I didn't think it would really hurt all that much, having two cigarettes crushed out at one time on my balls. I had played games with my wife many times, even let her use me as an ashtray, and she had put out a cigarette or two on my balls before. It was always towards the end of a play session, so even though it was intense, I was finally allowed gratification, and a little tenderness. Today was only the beginning, and i feared it was only going to get worse, and all because of one simple egotistical and foolish mis-step by me that led to this. Just a little mistake named Janine. She was an old high school buddy of my wife of ten years, or so I was led to believe, by my wife of ten years. Ten years and two children, no cheating, one helluva great and kinky sex life. My wife, a lovely red head, a little chunkier after two kids, but still hotter than any stick figure model, was a great mother as well as being a fantastic wife. She had those classic latin looks, with the olive complexion, and I couldn't deny I was still head over heels in love with her, just as when we met. All this and on top of it all, she was a fantastic smoker. She didn't just smoke for a craving, she smoked like she was born to do it, she hit every button in this smoke fetishers dreams with her classic long white cigarette, long well-done nails, full lips to place it in, cheek hollowing drags followed by an open mouth french inhale, a tilt of the head and a full and thick room filling stream of smoke, sweet and rich mixed with her favorite perfume, Passion. Suffice to say that after ten years, I was still staring every time she lit up, totally hynotized by the sight. We had two children, one boy eight and one girl from a previous relationship my wife had been in, my step daughter, who was 15. Teresa, my wife, had smoked all through both pregnancies, with nary a problem from it, regardless what the doctors all say, and she even breast fed them while still smoking too. The eldest child obviously had been influenced by her mothers smoking, and I still remember the shocked look on my face the day I came home and found them both in the kitchen together smoking, with my son sitting inbetween them watching intently. Cathy, was obviously enjoying it as much as her mother was, and she had copied her style to the letter. Stunned, I could only stare in shock. Later, Teresa had told me she felt it was time that Cathy be able to smoke around me, and she thought just getting the shock over with was the best way. Of course, I protested, telling her the girl was only 13. My wife had walked up, and delivered a thick smokey kiss into my pink (after being with her all this time probably not so pink) lungs with enough punch to make me light headed for a minute. She told me she had taught her to smoke back when she was only nine, and for the last four years she had been smoking, still getting good grades, and excelling so I really didn't have a choice in the matter anymore, deal with it. Well, I did deal with it; I swallowed my pride and admitted that a woman who loved smoking (not to mention smokey hot sex) as much as she did and took care of the family's needs so well had to be indulged in her desire to do the things she wanted. I had to admit, having two female smokers in the house was even more incredible, and Cathy was every bit her mother's daughter when it came to smoking. I was a bit self concious about it though, let me tell you, I really tried not to stare when Cathy lit up and let out a thick cloud, but my wife had taken care of that problem too. I got told, "Don't worry, Dad, it's ok if you like to watch me smoke, Mom told all about how some guys really find it great if a girl smokes. Besides, dad, I saw how Mom always gets what she wants out of you with her smoking, so maybe this way you'll buy me a car when I am sixteen!" I had to laugh, and it took the edge off my anxiety with her smoking. I guess it was guilt or something over knowing the lock on the cellar door was to hide from the children and anyone else for that matter, my wife's true smoking fun with me. Down the stairs led to a rack, chains, whips, all sorts of wicked and naughty perverted kinky fun imaginable, including the largest assortment of home made and store bought forced smoking devices and accessories that she and I could find. There was even a rack in the corner with a hundred different types of cigarettes, stack so there was never a shortage for those times when I ended up in a body tube slowly filling with enough creamy smoke to choke out the marlboro man. It was actually a large type garment bag, big enough for a man, made to have the air sucked out of it to shrink the clothing down for storage. Teresa would place me in restraints attached to poles the would allow no movement that could tear the bag open, and even put plastic mouth guards over my teeth in case I tried to chew my way out. Teresa would siphon the air totally out, leaving me with this bag sucked up all around me. Quickly she would exchange the vacuum hose for a large hand pump attached to several cigarettes (sometimes menthol, clove, whatever suited her mood)and begin to refill that garment bag with the thickest and richest smoke you could think of. Since the opening was above my head, the smoke flowed down and around me, burning my eyes if I attempted to leave them open, filling the bag with a warm, almost liquid feel the atmosphere was so thick. Even after being in that bag more times than i could count, I still did not have enough control to last more than a couple of minutes before gagging and beginning to lose conciousness. Teresa would insert a tube to me from the opening then, and allow me a few life saving (literally) breaths of air before beginning my training again, which usually would last at least a pack of cigarettes, sometimes two or three if she was feeling wicked. Once removed from the bag, my chest and lungs would ache so badly, and my entire body would be covered with a film of smokey tar and nicotine, making my flesh sting, feel sticky and gooey, shining from it's essence. I have to say, it would take several hours just to recover from that, but some days i just didn't get it and her fun would go on, becoming more creative and naughty as the day went by. Even if i wanted her to stop, I was far to weak from the treatment to resist, and Teresa would give me that heart stopping smile, a caress on the cheek and I would sigh and let her do what I knew she needed to do. Here I am reminising, when i might not have the time to write this down again. Janine has change what was some weekend fun and kinky play into my life now. Janine was Teresa's high school lover, not friend, but I didn't know that. Janine moved overseas with her military family to europe, and the two lost touch with one another, and got on with their respective lives. They never forgot each other. One day out of the blue, Janine called my wife. She was back in the states, and just had to call Teresa's mother to see what had ever happened to her. She gave her our phone number and viola! they were talking after all these years. I remember my wife saying, "Of course I still smoke, you didn't think I was gonna quit did you just because you left? I found a man who loves my smoking as much as I do to share it with". Next thing I know she is moving to town and this short dishwater blonde with shoulder length butch-cut hair, earrings and no makeup, in a t-shirt barely covering her huge pressed in bosom and a pair of faded jeans is pulling up every day when I leave for work to see my wife. Sometimes as she walked up to the door, fluffing her hair a bit as she lit a cigarette, she would grab my wrist and squeeze, kiss me on the cheek while letting the smoke curl from her nostrils and tell me to have a great day. My kids loved her, thought the world of her, my son even mistakenly calling her "daddy" in front of me a few times. The house now was a huge smoke bath when I came in from work, what with my wife and daughter as well as Janine all practically chaining. What was obvious was opaqued by my smoking fetish, practacally ready to explode from the intense anxiety when i walked in the door. Although Janine did not have the classic technique, she was hot to watch the way she would take a hard drag off her marlboro, sucking the smoke in almost before you could see it in her opened mouth, holding it a long time before tilting her head up completely, showing off her long neck, and exhaling with a loud whoosh into the air. Other times she just let it slowly excape her nostrils. She was great with the kids, and very sweet and kind around me, even bringing me gifts and brickabrak of my favorite hobbies. One day, I got off work in the early afternoon, and came home. Finally the smoke could not hide the facts anymore. There was my wife, Teresa, her red mane of hip length hair covering Janine's thighs as she took a drag off of her cigarette and slowly blew it into Janine's shaven crotch while fondling her with her tongue. I was stunned...My wife turned, smiled and told me, "Sooner or later you would find out, have a seat love, trust me". I just stood transfixed. "Have a gawd damn seat, Now!", Janine shouted at me, and I did as I was told. I watched my wife and Janine make love all afternoon, the house becoming full of the smell of their sex and smoke. Finally they stopped shortly before the kids got home from school. We had dinner, the kids did homework, and I was told Janine was moving in to live with us. Period. No arguement or questions. By the way, you need to move your things out of the bedroom tonight and into the spare guest room. Both of the ladies said all of this to me in a matter of fact tone, smoking their after dinner cigarettes. I did what I was told, and that night Janine slept in our bed with my wife. Soon after, both my children were calling Janine daddy and me by my first name. I never was able to touch my wife except casually, and even then under Janine's watchful eye. Janine slowly wore any resistance to the reality of the situation out of me. She did things deliberately to test me, telling me, "Deal with your role in this house or move out". On my son's ninth birthday, she took great pleasure in buying him a carton of cigarettes for him to smoke, and sitting down with him against her bosom, telling him how she would teach him to smoke. I had always felt smoking was a woman's perogitive and men were better off as non smoking fetishers, and here was my son, sitting in her lap, hugging her, saying, "Thank you daddy, I love you". I was helpless to stop her anymore, condesending so much into her will that I allowed myself to sit on the floor between Janine and Teresa's legs, my mouth open tilted up as an ashtray for them while they watched tv. Heck, even my own kids had become totally in belief i was only a breadwinner and maid anymore. Finally the sword of damocles fell one day and I ended up here, in the cellar. Janine and Teresa had expanded my life insurance policy upon her return, and had only been waiting for the proper time to do the job. I was sent on an errand taking me through the winding hills and cliffs by the pacific ocean for the ladies, when my car was suddenly forced from the road by a 4x4 and my car plunged into the ocean. Somehow the fates were with me and I was thrown clear, although unconcious, the tide dragging my still form on a piece of driftwood for miles. The city dredged up my car and i was pronounced dead with out a body, since it was possible my body had floated free of the wreckage and some ocean faring fish had been chewing on me for some time. I lay in a cove damn near two miles from my wreck for two days before coming to my senses. It took me another two days to make it back to my house, where as I staggered in the door I was not greeted with open arms, but a hiss of failure from Janine. Teresa sat back and played with me, telling me, "You are worth three million dead to me and nothing alive, why did you come back?" Suddenly a gun was in the small of my back and Janine led me downstairs to the cellar dungeon. She had planned to kill me immediately, but Teresa, exhaling on of her goddess-like plumes of sweet smoke in the air, stopped her. "We might need him alive if the authorities or insurance people become suspicious, and we can claim it was his scam. Besides, I would much rather kill him slowly with cigarette smoke than just end it quickly. He deserves that at least." At gunpoint my clothing was removed and my feet and hands were shackled, my mouth locked up tight in a steel and leather gag. Teresa was saving me for later, and after my ordeal I was much to weak to struggle even if there was no gun. Teresa, flicked back her long red hair, exhaled into my face the same way she did when I thought she loved me, and let me know I would live so long as I was....entertainment, very smokey entertainment. Suddenly both Janine and Teresa plunged their cigarettes out at the same time on my balls, turned and walked back upstairs. I found this pad and old pencil lying under one of the shelves of smoking apparatus's, and decided to write my story down. Have to stop for now, I can hear the latch upstairs. I never knew two cigarettes could be so painful....
