Her hand grabbed my crotch, feeling my erection. “You are so transparent.” She murmured and then relaxed back into the chair, one hand caressing the baby bump, the other holding her 17th cigarette of the day. I headed inside, absently wondering if she’d open another pack tonight. It would be the first time in a long time, and I wouldn’t mind it. I sort of got the feeling she wouldn’t either.
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It was a sort of dirty yellow, like a dusty traffic signal. I glanced up at the light and as she folded the napkin up, I started us moving again. Meanwhile she treated the wheezing by smoking her cigarette as best as she could with her damaged lungs. I worry about COPD, not just because of Mom and my brother, but because I have been smoking over a pack a day for 25 years. It must have had some effect on me, but so far all I’ve had is a nasty smoker’s cough. And of course I get out of breath easily.
A site devoted to the Dark Side of the Smoking Fetish
I place the cigarette in my mouth, and turn off my oxygen. My left lung is rapidly on it’s way to join it. But when you looked closer you could see something was different about her then most women her age. She was breathing very hard, much harder then she should be walking so slowly. The black strap wasn’t attached to a purse, it was a small black bag for carrying a small white box.
- We all know it, we all love it, some of us have one.
- Her fat pot belly pressing into my abdomen as I pound my erection into her.
- She truly wanted to feel whatMitzi was going through at this moment.
- He helps me to roll over onto my side then takes a moment and he collects the rest of my pillows.
- To me she was this woman I saw for about a year when I was 7, every for a couple hours every other weekend.
- Sarahgot her a glass of water, but it didn’t help.
Not surprising I suppose, since his mom smoked, but it still creeps me out a little. I badly need this cigarette, badly need this nicotine. The only think I need more is the desire to feel beautiful. I manage the nasal exhale, smoke escaping around the cannula, but the hold makes my demolished lungs rebel and I have to take the cigarette out of my mouth to cough.
My kid – if I ever have one- will grow up the same way I did, surrounded by the sounds I make as I actively destroy my lungs. Sarah’s mother, Lori, has just died of lung cancer, after thirty-two years of heavy-duty smoking. Sarah has requested, and received,a transplant of one of her mother’s lungs into her own chest. Sarahhas a hole in her neck from an emergency tracheotomy.
It is not the lung damage itself that turns me on, but the fact that Sarah wants it sobadly. I am no pshychologist, but my opionion is that each of theseharmful side effects is an indication of a woman’s totalcommitment and addiction to cigarettes. In my case, I believethe addiction is at the heart of my fetish. The idea that a woman can be so addicted to nicotine that she would neverconsider quitting, even after developing lung cancer, is the mostarousing thing I can think of. And there are women like that inreal life. I’m sure you’ve all seen news stories of people whocontinue to smoke after getting lung cancer or emphysema.
Forty-five years of smoking more than three packs offull-flavored cigarettes per day had definitely https://p1nup.in/ taken its toll. Mitziwas unable to do much physical activity anymore. Most of the time shesat in her room and chain-smoked one high-tar, ultra-menthol Koolafter another. She stabbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and threw the butt out the window. She always felt bad going into the store, filthy, like a drug addict. Which she was but she still hated that feeling.
The Yellowed Girls Chapter 7 – Just another morning
She had her Marlboro lit, and was looking out over the backyard. I admired her plump legs in their pajama bottoms. I watched the rise and fall of her sagging breasts under her shirt that was tight over her slightly swollen belly. She’s pregnant with our second, and this time hasn’t said a word about quitting. She thanks me for the coffee and continues to look at her phone, holding her cigarette and coffee expertly in the same hand. She got her legs in, closed the door, and I rolled.
- Sarah was alternating Marlboros and Kools.
- For a moment Mitzi appeared to be relaxed, but then, suddenly, shebroke into a violent coughing spell.
- I take breaks to sit there on my old lady shower chair, dripping wet, smoking my cigarettes.
- Sarah has requested, and received,a transplant of one of her mother’s lungs into her own chest.
- I displayed the green and black box holding her Marlboro NXTs.
A site devoted to the Dark Side of the Smoking Fetish
The sexual activity had been toomuch for her. Sarahgot her a glass of water, but it didn’t help. She was now having difficulty breathing again. Sarah placedthe oxygen mask over Mitzi’s face and turned on the oxygen. She meekly lifted her hand andformed a “V” with her index finger and middle finger.
The Yellowed Girls Chapter 5 – Donna’s Dark Days
She finishes her second cigarette and then the coughing. Oh the coughing… She sits up, and her flabby chest jiggles. I wake up and almost instantly start coughing. The night before was wonderful, but not for my lungs. Rich stayed with me till I could breath “normally” again.
The Yellowed Girls Chapter 6 – The mornings after the night before
I’m hard again, and I look away, at the ceiling, up at the second hand smoky haze towards the yellowed ceiling. “We’ve all truly surrendered to the addiction, you know? I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up like her. My brother already has COPD he is the same she is. He keeps on smoking says his body is already fucked, so might as well carry on smoking.
Every deep, painful, and heavy drag reminds me of what I’ve been doing to my lungs for years.It’s precisely this destructive feeling in my lungs when I inhale that I live for. The thought of what I’ve done to my underdeveloped lungs over the past 18 years is driving me crazy. My lungs are heavy, sticky, clogged, tight, stinging, and feel so sick. My lungs struggle to bring anything up anymore; my cough is deep and wet, but when something does come up, I always have to spit out the mucus because there’s so much of it.
I drag the first drag of the day into my wreaked lungs, savoring the flavor of the tobacco, the smoothness of the menthol. I try to roll over, to get up, but I can’t. My lungs are too tired, my back and hips too sore, my body is apparently too frail for sex.
I keep coughing and I’m too exhausted to reach for tissues or even the cigarette I desperately need. He hands me a cigarette out of the pack and a lighter. I blink at him, and light the cigarette dragging the smoke into my lungs. I sweat I can feel the powerful Marlboro smoke eating away at my damaged lung tissue, mentholated, tarry smoke, ripping the already damaged airsacs apart. “Can you do a hold for me followed by a nasal exhale? ” He must have some sort of fetish for smoking.