It happened after one of those long days—clear skies, splitting wood, feeding the chickens, and checking the perimeter fencing. Simple, rural life, the kind Regina and I built together. We’d just come back from a walk through the woods, and I was coated in dust and dried sweat. She stayed behind to make tea while I went to rinse off.
I didn’t think anything of it. I always jack off in the shower. Always have. It’s my secret ritual, one I’ve carried since I was a teenager, and I’ve never shared it with anyone—especially not Regina. Not because I’m ashamed of it, but because she’s always been so innocent. She was a thirty-six-year-old virgin when we married. I was her first and only, and I didn’t want to plant ideas or push her into territory that might make her uncomfortable.
But that day… I guess something changed.
The water had just turned hot, and I was leaned back, eyes closed, hand around my cock. I was halfway there—thinking about her, like I always do—when the door creaked open.
At first, I thought it was just her grabbing something, but then the curtain slid gently to the side, and there she was. Completely naked. Steam curled around her hips, her hair pinned up but starting to fall loose. She looked nervous but steady.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I froze, hand still wrapped around myself. “You didn’t,” I said, unsure what came next.
Her eyes drifted down. She saw what I was doing. But instead of leaving or turning red and fleeing like I always feared she might… she stepped closer.
“Were you touching yourself?” she asked, voice barely audible over the water.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I do. Usually when I shower.”
She was quiet for a moment, watching the water cascade over my chest. “Even after all these years?”
I nodded. “It’s just something I never stopped. I didn’t tell you because… I didn’t think you’d understand.”
She hesitated, then said something I’ll never forget: “I’ve never done that. Not once. I didn’t think it was something good girls did. But… I don’t think it’s wrong anymore. I think I want to understand.”
I stood there, stunned. I didn’t move.
“Can I stay?” she asked. “Can I… watch you?”
My throat tightened. I nodded. “Only if you’re sure.”
She stepped in, the water rolling over her pale skin, soaking her hairline, her nipples pebbling in the steam. I reached for myself again, slower this time, more deliberate. Her eyes followed my hand, wide but soft, curious.
I stroked, and she watched—silently at first, then with breath that grew heavier by the second. She didn’t touch herself, not then. She wasn’t ready. But she stayed close, her eyes locked on me, taking it all in.
“I always think about you,” I said quietly. “Even when I do this alone. It’s always you.”
She touched my chest, just over my heart. “That means everything to me.”
When I came, it was fast and sharp, my body jerking forward, my orgasm spilling onto the tile between us. She didn’t flinch. She held me, warm water running between our bodies.
Afterward, she kissed me. Not a shy kiss. A deep one.
“I’m glad you didn’t hide that from me anymore,” she whispered.
And in that moment, I realized something: that secret part of me wasn’t shameful. It wasn’t dirty. It was just real. And now, it belonged to both of us.
The First Time She Touched Herself
It was a few nights after the shower. We hadn’t talked about it much—not directly—but something had shifted between us. She looked at me a little longer, touched me more often, lingered when I got out of the shower, as if trying to imagine what it felt like.
We were lying in bed, the lantern on the nightstand casting a soft amber glow over the room. The blankets were bunched around our legs, our bodies warm from the fire and close under the covers.
I had my arm around her, fingers slowly stroking the soft skin of her side, when she spoke.
“William…?”
“Mm?”
She turned to face me. Her eyes were searching mine. “Will you show me how?”
I knew exactly what she meant. My heart kicked like a drum, not from lust—but from awe.
“You sure?” I whispered.
She nodded, then added, “But I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never even… I mean, I’ve never touched myself down there. Not like that.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll talk you through it. We go slow. We stop anytime you want.”
She took a breath and nodded again. Then, slowly, she pushed back the covers. Her nightgown slipped up her thighs as she shifted onto her back, one leg bent slightly. She was blushing, but she didn’t look away.
“I don’t know where to start.”
I reached over and gently guided her hand down between her legs, resting it over her panties.
“Start here. Just press, a little. Feel the heat. Breathe.”
She obeyed, shyly, letting her fingers rest over her mound.
“Now slide your hand down—just a little. Find that spot just above where you’d feel me enter you.”
Her hand trembled. “Here?”
“Yes. That’s your clit. The most sensitive part of your body.”
She exhaled slowly, her eyes fluttering closed. “It feels… strange.”
“Good strange?”
“I think so.”
“Now… move in circles. Lig
pt, slow. Don’t think. Just feel.”
“Start here. Just press, a little. Feel the heat. Breathe.”
She obeyed, shyly, letting her fingers rest over her mound.
“Now slide your hand down—just a little. Find that spot just above where you’d feel me enter you.”
Her hand trembled. “Here?”
“Yes. That’s your clit. The most sensitive part of your body.”
She exhaled slowly, her eyes fluttering closed. “It feels… strange.”
“Good strange?”
“I think so.”
“Now… move in circles. Light, slow. Don’t think. Just feel.”
Her breathing changed. Her thighs twitched slightly. Her lips parted. I could see her body begin to wake up in a way it never had—not from me, not from anything but herself.
I kissed her shoulder, then her neck. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good.”
She let out the softest moan I’d ever heard from her. Raw. Vulnerable.
“I didn’t know it could feel like this…”
“Touch lower now. Slip your fingers inside your panties. Skin to skin.”
She did, hesitant but obedient. Her hips shifted slightly, and I saw her legs start to part wider. Her eyes opened and locked onto mine.
“Will you touch yourself too?” she whispered. “Like you did in the shower?”
I didn’t say a word—I just pushed the blankets down, took my cock in hand, already hard from watching her, and began to stroke.
We watched each other, moaning softly, touching ourselves inches apart, husband and wife discovering a new dimension of our love.
She started moving her hips, chasing the pleasure. “I think I’m close,” she gasped. “It’s so intense…”
“Don’t stop,” I murmured. “Let go. Let your body do what it needs.”
She cried out softly, her thighs clenching, her fingers still moving as she came for the very first time by her own hand, her body shuddering against the sheets.
When it passed, she turned into me, burying her face in my chest, trembling.
I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her forehead.
“I’ve never felt anything like that,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
And I knew we’d just opened a door to something beautiful, something she never even knew she needed.
I didn’t think anything of it. I always jack off in the shower. Always have. It’s my secret ritual, one I’ve carried since I was a teenager, and I’ve never shared it with anyone—especially not Regina. Not because I’m ashamed of it, but because she’s always been so innocent. She was a thirty-six-year-old virgin when we married. I was her first and only, and I didn’t want to plant ideas or push her into territory that might make her uncomfortable.
But that day… I guess something changed.
The water had just turned hot, and I was leaned back, eyes closed, hand around my cock. I was halfway there—thinking about her, like I always do—when the door creaked open.
At first, I thought it was just her grabbing something, but then the curtain slid gently to the side, and there she was. Completely naked. Steam curled around her hips, her hair pinned up but starting to fall loose. She looked nervous but steady.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I froze, hand still wrapped around myself. “You didn’t,” I said, unsure what came next.
Her eyes drifted down. She saw what I was doing. But instead of leaving or turning red and fleeing like I always feared she might… she stepped closer.
“Were you touching yourself?” she asked, voice barely audible over the water.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I do. Usually when I shower.”
She was quiet for a moment, watching the water cascade over my chest. “Even after all these years?”
I nodded. “It’s just something I never stopped. I didn’t tell you because… I didn’t think you’d understand.”
She hesitated, then said something I’ll never forget: “I’ve never done that. Not once. I didn’t think it was something good girls did. But… I don’t think it’s wrong anymore. I think I want to understand.”
I stood there, stunned. I didn’t move.
“Can I stay?” she asked. “Can I… watch you?”
My throat tightened. I nodded. “Only if you’re sure.”
She stepped in, the water rolling over her pale skin, soaking her hairline, her nipples pebbling in the steam. I reached for myself again, slower this time, more deliberate. Her eyes followed my hand, wide but soft, curious.
I stroked, and she watched—silently at first, then with breath that grew heavier by the second. She didn’t touch herself, not then. She wasn’t ready. But she stayed close, her eyes locked on me, taking it all in.
“I always think about you,” I said quietly. “Even when I do this alone. It’s always you.”
She touched my chest, just over my heart. “That means everything to me.”
When I came, it was fast and sharp, my body jerking forward, my orgasm spilling onto the tile between us. She didn’t flinch. She held me, warm water running between our bodies.
Afterward, she kissed me. Not a shy kiss. A deep one.
“I’m glad you didn’t hide that from me anymore,” she whispered.
And in that moment, I realized something: that secret part of me wasn’t shameful. It wasn’t dirty. It was just real. And now, it belonged to both of us.
The First Time She Touched Herself
It was a few nights after the shower. We hadn’t talked about it much—not directly—but something had shifted between us. She looked at me a little longer, touched me more often, lingered when I got out of the shower, as if trying to imagine what it felt like.
We were lying in bed, the lantern on the nightstand casting a soft amber glow over the room. The blankets were bunched around our legs, our bodies warm from the fire and close under the covers.
I had my arm around her, fingers slowly stroking the soft skin of her side, when she spoke.
“William…?”
“Mm?”
She turned to face me. Her eyes were searching mine. “Will you show me how?”
I knew exactly what she meant. My heart kicked like a drum, not from lust—but from awe.
“You sure?” I whispered.
She nodded, then added, “But I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never even… I mean, I’ve never touched myself down there. Not like that.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll talk you through it. We go slow. We stop anytime you want.”
She took a breath and nodded again. Then, slowly, she pushed back the covers. Her nightgown slipped up her thighs as she shifted onto her back, one leg bent slightly. She was blushing, but she didn’t look away.
“I don’t know where to start.”
I reached over and gently guided her hand down between her legs, resting it over her panties.
“Start here. Just press, a little. Feel the heat. Breathe.”
She obeyed, shyly, letting her fingers rest over her mound.
“Now slide your hand down—just a little. Find that spot just above where you’d feel me enter you.”
Her hand trembled. “Here?”
“Yes. That’s your clit. The most sensitive part of your body.”
She exhaled slowly, her eyes fluttering closed. “It feels… strange.”
“Good strange?”
“I think so.”
“Now… move in circles. Lig
pt, slow. Don’t think. Just feel.”
“Start here. Just press, a little. Feel the heat. Breathe.”
She obeyed, shyly, letting her fingers rest over her mound.
“Now slide your hand down—just a little. Find that spot just above where you’d feel me enter you.”
Her hand trembled. “Here?”
“Yes. That’s your clit. The most sensitive part of your body.”
She exhaled slowly, her eyes fluttering closed. “It feels… strange.”
“Good strange?”
“I think so.”
“Now… move in circles. Light, slow. Don’t think. Just feel.”
Her breathing changed. Her thighs twitched slightly. Her lips parted. I could see her body begin to wake up in a way it never had—not from me, not from anything but herself.
I kissed her shoulder, then her neck. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good.”
She let out the softest moan I’d ever heard from her. Raw. Vulnerable.
“I didn’t know it could feel like this…”
“Touch lower now. Slip your fingers inside your panties. Skin to skin.”
She did, hesitant but obedient. Her hips shifted slightly, and I saw her legs start to part wider. Her eyes opened and locked onto mine.
“Will you touch yourself too?” she whispered. “Like you did in the shower?”
I didn’t say a word—I just pushed the blankets down, took my cock in hand, already hard from watching her, and began to stroke.
We watched each other, moaning softly, touching ourselves inches apart, husband and wife discovering a new dimension of our love.
She started moving her hips, chasing the pleasure. “I think I’m close,” she gasped. “It’s so intense…”
“Don’t stop,” I murmured. “Let go. Let your body do what it needs.”
She cried out softly, her thighs clenching, her fingers still moving as she came for the very first time by her own hand, her body shuddering against the sheets.
When it passed, she turned into me, burying her face in my chest, trembling.
I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her forehead.
“I’ve never felt anything like that,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
And I knew we’d just opened a door to something beautiful, something she never even knew she needed.
