After a few weeks, Jeff just accepted his fate. His owner smoked like a chimney. Jeff's bowl was perpetually warm from his near constant use. He half expected he would remain a pipe until his owner died from lung cancer.
It was interesting how he anthropomorphized his new life. He fantasized that he was in control. His owner slave was addicted to tobacco, and was infatuated with Jeff's body. His fingers were always reaching out and fingering Jeff's shaft even when he wasn't smoking. Jeff was in orgasmic heaven every time the slave filled his bowl with tobacco, lit it, put his full wet lips on Jeff's shaft and sucked and puffed. It was not really bad lying around all day except when you were having sex 6-7 times a day and being fondled when you weren't.
Jeff was aware of friends, family members and doctors admonishing the owner slave to cutback smoking. Since he had gotten his favorite pipe, he had gone from 2-3 smokes a day to 5 or more. He'd run out of tobacco a few times, and rushed out to buy more in the middle of the day or night. Now he had two humidors, so he couldn't run out.
"Da' ya promised you would cut back on your smoking!" the college aged son complained while home on break.
"I have cutback!" Owner slave insisted.
There was shouting and door slamming. Then the owner slave filled Jeff again and lit up.
The night came when the son was going to fly back to college. The owner slave had purposely avoided smoking after 4 that day. He had made the pretense of cleaning his pipes. So Jeff had a pipe cleaner that felt like a fuzzy baseball bat shoved inside him and rubbing him raw.
Jeff sat some what traumatized in the rack waiting to be used. Hours past. He might become human if 12 hours past? The thought was now distasteful to him. He could barely remember being human.
The door to the library room opened. A shadowy figure approached in the dark. It was his owner, Jeff hoped. A hand grabbed him. He was shoved unceremoniously into a coat pocket. Then he was outside in a car moving away.