Bad Boy Blues

A possessive, lopsided smile. “I think you need to touch up your lipstick. I ate it all up.”

My thighs tighten as I lick my lips. “You did?”

“Uh-huh.” Straightening, he pulls me up. “We can’t have that, can we?”

Powerless, I give him my weight. “No.”

He steps away from me and I have to somehow find it in me to keep standing. “Lead the way.”

Stumbling and completely confused, I walk to the bathroom with him following me. As soon as we enter the teeny-tiny space, he shuts the door. My heart starts banging in my chest.

“What’s –”

“Lipstick,” he orders.

I look at him in the mirror; his eyes are roving over my body. My breasts look so big and swollen in this tight top and my shorts barely cover my ass, stopping so close to my horny core.

With trembling hands, I open the drawer and take out my lipstick. I look at him in the mirror again, as if to ask him what next.

“Put it on,” he rasps.

I watch him take a couple of steps back before he sits on the closed toilet seat, as if settling in for the show. I dig my toes in the fuzzy rug and press my thighs together.

Then, I open the cap of the lipstick; it’s a roll-on and I inch forward to get closer to the mirror before putting it on.

I’m actively avoiding looking at him in the mirror. I can’t. This is too… intimate. Somehow, something super sinful.

I do this every day, bend forward and paint my lips, but this has taken on a new meaning completely.

Now, I’m thinking about the thrust of my ass and how my thighs are stuck together, and my calves are straight and straining. I’m thinking about the arch of my back and the pout of my mouth as I move the roll-on around.

I’m thinking about what he’s thinking about, sitting there, watching me in the mirror.

I don’t have to wait long to figure it out.

Just as I’m finishing up, watching for any smudges, I hear him. I hear his zip opening and my lipstick almost clatters down in the sink. I grab the edge of the counter; my breaths are too heavy, too fast.

“Now, come here,” he commands.

I look at him in the mirror. He’s sprawled on the toilet seat, his thighs spread wide. The space is so small and he’s so large that his one thigh touches the ceramic bathtub and the other, the tiled white wall. His jeans are open, hanging limply around his cut waist, while his t-shirt is shoved up, baring his lower stomach and that V.

And he’s stroking his dick, with his eyes on me.

“Why?” I ask him.

Not that I have the strength to refuse him. I’ll go where he tells me to go but I want to hear it from his lips.

I want to hear him talk dirty to me. Tell me all about the things he wants me to do to ease his suffering.

There’s a knowing light in Zach’s eyes as if he’s aware of my game. “Because I’ve been sitting out there, doing your bidding, reading a kid’s story for God knows how many hours. I’m tired, horny and fucking pissed off.” He gestures to his dick that he’s still stroking, going up and down. “You see him? He needs you. He needs you to wrap your blue-painted lips around him and suck him like a goddamn lollipop.”

I bend my knees while pressing my legs together. He’s creating a ruckus in my body with his words.

“But what if I…” I lick my blue-painted lips slightly. “I smear my lipstick all over him?”

His fingers tighten around his cock, pinching the top. “I’m counting on it.”

I bite my lip, imagining the length of him covered in blue lipstick. Suddenly, I can’t wait to paint him. I can’t wait to color his dick with my lips.

I turn around and walk to him in a daze. When I reach him, I kneel between his spread thighs.

The very first thing that hits me right in the gut is his scent. His musk is stronger than his blueberry pie smell and I lick my lips again as I watch his hand go up and down over his length.

“You like lollipops, Blue?”

“Yes.”

I keep watching his cock. It’s like a rod, hard and heavy, rounded at the top. Big, like everything else about him. Thick enough that I know there might be some discomfort when I put him in my mouth. I’ll have to watch for my teeth, make sure not to cut him. He’s going to be bumping against them, even against the roof of my mouth.

Like yesterday, the pre-cum is leaking down, making it sticky, making his hand sticky too. And I want to taste that stickiness badly.

So badly that I decide that I’ll do anything, anything at all to suck him off.