Smoking for the Headteacher

"I'm just a social smoker, mum," I responded. "A few of my friends only smoke when we're out together."

"That's what they tell you. Trying to make it sound like they have a choice."

"Of course they have a choice."

"Once you're properly addicted, Pippa, that's when the real problems start. Trust me, I've been smoking for twenty-five years! It only gets harder and harder to quit."

"I won't let myself get to that stage."

My mother laughed. "Oh, Pippa."

"What?" I scowled, angry now.

"The only reason you've come to me now is because you're fed up waiting for me to leave the house so you can smoke?"

I folded my arms and sulked like a child. I had no worthy response to that.

"My advice is quit now, before you really do become a slave to the nicotine," my mother exhaled.

"Like you are?"

"Exactly! That's why I asked why you wanted to learn how to smoke properly," my mother softened her voice, supportively. "I understand, love. Smoking is definitely a feminine issue."

"How?" I said, screwing up my face, perplexed once more.

"For so many different reasons. Answer me this, do you really want to be a smoker, or do you want to simply fit in with your friends?"

"I don't need to fit in. It's purely my choice. All I want is to smoke socially and to look the way you do when you smoke," I sighed, then sighed again, staring at the open packet, with its cork filtered tips inviting me to take one.

"Go on," my mother glanced down at the open packet. "Take the lighter and a cigarette and I'll tell you what to do."

"Are you serious?" I jumped forwards in my seat, suddenly grinning from ear to ear, about to get my lesson in smoking from my mother.

"You've come to me with this problem. I respect that. If I say no and continue to give you this hypocritical lecture on why you shouldn't smoke, you're only going to continue doing it behind my back. It's inevitable with everything you just said. So, go on, Pippa. Take a cigarette and light it."

I didn't wait to be told again. I carefully dived my thumb and finger into the packet and pulled out a cigarette. I giggled childishly, holding the cigarette between my index and middle fingers.

"Hold it like a lady," my mother said, taking a cigarette for herself. "Move it up your fingers a little further, between the first and second knuckles of your index and middle fingers."

"Like this?" I asked, copying my mother.

"That's it. Now relax your hand. Bend it backwards slightly with the palm facing up. Like I do."

I copied my mother again, and we were soon mirroring each other across the table. With our hands and cigarettes at least. She then picked up the lighter and lit her cigarette, drawing on the filter like she had done thousands of times before.

"Keep the cigarette at mouth level, slightly to one side with your palm up and hand facing outward. It definitely looks more feminine and relaxed," my mother told me. "If you're standing, still do the same, but rotate your arm from your shoulder."

"Are these menthol?" I queried, watching in awe as my mother exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting from her mouth.

"No, definitely not. If you're used to menthol cigarettes, then these are twice as strong. Menthol cigarettes tend to have less tar and nicotine in them. So, take smaller drags, Pippa."

I nodded, taking my mother's advice on board. I put the cork filter between my lips and excitedly lit the end of the cigarette. I must have looked clumsy because I certainly felt it.

"That's it, Pippa, small drags," my mother said softly, when I slowly sucked on the cigarette filter. "Inhale the smoke in a leisurely deep breath, then hold it in for a few seconds. I can't believe I'm encouraging this, but that's how you get as much of the nicotine into your body as possible."

The Lambert and Butler cigarette was definitely stronger, much stronger. I sucked the smoke into my mouth and inhaled deeply. The strength hit me immediately but I didn't cough. I held the smoke for two, maybe three seconds before I exhaled harshly.

"Stronger than you're used to?" my mother smiled.

"Yes, but nice," I lied, practicing holding the cigarette a few inches to the right of my mouth.

"Stick to the menthol cigarettes if you're going to smoke. Don't switch, because before you know it, you'll be needing the stronger cigarettes."

I took another drag, rotating my arm from my shoulder when I inhaled. I had no idea if I looked sophisticated or lady-like, I certainly felt strange smoking with my mother though, but in a good way. I just needed to relax and get used to this style.

"You're getting the hang of it," my mother grinned, smoking opposite me.

As we smoked our first cigarette together, I thought about Mr Johnson and the look on his face if I could smoke like my mother on Monday. I giggled too myself.

"What's so amusing?" my mother smiled.

"Nothing," I lied. "This cigarette has blown my mind, that's all," I said, exhaling the final drag. My head was dizzy and nauseous.

My mother smiled and shook her head as she stubbed out her cigarette. "Well, don't think you're smoking mine. If you want to keep smoking, then more fool you. But you will also be buying your own cigarettes!" My mother chuckled and collected her packet and lighter from the table as she stood up.

"You look stunning, mum!" I said, admiring her mature, curvy figure in the red cocktail dress.

"Thanks, love." She was flattered.

"You definitely make the dress look great, and not the other way around."

"Stop creeping," she chuckled, then kissed me goodbye.

"Does this mean I can smoke in my bedroom?" I called after her, as she reached the front door.

"Only out your bedroom window! Your bedding and clothes will stink otherwise!"

"Thanks, mum! Have fun!" I called back.

I spent the rest of the evening completing my assignment and smoking. The smoke breaks definitely helped me get it finished to a good standard.

During those smoke breaks, four in total, I remembered my mother's 'coaching' and practiced at my bedroom window. I couldn't bring myself to admit it, but deep down I knew I was practicing for my return visit to Mr. Johnson's office on Monday. If he was like any of the boys I knew, he definitely wanked himself off after I left his office.

Thinking about masturbation, I picked up my phone and checked my Instagram account. Only two dick pics today, I giggled, from followers I didn't know. As they were nothing special, I deleted the photos from my DMs and settled on my bed with some porn.

Without realising it, I suddenly found myself watching a role play scene of a teacher and a student. The teacher was male of course, and old enough to be the schoolgirl actress's father. I hit play and watched it. Two minutes into the cheesy twenty-minute tale, I slipped a hand inside my shorts and knickers and gently rubbed my clit.

Twenty minutes and two orgasms later, I watched the guy ejaculate over the pretty blonde schoolgirls face and fake tits and closed my phone down.

Removing my aching hand from my shorts, I smiled and picked up my cigarettes. I then stood in my bedroom window and practiced my smoking style once more.

At exactly 3.10pm on Monday afternoon, I was knocking on Mr. Johnson's door, with my school bag on my back, my right hand clutching the strap nervously.

"Come in!" Mr. Johnson shouted. I softly opened the door and revealed myself. "Ahhh, Pippa, right on time. Please do come in," he grinned smugly.

I slipped inside the room, not opening the door fully, then quickly closed it behind me.

"Please lock the door, Pippa," he nodded, walking round his desk and pulling the chair out for me. "Take a seat and make yourself comfortable," he said, moving towards the blinds and tilting them. I noticed the window was already open.

"How was your weekend, Pippa?" he smiled politely at me, as if we were there under normal circumstances.

"Very quiet, Sir. I completed my assignment, and I worked on Sunday," I answered, as I sat down.

"You're a model student, Pippa," he complimented me, placing his hands on my shoulders and sending shivers up my spine. "Perhaps if you had joined one of our school projects instead of siding with the bad girls, you wouldn't have started smoking," he suggested, lifting his hands and gently taking hold of my ponytail.

Frozen in the chair, I fixed my gaze on a pen on his desk as a million thoughts ran through my mind at once.

"I want you to wear your hair down from now on, Pippa," he breathed above me, gently pulling the pink bobble from my hair.

"Yes, Sir," I replied.

I wanted to seriously wind him up with my own version of payback, even though I knew whatever I did was only going to excite him further. I thought again about recording everything on my phone. Leave it in my bag to capture our conversation whilst I smoked, but with only three months until my final exams, what was the point.

Mr. Johnson eventually took his seat after fussing perversely with my long brown hair. As we talked shop about my weekend, I took the packet of Marlboro Menthol and green lighter from my school bag and placed them down on his desk, while he took out the black marble ashtray and lipstick again.

Just as I did on Friday, I applied the sexy shade of red and rubbed my lips together with the tissue between them.

"I have something else for you, Pippa. As a Marlboro girl I thought you'd like to try one of these," he grinned, revealing a packet of cigarettes identical in design to my packet. But where my packet was green, Mr. Johnson's was red. Red like the lipstick.

"I think they're a little too strong for me, Sir," I giggled, remembering smoking one of my mother's Lambert and Butler cigarettes.

"Nonsense," he chuckled. "Your young voluptuous body can handle something stronger, I'm quite sure."

"I'd prefer to stick to one of my menthol cigarettes, thank you, Sir," I politely insisted.

"And I'd prefer you smoke one of these," he sternly insisted, leaning over his desk and dropping the full, unopened packet of Marlboro Reds in front of me. "I purchased them especially for you," he winked.

I sighed, throwing my green packet down on the desk and picking up his red packet.

"It's a little warm today, don't you think?" he said, appearing nonchalant, but he didn't fool me when he slipped off his suit jacket.

"I guess it is," I pretended to agree, peeling the cellophane seal from the packet before lifting the lid with my thumbs.

Mr. Johnson proceeded to watch me, excitedly, as I removed the silver foil. I then pushed the front centre cigarette up with my thumb, before pinching it between my thumb and index finger to pull it out.

"I hope you're not too warm with that blouse tucked in and buttoned up so high," he tested me.

"No, Sir," I shrugged, frustrating him a little.

Then, a wicked idea entered my mind. I grinned mischievously all of a sudden, dangerously in fact. Dare I do it?

Throwing the red packet down next to my green one, I picked up the lighter, met Mr. Johnson's gaze across the desk, and slowly put the cork filtered cigarette between my freshly coated red lips.

Mr. Johnson inhaled a deep breath through his nostrils as I drew a long breath through the cigarette. The end glowed bright orange as the strong tobacco burnt. I then moved the cigarette a couple of inches to the side of my mouth and sucked the thick smoke deep into my body with a sharp inhale. The way my mother taught me.

With his lust filled eyes glaring at my softer gaze, I exhaled a strong, fuller tasting lung full of smoke off to the side of us and then licked my top lip.

"Is that better, Sir?" I sounded innocent, before taking a short drag from the cigarette and quickly exhaling. I then held the cigarette a couple of inches from my mouth, with my palm up facing outwards.

Mr. Johnson croaked like he had something stuck in his throat and his hands gripped the table. "Splendid," he said, holding back his urges.

"Oops, the lipstick has stained the filter again," I teased, giving the middle of the cigarette a quick tap with my index finger, sending the ash tumbling into the centre of the marble ashtray, and dirtying it. Mr. Johnson croaked again.

"You're not so inexperienced at this after all," he managed to grin.

My third drag was a long, thoughtful one, before I inhaled, held the smoke, then exhaled to the side again. I wondered what exactly was going through his mind whilst I smoked.

"You have beautiful lips. So sexy and alluring."

"You can't say things like that, Sir," I giggled, glancing at the ashtray and tapping the cigarette against the lip of the marble.

"It's just us in here," he chuckled, pushing his chair away from his desk, revealing a long, thick erection.

Like a flagpole, it rose from his unzipped fly. It was thick with dark purple veins running through the shaft. The head was shiny with pre-cum, and it looked ready for action. It was ready for action. I was shocked and aroused, ready to run out of there.

But instead, I gasped. "Holy shit!" I then laughed in shock. "Sir!"

"Just keep smoking, Pippa. I'm sure it's not the first cock you've seen," he assumed with a dirty chuckle whilst casually stroking himself.

I took an anxious long drag and inhaled deeply. I was no longer smoking for him; I was smoking frantically for myself. Although I knew it was still technically for him.

"Undo a couple of buttons on that blouse, Pippa. Show me some cleavage. You have plenty of it."

"If I do it, Sir, then this all stops today?" I bargained. "I don't have to come in here and do this ever again."

"Don't you like smoking in the headteachers office," he chuckled, still stroking that big cock of his.

I glanced at it, took a nervous drag and inhaled. I then glanced back up at him and exhaled. "You could go to jail for this, Sir!"

That seemed to straighten him out, for a minute at least.

"Very well. But I want to see a little more than cleavage. Then we can call it quits. You promise to smoke well away from the school and we never need to cross paths again."

"My bra?" I winced, determined to flick the cigarette at him and run if he asked to see my breasts.

Mr Johnson nodded in agreement and I stubbed out the cigarette. I then reached for the second button at the top of my blouse and fed it through the hole. The top one was always unbuttoned.

"Stop," he said gently. "Light another cigarette first."

"I can't smoke two cigarettes in a row, Sir," I pleaded. "I'll be sick. Those cigarettes are too strong."

"Fine," he sighed. "Smoke one of your menthol cigarettes then."

I widened my eyes, stretching them in disbelief as I opened the green packet and took out an all-white Marlboro menthol cigarette.

My wanting to wind him up had spectacularly back fired. Without any finesse, I shoved the now unwanted cigarette into my mouth and lit it.

"Unbutton your blouse and smoke your cigarette. Then it's over." He sounded genuine.

I nodded when I exhaled, welcoming the familiar minty taste. I then rested the cigarette in the ashtray and freed the third and middle button on my blouse. The one that would reveal the start of my cleavage.

"Stop," he said again. "Let the cigarette dangle from your sexy, red lips. Then you can finish unbuttoning your blouse."

With a deep sigh, I picked up the cigarette and put it back between my lips, allowing it to dangle there. The end of the cigarette smouldered as I freed the fourth button, and my white bra began to show.

I looked at Mr Johnson, he still had his cock in his hand, breathing hoarsely as he stroked himself. The head of his cock appeared shinier, and my nipples stiffened inside my bra at the sight of him leaking pre-cum.

When the fifth and final button was freed, he inhaled a deep breath through his nostrils in anticipation, but I wasn't giving him what he wanted just yet.

I left my blouse closed. Unbuttoned, but closed. I drew on the cigarette, inhaled and flicked the ash as I exhaled.

Mr Johnson grunted, waiting impatiently for me to put him out of his misery. I smiled at him and continued to take drags until I finished the cigarette. He was ready to ejaculate when I stubbed it out and reached for my blouse.

"Do it, Pippa!" he groaned. "Be a good student and show me your big tits!"

In one swift action, I pulled my blouse apart and revealed my impressive D cup bra covered breasts. It wasn't a fancy bra, but it lifted my breasts and created an inviting cleavage.

Mr Johnson grunted, cursed, then spasmed in his chair. I grinned at his cock spurting thick cum into the air. It landed on his trousers before it ended by dribbling from the tip of his cock, down his shaft onto his hand.

He looked pathetic. He looked like the sad old pervert he was. But then what did that make me? Sitting there having complied with his twisted fantasy. My white knickers were soaking wet. My nipples were hard and sensitive. I was ready for action myself.

I stood, buttoned up my blouse and left the room. Mr Johnson said nothing as I left. In fact, he didn't say another word to me during my final three months in school.

Three months later, however, having sat all my exams, I was celebrating in the classroom with the other six formers. We had graffitied each other's blouses and shirts. Signing our names and writing funny comments with the idea of holding onto our uniform as keepsakes.

At 3pm, our form teacher Mr Tomkins dismissed us for the final time. There was sadness and excitement, regret and relief among us all.

As we sang songs of freedom along the corridors, I quietly slipped away towards Mr Johnson's office.

I was about to knock the door when I heard him telling somebody off inside. I sat down in the chair outside, the very chair I sat and waited on three months ago.

The door opened and out stepped a tall, slim boy I new vaguely as Sammy. He looked pissed off. He closed the door, leaving Mr Johnson inside, then I asked him what was wrong. He was another six former, but a year below me.

"I've been busted for smoking. That old skinny twat in there is going to kick me out of the school. Told my mum on the phone I'm not to return in September for my final year."

I stood up and touched his arm. "You'll be back in September. I'll get Mr Johnson to change his mind."

"What? How?"

"I have his ear, Sam. Go home and enjoy the summer holidays."

"Whatever, Pippa. Good luck in Uni."

I smiled a thank you at Sammy as he stormed off. I then took a deep breath, picked up my school bag and knocked excitedly nervous on Mr Johnson's door.

"Come in!" he shouted.

I opened the door and walked straight in. I didn't even look at him until I closed and locked his door.

"Miss Jenkins!" he gasped, surprised to see me.

"Hi, Sir," I beamed, skipping over to his window, opening it and tilting the blinds upwards.

"I don't see you on my schedule. Shouldn't you be on your way home celebrating?"

"I couldn't leave without saying goodbye, Sir," I grinned. "Not after everything you taught me."

"Taught you?" He gave me a puzzled look.

"Yeah," I giggled, taking the familiar seat opposite him and opening my school bag.

"I don't understand, Pippa." Oh, how the tables had turned, I thought.

"Since we last spent time together I've been smoking these," I told him, taking out a half-smoked packet of Marlboro Reds. "I thought I'd drop by for old times sake."

"I see," Mr Johnson smiled, slipping off his jacket. "And are you hopelessly addicted to the stronger cigarettes, Pippa?"

I laughed, taking one out and putting it between my lips. "Against my mothers advice, Sir, yes I am. She tried to warn me not to smoke, and then to stick to menthol."

"Excellent," he grinned.

Picking up my lighter, I brought it to the end of the cigarette, about to light it.

"What do you think you're doing, Pippa?" he took charge suddenly.