Her lipstick was artfully smudged, the pink hue softening the further it went onto her cheek, mixing in with the face makeup she wore. So smudged and messy was her makeup, that I could not tell where the lipstick ended and the foundation and blush began, it was a streaky mess, proof in my mind of a job well done.
Her eye makeup too was messy looking and ruined. Around her inner lash line, closest to her eye, there was no makeup at all, but around the outer corners and the lower lash line, the harsh black eyeliner and mascara had been washed away and smeared from the tears and saliva. Her entire face was one big smeary, wet, makeup mess, the result of a rough blowjob and face fucking, but it looked artistic. There was a purpose to her streaky and blotted makeup, she was supposed to look like this, it wasn’t an accident.
She looked spent and used up, as she lay there on the large bed, the white sheets tangled and pulled up in some corners, the bare mattress exposed as the bottom sheet had come untucked, the hard work of the housekeeper undone in a matter of minutes with our rough fuck session. Her naturally warm, sunkissed complexion looked even richer next to the white bedding, the layer of sex sweat on her body reflecting the late afternoon light, heightening her glow. The window was open a crack, and from where I stood I could feel a slight breeze and hear the lively birdsong from the trees that lined the street below, the occasional revving of a car engine or the blare of a horn breaking an otherwise beautiful moment.
To say that I was feeling smug would be an understatement. The feeling of pride was starting to flow through my body, self-satisfaction chasing along behind it as I looked at her and marveled at what I had created. My necktie had loosened from where I tied it through the bars of the iron bedframe, and she had managed to slip her hands-free. Very faint red marks were starting to peek through on her wrists from where the slightly scratchy material had rubbed and dug into her skin.
Looking at her fingers, I noticed that some of the poppy colored nail polish had chipped, and it irked me a little, ruining my moment of self-congratulations. I knew how much time and effort she dedicated each week to painting her fingers and toes, and I had specifically asked her to paint her fingernails red for this occasion. But now it was scratched and starting to chip, her time seemingly wasted, although I had to admit the chipped nail polish added to her overall used up look and fit in with the effects of her smudged makeup.
My eyes roamed up her body, taking in the sight of her large breasts, which now bore bite marks on the skin, especially around the areola.
