Morning light slides across the white sheets, soft and butter. The l*ttle strawberries printed on c*tton look almost edible against her skin. A fresh Newport pack lies open between her knees. She taps it once, twice, watching you, then slides a single cigarette free with deliberate slowness, lips brushing the filter before teeth close gently around it.

The match flares. She tilts her head, eyes locking on the lens as the flame kisses the tip. The first pull is long and slow; smoke curls from her mouth like ribbon. She does not rush. She lets the cigarette dangle while one hand lifts her hair off her neck, arching just enough so the fabric stretches tight across her chest. The outline of both nipples presses through the weave, hard, small, perfect. She smiles, knowing you are tracing them with your eyes.

Now she props herself on one hip, cigarette caught between two fingers, and studies you. The camera catches the flecks of gold in her green eyes, the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth. She brings the Newport back to her lips, inhales until the ember glows fierce orange, and holds the smoke in her lungs while she shifts her weight. The movement makes her breasts sway beneath the thin c*tton; the strawberries distort and stretch.

She takes another drag, cheeks hollowing, and this time she runs her free hand down her throat, across her collarbone, letting her fingertips graze the neckline of her tank. The fabric is loose enough to slide. She toys with the strap, rolling it off her shoulder, then back up, then down again. Each adjustment shifts the c*tton across her nipples; they stand visibly erect, pressing urgent patterns against the strawberries.

The cigarette b*rns down to its first quarter. She examines it, turning it in her fingers, then brings it back to her mouth. Her tongue touches the filter, wetting it, before she seals her lips around it and pulls. Smoke fills her mouth; she opens just enough to let a thin stream escape, then inhales it back in a French drag, the smoke curling from her nostrils in delicate twin plumes. She has done this before. She knows exactly how it looks.

She shifts onto her knees, facing the camera straight on. The tank top gaps at the neckline; if you look carefully, you can see the shadow between her breasts, the hint of lace from a bra she is not wearing. She bounces once, experimentally, and her breasts lift and settle, the c*tton clinging to their weight. The motion makes her laugh, a genuine sound, and she covers her mouth with the back of her hand, cigarette still b*rning between her fingers.

She takes another drag, deeper this time, and lets the smoke pour from her mouth as she leans forward. Her face fills the frame, close enough that you can see the individual lashes, the faint freckles across her nose, the moisture on her lower lip. She holds the smoke in her mouth, cheeks puffed slightly, then pushes it toward the lens in a slow, steady stream. It billows across the glass, momentarily obscuring her, and when it clears she is smiling, pleased with herself.

She looks up at the ceiling, smoke drifting upward from the dangling cigarette, then cuts her eyes back to the camera without moving her head. The look is sly, knowing. She removes the Newport, examines the b*rn line, and takes another long pull. Her throat works as she swallows the smoke; her chest rises with the inhale, the strawberries straining across her nipples. She holds it, holds it, then releases in a slow, controlled exhale that she directs toward her own shoulder, watching the smoke curl around her arm.

She taps ash again, then brings the cigarette back to her mouth, not to drag yet, just to hold it there, the filter resting on her lower lip, her mouth slightly open. She looks at you through her lashes, waiting, drawing out the moment.

Finally she inhales, and as she does, her free hand slides down her side, over the curve of her hip, then back up, under the hem of her tank. Her fingers find the underside of her breast, lift it slightly, let it settle. She exhales through a smile, smoke escaping around the cigarette still perched on her lip. Her hand moves to the neckline, tugging it lower, stretching the c*tton until the upper curve of her right breast shows, pale and soft, the n*pple still hidden but the areola's edge just visible, that light brown circle promising what is beneath.

She removes the cigarette and bl*ws smoke toward the ceiling, watching it rise. She shifts her shoulders, making the tank top slide another fraction lower. Now both areolas peek above the fabric, those perfect brown circles framing the hard points of her nipples still trapped beneath c*tton. She looks down at herself, then back at the camera, eyebrows raised as if asking for permission.

She does not wait for an answer. She sets the cigarette in the glass dish, still b*rning, and uses both hands to grip the tank top's neckline. She pulls it down slowly, inch by inch, revealing herself. Her breasts spill free, heavy and round, nipples pointing slightly upward, dark pink and fully erect. She holds the fabric bunched beneath them, lifting them slightly, presenting them to the camera. Her skin is flawless, the soft weight of her settling against her ribs as she breathes.

She retrieves the cigarette, takes a drag, and holds the smoke in her mouth while she adjusts her position. Now she sits up straighter, shoulders back, breasts thrust forward. She cups them from beneath, one in each hand, the cigarette held between two fingers of her right hand, smoke trailing upward. She looks directly into the lens, mouth still closed, smoke pressing against her lips, then opens slightly and lets it seep out in a slow, deliberate leak.

She giggles, the motion making her breasts bounce in her palms. She takes another drag, deeper, and this time she exhales through her nose, the smoke streaming down across her own chest, curling around her nipples. She watches it, fascinated, then looks back at you.

She begins to move in a rhythm now, bouncing gently, her breasts lifting and falling with each small hop. The cigarette stays clamped between her lips, ash lengthening, smoke streaming from the corner of her mouth with each exhale. She keeps her hands supporting her breasts, presenting them, offering them, her eyes never leaving the camera.

This drag is the longest yet, her chest expanding fully, the ember b*rning bright. She holds it, her free hand moving to her breast, fingers circling her n*pple, pinching it lightly, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. Her eyes close for a moment, just a moment, then snap open and find the camera again. She exhales slowly, a thick column of smoke rising toward the ceiling, and her hand continues to play, stroking, teasing, making the n*pple harder still.

She switches hands, giving the other breast the same attention, cigarette b*rning down in her fingers. She is careless with it now, letting it dangle from her lip while both hands work her nipples, pulling them, rolling them, lifting her breasts and letting them drop. The smoke streams from her mouth with each exhale, pooling around her face, drifting across her chest like a veil.

She takes the final drag, the Newport b*rning down to the filter, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. She holds it, holds it, her chest pressed forward, nipples almost touching the lens. Then she leans closer still and exhales directly into the camera, a thick cloud of smoke that whites out the screen, obscuring everything, and when it clears she is smiling, her face still filling the frame, her bare shoulders rising and falling with her breath, the spent cigarette held loose in her fingers.

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