Masturbation Monday,  Short Fiction

Of Course

She’s moving between my legs, dragging hot kisses down my thighs, her eyes peeking over my mound, eyebrows waggling. “Ugh, you don’t need to do this … I can’t believe you want to …” I’m cut short as her thumbs splay my cunt open and her lips latch onto my tender clitoris. I yelp and the pleasure of her mouth floods my body and I can’t stop her, I don’t want her to stop. She nibbles daintily, flat firm tongue following. I sink back into the sofa and push her hair back so I can see her angelic face, eyes closed with determination, mouth soft and pliant, moving around my vulva with an accuracy and intensity that makes me hold my breath. “It’s going to be messy …” The earnest way she’s eating at me makes me anxious. I know any second it’s going to look like a horror film. I feel my body tensing and a flutter of panic coiling up from my stomach through my chest to my throat. I don’t want her to stop but every cell in my body is screaming with shame and worry. When she pulls away from my crotch I wince and gaze at her face, eyes thick with desire, her full lips and rounded chin are slick with blood and she smiles as her tongue slips out and back in again. She licks her lips demurely and smiles.

”I don’t mind it, I actually kind of like it.” Her words are potent and they slide from her bloodstained mouth like honey. My only response is to moan and reach for her face to pull it in between my legs again. The wetness of the blood and the wetness of my arousal are impossible to differentiate but every move of her hands and mouth is smooth and frictionless. She glides up and down my inner lips, pushing her lips and tongue into me, sticky fingers pinching and kneading my greedy clit. I’m trusting that I’m not soiling the cushions of the sofa but I’m too strung out on pleasure to check or care. Besides, her hungry lapping is thorough, she’s drinking from my cunt as if she’s dying of thirst and it’s the hottest thing. I watch her, eyes closed, face glossy with my period and I feel my orgasm swelling inside me, rolling through me. Her fingers dig into by thighs as she bears down on my swollen vulva, her lips sealing around my clit, sucking furiously and battering it with the tip of her tongue. It’s ecstatic and explosive.

Despite my writhing and gasping, she holds me in place masterfully and gives me everything I asked for and more. She’s a good girl and she knows it, her smile beaming as she backs off and strokes my breasts and belly as she watches me twitch and come down. She leaves the room and returns with a steaming, damp washcloth, her face wiped clean. She tenderly mops up the mess we’ve made and settles between my legs again, her cheek to my stomach, her fingers idly tracing circles around my nipples. I want to thank her but that feels weird, too formal. I want to express the gratitude I feel though, such pleasure in such circumstances feels significant. I don’t have the words and I don’t want to rupture the peace of the moment so I run my fingers through her hair, scratching gently at the nape of her neck and whisper “Thank you for your acceptance.” because it feels poignant and honest and I feel the hot prick of tears in my eyes. Her response is to gently cup her hand between my legs and sigh, closing her eyes, lips lightly meeting the pale softness of my belly as she exhales two words: of course.

Menstruation Matters

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