Eve and I have always gone through phases, periods where we’re all about full-on sex, and others where we lean more towards messing about, using toys and pleasuring ourselves together. It tends to happen more in the colder months, when it’s far easier to stay tucked up under the duvet than to strip off and be hopping in and out of the shower. And to be fair, I’ve never once complained when she glances over and says, “Wanna toy with me?” Because when she says that, I know we’re in for something properly good.
It usually kicks off with her teasing me, getting me properly hard, before turning her vibrator on herself while I take over, slicking my hand with a bit of coconut oil. Every now and then, I’ll catch her sneaking a look at me as I’m going, watching closely, like she can’t help herself.
Meanwhile, she’s under the covers, working away with the vibrator. I can’t see a thing, which only makes it worse, in the best way. My mind fills in the gaps. I picture her moving against it, completely lost in it, or turning towards me in ways I know all too well. Sometimes I think about those moments I’ve caught her on her own, when she doesn’t stop, just lets me stand there and take it in.
And then my thoughts drift even further - old memories, new ideas, whatever happens to come to mind in the moment. Every now and again, I’ll start murmuring them out loud, keeping my voice low, we’ve a full house most nights, so there’s not exactly loads of privacy. But instead of rushing things along, those quiet little stories slow everything right down. They stretch it out, make us linger in it, turning what could be quick into something that builds and builds.
Not long ago, one afternoon, I woke from a nap, still half there, with Eve asleep beside me. Lying there, I got to thinking about how much she enjoys those whispered bits, and how people are always going on about “spicy” stories online. It crossed my mind… what if she had one of her own? Something written just for her.
So I picked up my phone and started typing, thinking back to something we’d shared recently. The idea was to save it for when she’d be away, something for her to read and think of me. But it didn’t take long before the right moment came along.
That morning, she’d woken me to let the cat out, half-joking that she’d “make it up to me” later. She even mentioned it again during the day, smiling to herself like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Later on, while I was waiting around during one of the kids’ activities, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and decided to send her the story there and then. No explanation, no build-up. Just sent it.
The minute I saw she’d read it, my chest tightened a bit. You do wonder, did it land the way you hoped?
Then her reply came through:
“My heart’s racing. Hhmmm.”
That was all it took.
By the time I got home, there was a definite shift between us. We went through the usual evening routine, but every so often I’d catch her eye lingering just a second too long.
Eventually, once the house had settled, we found ourselves alone for a minute. She leaned in slightly, her voice soft:
“I can’t believe you wrote that… about me… for me. Is that a first?”
I just nodded, grinning a bit. “Yeah. First go. Seemed like you didn’t mind it though.”
She gave me a look that said more than enough.
“Oh, I minded… In a good way.”
Later, as I was clearing up in the kitchen, she told me to leave it off. Before I could say anything, she stepped in close, making it very clear she had other plans.
“We've got things to be upstairs,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Upstairs, there was barely a pause before things picked up again. She more than followed through on her earlier promise, taking her time in a way that made it impossible to think straight.
At one point, I had to laugh under my breath and warn her, “At this rate, you might want to decide what you’re after, or we’ll be talking about round two.”
She pulled back slightly, smiling up at me. “Right so. Your call then, what are you in the mood for?”
“Honestly? I’m not fussy,” I said. “I’ll take any of it.”
That seemed to amuse her.
“So you wouldn’t mind if I just… took over a bit myself?”
“Not even slightly.”
I was in heaven. From there, things shifted again, slower at first, then building. The mix of it, the closeness, the familiarity, the way we both knew exactly how to push things just that bit further, made it hard to focus on anything else. She was on fire.
By the time it all came to an end, we were both completely spent, laughing a little as we tried to pull ourselves back together.
And all I could think afterwards was:
I’ll have to write this one down as well, and wait for the right moment to send it her way.
Using toys and writing stories about this can spice up things a lot.
