Cigar Bar

He noticed her as soon as she entered the small bookshop. In truth, she was hard to miss. Blonde. A trim business suit that showed her curves to perfection. Shapely calves perched on low heels.

She crossed the store to shelves near where he was standing and stood with her back to him as she studied a section of literature. He casually moved closer for a better view. Her suit was expensive looking silk. Her hair, cut above her shoulders, shimmered even under the store's fluorescent light. Instinctively, he looked at her left hand. No ring.

He once had been accused of savoring the sight of a pretty woman as a wine connoisseur appreciated wine. It wasn't true. He was indifferent to women whom most men found attractive: The ones with big tits, empty heads and revealing clothes. Especially empty heads.

It mattered to him that she was in a bookstore, appearing to browse Charlotte Bronte titles. This woman looked intelligent and confident. She also had a magnificent backside, swathed in a skirt that was bit too tight for business.

As she moved from section to section in the store, he discretely followed her, keeping a comfortable distance, sometimes pretending to read, masking his glances over the top of the page. She seemed not to notice.

After a few minutes, she glided to the self-help section of the stacks. He could not see which titles she was browsing. Either that or he was so startled when she crouched to reach a lower shelf that he failed to notice. As she settled on her haunches, the hem line of her skirt rode up her thigh, unmistakably revealing a flash of porcelain skin over a brown stocking top. His stomach churned and he felt the stirrings of an erection.

She stood in a minute and smoothed the wrinkles from the skirt. Casually, she swept one hand over the back of her thigh. As she flattened the fabric of her skirt, he saw the trace of a garter strap and suspender bump.

Apparently finding the title she wanted, the woman went to the checkout. Her purchase completed, she stepped out onto a downtown sidewalk bustling with people leaving work for the day. The crush of people made it easier for him to follow the woman at a discrete distance.

Her hips swayed in a natural unpracticed way, and she seemed to be in no particular hurry. After a block and a half, she ducked into a tiny gift store. The shop was so small and his presence in it would have been so incongruous that he dared not follow her.

When she lingered in the shop, he decided that the pursuit was over. Sighing wistfully, he moved on to his own errands, which included a stop in a cigar shop near his hotel. He was stuck in town overnight and intended to enjoy a pricey stick and a glass of brandy in the hotel's cigar bar before dinner.

In the store's walk in humidor, open cedar boxes displayed a small brown army of cigars in all shapes and shades. The room was pleasantly warm and aromatic, a sensual pleasure that he had long ago learned to savor. As he scanned the seemingly endless rows of cigars, his thoughts drifted back to the woman. It was an entirely pleasant mixture of sensations.

Before he had settled on a selection, he was startled to see the woman enter the shop and ask for assistance. In a moment she and a clerk were standing within feet of him.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" the clerk asked her.

"I am not sure," she said. "It's for a special occasion."

His heart sank a bit. She was obviously attached in some way, buying a cigar for a man planning on celebrating something. With her. Suddenly he felt silly, jealous over a woman he didn't know. He moved to a corner of the humidor, forcing himself to concentrate on expensive Dominicans.

"Let's start with the strength. Mild, medium, bold? Next would be the shape and ring gauge," the clerk said helpfully.

"Bold, I think. And something that lasts for a long time. What do you mean by ring gauge?"

"The thickness of the cigar. Its number is expressed in 64ths of an inch. A cigar with a 48 ring gauge is three quarters of an inch thick."

She smiled slyly. "So, show me some the 64 gauge bold cigars."

The clerk was silent for a moment, considering the problem. "That's a very large cigar." The woman continued to smile.

"Probably a Gordo," the clerk continued. "Here is a very nice 60 gauge Perdomo. It's Nicaraguan, which can be an acquired taste, but it's a fine cigar, a 92 in last year's rating. I am afraid that is the largest we carry."

The clerk continued, "It's a long cigar—almost seven inches—so it should last well over an hour."

Turning away from the clerk, she regarded the man directly for the first time. Staring into his eyes, she cooed, "Size does matter, I suppose."

With that, she pivoted on a heel and left the walk-in, leaving him breathless. Perdomo in hand, she swiveled to the checkout counter, giving her ass an extra twitch.

He was stunned, still collecting himself when she left the store. As he was paying for his own cigar, the clerk smiled conspiratorially, and said, "Quite a woman. She said you have been staring at her for an hour."

He could only shake his head. In any event, there was no point denying the truth.

When he exited the store, she was nowhere to be seen.

With another wistful sigh, he headed back to his hotel. The place was a downtown fixture. Old and elegant, the hotel prided itself on pampering guests. Recently, it had devoted a section of its lobby bar to cigar smoking.

It was separate from the rest of the bar, with a ventilation system that kept things pleasant for everyone. Dark paneling and leather furniture completed the effect. The place might have been lifted straight from London's West End. Even the bar's name was a nod to those male club preserves: "The New Saville."

Attentive and well turned out waiters kept the drinks flowing to patrons ensconced in leather club chairs. A visit there was always the highlight of his trip and tonight he welcomed the bar's quiet solitude.

Brandy in hand, he went through the ritual of trimming the end of his cigar, piercing it for the right draw and toasting the end before drawing the first satisfying puffs. He loved the ritual almost as much the cigar itself. It was a contemplative exercise that helped him think. And tonight, all he could think of was the trim blonde and her tight ass swathed in garters and stockings.

And, of course, there was the question of whether the garter flash had been intentional. It occurred to him for the first time that perhaps she might even had been following him.

For the thousandth time his cursed his reticence with woman whom he did not know. Pickups were just not in his nature. This woman though seemed to have substance and complexity, exactly the things that he found attractive.

Not to mention her stunning looks.

He told himself that he had missed his chance in the humidor. He was so surprised, however, that he hadn't had an opportunity to speak to her, even if he could have managed some lame line or two.

Lighting his cigar, he concluded that she simply had been putting him in his place for leering at her. He didn't regret staring though. Interesting and beautiful women were too rare not to notice. His mistake had been letting his stares linger so long that she obviously had felt them.

He consoled himself with the pleasant burn of the brandy and a fresh copy of that morning's New York Times, trying to will his thoughts away from her image that still played behind his eyes.

He had finished with the national headlines when he was startled to see the woman stride into view again. If it was possible, he was even more shaken than when she had turned up in the humidor. She paused momentarily, scanning the nearly empty bar. Without looking in his direction, she chose a seat on the opposite side of the room facing him, her back to the other patrons.

Burying his gaze in the newspaper, he was still able to study her over the newsprint, apparently having not learned much about politely turning away. The challenge was that she appealed to every sexual instinct he had. Beautiful. Obviously intelligent. Cool, but with something boiling beneath her clothes. She was driving him crazy.

She busied herself with a couple of packages that she arranged on the table next to her chair and ordered a drink. By the time it arrived, she was leafing through a small book, pausing and smiling as certain passages apparently pleased her.

Her drink arrived and she laid the book aside. Now it was his turn to feel her gaze. He saw that she had fished the cigar out of her packages and now caressed it next to her thigh.

When he acknowledged her gaze, she smiled coyly and raised the cigar to her lips. Never breaking her stare, she rimmed the end of the massive cigar with her tongue. Satisfied that he was looking back, she then formed a perfect circle with her lips and took the end of the cigar into her mouth. Subtlety, so as not to draw attention, she moved the Gordo back and forth, staring at him with lowered eyes as she unmistakably mimicked fellatio.

He was more aroused than he been in his life. His penis burned and pressed against the inside of his leg.

The woman continued for several minutes, finally breaking her gaze as she closed her eyes with the cigar resting on her open lips.

Momentarily, she turned away from him, carefully placing the cigar atop her book and draining away the last of her drink. She abruptly left the bar, but not before making a show of reaching through her skirt to straighten one of her stockings.

He knew that he needed to speak to her but she was gone again before he could assemble a coherent thought. A hard dick often did that to him.

Finally collecting himself, he determined to find her, however long that might take. As he was leaving the bar, he noticed that she had left behind both the Gordo and her book. Good, he told himself. Returning them to her would be his excuse.

Picking up the book, he was flabbergasted to read its title:

YOUR TURN

A Confident Woman's Guide to

Self-Pleasure and Seduction

He felt his face flush as the situation finally revealed itself to him. No, she shouldn't be hard to find now.

Inside the book was a room key envelope. Next to the room number she had written, "In fifteen minutes."

He was certain that he couldn't wait fifteen minutes but at least it was time enough to steel his nerves with the rest of his brandy. His thoughts were jumbled and his cock pressed uncomfortably against his trouser leg.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, he settled his bill and set out for the hotel elevators.

The room key told him that her room was on the top floor of the hotel. It was expensive country, mostly luxury suites

When she failed to answer his knock on the door, he inserted the card key and let himself into the room. In fact, the room was a lavish suite with a sunken seating area and an adjoining bedroom.

"Hello?" said softly. No answer.

Not for the first time that afternoon, he was unsure what to do next. He was pretty certain of what was going to happen but he still felt tentative and out of control. He wondered whether he had rushed to the room too soon.

Then he noticed a tall arm chair on the landing by the bedroom door. The woman's jacket and skirt were folded neatly on its seat immediately above her shoes.

As he considered the implications, he heard the bedroom door latch snap closed.

He had been off balance all afternoon but none as much as right now. A small card on top of her clothes focused him again. It read simply, "Page 82."

She certainly meant the book she had left behind for him. He fished it out of his jacket and eased himself into a chair. Page 82 raised the last curtain:

So far you have demanded his attention, teased him visually, and engaged him directly with a stare and your suggestive smile. You also have found a way to silently communicate your sensuality.

Now it's time to close the deal. If this were a conversation, you would say, "I am yours for the taking." You might even throw in, "And you have no idea what you are missing."

But this isn't a conversation, it is a mating ritual and for a change, you are the huntress. Talking is too direct anyway.

It's up to you to signal your availability and urgency. And the more creative you are, the bigger the explosion that awaits you.

His stomach churned, wondering what was supposed to happen next. It was, after all, a plan. That much was now plain.

He did not have long to wait. In a few minutes he heard soft moans from behind the closed door. He froze in the chair, listening intensely as the muffled sounds grew louder. Through the locked door he heard her beginning to gasp.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh!" Louder groans followed. He could hear the bed creaking as she thrashed.

"Yes! That's it." The loudest moan yet as the head board collided with a wall.

"Fuck me! Give me your cock!"

More gasps. A moment later, he heard her scream, "Yes! Like that! Fuck meeeeeeee!"

Suddenly she was silent. He thought he could hear her panting.

In a few minutes, the door latch clicked open and the woman stood in the open doorway. An unbuttoned gauzy blouse draped over her breasts. Her nipples were hard and he could make out the shapes of her areolae.

She glistened with perspiration and her hair was in disarray. She was still wearing her stockings. The arch of her garter belt framed a lush patch of pubic hair.

She stood staring urgently at him. It was impossible to ignore her swollen labia.

Finally, she spoke. "Well?"

He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms, kissing her full on the mouth. She curled into his embrace and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

In a minute, she pulled her mouth away and whispered, "I need a real Gordo. I hope you brought the one hour size."

Unhitching his trousers, she dropped to her knees, freeing his cock and taking it into her mouth.

After caressing his entire length in several long slurps, she suddenly pulled away, concentrating on his glans, the same way she had sucked on the cigar in plain view of the bar.

Her lips swirled the head of his cock as she grasped the back of his thighs, her nails digging into his flesh. She was magnificent. He had gotten his share of blow jobs but none like this. She was relentless. Now it was his turn to moan.

Sensing that he was about to come, she stood and kissed him again. He grasped her rib cage, lifted her off of the floor, and lowered her to the bed pushing aside the placket of her blouse. Her breasts were firm and her engorged nipples begged to be sucked.

Stripping away the last of his own clothes, he knelt between her open thighs and lowered his mouth, first to one breast and then another. She croaked appreciatively as he twirled her nipples with his tongue. "Yes. Like that!" she rasped.

He grasped her exposed thighs right above her garters as he ground his face into her pussy.

Rising to his knees, he kissed her again, as passionately as he had ever kissed a woman. He then pushed her thighs apart with his own and laid his throbbing cock on the crown of her clitoris. Instead of entering her though, he glided the underside of his dick across her labia, teasing her clit over and over again each time the head of his penis started a new stroke.

Finally, she screamed, "God! Don't tease me! Just give it to me!"

Still he pulled her along, fucking her swollen clit.

Forcefully, she reached down, grabbed his shaft and inserted his dick into her pussy. She was wet and warm and his first thrust was commanding.

"Yes!" she screamed. "Give me all of it." She rolled her hips into him, wrapping her legs around him, caressing his thighs in nylons.

Time and again he thrust into her, withdrawing his full length with each stroke before slamming into her again. The friction of her hose aroused him even more. He was suddenly aware of the headboard slamming into the bedroom wall, the same thumping he had heard while she masturbated behind the closed door.

As urgent as it all was, they took time with each other, slowly building to a crescendo. With each thrust, she responded with an increasingly loud, "Ugh!" In a few minutes the room was filled with her rhythmic groans in time with the thumping of the head board.

"More!!" she groaned, Thump. "Fuck me!!" Thump, thump. "Shove it into me!!!" Thump, thump, thump.

Now she was meeting each of his thrusts, lifting her hips off the bed. He shifted his hands to the headboard for more leverage.

He groaned loudly as he plunged in and out of her. The fucked with more urgency. Louder groans mixed with the smack, smack of the headboard.

Feeling his orgasm boiling up from his groin, he suddenly reared back on his haunches, spearing her with a massive thrust. She cried out, "Gawddd!!"

With that, he pulled himself to his knees and grabbed each of her ankles, lifting her off the bed, pounding into her with longer, and harder strokes. He peered into her eyes. Then at her bouncing breasts, and finally at his cock spreading her pussy open between the long straps of her garters.

She alternated between little shrieks and groans that rose up from deep inside her.

"Ugh! Ugh! Ohhhh! Ugh! Ugh!"

He was coming now, violently. He began to shout, joining her screams.

The first semen exploded from his dick and he slowed to deliver the rest in four massive thrusts. She relaxed under him as he released her legs, rolling her pussy into him again, taking him in, surrendering and moaning loudly.

They came simultaneously, shaking the bed violently one last time. Then she whimpered. He gasped and collapsed on top of her.

For long minutes, they lay panting in each other's arms as he gently kissed her on the lips. Then her forehead. Then her neck. In a moment they were still, in the twilight of their shared orgasms.

She kissed him gently and whispered, "Thank you for suggesting this."

He considered the comment before responding.

"As nice as it was to be seduced by a huntress," Patrick said, "I think I prefer making love to my wife."

Fiona simply smiled and kissed him again.

"As soon as your Gordo recovers," she said to her husband, "I want you to show me. Happy anniversary, baby."

Then they dozed.