Cruor

As she fell through the front door she could feel the paranoia in the back of her mind, tapping at her insecurities; she was certain she had left it too long. Now in the privacy of her own home Milly slowed down, breathing as she slipped her coat off and stepped out of her shoes. The zip of her skirt screamed quietly and then she was sliding the garment down over her thighs, letting it fall to the floor as she walked, already halfway to the bathroom. Pacing across her bedroom she pulled off her jacket and threw it on the bed, before slipping one hand between her thighs and feeling her damp tights.

“Shit,” she hissed through her teeth.

Sure enough, her hand came up red, the gusset of her panties and her tights soaked with blood. She frowned to herself, feeling sure at her age, after almost twenty years of periods, that she should know when it was time to switch tampons, that rushing home was not possible at 5pm in a city like London, that pristine, white panties weren’t a good idea at this time of the month. Glancing at her hand she stopped for a moment; wash it first, then undress? Or, well, was there any point? She shook the hazy, unprepared thoughts from her head and realised the situation was only going to get worse.

Perched on the edge of the bathtub, Milly peeled the nylon away from her thighs and felt it cling around the edges of her saturated panties. Rolling them off over her feet, she let them fall to the floor and felt irritated by the red marks they left on the white tiles of her bathroom. She stood and immediately regretted it, feeling her body shift, a tiny release in her lower abdomen that, despite the tampon she had inserted some three hours earlier, sent trickles of blood down her inner thighs, fast, like rain on a car window. She gasped and stepped quickly into the large bathtub. Clasping her hands between her thighs, she arched her back over, looking down, mesmerised by the blood as it stained her skin, and ran into the bath, crimson against the white. She meant to wash but for a moment she just stood, her dark curls falling around her face, in her line of vision, as she watched cream skin and white porcelain and red blood swim into view. Like Snow White’s mother watching drops of blood in the snow against an ebony frame. Milly smiled at the poetry of her femaleness.

“Woah…”

Milly’s head snapped up, her face wide with horror as her eyes focused on Sam, standing in the doorway. She felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. She quickly removed her hands from between her legs and then regretted it as she struggled to find a place for her now blood-soaked hands.

“Sorry hun! I had to rush home from work and I, well, I just forgot, to, uh…” She stumbled to find the right words to explain her situation. In her higher mind she knew she shouldn’t have to explain herself, that the men of the world ought to be able to handle the truth of their lovers’ bodies. But she had lived in this society for almost thirty years and it’s influence was not lost on her. She stood in the bathtub, dark curls loose around her horrified expression, her white blouse pulled up slightly to reveal the full glory of her white panties with their crimson gusset, her thighs lined with blood. Sam was a sensible man: loyal, kind, caring; she trusted and loved him enough to have handed over a set of keys. But she was all too aware of just how bloody a scene she had created.

Finally she found her voice, clear and rational. “I’m just going to have a shower. I’ll be right out.”

But he didn’t move. His eyes travelled over her body, taking in her pulled-together expression, and her half-dressed state, and the heated liquid that poured over her skin. And Milly realised, slowly, that the look in his eyes was not one of disgust or discomfort, but desire. She blinked, unsure of what to do.

Sam finally stepped into the room. He came to her, reaching one hand out towards her, cupping it up between her thighs to touch the sodden fabric of her underwear. Milly held her breath, hardly able to believe his actions, even as she felt his fingers pressing into her through the material. After a moment of holding her there like that, all her essence in his palm, her removed his fingers and looked at them, seemingly lost in the way her blood pooled in the lines of his skin.

His voice was breathy as he growled, “Fuck…”

Looking up at her, his eyes were dark and still she couldn’t breathe until suddenly his bloody hand grabbed her, staining her white shirt as he pulled her down to meet his urgent, hungry kiss. Their lips met and bit into one another as he moved his hand up into her hair, the pink-red stains increasing moment by moment. Milly felt unsure of herself. Her hands moved automatically, reaching down to unbuckle his belt, to tug down his trousers and his boxers in one go. Sam shrugged off his shirt as he stepped out of his clothes, carefully leaving his socks too, and into the bathtub with Milly, his cock stiffening between them as they pressed their bodies into one another.

His ruddy fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, finally opening it up and pulling it off her shoulders, casting it aside and taking her lips in his as he snapped the clasp of her bra open. The head of his cock pushed against the soaked, red cotton of her panties and he moaned harder, deeper in his throat.

Gasping, Sam pulled away, their lips parting wetly, and looked down between them. Her blood was on his feet and he reached between her thighs again, his fingers snatching at the material as it clung to her skin. This time he pulled them away, tugging her underwear down by the gusset, and kneeling before her to let her step out of them. They lay screwed up, immediately forgotten, between her feet, as he looked at her cunt. Bloody, slick, glistening, Sam parted the rosy folds of her and, using one finger, found the sodden string of her tampon. Milly gasped, still uncertain even as her gaze met Sam’s. He pulled a little and she felt the cotton give inside her, tugging against the walls of her cunt. More blood trickled from between her labia, and then he pulled harder, and she felt the stopper of her cunt pulled from inside her, slipping into his fingers. Like her panties it was soon discarded on the porcelain.

And then Milly truly felt surprise and shock move through her body, from her cunt, spreading up into her abdomen and deep into her bones as Sam placed his hands on her ass, as he had done so many times before, and drew her to his mouth, tracing the lips of her pussy with the very tip of his tongue before he sank deeper, taking her wetness, her blood, all the mess of her gender, into his mouth, sucking her, drinking her. She could feel the stubble of his beard against the soft, silken skin there, between her legs, soaking her up. The pleasure was intense; deep where the shock had gone, rippling through her flesh as he pushed two fingers inside her wetness, filling her, stopping the blood, a little, as the rest ran down his wrist. His rough tongue flicked across the swollen nub of her clit, his fingers filling her, pulsing.

He stood again, dragging his mouth from her lips and up to look into her eyes.

Milly frowned, looked at the blood around his mouth, almost uncomfortable with the arousal she felt as her blood stained his chin. He saw her expression, her uncertainty, and dipping two fingers into her cunt, brought them to her lips and smeared their colour there.

A tentative tongue slipped from her mouth and twisted to taste the iron redness of her blood. Sam smiled and kissed her again. Hard and fast. And then Milly was being turned, her hands placed on the bathroom wall, her legs parted by his strong palms, her entire body malleable to his touch.

Milly felt the hot press of his dick against her bloodied cunt, Sam’s hands on her hips, holding her in place as he pushed slowly inside her, watching his cock disappear, enveloped by the red wetness of her sex. He groaned, his males noises in his throat, guttural and carnal, as she moaned, her voice rising in the room, and he began to fuck her soaked cunt. The sounds echoed in the room, wet and intimate as they fucked. Milly felt Sam swelling inside her, more aroused than he had been for a long time. This break in their delicious, but unvaried sexual repertoire had fired something inside him, and she felt it as she moved faster against her, his fingers digging into her hips as he pounded deeper.

Since the moment he had stepped into the bathroom, Sam had worn an expression of awe, of dreaminess, as though his whole world had opened up to greater possibility. Milly had stood so beautifully there, clasping the most innate example of her femaleness in handfuls between her legs. And all he wanted was what he saw now, the view of her white buttocks above where their bodies met, his groin against her arse, their bloodied pubic hair matted around the place where his cock moved in and out of her welcoming cunt.

It was more than he could take. Leaning forward, he pressed the full length of his body against hers, burying his face in the back of her neck, in the curls of her dark hair, he groaned, grunted, and erupted inside her pulsing cunt, filling her, pumping into her. She could feel the sticky heat of his seed mixing with the thinner, liquid blood inside her, and she felt him pull back slowly, his cock still hard, soaked in the pink, white and red of their mixed bodies, their mixed wetness. Milly turned and looked down at him and knew, without being asked, what he wanted.

Kneeling in the bathtub, she took his cock between her lips and tasted them, allowing him to smear blood and come across her mouth, licking his skin, smelling saltiness and metal. It was dirty and primal, and more intimate than she could ever have imagined. Holding his softening dick in her palm she looked up at him and half smiled, tired with lust. Adoring eyes gazed back at her.

“You look good with bloodstained lips.”