Chapter 14: Boléro

Wankminster Central Hall was dark and silent, its occupants waiting with bated breath for the start of the final performance of Smoke-’n’-Fuck 2050. Fuxmy Gopal and her cameraman had returned to their posts at the rear, and the three judges were seated back at their table in the centre of the auditorium. A single spotlight picked out Harriet’s face, her blond hair swept back so that her broad jaw and full red lips shone with allure. As the music started, softly at first, just some slow plucked violas and cellos, and a quiet but driving rhythm on the snare drum, the spot widened to reveal Harriet in a pink bikini, her large breasts straining against her top, her body slowly writhing in cunt-dripping anticipation. Her legs were clothed in thigh-high pink latex boots, spread wide on her stool to allow the audience to descry a small rectangular shape concealed beneath her pink gusset. There was a gasp of admiration as people recognised the form of the unseen flip-top box pressed tight against Harriet’s cunt.

“Oh fuck, that’s hot,” breathed Fuxmy, her fingers straying to her own crotch as she watched. “Don’t you think that’s hot, Bill?” she whispered to her cameraman, who was in down-time mode, reading his copy of Viz and largely ignoring both her and the show. Harriet reached downwards with one hand to stroke the unseen packet of cigarettes up and down her vulva, as she fixed the judges at their table with a luminous fuck-me stare. It was clearly working: Dr Taylor’s fat cock was already poking, stiff and hard, above the edge of the judges’ table. On his left Danica was already absent-mindedly kneading her tits, and gently squelching the tip of her dildo against her fuck-lips; on his right, Zara had pulled up her pencil skirt and was sliding one finger smoothly in and out of her bald cunt.

A solo flute had begun to play, its melody sinuous and sensual, winding its way slowly downwards over the mechanical fuck-beat of the snare. Harriet’s hands echoed the melody, curling, stroking, squeezing her genetically modified tits through her bikini top, then releasing them so that her swollen nipples protruded proudly over the cups. “Oh fuck, look at those tits,” moaned Fuxmy, as she moistened the fingers of one hand and began gently rubbing her clit. Bill the cameraman continued to ignore her.

“Slowly does it, Harriet,” Miss Poussée had said. “You want them gagging for you – like you gag for a cigarette. You want them addicted to you – even those who don’t smoke. You want them to need to see your cunt, need to see you release that packet of cigs from your gash. So keep stroking your body, keep it sensual, at least till the clarinet begins.”

Soon, the clarinet line was winding itself around the clockwork pizzicato pulse of the strings. “Oh Janey, that’s so fucking sexy!” Harriet had exclaimed the first time Janey had played it to her, her body writhing, her lips and tongue caressing the sultry fuck-me tune out of her instrument. We gotta use this piece: it’s so fucking hot!”

“It’s a classic,” Janey explained helpfully, “by a French composer called –”

“Did he write it for people to fuck to?” Harriet interrupted.

“I don’t think people wrote fuck-music in those days – or at least they didn’t admit it...”

Now Harriet’s right hand was between her legs, sliding that unseen packet of smokes up and down her cunt. She could feel the cellophane rubbing against her pussy-lips, feel her fuck-juices gradually coat her cigarette packet. Seated at the back of the auditorium, Polly Poussée and Abdul Ahss-Faqr were watching their protégée proudly: she had her left hand wrapped reassuringly around his cock while his fingers gently massaged her vulva. The audience was moaning with appreciation, desperate for the moment Harriet would reveal her flaring cunt-lips, light a cigarette, and jerk herself off. But –

“Slowly does it,” Miss Poussée had said. “OK, the clarinet solo is coming to an end, so slip your thong off, but keeping rubbing your cunt with that cigarette packet. The fetishists will love seeing you get off that way, the non-fetishists will still be gagging to see your cunt. Either way, you’re onto a winner...”

As Harriet slipped out of her thong, another gasp rose from the audience – not just at the glorious sight of Harriet’s bald pink cunt, already wet and dripping from her cigarette-packet pleasuring, but at her packet of cigarettes itself. “Cameltoe No. 9 Pink 100s!” was the exclamation circulating in enthusiastic whispers among the smoking cognoscenti in the audience. Harriet smiled.

“Oh Jesus motherfuck,” Fuxmy whispered, as her own hand parallelled Harriet’s flip-top box – sliding in and out of her dark trimmed cunt, as in the seat next to her Bill was still enraptured by his Viz. Harriet was fucking herself now, stretching her cunt wide with her cigarette packet, feeling the cellophane caress her inner walls, feeling her fuck-juices coat it and dribble down onto her fingers. The bassoon was holding the tune, its timbre rich and reedy, the melody bluesy and dissonant, almost dirty, as Harriet’s fingers painted a smear of cunt-juice onto her puckered asshole. And when the ecstatic squeal of the E-flat clarinet took over, Harriet opened her mouth wide in imitation, to silently announce her own pleasure, as the tip of one finger slipped gently within the rim of her shithole, while her other hand was still fucking the slimy packet of Cameltoe Pinks in and out of her fuck-gash.

You like seeing my Pinks up my pink? sounded a voice. But it was not Harriet’s; it was a recorded voiceover, feminine, but echoing deep, breathy and reverberant, layered across the musical soundtrack, but whirling around the auditorium in quadrophonic sound. You like seeing my slimy box in my box? it continued. Both my boxes are pink and slimy: you wanna taste them?

“Fuck yes,” panted Fuxmy, her tongue drooling – while Bill continued to ignore everything going on around him. All three judges were rubbing themselves off at their table, any semblance of professional restraint long abandoned. Harriet smiled again to herself. Good call, using Janey as the voice-over, she thought. Even I admit it...

“No no, Harriet,” Polly Poussée had insisted. much to Harriet’s annoyance. “We can’t use your voice: it’s far too girly! We need a voice which is sultry, mature. Now who do I know...?”

“Can I try, Miss Poussée?” Janey ventured meekly.

”You?” Miss Poussée looked aghast at the skinny girl in pigtails.

“Well, I do a lot of acting,” replied Janey, “in my am-dram group, you know? Here, how about this?” Janey took a deep breath, before reciting in a deep breathy voice, “‘You like watching me smoke, pervs? You like watching me drag on this cigarette, like I’m sucking your big dick? I need to smoke, fuckers – as much as I need to be fucked... ‘“

Miss Poussée’s jaw dropped – for suddenly Janey’s voice had turned rich and resonant: mature, sensual, voluptuous, seductive. “Ohhh...” remarked the teacher, nodding with satisfaction, “that’s good ... Not just a pretty cunt then, eh, Janey?”

“Thank you, Miss...”

As the oboe d’amore commenced the reprise of the original flute melody, Harriet slipped her cigarette packet from her cunt, and her finger out of her asshole. “Smoke ... smoke!” she could hear the audience egging her on in desperate whispers – but it was not quite time for that. Instead she extended her tongue, licking her cunt-slime off the flip-top box before slowly, seductively peeling off the damp pungent cellophane and casting it nonchalantly toward the audience. Flipping open the top, she held the packet up to her mouth, extracting one long white cigarette hands-free and dangling it between her lips. Unclasping her bikini top to display her proud, glorious tits, she retrieved her pink cigarette lighter from where it had been nestling, hitherto unseen, in the warm cleft between her breasts, and flicked it. A collective gasp of anticipation erupted from audience and judges alike – but Harriet was still teasing. Want me to smoke my Pink? Janey’s sultry breathy thespian voiceover whirled around the hall, eliciting a lustful moan of assent from all present. Or shall I pink my smoke? teased the voice, as Harriet held her virgin cigarette against her cunt and began painting it up and down between her wet fuck-lips. Want me to smoke my Cameltoe? The voice, though still deep and seductive, was rising in intensity now. Or shall I fuck my cameltoe with my smoke?

As a muted trumpet began to sound out a repeat of the oboe melody, Harriet plunged the filter end of her cigarette into her cunt. Oh yeah, I love fucking my cunt with my cigarette! Janey’s voice reverberated around the hall. Do you like watching me fuck my ciggy in and out of my fuckhole? The audience moaned their agreement, even louder. Wouldn’t you like to be that cigarette, plunging in and out of my fucking cunt?!

Fuxmy could hold back no longer. She had grabbed a spare microphone, and was rubbing it against her dark cunt. “Your cock, Bill, your cock,” she muttered, opening her mouth wide in anticipation. “No, put that fucking mag away, dammit, I need cock!” Bill sighed, put his comic down, and stood up so he could dangle his soft dick in front of his colleague’s face. “Mmm-aargh...” she growled as she swallowed the soft dangling member and began sucking hard on it in a desperate attempt to coax it into an erection, all the while jamming the microphone deep into her pussy. At the judges’ desk, the female judges were both stroking Jon Taylor’s fat cock with one hand each, while the fingers of both his hands were curled into their cunts.

“Good, good, Harriet – that way you get them all jerking off even before you light your first cigarette. That means even the non-smoke-freaks will be hot and horny: you need them on your side too!”

“Won’t everyone there be a fetishist, Miss? I mean, who’s gonna come to a smoking competition if they don’t like smoking?”

“Don’t count on it, Harriet. You need everyone on your side: the press, the TV presenters, the stage hands, the cameramen, even the cleaning ladies if you can! You need to get them all buzzing like your cunt!”

It was the tenor saxophone’s turn now, espressivo, bluesy, flattened and Phrygian, molto vibrato, the perfect accompaniment for Harriet to place the slimy white filter end, adorned by its pink cunt logo, between her moist red lips. Wanna see this Cameltoe between my lips, fuckers? Janey’s voice echoed cheekily around the auditorium. I love feeling my lips closing round hot pink cameltoe, don’t you? Harriet flicked the lighter again, this time to genuinely fire up her first cigarette of the afternoon. Oh fuck, that’s good! Harriet thought to herself as she felt the smoke caress its way deep into her needy lungs. She had deliberately starved herself of nicotine for the past three hours, so she would be gagging for smoke by now, and could inhale as impossibly deep as she wanted. And now, it was time to show off what she could do with that smoke...

“What? Was fucking bad for you in those days? I never knew that!”

“Well, it kinda depended on who you fucked, and how. I was an escort, did a lot of weird shit, pissing on guys and stuff –”

“Oh, how exciting! ‘Escort’ – is that what you called a professional fucker in those days? I want to be one too! And my bestie loves getting pissed on!”

“Well, go for it, bitch! You’re lucky to live in an age when that’s considered respectable. And, you’re doubly lucky to live in an age when smoking is good for you! I’d so take it up again if I could...” Taylor looked wistfully into the middle distance, before pulling herself back to the present. “But instead I’ll do it vicariously through you, OK...?”

On stage, Harriet knew she needed to carefully calibrate her transition into smoking tricks. And so she started as Taylor had taught her, with a series of long nose exhales, head tipped back in profile, alternating sides so that fine twin streams of smoke flowed horizontally outwards in both lateral directions in turn, framing her voluptuous body perfectly. She progressed to preceding each nose exhale with a French inhale, thick waterfalls of smoke cascading upwards from her jutting lower lip into her nostrils before being lovingly projected out again.

By the time the tune had passed to the soprano saxophone, Harriet was ready for business. “Taylor,” she had pleaded, “how do I do snaps? I just can’t fucking get them right: all I get is misshapen clouds of smoke!”

Now, however, six months later, Harriet’s technique had progressed to the point where she could appear relaxed, almost casual about the way she released a swirling ball of smoke to hang just before her lips before opening wide and snapping the whole delicious thing deep into her throat. The audience loved it too, oohing and aahing at each smoke ball that disappeared into her, and positively ecstatic as she progressed to doubles, and even French snaps. You like watching my snaps, fuckers? Janey’s sultry voiceover swirled around the hall. I like playing with my smoke, like I like playing with your cum. You want me to take your creamy white cum down my throat, fuckers?

The return of the original tune, now played mezzo forte by a horn, and doubled with multitonal acridity by a pair of piccolos, announced the arrival of the real Janey on stage. She was naked, her long dark hair loose down her back, her cunt-lips dangling glistening between her tight ass-cheeks as she knelt in front of Harriet and buried her face in her gash – just as Harriet chain-lit two new cigarettes, flicking the old butt with fuck-you nonchalance across the stage towards the audience. Oh yeah, you wanna watch this bitch eat my pink while I smoke? the voiceover echoed round the auditorium. Shall I smoke two Pinks for you, you perverted smoking fuckers?

The audience’s response was predictable. Now Harriet held two Cameltoes, one between two fingers of each hand, and was smoking them in alternation, each new inhale overlapping the previous one, so that smoke was pouring out of her nostrils at the same time as it disappeared in great creamy balls down her gullet. She did not wait to perform separate exhales, instead turning herself into a non-stop smoking machine, letting the rich precious creamy loads pour in and out of her lungs. Fuck, I’m getting high... Harriet thought to herself. And Jesus fuck, Janey you eat cunt so good! she thought, as her best friend’s tongue snaked and slurped deep into her wet fuckhole. Now Janey’s recorded voice was echoing through the speakers again: You like smoking when your cunt’s getting eaten, fuckers? I love it. See me smoking two Pinks while this skinny bitch eats my pink?

The audience were roaring their approval now, as they jerked themselves and each other off in multifarious ways. Danica and Zara were kneeling beneath the judges’ table on opposite sides of Jon Taylor’s fat cock, slurping and licking and drooling as they fingering or dildoed their own cunts. And at the back of the hall, Bill the cameraman’s cock, now coaxed into a full erection, was fucking in and out of Fuxmy Gopal’s gullet as she gagged and dribbled and dry-heaved in appreciation, all the while pounding three fingers in and out of her wet fuck-hole.

A chorus of reeds took up the tune now, thick and rough and noisy, as Janey writhed her body forwards and upwards, Harriet sliding onto the floor beneath so her friend’s cunt could splay across her upturned face. Fuck, she does taste good! Harriet thought to herself. Not wrong, Mikey... she added, as she rested her head back onto the stool and began blowing smoke into her bestie’s cunt. She likes it when I smoke her pink while I smoke my Pinks! came the voiceover. You like seeing her cunt fill with smoke, fuckers? You like it when my bitch’s cunt’s on fucking fire?!

“Fuck yeah!” moaned the audience, as they stroked their cocks and slid their fingers into their own and each other’s cunts. “Smoke that cunt! More! More!”

But Harriet had learnt by now to always leave the audience gagging for more. As a solo trombone took up the tune, Michael walked onto the stage, naked, his cock already huge and throbbing, a glob of pre-cum shining at its tip. Oh yeah, dig that trombone! moaned the voiceover. Want me to play it? Want me to smoke it? Want me to ram it down my fucking throat?