Story: Witchy Wife – Part 1 – Smoking Fetish Story

“Do you have to smoke in bed?”

It wasn’t so much as a question as it was a whine.

As a compromising gesture, Margie turned her head and
exhaled toward her lamp.

She dumped her ash in the ashtray on her nightstand

and leered at her husband. “Would you have rather we

didn’t make love?”

Rick sighed and shook his head. That was always her
argument. She had to have a cigarette after they made
love. Who made that rule he wondered. To make

matters worse, it tortured him to know it wasn’t always
like this.

Margie didn’t smoke when he met her two years ago.

Of course he knew she was an ex-smoker, but it never
crossed his mind that she would start again.

She went back to smoking after the fender bender.
That was eight months ago. She had tired to hide it

from him at first as if she thought he didn’t have a nose

on his face. She confessed quickly after he confronted

her and promised that she’d quit.

Several weeks passed and she still hadn’t quit. There
was an attempt if you could call it one. She lasted all of
five hours. It wasn’t so bad at first. She was actually
polite about her smoking in the beginning. She’d go
out side on the deck or out in the garage. But after a
while that became too inconvenient. And then it
dawned on her. This was her house. The judge had
given it to her when she divorced her first husband.

She’d smoke where and when she wanted and Rick could just
get used to it.

Margie cornered eyed her husband as he stared at the

TV, pretending not to pout. He was a pain in the ass

and a pompous shit, but he was great in bed and he was
hers.

They were one of those May/December couples. She
was 49 and he was 22. He liked older women and she
had a thing for younger guys. They had met on Internet
and it was love at first download. If it weren’t for his
ant-smoking sentiments he would be perfect. But she

could change that, couldn’t she?

The truth of the matter was that Margie could change a

lot of things. If she really put her mind to it she could
change her husband’s bad attitude. Needless to say

there were the conventional approaches such as behavior
therapy and hypnosis but they were too unreliable.

Margie held the Benson & Hedges to her lips and

pulled hard on the filter. The smoke swelled in her
mouth as it awaited transport to her lungs. She could
cast a spell on her young stud, of that she was sure.

After all, all she was a witch, just like her mother and
her mother before her.

Being a witch is nothing one talks about in polite

company. There was too much misconception of the
art for that. The black magic that resided in her heart
was not on loan from Satan. It was an unexplained gift

of sorts that genetically linked it self to the women in

her family. Some people claim to be psychic. They
receive visions. Others are psychokinetic and have the
ability to move objects with their minds. Margie’s gift
was much more unusual. She had the ability to enact
physical transference. In the old days the called people

like her shape shifters if they weren’t burning them at the
stake.

Rick had no idea. How do you tell the person you love
that you’re a shape shifter? For that matter, how do you

tell a person you love that kissing them is like kissing

an ashtray? Margie stubbed out her cigarette and lit
another one. That last thought hadn’t sat well with her,

the pompous pig.

“What? You lit another one? What’s your problem
Margie? Look at all the smoke in the room. I’ve got to
breathe this shit you know. If you won’t quit for your self,
maybe you should think about quitting for me. You

know what they say about second hand smoke.”

Margie was incensed and ready for battle. She didn’t
turn toward the lamp. This exhale landed hard against

her husband’s face who countered with waving hands and a
mock cough.

Perhaps she had inhaled too deeply or maybe it was just
because her lungs were wearing out from all her years of
smoking but a cough eruputed from deep inside her and
spewed phlegm against Rick’s bare chest.

He jumped out of bed in disgust and retreated to the

bathroom where he could clean him self off. He

wondered if it this was worth it as he made his way

inside and grabbed a towel. Margie was beautiful as

far as older women were concerned and she was a great lover
but was it worth living inside a cloud of her thick smoke?

He climbed back in bed and waited for Margie to

apologize but the apology never came. “You hacked all
over me. Don’t you care? Doesn’t that bother you? Do

you have any idea how sick you sound when you cough?”

Margie responded with a blank stare so he continued.

“I love you Honey. I really do. But your cigarettes are
killing our marriage and they’re killing you. I’m not
stupid you know. I can count the cigarettes in your
carton. I know you’re smoking almost four packs a day.
Don’t you think that’s a lot? Can’t you at least consider

cutting down?”

“You have no idea what it’s like to be addicted to

cigarettes,” said Margie. “You have no right to talk to
me about quitting. I hate it when a person who has

never smoked one fucking cigarette in his life tells me I

should quit. That would be like a rock telling you that

you should quit breathing air.”

“Look, I’m sorry I started this. I don’t want to fight about

it, OK?

“No,” said Margie. “Its not OK. I’ve had it up to here with
all your smart ass comments about my smoking. I
wish you knew how I felt when I smoked. I wish you

knew how good the smoke feels inside my lungs when I wake
up in the morning and how that cigarette of the morning
stabs my chest like a knife.”

“Then why do you do it if it hurts so much?” asked Rick.

“You’re right, I don’t know what it feels like to be

smoker. I’m not addict, but I’m smart enough to know

I’d want to quit if I was walking around like you, wheezing
and coughing and hacking your lungs out.”

Margie couldn’t help but smile at her husband as an

idea slowly emerged. She lit another cigarette and
offered it to Rick. “Smoke it,” she said. “Smoke it if you

love me.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not going to smoke that. What’s

wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me. I just thought it would be
great if you could see this habit from my point of view. I
wish you knew what I felt like when I smoked. I’d like to
see you get really addicted- just like me. And then I’d

like to see your face when I asked you to quit.”

Rick should his head in disbelief as he turned out his lamp
and lay down without kissing her.

Margie leaned back against her pillows and smoked as she
thought about all the fun that probably came along

with having a penis. She reached down between her

thighs and felt her vagina, still wet and sticky from her

night with Rick. She pushed two fingers inside and

wondered how Rick would feel if their situations were
reversed.