Readers: This is a simple story about a neglected cheating wife and a smoking fetish. Best to move on if these topics disturb you! Otherwise, enjoy!
Jill Hastings slowly opened her eyes to the morning sunshine pouring into her bedroom window, stretched slowly with outstretched arms, and sighed softly. She glanced over at her husband's side of the bed and found it empty. Damn, it's golf-day Saturday, she recalled, then heard him rustling in the walk-in closet next to their spacious bathroom. The door slid open and Steve walked out, dressed in his golf gear and tucking his phone into his pants pocket.
"Good morning, sunshine," he greeted her, walking over and lowering his head for a kiss. Jill reached up, pecked his lips, then pulled him back for a firmer kiss, this time sliding a bit of tongue inside his half-opened mouth.
"Not yet, it's not," she whispered in reply, "but it could be." Jill slid her tongue deeper, her left hand sliding over to caress the outline of his cock. She felt him tense and pull back, a slightly forced smile on his face. His clean-shaven features and dimpled smile, still youthful-looking at 45, made her want him even after 20 years of marriage. Slimly built, average height, slight paunch, with short, well-combed hair combed straight back, Steve was a still a good-looking man. A man she most definitely wanted, she thought, eyes wandering to his pants, hiding his six-inch but very thick cock.
"Awww, come on baby, it's been a few weeks," she whined, reaching for him again. His smile widened and he backed off further.
"Golf day, baby, gotta meet the guys," he said. She looked at him, frowning.
"Do you think your friends would turn their wives down, even if it made them late? Hell, your friends probably have to beg from those ladies!"
Steve laughed.
"You're right, they never get any, and I have the horniest chick on the planet," he said with a chuckle.
"Maybe I should check with your friends to see if they'd take care of a woman in need," she retorted, her lip petulantly pursing. He laughed, kissed her on the head, and turned to leave.
"I'm serious, Steve -- our sex life has nearly completely died and I'm tired of using Bob all the time," she whined again, referencing her battery-operated vibrator.
"Aw, hon, do we have to go over that again, it's just been a crazy busy time, I'm sure we'll get back on track," he replied. He smiled, kissed the top of her head, and turned away.
"See you tonight, baby, shouldn't be too late," he said, breezing out of the bedroom. Jill sighed and laid back. She reached over to her nightstand, slid the drawer out, and grasped her pink, penis-shaped vibrator. Flipping the switch on, the vibrator came to life with a loud buzzing sound. As she went to slide it between her legs, she realized she just wasn't in the mood. She turned it off, tossed it back into the drawer, and pulled herself out of bed.
Pulling off her nighty as she walked into the bathroom, she glanced into the full-length mirror and paused. Wait, is it me? She inspected herself, starting with her green eyes, straight, shoulder-length hair, symmetrical features, lined eyebrows, and modestly full lips. Was she still attractive to him, she wondered? Her 36C breasts weren't as perky as they used to be, but her nipples were still sensitive, and he used to love to suck them. And yes, she had gained a few pounds at 42 but still had a curve and an ass that was only slightly fuller than what it was twenty years ago -- maybe two jean sizes but nothing that could be considered fat. She reached down and cupped her well-trimmed, but not entirely bare, pussy. Was she tight enough still? Shaking her head, she moved into the bathroom, her mood turning sourer with these unanswered questions.
Hours later, having busied herself with mindless household chores, Jill found herself still angry at the morning exchange and ongoing events. They did have many discussions over the past year about the lack of sex, but he never seemed to have a good answer. Was he having an affair? She doubted this, he had a very reliable schedule, and they were in regular contact nearly every day. The damn vibrator, while nice, just wasn't cutting it any longer.
Opening the refrigerator, she poured herself a tall glass of sparkling water, then went to the laundry room to retrieve her purse to get the checkbook. Bill paying time, she thought, for the last utilities on the planet that didn't do everything online. I'm being such a bitch, she realized. Rummaging through her purse haphazardly, her eyes caught sight of a white package -- Marlboro Gold Pack, an impulsive purchase made at the grocery store the other day. Why the hell did she do that, she thought, I gave up smoking after we got married. Then she remembered it was after another useless conversation about her sex life.
That's right, she recalled, she had given up smoking because it annoyed Steve. While she was never a convicted smoker, she did enjoy it when drinking and with her friends at parties. She bought the pack as sort of a "fuck you" move on her part. Recalling that thought made her smile. She really didn't think she would ever go back to smoking -- but then again, why not just have one?
Taking the pack and a lighter out, she unwrapped the package, reaching in to pull out a slender white cylinder. She raised it to her nose and inhaled the sweet smell of unlit tobacco and smiled at the flood of memories. She placed the filter between her lips and started to light it. Aww, shit, Steve will probably smell it. Dammit. She glanced at the back porch door, the clear glass highlighting their well-manicured backyard and, most importantly, a six-foot-tall privacy fence. Perfect.
Luckily, it was a perfect summer day, not too warm with a gentle breeze. Jill walked out, lighter in one hand, pack in the other. Pausing at the step just outside the door, she brought the cigarette to her lips and lit it with a Bic lighter. She watched the flame spark up and instantly inhaled, the end glowing cherry red. Taking a deep drag, she felt the familiar warm smoke fill her lungs. Aaaaah. She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke rise from her lips into the summer air. She brought the cigarette to her lips again in wanton abandon, took a light drag, and exhaled again. Fuck Steve, she thought with a smile. Glancing at her image in the glass window, she saw her carefully manicured fingers with red polish gripping the cigarette. Damn, I am still sexy, she thought, no matter what he thinks.
Walking on the patio, Jill made her way to the gray wicker couch and sat down, leaning back against a plush pillow, feeling the sun warm her face. She glanced at her fingers holding the cigarette, feeling strange yet so familiar. She brought her fingers back to her lips, grasping the filter near the base again, and inhaled deeply. As her lips grasped the filter, she felt the paper crackle and the smoke enter her mouth. Cheeks hollowing, Jill took a deeper inhale, feeling the smoke fill her lungs and a sense of relaxation move through her body. God, I was stressed, she thought.
Exhaling a plume of white smoke into the clear summer air, Jill sighed. She figured Steve wouldn't be pleased, so she decided right there to keep it a secret. Looking at the cigarette between her red fingers, lazy smoke rising into the air from the tip, memories of her single days flooded back. While she never had been promiscuous, she never had a problem getting laid and none of her boyfriends gave a shit if she smoked. In fact, she thought some of them liked it, back to the adage "if she smokes, she pokes", and the thought of being desired sent a thrill down her spine.
She laid her head against the back of the couch and enjoyed the sun warming her face. Her reverie was abruptly interrupted when she heard the latch of the gate click and she quickly turned her head to see who was entering. Oh, crap, she thought and froze. She saw her neighbor's college-aged son, Tommy, casually entering, pulling in a lawnmower behind him. Had hadn't yet caught sight of her. In that fractional second of her initial view, she thought how much he had grown from a skinny little 12-year-old to a young man with an athletic body built from years of tennis playing. He stood nearly six feet tall, long unkempt full hair cascading to his shoulders, unshaven in a planned sort of way.
Tommy finished closing the gate and Jill, still frozen with her smoldering cigarette in her hand, greeted him.
