I was feeling very randy, despite having a collection of very good reasons not to.
The day before, my partner and I had driven to a nearby city so I could attend a job interview. This was during my period, which always wrings me out. I had gotten up earlier than I would have liked, and the drive was about 2½ hours one way. Ordinarily I would have dozed while he drove (as I almost always do), but it seemed unwise or at least undisciplined to snooze on the way to be judged on my suitability to be an employee. I’d started to fret mildly during the drive, so I’m not sure that I could have gotten any rest anyway. On arrival, we stopped for a quick lunch and then I went to my interview. One of the interviewers had asked me almost two hours’ worth of questions, during which time the other had written copious notes and nodded occasionally, which I’d taken as a good sign. Afterwards, my throat had been sore and I was more wrecked than I’d realized. We had immediately gotten back in the car for the return trip, the day had turned sunny and bright and squint-inducing, and I was happy to doze most of the way back. That evening had been a write-off.
As I woke up the next morning, I was already feeling a bit warm, as often happens now, and was in a mood to play. I started out by licking and sucking him until he was gloriously hard and wanted a fuck.
Previously, my habit had been not to have sex during my period — but, to be fair, my habit had been not to have sex at most other times too. These days, we’re in uncharted territory. My cramps aren’t eased by masturbation, and they made the idea of sex seem not fun. But what if I wasn’t actively crampy? I was about to find out.
I arranged the pillow and the bedroom towel, and we had the fuck we both wanted.
It was still fairly early in the morning and there was lots of stuff I wanted to get done that day. I went about my routine as best I could, but as the day wore on I found I didn’t really get anything done: I forgot what I wanted to do, my brain felt scrambled, and my emotions were off. From time to time, I found myself taking a little gasp as a small pocket of desire bubbled up from somewhere and made itself known.
Did I waste the day by reading hot stories, or was I reading hot stories because the day was already a waste? Was I upset because I didn’t get anything done, or did I not get anything done because I was already upset? I didn’t know what to do with myself and I felt overwhelmed with all the things I hadn’t done and couldn’t remember anyway. I think I was still over-tired, as well as wrung out emotionally.
Everything was a mess — the day, my to-do list, my emotions — and I burst into tears. Talking through things with my partner, one thing became clear to me: I really wanted another fuck. A really hard fuck.
We started by working out some details about non-fuck related things, I suppose so they wouldn’t distract me. And then he told me to go to the bedroom and take off my clothes.
I don’t know if it was because he wasn’t as hard as he could have been or because my cunt felt like a bottomless pit of want, but he gave me the hardest pounding I’ve had and I still wanted more, more, more. It never felt like too much; that surprised me a little.
When it was my turn to get off, the orgasm was good and yet I still wanted more, though neither of us were sufficiently motivated to do anything about it. It evened out my mood for the rest of the day, even if I wasn’t entirely satisfied…