The Entertaining Cigarette

Gentle Readers: My writing seems to be more appreciated (i.e., higher ratings) by my smoking fetish stories, so I offer you my latest iteration of a stand-alone adventure and welcome your thoughtful feedback. I very much appreciate your supporting comments -- for all the haters, don't waste your time because I don't care.

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Madison's on Fourth was one of the city's newer and nicer bars. The exterior consisted of large glass panes, allowing natural light to flood in during the day. At night, soft, yellow lighting illuminated the bar, creating a cozy and sophisticated atmosphere. The entrance featured two large, ornate wooden doors with brass handles, and an unworn red carpet leading up to the entrance. There was a long, wrap-around patio with wrought iron tables and chairs, perfect for al fresco dining. The bar also had a large outdoor seating area with fire pits, lush green plants, and comfortable couches and chairs, perfect for lounging. The whole area was charmingly illuminated with lanterns and string lights and was a favorite of the city's denizens during summer evenings.

Inside, the bar was warm and inviting. Dark wood paneling covered the walls and created a feeling of subtle luxury. The bar itself was a large, marble-top bar with a glossy light gray finish. Behind the bar, a wide selection of bottles was illuminated by colorful, recessed lighting. On one side of the room, plush leather couches and armchairs were arranged around a large fireplace. On the other side, high-top tables and bar stools were placed around a large area for dancing. Soft jazz music played in the background enhancing the atmosphere of sophistication and class. Given it was a random Tuesday, just past quitting time for some and well before that for others, the bar only held a half dozen people, three of whom were random strangers and the other three friends who gathered in the corner to plot a bachelor party.

With the sun just barely setting over the city, one of those strangers was Becky Stirling, who sat drinking her second glass of Chardonnay. A professional woman of 39, her shoulder-length brown hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her simple black dress and a pair of black ankle boots conveyed a mature, well-put-together frame. She wore only a bit of jewelry - a thin gold necklace, a few rings, and an Apple smartwatch, all of which reinforced her mature confidence and style. Her makeup is subtle, but her blue eyes are striking. Her lips, painted a deep red, were a painting in motion, a delicate rosebud shape wrapped in full, lush curves. Her lips were like a petal-soft cushion of satin, full and plump and inviting to the touch. Perfectly proportioned, full in the center, and tapering off to a gentle bow at the sides, they were the perfect canvas for her sweet, inviting smile. Her well-proportioned, size 8 figure featured modest size 36 breasts, an appealing curve at the waist, and an ass that, while once much tighter in youth, nonetheless still caught the eye of men when she walked by. While her husband, which she didn't have, would have called her a beauty, others found that her pleasing appearance was often made more appealing by her blue eyes, quick smile, and clever humor, reflecting above-average intelligence and poise.

While Becky was feeling the slight buzz of her nearly finished wine and losing herself in her own reverie, Mark Gordon entered the room, leisurely wandered up to the bar, and sat catty-corner to Becky, a polite few chairs away, near enough for a casual wave or hello, but not so close as to even hint at violating bar-level personal space. He was a man of medium height, with a fair Irish complexion and a normally quick smile and laugh. At 48, he still retained a youthful yet not obvious handsomeness, accented nicely by short salt and pepper hair combed straight back -- some may describe him as average, others may find his appearance pleasing while some would not give him a second look. On this particular evening, Mark was wearing a navy-blue blazer and slacks, with a light blue dress shirt underneath. His shirt was neatly tucked in, and he wore a black belt and a pair of brown leather loafers. The outfit could have been picked out by his wife, but since he didn't have one, one could safely assume his years of dressing for business casual at the office served him modestly well.

The bartender Zeke approached Mark, wondering if this would be a decent tip or another bullshit effort to serve the masses without due appreciation. His inner cynic was somewhat quieted when Mark ordered a double shot of Blanton's bourbon, high-shelf stuff indeed. He even politely requested a large, 2-inch ice cube, something only a true aficionado would request. While Zeke went to prepare the cocktail, Mark absentmindedly toyed with his napkin, and glanced around, idly wondering why the bar didn't have televisions like most these days.

When Zeke delivered the perfectly prepared bourbon, Mark noted with appreciation the bartender had given him just a splash more than a usual two-ounce pour. Nice, considering this was $48 dollars, he thought, smiling to himself. He raised the glass to his eyes, savoring the golden-brown liquid that he could quite possibly say was one of his best friends these days. As he brought the drink below eye level, he caught sight of Becky nodding at Zeke to pour her another glass. For a random second, their eyes met, and Mark responded with a slight smile and token raise of his glass. Becky politely toasted him back with an ever-so-negligible nod.

In another book or story, their exchange might have signaled a romantic gesture, the start of a wild whirlwind night of passion, or even, God forbid, a lifelong romance. In this case, it was two sometimes lonely people simply acknowledging each other's existence. It could have ended there if it weren't for Becky's off-hand observation that quietly emerged from her satin lips.

"That's a big cube you have there," she said, sipping her wine. He nodded.

"Yes, bigger cubes melt much slower than smaller ones, and I prefer the taste much better," he responded.

"You learn something new every day," she came back, thinking that was one fact she could have gone the rest of her life not knowing.

"Do you really? I mean, at some point, don't you stop learning?" he smiled, wondering if he would come off as a smart-ass. Then again, who cares?

"Pretty much," came the terse reply, "at some point, it doesn't matter anyway."

"True," he relented, "we all go our own way."

"Does your way include being married?" she asked pointedly. He shook his head.

"Nope. Divorced two years. Marriage sucks," he retorted. She smiled and took another sip.

"So does Tinder," she replied with a larger smile. He laughed.

"You have that right," he agreed, taking a sip of his bourbon.

They spent the next fifteen minutes exchanging opinions and thoughts on relationships, world events, politics, and all the mindless chatter that two random individuals might expect to share randomly over drinks in a random restaurant. At some point, between Becky's fifth glass of wine and Mark's third, Becky put her glass down and rose.

"I'll be right back," she said, flipping around and heading to the ornate exterior doors. Mark noted she wasn't headed to the back, the location of the bathrooms.

"Sure," he noted with a nod, watching her move to the patio.

Outside, Becky moved beyond the entrance, sat in a chair, and reached inside her purse. Her well-manicured hands found the package she was seeking: a fresh box of Marlboro Gold Pack cigarettes. She pulled the box from her purse, quickly slid the packaging aside, and extracted the slim all white cigarette. Her other hand pulled out a Bic lighter. Extracting the cigarette with a well-practiced hand, she raised it to her lips, her other hand bringing the lighter to bear against the tip. She brought the filter to her lips and clicked her lighter open. Taking a deep breath as she held the flame to the tip of the cigarette, she inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke fill her lungs, then paused to savor the taste and the smell of the smoke. Exhaling slowly, she released the smoke in a series of small puffs that form a faint halo around her head before dissipating into the air. She took another drag of the cigarette, feeling the nicotine begin to course through her veins, and closed her eyes, savoring the moment.

Her eyes closed, enjoying the savory moment, so she hardly noticed when Mark placed her wine in front of her, put down his drink, and sat beside her.

"Well, thank you," she said, "I would have been back in a second." He waved her off.

"No need to hurry, enjoy your cigarette," he replied.

"Well, shit," she said, "that's not politically correct to say these days!" He laughed.

"Probably not, but I don't mind it at all. In fact, I find attractive women smoking very appealing."

Becky arched her eyebrows in surprise, raised the cigarette to her cherry lips, and took a slow, cheek-hollowing, thoughtful drag. Exhaling a well-formed cone of white smoke vertically into the air, she looked into Mark's eyes.

"Well, that's an evolved view...or maybe a devolved one," she said, smiling. "Never had anyone say that before. In fact, most guys are turned off by it."

"I'm not most guys, I guess," he replied. "To me, it's no different than being into leather or handcuffs."

"Oh, another confession?" she shot back with a laugh as he shook his head. Becky brought the cigarette to her lips once again, tilting her head back slightly, and closes her eye looking into Mark's brown eyes, savoring the sensation of the smoke filling her lungs. Exhaling slowly and deliberately, the stream of smoke made its way toward Mark's face and curled upwards. The smoke cloud formed a delicate and transient cloud around her head, giving her an ethereal and otherworldly appearance.

Mark took another sip of bourbon as Becky's smoke trailed away, his eyes fixated on her inhale and watched as she slowly brought the cigarette, delicately perched between the index and middle finger of her right hand, to her side, elbow resting casually on the arm of the chair. He couldn't help but notice her carefully manicured hands, fingernails painted a dark shade of red.

Becky sipped her wine as they held their gaze. Wordlessly, she slowly brought the filter once again to her lips and pulled another drag into her mouth, popping the smoke into her lungs. Her cheeks hollowed deeply as she did so, then opened her mouth to reveal a ball of creamy smoke beyond her bright white teeth. Leaning forward slightly, she pursed her red, moist lips, and slowly exhaled a perfect plume into the air just past Mark's head.

"I'm rude, would you like one?"," she intoned, motioning to the pack in front of her on the table. He shook his head quickly.

"No, thank you. I'm a non-smoker," he replied.

"A non-smoker who enjoys ladies who smoke?" she asked.

"I know, it's weird," he chuckled, and Becky shrugged.

"Casual smoker myself, since college. Just mostly when I feel like it, honestly," she offered, cigarette hand waving in a circular motion, "guess it must be an oral fixation."

Again, she brought the filter, now stained with her red lipstick, to her mouth and took another drag. Mark watched as the tobacco flared a bright red and dimmed as she took the smoke into her lungs and exhaled slowly through pursed lips. God, he thought, so frigging hot! He felt a familiar stirring in his groin as he watched her smoke, feeling his desire grow. Becky smiled, glanced at her nearly finished cigarette, and took one more deep drag, all while staring into his eyes. She slowly exhaled a final time, blowing the smoke in a coned stream past him.

"Well, that was quite the entertaining cigarette," she said, stubbing out the butt into a stone ashtray. Mark watched her delicate fingers forcefully extinguish the butt, a final wisp of smoke wafting into the air.

"Would you like to go out sometime?" Mark blurted impulsively. Becky smiled.

"Wow, didn't quite expect that," she replied.

"Sorry, didn't mean to be so abrupt," he countered, stammering slightly.

"Not at all, I'm flattered," she said calmly. Becky, not sure whether the wine was unduly influencing her, made an equally impulsive decision.

"I would love to," she said, standing. "How about we go out now? Say, some wine at your place?"

Mark looked at her in surprise.

"Seriously? You're not joking?" he asked carefully. She shook her head.

"Very serious. A bit impetuous but you seem like a really nice guy and kept me company while I had a cigarette, so another glass of wine in a more private location seems like a fine idea"

"I couldn't agree more, ummm" Mark stammered.

"Becky," she chimed in, "short for Rebecca, but mention Sunnybrook Farm and I'll beat you senseless." He grinned.

"Mark, with no other reference. Let me pay the bill -- my place is within walking distance if you are comfortable." She nodded with a smile, wondering what the fuck she was doing.

Mark returned within minutes, gesturing Becky to the patio entrance and motioning a westward direction down the sidewalk. They walked without talking, each wondering exactly where all this was going but enjoying the ride nonetheless. Ten minutes later, Mark motioned to the entrance of a twelve-story apartment building, its façade adorned with elegant curves and intricate details. The exterior walls were sleek and modern, made of white-tinted glass and reflective steel. The grand entrance was framed by two towering columns with six marble steps leading to two huge glass doors with oversized brass handles. Green ivy climbed up the walls, adding a touch of color to the stark grey and white of the building. A sleek sign above the door announced "The Westin" in bold gold script.

"Ohhhh," Becky said, "nice digs. I once looked at this place but thought the rent was a bit rich for me at the time.

"It is for sure, I agree -- after the divorce, I just grabbed it for convenience to work," he explained, holding the door open. Becky's eyes were instantly assaulted by a luxurious lobby. The walls were painted a deep, rich gray hue, while the floor was a mosaic of marble tiles. Chandeliers glittered from the ceiling, casting a warm, inviting glow over the room. Classically elegant, the furniture was upholstered in velvet and silk, and the occasional sculpture added an air of sophistication. Mark noticed her staring as they walked to the bank of elevators.

"Honestly, it's a bit overdone, don't you think?" he said with a smile. She smiled back as he pushed the ivory elevator call button.

"Only a bit?" she chuckled, "can't wait to see the bathrooms!"

Once the elevator arrived with a sublime bell ring, Mark ushered her in and selected floor seven. The elevator rose quickly and smoothly, arriving seconds later with another chime.

"Here we go," he said, escorting her down the hall to 733. Opening the door and entering, Becky found herself in a spacious foyer with a smooth, polished floor, and walls adorned with stylish art and photographs. Mark led her down three steps leading to an expansive living room featuring a plush leather sofa and loveseat, a cozy armchair, and a large flat-screen television on the wall. A light rug and accent chairs made for a warm and inviting atmosphere. Off to the right, the dining room held a contemporary table and seating for six, as well as a sideboard for storage. Nearby, to finish off the well-done open design, a kitchen housed new stainless steel appliances, a center island with seating, and plenty of cabinet and counter space.

Floor-to-ceiling tinted glass windows extended across the entire length of the living and dining, leading to an expansive outdoor balcony. Heavy burgundy curtains adorned each side of the large doors. Becky was suitably impressed with the tasteful décor. Placing her purse on the seat of one of the armchairs, she turned and smiled.

"How about that wine?"

"Of course, I have a very nice Chardonnay," he said, tossing his jacket over a dining room chair and entering the kitchen.

"You noticed," she observed, "nicely done." Becky sat in the chair adjacent to the plush couch, noting three travel books on European countries on the wooden coffee table. Mark returned with a glass of wine and another tumbler half filled with bourbon and, of course, a large ice cube. He handed her the wine and sat on the couch. They toasted, glasses clinking.

Sipping her wine, she nodded in appreciation and smiled. They made small talk for a few minutes, Mark explaining his interest in travel and a desire to visit Italy first. As Mark was talking about the glories of Rome, Becky reached into her purse and pulled out her pack of Marlboro Gold. She twirled the pack in her carefully manicured hands, end to end, tapping on the arm of the chair. Mark kept talking but his eyes remain focused on the cigarettes.

Noticing the focus of his attention, Becky slowly brought the pack up in her left hand, slid the pack top back with her right, and grasped the white filter with a thumb and forefinger. She tugged the cylinder out and ran it under her nose.

"It smells so sweet, don't you think?" she asked, with a slight grin. Mark could only nod and watch her place the cigarette between her fingers in a smooth, well-practiced motion. She slid out a tiny hint of a pink tongue and gently ran it over the outer paper of the cigarette. Mesmerized, he could only think of her red lips wrapped around the filter, sucking in the smoke, and exhaling into the air. Her teasing and his thoughts caused a familiar stirring in his groin.

"You know," he began in a hesitating fashion, "I don't mind if you smoke here."

"Really," she replied, appearing to be shocked. "I really don't know if I can, it's so nice in here." She placed the filter in her mouth and dangled it, reaching for her lighter. Raising her head slightly, the cigarette suspended between her delicate, full lips, her eyes met his. She sparked the lighter to life, watching the flame dance provocatively. Mark watched her bring the flame to the brown tobacco end, illuminating her face in the warm glow. The cigarette glowed cherry red as she took a slow, thoughtful drag, her eyes closed in a moment of contentment. The smoke swirled around her in a wispy embrace, and she savored the moment before exhaling.

Mark watched her features become momentarily obscured by the cloud of blue-tinged smoke, a scene both inviting and mysterious. Her eyes sparkled and her lips curled into a faint smile as she finished her first exhale, smoke swirling around her in a beautiful, ethereal dance. Mark's stirring grew and he found his cock growing harder as watched Becky casually cock her elbow, cigarette perpendicular between two well-manicured fingers.

"You told me this arouses you, right?" she asked, fully knowing the answer. Mark could only nod. She brought the cigarette back to her lips for another cheek-hollowing drag and popped the smoke down into her lungs once again. With her head tilted up, she blew the smoke into the air above her. Mark shifted in his chair, cock growing nearly fully erect and tightening his pants.

"Show me," she commanded. Mark looked at her quizzically and she nodded at him, her cigarette hand gesturing in the direction of his crotch.

"I really mean it, show me," she directed again, taking another deep drag, and exhaling through her nose, clearly having absorbed that last drag deep in her lungs. She stared directly into his eyes and motioned again, more insistently, then ashed her cigarette into his near-empty bourbon glass. She tapped lightly, watching the gray ash fall into his drink. Mark hesitated, then unbuckled his pants, hands trembling ever so slightly. Reaching in, he tugged his cock free, sliding his pants down past his ankles in the process.