Crimson Tide Shower Bliss

The rain hammered against the bathroom window, a frantic percussion accompanying the insistent thrum of my husband’s prostate massager vibrating beneath the sheets. Each pulse sent a shiver through me, a delicious ache blooming in my core. I flung my head back, slamming it against the plaster wall, letting out a guttural groan of frustration. The relentless cycle of my periods had become a torturous expectation, a constant reminder of my body's unpredictable nature. This month felt particularly brutal, stretching on for a grueling nine days, and the thought of enduring another two, maybe even four, filled me with a desperate longing for release.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Rez’s voice, deep and reassuring, cut through the rhythmic vibrations.

“Ugh,” I managed, my voice strained. “Just wish this infernal period would end. I’m so tired of self-pleasure. It’s not the same as the exquisite connection we share. Why do they have to be so long? My body feels like it’s betraying me.”

My cycles were always a beast, a monthly torment that left me drained and emotionally vulnerable. Even in a “normal” month, they’d linger for eight or nine days, casting a shadow over my life. But lately, as I approached the inevitable decline of my reproductive years, my periods had become truly monstrous, sometimes extending to a grueling fourteen days. During these extended periods, I was essentially out of service, a prisoner of my own biology, forced to navigate a world devoid of pleasure, save for the solitary act of self-gratification. Sex, for me, was an act of profound intimacy, a way to transcend the mundane and lose myself in the shared experience with Rez. To deny that need, especially when my body was pushing its limits, felt like a slow, agonizing death.

Rez, ever attuned to my moods and desires, immediately began researching potential solutions. After a few minutes of frantic tapping on his phone, he sent me a link to an article detailing herbal remedies and alternative approaches to managing menstrual length. The suggestions were familiar: raspberry tea, ginger root, and the tantalizing prospect of menstrual sex or masturbation to orgasm.

“These articles all say the same thing,” I sighed, scrolling through the images of vibrant berries and spiky ginger. “Raspberry tea, ginger, and, yes, even more sex might be the answer. But you won't be indulging in our shared pleasure while I'm bleeding.”

Rez paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Who says I won’t?” he challenged, a playful glint in his eyes. “I don't always know what kind of mood you’ll be in when you’re on your period. It’s not always easy to anticipate, and I don't want to bother you when you're not feeling it.”

“Yeah, but what about the mess? Those stains are notoriously difficult to remove, you know,” I pointed out, my frustration mounting. “The pink residue clings to everything, it’s a nightmare to clean up.”

“There’s always the shower,” Rez stated firmly. “Meet me there in ten minutes.” With a quick, lingering kiss, he slipped out of bed, leaving me alone with my discomfort and anticipation.

The cool spray of the shower felt like a benediction as I stripped off my clothes, stepping into the tiled sanctuary. The water cascaded over me, washing away some of the tension in my muscles. Rez was already there, waiting patiently, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of my emotions. We embraced, a familiar ritual of connection and reassurance.

As the warm water enveloped us, a sense of playful abandon took over. We giggled, reminiscing about our first shower together, almost three decades ago. The shared memories, the comfortable silence, helped to soothe the anxieties that gnawed at me. The water, while sensual and warming, did interfere with the viscosity of my arousal. At one point, Rez gently moved the shower head, angling the spray away from our intimate zone.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. He grabbed my shoulders and began pulling me back, increasing the pressure on his cock as it probed my entrance. The sensation was intense, a sharp, electrifying pain that sent shivers down my spine. As the head of his penis entered me, my pussy clenched so hard it threatened to push him back out. The pleasure, though difficult to discern amidst the rhythmic shower, was undeniable. The muscular contraction, the release, the exquisite sensation of penetration – it was a primal, instinctive urge that demanded to be satisfied.

Over and over, Rez brought me to that clenching, squirting state, the shower a constant reminder of the external element disrupting our intimacy. At one point, he handed me the massager head, instructing me to adjust the water pressure and direct it at my clitoris.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he repeated, his voice laced with anticipation. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back even harder, his grip firm and insistent. “Is my little girl going to cum?”

“Oh, I sure hope so,” I replied, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

As he pounded me with relentless force, I clung to his shoulders, letting the water and his thrusts drive me deeper into ecstasy. But as the sensations intensified, I felt a shift, a subtle change in the rhythm of my arousal. Something new, yet strangely familiar, began to stir within me. It felt like a second G-spot, a hidden pleasure point deep within my ass, was being targeted by Rez’s hand.

“Oh, your ass just got so wet inside!” Rez exclaimed, his voice filled with delight. “I think I’m hitting the back of the A-spot!”

I clenched my muscles, bracing myself against the pressure, determined to maintain control. As he continued to penetrate, my body responded instinctively, the rhythm of my spasms intensifying. The sensation was both alien and intensely pleasurable, a reminder of the hidden depths of my own anatomy.

“You came. You came in your ass!” I shouted, my voice hoarse with pleasure. The release was explosive, a torrent of sensations that left me weak and breathless. I stood up, shaking my hips, eager to return the favor.

“Uh-uh,” Rez said, holding me back with a playful smirk. “Let me finish.” He resumed his assault, pushing harder, deeper, his movements fueled by an unbridled desire. The combination of the shower, the clitoral stimulation, and the penetration in my ass was pushing me to the absolute limit. The feeling was overwhelming, both intense and exquisite.

As he softened his grip, he leaned forward, his face inches from mine. “What do you want to do to me?” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin.

“Fuck your ass,” I demanded, my voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, please, yes. Fuck my ass.” The desire was consuming me, a desperate need for release that transcended reason.

Rez paused, considering my plea. “You sure? Right now?” he questioned, his eyes searching mine.

“Oh, yes,” I replied, my voice pleading. “Absolutely. Yes, please. Fucking your ass right now.” The urgency of my desire was palpable, a silent scream for satisfaction.

He stilled for a moment, then steeled himself, resuming his assault with renewed vigor. The sensation of his cock against my ass was both shocking and incredibly pleasurable. The wetness, the pressure, the sheer intensity of the experience – it was all too much to bear. I pushed back against him, adjusting my hips to find the optimal angle, determined to experience every inch of pleasure. A stinging sensation initially, probably due to the unfamiliarity of the situation, quickly morphed into a burning pleasure as he penetrated deeper. At one point, he added a touch of saliva to my crack, enhancing the wetness and intensifying the sensation.

As he reached a crescendo, the water cascading over us created a surreal, almost dreamlike atmosphere. It was a chaotic blend of pleasure and discomfort, intimacy and vulnerability, all playing out under the relentless shower.

Finally, as he slipped out, I stood up, shaking my hips and letting out a triumphant cry. “So… anal orgasms are a real thing!” I exclaimed, turning to Rez, a mixture of relief and exhilaration in my eyes. “You know, this was a much better experience than masturbating. You can keep doing that, but we should definitely make time for this again.”

We kissed passionately, savoring the lingering pleasure and the shared experience. As the rain continued to fall, washing away the remnants of our encounter, I knew that our bodies were inextricably linked, bound by the shared desire for intimacy and pleasure. The next day, Rez went to the grocery store and bought me raspberry tea and ginger capsules, determined to minimize the inconvenience of my next period. Even with the planned breaks, I knew that we'd need to find ways to keep the fire burning, to continue exploring the depths of our shared pleasure.

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