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and rested her head against his back.

We have until at least 3:00, and only four new guests are due to check in. What do you wanna do? Royce asked.

I wanna sleep for about 24 hours. Can I?

He smiled. Would you settle for two? I’ll deal with Luisa and Nadia. Go get some rest.

She squeezed him tightly and, without another word, made her way downstairs to the owner’s suite. His offer to manage the housekeepers wasn’t much of a concession, as the Murphys had established a firm division of duties since they’d taken over operation of the inn from her parents fifteen years earlier. She had taught herself HTML to keep the website user-friendly and adaptable, along with handling their social media pages and nearly all of the finances. He supervised the cleaning staff and assistant managers, took care of payroll, and ran the kitchen. Savannah was home to some of the greatest minds for unhealthy but delicious Southern dishes, and Royce had taken several classes to make sure his breakfast menu would be diverse and memorable. He attempted to do the same for the dinners he cooked for himself and his wife.

A couple of hours later, after helping Nadia and Luisa empty the trash and gather the bed linens and towels for washing, he made a pastrami sandwich for Chloe and carried it down the narrow stairway. He stopped at the foot of their bed and watched her sleep. She was on her back, with one long leg thrown out from beneath the sheet, displaying the chipped burgundy polish on her toenails. Her brown hair was flecked with silver strands and spread out on the pillow, and her long lashes reached to the uppermost freckles on her cheeks. The sight of her still took his breath away, even after nearly two decades together.

Are you gonna keep staring at me, or give me my sandwich? she asked playfully, without opening her honey brown eyes.

Royce chuckled and sat down on the bed beside her, handing over the ceramic plate and a bottle of water as she sat up. You’re still meeting Melissa for drinks tonight, right?

She nodded and mumbled with her mouth full, Eight-thirty at Farley’s.

* * *

Melissa and Ian Leonard

had purchased the Carrington House hotel on Warren Square a year prior, and had set out to restore the venerable property to its former glory. The senior members of the Chamber of Commerce were privately thrilled to have new ownership at the helm of such a significant landmark, though it was their nature to be cold to younger new arrivals. The Leonards had only begun to attend subcommittee meetings in the past three months, but Chloe and Melissa had become fast friends, sharing an irreverence for the stuffy formality and snickering at the wrinkled old farts that made up the Chamber’s leadership.

Chloe helped Royce set up the Madison’s evening tea service, freshened up, and walked seven blocks north to Farley’s bar on Bay Street. She took a table on the front patio so Melissa could smoke, and ordered a Tanqueray and tonic, Evans style, from the waitress. She was quietly singing along as Shinedown’s Second Chance played through the outdoor speakers when her companion arrived.

Everything about Melissa Leonard was oversized, from her wavy orange hair and her bright blue eyes to her Rubenesque figure and loud voice. Settling into her chair and lighting a cigarette, she asked, So, Royce isn’t pissed you’re out tonight, is he?

Oh, hell, no. It’s mandatory.

Mandatory?

Chloe brushed her hair behind her ears. I told you we’ve known each other since college, right? Melissa nodded. "Well, we actually met when he interviewed me for a part-time job in the crazy office he was running. We worked there together for three years, until I graduated and we got married.

Then when my parents retired and asked us to take over the Madison for them, we moved here. So that’s, what, eighteen-and-a-half years of being side-by-side nearly every day? About ten years ago, we made a rule that once a week both of us were required to spend an afternoon or an evening away from the inn, and each other. Go play a round of golf with your friends, join a bowling league, take a trip to the beach, whatever. Hell, go see a movie alone, if you can’t find someone to join you. She smiled broadly. So, drinks with you is my outing for this week.

Melissa beamed. Well, I’m flattered!

They swapped stories about how busy they’d been for Saint Patrick’s Day, until Melissa’s phone chimed a text message from one of her adolescent twin daughters. Ugh. Sorry. I have to broker a peace agreement.

Chloe raised her cocktail. Good luck!

Melissa resolved the conflict in minutes, but grumbled that Ian should have been able to handle it himself. Setting down her phone, she asked, You and Royce never wanted to have kids?

Chloe bit her bottom lip and circled the rim of her glass with her index finger. I miscarried at fifteen weeks in early ’98.

Melissa covered her mouth and blushed. Oh, God, Chloe. I’m so sorry!

It’s okay. You didn’t know. She shifted in her seat. Afterward, the doctors ran a full blood screen and found a chromosome abnormality. They said it would probably happen again. Royce called the very next day to schedule a vasectomy, knowing how badly I was wrecked, and it took me nearly a year to get past it.

She breathed a heavy sigh and deftly shifted the conversation by asking about how Melissa and Ian had met. Melissa was relieved by the subject change and spoke animatedly about the early days of their courtship, their marriage, and the substantial inheritance that had allowed them to purchase the Carrington House. Her phone chimed again with another text alert and she frowned at the screen. I’m gonna kill him.

More trouble with the girls?

No. My new boy toy. I told him I wasn’t available tonight.

"Your… your boy toy?"

Melissa tossed her head back and laughed, before leaning in closer to speak in a hushed voice. I didn’t tell you that Ian and I are swingers?

Chloe’s jaw dropped. It must’ve slipped your mind, she joked.

"We’ve been active in the lifestyle for nearly a decade now, since the girls were in preschool. This guy is only 28, but he’s very eager to please. She cocked her head to the side. You can’t tell me you and Royce have never thought about doing anything… deviant. I see how playful you are together."

Chloe scoffed. The thought of Royce balls-deep in another woman makes me feel a stabby rage, not arousal.

Melissa laughed again and replied in nearly a whisper. "Oh, you wouldn’t have to go that far! I bet a dozen of the couples we know barely even touch their playmates. They just want to watch and to be watched." She winked pointedly.

Chloe raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond right away. She and Royce had discussed the possibility of a threesome before, usually as a back-and-forth flirtation while having sex, but they’d never acted upon the idea. Hearing about the exhibitionist element stirred something within her, though, and her impending fortieth birthday had been triggering naughty ‘What if?’ questions for weeks. I’ll admit I’m intrigued, she finally said, smiling. I’m gonna talk to Royce. We’re going camping on Cumberland for a couple of days next week, so I’ll have him to myself and away from any distractions. Can I text you with any questions I might think of beforehand?

Melissa smiled wickedly, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth. I hope you will.

* * *

Around

11:00

, the women

walked together to Melissa’s car and hugged each other goodbye. Chloe folded her arms tightly to her chest against the evening chill and turned for home. She’d long been aware that she had only two speeds, sexually speaking. In her default mode, she enjoyed taking her time. Slow and gentle and passionate, with lots of foreplay. Royce’s attentiveness, combined with her understanding of her own body, meant that she nearly always came at least once, and usually several times. She relished the opportunity to reconnect with him every chance they had, given the stress of running the inn together.

Every twenty-eight days, however, two or three days before the start of her period, she was overcome with a feral desire to be completely dominated and manhandled. Royce had a tender soul, but he’d learned not only to adjust to her urges, but to revel in them and to give her exactly what she wanted. He held her down and spanked her, drove into her hard, with wild abandon, his fist full of her hair or his hand tight around her throat, sometimes cuffing her to the bed frame and biting her so hard that the marks lasted for a week. When she needed a beast, he responded with fangs and claws.

He had never once, in all their time as a couple, complained to her about the particulars or the frequency of their sex life. But she had no way of knowing what he told his friends in confidence. And now, with forty on the horizon, she felt restless and antsy, and hoped she’d be able to communicate her wants without making him feel threatened.

She entered the owner’s suite as quietly as she could, brushed her teeth, and changed into black cotton boxers before climbing into bed. Royce was asleep on his back, nude and with a semi-erection rising against the cotton sheet. She slid down his torso, draped her right leg over his, and took his cock into her mouth. Without moving a muscle, he spoke. So I take it tonight went well?

It did. I have a lot to think about, she said, looking up at him momentarily.

You have a lot to think about. He combed her hair with his fingers as she worked his stiffening shaft with a gentle grip. I’ve heard this before. And the result is either wildly satisfying or… cataclysmic.

She paused, resting his cock against her cheek and brushing her hair from her eyes. Cataclysmic is an awfully big word for a guy who’s getting his dick sucked. And I’m done apologizing for the aborted redecorating plan. We got most of our money back.

He chuckled. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.

She returned to the task at hand, but couldn’t completely block out from her mind their past conversations about threesomes. Would he really be turned on, like he said he would, watching me do this to another man? And more importantly, would I really be excited by seeing another woman do this to him?

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by his loud groan and the salty streams that splattered against the back of her throat. She swallowed hard until he was finished and, wiggling upward to rest her head on his shoulder, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Within a minute, both of them were fast asleep.

* * *

Chloe’s parents understood better

than anyone else the strain that managing the Madison could place on a marriage. When they asked Royce and Chloe to take over the daily operations, they insisted the young couple schedule four or five extended trips a year, and volunteered to cover for them while they were away. They’d hoped these mini-vacations would be exotic, like a trip to New York to see a musical, or a quick vacation to Las Vegas. But Royce and Chloe often opted for brief camping trips to Cumberland, Georgia’s largest and southernmost barrier island. They chose peace and quiet, rather than thrills, and their innate frugality got the best of them.

Landing at the ferry dock on the morning of April 1, they began the three-mile hike north to the Stafford Beach campground. They saw one tent set up toward the northwest, so they walked east in the direction of the beach and chose a remote site no more than thirty yards from the shore, beside a stand of young pines. They made short work of setting up their tent and bedding, and gathered fallen limbs and logs for a campfire. Chloe then took Royce’s hand and led him to the beach, in time to watch a pod of dolphins swimming diagonally with the receding tide.

Did you know Melissa and Ian are swingers? she asked softly.

Yeah. He told me a couple of weeks ago. They try hard to be discreet, but he wanted to let me know, in case I heard or saw anything I might consider fishy.

She raised her eyebrows and slapped his arm. Why didn’t you tell me?

I knew you’d find out eventually. And I assumed that once you did, we’d be having this conversation, he smiled knowingly.

Back at the campsite, he ignited charcoal briquettes on the grill and the kindling in the fire pit and, settling onto a log, pulled a narrow joint from his breast pocket and lit one end. After taking a long drag, he handed it to her. So, tell me what you’ve heard.

She closed her eyes and grinned as she tried to remember verbatim the flurry of texts she’d exchanged with Melissa since their evening out. She’d had so much to learn and to consider, and had pondered every exciting detail.

She took a deep pull. Well, she croaked as she held in the smoke, "Melissa said the girls are usually in charge, which I liked. I mean, both parties should have veto power before