He liked giving her tasks when he traveled. She liked pleasing him.

He said, “It’s time for a spring cleaning of the toy box. Go through it, get rid of the toys you don’t want to keep. And send me pictures of the ones you do.”

And she did. All the crappy jelly toys she’d bought years ago, when they were the only thing available, gone. All the crappy vibrators that never got her off (or didn’t even turn on any more!), in the trash.

She picked up each one, took a picture of it, and wrote to him about it.

“Remember when we got these, at that little leather shop in Greenwich Village?’

“I always wanted to like this one, but it’s just not the right angle.”

“Remember that night you watched me use this on that girl at the party?”

“An inflatable butt plug sounded like such a great idea, but I’ve never gotten it in — it’s always either too flaccid or too big. Like a lot of dicks, I guess!”

“My ex got me this collar. I’ll never use it again, but sometimes I pick it up and smile.”

When she was done, the trash can was full, she was wet, and the bed was covered in toys.

She packed the surviving toys back into the toy box, and sent him one last text: “There’s lots of room now! Why don’t you order me something new, and I’ll make you a video when it gets here?”

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