Ella's Smoking, High Heels, General Glamour and Sluttiness

[EllaB_17]

That’s a very good point I hadn’t considered, so maybe lose the gloves. An elegant well-manicured hand with long finger nails, and some high end jewellery - including a matching choker would be equally thrilling.

My nails are black now, I have a tiny jewel on my index fingernail.
Most commonly I wear red or dark red nail polish on both fingernails and toe nails.
I will post a story now, it's recent.
But there are some parts that are a bit sad. My fetish, as it is often the case, springs from emotional pain and a disfunctional background.

 

[Bigbobnc]

Dark red is my favorite

 

[EllaB_17]

Dark red is my favorite

Me too. Dark red is number one for me, I think.

 

[Bigbobnc]

Me too. Dark red is number one for me, I think.

Oh god, now I’m imaging you taking the black polish off with acetone and putting on dark red while you’re smoking,*moans*

 

[EllaB_17]

This is very recent. Due to its lenght, it's split into three parts.

---

Today's cigar

My mom showed up yesterday around 3.30 pm, which is an unusual time for her to show up.

As soon as I saw her, I knew she was in one of her worst moods. Honestly, I have no idea why her, unlike my father, was never officially diagnosed with something. Hers is no mere moodiness, and never was.

She entered the apartment, as it were, surrounded by a dark cloud. I exchanged some brief greetings, no more no less, went into my room, and closed the door. I had ample opportunity to learn that under these moods there is nothing for me, nor anyone for the matter, to do, but avoid her at all costs. Sometimes it only takes a few minutes, plus a loving sentence, to make her feel more normal again. Her mood swings are out of this world.

Muttering something to herself, complaining and half-cursing, she immediately, as per usual, rushed to the balcony to smoke in her usual compulsive way. I hate it.

In one of my last posts, which is in my opinion one of the best things I've ever written, I analized in much detail this issue: the way I feel about my mom smoking. For those who don't know, my mom is the only person on the planet who when smoking still makes me feel the same pain, hate, hurt, heartbreak I felt in my childhood. I hate her smoking, and her and me have this unspoken accord that I try not to smoke in front of her.

While she was smoking on the balcony, I had, in my hurt, this strong fantasizing desire, to suck on a long all-white 120 cigarette while fucking myself.

I am not a hypocrite, but sexually I am a sick girl.

That was more or less when I decided that the next day (today) I'd put on really heavy makeup and smoke like a whore. Hold the cigarette like a slut, and suck on it like a slut. And I wanted to attract stares.

This is by no means always the case, but I do believe that sometimes my desire to look and feel and act like that is proportional to the degree of inner pain I am going through in a certain period.

Of course, there is only a slight connection between these two, at the most. After all, I often dress provocatively, but even though emotional pain was my daily bread in childhood and in my teens, I am now serene and at peace most of the time, and my "lower" periods are usually brief, and widely scattered in time.

Since we're here, I'd like to say that I love alternating between two different looks/styles: a tender, cute, innocent one, and a slutty one.

I also like overlapping the two, but only in one way: wearing cute or casual clothes, while wearing very heavy makeup. The contrast is striking. But I would never do the opposite: I'd never go out in heels and tight skirts or tight pants, with only light makeup. To say nothing of zero makeup. I almost never go out without any makeup. Not even to the supermarket.

Today I spent a long time doing my makeup. After putting a couple of tons of foundation, I did my eyes. A bit of white glitter below my eyes and on the sides, some eye shadow and heavy black eyeliner on my eyelids. I chose a pair of long fake eyelashes I bought recently, and glued them.

I looked at my eyes in the mirror - they were huge and sensual.

At last, I did my lips: light pink, ultra-shiny lipstick, rimmed with heavy black lip liner.

---

I packed some really good food I cooked for my dad, and left. I bought some more things for him at the supermarket.

The weather was great, with a cloudless blue sky, but a bit cold. I was wearing a black hooded sweater, long tight jeans, and white Converse.

High ponytail, and several hair pins. Contact lenses instead of my glasses today.

I took the bus, and chatted with an elderly lady while petting her dog.

On the bus I once again came across a situation that is becoming very familiar to me: a cute teen girl staring at me and smiling.

I don't want to boast and say things like some people said, such as that those girls may consider me as some sort of role-model. But I do start to believe there may be some element of truth in it.

The girl looked about 15, long light blond hair, blue eyes, skilled makeup. She had a little crystal piercing above her lips. Normally this looks trashy, in my opinion. But it looked good on this particular girl. She looked and felt like a quiet, gentle, and somewhat shy girl. In bad need of self confidence.

She looked like a girl who had undergone a sudden switch in style and look. Possibly due to her being bullied. This was my best guess based on two things: the way she looked at me, at my eyes. It was like she was begging for acceptance and recognition, for me to reciprocate her smile perhaps.

And also by the fact that she was a little fat. And since there are very few fat people where I live, I imagine that fat people are still being bullied, just like they were in the past.

The reason there are so few fat people here is not because we are starving. But because people here are very outdoorsy, most of them are involved in sports, and our cuisine is healthy.

---

Anyway. I got off the first bus and walked to the big tobacco shop I mentioned in my last post. I looked through their selection of cigars, but there were so many of them that I just couldn't choose. It's been years since I last smoked a cigar.

The guy asked me if I needed help, and I said yes. He handed me a few of them. While I was inspecting them in my hands, he praised my black nails.

I did them by myself, except for the acrylic base, of course (I have fake nails). After removing the previous color, I had painted them black. Once dried, I glued a tiny nail jewel onto the fingernail of my left ring finger, and one onto the fingernail of the index finger of my right hand. This was an important detail: every time I'd hold a cigarette, there would be that tiny little crystal glinting in the sun.

Beautiful.

I chose one of the big cigars, and went to pay.

I am not a materialistic person, and the reason I chose to buy a not-so-cheap one was because when the time came for me to profane it, the thought/knowledge of it being expensive would make me feel sexier.

I also bought two packs of Vogue slim cigarettes.

I left, and crossed the street.

---

[...]

 

[EllaB_17]

[...]

At the bus stop the conditions were ideal: there were only two guys. One of them looked like Steve Carell.

Both were eyeing me immediately. One of the two was giving me glances. The other one was staring at me continuously.

It was perfect. Just enough of the right kind of viewership to make me feel self-confident, and not too many people to make me feel uneasy.

Now, most of the cigarettes I smoke in public are simply for my nicotine-fix.

Still, often enough, I like putting on a show. Today was one of those times.

When I do this, I pay much more attention to the way I smoke.

I peeled the plastic off my pack of Vogue slims. I pulled one thin cigarette out, and placed it between my heavily madeup lips.

I took my lighter and lit it. I took two or three long drags, hollowing my cheeks deep.

I removed my thin cigarette with my right hand, inhaled, and exhaled slowly.

My left hand was supporting my right elbow, and I was holding my cigarette not far from my face, between my index and middle fingers, at the end of my fingertips.

The two guys were standing to my right.

The elegant all-white cigarette matched well with my black nails, and the tiny crystal on my index fingernail.

My right elbow still supported by my left hand, I moved the cigarette to my shiny lips again, arching my fingers.

I put the thin filter deeper inside my mouth.

My black rimmed, ultra-shiny light pink lips in the tightest possible O-shape, without looking too excessive, hollowing my cheeks, I sucked on the slim white filter.

Long drag, deep inhale, and I exhaled through the shiny pink O of my lips. Always very tight and feminine.

At this point more people came to the bus stop.

Just for show, I took my little mirror out of my bag. Holding my cigarette in one hand, I opened my little mirror and held it in the other one. I placed my Vogue, still long at this point, between my lips, and left it dangling there. I pretended I had to check, or fix, my lips. Which wasn't actually pretending. I really was checking for imperfections. Cigarette in my mouth, dangling downwards, I used my right index finger, to touch gently the contours of my lips: besides my thin white cigarette, I could see in the mirror my beautiful black fingernail, the one with the tiny jewel on it, touching the the edge of my lips.

Nothing was wrong with my mouth. It looked perfect and whorish.

Still, I took my lip liner out of my bag, while taking a long drag off my cigarette, without using my hands, and finally removed it with my left hand. My left hand now holding both mirror and cigarette, I exhaled the smoke to the side, shaping my lips in a slightly sideways O-shape, while simultaneously beginning to add more black lip liner around my shiny lips.

I wasn't really paying attention to the stares at this point. But I'm pretty sure there was no lack of them.

I quicky finished with my lip liner, and put it back inside the bag.

I checked my eyes next: looking in the mirror, I used my right hand to touch my fake eyelashes. The glue was ok. My fake eyelashes were long, black, thick, slutty.

I look so pretty, I thought.

I continued smoking in a very sensual and feminine way. Most of the drags I took them by arching my fingers when bringing the long all-white cigarette back to my glamourous lips, and by putting the slim filter deeper inside my mouth than I usually do.

A pretty lady starving for cigarettes.

I deliberately did a few open-mouth inhales, of a medium-open type.

From now on, I smoked the cigarette fast and in a lustful looking way - I took several triple drags.

Before I even finished this cigarette, craving for more smoke, I slid the second slut-stick out of its pink pack.

I hope someone was shocked, even disgusted, at the fact that I'll smoke two cigarettes in a row.

I loved the idea of displaying my desire to harm my little lungs like the good little slut I am.

I placed the second one between my lips, and lit it with the previous one. I threw the butt on the ground, while already sucking on my fresh cigarette. I exhaled, removed it, and held it between my fingertips with black nails, in all its all-white lenght, in my right hand.

I smoked my second Vogue really fast: I mostly did triple drags, a few of them followed by open-mouth inhales. I finished it with a few violent-looking pumps as my bus was approaching, and threw the lipstick-stained butt. I was still exhaling while I walked onto the bus.

After a short ride, during which the two guys kept eyeing me, especially one of the two, I reached my stop. I walked past them.

I hope people could smell cigarettes on me - this is how a beautiful woman is supposed to smell.

---

I found a quiet spot inside the park of the compound - although I like attracting attention sometimes, this was a bit too much.

I sat down on the outside stairs.

I often bring a knife and a spoon when I go to see my dad. So I don't have to ask the nurses. There's always the risk that the nice ones are off duty, and I don't want to argue with the not-so-nice ones. Meeting my dad is hardcore enough for one day.

Sitting there, wearing my black sweater, long jeans, and white Converse, I took out my little kitchen knife and my new cigar.

I opened the sealing and pulled it out. I cut a little bit off its tip.

It was cool. I untied my hair, removed my hairpins, put on my hoodie, and let my long dark blond/light brown hair flow down my front.

I put the thick long cigar in my mouth. Luckily no one saw me. It would have been quite a sight: this hooded figure, the only thing visible a big cigar between ultra-shiny pink lips.

I took the lighter and begun lighting it. It took me some time. I started sucking on the big thing, until more and more smoke was coming into my mouth.

I remembered the taste. It's been such a long time. I loved the taste.

I put on more lipstick, and continued sucking on my huge cigar. I begun inhaling. I remembered the feeling. So tingly.

More drags, more inhales. I exhaled the way I would exhale smoke from a cigarette: with my lips in a tight "O".

It had a big, very beautiful, shiny pink lipstick stain.

Once I had enough, I tried to put it off. But since I had to go upstairs and see my dad, I ended up by just cutting off the lit part using my kitchen knife. I put it back inside my bag, and walked upstairs.

---

[...]

 

[EllaB_17]

[...]

Before going to my dad's room, a couple of nurses stopped me as they had some things to discuss with me. My father might have heard me, or if he haven't it was just that his inner clock is so precise that even if I'm one minute or two late, which never happens, unless I have to go to the toilet, he notices it. He lost his sight eight years ago, so despite his severe mental illness, his inner senses are even sharper.

While talking to them in the corridor, I heard the all-too-familiar "Ella", progressively louder and louder, at 2/3 second intervals, a total of about twenty times. Needless to say, this reawakaned my childhood feelings of dread.

My dad was not too bad today. I mean, it was not easy, but it could have been so much worse.

I gave him lots of food, after heating it in the microwave. Then we chatted.

At a certain point, after he said some of his evil things, I told him there's something he said to me several times in my life, which is quite horrible.

While denying it, lying as he often does, his reply was so tragic that it's almost funny.

He said: "No, how could I have ever said something like that?! I always loved you. Kind of."

Yes. He did say "kind of".

Well, what can I say. There was everything going on in that house in my childhood. We each dealt with the mess the way we were able to.

My sister was a lively, loud, noisy, talkative child. Wild, and sometimes annoying.

Me, on the other hand, I just was. Like a plant.

I almost never talked. And I never reacted.

---

Back home, I waited for the relative living with me to finish eating and going to her room to rest.

I went into my room, removed my pants and t-shirt, and put on a pair of ultra-high heel shoes.

I described one of my all-time favourite pairs of mine, when I wrote about some of my sex experiences: black 19 cm heels (7.5 inches), 9 cm platform, ankle strap with a tiny crystal hanging from it. I have three pairs of the same model. Two black, one white. Why do I have two pairs of the same color? Don't ask me, I have no idea.

I put on the white pair. I took my lipstick-stained cigar out of my bag, my little mirror, and the same shiny light pink lipstick I was wearing. I put on several more layers of it, and lied on the bed.

I was only wearing my light pink lace thong, dark pink lace bra, and my white 19 cm (7.5 inch) high heels. They are peep-toe pumps (not sandals). I could see my shiny dark blue toenails of two or three of my toes.

I moved the huge cigar to my lips, and begun sucking on it. Normally at first. Then, in and out. Just like I would do were it something else in place of my big cigar.

My other hand slid inside my panties, and begun touching my shaved little fuck-hole.

I removed the cigar from my mouth, and had a look at it. The stain was heavier now. Light pink, and very shiny. I took off my light pink lace thong.

I moved my hand down, and used the tip of the lipstick-stained cigar to touch my wet pussy. I moved it up and down.

I slowly inserted it, deeper and deeper inside. I started fucking myself, using my expensive cigar.

After a while, I removed one of my shoes. I pulled out the cigar, put it back between my slutty pink lips, and left it there, in all its thickness.

I must have looked so pretty.

I took my white shoe and, holding it by its ultra-high 9 cm platform, slowly inserted the ridiculously high heel inside me, and gave myself a good fuck with it, while at the same time sucking on my unlit, cunt-tasting cigar.

I switched back and forth between my high heel and my cigar, between my mouth and my shaved little hole.

I continued playing like this. I could taste my pussy, and maybe even a bit of smoked cigar taste, on the ultra-high heel of my white shoe while sucking and licking it. I love sucking on my high heels, and I love kissing my slutty shoes.

On my cigar, I could taste lipstick, pussy, and, of course, its own taste.

I kept doing this until the door bell rang: I quickly put on my t-shirt and pants, removed my other shoe, and rushed to the door.

It was the mailman.

 

[EllaB_17]

Oh god, now I’m imaging you taking the black polish off with acetone and putting on dark red while you’re smoking,*moans*

I can't use acetone on acrylic.
I'll go to smoke a cigarette and then lie down a bit. I will be back later, after resting a little.

 

[Bigbobnc]

I can't use acetone on acrylic.

Then I’d just enjoy the smell of the new dark red

 

[Bigbobnc]

Mmmmmm last story is amazing as I really love cigars, just the thought of one moving in and our of your lips while staring into your eyes, mmmmm heavenly

 

[EllaB_17]

Then I’d just enjoy the smell of the new dark red

I posted a longer story, you can read it if you want. I'll smoke a cigarette and lie down a little bit.

 

[EllaB_17]

Mmmmmm last story is amazing as I really love cigars, just the thought of one moving in and our of your lips while staring into your eyes, mmmmm heavenly

Did you already finish it?

 

[Bigbobnc]

Yes I have

 

[EllaB_17]

Yes I have

Ok, maybe I'll post some more later. There are 73 after all, haha. But most of them are softcore smoking, my SF history, thoughts, reflections, mundane and trivial experiences.
Maybe I can post the one I mentioned before, about meeting my best friend. Ok, I will do it now, but then I really have to smoke and lie down 30 min haha.

 

[EllaB_17]

This happened two days ago.

---

Meeting my best friend (by EllaB__17)

---

An initial note: every time I finish writing a story, I check several times for spelling or typing mistakes. I also try to find synonyms etc, as I don't want it to be too repetitive. But even though writing a story only takes a few hours normally, editing and improving it takes a lot of time. By the end my eyes are exhausted. The screen of my laptop is small, and I am very badly nearsighted. Because I wear glasses, everything is even smaller. As much as I'd like to improve my stories, I just can't stare at the text for such a long time. I start feeling dizzy, my eyes hurt, and my head aches. So please forgive my repetitiveness and lack of variety in my vocabulary.

---

I dressed provocatively many times since I returned to my hometown, but never like today.

Today I wanted to look like a hooker. I had forewarned my best friend M beforehand.

---

I saw him parking his car from my room window, and walked outside, but not before saying goodbye to my relative living with me and her meowing: "Where do you go dressed like that?"

"I'll be back soon" me half-running in my gold shoes, moving my thong-wearing tiny ass left and right.

---

I walked down the outside stairs: a white, ultra-short, extremely tight, strap-less tube mini dress, a half-exposed fuchsia lace bra, my legs completely bare, gold high wedge heels, carrying a little black patent purse with a metal chain.

The topmost part of my white dress was so low, and so tight, that even as I walked towards his car I already had do pull it up around my tits, as well as pulling it down a bit around my small ass.

Since I presumed people's attention would often be diverted to my ultra-squeezed tits bulging out of my fuchsia bra "underneath" my strap-less white mini dress, I wanted to keep my butt-part simple, and resisted the tempation of wearing a fuchsia thong. I chose a white lace thong, in the hope it wouldn't be too excessive.

And when I looked at my rear in a mirror, I was pleasantly surprised that the tiny white triangle was not TOO obvious beneath my white dress. Still, for anyone who looked, it was plain that there were no panty lines, so anyone would have know I was wearing a thong.

And even if they didn't, no one with half a brain would have thought that a woman dressing in this way would have ever dreamt of putting on normal underwear.

I pulled up the topmost part of my white mini dress a bit more, not an easy job since the only straps I had were those of my fuchsia bra - it was so tight that my boobs looked like they were about to explode. I opened the passenger door, and sat inside the car.

I immediately gave him a warm hug, and once again wished him happy birthday. In person this time. His birthday was a few days ago but we hadn't met until today. He had decied to take a longer break from work so we could hang out together a bit.

He had asked me to go dinner as we sometimes do, but I don't really like going out in the evenings.

He said I looked beautiful.

I smiled happily, opened my little purse and gave him a little present I had bought for him.

---

On the way to the little city center we talked about our usual things, and I checked my makup in the car mirror.

I did exactly the same lips as the day of my cigar experiment: shiny bright pink lipstick and heavy black lip liner.

Lots of foundation, eyes with glitter, long lines of black eyeliner (cat-eyes), and fake eyelashes. Long, black, curling upwards.

I wore contact lenses, and my hair was loose. I had huge hoop earrings, about 10 cm in diameter and very thin. I wore a pearly white flower ring on the index finger of my right hand, the one holding my cigarettes, and a diamond ring on my left hand.

I painted my toenails dark red again. They matched wonderfully my gold summer high heel wedges.

For those who don't know, wedges are just like normal high heel shoes, with the usual high foot arch. The difference is that the heel part and the platform are connected in one single block. They are both sexy and cute, they make a special sound when I walk, and make me look somewhat doll-like, expecially when wearing, like today, a very short dress that leaves my long legs completely bare.

---

We reached the little city center. As soon as I got out of the car, I lit a Vogue slim cigarette, and took a couple of drags.

M locked the door of his car and walked towards me. He took a better look at me.

"You're fabulous" He said.

I smiled and thanked him.

I told him in the car I'd like to go to a specific cosmetics shop to buy a few things.

We started walking, but I soon had to stop - my white mini dress was simply too short and too tight. Not that the size is too small (I'm skinny), it's just that I am no longer used to wearing this kind of clothes.

I was holding my long slim cigarette in my hand, and I had to fix my dress again. I didn't want to use my cigarette-holding hand to do it, and I didn't want to put the cigarette in my mouth and leave it dangle between my black-rimmed, shiny light pink lips, as I was worried the ashes may fall onto my white dress, or on my half-exposed tits, squeezed and bulging out of my fuchsia lace bra.

---

"Will you hold it for a moment?"

Long thin cigarette between my index and middle fingers, black nails, a tiny jewel on my index fingernail, I passed it to him.

He took it from me, and held it in the center of its 100 mm lenght, smoke drifting upwards, between his thumb and index finger.

It already had a shiny bright pink lipstick stain.

---

A guy holding a hyper-feminine slim cigarette with a pink stain on its filter is a strange sight.

It reminded me of something I did to A recently (the guy I have sex with).

My smoking seems to be growing on him. So much so that we're both becoming more and more comfortable with experimenting.

A few days ago, while sitting on A's lap, I took a long drag off my slim cigarette, and immediately moved it to his lips. He never took it in his hand, and that was not my intention. I held the long cigarette between my fingertips, and while after my drag smoke was still drifting out of its thin filter, made him gently lick the lipstick-stained filter.

He is a non smoker. That was the whole point!

He loved it.

I had also sent him a smokey blow kiss: I took a drag, inhaled the smoke, and after kissing my fingertips, blew the smokey kiss in his face.

Moreover, after sliding his hand inside my tiny lace thong to play with my cleanly-shaven swallen little thing, and tonguing me, he even said he liked the way my mouth tasted, which in that case was strawberry bubble gums and cigarettes.

Now he even likes watching me smoke while I masturbate once he's done using me.

---

After fixing my dress a little, he gave me my cigarette back, and we resumed walking towards the cosmetics store I intended to go to.

My gold heels being a bit over 15 cm high (6 inches), we were approximately the same height.

Occasionally I had to pull down my mini dress a bit.

We received lots of stares. People passing us by were turning their heads - I must have looked such a cute little cum dumpster.

---

We reached the store, I took a few last drags off my pink-stained Vogue slim, exhaled with my mouth in a wide-open "O" like a little whore, and stubbed it inside the ashtray.

We entered the store. The sound of my wedge heels was louder now, but different compared to normal heels.

While thin heels make a high-pitched sound, the sound of wedges is lower and more muffled. It has a sexiness of its own.

We only stayed there for twenty minutes or so. Even though M is normally not into these things, today he was very helpful in choosing the colors of some of the bottles of nail polish I bought. I also bought one lipstick, and some other general makeup products.

---

[...]

 

[EllaB_17]

[...]

We left the store, and went to an ice cream shop. Ice cream shops here also sell other things, such as coffee, drinks, some desserts etc.

We sat outside. Most of the outside tables were occupied.

The weather was great. Blue sky with a few fluffy clouds.

M took a coffee, and I ordered my first ice cream this year. Vanilla with nothing else. Vanilla is my favourite one, followed by different kinds of "cream-type" ice cream. I don't really like fruit flavoured ice cream, and, above all, although I love milk chocolate, I hate chocolate ice cream! But I do love the white chocolate one.

I dug my Vogue out my slutty little purse, pulled an all-white slim cigarette out of its light purple pack, and placed it between my heavily madeup lips.

The waiter brought us our things just as I was lighting the ultra-thin tip of my slut-stick and, hollowing my cheeks, took my first long drag. I removed my cigarette, inhaled, smiled at the waiter, and exhaled through a tight "O" shape of my shiny pink lips.

"Thank you." I said, smoke still coming out of my mouth.

Supporting my elbow with my other hand, I immediately moved the long cigarette back to my lips, arched my fingers, and took another long drag. I exhaled while looking at my black nails, and the tiny jewel on my index fingernail.

I had been fantasizing about blowing cigarette smoke onto my ice cream, and about eating ice cream with my mouth filled with smoke.

But that would be a bit too much even for me.

So I just took three or four drags in a row, and wastefully stubbed my long cigarette inside the ashray. I exhaled, while splaying my fingers and having another look at my pretty nails, and at my pearly white flower ring.

---

We kept chatting, while he was drinking his coffee and me eating my vanilla ice cream (of course this was my "lunch" today).

I lit another cigarette while he went to the toilet. I ordered a coffee for myself too.

I was in my show mode now: squeezed tits and long thighs for everyone to see, elbow resting on the palm of my other hand, holding the cigarette at the end of the filter to show its whole lenght, arching my fingers every time I moved the thin cigarette to my lips. Every drag was slow, every drag I hollowed my cheeks, and every time I exhaled with a tight O-shape of my shiny lips. And don't forget my black lip liner.

I did one or two open-mouth inhales too.

I noticed at this point that one of the people sitting at another people was peeping at my feet and shoes.

The gold shoes I was wearing are what are known as mules: except for the part holding my foot, my feet were bare. The top part holding my foot is ruffled, open enough to be able to see two or three of my dark red toenails. Both the ruffled shape and the wedge are shiny gold.

Whenever I see people staring, or peeping, at my toes or shoes (obviously into foot fetish), I begin doing some little tricks to tease them, and to attract even more stares. Such as moving my foot, spinning my ankle, cross my other leg etc. And, of course, I always wear one anklet. Sometimes a toering. But one only. Never more than one.

I like to think what many of these people do as soon as they find a moment of privacy. How am I in their fantasy world? What do I do to them? What do they do to me?

All those stares were turning me on.

One man sitting to my right smiled at me. I did something like a "hi" with my glittery cat-eyes, with long fake eyelashes, and after turning my head facing straight again, took a slow drag off my cigarette. After exhaling the smoke, I left the cigarette dangling from my lips for a while.

While keeping a bored look and pretending to be playing with my nails, I started sucking on my cigarette without using my hands, taking multiple pumps, and exhaling through my nose like a little slut.

I hope he was watching me. I'm pretty sure he was.

There were probably people queueing for the toilet, as M wasn't back yet.

Even though there was still a lot left of my cigarette to smoke, it was getting a bit too short for my liking. I was in public, after all.

I wanted it longer. So I just stubbed it impatiently when there was still almost half its lenght left, and pulled a fresh one out, put it between my lips, and lit it.

I sucked hungrily on it with two or three drags, inhaled, and blew out the smoke.

I felt much better now, holding again a beautiful long cigarette.

I pulled out my little mirror and fixed my lips by adding more of my black lip liner, making the contours of my bright pink lips even darker, while holding my thin Vogue in my left hand, together with the little mirror. I wiped a little smear using my index finger, the one with the glinting little jewel on my black nail.

---

When M finally came back, he said one of the people working inside had congratulated him. "You're lucky to have such a girlfriend."

He told the guy I was his friend.

We continued our conversation while I smoked and drank my coffee.

More people, both customers sitting there and passers by, were looking at my eyes, legs, feet, tits.

One passer by looked at my boobs so blatantly, that I semi-automatically, slightly embarassed, tried pulling my dress up a bit more, even though there was nothing wrong with it - my boobs were supposed to look like they were about to burst out of my partly exposed fuchsia bra. Except for the straps of my bra, my shoulders were completely bare.

Sitting with my legs crossed, I tried pulling the dress down a bit, hopelessly trying to cover an inch of my long thighs.

It was, in fact, so short that I wasn't even sure that my little ass sitting on the chair was completely covered.

And if I had spread my legs, instead of crossing them, anyone could have seen my tiny white lace thong "covering" my little hole.

---

[...]

 

[EllaB_17]

[...]

Anyway, I had also prepared a pack of those small cigars M and me used to smoke together in our teens and early 20s.

It's been a very long time since he smoked them (and he never smoked cigarettes, never even tried), so I didn't have much hope he would have wanted smoking one together with me.

But when I said I had them, I was surprised at him saying he'd gladly had one with me.

I took the sealed pack out of my little black patent purse, and begun removing the plastic, while at the same time dangling a freshly lit Vogue from my lips.

It was still very long.

I gave him one cigar and took one for myself.

I wanted to smoke it immediately, so I stubbed my long cigarette, from which I had barely taken a couple of drags, into the ashtray.

Inside the ashtray there were, at this point, four slim cigarettes, of which two were completely wasted, one half wasted, and one smoked.

One of four, the first one that I had put out, was in a broken "L" shape - I had stubbed it in a somewhat impatient manner. All four had shiny pink lipstick stains.

---

We lit our cigars.

It's been years since I smoked one of these. Not as long a time as M though. I immediately recognized the taste and the feeling. The feeling while inhaling, strong, warm, extremely pleasurable.

I was holding it in the same way I'd hold a cigarette. My forearm was still resting on my elbow, and sometimes on the table.

I was also wearing a big cuff bracelet, which kept sliding up and down my forearm.

While smoking, I took out my little mirror and again checked my makeup. My eyes with their long fake eyelashes were perfect and slutty, but I badly needed to add a few more layers of lipstick, and did so.

I had left a lot of it on the coffee cup, on the filters of all the cigarettes I had smoked since meeting up with my best friend today, plus eating my ice cream sure didn't help.

M never inhales, and he never did. Still, I love his company.

He's the only one of our group of closest friends, all of us knowing each other since kindergarten, who never judged my smoking.

Since the beginning, he was there. He was one of the first ones whom I'd smoke with.

He kept me company countless times, while I shyly smoked my 120s in secret (they used to sell 120s here until I was 15 or 16, then they stopped selling them).

In high school, as I already said, I was in the "classical" section. We mostly had to do translations from Latin and Ancient Greek, as well as lots of philosophy. These are unappealing to most young people. As a result, our class were few in number, and all girls.

But I never really bonded with any of my classmates. I was more or less "friends" with some of them. But we never were Friends.

M and my childhood friends were in another department, inside the same building. During each break, I'd always rush to them, and spend my breaks with them.

M and me talk lots of things during our meetings. But nothing that would be of much interest to the readers here. Trivial things mostly, and things relating to our friends and memories.

That's one of the reasons I didn't add any dialogue today.

---

Anyway, after sitting there for a while, we got up and walked back to the car.

After a minute or so I realized I had forgotten my little bag containing the things I bought today.

I told M I'd go back and take it, but he said he would go instead.

So I stayed put. More stares and more smiles.

I opened my little purse, took out my pack of cigarettes, pulled one out and lit it, standing in the street.

My throat was a little uncomfortable and itchy by now.

Never mind. There was nothing I could do. I had to look pretty and glamorous from start to end. And not just by holding a long cigarette in my hand.

I had to take more drags, more inhales, and more exhales.

But don't get me wrong - it wasn't mere show and discomfort. Every time I smoke beautiful cigarettes, be it for show in public or for sex in private, I love each single cigarette. I love sucking on those things, and I love the feeling in my lungs, I love my exhales, and I feel pretty and desired. I never tire of pulling a fresh one out of its pack, place it between my lips, feel the thin white filter touching my lipstick, lighting the tiny tip. And, if it's not too bright, seeing it glow at each of my sexy long drags.

When I was a clubbing girl, you would literally never see me without a lit cigarette.

---

As soon as I was with M again, we headed for his car. He was talking mostly, and me listening, walking to his right, long cigarette between my fingertips, flashing my long legs and high heels.

I was holding my little purse in my other hand.

Before entering the car, in my most glorious fashion, I threw the butt and stepped on it with my stunning gold heels.

He then took me back home, and he went back to work.

---

Since I was already dressed like a cheap whore, and ready to be used, I thought about calling A and ask him if he'd like to meet me, in case he needed to empty his balls, but eventually, for several reasons I won't explain now, decided against it. Another time. It's not like my holes won't be here in the future.

 

[EllaB_17]

This was probably in March.

---

My Misty 120s public display


My first public all-white 120s smoking was a great success.

This may sound nothing much to people who live in countries where this kind of cigarette exists.

Not so for me. They don't exist here.

---

Everything was planned carefully, starting with my clothes and makeup, all the way to my final smoking "performance".

I wanted to look perfect.

---

Let us start with my makeup.

Early in the morning I had removed my dark blue nail polish from my nails, and painted them red again. It's my favourite color for nails. Dark-ish red, but not too dark.

In addition to my more "conventional" eye makeup, I did something I never do here in public - I wore fake eyelashes***. Not the glittery ones or those with jewels on them. Just normal ones. But they were more than enough to make my green eyes look somewhat slutty.

[*** Things have changed since March. More and more girls wear them now, and me too.]

I used a very light shade of brown lipstick, which made my lips look similar in color to the color of the heavy foundation I was wearing on my face.

I wore a thin wool sweater and a very thin golden necklace, with a little heart-shaped pendant.

A dark, almost black, light jacket. It's not cold enough to wear my usual fur trim hooded coat. But there's another, even more important reason for this choice: my coat would have concealed my little ass. Why did I need it visible today?

Here's the answer. This was one of my last-moment modifications.

I chose to wear white long pants. Very tight ones. And, under them, a fuchsia thong. As I wrote in another post, fuchsia is one of the best colors to wear under white - since it's one of the most visible ones.

I like implying even more than revealing.

I wore those super cute light brown boots that are soft and fluffy (not furry), and reach about one third of my calf.

I didn't pay too much attention to what earrings and ear piercings I was wearing today, as I chose to leave my hair loose. Again I wore one of my thin rings, barely visible.

---

I left the apartment with threatening clouds approaching. I had already known, from forecasts, that we'd be having a period of very crappy weather. I was a bit concerned. Huge downpour while I was on the first bus, but when I reached my fist destination it had subsided. And by the time I crossed the street and walked to the second bus stop, it had completely stopped. The bus stop was very crowded. Perfect!

Many people of all ages, including a big group of over 20 high school girls, with their teacher. There seemed to be some kind of school activity, as I saw many school children everywhere today.

It never ceases to amaze me how high is the average level of beauty among girls in this area. Many of them were very cute, and a couple of them really really pretty. One of them looked extremely slutty - dark red fur coat, glittering nose piercing etc.

I didn't notice anyone smoking at first. This is important, because I had a half-baked plan to ask somebody else to light my cigarette.

---

I proceeded accorting to plan. I opened my bag, and dug out my pack of Misty 120s. Making sure it was always in plain sight, I opened it, and slowly pulled out one Misty. Keeping it between my index and middle fingers, I held it at the very end of its filter, in order to display its whole lenght, as well as to reveal the fact that its filter is white. I held it like this for a while, while my other hand was holding the pack.

I looked around a bit. There were many people all around: to my right, my left, and a group clustering behind me.

Eventually, I slowly put it between my lips - if one wears lipstick, cigarettes kind of "stick" there. One of the most important funcions of my lipstick today, was that by wearing it, I was able to dangle my cigarette in its whole lenght, at the very edge of my made up lips.

My sexy long all-white Misty dangling from my lips, I pretended to search for my lighter. I was doing this for at least half a minute, digging in my bag and "looking for" it. I must have looked worried. Poor me. Unable to smoke.

40 seconds or so, and I still couldn't find it. My Misty 120 always between my lips, "glued" to my lipstick, and tilting downwards.

In truth, I hadn't expected anything to happen. But I was wrong. A man walked to me. He looked about 45 or 50. Light brown hair, light green eyes, quite good looking actually.

"You need a lighter?"

I removed the long all-white from my lips, but still kept it in view near my face, between my fingers: "Yes, please."

Now, people here usually give you a lighter if you need one, and you light your cigarette yourself.

He didn't do that. He was to light it for me. I put my cigarette back where it belonged, between my light brown lips, leaned forward toward his lighter-holding hand, and let him do it for me. Did he feel honored?

While he was lighting me, I sucked on it for two or three seconds, hollowing my cheeks a bit, and smiled a "thanks" with my eyes.

I took a couple of drags without using my hands, and after another drag, I removed it from my lips, blew out the smoke, and held it between my fingers with red nail polish and a little ring, very near to my face, while he was looking at me and started to talk.

We had a brief chit-chat, but he never once said anything explicit about my cigarette.

While he was talking to me, my expression looking somewhat disinterested, I always kept my cigarette-holding hand very near my lips, and I kept taking long drags, every few seconds or so. Possibly meaning I was bored of his talk, and I preferred sucking on my Misty. Of course there was a lipstick stain, light brown.

Even though nothing explicit, nor interesting, was said, I know he found me very attractive. He kept looking me in the eyes, green eyes with skilled makeup. And don't forget my fake eyelashes, which add an extra layer of depth and five extra layers of sluttiness.

After a while, I just said some "ok, ok, thank you" and moved to the group of people who were standing behind me. I was standing in front of the group, and they could only see me from behind, plus the long cigarette in my right hand, which was placed perpendicular to them - the best view of all, to admire a 120.

I held it pointing slightly upwards - which is a very sexy way to hold a cigarette.

From their vantage point, none of the people standing right behind me and looking at my tiny ass could have possibly missed the little triangle-shaped fuchsia patch inside my tight white pants. Nor my glamorous all-white cigarette.

I changed my position a couple of times, especially when putting my Misty to my lips for a new long drag, and a new exhale of very thick smoke, in these humid conditions, ideal for smoking. I also did a few double and triple drags, and very long and slow exhales.

During all this time, I never put the pack of Misty back inside my bag. I always kept flashing it in my other hand - and in such a way (holding it at the end), that its shape, length, color, lack of harm-labels, were all clearly visible at all times, for any one who may or may not be interested in taking a peek. Out of sheer curiosity, if nothing else.

Now, some things may only exist in my mind. But I am pretty sure I saw, not only felt, both glances and stares.

There was also a vaping girl standing not far from me. And I felt so proud of myself, with my fabulous long cigarette!

I like to think I won the contest by a long shot. But of course I am not the judge.

I finished my cigarette before my second bus arrived. I took it and got down after a few stops, and went to see my father.

---

As a final curiosity (not related to smoking):

Because of all the kids that were around today, for whatever school activities they had, the bus was extremely crowded on my way back. I had a woman sitting to my right, and two people in front of me, facing us. Standing next to us there was a woman with a dog. There were so many people on the bus, plus the dog, that some elderly ladies couldn't walk through. Me and the other three people sitting next and in front of me, asked the woman with the dog to just let the dog stay with us, between our legs. She complied happily, and we soon had a scared little dog between our legs. She (the dog was a female) must had felt afraid as there were so many people and so much noise on the bus. So, all of us started to pet her (I have two dogs). We had a very long dog-related conversation. Me, a little kid, and three middle-aged women. It must have been a peculiar sight.

 

[Shaglus_Ziegler]

Thank you. I didn't know you were writing. I wrote 73 stories up until now, but I was kicked out of Reddit a couple of weeks ago, and returned with a new account, wrote more, but yesterday I removed everything.

I like to write occasionally. I’ve enjoyed your snippets! Sexy. I’ve always had a thing for women who smoke since I was quite young. I recently was able to lick my wife’s glorious flower on our back deck as she enjoyed an afternoon cigarette. I’ve always wanted to do that, the idea having been planted when I saw deep throat when I was around thirteen. Cheers and keep up the good work!

 

[Shaglus_Ziegler]

[...]

Anyway, I had also prepared a pack of those small cigars M and me used to smoke together in our teens and early 20s.

It's been a very long time since he smoked them (and he never smoked cigarettes, never even tried), so I didn't have much hope he would have wanted smoking one together with me.

But when I said I had them, I was surprised at him saying he'd gladly had one with me.

I took the sealed pack out of my little black patent purse, and begun removing the plastic, while at the same time dangling a freshly lit Vogue from my lips.

It was still very long.

I gave him one cigar and took one for myself.

I wanted to smoke it immediately, so I stubbed my long cigarette, from which I had barely taken a couple of drags, into the ashtray.

Inside the ashtray there were, at this point, four slim cigarettes, of which two were completely wasted, one half wasted, and one smoked.

One of four, the first one that I had put out, was in a broken "L" shape - I had stubbed it in a somewhat impatient manner. All four had shiny pink lipstick stains.

---

We lit our cigars.

It's been years since I smoked one of these. Not as long a time as M though. I immediately recognized the taste and the feeling. The feeling while inhaling, strong, warm, extremely pleasurable.

I was holding it in the same way I'd hold a cigarette. My forearm was still resting on my elbow, and sometimes on the table.

I was also wearing a big cuff bracelet, which kept sliding up and down my forearm.

While smoking, I took out my little mirror and again checked my makeup. My eyes with their long fake eyelashes were perfect and slutty, but I badly needed to add a few more layers of lipstick, and did so.

I had left a lot of it on the coffee cup, on the filters of all the cigarettes I had smoked since meeting up with my best friend today, plus eating my ice cream sure didn't help.

M never inhales, and he never did. Still, I love his company.

He's the only one of our group of closest friends, all of us knowing each other since kindergarten, who never judged my smoking.

Since the beginning, he was there. He was one of the first ones whom I'd smoke with.

He kept me company countless times, while I shyly smoked my 120s in secret (they used to sell 120s here until I was 15 or 16, then they stopped selling them).

In high school, as I already said, I was in the "classical" section. We mostly had to do translations from Latin and Ancient Greek, as well as lots of philosophy. These are unappealing to most young people. As a result, our class were few in number, and all girls.

But I never really bonded with any of my classmates. I was more or less "friends" with some of them. But we never were Friends.

M and my childhood friends were in another department, inside the same building. During each break, I'd always rush to them, and spend my breaks with them.

M and me talk lots of things during our meetings. But nothing that would be of much interest to the readers here. Trivial things mostly, and things relating to our friends and memories.

That's one of the reasons I didn't add any dialogue today.

---

Anyway, after sitting there for a while, we got up and walked back to the car.

After a minute or so I realized I had forgotten my little bag containing the things I bought today.

I told M I'd go back and take it, but he said he would go instead.

So I stayed put. More stares and more smiles.

I opened my little purse, took out my pack of cigarettes, pulled one out and lit it, standing in the street.

My throat was a little uncomfortable and itchy by now.

Never mind. There was nothing I could do. I had to look pretty and glamorous from start to end. And not just by holding a long cigarette in my hand.

I had to take more drags, more inhales, and more exhales.

But don't get me wrong - it wasn't mere show and discomfort. Every time I smoke beautiful cigarettes, be it for show in public or for sex in private, I love each single cigarette. I love sucking on those things, and I love the feeling in my lungs, I love my exhales, and I feel pretty and desired. I never tire of pulling a fresh one out of its pack, place it between my lips, feel the thin white filter touching my lipstick, lighting the tiny tip. And, if it's not too bright, seeing it glow at each of my sexy long drags.

When I was a clubbing girl, you would literally never see me without a lit cigarette.

---

As soon as I was with M again, we headed for his car. He was talking mostly, and me listening, walking to his right, long cigarette between my fingertips, flashing my long legs and high heels.

I was holding my little purse in my other hand.

Before entering the car, in my most glorious fashion, I threw the butt and stepped on it with my stunning gold heels.

He then took me back home, and he went back to work.

---

Since I was already dressed like a cheap whore, and ready to be used, I thought about calling A and ask him if he'd like to meet me, in case he needed to empty his balls, but eventually, for several reasons I won't explain now, decided against it. Another time. It's not like my holes won't be here in the future.

When much younger I always used to look for the discarded cigarette butts with lipstick on them. They turned me on. I rarely see them these days.

 

[Shaglus_Ziegler]

[...]

At the bus stop the conditions were ideal: there were only two guys. One of them looked like Steve Carell.

Both were eyeing me immediately. One of the two was giving me glances. The other one was staring at me continuously.

It was perfect. Just enough of the right kind of viewership to make me feel self-confident, and not too many people to make me feel uneasy.

Now, most of the cigarettes I smoke in public are simply for my nicotine-fix.

Still, often enough, I like putting on a show. Today was one of those times.

When I do this, I pay much more attention to the way I smoke.

I peeled the plastic off my pack of Vogue slims. I pulled one thin cigarette out, and placed it between my heavily madeup lips.

I took my lighter and lit it. I took two or three long drags, hollowing my cheeks deep.

I removed my thin cigarette with my right hand, inhaled, and exhaled slowly.

My left hand was supporting my right elbow, and I was holding my cigarette not far from my face, between my index and middle fingers, at the end of my fingertips.

The two guys were standing to my right.

The elegant all-white cigarette matched well with my black nails, and the tiny crystal on my index fingernail.

My right elbow still supported by my left hand, I moved the cigarette to my shiny lips again, arching my fingers.

I put the thin filter deeper inside my mouth.

My black rimmed, ultra-shiny light pink lips in the tightest possible O-shape, without looking too excessive, hollowing my cheeks, I sucked on the slim white filter.

Long drag, deep inhale, and I exhaled through the shiny pink O of my lips. Always very tight and feminine.

At this point more people came to the bus stop.

Just for show, I took my little mirror out of my bag. Holding my cigarette in one hand, I opened my little mirror and held it in the other one. I placed my Vogue, still long at this point, between my lips, and left it dangling there. I pretended I had to check, or fix, my lips. Which wasn't actually pretending. I really was checking for imperfections. Cigarette in my mouth, dangling downwards, I used my right index finger, to touch gently the contours of my lips: besides my thin white cigarette, I could see in the mirror my beautiful black fingernail, the one with the tiny jewel on it, touching the the edge of my lips.

Nothing was wrong with my mouth. It looked perfect and whorish.

Still, I took my lip liner out of my bag, while taking a long drag off my cigarette, without using my hands, and finally removed it with my left hand. My left hand now holding both mirror and cigarette, I exhaled the smoke to the side, shaping my lips in a slightly sideways O-shape, while simultaneously beginning to add more black lip liner around my shiny lips.

I wasn't really paying attention to the stares at this point. But I'm pretty sure there was no lack of them.

I quicky finished with my lip liner, and put it back inside the bag.

I checked my eyes next: looking in the mirror, I used my right hand to touch my fake eyelashes. The glue was ok. My fake eyelashes were long, black, thick, slutty.

I look so pretty, I thought.

I continued smoking in a very sensual and feminine way. Most of the drags I took them by arching my fingers when bringing the long all-white cigarette back to my glamourous lips, and by putting the slim filter deeper inside my mouth than I usually do.

A pretty lady starving for cigarettes.

I deliberately did a few open-mouth inhales, of a medium-open type.

From now on, I smoked the cigarette fast and in a lustful looking way - I took several triple drags.

Before I even finished this cigarette, craving for more smoke, I slid the second slut-stick out of its pink pack.

I hope someone was shocked, even disgusted, at the fact that I'll smoke two cigarettes in a row.

I loved the idea of displaying my desire to harm my little lungs like the good little slut I am.

I placed the second one between my lips, and lit it with the previous one. I threw the butt on the ground, while already sucking on my fresh cigarette. I exhaled, removed it, and held it between my fingertips with black nails, in all its all-white lenght, in my right hand.

I smoked my second Vogue really fast: I mostly did triple drags, a few of them followed by open-mouth inhales. I finished it with a few violent-looking pumps as my bus was approaching, and threw the lipstick-stained butt. I was still exhaling while I walked onto the bus.

After a short ride, during which the two guys kept eyeing me, especially one of the two, I reached my stop. I walked past them.

I hope people could smell cigarettes on me - this is how a beautiful woman is supposed to smell.

---

I found a quiet spot inside the park of the compound - although I like attracting attention sometimes, this was a bit too much.

I sat down on the outside stairs.

I often bring a knife and a spoon when I go to see my dad. So I don't have to ask the nurses. There's always the risk that the nice ones are off duty, and I don't want to argue with the not-so-nice ones. Meeting my dad is hardcore enough for one day.

Sitting there, wearing my black sweater, long jeans, and white Converse, I took out my little kitchen knife and my new cigar.

I opened the sealing and pulled it out. I cut a little bit off its tip.

It was cool. I untied my hair, removed my hairpins, put on my hoodie, and let my long dark blond/light brown hair flow down my front.

I put the thick long cigar in my mouth. Luckily no one saw me. It would have been quite a sight: this hooded figure, the only thing visible a big cigar between ultra-shiny pink lips.

I took the lighter and begun lighting it. It took me some time. I started sucking on the big thing, until more and more smoke was coming into my mouth.

I remembered the taste. It's been such a long time. I loved the taste.

I put on more lipstick, and continued sucking on my huge cigar. I begun inhaling. I remembered the feeling. So tingly.

More drags, more inhales. I exhaled the way I would exhale smoke from a cigarette: with my lips in a tight "O".

It had a big, very beautiful, shiny pink lipstick stain.

Once I had enough, I tried to put it off. But since I had to go upstairs and see my dad, I ended up by just cutting off the lit part using my kitchen knife. I put it back inside my bag, and walked upstairs.

---

[...]

I hope people could smell cigarettes on me - this is how a beautiful woman is supposed to smell.

Indeed. Drives me crazy.

 

[EllaB_17]

When much younger I always used to look for the discarded cigarette butts with lipstick on them. They turned me on. I rarely see them these days.

I did precisely this a couple of weeks ago, I wrote a story about it.

 

[EllaB_17]

I like to write occasionally. I’ve enjoyed your snippets! Sexy. I’ve always had a thing for women who smoke since I was quite young. I recently was able to lick my wife’s glorious flower on our back deck as she enjoyed an afternoon cigarette. I’ve always wanted to do that, the idea having been planted when I saw deep throat when I was around thirteen. Cheers and keep up the good work!

I'm glad for you.
And thank you. I will post more, there are 73 stories.

 

[EllaB_17]

I like to write occasionally. I’ve enjoyed your snippets! Sexy. I’ve always had a thing for women who smoke since I was quite young. I recently was able to lick my wife’s glorious flower on our back deck as she enjoyed an afternoon cigarette. I’ve always wanted to do that, the idea having been planted when I saw deep throat when I was around thirteen. Cheers and keep up the good work!

There's a deepthroating experience I wrote about, from a few months ago. I was almost choked with smoke in my mouth.

 

[Stopokochac]

What's your Reddit, Ella? The secondary account you sent me was "suspended" too