My name is John, though I go by rgjohn, and I’ve written a few erotic books and some content for Literotica. When Emma read my work, she suggested I write about loving, female-led relationships—a genre she’s passionate about. It’s been a while since I’ve written, but a fan recently reignited my interest by asking me to turn his detailed journal into a story. Initially skeptical, I found myself captivated by his account of a Female-Led Relationship (FLR), a concept I hadn’t explored before. With a mix of curiosity and research, I’ve decided to craft a multi-part story spanning over 20 chapters and below is the second chapter. If you are just starting, you should begin your journey back at chapter 1.
Chapter 5: Pleasuring Anna again; Explaining my Habitual Masturbation problem, Stumbling onto FLR
Over the next several days, Anna continued to retreat into her office, dining there alone and without acknowledging me.
Though I bustled around trying to make her comfortable and keep our home immaculate, she remained distant. I prepared her favorite meals, arranged fresh flowers around the apartment, even drew her a couple of soothing baths.
I stopped trying to initiate conversation, resigning myself to waiting for her to engage with me when she felt ready. Each day that she didn’t kick me out of the condo felt like a sign of hope for resolution. I anticipated our weekend together would offer a chance to speak.
That week, I avoided any pornographic content and dedicated my time on the Internet to finding ways to resolve my internal struggles. In an amazing stroke of luck, I stumbled upon a website, evolvingyourman.com, containing a discussions about Female-Led Relationships (FLR), a concept that while totally foreign to me, also intrigued me. As I dove deeper into the subject, I felt a spark of curiosity and hope—a potential solution to our troubles might lie within this unfamiliar territory.
On Friday night, I decided to create a sanctuary for Anna after what had clearly been a long and exhausting week—for her and for us. I prepared a hot bubble bath, adding scented oils and lighting candles around the bathroom to cast a warm, inviting glow. I carefully laid out her favorite fresh towels, ensuring everything was perfect. Unsure if she would respond otherwise, I sent her a text to let her know the bath was ready.
Minutes later, I heard her footsteps and the soft sound of water as she stepped into the tub. Relief washed over me; she had accepted the gesture. Hoping to elevate her experience, I poured a glass of her favorite chilled wine, placed the bottle in an ice bucket, and carried it to the bathroom.
I knocked gently on the door. When she didn’t respond, I hesitated before pushing it open softly. Anna was reclining in the tub, her head resting against the edge, eyes closed in peaceful surrender. The bubbles surrounded her, only the soft swells of her breasts visible above the water. Even this modest glimpse of her beauty was enough to cause a stirring below, but I quickly reined in my thoughts. This was about her, not me.
Silently, I placed the wine and bottle on a small tray near the tub. I didn’t say a word, not wanting to disturb her tranquility, and slipped out as quietly as I had entered.
Back in the bedroom, I continued my efforts to create an atmosphere she would appreciate. I changed the sheets to her favorite silk ones, smoothing them until they gleamed under the soft glow of the room’s new candlelight. I turned the bed down neatly, positioning the pillows just so, and set the stage with gentle, soothing music. I left the room with one lingering hope: that she might call for me, or at least see my efforts as an olive branch.
Time passed slowly as I waited, oscillating between anticipation and nervousness. When the silence stretched too long, curiosity got the better of me. I approached the bedroom door and peeked inside.
Anna was sprawled across the bed, a book resting on her lap. She seemed to have drifted off, the half-empty wine bottle standing sentinel on the nightstand. The sheets were pulled down, revealing her gorgeous, bare breasts rising and falling in rhythm with her breathing.
My breath caught, and I felt an immediate response below. Even after all this time, she had the power to stir something primal and reverent within me. At that moment, she was more than beautiful—she was divine.
I decided to take a huge risk. I quietly entered the bedroom and went over to the bed. I dangerously slipped under the sheets at the foot of the bed. I had done this plenty of times before, but then she was awake and participated.
Anna stirred but didn’t seem to wake up. I was shaking as I slowly moved between her legs. I nearly climaxed when I felt her smooth legs touch my arms as I crawled between them. She still didn’t move. When I reached her thighs, I took a deep breath and gently kissed one warm thigh.
“Noooo,” I heard from her lips. She sounded appropriately inebriated.
I paused, but when she didn’t push me away, I began to move again. I kissed the other thigh and worked slowly upward, alternating between one side and then the other, drawing closer and closer to my goal. I was but an inch or so away when I felt her hands on my head. I froze, unsure of her intentions. I thought she was going to push me away.
I waited for what seemed like minutes, though it was probably only seconds, before I continued to inch closer. When my tongue touched her smooth outer lips, I realized it was freshly shaved—a positive sign, I hoped. She moaned softly as I kissed her again, encouraging me to continue.
My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I was afraid she could hear it. The feeling was a mix of sexual excitement and the fear that she might come to her senses and stop me.
I began licking her, and still, she didn’t push me away. I knew what she liked and made sure to do it all. I sucked her now swollen lips and flicked her rapidly swelling clit as her hand tightened on my head. I didn’t go straight for the kill; instead, I took my time, teasing every inch of her beautiful, soft skin. I didn’t need light to see because I knew every inch of her so well—even the tiny mole on the left lip.
It wasn’t long before I could tell that Anna was deeply aroused. Her fingers gripped my hair, and she was incredibly wet. Her thighs pressed against my cheeks, moving with her growing desire. When I finally sucked her clit the way she loves, she began to climax.
She pulled my face deep into her as she bucked her hips and moaned in pleasure. When that climax subsided and she didn’t push me away, I waited for a few minutes, softly kissing the inside of her thighs, until I sensed she was ready again. I worked my magic once more, and then again, until she finally collapsed in exhaustion.
When she didn’t move for a while, I realized she had fallen asleep. Instead of leaving, I rested my head on her thigh. I’m not sure when I drifted off, but I awoke to her hands on my head. Smiling to myself, I began kissing her again. It didn’t take long before she was bucking her hips up to meet my sucking mouth. I was surprised by how much juice she was producing—it was literally pouring out of her, and I loved it.
I worked hard to catch it all, but a good amount spilled down my chin and onto the sheets. I’d have to change them in the morning, but for now, she was beginning to climax again. As she did, the flow increased. Her fingers tightened in my hair, holding my head to her gushing pussy as she came, over and over.
Once more, she collapsed and fell asleep. Several hours later, she awakened me again, and I worked my magic for a third time. This time, when she finally collapsed, she gently pushed my head away, and I figured she was done for the night.
I slowly backed out from under the sheets. I saw that she was sound asleep. I blew out the candles, removed the wine bottle and glass, turned the music off, and left her and went to sleep on the sofa again.
The aroma of fresh coffee pulled me from my restless sleep. Normally, I’d be up hours earlier, but today I’d slept in, recovering from a satisfying but exhausting night. When I entered the kitchen, Anna sat at the table, her back straight, absorbed in the morning paper.
“Morning,” I said—our usual greeting, though recently it had felt more like a formality.
She glanced up briefly, mouthing a response of “morning”. Her white yoga pants and tank top highlighted her figure, a reminder of the woman I’d somehow stopped seeing and appreciating.
“Bacon and eggs?” I asked, pulling on an apron.
“Fine,” she replied, her tone neutral.
I prepared breakfast, acutely aware of the silence between us. Yet I was elated by the progress. When I sat down, she looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time in days. My unwashed hair and rumpled clothes seemed to surprise her.
“You look a mess,” she said.
“Didn’t sleep much,” I mumbled.
We ate in uncomfortable silence.
As I cleared the dishes, Anna spoke. “We need to talk. Go shower first.”
My heart raced. A chance to explain, to reconnect.
In the guest bathroom, I cleaned up, hoping this conversation might repair what I’d broken.
When I returned, freshly shaved and changed, I asked permission to sit. Anna pointed to the chair.
“I’m sorry,” I began, “Everything is my fault—”
She raised her hand, stopping me. She wanted to speak.
“I don’t even know how to start,” she sighed.
I started to interject, but she silenced me with a raised hand again and a stern look.
“I can’t believe we’ve reached this point,” she began. “When we first met, I was wary of you. Your politeness seemed too good to be true. But after a few dates, I realized you were genuinely different—a rare kind of good guy. You were caring, attentive, generous. I knew I wanted to marry you within months.”
Her words hit me like a wave. Elation mixed with a deep, aching sadness. What had happened to that man I used to be?
“I felt the same,” I said softly.
She continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “You were fine after we married. But gradually, you became distant—that’s the only word for it. I’ve been under immense pressure at work, trying to make partner. I know I haven’t been fully present, but I’ve been emotionally exhausted.”
Her eyes met mine, filled with a profound sadness that cut through me.
I remained silent, letting her speak.
“Why have you changed?” she asked, almost to herself. “Was this my fault?”
“No,” I blurted, happy that she was letting me talk. “Absolutely not. This is entirely on me.”
She studied me, skepticism etched in her expression. “Do you really believe that?”
“With all my heart,” I said. Hope flickered—this conversation meant she still cared, that I might have a chance to make things right.
“Then explain,” she pressed. “What happened?”
I hesitated. “I’m not entirely sure. My job… it became unbearably monotonous. It was so boring it made me feel dead inside.”
I caught myself using the past tense—”was” boring. Her raised eyebrow told me she’d noticed. I quickly changed the subject, desperate, at this point, to avoid that line of questioning.
“That led to me spending too much time online, playing games and surfing… mostly,” I paused, “mostly watching adult content.”
“What? Adult content? You mean porn!” she nearly screamed. Of course she knew this because she had caught me in the act. The mentioning of it had set her off again.
I was smart enough to remain silent.
Her anger was palpable. “Why would you do that when I’m right here? Don’t I satisfy you? I know I don’t climax when we fuck, but you always finish—and quickly, I might add.”
The comment stung, but it was true.
I hesitated, then spoke. “Adult content is incredibly addictive. I used to pleasure myself a couple times a week, but it’s become daily.”
A lie. I’d always done it daily.
“Every day!” she exclaimed in disbelief.
“Sometimes more than once,” I admitted with great shame.
She looked truly stunned.
I continued, “I think there are two… major problems.”
My rehearsed explanation suddenly feeling weak.
“Only two?” she retorted sarcastically.
Taking a deep breath, I continued. “Research shows excessive online time can lead to habitual masturbation. It’s like a drug for men. The free availability of content has captured entire generations. It’s a major epidemic.”
My practiced speech sounded more pathetic by the second. But I had to get it out.
“So your masturbation habit caused all of our problems?” she asked, clearly unconvinced.
“No, that’s just the first issue. There’s more,” I said. “When a man climaxes, there’s a natural recovery period where sexual and emotional desire drops. It’s nature’s way of preventing constant arousal. But with porn’s accessibility, that recovery period has shortened dramatically.”
She shook her head at me like I was an idiot. I felt like one too.
“I appreciate the biology lesson, Jason, but what does this have to do with anything?” she asked impatiently.
“Addiction to internet porn is very real and difficult to control. Young men are exposed to this content almost before puberty. It’s easily obtained with a computer, and it just gets worse,” I explained.
“So you’re saying you’re a porn addict, comparable to a drug addict? Really?” she said, a bemused smile playing on her lips.
The unspoken words hung in the air: “And you expect me to believe this?”
“Unfortunately, yes. It might be even more addictive because it’s mostly free and doesn’t require me to go anywhere. And it’s not illegal,” I said.
I was relieved to see Anna finally nod curiously. Still she sighed and said, “Okay, I’m listening.”
“I didn’t realize how hard it was to control. It got out of hand and started consuming a lot of my time,” I continued.
“So once this habit starts, it’s hard to control. Got it. So what?” she prompted.
I swallowed hard, unsure if I was making progress or just digging a deeper hole.
“It’s like any other addiction. After years, it becomes second nature,” I said.
“In other words, you’ve been doing this for years—even when we met and were dating?” she asked.
“Yes and no. A man’s natural instinct is to find a partner for satisfaction. I found you and tried to stop. I even reduced it to a few times a week. But when you went away on a trip, I was right back at it,” I admitted.
“So I’ve only been getting a small portion of your emotional sexual outlet,” she said, her anger intensifying again.
I couldn’t tell if she believed me, but I was committed now.
“It worsened when I started neglecting my job, watching adult content half the day and masturbating,” I said.
Anna nodded, though her understanding seemed incomplete.
“One downside is that it makes you emotionally numb. I no longer saw you as my primary source of pleasure. It made me focus entirely on myself,” I explained.
“But you were always willing to give me pleasure,” she pointed out. It was an olive branch at last.
“Because it gave me pleasure, or, I knew that you would soon give me pleasure, but I should have been doing it solely for your pleasure. After a lot of research, I’ve learned that my pleasure should be a by-product of yours,” I said.
“What does that even mean? Are you just patronizing me?” she asked.
“No, I would never patronize you. It means I should focus all my emotional energy on you. In the beginning of our relationship, I did that,” I replied.
A glimmer of understanding crossed Anna’s face, as she recalled that, and she unconsciously nodded.
Then she stunned me when she said, “I need a break.”
That scared me to death. I though she wanted us to separate.
I was relieved when she added, “I’m going to be late for work so I have some calls to make.”
“Uh, okay. I’ll be here when you get back,” I said.
Continue to Chapter 6