The following contains sexually explicit content.
It was Sunday and my boyfriend and I were having a lazy morning in bed. He was dozing while I re-read 50 Shades of Grey.
I was up to the bathtub scene, and as Christian Grey soaped up a wet Anastasia Steele, my blood began to run south.
While he washed between her legs with “relentless fingers”, warmth spread across my own vagina.
With every sentence I consumed my pelvic muscles contracted.
My clitoris tingled.
And my heart raced.
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At that very moment, Chris woke up next to me.
“What are you reading?” he yawned.
I flipped the cover over with a grin and an idea.
“How about I read it to you?”
As my mouth brought the scene to life, the sexual tension in my bedroom grew.
While we lay there spooning, Chris pulled me in closer.
I was halfway through the chapter when I felt his excitement dig into my back.
But the literary encouragement wasn’t enough.
I needed more.
“Let’s watch that bit on Netflix,” I suggested and grabbed my iPhone, before skipping to every sex scene in the movie.
Hot, naked and domineering, Mr Grey was my ultimate fantasy.
But the visual aid still wasn’t enough for me.
Crazed with desire and needing some more graphic stimulation, I made another proposal.