The Last Cigarette

Context to this story...

i was 'encouraging' one subbie girl to give up cigarettes and she was doing really well. Except it was her birthday and she was going out for the evening with her friends and was worried about falling her promises.

The Last Cigarette

'Please!'

For fuck's sake, 'why?'

Her befuddled state at that time of the morning, compromised her faculties and she was dimly aware that the man in the room was not answering her protestations. Could he hear her? Was she actually speaking aloud? Were her words only in her head?

Her arms wouldn't move.

They couldn't move.

Why wouldn't her arms move?

She took a deep breath and desperately tried to think where she was. If ever there was a time that required it, rational thought was paramount right now. Come on girl. What was the last thing you remember?

Was this her bedroom?

Eyelids fluttering open, she picked out the definitive decor of her room and the confidence of her location soothed her briefly. This was definitely her bedroom! She must have got home safely. Had she come home alone?

It had been her party last night. That's right. She had met her friends in the local. There had been drinks. Too many drinks. There was dawning realisation that her current stupor was down to too much alcohol; far too many vodka and tonics... lots of single shots too, and, had there been a bottle of wine? It had been her birthday get together. Many of her friends had each bought her a drink. Always a good idea at the time with remorse only during the following morning.

'Just one more.'

'Go on, its your birthday.'

'You only live once.'

Fucking reduced inhibitions with each measure of spirits.

Her brain at that moment clicked slowly into gear and started making their synaptic connections.

A cable tie! She felt superfluous cable beyond the threaded clip tickling over her bottom. That was why she couldn't move her arms. She felt the thick plastic strap restraining her wrists behind her back. Efficient. Debilitating. Why could she feel it on her bottom though? That didn't make sense.

She could hear tearing now and struggled to open her eyes. Her admittedly thin and low cut blouse was being torn off.

Her blouse!

That's right, she had ripped it last night after catching it on the hand rail at the bar. She had spent the rest of the night giggling with her friend about the fact that it then showed much too much bra. Flashing her bra had, however, got her a drink from a lad and a wolf whistle from his mates at his bravery for talking to her. Had she made out with him? Was this that lad now? She struggled to recall more.

Eyes slitting open and trying to focus, she now realised that with his one last tug, her blouse was now totally off her body. She was lying mostly naked on the bed, still wearing her stiletto heels and the matching pale-pink lace thong and bra set from the night before. There was dawning realisation that that was why she could feel the cable tie on her bottom.

The moving blob of unfocused darkness causing her the consternation, slowly took the shape of a figure. A tall powerful looking man. His face looked impassive; emotionless.

The shape wasn't the lad. He had been much more diminutive with no chin and bad teeth.

This man appeared resolute. Unsmiling. Brutal almost.

Suddenly she was lifted bodily from the bed and after momentarily finding her feet on the duvet, she was pulled over his one broad shoulder; her feet leaving safety and her legs dangling now helplessly over his chest.

She tried to complain, but the remnant alcohol in her system caused a belch instead. The words she was trying to say remained in her head and the only thing to emit out loud was a groan.

His hand now on the waistband of her thong, she felt it unceremoniously pulled down from around her bottom, down her subdued legs and then disentangled from her stiletto heels.

She saw it tossed to the floor at his feet. It was a cute thong and she remembered having a nice dark satin skirt on last night over the top of it. Where the fuck had that gone?

They started to move.

She tried to speak again, but no words left her mouth with the sudden realisation of her predicament in this fireman's hold. With her hands helplessly behind her back, she was thankful that her bra currently stopped her breasts swinging on his back or smacking her gently on her chin. Her long hair swirled loosely below her, the style from the previous night gone now.

They were out of the bedroom door and making their way down the stairs. Her viewpoint afforded her a look down at the man's bottom. Lean. Dark jeans. Long legs. He moved with assured and easy steps, her weight obviously not a concern for him.

Ah, there was the skirt on the staircase! A memory of taking it off now as she climbed them very late in. She saw and felt him side-step as though to avoid damaging it and through her swishing hair watched it disappear from view as he continued down the remaining stairs into the hallway. She was aware that during the stair descent, her left breast had freed itself from its cup. She felt the tug of its weight now and a pinch of the now awkward bra on the other breast.

Why was this happening?

She dragged from the recesses of her mind a recollection of a txt message from her Dom.

Though she had never met him her Dom had always said that he was a big guy and she had always been compelled to follow his instructions. This man carrying her now had to be him!

What the fuck did that message say though? It had come through yesterday morning.

Now they were at the back door, exiting and making their way out onto the patio. She felt the crisp morning air assail her pussy and ass crack, which for some reason seemed to open invitingly for it, the man's arm clamping her legs to his chest at mid thigh. Damn her body. Why did she feel damp between her legs? Her mind clicking into coherent thought, she felt embarrassed at being slung over his shoulder but excited by her vulnerability. The garden was not exactly secluded; she had neighbours either side. Thank goodness he hadn't taken her out of the front door.

There was something else though... what was it? Damn hangover was gonna be fucker this morning. Think girl, think!

The man's arm pressure holding her tight was causing her thighs to gape open, and the indignity of the position was having an effect. She was actually feeling very turned on because of the lack of control she had right now. Her body merely a doll in his arms.

But what did that txt say?

Come on, girl! Think!

Oh yes, he had said that if she had smoked he would come for her...

But that wasn't fair.

They were at the patio furniture and she felt herself being turned and lowered on to the table... all of a sudden she felt the cold damp of morning dew on her bottom and thighs. Her wrists still at her back, she had no say in her situation whatsoever. She slumped slightly, seated as she was, her legs swinging freely a few inches from the ground.

With her eyes still closed, she wobbly wavered side to side with the possibility of throwing up, aware that he was un-clipping her bra but unable to prevent it. Unable to remove it with her arms behind her back, she was aware that she was now fully naked for him.

His txt message suddenly flashed before her eyes, flooding back a wave of enlightenment.

It had said that if she smoked at her party, he was 'gonna find her, strip her, present her naked in her own garden, and strap her ass with his belt.'

Her breasts suddenly freed, her nipples now hardened with her predicament and with the occasional accidental touch of his arm on her body. She forced herself to open her eyes.

He must understand. She had to tell him. Please!

She was being lifted and turned now, face down on the table, ass open towards the house.

What about the neighbours?

Fuck.

No longer feeling sick, self preservation cutting in, she had to explain about the cigarette.

Her nipples were feeling roughed against the wire frame of the table; the swell of her breasts pooled out on the table beneath her; the open and useless bra merely reins now for him to hold her still. Her hair splayed out, soaking up the remaining dew on the table that hadn't originally coated her legs and buttocks.

Please, no.

There had been a cigarette.

She had been offered one, and yes, she had taken it. From that fucking lad. She had taken it and stepped outside with him.

Shit, she could hear him unbuckling his own belt and the gentle hiss as the end made it's way through the loops in his trousers, one of his hands on her bra strap like it was a fucking leash to hold her still.

Yes, she had taken it outside, but the cowering look of the others out in the smoker's shelter had spoken to her. Their poor skin and yellowed fingers. The poor air quality and general revolting smell. She had stared at the lad's yellow, uneven teeth as he smiled at her.

The cold air had brought her to her senses. She had felt revulsion.

Memories of Sir's intervention had flooded back. The disappointment she had created by breaking her promise from before still crippled her soul when she thought about it even now. What would he think? Her children think?

She felt her legs pulled apart, and a bead of moisture, either from the dew on the table, or from the inside of her pussy, leaked slowly down her leg. It felt like her clit was on fire, rubbing on the edge of the table due to the lack of body control she had right now.

He must understand.

He had to understand.

She had thrown it away!

How did he know she had taken it in the first place? Was that lad a test?

She struggled to speak again, it ending in a cough and a splutter. Damn that vodka.

His hands now on her thighs, calming her nervous shaking. She felt a finger brush her lower lips and felt herself convulse involuntarily at its touch and wish it had been directly on her clit. She felt turned on? Her neck felt flushed and she needed more oxygen right at this moment. She knew her lower lips were gaping now on their own accord. Her head was spinning but she had to speak.

She felt him step back and heard him loop the belt in his hand. He was taking aim. She sensed his arm raise away from her buttocks.

'I didn't!'

At last words.

She had spoken words.

Sweet communication.

At last.

She had to keep them coming.

He had paused.

Thank fuck for that.

'I was given one - I took one but dropped it on the ground! I didn't smoke it...'

He was listening. She coughed and forced her voice to work.

'I kept my promise!'

Bent over the patio table, it would only need a little unusual noise to get the neighbours either side looking out of their windows. And there she was, butt naked, in high heels, ass to the sky, nipples poking through the gaps in the table, about to have her ass strapped like a naughty schoolgirl.

'I didn't break my promise! Please believe me.'

Silence.

Stillness.

Quietude.

There was no swish. No thwack of the belt on her. No pain on her buttocks. No stinging on her inner thighs or open wet crack.

Instead, she found his face at hers, he now gently pulling her hair back from her eyes and freeing her face.

Eyes in focus now, she looked into his face and whispered 'I'm your good girl!'

With relief she saw him nod, and a smile form on his face.

'So, no strap!

Any other ideas for your body whilst you are like this?'

She contemplated her position. It was early and the neighbours lights weren't on. The threat of having her ass strapped had suddenly disappeared and she was relaxing now. Even her vulnerable, naked position across her own patio furniture was erotic rather than concerning. She felt her pussy leaking more copiously. Her clit felt like it was on fire and needed some cream.

The crystal clear early morning sunlight reflected brightly from the windows above and even the slight September frost in the morning air seemed pleasant on her nude body.

She smiled, closed her eyes and made a contented groan as she felt his long, wide finger trace down her crack and slowly ease in between her lips.