Branded-XXX: The Cigar Girl

BRANDED-XXX: THE CIGAR GIRL

I've known many women and had many sex partners; everyone has their characteristics and foibles, but I've only known one woman who smoked cigars. Getting away from the cigar smoke was the least of it. Trying to escape Greta was the most challenging thing I'd ever attempted. I still bear the mental and physical marks of my struggle, and yet foolishly, I pray every night she will return to me.

Greta was a Dutch student studying at the University. I was a graduate student at the time and found myself seated next to her in an advanced class. She was tall, with a pretty face, two generous, perfect breasts, and a slender frame.

Greta was the classic Dutch girl you might see in a Vermeer painting such as "Girl with a Pearl Earring" or immortalized on one of those baking powder cans whose content will cause the dough to rise. Her presence had the same effect on my pecker, which seemed to rise to greet her when ever she arrived at her seat next to mine.

We'd conversed before class or after and even gone for coffee one afternoon. I told Greta a few jokes, as is my standard MO, but she didn't laugh. Greta just nodded her head and said Ya-Ya. She had a different way of pronouncing words, stressing every other syllable; in a way, it made her mundane comments seem enthusiastic.I soon got used to her pronunciation of specific words she had difficulty with, such as those with a' th.' To my ear, it made her sound like she was German, but she'd say,

"No, no, I don't sound like a Cher-min."

Greta was very knowledgeable and spoke exceedingly well for an international student. Her large, bright blue eyes were captivating, and almost from the first, I wondered what it would be like to kiss her with her eyes open. Greta's light brown straight hair was cut to chin length and hung like straw. We were getting ready for the big exam that would decide our grade in the graduate course when Greta asked,

"Would you like to review the course material before next week's exam?"

"Sure, shall we meet in the library?"

"Why don't you come to my apartment? It's just around the corner?"

"Sounds good. When?"

"If you are free Friday afternoon, that might work?"

"Yes, no problem, give me your address."

"Why don't we meet here after class? As I said, we can walk there; it's very close."

I wasn't used to studying with other students. I had tried a few times, once with a beautiful married student at her home some distance away. It didn't prove productive as her husband kept coming into the kitchen where we were working to make sure we weren't fucking each other. As much as I liked her, I wished we were, but we never got to that fevered pitch.

I assumed Greta was single and a serious student. She never said she was married, but there was a stiffness, a rigid nature in her attitude and even in her gait. I imagined she'd be a terrible dancer. Greta never spoke of a husband or partner, and there was no word of her having offspring. On Monday, when Saturday Night Live had a terrific show, I asked her if she had watched it.

"I don't watch television," she said, "Between studying, shopping, and keeping the apartment clean, there isn't much time for TV."

She accented the V. In a way, her intonation and pronunciation of familiar words made them sound new. Since Greta was earnest and all business, I thought she'd make a good study partner, although I usually prepared for exams on my own. If spending time with her gave me a chance to stare into her big blue eyes, what the hell--why not?

I was ready to study seriously and not start shenanigans even though I found her attractive. We were both in our early twenties. Greta was three or four years older than me, which accounted for her more serious nature.

We met on campus that Friday and walked to her apartment. Greta wore a green dress with wide fabric suspenders that bent as they passed over her pert breasts. Her tasteful blouse was pale yellow. It was a cold day, and Greta wore a leather button Lodin coat that remained unbuttoned.

I offered to carry her heavy briefcase, but Greta demurred. Her legs were longer than mine. She walked quickly ahead of me, I could see Greta was wearing tan tennis shoes, and I noticed she had a tiny boyish ass. My mind's eye always focuses on a woman's tits. Her two good-sized jugs made up for the disparity in the size of her ass, a clear sign of her femininity. I was never one of those men who would walk an extra block to follow a big-assed girl, a big-tittied girl, indeed.

Greta's apartment was in a twelve-story building only two blocks from the University. The unit was school-owned and provided at a low rental to students. As we walked, I measured her height by eye and saw she was two or three inches taller than me.

I was not concerned about a woman's height. I dated the female college basketball center; she was over six feet tall and big-boned. I remembered her squashing me in the backseat of a small car when we double-dated with my friend and her roommate. In those close quarters, we managed to masturbate each other. I remember her bare sperm-coated breasts sticking to my chest like two canned sardines.

Greta's building was constructed in the 1950s, twelve stories high, and faced with red brick. We walked into the lobby through the folded entrance doors to the elevator bank. There were three copper-clad elevators, although I learned one of them usually had a sign that read, "out of order."

Greta pressed the call button, but it didn't light up.

"Is it working?" I asked.

"Ya, the light in the button is always burned out."

We were lucky; the elevator door opened with a grinding noise, and we stepped quickly inside. Greta pressed the eighth-floor button, and the elevator door slid closed with a metallic squeal. It made a clicking sound as it passed each floor, stopping on the eighth floor.

I followed Greta down the dark hallway. She stopped in front of a brown metal door with bumps and scratches due, I imagined, to many years of tenants moving in and out. She unlocked the two-cylinder door locks, gave the door a harsh push, and turned to me,

"It's a safety thing. The neighborhood north of here is very rough."

"I nodded, "Good idea."

Greta held the door open, "Go on in."

Once inside, the apartment looked neat and clean. The room was uncluttered with modest furniture; a simple old grey cloth couch was against the far wall, and on the opposite side was a desk with Greta's books piled high. A paper cut-out of a windmill was scotch taped to the wall. An older, small aqua, colored plastic, shelled TV with rabbit ears sat on the low blond coffee table. There was a tiny New York kitchen in the corner. A curved alcove led to the bathroom and bedroom. At the side of the entrance, a blond Louisville slugger rested against the wall in a bucket with umbrellas.

"Do you play baseball?"

"No, it was given to me for protection, but I haven't needed it so far."

"You won't need it with me. I'm on good behavior."

She laughed,

"Oh, I know that. Come sit near my desk, grab the extra chair."

I unfolded the wooden chair that lay against the wall and sat down.

"Can I offer you a coffee, tea, or a Coke?"

"Coke is fine. The caffeine will keep me awake."

"If you get tired, we can rest," she accented the last word and seemed to point to what I assumed was the bedroom.

"I'll be fine, thanks."

We both spread out our notes and studied for the next few hours. When we took a break, I asked where the bathroom was. I desperately needed to pee.

"Go in there," she said, pointing.

I entered the alcove leading to the light blue bathroom. Even the ceiling was blue. From my summer job as a painter's assistant, I knew that ceilings were painted white to reflect light.

I didn't unzip. I quickly lowered my pants and briefs. In my urgency, I was fearful my stream would wet them. The commercial tankless toilet was anchored with a thick, shiny pipe to the wall. I leaned my chest forward against the wall so any piss drops would drip off into the bowl and not wet my underwear. Fortunately, I remained dry.

The toilet had a flush system standard in an old building. I pushed down on the handle, and a powerful blast of water shot into the toilet. I washed my hands in the small sink and used a damp paper towel to clean my penis so there would be no pissy taste if we got that far. I am always optimistic.

I returned to the living room, where Greta had brought in a cheese plate and an assortment of crackers. We sat on the couch for a while, making small talk, and then returned to our studies. By the end of the evening, we had covered the entire syllabus and reviewed the assigned reading.

"It is getting late. We've done very well; we should call it a night.

Greta said, "Would you like to smoke a cigar with me?"

I had noticed a cigar box on the coffee table in front of the couch, but I didn't think it contained cigars. People save colorful cigar boxes because they are useful receptacles.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"You don't know any other Dutch girls? It's quite common in Holland. Women don't like cigarettes. Besides, it's much sexier."

"In what way?"

"What do you mean?

"In what way is it much sexier?"

"Well, that's obvious; the cigar is a phallic symbol. Sigmund Freud said, "A man smoking a cigar is like a man sucking a penis."

"I would think it is more like a man sucking at a breast, but accepting Freud's definition, I understand why it's sexier when a woman smokes a cigar."

"Of course," she smiled at me, her big blue eyes twinkling as her tongue slowly wet her lips.

Greta took a torpedo-shaped cigar out of the illustrated cigar box. It was about six inches long, and she handed it to me. She then selected one for herself, licking it to dampen the tobacco.

"These are Dutch cigars. They are a little drier than American or Cuban cigars but taste nice. Try one. Let's see if you agree."

She leaned close and lit my cigar with a long cedar match, and then, as I got my first puff, she lit hers--the room filled with the peasant tobacco odor.

"Do you know," I said, "My grandfather was from Viena and a big cigar smoker. I don't think I ever saw him without a lit cigar in his hand. When I smell the cigar smoke, it makes me think of him.

Greta nodded.

"He was very poor, and when the cigar got down to the stub, he'd stick it in a pipe to finish it off. His frugality passed to my notoriously cheap father, who pocketed the artificial coffee sweetener in the luncheonette to bring back to his office."

I thought that story was funny, but Greta didn't laugh; she nodded and said, "Ja-Ja."

We sat and smoked for the next twenty minutes. The dry cigars burned quickly; soon, it was time to put out the stub. The room was smoky; I could tell my sweater had absorbed the smoke. I followed Greta's lead and was putting out the cigar stub in the crystal ashtray.

"Does the TV work," I asked

"Try it."

I turned on the old set, and immediately, the electronic image appeared, flipping up and down. I found the adjustment screw on the back of the set, and when I moved the rabbit ears further apart, the set worked perfectly.

Greta said, "If you are finished with the TV, I'd like to ask you a question."

"Sure."

"Would you like to have sex with me? I've noticed you always pop an erection when sit down next to you." As usual, she accented the last syllable.

"Now you are embarrassing me." I thought I would imitate her inflection but thought better of teasing her.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Are you serious about having sex?" I said.

"Of course I am. I can see you have never dated a Dutch girl. We are not prudish when it comes to sex."

"Yes, you said that earlier."

"Well, would you? The offer expires in one minute."

"Of course, I want to have sex with you. You are a beautiful woman."

"Okay, game on. But I'll tell you how we play this game."

"A game?"

Yes, take your penis out of your pants. If it is longer than our cigar, you can fuck me in the ass; if it is shorter, you can fuck me in my pussy."

"Are you serious?"

"Very much zo."

I'd never heard Greta use such words, but I wouldn't miss the chance. I stood up and unzipped my pants. I let them drop to my knees, and then I lowered my briefs. My dick was already starting to chub up.

Greta came closer, her hand shot out, and grabbed my dick's head, stretching it by pulling it.

"I think it's a pretty cock but not quite six inches long."

"Give it a chance."

"Would it help if you held on to my breast?"

"Yes, it would."

She lifted her green wool sweater, and I inserted my hand under her bra cup.

"There we go," I said, "measure it now." I could feel my penis plumping up.

"Yes, it is a little longer now, so you are qualified to make your choice; come into the bedroom."

I let go of her tit and followed her, holding up my pants and briefs.

You can put your clothes on the chair. I quickly disrobed and got into bed with Greta. The room was cool, and she was already nude under the covers. Her skin felt moist and tender to the touch.

"Well, have you made your choice? said Greta.

I didn't answer but started rubbing her breasts. Her small nipples fit nicely between my fingers. I began to suck on the right tit, and seeing her breasts were large enough, I pulled them together and sucked both nipples at the same time.

I started to slide down to tongue her clit, but Greta reached out and took hold of my fully enlarged cock.

"Stay next to me. Kiss me. Ve can do that later. At last, ve get to hold what you were hiding in the classroom," Greta said.

I laughed. "It's yours," I said.

"Is it mine for now or forever? If I let you fuck me, you have to promise you will not fuck any other girls while we are together."

"I'll try not to."

"Oh, we have to be sure of dat."

I didn't respond.

"Vell, let's get started. Greta reached out and turned on a bed lamp with a red bulb that made our activity look very sexy.

She raised herself and positioned herself on top of me; she threw down the light blanket that covered her and inserted my erection into the mouth of her vagina. Her cunt was the perfect width for my dick. I imagined she had added a lubricant as slipping and sliding felt natural."

"Do I need a condom?"

"No, I'm on the pill. As long as you're clean, enjoy yourself. Don't be in a rush. I enjoy being fucked by a dick your size."

I don't know if it was the cigar smoke or her position above me, which was new to me. Most of my sexual experience was in the missionary position, but I guessed Greta, being a European, had their way of fucking. It took me longer to ejaculate than I was used to.

"Do you need more lube?" Greta asked.

"No, I'm ready to lube you up myself."

"Well, hold back a minute,"

She reached down and pulled my erection out of her pussy, squeezing it tightly between her thumb and her forefinger to keep me hard. At the same time, she leaned back and raised her hips enough to allow her to put my dick at the entrance to her butt.

"Go slowly. I know you'll fit nicely."

I wasn't one to argue, but feeling her two slender ass cheeks surrounding my dick was an incredible feeling of security. Being inside her enhanced my confidence. I had never experienced a woman respond like this.

I moved slowly, and in the brief pause when she moved my dick from her cunt to her ass, I found a new burst of energy and staying power. Greta moved above me like a serpent, her pert breasts traced circles on my chest.

There was no rush; after about five minutes, I could feel her ass muscles squeezing me and pushing me out of her ass-hole. I was feeling that tingle in my balls that announced my cock was about to spurt its juice into her tight ass hole.

"I'm going to cum," I announced.

"Wait a moment," Greta lowered herself onto my belly and then a little lower to mouth my erection. I warned her,

"Oh God, I'm going to cum."

That did not discourage her. She was in time to savor every drop of my sperm that filled up her mouth. Before swallowing my cum, Greta opened her mouth wide so I could see my sperm curdled around her curved tongue.

The anal sex was fun. There was no unpleasant smell. I quickly calculated we'd just had sex three ways, vaginal, anal, and oral--wow.

"Come," she said, with her unique accent, "Ve take a shower."

We showered together. Greta soaped me up like a mother washing a baby and cleaned my cock and balls with love and affection, taking time to clean where the staff attached to the head. When she left the shower, I stood under the warming light outside. When I entered the bedroom, I was dry.

"Come here,"

Greta was fiddling with a small box. When I approached, she reached out and grabbed my cock, and pulled me closer with her left hand. Before I knew what was happening, with her right hand, she fitted a plastic chastity device and secured it with a small bronze-colored lock. I realized I could not easily remove the apparatus.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Did you not say my cock is yours? Did you not promise not to have sex with other women while we were a couple?"

"Yes, that is true, but this device is very confining."

"No, it's easy to wash and to urinate while wearing it; if you disagree, we can find another model."

"Why should I agree?"

"Greta continued, "The benefit of this arrangement is I am sure you are doing what you promised, and in exchange, I will be available at all times to have sex with you, even twice a day if you desire. I will remove the device at those times and refit it before you leave."

I had to admit the vaginal-anal sex was not only novel but very satisfying.

Greta also said cryptically, "If you agree, you will be my ward, and I will teach you things you could only imagine. I will bring you to a state of sexual awakening that will truly change your life. After our shared experience, you will never be the same."

As a result of her promises, I decided to try to wear the 'chastity' contraption at least for a few days and see if she met her part of the bargain. I wasn't pursuing any other women, so being bound to her in no way slowed me down, and as it turned out, I was fucking her almost every day.

I must say that week was the best sex of my life. Wearing the device kept my mind 100% of the time on my penis and balls. When I arrived at Greta's home in the evening, I was desperate for an immediate sexual release. She would insert the small key into the lock on the plastic flesh box, talking to my cock as she freed me. When I made believe I was my penis answering her in a funny voice, she slapped me.

"Ve don't joke about dez tings." Then she asked my cock,

"Have you been a good boy? Have you been chasing any other women? Tell the man you are attached to from now on to call me Mistress Greta."

This time, I didn't answer. Greta had moved up close and could no doubt smell me since I hadn't showered before arriving. My apartment was super hot, and I sweated while I slept. I feared I might have an odor, but nothing bothered my Mistress once she said, "Game on."

Several days into the agreement, I had become obsessed with sex. I had visited almost every evening. Greta kept her word and was always available. The sex was fantastic. Before we started, she'd ask me what I wanted to do. Often I told her anal. She'd ask,

"Oh, so you want to fuck me in my little ass, but have you been a good boy? Do you love me?"

"Yes, I love you"

"How much?"

If I didn't answer quickly enough, she'd say,

"Tell me you'd die for me."

"Of course, I would."

Greta wore the key to my chastity device on a ribbon around her neck. She reached for the key and unlocked me, and oh my God, she'd roll over or tell me to lift her legs high, and just as we'd begin, she'd say,