My Red Lipstick Gave Her Away in Front of Her Boyfriend

That Saturday in October 2022, the pandemic restrictions were already a memory, and I had the feeling my body was asking for something I couldn’t even name. I called my sister, suggested we go out, and she said she’d come along with my niece. We agreed to meet at a bar with pool tables in the south of Avellaneda, a place we already knew, where Saturdays filled up with young people.

I chose a short black dress, tight at the waist, with a neckline that left little to the imagination. I put my makeup on slowly: lined my eyes with eyeliner and painted my mouth with an intense red lipstick, the kind that lasts all night without budging. I looked at myself in the mirror before leaving and thought that night I was ready for something to happen to me.

We got to the bar, ordered burgers and a couple of draft beers. The music was old reggaeton and the dance floor was still empty. The three of us chatted while the place gradually filled up around us.

When we were just about done eating, a couple in their twenties came over to our table.

“Can we sit with you?” the guy asked, with a smile that was way too self-assured.

I looked at my sister, at my niece, and the two of them gave me a no gesture. I answered as politely as I could that we were a family gathering and would rather stay by ourselves. They left without arguing.

We paid the bill and the three of us went to the bathroom to touch up our makeup. When we came out, we crossed by the pool tables and I noticed that same couple was playing at one of them.

“Will you let us play with you?” I asked, more for the hell of it than anything else.

“No,” he answered right away. “You didn’t invite us to your table.”

Before I could react, he added:

“Just kidding, join us, girls. Come on.”

We joined them. Between pool shots, drinks, and laughter, the night took on another shape. After a while they suggested we keep drinking at a bigger table and we agreed. I ordered a Fernet with two energy sodas and the music started getting louder.

When a perreo came on, the guy’s girlfriend grabbed my hand and dragged me to the middle of the still fairly empty dance floor. Dancing with her was fun, nothing more; she got down on all fours, I followed from behind with my pelvis pressed against her ass, moving against her to the rhythm of the bass, feeling the fabric of her skirt brushing my dress and the firm flesh underneath. The people in the bar watched us with that mix of lust and amusement that other people’s alcohol can create. Her boyfriend cheered us on from the table like our personal fan. We finished the song to applause and went back to sit down, flushed, laughing at ourselves.

That was when I felt someone watching me from another table.

I turned my head and saw them: another couple, also young. She was short, blonde, with loose curls all over her hair, white skin covered in freckles, and pale eyes that held mine a second longer than what counts as casual. I smiled at her and motioned for them to come over.

“Are you coming with us?” I asked.

She looked at her boyfriend.

“Shall we?” she said, already getting up from her chair.

“Sure,” he replied, with a tone that wasn’t exactly enthusiasm.

They introduced themselves. She was an architect, newly graduated, and worked at a small studio near downtown. While she talked, I couldn’t stop looking at her lips: full, bare, with a shape that seemed made to be bitten. She had that strange harmony of a short but well-proportioned body, small firm tits outlined beneath her T-shirt, and she laughed from her throat, not her mouth.

A Cordoban cuarteto started playing. She looked at me.

“Can you dance cuarteto?”

“I haven’t in years, but I remember a little,” I answered.

We got up together. On the dance floor, with more people around us now, we danced close, looking into each other’s eyes every few seconds and smiling for no apparent reason. At one point she leaned toward my ear and, over the music, said:

“You’re really cool.”

I don’t know what face I made. I answered something like, “I’m just like that,” and laughed, trying to make it sound casual and not like what it had really sounded like in my head.

We went back to the table. This time her boyfriend was looking at me with his jaw clenched. My niece, who’s good at reading the field, dragged her off to dance to ease the tension, and the boyfriend took the chance to pull me out. While he spun me around through the crowd, he said in my ear:

“I want you so bad. You’ve had my dick hard since I saw you dancing.”

I smiled without answering. I had no intention of playing along.

A little later, she got up and motioned for my niece to come with her to the bathroom. I let go of the boyfriend mid-spin and followed them, with the excuse of touching up my makeup.

My niece came out before she did.

“You wait for her, I’m going back to the table,” she said, and left.

I stayed outside the bathroom door, leaning against the wall. A long minute passed and I started thinking she’d gotten dizzy.

“Are you okay?” I asked, gently knocking on the wood.

The door opened. She was there, in front of the mirror, her mouth still clean and her reflection serious. She looked at me, I looked at the mirror behind her, and then our eyes met in the reflection and in real life at the same time.

I don’t know who made the first move.

Suddenly I had her pressed against the mirror, my painted mouth against her bare one. What began as a brush turned into something with tongue, with saliva, with those short gasps that betray that someone had been waiting for that kiss without knowing it. I grabbed her waist over the dress, slid my hands up and squeezed her tits over the T-shirt; her nipples hardened beneath the fabric and she let out a low moan into my mouth. I sank my teeth into her lower lip, that full lip I’d wanted to bite since I first saw her, and she dug her nails into the back of my neck, not wanting to hurt me and hurting me just enough. I wedged a thigh between her legs and pressed it against her pussy over her clothes; I felt the heat through the fabric, the wetness already beginning to seep through, and she moved against my leg once, twice, searching for friction like a cat. I ran my tongue over the corner of her lip and lowered my mouth to her neck, sucking her white skin until I left a red mark above her collarbone.

It must have lasted a minute. For me it was something else.

She pulled away as abruptly as she had started, breathing hard, eyes glassy. She turned toward the mirror, ran her finger over her lower lip trying to erase the trace of my lipstick, and walked out of the bathroom without looking at me.

I stood there for a few seconds, alone, staring at my own reflection. My mouth was smeared to one side, my breathing was fast, and my panties were soaked against my lips. You just kissed a woman for the first time in your life, I thought, and I was surprised the sentence didn’t scare me. I touched up my lipstick with the hand that was still shaking a little and went out.

***

When I got back to the table, everything seemed the same on the surface. She was sitting next to her boyfriend, back straight, with a smile that looked forced. I sat in my place, grabbed my glass, and tried to talk about anything with my sister.

The boyfriend was staring at her. Then he fixed his eyes on her mouth. Then he stretched out his arm and grabbed her chin without gentleness to turn her face toward the light.

“Look at yourself,” he said, loud enough for the whole table to hear.

“What?” she asked, pale.

“Look at your mouth. Honestly, you’re a mess. I’m out of here, baby. Bye.”

He stood up, grabbed the motorcycle helmet hanging on the back of the chair, and walked toward the exit. She froze for a second, then grabbed hers and followed him.

My niece looked at me wide-eyed. My sister brought a hand to her mouth. The others, the ones from the first dance, still couldn’t quite understand what had happened.

Security asked them to take the fight outside. I went after her almost without thinking.

On the sidewalk, he had already started the motorcycle and was turning the corner. He left her there, standing on the curb with the helmet in her hand.

“Is he really going to dump you here?” I asked, standing beside her.

“Sorry,” she said, without looking at me. “It’s just that we’ve only been seeing each other for a very short time, it’s still not… we’re not…”

“Even so, leaving you alone in the street at this hour is a dick move.”

She nodded, still not looking at me. Then, as if she’d remembered something, she lifted her head and walked to the corner, where he was waiting for her with the motorcycle running. She climbed on, wrapped her arms around his waist, and they left.

I stayed on the sidewalk watching them shrink down the avenue, with a helmet I hadn’t put on and a sensation like a train passing while you don’t know which platform you’re standing on.

***

When I went back to the table, I picked up my phone and texted M., a friend with benefits from years back, someone who knew how to show up when I needed him without asking questions.

“Where are you?” he replied almost instantly.

“Near your place. I’m a little drunk.”

“Where should I pick you up?”

I sent him the location. He replied with a short voice note, laughing. Ten minutes later he was standing at the bar door, trying to get in, but security wouldn’t let anyone else inside. I signaled to him from inside and shouted to my sister over the music that we were leaving.

In the pickup truck, M. offered to take my sister and my niece to my mother’s place. They agreed. We made the trip in silence, except for the radio. When we dropped them off, my sister squeezed my hand before getting out and said:

“You’ll tell me everything later, okay?”

“Yeah. Later.”

***

At M.’s place, as soon as we closed the door, I was already leaning against the hallway wall.

“I’m so horny,” I told him, almost voicelessly. “So horny. I need you to fuck me.”

He didn’t ask for explanations. He grabbed my face and pushed his tongue into my mouth without preamble, while with the other hand he lifted my dress to my waist and slid two fingers under my panties. He gave a short laugh when he saw how soaked I was.

“Look at you, you little bitch,” he said against my mouth. “You’re dripping.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

He lifted me by the ass, I hung from him with my legs around his waist, and he carried me to the bedroom without stopping kissing me. He threw me onto the bed, yanked the dress over my head in two moves, pulled off my soaked panties, and smelled them without any shame before tossing them to the floor. He took his clothes off himself without hurry: his dick sprang up against his stomach as soon as he pulled down his boxer briefs, thick, heavy, the tip already shining with pre-cum.

He climbed onto the bed, spread my legs with both hands, and lowered his head without needing to be asked twice. He ran his tongue over my cunt, from bottom to top, sucking my swollen lips one by one, then latched onto my clit like it was a piece of candy. I closed my eyes and arched my back. He knew how to do it, always had: he sucked hard, let me go, licked me in circles, slipped his tongue inside me and came back up to my clit just when I was about to drop off the edge. He slid in two fingers and curved them, searching for the exact spot. I started trembling in less than a minute.

“Come on my face,” he said with his mouth pressed to my pussy. “Come on, do it.”

I came screaming, grabbing his hair, pressing his head against me while my legs shook on their own. He didn’t move: he kept licking me slowly while I came down, sucking up every drop, until I grabbed his face and forced him up.

“Now fuck me,” I told him. “Fuck me hard.”

He settled between my legs and drove his dick into me in one thrust, all the way in. We both moaned at the same time. He started moving hard, without tenderness, gripping my hips to slam me against the mattress every time he came in. The bed creaked. I wrapped my legs around his waist and dug my heels into his ass so he wouldn’t let up.

“Harder,” I asked, and he obeyed.

While he was fucking me, my eyes were closed and he wasn’t the one in my head. It was a bare mouth, thick lips pressed against a mirror, blonde curls falling over a freckled forehead. Every time M. drove into me, I imagined her tongue between my legs, licking me the way he had been licking me minutes before. I came a second time thinking of her, biting my lip so I wouldn’t say a name that wasn’t the one with me.

He pulled out, turned me over, and put me on all fours. He grabbed my hips and shoved it into me from behind again, even deeper. He gave me a sharp slap on the ass, then another, and I lowered my head against the pillow and started moving on him myself, fucking him back. He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back.

“Whore, you’re a whore,” he told me. “Look at you sucking my dick with your cunt.”

“Yeah, I’m a whore, keep going, don’t stop.”

He stuck his thumb in my ass while he kept fucking me. That was the trigger for the third orgasm: my vision went blurry, my arms trembled, and I fell face-first into the pillow, with him still inside me, moving faster and faster, his breathing cut short.

“Where?” he managed to ask.

“In my mouth. Come in my mouth.”

He pulled out, I turned around quickly and knelt in front of him on the bed. I grabbed his dick with both hands and took it down my throat, sucking it hard, squeezing his balls with one hand. He held on two or three seconds longer, groaning, and then filled my mouth with warm cum, shot after shot, gripping the back of my neck so I couldn’t get away. I swallowed everything while looking him in the eyes, stuck out my tongue to show him nothing was left, and smiled to myself when I saw him fall back onto the bed, wrecked.

While he cleaned me up afterward with that tenderness of his that’s so rare among the men I know, running a warm cloth over my cunt and my face, I was somewhere else.

I was thinking about a bare mouth against a mirror. About curls falling over a freckled forehead. About a red mark that had lasted a minute and was still leaving its mark inside me.

M. never found out. That eruption had an owner, and it wasn’t him.