Smoking
She stood before the mirror fussing with her hair. “Damn you, Jefferson. You made me look like a mad woman. Am I going to have to make an appointment with the salon every time I see you?” She rested her cigarette in her lips so that both hands could unwind her tangles.
I reclined in pillows, my hands folded behind my head. “Maybe the salon can work out a discount for the well-fucked,” I said.
“Mmmph,” she replied, glancing at me in the mirror. She watched as my eyes lowered from hers, down the curve of her back to the swell of her ass. I could see her body’s twin reflected in the full-length mirror, her café-au-lait skin aglow in the warm light of a late-afternoon autumn sun.
I stood from the bed and crouched behind her, tracing my cheek along the swell of a buttock. My hands rested lightly on each of her hips. Our flesh barely touched. “What are you doing back there?” she asked, turning her upper body. She held her cigarette to one side to avoid ashing me.
“I am admiring this splendid ass you brought me,” I murmured, nuzzling my nose on the cinched fabric of her thong. “You are one long tall glass of water.”
“Thanks.” She stretched to reach her ashtray, leaving her lower body still between my hands. “I think.”
“It’s a good thing,” I assured her. My tongue flicked between her buttocks. “So good, so good … “ I was growing hard again, my mind feeling a little dreamy. A thought crossed my mind. I gripped her hips and turned her body to face me.
“Whoa.” She wobbled slightly. “Tired of my ass, huh?”
“Not in the least,” I said, lowering her thong. I kept my eyes straight ahead, gazing at the revelation of her pussy. I kissed her pubis as my hands gently lifted her feet, one by one, from the lowered thong. I put it aside and began to lick lightly on her labia.
“Oh, we’re going to do that again?” She leaned to a side. “Here, let me just put out this smoke …”
“No.” I looked up. “Keep smoking. Just stand here, smoking, while I taste you. Pretend I’m not even here.” I lifted her thigh to my shoulder, parting her to my tongue.
She steadied herself by resting a hand on a door frame. She took a drag with the other. “It’s kind of hard to ignore what you’re doing,” she said, exhaling a plume.
Her wetness met the wetness of my mouth. “Dust tie,” I whispered over my thick tongue.
“What’s that?” she asked.
I leaned back. “Just try.” I looked up to her face. “I realized, looking at you in the mirror, smoking, that this must surely be someone’s fantasy.” I closed my eyes and turned to the leg on my shoulder, punctuating my words with light kisses. “To kneel before you … so beautiful in this light … your body so firm and strong … to pleasure you … as you enjoy your cigarette …”
“Mmmm.” She drew another drag as my mouth returned to her slit. She arched her back slightly, pushing herself more to my tongue. “And you think this is someone else’s fantasy, huh? Not your own?”
I shook my head between her thighs. “No, not my fantasy,” I said to her pussy. “This is my reality. But someone reading about it could be really turned on by this image.”
“Oh, really?” she laughed. “All we’ve been doing, all the things you’ve done to me today, and this is what you would write about?”
“Yes.” I nodded, lapping at her. I thought a moment. “Yes, mistress.”
“Damn.” She lowered her hand to the back of my head and tugged me closer. “Okay, now this may actually be my fantasy.”
I continued to lick her, silently. My eyes closed, my mind focused on the tastes of her and the sound of her drawing deeply on her cigarette and exhaling long and slow. The hand on my head guided me to continue. I rested my palms on the curved ass I so admired. Behind me, the sun continued to stretch shadows across the walls and ceiling.
Her upper body stretched to her ashtray. “That cigarette is dead,” she said quietly. “Shall I light another?”
“You are generous to me,” I nodded, adding, “Mistress.”
Her lighter snapped. She inhaled. Exhaled. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I could get used to this.”