WARNING–This story is extremely dark, maybe my darkest
yet. Don’t read it if you have a weak stomach. Remember,
you have been warned. As I said, I was extremely turned on
while writing this story. I hope it shows. Thanks for the
inspiration, Holme. You’re a lucky man.
It was New Year’s Eve, moments before midnight. All over
the world people were celebrating, looking forward to the
exciting new year ahead. Many waited with nervous
anticipation, wondering what the new millennium had in
store for them. Guys too drunk to stand were embracing
their wives or girlfriends, waiting to plant a big wet one
at the stroke of twelve. It was a time of joy and renewed
hope. As the clock struck midnight, signaling the dawn of a
new era, Sarah leaned her head over her toilet and vomited
violently. She noticed a bright crimson streak mixed in
with her vile bodily fluids. Her stomach began to retch and
she tried to vomit again. There was nothing left to puke
up, but her body kept going through the motions. Sharp
spasms of pain shot through Sarah’s chest. She could no
longer keep food down. All she had eaten in the past
twenty-four hours had been a bowl of broth. She had not
eaten solid food for several weeks. She knew that Dr.
Richards would have to start feeding her intravenously
before long. She sat, spread-eagle, on her bathroom floor
and leaned her head back on the edge of her bathtub. She
was too weak to stand up. She took a long drag from her
ever-present Marlboro 100 and inhaled deeply. A smile
managed to find its way to Sarah’s face as she felt the
smoke fill her nearly dead lungs. Sarah was a grotesque
sight. Her limbs had become thin and bony. Her face had a
skeletal appearance. Her eye sockets were dark and sunken.
But her skeletal frame was a sharp contrast to her large,
pregnant belly and her round, swollen breasts which were
filled with Sarah’s nicotine-saturated mother’s milk. At
least Sarah still had all of her thick, dark hair. She had,
of course, received no treatment for her lung cancer. And,
because of the baby she was carrying, she could not even
take painkillers for her now-constant pain. It didn’t
matter to Sarah. She was all too happy to let nature take
its course. In fact, she did her best to hasten the spread
of the malignant tumor growing in her right lung. She was
smoking more than ever. For Sarah there was no nervous
anticipation. She knew exactly what the new year had in
store for her. She knew it would be the last she would ever
see. Her fate was already determined and she was helpless
to do anything about it, even if she wanted to. While the
rest of the world had been preparing for the dreaded Y2K
bug, Sarah had concerned herself with nothing but smoking.
As she inhaled more smoke into her lungs she thought, “My
New Year’s resolution is to smoke more.” Even for Sarah,
this would not be easy, as she was currently smoking more
than a full carton per day. Sarah’s daily routine consisted
of smoking and nothing more. She rarely slept more than an
hour or two at a stretch. What little sleep she did manage
was always restless and frequently interrupted with
cigarette breaks. She couldn’t eat; she couldn’t leave her
house. There was literally nothing for Sarah to do all day
but smoke. And that’s exactly how she wanted it. It was
truly the realization of Sarah’s fondest dream. A dark
smile crossed her face as she thought, “I was going to
resolve to lose some weight this year. I won’t have to
worry about that now.” Sarah took another deep drag from
her cigarette and held the smoke in her lungs. She decided
her nausea had passed for the time being and she pulled
herself up from her bathroom floor with the help of her
walker. She could no longer walk on her own. Her lungs
simply could not provide enough oxygen to her body to give
her the strength she needed to support herself. Breathing
had become a true struggle for Sarah. Her breaths had
become nothing more than a series of short, raspy gasps. In
addition to the cancer in her right lung, she had advanced
emphysema in her left lung, making that lung virtually
useless for breathing. If her original right lung had not
been replaced by her mother’s, Sarah would probably already
be dead from emphysema. Ironically, Lori’s lung had
prolonged Sarah’s life, contrary to Sarah’s plans. But
Sarah was happy. She would get to experience the lung
cancer that had killed her mother. She was living out her
ultimate fantasy. Her lungs hurt constantly. She needed the
assistance of a walker, for short distances and, for longer
distances, the electric wheelchair she had received from
her father in anticipation of this “special” time in
Sarah’s life. It would not be long before she would be
unable to support herself even with a walker and she would
be confined to her wheelchair. Sarah knew that, eventually,
she would lose control of all her bodily functions and
would become permanently bedridden, all because of her
cigarettes. As she looked forward to the days ahead, Sarah
became moist and badly wanted to masturbate, but she just
didn’t have the energy. Sarah managed to struggle to the
couch in her living room where she sat down and strapped
her oxygen mask to her face. The walk to the living room
had left her gasping for air. She took a deep hit of
oxygen, removed her mask, and lit up a fresh Marlboro 100.
She inhaled the smoke as deeply as she could with what
little lung capacity she had left. She alternated hits of
oxygen with deeply inhaled drags from her cigarette until
she was able to breathe on her own again. She finally
turned off her oxygen tank, lit up a fresh unfiltered Pall
Mall and placed it into the tracheotomy hole in her neck.
She literally breathed the Pall Mall smoke into her lungs
with each breath she took, even as she continued to smoke
the Marlboro 100 between her fingers. This is what Sarah’s
life had been reduced to. This is what her smoking had done
to her. This is what she had done to herself. She would
never leave her home again. She would never walk on her own
again. She would become more and more dependent on her
oxygen tank until, eventually, even the oxygen would be of
no help to her. There was little that she could do other
than smoke and wait to die. But, for Sarah, that was
enough. She had often fantasized about finishing her life
this way, just the way her mother had. The one thing Sarah
could still do was the only thing she had ever really
wanted to do. Smoking was the only thing Sarah had ever
felt a true passion for. That passion was now stronger than
ever. Sarah had never been happier. The only question left
was whether her baby would survive and whether Sarah would
live to see it. There was a part of Sarah, a tiny part,
that wanted to survive, that wanted to raise and protect
her baby. This was the natural motherly instinct in Sarah
which had long been dormant–fueled, no doubt, by the
overabundance of female hormones raging in her body. But
Sarah herself was unsure of the real reasons behind these
feelings. Was it that she really wanted to raise and
protect her baby, or was it that she just wanted to live
long enough to see her baby become a cigarette smoker?
Sarah honestly did not know the answer. But the more she
thought about her child smoking a cigarette, inhaling smoke
into its tiny, developing lungs, the moister her panties
became. Suddenly Sarah realized how wonderful her mother,
Lori, must have felt watching Sarah smoke as a child. How
completely thrilling it must have been for her parents to
watch her became a pack-a-day smoker at the age of three.
No wonder they were always running off to their bedroom. In
the midst of Sarah’s maternal daydream she began to cough.
Her body shook from the force of her hacking coughs. Each
successive cough became more painful. She began to hack up
phlegm from deep within her lungs. Much to her joy and
increased arousal, she noticed, for the first time, tiny
specks of bright red mixed in with her murky phlegm. She
was coughing up blood from her lungs. Sarah’s lungs were
beginning to fall apart before her very eyes. Sarah’s
maternal feelings disappeared entirely as her darker and
far more powerful side took complete control of her. No
matter how exciting it would be to watch her baby become a
smoker, Sarah knew, deep in her heart, that it would be far
more arousing to be deprived of the opportunity ever to see
her baby alive because of her smoking. Sarah realized
beyond any doubt that she wanted to fall victim to lung
cancer more than she wanted to became a mother. No
sacrifice could be too great for Sarah’s beloved
cigarettes. She loved them more than life itself. She
wished with all her heart that she could fill her lungs to
maximum capacity with rich Marlboro 100 smoke and die on
the spot, without ever exhaling, from the cancer in her
lungs. How wonderfully poetic it would be to die with the
smoke from her last drag trapped in her lungs. As she
continued her uncontrollable coughing and looked at the
tiny spots of blood on her nightgown, she reached her
fingers deep into her moist pussy and brought herself to an
glorious climax. She clamped her legs tightly around her
wrist, with her fingers still buried in her moistness. Her
coughing finally subsided. She was filled with a sense of
complete satisfaction. She laid her head back on her pillow
and closed her eyes. As Sarah felt herself drifting into
sleep, the doorbell rang. Mark and Mitzi had gone to bed
hours ago. Sarah cursed as she pulled herself up off of the
couch with the help of her walker. She grabbed a cigarette
and lit it as it dangled from her lips. Slowly, she
shuffled to the front door. She opened the door to the
familiar face of Dr. Richards, her uniquely talented
physician, sometimes lover, and fellow lung damage
enthusiast. “Happy New Year, Doc!” said Sarah, exhaling
smoke into Dr. Richards’ face with each syllable she
uttered. “Sarah, I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I
have news I thought you would want to hear right away,”
said Dr. Richards. “Happy New Year, by the way.” Sarah felt
a tingling sensation, like a kid about to open a Christmas
present. She coughed deeply, inhaled fresh Marlboro smoke
deep into her lungs, and said, “You always know how to
brighten up my day, Dr. Richards. Sit down.” “Thanks, but
I’ll stand,” said the doctor, feeling the sudden erection
growing in his pants. This “problem” seemed to occur
whenever he laid eyes on Sarah. Seeing her with a walker,
nearly incapacitated, with a freshly lit Marlboro 100
dangling from her lips, pumping a constant flow of nicotine
into her pregnant belly, Dr. Richards felt an unusually
intense stiffness. “Sarah, I have a couple of items which I
hope will be good news for you. First of all, I have
carefully studied the ultrasound pictures of your baby. The
baby is somewhat underdeveloped, so it was difficult to
determine the sex. But, after enlarging the images and
looking at the fetus from several different angles, I can
say with certainty that it is definitely a girl. She
appears to be healthy, despite being underdeveloped, which
is amazing, considering your condition.” “That is good
news, Doc,” said Sarah. “I am doing my best to keep her
supplied with nicotine.” She took an exceptionally long
drag from her cigarette, inhaled deeply, and patted her
belly. “My father will be happy to have another female
smoker in the family. She will be my legacy.” “I hope she
will take after her mother,” said Dr. Richards. “What’s
your other good news?” asked Sarah. “Well…you’d better
prepare yourself.” Dr. Richards had to shift to adjust the
still-growing bulge in his trousers. “I am happy to give
you this news on New Year’s Day, Sarah,” said the doctor,
feeling as if his penis would suddenly explode. “I know
this is something you have been hoping for.” Sarah
triple-pumped her Marlboro 100 and held all of the smoke
deep in her lungs. “Sarah, your cancer has spread,” said
the doctor. “It’s now in both of your lungs. You are a
double lung cancer victim.” Sarah moaned as she felt an
immediate, intense arousal. She placed her hand to her
crotch and started to rub. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she
moaned in her deep, throaty smoker’s voice. “I’m so happy.
I couldn’t wish for anything better.” She tried to support
herself with one hand on her walker while reaching her
other hand down to masturbate. She gave a beckoning look to
Dr. Richards. “I need you, Doc.” Dr. Richards was more than
happy to oblige. He picked up Sarah in his arms. Her
emaciated body seemed as light as a feather. He started
walking toward her bedroom. “I guess my lungs are not
Y2K-compliant,” said Sarah with a smile. “To be precise,”
said the doctor, “your lungs are fucked up beyond all
recognition.” Sarah started rubbing her pussy while
inhaling smoke as deeply as possible into her glorious
fucked up lungs. “I love it when you talk like that,” she
said, moaning, and squirming in Dr. Richards’ arms. “God, I
love my black lungs,” she said, wheezing heavily. “Tell me
how dirty they are, Doc.” “Your lungs are black, brittle,
useless pieces of shit, Sarah. Your alveoli are a pathetic
joke; they are clogged with foul-smelling, tarry slime. If
I could rip your chest open, the stench from your lungs
would make most people vomit. The very sight of your lungs,
sliced open, would cause grown men to pass out.” Dr.
Richards placed his mouth over Sarah’s and french-kissed
her. He inhaled deeply as Sarah exhaled her lung waste into
him. “I wish I could suck some of your cancer into my own
lungs,” he said. “I wish our lungs would stop working at
this very moment and we could both drop dead from lung
cancer.” Sarah was already starting to cum. She was moaning
deeply and rubbing herself furiously. Dr. Richards hurried
to Sarah’s bedroom and laid her on her bed. He literally
ripped off her nightgown, pulled off his pants, and jumped
on top of her, thrusting his rock hard penis inside of her.
He was ready to ejaculate into his smoky goddess. “I
started coughing up blood today,” said Sarah, moaning
deeply. With this, the good doctor shot several long
streams of white hot semen deep into Sarah’s vagina. It
seemed to keep coming and coming, like in one of those
X-rated movies that you just know are fake. Sarah had
multiple intense orgasms. She came over and over again. Her
body shuddered with ecstasy. Finally the horny couple,
exhausted, lay back on Sarah’s bed. Sarah patted her
swollen belly and lit a fresh cigarette. “God, Doc,” she
said. “I don’t think it can get any better than that.”
As Dr. Richards realized that he had just fucked a woman
with cancer in both lungs–and not just any woman, but
Sarah, the sexiest smoker he had ever seen–he knew that he
had achieved his ultimate fantasy. “You’re right, Sarah,”
he said. “It will never get better than this.” He gently
nuzzled his head up under her armpit and pressed his ear
against the side of her rib cage. He listened to the
beautiful sound of Sarah’s labored breathing as Sarah
finally drifted off to sleep.
Story written by Kool guy