Harriet Learns To Smoke And Fuck Ch11

Chapter Eleven:

How Many Times Exactly Did He Eat Your Cunt?

"Ah, Miss Danes!" Miss Poussée was clearly busy, as she dashed past in the corridor clutching a large bundle of dildos, apparently late for class. Harriet hardly had a chance to respond, before her teacher continued at speed: "Now, I know we are meeting next week, with your fuck-friends. But you mentioned that you were having trouble with some of those new smoking tricks. I think I may have found someone to help you. Come to me at lunchtime today, and I'll explain further."

"Oh, but Miss --"

But Miss Poussée was already charging down the corridor towards her next class. "Annabelle Durling!" she called out to another student, "You missed blowjob practice again this week! Once more, and you'll get detention!"

"Oh yes please, Miss," giggled the girl. "I like being restrained... I mean, detained..."

But Miss Poussée had turned the corner, and was gone.

"Hey, smoke-slut, what's up?" It was Janey, her slender form prancing happily down the corridor towards Harriet.

"Hey, piss-slut, yeah yeah, fucking -- you?" replied Harriet, as she lit a cigarette, took a wide open-mouth inhale, and blew a sharp cone of smoke upwards above her friend's head.

"Great! I've been visiting this amazing stamp exhibition every day after school. Totally fucking! Loads of stuff from the early part of the century: Canada while it was still independent, Panama while it still had a canal, Gaza before it was turned into a resort, Greenland before it was nuked. I think I'll go again tonight."

"Wow -- keen or what?" Harriet spoke through a mouthful of smoke.

"Well, actually, there's a steward there who eats really good cunt. Nothing quite like it: looking at stamps while having your pussy licked -- you should try it!"

"Jesus, Janey, you are so fucking weird!" Harriet took another drag, but let it drift gently upwards from her lips, triumphantly French-inhaling it into her nostrils.

"Kettle -- pot -- black -- whatever, bitch, you know what I mean? But anyway, am I coming for this try-out thing with Miss Poussée next week?"

"Yeah -- and Mikey will be there, so you'll get to fuck him too." Harriet tilted her head back so she could exhale through her nostrils directly at her friend.

"At last! I've heard so much about this guy. I was beginning to wonder if you'd made him up!" Janey grinned mischievously, as she waved away the cloud of smoke now billowing around her.

"Hey, fuck you, cunt!" Harriet replied amicably through an exhale. "Here's proof he's real -- look at this!" Harriet took a carefully folded sheet of paper from her vagina-themed handbag and opened it up so her friend could study it.

"Oh fuck!" exclaimed Janey. "That's so beautiful! Did he draw it?"

"Of course! Isn't he amazing?" Harriet grinned.

"Well, that's how to make your girl know she pleasures you, don't you think? I mean, look at the way your asshole gapes. Just fucked, I guess?"

Harriet nodded happily, giggling through a puffy nose-exhale.

"Oh, and the cum all over your face! It makes you look so beautiful!"

"Aw, thanks, sweetcunt. Now, about next week," -- she paused speaking to take another deep drag -- "I don't know what Miss Poussée wants us to do exactly when we meet, but knowing her she'll make her feelings clear."

"No shit! Why do you think I dropped Fucking after GCSEs?"

"Just do what she says, and I'm sure we'll work out a routine..."

*

As instructed, Harriet turned up at Miss Poussée's office at lunchtime that very day, smoking of course. "Ah, Harriet, good. Now, you said you were having trouble with those smoking tricks?"

"Yeah, I just can't get the hang of them. I mean, they're fucking and everything -- but I just don't know how to make them happen. And the girls on the videos are really hot, but they don't exactly provide tutorials. I mean, I've just about worked out how to do the French inhale thing -- here, watch this..." Harriet demonstrated, sucking deep on her cigarette to fill her mouth with smoke, before parting her lips, jutting her lower jaw outward slightly, and inhaling deeply through her nose so that a thick curtain of smoke flowed upwards like an upside-down waterfall.

Miss Poussée looked pleased. "Well done, Harriet! That's certainly a good start. But you're finding the rings harder?"

"Fucking impossible, Miss! And the snap inhales -- Jesus, how do they do them?" She shook her head grimly, exhaling her latest lungful of smoke through pursed lips.

"So -- what would you say to a live tutorial from Taylor herself?" the teacher asked, cocking her head cheekily.

Harriet looked momentarily confused, almost choking halfway through an inhale. "Uh... what? How? Are you serious?

The

Taylor? The one from the videos?" she stammered, releasing little puffs of smoke in the process. "I mean, is she even still alive? Those clips were seriously old!"

"Well, Harriet... I've been doing a bit of research in the archives, and I enlisted the help of a friend of mine at the Ministry of Fucking, and -- guess what? Taylor is now some fifty years older than in those videos -- but alive and well, and living in Australia. And, when I contacted her and explained the situation, she agreed to meet with you online, to see if she could help."

Harriet's stomach leapt into her throat, and this time she genuinely choked on her smoke. "Fuck... Jesus fuck... Really? I mean, such a great smoker, such an amazing woman -- help me? Oh Jesus, Miss Poussée, I couldn't, I mean, I wouldn't dare to inconvenience her, I mean, it would be such a great honour, she's such a hero of mine, I just... fuck..." Harriet's inchoate remonstrations petered out rather unconvincingly, and she was left muttering in awe and wonder, even forgetting to take another drag: "Fuck... fuck..."

"Well, that's settled, then. I will arrange a few times for the two of you to meet online -- perhaps at the weekends, so you don't miss any lessons? She said she used to train the other smokers on her website, and she would be happy to help you out. Though she said she was sorry that she doesn't smoke anymore..."

"Oh, Miss Poussée, that doesn't matter! It would be such an honour. I'm sure she'll be amazing!

*

A week later, Harriet and Michael knocked on the door to Miss Poussée's office. "Miss Poussée, this is Michael Didcock, my fiancé. He's got a big dick."

"Lick my pussy, Michael," nodded Miss Poussée courteously. "Nice to meet you."

"M' cock, ma'am," replied Michael, "likewise."

"Harriet tells me smoking makes you hard," continued the teacher, as Harriet began fishing her lighter and packet of smokes from her handbag.

"Well, not me smoking, ma'am. I don't smoke. But watching smoking does it to me, so I can't resist fucking Harriet when she lights up -- see?" Michael pointed to the growing bulge in his trousers, as Harriet dangled a Marlboro 100s "red" from her lips and flicked her lighter.

"Well, show me what you've got, Michael," instructed the teacher. Michael wrestled his cock out of his fly, and it was already stiff as a rod, twitching gently as it expanded in response to the gorgeous sight of his fiancée's hollowing cheeks, followed by the swirling ball of smoke in her mouth disappearing suddenly down her throat. Miss Poussée was clearly impressed. "Well! Would you show me a nice smoking blowjob then, please, Harriet?"

"Sure thing, Miss Poussée!" responded Harriet, as she knelt before Michael, took a second deep drag of her cigarette, and exhaled through her nostrils.

"Hang on a minute, Harriet!" interrupted Miss Poussée. "What was that for?"

Harriet was puzzled. "Uh... what?"

"That -- that exhale, it just went nowhere."

"Uh... yeah? I was just taking a nice drag for myself..."

"No no, Harriet: you are rehearsing for a competition. If you do a smoky blowjob as part of your act, every single moment of it must be for the pleasure of the audience and, most importantly, the judges. No drags 'just for yourself', please: every single move must contribute to seducing the viewers!"

Oh fuck, Miss Poussée, you are so fussy

, thought Harriet -- but she did not dare say so out loud. Instead she took another drag and slowly let it out in a series of little cloudy puffs as she licked up and down the underside of Michael's shaft.

"Ah, that's more like it, Harriet!" said Miss Poussée in an encouraging tone. "Good: now show me what else you can do with smoke and cock together. Harriet dutifully continued her blowjob, pulling out all the stops to impress her teacher: blowing smoke up and down Michael's cock, with or without licking, kissing or nuzzling; exhaling through her nose while swallowing his shaft; letting him fuck her face while a load of smoke swirled casually in her mouth; sucking her drool back into her mouth at the same time as inhaling. Miss Poussée appeared pleased -- and so was Michael, whose cock grew stiffer as his moans grew more expressive and his eyes rolled upwards in burgeoning ecstasy.

It was then that there was a knock at the door. "Ah, this must be your friend!" said Miss Poussée, before calling out: "Come in!"

It was indeed Janey. "I'm really sorry I'm late, Miss Poussée: Madame Grossebite kept me back after French class, because I -- oh my fucking God, it's you!" Janey froze in the doorway, mouth agape, staring in disbelief at Michael.

Michael and Harriet both turned to look at Janey, and Michael gasped in recognition. "Oh! The girl at the exhibition!"

"What? I didn't know you knew each other!" exclaimed Harriet.

"Nor did I!" replied Janey. "We met at this stamp exhibition I was telling you about --"

"And I was one of the gallery assistants," added Michael.

"And this boy ate my cunt! But I never found out his name," explained Janey reassuringly, gesturing at Michael. "So you're Hat's Mikey! Fucking!"

At the mention of Michael having eaten Janey's cunt, Harriet could not help feeling a tiny twinge of annoyance -- though she knew better than to admit it. She was an Enlightened girl, living in Enlightened times, where sexual possessiveness and jealousy were frowned upon, and quite unbecoming of a slut like her. All the same, the thought of her fiancé enjoying her best friend's cunt -- even potentially as much as he enjoyed hers -- just made her feel unaccountably uneasy, even to the point of forgetting to taking another drag of her cigarette.

However, Miss Poussée was in no mood to waste time: "Well, now that you've all introduced yourselves, maybe it might be a good idea for me to check out your skills, Janey. Would you like to eat Harriet out for me while she smokes -- or perhaps you'd prefer Michael to lick your pussy first?"

"Oh, Michael is a first-class cunt-licker, Miss Poussée!" enthused Janey -- and Harriet could swear she gave Michael a surreptitious wink. "I'd love to have that experience again!"

Harriet was finding herself feeling more and more ill at ease with every passing moment watching Janey and Michael reacquaint themselves. Michael, Harriet could swear, was not looking at her anymore, but seemed to be unable to stop grinning stupidly at Janey, while saying, "Sure thing, Janey. I remember the taste of your cunt -- out of this world!"

'Out of this world' -- fuck, Mikey, what are you on about?

thought Harriet to herself.

What's wrong with my cunt? Not tasty enough for you?

But she said none of these things, summarily banishing her incipient jealousy from her mind.

"Why don't you lie on the ground, Michael," instructed Miss Poussée, "so Harriet can keep sucking your cock while Janey sits on your face?"

As Harriet crouched to blow a lungful of smoke over her now-recumbent fiancé's cock, she looked up to watch Janey's pussy lower itself and splay generously over Michael's face. Janey's neat dark bush was already gleaming with cunt-dew, and her long meaty fuck-lips draped themselves generously over Michael's mouth. The boy slurped eagerly, his nose pressed hard against the girl's puckered asshole as her juices begin to dribble down his chin. He groaned with pleasure: "Oh yeah, I remember this taste! Fuck yeah!"

Whether consciously or otherwise, Harriet was determined that her fiancé should derive more pleasure from her smoky blowjob than from eating Janey's admittedly glorious cunt, and so she redoubled her efforts, lowering her mouth as far down Michael's shaft as she could, till his bulging glans pressed up against the back of her throat. She really was not a natural deepthroater, but she was in competitive -- and, though she would not have admitted it, green-eyed -- mode, determined that Janey should not steal the limelight; and so she began to violently skull-fuck Michael's huge cock, gagging and gurgling and spouting huge payloads of smoke and spit as she did. Sadly, though, much to her chagrin, Michael seemed not to be reacting to her superlative efforts; instead he continued to slobber with increasing delight at Janey's dripping gash. "Oh yeah, so fucking tasty!" he groaned. "I'd forgotten how good you were!"

Janey was not holding back either. "Oh yes, Michael, that's it, deep in there, fuck my slit with that hot tongue of yours! she squealed. "You were always so good at eating cunt!"

'Always so good'?

Suspicion grew in Harriet's breast.

How long have you known him, bitch? How many times exactly did he eat your cunt?! I mean, how many times did you visit this fucking philatelic exhibition? And Mikey, didn't you have a fucking job to do at this gallery -- or did you spend all fucking day eating out the customers?!

She redoubled her efforts, dry-heaving and quacking noisily to attempt to regain Michael's attention, violently ramming his hard cock into her throat so that great clouds of smoke were forced from her mouth and nose, and her eyes watered with the sting and the pain.

"That's it, Michael!" Janey was whimpering. "Let me grind my cunt all over your handsome man-face again. Oh fuck!"

'Handsome man-face'? How dare you call him handsome, bitch?!

Harriet squirmed with unspoken, and increasingly unhinged, resentment.

And how is that relevant anyway? You're here to fuck him, slut, not to be attracted to his looks! And even if he was handsome, what the fuck is it to you anyway?

"Oh Michael, this is just like old times," squealed Janey, "eating my cunt like you used to!"

'Old times'? What old times?

Harriet's suspicions were now boiling over.

And 'like you used to'? Used to fucking what?! So it wasn't just the exhibition then, was it? You two have been fucking behind my back, haven't you? How long has this been going on?

"That's it, Mikey, I'm gonna fucking come, Mikey!" screamed Janey.

Harriet gasped with fury. Her jealousy was beyond restraint now and, Enlightenment or no Enlightenment, she could not control herself any longer. "NOBODY CALLS HIM 'MIKEY' EXCEPT ME -- FUCKING

NOBODY

!" she screamed. "THAT'S

MY

NAME FOR HIM, CUNT!" And then she did what many a jealous woman with a cock in her mouth has done in such circumstances: she bit. Perhaps not hard enough to do any lasting damage, but certainly with enough force to elicit a massive yelp of pain from Michael. His pussy-licking ceased, and he gasped as he looked downward to see Harriet's red, raging face snarling up at him.

Harriet was not sure with whom she was angrier: her fiancé who, she was convinced, had been secretly betraying her with another woman, possibly for a very long time; or her best friend who was clearly trying to sabotage her engagement. She screamed wildly: "NO! THAT'S ENOUGH! WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING FROM ME, YOU TWO? DON'T THINK I CAN'T TELL! HOW DARE YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS?!"

Three shocked disbelieving faces gaped at her: Janey, her cheeks still red and flushed from her now-frustrated orgasm, lips trembling from a mixture of interrupted pleasure and shock; and Michael, his face still glistening with Janey's cunt-cream, his mouth now wide open in pain and disbelief; and finally, Polly Poussée. "Miss Danes!" she bellowed. "What on earth do you think you're doing? How dare you behave like this -- and to your friends?!"

But Harriet was past caring. She had dropped her cigarette -- and she cared not where, nor even whether it would set the whole room alight. Instead she was pointing a trembling hand at the two presumed traitors and declaring, "They aren't my friends. Not anymore! They've been deceiving me. DOUBLE-CROSSERS! CHEATS! ASSASSINS!!!" She leapt up and, sobbing inconsolably, ran naked from the room, slamming the door behind her.

*

"Cuntling, are you all right?" Genevieve Danes called through her daughter's bedroom door. Harriet had, as far as she could tell, come home early, charged upstairs in tears without saying a word, slammed her bedroom door, and refused even to come down for dinner. What's more, Michael hadn't come home either.

"I don't want to talk to anyone!" Harriet shouted back.

There was a long pause. "Are you sure you won't have some dinner?"

"No."

"Want me to eat your cunt or something -- make you feel better?"

"NO!"

"Or lick your tits? You always used to like that..."

"NO!!"

"Or dildo your arse?"

"I SAID, FUCKING NO!!!"

"OK, cunty-pie... If you change your mind, you know you can talk to me any time." Genevieve Danes padded slowly back down the stairs.

Harriet sat on her bed, smoking and weeping, her eyes red, her makeup streaked, her hair dishevelled, her jaw trembling with rage and humiliation. At first her primary emotion had been self-righteous anger:

How dare they go behind my back like this?

she seethed. But as the afternoon had worn on, she began to feel other things. First, incipient doubt: had they really been cheating on her? Or had she misinterpreted things? After all, Janey did have a tasty cunt -- Harriet knew that from personal experience, and she knew that lots of people liked eating it. And Michael did work in galleries, and frequently fucked girls there -- of course he did: he had often told her about them.

So why shouldn't he fuck Janey if he feels like it...?

Second, confusion: what was this emotion which had overtaken her so suddenly and so violently? Was this what she had read about in history books -- "jealousy", that base impulse which had been so prevalent in the Olden Days, but which the Enlightenment had so successfully banished? Jealousy, possessiveness, exclusivity -- these were things which Enlightened girls were not supposed to feel, for they were accessories of that root of all evil: "love". How had she fallen so comprehensively for the wiles of the Evil One?

And so, Harriet encountered a third emotion, perhaps for the first time in her life: shame. Humiliation. Had she allowed herself to fall in "love" with Michael? And with Janey? Had she presumed to possess them, to own them, to limit them, to limit their pleasure, to limit their freedom to fuck who they wanted when they wanted -- that freedom which was the root and heart of all that was good, not just about the Enlightenment, but about the Gospel itself, and which she had no right to curtail in others?

Oh God, forgive me!

She knelt on the floor and prayed, tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing her heart out until her throat was hoarse, her eyes were bloodshot, and her heart ached. And as she prayed, she chain-smoked her "reds" hard, deep, mindlessly, continuously, desperate to staunch the pain of her own shame, fucking her lungs with drag after drag of hot thick smoke.

Harriet was not sure when she at last dozed off, still clothed, lying on the floor of her room, with the lights still on. She woke sometime in the middle of the night dreaming crazy nicotine-fuelled dreams about smoking and fucking and Michael's dick and Janey's cunt and Miss Poussée screaming at her. She found that her hand was between her legs; she lit a cigarette and jerked off as she smoked, fast and hard and unceremoniously, moaning through the dull ache of her shame, before stubbing the butt out in her overflowing stinking tit-shaped ashtray and collapsing in another exhausted stupor on the floor.