The Sex Lives of KinkyMira and Friends

Kinky and filthy things that have happened to us, all explicitly told

Tag: Period

One For Each Year

4 March 2026 / / 2 Comments

I can’t quite believe my husband and I have been together for 14 years. And in those very early days, he groped my tits as if he owned them, he groped my ass like he’d never groped another, he filled my cunt over and over with hard, girthy cock and thick, sticky cum. And I loved it. I was his. I wanted him to take me over and over. And he did. Two and three times a day he fucked me, my cunt got very used to being filled very quickly.

My first period came, and far from slowing down or stopping fucking me because of it, he fucked me more. I always craved sex during my period and he was the first man to oblige. And we barely cleaned up from one lot before he was in me again, my bloody cunt being a magnet for his hard cock. And each time he did it, it felt that he took me again. His blood-soaked cock was in me, no matter what, taking me no matter what. I loved it. I was still his.

And then my cunt got a little uncomfortable. It needed some rest. And so, desperate for him to continue taking me over and over, I offered him my asshole. And he was kind and gentle and understanding, and well versed with fucking assholes, so even the first time, he started slow, but grew to be huge and strong with his thrusts. I didn’t like anal before, but with him, my asshole wanted to be taken, just as much as my cunt did, and I loved it. I was even more his.

Around the same time as the fourteenth anniversary of us being together, it was also the eighth anniversary of this blog. I thought I’d get bored of blogging by now. I thought no one would read it. I thought no one would like it. None of those turned out to be true. All the writing, all the memories. I’m incredibly horny all the time. My cunt is excited all the time. It wants to be filled all the time. Memory is powerful. My cunt is needy.

Also around the same time, it is the second anniversary of our free-use. I thought we’d get bored of that too, bored of being interrupted, tired of being used. I thought our cunts and asses would be worse for wear for all the sex. I thought someone would drop out or it would fold. None of those turned out to be true either. Over time, we grew to need more cock, we grew to need more use. My cunt is needier than ever.

Even an eight person gang bang didn’t sate it. It’s lust to be taken, it’s lust to be filled was growing more and more, and my asshole wasn’t far behind.

Ever since my husband and I got together, he liked marking and celebrating anniversaries, even sexualising anniversaries that weren’t sexual in themselves. He liked doing things to take me over and over again. I had a lust for a filled cunt, for a stretched asshole. And he always made anniversaries count.

The anniversary of us getting together is always celebrated on our own, just the two of us, emphasising our closeness and bond. But since our tenth anniversary of being together, he’s required me to orgasm the same number of times as the anniversary. This year, fourteen. He’s got 24 hours, but there’s just him. We both have to take the day off work. It is so tiring. Satisfying, but tiring.

He uses a spreader bar to keep my legs spread, to keep my cunt available to his hand, to his mouth, to his cock. My cunt barely has time to recover from cumming before he starts again. It gets so sensitive. My cunt needs him to stop, is crying out for him to stop. He knows the fight I have between cunt and brain. And he knows the brain will win. The cunt will have to put up with it. The cunt craves it really. I have orgasms to have. It has no choice.

And those orgasms arrive, as sure as night follows day. He forces my cunt through its refusal, til that orgasm builds again, til my cunt spasms again, gets wet again, sometimes even squirts. It gets milked again for every drop of girl cum, every drop of squirt.

It’s relentless. He’s relentless. I love relentless. My cunt loves it somewhat less. Still, it doesn’t have much choice.

And this year, we mirrored that first evening when we got together. We went out for an Indian (although this time, I had his cum dripping out of my cunt all the time we were eating). We watched a comedy DVD (the same one as fourteen years ago, although this time, he played with my cunt, he wanked me the entire time we were watching it).

Then we kissed, properly snogged. Although this time, the snogs were accompanied by hard wanking. I came mid snog. One of the fourteen. He didn’t stop snogging me. Or wanking me. I was his. He was doing as he wanted. And my body loved it. My cunt loved it.

Right throughout the day, more often than not, my cunt was filled. Cock when it was able, fingers or dildos when it wasn’t. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t think. I was just a creator of wetness in his hands. I had no will. I just did as he wanted. My cunt just did what it was told.

I can’t explain how overwhelming it was, how much he just played my body like an instrument, over and over on a whim. It’s almost like he was reminding me every second that I used to think I was a one and done girl, reminding me that he made me this way, made me crave his cock, made me cum over and over. I felt like I was just about hanging on, doing what he wanted, proving again that I was his.

I had lost track of where I was, what my cumming tally was. I didn’t have to worry. I knew he’d get me the fourteen. But today was all consuming, today was wanking for wanking’s sake, today was planned to keep me sexually on the edge for the entire day. And my body had no choice. My brain wasn’t going to make him stop, he wasn’t going to stop.

As my cunt came again, just by his fingers this time, he shot me a loving smile, before ploughing four fingers into my cunt again, vigorous, powerful. I threw my head back and closed my eyes, crying out as he milked my tired and overused cunt. I heard a “Just one more, slut” from his soothing voice, my cunt’s ordeal was nearly over.

He briefly stopped whilst he pulled me onto his lap, his erect cock impaling my already lubed asshole as I sat, his hands reaching round my body to both continue the four finger cunt fuck and grope and paw at my already tender tits.

The filth being spoken into my ear, the aching and throbbing of my tits, my asshole being stretched by his still enormous cock, his four fingers filling my cunt and abusing my clit as they fucked it. It overwhelmed me yet again, and I came, hard, extended, not even allowed to finish that orgasm until his fingers decided. He dragged it out. As I stopped cumming, I came up for air.

It wasn’t just fourteen orgasms, it was almost the entire day of being masturbated, groped, tits manhandled, cock in all three holes (often with neither of us cumming, just for the penetration). I couldn’t settle, couldn’t relax even for a second. I was kept on that sexual high all day, I was kept on a submissive high all day (even in the restaurant, he managed it, not least through the cum trickling out of my cunt all the time I was there, my blouse being slightly more open than I’d ideally have liked and the fact that I had a sizeable, slightly uncomfortable butt plug in). I was even penetrated whilst I prepared the other meals of the day. There was literally no rest.

And my poor nipples were punished early on. Manuscript clips, foldback clips, squashing each nipple, the pain of them being applied, fading to a dull throbbing pain, and then the pain of them being removed and the blood rushing back into them. And all the time I endured that, he was masturbating me, almost trying to wipe away the pain with ecstasy from my cunt. Meticulous. Loving. Endurance.

I lost track of time right throughout the day. I lost track of orgasms after the first couple too. The intensity was like nothing he’s ever done. So completely overwhelming. I felt I was fighting just to remain present in the moment, and sometimes I didn’t succeed. Sometimes I drifted away, only to be brought back by an orgasm.

And once I’d had fourteen, and they were fourteen hard orgasms too, once the time slipped past midnight, he put me to bed, intending me to be alone to recover. I cried. I didn’t want him to leave me. So intense had the day been that I wasn’t emotionally able to be alone.

So instead, he spooned me, gripping on to a tit as he often does. It was familiar. It was comforting. It was what I needed. I finally slept, happy, sated, owned, his.

It’s Like I’m Always On Heat

14 September 2019 /

When I first got with my husband, we had lots of sex. Over our first six months, we fucked an average of twice a day and we didn’t miss a single day over that time. But after that initial euphoria, once life started getting in the way, at certain times in my menstrual cycle I lost interest whilst at others I was insatiable. I would first jump him the day before my period started, expect to be fucked right through my period and then for around a fortnight after, right until I ovulated. Then my desire dropped off a cliff and at the same time, my PMT kept building and building. I was either a slut on heat or a PMTed up bitch.

I used to get so horny during my period that I needed a fuck no matter how much of a mess it made. Luckily for me, he loved it and was never put off by the sight, smell or taste; it was pretty much the only time I wanted him to go down on me, and I wanted his cock in my cunt on my heaviest days several times a day.

We had a good two years of that, but my PMT was getting worse month by month, until finally we had to make a decision. My GP suggested a Mirena coil might help to reduce the PMT, but it would also likely reduce the period and probably reduce how insatiable I was. It was a very hard choice: reduce the PMT, reduce the periods and risk having a lot less sex, or have a mega-PMTed up bitch.

In the end, we chose to have the Mirena. That was how bad it was.

It took the Mirena a number of months to bed in, and there were several consequences: the PMT was massively reduced, which was a relief for both of us. My periods stopped completely, which was lovely, as I hate the whole big panties and sanitary towels thing. My natural panty style at the time was thong, and I loathed having to wear anything else. But with no period meant no period sex. Sometimes things have a high price, and that was it.

The other thing that happened was that my desire for sex reduced overall. I really had to be in the mood, and that made my husband really have to work on me. He did, and we fucked an average of twice a week.

But fundamentally, that isn’t enough for either of us. Sex is a very important part of our relationship, of who we are as a couple. Touch is very important, and even that was slipping away. I would be lying if I said it didn’t start to cause a little friction between us. One night over a bottle of wine, we decided things had to change. But we didn’t really know how.

That night, we did make a first critical decision though. We had both fallen into a rut that we couldn’t be bothered to fuck. So we decided that if one of us wanted a fuck, we would fuck, unless the other one really didn’t want to. We took indifference off the table, and defaulted to fucking unless one of us actively said no. We actually still practice that to this day, and that proved a useful start back then.

Within a few weeks, we were fucking on average every other day, which was a great start, and the more sex I had the more I wanted. I knew my husband liked me being pantyless, and when my husband found out, he always wanted to fuck my brains out. When I went pantyless, it made me feel frisky and I really enjoyed the feeling and the freedom. I didn’t go pantyless that often, and I wondered if I could increase my amount of pantyless time without reducing the effects. So I started increasing my pantyless time, gradually getting to most days, if even for a short while, including most times I went out.

That worked really well. I was more and more frisky, and wanting to be fucked more and more. My husband started checking if I was pantyless, often by putting his hand up my skirt when I was in the car, and he took to making me cum when we were parked somewhere shortly before we arrived at our destination. I loved it, and I never objected to his efforts.

It was around this time that I had started to reliably and slowly lose weight, but my body confidence was still zero. My husband was working on that. He got me to try on more figure hugging clothes, clothes that really showed my curves, clothes that flaunted the tits that were important in him first noticing me, and the dresses I showed an interest in, he bought for me, with me ending up with a number of very shaped dresses that I loved. Banishing unsexy clothes had an effect, so I began wearing stockings and suspenders more, as that always made me feel sexy.

By this point, we were back to fucking daily, and our relationship was much better. I think my husband would have been happy at that, especially as his ability to read me was getting better and better, and therefore so was the sex.

But my mindset was changing. I loved feeling more horny more of the time. I loved how it made me want to fuck again and again.

I decided to up the ante – I decided to go pantyless over that one Christmas as not only a treat for my husband, but to see if the sexy feelings it gave me wore off. They didn’t, and I’ve never worn panties since. Not only that, but over the following months, I also got rid of all sorts of clothes that covered my cunt, like trousers and leggings, and had an excuse to buy more figure hugging dresses and stockings, including thick woollen ones for the cold, and we sourced my proper metal clipped suspenders.

With snow on the ground, thick stockings and my cunt seemingly having an unstoppable source of heat (meaning it never seemed to get cold), I felt incredibly sexy and naughty. It was during this time that we started more regularly fucking multiple times a day, and we both realised that we had more and more appetite for sex, and for interesting sex and kink.

In our early days of exploring kink, it was always a hot and cold thing for me; sometimes, kink was a no-no, as I wasn’t in the mood, and sometimes I was uber-kinky and it was all I wanted to do. But as I had turned into this always horny slut, I was finding I wanted kink more and more, and I wanted to expand kink from being part of a sexual encounter to including little bits of kink into our daily lives. For example, me crouching over his mouth and pissing into it seemed as natural as making the bed, us spanking each other’s asses seemed as natural as doing the gardening and me pegging him with an enormous strap-on seemed as natural as me doing some crocheting.

What I have done (very intentionally) is to do a number of things that make me horny, feel very sexy, and that encourage multiple small bits of kink, all as part of my daily life. This is an attitudinal switch and is over and above our many prolonged sex sessions. I’ve turned myself into a slut who is craving sex and kink all the time, and who is only truly satisfied when I get it. It’s like I’m always on heat, and yet I’m not, because of my Mirena, and I fucking love it!

© 2026 The Sex Lives of KinkyMira and Friends