Chapter 3: Gonna Lose My Smoking Virginity

The next twenty-four hours passed very slowly for Harriet. Tutor time on Tuesday morning featured a short film on the history of the New Enlightenment, concentrating on the invention of Flexible Fertility Technology in 2023, Medical Modification in 2025, and Genetic Modification in 2027 – all of which had culminated in the Societal Reconstruction Act of 2031, which allowed parents, for the first time, to select Genetic Modifications for their offspring in vitro. Gratefully, Harriet kneaded her large beautiful GM tits, but her mind was elsewhere: to be precise, on smoking.

Harriet’s first proper lesson was double Further Fucking. Sadly, this week’s lesson was light on practice and heavy on theory. Miss Poussée was reading out excerpts from E. J. Cuntslicker’s A Brief History of Fucking:

An Enlightened society, we all now know, depends upon the radical separation of “love”, child-bearing and pleasure – and the recognition that once they are separated mankind naturally seeks what is truly most important: Pleasure. “Love”, like the state, must wither away! This was the genius of the Great Enlightenment...

But Harriet’s eyes glazed over: her mind was still on smoking.

French, with Madame Grossebite, featured one of Harriet’s favourite poems:

Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où durcit ma grosse bite,
Je jouirai...

But Harriet spent her time whimsically rewriting it – though admittedly the alexandrine evaded her:

Aujourd’hui, à l’heure où se mouille ma belle chatte, je fumerai...!

Eventually, the bell rang, and Harriet skipped home from school with a rarely-felt anticipatory joy. The pack of cigarettes had lain reverently on her dressing table for the past twenty-four hours, in pride of place on top of her Bible, waiting for her Medical Modification to take full effect.

“Smoking, Mummy!” she called to her mother as she dashed past. Genevieve Danes was in the living room, dripping hot candle wax on her recumbent husband’s clamped nipples, as he slowly stroked his stiff dick. “Hi Dad!” Harriet added an afterthought, as she leapt up the staircase, two steps at a time.

“Now, calmly, calmly, Harriet,” she instructed herself in vain, as she picked up the cigarette packet to examine it. It was some four inches long, with what looked like a highly sophisticated vintage triangular pattern on it in a pale gold hue, and the words “Marlboro Lights 100s” printed on it. I guess that’s the brand name, Harriet thought to herself: she had seen a variety of different designs in her smoking videos, but had never been able to examine any of them closely enough to form any opinions. Wrapped in cellophane, the packet looked pristine, untouched, pure. I’m gonna open up this virgin packet of cigs, she thought, grinning cheekily. I’m gonna fucking deflower it, gonna lose my smoking virginity now, today – oh God fuck! She moaned with desire and anticipated pleasure.

Harriet peeled off the sealing strip and the top part of the cellophane from the packet, before gently prising open the flip-top lid. What greeted her took her breath away: twenty white cigarettes nestled snugly in their packet, the filter ends elegantly inscribed in gold with the word “Marlboro”, in silent but irresistible invitation. Fingers trembling, Harriet carefully removed one, thereby instantly destroying the perfect tight symmetry of the packet. I’ve deflowered it, she smiled. There’s no going back now!

Harriet held the beautiful white cylinder to her nose and sniffed it deeply. Oh fuck, that’s amazing! she thought, for the fragrance was full and earthy, like rich tea, or dry autumn leaves. I wonder if it’s that good when you light it? She put the filter end of the cigarette between her lips and turned to her bedroom mirror to see what she looked like. “Oh fuck!” she whimpered out loud – for greeting her from her mirror was the sexiest sight she had ever seen. She was still herself, blonde and buxom and beautiful, dressed in her school blouse and short plaid skirt. But the white tube now dangling from her lips had transformed her: this was Harriet Danes, smoking slut, looking as sexy as all those other wonderful smoking sluts she had been admiring since the preceding weekend, from Lauren “Fuckall” to Megan and Jasmine and Lolly and the rest of them. She pouted her lips, so that her dangle looked even more sultry than ever. “Oh f’ck,” she muttered again. The cigarette jiggled sexily between her lips as she spoke. “OH FUCK!” she exclaimed in delight – and the cigarette accidentally almost dropped from her mouth, only just held in place by the saliva on her lips adhering to the paper of the cigarette.

Oh fuck, she thought again – but this time it was not an expression of excitement, but of frustration. I haven’t got any fucking matches! Keeping the unlit cigarette firmly grasped between her lips, she ran downstairs. “M’mmy!” she called, “c’n I b’rrow s’me m’tches?”

“What’s that, cunty-pie?” replied Genevieve Danes. Her husband’s nipples were now fully coated, and she was proceeding to drip hot wax on his stiff cockhead, while he groaned with painful delight. “Oh look, how sexy!” she exclaimed, as she took in the sight of her daughter’s dangling cigarette.

Harriet grinned, but removed the cigarette from her lips to repeat the question more clearly: “I need matches to light my cigarette.” She brandished the white cylinder, her eyes announcing her excitement.

“Of course, sweetcunt. I’ve got my candle lit now. Here.” Genevieve tossed a box of matches towards her daughter – and Harriet caught it one-handed, as deftly as Lauren Bacall, and beamed with pride.

Back in her bedroom, Harriet stood in front of her mirror again, admiring the way the cigarette enhanced both her beauty and her sexuality. She held it between index and middle fingers, the way she had seen it in the movies, posing with it poised just in front of her half-parted lips. Then she dangled it from her mouth again, admiring the contrast between the white end and her moist red lips. “OK, now let’s light this fucker,” she muttered, glorying in the way the cigarette jiggled between her lips as she spoke, whilst removing one match from the box. She struck it, but – “Fuck,” she muttered – it didn’t light. She tried again, and this time it worked. Slowly moving the lit match towards her face, she concentrated hard – Fuck, I’m going cross-eyed! – to ensure that flame and cigarette tip met. Her heart skipped a beat in excitement.

But the cigarette didn’t light. There was a faint smell of charred tobacco leaf, but no smoke. “Fuck, I forgot to breathe in!” she mumbled. “Gotta draw hard while holding the flame to it – like Megan does when she’s horny!” she reminded herself. “And then take a deep inhale, to fill me up with sm–FUCK!” she swore, as the forgotten still-lit match began to scald her fingertips; she shook it out urgently.

The next attempt worked better. The match lit immediately, and Harriet aimed just right with the flame, the cigarette stiffening upwards as she gripped tighter with her lips and sucked in deeply. She shook the match flame out and gripped the cigarette between two fingers, filled her mouth with a large churning ball of virgin smoke, removed the cigarette from between her lips, and, mouth open just like Megan, she inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs.

“FUUUUUCK!!!” Harriet hadn’t even managed to inhale a quarter of the smoke before she was gagging and coughing frantically, instinctively expelling as much as she could from her body. “Jesus, what the fuck?!” she began to exclaim, before realising that, in her panic, her cigarette seemed to have disappeared. “Where the f–” But then she saw it, dropped on the floor in her panic, beginning to burn a hole in her carpet. She pounced to rescue it, swearing, “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!” as she rubbed the scorched patch with her foot to extinguish it.

“You all right, cuntling?” called Genevieve from downstairs.

“Fine, Mummy!” Harriet lied, calling through her door.

“How’s your smoking going?

“Oh, getting there ... I’ll show you later, Mummy, all right?”

Harriet sat on the floor, holding the still burning cigarette firmly in one fist, assessing the situation. Jesus fuck, she thought. This is harder than I thought. Nurse Coxucca wasn’t lying. I hope I haven’t made a bad mistake. She didn’t have long to wallow in any self-doubt, though, for her cigarette was continuing to burn, and a head of ash was forming at its tip. Fuck, thought Harriet, I need one of those – what are they called? – “ashtrays”. She considered running downstairs again to ask her mother, but felt a bit embarrassed at the prospect of advertising her continued lack of smoking progress to her parents. So she got up and made her way into the bathroom. I can flick my ash down the toilet for now, she reassured herself.

It was as she stood in the bathroom that she noticed the smell of the burning cigarette: acrid, sharp, but fascinating. She breathed in deeply: the smoke was now filling the room, giving her reflection in the bathroom mirror a slightly mysterious air. The odour was strange, but continued to attract her. No, I could get used to this, she thought. I just need to take it gradually on the inhaling for now. She dangled the lit cigarette between her lips again. The smoke got in her eyes, and she began to leak tears. She adjusted the cigarette so it hung out of one corner of her mouth, self-protectively shutting the eye on that side but watching herself with the other. Oh fuck, that is hot! she thought. So sultry, so nonchalant, so totally “fuck you”! Her lips trembled, as she tentatively took another drag, filling her mouth with a churning ball of smoke, but cautiously blowing it out without inhaling. OK, that worked – but I’m not going to get a proper long cone-exhale like Lauren unless I inhale. Maybe just a little bit?

She took another drag, held the cigarette between her fingers again, and watched the smoke swirling around in her open mouth, before taking a slow, cautious, shallow open-mouthed inhale, taking care to breathe in some normal air along with the smoke. That was better. It still rasped on the way down, she felt slightly nauseous and dehydrated, and her head began to pound and spin – but this time she exhaled from her lungs, and watched in awe as an admittedly thin stream of white smoke issued from her lips, struck the bathroom mirror, and bounced off, spreading in all directions. Oh fuck, that’s hot, she thought. So fucking hot, in fact, I can feel my pussy juicing...

Harriet reached under her school skirt with her left hand and found her fuck-lips, already slick and flaring, and slipped her middle finger in-between. “Oh fuck!” she muttered. This smoking makes me so horny! She took another drag of the cigarette, and this time was able to inhale a bit more than last time. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” she squealed under her breath, and was amazed to see smoke emerging from her mouth in little white puffs as she swore. She opened her mouth wide, exhaling the rest in one wide column, which obscured her reflection in the mirror.