When I was in college I dated a lovely, petite lady from an old southern family. Sybil and I really started getting pretty serious during the winter quarter of our freshman year, and she invited me to spend part of Christmas vacation at her parents’ home.

When we arrived, she took me on a brief tour of the splendid, rambling house. She then led me straight to her bedroom. We both wanted each other so much that few words were in order. When we entered her room, I stared for a long time at her massive Victorian bed. The frame was made of rosewood and the feather mattress was at least a foot thick, but what really caught my eye was the comforter. It was an old black satin eiderdown comforter that was incredibly plump and soft, like something from a European castle for a princess of yesteryear. Sybil knew that I have always had a fetish for satin and she had wanted to surprise me. She grabbed a plump, soft corner of the comforter and gently caressed my face with it. Smiling, she unbuttoned my shirt and said, “Wait until you feel it all over your body and mine.”

Sybil’s room also boasted a sizable fireplace, carefully piled high with a load of kindling and three or four birch logs. She snatched up a newspaper and began bunching it under the logs while ordering me to pull the featherbed and the comforter in front of the fireplace. I did as I was told, but as she continued to stuff paper into the fireplace I suddenly realized I couldn’t leave her alone any longer. I grabbed her and held her head in my hands, kissing her long and hard.

We stripped each other’s clothes off and I laid her back on the comforter. She sank deeply into the plump satin and down. As I tried to mount her, however, she rose and whispered, “Darling, I want you to fuck me next to a roaring fire. Please!” She rolled over, took two long wooden matches, struck them together, and shoved them into the center of the newspaper. An intense smile spread over her beautiful face as flames burst from the paper and into the wood. She stared at the flames a few moments longer while I gazed at the firelight shimmering on the satin comforter, her beautiful, smooth skin and her luxurious long hair.

Satisfied, she sank back into the satin and down and reached for me. As I entered her she pulled the satin comforter up around my ass and rubbed it up and down. I took a breast in each hand and sucked her rock-hard nipples. She moaned and whimpered, sinking her shoulders and ass deeper into the satin. It felt as if we were fucking in a giant, warm, satin cloud.

Later Sybil told me now she used to love to build fires in the fireplace and take off all of her clothes. She would roll up in the magnificent satin comforter and rub it all over her body, bunching a corner of it between her legs as she masturbated to orgasm.

Sybil let me in on a private fantasy. “I want to use this old comforter to jack you off,” she said. “I want to watch your come spurt all over this lovely old satin.” Despite myself I said, “The stains will ruin it,” but she didn’t seem to care. She grabbed a thick, plump corner and swaddled my cock in it, slowly rubbing it up and down. The feeling was no less than blissful. Soon I felt an orgasm building up and warned her, but she just smiled and pumped more passionately. She gazed lovingly as a load of my hot come spurted out onto the shimmering satin.

We used that comforter everywhere over the next three years — on her bed, on the floor in front of the fireplace and even on campouts. One day she shocked me by saying that she wanted to get rid of it. I followed her out to the trash incinerator behind her house and watched incredulously as she stuffed it in, set a handful of newspaper aflame, and held the burning paper under the huge bundle of satin and down. She gazed at the comforter as it rapidly burst into flame, and I curiously realized that she seemed to get as nearly as much pleasure out of watching the satin burn as she got from feeling it caress her skin. As the heat from the comforter baked us I felt her hand rubbing the growing bulge in my crotch. She whispered, “Don’t worry,” and took my hand.

Sybil led me back up to her bedroom. There on her bed was another black satin comforter, as lovely as the one she had just turned to ashes. She laughed and explained that there were two more of them in her family that we were welcome to. After four years of school Sybil and I got married, and one of our wedding gifts was yet another custom-made satin eiderdown comforter. We used it on our wedding night and for many years after.