We were in that really filthy part of the fuck, when I felt like a steel pole being forged by the Goddess herself, and Dawn was rocking under me with each thrust, emitting sounds that would make lesser men, and women, cream their jeans instantaneously. Sure that sounds over the top, hyperbolic, even. But come on, if you could fuck Dawn, you’d be over the top too, every fucking time. And no, you can’t fuck her, because she’s mine and I don’t share. And neither does she, for that matter.

Anyway, right about when I was getting ready to completely cave in to lust and go all jackhammery, I caught sight of Dawn’s lipstick on the bed-table. Not that it struck me as odd, even though it was. Lipstick didn’t live on the bed-table usually, but that wasn’t really the pont, then and there. Instead it just clicked over another thought, and a different plan. Fucking is, as you may or may not have experienced, great for free association.

So, I gave Dawn a big ol’ wet, tonguey kiss, hilting in her, and reached for the tube, then leaned back a bit and opened it up.

“What are you doing, Leo?” I love it when she asks that question. Especially with that panting, ‘I’m fucking’ voice.

I didn’t answer, instead taking the lipstick and drawing a circle around one of her breasts with it.

“Oh, Jeez! Leo! You’ll ruin it!”

“I’ll buy you a new one.” I said, drawing a second circle inside the first, just outside her aureole.

“You bet you will. What is this anyway? Tit graffiti?”

I double-circled her other breast, then moved down to her belly button, pressing hard into her as I raised my belly from hers. She squeezed me most deliciously as I circumscribed her innie.

“Nope. Targets.”

I looked up at her and wiggled one eyebrow before drawing a ’10’ above the big breast-circles, and ’20’ above the small ones. “You’re a child, Leo.”

Belly button: ’20’ “A very happy one.”

“It’s going to take—” she had pause there as I pulled out of her, “forever to clean this off.”

“As if I— or you — won’t enjoy my scrubbing you sparkly clean.”

I drew a very bad circle around her cunt (’30’) —the contours down there are hard on a horny artist—but made a rather nice little semicircle around her clit (’50’). Like a one color rainbow. It wasn’t lost on either of us that she kept her legs nice and open for me while I worked.

“So, Mr. Carnival, how are you going to score this?

I took my cock in my hand. It wasn’t going to take long.

“First, I win. Then I pick my prize.”

I got 130 points.

And my prize was delicious. And noisy.

And later, in the shower, Dawn made sure all the lipstick got off my face, too.

© 2012 Raziel Moore. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Raziel Moore’s been writing erotica for more than 20 years, the first 10 years of which are thankfully lost. Desire and its colors, and control in its permutations – including its loss – are favorite subjects for short flashes, stories, and vignettes. Monocle is currently 1/3 of The Erotic Writer blog at, and the proprietor of the very-short-piece

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