Wildfireoil
New Members
It started with a joke, honestly.
A random Tuesday night, both of us in our pyjamas, exhausted from work and scrolling endlessly through our phones.
“Let’s do something different tonight,” she said, closing her laptop.
Before I could ask what she meant, she disappeared into the bedroom and came back holding a small tin with a soft, warm scent already escaping from it.
“A massage candle,” she announced, biting her lip like she already knew exactly what she was doing.
I had heard of them… but I’d never used one.
Not with her.
Not with anyone.
“Trust me,” she whispered.
She lit the wick, and instantly the mood shifted.
The warm glow looked nothing like a normal candle—it was softer, deeper, almost teasing.
Slowly, the scent wrapped around us like an invisible hand drawing us closer.
We weren't even touching yet, and somehow it already felt intimate.
“Give it a few minutes,” she said, watching the flame dance. The way the light hit her collarbone... it was suddenly hard to think about anything else.
Then she blew out the flame.
The smoke curled up like a secret escaping.
“Lie down,” she smiled.
I did.
She tilted the candle, and a warm stream of melted oil slid onto her palm.
I expected it to be hot—but it was just the perfect warmth, the kind that makes your muscles instantly melt.
Her hands followed.
Slow.
Confident.
Like she had been waiting for this moment all day.
Every glide of her fingers felt deeper than the last.
The oil sank into my skin, making everything softer, smoother.
My breath slowed without me even noticing.
“Feels good?” she whispered.
I think I nodded.
Or maybe I said her name.
I honestly don’t remember—because that’s around the moment time stopped existing.
At some point, I pulled her closer.
The scent of the massage candle was now on both of us, mixed with the heat of our skin.
Her hair brushed against my shoulder.
She laughed softly—the kind of laugh that tells you she’s having as much fun as you are.
“Your turn,” I said, my voice lower than usual.
She lay down slowly, like she already knew what was coming.
I poured the warm oil on her back, and she shivered.
Not from the temperature—
but from the anticipation.
Her skin glowed under the candlelight.
My hands slid over her curves, and she arched gently, meeting every movement like we were speaking without words.
We forgot about our phones.
Forgot about the time.
Forgot about everything except the way her body responded to my touch.
Two hours had passed.
Two hours that felt like ten minutes.
The candle was half gone.
The sheets were warm.
And she was curled into my chest, smiling like she had just rediscovered something she didn’t know she’d lost.
“I think we just found our new ritual,” she whispered.
And she was right.
That night wasn’t planned.
It wasn’t fancy.
It wasn’t some big romantic occasion.
It was just a massage candle—
but it brought us closer in a way we didn’t expect.
Sometimes intimacy doesn’t need effort.
Sometimes it just needs warm oil, slow hands, and the willingness to pause life for a moment.
Sometimes…
you just need a massage candle .
A random Tuesday night, both of us in our pyjamas, exhausted from work and scrolling endlessly through our phones.
“Let’s do something different tonight,” she said, closing her laptop.
Before I could ask what she meant, she disappeared into the bedroom and came back holding a small tin with a soft, warm scent already escaping from it.
“A massage candle,” she announced, biting her lip like she already knew exactly what she was doing.
I had heard of them… but I’d never used one.
Not with her.
Not with anyone.
“Trust me,” she whispered.
She lit the wick, and instantly the mood shifted.
The warm glow looked nothing like a normal candle—it was softer, deeper, almost teasing.
Slowly, the scent wrapped around us like an invisible hand drawing us closer.
We weren't even touching yet, and somehow it already felt intimate.
“Give it a few minutes,” she said, watching the flame dance. The way the light hit her collarbone... it was suddenly hard to think about anything else.
Then she blew out the flame.
The smoke curled up like a secret escaping.
“Lie down,” she smiled.
I did.
She tilted the candle, and a warm stream of melted oil slid onto her palm.
I expected it to be hot—but it was just the perfect warmth, the kind that makes your muscles instantly melt.
Her hands followed.
Slow.
Confident.
Like she had been waiting for this moment all day.
Every glide of her fingers felt deeper than the last.
The oil sank into my skin, making everything softer, smoother.
My breath slowed without me even noticing.
“Feels good?” she whispered.
I think I nodded.
Or maybe I said her name.
I honestly don’t remember—because that’s around the moment time stopped existing.
At some point, I pulled her closer.
The scent of the massage candle was now on both of us, mixed with the heat of our skin.
Her hair brushed against my shoulder.
She laughed softly—the kind of laugh that tells you she’s having as much fun as you are.
“Your turn,” I said, my voice lower than usual.
She lay down slowly, like she already knew what was coming.
I poured the warm oil on her back, and she shivered.
Not from the temperature—
but from the anticipation.
Her skin glowed under the candlelight.
My hands slid over her curves, and she arched gently, meeting every movement like we were speaking without words.
We forgot about our phones.
Forgot about the time.
Forgot about everything except the way her body responded to my touch.
Two hours had passed.
Two hours that felt like ten minutes.
The candle was half gone.
The sheets were warm.
And she was curled into my chest, smiling like she had just rediscovered something she didn’t know she’d lost.
“I think we just found our new ritual,” she whispered.
And she was right.
That night wasn’t planned.
It wasn’t fancy.
It wasn’t some big romantic occasion.
It was just a massage candle—
but it brought us closer in a way we didn’t expect.
Sometimes intimacy doesn’t need effort.
Sometimes it just needs warm oil, slow hands, and the willingness to pause life for a moment.
Sometimes…
you just need a massage candle .
