Smokedawg “Widow’s Web: Promoting From Within”

About the Author

J. Jefferson (aka Smokedawg) is a middle-aged editor and journalist manifesting his mid-life crisis by finally writing the fiction his schoolmates always thought he would have been writing since graduation (but didn’t). He began work on a sci-fi novel in 2008, then fell into erotica in 2009 by starting his blog ”Better With Smoke” (http://betterwithsmoke.wordpress.com) as a way to explore the smoking fetish in fiction and commentary. He also has begun writing exclusive smoking fetish erotica for the forum “Smoking Fetish Kingdom” and now also writes some non-smoking erotica, exclusively for the Celis T. Rono Writer’s Collective (unless of course by some miracle some publisher wants to pay him to put it in print). You can e-mail him at: pseudojeff@msn.com.

I had originally intended to publish no more smoking fetish fiction here at Celis’ blog, but I want to maintain a regular presence, had no time to write something from scratch right now, and realized that this story had been sitting on my hard drive since the early 2000s. I was surprised to find out how close to completion it was, and found it to be better written than I had expected it to be, since it was during a period I thought I might start writing mind control fiction erotica, then gave up on the idea. I had intended it to be part of a series, obviously, but not sure if I will do that. We’ll see…

Widow’s Web: Promoting From Within

Arriving for her fifth week of work, Cecile was amazed at one thing above all others: She still had a job. Not the best of typists, hardly ever on time, barely able to handle any software application more advanced than the word processing program…not to mention the fact she was working for a fledgling e-venture in a time when dot-coms were continuing to crumble…well, she wasn’t going to question her good fortune.

So, when the human resources director who hired her suddenly showed up at her cubicle, she figured she was done for. When he told Cecile that the CEO wanted to meet with her immediately, she knew she was doomed.

But considering the way the H.R. geek’s eyelids were drooping and way his words seemed…well, not slurred really but somehow flat…she was thinking maybe he’d be next to get fired—for being stoned on the job. Come to think of it, a lot of people had a certain glassy-eyed look around this company. Too many hours in front of computer screens, no doubt.

Her stomach bunched into a knot tight enough to hurt, she followed the bespectacled man (what was name again? Walter?) as he led her to the CEO’s office.

<My God, Cecile thought, what kind of CEO of any company drops the axe personally?>

A few minutes later, their destination reached, Walter nodded to the CEO’s personal assistant and then lazily rapped on the door the head office, where Cecile fully expected to have her head chopped off.

She was amazed that the person inside the office would even have heard Walter’s limp-wristed knock, and even more amazed when she heard a woman’s voice summon them in with a nearly magisterial authority.

<Sydney Prescott, Cecile realized, is a woman. I never even considered it. Of course, I’ve never seen so much as a picture of our CEO, much less witnessed a public appearance in the office. Oh, well, oh hell…There goes any chance of sweet-talking my way out of this and flirting my way into a second chance.

The next thing that struck her was how cold the office was. Sumptuously appointed in soft-looking leathers and dark wood, with a carpet that looked more comfy than her bed at home, Cecile marveled that the woman behind the huge desk wasn’t dying of hypothermia in here.

<I guess she’s a cold-blooded bitch, Cecile mused. My ass really is fried.>

At Walter’s direction, Cecile sat herself at a small but immensely comfortable chair across from her employer. She felt herself sink slightly into the suede-like material of the cushion, and felt the chair tip ever so slightly backward. Not reclined, actually, but very comfortable.

Her boss had said nothing, just looked at Cecile with grave intensity. Cecile didn’t dare look away.

<At least my execution will be cozy, Cecile joked with herself.>

And she needed to do something to keep herself amused, because she was suddenly all too aware of how keenly Ms. Prescott was studying her. The way those sharp, dark eyes were boring into her. The way she hadn’t said a word, and hadn’t for…

<God, I’ve been sitting her several minutes and she hasn’t said a word.>

But she was studying Cecile, that much was certain. Her gaze flickered ever so slightly up or down, but Cecile’s own eyes always followed. What color were those eyes? Brown? Black? Violet. They were deep, dark, and purple. Striking, really. (What was that smell in the air? Familiar, but there were so many other smells she noticed in the cold air. Incense? Musk? And some light music in the background. Something Eastern-sounding. Sitars? Flutes?). Her boss was exquisitely dressed, too, in some suit coat of deep burgundy. The cold must even be a bit much for her, Cecile thought, seeing the black-gloved fingers (Satin? Velvet?) poking out from the soft-looking sleeves of the suit. And Ms. Prescott’s face was flawless. Not a defect in site, perfect bones, elegantly makeup, even if the lips did seem a trifle dark…dark and moist like those eyes, but more red-brown than purple.

And then those lips parted. Almost in slow-motion, it seemed. The moistness of the lips unsealing with an almost audible pop. A hint of tiny threads of gloss trying to hold the lips together and then breaking to flow back over those full…

<I’m staring at her mouth. What a fucking idiot I must look like>

“At last”, Sydney Prescott finally spoke, in a voice much softer and deeper than the shout through the door, yet still filled with authority. Cecile’s attention snapped back to reality as she remembered she was here to be fired. “Walter, will you leave us now?” Sydney said.

It wasn’t really a request, of course, and Walter slowly slipped away, with what looked like heart-breaking regret as his eyes reluctantly left his boss and he turned to leave the office. The door shut with a soft click, and Cecile shivered as much from fear as from the cold.

Sydney’s eyes darted ever so briefly down to some sheets of paper in front of her, then back to Cecile.

“Cecile Atkinson,” she said in with a deep, throaty husk. “Out newest data entry person. How lovely to meet you. We need to talk about your future here.”

“Ms. Prescott, I just want to say how sor…”

“I don’t normally promote someone so quickly, but you have certain assets that I think are going to waste behind your current desk.”

Cecile knew her mouth must have fallen open. And she tried and failed to suppress another shiver from the cold. “Promote?”

“Yes, you are familiar with the term, am I right?” Sydney said with an air of haughtiness. “Or should I call someone else in?”

“No,” sputtered Cecile. “It’s just unexpected. So soon, I mean. After all…”

“You’re not a very hard worker, are you?”

Cecile suddenly felt like a trap was about to be sprung. “Well, I guess that…”

“You don’t much fancy your job, do you,” Sydney said more forcefully, reaching into a box near her telephone and pulling out a long brown cigarette, cocking it with an oh-so-feminine grace near her cheek. “Do you?”

“No. I mean. It’s entry level. Who really likes an entry-level job?” Evasion didn’t seem a very good route, Cecile realized, still shivering.

<And I figured I was doomed when I walked in here, so I’m already ahead of the game. I don’t think it would be a good time, though, to mention non-smoking laws for the workplace just about now.>

Sydney lit her cigarette and let a thick wisp of smoke linger for just a moment at the edge of her wet lips before slowly swallowing it into her chest, standing, and exhaling a thick white plume across the dark wood of the bookcase behind her, a few strands of smoke seeming to weave their way into her dark hair. The smoke curled up in leisurely, spirals from the end of the More in her gloved fingers, vanishing into a faint cloud in the frigid air.

Cecile noticed how, how sexy her boss was dressed. A soft burgundy skirt matching the coat hung down to the floor, with a long slit up one side. As her boss turned, the slit parted just enough to reveal black leggings that somehow glinted in the dim light of the office.

<When did she turn down the light? Cecile wondered. And is that music actually a little louder?>

Sydney sat in small chair near Cecile’s…one that looked more traditional and straight-backed. Her boss slipped one leg over another, revealing that her leggings were in fact some kind of shiny black boot with wicked-looking heels. Her toe swiveled and turned, dancing to the…the music? The light glinted off it and Cecile shook her head and looked back at her boss’s face.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” Sydney said. “My legs, that is.” She took a long, slow drag on the cigarette and released a stream of smoke into the air, well away from Cecile and upward, though a hint of the smoke couldn’t help but drift Cecile’s way, tickling her nostrils.

“Ummm, yeah,” Cecile said, her words turning to a mumble. “I guess.”

“Doesn’t make you a lesbian to admit it, my dear. My legs look lovely. Just thick enough. Just strong enough.” Her foot made a few more gyrations, catching Cecile’s eyes again. “And well adorned, too. Cost a pretty penny. But I can afford to get what I want, can’t I?”

“Yes,” Cecile said, feeling more lost than ever, goosebumps rising on her arm from nervousness, to add to the ones the cold had already spawned. “I suppose so.”

Sydney had brought papers with her, and looked at them briefly. For a few moments, her eyes were hidden, and Cecile felt a strange loss at that (What? Don’t act like a lesbo, you idiot, she chided herself). A small rush of smoke struck the papers Sydney was perusing, expanding, spreading out, drifting up and around the pages, then slipping into the dimly-lit air to vanish, leaving just a hint of smoky scent behind.

“My smoking doesn’t bother you, does it, dear?”

Cecile was a lifelong non-smoker and aerobics buff, so the thought of being bothered was actually quite high on her mind. And it seemed like most of the people in her part of the building were always off on smoke breaks while she sat at her desk working. Still, the smoke was faint enough and Sydney was being polite enough and the other scents in the room, as well as Sydney’s musky perfume, were mixing quite pleasantly. A warm scent. Inviting. Though not warm enough to suppress Cecile’s shivering.

“Well, I do have some allergies,” Cecile said with a bright smile, feeling she should try to gain some ground here.

“No you don’t,” Sydney said with a sharp finality, something not quite anger (but close) slipping into the honey-smoked timbre of her voice.

She set the papers down on the desk. “Your medical records are very thorough in your employee record. No allergies to anything. No breathing problems. Healthy as a young filly.”

Warning bells began to ring in Cecile’s mind. Medical records?

“Should you really have my med…”

“About that promotion,” Sydney said as if Cecile hadn’t uttered a word. She placed the end of the brown More cigarette to her lips, her cheeks hollowing. She withdrew the cigarette slowly, a hint of her lips’ gloss leaving a glassy reddish stain on the filter. She exhaled slowly, the smoke seeming almost endless, traveling in a straight path. Closer to Cecile this time, but still within the realm of politeness. “I suppose you’re wondering about that.”

The hand holding Sydney’s cigarette made a soft circle in the air and came back to her shining lips. Another white ball of smoke, and then it drifted from her lips up into her nose in a languorous French inhale. Then out again through her soft, full lips. Still away from Cecile. But the air still carried tantalizing scents of smoke mixed with incense and perfume.

<Tantalizing? Snap out of it, Cecile. Focus on this bitch and figure out if you’re fired or incredibly fortunate.>

“The Widow’s Web dot-com site is shaping up quite nicely. I have some very generous backers for the project, and I have every confidence it will be the most successful site on the Internet, given a little time.” Sydney drew on her cigarette again, tapped the ash into a tray on the edge of the desk, and without exhaling drew again on the half-consumed cigarette. The cloud of smoke she release was thick and creamy, billowing outward and upward with almost sinister grace. Cecile could swear she felt a warm hint of smoky air brush past her cheek, and she shivered all the more in the cold air. “My dear, are you cold?”

Sydney’s voice seemed to register genuine concern, and Cecile just nodded, her eyes wide and moist. What was happening to her? The knot in her stomach seemed to be replaced by butterflies, and she never felt to off-balance in her life.

“Walter, bring Cecile some tea,” Sydney said. Cecile heard movement behind her, and the clinking of a metal spout against glass. The gentle hiss of steam and flowing water. The gentle moist sound of lip wrapping around a cigarette. The sound of paper and tobacco sizzling as Sydney inhaled again. The sound of her exhale into the air. And the music wasn’t loud, but she could hear it so clearly now in her ears…in her head. Walter’s footsteps scraping against the carpet.

<Walter? Wait a minute, when did Walter come back? I never heard the door open. What’s he doing back here?>

Suddenly, there was a cup of hot tea in her hands, then Walter was gone again, like a ghost in the night. And a hand clad in soft warm material rested on her shoulder.

“Drink up, my dear. I hadn’t noticed your distress. You must have been sooooo cold. Now you can get warm again. Just drink and be warm. Warm yourself. Warm.”

Sydney’s hand rubbed gently up and down Cecile’s arm. The change in attitude seemed odd, but Cecile didn’t have time to worry about such things. She was too confused about everything else. She closed her eyes for a moment, took another big gulp of the tea, and looked up at her boss.

“As I was saying, my dear,” Sydney continued, taking a last draw on the cigarette and putting it out in the ashtray, exhaling a large cloud of smoke over her dark desk. “Kristen is my assistant, who you saw outside. Lovely girl, and very talented, but not really right anymore for sitting behind a desk and taking care of my needs. She’s moving up in the organization, and she’ll be leading a huge push for the Widow’s Web and all the Black Widow products and services we’ll be offering. So, I need a new assistant, someone who can stay with me and grow with me over time. I need to know I have someone who will be beside me over the long run, who will truly act in synch with me on all matters, day and night.”

Cecile took another sip of the tea, but didn’t seem to be getting much warmer. In fact, there seemed to be a cold spot growing in her belly, slowing spreading and tingling. She leaned back into her soft chair and felt the cushion embrace the back of her head, her shoulders, her back, her ass cheeks. She realized that the music she had been hearing was coming from the back of the chair itself. It hummed and flowed and thrummed melodically across her. She barely heard the click of a lighter and smelled smoke again.

<Something’s not right. This company hasn’t even launched its Web site yet. It’s barely started operations at all. It only existed a couple months before I came here. How could the CEO’s administrative assistant already be in line for such a huge promotion? How come I’m being…why is the music coming from my chair? Why am I so cold. So warm. And so cold. Why? What? Mmmmmm.>

“Cecile?”

The young woman snapped to attention again, realizing how unprofessional it must look for her to just veg out like that. She shook her head, but things seemed even more fuzzy. She looked down at her tea cup and realized she had drained it, but didn’t recall when. Her belly and chest were warm, throbbing with a beat like the music in her ears. But her skin was still cold, and she shivered again. Closed her eyes again, felt a smoky haze fall over her thoughts even as her nose and tongue picked up the hints of cigarette smoke once more, stronger now than the others scents in the room but still so perfectly balanced with them. Sooooo.

“I’m glad you’ll be joining my personal staff,” Sydney said, as Cecile felt the cup lifted out her hands gently. She snapped her eyes open again and realized the Sydney was still too far away to have taken the cup and besides, it was nowhere to be seen.

<Was Walter back?>

She was going to turn her head to look, but it seemed like too much effort to move. All she could do was breathe, it seemed. Breathe in smoky air, musky air, spicy hints of incense and her…her sex? She could smell the beginnings of wetness between her legs.

<And when did I accept the job? Of course, why wouldn’t I? Or should I? Things are so strange. I need to leave. Need to lea…>

She shivered again violently, though she seemed to be on fire inside. But her fingers and toes were cold, her skin was chilled.

“Cecile?”

Sydney’s voice again, bringing her focus back into the world.

“Cecile, you’re still cold, aren’t you? It will take a while for the heat to take the chill out of the air. I’ve asked Walter to turn on the heat and turn off the air conditioning.”

<When did he do that? When did Sydney ask him to. Wasn’t I going to. Do something? Get up? Why?>

“Cecile, look at me, please,” Sydney said in that smoky voice. Cecile did, just in time to see a thin stream of smoked spill from the corners of those beautiful, fill, wet lips. She had reapplied her makeup, hadn’t she? But when? Her lips were like a combination of magma and wine, glistening and warm and soft and sweet looking. “Cecile, let me get you my coat, why don’t I?”

Sydney stood up, taking a long drag as she did so, pivoting on her black-clad legs to tap ash off the smoldering More, her exhale forming a thick halo around her lovely shoulder-length dark hair. She turned back and began to remove her burgundy suit coat.

“I’m a bit warm myself anyway, dear girl, so you need this more than I do.”

Cecile stood up to received the coat and felt it whisked around her shoulders and back as she was gently lowered to the chair once more. She caught a hint of smoke and the perfume of heavily-made up lips, and the musk of some woman’s cologne and something else…something like rubber.

She opened her eyes as she settled back into the chair, the warm coat embracing her, and saw that her boss was not wearing black boots but a black bodysuit. A latex bodysuit that hugged her shapely body from her just-right breasts to her flat belly, over her wide hips and over shapely thighs and calves. Cecile realized Sydney’s skirt was lying in her own lap. Realized that where Sydney’s sex should be covered, brown-black hair was visible instead, and just the hint of damp, pink lips. Her boss sat down again and crossed one leg over another, taking a deep, cheek-hollowing drag, then French-inhaling and holding the smoke for nearly half a minute before letting it pour out into the air again, just above Cecile’s head.

Suddenly, Cecile realized the coat draped over her shoulders was infused with smoke and perfume, but especially smoke. She didn’t really mind, somehow. It was warm and soothing. It made the coldness go away and made the heat tingle in a delicious way in her stomach and chest and nipples. God, her nipples felt like they were about to burst!

<This isn’t right, though. I don’t know why but it isn’t right I have to get up I have to go I can’t I don’t want to I have to I need>

“Cecile,” came a warm, soft, almost chiding voice. “Just relax. Lean back. Stop trying so hard. Stop trying to make sense of the world. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll help you sort everything out. Don’t try to make things fit. Just let them fall into place. Faaaaaall right into place. You’ve already fallen into that comfy chair. Just fall a little more. Fall right into yourself and clear the way for me to help put things right.”

It was hard to think. Cecile was tired of trying to fight her way up through this haze. There probably was nothing above the smoky, perfumed haze. Probably just more smoke or worse yet, none. What would she do if she rose above it all and found nothing familiar? She’s be lost. Better to fall gently and slowly instead. Fall into a safe place.

“Fall into my scent, that’s it. Fall into the smoke and the incense and the leather and the wood. Fall into the music in your head. Fall into my scent. My scent. Fall right in.”

Cecile opened her eyes a little and realized she was holding Syndey’s discarded skirt to her lips, the fabric of the skirt just under her nose. She smelled something familiar there, something like herself. Like the warm scent between her own legs. She was smelling Sydney’s own special musk. Cecile’s tongue snaked out to touch the skirt and taste what she smelled. Just a hint of her boss’s creamy musk. Just a hint.

<I’m not a lesbo! What am I doing? I have to. Have to. What. I must. What? Why?>

Her thoughts drifted again, the skirt fell from her limp hands back into her lap. She snuggled her face into the coat instead and smelled the perfume and smoke there. Heard Sydney take yet another draw on the cigarette. Felt a warm wash of smoke pass across her and into the coat where her face was buried. Sighed. Twisted a little on the chair as her pussy twitched and pulsed. Sucked on her boss’s coat wishing it were Sydney’s skin instead.

“You look so comfortable, Cecile, but you need to pay attention now and look at me.”

Cecile looked up at Sydney and almost cried. She was frightening and gorgeous and overwhelming. Cecile’s hand shot to her own crotch and she began to rub.

“No!” barked Sydney through a thick exhale of smoke, and Cecile’s hand withdrew. “You need to focus on me. Listen to me. Watch me. Only me. Nothing else exists in the world for you but me and what comes from me.”

That suddenly struck Cecile as illogical, and she opened her mouth to say something.

“A toy doesn’t speak. You are a toy now. You don’t think. You respond to the person who play with you. Who plays you.”

Cecile’s mouth shut again. Why fight against the quicksand filling her mind? It was too hard. Took too much time. Better to ride this out and see where the journey took her.

Sydney stubbed out her latest cigarette and withdrew another long, slim, brown cylinder. She didn’t put it to her lips just yet, though. It just balanced there between her delicate fingers. The velvet gloves were gone now, revealing that latex covered her arms and hands as well as the rest of her body below the collarbone…except for that puffy pink slit between her thighs. The latex stretched out at the ends of her fingers, evidence of short, sharp, strong nails. The wrist twisted and danced, the cigarettes capturing Cecile’s gaze and forcing her to follow it through its complex, slow, graceful patterns in the air. Her head never moved, but her eyes followed, the rhythm helping her thoughts to focus on Sydney. A gray fog still filled her mind, but there was purpose and pattern here. A mission to fulfill. To watch what Sydney did. For several minutes the hand and cigarette bobbed and weaved through the air. The smoky smell had begun to diminish, and Cecile missed it. She breathed more heavily, hoping to draw as much of what remained in the air to her. Trying to draw the scent up from the coat draped over her and the skirt laying heavily upon her moistening sex. Then the dance slowed and stopped, ending with the filter of the cigarette just short of Sydney’s luscious lips. Not so dark and shiny now, but still fascinating and thick and alluring.

“A true lady. A true mistress of the manor should never light a cigarette when her makeup has faded,” Sydney said in a voice that seemed equal parts school teacher, mother and temptress. “My administrative assistant is also my personal assistant. My most personal confidante and helper. Kristen fit that role poorly. I chose someone more suited to hunt than be enslaved. A mistake, don’t you think?”

Cecile nodded, though not entirely sure she understood anything.

“I don’t make many mistakes, and even that one wasn’t a loss. Kristen will do well helping to expand our operations and my agenda. But you know what a strong woman needs, don’t you? You know what to do to make me content, don’t you, Cecile?”

“I think that…”

“No,” Sydney said. “You don’t think, Cecile. You act. You do what needs doing as I need it done. Do you know what needs doing?”

“I need to light your cigarette.” Her voice nearly a whisper.

“Yes, you neeeed to. And desiiiiire to. But you’re getting ahead of yourself. My lips aren’t ready for the cigarette yet. They aren’t sexy enough yet. They aren’t mesmerizing enough.”

<No, they need to be deeper. More glossy. I cannot fall into them the way they are now. They cannot be the beacon for my eyes and the soft receptacle for the smoke.>

“I must…I….ooooh…I must refresh your lips, Ms. Prescott,” she said softly, her voice slightly panting.

“Yes, Cecile, you must make up the lips of Mistress Sydney Precott,” the raven-haired woman said huskily. “You have what you need in your new coat. Come make my lips pretty, Cecile. You know what pretty is, don’t you? Make them ready for the cigarette. This one and others to come. You want that, don’t you?”

<But I hate smoking. Don’t I? I’m a non-smoker. I’m healthy. I’m so lost. Sydney know, though. She knows best for me. She’s been taking care of me and paving my way. My head is sooooo much calmer when I just listen to her voice. Sooooo much better not to thiiiiink.>

Her hands found the lipstick and gloss in one pocket of the coat, lifted them out. Cecile stood up, shakily, slowly, realizing as she did how sticky her panties were. How hot and slick they were, as they pulled away from her pubic hairs and as a rivulet of her juices ran down one thigh.

She spread the lipstick on her Mistress’ lips, slowly and thoroughly. Sensuously. In some vague sense, Cecile realized she was more intent on this task than any other she had ever performed. And yet at the same time, she felt herself becoming lost in the task.

Lost in those lips.

When she applied the gloss, every bit as slowly, he nostrils filling with the slight chemical perfumed smell of both lip coverings, she was more intent. More lost. But also so calm, so resolute.

So secure.

When Mistress lifted the unlit More to her lips, Cecile knew the next step. Her hand found the lighter in the other pocket of the coat, lifted it, and lit the end of end, waiting for her Mistress to puff the cigarette to life and bathe her in a smoky exhale.

She did, and Cecile realized how the smell of the smoke and Mistress’ lips and her perfume and the strange but wonderful scents in the air and in the coat were a symphony. A tune to which she would gladly dance forever.

She wondered if she had spoken aloud, when Mistress blew smoke onto her again, and said, “You will dance, Cecile. To my tune. Forever. And be content to do so.”

Cecile simply nodded and smiled with loving, devoted gratefulness.

“Some people like to sign contracts in ink. Or seal bargains in blood,” Mistress said. “I prefer to seal deals in cum. Put your fingers into your panties, Cecile.”

Cecile did, gladly and without hesitation.

“Stroke yourself,” Mistress said, smoke accentuating her words. Cementing her will.

“Stroke,” Mistress repeated. “Feel your passion well up and you will diminish.”

Cecile did, her fingers wet and slick and slow on her clit and between her labia.

“Strooooke,” Mistress said again, with smoke in her breath again. “Closer now. My precious little girl.”

Cecile’s fingers moved no faster, but became more insistent.”

“Closer still,” Mistress said, “and when you come, you will come for me, not for yourself. Your pleasure is all for me. Your release mine to command.

Cecile nodded, her lips parting as if to kiss the smoke that Mistress gave her again, swallowing it into her chest instead. Her fingers were so sticky now, almost as sticky as her thighs as her cunt dripped over. Overflowed with honey for her Mistress’ pleasure.

“When you come, you will be mine totally, won’t you?”

Cecile nodded more fiercely, feeling the welling of her desire. The approach of Misress’ orgasm. She would give Mistress her passion. Her orgasm. Her will.

“Come now,” Mistress said, blowing another stream of smoke, filling Cecile’s head with loving threads of control.

And Cecile bucked against her fingers, cried out softly, and when she could come no more, slumped down into the chair she had occupied before, hearing the music again, tasting and smelling the smoke, feeling the warmth of Mistress’ coat, and passing into a place without thought.

But filled with obedience.

Her bright and sinuous future. Her promotion.