I really could watch you smoke for hours. As a matter of fact I think I have in the past. There is just something about the whole process that draws me in. From watching you choose which cigar you are got to have. You carefully trimming the end to your liking. Sucking on the end moistening it and watching you light it. The flame high and wide as you dance the cigar over it getting an even lighting. Watching the tobacco catch fire in a glowing ember and fade. Your first couple of puffs are strong and the whole end lights up bright with each intake. I’m hypnotized by the whole process. There is something confident about your stance and your aura when you start to smoke. Like the cigar completes you. Creates a calm and zen in you.
I watch from across the room as you carry on your conversation with someone. I try not to be obvious but something tells me I am failing miserably. A part of me convinced that you are very aware of my gaze. Each draw on your cigar seems long and deliberate. The smoke slowly pouring out of your mouth, your gloved hand flicking away small pieces of ash. I can feel my mouth water and I am practically licking my lips wishing I could taste it. Minute feel like hours as I watch the ash build up on your cigar. Wishing I was closer to you, wishing I was called over to take the ash; to feel it, taste it.
I watch you tap the ash into your leather glove and my heart sinks. There is no ash for me. I sigh deeply and move my attention to another conversation. It’s not until I am fully involved in another conversation do I feel a pull on my shoulder. I move backwards til I am pressed into a wall. I’m face to face with nothing but leather. Even in my tall platform boots am I able to be eye level with you.
“My glove is dirty. Clean it”
Before I can say ‘Yes Sir’ your glove filled with ash is covering my mouth. my mouth can ‘t take it all. My tongue trying to keep up with the force of it but soon the ash is smeared on my mouth down my neck. I take the glove back toward my mouth. the smell of ash and leather mixing in my nostrils sending my head reeling. Your leg wedged between mine is the only that it really keeping me from sinking to the floor.
My eyes are barely able to focus as I look up at you hungry and wanting more. As if on queue my air becomes only smoke as I take in a breath. My legs now shaky as my world becomes a haze.
“You missed some,” You say as you point down at your boot.
Ash fall on the toe. I drop without hesitation. My tongue laping at the ash and taking in the taste of it mixed with the hard leather boot. My world becoming nothing but your ash, your smoke, your leather. I feel your other boot push into my back pushing my belly down to the cold concrete. Giving into the weight my brain no longer functions. I only feel need.
“Don’t move.”
I hear a chair being dragged over and soon the only thing in my vision is your boots. I feel heat on my back as your cigar teases the lines of my flesh. I try not to jump knowing the risk of being burned is high. There is still a part of me wanting it. The heel of your boot digs into my back and I wince in pain. I am not a person right now. I am simply a thing. your stool, your ashtray, whatever it is that you want. I hear you talking to someone vaguely and yet I don’t care. I am simply where I need to be. I feel ash fall onto my back and my body shudders.
I feel my pussy clench.
Your hand rubs the ash into my skin and then ruffle my hair; knowing full well it is simply to clean the ash off of your glove.
Time has no meaning here for me as you continue to enjoy your cigar. When you are done you pull me up so that my head is up to your lap. Your hands scratching my head and ruffling my hair. It pulls me back to the land of human. When you are done I take your hand and hold your glove over my mouth. Still smelling cigar smoke, ash and leather.
Grounding me I look up into your eyes and see you smiling down at me. No words are said. None are really needed. The smiles we both have say more than enough.