"Have you been thinking about our last session during the past week? Have you gotten any closer to understanding what it is about a slim brown cigarette that arouses you so much? Have you delved into any feelings beyond your intense arousal?"
"No, Dr. Castles," I sighed. I hadn’t been much except frustrated and aching to relieve myself.
"That’s all right," she said, patting my hand sympathetically. "Shall we begin?" She pulled a More from a fresh red pack. I lit it for her. "You remember the rules, correct? Watch me smoke—" She took a deep, slow drag, and exhaled a long, thick plume of smoke at me. "And talk to me about what you are feeling." With each drag and exhale, I told her how my arousal increased, how she seemed to get more attractive. She put the cigarette out, and told me to tell her what I was feeling. I told her about my frustration. "What would you like me to do, Mark? Should I have another—long, brown, cigarette? And smoke it, so that you become aroused again?"
"Yes—Dr. Castles. If you wouldn’t mind," I quickly replied. "I’m not sure that I can put my finger on it, but I think I’m beginning to see what it might be." That was a lie. I needed to watch her smoke again. I was horny, and ready to come out of my skin.
She smiled. "Of course, Mark. Do you—have a light?" I missed the way her tone of voice changed, too intent on lighting her More. She took a draw, leaned back in her chair and exhaled silently. The cigarette looked so long and brown between her fingers! I got hard again, and told her so. "Yes, Mark, I know," she said. "It’s obvious. Why don’t you take it out, before it becomes any more painful?" Zzzzippp!!! "Don’t masturbate yet." I whimpered in frustration, but complied. She took another drag and exhaled casually in profile. "Now that you are comfortable, I feel we can talk honestly." I agreed, too occupied watching the graceful way she held the More between her fingers. "When I put this out, it is as if someone has put an off switch on your sex drive." She did. I groaned, and my erection shrank.
"But if I have another one, I’m going to start arousing you again, correct, Mark?" I nodded, silently hoping she would follow through with the actions. Dr. Castles took another cigarette out. I held my breath. She paused. I reached out with my lighter, but she turned away. My face fell. She lit it herself, and my disappointment dissipated. "So at the moment, you could say that I would have control, of the most general sort, over your sexual desires." Before I could protest, she took a deep drag and exhaled slowly through her nostrils and lips. "You were disappointed that I wouldn’t let you light it back there." I admitted that I had been, in a small voice. "My control over your desires embarrasses you." I agreed.
"But you still like to watch me smoke long, slim, brown cigarettes." My erection surged at the description. "And you would let me stop and start smoking, just for the thrill of knowing that if I stop, I will start a fresh long, brown cigarette soon. That is why it doesn’t—" She took a fast draw, turned her head and sent a quick, fine stream of smoke into the air. "--Bother you that I can turn you on and turn you off."
I was too busy watching her to really care. "Your fetish makes you submissive, Mark. You will do anything I want, because you want the thrill of watching me smoke a fresh More cigarette." Dr. Castles took another draw and put it out. I blinked, snapping out of the fetish-driven spell I had been under. "Look at yourself. Is this what you want from a relationship?"
Very embarrassed, I mumbled, "No, Dr. Castles, it isn’t. That’s not what I had in mind."
"I don’t think it would be a good idea to convert your next girlfriend; if you do succeed, then you will be rather submissive to her. Can you understand the point that I’m making?" Of course I did. The only thing worse than not having a girlfriend who appreciated my fetish would be having one who did, and who would take complete advantage of it. "Now, Mark, diagnostically speaking, the bad news is the depth of your fetish; the good news is that it is very specific, and I don’t believe that casual contact should engender this strong a reaction. In other words, seeing a woman smoking a More on the street won’t drive you to be her love slave on the spot. However, should you be in a one-on-one situation, your fetish may cause you to react as you have with me."
"Doctor," I began, "is there something you can do about my—umm-reaction?"
"Well, Mark, now that we have identified it, perhaps we can—lighten the effect through continued therapy," she replied. "Make an appointment with Barbara for a two-hour session the next time. I’m confident that we can put all that time to good use."
Two weeks later, I was again on Dr. Castles’ office couch. We spent the better part of the first hour talking. I detailed my recent encounter with a young woman who smoked More Menthols. We had met in a nightclub; she was young, slim, and blonde. The resulting sex had been fantastic, especially for me. Unfortunately, she was as shallow and dull as she had been "smoking sexy." We’d gone our separate ways, and I was content with that. But I still fantasized about the slim cigarette between her lips, and the way she smoked one after sex. "So, Mark, she didn’t seem to—notice—your extreme interest in her cigarettes?"
"Nope. I think she was just horny and decided that I was the cure for those particular blues," I said. "She wasn’t very demanding other than wanting to be fucked as hard and as often as I could in one night."
"I gather she was pleased with the outcome, although she didn’t know exactly why you were so able."
"Three times, and she had at least one orgasm each time," I bragged, feeling a bit of the excitement from the memory.
Dr. Castles pulled out a More and lit it. "So, she smoked one of these during each of your refractory periods?"
"Yeah," I said, eyes glued on my therapist who was busy letting smoke drift from her nose and mouth. My excitement grew, along with something else. "She had two after the second time—said it was so good that she needed the break."
"And it made you hard the second time, correct?" She sent a perfectly shaped stream over my head. "Just like it’s making you hard now." I swallowed and nodded. "You can take off your pants, Mark. I want to watch your reaction to this artificial situation." The doctor continued to smoke while I sat on her couch, naked from the waist down. "The fact that this is an artificially created scenario, with me in control does nothing to dim your excitement." I shook my head, unable to speak. "You have reverted back to your submissive role again, haven’t you? Because this slim brown cigarette in my hand makes me as sexy as a young, nubile blonde."
I nodded. "Uh-huh…" My dick was standing straight up.
"Then I’ll smoke a fresh, long, brown More and you can masturbate while you watch me." And I did. She didn’t get to the halfway point of the More as I sent myself over the edge. She finished it while I was recovering. "I see that your fetish is still as strong as ever. We will need more sessions, Mark."
"Okay, Dr. Castles," I sighed, sexually satisfied. "I’ll make another appointment."
Dr. Castles spent the next few sessions smoking all-whites. The first week it was a Virginia Slim 120, which got me almost as excited as Mores did, then she smoked Virginia Slims 100’s during our session. I was a little less excited. After another month, she was smoking Marlboro Lights in a most unsexy fashion, and I watched her, feeling nothing. I hadn’t seen any woman smoking a More for over a month, and it seemed to me that the fetish was losing its hold on me. I told Sylvia (we were on a first-name basis at this point) about my changing fetish feelings when I walked in for my next visit. "Sylvia, am I making progress?"
She got her purse. "Today, I’d like to take you to a public place and watch your reactions to women who are smoking. I want to see if your description of your state is accurate." We went to a popular local coffee shop that allowed smoking, and sat, discussing nothing in particular. Smoking women circulated around me, sat nearby in prime viewing range, with good backlighting for the smoke, and I continued my chat with Sylvia. As the end of our time approached, she said that I had indeed made progress. We went back to her office. As I was writing out the check, I heard a lighter click. Sylvia hadn’t smoked during the entire session until now. I turned to hand her the check since the receptionist had left, and was greeted by the sight of a long, slim, brown cigarette glowing as she took a long hit from it. Suddenly, she had my complete attention.
"You did very well today, Mark," Sylvia said. "In fact, I’m impressed by how muted your response to women who smoke has become." She lifted her head and exhaled slowly. "But now I see that I am arousing you again." I nodded. "Do you want to take off your pants now? Would you like to masturbate to the sight of a woman smoking a sexy brown More cigarette?" My breathing was audible in the room. "If this is true, then come here, undress, and lick my pussy."
I hesitated. She calmly turned and put the burning end of the More over the ashtray. "Or I can put this out, and your session is over." I was almost frozen, but my hands were slowly undoing my shirt. "Lick me now, Mark. I can fulfill these fantasies that no other smoker can. You weren’t affected in the coffee shop, were you?" I shook my head as I unfastened another button. "You see, I am the sexy More smoker you want. I can satisfy you sexually, while those other smokers can’t." My pants came off. "Yes—" Sylvia took another deep drag, pursed her lips and exhaled slowly, fashioning a tight, narrow stream. "I know what you like, Mark. Come here and lick me." I knelt and buried my head between her legs, hearing her sigh and moan, feeling her buck, and tasting her arousal. "Ohhhh… Shi-I-I-I-I-it…" Her hips jerked rapidly and she got very wet. I lapped and sucked and fingered her until she pushed my head away. "That was very, very good, Mark," she sighed contentedly.
She wasn’t smoking, which meant that I recovered my senses. "What the hell am I doing???" I shouted. It was late on a Friday, and there was nobody around to hear except Sylvia. "What the hell did you have me DO??? You’re supposed to be my ther--" I was on my way to going ballistic when she reached over to the desk and lit another More. I tried to stay indignant, but right after her third draw, which was punctuated with a quick french-inhale, and thick, creamy nasal and oral exhale, I was on my way to getting hard.
She smiled. "I told you I could fulfill your fantasies, Mark." She looked at the bulge in my pants. "Make yourself comfortable." Sylvia took a slow deep drag, exhaling with a feminine grace that made my exposed cock surge. "Masturbate as you watch me smoke. I will light another long, brown cigarette for you." She had barely gotten a chance to start her next cigarette when I came with a loud moan. Sylvia blew a line of smoke over my heaving chest, looking down at me. "Did you like that, Mark? Was it good for you?"
"Ohh, yeah, Sylvia," I answered.
"Was it good enough that you’ll clean yourself up and go to dinner with me?" Sylvia did a french-inhale and thick oral exhale, More held so that I could see how long and slender it was. "Does the thought of spending dinner with a More smoker appeal to you?"
"Yes, I said, using a towel she provided to clean myself up.
"Good. I promise to smoke Mores all evening. And I shall continue in the privacy of my home. It is up to you to if you wish to accompany me there." We left her office, my name no longer in her appointment book, but in her little black one. Little did I know that this was just the beginning—of a nightmare orchestrated by this brilliant psychotherapist.