Crimson Lips

Crimson Lips

Josie's Notes

A quickie that's been racing around my head for a while now. Hope you like...

***

It was her mouth that sunk me.

Her lips actually.

Have you ever watched a woman from afar, a woman so entrancing, so fascinating, it's simply impossible to look away?

To watch her converse without coyness or reservation. Watch her laugh. Watch her brush the hair from her face without thinking. The way she listens, with quick little smiles, nods of encouragement. How she delicately sips her drink, adjusts herself in her chair, uncrosses and recrosses her legs. Her smile so engaging, her eyes so transfixing, her lips, her mouth, oh my lord, those full crimson lips.

She was sitting at the table next to mine. She and two girlfriends, in animated conversation.

Beyond a doubt she was the sexiest, most beautiful woman I've ever been in the same room with.

She isn't just beautiful. She's ethereal.

Her eyes are brilliant green sparklers and they come alive when she speaks. The hollow cheeks of the urban fit, the perfect skin, that delicate little nose - the features of an absolute goddess.

Her thick, wild black hair cascades over and around a magnificent pair of breasts, full and firm but not too large, her nipples barely concealed beneath the fine red silk of her low-cut spaghetti-strap cocktail dress.

But it was her lips that made me swoon.

Her mouth was alive in animated conversation. She was so involved, so in the moment. Her eyes widened with delight while she followed the story Girlfriend #1 was relating. Her mouth burst into open-mouthed laughter at the tale so breathlessly told. That mouth held no restraint, no modesty, only sheer joy at the listening.

Her lips were full and oh so kissable. Her perfect crimson lipstick was so glossy and brilliant I could thought I might see my reflection in her lips. If I was ever lucky enough to get so close.

Oh those lips. I pictured them all over my face, kissing me a hundred times, passionate, tenacious, finding my mouth, slipping her long narrow tongue between my lips, those long delicate fingers with their matching crimson polish grasping my head, holding her mouth to mine, irresistible, inescapable, her passion rising to unfathomable heights.

As her friend came 'round to the punchline of her story, this goddess froze, her eyes wide in anticipation, her mouth forming a wide "oh" of awed delight. I could not help but imagine the round opening of that mouth, so pouty and full, was shaped in the perfect receptacle for my rock hard cock...

As the story unfolded, the tip of her tongue pushed on her upper lip, its glistening underside pulsing and sliding around her open mouth. A hint of a ruby jewel glinted from inside her mouth in the dim light of the elegant cocktail lounge.

There's only one reason for a woman to impale such a jewel on the flat of her tongue.

My cock was so stiff it actually hurt.

And then I knew.

I would do almost anything to have that mouth on me. To have this glorious woman in my bed, her libido raging with passion, her pussy soaking with heat and longing, reaching out for me. Those lips wrapped around my cock, sliding down, down, down my shaft, kissing the skin at its base, her long narrow tongue snaking out, licking my balls as her glorious mouth swallows and swallows, the base of her tongue undulating around the orgasmic glans, sucking, squeezing, slobbering all over my sex, desperate to taste my cum, working my shaft, sliding those incredible lips up and down my length, driving me insane with lust and need, desperate to cum, desperate to unload my balls deep into that incredible sexy, hot sucking mouth.

That mouth. Those lips. I would do anything, commit any crime, debase myself to the ultimate humiliation, just to have those lips on mine, on me. Just for a single night of passion with this glorious goddess.

What to do?

When Girlfriend's punchline rang home, the face of my goddess erupted in unrestrained laughter. She threw her head back to face the ceiling, her mouth wide open, her tongue flying out between her teeth. Guffaws, pounding the table with the flat of her hand, her eyes crinkling in absolute delight at the wonderful conclusion of her dear friend's story. There was no demure covering of the mouth, no discrete tittering of polite amusement. There was only unreserved joy.

Tears borne of laughter glistened in her eyes. She raised a knuckle to her lower lids to wipe away the moisture, careful not to smudge her mascara. As she did so, her eyes darted to the table next to hers, my table, then back to her friend. Her eyes, the lenses of her brain, snapped my image in a tiny fraction of a second, her mind processing the data collected while seemingly one hundred percent focused on her friend, but I knew. Had I not been laser focused on this goddess, I would have missed it.

I was rewarded a short moment later when her eyes flipped back to me once again.

This time the flashing glance was a brief look. An appraisal. Heart-beat short, but real. Intense. Perceptive.

When a beautiful woman looks at you like that, you gather your wits and crank out a smile.

But there had been no time to react. To smile. Definitely not to speak.

Her attention darted back to her friends. A tiny straw slipped between those luscious lips, pouting down its length, her hollow cheeks working slightly, sucking up the liquid, its color matching her lips. A gentle smile crept over her face, the straw still impaled on her mouth, as another friend touched her arm and drew her lips to the goddess ear.

Goddess lips widened in mirth. Goddess eyes crinkled.

As her friend spoke, those goddess eyes flashed back to me.

And those crimson lips held their smile.

They were talking about me.

The glistening tip of the goddess tongue slipped between those crimson lips and slid along their width.

Her eyes never left mine.

My heart stopped.

Could it be?

She glanced to her two girlfriends at her table. A quick smile, a wordless agreement, then back to me.

She lowered her eyes to the chair beside her. Then back to mine.

A silent invitation?

I'll take it as a 'yes'.

I stood and stepped over to her table. Three gorgeous women looked up at me as one, their faces shining and expectant.

I grasped the back of the empty chair. "May I?"

Goddess waved her hand in my direction and sat back. Her unspoken invitation clear.

Be my guest.

Now that I was closer, I concluded if anything, I had shortchanged her.

Those glorious, magnificent breasts were on full display. Her cocktail minidress was cut so low the curved cleavage between those firm globes plunged deep. The dress was made of filmy silk, crimson to match her lips and cut so short it was barely legal. Her long, lean legs were crossed away from me. The glistening line of soft diffused light running along her upper crossed thigh betrayed the presence of her ultra-sheer cappuccino nylon stockings. I am a connoisseur of these objects of pure sexual attraction and I adore the newly-found love for nylons fancied among young women today.

Her cross was tight and close. Her shoes were the magnificent Louboutin 'So Kates', with their black mirror finish and five-inch pencil-point spikes. Works of art. Sex on wheels.

She was a work of art.

She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them towards me. Above the quiet conversation of the elegant cocktail lounge, the swish of her nylons dominated the table, the tendrils of sound reaching out to me, coiling around my cock and squeezing all reasoning to mush. My eyes instinctively went to her legs. In the instant of time all reasonable sense of decorum allowed me, I admired those stunning legs, the indented line running the length of the lower-crossed thigh, the flex of her calf muscles, the arch of her foot rising above the sidewall of her Loubs, the flawless gloss of her nylons clinging tightly to every square centimeter of her unblemished skin. Close to her hemline, several small but distinctively triangular elongations of her nylons betrayed the garters securing them in place. A closer glance revealed the soft outline of a garter clasp outlined in the filmy silk of her tight-fitting red dress.

Perhaps my gaze lingered on those legs for too long, far too long. Had my grace been all used up before the first word was spoken? Was my shot at glory irrevocably dashed?

Our eyes met again. One eyebrow lifted as she regarded me closely. The table went silent. Two pairs of girlfriend arms crossed beneath their breasts, their hostility rising.

I hadn't spoke a word and already I was in trouble.

I smiled and nodded at her legs. "Maison Close, Cut and Curled stockings with tone-on-tone back seam. Fine, silky 20 denier voile nylons, made in Italy to the finest standard. My compliments."

The two sets of arms beside me uncrossed. The eyebrows went down. Girlfriend eyes narrowed.

Goddess licked her lips. Again. "I'll give it to you, no-one's ever opened with that one before."

"So what are you?" said Girlfriend #1. I girded myself for the challenge on her lips. She flipped her long blonde hair away from her face and kissed the air towards me with fat pouty lips. "Do you have some safe little job selling nylons to teenage girls behind the lingerie counter at Nordstrom? And after you return to your lonely little apartment after such a loooong day of lusting after all those horny young women, do you wrap your little man in those ohh-so-sexy nylons and jerk off while you sit alone, eating your TV dinner while watching the Simpsons?"

I shifted my gaze to the Mistress of the Putdown.

"Bingo," I said. "You got me to a 'T'. But I'm not into insulting someone I've just met." Instantly I wished I'd done better.

"Oh? Come now, what would you say about me?"

She set the trap like a pro and I fell right into it.

I considered my options. If I gave as good as she delivered, I risked alienating the goddess. If I didn't respond forcefully, she'll think me a wimp. If my response didn't bring a smile, I'd be branded a jerk with no imagination.

Crimson Lips remained silent, but her eyes fixed on me. Briefly I wondered if this was a standard little game these women played. Lure the man into range with a flashing glance and a pair of crimson lips, then sic the dogs on him to rip him apart for sport. Once beaten, cast him adrift, bruised, broken, and infested with an uncurable case of the lingering self-doubts.

The table I'd left had already been taken. If I was dismissed, I'd have to endure the walk of shame to the exit.

And maybe that was indeed the point. Pick a victim and see how long it takes to get him to pack it all up and skedaddle on home.

I'd judged my response had to be strong and confident without being too personal. Simple insults are the artless fodder of the bland. But if I managed to compliment the aggressive one, and Crimson Lips too, while giving back something sharp enough to show my strength, it might just work. At least that's what I reasoned.

"You invited this goddess," I said to Girlfriend #1 while gesturing towards Crimson Lips, "for a drink, or maybe three, so you can wallow in her aura, maybe catch a bit of her magic. You researched the internet all week, preparing for this so-called impromptu drink, memorizing the funny stories, working out the best insults for the benefit of all comers, your putdowns designed to showcase your wit and superiority, yet you love basking in the attention of all those male eyes staring at your table. But deep down in your heart, you know they're not for you. Gorgeous though you are, and my dear you are quite a stunner, you are overshadowed, clearly outmatched in your endless quest for worship and adoration."

At least I can go out swinging.

Immediately I realized my assessment had hit home. Too close to home. I saw it in Girlfriend's eyes. She glanced at Girlfriend #2, avoiding the gaze of Crimson Lips.

Fuck.

Now I felt like an asshole.

"Hey," I said, "that was unkind. I don't know you and I have no business playing as if I do. I'm really not very perceptive."

Crimson Lips and the blonde shared a smile. The three women, as if their brains were linked in some secret female neural pathway, burst into laughter as one. Even Crimson Lips was consumed with the giggles. She threw herself against the back of her chair; her upper-crossed leg rose up off her lower thigh as she grabbed the front of her knee, then let it plop back down again.

As I have said, her dress was so short it was barely legal and it was suddenly clear to me that she was wearing nothing at all beneath that silk sheath. No panties. No bra. Just a crimson lace garter belt and a pair of the sheerest, most gorgeous nylons in existence.

I caught a glimpse of her pink shaven pussy.

The LED light from the table lamp shone right in there.

She was wet.

I looked up into her face.

Busted.

Her laughter had subsided. She was staring at me. Hard.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked testily. Those glossy crimson lips were parted just enough so I could see the tip of her tongue resting between her teeth.

I wasn't sure how to answer. These women, gorgeous as they are, have learned well the art of keeping men off balance. Dazzled by their beauty and lured in by pure sexual magnetism, the hapless male is pounced upon and torn apart by their sharp wit and acid tongues. These women understood the art of war and they were very, very good at it.

They were in complete control and they knew it.

I smiled. "It was kinda hard to miss it, if you know what I mean..."

Silence.

My unspoken invitation to for her to reveal the name behind the stunning face and body was ignored.

She's playing hardball.

"My name's Paul." I reached across the void between us, offering my hand.

She took it. "Amelia."

I looked at the other two.

"Marie," said the blonde Mistress of the Putdown.

"Toni," said the redhead, offering the barest hint of a smile.

I made up for it, beaming at them all. "May I buy you all a drink?"

"Oh, by all means," Crimson Lips Amelia breathed. There was a hint of mischief in her words. Not quite sarcasm, not quite mean-spirited. Just an edge.

She was a free-drink machine and of course I was eager to play.

I waved over a server. The women got another round of whatever they were having.

"So," Marie said, "How are the sales at Nordstrom, Paul?"

Still at it. "Funny you should ask. There's a special on nylons tomorrow. We just got a shipment of Gio fully fashioneds. Harmony Point heel in glossy dore. Cervin Capri 7's too."

Amelia sucked in a breath. I looked over at her. She was absent-mindedly playing with one of her garters. A tiny sheen of sweat graced her forehead. She began to bounce her upper-crossed leg.

She was horny.

Was it the nylons? Is she so addicted to the feel of the sexiest of women's underthings, that even talking about fully fashioned stockings gets her all in a lather?

Let's find out.

"Of course, I don't work at Nordstrom. I'm a buyer of women's fashions for a multinational luxury apparel company. One of my specialties is nylons. Oh don't get me wrong. I volunteered for that assignment."

"Why? What's so special about nylons?" Crimson Lips Amelia said.

"I think you know." I couldn't help but glance down at her glossy thigh.

Instinctively she ran four glossy red talons along her upper-crossed thigh. The gentle sound of her nails on the fine nylon drew my eyes irresistibly to her legs. "Maybe I need you to enlighten me. Go on, tell me all about your nylons and why you love them so."

Our drinks arrived and nothing was said until our server had left.

Amelia had ordered a double single malt Scotch, neat. With a tiny straw.

Her glossy lipstick was still perfect.

Perfect crimson lips.

Perfect glossy crimson lipstick.

Those lips drew the nectar up through the lucky straw, into that perfect pouty mouth. She withdrew the straw, leaving a tiny drop of liquor on her lower lip. The glistening tip of her narrow perfect tongue slipped out between those perfect lips to repatriate the precious fluid back into that perfect mouth.

My peripheral vision closed down around me. The low din of conversation about us receded to nothing, replaced with silence. And focus.

Focus on those lips.

Dreaming of those lips kissing the tip of my cock, slipping down my rock-hard shaft, absorbing it, sucking it, licking, swallowing, needing it.

Those lips, kissing and sucking and swirling all over my shaft, into my soft orgasmic glans, soft bites, firm sucks, the tip of her tongue slipping out, driving in, in, in...

"Hey there," Marie said. "Paul. Paul! Where'd you go?"

Whoa. I shook my head.

Amelia's eyes were fixed on me. Somehow I had blacked out. But I was certain my eyes never closed. All I could think of, concentrate on, all I could see was those full crimson lips.

I reached for my drink. It was sitting there, untouched. As I looked around the table, three sets of eyes were staring at me, silent, appraising.

And then I noticed something odd.

Their drinks were all nearly finished.

Amelia was smiling. She reached out and placed her hand on mine. "Good to have you back."

"I - I'm sorry. I don't know what happened there."

"Are you all right? Do you need help?"

"No, no I'm just fine. I feel perfectly fine. Where was I?"

"Well, several minutes ago you were going to tell me all about nylons."

"Oh. Yes. Right."

Amelia took another sip. "You were going to tell me how nylons enslave you."

"I was? I wouldn't quite put it that..."

Amelia uncrossed and recrossed her long, slinky legs again. This time the swish of nylon on nylon was so loud, so pronounced, I was sure everyone in the entire lounge could hear it. My brain folded under the pressure of that intoxicating sound.

I tried to look around. To see all the heads turning in our direction, curious how the swish of a woman's nylons could fill a teeming cocktail lounge with their silky siren call.

But no. Her leg cross was for me, and for me alone.

"I think," Amelia whispered, leaning forward and looking deeply into my eyes. "I think you have a personality that is extremely open to addictive tendencies."

"How would you know that?"

Amela smiled. "Tell me about your nylons. Tell me... everything." Her eyes darted towards the server. Just a flashing glance was all that was needed. Her gaze had left my eyes no more than half a second.

Our drinks would be refreshed immediately.

"Everything, Paul. Tell me everything."

My guards fell away like greased Jenga blocks. I wanted to tell her... everything. I needed to. There would be no holding back.

"I've loved nylons since before I was an adolescent. My mother was a very beautiful woman. She wore them every day. She noticed my interest in her nylons and every now and then she'd let me touch them. Touch her legs. I loved how they felt on her skin, stretched tight across her thighs. I would slide my hand around the backs of her legs, feel the seam of the nylons on her strong calves, admire the straight path of the seams up her legs, up, up above her knees, above the hemline of her dress..."

Why was I telling her this?

"Mmmm," Amelia cooed, smiling. "She sounds wonderful. Did you ever have sex with her?"

"What? No. No of course not."

Well, not exactly.

"What do you mean - not exactly?"

I sucked in a breath. I could have sworn I didn't utter those words. They were only my thoughts. My deepest hidden thoughts.

My mind drifted back. No, we'd never actually done it. But she had let me touch her.

I remember how she'd manicure my hands, scrub them nice and smooth, make me use moisturizer several times every day. Lovingly making my hands soft. So soft. So buttery smooth. 'No snags' she'd say. 'If you don't keep them soft and smooth, you can't touch," was her gentle reminder.

I'd rush home after school so I'd be there when she came home from work. It'd be just us. She'd flop onto the couch beside me, kick off her heels and put her feet into my lap. She loved it when I'd massage away the fatigue of her day. How I'd learned to squeeze the width of her foot just so, how I'd slide my thumbs around the balls of her feet, pick up each little polished toe encased in the dark reinforced nylon of her stockings, grasp it in my thumb and forefinger and pull gently, one by one, knead the little pads, caress their length, first one, then the next. And the next. Slide my fingers up and around her high athletic arch, the nylon clinging tight to the complex curves of her foot without sag or give. Push my thumbs into that gazelle arch of her foot, slipping them along their length as she flexed her toes, showing me her pleasure. Sometimes I'd pull her foot to my nose, the gentle smells of leather and sweat and something else I could not name. Her intoxicating, moist, eager little toes, dancing in my hand, inviting my caresses, beckoning my mouth, my lips, my tongue. To taste her sweat, feel her fatigue drift away into my mouth. Feel those little digits squirming and writhing on my tongue, driving inside, inviting me to lick and suck and kiss and caress.

I would hold the ball of her heel, encased in the dark reinforced stitching of her nylon stocking, squeeeeeeze it gently while I'd run the other hand up her calves, massaging and kneading her tired muscles, feeling the straight seam of those gorgeous, perfect, silky nylons. Caress her calves, give her legs the best, the very best massage anyone could ever give, would ever give, so she'd keep coming back to me, every day, for more, for another, and another. And another.

Even her thighs, her tight lean thighs needed my attention. Two hands kneading, caressing, working up, up, up. And when I did, the scent from her would fill my nostrils and intoxicate my brain.

I'd admired other women's legs too, but I came to realize that my mother's legs were the best, the sexiest I'd ever seen. So long, so lean, her leg muscles so beautifully defined...

Sometimes we'd just sit together. She always wore her nylons. She knew I loved them so. She did too. She loved wearing nylons. She wore them all the time. Even on weekends, even in summer when she wore shorts. She loved wearing glossy, oil shine nylon pantyhose with cutoff shorts and high heels. I loved the feel of those oil-shines most of all. So slick, so slippery, so damn feminine.

Sometimes I wondered if she wore those for me.

Crazy, right?

Sexy.

No we didn't have sex. Of course we didn't.

But as I got older, into my teens, and my cock began to respond, I'd wondered.

Would it be possible?

How wonderful it would feel to slide my face between those glossy thighs, slide up her legs, feeling the tender swish of her nylons on my cheeks, up, up, up...

Of course we never did it.

But I would have...

"So why didn't you?"

Startled, I looked up. Amelia's smile was gone. She'd leaned forward. She gazed into my eyes with an intensity unlike before. I felt naked under those eyes. Her full pouty lips, soft, crimson.

Those lips.

Those crimson lips.

"Why didn't I what?" I was sure I hadn't spoken. Those were my most private thoughts. Never spoken of. Never revealed. Not to anyone.

"She wanted you. That's clear. So why didn't you fuck her?"

Oh sweet Lilith, what is she saying?

"Because - that would be wrong. Totally wrong. Totally, completely, irrevocably wrong."

"So I guess it would be wrong then."

I sat back and gulped down half my drink. I was keenly aware of the three sets of eyes on me. Unblinking. Appraising.

Amelia smiled. "You were telling us about your love for nylons."

"Right. Uh, where was I?"

"You were telling us how you admired your mother's legs in nylons, how you lusted after her, how you sooo wanted to fuck her, to get your face up there, between her legs, feel her velvety wet pussy on your mouth. How you'd love to make her cum, make her cum all over your face, then you'd crawl up her body and slide that young, hard cock deep inside of her hot, wet cunt."

She smiled. "Isn't that what you were going to tell us?"

"Uh, uh, no, no I was just going to describe my love, my love for, for, for..."

"For nylons? Like these?"

Amelia uncrossed her legs. She did it slowly. So slow. I watched, mesmerized as her upper thigh eased off the lower, the calf sliding across the knee, gifting me that swish. She angled her body to face me head on, her stiletto coming down to the floor, her legs apart, the silk cocktail dress so short, sooo very short, the Cut and Curled nylons terminating right at the tops of her legs, right at her pussy. Her pussy. Her pussy.

She was showing me her pussy and she was in no hurry to close her legs.

Glistening. Shaved. Red.

Pulsing.

Oh sweet Lilith. Her pussy was moving. The lips opening and closing.

Those Crimson Lips were moving.

I could not look away. I knew I should be ashamed for staring at this woman's pussy, but I didn't. I didn't feel anything.

Except...

It wasn't lust.

Although I knew I'd do anything to have that pussy slide down my shaft and swallow it whole.

It was more like... compulsion.

I couldn't look away.

"Paul."

The voice drifted towards me from the end of a deep, dark tunnel. Disembodied. Echoing.

"Paul."

Drawing towards me. Pulling me into the darkness.

"PAUL!"

I tore my eyes away from Amelia's crimson pussy lips. She was crossing her legs again anyway.

"Sorry, Amelia. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I..."

"Don't worry about it. It's not a problem."

"Everybody stares at Amelia's pussy," Marie said breezily. "Fuck, I stare at her pussy."

Amelia half stood and drew her chair closer to me. So close her knees were between my own. So close her knee was just inches from my sex. Her glossy crimson lips dazzled me, threatening to capture my attention yet again.

I felt faint. My breathing grew labored. My thoughts were hers.

She leaned forward, her forearms resting on her thighs. She closed her eyes briefly and tossed her head back, just an inch or two.

Come closer.

I leaned forward. She lifted her head so her mouth was even with my eyes, just a couple of inches away.

Those crimson lips were so close I could feel the little exhales of her breath on my nose. Even this close there were no imperfections on those perfect, glossy, crimson lips.

Those lips filled my vision and there was nothing else. Just perfect crimson lips.

My cock was so hard it hurt. I cannot recall ever feeling this hard.

I watched, transfixed as she puckered those glorious, full, pouty, crimson lips. A full round pucker, her mouth was formed in the perfect shape of an 'O', so close it filled my vision.

My cock throbbed.

She smiled gently, pushing the tip of her tongue out and along the upper lip. The underside of her glistening tongue curved upwards, pink and dripping, and slid along the upper crimson lip then down and back along the lower, circling her mouth like water down a drain.

With every pulse in my cock, a rift of pain jolted down the shaft to its base.

And then, she puckered those crimson lips and kissed the air, not two inches from my face.

I stared, lost in those lips, so close, filling my vision, dominating my brain. The din of the bar had long since faded. I was alone in the lamp light of our lone table in the clouds, my world devolved to the few inches in front of my face. Those glorious crimson lips.

Her eyes crinkled in amusement. She smiled, those lips full and pouty still, they pulled back, showing just how wide her mouth was. So full, so wide, just wide enough.

See, I'm big. My cock is very big. Fat. Long. Outrageous. Women can't usually fit me in their mouths. Certainly never past the head.

But this mouth. These lips.

Yes, I think she could.

"Yes, I think I could," she whispered, only for me.

Another dizzy spell swept over my brain. A migraine was coming; I knew the signs. No pain, just flashing lights and total lost of peripheral vision. Like a total eclipse of the sun, tunnel vision in the center, flashing corona all around. And in that center, so perfectly framed, so gloriously full and shiny and moist. Those lips.

She smiles then, her mouth opening a touch. Her tongue lances out between snow-white teeth. It's covered with a milky white substance. Thick. Gloppy thick and oozing off of her tongue, streaming over her lip, dripping onto her chin. She thrusts out her chest and the cum drips onto her perfect full breasts, collecting on the full tops of each of her mounds. From each side, the cum begins to flow in small rivulets, joining in her middle, gathering steam and running between her breasts and disappearing deep into the bosom of her glorious cleavage. I imagined the white sticky cum dripping along her tummy and pooling down there, into the tight triangle of her pussy, trapped in the confines of her glorious crossed thighs.

Her tongue slips in and out of that mouth, its jewel glistening in the lamp light, soaked in off-while cum. She curls that glistening sopping tongue up, up, up to the tip of her nose, driving into one nostril, just a quick little poke, then sweeping around those lips, cleaning everything up. Her nose, her cheeks, her chin, getting all that cum. Everything except those lips, still soaking in spunk, glistening, shining, sticky with cum. She puckers them again and smiles, all for me, just for me. Her smile grows ever wider, and her lips part once again as another flood of thick creamy cum pours out of that glorious mouth, pushed out by her inventive little tongue. Her glossy crimson lipstick is coated in iridescent white sperm, and I wonder how? How is that mouth so full of cum? Where did all of that sticky white juice come from?

My cock erupted with a series of pulsing, pumping spasms.

Mortified.

Crimson Lips smiled.

And then she laughed.

She threw her head back and laughed to the ceiling. Loud, long guffaws. A joyful, excited, happy laugh.

"Paul? Paul? Earth to Paul!"

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. Briefly I wondered how I was going to make it to the bathroom to clean up my mess without being noticed.

Mortified, I turned to look at Marie. "Sorry, I kind of zoned out there."

"I'll say," she said as I slipped a cloth napkin onto my lap to hide my spreading sodden embarrassment. I surreptitiously slipped a pinky finger underneath, trying to assess the extent of the damage, to see how bad my spurt had spread. To my astonishment, there was nothing. No wetness. No sticky cum in my boxers.

And I was still hard.

What gives?

I turned back to Amelia. "I get migraines periodically. Nothing too serious. There's no pain, no sensitivity to light. Just tunnel vision and flashing all around. It only lasts for twenty or thirty minutes.

"So that's where you were."

"I guess I sort of blacked out."

"You did. But you didn't seem to be in any distress. How often does this happen?"

"Every other month or so. What's interesting is what triggers them."

"Oh?" Those lips pursed in anticipation.

I sat back and looked at the three women, each one in turn. They stared back, one hundred percent focused on my next words. They had to count, as I knew they would.

"Extreme emotion is the biggest trigger. Powerful feelings brought on by surprise and - uh well by..."

"Yes?" three mouths uttered their encouragement in breathless unison.

I took a deep breath and swallowed. What the hell. "By animal desire. Call it lust. Call it need. And when it comes..."

"Yes?" cried out the trio.

"When it comes, that one thing centered in the crosshairs of my vision is my sole focus, and it gets every iota of my attention. The world could explode around me but nothing can make me waiver from that one, incredible, mesmerizing thing."

Amelia touched my chin and swiveled my head to look at her, full on. "You were focused on my lips."

"Yes."

"You like them."

"Yes."

The tip of her tongue poked out, wetting her upper lip yet again. She smiled.

"Why?"

Swing for the fences.

"Amelia, you have the most beautiful mouth I've ever seen. Your lips are magical. Your lower lip is so full and soft and your upper a good match. So soft and pillowy, I imagine them touching my skin, soft, moist, firm, then pulling away. Tiny sticky touchpoints stubbornly holding on to me, coming away reluctantly, leaving an invisible yet indelible mark on my skin. I would never forget the soft, moist touch of those lips, even if I felt them but once in my life, leaving their glossy, hot impression in their wake, burning into me like a branding iron, yet soft and cool and sexy and firm all at once. Their supporting character, that narrow glistening tongue, constantly feeding your lips with moisture, gloss, softness.

"When you speak, your full gorgeous mouth caresses the words, shapes the air, moistens the mood. They draw me in and I am transfixed by their grace: steady, expressive, sensuous. The words are supporting characters; your lips tell me everything. Who you are, what you want, what you need, what I must do to make them smile, if even for just the briefest of moments.

"When I imagine kissing those lips, I lose myself in a world of soft passion, overwhelmed in the feminine, binding to my psyche with sweet, clingy tendrils. Your kisses would hold you forever in my thoughts, and I would give anything, sacrifice anything, do any thing, for just one, soft, lingering kiss.

"If I could have that, just once, fully and completely just once, I think I could live with that memory forever, knowing for that one tiny instant, in that one speck of time, I was in heaven. And nothing would ever wrest that one thing away from my grasp."

No-one spoke. No-one moved. Amelia's soft brown eyes bored deep into my brain.

I held her gaze without embarrassment or waver. Marie and Toni were frozen in their seats, not daring to break the spell, not even with a sip of their drinks.

Four lacey-gloved fingers of her left hand slipped into the hair on the back of my head. I'd never noticed the gold ring on one of her digits, hidden as it was under her lacey black glove. It dug into me briefly before the tips of her fingers curled into my scalp. Four sharp nails dug gently into my skin, their pressure steadily growing. Strong. Relentless.

Amelia's crimson lips drew closer, her fingers pulling me to her with unyielding strength.

She parted those perfect full, moistened lips. The glistening tip of her tongue at the ready, preparing for invasion. At this moment she was the phallus; I was the challis. Our lips met with a tiny electric spark, shocking us, making her smile, and her tongue lanced inward, merging with mine as our lips sealed them in.

Her kiss was perfect, everything I'd imagined. Her soft full lips on mine overwhelmed my senses, absorbing me. I slipped my hand into her full midnight hair and held those crimson lips to mine while our tongues did their mating dance, enhancing our pleasure and driving our lust ever higher. I closed my eyes to shut out all else, and she did the same. Her kiss was not static; her mouth worked into the kiss, at first gentle, soft, exploring. Then a raw hunger took over and those glorious crimson lips and that eager narrow tongue began their work of demolishing me, taking me down a rabbit hole of desire and lust and insatiable hunger. Her grip on me tightened, drawing me closer, mashing her crimson lips into mine, the jewel slipping around my tongue, as if daring me to ask for more.

She moaned as the kiss turned wet. Saliva dripped between our lips, our tongues driving it out and making more. Our lips turned slick, our mouths slippery and hot. Her breathing grew rapid, matching my own. She moved in closer, drawing her heaving breasts into me with each desperate inhale. She uncrossed those gorgeous legs and snicked closer, one knee between mine. She squeezed my leg between those glossy nylon knees. A hot dampness spread over my own knee. It was pushed into her dripping crimson pussy.

I wanted to stand her up, to maximize body contact as we kissed, but I knew that was impossible.

My mind devolved into a lingering sweet haze. Her lips overwhelmed me, owned me. She sucked on my tongue for a hot sweet moment, drawing me closer, tighter. I was lost, so lost in the moment. The kiss was my world, my life, and I was to be forever ruined, no kiss would ever match this. If I could not have her, my future is hopeless. No kiss from another would ever compare.

At last we parted. Her lower lip, sticky and full, held onto mine for a brief second before surrendering to its mate. Her sweet tongue retracted and those crimson lips closed. The kiss was gone but the smile was not. My heart was racing; Amelia's breathing was deep.

"Fuck."

It was Marie.

Amelia glanced behind me, at her friend. Her smile never waivered, her gaze soft. I looked down at her left hand, trying not to be to be too obvious in examining if those crimson lips were already spoken for.

"So, Paul," Amelia said, the fingers of her right hand lifting my chin to face her, "now that you've had your one kiss, is that enough, could you live on that memory forever?"

The three women, partners in crime and seduction, waited, breathless.

In the flash of a second, a dozen answers came to mind.

***

Josie's Notes

Two ships passing in the night? Or more...?