Date: Mon, 4 Jun 2012 19:56:25 +0100 (BST)
From: TomJon Smith <tomjonsmith@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: CIGAR SMOKE: A CHUBBY STORY

CIGAR SMOKE: A CHUBBY STORY
By TomJon Smith

It was the worst kind of day for a wedding. Storms wracked the country,
gales ripped through trees and rain pounded the ground relentlessly. The
poor bride was soaked through and all the guests were united in their soggy
finery. But worse of all, I was on my own for the day. My boyfriend had
split up with me the week before. I had been looking forward to showing him
off to my old friends but now they were looking at me as though I had made
him up. Boyfriends had been few and far between but six months previously I
had met a gorgeous guy who could not keep his hands off my plump body. My
confidence had rocketed: I felt sexy and happy with my body. And now I was
alone again. This wedding felt like a step backwards. Everyone else was
with someone and I stuck out like a sore thumb.

To get over this, I had drunk a lot of wine. The reception was a blur. I
was stuck on a table with the maiden aunts and other stragglers and the
only way to survive the ordeal was to neck a lot of red wine. The reception
was held in beautiful old stately home that had been converted into a
hotel. But with the stormy weather the electricity kept flicking off and
on, leaving the wedding party in the gloom of a dull afternoon.

After the reception there was the traditional lag before the inevitable
disco. I sidled into the hotel's bar. It was a warm, cosy place. A fire
crackled away in the huge chimney place and seats were clustered together
in dark corners. I ordered a whiskey and sat at the bar, joined by a few of
the old friends who were still trying to work out if my boyfriend had been
imaginary or not.

During the conversation I became aware of another man in the bar. He must
have been another guest at the hotel as he was not part of the wedding
party. He was sitting by the fireplace, drying out. He looked like a Hells
Angel, dressed in leather coat, trousers and big black boots. His hair was
cropped short, his face thickly stubbled and adorned by a long goatee
beard: its silver colour made him look like a grizzled Viking warrior. His
ears were pierced with thick hoops and above the collar of his leather
jacket I could just make out part of a tattoo. His stocky body was
accompanied by a belly, its pleasing shape straining against the white
t-shirt. His hands, resting on the armchair, were also stippled with
tattooed letters and designs.  In one hand he held a large cigar. Smoke
twisted from its lit end, filling the bar with its sweet stench. Every so
often he would slowly bring the cigar to his lips, pursing them around its
thick base and take long, slow draws on it. Holding the smoke in his lungs
for a while he would then puff it out in a long slow exhalation, his face
an expression of contentment.

Whilst I chatted with my friends I became aware of his eyes on me. He was
staring at me quite blatantly. Being on the larger side, I often had people
staring at me rudely.  His gaze was something else. It was almost
aggressive. I tried to carry on my conversation but I could feel his animal
eyes on me. I felt a blush of embarrassment begin to rise. I drank my
whiskey too quickly, scared that my hand was shaking. He did not stop
looking at me. His dark pupils bored into me.

My friends hadn't noticed. I made my excuses, saying I had to change before
the disco, and made for my room. I needed to escape. As I started to go up
the staircase I saw him walk through the hall. He was following me. The
aggression in his face and the purposefulness of his walk made me hurry my
pace. I thought he was going to beat me up. Maybe he had heard my friends
talk about my boyfriend, maybe he was a gay-basher. I'd heard those
biker-types often were. I fumbled for my keys. He was coming down the
corridor towards me and --

A loud crack of thunder split the air and the hotel was plunged into
darkness. I was outside my door, desperately feeling for the keyhole. He
could only be a few paces behind. I scraped the key into the lock and
pushed my way in, slamming the door behind me, locking it, and I leaned
back against it, my heart racing. Then I heard the door of the room next to
me open and softly shut. He wasn't following me! He was just going back to
his room! I felt relieved and a little stupid. I had misinterpreted that
stare.

/

I saw him again later that night.

The disco was the usual drab affair of grannies and children dancing to
songs that only got played at weddings. The happy couple took to the floor
for their first dance and were soon joined by all the other couples. I
missed my boyfriend. He'd have made the whole weekend bearable. But instead
I was feeling ugly and miserable.

I thought about the cigar man from earlier. I was dreadful at picking up
signals. I'd thought my ex-boyfriend was straight until he'd asked someone
else to find out if I was interested in him.

I'd been drinking steadily through the disco and alcohol always makes me
bolder.  What the hell. I'd go back to the hotel bar and see if my admirer
was still around. I undid a few buttons of my shirt which made me
immediately feel sexier and headed back into the saloon.

Lightning clapped outside and the electric lights dimmed for a moment and
the music of the disco whirred but both came back on. Rain lashed against
the windows as the storm howled outside.

The bar was busier than it had been earlier and I looked about the tables
to see if my cigar-smoking friend was anywhere to be seen. Looking over the
heads of other hotel guests I spotted him. He was sitting alone by the fire
again, still in his leathers, still smoking a huge Cuban cigar. I pushed my
way through the people and positioned myself at the end on the bar, sitting
on a stool and waiting for the barman's attention.

My back was to him, but I felt his eyes on me. I ordered another whisky but
drank it slowly this time, savouring its deep flavours on my tongue. I
glanced behind me quickly, just to make sure he was aware of me. He was
puffing at the cigar, his eyes drinking me in but his face impassive. I
smiled a little and returned to my drink.  Perhaps he was a psycho. It was
always a risk. I drained the rest of the whisky and turned towards him. Our
eyes met. His gaze was intense and loaded. He stared unblinkingly at me
until, embarrassed, I dropped my eyes and went about my way. I pushed back
through the crowd of guests and through to the hotel's lobby.

Looking back, I could not see him following. My heart sank. I dawdled for a
moment and considered going back to the disco. I couldn't face it. I would
just have to spend the rest of the evening watching a crap film on the
television, alone in my room. I started up the grand staircase. A boom of
thunder shuddered through the hotel and the lights cut out for a few
seconds. A babble of excitement rippled through the merry hotel guests.

I was at the top of the stairs and just about remembered the way back to my
room. I fished my phone out from my pocket and used its glow to light my
way until I found my door and let myself in.

The room was a little cold. I decided to undress and get under the warm
blankets and try and get some sleep. I shivered as my naked flesh responded
with goosebumps. Fumbling in the darkness, I set my clothes to one side on
a chair, then made my way carefully, reaching out with one hand and feeling
the carvings of one of the wooden posts. I discerned the extremities of the
bed and clambered into it. It was dark in the room it made no difference if
my eyes were open or closed. I lay in the darkness and waited for sleep.

Suddenly, I heard a floorboard creak outside my door. Panicked, I
remembered that I hadn't locked it behind me. In the darkness everything is
heightened and my drunken imagination leapt to thoughts of murderers and
robbers.

Then, amplified by the blackness, came three stiff knocks on the door, slow
and deliberate. They would not have been from a friend, who would have
knocked quickly and shouted my name. And it would not have been from the
hotel staff, who would be busily trying to sort out the powercut. I sat up
on the bed, listening for a clue to who was behind the door.

It was him. It had to be him.

The knocks came again. Three loud, clear raps on the old wooden door.

I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I wanted to bury myself beneath the
covers but I decided to stay where I was, kneeling in the centre of the
bed.I wrapped one of the sheets around myself, trying to cover my
nakedness, even though I was swathed in the black of night.

Three knocks again.

The darkness was not as comforting as I had imagined. In a way, I felt more
exposed.  I held one arm against my chest, holding the sheet over me,
though my backside was exposed. My mind was racing, my heart was beating so
loudly I was sure he would be able to hear it through the door. I knew what
he wanted. But I didn't know if I was brave enough to go through with it. I
stole myself, took a deep breath, paused for a moment and then called out:

`Come in.'

/

The door opened. The smell of his cigar drifted through the room announcing
his presence with its warm, soothing odour. Enough light shone through from
the hall's skylight for me to see his silhouette against the wall. I
imagined how he looked with that cigar between his lips. I imagined the
feel of his large hands on my body, of his mouth on mine. I imagined his
eyes as he plunged into me.

He stood in the doorway for sometime, taking an occasional draw on the
cigar. He was looking at my body. I could feel his eyes on me and I could
tell somehow that he was imagining much the same as I was. Bashfully, I
turned my body away from him, clasping the sheet to my chest still.

He took two paces into the room and closed the door. We were submerged back
into darkness. A thrill went through me. I waited for his touch. The rug on
the floor absorbed the vibrations of his footsteps and it was only through
the stench of smoke intensifying that I knew he was right behind me. My
skin flushed with anticipation, longing for his hands against my body.

I heard a chink as he undid his belt, and two soft thuds as he kicked his
boots off, then the ruffling of material as his trousers fell to the
floor. A minute later the soft noise of his t-shirt billowed down. I sensed
his nakedness in the blackout: we were clothed only in darkness. I could
hear his breaths now and thought I could feel the warm draught of his
exhalations on my shoulder. The smell of tobacco lingered on his breath
like a memory.

I waited for his hand to reach out. I hardly dare breathe. The mattress
depressed with his weight behind me. Somehow I knew he was erect. Jutting
out brazenly in front of him into the blackness would be his manhood. It
would be right behind me, only a few inches away. I could reach behind and
take it in my hand. But my hands remained covering my chest and my own
promising hard on.

Wafts of tobacco waved over me. He blew it quite deliberately over me, deep
breaths of it spiralling around me and kissing my skin with its spicy
smell. I breathed it in deeply, tasting the sweet, earthy flavour of the
tobacco, filling my lungs with his perfumed exhalations.

He was so close now that I was sure he would hear the hammering of my
heart. My skin, I knew, would be blushing pink but the darkness hid my
awkwardness.

I almost flinched when I felt the first touch on my body: his beard against
my nape.  A thrill shot through my body. He lightly dragged the whiskers
against me and then planted a single kiss on my neck. His hands touched me
next, each one against my shoulders, his fingers stroking me. He held the
cigar in his right paw. I felt its papery texture between his big fingers
as he touched me, its fragrance powerful and smothering.

Those large fingers of his began to explore the shape of my body, sweeping
over my curves, taking handfuls of me in his palms, smoothing over my back
and my thighs, feeling the weight of my buttocks. His touch was light but
insistent until finally his arms reached over mine, his broad hairy chest
pressed against my shoulder blades, his belly against the curve of my
back. And below his belly the unmistakeable prod of his erection against my
inner thigh.  His hands traced mine, which still, bashfully, were covering
my chest. Wordlessly, he pressed the cigar into my hand. It was longer than
I had remembered and surprisingly thick. It was the kind of cigar that a
man would enjoy for many hours. His hands were now free and I did not
resist when he calmly pulled my hands away from my breasts, releasing the
sheet that I had clung to for modesty, and replaced them with his own. He
kneaded the flesh and found the nipples, shamelessly erect in the cold of
the room. He rolled the teats between his thumb and index finger, tugging
at them as he planted more soft, bristly kissed on my neck and
shoulders. The heat of his body radiated against my back and his hot hands
eased away the goosebumps that had prickled my exposed body.

Satisfied with my tits, he moved down to my belly, rubbing it tenderly and
appreciatively exploring the cavity of my navel, brushing the light down of
hair below it. And then his hands went lower. My cock, jutting out in front
of me, throbbed in anticipation of his grasp. His fingers crept through the
tangled bush of my pubic hair and --

Suddenly he pushed me forwards so I was facedown on the bed. I yelped in
disapproval but quickly felt the graze of his hairy face pressed between my
now upturned buttocks. His large wet tongue found the wrinkled slit of my
anus and began to enthusiastically probe it. His arms, hard with muscle,
slid beneath my pillowy thighs and back up onto my back, preventing me from
wriggling away. Not that I wanted to: the divine sensations from his
skilful tongue overtook me and I moaned like a whore. His tongue flickered
and danced against my hole. Spittle dribbled down my crack, wetting his
beard. The soft bushy hairs on his chin tickled my perineum, the spikier
stubble of his cheeks rasped the pink flesh of my bare crack.

The cigar was still in my hand, smouldering away. I'd never tried smoking
one before and as its owner was preoccupied at the moment, I took a long
drag on it. The thick smoke filled my lungs warming me from the inside just
as his hot touch had enflamed my skin. The honeyed tar was far more potent
when taken directly. As his tongue satisfied my aching hole, his cigar
enthralled my palate.

His tongue must have tired but my hole was now ready. He sat up, his rough,
big hands on my mountainous buttocks. He took the cigar from me and he
puffed on it with content sighs.

Once more I could feel the hot prong of his penis against me. Feeling
bolder, I reached back for it. My hand first touched the paunch of his
belly, richly textured with coarse, wiry hair. He took my hand firmly by
the wrist, and led it to its target. His meat was hot, swollen with
lust. The base was thick and bristly with hair. The shaft curved upwards
and was laced with veins, though the skin was silky. His foreskin was
already drawn back and I felt its rumpled folds beneath my fingers. As
delicately as I could, I traced my fingers over his glans. And then I felt
it. I withdrew my hand for a moment, not sure what it was I had
touched. Tentatively I took him in my hand again. Dangling from his helmet
was a piercing, a heavy bull ring.

I stroked his cock uncertainly. I'd never been with a man with such an
adornment. I could hear his breaths, deep and sonorous. He wrapped one of
his hands around mine reassuringly, guiding me as I continued to slowly
wank him. The fingers of his other hand were busy with my anus. He slid his
index finger inside me. I gave him little resistance but playfully clutched
him once he was up to the knuckle. The rest of my body may be soft and
built for comfort, but there I was as strong as anybody.

He chuckled, a throaty, thundering noise. I was ready for him. He shuffled
up behind me until his cock lay against my cheek. He bounced it up and
down, tapping my buttock with his piercing. I braced myself, clutching at
the sheets as he positioned himself behind me. Without the benefit of
sight, everything felt more intense. Every touch was felt, every movement
responded to. His pierced cock head nudged against me. The feel of the
metal bullring was unusual to me but after a little pressure, he managed to
pop his helmet inside of me. It was bigger than I had been expecting and
for a few moments it was uncomfortable. He held himself inside me, feeling
my hole adjust to his invader. And then he pushed his hips forward.

I cried out. I was not sure if it was pleasure or pain, but the feeling was
incredibly intense. The metal addition to his phallus stimulated parts of
my cunt that I had never hit before. His full length occupied me, my hole
stretching around the wide base of his shaft. He held himself inside me,
resisting the pressure of expulsion as my passage tried to accommodate him.

His large hands were rubbing my back, smoothing over my skin, trying to
relax my body. And then he shifted position and he leaned forward, lowering
himself onto me. His arms circled mine once more, his legs straddling
mine. His warm breath, perfumed with the intoxicating smoke of his cigar,
breezed against my upturned cheek and the soft broom of his facial hair
tickled my shoulder.

His hips began to move against me. A leisurely rotation grinding his big
dick into my slot: first one way, then the other. All the time he stroked
my arms and kissed my neck. I could feel his cock inside me like a rod. His
metal ring was an unusual sensation but when he began to take me with
small, forceful strokes I knew why he wore it. His thrusts were downwards
and swift, his dick only moving in and out by an inch or so, but his aim
was exquisite. I cried out again but this time I knew it was pleasure. The
piercing prodded and pinched my prostate in a way it had never been
stimulated before. Each short thrust brought a jolt of ecstasy that was
almost too much for my poor body to handle. I gripped the sheets with my
hands, I bit into the duvet to smother my cries. In the darkness the sounds
of our bodies heaving and slapping together were as loud as the lightning
that ripped through the night's air.  He maintained a steady rhythm on top
of me, short, precise thrusts but quickly dealt.

The exertion of the pace dampened his chest and brow and I felt the hot
moisture drip onto my back and neck. I concentrated on the stroke of his
broad cockhead and its steel adornment, as it thundered through my body,
pushing me towards an orgasm that promised to be euphoric. I could feel my
body building to a crescendo: my ballsack tightened, my face and chest felt
prickly with heat, my feet and legs were trembling. I could feel the climax
begin to swell in my groin, as though it was growing and expanding. I
moaned deeply, ready for the rush of feeling to blast through my ravaged
body. I held my breath as his pieced helmet prodded my prostate again and
again. I could feel myself surrendering to the pangs of pleasure and --

Without warning he righted himself and yanked his swollen meat from my
slackened anus. He chuckled, a throaty deep chuckle and slapped me on the
arse fondly. The orgasm subsided, incomplete, and my body felt empty
without his chunky dick inside me.

It was replaced with his fingers. They dipped inside me, testing me,
teasing me.  Everything was heightened in the dark. I could feel the thick
hairs on the back of his fingers as he fucked me with them.

He moved from his position behind me and I felt him lay next to me. I
reached out a hand and felt the dense thatch on his chest. I moved my hand
lower, down his body and over the hillock of his belly, until I encountered
the steeple of his hard cock.  Keeping a tight grip on it, I straddled
him. His hands went to my tits again, groping them aggressively, pulling at
my engorged teats. His cock prodded my buttocks impatiently and I adjusted
my position, leaning over him and pushing my arse down onto that fat,
pierced helmet. I waited for him to thrust but he lay still beneath me.

He smacked my arse roughly and I understood it was my turn to work. Slowly
I began to slide up and down; his helmet, broad and round, mined me
deeply. As I moved on top of him, his hands were busy with my body. Rough
hands slapped and stroked my belly and thighs but they soon crept up to my
tits again, grabbing generous handfuls and tugging the buds of my
nipples. My hands were on his chest, raking through the curly mat of fur
that seemed to coat his naked body. His palms and his shaft seemed to be
the only hairless parts of him. Wherever my smooth body touched his, I felt
the soft friction of his pelt.

Puffs of smoke were softly blown in my face as I bounced up and down, his
smoky breath filling my lungs with its sweet tang. He began to meet my
downward strokes with short, powerful thrusts that shook my entire body.

In one swift movement, he turned me onto my back and slithered up between
my thighs. He pulled my ankles up on to his hairy shoulders. His cock, like
a guided missile, found my slit and he thrust back inside me, keeping a
hard, fast rhythm. Our bodies slapped against each other loudly, the wobbly
flesh of my buttocks and thighs slamming against him as he buried his
dickhead into my hole again.

The cigar was passed back into my hand as he concentrated on the business
of fucking. His belly, matted with coarse hair, rubbed against my balls and
cock. The heavy weight of his body bore down on me as he leant forward,
pulling my legs further apart and impaling me further on his pierced
meat. He grunted and growled, like an angry animal, as he took me and I
could answer only with soft whimpers as he fucked me brutally. The rhythm
was incessant. The noises of our rutting, the wet slap of his balls and the
moist belch of my arsehole, cut through the darkened room.  He was in
complete control of my body, and the pleasure that was welling up inside my
body threatened to spill at any moment. The piercing was hitting my
prostate in a different way but once more the sensations it gave me were
sometimes too much and overloaded me with feeling. My hands gripped his
hairy forearms and I could feel the strength in them, the hard muscles
moving beneath the skin as he rammed me with his powerful erection. I
wished I could see his face and imagined the snarling mouth now twisted in
pleasure and his eyes flashing with lust.

His rhythm suddenly changed and I knew he was close. The thrusts came
slower but his full body weight was behind them and he stuffed his dick
deep into my guts.  Suddenly, he flopped down on me, his muscles tensing as
he began to shoot his load. I squeezed my hole tightly and felt his dick
jerk inside me, his helmet spewing hot jism in my cunt. He kept on bucking
with hard, irregular thrusts until the orgasm faded.

I stroked his hairy back, feeling the wiry curls catch in my fingers, until
his breaths slowed to normal. My hole was slowly beginning to repel its
softening invader and I felt a thick dribble of warm semen leak out of me
as his cock-ring passed out of my ravaged anus. I wanted to hold his furry
body next to me all night, feel his arms wrap around my body as we drifted
into sleep. I wanted to wake in the morning and see his face. And I wanted
to be looking into his eyes when he spunked inside me again.

But he had other ideas.

Satisfied, he patted the meaty part of my thigh affectionately and rolled
off me, exhaling deeply. He took the cigar from me and puffed deeply on it,
covering us once more in the veil of its scent. We lay next to each other
in the darkness. The hairs of his arm brushed me slightly but I resisted
the urge to touch him again.

He moved, hopping off the bed and I heard the rustle of clothing as he
dressed. I didn't make a noise but imagined the sight of his hairy body and
the large pierced phallus, still slick with his semen, dangling between his
legs.

As he opened the door, the dull light briefly illuminated his
silhouette. He paused in the doorway and looked back at me on the bed. He
might have been smiling but his face was in shadow and I couldn't see how
his features fell. The door closed and then he was gone. A faint smell of
his cigar smoke remained. I filled my lungs with the perfumed air and
drifted off into a deep, contented sleep.

/

At breakfast the next morning, I looked for him, and my heart sank when I
couldn't see him among the other guests. Tucking into my Full English I hid
my disappointment from my friends who were all chatting about the day
before.

Checking out at reception, I handed in my keys and headed for the door.

`Sir!' the receptionist called after me. I turned.

`Sir, an envelope was left for you.' I took it from her hand.

Peeling open the letter, inside I discovered a scrap of paper with a phone
number on it. And at the bottom of the envelope was a half-finished cigar.

THE END