My Ex’s Stuffed Animal Became My Favorite Toy

I was never the kind of woman who got excited about a stuffed animal. They always seemed like the easy gift, the one you choose when you can’t think of anything better. And that idea stuck with me even more when Bruno, my ex, gave me this huge one from a movie I’d loved since I was a kid. Three months later he packed his bags and left town without much of an explanation.

I thought about throwing it away. I had it in my hand, over the trash can, determined. But the stuffed animal wasn’t at fault for anything. So I ended up putting it back where it belonged, on top of the nightstand, and let it gather dust while I got on with my life.

That weekend my parents had to travel because of a family matter. They offered to take me with them, but I used university as an excuse. The truth is, my father’s family had never liked me much, and the idea of having the whole house to myself felt a lot more appealing than two days of fake smiles.

As soon as the car disappeared at the end of the street, I knew exactly how I was going to spoil myself. I locked the door, lowered the blinds halfway so only a golden late-afternoon light would come in, and turned off my phone for anyone who might interrupt me. The whole house was mine. Every room, every surface, every silence.

There’s something about knowing you’re completely alone that turns me on more than any touch. No one’s going to ring the doorbell. No one’s going to come up the stairs. I can moan as loudly as I want and the only witness will be the walls.

***

When I’m alone and in the mood to touch myself, I like to dress for the occasion. It’s not just about sticking my fingers in and that’s that. It’s a whole ritual. I pulled a short pink T-shirt out of the drawer, thin as paper, and put it on with nothing underneath. It barely covered my breasts and left the rest exposed: my ass, my pussy, everything bared to the temperature of the empty house.

I love walking around like that through every corner. Rubbing myself against whatever I come across. Sitting on the living room sofa and moving my hips slowly, knowing I’m leaving a little wet mark on the fabric. Going into the kitchen and climbing onto the counter just to feel the marble cold against my clit, that current that makes my whole body prickle. Pressing my nipples against icy surfaces until they go hard and send a shiver through me.

I stopped in front of the hallway mirror and looked at myself for a long while. The shirt had ridden up a little more on one side and the pink contrasted with my flushed skin. I rolled my hips, bit my lip, and laughed to myself at how shameless I was being. I like that version of me, the one that only comes out when there’s no one around to judge her.

There’s nothing like being alone at home.

I ran a finger over my pussy, slowly, checking how wet I’d gotten just from the ritual. A lot. Too much to keep pretending to be hard to get with myself.

After two or three laps around the house, already wet and breathing hard, I went up to my room to choose what I was going to play with. I looked at the pillow and imagined it between my legs, my pussy grinding against it, the pillowcase getting stained little by little. Just thinking about it made a moan escape me. But that afternoon I wanted something different, something new.

And then I saw it. There, in the corner of the nightstand, looking at me with its stitched eyes.

Bruno’s stuffed animal.

***

I’d seen videos of girls masturbating with their stuffed animals, but I’d never really been tempted by it. Until that moment. And yes, I’ll admit it: we women watch a lot more lesbian porn than you think, no matter what kind of women we’re into. Maybe because between women we know exactly where the important spot is. The girls who read me understand perfectly.

Good timing, I thought, to finally put this gift to decent use.

I picked up the stuffed animal and set it on the edge of the bed, belly up, with its head hanging down and its nose pointed straight at my crotch. I stepped closer, spread my legs a little, and let that cold snout brush my clit.

The first contact was electric. I started rubbing myself up and down, slowly, holding it by the back legs so it wouldn’t slip. I could feel the nose pushing its way between my lips and settling exactly where I wanted it. Why hadn’t I tried this before?

I stopped for a few seconds just to readjust it. I put it in the center of the bed and sat directly on its face. I started moving in circles, slowly, letting myself go. I couldn’t help thinking about the good oral Bruno used to give me when we were still together, the only thing I really missed about him.

—Ahhh, yes, give it to me with your tongue —I whispered to nobody in particular, riding my new toy’s face—. Don’t stop, don’t stop eating me out.

I felt the orgasm getting too close too fast, so I slowed down. I wanted it to last. I moved more slowly, in deep, slow circles, feeling my wetness soak the stuffed animal’s soft fabric.

I closed my eyes and let memory do the rest. Bruno’s hands on my thighs, prying me open. His beard scraping the insides of my legs. The patience with which he’d stay down there for endless minutes, as if he had nothing better to do in the world. He was an asshole in almost everything, but in that he never failed.

The doll didn’t have a beard or a tongue, of course. But it had the right shape, that firm nose sinking where I guided it, and my imagination took care of the rest. I clamped my thighs around its sides and rocked myself, letting each sway add a little more pressure exactly where I needed it.

***

I reached out and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. I looked up lesbian porn, like always, and opened one of my favorites. It doesn’t look fake or overdone like so many others, and that makes it a hundred times hotter. Two girls: one naked, with a body to die for, and the other still dressed in a tiny top and shorts that showed off an ass you wanted to bite.

I skipped ahead a couple of minutes in the video while I rocked a little faster over the doll’s little face.

—There, right there, harder —I murmured, biting my lip.

On the screen, the dressed girl started eating her girlfriend out. She spread her legs with both hands, giving me a perfect view, and sucked her clit while sliding two fingers into her. The other girl’s breasts moved in exact rhythm with every thrust.

How badly I wish I were the one in the video.

The girl getting all the pleasure started to writhe and pull away without meaning to, overwhelmed. And then came my favorite part: the one in the top grabbed her by the knees and dragged her back to her mouth, where she belonged. More fingers, more force, more tongue.

I collapsed face-down on the mattress. I propped my phone up sideways to keep watching, lifted my ass, and shoved two fingers into my pussy. Thrust after thrust, my breasts bounced against the sheet, and for a moment I could imagine my ex sucking on them the way he liked to do so much.

I brought the stuffed animal to my nipples and rubbed them against it. I felt everything at once: the drop of sweat running down my back and slipping between my ass cheeks, my fingers opening me from inside, the girls’ moans coming out of the speaker. I pulled my fingers out slowly.

***

I focused back on the screen and propped myself up a little to rub against the stuffed animal’s tiny nose again. Over and over, without stopping.

—Yes, like that, harder —I heard myself say, my voice breaking.

My legs were cramping in that impossible position, but I didn’t care in the least. I went up and down, deep, looking for the exact angle. Once more, up; again, down. I counted almost without realizing it: one, two, three times the same motion, faster each time, until my whole body tensed like a string.

And then it came. I shook over the stuffed animal with a stupid grin on my face, accepting that well-earned orgasm, letting myself go completely through the last wave.

I lay there for a while on the bed, catching my breath, with the soaked stuffed animal beside me and the phone still playing at minimum volume. My hair was stuck to my forehead and my heart was pounding against my ribs. I smiled at the ceiling, still trembling, feeling like the freest person on the planet.

I reached out and grabbed the doll by one leg. I looked at it up close, with its wet and slightly ridiculous little face, and burst out laughing. To think that same object had spent months gathering dust, condemned to be a bad memory, and had suddenly become the best thing Bruno had left in this house.

***

Turns out a stuffed animal can be a good gift after all. If Bruno isn’t around anymore to give me pleasure, at least he had the decency to leave me a more than decent replacement before he left. Who would have thought.

When my parents came back on Sunday afternoon, the stuffed animal was back on the nightstand, freshly washed and drying by the window, looking at me with those same stitched eyes. Only this time I looked back at it with something close to affection.

And I thought that maybe, the next weekend I had the house to myself, that old gift and I would have a lot more to talk about.