A Smoking Trash Cunt Whore Ch 02

'Number One Ladies Detective Agency' -- so it actually exists,

mused Tracy as she read the brass plaque on the door.

Wasn't there a TV programme or somefink? Oh, what the fuck...

She rang the doorbell. It was answered by a strikingly attractive black woman -- older than Tracy by a few years perhaps, but slender, glamorous, and with large breasts straining at the jacket of her rather fine red skirt suit. "Tracy? Come in. I'm Billy Webb," said the woman with a broad smile, as she proffered her hand.

Tracy went into full job-interview mode, instantaneously pushing all cynicism, doubt and nerves to the back of her mind, and smiling just as broadly as she shook the woman's hand. "Very nice to meet you, Ms Webb," she said, putting on the poshest accent she could.

"Please call me Billy. And do come and sit down. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"Oh, just a glass of

water

, please" answered Tracy, taking care to pronounce the "t" in "water" correctly -- like Charlie always did. Billy's office was a large room, with all the normal paraphernalia -- a couple of large desks, some filing cabinets, and a seating area with a leather three-piece suite arranged around a large coffee table -- on which, intriguingly, sat a large, but apparently clean and unused, glass ashtray. Tracy sat on the edge of the sofa, opposite Billy's armchair. The next fifteen minutes or so passed thoroughly pleasantly. Billy went through Tracy's

CV

with her, asking her gentle questions about her educational background and professional experience: educated at a comprehensive school and a middle-of-the-road polytechnic, with experience as a receptionist, secretary and personal assistant in various small companies. Tracy kept smiling broadly, doing her best to appear enthusiastic about anything and everything her interviewer brought up, and to pronounce all her consonants correctly. Billy also told her a bit about her company: a one-woman private investigative operation, dealing mainly with run-of-the-mill divorce cases requiring a bit of subtle surveillance "to check whether the man's sleeping around, or has a second family somewhere, you know the sort of thing." Tracy laughed nervously.

"Don't you worry about any of that, though, Tracy," said Billy reassuringly. "I do all the field work, so to speak. I would just need you to man the office, deal with phone calls, do the filing and the bookkeeping and other admin work. My previous assistant had to leave suddenly last month, and I have been having trouble finding someone to fill her shoes. No one I have so far interviewed has been entirely... suitable."

Tracy looked quizzical. "Oh? What has been the problem?" (She was very careful to say "what has" rather than "wot's".)

Billy stood up suddenly. "Tracy, I have a question to ask you, for which I require an absolutely honest answer...

Do you smoke?

"

Tracy's mind went into startled overdrive.

Oh fuck

-- she thought to herself --

she can smell the smoke on me. And she knows if I'm a smoker I'm always going to stink, and skive off for cigarette breaks and all that shit. I'm fuckin' done for before I've even been given a chance. If only I'd just stayed off the fuckin' cigarettes for one morning, I'd then at least have had a foot in the door.

All this passed through Tracy's mind in a split second, but what came out of her mouth was not much more edifying: "Oh... oh... just a little, I mean, every now and then -- you know, socially. But really hardly at all. And I'm planning to stop, really soon. My boyfriend and I are planning to get married, you know," she lied, "and if we start a family I'll definitely be stopping! It wouldn't get in the way of work at all, I promise..."

Billy stayed standing, and looked down at Tracy with an inscrutable expression: Tracy couldn't tell if it was amusement, pity or contempt -- until Billy said, very slowly: "Tracy, you're a filthy liar."

In an instant, a wave of shock and humiliation came over Tracy. Her heart pounded, and she felt the moisture begin to well up behind her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should have known you could smell the smoke on me. Please, ma'am, please give me another chance. I need this job so bad, and I'm a really good worker. I promise it won't get in the way of my work at all..." (Tracy pronounced the last two words "a' aw'" -- under the stress, she could feel her accent slipping again.)

"Tracy, tell me why you left your last job, with FCK Logistics."

Oh fuck

-- thought Tracy again to herself --

now what do I say? 'I was fired for smokin' on the job, whilst jerkin' off in the ladies' toilets'? I am really gonna say that?

Unwisely however, Tracy lied again: "Oh, the hours weren't really suitable for me. I wanted to spend more time with my boyfriend, and he works shifts, so I wanted a job which wouldn't take me away at weekends so much, and..."

Tracy's monologue dried up under Billy's withering gaze.

Oh shit

-- she thought --

I'm telling so many fuckin' lies I won't know what I've said. I have totally fucked this up...

Her face downcast, and the tears beginning to leak out and down her cheeks, she tried to backtrack: "Oh no, no, that's not the real reason why. I... I'm so sorry, ma'am, for having wasted your time. I'd better go now. I'm really sorry. I'll let myself out..." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and a large smudge of mascara spread across her cheek. "Oops," she giggled in humiliation, as she got up and, deliberately avoiding Billy's gaze, started making her way towards the door.

"Stop right there, Tracy," commanded the black woman. "I think you might be just the right person for this job. Sit down again, please."

Tracy paused. "Uh, really?" she replied, puzzled and confused, as she sat. Billy smiled again, walked over to her desk, and opened the top drawer, pulling out a lighter and an unopened packet of Marlboro Lights 100s, which she brought back to Tracy and placed on the coffee table in front of her. "Oh!" exclaimed Tracy "Do you smoke, ma'am?" She gazed longingly at the packet of cigarettes.

"Call me Billy," was the only reply she received, before Billy continued: "Tracy, please smoke for me."

"Smoke -- sorry -- what?" Tracy blurted out, thinking all the time:

What kind of fuckin' weirdo is this -- asking me to smoke for her in a job interview? Jesus, now I've seen it all.

But the sight of a brand-new packet of her favourite smokes sitting on the coffee table next to the virgin ashtray looked so tempting -- and if ever Tracy had needed a cigarette, it was now.

"Smoke a cigarette, please," repeated Billy, gesturing for Tracy to help herself.

Tracy did her best to look as if she wasn't desperate, slowly unwrapping the cellophane from the cigarette packet, then nervously tapping out one long, beautiful white cigarette, which she held as elegantly as she could between two fingers.

Oh fuck

-- thought Tracy --

this looks so fuckin' good!

But she resisted the temptation to rush it. Instead, she gently took the cigarette between her lips, picked up the lighter, and lit up.

It is so hard, when you are desperate for a cigarette, to look as if you are in control of your cravings -- but Tracy tried her best, taking a slow shallow inhale like a rookie smoker, exhaling it apologetically away from Billy, then pausing. She felt hardly anything from that drag, and was desperate to take another of her favourite deep multi-pumps, to luxuriate in the sensation of a body flooded with nicotine. But instead she smiled nervously, wondering what would happen now. After a second shallow drag Tracy felt she had to break the silence: "Uh, is there anything else you wanted to ask me, Billy?"

"Yes, Tracy. I want you to smoke that cigarette the way you

really

want to. You're pretending to be a light, part-time smoker. But I know you're really a total addict. I know you're a smoking whore."

"What?" Tracy replied, insulted and indignant. "This is ridiculous! I am not going to sit here and be spoken to like that," she declared, hastily stubbing out the barely-smoked cigarette in the ashtray and getting up once again to leave.

"And I like smoking whores," continued Billy. "In fact, I like

worthless filthy fucking smoking trash cunt whores

the best."

"What the...? How the fuck do you...?" Tracy stammered in her rage, her accent reverting to Essex in an instant. "'Oo put you up to this? Is this one of Charlie's stupid pranks? 'Ave you been spyin' on me? What perverted disgustin' game are you playin' at? What do you fuckin' want out of me?!"

"Sit down, Tracy! Nobody put me up to this. But I am a detective, after all -- so after receiving your application, I did a bit of research, as I always do. So I know how much you love smoking, and I know how much you smoke. And I know you like to sit on your back patio frigging your pussy while you smoke, because your prude of a boyfriend won't let you do so in the house. And I also know that your last boss barged in on you while you were smoking in the office toilets, with three fingers all the way up your wet cunt. All in all, I think you are just the sort of employee I need, because" -- and now Billy reached over, removed two new cigarettes from the packet, placed both between her red-lipsticked lips, lit them together, took a deep drag of one, and handed the other to Tracy -- "I am also a filthy fucking smoking cunt whore. But I am not worthless, or trash, and nor are you. In fact, we need each other."

Tracy sat in stunned silence, watching as the beautiful black woman opposite fixed her with her sultry eyes and took another deep drag of her cigarette, followed by a luxuriant snap-inhale and a thick cone exhale from her lusciously full red lips, right across the coffee table at Tracy. Tracy basked in the smell and sensation of the warm smoke enveloping her body, and she started to drag on her new cigarette, not delicately like the last one (crushed but still gently smouldering in the ashtray), but the way she really wanted to, hard, deep, desperately filling her lungs with that heavenly nicotine-laden smoke, letting it pour out of her nose and mouth, satisfying her craving and enveloping her in that wonderful smoky stink which she loved so much.

Billy smiled, watching with lustful admiration. Tracy held her cigarette to her mouth between trembling thumb and forefinger so she could multi-pump, feeling the nicotine relief wash over her again. Billy smoked with more elegance and less desperation than her interviewee, but with long deep drags, snap-inhaling huge churning balls of white smoke into her open mouth, or breathing the smoke back into her nostrils in rich cascading waterfalls, before directing perfectly-shaped cones of smoke across the room towards Tracy. "Play with your cunt for me, Tracy," she said.

"What?" Tracy replied, the alarm rising in her voice again.

"If you want this job, Tracy, show me your cunt while you smoke."

Tracy desperately wanted the job, and having come this far she didn't want to fuck it up. She also desperately wanted to smoke, and the nicotine high was making her feel horny. She pulled her grey pencil skirt up to her waist and gently pushed her panties to one side to display her pussy. "Beautiful, Tracy," said Billy. Now stick a finger in there."

Tracy obeyed, continuing to smoke with her left hand while her right middle finger gently parted her dark cunt-fuzz and slid in between her pussy lips. Billy kept up the instructions: "Nice, Tracy. Now fuck that finger in and out, so I can see it getting sticky. Now take it out and lick it. Beautiful, now how about two fingers? Good girl, now lick your cunt-sauce off again. Good. Now," continued Billy, "stick that cigarette in there."

Fuck, even I've never thought of that before!

thought Tracy to herself, holding her fuck-lips open with the fingers of her right hand while gently sliding the yellowing cork-end of her cigarette into her damp pussy.

"Now lick your cunt cream off that cigarette while you take a deep drag, Tracy." Tracy did so, relishing the double pleasure of the cunt-flavoured nicotine hit. "Oh fuck, that's good" she muttered, exhaling a series of irregular puffs as she spoke. She dipped her cigarette into her wet cunt again, licking the glistening slime off with her next drag. "Fuck yeah!" she squealed, then clamped her cigarette between her lips and starting to violently rub her clit, desperate to come, as clouds of warm white smoke churned through her lungs and out of her nostrils and lips. She shut her eyes in concentration, relishing the pleasure which enveloped her from all sides. There was the grind of her fingers against her clit, the warm glow of her cigarette clasped between her lips, the acrid rasp in her throat as smoke poured deep into her from her continuous circular inhaling, the high from the nicotine coursing through her brain, the heady smell and taste of smoke spewing out of her nose and mouth, wave after wave of second-hand smoke exhaled over her by Billy, making her whole being -- hair, clothes, body -- stink of cigarette fumes, Billy's on-going jerk-off instructions forming a depraved soundtrack to her ecstasy.

Her eyes still shut with concentration, she soon felt the cigarette grow hotter and softer between her lips, and the tell-tale sensation of hot smoke caressing her cheek and closed eyes.

There must be ash all down my suit by now,

Tracy mused -- but she didn't care. At last she came, her cunt spasming as that last hot filthy tar-laden lungful of air reached her deepest depths. "FUUUUUCK!" she moaned, gripping the hot glowing cigarette butt between her teeth as a long "fuuuuck!"-shaped cloud of smoke issued from between her lips.

Tracy kept her eyes shut, savouring her own euphoria and breathing in the smoky atmosphere which now filled the whole room. "Was that good, smoking whore?" came Billy's voice, as Tracy's orgasm subsided. Tracy opened her eyes. Billy now also had her skirt hitched up and her legs spread, and was gently rubbing her cunt as she took a long last drag of her own red-lipstick-stained butt and stubbed it out in the ashtray, alongside the still-smouldering remains of Tracy's first unsmoked cigarette.

Tracy nodded, breathless and speechless, as she dropped her cigarette butt into the ashtray.

What the fuck have I done?

she thought to herself.

I've been manipulated by a complete stranger into performing acts which I would never have done for anyone else -- even my boyfriend -- just to get a stupid secretarial job. Have I been liberated? Or abused? And now what?

Billy must have, again, read her mind. "Tracy, I haven't come yet. Will you help me, please?"

"Uh, help you? What? How?"

"Eat my cunt, of course, smoking whore."

Tracy froze. She had never done anything like that before -- never even imagined anything like that before. She liked to jerk off, and she liked to fuck -- but she liked to fuck guys, not girls!

Billy clearly knew what was going through Tracy's mind. "Eat my cunt, Tracy, and I'll let you have another cigarette. Lots of cigarettes. And I'll give you a job where you can smoke all day long. I'll pay you to smoke all day long. And you won't be fired for rubbing your cunt at work while you smoke. In fact, I'll pay you to smoke and fuck me all day long. What about it?"

Tracy felt like she was standing on the edge of a terrifying abyss. What, eat her cunt? No fucking way! She was no lesbian. And what about Charlie, who liked to lick her arsehole and fuck her pussy with his big dick, and make her come again and again and again till she whimpered with pleasure?

What about...

But then the image of snarling Charlie came back into her mind: Charlie the control-freak who would fuck her arse but wouldn't let her smoke, who would jerk his cum over her face but still call her a worthless trash whore. Wordlessly, Tracy got up, removed her skirt and panties, walked slowly around the coffee table, and knelt on the floor in front of Billy's open thighs.

This was the first time that Tracy had ever looked at a cunt close up -- let alone a black woman's cunt. Billy's thighs were chocolatey smooth, and her glistening pussy was shaven, her outer lips a rich deep reddish brown. Her inner lips were darker -- practically jet-black. At first they looked a bit leathery (

A bit like those funny mushrooms you get from the Chinese take-away,

Tracy thought to herself:

'number forty-thlee, pussy with Chinese mushlooms,'

she giggled silently.)

But of course,

Tracy thought,

they can't really be leathery, any more than my cunt-lips are leathery; otherwise, who'd fuck 'em?

And between Billy's black, slightly parted pussy-folds, Tracy glimpsed pink.

Pink like me...

she mused.

Suddenly Tracy wanted nothing more than to be inside that black, pink cunt. She had never licked pussy before, but Charlie loved to eat her out, and so she had a rough idea of how to go about it. She began by leaning forward and gently flicking Billy's clit with her tongue, and then ran her tongue slowly down her slit and then back up to her clit again. Billy moaned, "Oh yeah, are you going to lick my cunt, Tracy? Go on, eat out my cunt like a good girl."

Billy's pussy was, it transpired, not remotely leathery. Her fuck-lips were warm and wet, and gave way easily to Tracy's probing tongue, slowly revealing more and more glistening pink flesh. As for the taste -- well, Tracy had only ever tasted her own. Billy's was similar, but just distinctive enough -- a touch more pungent, perhaps (maybe it was just the time of the month?) -- to seem new and exciting. Soon Tracy was done with her speculative taste-test: she plunged in, wrapping her mouth around Billy's whole fuck-mound, chewing on her clit with her lips and probing deep into her soft flesh with her tongue -- driving Billy into foul-mouthed ecstasy: "Oh yeah, eat out that fucking cunt, Tracy. Go on, poke that fucking tongue deep inside there, like a good whore. You like eating your first ever black cunt? You... -- mmm..."

There was a pause in Billy's monologue. Without even looking up, Tracy knew why. She had heard Billy retrieving a new cigarette from the packet as she spoke, and had felt her removing her jacket and top. Now Tracy looked up to see a brand-new Marlboro Lights 100 clamped between Billy's full red lips, her face framed between two huge black tits, barely contained in Billy's red lace bra, her wide brown areolae peeping cheekily over the tops of the cups. Tracy opened her mouth with desire, and Billy noticed. "You wanna smoke, pretty slut?" she asked -- without removing the unlit cigarette from her lips, which made it jiggle up and down as she spoke. Tracy nodded.

Billy lit her cigarette, took a long deep drag, and exhaled the smoke down between her tits and into Tracy's lustful face. Then she tapped out the end of another cigarette, and held the packet out to Tracy, who took the cigarette from the packet directly with her desperate lips. Billy lit it, and Tracy began to pump the nicotine-laden smoke deep into her needy lungs again.

Fuck. How do I eat pussy and smoke at the same time?

wondered Tracy to herself. But she was not daunted, taking deep individual drags of her cigarette and, after each inhale, plunging her face back into Billy's crotch to suck and chew her clit, whilst plunging three fingers in and out of her cunt. Smoke sputtered and coursed uncontrolled out of Tracy's nose and mouth, making it look as if Billy's cunt was on fire. Tracy was in heaven: her lungs were full of smoke and her face was coated with pussy juice, so everything tasted of a delicious cocktail of smoke and cunt. Now it was Billy's turn to go hands-free, as she clamped her cigarette between her lips, removed her bra, and kneaded her tits with both hands, moaning in ecstasy and muttering the occasional smoky muffled "oh fuck" or "fuck yeah" around her cigarette.