Dr. Blacklung, I Presume?, Part 10

Dr. Blacklung, I Presume
By:  slimv

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Chapter 10:  Smoky Dreams
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The cigarette had burned close to the filter leaving the slightest glimpse of
it's remaining white paper dressing.  Waste not want not thought Katie as she
hoisted the but to her lips and finished it off.

"Are you sure I'll sleep all the way through the night?" asked Katie as she
fidgeted with her mask.  I usually wake up every two or three hours at home.
I'm either coughing my self a wake or needing a cigarette.  Sometimes its
both."

"I'm sure," said Nurse Betty as she wrote down the readings from Katie's
tank.  Smokygen is better than Ambien when it comes to getting a good night's
sleep.  And then there's the dreams.  If you're any thing like me and the
rest of the girls here, you're in for quite a ride tonight."

Katie cocked her head and smiled.  "I don't understand.  This stuff makes you
dream?"

Nurse Betty nodded knowingly.  "And to think you almost lost your Smokygen
privileges at dinner tonight.  OK," she said laying her clipboard on the bed.
Sh e rubbed her hands together as if she were about to get down and dirty.
"Slip that mask over your face Hon, this train ain't stopping till it pulls
up to Heaven's Gate."


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Ben Avery turned the corner, briefcase in hand.  It was late.  The center was
almost deserted of staff as the sound of his leather soles slapped the tile
and echoed down the corridor.  The day shift had been replaced with a
skeleton night shift.  His patients were all confined to their beds, seeking
relief from their physical pain and emotional guilt, soaking their lungs in
his smoky lung cocktail.

The sound of his footsteps ceased as he stood in front of heavy looking oak
door titled simply: "Dr. Ben Avery".  The sound of metal jingled in his
pockets as he fished for the keys in his front trouser pockets.

The key slid easily inside the lock and he turned it to the left.  The
tumblers rotated into position and the bolt receded into the oak.  He pushed
the door open and stepped inside his dark office.

He felt along the wall for the switch and light flooded the office.  The
average visitor would not have been impressed.  The vast array of treasures
held within the office would have escaped their attention after a slight
pique of curiosity.

As director of the facility, he could have had the office of his choosing and
this windowless dungeon had been his choice.  It was just a simple desk in
the midst of close circuit TVs, filing cabinets, and shelves full of jars.
Ah yes the jars!

In this room, when the door closed behind him, and the dead bolt turned, he
was Ben Avery no more.  He was who he is and he is Dr. Blacklung.  The
corners of his thin lips turn up at the thought of his moniker.  

With a busy hand in his front pocket he paused in front of the shelves and
admired his collection of numbered jars.  Each number represented a name and
each had a story to tell.  It was 239294 that caught his attention.  He
removed his h ands from his pockets and liberated the jar from its place on
the shelf.  

The formaldehyde swooshed around the glass causing tiny bubbles to jettison
to the surface.  He held the jar close to his chest as if he was holding the
sweetest baby.  His mind was engorged with fond memories as he gingerly
placed the jar on his desk and stood back to admire his artwork.

The tumor pocked organ bobbed gleefully within the fluid responsible for its
preservation.  He unbuckled his trousers and let them fall the floor as he
bent forward to admire his handiwork.  He unscrewed the lid and the powerful
scent of formaldehyde assaulted his nasal passages.  

His handiwork?  Why of course!  239294 was a number that held a special place
in his heart.  He didn't have to cross reference it with his donor files to
know these were the lungs of Linda Torrance.  He probably would have
recognized them without a number.  After all, he had enough of X-rays of this
specimen while it had fought valiantl y beneath her living chest.

The Torrance woman had been one of Dr. Blacklung's crowning achievements.  He
had taken a middle-aged non-smoker, a mother, a wife and had transformed her
into a 10 pack a day Pall Mall Queen.  He ejaculated in his hand as he
thought of her in his cage.  At first she rejected his gifts of cigarettes.
But he was the doctor and he knew best.  He also knew the way to a woman's
lungs were through her heart.  His body convulsed in orgasm as he thought of
Linda's body convulsing to the electric shocks sent up through the floor in
her cage.  Drops of sperm fell from his sticky dick and splashed in the
formaldehyde. She had been a tough nut to crack.  But he had cracked her and
cracked her good.  She traded her health for his promise to allow her a
reunion with her husband and daughter.  By the time he released her she was
begging him for the Pall Malls.

He had turned that little bitch of a soccer mom into a real woman and the
world had thanked him ano nymously.  

Avery smirked as he wiped cum from his penis and pulled up his pants.  He
leaned over the desk and studied his sperm as it floated and slowly sank,
coming to rest on Linda Torrance's black lungs.  

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Katie breathed deeply.  Had she been awake she would have realized it had
been years since her lungs had expanded with such ease.  The rich mixture of
smoke and oxygen spiked with an obscene nicotine count coursed through her
lungs making a fast track to her brain.  So this is what it felt like to be
free of pain and awash in pleasure.

Her eyelids vibrated with the rapid ocular movement from underneath.  She was
nowhere.  She was everywhere.  She was 8 years old again.

The gold pack of Benson & Hedges called to her from her mother's purse.  They
had been calling to her for years, whispering promises of glamour,
sophistication, pleasure, and instant adulthood.  She had always ignored
tobacco's call in the past, choo sing instead to listen to the voice of
reason that came from her mother, even though her mother's warnings were
punctuated with creamy white smoke.

She knew smoking was wrong.  It was bad for her mother to smoke and her
mother told her so.  The only reason her mother continued to smoke was
because of the thing she called addiction.  Addiction was the feeling that
made her mother light up time and time again.  Addiction was her mother's
excuse to do the inexcusable.  Katie feared addiction but she was none the
less drawn to it.

Tobacco's call had become harder to ignore.  And her curiosity had become
stronger than her fear.  Her desire for what tobacco promised had dwarfed her
sense of logic.

She placed her small 8-year-old hand inside the depths of her mother's purse
and began to fish around.  Her fingers sent back messages.  This was a tube
of lipstick.  This was a wallet.  A compact perhaps?  A cold chill
reverberated down the length of her spine as her fingers happened upon the
rectangular treasure.  She pulled out her hand and revealed a pack of her
mother's Benson & Hedges.  She transferred the pack to her left hand resumed
her fishing expedition.  She knew she she'd hit pay dirt when the lighter
found her fingers.

Alone in the basement, away from the prying eyes of her parents, Katie
prepared her lungs to meet their destiny.

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