Red Hot Lipstick Page 5

  Alice sank back into the bath in the afterglow of her sustained pleasure. It had never occurred to her that Frank might be intimate with her uncle's system of two-way mirrors, and that he could at this moment be observing her masturbatory ritual in the bath. Far from repulsing her, the thought made her tingle with pleasure. She would make her emergence from the bath, and the subsequent process of getting dressed, a protracted and tantalizing one.

  Alice stepped out of the bath nurturing the pretence that Frank was watching her, and began teasingly to dry herself with it towel, presenting her round pink bottom to the voyeur's eye as she bent down in pursuit of an imaginary hairpin. He would see right up her crack. She was saving her little trick of pencilling a beauty spot on her right buttock until later. If Frank was out there wanking, he would shoot up his nostrils at the sight of that precocious ornamentation of her bum. Alice busied herself in the mirror, plucking an eyebrow into a pencilled arch, and spending a lot of time studying her sensitively refined features. She placed two violet ribbons in her plaits to accentuate her schoolgirlishness, and then applied a sensuous oil to her thighs, her shaved pubic triangle, and more leisurely and demonstratively, into her glowing buttocks. If Frank was watching, his cock would be in his fist, stiff as a policeman's baton. Alice then proceeded to dress with a pashir's enticement. She snapped on a black translucent bra, and then worked her black see-through panties up from the ankles to the backs of her legs, all the way up until the transparent fabric was filmed tightly against her bottom. She patted her cheeks saucily, and ran a fingernail down the length of her crack. She then fastened her black suspender belt around her waist, dabbed perfume behind her knees, put on her lipstick as a vivaciously flirtatious insignia, buttoned up a red silk blouse, put on a tiny pleated mini, and decided to leave the rolling on of her stockings until later. Already, she felt like fingering herself again. The process of dressing up always had her moist. Alice was perpetually slippery at the crotch. Deciding to pursue her fantastic game to the end, she sat back in the bathroom chair and elongated then bent her leg to the knee as she slipped on a seamed stocking, manoeuvring it from the knee up until the black stocking top was secured by the suspender fastening. She sat with one leg down and one arched, and then repeated the process on the left leg, standing up to check the vertical alignment of her seams. If Frank was watching he would have fisted his semen into an ejaculatory plume by now, a hot ribbon of percolated lust. Alice delayed a moment, then slipped out into the corridor, and as she did she was certain she heard a bedroom door close. Frank must have slipped back to his lair, either enflamed or appeased by what he had seen.

  Alice was in the mood to tart it up, she was simmeringly restless, and slipping on her spike heels she rapped past Frank's door with an exaggerated staccato click. She felt the impulse to run her heels abradingly down his spine and knead them into his taut buttocks. Instead, she went to her room, and slammed the door. Another Presley poster was looking down at her from above the bed, and she flicked a finger over his crotch, and insolently stuck out her tongue at the immortalized star.

  She collapsed on her bed and thought of Steve, the schoolboy whose virginity she had taken by blowing him on his mother's bed. She had tormented him by refusing him access to her pussy, and then shocked him by an oral expertise that had him convulsing in paroxysmal ecstasy on his mother's silk counterpane. And after deep-throating him to near orgasm, she had disengaged his penis at the moment of climax and his come had shot all over the counterpane. And leaving him no time in which to recover from the confusion of the situation, she had abruptly exited from the room, and had never dated him again. Alice was living out her uncle's epithet of being a divine cock-teaser.

  Bored by her life of idleness and luxury, Alice was in search of sensation. Her uncle wasn't due back from South America for another week, so she lacked a dinner companion, and someone whose conversation about the bizarre, the weird and the wonderful, helped assuage the feverish excitement with which she anticipated a hedonistic future. Several times she had sat at the table fingering herself while her uncle alluded to encounters in the red-light districts of innumerable capitals. On another occasion she had come to the table wearing crotchless knickers under her skirt, so that her furtive access to vicarious pleasure should go unimpeded. Pussy juice had trickled sweetly down her thighs with the scent of guava.

  Alice itched in her see-through panties. She spread her legs and fantasized. She wondered how Frank would take her: would he put her up on her haunches, or would he command her on top with his omnipotent possession of her body? Anyhow, she would enact her plan. She listened attentively to hear when Frank would leave his room, and at an opportune moment when he slipped out to the bathroom, Alice sped into his room with a pair of unwashed black silk knickers she had fished out of her washing bag, and placed the choice item on Frank's pillow, in such a way that he would instantly recognize the wearer. The rankly perfumed fetish was a knicker-collector's paradise, and Alice imagined Frank fitting the intimately scented silk to his vibrant erection. She sucked her thumb in anticipation, and curled up on the bed in a Lolita pose, tracing a finger over her lower left buttock, and extending it to that whole erogenous zone. Alice wished she could elongate her neck sufficiently to lick her own pussy, and to lap at her fidgety clit.

  She heard Frank return to his room, and the door clicked shut. Silence washed over the house again like a lake rising on itself. Alice scratched at her knickers a couple of times and waited. There was no way in which Frank could ignore a black triangle draped over his pillow. Panties were recognizable anywhere, even if you encountered them in the most unlikely places, like dropped out of somebody's laundrette bag on to the pavement, or accidentally pulled out of a jacket pocket when searching for a pen. Alice waited. She was so wet she sat in a slick of juices, but she refrained from rubbing herself in the hope that Frank would come to her room.

  She put on her headphones and listened to an old Donna Summer CD, before growing suddenly aware of a knock at the door. Alice had deliberately laddered her stockings in order to heighten her tartishness, and she strutted over to the door and opened it so that she was concealed to the caller. She waited, and Frank walked tentatively into the room. He was dressed in nothing but her tiny black knickers, his cock straining over the elasticated band, and he had brushed his false eyelashes with mascara. He looked like a transvestite slut, and it was clear to Alice that he had come to teach her a lesson. To her eyes, Frank had never looked so sexually assertive.

  Alice shut the door and followed him into her room. She wolf-whistled at the wiggle of Frank's ass, her black bikini knickers cutting into his white flesh. The conspiratorial atmospherics in the room were like the preconceived culmination to a rite that both had been planning for years. 'You want to be fucked, you little hooligan,' Frank said, and it was the first time Alice had ever heard him speak out of character. 'Your knickers will soon be soggy when I stretch your cunt. Don't think I haven't seen you dressing and undressing in the bathroom, scratching your twat, and pencilling beauty spots on your bum. Alice through the looking glass should be your cock-teasing name.'

  Alice loved hearing Frank talk dirty, and she rolled compliantly on the bed, and began to tease him by running a red fingernail over the crotch of her see-through panties.

  Frank flipped her over, and roundly spanked her wriggling schoolgirl's bottom. 'Not so simple,' he said. 'Go into the bathroom, and sit in the chair and finger yourself, and I'll watch in the mirror.' Alice duly complied, spreading her legs and working herself to feverish orgasm, her voice crying out with frustration and pleasure.

  'Come out, you little tart,' Frank dictated, and Alice pushed her skirt down, clicked to attention with her heels, and scurried back into the corridor. She looked all in a flutter, and with her hair in mauve ribbons, she resembled an excited schoolgirl. 'Into my room,' Frank demanded, and Alice entered Frank's domain which, except for a few bottles of spirits and a generous sprinkling of her stolen knickers like trophie
s across the bed, was a strictly masculine space. There was a scent of cologne in the room and Playboy magazines were stacked in archival boxes. Alice sensed a conspiratorial link between Frank told her uncle; in fact, she half expected her uncle to appear at any moment in one of his elegant silk kimonos, his cock projecting horizontally from a fold in the silk. The result would have been a long, complicated fuck, extending three ways until dawn.

  'Lick me, you teenage cocksucker,' Frank commanded. 'Get down on your knees and shampoo my dick, bitch.' Alice was greedy to obey, and she slid to her knees and began licking the cock she had disengaged from her own black knickers. She tongued him from the base of his scrotum to the tip of his cock. She wolfed him down with hot rapacity, a salacious smile consuming her features. She worked on him with a consummate knowledge gained from sampling schoolboys' cocks so many backseats of cars, and from assimilating any number of erotic videos. There was no end to the culinary art of head.

  Frank backed off from her gorging lips. He wanted to prolong the pleasure of seeing Alice on heat. He would like to have sat under a glass table and observed the whole geometry of her pudenda from that level, the depilated lips spread open for his enquiry, the shaved crack terminating in her tight anal bud.

  Alice awaited her next command. She went down on her knees with her bottom thrust out, and stared up at Frank, all !he time rolling her tongue over her lips as though she was still engorging his cock. It was a weird reversal of roles, with Alice acting as sexual factotum to a man who was generally paid to look after her welfare. 'Why don't you fuck me, you wanker?' she hissed at him, and his face crumpled into a condescending smile. His cock was prodding vertically at his belly button, but this man had all the time in the world, and wasn't going to settle for something as simple as a straight fuck. Alice knew she was totally at his disposal, and no immediate moves on his cock would make any impression unless he instigated the action. She was confronting a stranger, and not her uncle's valet, and a stranger possessed of a complex sexual repertoire. Frank, who spent his life obeying orders, was suddenly in direct command of this sexual game.

  He commanded Alice to sit on the bed. 'You'll get fucked later,' he said, 'but first I want my pleasure. Take off a stocking and fit it like a condom over my cock.' Alice fitted Frank's cock to the toe piece of her nylon. Now place my cock inside your shoe,' and Alice fitted the nyloned head into her pointed stiletto. 'That's it,' moaned Frank. Now work me off and finger yourself,' Frank demanded, and Alice rubbed Frank's cock in and out of her pointed leather shoe as though the latter was her pussy. When he came it was volcanic, and after a pause he was ready to give her what she wanted. Alice kicked her legs up. Her toes were in contact with Elvis Presley. It gave her pleasure to think she was masturbating the King, while Frank filled her with the solid cock for which she was aching.

  Surf and Sensuality

  That summer the water was sapphire and aquamarine in the shallows. The sea bed could be seen as a mosaic of coral, shells, maroon weed, and bright fish flickered in impulsive stops and Starts between boulders made visible by the translucent water. When Juliana dived down into that silent marine world, she thought it was like entering a Max Ernst painting, an interior hi up by colours and shapes which seemed to have stepped straight out of the imagination.

  It was late afternoon as she sat on the beach, the intense heat of the day over, and luxuriated in a mellow warmth that seemed to make even breathing effortless. She had arranged a red towel and a black one to overlap as though she was sitting in the corolla of a flower. Juliana always stylized her gestures. Her handbag was full of ingredients for little rituals of make-up, and for tiny flourishes that enhanced her femininity.

  Two days ago she had met Justin, an underground film maker who had come to Limni in search of inspiration for a film he wanted to shoot called Love Amongst the Ruins. Juliana had felt magnetized to this slim, refined, hyper-intense man who entertained her with his bizarre ideas for future films. They had sat talking all afternoon until the sky had turned a deep Hue, and then they had gone back to his villa and continued talking until the sky was full of stars. Juliana had felt erotically enflamed by Justin's speech, and she could feel the eroticism In him wound to a tight coil. They had drunk wine together, and once when a red trickle of escaped wine had tracked down Justin's chin, Juliana had withheld the impulse to lick the offending additional droplets from his stubble. She had fantasized about running her scarlet fingernails over his chest and stomach, and stopping at his waist so as to leave his desire raging.

  But when the following day he had come to find her on the beach, again in the late afternoon, he appeared less intimate and was withdrawn into a subjective world to which she had no access. He had appeared moody and singularly lacking in the vivacious charm to which she had been so magnetized on the previous day. None the less, she felt compulsively attracted to this man who carried an aura of mystique with him like a blue halo surrounding his body. She had imagined fastening her lips to him and deepening a kiss that would taste of summer and tingling fruit cocktails. He had told her that he was busy with his thoughts and needed to walk for a long time in order to crystallize the images he had in mind. And despite the fact that she had been topless, her pronounced breasts splashed with mauve anemones for nipples, he had done no more than direct his eyes there, and dressed as always in a white suit and white shirt, he had quickly got up from the sand and walked away along the coast. And although her eyes followed him right to the olive trees through which he disappeared, he never once looked round.

  To console herself, Juliana had got up and rushed into the blue sea and stayed there a long time while the water relaxed her, and her mind slowed down from its sensual turmoil. She knew the attraction men felt to her voluptuous curves, and she wondered if Justin was playing games with her, and adopting a moody perverse don't-touch-me attitude in order to increase her sense of passionate longing. When she had reappeared from the surf, she had exchanged her wet bikini bottom for a pair of tiny black silk panties, and smudging a volcanic red glow to her lips she had lain there, face down on her towel, convinced that he was the only man in the world who would reject her in his state of petulant abandon. She ran her hands over her bottom and approved of her curves. Her blond hair fell like sunlight across her shoulders. The beach had been totally deserted.

  But now she was waiting with anticipation. She had made herself up with great attention to detail, and the dusty white eye shadow she was wearing perfectly complemented a sultry orange lipstick worn with a black bikini thong. She had painted her toenails orange, and sat on her arrangement of red and black towels. There was no one swimming. She worked UV protective creams into her skin, and stared out at the horizon. The blue of the sea and the sky were indivisible. At a certain point they became the seamless future.

  Juliana was impatient. Her holiday was rapidly running out, and there were only another three days available to her before he returned to her job in Fiesole. She felt the need to deepen her knowledge of Justin and the enigmatic life to which he alluded only by evasive hints. Who is this man? she found herself enquiring. And if his past is impenetrable, then perhaps I can add clarity to his future.

  She was about to give up on him when she saw his familiar white-suited figure coming across the beach to meet her. Juliana felt so excited that she involuntarily ran a finger slowly across her crotch. She had felt excited ever since yesterday when she had lain face down on the beach in her black panties instead of a bikini bottom. She was again topless, and made no effort to conceal her full breasts from eyes which she knew scrutinized every detail of the world around them.

  When he reached her, she could see the excitement in his eyes.

  'I've found the place,' he told her. 'The exact location for shooting Love Amongst the Ruins. And I've decided that you're just the person I need to participate in the film. If we walk out there now, Lucinda will be waiting for us.'

  Juliana felt instinctively suspicious of the idea of Lucinda, but refrained f
rom voicing her curiosity. And she was conscious as she bent over to collect her things that Justin's eyes were devouring her full and tanned bottom divided by the thin string of a black thong. She knew she was engaged in the most provocatively exciting of gestures, and took her time searching for a red comb which had become obscured in a towel. It was an additional chance for her to be uncompromisingly stylized, and she knew her bottom was sexily dusted with sand, its granules clinging to traces of oil.

  Juliana put on a skimpy red tee-shirt and shorts and walked with Justin round the beach, ducked into scrubby foliage and took a path up above the sea. The earth was parched, and the olive trees were a crisp silver. And once when she took the lead in front she felt Justin brush a finger across the top of her thigh. It could have been imagination, but she was convinced it was reality.

  They climbed up to the ruins of a marble villa, and a white statue was positioned on a ledge overlooking the sea. Justin must have decorated its head with laurel leaves and red hibiscus flowers, and the armless torso was enhanced by the romantic gesture which embellished its coldly classical features.

  'Lucinda,' Justin called, and Juliana was shocked when a woman she might have taken for herself in any crowd walked towards her. It was like confronting herself in a mirror, and she caught her breath. And to confuse the issue, Lucinda was dressed just like her, and was wearing the same red tee-shirt and tanga thong that Juliana had adopted as her summer dress. At first Juliana thought she was hallucinating the phenomenon, but Lucinda rucked up her blond hair with a lazy hand, while Juliana assured herself that her left hand was at her side. They were identical look-alikes, even to each having a black band in her hair. And they shared the same figure. Juliana was sure that if Lucinda took off her top, she too would have a beauty spot just above the left nipple, and one on the upper part of the right breast.