Don’t Breathe It Out

You light up a cigarette and blow the smokes in my face; I take it all in.

Its scent is so gracious and heaven-made. I smile in the darkness.

“Can we live together in a…” I stop my breath from releasing the rest.

The stub of your cigarette stops in midair as you pull it from you. You tap the body and the ashes fall to the cemented floor of the bar’s alley. I toy with my fingers.

“What have I told you from the beginning?” I hate that voice, as if I’ve committed a crime.

I swallow hard. “Nothing, don’t mind it…”

I gasp as you grip my cheeks tightly. You place the butt of your cigarette into my lips. “Inhale,” you command. “Don’t breathe it out.” I’m that stupid who does everything you say.

I feel dirty and it feels sensual.

I embrace it all.

I choke from the rough flavor of the nicotine—there are tears in my eyes. “I hope we’re clear.” You say and it’s more than what I need.

You were done with your wife when I walked in. The arrangement was talked about and everything was fine. Until one of us escalates the sensation.

“Up your game. I’m starting to do my wife, again.”

It’s a challenge I need to win; it’s a dare I’ll have to beat. I’m starting to lose this game and I’m beginning to be the background wallpaper.

I’ll have to play dirty—anything for the prize.

And I hope I won’t be the reason of monotony, again.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

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