I’ve talked about lots of things here, but one of the things I haven’t talked about (much) is blood.
No, not the kind that happens when you cut yourself (or someone cuts you), or vampire play, or even bloodletting and the like. Neither W or I has a thing for that kind of play (for the most part–I’d like to experience cutting at some point, but that’s not really about the blood for me.)
I’m talking about “Auntie Flo.” My “period.” (I’ve always wondered why we use the word “period.”) Menstrual blood.
If you’ve read here long you know that I have a squeamishness about menstrual blood. I sincerely hate that I do. It’s so antithetical to me and what I am about and who I am that it really really bothers me to feel this way. But it’s a gut reaction, a deep shame that I feel when confronted with the possibility of those I am involved with seeing it–much less touching it!–and I can’t seem to shake it.
A long time ago W said to me, “One day I’m going to fuck you bloody.” I kinda thought he meant fuck me til I bleed, and, hey, that was kind of a hot thought! But of course he didn’t. And, since I know that he doesn’t usually say things unless he means to do them, I knew that eventually that day would come.
I never thought that it would be a day that I would ask for it.
I know! How does it happen that the one thing I really really don’t want to do winds up being something I ask for?!?
This past weekend was W’s and my last chance to spend time together before he had to be away for a month, so naturally, I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him.
And equally as naturally, that’s when my period decided to show up. It always happens to me. Whenever I have something special planned, here comes Aunt Flo… This weekend was no different. Sunday morning I woke up and there it was. ~sigh~ I told W, but right from the start I had a feeling this might well be the weekend he decided he’d had enough of my squeamishness. What I didn’t expect was that I’d end up throwing that squeamishness out the window as well. Well, maybe not throwing it out, but, um…”closing my eyes to it.” So to speak.
Okay, since I’m talking about menstrual blood here, it should be a given that this conversation may get a little TMI…so if you have an issue with that, skip ahead! But honestly, the whole thing was seriously hot, so if you can get past that, you might want to read on.
Later Sunday morning W decided to put me in some bondage. I don’t usually use tampons, but wasn’t worried about making a mess at that point, because my period usually starts slow enough that I need only light protection the first day. So I wasn’t using anything when he started to get me set up. And honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about bleeding, I was just in “play” mode. It wasn’t until he had me up in the corner of his bedroom, hanging from ropes that spread my legs wide open for his viewing pleasure, that I remembered that little fact.
“Hey…um…” I stammered. “Could you, um…I didn’t think about the fact that you were putting me up like this…could you, um…”
He didn’t help me out. “Yes?” he asked, snapping pictures and raising an eyebrow at me.
“Umm. Well, could you make sure that…you know…there’s no, um…” I swear I caught a smirk on his lips at my continued stuttering, so I took a deep breath and prepared to act like an adult (yes I am well aware of my childishness about this.) “Will you make sure that there’s no BLOOD showing?!? Please?” I asked through gritted teeth.
He really did smirk then. “Okay. Oh, except for that big drop there…” he said. Of course I gasped and squirmed to tried to see (I couldn’t), but had no idea if I really was hanging there with blood pouring out of my vagina.
And then I realized that it didn’t matter anyway. What could I do about it if there was? I was helpless.
Just like I wanted to be.
He continued to take some pictures, even taking some with my cellphone for my Twitterfeed. No exposure for those, thank goodness. He preserved my modesty by covering up the naked bits–and presumably any blood–with my robe.
And then he climbed up on the bed and stood in front of me. “I’ve never fucked you in a suspension before, have I?” he asked.
I shook my head, but I wasn’t thinking about the suspension. I was thinking about being bloody, and making a mess…and knowing I couldn’t do a thing to change it. But when he did it, as he pushed his way past my rings and my protests, as he shoved me against the wall and spread my cuntlips with the head of his cock, suddenly I didn’t care about that, either. I just wanted him inside me, fucking me, like he always did. I stopped thinking about being a mess and gave myself over to the moment, to him. For the first time ever I wanted to be fucked while I was on my period.
Or at least he made me forget that I didn’t want to be fucked.
After I came, though, clinging to him, I could feel the slide of fluid following his cock as he pulled out of me, and memory returned. I could feel how open and swollen my pussy was, a wet, hungry mouth greedy and gasping for more, and I was ashamed.
I shuddered as he lifted the camera again, knowing what he was taking a picture of. Knowing it was deliberate. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
I thought I got smart the next time we played.
Again he tied me up naked, with my legs spread. This time, however, I had inserted a tampon. I thought I was clever. What I didn’t realize was that although I’d thought I’d tucked the string up inside myself where it couldn’t be seen, it had come out. I didn’t know what he was about when he knelt down next to me on the floor. When he reached a hand out toward my crotch I flinched and tried to pull away. Did he not realize I had a tampon in? He couldn’t want to…touch…it, could he? What if he did?? But just as casual as you please, he reached between my legs tucked the string back in. Tucked and shoved and thrust his fingers against the tampon, pushing it deeper inside me, while I sat there, mute with humiliation, unable to stop him. His very matter-of-factness was more embarrassing than the actual doing of it, I think, or maybe that’s just because I forced myself not to think of it while he was doing it (“close your eyes and think of England.”) He fixed it, and continued what he was doing, and it was only later, upon seeing the pictures before he had tucked the string back in, that I even remembered him doing it. It was like I had blocked the memory from my mind.
(And now I am remembering the first time my ex and I ever played with someone else. It was a “mentoring” experience. I was (surprise!) on my period that time too, and had a tampon in then too. A friend was showing him the “ropes” so to speak, on me. I was tied face down on a sawhorse, my legs around the body of it, my ass exposed to them both, but felt little anxiety about being on my period, or having this relative stranger in that “area” during such a sensitive time, as I had on a thong and felt very “safe.” Suddenly they were pulling my thong aside, which revealed my (gaping I am sure, I was quite excited) pussy. “What do we have here?” asked the other Dominant, tugging gently in the string. I gasped and buried my head against my arm. He turned to my ex. “Can I pull it out?” My ex said “Sure!” and before I could protest, or maybe while I was, the other Top did just that. I still to this day do not know if either of them knew how humiliating that was to me. I never brought it up after because I was too embarrassed. And yet…even then…that embarrassment was a trigger for excitement. And it is an incident that I will never forget.)
Fast forward to late the next evening. That day he had taken me upstairs, tied me down on the floor, and, holding my head still between his feet, whipped me. It was a powerful scene, both physically and mentally: he had tied me down but he used his body, hands and feet to shove me around and pin me, all the while whipping me with floggers, a singletail, canes and paddles. It felt almost like a punishment scene: tied face down, my arms stretched out to either side, and him physically restraining me with his body was a heady mixture of mental and physical methods to beat me down and subjugate me. He had had plans for another beating, but when it came time, I asked instead for some quiet time with him on the couch. It hadn’t been the most brutal weekend we’d ever spent, but physical brutality is not the only thing I respond to, and I was exhausted, physically, emotionally and mentally. He granted my request and we lay on the couch for awhile, just being still together.
And all I could think of was that I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him to come inside me, something he hadn’t done all weekend. I wanted to feel that moment when he lost control and gave in to his body’s demand to release himself into me, just once, before he left for the month.
I lay there in his lap, knowing that he while he probably would fuck me later, I wanted him to know that, at last, I wanted him bad enough to override my own instinctual resistance.
“Please,” I said, barely able to choke the words out, and stopping and starting several times, “please will you fuck me? Even though…” My voice dropped to a whisper. “…it’ll be messy.”
He granted that request as well.
He always knows just the right note, just the right spin to put on things. I had expected to somehow be in control of the situation. I’d asked, right? Now I would get to choose how and when…
Not a chance. I didn’t get to take a nice warm bath and clean myself as thoroughly as possible beforehand. I didn’t get to lay out a towel to lay on and have a cloth nearby. I didn’t get to choose anything. He stood me up right there and told me to lean over the cage (which was still in the living room from play Saturday morning) with my legs spread. I must have hesitated, or made some small sound of protest, because he grabbed me roughly and yanked me over to the end of the cage and shoved me face down over it.
Then he leaned against my backside and told me to get him hard and put his cock in my ass.
I was shaking so hard and was so nervous and tight at the thought of him fucking me on my period that I could barely get him inside me, but I don’t think an ass-fucking was the point anyway. After a few minutes of me trying, and only barely getting the head of his cock inside me, he pulled away and told me to put his cock in my cunt.
With only a momentary hesitation, I did.
(And yep, before all the safety police shout about going from ass to vag, I’m well aware of the health risks involved, as he is. Sometimes, the risk is worth it.)
He leaned over me as I opened myself to him, as I guided him into my dirty, bloody hole, and told me how he was going to fuck me, any time, anywhere. In my ass dry, in my cunt bloody, anyway he chose. He whispered a story in my ear about leaning me over the bar during the cruise we are going on and inviting men to fuck me as I lay there, face down, unable to see who was behind me. They would just use me, a hole, open and wet, and then pass by. Just as he was using me. And–god help me–I envisioned his cock, wet with my juices and my blood, sliding in and out of me, and then theirs’, these anonymous men, his slime, his come, mixing with theirs, dripping down between my thighs in pink rivulets.
It was that image that pushed me over the edge, and I screamed as I came, clutching the bars of the cage, trying to keep myself upright as he slammed against me, harder and harder, until finally he came himself, shuddering against me, his breathing harsh in my ears.
The feel of his cock as it softened and slid out of me, slick with his come and my blood, was one of the most sensuous and erotic feelings I have ever experienced.
(This post, while not written specifically for it, meets the requirements of the first task on my “Task List” that W has created for me to accomplish while he is gone. This is a new game for us, and one that I will be sharing with you all as the month goes on (at least in part.) I’ll talk more about the game in a subsequent post.)