The Pipe

By la fee brune · Nov 19, 2015 · ·
  1. la fee brune
    He meets my gaze, and I know. That intensity that tells me, "It's time to smoke." He takes my hand, leads me to the mat. He knows how to strike the match just so, making an elegant show of it. He knows the Pavlovian response this elicits, the way that my panties begin to dampen as he begins his ritual. He takes the pipe in his hands, stroking it slowly before placing a fresh damper in the saddle. He cooks the chandu over the lamp, the dark, fragrant liquid sizzling in the tiny wok.

    Minute by minute, second by second, he watches me succumb. He knows the power he wields over me as he forms the opium into a perfect little cone and plunges the needle into the damper's hole, just as he'll plunge his tongue and cock inside of me later. He lifts the pipe, that grand hunk of bamboo, as I watch, riveted to him. I melt; I become as the chandu: warm, liquid, redolent with the aroma of sex, as he places the pipe to his lips and inhales, then exhales, the fragrant vapor. He has me where he wants me, and he knows it. He might be ordinary to the outside world, but here, in this room, on this mat, in the glow of the lamp, he is my king.

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    Author Bio

    la fee brune
    Opium fiend, bon vivant, and all-around pain in the ass.

    Annoying others since 1982.


  1. Tryptomaniac
    HOT DAMN PERRO 0_0 this turned me on soo much your man is lucky as hell what you just described is a dream of mine sooooo soooo sooooo hot and poetic I love this.
  2. ImALumberjackAndImOK
    I love the way you articulated this moment. Subtlety can be so much, and that feeling of being in control is equally intoxicating for me when it happens.
  3. mysticalmanatee
  4. Daze of Days
    Amazing poetry
    Loved it
  5. la fee brune
    Thanks! I'm glad you guys enjoyed it. :)
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