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CAUTION – From the title and introduction, it should be clear this story includes LOTS of cigarette smoking. If you don’t like smoking, please go read something else.

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Author’s note: If you hate smoking, why the Hell are you still reading this? Seriously, unless you smoke or like smokers, please go away.

If you’re still reading, I hope you enjoy this story, my smoky favorite and Magnum Opus. I have written more than a hundred other stories, but this one was truly a half-year labor of love.

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I’m Dr. Craig Townsend. Well, soon to be ‘Doctor Townsend’. I woke with a smile on my birthday, knowing I was extremely lucky. There were ups and downs in life, like everyone experienced, but generally my family and I were quite happy.

The biggest ‘down’ we went through was the loss of my wife’s mother, may she rest in peace. My wedding had been in her hospital room. Right after the official kiss, my new wife and I signed papers to adopt her younger sister, so their mother would know her girls would be okay after she was gone. The cancer took her only a week later. We still miss her and remember her fondly.

That had been a difficult month, but things had been going great since then. I’d been an ABD, or ‘All But Dissertation’ PhD candidate for a long time. I’d finally submitted and defended my dissertation, and the envelope on my dresser held an invitation to the ceremony where I’d finally become a Doctor of Psychology in a week.

The exquisite blonde 20-year-old drooling on my arm in her sleep was my wife Carrie. One of my testicles was being squeezed uncomfortably by her thighs, but I didn’t want to move much and wake her. I’m still astounded she’s with me, considering our age discrepancy. I’d taken my last college exam before she was born. We married a week after she turned 18, only partly so we could adopt her 16-year-old sister Sherry. At the time I was totally smitten and Carrie at least had a crush on me.

I gently felt her small baby belly with my free hand and marveled in joyous wonder. Our love had created a new life, and our son was due on Valentine’s Day. We had plenty of space, with our old but recently remodeled five-bedroom house. Shortly before she conceived, Carrie had joked about it taking ten kids to fill the place up. I had squeezed her butt and said, “That could take a while. We better get started!”

I lightly stroked her long blonde hair and her eyes opened slightly. She reached to the bedside table for her vape, releasing my squashed nut as she rolled away from me a moment. I watched her lips and cheeks move as she puffed. As she exhaled I smelled the aroma of her strawberry-flavored cloud, then watched her lips move and her cheeks hollow as she sucked on it again. I kissed her ear and said, “You’re so very beautiful. I love you.”

She blew out another large plume of white vapor, sleepily saying, “Love you too.” I recalled some of the great blowjobs she’d given me as she inhaled again. She put the vape down after only three puffs and defensively said, “This is 6 milligram, they weakest vape juice they had. I’ve been cutting way down.”

“I know you’ll do what’s best. I didn’t say anything.”

I understood that pregnancy hormones were likely part of it, when she jealously replied, “I bet you said plenty when you hired that new housekeeper, Nina, Tina, or whatever her name is. I saw you and Sherry staring at her chest when she took off her coat yesterday. I bet you just hired her because you want to screw her.”

Sherry had stared quite a while, but I only glanced a couple of times. “Her name is Netanya. You know I’d never cheat on you. I love you far too much.”

“Well, I…”

She was interrupted by a loud screech from the bedroom next door, as her younger sister screamed, “REEEEEEEEE!”

I jumped up and ran there naked. When I flung the door open, I saw Sherry laying on her back with a pained look on her face. Her arms were outstretched to each side, and she was squirming violently. From the shape of the comforter, I could tell somebody else was under it. Sherry thrashed around a moment, then started panting for air as Carrie arrived a few seconds behind me.

Netanya pulled the comforter off and sat up. Some of her red hair stuck to her face, which glistened with vaginal fluid. The nude and very attractive Latvian immigrant asked with a strong accent, “Why you stare? He say job like extra wife.” She turned to Sherry and asked, “Wife job good, yes?”

Sherry was able to speak a little between rapid gasps for air. “So good! So FUCKING good!”

Netanya smiled as she put a hand on my naked wife’s hip and asked, “Want wife job also?”

Carrie blushed as she looked in her eyes. Her face slowly changed to a bright red smile. She urgently said, “Talk later! PEE! I gotta pee!” She practically flew to the bathroom.

The three of us who remained giggled and smiled. Sherry took a deep drag on her vape before saying, “I was right.” She expelled a dense cloud of lemony fog. “She would never admit it before, but she likes girls too.” She passed Netanya the vape and kissed her cheek. “I love chesty redheads.” She squeezed one of Netanya’s large breasts, then stared at my bare crotch a moment. As I covered myself with a pillow, she said, “I like guys too, and I’m 18 now.” She winked and licked her lips flirtatiously.

I anxiously strode out saying, “Talk later, I need to pee too.”

–

Despite my current situation, I was a virgin until I turned 22. Until then, I was content watching movies and masturbating. Not even masturbating to porn but with old Hollywood movies from the 60’s and 70’s, when a lot of women still smoked in films. The motions of a woman’s mouth as she sucks is absurdly attractive to me. Seeing the white smoke or vapor leave her mouth reminds me of semen travelling in the opposite direction, too. A pretty girl drinking something with a straw excites me nearly as much as seeing her topless. To me watching one smoke or vape is even hotter. I’d rather watch a woman dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt puff on a cigarette than see her in just a bikini.

My first sexual experience with another person was when a female friend let me have sex with her during my senior year of college. She was average-looking with short brown hair, but as you would assume, the first time I ejaculated into a vagina felt better than anything I’d done before. Afterward, I kept wondering how much better it would have been if she had smoked while we did it. Instead of asking her to stay the night, I gave her a ride home. I didn’t call her and didn’t answer when she called me. I ignored her, since I craved having a girlfriend who smoked. When I saw another guy’s engagement ring on her finger a few months later, I realized I would have married her if she were a smoker.

At last, I finally understood there was something seriously wrong with me.

I’d grown up in a small and well-off family, but my life wasn’t constant happiness. I got a terrible phone call when I was about to start Medical School. (I can see the extreme irony now. I wanted to be a doctor but loved watching women smoke.) I picked up the phone and cried from overwhelming grief as an uncle told me my parents and only sister had died in a traffic accident.

I inherited several million and my parents’ house, but that did nothing to bring them back or relieve my pain. The kind help I’d gotten from a therapist inspired me to switch from medicine to psychology. I had a strong desire to help others but wanted to understand and fix myself first. Thankfully, I didn’t need to worry about loans or grants to fund my education and research.

Years later, when the last of my classes were underway, I typed up the title as I started my dissertation. I saved it and made a backup to be sure. “Capnolagnia or Smoking Fetish: Men obsessed with female smokers.” I was very dedicated to my work, spending at least 8 hours a day on it, and more commonly 11 or 12 hours. I figured that I should get to know some females who smoked, before I started investigating other men and their reactions.

Before I knew it, I had spent a month recording video of women smoking, and barely asked them any questions. When I was alone, I watched the recordings again and again. They were part of my research, and shamefully, fuel for self-gratification. I knew I had to focus and get the information I needed. I wrote myself a list of questions to ask and returned to my ‘work’.

Most of the early interviews were similar. As an example, one morning I saw an attractive brunette sitting at a table outside a café. She was drinking coffee and puffing on a cigarette. I asked, “I’m doing research about smoking. Do you mind if I record you and ask some questions?”

“Okay.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

I zoomed the camera in on her mouth and watched her take a puff. “When did you start smoking?”

“I was sixteen.”

I zoomed out to get a good shot that included her legs as she exhaled. “And uh…” I struggled to remember my list of questions. “And did you like smoking the first time?”

“No, it tasted bad.” The motion as she tapped the ash off the end reminded me of a hand job, with feminine fingers shaking my shaft.

I zoomed in as she took another drag and felt a movement in my boxers. “Do your parents smoke?”

She exhaled a cloud as she said, “Dad does, and my Mom used to.” My parents never smoked. I had only tried it a few times but had a passion for watching.

She uncrossed her legs then crossed them again, giving me a glance at her thighs as she held her lips close together and exhaled a thin white stream. She put the cigarette out in an ashtray and lit another, exciting me further as her mouth and cheeks moved, reminding me of oral sex.

I moved to my left, trying to get a better angle on her moderate bosoms as she inhaled again. “Do your siblings smoke?”

She nodded and took another puff. “I have two sisters and they do.”

The thought of seeing three sisters smoking excited me greatly. I had a full erection demanding relief, so I said, “Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.” I briskly walked to the café’s Men’s room and made the iron rod in my boxers go down in a toilet stall. When I finished, I realized I had at least ten more questions for her. I walked back out and saw her a block away, leaving the area.

Watching women smoke turned me on but talking to them and recording as they did was nearly overwhelming. I was upset that I didn’t know why. I interviewed another lady smoker each morning and each afternoon for the next week and had the same issues. I got aroused and erect quickly and needed to pause the interviews after only ten or fifteen minutes. Usually my subjects went on their way before I returned.

I thought maybe I could pay some ladies for a full interview at my place. I’d run to the bathroom halfway through to fix my problem, then ask the rest of my questions.