How Harriet Learnt to Smoke and Fuck and Love Jesus

 

Prologue

Report:
Harriet Danes
Upper Sixth Form
Kunt College
July 2049

Dear Mr & Mrs Danes,

Harriet has had a very successful first year in Sixth Form. Her marks so far in her chosen ‘A’-Levels – English Literature, French and Fucking – have been very impressive. But quite apart from her academic success, she has proved herself to be a fine example of a New Enlightenment young lady, liberally fucking many of her student colleagues as well as several of the academic staff. She has also availed herself of many of the enrichment activities available here at Kunt, and has become a stalwart of our twice-weekly Porn Club. I am delighted that she has chosen to take Further Fucking in her second year as a fourth ‘A’-Level. She has also signalled her interest in applying for a place at the Royal Academy of Fucking in autumn 2050 – an ambitious goal, but one which should be within her grasp if she applies herself assiduously to her studies.

As you may be aware, the government is eager to ensure that young people keen on a professional career in fucking should develop skills in a wide variety of sexual fetishes, so as to make them more employable in an increasingly competitive fucking market. Therefore, the Further Fucking syllabus requires a choice of fetish, and in Kunt College that choice needs to be finalised by no later than Tuesday 21^st September. However, Harriet seems somewhat unclear as to what her chosen fetish might be. Perhaps this is something you could discuss with her over the summer, so that she can start working on it once term resumes in the autumn?

Kind regards,

Miss P. Poussée
Deputy Head of Fucking | Tutor, Fuckindor House
Kunt College, London
“Proud to be Enlightened: Valuing and Nurturing the Fuckers of the Future”

 

PART ONE:
Autumn

Chapter One:
Anybody Got a Match?

“Brothers and sisters, let us fuck one another, for Pleasure is from God, and whoever fucks knows God. Anyone who does not fuck does not know God, because God is Pleasure. If we fuck one another, God abides in us and His Pleasure is perfected in us. By this we know that we abide in Him and He in us, because He has given us of His Horny Spirit.”

Reverend Dicky Fumbel looked up from his Bible, a mien of ecstatic purpose on his clean-shaven face, as he addressed his congregation. “Brothers and sisters in Christ, were you listening? Did you hear? Did you allow the voice of God to speak to your heart? God is Pleasure. And Pleasure is God! And that is the great gift, the inestimable gift, offered to us – to us, brothers and sisters – free of charge, in Christ Jesus! You have heard the testimonies of so many others who have made that great step of saving faith before you. Do you doubt them? Or will you accept His call now?

“Now, I know that some of you may be worried, may be scared. Some of you may be thinking, ‘How can I be a true fucker for Jesus? Surely I am not worthy! I’m not enough of a slut, not enough of a stud. My cock’s not big enough, my cunt’s not wet enough, my asshole’s not wide enough! Lord, I am not worthy! Well, if that is the case, then, I invite you to come up to the altar now. Come, brothers and sisters. If you need healing, if you need prayer, if you need a word of prophecy, to strengthen you on your fucking journey, to raise you up to the heights of filth and fuckery that deep down you know you owe to God, then remember the words of Scripture –

“Come, all you who are horny, come; and you who have no pussy, come and eat! Why spend money on what is not pussy, and your labour on what does not make you cum? Listen, listen to me, and you will delight in the tastiest of cunt. Give ear and come to me; fuck, that you may live!

“Come now – yes, you, my brother!” Reverend Fumbel gestured to a young man in the congregation who was hesitating at the edge of the aisle. “Why hold back, brother? Come up now, and God will give you what you need!”

The young man, lanky and slightly pimply, with sandy hair, dressed in faded blue jeans and a T-shirt, looked nervous as he approached the altar. “My brother,” Reverend Fumbel called into his microphone, so that the entire congregation could hear, “have you not read what Jesus said?

“Do not worry about your life, saying, ‘Who shall I fuck?’ or ‘Whose cunt shall I eat?’ or ‘Whose asshole shall I lick?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Fucker knows that you need them. But seek first His Kinkdom and His filthiness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

“Tell me your name, brother!” demanded Reverend Fumbel, as the boy reached the altar.

“Michael,” muttered the boy.

“Michael – tell us what you do in life: are your studying, are you working?”

The young man shuffled awkwardly, before muttering, “Well, I… I paint things… and I draw things…”

“An artist!” cried the preacher. “Michael, you have the potential to be an Artist of Lust! Why are you scared to answer God’s call to be His Consecrated Fucker?”

The boy muttered something inaudible into the preacher’s ear – but the latter was not about to allow it to stay private. “Brothers and sisters!” he bellowed into his microphone, as the young man turned bright red with embarrassment. “This young man says he has trouble getting a hardon!” The congregation clapped and cheered in encouragement. “Are we disheartened?”

“Fuck no!” shouted the crowd.

“Fuck no indeed!” echoed Reverend Fumbel. “Because we know that God heals all who come to Him, for His purposes! Michael, get your cock out, now!”

The boy continued to blush red, but unzipped his fly to reveal a rather small, flaccid cock. “Brother Michael, be not afraid! I call upon Deaconess Rahab to approach the altar!”

Blond deaconess Rahab was clad in a nothing more than see-through lace surplice, through which her ample breasts were visible, swaying and jiggling. Her exposed bald pussy glistened as she approached.

“Michael, isn’t Rahab beautiful? Doesn’t she reflect God’s glory perfectly?” Michael nodded, but his cock remained soft, dangling rather pathetically down the front of his jeans. “Doesn’t the sight of her hot cunt just make you want to fuck her to Heaven and back, Michael?” Michael nodded, his eyes fixed on Rahab’s hairless gash as the deaconess lay back on the altar and spread her legs wide for all to see – but his cock remained flaccid. “Don’t you just want ram your stiff dick deep inside that wet fuck-hole and paint her insides with your cum, Michael?” bellowed Reverend Fumbel.

“Oh yes, please,” responded the boy, “but… but…” He gestured hopelessly at his soft dangling member.

“See, brothers and sisters, what a pathetic unfuckable wimp Michael is?” cried the preacher. “Look at that diddy little dick! How can something like that ever hope to fuck a glorious hot cunt like Rahab’s? How can God ever be happy with that?!” The congregation groaned in response, as they studied Michael’s poor derided penis. “But have faith, brothers and sisters! Have faith, Michael! For God can heal the lame, the blind, the lepers – and even the pathetic unfuckable droopy-cocked wimps of this world!” Reverend Fumbel stretched out both his hands towards Michael’s cock, turned his eyes heavenward, and called out, “Lord Christ Jesus, healer of the sick and the weak and the unfuckable, I beg of you, come down now to heal our brother Michael. Reach out your hand, stroke his poor weak dick, make it whole and healthy again. Transform it, Lord, as only you know how, into a big dick, a huge dick, a great massive motherfucking miracle of a cock – stiff, thick, throbbing, Lord, with a big purple head, Lord, oozing pre-cum – so that he can fuck Rahab’s wet cunt like she deserves! AMEN!”

The chorus of “Amens” and “Hallelujahs” from the congregation had barely finished when, miraculously, Michael’s cock began to twitch, and grow. Soon it was stiffening, and thickening, and its foreskin was retreating naturally to reveal a large, beautiful, throbbing cockhead, glistening with pre-cum – just as the preacher had prayed. Michael gasped and fell to his knees: “Oh God! Oh thank you Lord!” he cried, as the entire congregation burst into extemporaneous praise, lifting their arms to Heaven, crying out with words of acclamation and worship, and calling out loud in tongues of men and of angels.

Deaconess Rahab grinned in anticipation, as Reverend Fumbel cried out: “See, Michael, God is true to His word. Jesus is the Healer, the Saviour, the Fucker of Fuckers! See the cock He has given you. Now pick thyself up, Michael, and fuck that hot cunt!” Michael needed no further persuasion. He strode confidently over to the altar, grabbed Rahab’s ankles to yank her legs apart, aimed, and plunged his cock deep into the deaconess’ dripping fuck-hole.

“Fuck yeah!” screeched Rahab. “Oh Jesus, oh yeah, fuck me!” she continued, as Michael rammed his miraculous cock in and out of her wet gash, pounding hard and deep, his heavy balls slapping noisily against her buttocks. Between the screaming of the crowd, the ongoing ecstatic prayers of Reverend Fumbel, and the tight caresses of Rahab’s exquisite gloopy fuck-depths, there was no way Michael was going to last long: soon he cried out in ecstasy as his cock exploded, releasing wave after wave of hot cum deep into Rahab’s cunt. The deaconess screamed, rubbing her clit hard with the palm of one hand as she too climaxed.

“HALLELUJAH” screamed the crowd, as they burst into applause, praising God and marvelling at the miracle. Their fear banished and their faith thus rekindled, several more people stood up and made their way up the aisle towards the altar, praising God with arms and voices raised, some of them tearing off their clothes as they came.

But one young lady held back. She sat in the back row of the congregation, dressed as one would expect for someone attending a church of the Enlightenment: indeed, her blonde hair, pink stilettos, short pink latex skirt and crop top seemed to announce her as a well brought-up modern bimbo, a true Jesus fucker. But, though she did not stand, the Reverend Fumbel saw her, and knew, and his heart was moved. “Sister, I see you, sister,” called the preacher, gesturing to the girl through the crowd. “I can tell that you are troubled in your walk with Jesus Christ. How can the Lord help you today? Come forward, sister, and unburden your cunt to the Lord.”

Slowly, the girl stood. Unlike Michael, she did not seem unsure of her own sexual prowess, swaggering forward, swaying her ass like a true slut. The preacher noticed this: “Look, brothers and sisters, look at this filthy whore. Look at the way she dresses. Look at the way she walks. Look at that broad jaw – just made for sucking cock! And those tits – are they GM, pretty cunt?”

The girl smiled broadly. “Yes, Reverend Dicky, my parents are really Enlightened: they genetically modified my tits in vitro. I really like them, don’t you?” she grinned, kneading her full breasts through her top to prove the point.

“So how about showing them to us properly, Jesus-whore?” suggested the preacher – and Harriet did, pulling her crop top up over her large breasts to display her wide pale areolas – eliciting a series of scattered “Hallelujahs” and “Praise the Lords” from the congregation. “And tell us your name, sweet slut.”

“Harriet,” replied the girl, tossing her hair seductively and jiggling her tits some more.

“Harriet,” replied the preacher, “I’m so glad you chose to come forward today. See, some people think that just by being a fucking slut all their troubles are over, that nothing can go wrong in their walk with Jesus. And you look like a filthy fucking slut if there ever was one!

“Oh yes, Reverend Dicky, I’m a total whore. I’m doing Further Fucking at Kunt College. And I love to fuck – anyone and everyone!” smiled the girl.

“That’s the spirit, Harriet! As it says in Romans 2: ‘God does not show favoritism – but glory, honour and peace for everyone who fucks.’ But tell me, then, Harriet, if you are such a faithful fucker for Jesus, why have you come forward? Unburden your heart to the Lord, Harriet.”

Harriet looked pensive for a moment, before saying, with evident caution. “Well, Reverend Dicky, my only problem is that, I’m going back to college next week, and for my Further Fucking course I have to choose a fetish – but I’m having real trouble: nothing seems to attract me, nothing gets my cunt wet other than straight fucking. My classmates all seem to have found fetishes which turn them on; even my best friend likes it when I piss on her face. But me… nothing! Is there something wrong with me? Can I be a true fucker without a fetish?”

A collective sigh of empathy rose from the congregation, and the preacher nodded supportively. “Well, Harriet, you ask a good question. These days, even though we live in Enlightened times, we can get so hung up on kinks and fetishes that we can lose sight of what is truly important. I tell you this from the bottom of my heart, Harriet: I don’t believe you have to have a fetish. Indeed, I’ll go as far as to quote Titus 3 to you: ‘When the goodness and fucking-kindness of God our Saviour appeared, He saved us, not because of kinks done by us in horniness, but according to his own mercy, by the fucking of regeneration and renewal of the Horny Spirit.’ See? Some people pursue fetishes because they are not biblically grounded in pure fucking, in pure Pleasure. But a Christian slut does not need a fetish, Harriet, because a Christian slut knows what is truly important – which is to let her cunt, and her throat, and her asshole be ravaged by every hard dick she can. Do you see?”

Harriet’s face broke into a broad relieved smile. But before she could express her thanks, Reverend Fumbel went on: “May I pray for you, sister? As it says in James 5, ‘the cum of a righteous man is powerful and effective.’ Suck my cock, Harriet, so I can pray for you!”

As Harriet knelt on the carpeted floor and fed Reverend Fumbel’s thick cock into her wide mouth, the preacher lifted his hands and eyes to Heaven and began to pray: “Lord Jesus, we know how much our sister Harriet pleasures you, how much you accept and honour her as your devoted slut, your filthy fucking whore. We praise you, Lord, for making her so, for her big tits, for her wet cunt, and for inspiring in her the desire to pursue fucking as her holy vocation. And we ask you, Lord – if it is thy will – to help our sister Harriet to find wisdom regarding her kinks: either to find her true fetish, and soon, or to be at peace with being the dirtiest, filthiest, cunt-fucking whore she can.”

“Yes Lord!” moaned the congregation in response.

The Reverend Fumbel sped up his face-fucking. “And so, Lord, I anoint my sister Harriet with cum, for your glory, in Jesus’ name!” The congregation moaned and cried and sang and fuck-talked in tongues, as the preacher pulled his cock from Harriet’s mouth and began jerking on it, spraying her face with thick ropes of Jesus-cum. Harriet squealed with delight, her tongue lapping, her lips sucking, as she revelled in the holy ecstasy of feeling her face plastered with the fuck-blessings of the Almighty.

And in that moment she knew deep in her heart that, fetish or no fetish, all would be well, and that she pleasured God.

*

“Was church good?” called a voice from the kitchen.

“Yeah, fucking!” enthused Harriet, as she shut the front door behind her. “You should come sometime!”

“Oh, you know, all this religion stuff is not really for me, cunty-pie,” replied her mother, as Harriet entered the kitchen. The older woman was seated on a high stool at the breakfast bar, dressed in a black leather basque and knee-length boots, wielding a seven-tailed whip, while her husband knelt on the floor, naked bar a dog-collar and chain around his neck, eating her cunt. His bare buttocks were red and gleaming, as was the head of his stiff cock, which he was stroking gently with one hand. “No no, don’t stop, Henry,” corrected his wife, looking down and giving her husband’s buttocks another gentle flay of the whip.

Henry squealed, and buried his face deeper into his wife’s vulva.

“Did you get any help with your fetish?” asked Genevieve.

“Well, Reverend Dicky prayed and sprayed over me, and I know the Lord is faithful, so if it is His will He will reveal my path to me,” replied Harriet with confidence.

“If you say so, dear,” smiled her mother indulgently. “No no, Henry, tongue deeper, that’s it,” she added as an aside, giving his raw buttocks another playful stroke with the whip and using the chain to pull his face deeper into her crotch, before turning back to her daughter. “Why don’t you just follow in our footsteps, sweet cunt? I mean, there’s no nicer fetish than BDSM, you know? It’s got everything: pain, fear, humiliation, degradation – what more could a nice girl like you want?”

“Yes, I know, Mummy. But it just doesn’t get my cunt wet – and if it doesn’t do that, it can’t be for me, can it?”

“Well, what other fetishes have you tried at school?”

“Oh, all sorts: food, WAM, enemas, farting, leather, rubber, balloons, fur, tickling, piss…”

“Oh, piss!” interrupted the older woman. “Doesn’t your friend Janey like getting peed on? Have you tried that?”

“Well, I don’t mind peeing on her when she asks me to: she likes that. But whenever she’s done it to me I haven’t quite seen the point. It just doesn’t get me wet… uh, I mean, of course it gets me wet, what I mean is –”

“Well, all I can say,” interrupted Genevieve, “is how lucky you are to grow up in Enlightenment times; we were ever so coy about such things when I was young. How society has changed!” She broke off to encourage her husband with another strike of her whip: “Henry, arsehole now, remember – up and down with that tongue, clit to shit!” Henry moaned in painful pleasure, his backside glowing brighter than ever as he stroked his cock and began dutifully slurping the full length of his wife’s perineum.

“Well, anyway, Mummy, I’m going over to Janey’s this evening, all right? I’ll be back late.”

“Going to do some nice fucking?”

Harriet grinned. “Yeah, probably. She says her Auntie Mabel’s given her a new strapon she wants to try out on me. And we might watch a movie on her screen.”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I presume her parents will be keeping an eye on you, making sure you don’t watch anything inappropriate?”

“Oh Mummy, of course! Janey’s family only ever watch porn,” Harriet lied, “nothing weird.”

“Well, that’s lovely, dear. But you know me, it’s a mother’s job to check that her fuckslut daughter isn’t being led astray. Your Daddy and I wouldn’t like to hear that you’d been watching… well,” she grimaced, “‘crime dramas’ or ‘love stories’ or anything horrible like that – would we, Henry?”

Tongue still buried in the sweet space between cunt and asshole, pre-cum leaking down his fingers, Henry muttered in the affirmative, before his wife gave him another flay with her whip and commanded, “Now, darling, finger in my arse while you eat that cunt…”

*

Janey’s home was not far away from Harriet’s – though it was significantly more modest. “Are your parents really out all evening?” giggled Harriet as she walked in the front door of the two-up-two-down terrace.

“They’re not back till about eleven,” responded Janey, tossing her long black hair mischievously and wiggling her delicate slender torso. “They’re going to a dinner party.” Janey’s parents were not as well educated, or as well-to-do, as Harriet’s: indeed, their daughter was only able to attend Kunt College as a result of a very generous scholarship from the Ministry of Fucking. Consequently, Janey was, it must be admitted, not quite as well brought up as Harriet – which the latter girl found quite exciting. While Henry and Genevieve encouraged their daughter to enjoy respectable pastimes like fucking, masturbating, and watching porn, Janey’s parents had a more alternative, hands-off approach, allowing Janey to indulge in more suspect hobbies such as playing the clarinet, amateur dramatics, and even philately.

“A ‘dinner party’ – what’s that? Is that where you fuck while eating dinner? Or you fuck your dinner? Or both?” Harriet cackled.

“No, it’s where a bunch of friends eat a meal together and, like, converse and stuff – no fucking required.”

“Jesus, Janey, that’s weird. I mean, it’s the Enlightenment now, for Christ’s sake. We’re allowed to fuck anywhere and everywhere we like. Are your parents really going to spend the evening just eating and talking? I mean, that’s so antisocial, so… gauche!”

“I know, my parents are weird. I mean, they like fucking, don’t worry – but they kinda keep it… private.” Harriet looked horrified, but Janey continued unabated. “Anyway, I’ve got some really naughty shit for us to do!”

“Oh Jesus, Janey, what are you plotting now? I thought today I was gonna piss all over you, and you were going to fuck me with your new strapon!”

“Oh, we can do that too, Hat,” smirked the skinny dark-haired waif. “But guess what? This guy I told you about in Soho who sells all that pre-Enlightenment stuff under the counter – I went there yesterday, and bought a classic movie from the 1940s, a ‘romance’!” She cackled wickedly.

Harriet gasped. “Fuck, Janey, is that legal? I mean, that sort of stuff’s banned, isn’t it? A movie like that might have ‘love’ in it, or even monogamy – that’s seriously dangerous shit, girl! I mean, my parents would kill me if they found out I’d been watching stuff like that. They might even confiscate my dildo!”

“Well, they’re not gonna fucking find out, are they, Hat? We’re gonna be really naughty and watch a ‘love’ story – and be totally led astray. Come on!”

In fact, if Harriet was expecting Janey’s “classic movie” to be shocking from the outset, it did not take her long to be disappointed. It was in black and white, grainy, and quite dull: the opening scene featured a bunch of rather ugly men going fishing in a boat for what seemed like a very long time. “This is so boring, Janey,” she whined. “Come on, let’s fuck instead. Go get that new dildo of yours!”

It was while Janey was upstairs retrieving her dildo, however, that something happened on screen which sent a jolt through Harriet’s body. There was a girl on the screen, standing in the background by an open door, in a rather drab room, with a strange white tube dangling from her lips. She was, Harriet thought, potentially quite sexy, though dressed in what any modern Enlightened girl would consider ridiculously modest, even prudish, clothing. “Anybody got a match?” said the girl in husky tones, before one of the ugly fishermen tossed a small box across the room to her, which she caught deftly in one hand.

“Oh Jesus fuck!” exclaimed Harriet, just as Janey reappeared naked in the living room, a large black strapon protruding from her crotch. “What the fuck’s she doing? What’s that thing?” Harriet squealed, pointing at the screen, her lips trembling with excitement.

“Oh – she’s smoking a cigarette,” explained Janey knowledgeably, as she began to spread lube on her dildo. “I’ve seen it before in old movies. People used to do it in pre-Enlightenment times, but then it was banned: I think it was supposed to be bad for your health or something.”

“Health… oh fuck… oh fuck, but Janey, it looks so sexy! Don’t you think it looks sexy, girl?” Harriet’s eyes were dilated, her lips trembling, her heart racing, her cunt beginning to tingle – and she had temporarily lost interest in the dildo. “Play that scene again, Janey, I gotta see it again!”

Janey was bewildered by the dramatic nature of Harriet’s behaviour, but she humoured her friend, rewinding by a couple of minutes to let her watch the smoking scene again. This time Harriet was ready with her fingers up her skirt. “Oh fuck, Janey, I gotta come to this,” squealed Harriet, as she fingered her now wet pussy and began rubbing her clit hard. She had never seen anything like this in her life before, and it was, she felt in that moment, the hottest thing imaginable. She had to come, and she had to come now. She grabbed the remote control with slimy fingers so she could slow the movie to quarter speed, all the better to revel in the sheer sensuality of the actress’ every move. On screen, the girl dangled her cigarette from her lips with a sexually-charged nonchalance Harriet had never seen before, tightened her lips with blowjob-perfect timing to take her first drag of her cigarette just as the match flame illuminated her fine features, tossed the used match over her shoulder with the same devil-may-care nonchalance, and exhaled a perfect cone of creamy white smoke as she turned and left.

Harriet came, fast and hard. Janey watched, bewildered but impressed, as her best friend whimpered and twitched through her orgasm. “Jesus, Hat! That’s amazing! D’you think you got a smoking fetish, bitch? I didn’t even know that was a thing!”

Harriet was still panting. That orgasm had been good – but she wanted more. “Oh Jesus, Janey, is there more smoking in this movie? Please, find me some more smoking! Please, quick! Fast forward it, I need to see that girl smoking some more!”

It took a few minutes for Janey to find the next scene featuring the same sexy girl smoking (“It says here her name is Lauren Bacall. Never heard of her, have you?”), as Harriet whimpered in sexual desperation. “There!” she squealed. “Look! Oh, look at the way she puts that in her mouth, look at the angle it makes dangling between her lips – oh fuck, that’s so fucking hot! Please, Janey, fuck me from behind while I watch! I need you to fuck me while I watch the smoking!”

Under normal circumstances, Harriet would have spent some time admiring Janey’s new dildo and making sure to give her friend as much reciprocal pleasure as she could. But these were not normal circumstances, and Janey could tell that. She pushed Harriet forward over the coffee table, clicked quarter speed on the remote, and began to slide her strapon in and out of her blond friend’s bald wet cunt.

Harriet was in ecstasy. She watched as the girl took her first drag on the lit cigarette, cheeks hollowed with desire and desperation, head tilted slightly upward in ecstasy, the first mouthful of creamy cum-white smoke disappearing with a sharp snap deep into her throat, as if she were gasping in sheer oral pleasure. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Harriet whimpered, “fuck me, Janey, fuck me hard!” Now the girl on the screen was exhaling in profile, a long thin stream of immaculate white shooting – no, ejaculating – across the room towards her interlocutor. Harriet screamed with joy – joy at the sheer beauty of what she was witnessing, joy at the way it made her heart pound, her clit tingle, her cunt drip and, soon, very soon, joy at the orgasm which the combined vicarious smoking and strapon fucking caused to charge through her body. “FUUUUUCK!” she wailed, feeling her cunt spasm wildly while watching the last wisps of smoke pass from the actress’ lips.

Harriet was spent – but she was still trembling with desire, whimpering in pleasure at the mad fetish-induced orgasm she had just experienced, her mind swirling with the sheer sexual beauty of what she had just witnessed. Yes, she thought, I have found my fetish. And not just my fetish, but my vocation. I need to learn to smoke, I need to be like that Lauren girl on the screen, I need to smoke and fuck and smoke and cum. This is my goal, my purpose, my meaning. This is my new identity!

Still in ecstasy, sexually possessed in a way she had never been before in her life, Harriet rubbed her cunt, turned her eyes to Heaven and prayed, “Thank you, Jesus, for revealing my fetish to me. You are my Lord, my Master, my Fucker. I promise you, Lord Jesus, I will learn to smoke, and I will smoke and fuck, and fuck and smoke, for You, for Thy glory, forever and ever. Amennnnn…” she whimpered, as another spasm rippled through her body.

“Jeez,” muttered Janey.

Chapter Two:
The Very Fucking Time of Night

“Miss Poussée, Miss Poussée!” It was barely eight o’clock on Monday morning, when Harriet burst into the office of the Deputy Head of Fucking at Kunt College.

“Miss Danes!” exclaimed the teacher in horror, removing Peripatetic Porn Instructor Abdul Ahss-Faqr’s stiff brown cock from her mouth and peering over her glasses at the interloper. “We do not barge in unannounced in this College. We knock, like well brought up young ladies, do we not?!”

“Oh… oh sorry, Miss Poussée, I’m really sorry, I just was so excited, I wanted to tell you…”

“Harriet! Will you at least let Mr Ahss-Faqr and me finish our curriculum planning meeting before you say any more?” interrupted Miss Poussée. “This should only take a minute!”

Harriet, suitably chastened, bowed her head. “Sorry, Miss; shall I wait outside?”

“No, that’s all right, Harriet: nothing confidential here,” replied Miss Poussée kindly but firmly. “But please stay silent until we have finished. Then you can enthuse to me all you like, all right?”

Harriet did as bid, whilst the two teachers continued their planning meeting. “I am hoping, Miss Poussée,” said Mr Ahss-Faqr, a large burly dark-skinned man, as he fed his cock back into his colleague’s face, “to concentrate on blowjobs for the next couple of weeks in Porn Club – would that fit in all right with what you are doing in your ‘A’-Level Fucking classes?”

“Mmm,” mumbled Miss Poussée in the affirmative, nodding her head as best as she could with a very large cock deep in her gullet. She was clearly very good at her task, as she was able to hold the whole of Mr Ahss-Faqr’s cock in her mouth, balls dangling against her chin, all the while caressing his glans with her pulsating throat whilst tickling up and down its full length with her tongue inside her mouth. Harriet was impressed, and made a mental note to work harder on deepthroating this term.

“Good,” replied Mr Ahss-Faqr through his black beard. “So, I thought I’d do a quick survey of cocksucking in the modern age, starting with Classic Era porn and the Second Wave, then progressing through the rise of facefucking and deepthroating around the turn of the century, then seeing how this gradually moved into the age of gag and slobber – oh, that’s good, Polly, yeah nice,” he broke off momentarily as his cock twitched appreciatively against his boss’s tonsils.

“Don’t forget puking,” Miss Poussée reminded him, removing his cock briefly from her mouth and leaving a long gloopy trail of saliva dangling from her chin.

“Oh, puking never did anything for me, Polly,” replied Mr Ahss-Faqr, as he fed his dark shaft back into her face, “but I suppose it was a bit of a craze in the thirties, so I guess I’d better cover – oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m –”

“On my face, Mr Ahss-Faqr,” instructed Miss Poussée calmly – though she hardly needed to say anything, as she was totally in control, sliding her head off his cock and pumping the slimy brown shaft fast with one fist, the glans inches from her nose. “And remember they get points for covering all the standard blowjob variants,” she added in a business-like manner, as Mr Ahss-Faqr’s cock began to spray, “including threesomes, blowbangs, bukkake…”

Harriet could tell why Miss Poussée was a Deputy Head and Mr Ahss-Faqr a mere unqualified Instructor, for even as the latter lost control, muttering delighted obscenities under his breath as his eyes rolled and pleasure washed over him, Miss Poussée maintained strict professionalism, carefully directing each spurt of cum so that, by the time the cock had finished squirting its load, her features were decorated perfectly: one lens of her glasses obscured with a large glob of cock-cream, a short string of cum dangling delicately from the end of her nose, cheeks and forehead adorned with a neat lattice of jizz (one stripe straying delightfully into her perfectly coiffed hair), and a thick beard of cock-snot hanging from her delicate chin. Despite the care Miss Poussée had put into her self-decoration, she did not omit to remind Mr Ahss-Faqr, even as she sucked and nibbled the last few drops of cum from his glans, “Please remember to fill in the attendance sheets on time, Abdul; I know the boys will all turn up, but some of the lazier girls have a tendency to skive off blowjob lessons. Funny, that: the boys never miss the cunt-eating classes…”

Abdul Ahss-Faqr was still panting in pleasure as Polly Poussée dismissed him with a cum-coated flick of her head and turned to Harriet. “Now, Miss Danes, what was it you wanted to tell me?” she asked, as the instructor zipped up his trousers, picked up his files, and left.

“Miss Poussée, guess what? I’ve discovered my fetish!” Harriet grinned.

“Oh, that is good news!” exclaimed the teacher. “And?”

“Smoking!” Harriet trilled, dancing on the balls of her feet.

There was a pause, as Miss Poussée furrowed her brow, removed her glasses, and began to lick Mr Ahss-Faqr’s semen off the lenses with methodical concentration. “Oh,” she said thoughtfully.

“Is there a problem, Miss?” asked Harriet, her excitement deflating rapidly.

“No, not a problem as such, Harriet,” replied her teacher, “but, as you may know, smoking has been illegal since the late ‘20s, and has only recently been re-legalised, after the discovery of smoke-immune lung technology. So you would need to undergo a Lung-Safe® Medical Modification procedure – very simple, just an injection or two, I think. Tell me, have you already begun smoking?”

“No, Miss. I mean, I wouldn’t even know where to get the, er, the… cigarettes.” She pronounced the last word proudly and carefully, to make sure she got it right. “But I saw it in a movie, and, oh my God, it was so fucking beautiful, I just had to jerk off right then and there, and then –”

“In a movie, Harriet? What kind of movie?” Miss Poussée’s frown grew deeper, as she replaced her glasses and began wiping cum off her nose and cheeks with her fingers and then licking them clean with continued efficiency.

“It was an old one, starring this girl called Lauren… Fuckall or something, and she was so sexy, I just couldn’t –”

“Harriet! Are you telling me that you were watching a pre-Enlightenment ‘romance’? A ‘love’ story?” Miss Poussée’s shock was palpable. “You know perfectly well that such things are illegal, and quite unsuitable for someone of your tender age! Do your parents know about this?” Miss Poussée’s cum beard swayed on her firmly set jaw.

Harriet looked shamefaced. “No,” she replied in a small voice. “You won’t tell them, will you, Miss?”

Miss Poussée sighed. “I have a suggestion, Harriet,” she continued, as she scooped cum off her chin and neck and proceeded to slurp it up systematically. “If you are interested in the smoking fetish, then the first thing we need to do is to find you some suitable viewing material to learn from – no more of this ‘love’ nonsense: you need to watch some proper smoking-and-fucking fetish films, something to set you a good wholesome example. Now, there hasn’t been much of this sort of material produced in recent decades, for obvious reasons, so we might need to dig up some porn from the first couple of decades of the century – which was the last time smoking was legal and commonly practiced in this country: it was pre-Enlightenment times then, so you’re not allowed to browse for it yourself, but I’ll have a word with the school librarian and ask her to look through the archives and select some appropriate material. Then, if you are still keen on the fetish, we will speak to your parents, reassuring them of course that this fetish will complement, rather than detract from your fucking studies. Then we can get your Medical Modification done as soon as possible, and apply for permission for you to start smoking yourself. How does that sound?”

Harriet clapped with joy. “Oh, Miss Poussée, that’s wonderful! I am so happy! How can I thank you?”

“Well, there’s just time for you to eat my cunt out before Assembly. Good practice, don’t you think, for your upcoming mocks?”

*

The rest of the week passed very slowly for Harriet. Janey lent her her copy of the movie – which she revealed was called “something like To Fuck and Fuck Not, I think… not sure, really” – so she could watch it as much as she liked, despite Miss Poussée’s, and potentially her parents’, disapproval. She did so for the first couple of days, every spare minute she had, replaying the smoking scenes over and over, so she could revel in the sheer sensual beauty of every move nineteen-year-old Lauren Bacall made as she smoked. And as she watched, she rubbed her pussy hard, making herself come again and again, even timing her orgasms to coincide with the actress’ sexiest smoking moves – perhaps a hollowing of the cheeks, or a luxurious open-mouthed inhale, or a long sensuous cone exhale. As she watched, and came, she marvelled, tears of joy and desire running down her cheeks, longing for the day when she too could learn to perform such glorious acts, would be able to revel in the sheer pleasure which young Lauren was surely experiencing as she filled her lungs again and again with that beautiful sexy smoke.

It was Wednesday afternoon before Miss Poussée presented Harriet with a small bundle of disks, sporting unassuming titles like Smoking Blowjobs I, or Smoking Lesbians II. “Hi Mummy, hi Daddy,” Harriet called out as she rushed past them on the way in through the front door and up the stairs towards her room, “Miss Poussée gave me some new smoking flicks to jerk off to. I’ll be down for dinner!”

“Oh, how sweet, Henry, don’t you think?” commented Genevieve Danes to her husband, as she slid a thick ribbed strapon into his anus whilst slapping his buttocks with a small paddle. “I don’t know about all this religion business, but I am ever so glad she’s found a fetish to please her, aren’t you?”

Henry, moaning with the incomparable pleasure of pain and humiliation, nodded.

Harriet had barely shut her bedroom door before she was naked, tossing her white school blouse and short plaid skirt onto the floor while clicking on the remote control to start playing Smoking and Fucking III. On the screen there appeared a slender girl with dark hair and a pierced belly-button, dressed in a polka-dotted bikini, already writhing with sexual desire, stroking her pert tits through her bikini top and caressing her packet of cigarettes in anticipation. Like Lauren Bacall, she dangled her cigarette seductively from the corner of her mouth, but unlike Lauren her horniness was not subtle or implied but full-on, like a modern Enlightenment girl: hot, desperate, writhing; and when she lit her cigarette she left it dangling, the first drag of smoke bursting sideways from her lips as she inhaled deeply again. “Oh fuck!” exclaimed Harriet, as her cunt, already dripping with pleasure, twitched in anticipation. “That’s so fucking hot!”

Harriet knew that she ought to try to pace herself, to not climax too fast, to edge herself at least through the first scene before coming – but her resolution was in vain: she managed to keep her pussy-rubbing fairly gentle for the first few seconds, but this girl (“Megan”, according to the cover notes) was so sexy it took barely a minute for Harriet to degenerate into a swearing, writhing, dripping mess of cunt. Megan was now speaking into an old-fashioned telephone, with an early twenty-first century chav accent, to an unseen fuckbuddy: “Baby, I’m so fuckin’ horny, I’m just sitting here smokin’, finkin’ of yer big cock.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette, filling her open mouth with a churning ball of white smoke before breathing it down her throat. “Come home quick, babe – or I’m just gonna have to rub my cunt off while I smoke…”

Harriet watched, rubbing her pussy hard as she revelled in Megan’s every move. She had barely got past the blowjob part of the scene – Megan filling her lungs with smoke before blowing it out in perfect cones all over the man’s cock, or exhaling through her nostrils as she sucked it with her bright red lips – before she came again. And once Megan climbed on top of the cock and began pounding her cunt up and down, exhaling in puffs throughout her exuberant dirty-talk, Harriet gave up trying to hold back. She came, and came, and came, squealing, screeching and swearing with joy as her cunt spasmed again and again.

The scene over, Harriet lay back, satisfied, happy and grateful. “Lord Jesus,” she whispered towards the ceiling, “thank you. I bless you, I honour you, and I praise you. Please let my MM appointment come through soon, so that I too can learn to smoke and fuck, for your glory. Amen.”

“Harriet, dinner!” called her mother from downstairs.

*

Harriet spent every spare moment of the rest of the week watching her new stash of smoking porn. Not just watching, but studying, admiring, learning – and coming. Skinny dark-haired Megan remained her favourite – especially for her amazing joy-filled open-mouthed smoke-exhaling facial, and for the cum dripping down her chin as she continued to smoke and suck post-head cock at the same time, adorning her fine features with a chiaroscuro combination of dripping cum and perfectly controlled smoke sculptures: fine cone exhales, open-mouth inhales, cascading French waterfalls. But she also loved the way dark-haired Lolly talked wall-to-wall chav-filthy as she spread her cunt and fucked herself with a big purple vibrator, exhaling ecstatically toward the ceiling. And dark-skinned big-titted Jasmine made Harriet’s cunt juice instantaneously with her sloppy, dribbly smoking blowjobs, creating an impeccably artistic balance between smoke and spit, cloud and dribble, exhale and gag, breath and slime, even as she mouthed off, “Oh yeah, babe, fuck my face while I smoke all over your big cock!”

When the weekend came, Harriet made over her habitual Saturday morning jerk-off session to rewatching her smoking porn. As she slid her favourite pink dildo in and out of her hot cunt, she watched, and studied, and admired, and came again and again, revelling in the ecstasy of a fetish which pleasured her to the core of her being. “Lord Jesus,” she prayed at church on Sunday, “thank you for revealing yourself to me in smoke. Now, if it be thy will, let me too learn to become a smoking slut for thy glory!”

*

Harriet’s prayer was answered the very next day, as she was sitting in her ‘A’-Level English Literature class listening to her teacher declaim, while slowly stroking his cock:

‘Tis now the very fucking time of night,
When assholes gape, and cunt itself squirts out
its juices to this world: now could I eat hot pussy…

“Yes, Nurse Coxucca?” A pretty pale face adorned with a red nurse’s cap had appeared at the classroom door.

“So sorry to interrupt, Mr Gropecunt,” replied the nurse, “may I borrow Harriet Danes for a minute?”

Harriet leapt out of her chair with excitement.

“Good news, Harriet: your Lung-Safe® MM has arrived!” explained Nurse Coxucca as they walked across the quad towards the college Medical Centre. “Now, it will work best if I give you the injection as you orgasm. So, when we get to sick bay I will ask you to jerk off for me on the dildo couch while I prepare the injections – is that all right?”

“Of course, Nurse Coxucca,” grinned Harriet, stripping off her skirt as soon as they arrived at their destination. The dildo couch was a medical gurney with a large black cock-shaped dildo, already liberally smeared with lubricant, protruding vertically from its centre, and an oval face hole at the top end, so that Harriet could lie on her front, her head straight and her face looking comfortably through the hole at the floor, her pussy speared by the dildo, and her round pink ass mooning at the ceiling.

“Oh fuck, this is nice,” she enthused towards the floor, idly counting the patches of congealed boy-cum on the lino, as she allowed her cunt to slowly fill with eight inches of smooth latex.

“Isn’t it?” replied the nurse. “Now fuck yourself with that dildo while I prepare the injections.”

“Will it hurt at all, Nurse Coxucca?” Harriet asked, as she dutifully slid her juicing cunt slowly up and down on the dildo.

“No, don’t worry, my dear,” smiled the nurse, filling a syringe and flicking it to remove any bubbles. “Especially if you’re coming at the same time, it shouldn’t hurt at all.” She slapped both Harriet’s buttocks in turn, making them jiggle and turn slightly pinker, even as they rose and fell on the dildo.

“And then I’ll really be able to smoke, will I, Nurse Coxucca?” Harriet was beginning to pant, as her pleasure grew and she ground the dildo deeper into her juicing cunt, rubbing it hard against her clit.

“Smoke and fuck to your heart’s content, Harriet.” The nurse kneaded her buttocks, then slapped them again, this time slightly harder.

“Is it just one injection, Nurse Coxucca?” panted Harriet, “Oh fuck…” She was whimpering now with pleasure, both from the dildo sliding in and out of her cunt, and the warmth spreading through her ass cheeks.

“It’s two, actually, but I will have to administer them simultaneously, one in each buttock. Do you think that will be OK, Harriet?” The nurse had finished preparing the second syringe, and was now leaning over, her face buried in her patient’s ass, licking and biting both raw buttocks in turn as they rose and fell, searching with her tongue for the perfect spots into which to plunge her needles.

“Oh yes, Nurse Coxucca, I love being doubly penetrated in my buttocks!” Harriet was squealing with delight, as she felt the pleasure build in clit, cunt and ass cheeks at the same time.

“Good, Harriet. Now come for me, sweetcunt. I’ve got two needles ready to ram into your fat round jiggly ass cheeks as you come.”

Harriet sped up her cunt-grinding to take herself toward the edge. “Oh yes, Nurse Coxucca, I’m coming, Nurse Coxucca, it feels so fucking good, Nurse Coxucca. Now ram those fucking needles into my ass cheeks, turn me into a nasty fucking smoking fetish whore like Jesus wants me to be!” she screeched.

The nurse lifted both her hands, each one wielding a large syringe containing Harriet’s promised MM medicine. “Take this, filthy smoking bitch!” she shouted, plunging both needles deep into her fat raw ass cheeks.

“Oh yes, oh fuck, that feels so fucking good, Nurse Coxuccca. DP me with those needles – FUCK YEAAAAAAH!” And Harriet came, ecstasy and pleasure and pain flooding through her all at once, as the nurse emptied her two syringes deep into the flesh of her pink teenage ass.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” panted Harriet, as she came down from her orgasm, feeling both pleasure and pain gradually subside, and the warmth from her injections spread slowly outward from her buttocks to suffuse her whole body.

Eventually she breathed, “Can I turn over now, Nurse Coxucca?”

“Certainly, Harriet. And while you get your skirt on, let me go and get you your cigarettes.”

“My… my cigarettes?” Harriet heart leapt with excitement. “Can I start smoking now? Or do I have to wait for the MM to take effect?”

“You need to wait at least twenty-four hours,” explained the nurse, as Harriet pulled her skirt back on. “Would you like me to help you with them? I’ve never smoked before, of course, but I have some Ministry of Health training videos we could go through together…”

“Oh no, that’s all right, Nurse Coxucca. I’ve been studying a lot of smoking videos. I think I know how to do it.”

“That’s fine, Harriet,” replied the nurse, as she handed her a packet of cigarettes. Harriet took it reverently, curtseying slightly, her jaw trembling with delight and trepidation in equal measure. “This should last you a week or so, I think,” continued the nurse. “And then from next week, I am told, the government will be allowing supermarkets and corner stores to sell them to anyone like you with a Lung-Safe® MM Certificate: they are trying to encourage smoking take-up in the young, as a cool new fetish for young fuckers.”

“Cigarettes from corner stores! Whatever next?” giggled Harriet. “But seriously, there are only, like, twenty in this packet: that’s barely three a day. That won’t last me a week! I’m planning on going to town on these, Nurse Coxucca!”

“Well, be careful, Harriet. They contain nicotine, you know. That’s both what makes them pleasurable and what makes them addictive. But you might not like the feeling at first, and it will take you a couple of weeks at least to build up your tolerance. So, I don’t think you’ll get through more than a packet in this first week.”

Harriet felt sure the nurse was wrong, but shrugged. “Addictive, huh? How does that work?”

“Ah, Harriet, addiction is the source of the greatest pleasures in our world. You’re addicted to fucking, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, totally, of course!” Harriet looked at the nurse with a “so fucking what?” sort of look.

“Well, to have a fetish is to be doubly addicted – which means double pleasure. And to be physically addicted to your fetish, as you will become to nicotine, means triple pleasure. You’re going to have an amazing smoking life, Harriet Danes!”

Harriet lifted her arms skywards. “Thank you, Jesus!” she cried, as tears of gratitude began to flow down her cheeks.

Chapter Three:
Gonna Lose My Smoking Virginity

The next twenty-four hours passed very slowly for Harriet. Tutor time on Tuesday morning featured a short film on the history of the New Enlightenment, concentrating on the invention of Flexible Fertility Technology in 2023, Medical Modification in 2025, and Genetic Modification in 2027 – all of which had culminated in the Societal Reconstruction Act of 2031, which allowed parents, for the first time, to select Genetic Modifications for their offspring in vitro. Gratefully, Harriet kneaded her large beautiful GM tits, but her mind was elsewhere: to be precise, on smoking.

Harriet’s first proper lesson was double Further Fucking. Sadly, this week’s lesson was light on practice and heavy on theory. Miss Poussée was reading out excerpts from E. J. Cuntslicker’s A Brief History of Fucking:

An Enlightened society, we all now know, depends upon the radical separation of “love”, child-bearing and pleasure – and the recognition that once they are separated mankind naturally seeks what is truly most important: Pleasure. “Love”, like the state, must wither away! This was the genius of the Great Enlightenment…

But Harriet’s eyes glazed over: her mind was still on smoking.

French, with Madame Grossebite, featured one of Harriet’s favourite poems:

Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où durcit ma grosse bite,
Je jouirai…

But Harriet spent her time whimsically rewriting it – though admittedly the alexandrine evaded her:

Aujourd’hui, à l’heure où se mouille ma belle chatte, je fumerai…!

Eventually, the bell rang, and Harriet skipped home from school with a rarely-felt anticipatory joy. The pack of cigarettes had lain reverently on her dressing table for the past twenty-four hours, in pride of place on top of her Bible, waiting for her Medical Modification to take full effect.

“Smoking, Mummy!” she called to her mother as she dashed past. Genevieve Danes was in the living room, dripping hot candle wax on her recumbent husband’s clamped nipples, as he slowly stroked his stiff dick. “Hi Dad!” Harriet added an afterthought, as she leapt up the staircase, two steps at a time.

“Now, calmly, calmly, Harriet,” she instructed herself in vain, as she picked up the cigarette packet to examine it. It was some four inches long, with what looked like a highly sophisticated vintage triangular pattern on it in a pale gold hue, and the words “Marlboro Lights 100s” printed on it. I guess that’s the brand name, Harriet thought to herself: she had seen a variety of different designs in her smoking videos, but had never been able to examine any of them closely enough to form any opinions. Wrapped in cellophane, the packet looked pristine, untouched, pure. I’m gonna open up this virgin packet of cigs, she thought, grinning cheekily. I’m gonna fucking deflower it, gonna lose my smoking virginity now, today – oh God fuck! She moaned with desire and anticipated pleasure.

Harriet peeled off the sealing strip and the top part of the cellophane from the packet, before gently prising open the flip-top lid. What greeted her took her breath away: twenty white cigarettes nestled snugly in their packet, the filter ends elegantly inscribed in gold with the word “Marlboro”, in silent but irresistible invitation. Fingers trembling, Harriet carefully removed one, thereby instantly destroying the perfect tight symmetry of the packet. I’ve deflowered it, she smiled. There’s no going back now!

Harriet held the beautiful white cylinder to her nose and sniffed it deeply. Oh fuck, that’s amazing! she thought, for the fragrance was full and earthy, like rich tea, or dry autumn leaves. I wonder if it’s that good when you light it? She put the filter end of the cigarette between her lips and turned to her bedroom mirror to see what she looked like. “Oh fuck!” she whimpered out loud – for greeting her from her mirror was the sexiest sight she had ever seen. She was still herself, blonde and buxom and beautiful, dressed in her school blouse and short plaid skirt. But the white tube now dangling from her lips had transformed her: this was Harriet Danes, smoking slut, looking as sexy as all those other wonderful smoking sluts she had been admiring since the preceding weekend, from Lauren “Fuckall” to Megan and Jasmine and Lolly and the rest of them. She pouted her lips, so that her dangle looked even more sultry than ever. “Oh f’ck,” she muttered again. The cigarette jiggled sexily between her lips as she spoke. “OH FUCK!” she exclaimed in delight – and the cigarette accidentally almost dropped from her mouth, only just held in place by the saliva on her lips adhering to the paper of the cigarette.

Oh fuck, she thought again – but this time it was not an expression of excitement, but of frustration. I haven’t got any fucking matches! Keeping the unlit cigarette firmly grasped between her lips, she ran downstairs. “M’mmy!” she called, “c’n I b’rrow s’me m’tches?”

“What’s that, cunty-pie?” replied Genevieve Danes. Her husband’s nipples were now fully coated, and she was proceeding to drip hot wax on his stiff cockhead, while he groaned with painful delight. “Oh look, how sexy!” she exclaimed, as she took in the sight of her daughter’s dangling cigarette.

Harriet grinned, but removed the cigarette from her lips to repeat the question more clearly: “I need matches to light my cigarette.” She brandished the white cylinder, her eyes announcing her excitement.

“Of course, sweetcunt. I’ve got my candle lit now. Here.” Genevieve tossed a box of matches towards her daughter – and Harriet caught it one-handed, as deftly as Lauren Bacall, and beamed with pride.

Back in her bedroom, Harriet stood in front of her mirror again, admiring the way the cigarette enhanced both her beauty and her sexuality. She held it between index and middle fingers, the way she had seen it in the movies, posing with it poised just in front of her half-parted lips. Then she dangled it from her mouth again, admiring the contrast between the white end and her moist red lips. “OK, now let’s light this fucker,” she muttered, glorying in the way the cigarette jiggled between her lips as she spoke, whilst removing one match from the box. She struck it, but – “Fuck,” she muttered – it didn’t light. She tried again, and this time it worked. Slowly moving the lit match towards her face, she concentrated hard – Fuck, I’m going cross-eyed! – to ensure that flame and cigarette tip met. Her heart skipped a beat in excitement.

But the cigarette didn’t light. There was a faint smell of charred tobacco leaf, but no smoke. “Fuck, I forgot to breathe in!” she mumbled. “Gotta draw hard while holding the flame to it – like Megan does when she’s horny!” she reminded herself. “And then take a deep inhale, to fill me up with sm–FUCK!” she swore, as the forgotten still-lit match began to scald her fingertips; she shook it out urgently.

The next attempt worked better. The match lit immediately, and Harriet aimed just right with the flame, the cigarette stiffening upwards as she gripped tighter with her lips and sucked in deeply. She shook the match flame out and gripped the cigarette between two fingers, filled her mouth with a large churning ball of virgin smoke, removed the cigarette from between her lips, and, mouth open just like Megan, she inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs.

“FUUUUUCK!!!” Harriet hadn’t even managed to inhale a quarter of the smoke before she was gagging and coughing frantically, instinctively expelling as much as she could from her body. “Jesus, what the fuck?!” she began to exclaim, before realising that, in her panic, her cigarette seemed to have disappeared. “Where the f–” But then she saw it, dropped on the floor in her panic, beginning to burn a hole in her carpet. She pounced to rescue it, swearing, “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!” as she rubbed the scorched patch with her foot to extinguish it.

“You all right, cuntling?” called Genevieve from downstairs.

“Fine, Mummy!” Harriet lied, calling through her door.

“How’s your smoking going?

“Oh, getting there… I’ll show you later, Mummy, all right?”

Harriet sat on the floor, holding the still burning cigarette firmly in one fist, assessing the situation. Jesus fuck, she thought. This is harder than I thought. Nurse Coxucca wasn’t lying. I hope I haven’t made a bad mistake. She didn’t have long to wallow in any self-doubt, though, for her cigarette was continuing to burn, and a head of ash was forming at its tip. Fuck, thought Harriet, I need one of those – what are they called? – “ashtrays”. She considered running downstairs again to ask her mother, but felt a bit embarrassed at the prospect of advertising her continued lack of smoking progress to her parents. So she got up and made her way into the bathroom. I can flick my ash down the toilet for now, she reassured herself.

It was as she stood in the bathroom that she noticed the smell of the burning cigarette: acrid, sharp, but fascinating. She breathed in deeply: the smoke was now filling the room, giving her reflection in the bathroom mirror a slightly mysterious air. The odour was strange, but continued to attract her. No, I could get used to this, she thought. I just need to take it gradually on the inhaling for now. She dangled the lit cigarette between her lips again. The smoke got in her eyes, and she began to leak tears. She adjusted the cigarette so it hung out of one corner of her mouth, self-protectively shutting the eye on that side but watching herself with the other. Oh fuck, that is hot! she thought. So sultry, so nonchalant, so totally “fuck you”! Her lips trembled, as she tentatively took another drag, filling her mouth with a churning ball of smoke, but cautiously blowing it out without inhaling. OK, that worked – but I’m not going to get a proper long cone-exhale like Lauren unless I inhale. Maybe just a little bit?

She took another drag, held the cigarette between her fingers again, and watched the smoke swirling around in her open mouth, before taking a slow, cautious, shallow open-mouthed inhale, taking care to breathe in some normal air along with the smoke. That was better. It still rasped on the way down, she felt slightly nauseous and dehydrated, and her head began to pound and spin – but this time she exhaled from her lungs, and watched in awe as an admittedly thin stream of white smoke issued from her lips, struck the bathroom mirror, and bounced off, spreading in all directions. Oh fuck, that’s hot, she thought. So fucking hot, in fact, I can feel my pussy juicing…

Harriet reached under her school skirt with her left hand and found her fuck-lips, already slick and flaring, and slipped her middle finger in-between. “Oh fuck!” she muttered. This smoking makes me so horny! She took another drag of the cigarette, and this time was able to inhale a bit more than last time. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” she squealed under her breath, and was amazed to see smoke emerging from her mouth in little white puffs as she swore. She opened her mouth wide, exhaling the rest in one wide column, which obscured her reflection in the mirror.

“Oh fuck! That’s so fucking hot!” she moaned. The cigarette was beginning to burn down, but Harriet was feeling hornier and hornier, and was determined to come on her smoke – just like Lolly in the videos. She gripped the cigarette tight between her lips, dangled it out the side, and pulled her blouse up so she could knead her tits with her right hand even as her left rubbed her clit and frigged in and out of her wet cunt. She inhaled again, but this time kept the cigarette dangling between her lips. The smoke hurt her throat, but she resisted the temptation to gag, took the whole drag deep into her lungs, held it there whilst she rubbed harder and faster at her cunt, and exhaled through her nose. Two thick streams of smoke issued from her nostrils, bouncing off her tits. “Oh yeah, oh fuck!” she mumbled at the sight, still gripping the cigarette between her lips. “‘M gonna f’ckin c’me, f’cking c’ming, J’sus f’ck, f’cking c’ming!” she squealed, as smoke wafted from her lips and nostrils, billowing around her face and hair. She felt sick, her throat hurt, her lips were dry, her eyes stung, and her head pounded – but the sheer filthy pleasure of watching herself smoking, the rapidly diminishing cigarette end dangling sluttishly from her lips, was too much to resist. She watched herself come, panting and squealing with joy as her cunt spasmed and smoke swirled around her.

Harriet Danes collapsed onto the floor of the bathroom in spent, painful, mind-fucked ecstasy. Holding the nearly spent cigarette butt between the fingers of one hand, she brushed ash off her clothes and tits with the other, panting, breathless, nauseous. She dropped the cigarette butt into the toilet, heard it fizz, smelt the rank odour of wet ash. It was only then that she noticed that everything stank of smoke: her clothes, her hair, her breath, the entire room. She sniffed her fingers, and they gave off a double stink: as well as tobacco smoke, the strange heady smell of spent nicotine. She felt sick, crawled over to the toilet bowl, and waited just in case, in the meantime gazing in fascination at the now submerged cigarette butt, yellow at the filter (Fuck, is that the shit I was breathing in?) but disintegrating slowly from the burnt end.

Harriet felt filthy, fetid, thirsty, sick. How the fuck am I ever going to get used to this, she thought, never mind get addicted to it? And yet, her head was spinning, her mind was buzzing, lit, glowing with awareness and energy. She had just had one of the best orgasms ever – and the memory of what she had looked like in the mirror, a true smoking slut – OK, not quite Megan or Lolly yet, but surely if I work on it… And so Harriet knelt on the tiled floor, clasped her stinking hands before her face, and prayed. “Lord Jesus, I know that wherever you lead me, your right hand will hold me fast. You pleasure me, my God, and I trust you to hold me in your fucking embrace, to teach me to be the best smoking slut ever. Help me to become totally addicted, Lord Jesus, so that I can smoke and fuck for your glory. Amen.”

“Harriet, dinner! called Genevieve from downstairs.

“Coming, Mummy,” Harriet replied, flushing the toilet and picking herself up off the floor.

*

“So how was the smoking?” asked Janey, as she bounced up to Harriet the next morning before school.

Harriet felt foul, but attempted to confect enthusiasm. “Oh, fine, it’s going nicely…” she lied, eyes glazed over.

Janey raised one eyebrow quizzically. “OK… so show me! I wanna see you do a Lauren! Like, ‘Anybody got a match?’” she added in her best Bacall-imitation voice.

Harriet fumbled for an excuse. “Oh, I… well, I kinda… I left my cigarettes at home…” The truth was, she felt hungover: she had barely slept last night, her head was aching, her eyes were bloodshot, and she felt dehydrated, her throat parched.

“You left them at home?! I thought you were gonna smoke, like, non-stop or something, be a total smoking slut…”

“Oh fuck it, Janey, leave it, will you?” Harriet snapped. “It’s not so easy, smoking. It takes time to get used to it. I’d like to see you do it!”

Janey was visibly deflated. “Fuck, Hat, what’s brought this on?”

Harriet opened her mouth to speak, but all she could do was burst into tears. Janey put her arm around her friend and held her tight. “Hey, hey, it’s OK. You take all the time you want, babe. Sorry if I pressurised you, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s just… well, it’s the nicotine, I think,” Harriet explained through tears and sniffles, “it gives you a headache, it dries you out, it makes you want to throw up, and it keeps you awake all fucking night. I had my first cigarette after school yesterday, and it looked so hot, I just couldn’t stop myself schlicking my cunt, and I came so fucking hard – but it made me feel like shit. Then after dinner I tried another one, without rubbing myself off, but it made me feel so fucking sick I couldn’t even finish it – and it left me so high I couldn’t sleep a wink. This morning I tried another after breakfast – and I still couldn’t finish it, and I feel so fucking shitty after last night I just… Jesus, Janey, I had no idea how hard it was going to be!” Harriet bawled into her friend’s shoulder.

“Fuuuck… fuuuck, babe, take it slowly. You don’t need to prove anything. I mean, it took me ages to get used to the taste of piss. It’s like learning an instrument. You just take a bit at a time, space it out, easy does it, I’m sure you’ll get used to it eventually…”

“Well, Nurse Coxucca says I’m going to get addicted to it,” sniffed Harriet, “but I hope it doesn’t stay like this: I can’t imagine anything worse that being addicted to something which makes you feel like shit all the time…”

Harriet was, of course, worrying needlessly – for, though she did not know it yet, no true smoker has ever yet had difficulty finding pleasure in addiction. However, whether consciously or otherwise, she took Janey’s advice and decided to be in less of a hurry from now on. Thankfully, her first two periods were free, and so she was able to curl up with her head on a desk in the library for most of the morning. She drank lots of water all day, and by the afternoon felt largely detoxified, even refreshed. Lunch was followed by double Fucking with Miss Poussée which, pleasingly, went very well this week: the teacher even complimented Harriet on her blowjob technique, making her feel very proud of herself.

Back home in her bedroom after school, Harriet smoked her first cigarette of the afternoon gently and cautiously, carefully mixing modest amounts of smoke with plenty of air, enabling herself to inhale several shallow drags without feeling too nauseous or dehydrated. She wisely avoided looking at any smoking porn, or touching herself up, so as to maintain calm and self-control. Once the cigarette was half-spent, she was beginning to find it hard to inhale any more without gagging, so she decided to stub it out in her newly purchased ashtray (actually an ornamental dish, pink and tit-shaped), and congratulated herself on the wisdom of her self-restraint. And after dinner, even though she thought she could probably manage the remaining half of the cigarette, she chose not to, so as not to ruin her chances of a decent night’s sleep.

*

Harriet maintained her cautiously calibrated smoking method throughout the next day: one after breakfast, one after coming home from school for lunch (no afternoon lessons on Thursdays), a third later in the afternoon, and a fourth after dinner. With each cigarette, she felt able to inhale a bit deeper, and was able to smoke a bit more before nausea convinced her to stub it out.

By the middle of the day on Friday, Harriet was beginning to experience a quite novel sensation: she felt like a cigarette. She wasn’t quite sure why, or how: there was a tingling in her hard palate, a warm residual tobacco taste in her throat inviting replenishment, the faint scent of smoke on her fingers, and a slight nervousness in her disposition she wasn’t used to. Despite the fact that Friday lunchtimes meant Porn Club (always her favourite), she felt on edge, slightly ill at ease, and for some strange reason she just couldn’t get cigarettes out of her mind: whilst everyone else was marvelling at the oral technique of pre-Enlightenment fuck-pioneers like Erica Boyer, Cara Lott and Ginger Lynn, Harriet’s eyes were glazing over, as she imagined what it would be like when she got home, went upstairs to her room, lit up her first cigarette of the afternoon, felt the smoke rasping down her throat, felt her lungs fill, experienced the relief, the satisfaction that would surely bring…

By home time, Harriet couldn’t get smoking out of her mind. Her walk home was not exactly desperate, but brisk and purposeful. She tore upstairs, not even noticing what her parents were up to in the living room (though the sounds of intermittent whipping echoed up the stairs behind her), strode directly over to her packet of Marlboro Lights 100s, struck a match, and lit up. It was good: the smoke did rasp at the back of her throat, but in a manner which, she realised, felt familiar rather than painful. Her chest felt reassured by being filled with warm tobacco smoke, and the nervousness she had been feeling all afternoon began to dissipate. She exhaled confidently, watching the full-bodied cone of white smoke flow across the room before bouncing off her bedroom mirror, disintegrating and billowing up towards the ceiling.

Oh! This is nice, she thought. Tempting as it was to smoke faster and deeper, or to slip a hand under her skirt to play with her pussy, now slightly damp from excitement, she resisted. Instead she concentrated on her basic smoking technique, watching herself in the mirror: how to balance the cigarette comfortably between two fingers of her right hand, how to position it pointing straight forward from her mouth and fold her lips around it just enough to form a strong seal without ruining it with a surfeit of moisture, how to drag just the right amount before running out of breath, so she could remove the cigarette and continue to inhale air to escort the ball of smoke down to her lungs; then, how to exhale neatly – either between pursed lips, or through her nostrils, or even in little puffs as she practised smoking fetish-flavoured versions of some of the dirty talk they had been rehearsing in Further Fucking that afternoon: “I’m a fucking smoking whore… Watch me smoke while you stroke your dick… Wanna eat my cunt while I smoke, babe?” Harriet giggled, then marvelled as the smoke sputtered out through her nostrils.

This cigarette Harriet was able to smoke all the way down to the filter. The last drag was rich, strong, hot on her lips, the rasp in her throat rough but satisfying. When she stubbed her cigarette butt out in her tit-shaped ashtray she noticed it was soft and warm, the filter deep yellow, almost brown from the tar she had been inhaling through it. She sniffed her fingers: fuck yeah, the smell of smoke and nicotine was heady and exciting.

It was less than an hour before Harriet felt like another cigarette. And after dinner she smoked two more while doing her homework, before retiring to bed. And she slept well. Really well.

Chapter Four:
“Smoking Tobacco May Be Beneficial For Your Health”

“Oh sweetcunt! Are you going to smoke and jerk off for us?” Genevieve’s face lit up with maternal delight. Her question was not unreasonable, as Harriet had appeared at the breakfast table this Saturday morning, still in her nightie (translucent pink, clit-themed) brandishing her packet of cigarettes, a box of matches, and her favourite pink dildo. “Won’t that be lovely, Henry?” the older woman added, giving her husband’s buttocks a poke with her stilettos.

Henry replied with a bark and a whimper, but did not emerge from under the table, where he was lying curled up at his wife’s feet. “Oh Mummy,” remonstrated Harriet smugly, “as you know, well brought up young ladies do not smoke before breakfast!”

“Bacon, then, cuntling?” Genevieve held out the platter to her daughter, before herself picking up a slice, using it to wipe some pussy-slime from her vulva, and dangling it under the table. Henry barked and sat up in begging position, dribbling tongue extended so that his wife could drop the rasher into his mouth. Appreciatively, he returned to his place under the table to consume his cunt-flavoured breakfast. “Well, I am so pleased for you, Harriet,” continued her mother. “When I was young I never dared to smoke: it was so frowned upon in those days – even though everyone knew deep down that it was terribly sexy! And then it got banned, which I thought was so short-sighted: I mean, after all, if it gets people off, what could possibly be gained by banning it? Sausage, dear?”

Henry, having finished his bacon, barked, and emerged from under the table again to beg. “Ah Henry, if you want a sausage you have to be a good doggie and have it with brown sauce, all right?” Henry whimpered in anticipation as Genevieve reached downward and slowly fed a chipolata into her tight arsehole. “Good dog!” she signalled, as her husband began slobbering at her crotch, nibbling the sausage as his wife farted it out half an inch at a time into his mouth. “But isn’t it wonderful that they have this smoke-safe technology now, sweetcunt?” continued Genevieve, turning back to her daughter. “I mean, of course, all else being equal, I’d rather you not get lung cancer. Though, as they don’t seem to want us to live beyond fifty anyway these days, I don’t see what difference it would make. More scrambled egg?”

But Harriet had already had one helping of egg and, despite the fact that under normal circumstances she would gladly have had seconds, this morning she felt, unaccountably, more drawn to a cigarette than food. Funny, that, she thought. Is that what Nurse Coxucca meant by addiction? It wasn’t, she felt, that she needed a cigarette as such, but somehow she felt incomplete without it: her hunger wasn’t quite sated, and instinctively she knew merely that eating more food wasn’t what was required.

Once she lit her cigarette, however, she was sure of her choice. As the smoke filled her lungs, she began to feel a degree of satiety spread through her body which mere food could never have engendered. Her hunger this morning was a new kind of hunger, a multi-layered hunger – and it required a new, multi-layered kind of satisfaction. “Oh Hattie, that smoking is so sexy!” her mother continued to witter, even as she spooned a dollop of scrambled egg onto her cunt, which her husband, now stroking his stiff cock with a buttery hand, began to gobble down greedily. “Good dog, Henry,” Genevieve added. “Once you’ve finished your egg you can jerk off on my heels, if you like.”

Henry squealed with delight, before stroking his cock rapidly and depositing five of six stripes of man-cum on his wife’s stilettos. But Harriet was paying attention to neither of her parents, for she was revelling in the pleasure and fascination of her own smoking. Oh fuck, this is good! she thought to herself. And so good after breakfast! It was as if the smoking was completing the pleasure of a full stomach, adding a new layer to her satisfaction which she had never known before. By the time she finished her cigarette (stubbing it out in her milky cereal bowl), she had discovered something which only smokers know, which is that there is nothing to be compared to the sense of completion, the feeling of wholeness, which smoking gives to a human being.

“Oh God, this is so fucking good!” Harriet moaned, as she felt her last lungful of rich tar-laden smoke tingle and stroke and massage her from the inside out, and then let it out in a long, perfectly controlled cone-shaped exhale, across the table into her mother’s face.

“I am so happy for you, sweetcunt,” smiled Genevieve admiringly, despite wrinkling her nose against the smell. “Henry, isn’t it nice Harriet’s found such a pretty fetish?” she added, digging her cum-striped stilettos into her husband’s crotch. “Now, lick my shoes clean like a good doggie…”

Harriet smiled indulgently, but decided not to stay at the table. Her dildo, which had lain unused next to the corn flakes throughout breakfast, beckoned. Smoking makes me horny! Harriet noticed. How strange: so pleasurable, so satisfying – yet always demanding more… Not to be delayed by her self-analysis, she abandoned her parents, slipped out onto the rear patio, found her favourite bench in the sun, opened the front of her nightie, and began to play with her pussy. In the past, her lust had always found satisfaction through self-stimulation alone; now, she knew that it demanded nicotine as well. The last time she had attempted masturbation while smoking it had made her feel ill; this time, as she slid her dildo into her moist pink flesh and breathed in the first lungful of smoke from her second cigarette of the day, she knew things were going to be different. For the more she stimulated herself, the more she wanted to smoke. The hornier she got, the more desperate her need for nicotine became. Soon she was ramming her dildo deep into her cunt, rubbing her clit hard with three fingers of one hand, multi-pumping lungful after lungful of hot smoke, and squealing with pleasure out loud into the warm morning air, “Oh God, oh fuck, yeah fill up my cunt, fill up my lungs, lung-fuck me with that fucking smoke, I need it so bad, I want it so bad, oh God, oh Jesus fuck, OH YEAAAAAH!” She wanted the world to know she was coming; she wanted God to know she was an insatiable smoking slut, an addict, a smoke-whore, who needed nothing more than to come, and smoke, and smoke and come.

Harriet exhaled her last orgasm-laden lungful of smoke, tossed her cigarette butt onto the patio and panted with satisfaction as she watched it burn down to nothing. She sniffed her fingers, sucked her dildo clean, savoured the perfect blend of smoky stink and cunt slime. Fuck, that tastes good! she thought, and she slipped her dildo back into her cunt again – my smoky dildo, now coating the inside of my cunt with tar and formaldehyde and cyanide and fuck-knows-what-shit, making me stink and taste of smoke inside and out – Jesus fuck, I am such a filthy smoking cunt-whore… Once upon a time Harriet might have felt a little embarrassed at describing herself in such self-aggrandising terms, but smoking had changed all that. Now she knew, as never before, that she was, as Nurse Coxucca had predicted, triple-addicted: mentally addicted to fucking, psychologically addicted to smoking, and physically addicted to the nicotine that smoking was bringing her. Oh! she added. Forgive me, Lord: I am not just triply addicted, but quadruply – because I am also spiritually addicted. You called me to be a fuckslut, and now you have called me to be a smoking whore, to the glory of Your Name – hallelujah!

Harriet spent the rest of the morning in the joy of self-discovery – for she realised that smoking had awakened parts of her soul that had hitherto lain dormant, that she had barely even known were there; now that God was revealing them to her she was more complete, more full of the Horny Spirit, more of an ornament to God’s holy fucking creation than ever before. After her shower, she dangled a cigarette from the corner of her mouth as she did her make-up, shutting one eye against the smoke, inhaling hands-free, and exhaling through her nostrils to avoid having to actually hold the cigarette between her otherwise busy fingers. She loved watching the cigarette stiffen and rise between her lips – like a cock! – whenever she took a drag, and go “flaccid” again as she exhaled. Of course it didn’t always work. Sometimes the smoke would get into the other eye, making it water so she couldn’t see what she was doing. Sometimes she simply needed too many hands to do her makeup, and had to rest the burning cigarette on the edge of her ashtray for a while. Sometimes she forgot it was there, and had to make up for lost intake of nicotine with a good deep double-pump. Sometimes she was all thumbs and dropped her lipstick (fuck!), or her mascara wand (fuck!!) or even her cigarette (FUCK!!!) in her clumsiness.

She decided to wear her favourite Barbie-slut clothes this morning, all pink and frilly and see-through, and spent several minutes admiring herself in the mirror posing with cigarette and dildo, looking as coquettish as she could while blowing smoke over her toy, or licking it seductively as smoke drifted from her nostrils. But it was as she was stubbing this cigarette out (her fourth of the day), noticing how crowded her ashtray was becoming with over a dozen smelly misshapen yellowing cigarette butts (Fuck, that looks so decadent! And it smells like shit – fuck yeah!) that she realised she was running out of cigarettes. Fuck, how did that happen so fast? she wondered. I mean, I only started on Tuesday: surely I haven’t smoked that much! Her self-justification swiftly gave way to panic. Shit, what if I am genuinely addicted? Am I going to be able to survive till Nurse Coxucca gives me some more cigarettes on Monday? I mean, what happens to a smoker who can’t smoke? Will I go into withdrawal? Will I have a fit? fall unconscious? have a heart attack? Oh Jesus, help me!

Harriet scrabbled in her school bag for the information leaflet Nurse Coxucca had given her. It was long and boring and full of medical jargon, but eventually she found the paragraph she was looking for:

The Ministry of Health has determined that, properly protected by Medical Modification technology, smoking tobacco may be beneficial for your health. Whilst people over the age of thirty should not attempt to smoke, as the effectiveness of the MM procedure may have some deleterious side-effects (see para. II.C.7.iv below), for the under 30s a Lung-Safe® procedure should induce complete protection against all potential respiratory diseases. Certainly, the tiny risks which remain are more than offset by the massive potential smoking has as a sexual fetish, and therefore for mental well-being. As the Government, led by the Party of the Enlightenment, is keen to promote variety and freedom of sexual expression, and the benefits in health thereby induced, throughout society, but especially in the young…

“… blah blah blah, that’s not what I want, I want to know how I – ah, here we are…

… and therefore cigarettes will be available on prescription through all NHS medical centres, and in schools, from the beginning of September; and to anyone with a Lung-Safe® MM Certificate from participating retailers from Monday 20^th September, unless…

“OK, I’ve got the certificate here, but – ‘participating retailers’? What the fuck is a ‘participating retailer’? And – oh shit! – ‘Monday 20^th September’ – that’s day after tomorrow! FUCK FUCK FUCK!! Oh Jesus, what now? Even if I can find a fucking ‘participating retailer’, I have to wait till Monday?! JESUS MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST!”

“Are you all right, sweetcunt?” called Genevieve from downstairs.

Oops. Harriet realised that in her alarm – possibly encouraged by her nicotine high – she had been talking, nay shouting, out loud. “I’m fine, Mummy,” she replied. “No problems…”

OK, calm down, Hat, calm down. All you have to do is pop down to the High Street, ask in some of the shops, and see what gives. Nurse Coxucca said something about ‘corner shops’, didn’t she? I mean, if any have got them in stock, I can’t see why they shouldn’t sell them to me. So Harriet donned high-heeled pink latex boots to match the rest of her clothes, popped her cigarettes – and her dildo, of course – into her cunt-themed pink handbag, and skipped downstairs. “Just popping out!” she called to her mother, who was standing over her kneeling husband repeatedly spitting into his ecstatic upturned face, as Harriet shut the front door behind her.

It was a lovely day, and Harriet decided to have another cigarette – her first ever in public as she walked down the hill. It felt remarkable, liberating, joyous to smoke walking down the street. She knew she should have been worried, but – cigarettes make me so happy, she realised, so elevated, so unstressed, so confident! She experimented with different ways of exhaling on the go, but eventually decided she loved the sensation of a long exhale through her lips best, feeling the smoke stroke past her cheek to make an exuberant billowing cloud in her wake.

Some people stared at the sight, puzzled and surprised at the sight of someone smoking – here, now, in Enlightenment Europe. One elderly couple stopped in their tracks. “Oh look, Myra, that girl’s smokin’. I haven’t seen that in years. You know, me Auntie Ethel used to smoke, way back when. I always thought it was so sexy, I’d wank off just finkin’ about it, so glad they’re bringing it back now: did ya read in the papers, they’re wanting youngsters to take up smokin’ again. Not a bad idea, if you ask me…”

Harriet’s optimism was short-lived – for there were no cigarettes to be found anywhere on the High Street. The lady at Titsco’s said they were taking their first delivery of cigarettes on Sunday, but were forbidden by law to sell any until Monday morning. The manager at Shitbury’s said the same, and reminded Harriet that she would need her MM Certificate if she wanted to buy any – as well as ID to prove she was younger than thirty. (What the fuck? Do I fucking look older than thirty? thought Harriet, but nodded meekly.) At Wankrose they showed her their cigarette stock list: “Marlboro Lights 100s” were indeed on the list, as well as several other brands, and they had already received their delivery – their first ever in twenty years, the manager was very excited to reveal – but under no circumstances could he sell her any until Monday morning: “Strictly against the law – I could get into real trouble,” he explained.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! thought Harriet – and, sitting on a park bench, had another cigarette to calm herself down. This one she drank down desperately, barely removing it from her lips as she allowed the smoke to suffuse her body, revelling in the rasp, in the high, in the stink, in the creaminess of the smoke wafting around her face, her hair, her fingers: it was as if the fear of being deprived of nicotine was making her even more desperate than ever for the blessed high it gave her. And by the time she flicked her spent cigarette butt, still lit, down the path, her head was spinning – and she loved it.

She wanted more – but her smoking was making her horny again, and she wanted to come. She got out her dildo again. Oh, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, she thought. I’ve only got one cigarette left, I need to save it, I need to eke it out over the next twenty-four hours, no, thirty-six, no, fucking forty-eight or whatever – oh Jesus fucking Christ, is this what it means to be addicted? to be out of control? to be powerless? to be dependent? Now, almost without realising it, her legs were apart, her crotch was exposed to the sun, her dildo was in her cunt, and her fingers were scrabbling, wildly, uncontrollably, for the last cigarette in the packet. She lit it, and began to draw on it desperately, as she rammed the dildo fast in and out of her sopping gash. “I gotta come, I gotta fucking come on this fucking smoke, then it’ll be all right, won’t it, if I fucking come, if I fill myself up with smoke, I fucking need this, I fucking…”

“Harriet!”

Harriet looked up. “Oh fuck – Janey!” she exclaimed.

Chapter Five:
Cum-Faced Smoking Fuckslut

“Oh fuck, oh Jesus, oh how embarrassing – Janey! What are you doing here?”

“Just on my way home from band practice,” replied Janey, brandishing her clarinet case. “Are you… all right, Hat?” Janey looked down at her friend, glowing cigarette clamped between her lips, dildo poking hands-free from her cunt, fingers glistening with her own fuck-slime.

“Oh Jesus, Janey, I’m so fucking horny, I need to come, I need to come on smoke, I… shit, I’ll explain later, babe, just let me…” Harriet resumed desperately jamming her pink dildo in and out of her pink flesh, taking another deep drag on her cigarette.

“Here, let me help you, Hat,” interrupted Janey, kneeling on the path in front of the bench, putting down her instrument, and taking control of the dildo. The skinny dark-haired girl began to ram the toy fast and hard in and out of her blond friend’s pussy, rubbing her clit at the same time. Soon jets of pleasure were shooting throughout Harriet’s body – from deep in her cunt, from her swollen throbbing clit, from her erect nipples, and of course from her lungs, her throat, her lips, her nostrils – all caressed, stroked, pleasured by the creamy smoke which flowed through her whole being.

“Eat me, Janey, eat me!” Harriet called out, lifting her legs backwards and curling them behind her head so that her whole ass and crotch were exposed, facing upwards, available, inviting and irresistible. “I need you to lick my pussy while I smoke. I wanna come on smoke with your tongue up my cunt!” Dutifully, Janey let the dildo drop out onto the path and buried her face in her bestie’s gaping pink gash, tongue slobbering deep inside while two fingers of one hand continued to rub her clit. “Oh Jesus, that’s so fucking good, Janey, you’re such a good friend, you know? You make me feel so fucking good, you know just how to make me feel oh fuck oh fuck OH FUUUUUUUCK!!!” Harriet screamed as she came, exhaling a thick pillar of smoke upwards into the atmosphere. Janey kept rubbing Harriet’s clit and slobbering deep inside her pussy, so that Harriet’s orgasm would go on and on, so that she could milk the last dregs of pleasure out of both cunt and cigarette.

Tears ran down Harriet’s cheeks – tears of pleasure, of gratitude, of devotion. As she wiped her eyes, she noticed that a small crowd of passers-by had gathered, and were now applauding her orgasm. Janey rolled her eyes nervously, but Harriet smiled graciously, uncurling her legs to release them from behind her neck, bowing her head in thanks before taking one last drag of her cigarette and tossing the lit butt on the ground. “See what I mean, Myra?” she heard as the crowd dispersed. “That’s what I’d imagine me Aunt Ethel doin’. Don’ know if she ever did – but innit good that young people today can do fings like that – even in public. I mean, when we were young they’d never ‘ave allowed it…”

“So, enjoying the cigarettes then, cuntface?” Janey giggled.

“Oh, Janey, you have no idea! So fucking good!”

“Lemme see, then. Show us. I mean, I’ve been concentrating so hard on your cunt the past five minutes, I couldn’t watch your smoking!”

Harriet grimaced. “Ah, well, that’s the problem, see, Janey, I’ve run out…”

“Oh right. So can you get some more? I wanna watch you smoke one of those fuckers, like Lauren Bacall, sometime when I don’t have my face glued to your gash.” She got up off the ground, sat next to her friend and gave her a kiss on the lips. “Hey, you know you smell like shit!” she giggled, screwing up her nose.

“Well, tough tits, bitch, I like the smell, and I like the way I smell when I smoke, so there! But…” Harriet hesitated, “I can’t smoke any more till Monday…”

“Oh, OK, no problem, well, you can show me on Monday, then. You can get some more from Nurse Coxucca at school, can’t you?”

“Yeah, well, probably. Problem is, see, I’m addicted now, so I really need some more now. I don’t know if I can wait till Monday…”

“Addicted? How does that work? What’s gonna happen if you go without? Will you, like, drop dead or something?” Janey cackled.

“I don’t think so…” replied Harriet pensively. “But…”

“Well, come on then, fuck-bitch. Come over to my place today, keep your mind off it: we can do some fucking, watch a classic movie, listen to some Benny Goodman, maybe even soak some stamps if we’re feeling really naughty!”

*

Under normal circumstances, it would have been a lovely day. Janey suggested Harriet have a shower and clean her teeth, to get rid of the smell and taste of smoke – “so you’re not reminded of it all the time,” she said. For a while it seemed to work, though after lunch Harriet felt her craving grow again: her hard palate was tingling, the ashtray taste in her mouth – now so irresistible in its acrid pungency – kept reminding her of what she was missing, her throat and lungs felt incomplete and desirous, she kept sniffing at her fingers as if by doing so she could inhale that heavenly nicotine-laden relief with which she now associated the residual smoky smell.

“Maybe eat my pussy a bit, babe?” suggested Janey. “That should wipe out any other taste, shouldn’t it?” she giggled. Harriet tried – and of course Janey was right: there is nothing quite as all-consuming as the taste of cunt – and Janey’s was a superlative example, rich, pungent and irresistible. Soon Harriet’s lips, tongue, face and fingers were coated with that heavenly savour which, under normal circumstances, obliviates all others. For a while, Harriet loved it, rubbing her whole face into her best friend’s thick, dark, neatly trimmed bush, slobbering joyfully at her fuck-slit, feeling her cunt spasm with pleasure at the touch of her tongue, her hips bucking and her moans rising as she came. Harriet left her face and hands coated with Janey’s cunt-slime all afternoon, hoping against hope that the taste would help her to forget her own craving – but it didn’t. Despite Janey’s best attempts to distract her (fucking, pissing, movies, music, first day covers), by the evening Harriet was desperate: her jaw was trembling, her breath was ragged, her mind was swimming with imagined tastes and sensations: a cigarette between her lips, the rasp of the first drag hitting the back of her throat, her lungs filling with warm smoke, the blessed relief spreading through her mind and body – but none of it was real. She inhaled deeply, her cheeks hollowing as she imagined smoking another cigarette – but she was left frustrated and disconsolate. “Oh God, Janey, help me! I can’t take it anymore!” Harriet collapsed to the ground, pounding the floor in frustration, as tears ran down her cheeks.

“OK, OK, Hat, I’ve got an idea. This bloke in Soho – you know the one I told you about, the one who gets me my classic films and stuff – maybe he could help? I mean, he’s good at getting things: want me to ring him up?”

“Oh God, Janey, do you think he could get me some cigarettes? I didn’t know he did that sort of –”

“I don’t know either, Hat. But it’s worth a try. Here…”

At first the black-market man was not answering his phone, so Janey had to leave a message. By the time he rang back, after supper, Harriet was in a state of utter desperation, pacing up and down the corridor, wringing her hands, sniffing her fingers in desperation, stopping every half an hour or so to jerk herself off with her fingers, in repeated vain attempts to distract herself from the unbearable absence of nicotine in her bloodstream. “He says he can get some for you – ‘Marlboro Lights 100s’, that’s what you want, isn’t it? – by ten tonight – but it’ll be expensive, because they’re not officially available till Monday. That OK with you?”

“Yeah, whatever, yeah…” moaned Harriet, as another unsatisfactory finger-induced orgasm rippled through her body. “Any sooner than ten?”

“He says if he’s lucky he might be able to get some by half nine, but not to count on it.”

“Oh Jesus, yeah sure, I’ll be there…” Harriet groaned.

*

In the Olden Days, Soho had been a grimy, seedy part of London, home to prostitutes, strip joints, and pornographic video stores of dubious legal status. But the arrival of the Enlightenment had changed all that. Now that free fucking in all its forms had become not just acceptable to English society but the height of respectability, formerly covert sexual businesses were freed from the stigma which had once limited them to certain areas. Prostitution (or “professional fucking”, as it was now called) was far less common than before (as most people were happy to fuck anyone they fancied for free anyway), and was generally limited to highly-skilled specialists trained at august institutions such as the Royal Academy of Fucking. Strip joints, again, were hardly necessary, as the only people interested in covering up their bodies were “Undesirables”: antediluvian religious believers and other misguided conscientious objectors. As for pornographic video stores, they were completely unnecessary in a world where every possible variety of sexual exhibitionism was available for free at the click of a button on your own screen.

As all these purveyors of fine fucking spread elsewhere, however, Soho retained its reputation for illicit, under-the-counter dealings, and became therefore a haven for vendors of illegal imports from the Outside World: modest clothing, underwear, non-fucking novels and films, religious texts in their original pre-Enlightenment translations: anything, in short, which eschewed the high levels of lasciviousness which decent Enlightenment citizens in the modern age would demand. It was a place where one could come to watch a non-fucking show in a dingy underground theatre, or buy a cup of coffee without cum squirted on top (imagine!), or even purchase a pair of jeans where the only holes were at the knees rather than the cunt and ass. And so this is where Janey habitually came to buy romantic novels, classic movies, and pre-Enlightenment stamps for her collection. Her favourite dealer was a young dark-skinned man in a turban who went by the name of Fukhdeep.

“Hey, Fucky, m’ pussy,” trilled Janey as she led a trembling, desperate Harriet into a little store down a dingy back alley that evening at about half past nine. The shop was cramped and filthy, every wall stacked to the rafters with illicit books, films, magazines, pictures, and clothes.

“Ah, Miss Jay,” replied Fukhdeep. “M’ cock. Cigarettes this time, right?”

“Yeah. This is my friend, Harriet. ‘Marlboro Lights 100s’?”

“Nice tits,” Fukhdeep gestured toward Harriet. Harriet managed a hoarse “M’ pussy, thanks,” in return.

“I managed to get some for you,” the dealer addressed Harriet. “One of my contacts works in a Titsco’s warehouse, smuggled some out. They’re being really touchy about these, you know, they’re only supposed to be sold from Monday, and only to certified Lung-Safe® people. Really hard getting them, my friend had to bribe security.” Fukhdeep reached under his counter and took out two virgin packets of Marlboro Lights 100s.

Harriet’s heart leapt. “Oh God, let me have them, please, now, I’m so desperate!” She reached out pleadingly with both her hands.

“Whoa there, bitch!” said Fukhdeep. “I said they were expensive.”

“How much?” pleaded Harriet, reaching into her pink cunt-themed handbag.

Fukhdeep set his jaw hard. “Well, I can’t let them go for any less than a thousand a pack…”

“A thousand each?” Harriet gasped. “That’s daylight robbery!”

“Nothing daylight about it, slut,” replied Fukhdeep. “What I’m doing is illegal. It’s got to be worth the risk me and my mate took getting them for you. Take it or leave it.”

Harriet was in tears. Was this what smoking had done to her – turned her into a desperate addict, spending all her money on illegally procured goods, begging for her next high from a total stranger who would exploit her for all she had? She had half a mind to stamp out in a fury, to turn her back on this ridiculous dependency. But then she looked back at those two packets of cigarettes, there in Fukhdeep’s greasy hands, almost begging to be freed, begging to be treated with the respect they deserved, begging to… Oh God, who are you trying to fool, Harriet? You’re a smoke-addicted whore. That’s what you asked to be, and now you’ve got it. So man up, bitch! Do that whoring, do that smoking, like Jesus wants you to. Fucking do it now!

“Fucky…” Harriet began.

Fukhdeep raised his eyebrows.

“How about a thousand for the pair…”

“Fuck off, Miss Hat,” interrupted the dealer.

“Plus a blowjob.”

Fukhdeep laughed derisively. “Blowjobs I can get anytime I like, Miss. This is London: plenty of girls around happy to let me fuck their faces. What makes your blowjob worth a thousand euros?”

Harriet hesitated. But before she could think of an answer to Fukhdeep’s very reasonable question, Janey interjected – much to Harriet’s surprise: “Make that a double blowjob, Fucky. Two pairs of hot lips on your cock, till you come down my throat.”

“Don’t like coming in throats, Miss Jay. But I like spurting on pretty slut faces. And hair,” he added, patting his own turban.

Harriet and Janey looked at each other, shrugged, and nodded. “OK, Fucky, get that dick out,” instructed Janey, as Fukhdeep unzipped his fly, releasing a dark brown cock which, though not massively large, was rapidly going hard.

The girls knelt facing each other on opposite sides of Fukhdeep’s member, which bobbed, stiff and horizontal, between them. They did not confer but, being well brought up young Enlightenment ladies, knew what to do, mirroring each other’s movements so that when the man looked down he would see a perfectly symmetrical vision of cock-licking beauty. Initially it was their lips alone which caressed his cock, nibbling from base to cockhead and back again in a mirror-image pattern of little kisses. They then opened their mouths gradually wider so that their lips met, squashing together around Fukhdeep’s thickening cock to make a moist seal which they proceeded to slide back and forth along the full length of his shaft, leaving it glistening with a thin film of saliva. Then their tongues set to work, gradually snaking around the underside of the shaft, squidging against each other so that little strings of spit formed which stretched and dangled from his rod. “Hey, not bad, girls,” muttered Fukhdeep, as he watched the two hot tongues slobber and snake around his cock. “Either of you sluts take it deeper?”

“If that’s the biggest your cock gets, asshole, I can take you balls deep anytime,” smirked Janey. Harriet breathed a sigh of relief: she had never been great at deepthroating, and was glad her dark-haired friend was willing to face that challenge.

“Fuck you, bitch,” retorted Fukhdeep. “Go on, prove it then!” His cock twitched in excitement as the girls shifted positions, Harriet now crouched below his cock, sucking his balls into her mouth, one at a time, and then both together, releasing them each time with a little “pop” and a small dribble of saliva. Fukhdeep grinned wickedly, tantalisingly waving a packet of Marlboro Lights 100s above her face, as if reminding her of the reward to come. Fucking bastard, thought Harriet to herself. She was desperate for smoke: she wanted to reach up, grab the packet, rip it open and drink down the precious life-giving smoke, till her body was tingling with pleasure and satisfaction and her spirit restored – but she knew she had to keep a cool head, and kept sucking.

Meanwhile, Janey dutifully went for the full-frontal attack, swallowing Fukhdeep’s cock and beginning a long slow drooling mouthfuck. Her spit started to dribble and drool off his shaft, splattering into Harriet’s face as she continued to suck his balls. It was not long before the slow sensual deepthroat was turning into a frantic throatfuck, obscene quacking noises escaping Janey’s gullet as she rammed her slimy face up and down on the cock, great ropes of spit and snot flying in all directions. The cock began to rear and buck, and Fukhdeep began to groan distractedly, “Oh fuck, oh yeah, fucking bitch, I’m gonna…”

Oh fucking! Harriet thought to herself, as she continued to suck the man’s twitching balls, her eyes fixed on the prize still gripped in Fukhdeep’s palm. Make him come, Janey, make him fucking come – so I can get my cigarettes! At just the right moment, Janey pulled her mouth off Fukhdeep’s cock, grabbed it with her fist, and started pumping it just above Harriet’s slimy features. “Oh fuck yeah, take this, smoke whore,” the man muttered. Harriet didn’t care: her eyes, and her mind, were fixed on cigarettes – and as the first droplets of cum began to land on her face, she felt her excitement rise. I’m gonna smoke again – fuck yeah! I don’t care what you do to my face, Fukhdeep, I’m gonna get my lungs fucked again. Hallelujah!

Janey maintained control over Fukhdeep’s dick, aiming each spurt of cum perfectly so that Harriet’s pretty face and blonde hair were soon adorned with a second layer of slime: a beautiful lattice of creamy cummy stripes, pooling in her eye, dripping from her nose, coating her full red lips. “Fuck yeah!” squealed Harriet. “Gimme those fucking smokes now, Fucky!” She reached up, grabbing for the packet, which Fukhdeep waved tantalisingly around her head a couple of times before dropping it onto her face, smearing man-cum onto the cellophane. Harriet didn’t care: still crouched on the dirty carpet, as Janey squeezed the last few drops of jizz onto her face, she grabbed the packet, tore off the wrapper, swore loudly as she fiddled to extract a cigarette (“Fucking cigarette, why won’t it fucking come out?”), clamped it between her cum-coated lips, and flicked the pink lighter she had bought that morning in Shitbury’s.

Smoke poured into Harriet’s lungs, and she squealed with joy. “Fuck yeah, fucking Jesus, yeah thank you God!” she screeched, as she felt the rush to her brain, felt her limbs tingle, felt the relief wash over her, felt that blessed smoky stink suffuse her body, take her over again, mark her out as a true smoking whore. Cigarette clamped tight between her lips, smoke pouring in and out of her lungs, she savoured the heady cocktail of cum and smoke on her lips and tongue. Soon she was high, her head was spinning, her body was tingling, and tears of joyous relief ran down her face, making dirty grey trails of mascara mix with the cum on her cheeks.

Janey gazed in wonderment. “Jesus, Hat, you are addicted, aren’t you? Wow, that’s amazing smoking! So fucking, I had no idea someone could love smoking that much! And still with all that cum on your face!”

Harriet had drunk down at least half the cigarette before she dared to remove it from between her lips to take a breath of fresh air. “Oh Janey,” she moaned in smoky puffs through mascara-stained tears, “do I look like a real smoking whore?” She took another drag from her cum-glazed cigarette.

“The best, most beautiful, filthiest cum-faced smoking fuckslut in the world, Hat,” enthused Janey, as she began to lick Fukhdeep’s cum off her smoking friend’s hair and forehead. “Lauren Bacall would be so proud!”

Harriet giggled, no, laughed with joy from the bottom of her heart, as she removed a second cigarette from her packet, knowing already that she would chain-light it when she reached the end of her first. “Janey, thank you! Thank you for introducing me to my fetish. Now I am quadruple addicted, and four-times blessed: there is no one happier in this world than me!”

“You pleasure me, Hat,” Janey smiled. “My favourite friend, my favourite slut. Hey, want me to pee on you? Cool way to rinse all that cum off your face, don’t you think…?”

“Hey, maybe another time, Janey,” giggled Harriet, as Fukhdeep wiped the last couple of drops of his cum onto her hair and dropped the second packet of cigarettes into her lap.

A new customer ducked furtively into the store from the alleyway outside. A shifty-eyed middle-aged man in a trench coat, he ignored the two girls on the floor, one chain-smoking and the other eating cum off her friend’s face, and sidled up to Fukhdeep. “‘Ey, Fucky, got any… er…” – he checked around him to make sure he had not been followed, lowering his voice conspiratorially – “any new… Celia Johnson movies?”

“Oh, mate, they’re really hard to get these days. Very expensive.” Fukhdeep shook his head with an expression of deep concern. “But lemme see what I can find round the back…”

Chapter Six:
I Will Fuck the Lord at All Times

Harriet arrived early at All Cunts Langham Place on Sunday morning, to spend time in private prayer, and to give thanks for recent events. To think it was just a fortnight ago that she had come to church to ask for God’s guidance – and how faithful He had been! How gentle His hand, and yet how glorious His triumph! “Thank you, Lord!” she exclaimed, as she sat, head bowed, in one of the back pews, idly fingering her cunt as she prayed.

There was at least half an hour before the service was due to begin, so Harriet wandered outside, sat topless in her pink latex skirt on the front steps of the church, baring her glorious breasts – naked bar a pair of pink nipple-tassles – to the sun, and lit another cigarette. The air was still and warm, as it usually was in post-climate-change London at this time of the year, and so, becalmed by her prayer, she smoked slowly, with long deep inhales, taking time to feel the smoke swirling clemently in and out of her lungs, before exhaling long and slow, studying the way the smoke passed from between her pursed lips, forming an extended cone before her, before eventually disintegrating into the warm air. The occasional passer-by turned their head to gawp – but this did not bother Harriet. How beautiful, Lord! she thought, as wispy residual smoke dribbled casually from her nostrils. How beautiful Your Creation, and yet how much more beautifully You adorn it with fucking, and fetishes, and tits and ass and cunt, and… God, thank You, that I too can make this world a better place with my smoking and my fucking! Thy will be done…

It was as she smoked that she noticed someone standing on the other side of the road stroking his cock. This was not an unusual sight, of course: under Enlightenment law all borough authorities were theoretically obliged to provide easily accessible public masturbatory and/or fucking facilities, but there were rarely enough to satisfy general demand, so most people just made do with jerking off against a wall or a lamppost, or into a flower bed. However, this young man – lanky, with sandy hair, dressed in faded blue jeans and a T-shirt – was not just stroking his cock, but appeared to be watching Harriet intently at the same time, apparently fascinated by her smoking. Harriet tilted her head in curiosity, took an especially deep inhale, then turned sideways and slightly upward so the young man could watch her exhale in profile – a long, perfect cone of smoke up into the still morning air. She turned back to look at the boy: his cock had grown bigger, and he was stroking it with renewed urgency. Ooh, success! thought Harriet. He likes watching exhales. What about if I try one through my nose? She took another deep drag, looked directly at the young man, and let flow downward from her nostrils two narrow streams of smoke which bounced off her tits before disintegrating. The boy appeared to gasp with pleasure, and began jerking his cock even faster. Harriet twirled her torso gently so that her tassels swayed from side to side, then exhaled a long stream of smoke directly between them, so that her tits were bathed in smoke, glowing and ethereal in the morning sunshine. The young man’s gasp was audible this time, even over the Sunday morning traffic, and his hand was now almost a blur round his cock, as he continued to watch Harriet, mouth agape, drooling with desire.

Harriet took another drag, but held it in and chased it down with a second deep inhale, so that her lungs were now full, and churning with dense, rich smoke, which she exhaled directly towards the boy, simultaneously fixing his eyes with a practised “fuck me” stare. This was enough to take him over the edge – and his cock exploded. “Oh fuck!” he exclaimed, as spurt after spurt of thick creamy cum shot out across the pavement, narrowly missing a dachshund out for a walk with its mistress. The dog-owner tutted, but the young man didn’t notice: his eyes were fixed on Harriet, watching in joyous fascination as she took one last tar-laden drag from her cigarette butt, dropped it on the ground, and ground it into the pavement with the heel of her pink latex boots.

Harriet smirked triumphantly, before calling out across the road, “You like my smoking?”

Still panting from his orgasm, the boy nodded silently.

“Come here,” called Harriet. “Let me see that dick.”

Obediently, the boy waited for a gap in the traffic and crossed the road, before standing, all sheepish and gangly, below Harriet in front of the church steps. “Hey, I know you, don’t I?” remarked Harriet, as the last dangle of cum dripped from the end of the boy’s cock onto the bottom step. “You were here a couple of weeks ago: you had a tiny dick, and you couldn’t even get it hard!” she giggled.

“Uh, yeah,” answered the boy shyly, “but then the Lord healed me.”

“Praise the Lord! Michael, right?” Harriet checked.

“Oh! You remembered my name?” He looked amazed, and pleased.

“Yeah, why not?” replied Harriet.

“Well… not many people remember me… I guess I’m not very… exciting…” muttered Michael.

“But now you’ve got a great big dick, girls must remember you!” responded Harriet. “Who wouldn’t want to fuck that?” She gestured at Michael’s cock, still dangling out of his fly, and still massive despite its current flaccidity.

“W-well…” Michael stuttered. “The past two weeks, yeah, I’ve fucked loads of girls, sure… and, I mean, that’s fucking and all… but then, after they come, they lose interest, and just dump me. I guess having a big cock doesn’t necessarily give me a scintillating personality…” He shrugged awkwardly, before adding, “You’re Harriet, right? Looks like your prayers have been answered too: you’ve found your fetish!”

“Too fucking right!” grinned Harriet. “Hey, you remembered my name too!”

“Well, of course. You’re pretty, and you’ve got beautiful GM tits,” he gestured towards them helpfully, “and… well, even more, you’re hot, and sexy, and you dress amazingly, and you’re doing Further Fucking at Kunt College, right? Who wouldn’t remember – oh fuck…” Michael’s sentence petered out, his attention suddenly arrested by the fact that Harriet was taking another cigarette out of her packet and clamping it between her lips before rummaging for her lighter in her cunt-pink handbag. Michael’s lower lip started to tremble, and his cock immediately began to rise again.

Harriet noticed. “Wow! You really do like my smoking, don’t you?”

The boy nodded. “I’ve n-never seen anything so beautiful in my entire l-life!” he stammered, almost apologetically. “I’ve heard of smoking, read about it in the history books, but I’ve never seen it before. And the moment I saw you across the road I – oh fuck…” Michael ran out of words again, as he watched Harriet’s lighter flick, saw her cheeks hollow, and gaped in awe as she filled her mouth with a rich, creamy, swirling ball of smoke, parted her lips slightly to show it off, then inhaled it swiftly into her lungs. Now Michael’s cock was at full size again: a miraculous God-given eight and a half inches, the purple glans throbbing again with desire. Harriet aimed her exhale downward, directly at his cock, enveloping it in smoke. “Oh God, oh fuck, oh Jesus! That feels so good,” Michael groaned, as he felt the warm smoke caress his cock, making it jerk and twitch with pleasure.

“Sounds like you’ve got a smoking fetish too, Mikey!” Harriet grinned, little puffs of smoke escaping her lips as she spoke. “Wanna smoke?” She offered him her packet of Marlboro Lights 100s.

“Oh no, no. I don’t want to do it, I just want to watch! It’s so… beautiful. OK if I jerk off again while I watch you?”

“I’ve got a better idea, Mikey. Come here,” she beckoned.

Obediently, Michael walked slowly up the steps until his cock was level with Harriet’s face. The girl took a drag of her cigarette, inhaled it deep, then blew it luxuriantly at Michael’s erection. “Oh God!” the boy moaned, his cockhead leaking a glistening drop of pre-cum as it twitched again with pleasure.

“Shall I suck your cock while I smoke, Mikey?” asked Harriet. She didn’t wait for an answer, but took another lungful of smoke, exhaling through both mouth and nose simultaneously as she licked up and down the underside of his shaft, her eyes gleaming with purpose and ambition. Now I can be like Megan and Michelle and Jasmine on those videos, she thought. I’m going to make this boy come with my smoke. He is going come in my smoky mouth, and he is going to be as addicted to my smoking as I am! Fuck yeah, thank you Jesus!

Soon Michael’s cock was deep in Harriet’s mouth. Despite not being a natural deepthroater, Harriet had always loved the feeling of a stiff cock lodged in her face, loved swirling her tongue around the head as spit dribbled from her lips. But now the smoking was adding yet more layers of delight to her blowjob: soon Michael’s cock tasted of smoke too, and Harriet could alternate between taking deep lungfuls of smoke from her cigarette and tasting that same exhaled smoke on Michael’s cock two drags later. Sometimes she exhaled directly onto Michael’s cock, giving him a brief break from oral stimulation; sometimes she licked his cock with gusto, smoke pouring carelessly from both mouth and nose; sometimes – oh fuck, this is the best! she thought to herself – she kept his cock in her mouth, let it keep fucking her face, as she exhaled from her nostrils, so that her used smoke adorned his cock from above. Michael watched intently, gazing with delight down into Harriet’s happy eyes, revelling in the sight of her wide jaw sliding up and down his spit-slimy shaft, and – best of all – watching his dick surrounded in billowing smoke, making the interface between slut-face and stud-cock look as if it was on fire.

“Oh God, oh fuck!” Michael hardly needed to announce his impending orgasm, as Harriet could feel his cock growing stiffer, twitching and jerking as cum rose up his shaft towards her smoke-filled mouth.

As he began to jizz, Harriet took one last deep drag, filling her lungs with smoke, looking up into Michael’s eyes, opening her mouth wide and exhaling ever so slowly, so that her upturned mouth became a swirling cauldron of creamy white. Into that cauldron squirted Michael’s hot cum, each spurt mingling and melding with the churning smoke, so that Harriet felt she was drinking down the most intoxicating cocktail of all: smoke and cum, and cum and smoke – who knew where one ended and the other began? This is what Heaven must be like! Harriet marvelled. And Michael thought the same.

“Well, Mikey,” announced Harriet, as she stubbed out her cigarette on the step and sucked the last few drops of boy-cum from his cockhead, “I think we should thank God together for this! He’s given you a great big dick, He’s given me a totally amazing fetish, and He’s brought us together with it too! Let’s go in together and praise Jesus!” Around them, more worshippers were beginning to arrive, smiling indulgently at them as they passed on both sides on their way into church.

“Oh, are you sure?” Michael looked surprised. “I thought you’d want to dump me now. That’s what most girls do after the first fuck…”

“Well, one: we haven’t actually fucked yet, have we, Mikey? And with a cock that size, I’m not dumping you until I’ve had it in my pussy at least once. Two: we smoking fetishists should stick together: I get to smoke for you, and you get to watch me – not a bad pairing, hey? And three: I think you’re kinda nice, OK? Don’t read too much into it – but I’m not dumping you yet.”

Michael grinned from ear to ear. “Oh Harriet! No one’s ever said anything so nice to me in my life before!”

“I’m like that. Mikey. Come on, let’s go in.”

*

Twenty minutes later, the Reverend Dicky Fumbel was in full flow. “Michael!” he bellowed, beckoning the young man up to the altar. “How’s the cock, Michael? Show us that great big motherfucking-miraculous Jesus-dick!”

Shyly, Michael unzipped his fly and manoeuvred his huge erection out so that it pointed forty-five degrees upward over the heads of the congregation. There was a huge gasp from the assembled crowd. Reverend Fumbel was joyous: “See, brothers and sisters! Now, there are some naysayers, some agents of the Evil One, who come to me and say, ‘You’re faking all your miracles! They’re not real, they’re planted!’ But I say to them, ‘Could I have faked this?’ You saw Michael’s pathetic weeny dick two weeks ago, you saw how it couldn’t even get hard when faced with Deaconess Rahab’s hot juicy gaping cunt! Look at it now – hallelujah! Michael, have you been fucking lots of hot pussy with that dick? Don’t you dare say no!” he added, laughing.

Michael nodded shyly, his cock still twitching and bobbing enthusiastically before him – but Reverend Fumbel wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Well, Michael, you’re going to fuck even more pussy today – and soon, because I hear God asking me, nay, commanding me, my brothers and sisters, to call down the Horny Spirit on all of us here today.” There was an enthusiastic gasp from the congregation. “Now, I know some of you are sceptical,” the preacher continued, “some of you are thinking to yourself, ‘It’s all very well talking about the Horny Spirit in Bible times, coming down on the disciples in Jerusalem, but it doesn’t happen now.’ Well, brothers and sisters, if that’s what you think, if that’s how unbelieving you are, then I say to you, open your hearts now, open your cunts and your assholes, and invite the Horny Spirit in. He wants to give to you of His manifold gifts – and Scripture tells us what they are:

“Now to each one the manifestation of the Horny Spirit is given for the common good. To one there is given through the Spirit a message of filth, to another a message of lasciviousness by means of the same Spirit, to another lust by the same Spirit, to another gifts of fucking by that one Spirit, to another a miraculous big dick, to another a hot juicy cunt, to another fuck-talking in tongues. All these are the work of one and the same Horny Spirit…

“But hark!” Reverend Fumbel interrupted his own reading. “I hear the voice of the Almighty – and He tells me that yet another miracle has taken place in this congregation.” The preacher paused dramatically, as if listening intently to the heavenly voice, before crying out: “Harriet! Is Harriet here?”

Amazed at having been summoned, Harriet stood slowly, her betasselled tits and pink latex-clad ass jiggling as she made her way up the aisle to join Michael and the preacher. “Harriet, my amazing Further Fucking cuntslut, has God been gracious to you? Has he revealed to you your fetish?”

“Yes, Reverend Dicky,” Harriet grinned. “That very day, after you prayed and sprayed over me, I discovered my true fetish – and, praise the Lord, my life has been transformed!”

“And what is that holy fetish, my sister?”

“Smoking, Reverend Dicky!” replied Harriet, brandishing her packet of Marlboro Lights 100s and her pink lighter.

There was a gasp of amazement from the congregation, and a smattering of “hallelujahs” and “praise the Lords”. Reverend Fumbel lifted his arms in exaltation, and called out to Heaven: “I praise you, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to mere fucksluts! Now, sister, tell me: are you addicted to smoking?”

“Oh yes, Reverend Dicky, it really didn’t t–”

“And are you addicted to fucking?”

“Oh totally, Reverend Dicky, you kn–”

“And are you addicted to Jesus?”

“Oh yes, Reverend Dicky, Jesus is my Lord, my Fucker, m–”

“Hallelujah! So, fuckslut Harriet – smoke for us now! No, smoke for Jesus now and thank Him for the holy fuck-fetish He has given you!”

Harriet removed a cigarette from the packet and clamped it between her lips, flicked her lighter, and breathed in deeply. As she exhaled towards Reverend Fumbel, she saw Michael’s cock twitch with excitement. The preacher noticed it too: “Michael, does your cock like what you see? Do you see the beauty God has breathed into this fetish? Do you want to use your miraculous cock to fuck this smoking slut silly?” Again, Reverend Fumbel did not wait for an answer, but turned to Harriet: “Harriet, you are new to your fetish. I bet you’ve jerked off while smoking?”

“Oh yes, Reverend D–”

“Have you sucked cock while smoking?”

“Well yes, Reverend Dicky, just bef–”

“Have you had your cunt eaten while smoking?”

“Oh yes, by my friend Janey, sh–”

“But Harriet, now I want you to be honest with me: have you smoked while being fucked hard up your cunt? Have you screamed with smoky pleasure while someone’s been ramming his huge stiff cock up your wet fuck-hole?” Reverend Fumbel did not wait for an answer, but immediately issued his command to both Harriet and Michael: “Onto the altar, both of you! Two miracles, brothers and sisters – God worked two simultaneous miracles here in this church on the same day. When God acts, we need to pay heed. So now, let us watch this miraculous cock fuck this virgin smoking cunt to Heaven and back! HALLELUJAH!!”

“HALLELUJAH!!!” echoed the congregation.

As the preacher spoke, the worship band were beginning a soft underplay, gradually ramping up the mood as Reverend Fumbel lifted his holy hands to Heaven. Soon the congregation were moaning in ecstasy and fuck-talking in tongues, filled with the joy of extemporaneous prayer, as the worship leader began to sing:

Fuck the Lord oh my soul, oh my soul
Worship His Holy dick
Fuck like never before, oh my soul
I’ll worship Your Holy dick

Soon, all around the church, cocks were hard, cunts were wet, and clothes were being shed. Amidst the burgeoning feast of lust, Michael lay down on the altar, his thick cock rigid and vertical, as Harriet turned her back on him and lowered her hot cunt onto his pole. And so she smoked and fucked, pounding her wet gash up and down on Michael’s cock for everyone to see, supporting herself with one hand while the other held her cigarette. “Oh yeah, oh fuck, oh Jesus,” she marvelled, as she felt her cunt filled with stiff boy-flesh, and exhaled thick cones of smoke toward Heaven.

Soon the whole congregation was fucking, praising God with their tongues, their lips, their cocks and cunts. Men and women alike queued up in front of Reverend Fumbel, so they could be prayed over, embracing their holy vocations as fuckers for Jesus. The male deacons and elders prayed and sprayed, anointing their female acolytes with holy cum. The male members of the congregation took turns to fuck the deaconesses, filling their blessed cunts with load after load, till semen leaked and dribbled out onto the floor.

I will fuck the Lord at all times, for He is good

sang the worship leader

Real good, super good, fucking good
Each and every day of my life
I will fuck the Lord

But, amidst and despite the lustful spiritual revelry, two people quietly retreated. Harriet, having been fucked by a dozen or so men as she smoked, and Michael, having speared a dozen or so young cunts with his miraculous cock, spied each other across the nave, and somehow knew instinctively that they wanted to find somewhere private. As the orgy continued, and the congregation burst into a chorus of

Cum, Jesus, cum
Fill this ass with the Fucker’s glory

the two fetish buddies sneaked out of the front door and onto the street. “Hey, shall we go up to the park for a quiet fetish one-on-one, Mikey?” suggested Harriet.

And Michael grinned happily in agreement.

Jizz, Spirit, jizz
Set our cunts on fire

echoed the distant devotional singing from the church as, on the warm grass of Regents Park, Harriet reclined on her left side, nude, smoking. “Come on, Mikey, fuck me ‘spoons’ while you fondle my tits.”

“Uh, yeah, sure…” he replied, “but wait… first, can I…” Michael rummaged in his jeans pocket and took out a stubby pencil, and a crumpled piece of blank paper, which he flattened out on a discarded piece of slate on the ground. Trembling, his cock already stiffening in desire and anticipation, he looked at Harriet, studied her buxom form for a second, and then began to sketch.

“You drawing me?” Harriet marvelled. “How cute!”

“Uh, yeah, just a minute…” Michael muttered, his eyes darting rapidly up and down from his piece of paper, to Harriet’s beautiful voluptuous body, to her cigarette, and to the castles of smoke she was making in the warm autumn air. The pencil in his right hand flew back and forth across the paper, and it was not more than a couple of minutes before he paused, nodded, and turned the scrap of paper round so she could see it.

Harriet gasped. “Oh, fucking!” she exclaimed. “Totally fucking!” And she was right. For, though it was a mere hasty pencil sketch, and though the distraction of his throbbing weeping erection had perhaps not aided his artistic concentration, Michael’s artwork had captured her beauty, and that of her fetish, perfectly. Her body, Harriet suspected, may have been the easiest thing to draw, for she knew – and she was right – that her figure was by nature (or at least, by genetic modification) voluptuous, her breasts large and perfectly proportioned, her waist narrow, her curves displayed to perfection by her current posture. But the way Michael had depicted her smoking was pure glory. It was the work of someone who was not just a fine artist, but a consummate appreciator of the fetish in all its subtlety: he had captured her at that sublime moment when she had just taken a drag, the long white cigarette just inches from her lips, her last inhale still churning, swirling, dancing in her half-open mouth, residual wisps escaping from her nostrils, a strand of smoke rising from the end of the cigarette like an oblation to the heavens, and the ecstatic look of inhale anticipation – of which only a smoker knows the true wonder – glowing on her face. But even more, her eyes, the poise of her head, tilted back ever so slightly to maximise the rasp, the rush of her soon-to-be inhale – all these announced her joy, her pleasure, her devotion; they made the picture, rough and pencilled as it was, proclaim the divine glory of smoking, and Harriet’s identity as a human vessel of that glory.

Tears welled behind Harriet’s eyes, but she held them back, instead taking another drag from her cigarette. “Oh God, Michael, that’s beautiful. Now fuck me, please, fuck me as I smoke…” And so Michael propped his picture against a tree trunk where she could admire it, moved behind her, lay down, and slipped his stiff cock into her wet pussy from behind. As he reached around to fondle her breasts, she said, “I’m glad we met, Mikey. It’s nice being fucked by you…”

“Is that just because of my big dick?” he replied, revelling in the feeling of her wet cunt enveloping his cock, feeling her breasts flow and jiggle and sway at his touch, and watching the smoke pouring exuberantly from her lips. “Or the way I draw you? You’re easy to draw, you know, because you’re so beautiful, I –”

“Well, not just,” interrupted Harriet, little puffs of smoke bursting from her lips and nostrils as she spoke. “Besides, do I pleasure you just because I smoke? Or just because I’m a pretty blonde with big tits?” She took a deep hands-free drag, cupping her breasts majestically as if to emphasise the point, before exhaling directly upwards.

“Oh no, I don’t think so, Harriet. I think you would pleasure me whatever you looked like, and even if you didn’t smoke. In fact…” he hesitated, “I think… I… oh fuck…” But he did not finish his sentence, as he felt the pleasure in his cock grow, felt it fill and stiffen even more in her cunt. He reached down with his right hand and began rubbing her clit, as Harriet gasped with pleasure.

“Oh, that’s good, Mikey, rub that pussy for me, make me come with your dick deep inside me.” And so Michael did just that, carefully waiting for Harriet’s climax to crest before emptying his balls into her hot fuck-hole. Soon Harriet was squealing with joy: “Oh fuck, Mikey, that’s so good, I’m coming Mikey, coming as I smoke, coming as you fill me up with your hot jizz, oh Jesus yessssssss…” And come she did, her cunt spasming as she felt Michael’s boy-cum painting her slimy sugared walls, their simultaneous orgasm made even more sublime by her last deep drag, which filled her with smoke and joy and, as she let it escape slowly from her nostrils, enveloped them, bound them, joined them in the complementarity of their shared fetish.

In the distance, the worshippers at All Cunts were singing:

Flow, semen, flow
Flood our pussies with grace and mercy
Send forth your cum
Lord, and let there be light

And as Harriet and Michael lay in each other’s arms, savouring the combined fragrance of cum, cunt-juice, smoke and warm grass, feeling their shared fuck-space ebb and dribble as they came down from their nicotine-fuelled joint ecstasy, Michael kissed Harriet on the ear and whispered, “So, Harriet, now you’ve had my cock in your pussy, are you dumping me?”

Harriet laughed. “No, Mikey,” she replied tenderly, “I’m not dumping you.”

Michael smiled, an expression of surprise and wonder on his face.

“At least,” Harriet added with a smirk, “not till I’ve had that dick in my ass…”

“Wha-at?” Michael stuttered

Harriet winked, and giggled.

 

Interlude

Report:
Harriet Danes
Upper Sixth Form
Kunt College
December 2049

Dear Mr & Mrs Danes,

Harriet has had a very successful autumn term. She has maintained her high marks in English, French and Fucking and, whilst she has found the Further Fucking syllabus quite challenging in some respects (she needs to work hard on deep-throating, and prepping her anal, for example), her devotion to her chosen fetish, and the hours of extra time she has spent on it, mark her out as a distinctive fucker with massive potential for the future.

There has, sadly, not yet been a massive take-up of smoking amongst young people since its legalisation three months ago – despite the commendably strenuous efforts of the government to encourage it (including the provision of cigarettes free of charge through schools). For this reason, the Ministry of Education has decided to sponsor a nationwide youth smoking fetish competition. Smoke-‘n’-Fuck will take place at Wankminster Central Hall in June. I think Harriet should definitely enter, as she has great potential.

On another subject, the Royal Academy of Fucking are already welcoming applications for the 2050 intake, as you know. Harriet tells me that you have been helping her with hers. Please do let me know if I can be of any assistance. We at Kunt would of course be delighted to write a reference.

Kind regards,

Miss P. Poussée
Deputy Head of Fucking | Tutor, Fuckindor House
Kunt College, London
“Proud to be Enlightened: Valuing and Nurturing the Fuckers of the Future”

 

PART TWO:
Spring

Chapter Seven:
We Wrestle Not Against Cock and Cunt

“Why are we doing this, Harriet?” Michael looked sullen and disgruntled, as they climbed a pee-stained outside staircase leading to a grimy concrete balcony which ran along the front of the third floor of a small grey block of council flats in East London.

Harriet exhaled a plume of smoke, which burgeoned and hung like a thick cloud in the damp winter air. “Because we’ve been fucking each other for three months now, and it’s time we stopped sneaking around behind our parents’ backs. I mean, fucking out in the park every Sunday after church was fine in September – but not in this kind of weather.” She took another drag of her cigarette, letting this lungful out in a series of puffs as she continued to speak: “It’s all right for you: you can keep all your clothes on and just take your dick out to fuck me. But if you want to see my tits and ass, then I want to fuck somewhere which is not totally fucking freezing! And the public fuck-shelters are so grim. Besides, we live in Enlightened times now: we should be able to fuck where we want, when we want. And we agreed th–”

“All right, all right,” grumbled Michael. “But can’t we just go to your place instead? It sounds like your parents are a lot more reasonable, and a lot more welcoming, than my mum. There’s a reason my dad walked out on her. She’s going to be awful to you, you know, I mean, she hates me, and… well, we’re here…” He stopped, deflated, outside a peeling green door which must once have had the number “69” in plastic adhesive letters on it – though the “9” had long since fallen half off, leaving a paintless outline, so that it looked to the untrained eye as if the number on the door was “666”.

Harriet took one last drag of her cigarette, admiring the misshapen yellow butt, the filter almost brown from the many damp lungfuls of tar she had been inhaling through it, before flicking it casually over the parapet into the misty afternoon air. Despite Michael’s protestations, she was somewhat sceptical of the manner in which he described his mother. Her naïveté proceeded, perhaps, from her protective upbringing, and from being such a well-balanced young lady herself, with parents who pleasured each other, kept nothing from each other or their daughter, and accepted – nay, honoured – Harriet as she was: a kind, conscientious, courteous, hard-working sixth-form fetish fuckslut. If Harriet had ever encountered dysfunctional parenting in her life, she might have recognised in Michael the signs of family-induced low self-esteem. But as it was, she saw no reason why both her parents and Michael’s single mum should not be delighted that she and Michael had been contentedly boning each other for over three months now, and eager to meet their respective children’s fuckbuddies. Harriet and Michael had been continuing to meet each Sunday, to pray and to fuck. Whilst the weather was warm, the park was their favoured after-church fucking ground, but, if Harriet were being completely honest, she would have admitted that it wasn’t just the logistics which led her to insist that they both should introduce each other to their respective parents: she felt, instinctively, that there was something special in their relationship. It wasn’t just that she liked fucking Michael, liked smoking for him, and liked doing both together: she also liked hanging out with him, going to All Cunts youth events, chatting, joking, reading the Bible and praying together, and generally chilling out. She had no intention of dumping him, despite her occasionally teasing him to the contrary – and she doubted very much that he was losing interest in her. Being a well brought up teenage whore, she felt it was only right that their parents should welcome their fuckship into their homes.

Wearily, Michael opened the green front door and called ahead into the flat, “M’ cock, Mum, I’m home – and I’ve brought Harriet with me.”

Fuck me, baby, that feels so good; I love feeling that dick in my cunt, was the only response from within the flat – and it was very loud indeed. Harriet raised her eyebrows quizzically, before the soundtrack continued: Oh yeah, baby, ram that big black cock deep in my cunt-hole, that’s so fucking good, baby… Michael’s mother, a pale, corpulent woman with straggly once-blonde hair, multiple chins, and huge drooping breasts, sat naked on a dusty sagging sofa in the living room, watching television. Dark frayed curtains were half-drawn over the metal-framed windows, and she was surrounded by piles of damp cardboard boxes full of unidentifiable matter, wreathed in flies. The volume on her screen, an old 2030s television which looked as if it was about to fall off the wall, was turned up full, making the entire flat, small as it was, echo with the sound of moaning, squealing, and dirty talk, over a closeup of a big black cock doggy-fucking a white girl’s tight hairless cunt. Michael’s mother’s flabby thighs were spread wide, her pussy – as slack and unkempt as the pornstar’s on the screen was tight and perfectly coiffed – speared by a huge pink dildo which she gripped with her right hand. Her left hand was alternating between dipping deep into a large bag of Cheezy Wotsits, and slugging from a two-litre bottle of purple Vimto – giving the entire room the unmistakable combined odour of stale e-numbers and fishy cunt. As Michael and Harriet came into view, the older woman muted the sound, pulled her dildo out with a noisy squelch, and brandished it at her son accusingly. “Where the fuck’ve you been?” she demanded, in a gravelly voice.

“Church, Mum,” answered Michael quietly, his eyes fixed on the dark but faded floral carpet. “And I’ve brought Harriet home for a fuck – and to meet you…”

“If that’s all right, Mrs Didcock, how are you, lick my pussy, I’m Harriet, what a lovely home you have…?” added Harriet urgently but respectfully from behind Michael’s shoulder, smiling as broadly as she could.

The woman studied Harriet for a couple of seconds, then guffawed loudly, her large drooping dugs jiggling as she resumed gesticulating at them with her slimy dildo. “Oh, I don’t mind you visiting, cunt,” the woman sneered at Harriet, “but I’m amazed this good-for-nothing layabout managed to pull a hot piece of arse like you. What the fuck d’you see in him?”

Harriet stammered, “I… I… he pleasures me a lot, Mrs Didcock – and I hoped you wouldn’t mind us coming home together after church…”

Mrs Didcock laughed again, a deep, uproarious belly laugh, as if Harriet had just said something utterly ridiculous. “He pleasures you?! Pull the other one, cunt. He’s pathetic and useless, like his dad was. And he’s got a tiny dick, can’t get it hard most of time – how’s he going to pleasure you with that?” She rammed her dildo back into cunt and muttered a quiet “fuck” of pleasure.

Michael looked as if he wanted to disappear into the floor – but Harriet stood her ground: “No, Mrs Didcock, Mikey’s been healed: now his cock’s huge, and hard, and it pleasures me to be fucked by it.”

“Healed?!” Mrs Didcock’s face was a picture of incredulity and contempt. “You don’t really believe that bullshit, do you, cunt? Oh I know, I know, ‘God’ healed him, did He?” she scoffed. “Well, ‘God’ didn’t give me a husband who pleasured me! ‘God’ didn’t heal his cock! And ‘God’ has given me a son who’s no good at any fucking thing at all! Michael could’ve gone to college, got some proper qualifications. But no, instead he works in that fucking art gallery earning peanuts with all those other monkeys, and spends all his free time drawing pictures, or fucking praying,” – she pronounced the word with undisguised contempt – “deceiving himself into thinking that Jesus is going to come and save him from his own stupidity! You could do much better than him, cunt: look at you, all hot and blond, with your big tits and your tight arse, going to a posh school and all – sure, go on, go into his bedroom and suck his pathetic little dick if you like, but he’s not worth it, slut. Go and find a proper man who can pull his weight in the world, and who can fuck you like you deserve!”

Harriet stood, trembling. Michael’s face, red with humiliation, was still fixed on the floor. And on the screen, the big black cock had shifted upwards and was now silently sliding in and out of the girl’s asshole. Michael didn’t bother to reply to his mother, but shuffled backwards out of the living room, head bowed. Harriet followed him down the corridor. “Dickhead,” muttered Mrs Didcock at her son’s retreating footsteps, before turning the volume on her television up to full again, and ramming her dildo back into her hairy cunt. The dialogue from her movie – currently: Oh yeah, fuck my ass, stud; keep fucking my asshole with that big black cock! – pursued the youngsters down the corridor and through the door into Michael’s bedroom.

Michael’s bedroom, though modest, was the polar opposite of his mother’s dank smelly living room. His floorboards were bare and sanded, his belongings neatly stowed on rickety but clean shelves, and his bed was tidily made. Weak winter sunlight illuminated the room through a large bay window. But what made Harriet gasp in astonishment was the pictures. It seemed as if every square inch of the room – walls, doors, shelves, even the window-sill – displayed a piece of artwork: pencil drawings, water colours, oil paintings, charcoal rubbings, prints, batik – and the subject matter was equally varied: landscapes, portraits, groups, figures, and of course, plenty of nudes, and loads of fucking. In pride of place above his bed was a framed watercolour of Harriet herself, nude and smoking on her side in Regents Park – the completed version of the hasty pencil sketch Michael had made three months prior. It was even more beautiful than before, exalted, as if to the heavenly realms, by added interplay of colour and light and shadow. “Oh fuck, Mikey, did you do all of this? You’ve shown me a few of your sketches, but this is amazing, I had no idea, oh my fucking God, you’re –”

Harriet stopped, as she noticed that Michael had slumped down on his bed, and was holding his head in his hands. Down the corridor still blared the soundtrack from Mrs Didcock’s film: Oh yeah, you like gaping my ass, stud? You like stretching my fucking asshole wide with your big black dick? You gonna ram that motherfucker back where I shit, make this fucking white trash whore scream? – but neither Harriet nor Michael was paying attention.

“Oh Jesus, I’m sorry, Mikey, is your mum always like that? Did she really upset you?” Harriet sat next to her fuckbuddy and gave him an affectionate squeeze. The scent of stale tobacco smoke was strong on her clothes and breath, and Michael nuzzled into her neck so as to savour the comforting aroma better.

“Yes, she is. And yes, of course,” replied Michael, shaking his head despondently.

“Why do you put up with it?”

“Why? Well, what else can I do? Where else am I going to live?”

Harriet paused, her mind whirring, but hesitated to think out loud, as down the hall they heard: Oh yeah, stud, you gonna come in my ass? Squirt your cum in my fucking gape, baby, go on, jerk that fucking black dick off in my gaping shithole! Instead Harriet suggested, “Wanna fuck? That’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t think I can get it up now…” moaned Michael, pointing sadly at his crotch. “Besides, aren’t you going to dump me now? Every other girl who ever met my mum did…”

“Oh Mikey – I don’t care about your mum. You’re the one who pleasures me, not her! And don’t give me this shit about not getting it up: I bet if I smoke you will!” Harriet grinned, searching in her pussy-pink handbag for her cigarettes – but then paused, as she realised the import of what Michael was saying. “Oh God, Mikey…” She kissed him tenderly on his cheek. “Is this the source of all your fears, all your doubts, all your self-loathing? Is that why…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to. “Yeah, maybe… maybe it is…” sighed Michael.

“But Mikey, that’s all over now. God has healed you! He gave you a huge stiff dick to fuck me with,” Harriet gesticulated with her unlit cigarette, “and that’s His sign, isn’t it – His sign that you have nothing more to fear, remember: neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor anything else in all creation – including your fucking bitch of a mum! – will be able to separate us from the lust of God! So come on, fuck me, Mikey! Here, I’ll give you a nice smoky blowjob to get you going,” she added, dangling her cigarette between her lips, and lighting it. A burst of smoke escaped from her lips, as she continued to dangle whilst taking a second deep inhale.

“No,” said Michael firmly, deliberately averting his eyes from the normally irresistible sight of Harriet smoking. By now his lips were trembling, and tears were welling behind his eyes. “No, I can’t… I’m sorry. Not here. God does not enter this house, Harriet. Here there is only humiliation, and pain, and fear, and…” Michael ran out of words, but gesticulated in the direction of the living room, whence the blaring soundtrack was continuing, louder than ever: OH YEAH, FILL MY ASS WITH ALL THAT CUM, MOTHERFUCKER – YEAAAAAH!

Harriet let out a long nose exhale, before removing her cigarette from her lips. “How can God not enter here, Mikey? Is this a place where Evil reigns?” Harriet was trembling too now, and nervous puffs of residual smoke burst from her lips as she spoke, but she gathered her wits to continue: “Remember what Reverend Fumbel always says, Mikey? Jesus casts out the Evil One, rescues the possessed, frees the prisoner. Jesus can change this house, even change your mum! We need to cast out the demons from this place, Mikey! Come on!” She took a deep double drag, as if to steel herself for battle.

Harriet did not wait for Michael’s consent, but grabbed his hand and led him out of his room, back down the corridor. The soundtrack continued to blare, louder than ever: OH YEAH, I LOVE THAT CUM IN MY ASS, YOU FILTHY MOTHERFUCKER! SEE ALL YOUR FUCKIN’ CUM SWILLING AROUND IN THAT GAPING SHITCUNT? – but Harriet marched purposefully into the living room, Michael quavering in her wake, and stretched out her cigarette-free hand towards the obese figure of Mrs Didcock on her armchair, now writhing and moaning in the throes of her impending orgasm, her pink dildo a blur as she rammed it hard and fast in and out of her cunt.

The television blared, but Harriet declaimed loudly: “We wrestle not against cock and cunt, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world; and so I command thee in the name of Jesus Christ to hold thy peace, and come out of her, thou unclean spirit!” She took another deep double drag, as if to seal her holy command, and exhaled it towards Mrs Didcock and the television, which was now displaying a closeup of a swirling, whirling cocktail of man-cum, bubbling and frothing within the rim of the actress’ gaping asshole.

But there was no response from the corpulent Mrs Didcock, other than a long “fuuuuuuuck”, as she jammed her dildo hard and deep into her gash, and her pussy began to spasm. “Come out her, unclean spirit!” repeated Harriet – but all that came out of Mrs Didcock was a dribble of cunt squirt and a long noisy fart.

OH YEAH, YOU FILTHY FUCKER, WANNA WATCH ME DRINK YOUR CUM FROM MY ASSHOLE, STUD? screeched the pornstar on the screen, as Mrs Didcock moaned, “Yeah fuuuck…” while cramming a large handful of Cheezy Wotsits into her face, followed by a slug of purple Vimto which dribbled down her chin and onto her drooping tits. “Y’ fu’…” she repeated, as her mouth overflowed with half-chewed orange-and-purple gloop, which she scooped up and began to massage into her tits and cunt.

Michael’s mother was in no hurry to react to Harriet’s intrusion, waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, then turning down the volume on her TV again, but continuing to revel in the pleasure of the junk food she was massaging into her cunt and tits in post-orgasmic bliss. On screen, the actress was now methodically squatting over a wide-rimmed champagne coupe, before farting the contents of her asshole into it and swilling it around like fine wine. Harriet stood waiting, expectant – but there was no sign of any evil spirit departing from Michael’s mother; nor did the supposed demon respond in any way. Instead, Mrs Didcock slowly turned towards Harriet and laughed derisively: “‘Come out of her, unclean spirit’?” she cackled, food and drink splattering obscenely from her lips. “Fuck you, Jesus-cunt! No ‘unclean spirits’ here – just a middle-aged woman who’s been fucked over by the world, gaining her pleasure where she can.” She gave a loud burp. “Take my advice, Harriet. Your Jesus doesn’t care about you – and nor will Michael once you’ve served your purpose. Smoke, fuck, pleasure yourself, and take whatever pleasure anyone else will give you – but there’s no meaning hidden underneath it all, Harriet, neither in your fake God nor in the fake ideals of this Enlightenment… just more and more ways of spreading the shit… but it’s still shit, you understand…?”

Harriet stood, trembling, her cigarette still lit but forgotten in her hand, listening to the echoes of Mrs Didcock’s nihilistic creed in her head, before she came to her senses, took another reassuring nicotine-laden drag of her cigarette, and skulked, humiliated, out of the door, Michael still lurking in her shadow. On Mrs Didcock’s television screen, the actress was now ostentatiously gargling with the contents of her glass, before slurping the precious liquor down with a grin.

“Shit,” said Harriet.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed.

Chapter Eight:
Stick That Butt in My Butt

“Mummy, I’ve brought Mikey home with me!” called Harriet, as she exhaled her final lungful of smoke, flicked her cigarette butt into an empty flowerbed in the front garden, and strode in through her front door.

“Oh how lovely, cuntling!” replied Genevieve Danes. She was in the living room, stepping purposefully up and down on her husband’s prone body, naked bar her stilettos, which were leaving sharp red welts on her husband’s flesh as she walked. Henry moaned in ecstatic pleasure each time his wife’s heel elicited another raw bruise from his body – but Genevieve paused, stepping back onto the carpet to welcome their new guest. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mikey!” enthused the older woman. “Harriet tells me you’ve got a huge dick, and a passive smoking fetish: sounds like you were made for one another! Come in, come in!”

Michael, taken aback by Mrs Danes’ exuberant hospitality, blushed quietly, but Genevieve was not deterred. “So, are you going to fuck my daughter today?” She reached forward to squeeze his cock through his trousers. “Can I watch? I promise I won’t interfere! But I’ve heard so much about your big cock, and Harriet has told us how she likes giving you blowjobs and letting you come in her mouth while she’s smoking, and, well, I’ve never seen anything like that before except in the film clips Hattie has shown me, so I’d love to see how she does it. My husband doesn’t really go in for blowjobs, you see, he prefers jerking off while I humiliate him, so I thought –”

“Mother!” interrupted Harriet firmly but kindly. “Michael’s feeling fragile: he’s had a hard time from his mum today. Could you just let us fuck in private first, since it’s his first time here? Save the voyeurism for another day maybe?”

Genevieve, deflated but solicitous, paused. “Oh course, sweetcunt. Would you mind leaving the living room to your father and me then? I got my chili-and-vinegar poultices all ready for his raw wounds, you see. But you could fuck in the kitchen, or – well, I don’t suppose you’d want to use the patio at this time of the year…”

“We’ll just go upstairs to my room first, all right, Mummy? And Michael’s going to stay for a few days, if that’s OK. His mother’s in a bit of a… well, she’s a bit stressed, so we thought he could hang out here for a while…”

“If that’s all right, Mrs Danes?” added Michael. “I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“Oh, no trouble at all, Michael: Harriet got a nice big bed, just perfect for fucking. Just… well, I know you pleasure each other a lot, but don’t be tempted into being ‘faithful’ to each other, or falling ‘in love’, or anything like that. The neighbours would not be pleased if they thought I was harbouring that sort of behaviour under my roof!”

“Oh, of course not, Mummy – how could you! Bringing Michael home’s not going to cramp my promiscuity, don’t worry!”

Up in her bedroom, Harriet lit another cigarette, blowing her first long, thick cone exhale directly at Michael’s crotch and smirking knowingly as she discerned the growing bulge in his trousers. “Ooh, you’re healed!” she giggled. “All the demons have fled. Jesus lives! Feeling better now?”

“Oh, Harriet, are you sure this is all right, my moving in?” replied Michael. “I mean, your house is so nice – not like my mum’s. And your mother’s so friendly! No wonder you’ve turned out so well… not like me…”

“Michael Didcock, don’t give me that bullshit,” Harriet insisted, kneeling down and dangling her cigarette between her lips while unzipping her fuckbuddy’s fly. “You’ve turned out just right: look!” she grinned, as Michael’s huge cock sprang loose, nearly knocking her cigarette from her lips. “Fuck!” she added, before taking another deep drag and inhaling it over Michael’s cock. “I could fuck this thing forever!”

“Oh! Do you really mean that?” replied Michael uncertainly.

“Of course I… oh!” Harriet paused, as she inhaled another lungful of smoke. “You mean ‘really’ really?” she puffed smokily. “I mean, you mean, do you mean, do I really intend to fuck you forever, like, for ‘the rest of my life’ sort of forever, like…” She looked up at Michael’s face quizzically, two thin streams of residual smoke wafting gently from her nostrils across the topside of his cockhead.

Michael, worried he might have said too much, tried to backtrack. “Well, not necessarily like that, I mean, I was just wondering, you know, I… oh shit, Harriet, I don’t know what to think! You can fuck anyone you like. I mean, you do, don’t you? So why do you still fuck me? I mean, even every week at church, when you could have your pick of guys? And why have you now asked me to move in with you? I mean, it’s not just that my mum’s such a bitch, is it? What’s in it for you?”

Michael’s question caught Harriet in the middle of a cock-swallowing nose exhale – but in her surprise she choked, expelling a series of uneven puffs from her nose as she replied, “What’s in it for me? Fucking Jesus, Mikey, do you have so little self-esteem? Well, no wonder, I guess, after what I’ve seen today… But are you really still scared I’m gonna dump you?” She grabbed his cock with her fist and held it tight, as if to demonstrate: “I’m not fucking letting you go, Mikey!” before taking another deep drag of her cigarette and resuming her smoky blowjob.

Michael, uncharacteristically, pulled back, so that his cock was waggling comically in front of Harriet’s face, stirring her exhaled smoke from side to side. “Wait, Harriet, let me explain.” He paused, as if steeling himself for something rather unpleasant. “Didn’t you say, that day we first met, that you’d dump me after you’d taken my dick in your ass?” He folded his arms, looking down at her with an expression which seemed to combine anxiety, fear, and ‘so there’ in equal measure.

Harriet looked confused for a minute, then realised – and laughed. Michael, concomitantly, looked annoyed: “What, what? What’s so funny?” His cock bobbed in annoyance, even as Harriet giggled her lungful of smoke over it.

Words, smoke and laughter poured from Harriet’s lips in rapid equal measure: “Oh Mikey, you dickhead, I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant, I mean, I was trying to reassure you, OK? – to tell you not to be so scared, every single time we fuck, that I’m going to leave you! I was trying to tell you not to think so ill of yourself. I was trying to tell you that… oh Jesus, Mikey, you pleasure me, OK? You pleasure me so fucking much – more than anyone else I’ve ever met. All the other people I fuck, at school, at church, yeah, that’s nice – but… but…” Harriet faltered, took another drag, exhaled it rapidly, and stubbed her not-quite-finished cigarette out in her tit-shaped ashtray, before standing up and looking Michael straight in the eye. She hesitated briefly, then pulled him towards her, mashing her lips against his, kissing him passionately, grabbing his buttocks and pulling him close, so that his stiff cock ground hard against her crotch. “Dammit, Mikey, I’m not gonna fucking leave you, OK?” she crooned into his face. Michael moaned with pleasure and delight, revelling in her taste, her scent: smoke, both stale and fresh, on her breath and hair, combined with the slight saltiness of his own pre-cum on her lips.

“Mikey,” Harriet whispered through her kisses, “I’m going to prove to you how I feel about you. Michael Didcock, today you get to fuck my ass!”

“Wh– what?” Michael stuttered. “I thought you didn’t like anal!”

“Well – one: Ms. Poussée says I need to work on it, and if I’m going to be a professional fucker I’d better start now. Two: I’m going to prove to you that I’m not going to dump you even if you fuck my ass. And three: after you’ve come in my asshole I will have something very important to say to you.”

“Something important – w-what?” Michael looked even more worried.

“Patience, Mikey. If you want to know, start prepping my shithole now,” Harriet replied, as she reached for another cigarette.

As Harriet had already discovered – and as any smoker knows – there is nothing quite as effective as a cigarette for loosening the anal sphincter. And so Harriet removed her skirt and knelt on all fours on her bed, smoking deeply, her ass high in the air so Michael could access it easily. “Harriet, what do I do?” flustered Michael. “I mean, I’ve never done anal before!”

“Well, Mikey, that makes two us. Michael Didcock, you are about to take my anal virginity!” Harriet exhaled importantly, a thick, rich cone of smoke which soared ambitiously towards the ceiling.

“Wh– wha-at?” Michael’s nervousness was verging on terror now. “I thought you were doing Further Fucking and everything: don’t you do anal at school, then?”

“Mikey, you can’t just fuck an asshole which isn’t ready for it. At school they’ve been teaching us how to prep our assholes, with butt-plugs and dildos and lube and everything, ready for us to start anal proper after half-term. Except you and me are going to do anal proper before half-term, Mikey: yours is gonna be the first ever man-cock in my shithole!” She dangled her cigarette between her lips, circular-inhaling so that her lungs were full to overflowing, her head was whirling, and her asshole – which she reached back to stretch with both hands – began to widen. “See, Mikey,” Harriet added in a softer voice, “this is how special you are to me…”

Michael gazed in wonderment and delight at the sight – and it was special indeed: Harriet’s buttocks were full and round, her hairless fuck-lips dangling alluringly below and between, the pungent scent of cunt gently melding with the acridity of the smoke which continued to pour from her lips and nose. Between her buttocks, her flesh dropped away, making it impossible not to want to explore the valley between. And as Michael looked closer, he gasped with delight, for as he approached the nadir of her cleft, he saw little rivulets of skin begin to pour downwards like a reverse starburst, directing his focus to their goal, the lovely brown hole with a firm rim, gently alluring, still puckered, but already slightly parted by the effect of nicotine: like the narrow entrance to a treasure cave, enough to tempt, to lure the explorer in, but not so wide as to be mistaken for the fucked-out shithole of an experienced ass-whore.

“Now, Mikey, see how my asshole’s just gaping a tiny bit? That’s what Miss Poussée calls a ‘gapelet’: like it?”

“Oh God yes, it’s beautiful,” exclaimed Michael in admiration, “so beautiful I just want to…”

“Eat it?” interrupted Harriet.

“No.”

“Fuck it?”

“No.” He corrected himself. “I mean yes of course – but actually… can I draw it?” Michael studied her asshole intently.

“Seriously?!” Harriet burst into laughter.

“Oh sorry, sorry Harriet. I mean, of course I totally want to fuck it. But… even so, how’s my cock supposed to fit in there?”

“OK, so first, lick it a bit, Mikey,” Harriet replied through a rich mouthful of smoke.

Michael leaned forward cautiously. “What, lick your asshole, just like that?”

“Just like that, Mikey – like it’s a cunt.”

Well, it wasn’t just like a cunt, Michael thought to himself as he stuck out his tongue and began to probe at Harriet’s gently loosening hole. But it was very nice – the odour rich, warm and earthy, so different from the sharp pungency of pussy-juice. He breathed in deep, and moaned with delight at the cocktail of bodily scents rising from Harriet’s crotch. His cock twitched in pleasure as he continued lapping at the asshole which was now beginning to softly wink at him: open, then shut, then open, then shut again.

“Fuck, how do you do that?” Michael marvelled, plunging his tongue in as the gapelet opened, enjoying the tightness on his tongue when it closed around the tip.

“Same way I shit, babe,” giggled Harriet. “Muscle power: that’s what Miss Poussée’s teaching us in Further Fucking! Now, slobber some more, Mikey, get that hole good and slimy, and next time I wink it open put one digit in there.” Michael did as bid, and Harriet gasped as she felt her sphincter gripping the tip of his middle finger tight. “Fuck yeah!” she trilled. “Now, take this.” She removed her three-quarters-smoked cigarette from her lips and handed it backwards toward him.

“Hey, I don’t smoke!” Michael remonstrated.

“I know you don’t, dickhead,” Harriet giggled, “but my ass can! Stick that butt in my butt.”

“You’re joking,” laughed Michael nervously.

“Hey, I’m a total comedian, Mikey! I mean it: stick that fucker up my shithole!”

Michael was still confused. “Uh… which end?”

Harriet laughed. “The end which is not on fire, dickbrain!”

Gingerly, Michael did as he was bid. Harriet tightened her sphincter around the filter end of the cigarette and began to smoke it with her anal muscles. As she pulled in, her asshole sucked on the end of the cigarette, making the tip glow, drawing a rectum-full of smoke inwards. As she loosened, the smoke escaped in a long farty puff. “Oh fuck!” groaned Michael in awe, as his cock stiffened even more and he began to stroke his shaft with greater urgency.

“Hey, don’t come yet, Michael. I think the cigarette’s almost finished, so stub it out in my tit-tray and have another taste of my ass. Dutifully, Michael did just that, and this time Harriet’s anal savour was even more heavenly than before: there was the rich earthiness of her asshole itself, adorned by the more distant but pungent tones of her ever-juicing cunt, both now melded together by the acrid fragrance of tobacco smoke which permeated her entire crotch. This, Michael thought, was truly Heaven on earth – the scent of ass, and cunt, and smoke, all bound together in perfect balance; but more, this was the scent of Harriet, his fuckbuddy, his special slut, his beautiful, clever, funny, gorgeous fetish whore who brought him more joy and self-worth than he had ever felt in his life.

What Michael did not know, of course, was how to express what he was feeling. Part of it was sheer lust, of course – and he had told Harriet many times what a hot fucking slut she was, which was exactly the sort of compliment any respectable Enlightenment girl would delight in.  But subconsciously, whilst Michael sensed that there was more to how he felt than that, the word “love”, whilst not exactly banned under Enlightenment law, was at the very least eschewed in polite society – and the last thing Michael wished to do was to offend his fuck-friend with such disrespectful language. So he continued to slobber joyously at Harriet’s smoky cunty asshole, emerging every now and again to exclaim with delight, “You pleasure me, Harriet: you are such a sexy filthy fucking whore!”

“Oh thank you, Mikey!” grinned Harriet. “Now, try two fingers in there, fuckstud, and wiggle them around while you keep slobbering. If you stroke the inside walls of my ass, it’ll fool my rectum into thinking I need a dump, and it’ll gape wider.”

“Is that what they teach you at school?” marvelled Michael, as he did as he was told.

“Hey, why do you think my parents are spending all that money on my posh private education? Yeah, that’s good – but not just in and out, side-to-side as well – that really does the trick. Now, Mikey, make it three fingers!”

Soon, Harriet’s asshole had loosened enough for her to feel confident of saying, “OK, Mikey, now, softly, push your dick in there.” Michael knelt up, marvelling at the now widened gape of Harriet’s ass, and nudged his bulging cockhead against her sphincter. “OK, now gently push, Mikey,” she instructed.

Michael watched in delight as his dickhead nudged slowly into the girl’s anus. Harriet gasped at the incipient pain, biting her lip in concentration, but Michael made a point of being very gentle, letting his fuckbuddy’s ass gradually accommodate itself to each new half inch of cock before slowly pressing in deeper. “Yes, Mikey,” cooed Harriet, “that’s good. I wanna smoke again, Mikey. I wanna smoke with your dick in my shithole.” She lit another cigarette, breathing in deeply and letting the new wave of nicotine calm and loosen her anus even further, so that soon Michael’s shaft was buried balls-deep, and Harriet was moaning gently at the double internal caresses of smoke and cock. Michael started fucking, slowly sliding his spit-lubed shaft in and out of Harriet’s smoke-loosened rectum, feeling her sphincter continue to stretch and widen as he did so.

“Oh fuck, that is so good, Mikey! I love feeling your cock in my ass while I smoke. Fuck me, Mikey, faster!” As Harriet’s asshole loosened, Michael’s pace picked up. As he fucked, he continued to admire the beauty of Harriet exhaling her thick cones of smoke upward, while his slimy shaft slid in and out of her tight hole. If he pulled his dick outwards, Harriet’s anus stretched, slightly convex, until her sphincter bulged as wide as it could from the cockhead lurking just within; then, just as it seemed that his cock was bound to pop out, he would change direction of travel, and Harriet’s anus would become concave again as his cock squeezed back into its warm smoke-flavoured depths.

Michael’s cock was harder than ever now, his balls tightening, his glans throbbing. Harriet knew what was happening, and she wanted to make the most of it. “Turn over and lie down, Mikey, and let me turn round,” she instructed. Michael lay on his back, his huge stiff shaft vertical as Harriet faced him and lowered her now gaping asshole slowly onto it. She smoked deeper than ever now, filling her lungs with huge payloads of smoke which she exhaled noisily down into Michael’s delighted ever-watching face, even as she rubbed her clit with her other hand, and accelerated the pace of her asshole pounding up and down on his cock. “I want you to come in my asshole, Mikey. Go on, squirt that cum where I shit, baby, while I blow smoke in your face!”

“Oh God, yes!” bellowed Michael, all restraint lost as he felt his semen boil and course up his shaft, spurting hard against Harriet’s shit-walls, filling her rectum with creamy warmth, even as he revelled in the feel and the stink of lungful after lungful of warm smoke enveloping him. Harriet was still rubbing her pussy hard with her free hand, and so she too spasmed, her cunt pulsating through her fuck-walls, squeezing his cock again and again, milking every last drop of jizz from his shaft.

Harriet grinned as she sat upright, still smoking, on Michael’s crotch, his gradually softening cock lodged happily in her creamy rectum. He gazed up at her in delight, admiring the way she inhaled the last few drags from her cigarette, first showing off each churning mouthful of smoke to him, then snapping it rapidly down her throat, before releasing it heavenward from between her soft pursed lips.

Finishing her cigarette, Harriet leaned over to stub it out in her ashtray, before smiling at Michael. The latter looked expectantly at her, his eyebrows raised. “Michael Didcock,” began Harriet.

“Are you going to dump me now?” asked Michael in a resigned tone.

“No, Mikey, I’m not. But I am going to ask you a question.” She lifted her ass upwards, allowing Michael’s now flaccid cock to slip out, followed by a gentle fart, then a large dribble of cum which formed a puddle on his crotch.

“Oh?” replied Michael.

“Are you listening carefully, Michael Didcock?”

“Uh… yeah?”

Harriet paused, took a deep breath, and said: “Michael Didcock, will you marry me?”

Michael gasped, and beamed.

Chapter Nine:
Smoke-‘n’-Fuck

“Ah, Harriet, you got my message, good. Thank you for coming,” Polly Poussée beckoned, as Harriet knocked and edged the teacher’s office door open. She was surprised to find that Miss Poussée was not alone: two other students were seated nervously, somewhat self-consciously, on the edge of the office fuck-couch. “You know Danny and Danielle, don’t you, Harriet?”

“Uh… yes?” Harriet’s response masked a knot of conflicting emotions. The two were also in Harriet’s Further Fucking set. Danny had a particularly large cock when erect, and was widely regarded as being one of the best fuckers among his cohort of boys. Harriet could attest from personal experience that he used his cock well – but he was arrogant and cocksure, and swaggered rather more than was necessary, especially when wishing to show off his erection to best advantage. Danielle was equally sour-faced, inordinately proud, Harriet thought, of her admittedly considerable deep-throating skills, and tended to wrap herself around Danny rather a lot in the corridors, smearing her cunt-slime on his trouser leg as if to lay claim to him. In short, Harriet didn’t much like either of them, and had always had the impression that the feeling was mutual.

Despite Harriet’s noticeable disquiet, Miss Poussée did not attempt to explain what the interlopers were doing in what Harriet had thought would be a one-to-one tutorial, instead launching into a rather peremptory, “Harriet, I must talk to you about ‘Smoke-‘n’-Fuck’; are you interested in competing?”

“Oh, Miss Poussée, do you really think I’m good enough?”

Harriet was hoping for an unalloyed “yes, absolutely” from her teacher, but should have known better, for Miss Poussée had never been prone to verbal overenthusiasm. Instead the latter replied: “I think your smoking has been progressing well. You are certainly addicted to the fetish on all levels – which is wonderful. Your smoking blowjobs and cunt-smoking are uncompromisingly filthy, which is just right. And your dirty talk is improving nicely – which works really well with your smoking: I do like the way you puff smoke when you say ‘fuck’ – just perfect! But it is highly likely that most of the other competitors will have the same talents, you see. So, if you are serious about wanting to actually win this competition, you will need to demonstrate skills which go above and beyond the normal…”

Harriet frowned. “But, Miss Poussée, what else is there I can improve on? I’m getting top marks in all my Fucking modules. That plus my total smoke addiction – what more is there?”

Harriet sensed Danny and Danielle smirking behind her back, but did not dare turn to challenge them. Miss Poussée smiled knowingly, but there was a hard edge to her voice as she replied: “What more is there? My dear, there is always more! You are right that for mere ‘A’-Levels your standard is very high – but now we are talking about a nationwide competition, televised on the BBC, no less. You will need to display a level of skill which is not merely professional but award-winning. Now, do you want this? If you do, then I am prepared to put in the extra time and effort to help you become a world-class smoking fucker. But if you are not sure, then we can just give up now.”

Harriet paused. Miss Poussée’s ultimatum was daunting, even frightening, and part of Harriet wanted to go for the easy option: enjoy her smoking, enjoy church, enjoy fucking around, get her ‘A’-Levels, get married to Michael, settle down and have an easy life full of pleasure and leisure. But then she remembered God’s graciousness toward her, how He had stepped in to reveal her fetish when she had been so lost and confused. Surely He had not done so just for her pleasure, but to extend to her a higher calling, the privilege of being His smoking-and-fucking emissary on this earth, to proclaim His glory and fuckingkindness to all mankind. The sound of another snigger from Danielle forced Harriet out of her ruminations, and she replied, “You are right, Miss Poussée. Thank you. I accept the challenge, and your help. I want to give this competition my all.”

“Good choice, young lady-whore. And that is why I have asked Danny and Danielle to join us. I need to ‘put you through your paces’, so to speak, and I thought we should have a good competent pair of fuckers around for that purpose – is that all right?”

Harriet nodded awkwardly. Danny seemed somewhat unsure himself, and blurted out, “But Miss Poussée, Harriet’s got nice tits and all – and a hot cunt – but I really don’t like fucking her anymore: she stinks of smoke all the time.”

Typical fucking boy, Harriet sighed inwardly. They don’t do charm, do they?

Miss Poussée was blunter in her response: “Danny, you are aiming for an A* in Further Fucking – which means accepting, even if not enjoying, the wide variety of fetishes held by the girls you fuck. Why, just last week you fucked Danielle’s face while she was coated with yoghurt, coriander and paprika; and you ate out Amyee’s arsehole, even though she kept repeatedly farting whipped cream in your face. If you can put up with that, then surely you can stand it if Miss Danes here gives you a blowjob!”

“A blowjob?” Danny grimaced. “Oh, Miss Poussée, but then my cock will stink of smoke too, and no one else will want to suck it for the rest of the day! And me and Danielle were going to practise our sixty-nines during lunch break.”

“Yeah,” added Danielle with a pout, “and if Harriet blows smoke in my cunt or anything, then –”

Harriet, it must be said, was rather on Danny and Danielle’s side: she didn’t much want to suck his cock or eat her cunt either – but she had the sense to hold her peace. This was just as well, because Polly Poussée’s reprimand was brief but terrifying: “Enough, both of you!” she snarled. “Danny, trousers off, and cock out – now! Danielle, get your knickers off: you’ll be next!”

The two did meekly as they were told, and soon Danny’s large cock was dangling forlornly but obediently before Harriet’s face, as she knelt and lit her first cigarette. Giving Daniel a smoky blowjob would, she thought, be a fairly straightforward business; after all, Michael adored them – and even if Daniel was not keen on smoke, he would surely, like all boys, come round once she started sucking his dick. Unfortunately, Daniel’s dislike of smoking was more profound than she had imagined. As she smoked over his cock, he made a great show of holding his nose, hacking and coughing, and making disgusted faces every time any smoke wafted towards his face. It took a great deal of manual stimulation to get his cock hard at all, and a particularly vigorous bout of face-fucking – for which Harriet had to all the hard work, as Daniel was dogged in his determination to stand there doing nothing – to get him close to orgasm. By the time Harriet eventually jerked him off over her face, her cigarette – ironically rather neglected in her efforts to get the boy to come – had burnt down to the butt, and the smouldering filter was beginning to emit a rather unpleasant smell. Miss Poussée was unimpressed, Daniel was looking at the girl kneeling before him with an unalloyed expression of disgust, Danielle was sitting in the corner watching with a fixed sneer on her face, and Harriet was nearly in tears. “It’s not fair, Miss Poussée, Daniel’s being a total dickhead: he hates me, and he hates smoke, and he just wants me to fail, can’t I –”

“Don’t worry, Harriet, we’ll sort this out,” interrupted the teacher. “Danny, thank you, you may go now. And you too, Danielle.”

Danielle looked relieved, and Danny looked disgruntled. Behind their teacher’s back, Danielle mouthed “Fucking bitch!” as she stuck up her middle finger at Harriet, and they shut the office door behind them.

Miss Poussée, much to Harriet’s surprise, smiled broadly. “Don’t worry, Harriet, there is nothing to be concerned about. What we have established by this exercise is that there is no point your entering this competition partnered with anyone who does not like smoke – or at least who is not prepared to tolerate it. Danny was a disaster, as would Danielle have been – and I suspect most of your other school Fucking classmates will be the same. I have been discussing your case with the Head Master. She had been wanting to keep your performance at the Festival ‘in-house’ – but did say she would be prepared to consider your partnering with someone from outside Kunt if there was nobody suitable here. We have just proved, I think, that even our best student fuckers will not make the grade. So, I am confident in asking you: do you know any boys or girls outside the College who like the smoking fetish, and who would enjoy working with you on your Smoke-‘n’-Fuck performance?”

Oh God, how great thou art! thought Harriet, as a great smile of gratitude spread across her face. “Oh yes, Miss Poussée, yes! My fuckbuddy – I mean, my fiancé – Michael: he loves the smoking fetish. I mean, he doesn’t smoke, but he loves fucking me when I smoke, and he loves the smoky blowjobs and everything. He’d be perfect – and we’d work so well together: we’re both Christians, you see, and we’ve always fucked every Sunday at church, but now he’s moved in with me because his mum’s a bitch, and we’re dedicating our lives to Jesus, and on Sunday he fucked my ass, and…”

Harriet’s enthusiasm was overflowing, but Miss Poussée brought it to an abrupt halt with a wave of her palm. “Well, Harriet, bring him to see me, shall we say, after school on Friday next week? Let me watch you fuck, and we’ll see if there’s mileage in it, all right?” Harriet nodded enthusiastically. “Now, however,” continued Miss Poussée, “you will also need a cunt to eat while smoking. Do any of your church slut friends share your fetish?”

“Uh… well, no, not actually, no… But…. I have an idea! You know my friend Janey? Janey Harris – she’s not doing ‘A’-Level Fucking, but she does a lot of extracurricular fucking, like at band, or philately club; and she’s really good at eating cunt – clarinettist, see? – and using a strapon, and she likes being pissed on too; and even though she doesn’t actually have the smoking fetish, she really likes me eating her out when I smoke, and –”

“Bring them both along then, Harriet. Not sure exactly what would be the best sort of scene for you to present at the competition, but having three of you gives us lots of options. And if you and Michael are engaged, then – oh, you’re not saving anal till you’re married, are you?”

“Oh no, of course not!” Harriet reassured her teacher. “He’s already fucking my ass, and we’re getting pretty good at it: the cigarettes help with that, you see…”

“Excellent.” Miss Poussée looked pleased. “Now, however, Harriet, there is another aspect of your fetish that I think we need to talk about improving.”

“Oh?” Harriet looked surprised, even a touch disappointed.

Miss Poussée, however, was in no mood to let Harriet off lightly. “You see, Harriet, you have so far, as far as I can tell, been concentrating on the fucking aspects of your smoking: masturbating, blowjobs, pussy-licking, fucking, anal – which is of course wonderful, as you have a great deal of talent in all those areas. But it is highly likely that all the other competitors will excel in those fields as well, you see? No, we need to build in you some skills which will distinguish you from the others, put you in a class of your own, show you to be a truly versatile smoker, able to be refined in an old-fashioned way, as well as a total fuckslut like a modern Enlightened girl – do you see?”

Harriet didn’t really understand. “Uh… what did you have in mind?”

“Well, Harriet, I’ve been doing some research in the National Fuck Archives: I had to write specially to the Ministry of Fucking to gain permission to access these smoking videos” – Miss Poussée brandished a small pile of disks – “which are strictly classified, as they do not actually contain any fucking, and therefore are not considered suitable for general consumption.” Harriet nodded seriously – though she thought to herself that Fukhdeep would surely be able to find copies of them for the right price.

“They come from the early years of this century,” continued the teacher, “and, though the absence of fucking at first seems quite strange, even somewhat distasteful, these girls display a deftness of smoking technique which I think you would do well to aspire to. I think it would complement your fucking very well.”

“Uh…” Harriet did not know what to say. She thought she was already pretty good at smoking: after all, she could dangle sexily before, during or after light-ups; inhale, mouth open or closed; multi-pump, circular inhale, exhale through nose and/or mouth – and all the above while sucking cock, licking pussy, or getting fucked in cunt or ass in a multitude of positions. In short, she could not imagine what so-called “deftness of technique” she might be lacking.

“I suggest you watch one of them,” continued Miss Poussée.

“Uh… OK…?”

“Now,” insisted Miss Poussée, indicating the large wide screen on her wall. She inserted one of the disks into a player, and clicked her remote control, while gesturing for her student to sit on her fuck-couch to watch.

Harriet did not know what to expect, but her curiosity overrode her scepticism, and she watched as the first scene flickered into view. At first, there seemed to be little about this smoking scene which was any improvement on Lauren Bacall, or any of the other vintage smoking actresses Fukhdeep has managed to source for her – Monica Bellucci (what a dangle!), Elle Fanning (on a fucking bicycle!), Sharon Stone (cuntflash – whahey!). The quality was grainy, like most old movies, and the first scene featured nothing more remarkable than a pretty blond girl (“Taylor”, according to the sleeve notes) seated in an armchair smoking, apparently chatting intermittently, with some kind of Antipodean accent (Australian? wondered Harriet) with the unseen camera man. She dangled the unlit cigarette, speaking as it bobbed carelessly up and down between her lips, hollowed her cheeks to light it, tilted her head upwards with the pleasure of her first inhale, and exhaled long and slow through pursed lips. OK, nice – but what’s the big deal? thought Harriet.

But then things changed. Taylor’s next inhale did not go straight into her lungs. Instead, the blond Australian broadened her jaw, briefly holding the mouthful of smoke in her mouth before letting some of it out between her widened lips, so that it hung, swirling and dancing before her bright red lips, just for a second, before it snapped backwards into the girl’s mouth, and thence, rapidly, down her throat into her lungs. Another ecstatic exhale followed of course, but by then – “Fuuuck!” – Harriet’s heart was pounding with excitement. “Oh fuck!” she exclaimed. “What was that? Miss Poussée, what the fuck was that? How did she do that?!”

Miss Poussée smiled triumphantly. “Glad you like it, Harriet. Keep watching.”

But Harriet was not just in the mood for watching. Almost without realising it, her cunt was rapidly moistening, and she was clenching her thighs. “Oh Jesus, do that again, Taylor,” she muttered. “Fucking do it again!”

Taylor did. This time the ball of smoke hanging churning at her lips was even thicker and richer than before – “Jesus, it’s like she’s taking a fucking smoke facial!” exclaimed Harriet. “Fucking swallow it, bitch!” Taylor did precisely that, the entire ball of smoke disappearing with a sudden, almost audible, snap – deep into her needy lungs. Taylor’s face was a picture of joy and mischief, and Harriet’s the perfect image of lust, as the fingers of her left hand strayed between her legs, and her right hand scrabbled for a cigarette.

Miss Poussée watched with quiet satisfaction as her student descended into fetish-fuelled lust, her cunt now dripping as she smoked and rubbed herself off. On screen, Taylor was continuing her cycle of gorgeous suspended inhales, but every now and again one of them wouldn’t get snapped in through her mouth, but would be drawn gently upwards, like a curtain, or an upside-down waterfall, inhaled through her two nostrils, before being exhaled through both mouth and nose together. “Oh Jesus, it’s like she’s cumplaying!” exclaimed Harriet. “All over your fucking face, bitch – in your mouth, in your nose, on your tongue, fuck yeah!”

But Taylor was not finished: now she was working on her exhales. Sometimes they were slow and fine, through soft pursed lips, sometimes wider, stronger and more assertive – pillar of fire by night, pillar of smoke by day! Harriet marvelled. But then Taylor did something Harriet had never seen in her life before. She exhaled partly, so that her mouth was full of a reservoir of smoke fresh from her lungs, then widened her jaw, formed her lips into a broad ‘O’, and – well, the first thing Harriet noticed was her jaw spasming, jerking, so that out from between her lips flew an exuberant battery of rich, thick smoke-rings. “OH FUCK!” screeched Harriet through a mouthful of smoke. “How the fuck does she do that?! Look, Miss Poussée, see how her jaw spasms to make those rings: it’s like her lungs are coming, like she’s… and look at those rings: big and round like great smoky ass-gapes – doesn’t that totally make you want to fuck her? Fuck her smoky face, fuck her smoky throat, oh Jesus fuck…”

Harriet was become utterly incoherent with lust, dragging desperately on her cigarette, circular-breathing smoke deep into her lungs. Her cigarette dangled hands-free from her lips as smoke poured from her nostrils, and both hands pleasured her cunt. Miss Poussée continued to smile the triumphant satisfied smile of a true pedagogue: “Do you want to learn how to do those tricks, Harriet? Do you want to be like Taylor?”

“FUCK YES!” screamed Harriet as she came, her cunt spasming with glorious pleasure, her body wreathed in rich clouds of smoke, as she continued to gaze with lustful admiration at Taylor’s suave, pretty, cheeky smoke games on the screen. “Oh… oh…” Harriet whimpered, as the Australian continued to shape her perfect snap-inhales, her richly relaxed batteries of smoke-rings, her cascading French waterfall inhales, her perfectly angled nose-exhales. “Oh God…” Harriet’s cigarette butt continued to dangle from her lips – almost forgotten in the midst of her ecstasy, as she continued to drink in Taylor’s smoking beauty – until she felt it burn hot against her lips.

“Well, Harriet,” smiled Miss Poussée, “would you like to borrow these disks over the weekend?”

“Oh yes, Miss Poussée!”

“Good. So, you have two things to work on now, don’t you? One is getting your friends to join you here next week, so I can see if they would be suitable fuck-partners for your performance. The other is working on your new smoking tricks.”

Harriet nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, Miss Poussée, definitely. This is going to be so fucking!”

“Indeed, my dear, let us hope so,” replied the teacher with her customary level of calm understatement. “Oh – just one last thing before you go: I notice that you are still smoking ‘lights’. I have spoke to Nurse Coxucca, and done some historical research, and we agree that, especially if you are going to be competing, you really should upgrade to full-strength cigarettes. So she has ordered some ‘red’ Marlboro 100s for you. These used to be illegal in this country, as they contain such a large quantity of nicotine. But now that you have Smoke Safe lungs, it is only right that we should not deprive you of the highest available levels of smoking addiction, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Miss Poussée, it would be such a pleasure!”

“Well, pop by the Medical Centre before you go home today, Harriet, and you can pick them up. Now, I really must be off. I am already late for Squirt Squad training…” And with that, the teacher left.

And Harriet knelt in thanksgiving.

Chapter Ten:
Cum in Perspective

Harriet arrived home lovingly clutching her carton of Marlboro “red” 100s close to her chest. “Oh Hattie,” exclaimed her mother as Harriet walked through the front door, “come and say hello to Mr and Mrs Jones – you remember, from the Highgate BDSM Club?” Mr and Mrs Jones were among the Danes family’s closest friends, and frequently dropped by for a fuck – though that never stopped Genevieve Danes from enthusiastically re-introducing them to her daughter every time they met.

“Lick my pussy, Mrs Jones,” Harriet smiled dutifully at their guest, who, like her mother, was wearing a large purple strapon so that the two of them could proceed with spit-roasting a pale portly gentleman kneeling on the living carpet. “Oh and, m’ pussy, Mr Jones, I didn’t recognise you for a second,” she giggled.

Mrs Jones maintained her vigorous fucking of her husband’s face as she ventured enthusiastically, “Your mother tells me you’re getting married – how exciting!”

“Oh Mother, have you told everyone already?” Harriet grimaced.

“And why shouldn’t I, cuntling?” Genevieve paused, her dildo deep in Mr Jones’ ass. “Your Daddy and I are very proud of you – aren’t we, Henry?” Mr Danes was curled up on the floor watching, panting and drooling at the mouth as he stroked his cock, but he obediently whimpered his agreement.

“And when do we get to meet your fiancé? What’s he like? Is he handsome? Does he have a big dick? And what does he do for a living? I gather he’s moved in with you?” The questions tumbled from Mrs Jones’s mouth, even as her husband gagged and dry-heaved noisily before her.

“Oh, he’s an artist, Mrs Jones, and works in a gallery. And yes, he has a very big dick. But after work today I think he’s going to his mother’s to pick up some of his things, so he probably won’t be home till late…”

*

Indeed, at that very moment Michael was standing in his mother’s living room receiving a dressing-down. “Engaged?!” screeched Mrs Didcock. “Engaged – to that cunt?”

“Oh, Mother, please don’t speak about her like that,” mumbled Michael.

“I’m not speaking about her like anything, dickhead,” remonstrated his mother. Ribena and half-chewed Hula Hoops were smeared down her corpulent nude figure as she lay on her sofa, gesticulating at her son with her slimy dildo. “I’m talking about you! How can a hot rich slut like her want to get married to such a hopeless, ugly, impotent drop-out?” Mrs Didcock had put her television on mute, but the moving pictures indicated an ongoing lesbian squirt-bukkake, with a diminutive brunette writhing on the floor, mouth open and tongue out, surrounded by a dozen or so other girls rubbing their cunts hard over her. “She’s not going to stick with you, boy – and no fucking wonder!” continued Mrs Didcock. “OK, she’ll fuck you when you want it, for a while anyway; but then she’ll find another stud who’s more on her level – financially, intellectually, and sexually – I mean, with a proper big cock! And how the fuck are you going to survive anyway? You’ve got no fucking money!”

“Mum, I’ve saved up over the years: I’ve got twenty thousand in the bank already!” Mrs Didcock snorted derisively. “And, I know you won’t believe me, but God has healed my cock: I’ve got a big cock now, and Harriet likes fucking me!”

“Well, I don’t fucking believe you! Go on, show me your ‘big cock’ then, Jesus-freak, let me see it!”

Michael paused awkwardly. On the television, the first few squirts were beginning to issue from the standing girls’ cunts, and the brunette on the floor was wriggling in pleasure as jets of clear girl-cum rained on her face and tits. But Michael muttered under his breath, “I can’t show you my big cock here…”

“And why the fuck not, dickhead – except that you don’t anything to show?”

“No, no, Mother…” Michael’s face revealed his torment. “It doesn’t work here. Here, in this house, with you around, nothing about me works right. But away from you, with Harriet, everything is better. You make me feel small, you make me small. But she makes me feel… different…”

“BULL-FUCKING-SHIT!” screamed Mrs Didcock. “You trying to blame me for all your problems? That’s just what your failure of a dad did.” Michael’s mother put on an imitation of a whining male voice: “‘Why are you speaking to me like that, dear? Why are you being so horrible? You know how much I love you, darling…’ Well, he said all those things, but he fucking left me, didn’t he? And now you’re doing the same, you pathetic, stupid, impotent, ugly, treacherous excuse of a son!”

Michael did not try to respond, but backed slowly out of the living room and began to shut the door. “DON’T YOU FUCKING WALK OUT ON ME, MICHAEL DIDCOCK! YOU’LL FUCKING REGRET IT!!” screeched his mother after him, as he shuffled down the corridor to his room to gather up some belongings.

A minute later, he emerged clutching a large flat rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper. Oh yeah, squirt your fucking cum all over my slut face! came the noise of Mrs Didcock’s resumed soundtrack through the living room door, as he walked back down the corridor towards the front door. Drown me in your fucking girl-cum, I wanna –

Michael wavered briefly on the threshold, before setting his jaw and shutting the front door firmly behind him.

*

“So when’s the happy day, then?” continued Mrs Jones, as she and Genevieve Danes swapped places, so that Genevieve could feed her asshole-flavoured strapon into Mr Jones’ face.

“Oh, we hope in the summer, Mrs Jones. I’m applying the the Royal Academy of Fucking for the autumn, and I’ve got a smoking competition in June, and Michael will be spending the next year doing missionary work abroad for our church. So we thought we’d get married before we spend our year apart: it’ll be even more special for us when he comes back the following summer!”

Mrs Jones was now ramming her strapon into her husband’s asshole deep and hard, and Mr Jones was groaning with pleasure at each new thrust while drooling ecstatically over Genevieve’s dildo. Henry Danes, whimpering with joy, continued to watch from the corner, jerking his cock contentedly. “I… think… you are… very wise,” Mrs Jones continued to advise Harriet, between violent thrusts of her pelvis. “Good to… spend some time apart… when you are… first married, so you get used to… fucking around… as much as… you can… You don’t want to… drift into the habit of… monogamy… or sexual fidelity… or anything dodgy… like that… That can… ruin many an… otherwise promising… marriage – don’t you think… Gen?”

“I agree entirely,” replied Harriet’s mother. Thankfully, though, she sensed Harriet’s well-concealed impatience with Mrs Jones’ questioning, and added, “Don’t you have some smoking prep to do, Hattie?”

“Oh yes, Mum, I’ll go and do that now,” grinned Harriet gratefully, as she turned swiftly on her heels and dashed up the stairs.

As she made her way toward her room, she heard a few more scraps of the ladies’ continuing conversation from downstairs, as they changed positions yet again: “Smoking fetish – really? How exciting! I had a great-aunt who died of emphysema when I was young. Is Harriet planning on doing that too – or does she prefer lung cancer? Oh, does that not happen these days? How times have changed…” – before that too was drowned out by the sound of both husbands noisily groaning as they climaxed. “Oh yes, all over my face, both of you…” trilled Mrs Jones, as Harriet shut her bedroom door.

Harriet sat at her dressing table admiring her carton of Marlboro “red” 100s. Removing one packet and carefully unwrapping it, she took out a cigarette, twirled it between her fingers, and sniffed it. It’s probably my imagination, she thought, but it smells richer – and it feels… “heavier” than a “light”… Weird. Well, let’s give it a go!

Harriet fully expected her first full-strength cigarette to feel rougher, harsher on her throat. But as she took her first inhale, all her expectations were overturned: instead the smoke felt darker, thicker, smoother, less chemical, more natural. It was like tasting a full-blooded fruity Zinfandel, rather than a dry light Sauvignon Blanc; like 85% dark chocolate, instead of the pale milk variety; like a lovely slab of roast belly pork dripping with juices, rather than a virtuous but otherwise tasteless dish of tofu; like a – oh fuck, it’s like taking a huge creamy bukkake from a bunch of huge dicks all over my fucking face, rather than just one weeny little squirt! Already she felt herself taking shallower drags than she was used to, but noticed the satisfaction effortlessly multiply within her. “Oh fuck, this is wonderful!” she muttered, admiring the sight in her mirror as she released a battery of thick puffs of smoke into the air in front of her.

OK, now let’s try some of those tricks! Harriet instructed herself. First she tried to do one of Taylor’s snap inhales – but failed miserably. All she managed was to produce was a rather unremarkable cloudy exhale – no sign of the beautiful swirling ball of smoke the Australian blonde seemed to manage to produce so effortlessly. Shit. After a couple of tries she realised that it wouldn’t work with smoke from her lungs: she mustn’t inhale first. So she tried holding some smoke in her mouth and then blowing it out, but this just produced shapeless puffs of smoke – and deprived her of any nicotine satisfaction. Fuck.

OK, maybe I’ll try to blow some rings: for those I know you need to inhale first… But every attempt Harriet made just resulted in her exhaling shapeless clouds of smoke: there was no hint of rings, or even balls of smoke. Fuck. Harriet was getting frustrated, and discouraged. Jesus, this is like learning to smoke all over again. What the fuck?

“Harriet, dinner!”

FUCK!

*

Michael was walking through the front door just as Harriet came down the stairs. “Mikey!” she grinned – but could see immediately from his expression that his home visit had not gone well. “Was she a bitch?” she asked sympathetically.

“Well, no more than normal,” affirmed Michael. “But look what I got from my room!” He held up his flat rectangular parcel.

“Oh – one of your paintings?” asked Harriet.

“Not just any,” Michael smiled, as he unwrapped it. “My favourite painting of the most beautiful smoking slut in the world!”

“Oh Mikey, you shouldn’t have! Surely you had more important things to bring back! I thought you were going to collect some clothes and stuff?”

Michael gazed into his fiancée’s face. “Harriet, you are the most important thing to me. You pleasure me more than life itself. And I wanted this picture, to remind us of the day we met.”

Tears welled in Harriet’s eyes, before she threw her arms around her fiancé and kissed him passionately on the lips. Soon their tongues were tangling, and they might have fucked right then and there, but for Genevieve marching into the hallway to announce dinner and squealing with delight at the sight of the painting. “Oh look, Henry! Michael’s done a painting of Hattie smoking. Doesn’t she look fuckable!”

*

“OK, Hat, show me what the problem is,” said Michael, as they sat, both naked from the waist down, on the living room sofa after dinner. The meal had been Genevieve’s signature boeuf bourgignon, which Henry had gobbled, morsel by morsel, out of his wife’s cunt – though Harriet and Michael had preferred, like Genevieve, to use cutlery and crockery. The grown-ups had stayed in the kitchen for dessert (home-made nougat ice-cream which, Genevieve judged and Henry agreed, would taste even better farted out of her asshole directly into her husband’s face) – but Harriet was keen to resume working on her smoking tricks, with Michael’s help this time. Together they re-watched the video of Taylor doing her snaps and rings, replaying sections on repeat, to try to work out how she did it, as Harriet smoked cigarette after cigarette. But the quality was grainy, especially in slow motion, and – “Fuck it, Mikey, all her technique is hidden inside, in her throat or the back of her mouth: I can’t tell what she’s doing! How the fuck does she get the smoke to do all that amazing shit? Look, all I get is these shapeless fucking clouds of smoke!” They watched several other clips from the same series for help, but the other girls featured – Gabi, Jasmine, Katie, Maddie, Tash – were just as deft with their smoking technique, making the “fucking impossible”, as Harriet deemed it, look effortless and natural. By comparison, Harriet’s efforts, even with the rich thick smoke from her new “reds”, were abject failures, resulting in nothing more than an ashtray full to overflowing with cigarette butts, and a great deal of frustration.

“I am such a fucking failure!” whined Harriet, as anguish and barely held-back tears contorted her features, making it even harder for her to concentrate on her efforts. “I think I should just give up, tell Miss Poussée I not gonna fucking do this…”

But Michael held his fiancée tight in his arms, tenderly kissing her acrid smoky face and hair, and wisely saying nothing which could elicit any further rage. Instead he crooned, “Harriet, you’re the most beautiful, sexiest, smoking slut the word has ever known. Get things in perspective: come, let’s pleasure each other now, and we can worry about this tomorrow…”

And so they did. Harriet smoked one of her reds sitting on the sofa, inhaling deep as Michael knelt with his face in her crotch, revelling in the double pleasuring she was receiving: thick clouds of smoke tickling and stroking her lungs from inside, caressing their way in and out, enveloping her in the rich generous stink of full-strength tobacco; while Michael’s tongue snaked in and out of her cunt, sending darts of pleasure up and down her body. “Oh God, Mikey, thank you. You always know how to make me feel better. Now let me do the same for you…”

As Harriet and Michael switched places on the sofa, and Harriet chain-lit a new cigarette, Henry and Genevieve, having finished their dessert, peeped into the living room through a crack in the kitchen door. Genevieve beamed with pride, whispering to her husband, “Oh look, Henry! Hasn’t our daughter turned out well? What a marvellous ornament she is to our household!” And Henry, crawling at her feet, nodded his enthusiastic agreement.

Now Harriet was kneeling in front of Michael, performing her by-now perfectly honed smokey blowjob routine: great fulsome lungfuls exhaled over her fiancé’s thick cock, sometimes through pursed lips, sometimes through her nostrils as she sucked his shaft deep into her cheeks; and sometimes resting there, steaming and swirling in her open mouth while Michael fucked the smoke out with his throbbing dick. Michael moaned with pleasure, looking down with unannounced adoration into his smoking lover’s beauteous features – and Genevieve took advantage of the moment to whisper to her husband, “My cunt, Henry, eat my cunt while we watch…”

And so Henry crouched beneath his wife as she lowered her wet cunt onto his face, grinding her clit against his nose and jaw while his tongue slobbered happily in and out of her fuck-depths. Now Michael was fucking Harriet doggy-style as she blew great lungfuls smoke up and away before her, so that the whole living room was filled with glorious, exuberant clouds of warm smoke. “Oh look, Henry – how beautiful is that!” exclaimed Genevieve in a whisper. Henry’s face was too deeply embedded in his wife’s crotch to allow him watch anything going on on the sofa – but he didn’t mind, happily stroking his cock as his face, nay, his world, filled with the fragrance and savour of his wife’s hot cunt.

Harriet chain-lit another red and lay on her back, smoking with one hand and rubbing her clit with the other, as Michael pounded his cock into her gaping pink flesh and she exhaled thick stinking clouds of smoke into his happy face. “Mikey, renew our engagement for me!” she giggled – and Michael knew what she meant, sliding his cock out of her cunt, lifting her buttocks slightly upwards onto a scatter cushion, and bending down to probe her tight brown hole with his tongue, then one finger, then two. Harriet did her special trick again, bending her legs backwards so that they crossed behind her head, leaving her ass stretched high and wide, the puckered brown hole at its centre winking and gaping seductively, inviting her fiancé in. Michael moaned with admiration and desire, gently teasing Harriet’s shit-rim with his throbbing cockhead, before Harriet crooned: “Now, Mikey, now.”

As Michael thick cock squeezed its way into Harriet’s anal depths, Genevieve beamed with maternal delight. “Oh look, Henry, he’s fucking her arse! How sweet is that? Remember when I first fucked your arse, Henry? That’s how I knew you were the man for me!” Henry mumbled his agreement, but did not emerge from between his wife’s thighs, instead slobbering even wider and more generously, his tongue sweeping back and forth from clit to cunt to perineum to asshole and then back again, revelling in the heavenly spectrum of his wife’s fuck-juices, and jerking his cock even faster.

“I’m going to come!” whispered Genevieve to Henry – and Harriet whimpered the same to Michael through a deep double drag of smoke, so that a battery of thick smoky puffs shot up into Michael’s face. Michael pulled his cock out, leaving a gently gaping asshole in his wake, and shifted upwards, letting Harriet pound her clit with her hand while he coaxed his load of cum up his shaft towards her beautiful face.

“Oh yeah, all over me and my cigarette!” squealed Harriet, as spurt after spurt of hot asshole-flavoured man-cum shot through the air, landing in thick streaks up and down her face and hair, on her cheeks, on her lips, into her smoky mouth, as well as on the knuckles of her cigarette hand, and of course on the cigarette itself. The burning end sputtered briefly, apparently dowsed by a glob of cum – but Harriet sucked hard and deep, rekindling the embers so that a huge lungful of ass-and-cum-seasoned smoke burnt its way down her greedy throat. “Oh yeah, fuck my lungs with your cum, Mikey – that’s so good!” she screeched, just as, still unnoticed by her, Genevieve’s cunt spasmed into Henry’s face and he, still crouched below her pounding his own cock, emptied his balls across the tiled kitchen floor. “More cum, more cum, oh yeah fuck I wanna taste that smoky shithole cum!” Harriet continued to wail, as she licked maniacally up and down the barrel of what remaining of her cigarette, savouring the cum-taste on her lips and tongue as she continued to inhale smoke deep into her semen-fucked lungs.

Genevieve smiled with pride and contentment, silently shutting the door to the living room as Henry slurped his own cum off the floor. And Harriet, cum-faced and wreathed in smoke, released a gentle fart and grinned up at her trusty fiancé. “You know how to put things into perspective, don’t you, Mikey?” she giggled, as she licked semen off her fingers and stubbed out her damp cummy cigarette butt in her overflowing ashtray.

“It’s easy to see things in perspective when I’m with you, Harriet,” replied Michael. And he meant it in more ways than one, adding, “Can I draw your asshole now?”

Chapter Eleven:
How Many Times Exactly Did He Eat Your Cunt?

“Ah, Miss Danes!” Miss Poussée was clearly busy, as she dashed past in the corridor clutching a large bundle of dildos, apparently late for class. Harriet hardly had a chance to respond, before her teacher continued at speed: “Now, I know we are meeting next week, with your fuck-friends. But you mentioned that you were having trouble with some of those new smoking tricks. I think I may have found someone to help you. Come to me at lunchtime today, and I’ll explain further.”

“Oh, but Miss –”

But Miss Poussée was already charging down the corridor towards her next class. “Annabelle Durling!” she called out to another student, “You missed blowjob practice again this week! Once more, and you’ll get detention!”

“Oh yes please, Miss,” giggled the girl. “I like being restrained… I mean, detained…”

But Miss Poussée had turned the corner, and was gone.

“Hey, smoke-slut, what’s up?” It was Janey, her slender form prancing happily down the corridor towards Harriet.

“Hey, piss-slut, yeah yeah, fucking – you?” replied Harriet, as she lit a cigarette, took a wide open-mouth inhale, and blew a sharp cone of smoke upwards above her friend’s head.

“Great! I’ve been visiting this amazing stamp exhibition every day after school. Totally fucking! Loads of stuff from the early part of the century: Canada while it was still independent, Panama while it still had a canal, Gaza before it was turned into a resort, Greenland before it was nuked. I think I’ll go again tonight.”

“Wow – keen or what?” Harriet spoke through a mouthful of smoke.

“Well, actually, there’s a steward there who eats really good cunt. Nothing quite like it: looking at stamps while having your pussy licked – you should try it!”

“Jesus, Janey, you are so fucking weird!” Harriet took another drag, but let it drift gently upwards from her lips, triumphantly French-inhaling it into her nostrils.

“Kettle – pot – black – whatever, bitch, you know what I mean? But anyway, am I coming for this try-out thing with Miss Poussée next week?”

“Yeah – and Mikey will be there, so you’ll get to fuck him too.” Harriet tilted her head back so she could exhale through her nostrils directly at her friend.

“At last! I’ve heard so much about this guy. I was beginning to wonder if you’d made him up!” Janey grinned mischievously, as she waved away the cloud of smoke now billowing around her.

“Hey, fuck you, cunt!” Harriet replied amicably through an exhale. “Here’s proof he’s real – look at this!” Harriet took a carefully folded sheet of paper from her vagina-themed handbag and opened it up so her friend could study it.

“Oh fuck!” exclaimed Janey. “That’s so beautiful! Did he draw it?”

“Of course! Isn’t he amazing?” Harriet grinned.

“Well, that’s how to make your girl know she pleasures you, don’t you think? I mean, look at the way your asshole gapes. Just fucked, I guess?”

Harriet nodded happily, giggling through a puffy nose-exhale.

“Oh, and the cum all over your face! It makes you look so beautiful!”

“Aw, thanks, sweetcunt. Now, about next week,” – she paused speaking to take another deep drag – “I don’t know what Miss Poussée wants us to do exactly when we meet, but knowing her she’ll make her feelings clear.”

“No shit! Why do you think I dropped Fucking after GCSEs?”

“Just do what she says, and I’m sure we’ll work out a routine…”

*

As instructed, Harriet turned up at Miss Poussée’s office at lunchtime that very day, smoking of course. “Ah, Harriet, good. Now, you said you were having trouble with those smoking tricks?”

“Yeah, I just can’t get the hang of them. I mean, they’re fucking and everything – but I just don’t know how to make them happen. And the girls on the videos are really hot, but they don’t exactly provide tutorials. I mean, I’ve just about worked out how to do the French inhale thing – here, watch this…” Harriet demonstrated, sucking deep on her cigarette to fill her mouth with smoke, before parting her lips, jutting her lower jaw outward slightly, and inhaling deeply through her nose so that a thick curtain of smoke flowed upwards like an upside-down waterfall.

Miss Poussée looked pleased. “Well done, Harriet! That’s certainly a good start. But you’re finding the rings harder?”

“Fucking impossible, Miss! And the snap inhales – Jesus, how do they do them?” She shook her head grimly, exhaling her latest lungful of smoke through pursed lips.

“So – what would you say to a live tutorial from Taylor herself?” the teacher asked, cocking her head cheekily.

Harriet looked momentarily confused, almost choking halfway through an inhale. “Uh… what? How? Are you serious? The Taylor? The one from the videos?” she stammered, releasing little puffs of smoke in the process. “I mean, is she even still alive? Those clips were seriously old!”

“Well, Harriet… I’ve been doing a bit of research in the archives, and I enlisted the help of a friend of mine at the Ministry of Fucking, and – guess what? Taylor is now some fifty years older than in those videos – but alive and well, and living in Australia. And, when I contacted her and explained the situation, she agreed to meet with you online, to see if she could help.”

Harriet’s stomach leapt into her throat, and this time she genuinely choked on her smoke. “Fuck… Jesus fuck… Really? I mean, such a great smoker, such an amazing woman – help me? Oh Jesus, Miss Poussée, I couldn’t, I mean, I wouldn’t dare to inconvenience her, I mean, it would be such a great honour, she’s such a hero of mine, I just… fuck…” Harriet’s inchoate remonstrations petered out rather unconvincingly, and she was left muttering in awe and wonder, even forgetting to take another drag: “Fuck… fuck…”

“Well, that’s settled, then. I will arrange a few times for the two of you to meet online – perhaps at the weekends, so you don’t miss any lessons? She said she used to train the other smokers on her website, and she would be happy to help you out. Though she said she was sorry that she doesn’t smoke anymore…”

“Oh, Miss Poussée, that doesn’t matter! It would be such an honour. I’m sure she’ll be amazing!

*

A week later, Harriet and Michael knocked on the door to Miss Poussée’s office. “Miss Poussée, this is Michael Didcock, my fiancé. He’s got a big dick.”

“Lick my pussy, Michael,” nodded Miss Poussée courteously. “Nice to meet you.”

“M’ cock, ma’am,” replied Michael, “likewise.”

“Harriet tells me smoking makes you hard,” continued the teacher, as Harriet began fishing her lighter and packet of smokes from her handbag.

“Well, not me smoking, ma’am. I don’t smoke. But watching smoking does it to me, so I can’t resist fucking Harriet when she lights up – see?” Michael pointed to the growing bulge in his trousers, as Harriet dangled a Marlboro 100s “red” from her lips and flicked her lighter.

“Well, show me what you’ve got, Michael,” instructed the teacher. Michael wrestled his cock out of his fly, and it was already stiff as a rod, twitching gently as it expanded in response to the gorgeous sight of his fiancée’s hollowing cheeks, followed by the swirling ball of smoke in her mouth disappearing suddenly down her throat. Miss Poussée was clearly impressed. “Well! Would you show me a nice smoking blowjob then, please, Harriet?”

“Sure thing, Miss Poussée!” responded Harriet, as she knelt before Michael, took a second deep drag of her cigarette, and exhaled through her nostrils.

“Hang on a minute, Harriet!” interrupted Miss Poussée. “What was that for?”

Harriet was puzzled. “Uh… what?”

“That – that exhale, it just went nowhere.”

“Uh… yeah? I was just taking a nice drag for myself…”

“No no, Harriet: you are rehearsing for a competition. If you do a smoky blowjob as part of your act, every single moment of it must be for the pleasure of the audience and, most importantly, the judges. No drags ‘just for yourself’, please: every single move must contribute to seducing the viewers!”

Oh fuck, Miss Poussée, you are so fussy, thought Harriet – but she did not dare say so out loud. Instead she took another drag and slowly let it out in a series of little cloudy puffs as she licked up and down the underside of Michael’s shaft.

“Ah, that’s more like it, Harriet!” said Miss Poussée in an encouraging tone. “Good: now show me what else you can do with smoke and cock together. Harriet dutifully continued her blowjob, pulling out all the stops to impress her teacher: blowing smoke up and down Michael’s cock, with or without licking, kissing or nuzzling; exhaling through her nose while swallowing his shaft; letting him fuck her face while a load of smoke swirled casually in her mouth; sucking her drool back into her mouth at the same time as inhaling. Miss Poussée appeared pleased – and so was Michael, whose cock grew stiffer as his moans grew more expressive and his eyes rolled upwards in burgeoning ecstasy.

It was then that there was a knock at the door. “Ah, this must be your friend!” said Miss Poussée, before calling out: “Come in!”

It was indeed Janey. “I’m really sorry I’m late, Miss Poussée: Madame Grossebite kept me back after French class, because I – oh my fucking God, it’s you!” Janey froze in the doorway, mouth agape, staring in disbelief at Michael.

Michael and Harriet both turned to look at Janey, and Michael gasped in recognition. “Oh! The girl at the exhibition!”

“What? I didn’t know you knew each other!” exclaimed Harriet.

“Nor did I!” replied Janey. “We met at this stamp exhibition I was telling you about –”

“And I was one of the gallery assistants,” added Michael.

“And this boy ate my cunt! But I never found out his name,” explained Janey reassuringly, gesturing at Michael. “So you’re Hat’s Mikey! Fucking!”

At the mention of Michael having eaten Janey’s cunt, Harriet could not help feeling a tiny twinge of annoyance – though she knew better than to admit it. She was an Enlightened girl, living in Enlightened times, where sexual possessiveness and jealousy were frowned upon, and quite unbecoming of a slut like her. All the same, the thought of her fiancé enjoying her best friend’s cunt – even potentially as much as he enjoyed hers – just made her feel unaccountably uneasy, even to the point of forgetting to taking another drag of her cigarette.

However, Miss Poussée was in no mood to waste time: “Well, now that you’ve all introduced yourselves, maybe it might be a good idea for me to check out your skills, Janey. Would you like to eat Harriet out for me while she smokes – or perhaps you’d prefer Michael to lick your pussy first?”

“Oh, Michael is a first-class cunt-licker, Miss Poussée!” enthused Janey – and Harriet could swear she gave Michael a surreptitious wink. “I’d love to have that experience again!”

Harriet was finding herself feeling more and more ill at ease with every passing moment watching Janey and Michael reacquaint themselves. Michael, Harriet could swear, was not looking at her anymore, but seemed to be unable to stop grinning stupidly at Janey, while saying, “Sure thing, Janey. I remember the taste of your cunt – out of this world!”

‘Out of this world’ – fuck, Mikey, what are you on about? thought Harriet to herself. What’s wrong with my cunt? Not tasty enough for you? But she said none of these things, summarily banishing her incipient jealousy from her mind.

“Why don’t you lie on the ground, Michael,” instructed Miss Poussée, “so Harriet can keep sucking your cock while Janey sits on your face?”

As Harriet crouched to blow a lungful of smoke over her now-recumbent fiancé’s cock, she looked up to watch Janey’s pussy lower itself and splay generously over Michael’s face. Janey’s neat dark bush was already gleaming with cunt-dew, and her long meaty fuck-lips draped themselves generously over Michael’s mouth. The boy slurped eagerly, his nose pressed hard against the girl’s puckered asshole as her juices begin to dribble down his chin. He groaned with pleasure: “Oh yeah, I remember this taste! Fuck yeah!”

Whether consciously or otherwise, Harriet was determined that her fiancé should derive more pleasure from her smoky blowjob than from eating Janey’s admittedly glorious cunt, and so she redoubled her efforts, lowering her mouth as far down Michael’s shaft as she could, till his bulging glans pressed up against the back of her throat. She really was not a natural deepthroater, but she was in competitive – and, though she would not have admitted it, green-eyed – mode, determined that Janey should not steal the limelight; and so she began to violently skull-fuck Michael’s huge cock, gagging and gurgling and spouting huge payloads of smoke and spit as she did. Sadly, though, much to her chagrin, Michael seemed not to be reacting to her superlative efforts; instead he continued to slobber with increasing delight at Janey’s dripping gash. “Oh yeah, so fucking tasty!” he groaned. “I’d forgotten how good you were!”

Janey was not holding back either. “Oh yes, Michael, that’s it, deep in there, fuck my slit with that hot tongue of yours! she squealed. “You were always so good at eating cunt!”

‘Always so good’? Suspicion grew in Harriet’s breast. How long have you known him, bitch? How many times exactly did he eat your cunt?! I mean, how many times did you visit this fucking philatelic exhibition? And Mikey, didn’t you have a fucking job to do at this gallery – or did you spend all fucking day eating out the customers?! She redoubled her efforts, dry-heaving and quacking noisily to attempt to regain Michael’s attention, violently ramming his hard cock into her throat so that great clouds of smoke were forced from her mouth and nose, and her eyes watered with the sting and the pain.

“That’s it, Michael!” Janey was whimpering. “Let me grind my cunt all over your handsome man-face again. Oh fuck!”

‘Handsome man-face’? How dare you call him handsome, bitch?! Harriet squirmed with unspoken, and increasingly unhinged, resentment. And how is that relevant anyway? You’re here to fuck him, slut, not to be attracted to his looks! And even if he was handsome, what the fuck is it to you anyway?

“Oh Michael, this is just like old times,” squealed Janey, “eating my cunt like you used to!”

 ‘Old times’? What old times? Harriet’s suspicions were now boiling over. And ‘like you used to’? Used to fucking what?! So it wasn’t just the exhibition then, was it? You two have been fucking behind my back, haven’t you? How long has this been going on?

“That’s it, Mikey, I’m gonna fucking come, Mikey!” screamed Janey.

Harriet gasped with fury. Her jealousy was beyond restraint now and, Enlightenment or no Enlightenment, she could not control herself any longer. “NOBODY CALLS HIM ‘MIKEY’ EXCEPT ME – FUCKING NOBODY!” she screamed. “THAT’S MY NAME FOR HIM, CUNT!” And then she did what many a jealous woman with a cock in her mouth has done in such circumstances: she bit. Perhaps not hard enough to do any lasting damage, but certainly with enough force to elicit a massive yelp of pain from Michael. His pussy-licking ceased, and he gasped as he looked downward to see Harriet’s red, raging face snarling up at him.

Harriet was not sure with whom she was angrier: her fiancé who, she was convinced, had been secretly betraying her with another woman, possibly for a very long time; or her best friend who was clearly trying to sabotage her engagement. She screamed wildly: “NO! THAT’S ENOUGH! WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING FROM ME, YOU TWO? DON’T THINK I CAN’T TELL! HOW DARE YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS?!”

Three shocked disbelieving faces gaped at her: Janey, her cheeks still red and flushed from her now-frustrated orgasm, lips trembling from a mixture of interrupted pleasure and shock; and Michael, his face still glistening with Janey’s cunt-cream, his mouth now wide open in pain and disbelief; and finally, Polly Poussée. “Miss Danes!” she bellowed. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? How dare you behave like this – and to your friends?!”

But Harriet was past caring. She had dropped her cigarette – and she cared not where, nor even whether it would set the whole room alight. Instead she was pointing a trembling hand at the two presumed traitors and declaring, “They aren’t my friends. Not anymore! They’ve been deceiving me. DOUBLE-CROSSERS! CHEATS! ASSASSINS!!!” She leapt up and, sobbing inconsolably, ran naked from the room, slamming the door behind her.

*

“Cuntling, are you all right?” Genevieve Danes called through her daughter’s bedroom door. Harriet had, as far as she could tell, come home early, charged upstairs in tears without saying a word, slammed her bedroom door, and refused even to come down for dinner. What’s more, Michael hadn’t come home either.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone!” Harriet shouted back.

There was a long pause. “Are you sure you won’t have some dinner?”

“No.”

“Want me to eat your cunt or something – make you feel better?”

“NO!”

“Or lick your tits? You always used to like that…”

“NO!!”

“Or dildo your arse?”

“I SAID, FUCKING NO!!!”

“OK, cunty-pie… If you change your mind, you know you can talk to me any time.” Genevieve Danes padded slowly back down the stairs.

Harriet sat on her bed, smoking and weeping, her eyes red, her makeup streaked, her hair dishevelled, her jaw trembling with rage and humiliation. At first her primary emotion had been self-righteous anger: How dare they go behind my back like this? she seethed. But as the afternoon had worn on, she began to feel other things. First, incipient doubt: had they really been cheating on her? Or had she misinterpreted things? After all, Janey did have a tasty cunt – Harriet knew that from personal experience, and she knew that lots of people liked eating it. And Michael did work in galleries, and frequently fucked girls there – of course he did: he had often told her about them. So why shouldn’t he fuck Janey if he feels like it…?

Second, confusion: what was this emotion which had overtaken her so suddenly and so violently? Was this what she had read about in history books – “jealousy”, that base impulse which had been so prevalent in the Olden Days, but which the Enlightenment had so successfully banished? Jealousy, possessiveness, exclusivity – these were things which Enlightened girls were not supposed to feel, for they were accessories of that root of all evil: “love”. How had she fallen so comprehensively for the wiles of the Evil One?

And so, Harriet encountered a third emotion, perhaps for the first time in her life: shame. Humiliation. Had she allowed herself to fall in “love” with Michael? And with Janey? Had she presumed to possess them, to own them, to limit them, to limit their pleasure, to limit their freedom to fuck who they wanted when they wanted – that freedom which was the root and heart of all that was good, not just about the Enlightenment, but about the Gospel itself, and which she had no right to curtail in others?

Oh God, forgive me! She knelt on the floor and prayed, tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing her heart out until her throat was hoarse, her eyes were bloodshot, and her heart ached. And as she prayed, she chain-smoked her “reds” hard, deep, mindlessly, continuously, desperate to staunch the pain of her own shame, fucking her lungs with drag after drag of hot thick smoke.

Harriet was not sure when she at last dozed off, still clothed, lying on the floor of her room, with the lights still on. She woke sometime in the middle of the night dreaming crazy nicotine-fuelled dreams about smoking and fucking and Michael’s dick and Janey’s cunt and Miss Poussée screaming at her. She found that her hand was between her legs; she lit a cigarette and jerked off as she smoked, fast and hard and unceremoniously, moaning through the dull ache of her shame, before stubbing the butt out in her overflowing stinking tit-shaped ashtray and collapsing in another exhausted stupor on the floor.

When she woke, the sun was high in the sky. But she didn’t care. She chain-smoked three more cigarettes as she rubbed her cunt, inhaling each drag deep, deep inside and holding it there long and hard, desperate to fuck as much tar and poison into her lungs as she could, as her fingers pounded her vulva until she couldn’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain. She came in a mixture of smoke, cum and tears, whimpering and swearing and cursing, “FUCK! I CAN’T FEEL ANYTHING!” For she couldn’t: all was numb, all was dull and pointless. All was smoke, and all was cunt – but nothing of it meant anything anymore.

“Cuntling, would you like some breakfast?” came her mother’s voice through the door.

“No,” replied Harriet dully.

*

It was late afternoon before Harriet woke again. She got up, showered, dressed, cleaned her teeth, and had a long drink of water. For the first time in two days she opened her bedroom window to clear the atmosphere. She felt sick of smoke, and sick of cunt. For the first time in months, she wanted a break from smoking, and so, deliberately leaving her cigarettes behind, she walked, still in a half-daze, down the road to Janey’s house.

“Well, you’ve got a fucking nerve,” said Janey as she opened the front door.

Harriet did not meet her friend’s gaze, but looked downward at her feet. “I’m so sorry, Janey. I was such a bitch.”

“Damn right you were,” replied Janey coldly.

“I… Janey, I just… I don’t know what came over me, I…”

“I know what came over you, bitch: you got jealous. You – the posh, respectable Enlightenment girl, with your GM tits and your blond hair, on her way to the Royal Academy of Fucking and all – that’s all a fucking sham, isn’t it?! You’re a fake, Harriet, a fake fucker! You talk about wanting to be the best fucker in school, but you can’t stand it when someone else seems to be, just for a minute or two, getting more pleasure out of her cunt than you! You talk about Jesus, and how God gave your Mikey a great big miraculous dick – well, didn’t you think God might have given him a big dick so he could fuck other girls too – not just you? Didn’t you imagine for a minute that you’re not the only fuckable slut in town, Harriet? Didn’t you think for a minute that Mikey might have a mind of his own – a cock of his own; and that he has the right to decide for himself who he wants to fuck, or whose cunt he wants to eat?” 

Tears filled Harriet’s eyes. “Oh God, I’m sorry, Janey, I know, I am such a hypocrite, I am such a fool. I just totally fucked up, OK? Please, let me come in, let me make it up to you.”

Janey looked at Harriet with a mixture of disdain and pity, nodded, and jerked her head to indicate that her friend should follow her in.

Shutting the front door behind her, the last vestiges of Harriet’s pride crumpled and she collapsed on the floor, hurling herself at Janey’s feet, wrapping her arms round her friend’s legs and clinging desperately. “Janey, please forgive me. Please treat me better than I have treated you,” she howled, as all her shame and self-loathing poured out. “You’re not the traitor. You’re not the cheat. I’m the one who has wronged you…”

Janey stood, impassive, as her friend howled and whimpered at her feet. It was a long time before Harriet’s sobs subsided and Janey bent down, put her finger under her friend’s jaw to tilt it upwards so she could look tenderly into her face. “OK, Hat, OK,” Janey intoned softly. “You pleasure me, you know?”

Harriet tried to turn away, doubly ashamed at the ease with which her friend could, apparently, forgive her. “Janey, I’m the one who calls herself a Christian, and yet you forgive me, and accept me, with so little judgment – even though I have misjudged you so.”

Janey smiled. “Yeah, well, maybe being a stuck-up God-freak doesn’t necessarily make you a better person, huh?”

“Oh Jesus, Janey, is that what you think of me?” Harriet sniffed.

Janey shrugged. “Yeah, well, maybe, sometimes.” She paused. “But you still pleasure me, Hat. Come on, stand up, let me wipe those tears away.”

Harriet stood, and Janey held her trembling figure in her arms, extending her tongue to lick her bestie’s face. First she licked the little salty rivulets of tears from Harriet’s cheeks and chin, so Harriet felt her face cool, soothed by the sensation of Janey’s saliva. Then Janey spied a glob of mucus dribbling from Harriet’s left nostril, and she wiped it up deftly with the tip of her tongue. Harriet sniffed noisily to clear her nose, but Janey said, “No, Hat, better out than in, come on.” And so Harriet blew her nose noisily, so that a huge outflow of snot smeared down across her lips and chin. “That’s better, Hat,” Janey nodded approvingly as she flattened her tongue and slurped the thick curtain of slime into her own mouth and swallowed it. She giggled: “Ha! Your snot tastes like smoke…”

“Oh Janey, I’m sorry. You used to like eating my snot. Has my smoking ruined it for you?”

“Bitch, you can’t ruin things for me. You pleasure me, and it looks like you always will – even if these days you stink like an ashtray all the time,” she laughed.

“Janey, are we OK?”

“Yeah, we’re OK, Hat. We’re good. But if you want to give me boost, what about giving me one of your smoky pussy-licks?” she grinned.

Harriet laughed, long and hard and full of relief. “I’d love to, slut! But… oh Jesus, this is embarrassing… I left my cigarettes at home: I… I wanted a break…”

“Fuck, you must have been feeling bad.”

“You’ve no idea, Janey. But – I’ve got a better idea. Mikey didn’t come back last night: I think he must have gone back to his Mum’s place. I really need to make it up to him. Shall we go pick up my cigarettes, and then you can come with me? Maybe he’d finish eating your cunt…”

“Hey, nice call, bitch. But… promise not to interrupt this time, hey?”

Harriet looked her best friend in the face and, eyes welling with grateful happy tears, kissed her hard on the lips.

“Jesus, you really stink of smoke, Hat!” laughed Janey, licking another dribble of snot from Harriet’s upper lip.

Chapter Twelve:
And Behold, There Ran Out Piss From Under the Right Side of the Temple

The quickest way from North London to Cunting Town is by tube, changing at Bonk for the Dicklands Light Railway. And so that is the way Harriet and Janey took – though by the time they climbed the pee-streaked outside staircase to Michael’s flat and knocked on the peeling green door, the sun had already set, and Harriet had smoked at least five cigarettes en route. Harriet could hear that Michael’s mum was in from the muffled soundtrack blaring from the living room: Oh yeah, piss in me fuckin’ arsehole, ya filthy motherfucker! Look at that shithole all gapin’ wide for ya!

“Ooh, is that Michael’s mum?” asked Janey, suddenly intrigued.

“No,” Harriet laughed, “that’s her TV…”

“Shame: I was going to say she doesn’t sound too bad after all.”

But the door remained unopened – and so Harriet knocked again, more loudly.

“FUCK OFF!” came the sound of Mrs Didcock’s voice from within. The soundtrack continued: Yeah, fill me fuckin’ arse wiv yer golden shower, ya fuckin’ perv. See all yer piss swillin’ round in me gapin’ shitter?

Harriet knocked again, louder. “Mrs Didcock, it’s me, Harriet. Is Michael there, please?”

At last Harriet heard the television muted, followed by Mrs Didcock’s approaching lumbering footsteps. The door opened, and Michael’s mother stood naked before them leaning on a Zimmer frame, her vast flanks jiggling as she panted from her exertion, her drooping dugs smeared with the same unrecognisable foodstuffs which dribbled from her chin. “What do you want, cunt?” she barked. Behind her, her television screen was just visible, frozen on a closeup of a large black cock pissing copiously into a gaping asshole; Janey gasped with delight and rubbernecked slightly to get a better view.

“Hello, Mrs Didcock, how are you?” asked Harriet, as pleasantly as she could.

“I said: what do you want, cunt?” Mrs Didcock insisted. Janey was now on tiptoe, trying to get a better view of the pee-filled rectum on the television screen in the living room.

“Is Michael here, Mrs Didcock?” asked Harriet. “May I come in?”

“No, he isn’t here, cunt – and no, you fucking can’t.” Flecks of spit and half-chewed junk food spattered from her mouth as she spoke.

“Oh… do you know where he is?”

“No – and I don’t give a shit where he is. He hasn’t been here since last week – when he came to pick up a painting or something. I thought he was living with you now…?”

Harriet went suddenly pale. “So he wasn’t here last night then?”

Mrs Didcock saw Harriet’s flustered expression, realised – and laughed: a long howling guffaw of derision and contempt. “Ha ha! Has he dumped you already, cunt? I thought it’d be the other way round! Found another hot piece of arse to fuck instead, has he? Just like his dad!”

“No, it’s not like that, Mrs Didcock, really it’s not – it’s just… oh, do you have any idea where he might be?”

“Not a clue, bitch. The only place he goes, apart from yours and the gallery, is the church. But I wouldn’t bother if I were you, slut: you’re well rid of him. Find a real man to fuck: with your big tits and tight arse, you shouldn’t have too much trouble.” She laughed uproariously to herself as she slammed the door in Harriet’s face to lumber back to her sofa. Now open yer gob wide, perv, while I fart your fuckin’ piss in yer face! the soundtrack resumed. Then you can lick me arsehole clean!

Harriet could feel her heart pounding with dread, and she clung desperately to Janey to steady herself. “Oh God, Janey, where’s he gone? I thought he’d just run home. Where could he be?”

“Uh what…?” muttered Janey vaguely, slightly despondent that she couldn’t stay to watch the advertised pee enema facial. “Oh yeah, sorry yeah, Michael, yeah, well… Will there be anyone at the church at this time?”

“We could see if Reverend Dicky knows anything.” Harriet set her jaw and led the way.

*

By the time the two girls had made their laborious way back to central London, Harriet had smoked three more cigarettes and was already on her fourth, and All Cunts Langham Place was dark and silent. But Harriet knew the way round the back to the presbytery door, which she knocked on timidly at first, then louder – and then louder again.

Reverend Dicky Fumbel answered, naked, his cock stiff, slime coated, and smelling of cunt. Deaconess Rahab lurked in the background, clad in nothing more than her trademark see-through white surplice, clearly nonplussed at having been interrupted mid-fuck: her blond hair was dishevelled, and she was whimpering as three slimy fingers of her right hand rubbed her bald clit. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Reverend Fumbel,” stammered Harriet through a mouthful of smoke, “did I interrupt your evenfuck?”

It took merely a second for the preacher to assess the sight presenting itself on his doorstep. “No such thing as an interruption, Harriet,” he beamed, “merely an enhancement!” His cock twitched in imagined anticipation. “Would you like to join us? We normally have a foursome on Saturday nights – but Deaconesses Salome and Jezebel are away leading this weekend’s fuck-mission, so Rahab and I were left alone. She might appreciate some company! And who is your pretty friend?” the preacher added with a glint in his eye, spying diminutive dark-haired Janey standing off to the side.

“Oh, er…” Harriet hardly knew where to start. Under normal circumstances she would have liked nothing more than to have a foursome with the church ministers, but she was flustered and anxious and had only one thought in mind: “It’s just… I’m looking for Mikey – you know, my fiancé, the one with the big dick?” She took another deep but nervous drag to calm her nerves.

To her surprise, Reverend Fumbel’s face turned suddenly sombre, and his glistening cock began to droop. “Ah… yes, of course – well, you’d better come in for a chat then, Harriet. I… I wasn’t going to mention it, but… seeing as you have coming looking for him, I… come in, come in: it’s cold outside, we can talk more easily in the church…”

“Oh God, Reverend Dicky, is he all right?” Through her words, Harriet’s exhale was thick and rich in the cold January night – but she had never seen her preacher in such a sombre and uncertain mood before, and she felt herself overtaken by an inchoate jumble of panic and fear: Was Michael missing? ill? hurt? … dead?

“He’s fine, Harriet,” Reverend Fumbel reassured her as, his now flaccid cock dangling before him, he led the way through the hallway of the presbytery, down a side passage, and into the nave of the church, followed by Deaconess Rahab who, still whimpering with lust, had grabbed Janey by the hand and was dragging her along behind.

“Michael came to see me, and he was a bit, shall we say, upset by what you said to him,” continued Reverend Fumbel as he gestured to a couple of front row chairs. “Sit down, and I’ll explain.”

Harriet sat, taking rapid, nervous drags and exhaling noisily through pursed lips, while Rahab led Janey urgently towards a small alcove at the opposite side of the church, where there stood a small stone baptismal font. “I’m horny, bitch,” she announced to the brunette waif, “see?” She held her three sticky fingers up to Janey’s face. “Eat me.”

Janey said nothing, but extended her tongue to taste Rahab’s slimy fingers. “Ohhhh…” she whimpered, overcome by the irresistible savour of the deaconess’ hot cunt, as she sucked all three of her glistening digits into her mouth, slobbering with delight.

Harriet sat smoking nervously, sucking her smoke in short sharp audible drags, while surveying the bright 1970s evangelical décor, all faded green carpet, pine laminate, spotlights, loudspeakers and plywood stackable chairs. It seemed a somewhat stark, clinical place without its customary heaving throngs of praying fucking acolytes, but soon Harriet’s confession came tumbling out through clouds of smoke: “Oh God, Reverend Dicky, I think I must have hurt Michael’s feelings so badly! I said some terrible things to him – but all he was doing was eating Janey’s cunt, nothing wrong with that really, but I… I…” She took another sharp drag. “I just got jealous! I called him a double-crosser and a cheat – I don’t know where it came from. I’m a good Christian girl, Reverend Dicky, I really am not normally like that! But I thought I’d be able to make it up to him, but then he never came home to my place, and he isn’t at his mum’s, and I am so desperate to find him. But you’ve seen him? Where is he? Please tell me where he is!” Harriet was in tears, puffing on her cigarette with panic and desperation, smoke pouring in and out of her lungs.

Meanwhile, Deaconess Rahab was wasting little time, lifting her haunches up onto the font and opening her legs wide to display her bald, half-fucked cunt, its pink flesh glistening and frothing with interrupted lust. “Eat it, bitch!” she commanded, the lustful desperation in her voice undisguised, as she pulled Janey down so the slender brunette was crouching before her exposed fuckhole. Janey grinned, plunging her face into Rahab’s crotch and slurping with abandon as the deaconess whimpered, “Oh yeah, that’s it, bitch, that’s good, fuck my cunt with that hot tongue!”

At the altar end of the church, Reverend Fumbel sat, still naked, facing Harriet. “Harriet,” he intoned firmly, “I can’t tell you where Michael is at the moment: he asked me, for his safety, not to tell anyone – anyone – and I must honour that. But –”

“His safety?!” interrupted Harriet, gesticulating with her cigarette. “But he’s not in danger, is he? OK, I was a bitch, but I’m not threatening him. I just want him back!”

Janey, meanwhile, was utterly entranced by Rahab: her hot cunt juicing all over her face and – as the diminutive brunette glanced up – her lovely voluptuous body writhing and arching with pleasure on the font, her proud tits jiggling and flowing, framing her lusciously seductive face and blond hair. But then the deaconess paused. “Are you saved, fuckwhore?” she asked, looking down at the slender girl slobbering at her cunt-mound.

“Uh… what?” muttered Janey from the depths of Rahab’s gash.

“I said, bitch, are you fucking saved?” Rahab’s voice was sharp with zeal. “Do you know Jesus? Have you been washed in the cunt-juice of the Lamb?”

By contrast, Reverend Fumbel was working hard at keeping his voice emollient. “I understand your concern for Michael’s safety, Harriet. But you were the one who told him you were no longer his friend. You dumped him – which is something you promised you would never do. And I hardly need tell you what a blow that is for someone as emotionally insecure as Michael.”

Tears were running down Harriet’s face, and her nose was running. She sniffed loudly, wiping a large smear from her upper lip with the yellowing filter end of her cigarette and licking it off as she took another deep drag. He’s right, she thought to herself as snotty residual smoke seeped slowly from her nostrils, I’ve been so cruel, so heartless, and so fixated on my own state of mind I haven’t even realised how much I have hurt Mikey… “Oh God!” she cried out loud, exhaling a thick column of smoke heavenwards. “Oh God, forgive me!”

In the baptismal alcove, Rahab was pressing her point. “Believe in Jesus, bitch! Be born again of cum and the Spirit, and you will be saved!”

Janey, to be frank, didn’t know what Rahab was talking about. Her parents, free thinkers both, had not brought her up to be remotely religious and, while she had always tolerated Harriet’s spiritual convictions with the attentiveness of a true friend, she had never had the slightest interest in such matters for herself. And so she muttered a perfunctory “Uh… no, sorry,” before resuming her cunt-slurping.

At the same time, the Reverend Fumbel was lecturing Harriet with kind, though uncompromising, firmness: “You know what it says in Scripture, Harriet: I will send the Horny Spirit to you. And when He has come, He will convict the world of sin – because they do not believe in Me.”

“But I do believe, Reverend Dicky!” Harriet inhaled again, urgently, removing her cigarette from between her lips with a noisy smack. “I trust in Jesus!”

“Trust in Jesus, slut!” Rahab’s voice echoed loudly around the alcove, and thence out into the nave of the church, even as Janey continued to slobber happily at her gash. “You eat good cunt, bitch: you’d make a good fucker for Jesus, you would – oh fuck oh fuck yeah that’s good, right there, on my clit…”

Janey was pleased her oral ministrations were having the desired effect on the deaconess, and so she decided to ignore her increasingly incoherent attempts at proselytisation and just concentrate hard on pleasuring her twat. Rahab didn’t seem to mind too much either, as her preaching gradually gave way under the onslaught of Janey’s tongue and fingers, soon disintegrating into pleasured, pleasurable fuck-talk: “You know Jesus is pleasured by you, fuckslut? He wants you as his fuckwhore, He wants you to open his cunt to Him, He wants you to – oh Jesus motherfuck that’s it you fucking whore eat that fucking cunt make me come!”

Meanwhile, Reverend Fumbel was gently but determinedly continuing to reproach Harriet. “I know you believe, Harriet. I know you are Jesus’ fuckslut, I know you have opened your cunt to him. But you, like all of us, have allowed an idol to come between you and God. Do you know what that idol is, Harriet?”

Harriet sat trembling, her body shaking with humiliation and grief. Tears continued to course down her face, and smoke from her nostrils. She blew her nose noisily into her palm, and mindlessly wiped the large slimy glob of mucus into her fine blond hair. Her heart was bereft, but through her pain she glimpsed the truth. “I… I… Oh God, Reverend Dicky… am I guilty of… of love?”

“Praise be to the Horny Spirit, sister, for revealing this to you,” cried the preacher, “for in recognising your own sin you open the door to your redemption!”

Janey, by contrast, wasn’t really interested in redemption – but she was aware that Rahab was approaching her climax: she could feel her juices flowing, her vulva getting hotter, her twat begin to tremble and twitch and clench, until – “OH FUCK!” screamed the deaconess, as her cunt convulsed. “Thank you Jesus for letting me come all over this slut’s face. Now send your Horny Spirit on her and make her your fuck-disciple, IN JESUS’S NAME, AMEEEENNNNNN!!!”

Janey was not remotely moved by Rahab’s prayer, noisy and sincere though it undoubtedly was – but she gamely buried her face into the deaconess’ spasming cunt, continuing to slurp and nibble and frig as Rahab climaxed. Indeed, it would have been an unremarkable, though admittedly pleasurable, end to her pussy-feast if it had not been for a strange transformation which now Janey noticed coming over the deaconess. Rahab’s orgasm, instead of subsiding, was building even more: her cunt was growing hotter and wetter, continuing to dribble fuck-juices into Janey’s face and down her thighs onto the edge of the font. Her skin glowed bright, and the spasming of her body seemed to be building in intensity; indeed, she seemed now to be convulsing uncontrollably, as if she were undergoing some sort of supernatural fit. A strange deep moan began in her chest – resonant, quavering, rising and falling with her convulsions – until suddenly she intoned, in a voice unnaturally deep and sonorous, which echoed throughout the church: “DAUGHTER OF CUNT, HEAR THE WORD OF THE LORD!”

Harriet and Dicky hardly noticed this strange development, though, deep as they were in apostolic conversation. “It is so hard not to fall into the trap of love, Reverend Dicky,” explained Harriet. “I didn’t even realise that I loved Mikey, until all that terrible jealousy overtook me…”

“Remember what Scripture says, Harriet: I say to you that every woman who looks at a man with loving intent has already committed monogamy with him in her heart. And there is nothing more likely to destroy a marriage than the foul spirit of monogamy. It must be cast out! Will you allow me to pray and spray over you, Harriet?”

“Oh yes, Reverend Dicky, please! Cast out that foul spirit from me!” Harriet stubbed out her cigarette on the floor, ground the butt into the green carpet with the heel of her boot, and knelt, head bowed, before the preacher.

Meanwhile, in their alcove, Janey was fully intending to quietly lap the remaining juices from Rahab’s pussy and thus wind up their fuck. However, the convulsions racking Rahab’s body were still growing, as if she was possessed. Still perched on the font, she writhed and thrashed in her apparently unending climax – and then declaimed, with an eerily booming voice which echoed off the walls and the ceiling: “THE SPIRIT OF THE LORD HATH COME UPON ME, AND REVEALED TO ME THY NAME. THOU ART JANEY – BUT I NAME THEE ‘DAUGHTER OF PISS’, FOR OF PISS THOU ART A TRUE DEVOTEE – AND BEHOLD, THERE RAN OUT PISS FROM UNDER THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE TEMPLE!”

In an instant, Rahab’s convulsions ceased, and she fixed Janey with a deep penetrating stare. Janey froze, her tongue poised before Rahab’s cunt. “What did you say?” she whispered. Suddenly she felt alarmed, bewildered, and unsafe. “How do you know my name?” her voice trembled. “And how do you know I like… piss?

Rahab appeared to be in some sort of trance. “DAUGHTER OF PISS,” she responded, “THE SPIRIT OF THE LORD HATH LIFTED ME UP AND BROUGHT ME UNTO THE UTTER GATE! AND THE PISS OF THE LORD HAS FILLED THE TEMPLE!”

Now Janey was beginning to feel genuinely spooked. She had always loved pee – but how was this woman able to look so deep into her heart? “How do you know these things?” she whimpered, trembling.

The Reverend Fumbel, meanwhile, was standing before his blond mentee. “Smoke for the Lord now, Harriet,” he instructed, as he began to stroke his cock with his left hand. Harriet, still kneeling, lit another cigarette, as she watched the preacher hold out his right towards her in prayer: “Lord Jesus, I lift up to you this beautiful smoking fuckslut Harriet. May she repent of her sinfulness, may she repent of loving her fiancé Michael, and of the possessiveness and jealousy into which that love led her. For you have sent the Horny Spirit to set us free from the curses of fidelity and monogamy. For the mind governed by love is death, but the mind governed by Pleasure is life and peace.”

“DAUGHTER OF PISS, HEAR THE WORD OF THE LORD!” Rahab’s voice echoed throughout the building. Harriet was concentrating hard enough on her own spiritual travails to be able to ignore it – but Janey couldn’t. She looked up from Rahab’s cunt, past her now heaving tits, and saw the deaconess’ face glowing, fervid, illuminated with a terrifying zeal. “BEHOLD, THERE RAN OUT PISS FROM UNDER THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE TEMPLE! AND THE PISS WAS A RIVER THAT I COULD NOT PASS OVER. AND THE LORD SAID TO ME, ‘DAUGHTER OF CUNT, HAST THOU SEEN THIS?’”

Reverend Fumbel’s cock was hard now, and he stroked it faster and faster in front of Harriet’s face. The girl took a deep drag on her cigarette – and this inhale was like nothing she had ever felt before. It was as if she was breathing in the Horny Spirit Himself. She trembled and shook and cried out in astonishment, as she felt the holy smoke pervade her body, lift her heavenwards. “Oh yes, Jesus,” she cried as she exhaled, “free me from the curse of love, make me a servant of Pleasure alone!”

Janey was kneeling too, but frozen in terror before Rahab’s cunt. The deaconess’ voice continued to echo, sonorous, orotund, booming – as if she was channelling a voice from afar, from beyond the natural realm, from a place Janey had never dared to go. This was, Janey feared in her heart, a prophecy, a proclamation issuing forth from Someone whose existence Janey had never thought to acknowledge: Someone who knew Janey better than she knew herself. This was, surely, not just Rahab speaking. “BEHOLD, THERE RAN OUT PISS FROM UNDER THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE TEMPLE!” the deaconess repeated, her panting voice now terrifying in its grandeur, “AND ALL TO WHOM THIS PISS CAME WERE SAVED. AND THEY SANG: HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH!”

The preacher was panting too now, his naked body and luminous soul enveloped by Harriet’s smoke, as his fist became a blur around his cockhead and he declaimed: “Harriet, you belong not to the realm of love but to the realm of the Horny Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God lives in you. If anyone does not have the Horny Spirit, she does not belong to God. But if the Horny Spirit is within you, then set your fiancé Michael free: show him, by words and deeds, that he can fuck who he likes, when he likes, where he likes. Be the free-fucking whore you were created to be!”

Now Rahab was also standing up, her cunt still wet and pungent from her orgasm, just inches above Janey’s face. Janey felt compelled, as if possessed by a power greater than her, to gaze upwards and open her mouth wide. “BEHOLD, THERE RAN OUT PISS FROM UNDER THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE TEMPLE!” Janey echoed, overwhelmed by the Spirit which had taken hold of her, “AND ALL TO WHOM THIS PISS CAME WERE SAVED. AND THEY SANG: HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH!” Janey gasped: these were not her words, these were not her thoughts: these were the words of One who desired her, who wanted her as His, who was calling her, to be not just His fuckslut, not just His whore, but His piss-slut, who would be saved, and save others, by piss and the Horny Spirit. “HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH!” she repeated, as she felt her mind swimming, her body trembling, her cunt clenching.

“OH YES, GOD, YES!” Harriet screeched, as she formed her mouth into a cauldron of rich, thick, churning smoke, then opened wide. As she felt the first few drops of the preacher’s holy cum penetrate the smoke and land on her tongue, she screeched, still with her mouth open wide, “HU’ ME, JEFUF. FET ME FWEE FWOM VE CURFE OF WUV!”

“AMEN!” bellowed Reverend Fumbel, as his cock continued to explode, squirting volley after thick volley of Jesus-cum into Harriet’s smoky mouth and over her burning cigarette. Her mind was swimming now, ecstatic with redemption, with pleasure, with lust, with gratitude. She knew the curse of love had been lifted. And, as she exhaled exuberantly while gargling the preacher’s copious jizz-load, swallowed, then licked her cummy lips clean, she knew herself redeemed.

And then came the pee. Rahab screamed, wild with ecstasy, as she released the contents of her bladder into Janey’s face. And Janey screamed too, with a joy she had never known before: this was piss, but different from any she had ever tasted before; somehow she knew deep in her heart that this was miraculous piss, prophetic piss, piss from the mouth of God. “AND ALL TO WHOM THIS PISS COMES ARE SAVED!” screeched Rahab, as she looked down at Janey’ ecstatic face bathing in the golden effluent.

“AND WEY FING: ‘AWWEWUJAH, ‘AWWEWUJAH!” cried Janey in reply through her faceful of pee. Piss was flowing exuberantly across her pretty face and dark hair. It filled her mouth, and she gargled before spitting it out in a great ecstatic geyser so it splashed back into her face. All her scepticism had vanished, her cynicism had been banished: the Horny Spirit had come upon her, and the voice which had miraculously taken hold of her cried: “THEN THE LORD SAID UNTO ME: ‘IT SHALL COME TO PASS, THAT EVERYTHING THAT LIVETH, WHITHERSOEVER THE PISS SHALL COME, SHALL LIVE, FOR THEY SHALL BE SAVED. FOR THIS PISS FLOWS FROM THE SANCTUARY OF THE LORD!’”

“HARRIET!” intoned the preacher boldly, as he shook the last few drops of cum from his cockhead, “Are you willing to enter into a truly Christian marriage with Michael – a marriage built on lust, on licentiousness, devoid of jealousy or possessiveness?”

“JANEY!” bellowed Rahab. “Do you accept Jesus as your Lord and Fucker – from whose side flows the piss of salvation?”

“YES! FUCK YES!!” cried Harriet and Janey simultaneously. Harriet’s voice trembled with redemptive joy, as she continued to suck cum off her fingers and cigarette. And Janey’s free-thinking scepticism had vanished, for she knew herself swept up, taken, ravished by God. “Yes, I believe!” she cried. “Fuck me Jesus! Cleanse me in your piss!”

And so Reverend Dicky Fumbel stood tall and called out in a loud voice: “MICHAEL, COME FORTH!”

Harriet gasped, as she heard footsteps approaching a door on the far side of the sanctuary, saw the door open – and watched Michael enter.

“Oh God, Mikey!” she squealed, as she leapt up, ran across the church, and threw herself at him. “Mikey, you pleasure me so much!” Her arms wrapped around him, and she clung on tight, tears of joy coursing down her cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much, Mikey. And yet I set you free, Mikey – to fuck who you want, when you want, like a true Christian husband should. Be free, Mikey – that’s all I want for you!”

Now Reverend Dicky Fumbel, his cock semi-flaccid after having come in Harriet’s smoky mouth, strode over to where Janey was kneeling on the floor. He pulled her upwards so she was standing, leaning backwards with her head poised over the baptismal font. “Janey, I baptise you,” he declaimed, as his own pee began to spurt from his softening cock, “in the name of the Fucker, and of the Cunt, and of the Horny Spirit!” And as his piss flooded Janey’s mouth she began to glub helplessly, gargling and spitting and drooling pee. “‘AWWEWUJAH, ‘AWWEWUJAH!” she howled in piss-gargling ecstasy, “‘IF PIFF FWOWV FWOM ‘E FANCTUAWY OF ‘E WOR’! ‘AWWEWUJAH!”

Michael held Harriet tight. “You pleasure me too, Harriet…” he whispered into her smoky stinking hair. “And I will always be yours. Even as we fuck anyone and everyone we want, we will always be each other’s. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I baptise you with piss unto repentance,” intoned Dicky Fumbel, as the last spurts of his pee dribbled over Janey’s face, “but he that cometh after me is mightier than I: he shall baptise you with the Horny Spirit, and with cum!”

Joyful and ecstastic from her pee-drowning, Janey slid to the floor in a pungent yellow puddle. “Oh Jesus,” she called out in prayer, “thank you for saving me by the holy power of your pee. I am your piss-slut, now and forever…”

“Mikey…” Harriet paused, looking across at her girlfriend, “Mikey… I think Janey needs some head.”

“What about you, Hat?”

“Don’t mind me. I’ll just smoke while you eat her out. I think you both deserve that, don’t you?”

And so Michael lay on his back on the floor of All Cunts Langham Place, while Janey again lowered her flaring cunt onto his mouth. Harriet, dangling a Marlboro 100s red from her lips, watched with happy tears in her eyes while gently rubbing her clit. And Reverend Dicky, still praising God, jerked his cock rapidly into a new erection before sliding it from behind into Deaconess Rahab’s dribbling gash.

“Eat me, Mikey,” whimpered Janey as she ground her fuck-hole into Michael’s face. “Nobody eats me out like you do…” Harriet could not help but agree, as she exhaled a huge lungful of thick rich smoke over the pair.

“And you’ve got the tastiest cunt ever, Janey!” muttered Michael through his faceful of twat. And once again Harriet could not but agree, as she continued to blow smoke over the interface between Michael’s face and Janey’s cunt, as if in benediction of their coupling, and of their God-given fucking freedom.

Jesus, thank you for taking away my jealousy! Harriet thought to herself. How great thou art, and how great this is!

Janey was already hot and horny, and it did not take long before she was moaning at her impending orgasm. Michael’s cock lay untouched, stiff, huge and throbbing, the head purple and bulging with desire, a small puddle of pre-cum leaking onto his abdomen. Harriet slid downward and exhaled another cloud of smoke, this time directly over his cock. “Oh God, oh fuck,” moaned Michael, “I’m…” – and Harriet knew what that meant. Taking another deep drag on her cigarette, she wrapped her lips around Michael’s cockhead and began to exhale through her mouth, caressing the big beautiful exploding cock with a divine perichoresis of lips, tongue and smoke.

And as Janey’s cunt convulsed, brought to orgasm by Michael’s expert tongue and lips, Harriet tasted the first joyous spurts of boy-cum land on her tongue. And as Janey continued to screech her cunt-ecstasy, praising God as she twitched and writhed, Harriet kept her lips locked around Michael’s shaft, her eyes widening and her cheeks bulging to capture the smoky oral creampie. Oh fuck, this is good! she thought, savouring the heavenly combination of fresh hot cum and rich full-strength smoke which now filled her mouth. Still holding the precious creamy liquid in her mouth, as wisps of residual smoke leaked from her nostrils, she looked up at Janey, who was now lifting her cunt off Michael’s face and turning to face her. With as much of a smile as was possible under the circumstances, Harriet jutted out her jaw and opened her mouth wide so Janey could see the creamy load steaming and smoking in her mouth, as if to say, “You want some of this, don’t you?”

Janey understood the wordless question, and tipped her head back, so Harriet could lean forward, purse her lips, and empty her slimy mouthful of semen into Janey’s wide-open mouth in one long, slow, gloopy string. “Oh, your cum, Mikey, I love your cum…” Janey whimpered as the warm salty taste slowly filled her mouth, and Harriet took a last deep drag on her Marlboro before stubbing it out on the floor. Harriet locked her lips over Janey’s, blowing smoke into her bestie’s mouth as, together, they played with the load of fuck-slime, gargling, blowing bubbles, making wet raspberry noises with their cum-coated lips, then passing the load back and forth, sucking it out of each other’s mouths, spitting it back over each other’s faces, and then licking it back up again, until their faces and necks were coated with an obscene mess of cum and drool.

“Thank you, Harriet,” Janey moaned into Harriet’s cummy smoky mouth, “for letting your fiancé eat me out. And thank you for bringing me to this place where I have met Jesus.”

And as she licked cum off Janey’s face, Harriet replied, “Mikey is free, Janey, as are you. Free in Jesus to fuck who you like when you like.”

“Jesus has set me free, Harriet,” cried Janey, as she licked a glob of snotty cum from Harriet’s left nostril. “Is this how you felt when you first met the Lord?”

“Yes, Janey. It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Harriet slurped a smear of cum from Janey’s right ear.

Janey nodded, her face luminescent with cum, piss and the joy of salvation.

“Janey, I have something to ask you,” added Harriet, coming close and breathing her smoky stinking breath into Janey’s mouth.

“Yes, Hat?” Janey moaned.

“Janey… will you marry me?”

 

Interlude

Report:
Harriet Danes
Upper Sixth Form
Kunt College
April 2050

Dear Mr & Mrs Danes,

Harriet has been making excellent progress in her academic studies this term. She is to be congratulated on the fact that the Royal Academy of Fucking have not felt the need to call her for a live audition, but have already offered her an unconditional place based upon her ‘A’-Level Fucking Guided Cuntwork. I know that Professor Cuntslicker, Principal of the RAF, is very keen on expanding the range of fetishes represented in her Academy; Harriet’s will doubtless be a great asset to the RAF, and in due course the world at large.

Harriet, Michael and Janey are working very hard with me to prepare their item for the ‘Smoke-‘n’-Fuck’ competition in June. The competition will doubtless be stiff – but such is Harriet’s devotion to honing her technique that I think she stands a good chance of making an excellent impression.

On a personal note, please accept my thanks for your invitation to Harriet’s lecturers to attend her wedding in July. Mme Grossebite, Mr Gropecunt, Nurse Coxucca, Mr Ahss-Faqr and myself will all be delighted to attend. And I am sure they will all join me in commending Harriet on choosing not to let her marriage interrupt her fucking vocation: it is so important these days for young ladies to be fearless in demonstrating to the world the inherent complementarity of the roles of wife and fuckwhore; I am sure you will agree.

Kind regards,

Miss P. Poussée
Deputy Head of Fucking | Tutor, Fuckindor House
Kunt College, London
“Proud to be Enlightened: Valuing and Nurturing the Fuckers of the Future”

 

PART THREE:
Summer

Chapter Thirteen:
Traitors in Our Midst

“Well, well, welcome everybody to Wankminster Central Hall. This former Methodist church is famous for have hosted meetings of the suffragette movement in the 1910s, the United Nations General Assembly in the 1940s, and the Fuckers’ Party in the 2030s – making it the perfect venue for today’s event, which is also devoted to breaking new ground in the liberation of mankind and the pursuit of Enlightenment ideals. For today is the final session of ‘Smoke ‘n’ Fuck’ – a brand new competition for young smoking fetish fuckers. I am Fuxmy Gopal,” the young dark-skinned beauty added, as she walked, face to camera, backwards down the central aisle of the auditorium. “And I am fortunate that today’s panel of distinguished judges have been able to take a few minutes out of their busy schedule to talk to us,” she added, as the camera widened its shot to take in the whole of her lithe young body, wrapped in a tight red fishnet gown, through which her pert black nipples poked alluringly. “And here they are: Doctor Jon Taylor from Saint Fartholomew’s Hospital” – a tall wiry man with light brown hair and a very fat cock visible dangling, for ease of access presumably, between the open folds of his white lab coat; “Doctor Danica Clijtst, Lecturer in Fetish Studies at Titty University” – smiling and topless, her black hair tied back out of the way of her large natural breasts, which swayed as she spoke; “and Doctor Zara Qunta from Imperial College London.” Dr Qunta was pretty, dark-skinned, slightly plump, with lovely jiggling breasts half peeping out from under her suit jacket.

“Jon Taylor, if I may begin with you,” continued Fuxmy, “I am sure our viewers today will be interested to know what has spurred your interest in the smoking fetish.”

“Well, Fuxmy, I am of course a medical doctor, and have been excited to witness first-hand the thoroughly positive effects smoking has had on the young people who have taken up the habit during the course of this past year. It is no secret that the youth of the 2020s and ‘30s struggled with levels of anxiety and depression unknown in earlier generations – exacerbated, as we now know, by the gradual banning of smoking in this country. The advent of the Enlightenment in the ‘30s helped immeasurably, of course, as there is nothing better for young bodies and minds than unfettered access to fucking. But I have been delighted to see how so many young people have also been helped by taking up smoking – some even crediting it with curing their depression, mitigating their suicidal thoughts, even getting them off benefits and back into work! Nicotine, in short, is a superb anti-depressant. Combine it with fucking, and you can’t do better!”

“That’s fascinating, Jon,” replied Fuxmy. “Why, then, Danica Clijtst, has there been such a disappointingly low level of smoking take-up in the young since its re-legalisation?”

“That’s a good question, Fuxmy,” replied Danica, “though it is wonderful to see so many beautiful teenage smokers here today!” She gestured around at the gathering numbers of performers, stage crew, journalists and audience members, many of whom were happily smoking, individually or in groups, showing off their fetish styles and techniques to each other, a few of them fucking, sucking cock, or licking pussy at the same time. “And I hope that today’s competition will help young people all over the country to see the sheer beauty and hotness of smoking, and how it is the perfect fetish adjunct to a free-fucking lifestyle!”

“So should all of us take up smoking, then?” asked Fuxmy. “Zara Qunta, you are part of the team who have developed the medical technology which is essential to the re-introduction of smoking to the Enlightened world: what is your opinion?”

“Well, Fuxmy, you are probably the only one of us still young enough to be able to do so,” laughed Zara. “So far, the only Lung-Safe® Medical Modification procedure we have been able to develop which is approved by NICE – that’s the National Institute for Cunt Excellence – is only effective for the under 30s. For the rest of us, smoking continues to cause a handful of minor side-effects – such as a lingering painful death,” Zara grinned wickedly.

“Well, judges, thank you so much for your time. We’ll come back to you later, if that’s all right, but in the meantime –” Fuxmy slid smoothly sideways so the judges disappeared from her screen “let’s go and meet some of the performers!”

*

The morning sun which streamed in behind Harriet and her party as they entered the porch fell, by delightful happenstance, on two young ladies seated, topless, behind a table marked:

PERFORMERS RECEPTION

They appeared to be enjoying a happy smoky kissing session, blowing thin streams of smoke between pursed lips into each other’s mouths, inhaling each other’s smoke and playing with it with deftly controlled French- and mini-snap-inhales before exhaling it back into each other’s throats, all the while tangling and licking and sucking at each other’s tongues. Their small pert nipples brushed gently against each other: with the morning sunshine on them, they looked like a pair of topless angels cumplaying on the clouds of Heaven, Harriet thought.

As the party from Kunt College entered, the two girls paused their smoke-kissing, turning to exhale a pair of long thick cone exhales towards the new arrivals. “M’ cunt!” called one of them, in a charmingly plebeian Essex drawl, “can I help ya?”

Harriet took a deep drag of her own Marlboro red before introducing herself and her party through a long puffy exhale: “Harriet Danes, from Kunt College, with Michael Didcock and Jane Harris. And this is our coach, Miss Poussée, and her assistant Mister Ahss-Faqr.”

“Hi Harriet, I’m Jaimey,” announced the first girl with a broad smile. She was tall and slender, with long straight red hair, pale freckled skin, eyelids shadowed dusky red, and improbably long eyelash extensions fluttering in the sunshine. “And this is Becky,” she added, gesturing to the other girl, who had short pink hair, pierced nipples and septum, and a large tattoo of a bikini-wearing pirate girl all the way down her right arm, with which she waved good-naturedly. “Becky, can ya take Harriet and her gang to their dressin’ room while I mind the desk?”

*

“Oh fuck, isn’t that beautiful!” Harriet exclaimed as Becky led them through the main lobby, where she was greeted by the sight of a ceiling-high mural featuring a closeup view of a glistening cunt and pierced clit, a long white lit cigarette dangling at a casual but cheeky angle from its swollen pink lips. Michael agreed, nodding vigorously; Janey chuckled with amusement at both of them.

“That’s me!” Becky announced proudly in her broad Cheshire accent. “Like me pussy then?”

“Fuck yeah!” enthused Harriet. “And the angle of the cigarette: so totally fuck-me!”

“Glad you think so,” replied Becky. “I was arguing with the photographer about it. ‘E wanted it straight, and centred, but I said it would look too aggressive. This way’s more seductive, I think…”

“Yeah, nonchalant smoking cunt – I like the look. And – oh fuck!” Harriet stopped in her tracks, for Becky had just led her through a pair of double doors into the main auditorium, which was, to Harriet’s utter delight, full of people smoking! There were stagehands and ushers, sound engineers and lighting technicians, all going about their business: all young, all beautiful, and all smoking. Harriet beamed. “Oh fuck, I’ve never seen so much smoking before!” she grinned, as she took in the sights. “I’m the only one in my school who smokes. This is totally fucking!”

“Yeah, that’s why I volunteered to ‘elp out on this competition,” explained Becky. “Jaimey and me are the only two in our school that smoke. Everyone just keeps telling us ‘ow much we stink. Frankly, I don’t give a shit – but it’s nice to be somewhere you’re not the only one.”

Harriet was barely listening, as her eyes took in the glorious smoking-and-fucking cornucopia around her. A blonde stage hand was on her knees on the stage, pert tits dangling beneath her, marking out set layouts with masking tape, a damp cork-tipped cigarette butt gripped firmly between her lips, one eye closed against the smoke. Her colleague, pudgy and dark-haired, was dangling a long white between her lips, exhaling through the nose while rolling out electrical cables. At the rear of the auditorium the stage manager was ensconced in his prompt corner, surrounded by cables, control panels, mixing desks, knobs and buttons. He was dangling a Marlboro red while testing out lights, microphones and loudspeakers, while issuing orders to his various assistants. “Annie,” he called out to one, “Here, we need to test the cunt mikes. Clip this on yer pubic hair and rub yerself off for me, will ya?”

“Righto, Gary,” replied the brunette, lifting up her skirt to reveal a very hairy cunt. “Like, just above me clit, or higher up?”

“As close to yer cunt as you can get it without it hurting. I need to pick up all the squelching. Oh and, Susie, we need to test the smoke spots. Will ya stand centre stage and smoke for me until I tell ya to stop?” Gary waited for Susie to take her position and start blowing huge billowing clouds of smoke into the air before flicking his own cigarette butt into a rear corner of the hall and calling out, “Warning, house going dark!” – just as the amplified sound of Annie’s squelching cunt began resonating through the blackness of the auditorium.

*

As Becky led Harriet and her party into the green room, they were greeted by a rhythmic sound resembling a cross between a duck quacking and a toilet being plunged. It turned out to be coming the throat of a young woman with short but dishevelled black hair and darkly shaded eyelids who was lying on her back on a green couch, her head dangling backwards over the sofa arm while a young man plunged his impressively large cock in and out of her gullet. Even as she exhaled a thick column of white smoke upwards, her eyes were open and bloodshot, snot was dribbling from her nose into her eyes, and splashes of spit were flying from her mouth and dripping down her forehead into her hair. “Victoria,” Becky called out, “say ‘ello to ‘Arriet.”

Victoria paused her skullfuck to look up. “Oh, you’re the last of us four finalists! What sort of show are you putting on? I’m going for the brutal throatfuck angle, as you can see.”

“No shit, you’re brilliant!” enthused Harriet. “Wish I could deepthroat like you. And so does Mikey, I shouldn’t imagine – what d’you think, Mikey?”

Mikey was transfixed, watching Victoria continue to smoke as she joined them, her various bodily fluids changing direction of travel as she stood up: spit and slobber now dribbling down her chin and onto her large hanging tits, and snot oozing across her upper lip onto her cigarette filter. “Fuck yeah!” muttered Michael somewhat incoherently.

“Like it, Mikey?” grinned Victoria. “Maybe fuck my face after the show then?” She opened her mouth wide in invitation, exhaling a thick column of smoke before licking more snot off her lips.

“Oh yeah…” muttered Michael, mouth agape, cock tenting his trousers. Harriet and Janey giggled.

“Oh look, and here are Sasha and Masha,” interrupted Becky, as a pair of tall dark-fringed vixens with tanned skin and large, perfectly rounded tits stuffed into their bikini tops sashayed nonchalantly into the room, “more fellow competitors!” Harriet could not work out which was which, but guessed that it didn’t matter a lot, as the girls were, as far as she could tell, identical bar the colours of their tops: one pink, the other light green. Both were nude from the breasts down, their skin smooth and glowing, their respective pubic bushes shaved into narrow arrow-shaped landing strips directing the viewer southwards. Each one’s clit was a tiny button, dark shaven pussy-lips guarding the way to a tight gleaming slit, and each had a pack of Virginia Slims menthol 120s tucked into the right cup of her bikini. They were both smoking with slow ecstatic open-mouthed inhales.

“Oh fuck, love your cigarettes!” squealed Harriet. “I’ve never tried those!”

“I think they’re erotic,” replied pink-bikini girl wispily, tossing her long black silky hair and taking a slow drag on her cigarette. “And we’re going for the erotic look today.” She exhaled a narrow stream of smoke towards the ceiling, before sticking her tongue out so that her green-clad partner could give it an affectionate suck.

“Fucking!” enthused Harriet. “Slender bodies, slim cigarettes, narrow exhales, thin landing-strips, tight slits: such a perfectly co-ordinated look!”

“Yeah, total fucking contrast with throatslut muggins, eh?” cackled Victoria. “So what kind of smoking show are you giving us today, Harriet? Snob lez erotica like Sasha and Masha, or filthy fuck porn like me? Hey, are all these people fucking you?” she asked, indicating the other members of her party.

“What? Oh, no, sorry, only Mikey and Janey are. Miss Poussée is my coach, and Mr Ahss-Faqr is here to help out.”

“M’ pussy,” Victoria waved courteously. “Ooh, I feel quite outdone now… It’s just me and Paul, see,” Victoria gestured to her big-dicked partner who was standing expectantly by the sofa, his huge cock still dripping with Victoria’s throat-slime, “and Sasha and Masha have come alone!”

“It’s not quantity that counts, Vic,” remonstrated green-bikini girl with a sultry drawl, as she tangled tongues with her partner and exhaled slowly into her mouth. “If it did, well, Clytemnestra has got more fuckers with her than I can keep track of, she –”

“Oh, where is Clytemnestra?” interrupted Becky. “She’s the only one of the four finalists you ‘aven’t yet met,” she explained helpfully to Miss Poussée.

“In her dressing room,” sneered Victoria, “bleaching her asshole or whatever she’s doing…”

“Oh, that reminds me,” replied Becky, “I’d better show you to yours, ‘adn’t I? Follow me!”

But it was as they were moving towards the door to the dressing room corridor that said door burst open, and in strode a tall girl with mousey-brown hair, a sneer on her face, and two pert breasts on the front of her naked body, nipples upturned like her nose. She was smoking Silk Cock 100s Superkinks and exhaling through a noisy tirade which she was directing, with an upper class Fuckinghamshire accent and a superior attitude, at a small crowd of naked priapic young men trailing in her wake. “I don’t give a fucking shit what you think, guys: shave your fucking cocks now, or they’re not going in my fucking arse. I’ve designed this fucking show, and I’m paying you to do what I fucking tell you – is that clear? I chose you for the size of your cocks, not your brains – which is just as well for you!” Her voice was posh, her demeanour superior, and her sneer utterly withering – but she stopped short in front of Harriet. “Ohhh,” she intoned slowly, as she lifted her head and nose-exhaled directly downwards at Harriet, “this must be the cunt from Kunt: I’ve heard so much about you…”

Harriet, though somewhat taken aback, decided to try to be friendly. “M’ cunt, I’m Harriet,” she said, extending her hand.

“Clytemnestra Ffuckes-Dyckes,” replied the girl, looking witheringly down her nose at Harriet. “You do anal, do you?” she asked accusingly.

“Uh… yes… why do you ask?” Harriet replied, as disarmingly as she could.

“Are you doing anal today?”

Harriet would have preferred not to discuss the details of her performance prior to going on stage, but she thought it couldn’t hurt to offer a confidence building measure or two. “Yes, I am – though I’m sure I’m not as good as you…”

Oh, that sounded really simpering, Harriet thought to herself, even as the words left her lips – and Clytemnestra thought so too. “I’m taking two cocks in my arse today – at the same time!” she sniggered, as if issuing a challenge.

“Oh, fucking!” replied Harriet, genuinely impressed. “How long did it take you to learn that? Do you have a GM asshole?”

“Asshole?” replied Clytemnestra with a contemptuous drawl. “How utterly mid-Atlaaantic! Where did you grow up, girl?”

Harriet flustered and fumbled, not sure what to say – but Clytemnestra clearly wanted to humiliate, rather than interrogate her. “How pornographic you are, my dear! I thought they would teach you better at Kunt – or is that a school for nouveau-riche idiots? I attend Lady Eleanor Whorish, I’ll have you know, and here, take a look at my ‘asshole’!” She pronounced the last word in a contemptuously exaggerated North American manner whilst turning her back, bending over, and stretching her buttocks to reveal an impressively gaping rectum – wide enough, surely, for at least three cocks at once, Harriet couldn’t help thinking, as Clytemnestra took a deep double drag on her cigarette, tightened her anal rim, and let out a long noisy fart right in Harriet’s face. “That’s my arse, Harriet,” she continued, emphasising the traditional British pronunciation. “Aaarse rhymes with claaass – or do you not have any?!” she cackled. “What say you, boys?”

“Fuck yes, Clytty!” chanted the boys behind her in obedient unison – six of them, in fact, all tall, strongly built, muscular, with identically huge cocks standing erect from their crotches.

It was only then that Harriet looked at their faces, and realised that she recognised one of them. Miss Poussée did too. “Danny!” they both blurted out.

Danny had clearly been trying to disappear into the background – which was difficult with a cock his size. As the other boys parted to allow the team from Kunt to see him better, it also became clear that he was not alone: his habitual slut Danielle was there too, sour-faced as usual, and naked from the waist down, a smear of her cunt-juice gleaming on Danny’s thigh. Miss Poussée was as unamused as Harriet. “Danny, Danielle – what on earth are you doing here? You made it perfectly clear that you do not like the smoking fetish, and you refused to support Harriet in her entry for this competition! And now you are competing against a representative of your own school?”

The pair of turncoats stood silent, Danny’s jaw jutting defiantly, Danielle’s lips pouting sulkily as she continued to rub her cunt against his leg. But Clytemnestra was having none of it. “Oh, is this the famous Miss Poussée?” she sneered. “I’ve heard about you too – and frankly, Polly, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think.” The entire Kunt College party gasped with undisguised shock: on her own turf, Miss Poussée was never spoken to with such lack of respect. Mr Ahss-Faqr’s fists tightened, and Harriet was worried he might punch someone.

Perhaps Clytemnestra realised she had overstepped a mark, as her voice softened condescendingly. “Miss Poussée, forgive me for being so forward. However, Danny and Danielle are working for me today. That was their choice. This is a fair competition. And may the best cunt win!” She blew a long cone of smoke directly into the teacher’s face, before turning on her heels and issuing further orders to her team: “Come on, fuckers, let’s leave the Kunties to find their dressing room. We have work to do! Danielle, I need you to do my nails and hair, before waxing my slit. Boys, get those cocks shaved straight away. Our tech is at half past eleven. I don’t want any sloppiness: do I make myself clear?”

“Fuck yes, Clytty!” chorused her fellow performers, as they followed her dutifully back to their dressing room.

*

“Motherfuck, Miss Poussée, what are those two doing cozying up to that cunt?” whined Harriet as they settled into their own dressing room a couple of minutes later.

If Miss Poussée was worried, she did her best to conceal it. “It’s all right, Harriet. I am disappointed, of course: I would have expected any decent Kuntian to, if not support their own team, at least not join another’s. But of course they have every right… And I’m sure they’ll play fair,” she added reassuringly.

Harriet wasn’t quite so sure, and chain-lit another cigarette – full strength “red” of course – to calm herself down. “Hey,” smiled Janey, striding over to reassuringly stroke her bestie’s tits, “want me to eat your cunt to make you feel better?”

“Oh, that would be nice, Janey…” sighed Harriet, sitting back on the dressing room couch and opening her legs wide as she aimed a thick cone of smoke at the ceiling.

Chapter Fourteen:
Boléro

Wankminster Central Hall was dark and silent, its occupants waiting with bated breath for the start of the final performance of Smoke-‘n’-Fuck 2050. Fuxmy Gopal and her cameraman had returned to their posts at the rear, and the three judges were seated back at their table in the centre of the auditorium. A single spotlight picked out Harriet’s face, her blond hair swept back so that her broad jaw and full red lips shone with allure. As the music started, softly at first, just some slow plucked violas and cellos, and a quiet but driving rhythm on the snare drum, the spot widened to reveal Harriet in a pink bikini, her large breasts straining against her top, her body slowly writhing in cunt-dripping anticipation. Her legs were clothed in thigh-high pink latex boots, spread wide on her stool to allow the audience to descry a small rectangular shape concealed beneath her pink gusset. There was a gasp of admiration as people recognised the form of the unseen flip-top box pressed tight against Harriet’s cunt.

“Oh fuck, that’s hot,” breathed Fuxmy, her fingers straying to her own crotch as she watched. “Don’t you think that’s hot, Bill?” she whispered to her cameraman, who was in down-time mode, reading his copy of Viz and largely ignoring both her and the show. Harriet reached downwards with one hand to stroke the unseen packet of cigarettes up and down her vulva, as she fixed the judges at their table with a luminous fuck-me stare. It was clearly working: Dr Taylor’s fat cock was already poking, stiff and hard, above the edge of the judges’ table. On his left Danica was already absent-mindedly kneading her tits, and gently squelching the tip of her dildo against her fuck-lips; on his right, Zara had pulled up her pencil skirt and was sliding one finger smoothly in and out of her bald cunt.

A solo flute had begun to play, its melody sinuous and sensual, winding its way slowly downwards over the mechanical fuck-beat of the snare. Harriet’s hands echoed the melody, curling, stroking, squeezing her genetically modified tits through her bikini top, then releasing them so that her swollen nipples protruded proudly over the cups. “Oh fuck, look at those tits,” moaned Fuxmy, as she moistened the fingers of one hand and began gently rubbing her clit. Bill the cameraman continued to ignore her.

“Slowly does it, Harriet,” Miss Poussée had said. “You want them gagging for you – like you gag for a cigarette. You want them addicted to you – even those who don’t smoke. You want them to need to see your cunt, need to see you release that packet of cigs from your gash. So keep stroking your body, keep it sensual, at least till the clarinet begins.”

Soon, the clarinet line was winding itself around the clockwork pizzicato pulse of the strings. “Oh Janey, that’s so fucking sexy!” Harriet had exclaimed the first time Janey had played it to her, her body writhing, her lips and tongue caressing the sultry fuck-me tune out of her instrument. We gotta use this piece: it’s so fucking hot!”

“It’s a classic,” Janey explained helpfully, “by a French composer called –”

“Did he write it for people to fuck to?” Harriet interrupted.

“I don’t think people wrote fuck-music in those days – or at least they didn’t admit it…”

Now Harriet’s right hand was between her legs, sliding that unseen packet of smokes up and down her cunt. She could feel the cellophane rubbing against her pussy-lips, feel her fuck-juices gradually coat her cigarette packet. Seated at the back of the auditorium, Polly Poussée and Abdul Ahss-Faqr were watching their protégée proudly: she had her left hand wrapped reassuringly around his cock while his fingers gently massaged her vulva. The audience was moaning with appreciation, desperate for the moment Harriet would reveal her flaring cunt-lips, light a cigarette, and jerk herself off. But –

“Slowly does it,” Miss Poussée had said. “OK, the clarinet solo is coming to an end, so slip your thong off, but keeping rubbing your cunt with that cigarette packet. The fetishists will love seeing you get off that way, the non-fetishists will still be gagging to see your cunt. Either way, you’re onto a winner…”

As Harriet slipped out of her thong, another gasp rose from the audience – not just at the glorious sight of Harriet’s bald pink cunt, already wet and dripping from her cigarette-packet pleasuring, but at her packet of cigarettes itself. “Cameltoe No. 9 Pink 100s!” was the exclamation circulating in enthusiastic whispers among the smoking cognoscenti in the audience. Harriet smiled.

“I’ve had these specially commissioned!” Nurse Coxucca had announced gleefully, brandishing a packet, as Harriet bounded into sick bay one afternoon. “A re-creation of a brand specially made for the female market around the turn of the century!”

“Ooh, hot pink, like fucked-out cunt!” Harriet had exclaimed, as she examined the packet and peeled off the cellophane.

Nurse Coxucca laughed. “I think they were originally called ‘No. 9’ because that was the cloud they put you on.”

“Let’s see if they do!” grinned Harriet as she extracted one long white cigarette. “Oh look, there’s the cameltoe!” she exclaimed, as she caught sight of the pink cunt logo on the filter, lit up, and took a long, deep, double drag. “Fuck, they’re good!” she sighed through an upwards exhale…

“Oh Jesus motherfuck,” Fuxmy whispered, as her own hand parallelled Harriet’s flip-top box – sliding in and out of her dark trimmed cunt, as in the seat next to her Bill was still enraptured by his Viz. Harriet was fucking herself now, stretching her cunt wide with her cigarette packet, feeling the cellophane caress her inner walls, feeling her fuck-juices coat it and dribble down onto her fingers. The bassoon was holding the tune, its timbre rich and reedy, the melody bluesy and dissonant, almost dirty, as Harriet’s fingers painted a smear of cunt-juice onto her puckered asshole. And when the ecstatic squeal of the E-flat clarinet took over, Harriet opened her mouth wide in imitation, to silently announce her own pleasure, as the tip of one finger slipped gently within the rim of her shithole, while her other hand was still fucking the slimy packet of Cameltoe Pinks in and out of her fuck-gash.

You like seeing my Pinks up my pink? sounded a voice. But it was not Harriet’s; it was a recorded voiceover, feminine, but echoing deep, breathy and reverberant, layered across the musical soundtrack, but whirling around the auditorium in quadrophonic sound. You like seeing my slimy box in my box? it continued. Both my boxes are pink and slimy: you wanna taste them?

“Fuck yes,” panted Fuxmy, her tongue drooling – while Bill continued to ignore everything going on around him. All three judges were rubbing themselves off at their table, any semblance of professional restraint long abandoned. Harriet smiled again to herself. Good call, using Janey as the voice-over, she thought. Even I admit it…

“No no, Harriet,” Polly Poussée had insisted. much to Harriet’s annoyance. “We can’t use your voice: it’s far too girly! We need a voice which is sultry, mature. Now who do I know…?”

“Can I try, Miss Poussée?” Janey ventured meekly.

“You?” Miss Poussée looked aghast at the skinny girl in pigtails.

“Well, I do a lot of acting,” replied Janey, “in my am-dram group, you know? Here, how about this?” Janey took a deep breath, before reciting in a deep breathy voice, “‘You like watching me smoke, pervs? You like watching me drag on this cigarette, like I’m sucking your big dick? I need to smoke, fuckers – as much as I need to be fucked…’”

Miss Poussée’s jaw dropped – for suddenly Janey’s voice had turned rich and resonant: mature, sensual, voluptuous, seductive. “Ohhh…” remarked the teacher, nodding with satisfaction, “that’s good… Not just a pretty cunt then, eh, Janey?”

“Thank you, Miss…”

As the oboe d’amore commenced the reprise of the original flute melody, Harriet slipped her cigarette packet from her cunt, and her finger out of her asshole. “Smoke… smoke!” she could hear the audience egging her on in desperate whispers – but it was not quite time for that. Instead she extended her tongue, licking her cunt-slime off the flip-top box before slowly, seductively peeling off the damp pungent cellophane and casting it nonchalantly toward the audience. Flipping open the top, she held the packet up to her mouth, extracting one long white cigarette hands-free and dangling it between her lips. Unclasping her bikini top to display her proud, glorious tits, she retrieved her pink cigarette lighter from where it had been nestling, hitherto unseen, in the warm cleft between her breasts, and flicked it. A collective gasp of anticipation erupted from audience and judges alike – but Harriet was still teasing. Want me to smoke my Pink? Janey’s sultry breathy thespian voiceover whirled around the hall, eliciting a lustful moan of assent from all present. Or shall I pink my smoke? teased the voice, as Harriet held her virgin cigarette against her cunt and began painting it up and down between her wet fuck-lips. Want me to smoke my Cameltoe? The voice, though still deep and seductive, was rising in intensity now. Or shall I fuck my cameltoe with my smoke?

As a muted trumpet began to sound out a repeat of the oboe melody, Harriet plunged the filter end of her cigarette into her cunt. Oh yeah, I love fucking my cunt with my cigarette! Janey’s voice reverberated around the hall. Do you like watching me fuck my ciggy in and out of my fuckhole? The audience moaned their agreement, even louder. Wouldn’t you like to be that cigarette, plunging in and out of my fucking cunt?!

Fuxmy could hold back no longer. She had grabbed a spare microphone, and was rubbing it against her dark cunt. “Your cock, Bill, your cock,” she muttered, opening her mouth wide in anticipation. “No, put that fucking mag away, dammit, I need cock!” Bill sighed, put his comic down, and stood up so he could dangle his soft dick in front of his colleague’s face. “Mmm-aargh…” she growled as she swallowed the soft dangling member and began sucking hard on it in a desperate attempt to coax it into an erection, all the while jamming the microphone deep into her pussy. At the judges’ desk, the female judges were both stroking Jon Taylor’s fat cock with one hand each, while the fingers of both his hands were curled into their cunts.

“Good, good, Harriet – that way you get them all jerking off even before you light your first cigarette. That means even the non-smoke-freaks will be hot and horny: you need them on your side too!”

“Won’t everyone there be a fetishist, Miss? I mean, who’s gonna come to a smoking competition if they don’t like smoking?”

“Don’t count on it, Harriet. You need everyone on your side: the press, the TV presenters, the stage hands, the cameramen, even the cleaning ladies if you can! You need to get them all buzzing like your cunt!”

It was the tenor saxophone’s turn now, espressivo, bluesy, flattened and Phrygian, molto vibrato, the perfect accompaniment for Harriet to place the slimy white filter end, adorned by its pink cunt logo, between her moist red lips. Wanna see this Cameltoe between my lips, fuckers? Janey’s voice echoed cheekily around the auditorium. I love feeling my lips closing round hot pink cameltoe, don’t you? Harriet flicked the lighter again, this time to genuinely fire up her first cigarette of the afternoon. Oh fuck, that’s good! Harriet thought to herself as she felt the smoke caress its way deep into her needy lungs. She had deliberately starved herself of nicotine for the past three hours, so she would be gagging for smoke by now, and could inhale as impossibly deep as she wanted. And now, it was time to show off what she could do with that smoke…

“Taylor?” she had yelped with delight as the woman’s wrinkled face had flickered into view on her screen. “Is that you?”

“It is,” croaked her interlocutor with a smile and a gentle Antipodean drawl. “M’ pussy, Harriet.”

“Oh, I am so honoured to meet you. I’ve watched all your videos: you are the best!”

The old woman laughed. “My smoking career was a long time ago now. I haven’t smoked in decades…”

“Oh… Why did you stop?”

Taylor laughed again. “Well, my dear, in my day, smoking was very bad for you. I did a lot of dangerous things when I was your age: smoking, drinking, drugs, fucking around – but eventually I pulled myself together…”

“What? Was fucking bad for you in those days? I never knew that!”

“Well, it kinda depended on who you fucked, and how. I was an escort, did a lot of weird shit, pissing on guys and stuff –”

“Oh, how exciting! ‘Escort’ – is that what you called a professional fucker in those days? I want to be one too! And my bestie loves getting pissed on!”

“Well, go for it, bitch! You’re lucky to live in an age when that’s considered respectable. And, you’re doubly lucky to live in an age when smoking is good for you! I’d so take it up again if I could…” Taylor looked wistfully into the middle distance, before pulling herself back to the present. “But instead I’ll do it vicariously through you, OK…?”

On stage, Harriet knew she needed to carefully calibrate her transition into smoking tricks. And so she started as Taylor had taught her, with a series of long nose exhales, head tipped back in profile, alternating sides so that fine twin streams of smoke flowed horizontally outwards in both lateral directions in turn, framing her voluptuous body perfectly. She progressed to preceding each nose exhale with a French inhale, thick waterfalls of smoke cascading upwards from her jutting lower lip into her nostrils before being lovingly projected out again.

By the time the tune had passed to the soprano saxophone, Harriet was ready for business. “Taylor,” she had pleaded, “how do I do snaps? I just can’t fucking get them right: all I get is misshapen clouds of smoke!”

Taylor laughed. “Many a great smoker has been stumped by snaps, Harriet. Don’t be in a hurry now, we need to take this slowly…”

And so they did, week after week. Harriet learning how to hold a thick cloud of smoke in her mouth without inhaling it, curving her tongue back to her palate. “Patience, Hattie,” Taylor kept repeating, “don’t blow, just compress a bit with your jaw while letting that tongue gently drop forward – then inhale smartly. Here, look in the mirror.”

“Fuck, it’s tiring. It’s like the first time I ever gave a blowjob: my jaws were aching for fucking ages!”

“Well, the snap inhale is the blowjob of smoking, Hat: the girl doesn’t necessarily gain pleasure from it herself – but what she does get is a whole load of appreciation. Especially for male fetishists, snaps are like cumplay: you won’t catch them dead doing it themselves, but if you want to show them something to get them hard there’s nothing better!” And they both collapsed with laughter…

Now, however, six months later, Harriet’s technique had progressed to the point where she could appear relaxed, almost casual about the way she released a swirling ball of smoke to hang just before her lips before opening wide and snapping the whole delicious thing deep into her throat. The audience loved it too, oohing and aahing at each smoke ball that disappeared into her, and positively ecstatic as she progressed to doubles, and even French snaps. You like watching my snaps, fuckers? Janey’s sultry voiceover swirled around the hall. I like playing with my smoke, like I like playing with your cum. You want me to take your creamy white cum down my throat, fuckers?

The return of the original tune, now played mezzo forte by a horn, and doubled with multitonal acridity by a pair of piccolos, announced the arrival of the real Janey on stage. She was naked, her long dark hair loose down her back, her cunt-lips dangling glistening between her tight ass-cheeks as she knelt in front of Harriet and buried her face in her gash – just as Harriet chain-lit two new cigarettes, flicking the old butt with fuck-you nonchalance across the stage towards the audience. Oh yeah, you wanna watch this bitch eat my pink while I smoke? the voiceover echoed round the auditorium. Shall I smoke two Pinks for you, you perverted smoking fuckers?

The audience’s response was predictable. Now Harriet held two Cameltoes, one between two fingers of each hand, and was smoking them in alternation, each new inhale overlapping the previous one, so that smoke was pouring out of her nostrils at the same time as it disappeared in great creamy balls down her gullet. She did not wait to perform separate exhales, instead turning herself into a non-stop smoking machine, letting the rich precious creamy loads pour in and out of her lungs. Fuck, I’m getting high… Harriet thought to herself. And Jesus fuck, Janey you eat cunt so good! she thought, as her best friend’s tongue snaked and slurped deep into her wet fuckhole. Now Janey’s recorded voice was echoing through the speakers again: You like smoking when your cunt’s getting eaten, fuckers? I love it. See me smoking two Pinks while this skinny bitch eats my pink?

The audience were roaring their approval now, as they jerked themselves and each other off in multifarious ways. Danica and Zara were kneeling beneath the judges’ table on opposite sides of Jon Taylor’s fat cock, slurping and licking and drooling as they fingering or dildoed their own cunts. And at the back of the hall, Bill the cameraman’s cock, now coaxed into a full erection, was fucking in and out of Fuxmy Gopal’s gullet as she gagged and dribbled and dry-heaved in appreciation, all the while pounding three fingers in and out of her wet fuck-hole.

A chorus of reeds took up the tune now, thick and rough and noisy, as Janey writhed her body forwards and upwards, Harriet sliding onto the floor beneath so her friend’s cunt could splay across her upturned face. Fuck, she does taste good! Harriet thought to herself. Not wrong, Mikey… she added, as she rested her head back onto the stool and began blowing smoke into her bestie’s cunt. She likes it when I smoke her pink while I smoke my Pinks! came the voiceover. You like seeing her cunt fill with smoke, fuckers? You like it when my bitch’s cunt’s on fucking fire?!

“Fuck yeah!” moaned the audience, as they stroked their cocks and slid their fingers into their own and each other’s cunts. “Smoke that cunt! More! More!”

But Harriet had learnt by now to always leave the audience gagging for more. As a solo trombone took up the tune, Michael walked onto the stage, naked, his cock already huge and throbbing, a glob of pre-cum shining at its tip. Oh yeah, dig that trombone! moaned the voiceover. Want me to play it? Want me to smoke it? Want me to ram it down my fucking throat?

Soon Janey was lying on her back on the ground, Harriet’s ass and wet cunt splaying into her best friend’s face as she knelt in front of Michael’s cock, chain-lighting another Cameltoe and carelessly flicking her two spent cigarette butts across the stage. “Oooh!” intoned the audience, as she blew one long thick cone of smoke across Michael’s cock, watching it involuntarily twitch and jerk with pleasure. But now it was time for more tricks…

“OK, Taylor, help me! How the fuck do I do rings?” she had whined to her Australian mentor.

The latter laughed joyously. “Oh, rings! I so wish I could smoke again, just for that! Come on, smoke-slut, let’s get you doing them properly! Now first, make like you’re sucking dick…”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, make that mouth round, drop your jaw.”

“Like this?” Harriet attempted to follow her mentor’s instructions.

“Perfect: I can tell you’re a proper cocksucker! You’ve got the perfect wide jaw. Now –”

“Perfect jaw for what? Smoking or sucking cock?”

“Both, bitch: they’re two sides of the same coin! Now, make a little short ‘oh’ sound in the back of your throat – like you’re shocked, or like you’re gagging on the aforementioned dick.” She demonstrated. “Sometimes a little jerk of your lower jaw helps…” Harriet tried it out a few times without smoke. “Yeah, that’s the idea,” nodded Taylor. “Now, take a drag, fill your mouth with smoke, then try it…”

Now Harriet was doing exactly as Taylor had taught her. Michael’s cock still bobbing and twitching before her face, she took a double drag, dropped her jaw to fill her oral cavity with as much smoke as she could, rounded her lips like she was sucking a very large cock, and began to fire thick wide smoke rings at her fiancé’s cock. Fuck yeah! she congratulated herself silently, as each smoke ring, perfectly aimed, was speared by Michael’s glans. The audience burst into rapturous applause.

The trombone tune had passed to the full wind band now – loud, raucous and rude, as Harriet began her smoky blowjob in earnest, whilst grinding her ass into Janey’s face. She was in her comfort zone now: she loved sucking Michael’s cock, loved exhaling through her nostrils all over the shaft, loved it when he fucked the smoke out of her wide-open mouth. She loved gagging noisily on his dick as smoke fired in all directions from her face, loved dribbling and drooling onto his smoke-enwreathed cock, watching her spit, snot and smoke dangle and dance. The audience clearly thought it was hot too: they had all returned to fucking, sucking, and stroking off as they admired Harriet’s ongoing smoky facefuck. You like watching that dick fuck the smoke out of my face? crooned the voiceover. You like watching that cock treat my smoky mouth like a cunt?

The question was rhetorical, of course. Harriet saw the fuck-ecstasy developing all around her, saw the three judges now so turned on that they had abandoned all pretense of professionalism, instead arranging themselves into an oral fuck-chain, Danica crouched on the judges’ table sucking Jon’s cock while Zara licked her asshole from behind – and she knew she was on her way to victory. The original tune returned, now transformed into something glorious and triumphant by the violins, accompanied by the driving fuck-rhythm of the drums and horns. Harriet turned round, lifting her ass towards Michael: it was time to fuck. The bassoons and horns had joined the strings in their insistent crotchet pulsing, and Michael’s cock joined them too, ramming hard and deep into his fiancée’s cunt, as Janey crouched below to lick her clit and suck his balls. Harriet chain-lit another No. 9 Pink: she was smoking with ecstatic purpose now, her drags deep, her exhales full and long. Watch that cock fuck my pink like I’m a bitch on heat! intoned the voiceover. Now that smoky cock is pounding my cunt, fuckers – filling me up with smoke and tar and poison. ‘Coz I’m a filthy smoking fuckwhore!

If anyone in the auditorium had hitherto been holding back, all caution was now thrown to the wind, as everywhere around the hall cocks ploughed into cunts and the venue was transformed into a seething, fucking throng. Bill was sitting on his chair again, chuckling at his Viz, but Fuxmy had seated herself on his cock, facing away from him so as to watch the show, while sliding her dark wet cunt up and down on his stiff pole and mouthing ecstatic obscenities under her breath. Zara and Danica were crouched on top of each other on the judges’ table as Dr Taylor rammed his thick cock into each of their cunts in turn. As for Harriet and her friends, they went through one fuck-position after another as the volume of the music rose and the orchestration grew, Harriet chain-smoking more and more deeply and desperately, saturating herself in smoke and nicotine until her head swam and she saw stars behind her eyes.

By now, perhaps the only people in the auditorium who had not completely lost control of themselves were the ever-professional Miss Poussée and, by extension, her assistant Abdul Ahss-Faqr. In fact, the latter might have been completely happy to, like the judges, throw all caution to the winds and just fuck his boss to hell and gone – but Polly Poussée, while content to stroke her colleague’s cock off while watching the show, kept her beady and critical eyes always open and aware. Well done, Harriet, she nodded to herself, as Michael lay on the floor so that his fiancée could pound her cunt up and down on his cock, simultaneously blowing smoke into Janey’s cunt as it lowered itself onto her face from above. Good rhythm, that’s it, time your exhales for when his cock is deep in you. Now Janey, remember what we practiced, you go up while she comes down: that gives the fetishists the view they want of smoke being blown into cunt, that’s it, nice…

It was then that the eagle-eyed Miss Poussée noticed some movement in the prompt corner. Gary the stage manager was seated at his desk, deftly managing all the lighting and sound cues they had agreed and rehearsed that morning, his Marlboro red dangling, as ever, from his lips. But sneaking along the back wall towards him were none other than Danny and Danielle. Don’t disturb the SM, idiots… she thought to herself, before turning back to watch the stage, where now Michael was fucking Janey doggy-style while she ate Harriet’s cunt, and Harriet was blowing smoke back into Michael’s face.

Yes, excellent! Polly Poussée grinned, as all three of the performers slotted into the rhythmic groove of the music: Michael’s cock-pounding still matching the crotchet beat, Janey’s tongue fluttering in time with the triplet rhythm of the snare, while each of Harriet’s long exhales marked the downbeat of a bar – an exquisite triple-layered smoke-and-fuck pattern which grew organically from the increasingly ecstatic soundscape. Yet, despite the enchantment of the performance, Polly Poussée couldn’t help noticing what was going on in the vicinity of the stage manager’s corner. She paused her stroking of her colleague’s cock to whisper, “Abdul, what’s going on over there? Danny and Danielle – what are they up to?”

By now, Danielle had reached the prompt corner, and was on her knees under Gary’s desk. Miss Poussée saw Gary gasp with surprise as Danielle unzipped his fly in one rapid movement and lowered her head fully onto his cock. The girl’s bare buttocks were just visible poking out from behind the mixing desk, barely covered by her short plaid skirt, and Gary shut his eyes in ecstasy, drawing deeply on his cigarette as he arched his neck back to revel in the sudden interruption of Danielle’s throat caressing the full length of his shaft.

Now the trumpets joined the violins fortissimo, Janey was strapping on a pink dildo, and she and Michael were DPing Harriet hard: Janey on the bottom fucking her cunt while Michael pounded his throbbing cock into Harriet’s tight asshole from behind. But Polly and Abdul were both watching the prompt corner with growing alarm. By instinct, neither of them had any desire to stop anyone from enjoying a good blowjob; but Gary seemed to be unable to maintain concentration on his job, as Danielle’s head bobbed up and down on his cock, saliva coating his shaft all the way from glans to balls and dribbling off onto his chair. “Keep your eyes on your job, Gary, for Christ’s sake!” muttered Polly.

Her concerns were increasingly apposite, as on stage Michael’s cock was ready to explode. As the trumpets modulated sensationally upwards into E major, both girls lay on the ground face-to-face, tongue-to-tongue, both rubbing their clits furiously. Michael jerked his cock above them, while Harriet blew thick wide rings of smoke at it. Zara and Danica knelt on the ground in front of Jon, who was pumping his cock with one hand while caressing his balls with the other, as his semen coursed up his thick shaft towards his colleagues. And Fuxmy squealed desperately to her cameraman, “Fucking put the mag away, Bill, and come on me!” as she grabbed his cock and began desperately pumping it in front of her face. At the same time, Gary the stage manager seemed, Polly and Abdul thought, to have completely lost concentration. He was smoking his cigarette furiously, smoke pouring in and out of his mouth and nose, his eyes shut in ecstasy, his head arched backwards, his hips pumping his cock violently into Danielle’s throat as she rammed her face back down onto it. Moaning and swearing under his breath, he was clearly lost in a smoke-and-skullfuck world of his own, completely oblivious to what was going on around him.

As the trombones and saxophones commenced their final climactic glissandi, Harriet knew what should happen, which they had rehearsed again and again to perfection. Michael was going to come: great thick jets of hot cum would spurt from his cock, first straight into her mouth, which she had already turned into a swirling creamy cauldron of hot smoke, then across her cigarette hand, then across both the girls’ faces, splattering them in his cock-cream. Harriet and Janey were going to come too, their cunts spasming, their tongues tangling with ecstatic lust. You like watching that cock cum in my smoke? would bellow Janey’s voiceover. Smoke and cum, cum and smoke – I can’t live without either, fuckers! Watch me drink it down, watch me breathe it in, watch me become smoke and cum: this is my meaning, this is my identity, I am the smoke whore, I am the smoking slut. Will you fuck me, and smoke with me, fuckers? And as the echoes of the final violent cadence of the Boléro rang out across the hall, Janey would release a great fountain of pee which would spurt high into the air, splashing across Michael’s spent cock before splattering back down onto the girls’ faces, finally drenching and quenching Harriet’s cigarette butt.

That was what was meant to happen. But instead, in the blink of an eye, as Gary the stage manager seized up with the pleasure of his exploding cock, his cum spurting hard and deep into Danielle’s throat, her accomplice Danny sneaked into the prompt corner and yanked a plug out of the wall. Polly Poussée saw it, and gasped with horror. Suddenly the music stopped, the voiceover ceased, the lights went out, and the spots went dark. There was a squeal of feedback from the sound system and a burst of sparks from Gary’s control panel – and then everything was silent.

Then began the panic. Gary came suddenly to his senses and leapt up. “FUCK FUCK FUCK!” he swore, as Danielle hastily but efficiently detached her head from his cock. On stage, Harriet, Janey and Michael screamed with dismay. The judges ceased their fucking. Fuxmy stopped jerking Bill’s cock and squealed in alarm. And the audience was in uproar: the sound of panicking, screeching and bellowing filled the air, and performers and audience alike scrabbled and scrambled to find their way in the darkness. The only people in the auditorium with their wits about them were Danielle and Danny, who swiftly and silently made their way to one of the rear exits – and disappeared.

But Polly and Abdul had seen them. “No you fucking don’t!” bellowed Mr Ahss-Faqr, as he ran after them, his huge burly figure pounding out the door, his exposed cock still dangling and swinging before him.

It did not take long for Gary to reconnect the power and turn on the house lights – but the finale of the performance had been ruined. Harriet sat on the stage howling with humiliation, her last cigarette forgotten and discarded, as tears poured down her face and her two fellow performers threw their arms around her in a desperate attempt to give comfort. Bill was filming again, as Fuxmy gabbled urgently at the camera, cum dripping from her lips and chin. The judges were hastily pulling on their clothes and demanding to know what was going on. And Danny and Danielle were both screaming in mock outrage, as Abdul Ahss-Faqr dragged them both back into the auditorium by the scruff of their necks. “Here are the saboteurs!” he roared. “Here are the traitors!”

*

It was at least an hour before the chaos subsided. Now the three judges stood on stage, fully clothed, their faces sombre. “Ladies and gentlemen, cocks and cunts,” Jon Taylor began, “this is normally a moment of unalloyed joy for competition judges – but events this evening have been somewhat tainted. First, it is to our immense regret and sadness to announce that Clytemnestra Fuckes-Dyckes and the team from Lady Eleanor Whorish School have been disqualified.” There was a gasp from the audience. “We have conducted extensive interviews behind the scenes, and it is clear that two students from Kunt College were paid a considerable sum by Miss Ffuckes-Dyckes to sabotage Harriet Danes’ performance. Clytemnestra and all of her party have already left the premises, and will not be returning.”

A hubbub of shock and outrage rippled through the audience, silenced by Dr Taylor raising his hand and continuing: “Ironically, the happiest people today are likely to be those who have not actually won – as they have emerged from this competition with both their performances and their consciences intact. I will ask my colleagues to announce the runners-up.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Zara took the microphone, “it is my pleasure to award third place in this competition to a pair of performers who were bold in presenting a scene which highlighted the eroticism of smoking, and the complementarity between that and the beauty of the female body. There’s nothing quite as uplifting as a beautiful pair of female lips exhaling smoke across her tongue into a soft juicy pussy…” Zara paused for dramatic effect. “Sasha and Masha, would you please come onto the stage!”

The applause was warm, as the two slender beauties came up to receive their trophy, a beaten bronze replica of the cig-in-cunt image from the entrance lobby. They held it proudly aloft, before both taking deep inhales from their slender white cigarettes and giving each other a passionate smoky French kiss, eliciting a renewed ovation from the audience.

Danica – her breasts, unusually for her, covered – made the next announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, our second-place prize goes to a double act which demonstrated the technique of the smoking blowjob most impressively, communicating the complementarity of spit, snot and smoke in a manner which was profound and transformative. Transitioning almost imperceptibly from sensual cock-sucking to an utterly filthy skullfuck, Victoria demonstrated an excellent balance between sharing the pleasure she was gaining from sucking cock – almost certainly aided by the sheer grandeur and suckability of her partner’s huge dick – and her total addiction to her cigarettes. Victoria and Paul, would you please come on stage!”

Cheers and enthusiastic whistling accompanied the pair’s arrival on stage. Victoria was smoking, and grinning from ear to ear as she dragged Paul behind her by his cock – which she had clearly been pleasuring again, as it was huge and hard, and dripping copious quantities of saliva. As they posed with their trophy, she knelt before him, looking upwards with her mouth wide open and churning with thick rich smoke, so that he could jerk a creamy load of cum into it and over her cheeks. The audience cheered again, as she turned towards them to show off her second smoky cumface of the afternoon.

“And so,” announced Jon Taylor, “to the winners of this year’s Smoke-‘n’-Fuck competition. Harriet, Janey and Michael, would you please come onto stage?” Enthusiastic applause filled the auditorium.

“It is much to everyone’s regret,” continued Dr Taylor as the three performers joined the others on stage, “that, through no fault of their own, Harriet and her team were unable to complete their act. But, during the course of what they were able to show, they demonstrated such a command of their art that my colleagues and I have no hesitation in awarding them first prize. Harriet’s mastery of the full variety of smoking fetish techniques really stood out today, ranging from gentle erotic tricks like snaps and rings, through cunt-eating, all the way to smoky deepthroating. But most impressively, she managed to bring these styles together, maintaining her superb command of the subtler aspects of smoking even while being DPed!”

Harriet stood naked on stage, Janey’s and Michael’s arms around her, quietly weeping tears of joy and sadness, pride and humiliation, in equal measure, as she gently smoked a Marlboro 100s Light. “And what artistry!” Dr Taylor continued. “Such wonderful pacing, all perfectly calibrated to the music, the lighting, the voiceover, building up in a superbly controlled manner to… well, to the climax which we never saw, but which we are sure would have been the fucking event of the year!”

The judge continued to drone on enthusiastically, but Harriet was not really listening. Lord Jesus, she was silently praying, thank you for today. Thank you for Mikey and Janey – and Miss Poussée, and Mr Ahss-Faqr. And thank you for this competition. Teach me not to be angry with Danny and Danielle and Clytemnestra. Help me to forgive, and to rejoice in the wonderful gifts you have granted to me: to look forward, not back…

“Are you OK?” asked Michael solicitously, as they left the stage to the sound of yet more raucous applause – which seemed, in Harriet’s mind, to blur into the background.

She buried her stinking face into her fiancé’s shoulder, exhaling a small gentle cloud of smoke. “Oh, Mikey,” she wept, “I’m so tired, and so… overwrought. I just want to go home now, and have a nice gentle fuck… just us, you know? I’m tired of competing, I’m tired of the publicity, I just…” And then she burst into floods of tears.

And Michael and Janey held her tight.

Chapter Fifteen:
Till Death Do Us Fart

The opening fanfare of the Wedding March from A Midsummer Night’s Wet Dream rang out jubilantly across the nave of All Cunts Langham Place, as Harriet appeared at the top of the aisle, escorted by her father. There was a communal gasp of admiration at her shimmering chiffon wedding gown – frontless down to her waist so that her glorious full breasts could stand proud before her, and slit wide at the rear from the hips down so that her tight ass cheeks could be seen from behind wiggling alluringly as she made her way down the aisle. She was all in white, apart from the packet of long Marlboro reds stowed delicately at her right hip, held in place by a lace sash. By her side crawled Henry Danes, naked bar a mulberry silken tail hanging gracefully from the buttplug lodged in his asshole, and a black leather collar, by which by his daughter led him on a short leash towards the altar. Unveiled, Harriet smoked proudly, blowing elegant batteries of smoke rings before her as she processed, every now and again flicking her ash across her father’s hairy buttocks. Henry Danes whimpered with joyous pain, all the while regarding his daughter with an air of pride and adoration.

Before the altar, bride and father were received by a beaming Reverend Dicky Fumbel and an adoring Michael. The latter was resplendent in the top half of a silver-grey morning suit, sans trousers so that his gleaming erection – which had been twitching and jerking with growing enthusiasm as his beautiful smoking bride approached – could stand proud for all to see. Harriet passed the leash to her mother, who stood in the front row radiating joy, dressed in her best leather fetish gear, purple strapon protruding proudly from her crotch. Henry now dutifully curled up at her feet, panting and licking his wife’s black boots as he continued to admire the proceedings from the floor.

“God of filth and fuckery,” Reverend Fumbel prayed – in a more liturgical mode than was habitual for him, in recognition of the great solemnity of the occasion – “pleasure comes from you, and you alone are the source of carnality and lust. Without you, we cannot pleasure each other; without the lasciviousness that you inspire in us, our cocks are soft and our cunts dry. Send your Horny Spirit, and pour into us that most excellent gift of desire, that we may worship you now with lustful hearts.”

“Amen!” thundered the congregation in response, as the organ struck up the introduction to the first hymn of the afternoon, Lust Divine All Lusts Excelling, which all sang with gusto and enthusiasm.

“Cunts and cocks, please be seated,” Reverend Fumbel instructed the congregation as the echoes of the final chord faded, and he turned to address the groom. “Michael, will you this day take Harriet to be your lawfully wedded fuckwhore? Will you fuck her cunt, eat her pussy, lick her ass, suck her tits, and, forsaking no others, be unfaithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

Michael beamed at his smoking bride, his cock twitched again, and he responded, “I will!”

Reverend Fumbel gave another signal – and now Janey joined Michael and Harriet before the altar. Her upper half sported a lace-trimmed off-white halterneck gown which parted at the waist so everyone could admire her tight ass and meaty dangling cunt-lips, eliciting a ripple of admiration from all the assembled. “Janey,” Dicky Fumbel began, “will you also take Harriet to be your lawfully wedded fuckwhore? Will you fuck her cunt, eat her pussy, lick her ass, suck her tits, and, forsaking no others, be unfaithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

With tears of joy glistening in her eyes, Janey replied, “I will!”

And so the preacher turned to Harriet. “Harriet, will you take both Michael and Janey to be your lawfully wedded fuckers? Will you suck them, fuck them, eat their cum, and, forsaking no others, be a total motherfucking cuntslut for them both as long as all three of you shall live?”

“I will!” Harriet announced through a mouthful of smoke, before casting her cigarette to the floor and triumphantly grinding the butt into the carpet with her heel. A great cheer arose from the congregation, accompanied by many assorted “Hallelujahs” and “Praise the Lords”.

“God our Fucker,” prayed Reverend Fumbel, lifting his arms to Heaven, “pour out your filth upon Harriet and Michael and Janey, that they may be joined in lust and concupiscence. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ your Son, who fucks and reigns with you, in the unity of the Horny Spirit, one God, now and forever!”

“Amen!” thundered the congregation, as the organ introduction to the next hymn, Lord of All Filthiness, commenced. The three celebrants stood in a row at the front of the church, facing the altar, Harriet at the centre, her right hand stroking Michael’s stiff cock and the middle finger of her left gently frigging Janey’s wet cunt. But as the final verse rang out –

Be there at our fucking, and give us, we pray,
Your lust in our hearts, Lord, at the end of the day…

Reverend Fumbel addressed the threesome again. “Harriet, Michael and Janey, I now invite you to make your vows, in the presence of God and his people. Michael, will you please place your cock in Harriet’s cunt.”

Michael approached Harriet and, still standing, pressed his dickhead against her fuck-lips, and slid in with a gentle squelch. In voice trembling with emotion and lust in equal measure, he recited: “I, Michael, take you, Harriet, to be my fuckwife, to have and to fuck from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in fuckness and in health… till death us do fart.”

Harriet, grinding her clit against the base of his stiff cock, replied: “I, Harriet, take you, Michael, to be my fuckstud, to have and to fuck from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in fuckness and in health, till death us do… oh fuuuck…” Harriet whimpered, almost overcome from the pleasurable tingling now radiating from her cunt, before regaining control of herself to finish: “… till death us do f-f-fart.”

“Michael,” instructed the preacher, “please take your cock out of Harriet’s cunt and put it in Janey’s.”

Michael did so, repeating the ceremonial exchange of vows with the slender brunette, before withdrawing his cock, now coated with the cunt-slime of two beautiful fuckbrides, and stiffer than ever.

“Now Michael,” joked the Reverend, “I need you to be patient a bit longer: I know you’re horny as fuck, but you can’t come yet!” The congregation laughed good-naturedly – as anyone who goes to church knows to do when one’s pastor attempts a joke. “Deaconess Rahab, would you please bring us the double-ender?”

The congregation oohed and aahed with appropriate sentimentality as the two brides approached each other and fed the two realistically shaped cock-ends of a bright red translucent eighteen-inch flexible ribbed double-ended dildo into their respective cunts. Janey began this time: “I, Janey, take you, Harriet, to be my fuckslut, to have and to fuck from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in fuckness and in health, till death us do fart.”

Harriet, overcome with emotion, her cunt tingling and juicing with the excruciating pleasure of one edged for too long, could barely voice her vows to Janey, dissolving into chains of “fuck fuck fuck that feels so fucking good” at practically every comma. But eventually she reached her “till death do us faaaa-uuuuck!” – squealing with pleasure as the ribbed dildo slid from her and Janey’s cunt, stretching their dripping fuck-lips outward to leave a gleaming coating of slime down the body of the dildo. “Jesus, I need a fucking cigarette!” she panted, reaching beneath the sash of her gown to retrieve her packet of Marlboro 100s, light one, and smoke deeply throughout the next hymn:

Fuck us, heavenly Father, fuck us
o'er the world's tempestuous sea;
fuck us, suck us, eat us, beat us,
for we have no cock but thee…

“And now,” Reverend Fumbel called out, as the hymn reached its final ritardando, and Harriet ground her cigarette butt into the floor, “may we have the buttplugs, please?” Deaconess Rahab, naked as usual bar her see-through surplice, stepped forward bearing a brass tray on which glistened three bejewelled 24-carat gold anal toys.

“Heavenly Fucker,” the preacher raised his hands again in prayer, “by your blessing let these buttplugs be to Harriet, Michael and Janey symbols of unending lust and unfaithfulness, to remind them of the vow and covenant which they have made this day through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

“Amen!” replied the three newlyweds.

Harriet turned her back to the congregation and leant over the altar so that her glorious ass was on full view, as Michael and Janey approached together, jointly bearing a golden buttplug with a diamond set in the T-bar. “Harriet,” they intoned together, “we give you this buttplug as a sign of our infidelity. With our bodies we pleasure you, our cum we offer to you, by the lust of God: Fucker, Cunt and Horny Spirit.” And with a gentle push and a squelch the buttplug slid into Harriet’s asshole.

Next it was Janey’s turn to prostrate herself against the altar, and then Michael’s, so that the ritual exchange of buttplugs could be completed, which Reverend Fumbel sealed with a final prayer: “In the presence of God, and before this congregation, Harriet, Michael and Janey have given their consent and made their marriage vows to each other,” he proclaimed. “Those whom God has joined together let everyone fuck. God the Fucker, God the Cunt, God the Horny Spirit, be deep inside you and remain with you always.”

“Amen!” cried the congregation.

“Michael,” Reverend Fumbel intoned with solemnity and pomp, so that the entire assembly could hear, “you may now fuck the brides!”

“JUST A MOMENT!” bellowed a voice from the back of the church. “I OBJECT!”

There was a gasp from the whole congregation. Reverend Fumbel looked in the direction of the interruption, shocked and alarmed – for there in the doorway of the church, her huge corpulent figure silhouetted against the afternoon sunlight, stood none other than Mrs Didcock, tottering on a large Zimmer frame and brandishing her huge pink dildo accusingly. Her hair was greasy and matted, and unrecognisable stains dribbled down her top, but her jaw was set in defiance.

Reverend Fumbel seemed not to know what to say, stuttering, “Uh… sorry?”

“YOU HEARD ME!” bellowed Michael’s mother. “I SAID I OBJECT TO THIS MARRIAGE!”

Instantaneously the congregation broke into a hubbub of scandalised tutting and gasping, as only church congregations know how – which allowed Reverend Fumbel to momentarily regain his preacher’s cool and call across the racket, “Sister, suck my cock, welcome to All Cunts! Tell me what the problem is.”

But Mrs Didcock was not for charming. “THAT BOY – THAT DICKHEAD – IS MY SON!” she bellowed as she slowly lumbered down the aisle on her walker, globules of spit flying from her mouth. “AND HE HAS NO BUSINESS MARRYING EITHER OF THOSE HOT CUNTS – BECAUSE HE IS A PATHETIC SOFT-DICKED NO-HOPER, JUST LIKE HIS FATHER WAS!”

Reverend Fumbel was trying to stay calm, but even he, despite his years of experience of officiating at weddings, was unsure of what to do with this most embarrassing and awkward of interruptions. “S-sister,” he stuttered, “Michael is a stalwart of our congregation, a true fucker for Jesus. I have counselled all three of these young people at length about their marriage, and I am convinced in the Horny Spirit that they are entering into this freely, and will make fine Christian fuck-spouses for each other, and great fuckers for the whole community.”

“BULLSHIT!” yelled Michael’s mother, as she continued to lumber forward.

“Madam,” replied the preacher, his patience apparently wearing thin, “do you have any legal grounds for objecting to this marriage?”

Mrs Didcock leant forward on her frame, sneering. “NON-CONSUMMATION!” she announced, with triumphant scorn.

The congregational hubbub resumed, a combination of disbelief and shock. Mrs Didcock’s accusation seemed to everyone present so utterly ridiculous; after all, Michael and Harriet had been fucking each other at church since September, and Janey since January. Since announcing their intention to marry they had become stalwarts of the church fuck study group – and the size and irrepressibility of Michael’s cock was well-known, even legendary in All Cunts circles. “‘Non-consummation’?” whispered the members of All Cunts parish to each other. “How absurd!”

If Reverend Dicky had hitherto been, in his best professional manner, trying to allow Mrs Didcock her say, he was now convinced that the woman was off her rocker. “Sister, I am sorry, but this cannot be: Michael has amply demonstrated his capacity as a fucker, and has been fucking these two fine sluts for months. And no one knows better than I what a huge dick he has! I mean, just look at it!”

Mrs Didcock did – and promptly burst into a peal of withering, scornful laughter. Reverend Dicky looked too, as did the entire congregation – and their faces fell. For where a minute ago Michael’s shaft had been a superlative example of a Christian stud-cock in action – stiff, throbbing, dribbling pre-cum, and gleaming with the combined cunt-slime of his two fuck-brides – it had now shrunk to almost nothing: soft, tiny, dangling damp and forlorn from his crotch. Michael’s face too had crumpled: his lips trembling with humiliation, tears were beginning to pour down his face as he felt his cock shrink under the cruel verbal onslaught of his mother.

But then – “NO!” came a loud cry. But it was not from Harriet, or Janey, or Reverend Fumbel, or Deaconess Rahab, or indeed any of the other All Cunts stalwarts. It came from close to the floor, by the front row of chairs. For a split second, no one knew who had spoken – until Henry Danes unfolded his crouching body and stood up. There was a gasp from the congregation, who had hitherto only ever seen him on all fours. There was an audible cry of amazement from Harriet, who could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had seen her own father stand up, let alone express an opinion as trenchant as “No!” And Genevieve Danes looked as if she would faint with shock.

But stand Henry did, releasing the collar around his neck, and peremptorily casting it and his leash to the ground. “No!” he repeated firmly, stepping forward, standing tall, and facing off against the broad figure of Mrs Didcock. Harriet’s mouth gaped with awe and admiration – for her father, now that he was standing upright on two feet, looked suddenly like a man of presence, authority and strength. He was still naked, and the silk tail continued to dangle from his buttplug, but it was immediately clear to all that, upright, he was powerfully built, tall and robust, with muscles which rippled with righteous indignation.

“No, Mrs Didcock!” continued Henry, in a voice as resonant and commanding as his appearance. “I know your son – and he is as fine a young fucker as there is in our Enlightened world. I have watched him screw my daughter; I have watched his big cock grow and throb and pleasure her cunt till she has been screaming with joy. I have watched how he delights in her fetish, and how she delights in him. The only reason he has a small dick now is because of you – because you have spent your life humiliating him, tormenting him, taking out on him the anger which has been festering in you. Well, Michael will now break that cycle, Mrs Didcock: he will not be destroyed by your emotional vandalism, he will marry my daughter, and he will fuck her like the true man he is, with the big dick he has whenever you are not around. So begone, Mrs Didcock! Begone with your cursed self-pity. If you are determined to destroy yourself, no one can stop you. But set your son free to be the man, the Christian man, the fucking man he was meant to be! He will consummate this marriage, for nothing you can say or do will stop him! BEGONE, I SAY!”

There was a tense silence, as the two in-laws-to-be stood staring defiantly at each other. Mrs Didcock cleared her throat to respond – but Henry Danes stepped forward again, fists clenched at his hips, till he was standing before her, huge, burly and rugged, looking with contempt down his nose at her fat, stinking, self-sorry figure. The contrast, both visual and emotional, could not have been greater – and eventually Mrs Didcock recognised it too. “You haven’t heard the last of me!” she snarled, as she turned her back on Mr Danes, her son, his brides, and the altar. “You wait, cunts!” she continued to growl as she lumbered back towards the entrance. “He’ll let you down – like all men do – and then you’ll come crawling to me! ‘Why didn’t you warn us?’ you’ll be saying. ‘Why didn’t you warn us your son is such a no-hoper? Why didn’t you tell us he can’t fuck for toffee?’ And you’ll have no one to blame but yourselves!”

Henry stood in silence, his jaw set, his fists clenched, his muscles rippling. But neither he nor anyone else said a word until Mrs Didcock had reached the entrance to the church, where she turned and screamed one last “FUCKING CUNTS – ALL OF YOU! PATHETIC FUCKING CUNTS!!” before disappearing out into Langham Place.

There was a long silence, during which the entire congregation heaved manifold sighs of relief. Harriet, Janey and Michael hugged each other, giving each other’s genitals an affectionate reassuring squeeze. Henry wiped his brow, before striding purposefully back to the front row of chairs where his wife was sitting, and commanding, “Move over, bitch!” Genevieve did, with an astonished whimper, and her husband sat down next to her, naked, tall, rugged and proud.

It took at least a minute for Reverend Fumbel to regain his composure, and for Harriet and Janey to calm Michael down and kiss his tears away. But eventually the preacher turned again to the groom. “Michael…” he muttered in a quiet relieved voice, “you may now fuck the brides…”

And so Harriet lit another cigarette and knelt on the floor before her husband, blowing smoke over his flaccid cock until, liberated now from the oppressive spectre of his mother’s presence, it twitched and jerked its way back into a full and beautiful erection. Pushing him down to the ground so he was lying on his back, she sucked his cock deep into her mouth, tasting the combination of her own and Janey’s cunt-slime which still coated the shaft, added to Michael’s incipiently salty pre-cum, all bound together by the rich acrid savour of burning tobacco. At the same time, Janey hitched her leg across Michael, and lowered her wet dangly fuck-flaps onto his face so he could eat her out.

And so the three newlyweds fucked. Giddy with lust, they fucked in every threesome position they could. After Harriet had finished her first cigarette sucking Michael’s cock, and the latter had made Janey come twice all over his face, the two brides formed a sixty-nine, Janey on top so that Michael could fuck her from behind and Harriet, chain-lighting another cigarette, could blow hot smoke into her new fuckwife’s gash while licking her husband’s balls. Then Harriet lay on the altar steps, legs akimbo so Janey could slobber over her pussy and asshole while Michael sucked her huge heaving tits till she screamed with pleasure, great clouds of smoke flying upwards from her ecstatic open mouth as she came. Throughout, Michael, Harriet and Janey fucked with a joy that few people know outside the world of the Enlightenment – the joy of knowing that they were free in each other’s presence, the joy of knowing that they belonged to each other without being owned by each other, the joy of being bound together yet freer than ever – none of which, of course, would ever have been possible without the joy of knowing that it was the Almighty who empowered their marriage, their fucking, and the fetishes He had revealed to them in Christ Jesus.

As they fucked, the organ struck up again, and soon the choir were singing:

Give me lust in my heart, keep me fucking.
Give me lust in my heart, I pray.
Give me lust in my heart, keep me fucking.
Keep me fucking till the end of day.
Sing hosanna, sing hosanna, sing hosanna…

The brides’ parents, of course, joined in the celebration. The Harrises were a modest, understated sort of couple, fucking each other quietly but happily in a side alcove against a pillar. But Henry Danes, emboldened and transformed by his confrontation with his other in-law, stood over his wife and commanded, “On your knees, bitch!” Genevieve, her mouth agape with astonishment, did as she was told, her purple strapon dangling awkwardly beneath as her husband rammed his stiff cock into her asshole in one powerful thrust. “You like my cock in your arse, slut?” demanded Henry.

“Oh yes, Henry, fuck my arse, Henry, fuck me like the powerful man you are!” squealed Genevieve in reply. “Make me scream with that dick up my arsehole! Make me gape, Henry! Own me, Henry! Command me, Henry! Make me your submissive fuckbitch, Henry!” And Henry roared with satisfaction.

Soon the entire congregation were fucking too – as well as all the deacons and servers, starting with Reverend Fumbel and Deaconess Rahab, who led with a sixty-nine on the altar, as the choir gathered around serenading them:

Let me suck that big cock, let me suck it.
Let me suck that big cock, I pray.
Let me eat that wet cunt, let me eat it.
Let me eat it till the end of day.

In their corner, Mr and Mrs Harris slid down their pillar, also into a sixty-nine on the floor, tender, unpretentious and happy, until they came simultaneously in each other’s mouths. By contrast, Henry Danes yanked his wife round by the hair so she was kneeling at his feet. “Suck it, bitch!” he bellowed, as he began ramming his throbbing cock into her wide open throat.

“Oh yef Henwy, fu’ my ‘fu‘ing fwoa’, ma’e me ‘fu‘ing gag on your big dick!” Genevieve quacked and gurgled as her husband’s cock pounded in and out of her skull. “Ma’e me your fu’ing cumwhore!” Soon Henry felt his cum rise up his shaft, roared with pleasure, and pulled his wife’s face hard against his crotch so her nose was pressed against his strong body and his cockhead was lodged against her tonsils. As he came, his stiff cock jerking and spasming deep in Genevieve’s gullet, she gagged and retched, cum splattering from her lips and nostrils, making an obscene mess of her cheeks and chin, the cocktail of semen, spit and snot dribbling and dangling onto her tits below. “Oh yes, Henry,” Genevieve moaned as she removed her husband’s messy gloopy cock from her face, “I’m your fuckwhore, Henry, treat me like that, Henry, treat me like your worthless filthy wifeslut…” And Henry grunted with satisfaction, as he wiped a few last smears of gloop from his cockhead into her hair.

Harriet and Janey were now both lying on their backs on the carpet, haunches lifted high and propped against each other so that their four fuck-holes lined up perfectly for ease of access. They screeched with pleasure as Michael piledrove his cock into each of their holes in turn, lubricating each asshole with the cunt-juice of the opposite wife. Soon he had prised their shitholes wide open so that they winked and gaped praisefully at the heavens, and the choir was singing:

Fuck that ass till it gapes, keep it gaping
Fuck that ass till it gapes, I pray…

Michael’s cock bulged and throbbed more than ever, and he was ready to come – but he wanted to pleasure his wives’ fetishes first. And so he withdrew his cock from Janey’s newly-crafted gapelet and, cock still vertical, he pissed. Pee fountained upward from his stiff cock and splattered down onto his brunette wife’s pretty face, who screeched with pleasure as the choir sang:

Squirt that pee on my face, keep on pissing!
Squirt that pee on my face, I pray…

Soon both girls were kneeling at Michael’s crotch, taking turns to suck his cock, Harriet also taking deep lungfuls of smoke which she exhaled luxuriantly over Michael’s cock or into Janey’s piss-wet face.

Blow that smoke on my cock, keep on smoking!
Keep on smoking till the end of day…

sang the choir – and Harriet did, as Michael’s cock began to twitch with growing ecstasy. Janey crouched down to lick his balls, sucking them one by one into her mouth while Harriet face-fucked his cock hands-free, one hand gripping her cigarette, the other frigging four fingers in and out of Janey’s cunt. Great clouds of smoke poured from her nostrils, and soon Michael was moaning and swearing as he felt his semen boil and course up his shaft.

Put that cum on my face, let me taste it!
Put that cum on my face, I pray.

sang the choir,

Put that cum on my face, let me eat it!
Let me eat it till the end of day.

And so Michael’s cock exploded, great volleys of creamy cum firing joyfully from his dickhead and splattering across his wives’ faces and hair. “Fuck yeah, Jesus yeah, thank you God!” they screamed, slurping and licking and lapping and gargling as they caught as much as they could of the heavenly load on their outstretched tongues, before passing it back and forth from mouth to mouth, blowing cum-bubbles which spattered in each other’s faces, and wiping great gloopy jizz-webs over each other’s faces and hair.

Sing hosanna, sing hosanna, sing hosanna to the Kink of Kinks…

sang the choir. But as the hymn ended, there rang out from the organ the opening staccato arpeggios of Widor’s Fuckata. On cue, the three fuck-spouses stood to recess up the aisle towards the exit, led by a naked Reverend Fumbel dribbling cum from his cockhead, followed by their parents, and then a cheering God-praising fucked-out congregation. Harriet tossed her bouquet into the crowd – and it was caught by none other than Polly Poussée. Surprised at her herself, she raised one quizzical eyebrow and looked around. Abdul Ahss-Faqr caught her eye, before she turned away in embarrassment. But he did not, and sidled in her direction, led by a renewed erection.

 

Postscript

Dear Reader,

I could go on forever recounting the joys of that day, and of the year that followed. Of course, as true Christian fuckers, Harriet and Michael and Janey, empowered by the Horny Spirit, used their marriage as a springboard to fuck anyone and everyone they liked, with generosity and selflessness.

Janey, still in the first flush of her conversion, joined the mission team at All Cunts as their first ever full-time Piss-Ministry Trainee: she spent the next year witnessing and preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the homeless on the street corners of the inner cities of England – and then peeing on them.

Michael joined the All Cunts missionary team in the Outside World – where some people had not yet heard of the Enlightenment or, therefore, the fullness of the Good News. Some even still believed that to be a Christian they needed to be continent, abstemious, or monogamous. And so Michael, filled with the zeal of the Horny Spirit, and led by his big throbbing cock, went out into the Outside World and fucked all the cunts and assholes he found there – so that those poor benighted souls would come to know and accept the Good News, and become free fuckers for Christ.

Harriet was accepted onto the National Diploma in Fucking course at the Royal Academy of Fucking, where she was tutored by none other than the great Professor Emma Jane Cuntslicker, and became a great ambassador for Christ, and for the glorious smoking fetish which the Lord had granted her. You can read more about her time at the RAF in the story Alison Goes to London by that great writer GrushaVashnadze.

Of course, once Michael returned home, and Harriet completed her course, and Janey had trained up a new team of Pissers for Christ to take over her good work, the three fuck-spouses came back together fully trained in licentiousness, salaciousness and promiscuity, and brought those fine Christian values into play in their marriage – smoking, pissing and fucking to their hearts’ content, and blessing the world by it.

Do you believe in Jesus, Dear Reader? Know that He is pleasured by you, and that He wants you to be His fuck-disciple – fetish or no fetish. And so, please repeat this prayer after me as you jerk yourself off:

God our Fucker, I believe that out of your infinite Lust you have created me,
and yet in a thousand ways I have shunned that Lust.
Thank you for saving me now from eternal monogamy/fidelity/celibacy/cheating/wanking
[delete as applicable].
I choose this day to renew my covenant with you
and to place free filthy fucking at the centre of my heart.
I ask you now to flood my cock/cunt/asshole
[delete as applicable]
with the gift of the Horny Spirit,
so that Lust may become the ruling principle of my life for the rest of my days.
In Jesus’ name I pray.

Amen.

(c) GrushaVashnadze 2025. All rights reserved.