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The situation I now find myself in is something I never dreamed would ensue when I began corresponding with Ariana. It started seven years ago as a brief e-mail correspondence and has now become my life.
But I must here digress, in order to give the reader some background information about me that relates to this tale. It will sound a bit weird to those of you who have never had a fetish. From as early as I can remember, there was always something about women smoking that aroused me. Even as a very young boy, I would wonder at how the mental image of a lady smoker made my little appendage grow bigger, with resulting pleasure. When I would see my babysitters and other pretty girls smoking, it aroused me enormously, because they were perceived by me as daring and sophisticated. Smoking girls always had this effect on me and I somehow knew that this would always be true. And when for the first time, at age 15, I saw a lady smoking a cigar, this “fetish” (It would be some years before I was aware that this is what I had) changed and deepened. It was just an actress on a TV show, and it was only a cigarillo, but I was turned on as never before.
My imagination ran wild. The “brazenness” that had always been part of the allure of young girls smoking cigarettes in public was immediately dwarfed, in my mind, by this. The very idea that a lady could publicly smoke a cigar and not be the slightest bit shy about it just struck me as incredibly sexy and powerful. It stimulated the deepest part of my sexual psyche. (In those days, the vast majority of women just did not smoke cigars or pipes, and even cigarette smoking was considered “unladylike” by some.) I began to seek out the few newspaper or magazine pictures or articles about female cigar smokers (and to a somewhat lesser extent, female pipe smokers). I read Thackeray’s Vanity Fair mostly to take in the cigar scene that I had read was within. I was that rare person who perused men’s magazines not for mere nudity, but for the possibility that I might find a picture of a lady with a cigar. More so than in men’s magazines, I found these pictures in (still, very rarely) magazines such as Time, Life, or my mother’s fashion magazines. I perused thousands of magazines over the years seeking to find that one special cigar lady. Seeing a picture of Gina Lollabrigida smoking a cigar with Castro in Time still lives in my mind. Each of these pictures was treasured by me. I had a small collection that I kept well hidden, and they were looked at every day. I would watch television with the hope that I might see a commercial for Tiparillos or Tijuana Smalls. I watched Westerns and spy shows, hoping that I would be rewarded for sitting through the tedium by even a brief glimpse of a lady with a cigarillo.
After awhile, as I started dating, I always dreamed that I would find a cigar smoker to fall in love with. Around that time, some of the more adventurous girls would sometimes smoke cigars as an affectation. Some of them probably even knew the effect it had on the boys.
Eventually I did fall in love and got married to a beautiful girl who had been a friend for some time. Alas, she smoked only cigarettes, and at first I didn’t have the courage to “come out.” One night, after a few glasses of wine, she asked me if there was anything that really, really turned me on. With some trepidation, I told her. Her response, which cemented my love for her, was to say “I guess we’ll have to keep a humidor under the bed.” All I can say about the next twenty years is that they were heaven sexually.
Children resulted from this union and, of course, they took priority over everything else in life. My wife and I were able to have our little adventures (always involving cigar smoking) when the kids were small, but at some point it became too risky to continue our cigar sex adventures in the house, so we had to settle for the occasional weekend when the grandparents could take the kids or the few times we could get away alone.
Like many marriages, after 20 years ours became a bit stale and boring. We still had sex, but the wild nights of previous years had become a memory. When having sex, I began to imagine other women smoking cigars. It always had the intended result, but it just wasn’t the same.
Then came the Internet. When I had my first taste of Netscape Navigator, I was awestruck. What an amazing invention! And then one day the thought came to me: There must be pictures out there of women smoking cigars. Going into AltaVista (this was years before Google) I typed in “cigar” and “woman.” The results astonished me. I was compelled to take the next two days off from work.
Over the next few years names such as “Tika” and many others lingered in my brain. I searched out and enjoyed all of the offerings of the day (very meager by today’s standards) and searching for pictures of ladies smoking cigars became my favorite hobby. Of course I never saved anything on my hard drive—with only bayburt seks hikayeleri one computer in the house, I couldn’t take any chances.
Time moved on and the Internet grew tremendously. I was tiring of looking at posed models and longed for real-life pictures, which, thanks to Cigar Aficionado and the resulting cigar boom of the nineties, had begun appearing. I had joined a few MSN and Yahoo groups and one day saw a group of pictures called “candids,” posted by a man to whom I remain eternally grateful. This was what I had longed for! I started looking for these types of pictures. Eventually, I found a site that had thousands of pictures of regular, normal girls and ladies smoking cigars. It was not a smoking fetish site, but for me it was. I looked forward to the monthly (or so) updates and figured out how to find the latest pictures out of the thousands posted, seemingly at random. I began to save the best pictures, hiding their location on the hard drive as best I could. Some of these early pictures were of excellent quality, both in content and photographic excellence. I decided to post some of my favorites to a Yahoo group devoted to cigar smoking women. The reaction I got astonished me. So many people contacted me about the pictures that I couldn’t believe it. People were apparently not aware that so many such “candid” cigar pictures were out there. The most enthusiastic person to write me about the pictures was, to my surprise, a woman. Ariana.
Our first correspondences were about the pictures–where did I find photos of such quality, in such quantity, et cetera. Over time, we became long distance friends, discussing everything from culture to politics. We were able to discuss personal things such as family and relationships. I found that Ariana is bisexual and that she smokes her pipe all the time, and has at least one good cigar each evening.
Over the years, Ariana repeatedly asked me if I would like to come to England (I live in the United States) and photograph her with her pipes and cigars, as well as make videotapes, which I would then be able to post online. Having family commitments, I was never able to do so, although the desire to do so burned in me. Our correspondence waxed and waned, and life, if the reader will forgive the cliché, went on.
A few years ago, Ariana moved to southern France. Coming from a wealthy aristocratic family, she was able to purchase a large estate, in which she has enough room to keep her beloved horses. Coming from an ancient noble lineage, she has inherited that nobility of bearing that comes only from generations of breeding.
A very tall woman, Ariana cares not a whit what people think of her. She has smoked a pipe since her teenage years, and has enjoyed the finest cigars since her days at Oxford University. She lives and loves as she pleases and, for her, only the best will suffice. And she has a cigar and pipe fetish.
Ariana and I resumed our correspondence shortly before she moved to France. We would exchange e-mails almost daily, and what began as mild flirting became very overt sexual overtures. I was surprised to find myself totally infatuated with someone whom I had never physically met. I felt like a schoolboy in love. Adriana decided that we had to meet. As is her wont, she instructed to me exactly how things would proceed. I would travel to Paris, where she would book a suite at the best hotel in the city. I would be treated not only to the Ritz, but to the Folies Bergiere, and, on the third night, to a seedy jazz club, in which many of the female patrons would openly be flouting the new French anti-smoking laws with their cigars. Ariana wanted to know if there were any scenarios that I would like for us to role play. It felt like a dream. If things “clicked” between us, I would be allowed to visit Ariana’s boudoir and would be invited to spend the remainder of the two weeks at her estate. If we turned out not to be suited to each other, I would stay, at her expense, for the remainder of the week in Paris.
I was informed by Ariana that she does not trust men, so that I would be “restrained” if any sex were to occur. (With women, Ariana is willing to take a submissive role, but with men, she is always in total control.) This idea turned me on enormously. I agreed to go to Paris last June and made plans to arrange a “business trip,” ostensibly to London, in order to have an alibi for my wife.” The plan proceeded.
Arriving in Paris is something that should be experienced by everyone. The beautiful sight of the city can take one’s breath away. I was a bit nervous with anticipation, but I knew that this was something I really wanted to do. Ariana was now my dream woman and I literally couldn’t wait to see her. As I descended the tarmac, I scanned the sea of faces. It wasn’t hard to spot her. Standing taller than even most of the men in her high heels, she was impossible to miss, especially with the long-stemmed black pipe dangling from her mouth. I walked up to her, kissed her hand, kissed both of her cheeks, and introduced myself. In person, Ariana was even more attractive than I had imagined, and the picture of elegance itself. After retrieving my bags, we headed to a waiting limousine and thence to the Ritz.
We didn’t talk very long that evening. I was suffering from jet lag and Ariana graciously offered to escort me to my room for a nap. I didn’t awaken until late the next morning. As my eyes opened, I saw Ariana across the room, sitting on a chair with her book and pleasantly puffing her pipe. “It’s about time you woke up sleepyhead,” she said.
The next three days were everything I had hoped. The two of us hit it off from the beginning, and by day 2, I was invited to Ariana’s room for the night. As she had warned, I was restrained to the bedposts by a pair of handcuffs. Ariana then ever-so-slowly removed my garments and apprised my growing manhood. “Not bad, “she noted. “I might have seen a couple of specimens longer than that, but I’m very impressed with the girth.” If I allow penetration, I think you will work out.
That night was absolutely wonderful. I was under the total control of Ariana as she sat astride me, cigar dangling from her mouth, as she commanded me to use my tongue to its utmost. I happily obliged for over an hour, watching her enjoy what seemed like a hundred orgasms, her love juices spurting into my face. I was wild with desire, but Ariana decided that we would put off “penetration” until at least the following day. Strangely, I was not disappointed because I was so horny that I didn’t want it to end. She lay beside me and laughed sweetly as my member refused to get out of business mode. I slept as if I had never slept before.
We had two more wonderful days enjoying the city enormously. The city’s beauty is impossible to describe, and I won’t waste the reader’s time with my meager attempts. I had the finest meals of my life and enjoyed an amazing show at the Folies Bergiere. On the third night, we went to the seedy nightclub, as had been promised. The jazz music was fine and the sight of so many women smoking their cigars kept me at our table in order that no one would notice the nonstop bulge in my pants. We went back to the hotel feeling very satisfied with the day and I was, for the third time, invited into Ariana’s boudoir.
I was again shackled to the bed and things progressed as before. This night was to end differently though–after an hour of cunnilingus, Ariana mounted me, smoke drifting out of her mouth around her dangling cigar, and, after encircling my throbbing penis with her silken quim, she slowly moved up and down. I did everything I could to prolong the event and, as I was about to come, Ariana gently removed the luscious grip of her beautiful vagina from me. She lit another Cohiba and teasingly blew smoke in my face. I resumed tongue–pleasing her for another 20 minutes or so and then she mounted me again. This time it was over within minutes. It was the best orgasm I had ever had—I was, as the cliché has it, “weak in the knees.” I literally would not have been able to walk. “You deserved that, my dear boy. You may sleep now. You are definitely coming with me to my estate tomorrow.”
With the morning sun lighting up the city, it was time to go. A limousine arrived and our bags were loaded. I felt a bit sad that we were leaving Paris but I knew there were more adventures lying ahead. After a truffle and ham omelet and some coffee, we were on our way.
I regret to say that I slept most of the way, thus missing out, based on what I did see, some of the most beautiful landscapes imaginable. Every time I awoke, I would see Ariana, out of the corner of my eyes, gently puffing her pipe, its fragrant and intriguing aroma sweetening both my nostrils and my thoughts. I felt almost in heaven.
We arrived at our destination and our bags were carried in. The house was a very old and very large mansion, surrounded by a huge expanse of lawn littered with ancient oak trees. She was, like its owner, a grand lady. Later I would be given a tour of the house and grounds, but first I met some of the staff and was served a cup of Earl Grey tea with a bit of honey and was presented with a humidor containing a variety of good Cuban cigars. I chose a smallish Romeo y Julieta and sat back to enjoy myself. I hoped that Ariana would join me, but she said she would prefer a fresh pipe and chose one from her extensive collection. I watched as she tamped down the tobacco and brought it to life. We sat and conversed about a variety of subjects for the next half hour and then she said we needed to change our clothing. I prepared to unpack my bags but Ariana told me not to worry, that it would be taken care of. She had had her tailor custom make a riding outfit for me. Her afternoon plan was to go on a horse ride through the estate grounds, another treat that had been promised me. The experience did not disappoint. My riding skills are limited, but with her guidance I had a wonderful time. “What a life!”, I thought. How could I ever leave? Indeed.
After supper, we removed to the parlor where we were served coffee and fine French cognac, and once again the humidor was presented to us. Adriana insisted on choosing my cigar for me, a Cohiba Esplendido. For herself she picked a very large Romeo y Julieta. I watched entranced as she expertly clipped the cigars and brought hers to life. As the plumes of smoke wafted from her lips to the high ceiling, I felt very amourous again. Ariana quickly noted my protuberance and laughed loudly. “My, my, don’t be impatient, Jay. I am a woman who very much likes to go slowly. Relax and enjoy your cigar.” Which is what I did.
Our first night in Limoge was somewhat similar to the last night in Paris and just as wonderful. Adriana invited me to one of her boudoirs, a large, unwindowed interior suite, with two rooms facing each other. One room, the larger of the two, contained a large, beautiful bed and two small couches and some chairs. The other room had a smaller bed and a large chair and the walls were stocked with books. A computer rested on a small desk near the foot of the bed. I noticed that there was a kind of door that could be slid out to separate the rooms. It was a huge steel sliding door with a tiny window. It looked out of place in such a room, and I asked Ariana its purpose. “That’s how I’ll keep you locked up love,” she laughed. “Let’s have a drink and then we’ll see what we can do to entertain ourselves.” She gave me a tender kiss on the lips and our night began.
At this point, I was seriously in lust and dangerously close to being uncontrollably in love. I dreamed I could spend all of my waking hours for the rest of my life watching this beautiful lady smoking her pipes and cigars, going for daily rides, and having our wonderful conversations. And the nights of ecstasy! How could I ever give this up? I knew I had to, but I kept the thought from my mind.
The week went too quickly and the idea of an end was beginning to darken my thoughts. I felt like a schoolboy knowing that his summer romance was about to end. I was deliriously happy, and yet sad at the same time. Adriana only smiled when I told her my thoughts. “Don’t worry, you’ll be staying, love. I’ll see to that.”
She asked me on the day before my scheduled departure if there were the slightest possibility that anyone at home could have figured out where I was.”Of course not.” I replied. “I hid my trail well. My cell phone has been turned off since I boarded the plane and my wife thinks I am in England. Don’t worry, no one will find out that I’m here.”
Ariana smiled again, but this time her smile looked subtly different. “What would your wife do if I didn’t let you go home?” I laughed, made a joke, and changed the topic. “I guess it’s our last night tonight, so do you have anything special in mind?” I said. “Indeed I do, Jay. Indeed I do.”
That evening, after another sumptuous feast, we sat outside on the porch, enjoying cognac and cigars, Ariana chose for her smoke a rather large Cuban Punch and I watched with bliss as she sat, the cigar dangling seductively from her mouth, as she savored the approach of sunset. We sat and talked for the next hour and a half and she smoked her cigar constantly, occasionally glancing, bemused, at the bulge in my pants. Finally, as she finished exhaling her last puff, she said, “time to go upstairs. Don’t you have to get ready?” Alas, I knew I did, but looked forward to one final night with this remarkable woman.
We first went to my room, where I planned to pack my things. Ariana told me that it wouldn’t be necessary. “Everything you need will be taken care of. Tonight you are mine.” Please come with me to my boudoir. I followed Ariana down the hall, marveling at her svelte figure. I was definitely in love and thought again how sad it would be to leave. I was grateful, however, to have had such a wonderful experience for the better part of two weeks.
We arrived at Ariana’s room and entered. “I want this night to be special for you, as it will be your final night of living in such style.” I could only agree. Ariana pulled another cigar from her bedroom humidor. Dangling the Cohiba from her lips, she lit it expertly, smiling at me through the smoke. She playfully exhaled a stream of smoke into my face. I was well beyond aroused by this point and hoped I wouldn’t ruin things by coming too soon. I was once again restrained to the bed and my clothing removed. Ariana, as on previous occasions, sat astride my mouth, taking her pleasures for about an hour, the cigar hanging in a most erotic manner from her red lips. After having numerous orgasms and again spewing her juices on my face, she was ready to move to the next step. I was in such a state of anticipation that I felt slightly mad. I was obsessed with the desire to have her beautiful cunt in possession of my now rock-hard dick. Ariana got off of me and left the bed. I didn’t know what she had in store for me right then, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
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