Scarlet men tell us their sauciest stories. Steve has a passion for blood. Period
My ex-girlfriend was really beautiful. All my friends couldn’t believe I was with her; I’m kind of bookish and ordinary. Suranne turned the heads of men and women everywhere we went. She was a dancer, with exactly the kind of lean body and glamorous grace that implies. She used to be away a lot, performing on cruise ships and at corporate gigs. I guess that drove us apart in the end – she wasn’t home for weeks at a time. But when I fantasise I usually remember one particular incident.
It was after one of her trips away. She’d been gone three weeks and I’d really missed her. I met her at the door, took her bags and kissed her lightly. I led her into the living room, pausing only, as always, to thank my lucky stars that I’d done something good enough in a previous life to land me a woman like Suranne in this one.
It was late, nearly midnight, and I could see she was tired, but she insisted she wanted to sit and relax with me before she went to bed.
“I’m too strung out from travelling,” she said. I smiled, hoping she meant to calm down with hot sex or even just a long make-out session. But in the living room, when I sat on the sofa she took up a spot she loved on the rug by the fireplace. I patted the seat next to me but she shook her head and switched on the TV, and then, finding nothing to watch, pressed the mute button and tossed the remote control aside. So I satisfied myself just watching her. I love to watch her and at that moment I felt like my eyes were starving for her.
She lay down on her back on the rug. Her tits were half spilling out of the low V-neck of the black T-shirt she was wearing. She stretched once, smiling at me, put her arms up and back behind her head and fell asleep, stretched out on the hearth rug, exactly like a dog. As the hours passed, 1am, 2am, I found I was reading less and less and gazing at Suranne more and more. She was displayed like a work of art, as usual. The tiny black PVC mini she wore was riding further up her thighs every time she stirred, and her beautiful long black hair was fanned out perfectly across the floor. It was certainly true that Suranne was an exhibitionist; I’m not exactly sure whether or not I’m voyeur. Not in the strictest sense, I’m certain of that, as I really couldn’t imagine getting this much pleasure from gazing at anyone other than her. Perhaps it was simply that Suranne, with all her luminous charisma, had the power to make anyone around her into a voyeur.
I watched as one of Suranne’s nylon-glazed legs grazed across the other, making a soft sound that caused the short hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. She sighed languidly then flicked her pink tongue briefly over her bottom lip, leaving a glistening wetness so overtly sexual and reminiscent of another part of her body, pink and wet, that it made my breath catch in my throat. I wanted her so much. My cock was hard and tight. I was suddenly overwhelmed with how long it had been and how much I wanted to touch her and taste her. I dropped onto the rug. Suranne sighed and stretched her arms out over her head. Her eyes flickered open and she looked at me for a moment or two.
“What are you doing?” she said, very softly.
“Please,” I said. She didn’t speak – she just nodded towards the calendar on the mantelpiece. I looked up. Today’s date – like the five following it – was ringed in red.
“I don’t care,” I said. And as I spoke I realised I didn’t just not care Suranne was having her period – I positively relished the thought. The scent of her blood was filling my senses now; I couldn’t understand for the life of me how I had missed it before. And as soon as my way was clear I pushed my face roughly between Suranne’s thighs, making her buck and gasp with the sudden intensity of it. But I barely noticed.
“It’s so nice to know you’re pleased to see me,” said the elegant voice above my head, gently. But I didn’t really notice that either. All I really noticed was my mouth and nose filling with my lover’s blood. My tongue nudged at her clit, turning circles around it. She yelled out and swatted at me when I put a little too much pressure on her most sensitive part, but I ignored her. I was drinking her in. I slid up and down the groove of her c**t, over and over. I pushed my tongue right into her hot wet bloody hole. I fucked her with my tongue until she begged for my fingers inside her. Then I fucked her again. Three fingers then four, my thumb working with my tongue on her clit.
“More,” she said. Her fists were drumming on the floor. I echoed her words with my actions. More. I pulled my thumb back. I twisted my wrist and pushed my entire fist into her. She screamed. She was coming. I could feel her blood covering my hand. I don’t know why the idea of her period turned me on so much, but it did. And to this day it still does. I always come so hard when I think about her like this. Thinking about how it felt to let my tongue twist over her blood-slicked clit as she came and came in my mouth.
