Cigar Cognoscente

"A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke." -Kipling

Fuente Fuente Opus X

An after dinner smoke, content, confident, relaxed...
A sip of bourbon to whet your palate, I watch you inhale, noting your deep satisfaction. You enjoy pleasure. Bidding me to stand before you, watching intently as my chest heaves with each breath. Even clothing can't hide the healthy warm apples topped with coral berries, just ripe for picking. You demand I remove the 'wrapper', exposing the bountiful mounds.

"'Udders' are meant to be milked," you sarcastically remark.

Aroused by the demeaning expression, you grab my teats and squeeze. Playfully pulling, twisting, distending the shapes with a wicked and wild abandon.

 "A woman has bosoms, a bust or a breast,
  Those lily-white swellings that bulge
  'neath her vest;
  They are towers of ivory, sheaves of new wheat;
  In a moment of passion, ripe apples to eat."

Macanudo Jamaica PP

You voraciously suck the hardened raspberries. Your teasing tongue eliciting an involuntary moan from the sensation. Your teeth alternate between a nibble and a bite. Your hands work their way between my legs and up my skirt. Rubbing along the silken crotch line, a gentle friction, while you continue to devour the bloated balloons, fascinated by the cleavage. You make a mental note to later return to this natural tunnel and plow it with your tumescent tractor.

"Always I hear the milk tones of her voice, a
 virgin, a whore, a woman totally aware of every
 dark perversion, an innocent."

Cifuentes y Cia Partagas 1845 Limited Reserve

My wetness is apparent. Your fingers crawl beneath the fabric, finding my other source for milk. Cream dripping from my cunt of down, you torture me. First inserting, then removing the digits. Opening the grotto, a flower in bloom, leaving me hungry and wanting for more. You will not let me come, but work me into a frenzy, so that I will do anything for release. I am already embarrassed by the fluid running freely from my body, completely vulnerable to you, to your touch, your magneticism. I am only half-clothed,animpropriety, the morality of my youth...a chastising voice. Guilt and desire fight for control. If I pull away, I know you will punish me. Perhaps I deserve it for such lewd behavior...maybe that is what I need or crave.

"In every great king, in every loveliest flowery
 princess, in every poet most refined, every best
 dressed dandy, every holiest and spiritual
 teacher there lurks, waiting, waiting for the
 moment to emerge, an outcaste of outcastes,
 a dung carrier, a dog, lower than the lowest,
 buttomlessly vulgar." -Aldous Huxley

Dunhill Cabreras

Your obvious, contained hardness is becoming painful. Awakened, the monster plans its escape. In a gloating manner, you liberate the impudent beast. I shall be your jaw queen, your icing expert. Kneeling at your feet, a sign of submission, you force my mouth to accept this behemoth blade.

"Suck it, suck all of it," my wanton whore.

I try not to gag or choke, its size beyond normal proportion. I cannot breathe, I cannot protest, filled beyond capacity with your meat. Sawing my mouth, a tight coffin, a burial ground for your lust. My long hair falls about my face, simultaneously lingering along your balls, upon which my hands provide gentle ministration. You exit in order to allow me air, and my lips are directed toward the hanging spheres as I carefully swallow each.

"The best pleasures of this world are not quite pure." -Goethe

Montecristo

After blowing your 'bagpipes', feasting on your 'bat and balls', lapping your cock like a hungry kitten...your brazen bayonet stands proud and tall, a monument. A weapon ready to fire its load...You explode, your cum, like melted butter, drips down my face and neck, dewdrops cling to my hair-a tribute, an honor, to be bathed in the juices of my 'Master Mind'. Release triggers a barrage of obscenities into the sexual darkness, your gratification demands my appreciation.

"Thank me," you demand in a stern voice.

Ashton Cabinet

Let the games begin...boundless lust, fascination with perversity, exploration of eros, as you make ready for another assault. For now, content to excite yourself with my torment. Leading me through the labyrinths of pleasure and pain. Half clothed, my rear and cunt remain mysterious caves for spelunking. You demand I lift my skirt and blatantly exhibit the unexplored territories.

"Expose yourself. Strip and offer me your body for
 close examination."

Your intention is to shame and embarrass me, knowing well my shyness and reticence in such matters.

"The heat of shame mounted through her legs and
 body and sounded in her ears like the sound of
 sand pouring." -Nadine Gordimer

"Waves of shame ran through her, like savage
 internal blushes." -Mary McCarthy

Dark, curly hairs are a veil to the 'Jerusalem artichoke'. Your hands trespass, inserting a finger, then fingers. Your cock, its beauty, its beast, has left me soaked in wetness, a pent up river. Your touch causes a rumbling, a quake. In an wanton act, I beg you to let me finish, desperately trying to ride your fingers, take them deeper into the grove. In this game, you are the leader and I am the follower. You will allow my orgasm when you decide.

"It's a cavern of joy you are thinking of now
 A warm, tender field just awaiting the plow.
 It's a quivering pigeon caressing your hand,
 Or sweet little pussy that makes a man stand.
 Or perhaps it's a flower, a grotto, a well,
 The hope of the world, or a velvety hell.
 But friend, heed this warning,beware the affront
 Of aping a Saxon: don't call it a cunt." -Anon.

Fonseca Imported

Enjoying my wild abandon, amused by my momentary lack of inhibition, you pull away.

"Bend over and show me your ass", your attention now focused on my rump, the flipside. Squeezing my flesh cushions, a fitting 'fundament' for your fantasies...

"Her firm protruding ass looked like a split peach." -Steve Shagan

"A big soft ass as wide as an axhandle."
-George Garrett

"Her posteriors, plump, smooth and prominent
 ...that splendidly filled the eye..."
-John Cleland, Fanny Hill

"He kissed the plump mellow yellor smellor melons
 of her rump, on each plump melonous hemisphere,
 in their mellow yellow furrow, with obscure
 prolonged provocative melonsmellonous
 osculation." -James Joyce

Jose Gener Hoyo de Monterrey Excaliber

From a bent position, I am ordered on all fours.

"Kneel like an animal, scride."
 
Your gaze burning into my ass, branding me, burnishing me with your vision. You enjoy the view...white, pure globes fanning out before you. A subservient creature, forced into a decadent and demeaning posture. Here is a fortress to be penetrated. You stand behind me, delighting in the texture of the moons, my unseemly position, my reluctance. My breasts dangle, oranges to be picked from the tree. My cunt, a forest to traverse- a complete landscape of mountains, bushes, seas...your territory to claim and possess.

"You deserve a spanking for your lewd behavior," the first sign of levity in your voice.

"Ask for it, tell me you need a firm hand and require punishment."

The sting is oddly arousing, heating the buttocks. There is no rhythmn, suspense building in your strategy of anticipation and delay.

You blindfold me, more to induce fear than for any harm. At your mercy, I experience a sensation that at first I cannot define. There is a coldness, a softness, a dampness. You are painting, my behind is your canvass. Signs, symbols, words to amuse yourself, while callously inserting you finger in whatever porthole you choose. My ass glows in the dark, a target for your arrow. Again, your ravenous rooster stands at full readiness, inspired by creativity and perversity. You let it play along the crack, a totipotent intruder knocking at the door...

Cohiga

You lead me to the bedroom and remove the covering from my eyes. I can't help but admire your urgent erection. You have me sit on top of you, backside and cunt accessible to your mouth, while I lick your swollen member. Your nefarious Nimrod is a God to worship. I will do anything to feel its power within me...You tease me with your tongue until I am lost, the pleasure overpowering. But, it is your mighty cock I want, I will beg...make me whole, fill the void, the emptiness-take me to that place beyond conscience, beyond meaning...I am yours.

Ode To My Cigar Cognoscente
('The Lost Paragraphs' dedicated to my puissant presence of the priapic...)

After your creative work on my bottom, breasts, stomach-the sable brush a singular sensation of softness, a tickling, the paint cool against my heated body...you lead me to the bathroom lit by flickering candles. The shower a purifier, cleansing me of my sins. Hot steam rises to fill the room, now a foggy "grande illusion." You watch intently as water cascades down my body, a rich terrain for this jet-powered waterfall (a sotadic metaphor). I reach for the soap but your hand is quicker. Building foam with your powerful fingers, an opportunity to enjoy the form and feel of my body. As an active canvas, the paint dissolves, dripping colors merge...an abstract tribute to Pollack.

In this sybaritic sonata, you bathe me slowly and deliberately savoring the curves of flesh, massaging breasts, playing with nipples. Gliding soap across the skin, parting my thighs, tracing my legs, squeezing my ass--assaulting the senses. I tingle inside and out. You lather my scalp as long, dark hair tumbles past shoulders. Your hand movement becomes more raffish, more provocative, increasing gyrations as you probe hills, valleys and canyons. The erotic play has encouraged your erection. You join me, pressing your body into mine. Vision of Michelangelo's David, sculpted of muscles, tendons, a male form with an ever-growing hardness. I, in turn, wash you as a attentive maid or sequacious servant until your rigid rod demands release. On my knees, I dutifully suck your cock while water sprays around us, a dramatic set.

Plenipotentiary...energizing Eros...from bath to bed, wrapped in towels to absorb the dampness. Here you will exercise your full power...driving out the demons with the force of your stroke. The sweet smell of my skin, a tasty dessert waiting to be devoured. You wrestle me to the mattress, locking my hands overhead, straddling my body, lips locked in a torrid kiss. You take my breath away. Pushing legs apart, you tease me. Entering me only slightly and pulling out. Each time, just a little deeper and retreating like a bucket in a well, drawing water from the surface. My eyes begin to glaze, I am lost to another world. Now, you are ready to drive deep into me, completely opened, a flower in full bloom, a Georgia O'Keefe painting of pulchritude 'come' to life. I AM completely yours. You pull me into a different position-scride, on all fours, to enter me from the rear. Driven by lust, longing and callipygian buttocks that beg to be ridden, enveloping your sword in a warm, tight, sheath while you push my hips in time to your rhythm. You are my Master...