This is what rapture looks like. This is your joy: the sight of your stunning, smoking Goddess. I know how weak it makes you, the sight of a cigarette dangling from My perfect red lips. You can't look away as I take long drag after long drag, savoring the silver smoke before releasing each lungful: blowing brilliant clouds of smoke right into your upturned face. I can't help but laugh at the pathetic expression on your loser face. This is what you ache for. This is what makes you hard, your body shuddering with pleasure. You're hopeless for Me and My silver smoke