Relighting the Fire: Part 1
Steve laced up his running shoes in the dim hallway light, the house still quiet at 6 a.m. Thirty years of marriage had carved comfortable grooves into their life—Nicki’s red hair fanned across the pillow each night, the way she’d murmur “love you” even half-asleep. But those grooves had deepened into ruts. Sex had become rare, then absent. Menopause had stolen her fire, she said; it left her dry and disinterested. Steve understood—he really did. He loved her more than ever. But God, he missed the heat.
Jim had moved in three weeks ago while his house was being rewired. At fifty-five, Steve’s best friend was still fit, still charming the divorcées at the community centre dances. He read his paper during breakfast most mornings, told filthy jokes that made Nicki blush and laugh at the same time. His presence filled the house with a low, masculine energy Steve hadn’t realised they’d been missing.
This particular Saturday, Steve returned from his run sweaty and buzzing. The kitchen smelled of coffee and bacon. Jim sat at the table in his dressing gown, newspaper open, while Nicki stood at the stove in her favourite silk robe—the short one that skimmed her thighs, the colour of aged claret. Her slim figure hadn’t changed much; those small, firm breasts still lifted proudly when she reached for a mug. Steve’s cock twitched at the sight.
“Morning, mate,” Jim said without looking up. “You look like you ran a marathon.”
“Just five miles.” Steve poured water, eyes on Nicki. She turned, cheeks flushed from the stove heat, and gave him that soft smile that still melted him.
“You stink,” she teased, but her gaze lingered on the damp T-shirt clinging to his chest.
Jim folded the paper. “I’m off to the hardware store for paint samples. House needs colour before I move back.” He winked at Nicki. “Don’t let him drag you on one of his runs, love. You’d outpace him anyway.”
He left with a chuckle, the front door clicking shut.
Silence settled, thick and expectant.
Nicki set a plate of toast in front of Steve. Her fingers brushed his wrist—deliberate? Accidental? He caught her hand, his thumb stroking the inside of her palm.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, but her eyes were dark, thoughtful. “I’ve been reading… things. Online forums. Stories.” A small laugh. “Erotic ones. About couples our age. About rediscovering.”
Steve’s pulse kicked. “And?”
“And I miss it. I miss us. But my body feels… different. Slower. Like the wiring’s gone faulty.”
He stood, pulling her close. She smelled of vanilla shampoo and warm skin. “We can go slow. No pressure. Just touch. Whatever feels good.”
She looked up, green eyes searching his. “Last night I heard Jim in the guest room. He was… on the phone. Talking to some woman. Laughing low, telling her what he’d do if she were there.” Nicki’s voice dropped. “It made me wet. First time in months.”
Steve groaned softly, cock hardening against her hip. “Jesus, Nicki.”
“I know it’s wrong to listen. But it reminded me how much I used to crave that voice—your voice—telling me dirty things.”
He kissed her then, slow and deep, tasting coffee on her tongue. His hands slid under the robe, cupping her small breasts, thumbs circling nipples that pebbled instantly. She gasped into his mouth.
“Bedroom?” she whispered.
“No.” He backed her against the kitchen counter. “Here. Where we used to fuck like teenagers when the kids were at school.”
Her laugh was breathless. “We were never teenagers.”
“Feel like it now.”
He untied her robe, letting it fall open. Her body was still beautiful—pale skin dusted with freckles, narrow waist, the neat triangle of red curls between her thighs. He dropped to his knees, kissing down her stomach, inhaling her scent. She trembled.
“Steve…”
“Let me taste you. Been too long.”
He parted her folds gently with his thumbs. She was slick—really slick. The sight made him ache. He licked a slow stripe from entrance to clit, savouring her sharp intake of breath. Her hands tangled in his hair.
“Oh God… yes.”
He worked her with tongue and lips, circling her clit the way she used to beg for, then sucking gently. Her hips rocked, small moans escaping. When he slid two fingers inside, she clenched around him, hot and tight despite everything.
“More,” she panted. “Talk to me. Like you used to.”
He looked up, lips glistening. “You want dirty words, love? Want me to tell you how fucking gorgeous you are spread open for me? How I’ve jerked off thinking about this pussy every run for months?”
She whimpered, thighs quivering.
He stood, shedding his shorts. His cock sprang free—average, thick, veined, leaking at the tip. He rubbed the head along her slit, coating himself in her wetness.
“Feel that? How hard you make me? Always have.”
“Inside,” she begged. “Please.”
He lifted her onto the counter, spread her wide. One slow thrust, and he was buried deep. She cried out—pleasure, not pain. He paused, letting her adjust.
“Okay?”
“More than okay.” Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Fuck me, Steve. Like you mean it.”
He moved then—steady, deep rolls of his hips. The kitchen filled with wet sounds, her gasps, his grunts. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.
“Harder,” she whispered. “I want to feel you tomorrow.”
He obliged, thrusting faster, the counter creaking. Her small tits bounced with each stroke. He bent to suck a nipple, teeth grazing.
“Come for me, Nicki. Let me feel that tight cunt squeeze me.”
The words tipped her. She shattered, crying his name, walls pulsing around him. He followed seconds later, groaning as he emptied inside her, hips jerking.
They stayed locked together, breathing hard, foreheads pressed.
“I love you,” she murmured.
“Love you more.” He kissed her sweat-damp temple. “We start again. Slow if you need. Toys, stories, whatever lights you up.”
She smiled, wicked and young. “Maybe I’ll read one of those stories aloud tonight. In bed. While you touch me.”
“Deal.”
The front door opened—Jim, back.
They froze, then laughed like guilty teenagers, scrambling to cover up.
Jim’s voice from the hall: “Forgot my wallet. Everything alright in here?”
Nicki called back, voice steady despite the flush on her cheeks. “Perfect, Jim. Just perfect.”
Steve pulled her close again, whispering against her ear. “Round two tonight. Would love an early night.”
She shivered in anticipation.
The fire wasn’t just relit. It was roaring.
Relighting the Fire: Part 2
That evening, after a simple dinner of roast chicken and wine, Steve stretched dramatically in the living room armchair.
“God, what a day,” he announced, rubbing his neck. “I’m knackered. Early night for us, I think.”
Nicki caught his eye across the room, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She was already in her favourite navy silk nightie—the one that clung just enough to hint at the firm outline of her small breasts, the hem barely covering the tops of her thighs.
“Absolutely,” she agreed, voice light. “Busy week. We’ll turn in soon.”
Jim looked up from his phone, glasses perched on his nose. “You two go on. I’m fine here with my game and a cuppa. Don’t let me keep you lovebirds up.”
They said goodnight and climbed the stairs hand in hand.
In their bedroom, the door clicked shut. They didn’t bother with lights—moonlight spilled through the half-open curtains. Steve pulled Nicki close, kissing her slow and deep, tasting the last sip of Merlot on her tongue.
“Been thinking about this all day,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Me too.”
They slipped under the covers, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces worn smooth by decades. Her head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her hip.
They heard Jim’s footsteps on the stairs, followed by his shouted “Good night!”
Then it started.
From the guest room next door—thin walls, old house—the low rumble of Jim’s voice drifted through. Not loud enough to catch every word at first, but the tone was unmistakable: husky, teasing, laughing softly.
“…yeah, love, I’d have you bent over the kitchen table right now… slow at first, make you beg for it… that’s it, touch yourself while I tell you…”
Nicki stiffened, then relaxed into a quiet giggle against Steve’s shoulder.
Steve snorted, trying to keep it silent. “Bloody hell. Jim’s still got it.”
“He’s filthy,” Nicki whispered, voice thick with amusement—and something hotter. “Listen to him.”
They lay still, ears straining. Jim’s voice dropped lower.
“…spread those pretty legs wider… imagine my tongue right there… yeah, just like that…”
Nicki’s hand found Steve’s under the duvet. She guided it between her thighs. He found her already slick, swollen. His cock jerked against her hip.
“Turns you on, doesn’t it?” Steve breathed into her ear.
She nodded, biting her lip. “Hearing him… it’s wrong, but… fuck, it is.”
Steve kissed her neck. “You’re soaked.”
“Because of you,” she insisted, then added with a wicked whisper, “and maybe a little because he’s your best friend. Naughty old sod.”
They laughed again—soft, breathless—then fell quiet as Jim’s voice turned to groans, the unmistakable sound of him finishing the call with a satisfied “Night, gorgeous.”
Silence returned.
Nicki reached for her phone on the nightstand. “I found something today. While you were out running.”
She opened a browser tab and passed it to him. Steve’s eyes widened.
“Lush Stories? That’s… that’s the exact site I use. Have for years.”
Nicki grinned. “I know. I saw your history once. Months ago. Didn’t say anything. Thought I’d surprise you.”
He scrolled, thumb hovering. Categories filled the screen: Loving Wives, Cheating Wives, Sharing & Swinging, Cuckold, Incest/Taboo, Group Sex…
They clicked through together, shoulders touching, breathing syncing.
“This one,” Nicki said, tapping. “Wife Lovers. Older couple rekindling… with a twist.”
The story loaded: a husband and wife in their fifties, their sex life faded, until the husband’s visiting friend moves in. Teasing glances, accidental touches, filthy late-night confessions overheard…
Steve’s hand slid back between her legs. Nicki parted them wider.
“Read it to me,” she whispered.
Steve’s voice was rough as he started.
“She wore that little robe she knew drove him mad, the one that barely covered her arse. Her brother-in-law watched from the doorway, pretending to read the paper, but his eyes kept drifting…”
Nicki’s fingers wrapped around Steve’s cock, stroking slowly. He groaned low.
“He heard them fucking later—slow, deep thrusts, her moans muffled against a pillow. It made him so hard he had to slip into the bathroom and stroke himself, imagining it was her tight little cunt instead…”
Steve’s free hand cupped one of Nicki’s breasts, pinching the nipple gently. She arched.
“Keep going,” she panted.
He read faster, voice dropping to match the story’s heat.
“The next night, she came to him while her husband slept. ‘Just to talk,’ she said. But her hand was on his thigh, then higher…”
Nicki climbed over Steve, straddling his hips. She guided him inside her in one smooth glide—hot, wet, perfect. They both gasped.
“Fuck,” Steve hissed. “So good.”
She rocked slowly, reading over his shoulder now, her voice breathy.
“He fucked her right there on the couch, quietly so no one would hear, filling her while her husband dreamed upstairs…”
Steve thrust up to meet her, hands on her narrow hips. “You like that idea? Someone else wanting you?”
Nicki’s head fell back, red hair spilling. “Maybe. Fantasising about it… yes. Makes me feel… desired. Young again.”
He flipped them so she was beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist. Deeper now. Harder.
“Imagine Jim hearing us right now,” Steve growled. “Hearing how wet you get for me. How you take my cock like you were made for it.”
Nicki moaned louder than she meant to, then clapped a hand over her mouth. They both laughed—then moaned again as he hit that spot inside her.
“Or imagine him watching,” she whispered, eyes dark. “Not touching. Just… seeing how much you make me come.”
Steve’s rhythm faltered, hips slamming. “Christ, Nicki—”
“Come inside me,” she begged. “Fill me up. Let me feel it drip out while we read more.”
He buried his face in her neck, thrusting erratically. She clenched around him, tipping over the edge with a muffled cry. He followed, pulsing deep, groaning her name.
They collapsed, sweaty and tangled.
After a minute, Nicki kissed his jaw. “More stories tomorrow?”
“Every night,” Steve promised. “Whatever turns us on.”
From down the hall came the faint sound of Jim’s TV clicking on—low volume, oblivious.
They smiled into the dark.
The fire wasn’t just roaring. It was spreading.
