Real-life sex story written by Dakota Ramppen

The phone call came late one December night, his voice familiar but with an edge I hadn’t heard before. He had been living in another state for months, and while we spoke every day, this time felt different. A kind of tension hummed in the air—a need to bridge the distance between us, to feel connected in a way that went beyond the usual words.

Outside my window, Christmas lights twinkled, reflecting off the snow that blanketed the streets. The scent of pine and cinnamon lingered from the candles I’d lit earlier, creating a cozy cocoon that felt almost magical.

"Are you alone?" His voice was low, steady, full of promise.

I glanced around my bedroom, already knowing the answer but suddenly feeling nervous. I was alone in a space filled with the warmth of the season—and with memories of him. I could still picture us last Christmas, tangled in each other on this very bed, his body warm against mine.

“Yes, I’m alone.”

“Good,” he said, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breaths, synchronized despite the distance.

I bit my lip, feeling the familiar tug of desire, heightened by the intimacy of his silence.

“Do you remember that toy I bought you?”

My heart skipped. Of course, I remembered. It was tucked away in the drawer by my bed, a secret that felt closer to him because he had chosen it. It had arrived in a box wrapped with silver ribbon, his note reading, *For when you miss me too much.*

“Yes, I remember.”

“I want you to use it,” he said, his voice like the crackle of a fire—steady, warm, and commanding.

The request wasn’t a surprise, but the way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. I could hear the control in his tone, the way he wanted to guide me, and I felt my pulse quicken. Tonight, it felt like he wanted to push boundaries, to take us somewhere new.

“Take it out,” he said. 

Obeying, I opened the drawer, the cool silicone toy resting against a stray candy cane I’d forgotten to move. The juxtaposition made me smile nervously.

“I want you to imagine something for me,” he continued, his voice softening but still holding that edge. “Picture the glow of the Christmas tree lights filling the room... but imagine I’m not the one watching you.”

My breath hitched. This was new. The idea of pretending it wasn’t him—of imagining someone else—was thrilling and unfamiliar. A thousand thoughts rushed through my head at once, excitement mingling with hesitation.

“Someone else?” I asked softly, unsure if I had heard him correctly.

“Yes,” he murmured. “You’re going to imagine that he’s there with you, and I’ll tell you how to please him.”

The suggestion sent a jolt through me, and my body reacted instantly. Vulnerable yet exhilarating, the idea felt like stepping into uncharted territory. But the steadiness of his voice made me trust him completely.

“Okay,” I whispered, the word barely audible as I lay back on the bed, toy in hand. 

Outside, faint echoes of holiday carolers drifted through the frosty air. I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the fantasy he was weaving.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and the praise sent a ripple of warmth through me. 

“Picture him—tall, broad-shouldered, standing in front of you by the tree. His eyes burn with desire as he watches you.”

I imagined the man in my mind—a stranger in this familiar holiday scene. Strong and commanding, yet captivated by me, the thought made my body heat with anticipation.

“Run your hands over your body,” he instructed. 

I followed, my free hand trailing down my stomach and across my thighs, feeling the tension build. 

“Pretend he’s waiting for you to unwrap yourself like a present.”

I heard his breath hitch on the other end, a reminder that he was as affected by this as I was. He was getting off on the idea of me surrendering to someone else, fully immersed in the fantasy he was creating.

“Now,” he said, his voice thick with arousal, “slide the toy inside. Slowly.”

I obeyed, the sensation of the toy entering me causing a moan to escape my lips. The soft glow of the fairy lights seemed to intensify the intimacy of the moment.

“Good. Now imagine it’s him—imagine he’s filling you up by the fireplace, the warmth of the flames on your skin.”

I closed my eyes tighter, replacing the toy with this imagined man. My heart raced, and my body responded to the image, the idea of being taken by someone else—his hands on my hips, his mouth trailing hot kisses down my neck.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he demanded, his voice both tender and commanding.

“He feels... big,” I breathed, my words coming out in stutters as I moved the toy deeper. “He’s stretching me, and it feels so good.”

“Good girl,” he praised again, and the sound made my muscles tighten. 

“Now ride him. Move like you would if I wasn’t there.”

My hips moved instinctively, my breath catching as I imagined this stranger gripping my thighs, guiding my movements. In my mind, we were beside the Christmas tree, its ornaments swaying gently as the room filled with passion.

“That’s it,” he growled into the phone, his own arousal palpable. 

“You’re doing so good for me. Tell me how he feels inside you.”

“He feels... perfect,” I moaned, chasing the pleasure building in my core. “He’s so deep, I can’t—”

“Come for him,” he commanded his voice a desperate plea. “I want you to come for him, just like you would for me.”

His words pushed me over the edge, my body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over me.I cried out, gripping the sheets, lost in the fantasy he had created for us. On the other end, I heard his deep groan, our mutual release connecting us across the miles.

For a moment, there was only the sound of our breaths, heavy and uneven.

“You did so well,” he murmured, his voice soft now. “I wish I could be there to hold you.”

“I wish you were too,” I whispered back, the vulnerability in my voice clear.

As I lay there, the room filled with the scent of pine and the warmth of the season, I realized the distance didn’t matter. In that moment, through his words and our connection, he had brought Christmas to me.