Red: a fantasy


WI last night (it caused much joy on Twitter that I’m a WI member) and a lesson in the art of perfecting the smoky eye.

Actually, I’m a big fan of sexy eye make up, but the smoky eye is, y’ know, sensible sexy, isn’t it? It’s not slutty, or attention grabbing, it’s office appropriate.

Last time I had a professional make up artist play with my make up, I got her to show me what would be my perfect shade of red lippy, and then I bought it, and all the shebang that goes with it: liner, a brush and sealant.

I wear it very occasionally: largely for vintage type events, and usually when the people I’m with are female. I’ve never worn it for a guy. Plus, when I do wear it, I accept that it’s high maintenance – that it needs checking, blotting, reapplying …

And yet. Part of me is desperate to wear it in the bedroom. Sod the sealant – I want to brush it on thick and rich, so that I’m not quite sure if it’s too much, so that I barely recognise myself when I look in the mirror. I’d finish the look with a fuckload of black mascara, and then I’d sit and wait for him.

The rest of the fantasy outfit is, well, my usual get up. Black holdups. Matching underwear. Big hair. And that’s how he’d find me: perched on the edge of bed, trying not to lick nervously at my overly made up lips.

It’d be like the first time all over again, when we were still essentially strangers. I’d kneel, not on the floor, but on the bed, while he reclined back against a stack of pillows, my hair in his fist. I love giving head this way, precisely because I also hate it a bit too – it’s harder to steady myself and my balance and control feels just that little bit more precarious.

And obviously there’s spit, and pre-come and tears glistening because he’s fucking my mouth without mercy. And the whole time my lipstick is getting more and more smeared, and my mascara is beginning to smudge. I’m not polished anymore, not a nice girl – I’m a mess and the thought of that just makes me even wetter.

By the time he climaxes, I’m covered – a true disaster zone. There’s lipstick all round my mouth, in my hair, on my teeth, probably, and both eyes are panda like. There ‘s a trail of his come all down my chin and a garish smear of scarlet all round his softening cock.

That’s what I’m really saving it for.

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