Crimson Rush: Wet & Bleeding Desire

The rain hammered against the windows of the small cabin, a relentless rhythm that mirrored the frantic beat of my own heart. Sunday morning had arrived, bringing with it a lingering dream, a feverish memory of heat and touch, and the unwelcome but undeniably thrilling knowledge that I was experiencing my period. It wasn’t exactly the ideal time for a spontaneous encounter, but the primal urge had taken root, pulling me towards the sleeping form beside me.

He stirred, a low groan escaping his lips as he turned in his sleep. My hand, guided by instinct, found its way to his cock, still partially erect, a dark, velvety curve hinting at the pleasure he was capable of. The sight, coupled with the undeniable arousal surging through me, was enough to snap him awake. His eyes fluttered open, meeting mine with a surprised, then increasingly eager gaze. No words were needed; the unspoken desire hung heavy in the air, thick and intoxicating.

He rolled onto his side, mirroring my position, and we faced each other in the dim, filtered light of the overcast morning. My hand continued its insistent exploration, applying pressure, coaxing a hard, throbbing erection. It was a deliberate act, a silent invitation, and he responded immediately. The heat radiating from his body intensified as he shifted closer, drawing me into the intimacy of the moment.

I began to rub my hand against his shaft, feeling the warm, slick surface beneath my fingertips. Simultaneously, I started to slide my panties down, revealing the pale expanse of my own flesh. The scent of arousal filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the cabin and the lingering scent of pine from the surrounding woods. As my hand continued its work, my lips descended, tracing the contours of his cock, drawing him in with the promise of pleasure. He tensed, eager to submit, to surrender to my touch. A gentle push, and he found himself entering me, a delicious, urgent thrust that sent shivers down my spine.

Three more thrusts followed, each one deeper, more insistent, until we were fully intertwined, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of our bodies. He shifted onto his back, and I instinctively joined him on top, clinging to him, pulling him closer as we settled into a shared, intimate position. The rain continued its relentless assault on the windows, but we were oblivious, lost in the swirling sensations of our bodies.

Then, without a word, I began to move my arse in a sliding motion, rhythmically grinding against his cock. It was a primal act, a release of pent-up tension, and he responded with gusto, grabbing a handful of each buttock. He kneaded them first, a rough, insistent pressure, then transitioned to pushing down and forward, deepening the pleasure. The heat intensified, spreading through my entire body, fueled by his touch. This wasn't going to be a short session; my clitoris was already finding purchase against the base of his cock, enhancing the sensations, driving me closer to the brink.

“Suck my tits,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. As the first rays of sunlight began to peek through the clouds, he moved one hand from my arse to my right breast, claiming it as his own. He took a massive mouthful, pulling me closer, his teeth gently pressing against my nipple. The electric shock of pleasure coursed through me, intensifying every sensation, making me gasp for air. He returned his hand to my arse, delivering a series of small, forceful slaps, further stimulating my pleasure.

I continued my relentless assault, pushing my wet pussy against his cock, increasing the intensity, forcing him deeper inside me, filling him with warmth and heat. The pleasure became overwhelming, a torrent of sensation that threatened to consume me. It was too much, too fast, and I finally succumbed, letting out a loud, joyous shriek that startled even me. The birds outside the window seemed to pause their chirping, as if listening to our shared ecstasy.

After the wave of pleasure subsided, I collapsed onto his chest, clinging to him, seeking the comforting weight of his body. He responded by gently massaging my back, his fingers tracing slow, rhythmic circles, lulling me into a state of blissful relaxation. We basked in the glory of our encounter, lost in the shared experience, until his cock began to recede, signaling the end of our intimate dance.

“No tissues!” he startled, his voice laced with frustration. It was always the same with period sex, the challenge of managing the inevitable mess. We hurried to the kitchen, where a fresh box of tissues awaited, a small measure of order amidst the chaos of our passion.

As we stood there, surrounded by the comforting scent of paper and the remnants of our shared pleasure, I realized something profound. Despite the messy, inconvenient nature of our encounter, the lack of preparation, and the sheer intensity of the experience, it had been utterly perfect. It was a raw, visceral connection, a primal dance of lust and desire that left me breathless and exhilarated. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure, but the feeling of vulnerability, the trust we had placed in each other, that made it so special.

We returned to the cabin, seeking refuge from the rain, and settled back into the comfortable silence of our shared space. The image of our bodies intertwined, lost in the heat of our passion, flashed through my mind, a reminder of the unforgettable experience we had just shared. As I drifted off to sleep, I knew one thing for certain: I would never shy away from the messy, inconvenient truth of period sex again. It was a reminder that pleasure could be found in the most unexpected places, in the most challenging circumstances, and that sometimes, the best moments in life were the ones that left a little bit of chaos in their wake.

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Crimson Rush: Wet & Bleeding Desire

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