Kelli's Story

(by Smoke Lover , 31 October 1995)


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Kelli's Story
Date: 31 Oct 1995 03:46:23 GMT
From: CEQW71D@prodigy.com (Smoke Lover)

I watched my beautiful blonde Kelli light a new Salem 100 from the 
butt of her last one.  She rolled the head of the old cigarette 
against the tip of the new and drew deeply.  Her cheeks indented 
slightly as she pulled hard.  She pulled the cigarette from her lips 
and moved her left arm to the side, letting her elbow rest on the arm 
of the chair, the fresh cigarette pointing straight up.  She exhaled 
through her nose and took one more drag on the old butt before 
putting it out.  I felt myself getting excited again, as I always did 
when I watched her smoke.  That a 25 year old could smoke so much, 
and so sexily, had always amazed me.

The ashtray was full to overflowing again, for the third time this 
evening.  I breathed in slowly through my nose, letting the sweet 
aroma of Kelli's smoke waft in.  It was difficult for me to not light 
up, it being only one month since I had quit, but I had to stay off 
the cigs or give up jogging.  The only way I'd go back to smoking now 
was if I thought Kelli was going to quit because I had quit.  God, I 
needed her to smoke.

I looked deeply into her eyes.  "Love you baby."

"Love you too," she replied in that sexy, raspy voice of hers.

I had to let her know how I felt.  "You are looking particularly sexy 
tonight baby.  You're smoking up a storm, too, and you know how much 
that turns me on."

She took a deep, deep drag on her cigarette before responding.  The 
ash glowed like a neon light after dark.  "I'm working on my fourth 
pack of the day.  I'm almost finished.  We'd better go to bed soon 
though, or I'll finish pack number five as well."

Kelli took one last deep drag and put out her cigarette.  She took 
the last two cigarettes from her pack and lit both simultaneously.  
"Here," she said, handing me one.

"No, Kelli, I can't, you know that."

"But baby, I want you to smoke again.  I feel so lonely smoking alone.
"

"But I can't Kelli, not if I want to get my 10K time down."

"OK, I guess I'll have to smoke yours then."  She winked at me and 
put both cigarettes to her lips, one with each hand, and drew deeply. 
 The twin embers lit up like distant headlamps on a dark country road.
  "Will you start smoking again if I tell you how I learned to smoke? 
 I know how much you've been wanting to know, but I just to tell you, 
but only if you agree to start smoking again."  She exhaled at the 
ceiling and brought both cigs to her lips, inhaling more slowly this 
time.

I closed my eyes.  I had asked her many times before to tell me her 
story, but she had always refused, claiming it was personal and 
painful, and it would get me too excited anyway.  I felt the blood 
rushing through my veins.

"OK, I'll smoke, but just a few cigarettes a day, and I want to hear 
it all, including when you started to chain-smoke, and how you 
learned to be such a sexy smoker."

"OK, but how do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?" she 
asked, looking at me intently through the cloud of smoke that 
surrounded her chair like the afternoon fog around the Golden Gate 
bridge..

"What do you suggest?" I replied.

"I'm going to sit face to face with you and chain-smoke while I tell 
you the story.  Every so often I'll exhale into your mouth.  This 
will get your lungs ready to smoke again.  Every once in a while I'll 
put a fresh cigarette in your mouth and light it for you.  You have 
to smoke it or I'll stop the story."

"Baby, you have yourself a deal."

She put both cigarettes in her mouth, picked up her ashtray, and 
walked out of the room.  I heard her close the cupboard door as she 
emptied it in the trash can beneath the sink.  When she returned she 
had two ashtrays balanced in her right hand two fresh packs of 
cigarettes left one.  She sat down on the floor and placed an ashtray 
on either side of her.  The cigarettes in her mouth were nothing more 
than butts now, so she took one more deep drag from both 
simultaneously, removed them and put them out, one in each ashtray.  
She opened one pack, removed a cigarette, and pulled her lighter from 
her left blouse pocket.  "Come here, sweetheart," she rasped as she 
lit the cigarette.  "We're going to have a good time tonight."  As I 
got up she put the freshly opened pack in her left breast pocket and 
put the second into her right breast pocket.  As she sat down I could 
see the tops of her stockings, over her mini skirt.  "We don't have 
to work in the morning, so we can stay up while I finish these two 
packs."

My jaw dropped open as I sat down.  "But that will be six packs of 
cigarettes today.  Isn't that a big jump in your smoking level to 
achieve in just one night?"

She blew a smoke ring at my face.  "It won't be the first time, 
sweetheart.  Now, where should I begin?"  She leaned back and 
squinted, thinking back into the past.  She squinted her face into a 
mask of pain.  She took several deep drags.  This seemed to calm her 
enough to begin.

Kelli's Story

This is what Kelli told me . . .

I had wanted to smoke as far back as I can remember.  All my 
relatives smoked, and I suppose that's what started it all.  I 
remember being just a small child begging my parents to let me have a 
cigarette.  Of course, they refused, and knowing how much they wanted 
one they were careful to never leave them within my reach.  They were 
downright fanatical about it really, never so much as leaving one 
burning the ashtray, never throwing out the old butts without dowsing 
them in water and rendering them unsmokable.  My sister Rachel, who 
was seven years older than me and allowed to smoke, used to tease me 
by blowing smoke in my face.  She was about 14 I guess.  Mom and Dad 
had reluctantly let her smoke, rather than having her sneaking off to 
God knows where with a bunch of kids that they didn't know very well. 
 Rachel took full advantage of her privilege, smoking more that 
either of my parents.  She wasn't as careful at hiding her cigarettes 
as my parents were, and once in a while I was able to steal one, but 
I was careful not to do it too often because whenever she caught me 
she threatened to tell Mom and Dad.

I was in third grade when I stole my first cigarette from sis; a 
Benson & Hedges 100.  I'll never forget the experience.  It wasn't 
like what other people experience.  I didn't turn green or get sick.  
I guess my lungs were ready for a cigarette, having grown up in a 
family of smokers.  I lit the cigarette and inhaled, coughing after 
the first drag and a bit less after the second.  For the third drag I 
took just a little puff, and this seemed to be a bit easier to take.  
I finished the cigarette by taking a series of little drags.  God, it 
tasted so good.  I wanted another, but I only had the one, so I had 
to wait until a week or so later, when I was able to steal another 
one.  The second one I stole was even more enjoyable than the first.  
I didn't cough at all because I took it slow.  I tried to steal one a 
day from that point forward.  Sometimes I was successful, and 
sometimes I wasn't.  One day when I was nine I found a pack of Kents 
laying by the side of the road with only about three cigarettes 
missing from it.  I snuck into the woods behind the supermarket and 
smoked it over the next four days.

About the time I turned ten my friend Linda began to smoke.  Her 
parents weren't as careful with their cigarettes as mine were, and 
sometimes she was able to take an entire pack from one of her 
parents' cartons.  Whenever she did that she would share the pack 
with me.  On average, she was able to steal about two packs a week, 
so I guess I was smoking about a pack and a half a week when you 
counted the pack Linda gave me, the individual cigarettes she stole 
and gave me, and the ones I was able to steal from my sister.  I kept 
up this level of smoking until I was thirteen.

Just after I turned thirteen, (I remember it was just after because I 
burned a hole in the new mini skirt I got from my sister as a 
present), Rachel asked me to come into her room.  She was sitting on 
the end of the bed smoking a cigarette, as usual.  I never asked her 
how much she smoked, but thinking back to those days I'd have to 
guess about three packs a day, which was a hefty amount for a 20-year 
old.  I knew I wanted to smoke as much as Rachel sometime, and I 
didn't think I could wait until I was 20.  She took a deep drag on 
her cigarette and kept the smoke inside.

"I know you've been stealing my cigarettes, Kelli," she said, smoke 
escaping from her mouth as she talked.  "I didn't realize it at first,
 but then once in a while when you took one from a pack that was 
almost empty I started to wonder if I was going crazy.  So, I started 
counting my cigarettes and leaving them in a place where I knew you 
would find them.  Sure enough, they were disappearing, one a day, 
sometimes two."

I could feel myself blushing.  "Why didn't tell Mom and Dad?"

"Because I started smoking when I was very young too, and I knew how 
much it must have meant to you.  One day I'll tell you about how I 
started, but that's not important now.  What is important is that I'm 
moving out of the house next week, and you'll lose me as a supply of 
cigarettes."

"Oh, no!"  I exclaimed.  "Where are you going?  Why are you leaving?
"

"I'll be moving into an apartment with my friend Jan across town.  
When you get to my age you'll understand why I have to go.  Let's 
just say that I love mom and dad, but they get on my nerves.  Anyway, 
don't worry about me . . . I'll be back every week.  What we need to 
talk about is you.  We need to find a source of cigarettes for you.  
For now, I have a present for you."  She reached under the bed and 
pulled out a carton of Salem 100s.  "These are for you."

I remember clutching the carton to my chest.  "Really!  For me?  
Thanks Rachel, thanks a lot!"  I grabbed her around the neck and gave 
her a big kiss on the cheek.  I opened the carton and took out a pack,
 expertly removing the cellophane wrapper and the foil from one end 
of the top.  I began to tap out a cigarette.

"No, no, wait Kelli, let me show you how," she said as she took the 
pack from me.  She put the cigarette all the way back in and began to 
tap the pack against her left hand.  "You need to pack the tobacco 
down.  This way you get a better hit off each cigarette.  After 
several taps she removed one cig and showed me the end.  "See how 
there's a little space at the end of the cigarette with no tobacco in 
it?  That shows how much the tobacco has compressed."  She put the 
cigarette in my mouth and lit it.  I could immediately tell the 
difference that the packing had made.  More smoke than usual went 
into my lungs, and it seemed to go much more easily.  I took a second 
puff just after the first, and then a third.  Sis was not impressed.

"No, no Kelli, you aren't dragging deeply enough.  You've been 
smoking long enough to take deep drags.  Here, let me show you."  Her 
cigarette was nearly finished so she put it out and took mine.  She 
took a long draw on the cigarette . . . I'll swear she inhaled for 10 
seconds.  She let the smoke out slowly, letting a cloud form around 
her head.  She took a second drag, just as long as the first, let out 
a little smoke, and then took four more long drags in the same manner.
  There was a glowing ash about an inch long on the cigarette and 
there was nothing left but the filter.

"God, Rachel, I've never seen anyone smoke a cigarette as fast as 
that.  How did you learn to do that?"

She was still exhaling as she replied.  "Well, when I was a freshman 
in high school, I tried to finish a pack of cigarettes every day 
before I left school.  In order to do this I had to smoke fast.  
Since I took the bus to school, and since Mom and Dad didn't want me 
to smoke too much at that age, I had to do most of my smoking at the 
bus stop and between classes."

I was very impressed that Rachel had smoked that much when she was in 
ninth grade.  Remember now, I was an eighth grader when she was 
telling me this.

"Here, you try it," she said, placing a fresh cigarette between my 
lips and lighting it.  I pulled hard for several seconds and began to 
exhale.

"No, no, Kelli, hold the smoke inside for a while.  You'll get a 
better nicotine rush that way."

I stopped exhaling and held the remainder in for a few seconds.  It 
felt so good.  I exhaled through my nose and took another long drag.  
This time I kept it in for thirty seconds.  When I exhaled hardly 
anything came out.  I was a bit dizzy, though.

"That's great, Kelli!  But don't hold it in too long or you won't get 
a chance to smoke your cigarette.  Remember, when you aren't inhaling,
 the smoke is going to waste, just burning off the tip.  To get the 
most smoke out of a cigarette, you need to take a deep drag, hold it 
in just long enough for the ash to cool a little, and then take 
another deep drag.  I've found that a drag of between five and ten 
seconds, followed by a three-to-five second hold works best for me, 
but you'll need to experiment to find your own best timing.  Another 
way to get the most out of a cigarette is to take consecutive three-
second drags, just letting a little smoke out between each drag.  
Here, let me show you how."

She lit another cigarette and demonstrated. She took one three second 
drag, let some out, took another, let some out, and kept going until 
it was down to the filter.  This took about two minutes. The smoke 
was wafting up from her like her clothes were on fire.  She put it 
out and took two more cigarettes from the pack.  "Here," she said, 
handing me one.  "You try it and try to keep up with me."

She lit my cigarette and then lit hers.  "OK, when I inhale, you 
inhale."  We both inhaled and exhaled in unison.  I began to feel 
more light-headed, but I was enjoying the flavor of the smoke and the 
excitement of smoking at such a rapid pace too much to stop.  By the 
time we finished our cigarettes it was getting a little difficult to 
see in the room through the haze.

"Now," she said, "I have just shown you a couple of my favorite ways 
to smoke a cigarette.  But you have to remember, unless you are with 
really good friends, people will look at you funny when you smoke 
this way.  It's OK in private, but if you do it in public you'll get 
into trouble.  One time I was in the smoking lounge by myself, 
minding my own business, chain-smoking as fast as I could.  I had had 
a big fight with Gordon, so I was pretty upset.  I must have smoked a 
pack of cigarettes in an hour and fifteen minutes.  I didn't know 
that the school psychologist was watching me.  She made me come into 
her office for a two hour session, and she wouldn't let me smoke.  
God, it was awful, first the lecture on how young women shouldn't 
smoke, and then the nicotine fit that I began to have after going two 
hours without a smoke.  She accused me of having something called an 
'oral fixation.'  She wouldn't let me go until I promised to come see 
her once a week for the rest of the semester.  Ever since then I've 
been real careful who I've let see me smoke the way I really love to 
smoke."

I felt closer to Rachel after she told me this story.  It's not the 
kind of thing you would tell just anyone, you know.  I gave her a hug 
and looked into her eyes.  "When do you think I can smoke in front of 
Mom and Dad?  How much do you think they'll let me smoke?"

"I'll tell them that you want to smoke.  When I first started smoking 
they told me to not smoke more than a pack a day.  They bought me a 
carton at a time, but only every ten days.  At first this worked out 
OK, but I soon had to supplement my intake from several sources.  I 
used my allowance and lunch money to buy extra packs whenever I could.
  But I don't want you to have it as rough as I did, so if we can get 
Mom and Dad to buy you a carton every ten days, I'll buy you a carton 
every ten days as well.  That'll give you enough to smoke two packs a 
day, which is enough for any thirteen year old.  If you want to smoke 
any more than that you'll have to scrounge them, same as I did."

We spent the next couple of hours smoking.  She taught me how to blow 
smoke rings, how to hold a cigarette between the tips of my fingers 
to the side of my face in a way that would attract guys, how to smoke 
an entire cigarette while keeping it in my mouth the whole time.  
After we were done she took me downstairs and told my parents that I 
was now a smoker.  They took it all right, and agreed to let me smoke 
a pack a day.

"But no more than that, young lady, or I'll take your smoking 
privileges away from you entirely," my Dad had said, cigarette 
hanging from his mouth.  What a hypocrite he is!

Well, to make a long story short, I had two packs a day to smoke.  I 
built up to that level in about three months, giving whatever I 
didn't smoke in the first three months to my friend Linda, and stayed 
there more or less until I was 16.  Then I got a part-time job at the 
supermarket, so I had money for smokes.  Since I was working, I 
didn't have as much time to smoke, so I had to smoke more and faster 
when I wasn't working.  I was smoking about a pack and a half between 
the time I left for school in the morning and the time I got to work 
at five, and then one more pack between around nine o'clock when I 
got home from work at night and the time I went to bed.  I began to 
crave cigarettes.  I would put an unlit one between my fingers when I 
went to bed at night and see if I could keep it there until morning.  
On weekends I smoked three packs a day if I had a day off.  My 
parents began to suspect that I was breaking the pack a day limit 
because I almost always had a cigarette going and because they had 
received calls from the guidance counselors at school that they were 
very worried about me and that I was a distraction in the classes 
because I smelled like smoke all the time.  It was my morning ritual 
to light two cigarettes at once.  Otherwise, I could never seem to 
get enough nicotine in my system until I had been up for an hour or 
so.  One day my Dad came into my room first thing in the morning and 
caught me doing this.  He just shook his head and walked out.  That 
evening he told me that he and my mom wanted to have a little "chat" 
with me.

We sat at the kitchen table and all three of us lit cigarettes.  My 
dad looked at me grimly.  "Your mother and I are very worried about 
you," he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side.  "You are 
smoking way too much.  We want to you to come and see a doctor with 
us, a doctor who specializes in things like this."

Of course, I objected strenuously, but it didn't do any good.  Two 
days later we went to the Psychiatrist's office first thing in the 
morning and my parents left me there.  I was surprised to see that 
the office was in a Psychiatric hospital, but I didn't think too much 
about it.  It kind of made sense to me in a strange sort of way.  I 
remember thinking that he must have no shortage of patients, having 
such a good location.  I had brought five cartons of cigarettes with 
me, just as I had been instructed to do.

Doctor Lesyeux, the psychiatrist was very kind.  He explained to me 
that many people have a problem with teenagers smoking like adults, 
but that he didn't.  He said he had to play along with my parents 
because they had brought me in and they were paying the bills, but 
that nothing bad would happen to me here.  He told me that I could 
smoke as much as I want, starting right now.  I opened the first 
carton and put a cigarette to my lips.  He lit it for me.

"Now, this is what we call the observation phase of the project," he 
said as I exhaled.  "I will watch you all day and we'll just chat.  
You smoke as many cigarettes as you want, as fast as you want, and 
I'll just watch and take notes."

I remember thinking that this was pretty cool.  I practically chain-
smoked all morning, leaving five minutes at most between cigarettes.  
I remember looking between the doctor's legs and noticing how hard he 
was.  We just chatted about the weather, and school and things like 
that until after I lit the first cigarette from my second pack.  Then 
he seemed to tense up a bit.

"You know Kelli, I think your parents are making too much of this 
smoking thing," he said thoughtfully.  I've watched you smoke for 
three hours now, and I don't think there's anything wrong with you.  
In fact, if you don't mind my saying so, you look like a beautiful 
young woman when you smoke."

I remember thanking him and blushing.

"In fact," he continued, "I think your problem is that you don't 
smoke enough.  If people see you not smoking for too long, they'll 
think it looks funny when you are smoking.  I'll bet you'd really 
like to smoke more, wouldn't you Kelly?"

"Oh, yes doctor, yes.  I'd love to smoke constantly.  But I don't 
know how!  After I smoke about three packs of cigarettes I feel like 
I can't smoke any more."

"We can fix that," he replied, "using the simple principals of 
reinforcement.  We will hook you up to a machine that will give you a 
shock whenever you go too long without a cigarette.  When you are 
smoking nicely I will give you a compliment.  Do you think you can 
stand the treatment, Kelly?"

"Stand it?  Doctor, it sounds wonderful!"

He led me into the next room, which was set up just like an apartment 
with living room furniture and all,  and hooked two small electrodes 
to my neck.  Then he went back to the original room, which had a 
window looking on to the one I was in.  I lit a cigarette.

"You look very nice Kelli," he said through the intercom.  "How fast 
can you smoke that cigarette?"

"Just watch, doctor," I said smugly.  I finished it in about two 
minutes and immediately lit another.

"Very good, Kelli.  That was just wonderful.  Now, let's see how long 
of a drag you can take."

I took about a five second drag and let the smoke out.  He was 
looking at me sternly.  "That wasn't a very deep drag, my dear.  
You'll have to do better."  I felt a jolt of electricity run through 
my neck.  I took a very deep drag, not stopping for until I had 
counted to fifteen.  "Much better, my dear.  We'll make a smoker out 
of you yet."

This continued for several days.  He wouldn't let me stop smoking.  
If I put one cigarette out before I had used it to light another one, 
I got a jolt.  If I didn't smoke fast enough, I got a jolt.  When I 
did something right, I got complimented.  At the end of the first day 
I was getting mad, because I was feeling a little sick.  I smoked 
four and a half packs of cigarettes that day.  He hadn't let me eat 
anything all day because he said I wasn't smoking enough, but I 
didn't have much of an appetite anyway.  He said he would let me eat 
the next day if I could smoke ten cigarettes in the first half hour 
of the day.

Well, I did it, and he brought me the nicest breakfast I had ever 
seen -- eggs benedict, extra bacon, a cheese soufflé, a bowel of 
fruit.  He told me I could eat breakfast as long as I chain-smoked 
during it.  I smoked another half a pack of cigarettes during 
breakfast.  He only shocked me one time; when I set my cigarette down 
to butter my toast.  "No, no," he had said.  "It is important to 
always have a cigarette in your hand or your mouth."  I made it 
through breakfast without any more shocks.  By this point, I was 
really beginning to enjoy smoking again.  The night before I had been 
sick of it, but smoking during breakfast had taken me to a whole new 
level.  I continued chain-smoking all morning, and then through lunch 
and dinner.  Whenever I didn't inhale or exhale long enough I got 
shocked.  Whenever I did it just right he told me what a pretty young 
lady I was.  I smoked six packs of cigarettes on that second day.

I smoked eight packs on the third day and eight on the fourth.  Now, 
this is quite a frenetic pace, since I sleep for eight hours a day.  
My lungs felt like they had been stepped on by an elephant.  He 
basically had me smoking a half a pack an hour, smoking during meals, 
bathroom breaks (there was a bathroom adjoining the room), and during 
makeup application.  I was getting by without shocks on both days.  
However, on the fifth day he expressed his disappointment that I 
hadn't been able to smoke a whole carton in a day.  He set the 
electrodes up to shock me if I smoked less than 15 cigarettes per 
hour, or one every four minutes.  Every couple of hours my pace would 
drop off a bit and I would get shocked.  As I was finishing my 
eleventh pack there was some loud banging at the door.  Several other 
doctors entered the room with the police and arrested Doctor Lesyeux. 
 I found out later that they had been trying to break in all evening. 
 Apparently, he wasn't a doctor at all, but was a patient who 
suffered from the same fetish as you, but he had a real bad case of 
it.  They had found the real doctor on the evening of my fifth day 
there, bound and gagged in the closet.  Another day or two and he 
would have died from dehydration.  The patient who impersonated 
Doctor Lesyeux had a history of doing this sort of thing.  Apparently 
he had turned several women into five-plus pack a day smokers.
Well, anyway, I was in a real bad way.  I couldn't stop smoking.  Boy,
 was my dad pissed.  He threatened to sue the hospital unless they 
were able to return me to my normal level of smoking.  They tried 
counseling and hypnosis for the first week, but they were only able 
to get me down to seven packs a day.  Then they sedated me for 
several days and tried to gradually wean me off nicotine through 
blood transfusions.  When I finally awoke I screamed for my 
cigarettes.  They gave me a carton, but I didn't have as great an 
urge to smoke as before.  For the next several weeks I smoked five to 
six packs a day.  Gradually, through hypnosis and carefully-timed 
nicotine pills, I was able to get down to two packs a day. At last I 
was smoking at a level that was somewhat more socially acceptable for 
a young woman of 16.  I stayed at about his level for several years, 
gradually increasing to three-plus packs by the time I was 24.  After 
I met you last year I cut back on the nicotine pills because I know 
how much you like it when I smoke.  It took no time at all for me to 
get up to my current four to five pack level.  But you know, this is 
the level that feels right to me.  Everything in my life has driven 
me to smoke.  All the people I know smoke, and most have encouraged 
me to smoke.  So I guess I'm just going to do what I want and smoke 
as much as I want.

She had chain-smoked throughout her story, sometimes smoking two 
cigarettes at once, blowing smoke in my face in that sexy way that 
she is so good at doing.  She had made me smoke four cigarettes by 
threatening to stop the story if I didn't.  I think she has a bit of 
a fetish herself in this regard.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked as she put out the last 
cigarette of her fifth pack in one of the ashtrays.

"I think you really never had much of a chance," I said.  She smelled 
so good.  The way the scent of the smoke mingled with her perfume was 
lovely.  I gently held her right hand and put her nicotine-stained 
fingers against my nose.  Hmmm, they smelled so good.  I kissed the 
back of her hand.

"Well," she said, I still have a pack left.  "How should I finish it?
"

"How about in bed, while we make love?"

"Consider it done, darling."


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