Lipstick and Other Stories

  An anthology of erotic short stories by

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  6470A Glenway Avenue, #109

  Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 1-59426-541-0

  Lipstick and Other Stories © 2005 by Petula Caesar

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Edited by LaTanya Davis

  Cover art © 2005 by Stacey L. King

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  www.Phaze.com

  Thanks and Dedications

  · Thank you to all my family and friends who have supported my writing over the years.

  · Thanks to my daddy for passing the gift and curse of the written word to me.

  · Thanks to my mommy for putting up with me and loving me even when she didn’t like me.

  · Thank you to my sister, my uncle and my cousins, especially cousin Charles (not the Charles mentioned in the book by the way).

  · An extra special thank you to my sister-girlfriends who have supported me whether it was for a reason, a season, or for always. They are too numerous to mention but I especially want to thank Chanel, Angela, and Patricia for being there even when they weren’t.

  · I want to give a special shout out to the entire city of Baltimore, especially the alums of the original Eastern High School on East Thirty-Third Street, and most especially to the Class of 1984 (Smurfs Forever!) And a shout out to the cast and crew of the stage play ‘Deception and Denial’…I love y’all! (“D-n-D…we all we got!”)

  · Thanks to all my current and former lovers. Each and every one of you is represented in this work. I thank you for whatever you taught me, and hope you appreciate the things I taught you. J

  · Thanks to the ladies of Phaze, especially Stacey and Bridget. And a deeply heartfelt thank you to my editor LaTanya. Because of you, I stepped up my writing game in ways I didn’t know possible. You made me a better writer, and I will always love you for it.

  · Finally…there are special dedications throughout the book of individual stories to some of the men who have passed through my life. Know that I will never forget any of you.

  And now, on with the show!

  Much love,

  Tula

  Table of Contents

  The Instrument

  Head Of The Class

  Pussywhipped

  Coming In My Back Door

  Lipstick

  Footsie

  The Spatula

  The September 11th Story

  A Natural Progression 86

  Right On Schedule

  The Instrument

  To Marcus

  Have you ever been played like an instrument?

  Let me clarify. I don’t mean played in its modern day meaning—being taken advantage of, lied to, or cheated on. I mean played as in having someone make your body make music? Or did you even know that your body could make music if it was played properly? If it was stroked and strummed and tapped upon in the right way, beautiful music could come pouring out of you?

  My favorite lover is a master musician. He has stood the test of time in my life when others have not, and it is because of his virtuosity. He plays me absolutely perfectly, and when he does, symphonies come out of me. Concertos drip out of my pores. High-pitched orgasmic arias come out of my mouth, only for his ears to hear. Deep throbbing bass lines ooze out of my pussy, full of rhythm. He laps each pulsing note up with his eyes, his hands, his tongue, and his bow.

  He begins by taking me out of my case. When I say that, I don’t just mean he undresses me. The same way a musician takes an instrument out of its case and exposes it to the listener, he makes my inhibitions fall away, along with my clothing. He exposes me, and I am happily exposed.

  Next, he tunes me up. A musician always checks his instrument to make sure it is sounding clear and resonant. He caresses me first, with a touch that lingers and exists for my pleasure alone. It is there to see how I am, how I feel, what I want. He will gently rub me as he goes, occasionally applying pressure here and there, stroking, strumming, and a moan will slip from me. This is how he tunes his instrument—by listening to my purrs and hisses and murmurs. When I call out at the right pitch, he knows he can move on to the next thing.

  Every instrument has a piece that needs special care and attention. The reed of a flute. The strings of a cello. For me, it is my nipples. He loves my breasts, especially my nipples. He applies his mouth carefully to them, blowing and listening for my response. He blows again, flicks out his tongue to trace the tip of the nipple, and listens. Then he reaches up with his hands and squeezes my breasts, licking the nipple and blowing, then listening again. Next, his mouth engulfs them, tonguing all over, making them moist, fingering one breast as he tends to the other one, and then, blowing gently again, listens to hear my pitch. When my pitch is pure and right, he smiles and repeats the process on the other breast, then brings them together, burying his head between them. He now tends to them in unison, until I grow feverish and add words to the sounds moving through my throat. He smiles, knowing the instrument is in top form, sounding sweet.

  He must be sure the instrument is completely primed for the concert to come. He checks my moist center with his fingertips, and is moved to call out himself at how juicy I have become. I can only purr in response. He likes to hear me purr. Expertly using his index finger, he tests my waters, lightly fingering the edges of my pussy, occasionally pressing it against my clitoris. Taking his thumb, he pushes it against my clit, using the index finger to continue surveying the edges. He loves my smooth baldness down there…it makes for much clearer notes he says. He mutters to himself and I become a pure full-fledged soprano as he touches me there.

  Now we can begin playing.

  The music begins as a whisper. You can barely hear it. It is never rushed, but always purposeful. He takes his bow and plucking at my taut string. I hear my voice begin. As his bow moves more insistently across me, the music begins to grow and swell. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead as he starts to play in earnest, and they fall down on me like summer rain, damp and full of heat. “Did you miss this dick baby?,” he sings to me and I respond with a melodic “yes” that moves him to play me more insistently, with greater fervor and passion. The bow moves as it sees fit now, up and down and in and out of me. He is playing me—his dick, his hands, his eyes, and his mouth. The music is coming out of me now, running out of me like a broken jukebox, and he knows. “Make your pussy talk to me. Make it sing to me,” he commands like the great conductor he is, and I am carried away, and bring forth my most beautiful notes, clear like a bell, full of passion, tumbling one over the other in their rush to please the master musician. “Did you miss me? I know I missed you,” he says. As badly as I want to hide, the music has left me naked and only the truth will come from me now. “Yes I missed you so much. I missed the music you bring out of me.” He goes on stroking and strumming me, until I begin to quiver and shake at the intensity of it all. He turns me over and enters me from behind, my ass cheeks become his percussion section as he beats against them, his lips on my neck, and sweat raining down on me even harder. Each drop that hits my ass, my back, my head, my face, and my lips, fills me with passi
on. He rules over me so completely now, and I am his instrument. He plays me not only for the pleasure the music gives him, but also for the pleasure that the instrument takes in being played.

  Now, he will play a few notes for his own joy, and the instrument wants him to. I lead him forward, gyrating against him, squeezing my muscles against his dick, telling him how good he makes me feel, how badly I want him to come. With a huge heaving shudder, he begins to end the song, the drops of sweat falling harder, he shakes and moves in me hard and fast and I call out again and he comes, his deep bass and my soprano mixing and melding together.

  He holds his instrument close to him when he’s done. He touches it softly, thanking it with his touches and caresses, letting it know how much he has enjoyed making the music together. Of course, he sleeps with his instrument too, holding it close to him as he snores deeply, fully satisfied and pleased at his performance, and most of all, with the performance of the instrument.

  Head Of The Class

  To Patrick S.

  There were all kinds of women present. Old ones, young ones, middle-aged ones. They were fat, skinny and everything in between. They spanned the spectrum racially, in every shade from black to white to brown to yellow…all kinds of color combinations. They all had different attitudes towards my purpose in their lives. But this was the 21st century. The world was a wide-open place now. Learning communities of all kinds had sprung up all around as people got together to formally study their interests. I had made it my personal quest to educate women on a particularly intimate subject. I did not allow men into my class, even if they were interested in the subject matter. My audience was strictly heterosexual women.

  Each woman, when applying to my seminar, had to write an essay about why she wanted to participate. Some had read books on the subject. Some had even tried watching instructional videotapes. Not everyone can learn that way. Some people needed the personal touch. My classes filled up quickly and were booked months in advance, so gaining a spot was quite a coup. I always paid special attention to the women who said that while they were doing this to please the men in their lives, they were also doing it for themselves. I always made a point of finding a space for those women in my class.

  I peeked into the classroom and watched the twenty or so women sitting there. There were no conversations taking place among them. They were all strangers to each other. I never allowed “buddies” to take the class together because I learned in my early teaching days that it hindered the learning process in this special area.

  After a few minutes, I slowly opened the door and walked into the classroom. I felt the pairs of eyes following me as I walked across the front of the room. Brown, blue, green, gray eyes…all scared eyes. They all watched me nervously as I walked over to the blackboard, picked up the chalk, and wrote these words in all capital letters on the board.

  FELLATIO (I.E.—BLOW JOB)

  Then I turned from the board to look at their faces. The expressions ranged from shock and nervousness to blank stares. A very diverse bunch. Excellent. I always enjoyed the challenge of finding the common ground for my students when they were all so different. I looked each woman in her eye, and without fail each would cast her eyes downward after only a moment or two.

  “Good morning everyone,” I finally said. “I am Mr. Holly, your instructor. This…” I pointed to the words I had written on the blackboard, “is what you’re here to learn about.”

  A few women began to blush.

  “Now, first and foremost,” I went on, “you’re never ever going to be able to do this if you can’t at least look the words in the eye. If the words embarrass you now, that’s to be expected. At some point these words can’t make you uncomfortable anymore. If they make you feel uncomfortable, the act will make you feel uncomfortable.” I looked around at my students, making sure I had everyone’s undivided attention. “Now, let’s all say the first word together. I’ll say it first, then you repeat after me. Fellatio. I’ll say it again, more slowly this time. FELLLL-AY-SHE-OH. Fellatio. Now I want all of you to say it together on three. Ready? One, two, three…”

  There was dead silence when I got to three. That always happened. It was to be expected.

  “Ladies, work with me please,” I said in my most polite tone. Most women would do whatever you want if you asked them nicely. “Please. It is only a word. A collection of syllables. We’re not getting into what it means yet. Right now, we’re just saying the word.” I looked around the room once more. “Can we try it again on three?”

  “FELL-AY-SHE-OH!”

  This time most of them responded, albeit in low, muted tones.

  “A little louder ladies if you please,” I asked again.

  “Fellatio.” Nearly 90 percent of the class responded then. There were a few holdouts in the rear of the classroom.

  I began walking toward the back of the room, raising my hands like the conductor of a symphony. “I want to hear everyone ladies. Every single voice. You don’t have to shout, but I need to hear it loud and clear. Even from back here.” I was now at the rear of the room, standing near the group of four non-participants. “Fellatio.” I said. “Now everyone on three. One, two…” As I counted, I looked directly at the women who had not spoken the first two times. I smiled to encourage them. Two of the four of them managed to mouth the word “fellatio”, just loud enough for me to hear if I stood close to them. The other two began to blush. “Fellatio,” I said again, still standing there. After repeating the process two more times, I finally managed to get all four to say the word. I thanked these four ladies for participating, and moved back to the front of the class, where I thanked the entire group.

  “Now, to the matter at hand,” I continued.

  “I’ve reviewed all your essays. I know why all of you are here. In spite of the differences among you, you all have one thing in common. There is something you want to gain. You want to gain a skill. You will, if I do my job properly. I promise you I will.”

  “I am going to help you get to know the male sex organs. The penis and the testicles. In particular, we’re going to learn all about erections. All kinds of erections. Your current or future lover’s erections. I am going to help you embrace it, to make it your friend. To understand what it is, and why it is the way it is. The psychology of the penis is usually pretty simple and straightforward, but can be impacted by outside influences in ways that make it complicated at times. I want to help you ladies stop viewing the penis as the enemy if that is your attitude. Now, I am in no way responsible for what you do with the knowledge I impart to you. I can suggest that you use it wisely and well with people who are deserving of the skills you will possess when you leave here. I cannot control what you do with what you learn.”

  I looked around the room as I spoke. They were all entranced, in an almost hypnotic state. I smiled, watching as a few of the more bold ones smiled back.

  I always began my classes by explaining the goal of a well-executed blowjob. “Ladies, oral sex for men is supposed to simulate vaginal intercourse as much as possible. The wetness, the heat, the tightness. It is also supposed to add the elements of additional mobility, and suction. Let me say this right at the beginning…there are two things that mark every lousy blowjob…lack of enthusiasm…and teeth. Please remember that.”

  The ladies laughed as they took notes.

  “Our first lesson will address the teeth issue. Now of course the size of the penis in question will affect your ability to do this, but this is one thing you still need to master—proper teeth guarding technique. Please observe.”

  As I moved away from the podium to stand in the middle of the floor, I said, “now ladies in the back, you may need to stand to see this, but I will be walking around and demonstrating individually. Please watch carefully.” At this point I thoroughly moistened my tongue and licked my lips several times, saturating them completely. Then I pursed my lips, opening my mouth. As I opened my mouth and my pursed lips began to naturally slide across my te
eth, I pulled my lips over my teeth, as far as I could until my lips were actually resting on the top of my teeth. My mouth was fully open then, and I licked my lips one last time. Holding this for about 15 seconds, I turned from one side of the room to the other so everyone could see. Then I closed my mouth.

  “Now ladies,” I cautioned. “You may not be able to open your mouth as wide as I just did. That will come in time.” I’m going to do it again and walk around the room as I do. Then you’re going to do it. As I walk around, I’m going to be distributing tubes of lip balm for those of you who need it. Feel free to stop me if you need help. Once we all get the proper positioning, we’re going to do this 20 times—we’re going to lick our lips, purse our lips, open our mouths, position the lips over our teeth, open wide, and hold ten seconds. Then we’re going to release it, rest for five, and do it again.” Going over to my desk, I opened a drawer and took out a large zip lock bag full of lip balm sticks. Unzipping the bag, I took a few containers out and began walking across the front of the classroom. “Lets go ladies…lick, purse, open, position, lick, hold for ten, and release.” I began doing the exercise myself as I walked around.

  The ladies were a bit hesitant at first. Then one by one, they began doing the exercise. Most could not hold it all the way to ten. Some found it painful to have their teeth digging into their gums when they put their lips over them, but they all were trying. Several applied lip balm when I offered it, which helped the process. After a half hour or so all of the ladies had the basic teeth shielding technique mastered, so I returned to the front of the room.

  “Excellent work ladies. I’m going to ask each of you to do 100 repetitions of this exercise every night for the duration of this class. We will be adding other exercises later, but let’s start with this one. Remember, the two killers of a blowjob are teeth and lack of enthusiasm. Class dismissed!”

  *

  Every class after this one started with five minutes of teeth guarding exercises. We also added an exercise where the ladies just opened and closed their jaws as widely as they could, to introduce elasticity into the jaws and mouth. I always reminded them to keep the corners of their lips especially well lubricated, like the hinges on a door.