My Secret Routine When My Husband Goes to Work

It was only a few weeks ago that I turned forty, and with that number came something I hadn’t expected: a new clarity about what I want. I started eating better, moving more, taking care of myself. But amid all those changes there was one that had nothing to do with health and yet was the hardest of all to admit to myself. I had spent years putting off a very specific desire, one that was completely my own, and I decided this was the moment to stop doing that.

I’m from Rosario, brunette, with generous curves. I’m married and work from home doing administrative tasks for a small company. That freedom with my schedule, that comfort of managing my own time, was exactly what allowed me to dare. No one watches me, no one hurries me. I can listen to my body and give it what it asks for when it asks.

Today I begin. That’s what I told myself last night, in the darkness of the bedroom, while Martín slept beside me with that same heavy breathing as always. I decided it in a second, the way important things are decided, and afterward I couldn’t sleep anymore, thinking about every step. With my hand tucked beneath my panties, I stroked my cunt until I came silently, biting my lip so I wouldn’t wake him, with two fingers buried to the knuckles and my thumb circling my swollen clitoris. I fell asleep afterward with my fingers still inside me, soaked, smelling of myself.

My desire is intimate and very specific. I want to train my ass, to dilate myself little by little, gaining ground patiently. I’ve been exploring some of that for a while, but never as a constant practice. It was always sporadic, whenever the opportunity arose, whenever I dared. And that isn’t enough. What the body needs is routine, repetition, a promise that gets kept every day. I want to reach the point where a whole cock can be pushed into my asshole without pain; I want to feel it opening me and filling me, I want to come with something thick inside me, shaking my guts.

For a while I did it with company, so to speak. I had a couple of women who guided me from a distance, sending me instructions by email or chat, and I answered by doing everything they asked. Me in the submissive role, them giving orders: “Stick two fingers up your ass, slut,” “Come for me and send me a picture of your cunt dripping.” I discovered that it fascinated me, that obeying turned me on in a way I couldn’t explain. But the virtual world wears you down. Schedules don’t match, distances make themselves felt, the connection cools. So I decided that from now on I would do it alone, at my own pace, without depending on anyone.

***

I woke up around six thirty. I made some mate in the kitchen while Martín got dressed and prepared to leave. We talked about little things, the weather, the grocery list, a payment that had to be made. He knew nothing about what was running through my mind, about the warm restlessness already beginning to stir beneath the conversation, or the damp tingling between my legs that forced me to squeeze my thighs together every so often.

“Did you take the key?” I asked him from the door.

“Yes, don’t worry,” he answered, and gave me a quick kiss before leaving.

At seven thirty he closed the door and the apartment fell silent. Mine. All mine.

I stood in the kitchen for a moment, feeling my heart beating a little harder than usual. I had the entire day ahead of me and a plan in my head. I began shaping it like someone drawing up an organizational chart: the hours, the tasks, the moments. Each block of the day with its purpose.

After going to the bathroom, I put on comfortable clothes for going out walking. I have a half-hour walking routine around the neighborhood club’s track, and I thought I could use that time for something else. The idea sent a shiver of anticipation straight down to my cunt.

I went to the drawer where I keep my things and chose the smallest plug I own. Barely an inch and a half in diameter, eight centimeters long, straight, with a discreet neck so it wouldn’t slip out. No thicker than a finger. I placed it on the bed and got down on all fours, my ass held high and my face pressed against the mattress. I spread my cheeks with both hands and spat on my hole, feeling the warm saliva run down to my cunt. With the tip of one finger I pushed the saliva inside, massaging my tense, tight asshole, closed like a fist. I was clenched and tense, and at first it was difficult. I had to help myself with more saliva, wetting the tip of the plug, setting it right against the center of the ring, breathing deeply, yielding little by little. Easy, I told myself. There’s no hurry. Open that little ass, slut, open it properly.

I pushed harder. The muscle resisted, contracted, and then, after a while, gave way with a sharp little tug and swallowed it whole. When it finally went in, I released the breath I’d been holding in a long moan. There was no pain, no discomfort. Just a sensation of fullness that ran through me, a warm, secret fullness no one else could see. I took the opportunity to put two fingers into my cunt, which was already drenched, and was surprised by how open I was, how wet, how ready. I pulled them out dripping with fluid and brought them to my mouth, sucking them all the way down. I felt complete, filthy, deliciously alone with my body.

I put on a sports girdle over it to hold the plug securely, leggings that outlined my ass split down the middle, and over that a long jacket that covered me below the hips, just in case. I looked at myself in the mirror: on the outside, an ordinary woman going out to exercise. On the inside, a rubber secret throbbing between my cheeks, lodged in my ass.

***

I went out at eight fifteen. I walked quickly around the track for forty minutes, almost six thousand steps according to my watch. And the whole time I couldn’t think about anything else. Every step reminded me of it, every movement of my hips made me feel the plug there, firm, patient, pressing against the inner walls of my ass. The leggings worked their way between my cheeks and pressed against the base of the plug, driving it a little deeper with every stride.

How is it opening my asshole? I wondered while nodding hello to a neighbor who was walking too. Will it be nicely loosened when I take it out, opened well for the next one? And I felt myself getting wet just imagining it, my cunt filling with sticky fluid that stained my leggings, my clitoris swelling and rubbing against the fabric with every step. I was on the verge of coming as I walked, my breathing ragged, and I had to slow down so I wouldn’t moan on the sidewalk while everyone else saw only an ordinary woman taking her morning walk.

On the way back I stopped at the greengrocer’s on the corner to buy what I was missing for lunch. While the greengrocer weighed some tomatoes, I squeezed my thighs slightly, conscious of the plug lodged in my ass, almost dizzy from how absurd and exciting the situation was. I looked at the man and smiled calmly, thanking him for the change, while inside I was thinking: if you only knew that I have a full ass, if you only knew that I’m dripping beneath these leggings. I left with my tits hard and my nipples showing against my bra.

I got home, hydrated myself, and started making breakfast. I wiped down the furniture, mopped the floor, and tidied my desk so I could sit down to work afterward. I did all of it without taking it out, carrying it with me through every household task like an invisible companion. Every time I bent down to pick something up from the floor, I felt it move inside me, squeezing me, reminding me it was there.

Then I got into the shower. And there, with the warm water falling between my cheeks, I placed one hand against the tiles, arched my back, and pushed from inside. The plug came out with a wet pop and left me suddenly empty, my asshole open and throbbing. I touched myself with my fingertips, barely brushing the edge, feeling how it had been left: soft, loosened, slightly ajar, still marked by its shape. I put one whole finger inside, then two, to the knuckles, and it didn’t hurt. My ass accepted them as if it were nothing. I took the opportunity to clean myself thoroughly, slowly, enjoying the hot water falling over my large brown tits, my erect nipples, my belly, and my hairy, soaked cunt.

Unable to hold back, I leaned my back against the shower wall and spread my legs. With my right hand I worked my clitoris, making quick circles, and with my left I put two fingers in my cunt and one in my ass at the same time. I came in less than a minute, shaken, biting my lip, water running into my open mouth and my legs trembling. My fluids ran down my thighs and the water carried them away, mixed together, white and thick.

And then I put it back in. I didn’t want to lose what I’d gained, that tiny opening that had cost me so much. This time I used a little moisturizer to ease the entry. I coated the plug well, smeared my asshole by pushing two fingers all the way in, then placed one foot on the edge of the bathtub, leaned forward, and it slid in effortlessly, smoothly, with that delicious sensation of stretching me from the inside. I smiled to myself, wet and satisfied, my ass covered again.

***

I had breakfast around ten. I dried my hair. Before starting work I had to urinate, and I held the plug with two fingers so it wouldn’t slip out, because when my body is ready for more, it tends to push it outward, as if asking for the next size. I felt the muscle squeezing and pushing it, asking me for something thicker, longer, more serious.

I went upstairs to the room where I keep my toys and looked for the next one. Four centimeters at its widest point, nine centimeters long, with a more generous neck and an elongated base. I looked at it in my hand and felt that mixture of respect and desire that anything still too large for me inspires. I brought it to my mouth and sucked it slowly, imagining it was a cock, covering it in saliva, swallowing it down to the base like a good little slut, letting the saliva run and spill down my chest.

I went back to the bathroom, pulled the small one out in a single motion, and lubricated the second one well along its entire surface. I poured plenty of lubricant onto my asshole too, and pushed it inward with two fingers, opening myself, preparing myself. I repeated the process: foot raised on the bathtub, body bent forward, breathing slow and deep. I pressed the tip of the plug against the hole and pushed.

This one was considerably thicker, and when the widest part passed it hurt a little. I had to go very slowly, millimeter by millimeter, yielding and resting, yielding again. I felt the ring stretching, the muscle trembling as it tried to decide whether to accept it or expel it. I pushed more firmly, gritting my teeth, and felt that delicious burning I know, that sting that later turns into pure pleasure. Come on, open up, open that big ass, swallow it whole, I repeated silently.

And when at last my body closed around the neck of the base, the sensation was one of those that made any effort worthwhile. That exact instant when the muscle relaxes and accepts it, when it stops resisting and simply embraces it, is unlike anything else. The brief pain transforms into a dense, deep fullness that leaves me breathless for a second. A long, hoarse moan escaped me, and I felt a hot gush between my legs: my cunt had answered with a discharge of fluid that stained the insides of my thighs. I touched my clitoris just twice, and I was already coming again, my ass closed around the plug, squeezing it, milking it with spasms that climbed up my back.

I sat down in front of the computer. It was time to work, to send invoices, to answer emails, and to write these lines you’re reading now as well. But concentrating wasn’t easy. I felt it there, deep inside me, penetrating me every time I moved in the chair, pressing me against the seat, and noticed myself getting wetter with every passing minute. My panties were already a soaked, sticky rag, and every time I crossed my legs I felt the plug settle inside me, seeking its place.

My plan was to remain seated on it until around one thirty, letting it work in its own way while I worked in mine. Every so often I rocked slightly in the chair, resting my weight on the base, pushing it a little deeper, and the pressure shifted, drawing a sigh from me that I disguised with a sip of mate. At one point I couldn’t take it anymore, pulled my leggings down to my knees, spread my legs beneath the desk, and rubbed my clitoris with two fingers until I came for the third time that morning, biting my fist, feeling my ass squeeze the plug with every wave.

I spent some time on a forum where I talk about these things with people who understand them. I described in lavish detail what I was doing at that very moment—the plug inside me, my cunt dripping, the recent orgasm still making me tremble—and reading the replies from others who were touching themselves while thinking about me kept me aroused, which was exactly what I wanted.

What I felt was a strange gratitude toward my own body. That sensation of being full, of opening myself little by little, of preparing myself to receive more. Alone, with no one giving me orders, finally the owner of my own desire. Submissive to my own urges, which is the most honest way to obey. My own slut, fucked by myself, training my ass for myself.

***

Before it was time to take it out, I devoted myself to things around the house. I tidied the kitchen, got lunch underway, and answered a couple of messages. And I did everything with that warm, constant awareness of what I was carrying inside me, that secret companionship that gave an ordinary Tuesday a glow it hadn’t had the week before. Every time I bent down, every time I stretched, the plug reminded me with a small internal push.

I plan to keep doing this. Turn it into a routine, a discipline, a daily practice that accompanies me. I’m not looking for a spectacular goal or a record to show anyone. I want to know myself, to yield ground patiently, to discover how far my own body can go when I treat it with care and without haste.

There’s a desire I’ve carried with me for a long time, an image that follows me whenever I close my eyes. Someday I want to see myself completely open, relaxed, with an ass capable of swallowing a thick cock whole without complaining, even capable of taking a fist, the owner of myself in a way that still seems distant today. I want to look at myself in the mirror with my legs spread and see my asshole open like a flower, throbbing, ready. And I know the way to get there is this: an ordinary morning, a silent apartment, and the fulfilled promise of beginning.

When Martín comes home tonight, he’ll find me just as I always am. I’ll ask him how his day went, we’ll have dinner, we’ll watch something on TV. And he won’t know that his wife, the one who seems so calm, spent the whole day secretly training her ass, coming three times by herself, writing her own confession with her panties soaked, gradually discovering just how far she’s capable of going.

Tomorrow, again. And the day after. Day by day. This is my routine, and for the first time in a long while, it’s completely mine.