Blood Lust


My lover’s name is Mary. We met like most couples, when fate sneezed and we weren’t looking. She came to me when I least wanted her to, and now I don’t get through an entire without her face burgeoning into my fantasies; my fantasies of being ravaged while reading the morning paper, my fantasies of a life with children and house, my fantasies of growing old with someone else to look at my wrinkles and fallen breasts.

Mary is a big woman. She is nearly six feet tall and as round as a barrel. When we play sex games I am the one to top. When we fuck, she is on top of me. She opens my legs with her sausage fingers, presses the strap-on inside of me, putting my hands above my head as I scratch the nails she insists I keep long down her back. She fucks me until I don’t move anymore, until I stop screaming, until I am exhausted by her. She allows herself to come then. Then she straddles my sexed body and lays her beautiful face between my breasts, which by then, have stopped heaving up and down. We sleep with our pussies rubbing together, mutually wet hair reminds of love play. This is how our lovemaking goes.

We do everything together now. We work in the same small building, make the commute together. We eat together, eat each other together, see films, go out for drinks… together. And of course we menstruate together. Our cycles began to match up within a month of knowing each other. I think this is the most incredibly thing that women as a whole can do. We declare our womanhood and bleed red unimpregnated blood together once every month.

My lover is kinky. She ties me up, spanks my ass, fingers me with various found objects while we watch some non-sexual movie. She dresses me up in a little girl’s outfits, she tells me to call her Mommy, my naughty Mommy. I do of course. I do whatever she wants me to do. I trust her. I get off when she controls me, and she does it so well.

Last month we were both incredibly horny and we were both kıbrıs escort on the rag. Sometimes we use a double headed dildo that we wash directly afterwards. But most of the time we just know we have to wait it out and at the end of our five-day sentence we can once again come with each other. The wait is always long and difficult, we have made it now eight times.

I went to the bathroom after supper. Artichoke hearts over pasta. We both crave pasta during our periods. Mary follows me into the bathroom. She has a new hair coming in in the mole on her right arm that she needs to pluck. She reaches into the cabinet for tweezers and I pull my skirt up to change my tampon. It is the first day of our periods. The blood is thick, red, heavy. There are large pieces that stream out of us as we urinate. Our futile uteruses coughing out last month’s biology.

I drop my panties to the floor and lift my leg to the toilet seat. Mary is putting away the tweezers and tells me to freeze. I do.

“Can I change it?” She points to my tampon string.

“Sure, I don’t care,” I say.

She takes hold of the string and wraps her fingers around my waist. She pulls until it falls out, it hits my leg, leaves a trail of blood behind. She dangles it for a moment before letting it fall into the toilet. Her fingers are covered in blood.

“Mommy, will you show me how to put in a new one?” I ask in my fake little girl voice. I know this will turn her on.

She softly slaps my ass in reply. I can tell I have a bloody hand print on my ass. The cool air on the hot blood makes my nipples contract, get hard under my sweater and bra. I hear her unwrapping the next tampon, tossing the packaging into the trash. We buy the kind of tampon that requires no applicator. They are easy to carry around, carry to the bathroom without a fuss. They are better for the environment and you get a finger job every time you push one in.

Mary runs konya escort the end of the tampon along my slick slit, kissing my shoulders softly. She finds my hole and pushes gently. I bend over to give her more access. She pushes her finger inside of me, a feeling I knew well.

“Don’t stop,” I moan, bent over the toilet.

She responds by pulling her finger almost completely out and then pushing it back inside of me, wiggling her fat finger quickly. I could feel the string dangling down as she fingers my bloody cunt. Again and again she pushes her finger in, stopping only to rub my slit or spank me again. Then she pulled the tampon from my body, and dropped it on the floor. She grabs my arm with her hand; her hand by this point is completely covered.

Mary leads me to our bed, a king sized Serta with soft Egyptian cotton sheets of varying colors. She tells me to lie down and leaves the room. I take my sweater and bra off while she is gone. Three minutes later she comes back with clean hands, a paintbrush, an apple, and a bottle of wine.

“Lay on your stomach baby,” she says.

I do. She hands me the apple.

“May I eat it Mommy?”

She nods. Her eyes sparkle when I call her that. It turns her mind and cunt on at the same time. I bit into the apple and she spreads my legs apart. Suddenly the paintbrush is inside of me. Mary begins to slowly fuck me with it. She pulls it out again.

“What should I paint honey?”

Mary is a painter on the side. During the daytime she works as an architect, wears a suit, is very professional. During the nights she paints steamy pictures of young women she would like to fuck. There are several paintings of me. Though this is the first of this kind of painting.

“You should paint me, silly,” I joke with her.

“You want a drink?”


She tilts the bottle towards me. I flick my tongue along the top of the wine bottle before she pours kuşadası escort the red wine into my mouth. It dribbles down my chin. I take another bite of the apple. Now I can feel the bristles of the brush moving along my body. I writhe from the faint tickling sensation and then writhe from the brush inside of me so Mary can get more paint.

She paints for hours using my period blood. I fall asleep at certain points, but she is sure to wake me with small kisses and promises that she will be done soon. I want her to stop using the thin paintbrush and at least use her fingers. I want her to fuck me until I can’t stay awake for a second longer. I want her to fuck my pussy until it stops bleeding, five days of her on top of me, sweating, pumping her rubbery cock into me. I want to scream “Mommy” as I come, I want to play naughty with her.

Mary stands up, I feel the bed move as her body lifts up.

“All done.”

“I wanna see,” I tell her.

“Don’t move,” she says.

She runs to the closet to get our camera. It was the one we bought on vacation in Morocco a few months ago. She begins to snap the pictures.

“You look so beautiful.”

The flashes light the room, I am afraid to move, afraid to disrupt her.

She lays the camera on the bed. The buttons are bloody. I don’t even want to think about the sheet beneath me.

Mary has her strap-on on. Her own blood is now trickling down her legs, I can see it clearly. She opens my legs. I am ready. I wrap my thin legs around her overweight body as she descends upon me. Her fingers are stained with bloody. The knuckles are a dark brown color, her fingers are still bright red. She begins pummeling me, telling me a patient little girl I have been. I come. I come again. She knows my body. We finish.

I get up to see if I can see the painting anymore. I am exhausted and it is almost gone. I can only tell it was a womanly figure of some sort. I examine myself in the full-length mirror. I am a mess. I am covered in blood. My thighs have turned deep brown, red finger brings mark my knees and breasts. I have a red streak along my neck and cheek, her blood. I can only think to tell Mary that I love her, but she is already asleep.

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