Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 This story is meant to open up a cycle on the adventures of The Smoke
Counselor.  Whether I will be able or not to write follow ups, only the
future can show.  Enjoy

   Record #35 Troubled Waters A case of abuse

   I always knew ugly stories happen all day, but till the day I met
Elvira, bad and ugly things were something I knew only from mass media. The
gruesome story of Elvira's childhood changed that. She came into my office
one day, a petite dark haired woman in her twenties.  She was small, maybe
5" 2, but well stuffed in the right places.  A nice bust, trim waist and
nicely curbed hips made her look quite attractive.  She had even features
with big dark eyes, straight nose and full lips.  Her face had the grayish
complexion usually associated with heavy smoking, making her look older
than she turned out to be.  Unlike other men, I love this complexion and
feel it adds to the beauty of a woman if smoking causes it.  She had a look
of deep sorrow on her that made me want to embrace and comfort her.  She
had come to seek counseling, as seeing a conventional analyst hadn't
brought her any relief, so she explained.  She was sitting there fretting
in the visitor's chair, not knowing how to start.  From the smell I
detected behind the strong perfume she was wearing, I thought I knew what
she needed to ease up. 'Why don't you light a cigarette?  I can see you
want one pretty bad.' she looked at me in surprise. 'You mean, you actually
allow people to smoke in here?' 'Why yes of course.  You must have
overlooked this.' I pointed to the sign "Thank You for Smoking" on my desk.
'You see, I want people that are visiting me to feel as comfortable as
possible.  Not being able to smoke doesn't help a smoker to relax. 
Besides, even if I don't smoke myself, I love the smell of smoke and I
always found that smoking makes women look more glamorous.' 'Oh, yes I see
it now.  Guess I was a bit absent minded.  That's great!' She actually
smiled now, even thou her eyes pertained their sad look.  She took out a
pack of unfiltered Pall Malls, extracted one and lit up.  She smoked fast,
with avid forceful drags and quick inhales, all business, no frills.  She
exhaled right after inhaling, but in small portions, thus exhaling many
times in thin streams.  Even after a while thin threads of smoke would
still float out of her nostrils, till she took another drag.  Thrilling
indeed.  Al thru our session and the sessions to come she would chain her
unfiltered cigarettes, rarely needing a lighter as she used the butt of a
cigarette to light the next one.  I never asked how much she smoked but on
one occasion when I had scheduled a longer session, she smoked a pack and a
half in less then two hours.  But that was later.  For now she sat there
smoking, still searching for words.  Finally, after lighting a second
cigarette from the tiny butt left from her first one, she made up her mind
to let it all out.  I had time to give her a close appraisal.  Her fingers
fascinated me.  As common in chain-smokers her fingers were brown from
nicotine stains and made me dream of sniffing and licking them.  She had
the stains on both hands and I could see she changed from left hand to
right hand often.  When she finally spoke up, it was in a very low voice,
husky not only from her smoking but also from deep emotion. 'I'm here
because my life is in shambles.  I cannot have a normal relationship with a
man.  I tried hard, but I drove them all away because I'm no good in bed. I
get horny easy enough, but I can't seem to please men and neither can I
have an orgasm, except when I do it on myself.  Most men are also disgusted
because I like to smoke during lovemaking and it turns them off.  But I
just can't help.  I need to smoke all the time, I tried to quit, but it
won't work.  Besides I'm comfortable as it is.' her speech had accelerated
towards the end and she had to catch her breath.  Her dark mood had
deepened, showing me that for whatever reason she had come to me, this
wasn't the bottom of it.  Something darker was lurking underneath the
surface.  I made a quick evaluation of the alternatives.  One possible
problem might be a hidden or at least suppressed fetish.  Then there was
the question of latent homosexuality.  But my intuition told me that apart
from the smoking during sex that may just be a consequence of her strong
addiction, none of the two was the real problem.  I had a hunch of a sexual
disorder caused by something back in her childhood or early teens.  I had
never dealt with such a problem and still hoped to be wrong.  Alas it
turned out I was right. 'You have told me you have already seen a therapist
without success.  I hope then you will not mind if I probe into your
childhood.' as response she stabbed out her cigarette and started to rise.
I went over to her and took her hand.  She didn't protest.  The strong aura
of smoke and the sour tar flavor of a very heavy smoker tickled my nose and
also made a certain part of my body itch.  Besides she was only inches away
and I could smell her breath on and off, one of the strongest aphrodisiacs
for me.  Works better than Viagra. 'Look here, there's no need to get
scared.  Whatever it is that's bothering you, I'm certain it has to do with
your childhood.  I promise I won't insist.  I am no therapist or hypnotist.
I'm here to listen and give advice, most of it no more then common sense.
But let me assure you, if you don't talk about whatever is troubling you,
there's no way we can sort things out.' She looked into my eyes and I saw
the tears in them.  Suddenly she collapsed into me, pressed her face into
my chest and started to sob.  I felt her firm breasts press into my belly.
Her shoulder felt marvelously soft and firm at the same time.  Her hair had
taken up the smoky smell from constant exposure that no shampoo can remove.
After a while her sobs faded out and I took a tissue from the box on my
desk and gently dapped her face dry.  I had found out long ago that often
these little gestures help women calm down and soften up.  And indeed she
smiled tentatively and sat down again.  I returned to my desk and waited
for her to deliver.  She took another cigarette and after she had filled
her lungs with smoke, she began to talk.  Almost all the time she spoke,
she followed the same routine.  A short but powerful drag, a deep down to
the toes inhale and then talk till there was no more smoke on her breath.
As soon as she had spent the smoke in her lungs she took another hit, so
she had smoke on her breath virtually all the time, stopping just to light
the next cigarette from the butt of the last one.  She tried not to waste
much, smoking each cigarette down to less then a third of an inch,
sometimes pinching the stub with her long nails that had burn marks on
their rims.  So she started into her biography. 'Well then, I will give it
a try.  Maybe you are right and I have at least to talk to someone about
what happened to me.  Things won't get worse from that alone.  You have
quite a reputation of being both reasonable and successful, so I'll give it
a try.' She paused for one of her high-speed drags and then went on. 'I had
a comparatively happy childhood till I was around twelve years old.  My
mother was a chain-smoker, with all the ugly things associated, like
coughing and wheezing and all that.  My father on the other hand never
smoked but was an alcoholic instead.  He sometimes made my mother drink
hard too, but she never took to constant drinking like my father.  To me
however they seemed like a happy couple and both were good to me, sober or
drunk.  I wasn't particularly fond of neither the smell on my mother from
her cigarettes, nor on my father from alcohol, but all in all we were
reasonably happy.  Apart from their particular problems, my father and my
mother where very fond of each other, much more in any case then a lot of
other couples judging from what I heard from classmates.  I knew they had
sex often, because I could hear them at night.  I didn't really mind.  My
mother had always talked freely about these matters to me and I had no
problems with the love making of my parents.  I even could predict when
another round was due because those were the occasions when my mother would
get drunk together with my father.  Those days my father, even as an
alcoholic, whom he admitted freely to be, was never actually drunk or at
least not showing it.  But I smelled the alcohol on his breath all the
time. Anyway, short of my twelfth birthday the world collapsed around me.
My mother died suddenly.  I don't recall what exactly had been wrong with
her.  All I know is the doctor said it was a hereditary defect that had
made a vein explode.  He said that her smoking hadn't done her good, but it
hadn't really made such a difference either.' She made a pause again to
fetch a fresh pack of cigarettes from her purse and light another
cigarette. This was one of the rare occasions she used a lighter. 'That
changed everything.  At first it seemed my father took it well.  He even
stopped drinking for a while and managed the funeral and all with skill. 
He even tried to comfort me as best as he could, taking me into his arms
often and fondling and kissing me, till I stopped crying for a while. 
Gradually my pain turned into a little cube of ice in my stomach.  Only
once he did something odd.  He asked me if I wanted to smoke.  I refused
indignantly.  Some of the girls in my age had started smoking, some even
with the consent of their parents, but I was horrified by the idea.  I had
always been determined never to smoke or drink like my parents.  He didn't
seem convinced.  He went on babbling about a lot of girls of my age being
smokers and that he had suspected me of having started to smoke, that he
wouldn't mind and so on, but I was firm on my position, so he left it at
that.  As the acute phase of funeral and condolences from all sorts of
peoples passed, my father however started to change.  At first it was only
that he was drinking more and more.  Now he was drunk every night.  He
still didn't drink till he fell under the table, but he was swaying on his
feet and his speech was blurred.  He made a habit out of watching me under
his brow when I sat at the kitchen table for dinner.  He didn't eat but
just drink directly from a bottle of bourbon.  The image of him sitting
there, hand on the bottle, brooding and furtively appraising me is burnt
into my mind forever.  He had also made a habit of inquiring daily about my
health, especially about the first signs of my maturation into a woman, my
menstruation.  It should have occurred to me what was on his mind, but I
was quite naive and even if, nothing could have prepared me for what he was
up to.  The first signs that something was really wrong with him showed
when he started to babble about how my mother could have still been alive
if it weren't for me.  Indeed I had overheard the doctor telling my father
that the particular defect in blood vessels that had killed my mother would
be aggravated by childbirth.  She may have had many more years to live if
she hadn't given birth to me.  Till my father had started to allude to this
fact, I hadn't given it that much thought, but gradually he implanted a
sort of guilt into me.  It was I who had somehow killed my mother at an
early age.  Intellectually I knew it was stupid and I had no reason to feel
guilty, but that didn't help much.  Maybe if he hadn't made me feel so
guilty I could have averted what came, but as it was, I didn't have enough
willpower.  I missed my mother badly, even more since my father had started
drinking more.' she paused again, crouched on her chair and smoked up her
cigarette in silence, gathering strength to go on.  I pretty much suspected
now what was to come and was both horrified and fascinated.  In a morbid
way I was aroused too.  I offered her a drink and she asked for a bit of
brandy, so I served her from my hidden bar.  I don't drink much myself but
I always take care to have anything my clients care for.  She gulped down
what I had served her, just a small quantity.  I refilled the glass, this
time a bit more.  She didn't protest but she left it untouched. 'Thank you.
That's good stuff.  I don't drink very often, as I've told you, but this is
very difficult for me.  I can use a little reinforcement.' then she
straightened up and went on with her story, never once pausing from
smoking. 'I had just had my first menstruation when my father started with
what he had on mind with me.  One night when I came down for dinner, I saw
a pack of cigarettes on the table, together with an astray and a lighter.
At first I thought my father had taken up smoking, maybe in a pervert way
of remembering my mom, but he didn't touch the cigarettes till I had
finished eating.  Suddenly he pushed the pack, lighter and ashtray over to
me and snapped "Smoke!".  I refused, but he kept on commanding me with the
single word.  As he saw I was still refusing him, he raised and slapped my
face.  I was stunned.  He had never done this to me.  I may have gotten a
slap or two when I was small, but I couldn't consciously remember ever
having been spanked, not even slapped by either parents.  My mind went
blank.  He kept shouting at me and then slapped me again.  I burst into
tears but in between sobs, I took a cigarette and lit it.  I puffed a bit,
avoiding to breath in any of the smoke.  He wasn't satisfied.  He
threatened me again and commanded me to inhale.  I was too shocked to
oppose and did what he told me.  I had never done this before, so I got
more smoke in my throat than was good for me.  I choked and coughed.  This
did soften him up somewhat, but only to shout at me to do it properly, drag
less and breathe in deeper.  I did what he told me and found that it made
me sick and dizzy, but I could just bare the burning sensation in my
throat. He made me smoke up the cigarette till the butt burnt at my
fingers. Whenever I would try to pause, he shouted at me to go on.  When I
was finished, my mouth had a foul taste and was burning, my throat was
afire and I was so sick, I threw up over the table.  This made him even
angrier and he forced me to clean up the mess, even if I could hardly stand
on my feet.  Then he left me alone.  Next day the same procedure.  This
time I didn't oppose.  I was too scared.  I smoked the cigarette.  It made
me sick like the day before, but at least I made it to the bathroom this
time.  He made me smoke a cigarette every night and gradually I became
accustomed to it.  Smoking still made me dizzy, but after the second night
I wasn't sick any more.  I grew accustomed to smoking a cigarette after
dinner.  I hated it but it turned into something pleasant nonetheless.  I
even began to look forward to it.  It was the beginning of a love hate
relationship that has lasted till today.' At this point the session ended
and as I had another client due, I had to send her home.  Her next session
began two days later.  As I wanted to see as much as possible of her
chain-smoking, curious if she would really chain over two or three hours, I
had scheduled her in the afternoon with open end. She came in as soon as
the last client had left.  I greeted her at the door and to my surprise she
hugged me lightly, pressing her delicious breasts into my belly again.  I
guess she did this to gather courage.  She already had a cigarette in her
hand, and for over three hours she smoked thru out, using the lighter only
twice, when she had to open a new pack of cigarettes.  The way she talked
her smoke into my face made me damn horny.  It was a good thing she
couldn't see my pants under my desk.  She asked for a drink right away,
saying that she would come to the core of her story and needed support. 
She gulped down quite a quantity, till she continued her story. 'I was
beginning to settle into the ritual, but he didn't stop at that.  Soon
enough he made me smoke more.  I had to smoke an additional one after
lunch, then another one in the afternoon and so on.  After a while, it may
have been a month, I began to get addicted.  I hated it, but I felt the
cravings in the morning.  I started to smoke more.  He didn't have to push
me any more.  I began to really love the sensation of smoke going down my
throat and the rush of nicotine.  Even what I had hated the most, the
bitter taste on my tongue turned into something I missed when I couldn't
smoke.  I was a smoker now.  I gave in to it also because I hoped it would
put off my father.  I couldn't be more wrong.  I had unfortunately accepted
to always sit with him after dinner, chaining a couple of cigarettes while
he drank his brandy.  As he didn't have to force me into anything anymore,
he was quite friendly to me, almost like in the old days.  Gradually he had
changed the place of his chair at the table, till after a while he wasn't
sitting opposite me anymore, but at my side.  Then he began to share his
attention between his bottle and me.  Each day a little more, he began to
stroke my knee, then my hips, my shoulders and finally, with his hand over
my shoulder, he touched my breast.  That was the moment I first realized
what he was up to.  I pushed his hand away, but he would try again.  Then
one night he seemed to have reached a resolution.  He didn't touch me. 
Instead he wanted me to drink brandy.  Knowing how brutal he had forced me
to smoke, I subsided.  I drank.  It hurt my throat and exploded in my
stomach.  I drank more.  Somehow the alcohol made me savor my cigarette
better, but I hadn't much time to think about that.  When he thought I had
enough, he yanked me up from my chair and almost dragged me to his bedroom.
I knew now where he had been driving at all the time.  I was paralyzed with
horror, unable to oppose any resistance.  He made it quick and merciless
that first time.  He whirled me on the bed with face down and my knees on
the floor.  He ripped away my panties, dropped his pants and penetrated me
from behind.  It felt like he had used a sword.  I passed out for a few
seconds.  He pumped on me for a while, causing waves of pain that spread
from my vagina all over my body.  That first time however he tormented me
only for about two or three minutes, even thou they seemed to be hours to
me.  He turned away and I went to my room.  That night probably turned me
into the chain-smoker I am today.  I wept all night and my only comfort was
smoking.  In the morning, after I had smoked up three packs of cigarettes
that night, I could hardly speak and I had a lousy taste in my mouth, but I
felt good somehow.  Chain-smoking thru the night had helped cope with the
rape my father had done on me.  Since that day I chain-smoke wherever and
whenever I can.  When I stay at home, I smoke five packs of cigarettes a
day.' she paused to drink and as she had emptied the glass I refilled it.
She had drunken quite a lot already, but I saw no sign of inebriation on
her.  I was hoping that that was it, a rape by her father, but she had more
to tell.  I was feverishly searching in the corners of my mind for a way to
talk her into a "sexual therapy" while she went on.  She looked more and
more attractive to me.  I longed to kiss those delicious lips, suck in the
tar from her tongue, breath in her smell and share her breath.  But I had
to concentrate on her narration. 'He left me alone a few days.  Then, after
a week, it was on a Friday, he made me drink again.  This time I wanted to
get real drunk, hoping I would be too drunk to feel much.  Unfortunately it
turned out I am the kind of drinker who doesn't get really drunk.  Oh yes,
I stagger on my feet and I can't speak straight any more after I had too
much, but even to achieve that I need to drink a lot, like maybe a quart of
bourbon or brandy.  I never ever passed out from too much drink or lost
memory.  So I had to endure the whole procedure again, drunk, but
conscious. This time he undressed me and made me lay flat on my back.  Then
he undressed himself and kneeling between my legs, he lifted my buttocks
with his hands and rammed his cock into my slit.  It hurt, but not as much
as the last time, but he tormented me for a quarter of an hour now.  It had
stopped hurting towards the end and only after I felt him spurt out, his
sperm on the sore inside of my vagina burnt like alcohol in a wound.  That
night I didn't stay awake, but I smoked a whole pack of cigarettes before I
was tired enough to fall a sleep.  Things went on like this a number of
Fridays.  I accepted the idea of being fucked by my own father.  It didn't
hurt anymore and somehow, when he had once stretched over me, crushing me
with his weight, it had almost felt good.  Something inside me still wanted
to love my father the way it had been before.  But still he wasn't
satisfied and finally he told me so.  He wanted me to show more passion. 
He accused me of being a dead fish in bed.  I can only explain this with
his alcoholism.  The alcohol must have clouded his mind so far that he
started to treat me like a lover and not the daughter he was raping.  I was
afraid of what he might do next if he wasn't satisfied.  Luckily, something
happened I wasn't expecting.  One night I had taken my cigarettes to his
bedroom and was smoking while he fucked me.  This seemed to increase his
passion and somehow, his intense excitement, his sweat on my skin, together
with the nicotine rush, triggered something in me.  I grew hot myself. 
When my first orgasm swept over me, it surprised him as much as it did me.
He was very pleased with me.  He never spoke to me while he was on me.  Now
he said that I was to smoke every time, just like my mother had.  That's
where my troubles started.  I had been forced into smoking and had grown so
addicted, I began to love smoking like nothing else.  Then he had raped me,
but somehow I had grown to like being fucked by him and we became lovers. I
have been his lover till he died of a stroke when I was twenty.  Funny,
when I come to think of it, we fucked but he never kissed me on my mouth,
not the French way.  I have found later on that I love French kisses, but
most of the guys I have dated weren't good kissers.  Maybe because I smoke
so much and my mouth smells bad from it.  I don't know.' She brooded for a
while, smoking in silence.  I watched her, admiring the plumes of smoke she
exhaled, getting hot and horny.  Then I decided to go on, lest I grew so
excited that my voice and hands would give me away. 'So that's it?' I asked
her. 'Unless you want me to tell you every detail of my love affair wit my
own father, like how many times he has fucked me up my ass or how often I
have ridden him, smoking a cigar, yes I think that's about it.' now that
she had shared her secret with me, some of the sadness in her eyes had
disappeared.  She looked refreshed somehow.  It was in the way she held her
head or her shoulders. 'Oh no, thank you.  I'm not the voyeur type.  I
prefer to do things, rather then watch them.' she blushed and I realized my
mistake.  'Oh, sorry, it wasn't meant that way.  I mean, you ARE a very
attractive woman and I AM only a man, but I certainly didn't mean to imply,
well, you know, unless...' I left it open.  My shy attitude had softened
her up again and she smiled at me.  'Oh, you don't need to excuse yourself.
I do understand.  I blushed because...' she needed two combined inhale
exhales to make up her mind, a stunt that made beads of sweat appear on my
forehead. 'I was wondering if you give also practical help....  Oh, this is
hard,...  how shall I...  All right.  Do you really think I am attractive?
To you?' I could only nod.  Emotion choked me.  'You see, I fell for you
the moment I set my foot in here.  It's just that after I've told you all
that and with all my smoking, are you still interested?' 'Yes' I could only
whisper.  She jumped up and came over to my side of the desk. 'Than what
are we waiting for?' she threw her arms around my neck and bent over me. 
We launched into an expedition to each other's tonsils.  Her smell and
taste drove me frantic.  I turned her around, she propped her self up with
her arms on my desk and I took her from behind.  In a matter of minutes we
were thru, both shuddered by the intensity of our orgasms. 'Wow, that was
wonderful.  Thank you' she kissed me softly.  'You gave me my life back.  I
hope this will last.  Right now I feel in heaven.  Tell me, do you think
this will work with other men?  I had lost hope for a long lasting
relationship, but now I know I can have good sex, maybe I got a chance. 
What do you think?' 'All right, I will give you some advice now.  That's
what you came for in the first place.  I cannot give you answers, only
possibilities as I see them.' she looked at me in expectation. 'First we
need to talk about what has happened to you.  I think that apart from the
smoking he forced you into, a topic you don't even want me to go into, the
rest isn't as bad as it my sound.  I mean what has really happened?  Your
father raped you, true, but there are worse things.  At least he was no
stranger.  Being raped by stranger may be ten times more humiliating.  Then
you told me you gradually became his lover.  I think that is the key to it
all.  We have all been conditioned to rule out certain forms of sexuality.
Incest is considered the worst sexual misbehavior by our standards, the
more so when it's consensual.  Now why is that so?  I don't want to go into
the morality of elder men loving teenagers and I have my own opinion about
the proper age for a teenager to get involved.  The issue is the incest. 
What's so wrong about that?  Well, ages ago, when it became evident that
children of closely related parents where often born with birth defects,
wise people ruled out incest as an immoral act.  There have been and may
still be primitive cultures where incest is permitted.  In the British
higher circles marriage between cousins still is widely accepted even thou
genetically it is dangerous.  So you must understand one thing.  Having sex
with you own father is not a crime in it self.  It has been banned for
reasons that have to do with genetics.  You did nothing wrong in enjoying
sex with your father.  If that would be possible, personally I would opt
for a removal of the law against incest, as long as it is consensual. 
There are thousands if not millions of people out there that live a
miserable hidden life because they have an ongoing affair with their
brother, sister, mother or daughter.  They do nothing wrong, harm nobody,
but they are outlawed.' I had talked myself into a bit of a frenzy.  I may
have overdone it, but this was in fact my honest opinion.  She seemed to
roll my words around in her head.  Her constant and greedy smoking made me
horny again.  She must have sensed this. 'I have to think about that for a
while, but you have already shown me a side of it I wasn't aware of.  What
do you think about another piece of medicine like the one you gave me
before?' she kissed me feverishly, inebriating me with both her beauty and
her excessive smoking.  She had a way of kissing me and then draw away just
enough to bring her cigarette to her mouth, inhale and then without
exhaling, go on with the French kiss.  The smoke would float slowly out of
her mouth and into mine.  Inevitably we landed on the carpet for round two,
this time the straight missionary affair, but lasting much longer.  I
fucked her thru a pack of cigarettes of hers that day.  She kept asking for
more "medicine", administered vaginal, oral and even anal.  To the end I
could hardly stand on my feet while she was as fresh as in the morning. 
She thanked me in many words and finally left.  Her walk had taken a
girlish attitude opposed to the slow slurp she had shown before.

   I met her again by chance two years later.  She was in the park with a
baby carriage in front of her, smoking a Marlboro 100.  Her chain-smoker's
manner had made way for an elegant style.  She looked radiant.  I joined
her and she told me how she had indeed after my so called treatment met a
young man and it worked out so well, she now was happily married to him and
had a daughter, the tiny cub sleeping in the carriage.  She told me how her
man had convinced her to smoke Marlboros and how she had found she now
could do with only two packs a day and had even given up smoking during
pregnancy.  Well, not entirely, but two a comparatively safe five to ten
cigarettes a day.  Her husband turned out to be a smoke fetishist and had
taught her to smoke with more glamour to better please him.  He would ask
her on and off to smoke cigars when making love to him and she was
contemplating to dump cigarettes and smoke only cigars, as she had found
some cheap but very good ones made of pipe tobacco, sweet and mellow.  Her
husband was favorable to the idea, as he found those cigars with plastic
tips made her look even sexier.  It made me content to hear she had found
happiness and I left her before her sight made me horny again.  The last
thing I wanted was to make something foolish or even intrude in her happy
little universe.  I gave her a long last look from a distance, a young
mother, rocking the baby carriage and elegantly smoking her cigarette.

   The End