“It’s started again,” Susan realized, her emotions flickering between lust and disgust. There’s something about that time of month — She knew that some women abstained from sex entirely, but she was the opposite. For her, it was a feeling that could only be purged in the most extreme ways.

She was beyond trying to understand the need; all she cared about was the release. What about those books like The Story of O? Who can explain wanting to be whipped? If such episodes bring some temporary peace, so be it. Susan was an attractive blonde with a good figure and a nice face. Normally, the thought of anyone degrading her was not a turn-on. But at that time of month, it all changed.

She had always felt awkward about her period, hating the inability to control her emotions and her horniness, but somehow the more she loathed that “natural” disruption in her life, the more unnatural her needs became. If love’s opposite is hate, then it seems that lust’s catalyst must be self-doubt.

She speed-dialed Simon. Their relationship was neither boyfriend and girlfriend nor therapist and patient. It wasn’t even like “going steady.” They only met for a few nights a month.

“Ah, Susan,” he said, caller ID giving her away, “shall we make it tomorrow night?”

“Not tonight?”

“Tomorrow night will be better for us both, don’t you think? It will be so much more colorful.”

His tone was so cunning, so self-assured. Imagine if men had to go through this curse every damn month. This insane change of emotion. Somehow it only made her even more needy and aroused. “I wish it was tonight,” she said. She slid her hand down the front of her silk panties and slipped a finger underneath the legband. She touched herself. She looked at the smooth, slippery red stain on her finger, admiring it for a moment. She drifted, swooned.

“So did you hear me, Susan? Are you still there?”

“Mmmm, yes, I did,” she said. She wished he could be there right that second. “I’ll try and control myself. ‘Simon says’ tomorrow night.”

“Very nice,” came his sarcastic reply. “I don’t need witless remarks about my name. Apologize.”

“I’m sorry, Simon,” she said. “So, 10 o’clock, like always?” He muttered something affirmative and hung up.

Susan put the phone down. A reddish brown stain had formed on her finger, and she noticed marks on her thigh. She raised her hips, eased down her underwear, and looked at the faded Rorschach test at the cotton gusset, the stains preserved like the branding of a scarlet letter into soft, white flesh. The sight of it embarrassed her, made her seek someone to somehow punish her. Some men avoid women when they’re going through this ritual; this only made things worse for Susan. But Simon behaved like an angry bull seeing a red flag!

She could hardly get through the night thinking about her master. All day at work, she was insecure, hung-up about what was happening and maddeningly eager for him to make it all better by making it worse!

By the time the doorbell rang at 10 o’clock, she was almost whimpering with raw desire. She stripped down to her panties and staggered over to the door, her lips in a pout, her hair a tangle down to her shoulders, her nipples stiff and throbbing, her eyes hopeful and almost teary.

“Look at this hot mess,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. He stared at her and she lowered her eyes. Simon’s voice had a loving harshness to it. He shut the door, stood in front of her, and moved forward, making her back toward the bedroom. In measured tones that held just a hint of menace, he said, “You keep on backing up, right onto the bed where you belong. Where I can inspect you — and touch you.”

Susan felt the backs of her legs press against the bed. “Turn around,” Simon commanded, “and bend over.”

What could be more humiliating and frightful? She bent over, inflamed by his words. Simon’s hand patted her panty-covered crotch. “Fresh and so wet,” he said. He mocked her: ”You just can’t control yourself, baby doll. Don’t you think everyone knows, when you walk down the street? They can see the awkwardness of your gait. They know what’s happening to you.”

He yanked her panties down to her ankles. Susan felt his hands pushing against her inner thighs, making her spread her legs wider and wider, till she was nearly falling over.

Simon had brought with him a small plastic tub of Vaseline. She felt warm slime coating her pussy lips as Simon worked his hand across her mound again and again, adding more and more of the gooey coating. His middle finger nestled into her groove, stretching it, widening it. She shut her eyes, arched her back, and submitted to his erotic directions.

He rubbed more of the slippery goo against her pussy, where it mingled with the slick, gushing lube that she was quickly producing naturally. Gone was any trace of dryness or clotted discomfort. She felt herself getting hotter and hotter, moaning every time his fingers touched her.

“Not yet,” the assured voice of her master whispered. “You stew in your own juices for a while — ” She knew she was revealing her most intimate secrets by letting him see and smell her this way. She blushed at how she imagined the shimmering wads of grease that hung and almost dripped off her bottom lips looked to him. She managed to glance down and see the tinge of darkness mingled into the sloppy, oily marks that were like fingerpaint on her inner thighs.

Then she felt something tickling up between her legs. She felt the elastic band of her panties snap around her waist. She was forced to wear her stained panties, and worse — Simon began to rub and mop her panty crotch between her legs, making the fabric a gooey mess and making her engorged pussy lips more aroused. She moaned, giving in to the pleasure she felt from how he was making her even messier and dirtier.

Some of the goo made her panties stick against her asscheeks, and Simon wiped and rubbed her slippery crotch, working some of the slime into the crack of her ass. He used his fingers to push the fabric between her cheeks, and then he began to masturbate her through her panty crotch, an almost audible slurping noise coming from between her legs.

Susan admitted, “I am such a hot mess — ” For speaking out like that, Simon suddenly stopped. The moment he ceased, she began to twerk her ass and wiggle her hips. She spread her legs wide and pulled her panties down, baring the spectacle of her cunt dripping with lube, gaping, giving off the scent of raw sex, and needing, so obviously, to be plugged with cock.

Simon stood in front of her, wiped his greasy fingers in her hair. “I need dry fingers for this,” he said. Then, as she held still and obediently tilted her face up, he stuck his fingers between her lips, tickling her tongue.

“There, my lovely,” Simon cooed, “you should like this.”

Susan’s feverish eyes closed in abject servitude as she gave up all illusion of patience, nodded her head, and then reached between her legs to start playing with herself. She panted, her mouth hanging open. Simon shoved his cock between her lips and began to fuck her face. Susan’s eyes grew huge, and as she stared into the blur of his hairy flesh, she rubbed herself faster and faster. She gasped and took in a deep breath, and then began to run her tongue over the head of his cock, tasting his salty dick lube. His ball sac danced over her lips on either side of the big hunk of meat plowing in and out of her throat.

She felt the mounting force of her orgasm, and within seconds, she was humming on his cock, screaming on it, crying out whenever he briefly pulled it from her mouth so she could breathe. Then he denied her, pulling his cock away from her mouth. “Not yet!” He made her stay on her hands and knees as he got behind her on the bed.

“Come on, spread your legs wider, pull your pussy lips wide with your filthy fingers — show me how you make yourself come with that bloody cunt of yours!”

Susan’s face contorted and she shook her head from side to side, as if to say, “No, no, I won’t show you what a dirty girl I am.” But she was, and she knew it, and she nodded her head in defeat. “Yes, look at it. Oh, fuck me! Fuck me!” He suddenly jammed his cock into her and began to fuck her hard, and she worked her fingers fiercely over her clit. She came, then came again, hearing the wet sounds of her cunt being fucked, feeling the heat at the center of her being, and feeling hot sweat suddenly chill on her skin before turning molten hot again. She collapsed onto her stomach, Simon finally gushing his loads into her, making her pussy pour out the oily fluids that soon soaked the sheets.

She enjoyed an exhausted moment of serenity. But Simon didn’t give her much time to recover. Soon he was dipping his fingers into the Vaseline jar, and this time, he worked along her ass crack and then, more and more easily, up her ass. Then she felt his cock being inserted into her asshole. He plugged her so deep her rectum swallowed it all, leaving nothing exposed.

Susan was still on all fours on the bed, two fingers lodged in her pussy, spreading the dampness and desire throughout the room, and a dick up her ass. Yes, she admitted, she was desperate for it all over again. “Oh, fuck me,” she surrendered. She knew she could do nothing now but scream out in pleasure.

Simon held her moist panties in his hand, the white silky fabric mottled with different colors. “Taste yourself,” he commanded, rubbing her panties in her face. He put them down on the sheet in front of her.

“Thank you,” she groaned, lowering her face into her soiled panties, her legs spread wide, her rump raised.

Simon pulled out and then slid his cock back into her pussy, starting a rhythm that was slow, like trying to stir cake batter that didn’t have quite enough water. But soon enough, hot lube coursed over his plunging cock, and Susan began to cry out louder and louder. “Yes, yes, yes!” She knew his dick was coated with her red juice, and she knew that the drips she could feel down her thighs were crimson, too.

His thrusts went harder and deeper. She felt hot rivulets dripping down her thighs while he fucked her, soaking the sheets. With the two fingers now tickling her asshole, a central location of desire during times like this, her mouth hung open and she gasped for breath. She squealed and squealed, giving up and giving in, her face just inches away from the messy panties strewn on the bed in front of her.

She practically collapsed after her fifth and final orgasm. She was spent. She lay there, gooey sperm and pussy lube trickling out of her.

Simon eased off the bed, and then came back again. She felt him spread her pussy. One, two, and then three fingers were stuffed into her hole. He pulled his fingers out and prepared himself for his exit. Their time together had been pleasureable for both of them, but that was the basis of their raletionship, and for tonight at least, he was done.

Before leaving, he pulled her panties over her head and tugged them down until the crotch was covering her nose and her eyes peeked through the leg openings. “Sleep well,” he told her, glancing at the clock. It was exactly midnight. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he assured her, “and the night after that.”

Simon had been in some relationships with submissive women who enjoyed all the “shades of grey,” but he liked the blood lust with Susan. And they both knew Susan only had satisfying orgasms when it involved purging her shades of red.