tagHumor & SatireMakeup Sex

Makeup Sex


Terry had to blush. She had never realized that her emission would have been taken that way. And here was Stick, apologizing. She had been so furious, batting at him with fierce lashes; now she was all wrung out with grief. Stick was all retracted and small, as if he'd shrunk overnight, and he was standing with his cap off, recalcitrant, abject, telling her how sorry he was that he had hurt her. It was a shock of recognition for her as she realized what he had thought, and why he had remonstrated as he had. Sometimes words had a way of meaning several different things; it was a misunderstanding, that was all, but it had almost ruptured their beautiful friendship.

Terry looked up shyly at her boyfriend and, somehow, she knew that she had been forgiven. Stick turned around gradually with joy, straightening back up and looking taller than she could remember him ever having looked before. He came close to Terry, lending her some color as he leaned in close. "Thank you, darling. I'd like to show you my applicator now, if you don't mind."

Did she mind? She suddenly was flustered, as if she had never seen one in her life. This boy was different. She'd wipe up his messes and scrub his troubles away, she knew, if only he let her know for sure that he wanted and needed her. "Bring it out, Sticky sweetheart."

Stick stood up even taller, glowing with a purple gleam that excited Terry more than she had ever been before. Looking down, she saw Sticky's applicator bobbing eagerly before her, Q-tip slightly wet and softly beckoning to her. She touched Sticky from the tip of his head down all the way to his foundation—and then to the soft purse below, where she found his delicate, fuzzy cotton balls. She caressed them gently, looking up at Stick's proud form. Then she stood up and kissed him on the head, murmuring, "I'm opening my compact for you, Stick. I always told myself I'd never open it for anyone until I met the right one for me. Here it is. This is yours now. Come inside, my darling."

Stick, amazingly, stood up even taller, spinning around three times until he was as rigid and long as the towel rod on the wall. Terry glanced down and saw his mirror image reflected in her own surface, and knew this was the time she had always waited for so impatiently. She thought she should have felt scared, but strangely she was breathing easily, emotionally prepared, happy and excited.

Stick moved closer to her delicate compact, clicking the clasp open easily; even he looked surprised. He moved his head in, but at first the compact was TOO compact for him to enter. However, he reached forward to her and gently massaged the clip, which shone pinkly like a jewel case. When he had kissed and manipulated her soft clip for a time, it had her so excited that she was soon dripping with mineral oils. Stick was now able to move in smoothly, opening the compact's gap wider and wider.

Terry gave a sudden gasp of astonished joy and nearly swooned as Stick glided deep inside her shimmering compact, raising a cloud of powder such as she had never imagined she could have done in all her life. The applicator seemed to have a mind of its own and it was visiting her delicate brown hinge, her sparkling mirror, her pink clip (again!), and Stick was being polished to a high gloss by her soft, warming touch. The little purse with its sweet cotton balls contracted even as Stick seemed to be growing ever longer. They were both panting and sweating, melting into each other as if they would soon be one, and they both wished for the union to be permanent.

Terry realized suddenly, as Stick rammed ever faster and harder into her gushing compact, that her man was not at all the roguish rouge she had initially taken him for. No, Lip Stick had a smile that was only for her—a smile that lesser cloths would have ripped themselves into two for. And she possessed him entirely: they both knew it now. He was Lip Stick, but she was surely not going to get chapped by him again. This one would not run, even in hot weather, and she treasured his reliability.

They both realized now that the time had nearly arrived. The Bard of Avon would have said that ripeness is all; now the time was ripe, and they shouted each other's names as they came together to the point of no return—and no refund. They called out Lauder and Lauder, loving each other in a perfect moment of elation. The eruption happened then; Terry was covered up with their wetness, making a happy change to her usually dolorous face; it was the most amazing facial she had ever imagined. Mineral oil was mixed with Stick's effusive, cold cream, and their colours blent together as they dissolved into a thrilled, exhausted stillness.

"I love your cover, girl," Stick muttered gratefully, "and I love you. Terry darling, you're the only one for me. I'll rub myself all over your lips until I waste away to nothing, and never regret it."

Terry's eyes were wide, but she fought to keep her tags covered until she was sure. "Stick? Dear, what are you saying? Keep going," she urged.

Lip Stick moved close to Terry, and she could feel his heart beating next to hers. "Miss Terry Cloth, I am yours. I think you know that. I wanted to ask you if you would also be mine. Terry my towelette, my serviette, my own...." He broke off for a moment, and reaching behind himself into the pile of attire that had been dumped onto the floor earlier, he brought out a small box and extended it to her. She took it up with a thrill of anticipation. Could this be what she thought it was?

Stick resumed. "Dear heart, would you do me the honor of becoming my own lawfully wedded wiper? Will you wrap me up at night and dry my tears when I'm sad? Will you marry me?"

Terry, her eyes brimming with her own happy tears, opened up the box and saw inside it the sweetest ring she had ever seen, and she knew it was for her—and that this was the beginning of a new life for her: one she would share with her man, always. "Yes, Stick. I will."

They kissed and held each other, and the promise was made. The story might have been made up in heaven, and this makeup sex had not only saved face; it had made their lives young and beautiful forever, for they would renew and envigorate each other for all their years. The world was revitalized, lifted, cleansed. They would share a Lancome-Sweet-Home, and there was nothing they wanted more than that.

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