She had hated being on the pill. It had its positives; there was almost no chance of pregnancy, she knew exactly when she'd need tampons and could make sure her holidays weren't ruined by the flow, and when she did have a period it was light, only mildly achy and over pretty soon. She hadn't really felt horny on it though. Yes, she'd been happy enough to have sex. Yes, she would still cum with the right selection of toys, or a skillful tongue, lips or hand. But.. it was like the sex was the taste and texture of fast food. Before the pill, even with the trouble of condoms, crossed fingers and a myriad of 'predict my cycle' apps, sex was flavoursome. It was beach cooked barbeque, high-end French cuisine, Viet street noodles. It was rich and real. So she ditched the pill and opted for the IUD. It was like before, but with far better pregnancy protection.
There was a definite cycle to her sexual desire. Post period, she's had a day or two quite dry and not really feeling like it. Then things would heat up, and get a lot wetter. And a lot more needy. In the horny week that followed she'd happily take a cock in the morning, have a dildo for lunch, fingering fast in the early evening, and cock again to go to sleep with. Not that it happened - there was work for a start - but her honeypot wouldn't have minded. Following horny week, there was the change from wet to creamy silky and a desire for slower, more all encompasing sex, touching every part of her erogenous soul. There she could almost cum by thinking the right things and clamping her thighs together. Indeed, on one meomrable occasion, she'd done just that during a partciaularly perfect kiss. And then there would be the start of the dragging in her belly, the tense swelling of her perfect, champagne-bowl tits, and the tingling need in her clit, as her period approached and began. Period time was the most frustrating; she was on fire but could get no relief. And without the pill, her cycle was unpredictable more than the couple of days of ache before Aunt Minne arrived.
This calendar disaster of her menstrual clock was runing her anticipation of a night with her lover. She had a night away, meetings too far to return for, and he had oragnised to visit her. Instead of being in the zone of nonstop riding, her body decided this would be a great time to dump the lining of her womb.
"Sorry." she messaged "Cramps. Friday's not going to go to plan."
He responded with hug emoji, and the offer to bring painkillers, chocolate, and a hot water bottle. Compassion made her even more desperate for him and even sorrier for what he'd be met with.
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