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 FUUUCK!!!” 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…”
To be continued...
