Red Hot Lipstick

by Jeremy Reed

  He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Her kisses were responsively hot, and her fingers began to travel up and clown his spine like a pianist's. He crushed his red lips into her mauve. Their convoluted tangles worked towards immediate lovemaking, but he resisted the rush. He wanted to work on her like a body artist.

  He slipped her panties to one ankle, reapplied a generous coating of red lipstick, and began to bruise her pussy with kisses. She let out thin little cries, her breath deepening, her legs going up so that he could advance his kisses. Unknown to her, he had a pair of chopsticks in his pocket as well as an assortment of lipsticks. He wasn't going to let her come yet. He kept holding off as she built towards orgasm. He took a red lipstick from his pocket, and heightening his pleasure by telling her what he was about to do, he used the soft point to outline a red oval round her pussy. He pulled back from his art work to address it objectively. It was just the stimulus he needed. Only he might change it to pink or orange. Or to mulberry or crimson or mauve. And now he advanced his game, all the time enticing her with his whispered motives. He ran the soft point of the lipstick over her swollen clitoris. He did it so gently that she gasped. And then he repeated the gesture, asserting a light and then firmer pressure, as though he really was working on a painting. Her body responses told him precisely how much she was enjoying the experience. She kept wanting to be taken to orgasm, but he held back. He tickled her mercilessly with the red lipstick tongue, and the bizarreness of the action drove her crazy. Her endearments were mounting to discreet obscenities, and then overt ones. She was desperate for his cock, but he would give her no more than the lipstick. And in turn he described its red action on her clit.

  'I'll enter you,' he whispered, 'after you've done something very special for me. Please don't laugh at my request. It's a fantasy I need to live out. I want you to take my erection between these chopsticks, and nibble my cock as though you're eating sushi. I want you to take it in by deepening degrees until you're deep-throating me. And I want you to dab your purple lipstick all over my length.'

  He sat up, back to the three deep pillows, in order to watch her crawl between his legs with the chopsticks, her tongue protruding between her purple lips. She flicked it like a snake does as it closes on its prey. At first she just darted the point of her tongue against his head, rather in the tantalizing way he had directed the lipstick at her clitoris. She didn't want to make him come until he had entered her properly. Then she would twist the laval semen out of him in incandescent jabs. She kneaded her lips into his cock, and he stared fascinated by the mauve lipstick blotches she was dispensing across his quivering erection. He was so hard it was like a marble fist. She tormented him with her peppery kisses. She could find all the sensitive spots that only his fingers could meet in solitude, never his lips. And he had longed to be able to place the red dahlia of his own mouth over his penis. She could find every centimetre of his responsive flesh. And all the time he was thinking of how he had painted exactly this scene, a young man in red lipstick reclining against black silk cushions while a Japanese girl, naked on all fours, a pair of chopsticks in one hand, applied head wit h a purple lipstick. He knew he was in the process of realizing his art. And perhaps she was too. They were living out their deepest sexual fetishes.

  He tensed as she held his erection firmly in the chopsticks, just beneath his circumcised helmet. She began to vibrate the chopsticks so that a series of tremors ran deliciously from the base of his scrotum to the tip of his cock. It was like she was eating him. She began to take the crown of his penis into her heart-shaped mouth. She nibbled at it, running her tongue round and round the eye. But she wouldn't swallow it, wouldn't gag on its enormity.

  She teased it with a film of mauve lipstick. She played with it as though she was mixing a colour. She flicked her pigment on to his head and worked it in with the tip of her tongue. And then she resumed with the chopsticks, moving them marginally down his shaft so as to have access to more of his cock. The chopsticks had become the perimeters of her sucking. As she adjusted them so she could take more of him into her tiny mouth. There was such a disproportion between the size of his cock and the aperture of her mouth. It was too massive, too hungry. It was like trying to fit a marble column into a sea anemone. But she was succeeding.

  The chopsticks began to move down on the base of his penis. She was now working up and down on it with liberal gulps. Inch by inch his giant member was being fed into her mouth. It was the feat of a contortionist. He was watching himself disappear. It was as though he had been castrated. There was just a mauve lipstick blotch at the area where his penis disappeared into a fold of flesh. She had everything now, and had placed the chopsticks right on line with his balls. He was starting to feel his orgasm mount inside. He repressed it, thinking again of the painting he had already prepared on this theme. He had to avoid thinking of the chopsticks or he would have come immediately. She continued to nibble and engorge. She looked up into his eyes, waiting for instructions as to what to do. He motioned to be let out of her mouth, and grew additionally excited on seeing how the lipstick blushes had stained his phallus. He was burning to ride her, and she slid her hand between her legs in anticipation. She was so wet it was like the Niagara Falls were issuing from her crack.

  They fell on each other, her legs folding over his shoulders, and his erection pinning her to the bed. She danced beneath his vigorous thrusts. He was aching to come, and her moans were pitched at such a loud intensity that he imagined passengers in a low-flying aircraft would hear her screams. They built together towards bursting simultaneous orgasm. Her nails shredded his back as she convulsed again and again on his cock. And for him it was as though he would never stop coming, the orgasm mounted to such degrees of pleasure. The sensation burnt them both and left them drained in each other's arms.

  They both knew that this was the prelude to a night in which they would not only have it several times, but also live out the more obsessive of their sexual fantasies. The chopsticks would find further use, and he contemplated the idea of using them as orchestral pieces, one inserted into her pussy and one in her bottom. He would jointly sensitize her two passages with these bland eating utensils. He would hear words come from her mouth that he had never heard before, vowels and consonants created by a response to perverse ecstasy. And he would tape it all and replay her vocables in solitude.

  But for the moment she pulled on her violet silk panties, and said to him, 'Please take me to the studio. It was where we were headed before finding ourselves here. I still want to see your paintings.'

  He led her up the next flight of stairs, and opened the door to his studio, threw a switch and watched as she confronted a large painting which was central to the room as an unfinished work in progress. What she saw was what they had just performed. A woman on her haunches, holding a pair of chopsticks which enveloped a mushrooming penis, was applying a lipsticked mouth to its head. A single hand, which appeared to belong to nobody, the figure and the arm being out of the picture, was seen tickling her from behind.

  The girl laughed, while he fitted his hand into the back of her panties. 'I want to do it with you involving every colour lipstick,' he said. 'Orange tomorrow night, brown the next, shocking pink on Sunday. We'll invent our own colour ritual.'

  'Only don't come to Harvey Nichols to buy them,' she laughed, 'or I won't be able to work all day. I'll be shivering for more. I'll be so wet I'll have to go to the Ladies Room.'

  'Shall we say orange for tomorrow night?' he said. 'And you bring the chopsticks.'

  'Fine,' she whispered, as their need started up all over again on the studio floor. They positioned themselves in front of the painting, and he, as he began recircling a lipstick on her clitoris, looked up at the imaginary world he had never thought would become a reality, while she threw her head to one side in abandon, took hold of a chopstick in her mouth, and surrendered herself to play like a kitten.

  Devil's Paradise

  He had to convince himse
lf that he was really there. As a child he'd dreamt of desert islands, their white crescent beaches washed by turquoise shallows. The one occupant on the beach, a curvaceous Latin girl dressed in nothing but a black sequinned thong, would get up from a scarlet towel and walk to meet him across the sands. She would know everything about him, and their kiss would be spontaneous, tasting of passion fruit, mango and vanilla. He would pick her up and carry her laughing towards the red towel and make love to her under a blindingly blue sky.

  He had lived with that vision. And by some freak he had found himself in such a place, only the scantily dressed Latin girl, with her luxurious hair falling in a cobalt waterfall to her waist, was accompanied by an androgyne, a man so feminine that he had to revise his initial impression of seeing two girls, and detail by detail accustom himself to the realization that he was looking at an edifying beach girl accompanied by a man of ambivalent sex.

  He had been canoeing offshore, following the current in a whip's sinuous arc round the coast, when he had found himself being pulled out to sea, the victim of a rip-current that left him helpless, oars retrieved from the water, and the sea hurrying beneath the light craft like a downward escalator. He couldn't he sure how long the transitional passage had lasted, it was like he was in trance and out of it, and then suddenly he had heard the sound of waves building to surf and running inshore with white frisky manes. His passage to the shore might have lasted minutes, hours or years. He couldn't tell.

  And there they were, the two of them, sharing a violet-coloured towel, and she in heart-shaped dark glasses, her prominent breasts hardly contained by a white bikini top, her full bottom barely covered by a high-cut counterpart on strings, her mouth coloured like a bruised ruby, and her oiled waist tricked across by a thin gold chain, throwing her head over her shoulder to meet his arrival. He could see that the androgynous figure was wearing a pink boa and a pink glitter thong, and was concentrating on what looked to be a spread of fashion glossies.

  'I'm Tristran,' he found himself saying, 'I'm from the mainland, and I don't know how I got here. I was taking a course along the coast and suddenly I was being rushed out to sea.' 'You're like all of them,' the androgyne said. 'You'd be surprised how many of you end up here. And sometimes it takes months to get back. This is Loredana.' And Tristran found himself making direct eye contract with the beautiful woman who had pushed her heart-shaped glasses up into her blue-black hair, and sat there looking at him with smouldering intensity. He couldn't help noticing how her left nipple had slipped free of the bikini cup, and the magenta splash it created made him imagine her sex as a similar colour, a tight rosebud concealed by a white bikini gusset. She didn't speak; she just moistened her lower lip with her tongue and looked at him, ran her eyes over his body like two insects, and smiled provocatively. And it was as if her eyelashes had brushed his cock, and were still flickering on his engorged shaft.

  'Now that you're here,' the androgyne said, 'you'd better come with us to the villa. It's called "Fly Spotter's Paradise". You'll find out why later.'

  Tristran followed the couple across a pristine white beach, his jealousy excited by the fact that the androgyne slipped a finger down the back of Loredana's white bikini bottom, and rested it in her crack. She expressed no emotion at his gesture; Tristran imagined she was darting invitations at his eyes from behind her heart-shaped glasses. She was sultry, decadent, voluptuous in a stylized way, and already he was imagining the sound of her voice as it would throatily plead in its desperate ascent to orgasm. He wanted to spread her legs across the width of the beach and mount her with a cock so marble-hard that it would remain up until she begged to be set free. He had her in mind as a sex slave. A woman who would crawl naked across the floor, her hands tied by a black silk scarf, and pick up strawberries in her lips from a plate left on the floor.

  When Loredana spoke it was to point out a particular shade of blue in the sea sky. She said the colour reminded her of childhood, and of sitting on the beach in Sicily listening to pop songs on the radio, and wondering who she would grow up to be. She had a dreaminess about her that made her eroticism more compelling. Tristran kept glancing at the liberties the androgyne was taking with her bottom, for he had extended his hand right down the curve of her bottom to her pussy. It made Loredana roll her hips as she walked.

  'What's this island called?' Tristran enquired.

  'Devil's Paradise,' said the androgyne, pronouncing it in a way that emphasized the satanic implications. 'People used to come here to perform sex rites, and there's an aphrodisiac mushroom grows in one of the coves that at one time caused men to spend their whole lives navigating the seas to find this paradise. But, as you've discovered, coming here is largely spontaneous; you just arrive, if you ever do, due to some magnetic attraction. The aphrodisiac was known to all sex cults. It is said that it so enhances and prolongs orgasm that a man can come for a full hour in sustained pleasure, for it takes that period of time for the semen to leave the cock. The sensation is so prolonged and overwhelming that men and women lose consciousness under is effects. And for a woman, and Loredana has experienced it, a quantity of the powder brushed into the clitoris mid vaginal lips just prior to the man's entry creates correspondingly sustained orgasm. Loredana convulsed in sexual spasm for two hours. It makes you want to fuck like crazy, and each time you get to a pitch of excitement, so it intensifies and you grow more delirious.'

  'I imagine it's exceedingly rare,' said Tristran. 'Do you have some at the villa?'

  'Wait and see,' said the androgyne, and Loredana laughed in a knowing way.

  They crossed the beach and walked in the direction of a grove of trees which obscured the white walls of a beach villa. Tristran could hear the sea behind them, the waves expiring in a slow measured cadence of surf. He could have been anywhere, but he was on Devil's Paradise. He could feel the anticipation mounting in his abdomen. The very air created sexual excitement in him. A heady perfume enveloped the beach, and Tristran thought he could hear a woman's excited laughter issuing through the eucalyptus trees. The androgyne released his hand from Loredana's round bottom, the bikini bottom having slipped halfway down her tanned cheeks, and Tristran entered a room with a blue marble floor, refreshingly cool to his feet. The room was heaped with silk cushions and couches. There were mauve, green, blue, red and black cushions, and a number of hookahs for smoking opium were placed on small tables. The room led away to others, chiffon curtains dividing the house into sections. And it was now that Tristran could hear the woman's laughter distinctly. She must have been making love in the next room, and her voice was mounting in urgency.

  The androgyne came back with a bottle of champagne and three glasses, and Loredana sat curled up on a pile of black cushions, her bikini straps snaking down her bronzed arms. Her mouth was an arrangement of crushed raspberries.

  'You asked about the aphrodisiac,' said the androgyne. 'All newcomers to the island are obliged to take it. Excruciating pleasure will be yours a little later. You have to prepare yourself mentally to take the drug. If you recollect your most pleasurable orgasm and multiply that by a million, it will give you some small insight into this compound. It is best taken internally and applied externally to the skin of the penis. And to imagine the sensation externally, you have to think of a hundred thousand ants running up and down your cock as an irritant.'

  Tristran watched as Loredana casually took off her bikini top) and let her full perfectly conical breasts flop into her lifted hands. She weighed them with sensual fingers, while the androgyne opened a lacquered pill box and decanted a black powder into a tiny saucer. 'Just one grain of the substance,' he noted, 'will intensify orgasm a hundred times,' and as he spoke Tristran could hear the woman's voice next door shrieking with pleasure: no sooner had one shriek risen to its highest sustained pitch, than another would begin, like a series of waves cresting and crashing on the beach. Tristran knew without asking that the woman had taken the aphrodisiac and was experiencing nymphomaniacal orgasm. His own visib
le excitement at the woman's pleasure mounted in his body, and it was difficult for him to conceal the erection that was poking out above the elasticated band of his lycra swimming trunks. There was Loredana, brushing a few granules of the black powder across her nipples, and pushing her tongue out between red glossed lips.

  'Let me tell you why this villa is called "Fly Spotter's Paradise",' said the androgyne. 'It's named after a peculiar fetish of mine.' Tristran watched as the androgyne slipped out of his pink glitter thong, and exposed a throbbing erection. But whereas the man's body flesh was white, so his cock was black.

  'What I do,' the androgyne said, 'is to prepare a clear gel trout the aphrodisiac, and to have Loredana coat my cock with it like a lacquer. This provides a protection to the skin, but at the same time attracts a particular sort of iridescent fly which titles on the surface. The friction of all these tiny legs and wings eventually makes me come. The build-up is so slow that it may take an hour or even two to come. The longer the better, as the pleasure is more sustained. I've experimented with many different solutions to attract all manner of diverse insects, but it's this one particular fly which allows me to reach ecstatic pleasure.'

  Loredana nibbled the androgyne's cock, and then began applying a clear gel from an aquamarine phial to the erection she was so expertly flicking with her tongue. She lacquered the shaft and the androgyne's balls, and already Tristran could hear the audible buzz of flies spotting on the air. They landed on the androgyne's cock like emerald sequins with scintillating legs and wings. They arrived one by one, and gradually there was a blackening squall of them on his erection, the insects crawling over each other in their greed to get at the gel. And the ones who landed directly on the lacquer were detained by the stickiness, and the struggle of their legs and wings to get free enhanced the pleasure that the prostrate androgyne received. He lay back with his cock sticking up like a black totem pole, his eyes closed in ecstasy. And the insects exchanged places. As some flew away gorged on the gel, so others which had been circling in readiness took their place in the vibrant glinting net they formed over the androgyne's erection. And he held his cock at the base like a monolith being offered to pleasure.