Sunday, 7:53 PM

Phillipe's was not the fanciest restaurant in town, but the buzz about the food was excellent. The owner, Phillipe Alphonso, had been the head chef at one of the best hotels in Shelbyville when he decided to strike out on his own. He had a desire to open a restaurant that was comfortable, not stuffy, and served the best he could cook. He purchased an old seafood restaurant when the previous owner had mysteriously sold it and left town. His new establishment had been open less than a month but already the diners were flocking to the large structure. At the rate the business was going, he hoped to make a return on his investment in less than a year.

The building had been completely rennovated and redecorated into the Italian kitchen of Phillipe's dreams and he had kept much the same waitstaff as the old restaurant. Pictures of Napoli, Sicilly and Rome hung on the walls, harkening back to what people assumed was Phillipe's ancestral homeland (Phillipe was, truth be told, born in Ohio to a family named O'Brien and had never even been to Europe, but he knew what people expected from him and acted accordingly.)

William Faust was an architect and had made the blueprints of the building when it was first constructed, some 20 years ago. He and Phillipe had struck up a friendship of sorts when he had been called in to redesign the kitchen at the hotel where the chef worked. When Phillipe bought the old Trilby's Seafood, he asked William to draw up new plans.

Unfortunately, that friendship was not going to do William and Marta any good tonight. Phillipe wasn't around and the place was packed. The hostess, Carole, was apologetic, but she simply couldn't accommodate the Fausts' request for a non-smoking table.

"I'm sorry," she said, obviously sincere. "But the wait's going to be about thirty minutes for non-smoking."

"We'll take smoking then," Marta insisted, not to be put off from her desire to try the food.

William, a militant anti-smoker, rolled his eyes. "Wait a minute. I'm not going to choke on cigarette smoke while I'm trying to eat and I don't want you tempted to start smoking again. It took me five years to get you to quit."

Carole interjected, "I'm sorry, Mr. Faust. But we could put you close to the air-conditioning vent. It should blow the smoke away from you."

"I don't know," William huffed. "I don't like smoking. Especially when I'd trying to eat."

"Oh come on," Marta insisted. "Just one time. I'm famished and I really want to try the Ravioli Portabello here."

"All right," he relented. "But at the first whiff of smoke, we're out of here."

Carole beamed and, grabbing two menus, led the couple to their table.

Carole had been right. The air conditioner, while a tad chilly, kept the smoke away beautifully. Marta got her desired dish and William ordered the chicken parmisana. They enjoyed their meal and idle chit-chat over wine in the course of about an hour. Marta pushed her plate away and commented that she didn't even want a cigarette, even after a good meal.

Almost on cue at that point, the air conditioner shut off and the smoke began drifting toward the table. William made a sour face as he detected the despised smoke. But then there was something else in with the smoke. Something indefinable. William had never smelled anything quite like it and he found himself inhaling deeply. He suddenly felt languid, as if he had been awake for days. His thoughts became disjointed and he slipped into a mild daze.

Marta, meanwhile, was making a face of her own. "Eww. Cigar smoke! I always did hate cigars."

William snapped out of the strange torpor that had filled his senses and looked around. He scanned the dining room until his eyes came upon a heavy-set black woman, her back to them. She was seated alone, smoking a big cigar. "There," he said, indicating the table where she sat.

Marta touched her husband's hand. "William, go and ask her to put out the cigar."

Faust nodded, absently. He was usually an easygoing person, but somehow the idea of going over there and giving the woman a piece of his mind appealed to him greatly. He stood up and placed his napkin on the table by his plate. "I'll be right back, dear."

Not even looking at his wife, William moved toward the offending odor. His legs seemed to move of their own volition and he made a beeline for the table where the woman sat. He crossed to the other side and faced her, clearing his throat. She looked up and a smile flashed across her face. She pulled back slightly from the table, as if giving William a better view of herself.

The woman looked about thirty, with long, light-brown hair that cascaded in long ringlets down the back and sides. At first he thought that she was fat, but now William could see that she was Rubenesque, with very large breasts and hips, but a smallish waist. She wore a tight, low-cut red silk dress with black lace up the sides. It was a short piece of clothing that barely covered her unmentionables and her crossed legs travelled from beneath it to black sky-high heels with laces that ran halfway up her surprisingly-shapely gams. The dresstop was very low-cut, showcasing her huge, pendulous breasts, which threatened to pop out of her push-up bra. She wore heavy, almost theatrical makeup and when she looked at him, her exotic eyes seemed to bore right through him. She had on dark, purple lipstick that drew attention to her large lips. In her hand, she had a long, thick cigar in a short, brown-and-black cigar holder between fingers manicured with extremely long nails. There was some pattern on the nails, but William couldn't quite make them out. They flashed and glittered like jewelry.

Faust stood there, gaping, until finally she spoke first, in a voice both husky and feminine. "Hello."

"Hi," William started, suddenly aware of himself again. "I couldn't help noticing that you're smoking a cigar."

"Yes," she agreed, blowing smoke at his face. Even from the distance between them, William could smell the oddly-enticing aroma. "And you came to say how much the smell pleases you."

"Yes. No. I don't know." William felt himself slipping into a daze again. His mouth was dry and his knees weak. He suddenly realized that he had a raging boner protruding inside his pants, tenting in a most embarrassing way.

The woman looked down and noticed it but chose not to mention it to him. "Have a seat," she purred, pointing at the chair next to hers with her long cigar. "Before you crumple where you stand."

William nodded and sat down, oblivious to his wife's expression of curiosity across the room. He was glad of the cover the table gave him, because the hard on was not going away. The woman again looked down at it and again said nothing about it.

"My name is Tatiana," she said in her silky voice. "What do they call you?"

"Faust," he whispered. "William Faust."

"Well, Faust William Faust," Tatiana chuckled. "What would you will of me?"

"My... My wife and I were enjoying our meal," he stumbled, "but, but your-uh, your cigar smoke..." His voice trailed off as he realized that those penetrating eyes were staring at him again. He lost his train of thought and just stared back a sheepish smile flicking at the corners of his mouth.

"And you came over here to give me a pice of your mind," she stated calmly, as if she had read his earlier thoughts. He nodded.

"What an interesting phrase," she commented thoughtfully. "A piece of your mind... Very well, William, do give me a piece of your mind."

Tatiana had a bemused smile on her purple lips. She drew from the end of the cigar holder and blew the smoke toward him again. This time the distance was short and William was caught full in the face. "Your wife doesn't like the scent."

"No," he whispered, savoring the smoke that clouded his face and, it seemed, his mind.

"But you like it, don't you, William?" she asked, her hand reaching up to his face. She traced the side of it with a long fingernail.

"Yes," he said softly, unable to deny it.

The black woman smiled wider at this. She indicated the cigar she held in the short holder. "This is an Onyx Reserve. A Churchill. Do you know much about cigars, William?"

"No," he breathed. "Nothing."

She seemed genuinely surprised. "A handsome man like you? Why, you should learn all about fine cigars. You should be smoking them yourself."

"Me?"

She smiled even more at him. It was now a big, wide, sexy grin. "Yes. You should be smoking at least one a day to start off with, I would think." She reached up again and gently rubbed the side of William's face as he involuntarily nodded at her comments.

Tatiana's head was blocking William's from Marta's sight, and the married woman couldn't see what was happening. It seemed as if her husband and the strange woman were chatting like old friends.

There was a pile of business cards beside Tatiana's plate and she placed a long fingernail on the stack and gently slid the top one across to William. "Now is not the time or place to discuss cigar smoking," she whispered, watching William's eyelids flicker but not close; his head bob and weave, "but you do wish to discuss such things with me. You will call me tomorrow, during the day, when you have time. Perhaps we can have lunch."

William nodded and absently put the card into his shirt pocket, his heavy-lidded eyes never once leaving hers. "Yes, of course."

Tatiana pulled out a cigar clip and cut the lit end of the cigar, letting it fall into an ashtray. "Go back to your wife," she said throatily. "Tell her: Mission accomplished."

William stood up and walked back to his own table in a slightly staggered manner. When he got there, he smiled a dopey smile at Marta. "Mission accomplished."

"Oh, good," Marta said, noting the strange expression on his face. "You talked to her for a bit. Who was she?"

William sat back down, his mind clearing rapidly. "Oh, no one. She was very polite when I explained how we felt about cigar smoking."

Marta mentally shrugged as she sensed her husband returning to normal. "Ok, cool. Do you want dessert?"

"No," he replied. "No, I think I'm ready to go home."

They gathered their things and walked out of the dining room. As they left, William glanced back at Tatiana to find the black woman staring at him. She almost imperceptively winked at him, then reached for her cigar to relight it.

Monday, 12:20 AM

The night was filled with passion and William was at his best, it seemed. He was incredibly horny and very attentive. Yet as he kissed and licked his wife's slim, white body, he was suddenly struck with a desire that she was more meaty. This was odd, because he had always been attracted to thin, milky-white women, even in high school and college. Now he wished that she was almost heavy-set. What was the right word? Rubenesque! Yes, that was it. For some reason he couldn't understand, he almost wished she hadn't stopped smoking, too. When they were finished, and both panting with effort, he felt himself missing her smoking her post-coital cigarette.

Images of the large black woman he had met at the restaurant came unbidden to his mind and he quickly pushed them away. He couldn't even remember her name, if she had told it to him, and he felt embarrassed and ashamed, allowing the thought of another woman to intrude on their lovemaking.

As they held each other, in that moment afterwards, when two become one, Marta looked up at him. "William, do you ever regret not having kids?"

He wiped sweat from his brow and held her closer. "Of course not. Where did that thought come from?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Just asking."

The conversation had come up occasionally during their sixteen-year marriage. Marta was unable to bear children. When she had learned that, she almost stopped the wedding plans. But William had held her and kissed away her tears and told her that it didn't matter; that he loved her for who she was, not what she could or couldn't do. He made things better for her and she loved him for it.

"Want to have lunch tomorrow?" she asked, gently massaging his dwindling manhood.

"Uh, no," he suddenly said, not sure himself why. "I have a business lunch tomorrow."

"Oh." She seemed mildly disappointed but quickly smiled lightly. "How about Tuesday?"

"Mmmmm," he sighed at her ministrations. "Tuesday sounds just fine."

"Tuesday," she sighed, snuggling close to him. She drifted off to sleep.

Monday, 8:55 AM

Faust & Gamble was not the most successful architecture firm in Shelbyville, but it was by no means the poorest. Business had been slow of late, true, but Jack Gamble and William Faust were smart men and had planned accordingly. They had more than enough money to ride the bad times and would never even consider laying off their three employees at this point.

Mack Johnston was in training to be an architect himself. A tall, thin fellow with black hair and what seemed an ever-present three-day growth of beard, he had a thin face and a ready smile. He was Jack Gamble's nephew and a very smart young man. He had spent some of his youth foolishly. He had used drugs and screwed up his chances at college. The best he could manage for learning his craft was taking night school courses and working for his uncle. He was doing well now and Jack had promised the younger man that he would help him with college tuition if he worked hard enough. Mack had been good to his word and was looking forward to starting at a state university in the fall.

Sylvia Court, the company accountant, was a woman in her mid 40's. She had known William Faust in high school, although they were separated by two grades. She had experienced two bad marriages and was divorced twice. She had finally learned to love her single life and was known to date the single men of her age with gusto. She was slim and tall and away from the office she was something of a flirt. She kept her coal black hair in a bouffant and always dressed professionally.

The youngest employee was Tara Manning. Fresh out of high school when she was hired, she had spent the last two years as a receptionist for the smal firm. She seemed a happy girl, but she was secretly very upset about her weight. She couldn't seem to lose it and seldom dated. She was very short but had large breasts and hips and a bit of a tummy. Her hair was long, straight and blond and she wore, as William thought, too much makeup. If she had any serious flaw, to his mind, it was that she was always outside, smoking one of her long Virginia Slims 120 cigarettes.

In fact, as he got out of his car, he found the young girl outside, lighting up what he was sure was at least her second cigarette. She was so short and her hands so small that the extra-long cigarette always looked even longer when she first lit one up.

"Tara," he said, nodding at her. "How was your weekend?"

"Not good," she said in her almost little-girl voice. "Denny and I broke up."

"Buck up, kid," he said, not unkindly. "Denny was a jerk. You can do better."

"Can I?" she asked, a hint of desparation in her voice.

Sometimes her neediness surprised the older man. "Well, sure. Sure! A lot better. Don't give up, girl."

The young woman smiled a relieved smile. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Faust."

He nodded and she returned to her cigarette.

Smoking had always peeved William and he sometimes wondered how he had managed to overlook it in his wife. Perhaps he hadn't overlooked it, since he was always after her to stop. Marta would try and fail on several occasions, starting back in less than two weeks. Finally, this last time, she had succeeded to quit and William was very proud of her.

As he walked into the office, Mack was the first to greet him. "Hey, Mr. F!" he said, walking toward a file cabinet by the door to William's office. "How's life?"

William laughed. "Like a box of chocolates: All messy inside and not fit for human consumption."

Mack laughed and began rifling through the files.

"William, hun," chirped Sylvia from behind him. "Would you mind looking at this?" She handed him an estimate for an upcoming project.

Faust quickly looked over the figures and let out a low whistle. "Jacoby and Sons isn't going to like this."

Sylvia shrugged. "That's what Jack came up with. He said we couldn't go any lower and still do it right."

William nodded. "He's right, of course. Jack doesn't skimp on materials."

"Ok," she said, winking at him. "You know best."

William waved as she walked away. He noticed her pants were a little tighter than normal and made a mental note to take her aside later and point it out. No sense letting her get unprofessional.

William walked into his office and shut the door. He looked over at his drafting table and the computer beside it. He had a project going for a local bank, but he was well ahead of schedule. He didn't feel like working this morning, for some reason, so he turned on his computer and loaded his web browser. When Google came up, he typed in the word "cigar" and began searching the web. He skipped over the first link, "Cigar Monitor" and started at the second. He spent a few minutes visiting various cigar-related websites, mostly ones that sold cigars. Then he went back to Google and for a reason he couldn't understand himself, he typed in "Onyx Reserve" and "Churchills". He began reading and learned that "Churchill" referred to the size of the cigar, named after Winston Churchill, who favored the longer, thicker smokes. William's mind seemed on overdrive and he read voraciously, absorbing as much info about cigars as he could.

After awhile, he looked at the clock and noticed that it was 11:25. For some reason, he recalled that he was supposed to do something, but he couldn't remember what. Suddenly he felt a small weight at his breast. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a card. It was pink and scented and bore a logo of a cigar in an ashtray. It read:

Tatiana St. Claire

Tobacconist

Cigar Glamour

1421 Rue de Madrid

Shelbyville

(888)555-1414

Where had this come from? He didn't recall getting a card. And it was in the pocket of a shirt he had put on this morning, so he must have picked it up today. He stared at it for a minute or so, then shrugged and put it in his pocket. He returned to his web searching, then after a few minutes, he picked up the phone and dialed the number from the card.

After a few rings, someone picked up the phone on the other end. "Hello?" The voice on the other end was feminine, deep and silky-smooth. From out of nowhere, Faust's penis popped to attention at the sound of the voice.

William sat in silence, not sure what to do or say. He was oddly excited but he wasn't even sure why he had called the number. He wasn't even sure who the hell Tatiana St. Claire was, but when she spoke, he suddenly remembered that, despite not knowing who she was, he knew he was supposed to have lunch with her.

"Hello?" came the voice again, snapping him out of his revery.

"Oh, um hello," he said, fumblingly. "This is... uh, this is William Faust calling for... " He looked at the card again. "Tatiana St. Claire."

"This is she," purred the voice on the other end. William didn't know why, but his cock twitched slightly at the sound of it.

"I, uh, that is, I was wondering-- if it's alright with you, that, uh, that is-- if you were free for lunch..." His voice trailed off into uselessness.

"Of course, Mr. Faust," came the sweet, almost mocking voice on the other end. "Why don't we meet at Phillipe's at 12:30?"

"Um, how about, uuuh, how about someplace else? I had dinner there last night," he said weakly. For some reason, he felt a fool resisting her suggestion.

"Oh, I never eat anywhere else," came the smokey voice from the receiver. "I'm afraid I must insist."

"Yes," he said dreamily, slipping into some sort of fog. "Of course. Whatever you say, Ms. St. Claire."

"It's Tatiana," she said in a slightly whiney voice that made his cock even harder. "And I simply must call you William... For now."

"Yes," he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Anything you say, Tatiana."

"Yes," she agreed. "I know."

The line went dead at that point and William hung up his end, not the least bit insulted by the abrupt end of the conversation. He just sat at his desk for about five minutes, absently rubbing his hard on through his pants.

Monday, 12:15 PM

William walked into the restaurant and looked around at the lobby. No one was here. He wasn't sure why he had hurried here so quickly nor why he was so eager to be early. He wasn't even sure who he should be looking for. When he noticed that no one was there to greet him, he wandered into the smoking section. His eyes immediately locked on the only other inhabitant, the same black woman he had seen last night, seated at the same table as before. She wasn't smoking, but had an unlit cigar in her cigar holder, sitting on the table beside her silverware. She beconed him with a crook of her finger and William found himself walking in her direction.

She was wearing a very short, purple dress of silk, slit up both sides. The neckline plunged to her naval and her voluminous breasts threatened to pop out of it. She was wearing long, white gloves that were fingerless, allowing her to show off her ultra-long fingernails and their patterns. The woman was wearing white, high-heeled boots made of a stretchy material that came up to mid-thigh.

She smiled at him as he approached. "Hello, William."

"Tatiana?" he asked, stopping in front of her, his hardness rapidly growing in his pants.

"Of course, darling," she purred, stretching languidly. "Won't you sit down?"

William complied and she reached for the cigar, placing the end of the holder in her thick lips. "Light me, darling."

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling his pockets. "I don't smoke. I don't have a..."

"Oh, really," she sniffed, rolling her eyes heavenward. She picked up her own lighter from the table and handed it to him. "We're going to have to do something about that, William."

Faust ignited the lighter and held if for her. Tatiana puffed on the La Gloria Cubana Crown Imperial until it was fully lit, then sat back and eyed him.

"Well," she said, contentedly puffing on her long cigar. "Here we are."

"Yes," he agreed, not sure where this was going. "Here we are."

"And do you know why?" she asked him as the waiter approached.

William shook his head. "No. Why?"

"My father used to say," she began, "that the difference between men and women was way they looked at the opposite sex."

"We'll just be having drinks," she told the waiter. She indicated her own glass. "I have a Tom Collins. Bring William here a Seven and Seven." The waiter nodded and left.

"I don't usually drink this time of day," he lied, not really wanting one.

"Oh William, you're so transparent," she sighed, blowing smoke at him. "Of course you do and you like Seven and Seven."

William inhaled at the smoke she had blown and nodded. "I like Seven and Seven," he echoed without really understanding why. He didn't really. He'd never even tasted one, but now he was anticipating it with relish.

Tatiana looked him over. "Would you like a cigar, William?"

Faust again shook his head. "No, thank you. I don't smoke."

The beautiful woman nodded at him. "Yes. Too soon, perhaps. We'll work on that.

"Anyway, as I was saying: the difference between men and women.

"When a man first looks at a woman, his mind immediately accepts or rejects her based on his visual impression. He will tell his friends 'That's a beautiful woman' or some such, if he's interested. He may say it more crudely than that, but that's essentially what he says."

She continued, "But a woman. Ah, a woman looks at a man and says 'Hmm. He has possibilities. Change this, change that, he'd be perfect.'"

William nodded, not really listening to her words but absorbing them, nonetheless.

"And that's why you're here, sweet William. Do you understand?"

"What?" William asked, blinking. The waiter appeared and set the drink down before him, which Faust readily drank down.

"It doesn't matter, I suppose," she sighed, rolling her cigar in the ashtray, ashes dropping from it. "The fact is that I saw you from across this room last night and I wanted you. And what little Tatiana wants, she gets." She winked at him. "We just have to make a few changes."

"Changes?" William's head felt light as a balloon. He didn't understand what was going on, but he could feel himself developing something for this woman. Something, but what? He though about it and then it hit him. He could feel himself becoming fascinated with the earthy creature before him. Infatuated. Obsessed.

Tatiana ran a long fingernail against his face, as she had the previous night. "Now, first of all, I don't much care for cleanshaven men. You're going to have to grow a beard. A goatee would look best, I think."

"Yes, Tatiana." William almost swooned from the shivers her fingernail was producing.

"And that name. William. It sounds so stuffy. So formal. I think I'll call you Billy. Do you like the name?"

"Not really," he replied.

"Well, you like it when I call you Billy. No one else."

"Yes, Tatiana." William had stopped bothering to think and simply switched to automatic.

She looked at his attire. "Oh, and business casual is ok for most people, Billy, but I much prefer silk suits on a man So much more masculine and refined. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Tatiana," he sighed, rubbing his face against her coaxing hand. His cock was rock-hard in his pants and the blood meant for his brain was rapidly finding its way down there.

Tatiana leaned in close to him, a wicked smile upon her face. "Oh, and one last thing, Billy."

"Yes, Tatiana?"

She placed the end of the cigar holder between his lips. "Inhale."

William took a deep, measured drag of the cigar smoke and was suddenly different. He didn't know how or why or in what way, but he knew that he was different. All thoughts of his marriage fled his mind and he was only aware of the exotic creature before him who seemed to desire him. Tatiana was smirking at him and as he released the smoke, he smirked back, winking at her.

"And Billy?" she asked, her lips lightly brushing against his.

"Yes, Tatiana?"

"Sometimes I may want to call you 'Big Daddy'. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," he said, his face growing an evil grin to match her own.

"And when I do, you can call me 'pussycat'. Would you like that... Big Daddy?"

"Anything you say, pussycat," Billy said, reaching for the cigar to take another drag. "Anything you say."

They found a motel nearby and checked in under the name Billy Faust. As soon as they were locked behind the door, Billy grabbed the sexy black woman and began kissing her, his hands roughly pawing at her big tits; pulling them out of the dress as he began suckling on them with abandon. Her teeth nipped playfully at his shoulder and her nails dug deep into his back, leaving marks. Billy didn't care.

She reached down and cupped his cock and balls, eliciting a gasp from her eager lover. "I may want that in my ass later," she husked, "but for now, I want it up my pussy. Do you have a condom, Billy?"

"No."

"Good."

She was everything Billy had ever wanted: earthy, sexually aware, a slut in the bedroom and a looker in public. Maybe William had never wanted those things, but Billy did. Billy was a bad boy. Tatiana had explained it to him.

She lied on the bed, spread her legs, and made Billy crawl on his knees to her. She lit a cigar in her holder and smoked it as he ate her out, blowing the smoke down on her new lover as his tongue danced within her slit. Again and again he laced into her wet cunt until she screamed in orgasm and coated his face with her juices.

Then she spun over and thrust her ass into the air, wiggling it at him in an obvious invitation to sex. Her hand went between her legs and her fingers spread her wet, willing sex. "Fuck me," she gasped.

As Billy mounted her, he understood why she used the cigar holder. She was able to clench the holder in her mouth and smoke the cigar while he fucked her from behind. Billy would have to get one for himself.

He slammed into her tight black pussy with his thick white cock, calling her a slut and a whore. She swore back, telling him to fuck her good with his married cock, calling him a bastard and an adulterer. She told him how much she craved married cock and as he spewed his potent seed inside her unprotected mound, she came, screaming and swearing that she would take him away from his wife. As Billy came, he laughed loud and long at their wickedness.

When Billy finally took Tatiana home, he fucked the shit out of her for another four hours, eventually leaving her spent and exhausted on her bed in a mixture of their juices. Then he went home to his wife.