A Little Blood Never Hurt Anyone

Blood and hell.

I sat, surly and silent by the window, plugged into my iPod, watching Long Island roll past.  I was hung over and premenstrual; dumped and depressed, and I had zero desire to be on that train.  Across from me, the Three Amigos drank bad beer out of cans and loudly goofed around with a stack of comic books and graphic novels, while in the seat next to me, Cecile was typing away into her laptop.  It had been a shitty old week.

Typical New York springtime: it was bleak and grey and unreasonably cold, and squalls of rain periodically lashed the train windows.  Liz had broken off our thing, whatever our thing had been, over the phone the night before.

My head hurt.  I felt bloated and nauseous.  I was crabby and crampy and felt like I was sweating whiskey.  A corporate retreat?  For fucking real?  Was this really my life?

Cecile was an ok manager, I guess.  By that I mean she mostly stayed out of our way and let us do our thing.  She did, of course, all the usual annoying managerial things:  scheduling boring pointless meetings, posting obnoxious motivational posters, sending redundant emails, and setting up mandatory weekend corporate retreats.

As a manager, Cecile may have been relatively inoffensive.  As a female, on the other hand, she was absolutely fucking gorgeous.  She was tall and slender, with perky boobs and short ash-blonde hair and flashing dark brown eyes, and strong cheekbones and an ass that was utterly gorgeous to behold. We all four had big fat crushes on her, the whole IT department: me and the Three Amigos.  Well, maybe in my case at least, ‘crush’ wasn’t exactly the right word.  More like a perverse case of deeply carnal lust.

That afternoon on the train, she was wearing a low-cut black blouse through which I could almost make out her nipples, and pair of ass-hugging pinstriped black slacks that emphasized the shapely curves of her rear-end.  When she leaned forward, I caught a glimpse of her underwear disappearing below the waistband of her slacks.  She was wearing a black g-string.  Ye Gods, butt-floss… How trashy!  How I would love to let my tongue explore those curves, every inch of those exquisite curves.  I bet she tasted a little like honey.  As the train clacked and rolled through the flatlands of Long Island, I once again marveled at my ability to be an utter horn-dog in the midst of black depression and premenstrual discomfort.

Whatever equilibrium I had found in my life had now come completely undone.  Liz and I had been not-exactly a couple for nearly six months, and now whatever we had been was over.  Just last week I’d gotten a job offer at a startup out in Seattle, with a salary that was a full order of magnitude higher than anything I’d ever made in my life: all that was required was that I drop everything and move across the country and start the job immediately.  I was drinking too much, my maybe-girlfriend was now officially my ex, my period was running late and my ovaries were kicking me in the small of the back.

All I had wanted to do this weekend was to stay home, drink excessively, watch porn, masturbate a lot, and feel sorry for myself.  Cecile had sprung this corporate retreat on us.  “It’ll be a great team-building experience.  We’ll have fun!”

Uh-huh.  It was still spitting rain when we got off the train, and crowded into a taxi which took us through bleak and deserted streets to a looming and ominous grey beach house that looked like the set for a teeny bopper horror flick.

Cecile had brought wine in a box.  We ordered pizza and huddled in a little circle in the enormous draughty living room gobbling and guzzling.  My spirits rose incrementally.  Cecile wanted to do team-building exercises, but the Amigos (Ron, Tim and Marty) had brought along a Wii, and she was heartily voted down.  Cecile put up only a half-hearted resistance before joining in.  A couple of times during the evening, I thought I caught her giving me a look.  I went to bed late, half-drunk, with a full stomach, a cranky pussy, and a heart full of lust.

The weather was even worse the next day.  Wind and rain whipped the dunes and rattled the windows and churned up the surf.  I got my period overnight, and was bleeding like a ruptured aorta.  My body heaved a huge sigh of relief.

We all had breakfast together at a little diner full of sour-faced fishermen, old people, and canned 1980s pop music.  The boys had heard tell of a video-game arcade on the boardwalk that was supposedly open, and they braved the raging tempest to go investigate.  Cecile and I returned to the house.

“Is it true what they say about you?  That you like girls?”  She was standing way too close to me for comfort.

Well, duh.  It’s not like I made any secret of it.  And I also knew for a fact that Cecile was dating, and was practically engaged to some investment banker guy.  This didn’t stop me one instant from falling across her lap on the disreputable old beige couch, and planting a kiss right on her lips.  She responded immediately, aggressively kissing me back with her soft full lips, invading my mouth with her eager tongue

Together, our rushed, fumbling fingers managed to unbutton her white blouse and to remove her frilly white bra.  Her breasts were smaller than mine, and much more perfect: snowy white half-globes like ripe peaches, with upturned little pale pink nipples.  The nipples were really tiny, almost like boy nipples, and they were all turned-on and erect; the areolae around them were pink and puffy.

I kissed her all over her face and neck, working my way down to her collarbones, her spine, her scapula, her sternum.  Cecile was highly appreciative, squirming and moaning in response to my licks and kisses.  Then I finally got around to lavishing attention on her beautiful tits and sucking on her nipples.

She let me play for a little while, my mouth full of the most gorgeous titty I had ever had the pleasure of sucking on, my hand rubbing her inner thighs and hot pussy through her black slacks.  Then she gently pushed me away.

“I want to see you naked” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Those eyes seemed to bore holes right through me.  Feeling slightly self-conscious, I peeled my own t-shirt off over my head and unsnapped my bra.  Cecile grinned slightly at the sight of my naked breasts.  I shrugged off my jeans, leaving my panties –nothing fancy, just basic white panties- on for now.  The grin on her face got wider.

“God, I want you” she said, stretching languidly on the beige couch like a cat.

I dove right in, attacking her with kisses, nibbles, and licks as I struggled to get her pants down.  Underneath her charcoal-grey slacks, she was wearing a forest-green thong that was so skimpy it was barely even there.  I could feel the heat of her excitement.  I tugged the thong out of the way, and with a flick of her ankle she sent it flying.

Her legs spread wide, inviting me in.  She had one of those ‘exclamation-point’ pussies, straight out of Penthouse Magazine: a neatly trimmed little brown landing strip.  Plump lips surrounded delicate labia which were peeking eagerly out.  She was highly excited, her juiciness attested to that.  One lick separated her inner lips, exposing her swollen clitoris.  Her taste was an incredible aphrodisiac to me.  I was right, she did taste a little bit like honey.

It didn’t take much licking to bring her off.  Just dragging my tongue up and down her wet pussy, caressing her eager clit sent her right off on me.  She came loud and hard, bucking against my slippery face and wrapping her long legs around my head.  I kept on licking.

I’m not sure exactly how many times she came.  Three at least.  Probably more.  It was hard to tell where one orgasm stopped and another began.  At one point I was fucking her pussy with three fingers while I admired her naked, sweaty, quivering body.  Her stomach was flat and toned, she must work out a ton, and every time she came, her abdominal muscles went tense and she lifted her ass up off the couch.  I slid one finger between her heavenly butt-cheeks, seeking out her secret little rosebud-

“No, not the anal thing!” her eyes flew open and she pulled away, “Do what you were doing before.”

Not the anal thing?  But seriously, that was like half the fun…!  Reluctantly, I retreated from Cecile’s gorgeous ass and concentrated on fucking her hot, juicy pussy with my fingers while I stabbed at her clit with the tip of my tongue.  She came for me once again, squeezing my fingers in her quim, writhing and twisting on the couch.  She was so sexy it was almost painful.  I couldn’t believe how many orgasms she was capable of.  The woman just kept coming!

Panting, I crawled up onto the couch with her, sweaty breast to sweaty breast, kissed her on the mouth.  Her exploring hand wound its way inside my panties, probing.

“It’s my time of the month,” I explained apologetically.  She hastily withdrew her finger.  There was a tiny rose-colored stain on her fingertip.  My cunt was soaking wet.

“The guys will be getting back soon” she said, “We should hurry up and get dressed.  I’ll take care of you some other time, promise.”

Upstairs in the shower, my pussy felt swollen and thick.  The water took forever to run hot.  I stood there in a pool of bloody water straight out of Psycho, wishing I’d brought my vibrator.

Turns out Cecile was right.  While I was still in the shower, the guys came tumbling back in, totally psyched about the vintage video arcade they had just blown about sixty bucks worth of quarters in.  I kind of wished I’d gone with them.

We spent the afternoon doing team-building exercises that were supposed to be ‘fun’.  Me and the Amigos would far rather have been playing D&D.  We were techies, not corporate drones.  Cecile stifled all our attempts to pervert her activities, and assiduously avoided looking me in the eyes all day long.

Dinner was an oddly formal event, second-rate seafood at a third-rate seafood restaurant.  We suffered through a round of drinks while Cecile gave us her prepared pep-talk, and then we all slunk back to the beach house, sullen and damp.  If this was supposed to build morale…

The boys got the Wii fired up and huddled around the tv in the living room with a stock of Fritos and Mountain Dew.  I would have joined them, but I was too tired and fed up.  Cecile and I went upstairs to our bedrooms.  Our own separate bedrooms.

I lay there for a long time, unable to sleep, brooding, cramping.  My girl parts were all tied up in knots.  Sometimes orgasms would help, but when I tried to masturbate, I just couldn’t get into the groove.  Outside, the weather, which had been crappy all day, was getting worse.  The rain lashed the windows and the wind seemed to shake the bones of the house.  Behind the noise of the storm, I heard or felt the beat of the wind-lashed waves pounding on the beach.  I got up out of bed and padded down the hall.

I stopped in front of Cecile’s room.  Light leaked out from the crack under the door.  Standing still, listening for a moment, I could hear the familiar distinct hum of a battery-powered vibrator.  I hesitated, considered knocking lightly and letting myself in, and then thought better of it.  I continued on down the hall to the stairs.

The Amigos were still clustered around the tv set in the living room, raucously playing Wii like a troop of baboons.

Outside, the night was wild.  My night clothes: a pair of red flannel boxers and a Princess Leia t-shirt, were instantly soaked, clinging wetly to my skin.  My hair blew wild in the wind, like the rent sails of a ship lost at sea.  It was exhilarating.

Down past the dunes, onto the beach itself, the surf was pounding wildly onto the beach, beating the sand.  I don’t know how high the breakers were, six, eight, ten feet?  The frothy foam seemed to glow slightly in the dark of the night.

A momentary break in the flying clouds revealed the moon low over the horizon, perfectly full, round and heavy, casting its light across the storm-churned ocean and the beach.  In the soft light of the moon, I saw a figure down by the edge of the sea.

She was a selkie, a water sprite, and she was playing naked in the breaking surf.  Her hair was twisted up in dreadlocks, and her ears were pierced with large spiral forms.  She was a tiny slip of a thing, well-muscled with long arms and legs that splayed out as she leapt and spun.  Her breasts were small and firm and bounced as she ran.  Her ass was pale and nicely shaped and jiggly, with a small tattoo on one cheek that I couldn’t quite make out.  A lush brown triangle of pubic hair sprouted from between her legs.  She would tease the waves, running out as far as she dared, then darting back to the beach as the foam hissed angrily around her ankles and calves.

Mesmerized, I peeled my wet clothes off my body.  The wind snatched the shorts and t-shirt from out of my hand and sent them reeling away into the darkness.  Naked, I made my way down to the water’s edge.

When she saw me, she came running over.  She was beautiful: petite and lithe, all toned muscles and feminine curves, and a smile that flashed in the gloaming light.

She took my hand, and together we ran along the beach, in the firm wet sand.  Our footprints were quickly erased by the bubbling surf that foamed up over our feet and ankles.

I’m not sure how far we went, but it was a good long while.  We shrieked and giggled like little girls when the waves threatened to catch up with us; we danced in the wind and rain like a couple of pagans.

We ended up at a boat launch, where in calm weather people would back their boat trailers down a cement ramp to put them into the water. Near the top of the ramp, just out of reach of the grasping waves was a dilapidated old boathouse.  The door was closed, and there was a padlock in the hasp, but the lock hung open.  The huge pale moon peeked out from behind the clouds again, and she gave me a great, broad smile, opening the door and slipping inside.

The inside was dry and bare, broad naked planks and two canoes and a dinghy up on stands.  She pulled me in after her, and we tumbled onto the wood floor, kissing and touching.

She kissed me fiercely, pulling me close to her cool, naked skin.  Her smallish tits felt hard pressed up against mine.  She had wide, brown areolae, and her nipples were excitedly erect.  She had furry armpits, which I found incongruously erotic.  She wrapped her legs around mine, humping up against my thigh as we made out.  Her hand found my already hard nipple, tweaked it, making it stand out even more than it was already, and then she was reaching down, down, snaking inevitably down toward my horny pussy.

I stopped her, taking her hand in mine.  “I should warn you,” I whispered, “I’m on the rag.”

Her hand did not stop.  “It’s ok,” she whispered back, deftly plucking out my tampon and tossing it aside, “a little blood never hurt anybody.  Besides, I am too.”

It was true.  There was a already a red smear on my thigh where she had been humping my leg.  She guided my hand to her own pussy, and it was wet, really wet.  Really really fucking wet.

We fingered each other’s sopping-wet pussies for a little while, kissing deeply and mashing our bodies close together as we rubbed and probed.  Her hands felt amazing on me, filling me, teasing me, tormenting me.  I felt like I was lying in a puddle of my own making.

I really loved fucking her with my fingers, and I loved the way her body responded.  I loved seeing the mixed blood and come all over my hand.  It looked delightfully, viscerally erotic.  “I want to eat you,” I said, and she grinned wide, disengaging herself from me and rolling over onto her tummy on the wide wooden planks and wiggling her bottom invitingly.  “Go right ahead” she said.

On her left butt-cheek were the twin jagged waves of the zodiac sign for Aquarius.  That was the tattoo I couldn’t make out before.  I cupped her cheeks in my hands, spreading them apart like a juicy ripe peach.

There was soft, curly hair between her legs, slick and wet.  I admired the view from behind for just a moment before diving in, pressing my face into her ass.  Her cute little butthole was absolutely begging to be licked, so I obliged it.  With my face buried in her ass, my tongue probing her sensitive nether hole, I was in heaven, drunk on the strong musky essence of her.  She tasted like the ocean.

My tongue slurped, licked, and explored her pliant asshole while I kept my thumb firmly on her hard little clit.  It gave me great pleasure the way she squirmed and whimpered to my ministrations.  I couldn’t believe how fucking wet she was.  Or how wet I was.  Her various juices were all over my face, and I felt like I was positively dripping!

I felt her raise her ass, pressing urgently back against my face, and I knew she was coming.  Not daring to stop to breath, I doubled my efforts, drilling up her asshole with my curled tongue, moving my thumb across the button of her clitoris like a vibrator.  Her moans turned into cries, the gyrations of her ass became urgent, spasmodic thrusts, humping violently back against me as her stomach heaved and her body bucked and shivered.  She came so loud I was afraid someone would hear and come investigate.  I stayed with her until the very end.

At last, I withdrew my aching tongue from her gasping asshole.  Her pussy sighed with tired delight.  She rolled over with a happy giggle, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and kissed me hard, smashing her lips against mine, invading my mouth with her tongue, playfully biting my lip.

She kissed her way down my body, nibbling on my ears and my neck, planting butterfly kisses all over my breasts, letting her fingertips explore my stomach, my shoulders, my arms, back and thighs.  The she gently spread my thighs apart and dragged the tip of her tongue down from my navel through my pubic patch, and down between my swollen, horny lips.

When she oh-so-softly touched my clit with the tip of her outstretched tongue, I absolutely  melted.  She grinned, and let her tongue explore further south.  Everything she did felt exquisite.  I loved feeling her tongue and her fingers on my sex.  I could see my blood on her face, and rather than feel self conscious about it (as I had in times past), it only made me hornier.

She fucked me, hard and deep.  I felt her insert fingers into my cunt, how many I could only guess, and then insistent fingers penetrated my asshole, stretching me deliciously.  She had her way with me, fucking me, pounding me from the front and behind.  I let my body surrender to her.  I wanted more, and I wanted harder, and she gave it to me.

With my asshole and my cunt stuffed full of her long, clever fingers, she once again applied that talented tongue of hers to my swollen, distended clit.  All the tension that had been building in me, the frustrating sex and masturbation, the period cramps, the work crap, everything burst out like a dam that had been dynamited.  I exploded all over her face, writhing in glorious agony as I came and came and came, my body shaking, my mind washed over and over in waves of exquisite pleasure.

She held me for a while, and we listened to each others’ heart beat, the sound of the waves, the wind on the boathouse.  I was too happy and content and tired to say anything or move a muscle.

At last she kissed me on the forehead and got up.  She slipped out the door and out into the night.  I lay there for a long time before I realized she wasn’t coming back.

By the time I got up, dawn was threatening to rise in the east, turning the sky a kind of milky grey.  It was a long, light-headed walk back to the beach house.  I was fortunate not to run into any early-morning joggers or fishermen, but the fact was I didn’t really care.

The storm had abated overnight; it was still windy and there were still squalls of rain, but the main fury had blown itself out.

Cecile was up, making coffee in the kitchen.  The look on her face when she saw me let myself into the house; naked, bruised and scratched from the floor of the boathouse, caked in sand and smeared with dry black blood; was indescribable and priceless.  I went upstairs, took a long hot shower, and than slept incredibly hard for about three hours, until it was time to catch the train back to the city.

Back on the LIRR, I sat and listened to my iPod and watched the flat, grey mediocrity of Long Island roll by.  Cecile was sitting across from me, working in her laptop and pointedly ignoring me.  The Amigos had started up a rousing game of Magic: The Gathering, and were completely oblivious to anything else around them.

I wondered who Liz was fucking now.  Some gullible NYU undergrad with big tits and a trust fund?  One of those hipster boys that she used to like to look at with bushy sideburns and skinny black jeans?

I thought about my cramped little apartment with the bathtub in the kitchen.  I remembered my empty refrigerator, and all the whiskey bottles in the recycling.

‘Screw it’, I thought to myself, crossing my legs and savoring the delicate buzzing tenderness down there, ‘I am SO out of here.’



  1. ElsieFanny said

    This is great. I love the period sex, especially the selkie eating your protagonist’s pussy during her colorful time of the month. However, I wish your protagonist hadn’t tasted only the selkie’s asshole. Would her pussy and its regular and monthly flow taste like the ocean too or something else? If a selkie is a supernatural seal-woman, would she taste rich and buttery or like something else?

    By the way, I notice that our sexy girl is on a supernatural streak with the selkie here, Marvella, and the Minotaur in quick succession. Is this coincidence, or a new area of exploration that we will see more of?

    • elsiewrites said

      Was she a supernatural mythic water spirit, or just a hippie chick with an oral fixation? The world will never know….

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