I take the time to clean under my belly, I gasp, hack, and wheeze, spitting phlegm onto the shower floor. I take breaks to sit there on my old lady shower chair, dripping wet, smoking my cigarettes. 5 more cigarettes, and a couple breaks to catch my breath later, I’m done.
- She hadnever released even a wisp of smoke from her lungs.
- I’ve urinated myself too, soaking the absorbent pad I’m sitting on.
- She’s pregnant with our second, and this time hasn’t said a word about quitting.
- Who says there’s anything bad about addiction?
The Yellowed Girls Chapter 4 – Beth and Rich Make Love
I grab my inhaler and take a desperate puff. My Marb Menthols are underneath my pillow with a lighter next to them in the half empty pack. An ashtray with a half dozen crushed butts is on the bed near my head. The inhaler doesn’t relieve my respiratory distress, it only makes me cough harder. My fat body jiggles in the bed, I must be an absolutely pathetic sight. Something sticks in my throat and I wheeze, and choke, and cough till the collection of phlegm enters my mouth.
The Yellowed Girls Chapter 5 – Donna’s Dark Days
- The old fat lady chained to supplemental oxygen dying in her bed just from being fucked.
- Sarahdidn’t really need the oxygen, not the way Mitzi did.
- I don’t want to push them towards smoking but somehow I want to let them know our home is a space pace if they ever become curious when they are old enough to try.
- I repeat the process till I feel like my lungs are somewhat clear.
- Not surprising I suppose, since his mom smoked, but it still creeps me out a little.
I am hoping that there will be othersout there who will be turned on by this type of fiction but who maynot have run across the https://p1nup.in/ message boards. He shoved the packs under the window and watched as she walked out of the store. What a wonderful thought, ruining my lungs forever. It would be almost impossible for me to explain why I find this typeof story arousing because I don’t understand it myself.
Smoker’s Cough Appreciation
The insides of hertwo cheeks nearly touched each other as Mitzi dragged with all theforce and experience of a forty-five year hopelessly, but willingly,addicted chain-smoker. The tar-rich smoke started coursing through herlungs as she dragged again. Mitzi pulled the smoke from the seconddrag deep into her clogged air passages as she reached over and turnedon the valve of her oxygen tank. She grabbed her mask and placed itover her face just as she completed the third drag of herwell-practiced triple-pump. She breathed in hard through her oxygenmask, forcing all of the smoke from her enormous triple-drag deeperand deeper into the blackened crevices of her rapidly deterioratinglungs.
The Yellowed Girls Chapter 4 – Beth and Rich Make Love
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.
We were naked from the waist down and experimenting with each other’s body. Dad assumed I was gay, only finding out a couple years later I was actually bisexual. He assumed, with what for him was typical homophobia, it was because he was my only parent.
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.
And I’d be willing to bet that many of you get at least somewhataroused when you hear of such women. The two smokers continued methodically, taking one deep drag afteranother. Mitzi was lying flat on her back in bed and dangling hercigarettes as she smoked them.
Phlegm rumbles in my chest but nothing comes up. A moment later I feel more oxygen blowing into my nicotine stained nostrils. He hands me an old towel and I wipe the cold phlegm off my breasts. As I breathlessly gasp, feeling the rich smoky poison laying down an extra layer of tar in my lungs I feel his fingers, still coated with my lung butter, enter my vagina. I moan, my eyes closed to enjoy the sensation, and smoke escapes my lips.
I was reluctant to post any of these stories at ASG, but, withencouragement from others, I have finally decided to do so. Mymain reason for posting here is that there just doesn’t seem tobe enough traffic on the message boards. Here at ASG, I know I willreach a much larger audience.
There’s grass around her but she’s worn a path to her spot. It’s a ritual, that she repeats it exactly five times a day. She takes the cigarette out of the pack, and places it between her lips. She lights it and takes a drag she holds in her lungs for a long moment before she exhales, blowing the smoke into the evening air. She repeats the process till the cigarette is gone. Then she lights up, and starts smoking a second.
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.
At least someone enjoys the frankly horrific damage I’ve done to myself, and makes me feel beautiful. She spits phlegm into a glass on her bedside and then reaches past her rescue inhaler to her cigarette pack. She takes one out and lights it, taking a deep drag. As she smokes it, we talk about how wonderful the sex was, and how much we love each other. She takes the final drag and kills the butt in the ashtray.
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.