A wife and mother develops a secret passion for erotic writing. She finds it so arousing that it has the happy side effect of reigniting her floundering love life with her husband. But it does more than that...

In many ways, I was quite fortunate. I had a beautiful twenty-three-year-old daughter Jade, and a kind and loving husband of twenty-five years Jack. Jack and I lived in a very nice suburb of Sacramento in a very nice house that was too big for us since Jade had left, but had too many happy memories for us to even consider moving.

Jack owned and ran a small chain of realtors and we were sufficiently well-off for me not to have to work anymore. I did help out at a charity shop two afternoons a week but not for the money, mostly for the companionship and the enjoyment of chatting with the customers.

I didn’t see Jade as much as I’d have liked because she married a Canadian and they lived in Montreal, but we talked regularly on the phone and managed to get together at least a couple of times a year.

I had several good friends, mostly other parents I’d met through Jade’s schools over the years. What with them, the charity shop, and regular trips to the gym to keep in shape, I was kept pretty busy.

To keep my brain from shutting down entirely I’d tried various hobbies but generally returned to reading. I always had been a fairly omnivorous reader, willing to try most genres at least once.

One thing that had irritated me on and off over the years was some of the cringingly awful descriptions of sex in what were often otherwise good novels. If you want to know the sort of thing that I mean have a look at the Literary Review’s Bad Sex in Fiction awards - some of them are absolutely hilarious.

I was reading one particularly gruesome example about three months ago and, exasperated, I thought to myself I could do better than that. The idea sort of percolated in my head for a few days, with my mind mulling over how I thought it should have played out with the characters involved.

It’s not that I was obsessed with it or anything, it was just that my mind kept coming up with new ideas about how it could be so much more erotic and sexier. What I did find was that having these thoughts kept making me aroused which I actually found quite nice.

In the end, I decided I’d put my thoughts into words. I felt kind of naughty opening a new text document on my laptop. I was actually trembling that first time as I started to write.

After the first few paragraphs, my clit was tingling so much that I was tempted to give it a little rub but I didn’t want to interrupt my writing. I crossed my legs and clenched and re-clenched them in such a way that my clit was gently squeezed and rubbed.

With that satisfying my need for genital stimulation I was able to develop the scene from initial foreplay through disrobing and then the act itself. I was so involved in the writing that it wasn’t until over an hour later, when I read it through from start to end, that I realized how turned on the whole thing had made me.

I could feel that my panties were soaked, and when I wriggled my ass on the couch, I realized that the back of the skirt I was wearing was very wet too. I really couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so turned on. I lifted my skirt and saw that the gusset of my panties was plastered to my pussy. I slipped my hand down the front and pushed two fingers into my vagina while my thumb sought out my clit. In seconds I was cumming, a massive series of whole-body contractions that had me gasping for breath.

I lay back afterward feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. I hardly ever masturbated and I hadn’t had such an intense orgasm in years and years.

My sex life with Jack had become, not unsurprisingly really after over twenty-five years, a little stale. We tried to reignite things by having date nights from time to time when we would dress up and go for a nice meal with a taxi home so that we could both indulge a little. They were very nice and the sex afterward was lovely, but it was very rare that I had an orgasm, I think there was simply not enough passion there in either of us to get me to completion.

Up until the climax that I’d had after writing that time, I hadn’t felt deprived in any way, but it opened my eyes to the fact that I still had needs and still loved sex.

Over the next day or so, I thought up some characters and a scenario of my own to write about. This time it was a naughty romp about a father seduced by his daughter.

I made outline notes as ideas occurred to me, and then one afternoon decided that what I had was good enough for me to begin writing.

To avoid the problems of the first time, I removed my panties before I started and hid them underneath a cushion. I felt so wicked getting undressed in the lounge in the middle of the day knowing that it was because I was fully intending to get sexually excited. I then raised the back of my skirt so that, when I sat down, my bare bottom was on the cool leather cushion of the couch.

I wrote solidly for nearly two hours, squeezing my thighs together rhythmically as I did until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I saved my work, put the laptop aside, and then slowly raised my skirt.

My pussy was a wet, soggy, gorgeous-smelling mess and I attacked it with both hands. After two hours of denial, it felt incredible, and I could easily have cum in seconds again, but I teased myself, getting to the brink and then stopping, time and again, until I finally let it happen. Again it was an overwhelming affair with my legs shaking and I found myself squeaking out loud as each convulsion hit me.

I loved it. I loved the writing and I loved the huge sexual release. But I did feel a bit guilty about Jack.

My next session went much as before but I didn’t masturbate at the end. I cleaned myself and the couch up and managed to keep my arousal ticking over by squeezing my legs together occasionally.

By the time we went to bed, I was absolutely desperate and more or less raped poor Jack. I went down on him as soon as we were in bed, frantic to get him hard, and then rode him joyously and without mercy while he smiled up at me in a slightly bemused way.

He loved it but was very confused by my sudden passion. I told him a little white lie - I told him that I was taking ginseng and that it seemed to be working! He seemed delighted and wanted to take it himself. I had to buy some the next day and we took it religiously from then on. It was probably the placebo effect but it actually did seem to have a noticeable effect on Jack’s libido.

I continued my newfound illicit hobby and became pretty much addicted to it. Sometimes I would bring myself off afterward and sometimes I would wait for Jack, just depending on how I felt that day.

I would find myself thinking about my latest plot at the strangest times and often zoned out for minutes at a time as I played out the fantasies in my head. I would even wake in the early morning and not be able to get back to sleep because of the ideas running through my mind. At those times I would lie with my hand between my legs, just teasing myself, as I wrote my stories in my head.

I had no intention of ever letting anyone else see my writings - it was mostly just the excitement of the ideas and the writing that I was after.

One day I was working on a coming-of-age tale of two young girls discovering their sexuality together. I was in full flow, in both senses, when I heard the front door open. I saved my work and shut the laptop, putting it to one side. It was way too early for it to be Jack, and I was very confused.

I didn’t dare get up, how would I explain the puddle that I would almost certainly leave behind me on the couch!

Then Jade jumped into the room shouting, “Surprise!” and laughed at my reaction.

Fuck!, I thought, there I was turned on as hell and with no panties on. Still, a few minutes later and she could have caught me with my fingers in my pussy in the throes of a massive orgasm.

“Sorry Mom, I couldn’t resist it!” she said giggling, then she looked at me. “Are you OK? you look all flushed?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I replied, trying desperately to calm down. “It’s lovely to see you, darling.”

She came over, moved the computer out of the way, and sat down next to me. She put her arm around my shoulders and we hugged and kissed.

“I’ve got a conference in San Francisco and I thought I’d surprise you,” she said, and then looked puzzled. I think she felt me trembling and I could see her breathing in deeply through her nose. I knew exactly what she was smelling, the scent of my sex was heavy in the air. Then it was like a light went on over her head as she thought she understood what was going on.